#creamed spinach on toast

[morethansalad]

Vegan Old-Fashioned Creamed Spinach on Toast

[starb0n3]

TEEN IN A TIM BURTON MOVIE DIET 🦴🌫️

(inspired by @honeysugarfree)

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

You wake up with one thing on your mind: going out for a walk in the woods. But you can’t. You’re a teenager who has school, and your parents would kill you if you skipped school.

It’s too early to eat anything. Pass the time playing with your cat or simply reading by the window as the sun rises.

School is so boring when all you’re craving is a nice cup of warm soup or hot chocolate prepared by your mum. Whatever, you’ll suffer in silence and snack on whatever fruits you threw into your bag this morning.✧˖°.☾

For lunch, you’ll have leftovers from yesterday. roasted/baked/boiled veggies accompanied by rice or wheat. you don’t eat it all; it’s cold, and not that nice at all… Maybe your parents packed you a sandwich instead? make sure you don’t eat the crusts, though. they’re the worst part.

If you’re lucky, you might’ve even added one of your bakes as dessert (low cal pastry/cookie), or a small yoghurt. if you didn’t, don’t fret. your parent didn’t forget to include a fruit or veggie for health.

(¬ ´ཀ` )¬

Back home at last — not before you went on a small walk, though. your parents were worried about where you’d gone off too again, and you’re greeted by a warm broth/soup, or some more baked veggies.

you don’t finish your plate unless your walk was very tiring. you’re too eager to finish that book you started!

Once in a while, you might be allowed a piece of cake or some hot chocolate. not everyday, though. that would be bad for your teeth!

End the day with a cup of tea, reading under a warm blanket with a piece of your favourite chocolate or sweet. 🍂☕️🐈‍⬛

MEAL IDEAS I LOVE:

Chickpeas in tomato sauce with rice

Whole bread sandwich without the crust: tomato, cheese and cucumber (ham if you want, i’m vegetarian c:)

Ratatouille or Shakshuka with wheat/bulgur

Apple sauce cookies (i can share a good recipe if you want)

Pasta/zucchini gratin

Lasagna (spinach or veggies with tomato sauce - or mince, once again, i’m vegetarian)

potatoes (sweet is even better) with broccoli

Mushrooms with bread

Tomato salad (vinegar, herbs, olive oil)

Lentil/corn cakes with cream cheese

Pumpkin pie

Vegetable broth (or chicken) with vegetable dices

Potato soup

Tomato orzo soup

Mashed potatoes with lentils

Lentil soup

Beetroot (it’s so good even on it own)

REMEMBER!

You always prefer ‘halloween’ themed pastries — involving apples, pumpkin, carrots…

Eating isn’t a bother, you’re just a slow eater. don’t hesitate to share your love for sweets, while keeping consummation low.

You get tired of veggies so much! never finish a meal you don’t like.

Your favourite candy is liquorice, and most halloween themed ones like acorn or hard candy

Keep the chocolate low. it’s too heavy and nauseating!

If you must, have a piece of nutella/peanut butter and jelly toast, oats, or milk with fruits in the morning. i promise it’s much better than those ‘healthy’ alternatives (makes you satisfies and low calorie if you only have one)

No crisps — they’re too oily and dirty your books. Pop corn is so much better (and lower in cols) — caramel or pumpkin spice is a staple!

Cinnamon on apples… the best treat!

If you ever eat out with family, eat only a third of the meal and get the rest to pack. it’s so good you want to make it last!!

Bake and cook as much as you can! This will make your parents understand what you like, and not push to make you eat those gross overly fat foods.

Try to stay under 1,000 kcals, but don’t count calories obsessively. keep portions small and always leave a third of your plate.

Have fun!

(i’ll make a moodboard with meals etc, i hope you enjoy!)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: Food History

B.C.

10,000 - almonds, cherries, bread, flour, soup

8,000 - wheat ⚜ 7,000 - wine, beer, pistachios, pig, goat, sheep, lard

6,500 - cattle domestication, apples ⚜ 6,000 - tortilla, dates, maize

5,000 - honey, ginger, quinoa, avocados, potatoes, milk, yogurt

4,000 - focaccia, watermelons, grapes, pomegranates

3,200 - chicken domestication ⚜ 3,000 - butter, onion, garlic, apricots

2,737 - tea ⚜ 2,500 - olive oil, seaweed, duck ⚜ 2,300 - saffron

2,000 - peaches, liquorice, marshmallow, pasta, ham, sesame seeds

1,500 - chocolate, vanilla ⚜ 1,200 - sugar ⚜ 1,000 - mangoes, oats, pickles

900 - pears, tomatoes ⚜ 700 - cinnamon ⚜ 600 - bananas, poppy seeds

500 - artichokes ⚜ 400 - pastries, appetizers, vinegar

300 - parsley ⚜ 200 - turkeys, asparagus, rhubarb ⚜ 65 - quince

1st—13th Century

1st Century - chestnuts, lobster, crab, shrimp, truffles, blueberries, raspberries, capers, kale, blood (as food), fried chicken, foie gras, French toast, omelettes, rice pudding, flan, cheesecake, pears in syrup

3rd Century - lemons ⚜ 5th - pretzels ⚜ 6th - eggplant

7th Century - spinach, kimchi ⚜ 9th - coffee, nutmeg

10th Century - flower waters, Peking duck, shark's fin soup

11th Century - baklava, corned beef, cider, lychees, seitan

12th Century - breadfruit, artichokes, gooseberries

13th Century - ravioli, lasagne, mozzarella, pancakes, waffles, couscous

14th—19th Century

14th Century - kebabs, moon cakes, guacamole, pie, apple pie, crumpets, gingerbread

15th Century - coconuts, Japanese sushi and sashimi, pineapples, marmalade, risotto, marzipan, doughnuts, hot dogs

16th Century - pecans, cashews (in India), Japanese tempura, vanilla (in Europe), fruit leather, skim milk, sweetbreads, salsa, quiche, teriyaki chicken, English trifle, potato salad

17th Century - treacle, pralines, coffee cake, modern ice cream, maple sugar, rum, French onion soup, cream puffs, bagels, pumpkin pie, lemonade, croissants, lemon meringue pie

18th Century - root beer, tapioca, French fries, ketchup, casseroles, mayonnaise, eggnog, soda water, lollipops, sangria, muffins, crackers, chowder, croquettes, cupcakes, sandwiches, apple butter, souffle, deviled eggs

19th Century - toffee, butterscotch, cocoa, Turkish delight, iodized salt, vanilla extract, modern marshmallows, potato chips, fish and chips, breakfast cereal, Tabasco sauce, Kobe beef, margarine, unsalted butter, Graham crackers, fondant, passionfruit, saltwater taffy, milkshakes, pizza, peanut butter, tea bags, cotton candy, jelly beans, candy corn, elbow macaroni, fondue, wedding cake, canapes, gumbo, ginger ale, carrot cake, bouillabaisse, cobbler, peanut brittle, pesto, baked Alaska, iced tea, fruit salad, fudge, eggs Benedict, Waldorf salad

20th Century

1901 - peanut butter and jelly ⚜ 1904 - banana splits ⚜ 1905 - NY pizza

1906 - brownies, onion rings ⚜ 1907 - aioli

1908 - Steak Diane, buttercream frosting ⚜ 1909 - shrimp cocktail

1910 - Jell-O (America's most famous dessert)

1910s - orange juice ⚜ 1912 - Oreos, maraschino cherries, fortune cookies

1912 - Chicken a la King, Thousand Island dressing

1914 - Fettuccine Alfredo ⚜ 1915 - hush puppies

1917 - marshmallow fluff ⚜ 1921 - Wonder Bread, zucchini

1919 - chocolate truffles ⚜ 1922 - Vegemite, Girl Scout cookies

1923 - popsicles ⚜ 1924 - frozen foods, pineapple upside-down cake, Caesar salad, chocolate-covered potato chips

1927 - Kool-Aid, s'mores, mayonnaise cake ⚜ 1929 - Twizzlers

1930s - Pavlova cakes, Philly cheese steak, Pigs in blankets, margaritas, banana bread, Cajun fried turkey ⚜ 1931 - souffle, refrigerator pie

1933 - chocolate covered pretzels ⚜ 1936 - no-bake cookies

1937 - Reubens, chicken Kiev, SPAM, Krispy Kreme

1938 - chicken and waffles ⚜ 1939 - seedless watermelon

1941 - Rice Krispies treats, Monte Cristo sandwiches ⚜ 1943 - nachos

1946 - chicken burgers, tuna melts, Nutella ⚜ 1947- chiffon cake

1950s - chicken parm, Irish coffee, cappuccino, smoothies, frozen pizza, diet soda, TV Dinners, ranch dressing ⚜ 1951 - bananas foster

1953 - coronation chicken ⚜ 1956 - German chocolate cake, panini

1957 - Quebec Poutine ⚜ 1958 - Instant ramen noodles, crab rangoon, lemon bars ⚜ 1960s - beef Wellington, green eggs and ham, red velvet cake

1963 - black forest cake ⚜ 1964 - Belgian waffles, Pop Tarts, Buffalo wings, ants on a log, pita bread ⚜ 1965 - Gatorade, Slurpees

1966 - chocolate fondue ⚜ 1967 - high fructose corn syrup

1970s - California rolls, pasta primavera, tiramisu ⚜ 1971 - fajitas

1975 - hicken tikka masala ⚜ 1980 - turducken

1980s - Panko, portobello mushrooms, bubble tea, chicken nuggets, Sriracha, Red Bull energy drink, everything bagels

1990s - artisan breads, Jamaican jerk ⚜ 1991 - turkey bacon, chocolate molten lava cake, earthquake cake ⚜ 1993 - broccolini

1995 - Tofurkey ⚜ 1997 - grape tomatoes

21st Century

2002 - flat iron steak, tear-free onions ⚜ 2007 - Kool-Aid pickles, cake pops

2008 - Mexican funnel cake ⚜ 2013 - cronuts, test tube burgers

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[what-even-is-thiss]

Quick and cheap filling vegetarian food (I’m going ovo-lacto for this)

Soup:

Dump some cans of stuff in a pot. Maybe some seasoning too. Pearl barley or rice may also be a good choice to bulk things out. With beans or legumes and some kind of grain you can make a whole protein. If that doesn’t appeal to you add some cheese or poached egg. Don’t add a lot of rice btw it will expand don’t turn your soup into a rice dish I swear to gosh

Quesadillas:

Basic idea for this is shredded cheese melted in between two tortillas warmed up on either side in a pan, in a microwave if you’re feeling extra depressed. But other stuff can be added. Salsa, pico, leftover tofu or beans, sliced peppers or onion. It’s a dish that’s as complicated or as simple as you want to make it.

Casseroles:

Dump a can of cream of mushroom or cream of potato soup on it. It’ll work itself out probably.

Scrambled eggs:

The most braindead way to cook eggs. You can even scramble them in the pan. Put stuff in it. I like putting fried tomatoes in it. Add enough mushrooms and cheese and you can feel your system clogging up in real time. Eat some toast with it to convince yourself that adding carbs makes it fine actually

Curry:

Wildly oversimplified term for basically most Indian food. It’s simpler to make than you think. The spices are the important part. The base of a lot of types of Indian food is onion, ginger, garlic, and tomato and then add spices and stuff to that. What stuff? Whatever. Spinach, potatoes, coconut milk, regular milk, even more tomatoes, lentils, beans, yogurt. Put it over rice probably. Use powdered onion and ginger-garlic paste and canned tomatoes when you’re tired. Probably look up some actual Indian YouTubers and bloggers to get more specific recipes than my stupid ass can provide.

Peanut noodles:

Cook some noodles. Probably ramen noodles. Melt some peanut butter on it and add soy sauce. Merry Christmas.

Melts:

Get a panini press so you never have to think again. Cheese, something else, bread, hot, eat. Add a sauce and some nicely grilled vegetables if you want to but tbh a midnight grilled cheese with tomato isn’t gonna be a gourmet meal. Just make it so you can finish crying.

Smoothie:

Frozen fruit and/or veggies and some kind of liquid. I usually use strawberry, mango, and soymilk. Maybe yogurt too idk. The worst part of this is cleaning the blender later but the actual process of making it is fast.

Pasta:

There’s more to life than just spaghetti and red sauce. Or so I’ve been told. You can use canned soups as a sauce sometimes if you reduce them a bit. I like butternut squash soup. Adding some cream cheese to sauces tastes better than it sounds and can fix your protein problem that you sometimes get with pasta dishes. Keeping a jar of pesto and some mushrooms in the fridge can make for a fast dinner when you need it.

Chili:

Get two different types of beans and some tomatoes and chili powder and whatever in a pot and let those bitches get to know each other and simmer while you stare off into space for a while. Maybe like 10-20 minutes idk it tastes good with sour cream

[seenoversundown]

Golden Wings

I saw this tweet about hozier leaving love notes around the house for his partner to find and I could not stop thinking about it. Good luck!

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

I wake as I always do, surrounded by his scent. Woodsy, dark, and a tad floral. I do a big stretch followed by a small whine. I go to reach over to Andrew’s side trying to feel any trace of him.

“Andrew?” I murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep. I continue to paw at his side of the bed until I feel his abandoned pillow. I force my eyes to open and glance around the room, and realize I am most definitely alone. I prop myself up, a little sad I missed him this morning. But then out of the corner of my eye I notice a soft pale blue square against our dark emerald sheets. I lean over and grab it, becoming a little giddy when I realize it’s a note. 

The goddess of the day has risen, how I am unworthy to love such an ethereal being. 

When you are ready, there is breakfast downstairs. 

All my love, ~A.

I read and reread the small note probably a dozen times. His words always have a way of piercing into my heart directly and making a home inside. I hold the soft blue square to my chest and wonder how lucky I had to have been to have found Andrew. 

I slip on a matching cream colored silk set, Andrew’s favorite, and slowly make my way down to the kitchen. I glance around our small home as I walk through the hallways and wonder how we were able to move into here only four months ago but it’s felt like forever. It feels right. As I round the corner, the aroma of breakfast hits me. 

“Love, it smells divine,” I say. I’m greeted with silence in return, just another small pale blue square. 

Light of the day, your breakfast awaits you warming in the oven. I didn’t want to wake you- you looked so peaceful, but I had to run to the studio this morning just for some final touches.

I will be home in a few hours to you, my love, I promise. 

For now, eat your breakfast. Get your strength for the day. Look for more notes. I have plans for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

Again, I can’t help but reread his words, hearing his voice as if he’s reading them directly to me. Once I tuck the note in a safe place I open the oven to look at what awaits me. Andrew wasn’t lying. A fully prepared breakfast sits on a plate in the warm oven. He’s left oven mitts for me on top of the stove, which I grab eagerly. Breakfast smells even better when it’s sitting right in front of me. Veggie bacon, eggs sprinkled with cheese and spinach, toast with butter and maple sugar. 

As I sit down at my plate ready to devour the spread in front of me I spot Andrew’s discarded robe on the seat next to me. I don’t even hesitate as I reach out for it, wrapping myself in his scent and warmth. I feel even more relaxed now, if that was even possible, as I eat my meal.

I finish up my toast basking in the silence of our home. I can’t help but wonder when Andrew will be home, so I go find my phone to send him a text. 

Y/N: Thank you for breakfast, my love. I miss you.

A: You are so welcome, my dove. Look for the notes. I’ll be home before you know it. I miss you more. 

My heart flutters at his words like always as I go to put my cell phone in his robe pocket. Sliding it into the soft pocket, I swear I hear a paper-like crunch. I’m quick to take my phone right back out and stick my hand in to feel for the noise. It doesn’t take long before I pull out a small pale blue square identical to the ones before it. 

I knew you would put this on, my sweet. I have never known such a love as the love you give to me, I am forever in awe of you. 

Till we are bones, my love.

All my love, 

~A.

My heart thumps in my chest. I take the little note and add it to my ever-growing pile. Snagging a cup of tea, I walk around our sunlit living room and tend to our ‘plant children’. The monstera has always been my favorite, even though I tell Andrew they’re all my favorites. They do say you’re not supposed to have a favorite child. I don’t hesitate as I walk up to her, murmuring my good mornings and inspecting her as I grasp my mug of tea, bringing it to my lips. As soon as Andrew called me his, he kept my favorite kind of tea in superfluous supply wherever he lived- just for me. It doesn’t take me long to notice a little blue square nestled in her leaves. Of course he knew. 

Seeing you wearing my ring drives me mad. Watching you in the mornings, with it shining off the light as you talk to our plants is one of my favorite rituals. The way you speak to them with such kindness, such empathy- I cannot wait to raise our children together. A goddess such as yourself will be perfect with them. 

To the blues.

All my love,

~A.

I quickly glance down at my ring once I finish reading his words, immediate feelings of giddiness fill my chest. The perfect moss agate ring sits in a golden crown on my finger. I touch it, remembering the moment Andrew got down on his knee. He is always nervous when it comes to us- but not that day. That day, he was so confident. Bringing me to his hometown, showing me all of the places he used to go as a ‘young lad’ as he’d say. That trip I knew I needed him forever, and I guess he needed me just as much. I watched as he spoke Gaelic with the townsfolk in passing, his voice hitting my ears in such a dreamy way. 

It was when he brought me up to his favorite hill, the one he watched the sunset every day when he lived here, that he asked me to be his. Looking at the setting sun, wrapped in each other's arms, he feigned that he had forgotten something, and got up and started to look around. 

‘Andrew, what’s going on?’ I had said to him. When he turned to me his green eyes were the brightest I’ve ever seen them, I swear. 

‘Love, can you stand for me?,’ he said.

I think subconsciously I knew what was happening, even if I didn’t want to believe it. Tears freely fell from my eyes as he poured his heart and soul out to me, reaching out every so often to wipe a tear or give me a lingering kiss on my forehead. When he finally got down on his knee, I was a sobbing wreck. I can’t remember what he said, just me nodding and practically screaming ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’. 

Now his ring, his beautiful, intricate golden ring just for me sits on my finger. I sit in his chair, even though it’s usually both of us squished into it every night, and play with my ring. I watch as it hits the sunshine and sends dancing light around the room. It’s then, as I’m looking at the light, I notice another small pale blue note. I practically run to it, ready to read more of Andrew’s words. I take a moment once I have it to enjoy the anticipation before I read it.

Once the Gods realize you have escaped with their golden wings I’ll be in so much trouble. 

But, for now, you are mine. Do they know you’re here, love? Did I have it wrong and you were sent just for me? 

I’ll never be sure, but I’ll be eternally grateful for you. 

All my love,

~A. 

He’s trying to kill me I swear to anyone who is listening. It’s never been an act with Andrew, this has always been him. The love and adoration he gives me is unmatched. I can’t help but feel like I’m the luckiest person with him. I finish the rest of my tea, adding my two new notes to my pile that won’t seem to stop growing. 

I make my way to our shared bathroom and am a little surprised when I see another note. He truly thought of everything. I do my morning routine to try and prolong reading his letter, the anticipation is delicious. Once I do finish taking care of myself I carefully peel his note off of the mirror and finally allow myself to read it.

I cannot wait to see those eyes shine just for me. Thinking about it now I swear my heart skips an entire beat. That can’t be healthy, but you- you are my own personal drug. Stronger than all the others there is you. I need you. 

All my love,

~A. 

My eyes scan his letter too many times, taking in the way he writes his t’s and dots his i’s. I take out my phone and pull up my texts to Andrew.

Y/N: I need you as bad as you need me, love. I hope studio time is going well. Come home to me soon. 

A: You are the very air I breathe, my dove. See you soon. 

My heart flutters knowing he’ll be home soon. I decide I’ll stay in his robe and his favorite silk set and surprise him. Confident in that decision, I grab the book I’m currently reading and snuggle back up on our chair while I wait for him. I scroll on my phone for a bit, getting lost in social media for a little too long. Once I finally resign and open my book, a final little blue note falls out onto my lap. I can’t help but laugh, and wonder a little when he even did all of this. I waste no time reading the note. 

In every lifetime, I hope to find you. Our souls are destined to be intertwined throughout the centuries. You are the only one for me. 

I can’t wait to kiss you soon.

All my love,

~A. 

My heart is fully melted. All of his words from this morning play on repeat as I stare at this one note. How can one man be so fucking eloquent? I’m so lost in thought, I don’t hear the front door open or close.

“Dove?” Andrew shouts from the doorway. I’m on my feet in seconds, after all of these notes I missed my man something fierce this morning. He laughs when he sees me, arms outstretched ready for me. “There’s my dove. I hope you liked my notes this morning.” He says to me inbetween interrupting kisses. 

“Loved them? Oh Andrew, you have no idea. You know, I missed waking up to you this morning.” 

“I’m sorry dove, let me make it up to you.” He hoists me up in his arms and quickly kicks off his shoes before walking down the hallway to our bedroom. My laughter echoes in the hall, I’ve never been so in love. 

Masterlist | Taglist

[lotstradamus]

do you have some favourite go-to recipes? i would love any of your recommendations!! xx

we eat the same few things on rotation in our house, as I do all the cooking, and I like a) one-pot meals, and b) pasta, preferably. most of these are fairly low effort but you get a lot of bang for your buck flavour-wise, and they're endlessly customisable!

also, listen, I don't do measurements. follow your heart and taste as you go.

the tiktok viral baked feta pasta from like 4 years ago ingredients: plum or cherry tomatoes, a block of feta (or boursin if you're feeling flush), garlic, pasta optional extras: spinach, cannellini beans, chili crisp recipe: whack your tomatoes, sliced garlic, and olive oil in a big dish. nestle your feta in there. I like to add a tin of drained cannellini beans at this point to bulk it out/cut down on the pasta/make the texture confusing, but you don't have to. stick it in the oven at like 180-200C for half an hour ish. after half an hour boil your pasta. retrieve your oven dish, stir everything up to desired consistency (I'm a chunk girl). you can add spinach while you do this for extra greenery, or a massive spoonful of chili crisp for heat and crunch, but it's good on its own. add the pasta and some pasta water if you need. voila. you simply cannot go wrong.

gochujang and hummus pasta ingredients: gochujang (this keeps forever in the fridge so it's a good kitchen investment), a tub of hummus, garlic, white onion, parm optional extras: parsley recipe: chop onion and garlic, sling them in a pan with butter and a splash of EVOO. when the onion is sufficiently sweaty and nice, add a dollop of gochujang (the bigger the dollop the spicier the end result) and stir it all in, followed by the whole tub of hummus. boil the pasta. add the cooked pasta to the pan, along with some pasta water, a shit load of grated parm, and garnish with parsley. my friend sent me a vegan version of this recipe about a year ago and I've made the non-vegan version roughly once a week since. it is so fucking delicious. butter bean thing ingredients: butter beans, garlic, red onion, tomato paste, cream/double cream/greek yog, lemon, sourdough/nice crusty bread optional extras: parsley recipe: throw chopped garlic and onion in a pan with butter and EVOO and really let them sweat it out. add tinned butter beans WITH THE JUICE. yes, I know. add in a few good squirty piles of tomato paste and stir, then let it all heat through. at this point start toasting your crusty bread of choice because I ALWAYS forget until the end and then I'm rushed. I recommend splurging for the good bread, slathered with melty butter. add whatever creamy thing you have to hand (the og recipe I saw said double cream, but I usually have greek yoghurt in and that does the job) to the beans, along with some lemon juice, garnish with parsley if you like and serve. use the bread as a giant spoon. you are welcome.

sausage soup/stew? casserole?? ingredients: celery, white onion, carrot, sausage/s, cherry tomatoes, tinned tomatoes, chicken broth, parm optional extras: creamy thing of your choice, spinach, orzo recipe: dice the celery, carrot and onion (mirepoix!), and throw it in a big big big pot with some EVOO. now: I get a pack of nice sausages and either mash or chop them depending on how much energy I have, but if you live somewhere with a butcher or whatever you can save your mashing arm and just get ground sausage. throw in the ground, mashed, or chopped sausage and cook for a bit. follow with a tin of chopped tomatoes and chicken broth. I usually put in about a litre. chop the cherry toms and toss them in. follow with a load of grated parm. if you have any parm rinds, throw em in and leave it to bubble away. this doesn't sound like much but it is so good. the longer you leave it the more flavourful it will be! towards the end I like to add in whatever creamy thing is in the fridge (double cream, greek yog, milk), along with lots of chopped spinach and a cup of orzo to really bulk it up. we can happily live on this for DAYS, especially if we have leftover fancy crusty bread from the gochujang pasta. oh and remember to take out the parm rind.

thai chicken curryish ingredients: chicken (thigh/breast), garlic, ginger, yellow peppers, spring onion, cashew nuts, rice, coconut milk, chicken broth optional extras: sriracha, coriander recipe: I love this one cos it is SO quick and SOOOO easy. cut chicken into chunks and brown it in the pot. whip it back out and throw in the chopped garlic and ginger (I have a tube of ginger paste in the fridge cos WHO has the time?) with a big glug of EVOO, then a cup of rice. jasmine works, but I've also used risotto rice. toss in the chopped peppers, spring onion and cashew nuts (if I have the energy I'll chop the nuts, but you can put em in as-is), then add coconut milk (a tin's amount, be that an actual tin or some of the melted stuff that costs 1/4 of the price - thanks Asian supermarket!) and chicken broth. put the browned chicken back in, give it all a stir, cover it, and stick it in the oven for like 25ish mins. here’s the NYT recipe if you need liquid measurements/an actionable recipe that isn’t me riffing. (as always, 12ft.io/ in front of the address to bypass the paywall.) serve it with sriracha squirted all over it (HIGHLY RECOMMEND) and coriander if you like it.

delicious little rice waffle ingredients: leftover jasmine rice, chili crisp, an egg, kewpie mayonnaise, sesame oil, spring onion, A WAFFLE MAKER optional extras: furikake recipe: full disclosure, you need a little waffle maker for this. mix the rice with chili crisp, a little sesame oil, and egg yolk. dollop it into the waffle maker and cook. garnish with kewpie mayo, sliced spring onion and some furikake if you have it, or just toasted sesame seeds if you have those, or neither! delicious little spicy umami snack, my beloved.

tuna melt of dreams ingredients: you know what's in a tuna melt recipe: swap the butter on the outside of the bread for kewpie mayonnaise and thank me later.

ADDENDUM: this goes without saying for me but sadly I know it does not for everybody: SEASON YOUR FOOD WITH SALT. IT WON'T MAKE YOUR FOOD SALTY IT WILL MAKE IT DELICIOUS. COOK YOUR PASTA IN SALT. WHEN IN DOUBT, ADD SOME SALT. THANK YOU.

[morethansalad]

Creamy Lemon Garlic Butter Beans (Vegan)

[its-time-to-write]

Hiiii, I’d love to see Jamie and the reader having to randomly babysit Phoebe - happy for you to decide where the plot goes from there! ❤️

Here it is! A little bit of comedy, a little bit of angst. For reference, Molly is Roy’s sister. I read a fic once that called her that, and it’s been the name that’s stuck. Oh, and this references Phoebe’s dad and he’s a tool, so be aware of that. Thanks for requesting!

stick together like glitter

Jamie doesn’t have training because Roy has to watch Phoebe, and you don’t have work because of some random furlough day. This means it’s your first real break together in a very long time. All his extra training has meant that you two haven’t spent as much time together as either of you would like, but you two have plans today. 

You had spent the night at Jamie’s last night since he didn’t have to be up at 3, and so you could stay up late and sleep in. You’re both passed out, Jamie’s arm thrown around your waist, when there’s a knock at the door.

You and Jamie jolt up and he lets out a raspy, “What the hell?”

He rolls over to go answer the door.

“Pants!” you call before he reaches the top of the stairs. He backtracks and picks his plaid pajama bottoms off a chair. He thumps bleary-eyed down the stairs to see who’s there.

You hear muffled voices for a few minutes, then the door shuts and Jamie calls, “Babe! Can you come here a minute?”

You grab a pair of Jamie’s sweats out of a drawer and pad down the stairs, where you are met by Jamie and Phoebe of all people. 

“Hey Pheebs!” you say, surprise waking you up a little. “What’re you doing here?”

“Mum’s at work and Uncle Roy was supposed to watch me, but something came up so he brought me here. Jamie said it was ok if I spent the day with you.”

You smile at Phoebe and look up at Jamie. He shrugs sheepishly. “Can’t say no, could I? Look at her.”

He and Phoebe grin at you angelically.

You try to sigh, but it comes out sounding like a laugh. “Alright, come on. Have you had breakfast yet?”

Phoebe shakes her head. “Uncle Roy was just starting the toast when he got the phone call. I don’t mind though, because today does not feel like a toast kind of day.”

“I agree,” Jamie says to Phoebe, “today doesn’t feel like a toast kind of day. Lucky for you, I’ve been told my pancake recipe is better than-” he catches himself, “Well, they’re really fucking good. Won’t take long.”

He holds out his hand for Phoebe to take, and he leads her to the kitchen.

—

That’s how you ended up in Jamie’s kitchen, still in your pajamas, while Phoebe chatters on about the book Roy is reading her as Jamie flips pancakes and drops chocolate chips to make smiley faces.

It’s weirdly domestic in a way you two have never been before, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. You certainly don’t have negative feelings, that’s for sure.

“What do you want to do today, Phoebe?” you ask. 

She shrugs. “Uncle Roy was going to take me to the library and then to pick up flowers for Keeley, and then we were going to get ice cream. I wanted to play Princesses and Dragons, because I got new dragon claws. They’re in my backpack, want to see?”

“I do!” Jamie says.

You laugh. “I would love to! I think we can still do a lot of that today, ice cream included. None for Jamie though, he hates ice cream.” Phoebe gasps, and Jamie turns from the stove, offended. 

“Babe,” he says in a scandalized tone, “you’d lie to a child? I fucking love ice cream!”

You raise an eyebrow and deadpan, “You do not, you said you’d rather eat that disgusting pureed spinach.”

“Babe,” he replies, “I literally cannot believe you right now.” He turns to Phoebe. “Pheebs, you believe me, yeah? What kind of monster don’t like ice cream?”

Phoebe looks from you to Jamie. You’re doing your absolute best to maintain a straight face, and Jamie’s comedic beseeching look is not helping.

Phoebe squints at you in such a Roy-like manner that you break, dissolving into giggles. She joins in, and Jamie lets out a faux sigh of relief. Today’s going to be fun.

—

It’s late in the afternoon now, and you, Jamie, and Phoebe have been all over Richmond. Phoebe checked out three large books from the library while Jamie followed you to the murder mystery section. You whispered the plots to him until Phoebe tapped your elbow to let you know she was ready to go. 

You stopped at the flower shop, and Jamie bought one flower for you and one of Phoebe. She loved it, and twirled it as she walked. 

Your last stop was for ice cream, where she explained the pros and cons of each flavor, and why Uncle Roy believes any flavor other than cherry chip should be illegal. 

Now, you’re walking back to Jamie’s house, holding Phoebe’s hands in between you. Her flower is safely poking out of her backpack. 

“Jamie,” she says, “why does Uncle Roy think you’re a prick?”

Jamie chokes on air and you’re doubled over from laughter. That question came out of nowhere

“Well,” Jamie says, trying (and failing) to speak normally, “when I met your Uncle Roy, I was very young and very fit and much, much better than him at football. He didn’t like that so much, and I thought it was fuckin funny, so I just made fun of him for it. And me dad was kind of mean to me a lot, so I s’pose it was just easier to be a prick to everyone. Pretty sure he likes me know though.” Jamie pauses. “I’m less prickish now that this one came along.” He grins at you and winks, and you’re blushing like you’re a teenager. 

Phoebe is digesting all of this, and your footsteps slow as you approach Jamie’s doorstep. Finally she says, “If we play Princesses and Dragons, will you be the princess?”

“Only if I get a sparkly crown,” Jamie replies. 

Phoebe seems satisfied by this answer so she turns to you and asks if you want to be a dragon like her or a knight. 

“Knight,” you reply, no hesitation. 

“Aw, babe, you gonna rescue me?” Jamie asks, pushing open the door for you and Phoebe. 

You playfully pat his cheek as you walk by, not missing the way his eyes wander from yours to your lips. 

“Come on!” Phoebe shouts. She’s already at the door to the backyard. “We have to hurry before Uncle Roy gets back!”

—

It turns out that there is no need to hurry. Roy texted Jamie with a simple going to be longer than fucking expected, and a sorry to ruin your date night to you. 

Not a problem! you replied. Hope everything’s alright, and let Molly know that we can keep Phoebe overnight if she needs. 

Roy responds with a simple x, which is more than Jamie got, but he doesn’t care because Phoebe’s explaining to him the difference between a crocodile and an alligator in great detail over dinner.

You’re a little worried. Jamie is too, you can tell. His forehead gained a slight crease when he read Roy’s text. Neither Roy nor Phoebe have offered any explanation as to what had come up, and you just hope everything’s all right. You’re relatively certain it has to do with Keeley, especially because she hasn’t texted either of you all day. Phoebe is (you hope) oblivious, although she’s incredibly observant, so she’s probably already pieced together more than you and Jamie have.  

It’s a little past 8pm now, and Phoebe is beginning to yawn in your lap. Jamie’s sitting next to you on the couch, one arm around your shoulders as he hums along to Tangled. Phoebe’s wearing one of your t-shirts, and it’s long enough to be a dress on her. After an especially big yawn, you stand up and carry her to one of the guest rooms, a perk of Jamie’s fucking enormous house.

“Jaim and I will be in that door right over there,” you whisper. “The night light will stay on all night, and we’ll keep on the light in the hall. If you wake up and need anything, you can yell for us. We’ll be awake watching tv for a while, and I’m a light sleeper anyway, so don’t be afraid to shout if you need something.”

Phoebe nods sleepily, and you kiss her on the forehead. You pull the blanket up to her chin as Jamie says softly, “Goodnight, kid.”

“‘Night Jamie,” Phoebe whispers back.

You and Jamie get up and slip out the door, shutting it behind you softly. You pause in the hall, back to the door. Jamie’s close to you, and both of you have concern written on your faces.

You really had a wonderful time with Phoebe today, and you don’t mind the fact that she’s spending the night. Jamie has extra toothbrushes and Phoebe thinks it’s fun to wear your shirt to bed, but this is nowhere near how you thought the day was going to go. It’s just not like Roy or Molly not to call or to be out this late. 

Strike that; it’s not like Roy or Molly to be out this late for a reason that makes you feel especially joyous.

Your brows are knit together so tight that Jamie has to physically smooth them with his thumb.

“I’m worried too, love,” he says softly.

—

You’re both wide awake in bed, listening for Phoebe (she’s snoring) and checking your respective phones (still nothing). It’s not until 10:30pm that Jamie’s phone lights up with a call from Roy. He’s out of bed and down the stairs in an instant, just in case Phoebe can hear him.  

You’re still in bed picking at your nails, when your phone dings. It’s Molly.

She’s sent a long paragraph but the gist of it is what you’re sure Roy is telling Jamie on the phone:

I had an extra long shift today, which is why Roy was supposed to watch Phoebe. When he showed up to the house, Phoebe’s dad was outside, lurking in his car. I didn’t like it and neither did Roy, so he dropped her off with you to find out why he was coming ‘round. 

You shiver. You haven’t heard a lot about Phoebe’s dad, but you know that she and Jamie have shitty fathers in common. They had been talking about it earlier that afternoon, her expressing frustration and him gently explaining that none of it was her fault.

You go back to Molly’s text.

Turns out the bastard was here to take Phoebe. He got high and decided to just grab her, I guess. He and Roy got into it, so then Keeley had to bail Roy out of jail for assault and it became this whole thing because Roy wanted to make sure that prick was never allowed to be near Phoebe. He’s been pulling strings all day, filling out restraining orders and shit. Phoebe doesn’t know any of this, and I don’t want her to, but it sounds like her dad’s going away for a long time. Roy and Keeley have been at it all day. They know a lot of the right people, between the two of them.

Three bubbles appear, then disappear. You type, You’re more than welcome to come over and spend the night, Molls.

She replies, Only if I can borrow your toothbrush. 

Despite yourself, you smile. You and Molly grew up together and got even closer after Roy was recruited for football, so you both understand that when the other offers something, they mean it. 

She says, Be over in fifteen. Love you, so you send her a heart. You hear footsteps and look up to see Jamie in the doorway. “That was Roy,” he says, face somber.

You lift your phone slightly. “Heard from Molly,” you reply. “She’ll be here in fifteen minutes. She’s spending the night.”

Jamie nods and settles heavily into bed next to you. 

He blows out a breath. “Fuckin hell.”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Poor Pheebs,” he continues. “I know how she’s gonna feel when she finds out.”

You rest your head on his shoulder. “Do you think that Molly and Roy should handle it differently?”

“Fuck no,” Jamie responds, “wish my mum had a brother like Roy to lock up my piece-of-shit dad. Still, he’s her dad, isn’t he? Doesn’t matter how much of a prick he is, she’s still gonna fucking love him.”

You’re silent for a moment. “Jamie,” you say finally, “d’you think she’ll be alright?”

Jamie turns his head to you. “‘Course she’ll be alright,” he says. “It ain’t easy, but she’s got an amazing mum, plus Roy and Keeley. I fucking made it, and I only had me mum.”

He can tell you’re still not satisfied. “Look, babe- as shitty as Phoebe’s dad is, she’ll be alright. It won’t happen overnight, but she’s a tough kid. She’s got people who fuckin love her and who want to protect her. She’ll make it through.”

You nod. You two sit in silence until there’s a light knock on the door. It’s Molly.

You wrap her in a tight hug, a million unspoken words lingering between you two. You take her to Phoebe’s room and hand her an extra pair of your clean pajamas.

Phoebe says a sleepy, “Mum?” so you sneak out the door and shut it silently.

You head back to Jamie, and now it’s your turn to flop onto the bed. It’s been a long day, and you have a feeling tomorrow is going to be even longer. Jamie pulls you onto his chest in a tight hug, and you finally fall asleep to the steady beat of his heart.

[mistyffa]

Experiencing a deep need to make someone irresponsibly fat tonight lol

Cooking is already a big love language for me, and adding that to feedism is just so perfect. I wanna get up at 6:00 AM and fry up an enormous breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits, waffles, all dripping with butter and syrup. Gotta make sure you get your nutrients in too, sooo I'll slice up some fruit and douse it in honey, blanch some spinach, put together a few slices of avocado toast, and blend up a protein shake - heavy cream instead of milk, of course. All that and a glass of orange juice should tide you over until noon. By the time you're up, I'll have a buffet's worth of food spread out on the bed around you.

After you're finished, and you've woken up from your post-breakfast food coma, we'll go out on the town so I can show you off. Stop by a few bakeries, who have our order memorized by now, maybe see how many laps you can do around the park before you need a break. Your old gait's been reduced to an awkward waddle, but I'll slow my pace just so I can watch you struggling to move your huge legs past each other with each step.

On the way home, we'd stop at a drive through or two - can't have you going hungry. And once we're finally back, you'd collapse onto the couch, face red and heart pounding. As soon as you're settled in, I'm back to the kitchen, cooking up lunch; grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, a few bags of your favorite chips, a nice creamy chicken Caesar salad, a pint of your favorite ice cream, and a 2 liter of soda.

I've gotta stay trim, so once you're finished and fading off to sleep, I sneak out for a quick run, daydreaming of what I can cook for dinner. When I get home, you're cuddled up on the couch - you take up so much more space than you used to - still half-asleep, watching TV. The soda bottle I left for you has about a quarter left. I'd snuggle up next to you and pop the bottle open. One hand on your supple chin, I tilt your head up, and use the other to pour the rest of the sugary drink down your throat. Even though you're stuffed beyond compare, you don't complain anymore, you know the deal by this point. You take whatever I put in front of you. We'd spend the next couple hours on the couch, fading in and out of sleep, my hand on your belly the whole time, tracing your stretch marks with my nails and gripping your ever-growing rolls.

Dinner time. When you open your eyes, I'm already at the stove, cooking up a storm. Pot roast in the slow cooker, a whole baguette and homemade fries in the oven, dirty rice simmering on the stove. A sheet pan of mac n cheese cools off on the side. Next to it, we've got a bottle of wine and a few neatly rolled joints. All the smells start to lull you back to sleep, and you try to adjust your position on the couch, but nothing is quite comfortable enough due to your enormous legs and gut.

After I'm done cooking and plating everything, I wake you up and slowly guide you to the bedroom. After the first 200 pounds we had to move into a house without stairs; you simply couldn't manage them any more, and the stairwell was becoming a bit of a tight squeeze. I walk you right to the side of the bed and help you up. I take off the slippers you haven't been able to reach in months and help with your shirt too, the latest difficulty to present itself because of your unending gluttony and my unrelenting enabling. I stick a joint between your lips, light it, and make my way to the kitchen to gather the food.

Finally you get a moment of rest, and for a second the thought creeps in that maybe you've taken this all a bit too far, but the smell of the first dish wipes it away in an instant. I want you moving as little as possible, so I'll have you tell me what you want a bite of and feed it to you myself, caressing your tightening belly after each bite. Halfway through the meal, you start to groan about how you can't take anymore, but I shut that down with two glasses of wine and another joint. That seems to put you back in the mood. So, after your smoke break, I start back up, bringing bigger and bigger bites to your lips each time.

When you finally finish, you wipe a bit of melted cheese off your check and lay back with a sigh of relief. I straddle your legs, my toned thighs digging into your flabby ham hocks, and run my hands up and down the side of your massive, swollen gut, pushing lightly to try and give you some relief. As you start to doze off, I notice your eyes shutting and pull a candy bar out of the nightstand. I unwrap it and push it into your mouth, smiling as your lips curl around it. Every bite you take, I push it in a bit further, careful to make sure your mouth is always full. When you take the last bit, I grip your double chin, stare right into your docile eyes, and say

"I'll see you in the morning, hon."

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled. 

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows. 

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you. 

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds. 

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long. 

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin. 

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote. 

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone. 

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first. 

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under. 

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink. 

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you. 

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world. 

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go. 

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car. 

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.” 

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance. 

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper. 

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding. 

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting. 

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right. 

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk. 

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears. 

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails. 

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come. 

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair. 

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call. 

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while. 

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio. 

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with." 

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line. 

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression. 

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl. 

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here." 

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat. 

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk. 

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks. 

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore. 

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation. 

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours. 

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen. 

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that? 

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side. 

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin. 

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket. 

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms. 

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma. 

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. 

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article. 

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite. 

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh. 

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person. 

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply. 

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do. 

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table. 

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing."  His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response. 

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?” 

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?” 

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.  

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background. 

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen. 

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering  little comfort.  Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion. 

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed. 

Until you read it. 

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you. 

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck. 

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed.  But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t. 

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket. 

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers. 

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours. 

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground. 

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve. 

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs. 

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket. 

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing. 

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

[winterweary]

GOOD MORNING guess who's emotional about Asmo

.

Wake up. Alone.

Cold compress over eyes. Tepid shower. Exfoliate, soothe, hair mask, softening shampoo, deep conditioner.

Serums one through four. Under eye gel. Facial moisturizer. Hand lotion, body lotion, heel lotion.  

Dress, blow dry hair, begin make up. Something light today. Effortless. Brightening, to hide the undereye shadows that just won’t fade these days.

A tap on Belphie’s door, and one on Levi’s, the two hardest to get up up in the morning. Then to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Fruit smoothies with lots of devildom spinach for the iron. A few dozen eggs, most set aside for Beel. Ham and Bacon and toast. Start a pot of coffee that will rotate throughout the morning. Bitter black for Lucifer. Black with a secret sugar cube for Satan. Cream for Mammon, extra sweet for Levi, green tea with honey for the twins.

Another round of wake ups, this time sticking head through door and chiming as bright a greeting as you can manage. Give them something to grumble about, get them moving, maybe even crack a smile. Satan and Lucifer already awake, if they even went to bed. Mammon unresponsive, a sullen lump on his bed, though he’s surely awake as well.

Back to the kitchen. Feed Beel plate one, try to get Belphie to finish dressing (did he fall asleep halfway through putting his sleeve on?)

Smile. Smile. Smile.

Final round. Cajole, threaten, bribe Levi from out his room, making sure he takes his seat even if he’s buried in his hoodie. Snatch the book from Satan’s hands and promise he can have it back at the breakfast table. Sing Lucifer the time and remind him he promised not to leave for work early today. Climb into bed with Mammon and squeeze him close until he feels himself enough to huff embarrassment and follow you into the hall.

Tease, flutter, flirt, giggle. Smile. Smile. Smile.

This is your job. Your duty. Lucifer leads you all, Mammon guards. Levi the unspoken entertainer, Satan the educator. Beel protects and Belphie comforts. You, who can’t do any of that, not to your standards, does this.

Keeps everyone together. Keeps everyone moving. Keeps everyone waiting.

Because you know they’ll be back. You know Solomon could never let you down. You know it’s only a matter of time until your family is whole again. In the meantime, this is how you help. You make sure your brothers are fed. Make sure they sleep, and shower, and brush their hair. Make sure they bicker, and fight and occasionally even laugh.

You make sure that when they come home at the end of the day, there is always a home waiting for them.

[dream2bu]

Creamy Italian Sausage Parmesan Soup

Ingredients

For the Soup Base:

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 pound Italian sausage (mild, spicy, or a mix)

4-6 slices bacon, cut up in 1/2 inch pieces

1 medium yellow onion, diced

3 cloves garlic, minced

1 cup carrots, sliced or diced

1 cup celery, diced

4 cups chicken broth

1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes, with juices

1 teaspoon Italian seasoning

1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional, for heat)

Salt and black pepper, to taste

For Creaminess:

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese (plus extra for garnish)

Optional Add-Ins:

1 cup baby spinach (or kale)

1 cup small pasta (like ditalini or orzo)

1 - 2 red potatoes (skin on or off)

Instructions

Step 1: Brown the Sausage

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium heat.

Add the Italian sausage, breaking it up with a spoon, and cook until browned, about 5–7 minutes.

Remove excess grease if necessary.

Step 2: Sauté the Vegetables

Sauté bacon, add the onion, carrots, and celery to the pot. Sauté for 4–5 minutes, until softened.

Stir in the garlic and cook for 1 minute, until fragrant.

Step 3: Build the Broth

Pour in the chicken broth and diced tomatoes (with their juices).

Stir in the Italian seasoning, crushed red pepper flakes (if using), and a pinch of salt and pepper.

Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 15–20 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld.

Step 4: Add Creaminess and Cheese

Stir in the heavy cream and Parmesan cheese, mixing well until the cheese is melted and the soup is creamy.

Step 5: Optional Add-ins:

If using spinach or kale, blanch the kale first to remove bitterness that kale often has, add it now and cook for an additional 2–3 minutes until wilted.

If adding pasta, cook it separately according to package instructions and stir it into the soup just before serving to prevent it from becoming soggy.

If adding red potatoes, add to onions, celery, carrots, bacon sauté to soften and soak up some of the flavor.

Step 6: Serve and Garnish

Ladle the soup into bowls.

Garnish with extra Parmesan cheese and fresh parsley or basil, if desired.

Serve with crusty bread or garlic toast for dipping.

[dailyfoodlovers]

idk i just feel like even though im talking to a lot of people no one really shows me any special attention when im funny or talks to me to tell me how much they think im cool in private. its just hard to fee like im reallly genuinely valued in these more casual relationships.

Use a nonstick pan and a silicone spatula — When scrambling eggs, we use a high-quality nonstick pan. I also love using my silicone spatula since the flexibility lets me swirl and sweep the eggs as they cook.

I only use eggs, butter, and salt — no milk or cream! I’ve never understood why people add extras like milk, cream, and even sour cream to eggs before cooking them. Milk and sour cream water scrambled eggs down and to us, the cream is just unnecessary.

If you use quality, fresh eggs and cook them low and slow (more on that below), you don’t need anything else. Just a touch of salt and a grind of black pepper. By the way, I love scrambled eggs cooked in butter, but I will often switch it up and use a fruity olive oil.

Swirl then Sweep — We prefer scrambled eggs with larger curds than small, but love them to be extra creamy. The moment the eggs hit the pan, I use our silicone spatula to rapidly swirl in small circles around the pan — we do this, without stopping, until the eggs look slightly thickened and very small curds begin to form (this achieves the creamy part). Then I change from swirling in circles to making long sweeps across the pan, making larger, creamy curds.

Don’t Forget About Carryover Cooking — Eggs are delicate and cook very quickly. Even over low heat eggs can go from liquid to overcooked in seconds. It’s important to take the pan off of the heat before your eggs have finished cooking.

Scrambled Egg Variations

My favorite way to enjoy scrambled eggs is on top of a slice of toast and topped with a few grinds of black pepper, a little extra salt, and freshly chopped chives.

You can also add extra ingredients to the scramble itself. In our dill scrambled eggs, we swirl in fresh chopped dill to the whisked eggs. If you’ve never had eggs and dill together, I highly recommend it.

For a cheesy egg scramble, add soft or shredded cheeses like goat cheese or shredded cheddar to the eggs just as they finish cooking. The heat from carryover cooking will be enough to melt the cheese into the eggs. We add feta to these scrambled egg, spinach, and feta breakfast burritos and love it.

More Easy Egg Recipes

How to Cook Hard Boiled Eggs – We show you how to cook hard boiled eggs perfectly, every time.

Simple Egg Salad Recipe – Easy egg salad recipe with a little mayonnaise, celery, fresh herbs and a spritz of lemon to brighten things up.

How to Poach an Egg – Learn three tips for making perfectly cooked poached eggs at home.

Avocado Egg Salad – This egg salad combines two of our favorite things: eggs and avocado. In addition to the avocado, we add a little mayonnaise for moisture, celery for crunch, fresh herbs and a small amount of lemon juice to brighten things up.

Easy Vegetable Frittata Recipe – The perfect frittata is soft inside with a texture similar to custard. You can pack just about anything into it. In our vegetable frittata, we add lots of colorful and tasty veggies, cheese, and herbs.

88 comments / 56 reviews

Print

Soft and Creamy Scrambled Eggs

PREP 10mins

COOK 5mins

TOTAL 15mins

Scrambled eggs should be soft, creamy and gently scrambled. A quality non-stick pan and silicone spatula are really useful. It’s important that you use low heat and don’t forget about the chance of carryover cooking. Eggs are delicate and cook very quickly. I like to take the pan off of the heat before the scramble has finished cooking. Give the eggs a few seconds in the hot pan (off the heat) and you’ll find the eggs turn out to be perfectly cooked — not dry, and not too wet.

Makes approximately 2 servings

Watch Us Make the Recipe

You Will Need

1/2 tablespoon butter

4 large eggs

1/8 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste

Directions

Adam and Joanne's Tips

Olive oil: It’s pretty common (and delicious) to cook scrambled eggs in butter, but olive oil works nicely, too. If you want to give it a try, stick to lighter, fruiter olive oils.

Nutrition facts: The nutrition facts provided below are estimates. We have used the USDA database to calculate approximate values.

If you make this recipe, snap a photo and hashtag it #inspiredtaste — We love to see your creations on Instagram and Facebook! Find us: @inspiredtaste

Nutrition Per Serving: Calories 168 / Protein 13 g / Carbohydrate 1 g / Dietary Fiber 0 g / Total Sugars 0 g / Total Fat 12 g / Saturated Fat 5 g / Cholesterol 380 mg

AUTHOR: Adam and Joanne Gallagher

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[toulousewayne]

Batfamily Shenanigans:Head-canons Pt: 2

Dick and Tim have the most inside jokes,Jason ignores them and Damian is but jealous. But the two bonded a lot before the arrival/return of the other two.

Jason takes his little brothers to Diner’s at 2 am. Alfred would rather he do it during regular hours,but then he remembers they’re nighttime activities and is just happy he’s not trying to shoot them.

Talia before having Damian loved seeing a young Dick Grayson as Robin.He was so full of cheer and it warmed Talia’s heart, she hoped to have a son as bright as him. (She did he’s just a little shy)

Cass doesn’t have her drivers license and prefers to be passenger princess.

Duke has naturally curly hair but cuts most of the time for easier management.

Jason can mimic voices the best. He can do a pretty decent Bruce Wayne impression and it has made Bruce ask his children multiple times if he sounds like that. Alfred gets a chuckle out of it too.

The Robins most definitely play pricks on JL members who annoy their Dad, that’s there job. Hal goes to pay his bills and all his passwords have been changed, Oliver is getting dressed for a party and all his clothes are pink.

Bruce is a big baby when he’s sick. He cannot find for hisself and his family take turns caring for him. Jason makes him soup, Tim gives him medicine, Damian and Duke make him rest, The girls block him from working on cases files and Alfred makes sure he has plenty of fluids. And if that fails they call in the big guns. Diana.

Speaking of Wonder Woman, she visits the Manor every Sunday and her and Damian feed and pet his animals.

Tim,Jason and Dick all have “R” tattoos. Dick promised Damian he could get on when he turns 18, and they let Damian sketch it too.

Dick’s is on his right hip, Jason’s is on his left wrist, and Tim’s is on his right ankle.

Stephanie and Selina are tied for the most ear piercings.

Jason is the only former Robin who can drive stick currently. Dick hasn’t done it in years but probably could after a few lessons, Tim never learned, Damian can but prefers not to. Jason is currently teaching Duke and Steph and had regretted it ever since.

Alfred enjoys making lunches for everyone still. Some days he gets to make everyone lunch. He first makes Damian(PB&J with crust cut off, and cut into triangles) and Duke’s(Ham and cheese toasted sandwich with pickles slices) school lunches.

Bruce usually leaves for the office before breakfast so when Tim eventually comes downstairs Alfred will have his breakfast Togo and both their lunches. (Usually for B it’s a BLT with turkey bacon and cheese. And Tim’s is Tuna and Swiss on whole grain bread.)

Dick on Tuesdays and Friday’s, sometimes Sundays spends the night the prior at the Manor. He’s usually the only home so Alfred can make whatever he wants for lunch. He’s top two favorite lunches are Janija one of the only dishes Alfred can make that tastes similar to how Dick’s Mom prepared it. And Bangers and Mash. When he first arrived he say Alfred eating this and wanted to try it. He always requests this dish,but only if he can eat it with Alfred.

Jason likes either Club subs or a simple pasta with fresh spinach and a cream sauce.

Depending on the day Alfred will drop off lunch to the Clocktower for Barbara and the girls. Sometimes the other birds are in town and he always knows when to make extra. Most of the times me it’s wrapped sandwiches a mix of cold cuts and vegetarian options. Barbara always get turkey with cheddar, Steph gets chicken salad on a croissant bread and Cass gets ham and cheese pinwheels.

He even makes weekly meals and drops them off for the Titans and Young Justice. Seeing as most of them cannot cook. He packs extra knowing their speedsters on each time. Looking at you Wally and Bart. They’re all just grateful they don’t have to eat Pizza or Big Belly Burger for a few nights. Dick enjoys when Alfred visits and so does Kory. Tim and his friends are over the moon to have Alfred visit them too, and Bart even makes request for his next meal.

The league even gets random lunch. They return from training and find fresh out meals at the sits. Batman just shrugs but Superman and Wonder Woman make him call Alfred so he can be thanked.

Sunday’s are days that’s it mandatory for everyone to come for dinner. Once a Month several members are the League are expected to come for dinner and everyone better be on their best behavior.No wants an angry butler, so everyone always attends.

Jason and Duke are the only people allowed to help with preparing food, Dick isn’t allowed because he sampled everything to the point he’s eaten half of the dish. Tim and Damian are assigned to setting the table. And Bruce must stay either in the living room or dinning room if Alfred even hears the grandfather clock tick he’s going to skin a bat.

Cass enjoys getting ingredients from the fridge and pantry for them. And Stephanie is on Bruce Watch, if he moves she sprays him with water like a misbehaving kitten.

Most the the time Barbara is greeting the guests and depending on is Stephanie is needed to help bring the food out Barbara will have Bruce greet everyone with her. She especially makes him greet Green Arrow and Green Lantern.

Sometimes Alfred asks other to bring dishes for a potluck.Clark will usually bring Jon,Lois and Conner with him and he’ll bring pies. Diana always bring Donna. Usually they bring wines and vegetables.Ollie and Dinah usually are late but the bring brownies and cobbler, Roy and Lian bring meatballs, Hal brings beer and he’s makes a mean Mac and cheese on his smoker, Barry and Iris bring sodas, Arthur provides fresh fish, and J’onn brings a tasty and beautiful charcuterie board.

It’s a blast and all the kids have fun too with their friends and Alfred swears he sees Bruce double over laughing at Hal and Barry fighting for the last brownie.

All in all the butler that would take on the entire League of Doom himself enjoys making food for his family and spending with them too.

[kalsiumi]

Today I ate 707 kcalories. For breakfast I had black coffee, raspberry peach soup and blueberry soup. For lunch I had spinach, shrimp and egg with toast. Again I had a terrible headache while grocery shopping. I ended up buying low calorie white chocolate liquorice ice cream. I ate the whole 320 cal pint when I got home. No regret. For the last meal of the day I ate a giant garlic pickle, cucumber, tomato and grapes. I feel full and satisfied. I can't believe I ate all this and didn't pass my limit.

Tomorrow my best friend will come and stay with me for the rest of the week. I know they have painful history with Ana and I will do anything to hide my ed behaviour from them. They are the last person I want to hurt. Luckily their diet is light and plant based so I don't have to panic. No permanent damage will be done. And luckily it's autumn so I can cook them soups and root vegetables. And we are going to walk and hike a lot. I love them more than Ana. I will still count the calories, post here and weight myself in secret. Next Monday I can continue my low calorie life in peace

I hope you are safe

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

what do you think the chains favorite breakfast foods are (if they eat breakfast)

I WAS HALFWAY THROUGH ANSWERING THIS AND MY PHONE DIED AND DELETED EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN, DEATH AND SORROW AND DESPAIR.

Okay I'm good now.

ANYWAYS, I split you ask into two sections: first, their favorite food ever if they can get their hands on it, the second what they like to eat on the road. And then a final unhinged rant at the bottom about the one thing about teenage boys/young men and their food that I'll never understand: Bacon.

Legend--I have a feeling that he likes sweets. Specifically, waffles with whipped cream and berries. They're a little burnt, but Ravio made them for him, so he'll pretend he doesn't notice (and grows to like them better that way). On the road, he'll go for coffee/tea (he's not picky) if one of the others make it, or nothing at all.

Hyrule--does he have a favorite breakfast food? Food isn't very stable where he comes from--Legend and Wild would spoil him so much in regard of expanding his palate. But I imagine that something like a fried mixture of beef/sausage, vegetables, and a starch (perhaps an even poorer version of an already poor person food Shepherd's Pie, perhaps? it could be a breakfast food) would be a sort of filling, tasty, and easy to procure/make/preserve food that he'd like. On that note, I would say something simple, easy to get and preserve, and hardy would be his go to breakfast on the road--maybe meat jerky.

Wild--Also a sweets person. Fruit cake, cinnamon rolls, frosted cupcakes, basically all the little delicacies he could get at a dumb party 100 years ago, he ain't picky, it's for breakfast and it's fueling a day long sugar high. On the road he, unlike the other Links, can be pretty creative with his breakfasts, and he likes his spice as well. So, I think he'd like Meaty rice balls.

Four--direct this question to someone else please. He has four voices in his head fighting to answer right now, and none of them agree. I surely dont know if he doesn't.

Time--Pancakes and farm-fresh scrambled eggs and toast with jam. Malon makes it for him. What can I say. On the road he is a habitual coffee drinker, he wouldn't be functioning in the mornings without it. But he'll also take a poached egg if he has the time (heh).

Warrior--unlike Time who is a habitual coffee drinker, he is a coffee connoisseur. He likes the breakfasts they serve at the castle--a lot of meats and fruits, expensive, and on top of it all, well plated. Not to say that he can't eat simply--he was in a war, mind you--just that he prefers not to. On the road, he strikes me as the kind that would drink those tasteless quick oats (y'know you just add water, shake and go?) and also be very vocal about much time (heh) it's saving him (being none). I don't know what the Hyrule equivalent of those are.

Twilight--our favorite country boy. I think he likes a true southern breakfast. Ham and pan-fried potatoes and eggs over-easy, with a side of cheesy grits and sausage biscuits and gravy like Uli used to make for him (I HC this man has a black hole of a stomach, out of all the Links). On the road he'll inhale a boiled egg or two (salted and peppered if he's feeling fancy) that Wild made for him. I also head canon that Twilight likes tea with an intensity. And not only sweet tea, but like, ALL of the teas. He gets obsessive. I literally have in my detail/subplot tracking documents for BDOR the following entry underneath chapter 8--Tea: "Twilight’s cure to Wild’s voice is tea. His cure to life’s woes is tea."

Wind--whatever his grandma is making, probably with seafood involved. I've had a crab-spinach-egg casserole for breakfast before, it was good, so I'll give him that. On the road, I can see him packing a lot of bread and some meat (dried fish if he can get it).

Sky--This guy honestly has me stumped. Do those on Skyloft eat Loftwing eggs, or are they considered taboo? They have a lot of pumpkins around--do they incorporate them into their meals?@needfantasticstories you know a lot of Skyward Sword lore, bequeath me your wisdom. Anyways on the road he's a meat and bread person like Wind. Practical.

Now, for my rant about young men and their food quirks:

Bacon. Bacon, as I have witnessed, drives the most reasonable of men insane.

I just a few things to say about this. I have younger brothers, and I born witness to many male sleepover parties. I--as the resident nasty fe-male XD--have been (forced) to cook for them in the mornings. Set a pile of bacon in front of them (or really any meat, but I have found that bacon has the strongest affect) and they turn into WOLVES. They start to crowd around and stare as soon as they begin to smell it (which hey, give me space in the kitchen, please!), snatch it up before the grease even cools, and then retreat into their separate corners of the living room/kitchen and scarf it down, all while avoiding eye contact and projecting just how much they don't care about the bacon they're eating (perhaps so one of the others don't take notice and try to steal it). There's an odd little ritual/rules to the thing, too: for example, it's frowned upon to take more than three or four pieces at a time, there has to be enough for everyone, obviously; but if you finish a second and third serving before some poor sod stumbles in and gets himself a piece--why that is acceptable, even encouraged. But at all times, you could feel them watching each other, judging whether each person had taken acceptable amounts. 6 at once, I have determined, is veritably considered too much, as I have watched an entire group of mid-late teenage boys chase another through the house and outside for this crime of greed. Another thing was the presence of literally any other edible food. If there was anything else--eggs, fruit, even something like a few slices of unbuttered toast or coffee or juice sitting out, this reaction was largely tempered--even if none of the boys took the other foods, they would take a meager one or two pieces of bacon and be satisfied, perhaps reassured that other food was present and their hope of a filling breakfast was not in vain. Most, at that point they would restrain themselves from eating anything (other than their bacon tax) and wait so that everyone could eat together. But the mad scramble that occurs when there is bacon and only bacon in the kitchen (even if other things are cooking, nearly done, and visible to them) is otherworldly.

I never saw it with anything else, not eggs, not fruit, not even sausage or any other breakfast food. And it must be noted that I was exempt from their little ritual of judgement--perhaps as the only woman, or perhaps as the cook, I was allowed to take as much bacon as I liked from the pile, once the initial wave had attacked and retreated with their bounty (and the strips of bacon had cooled enough that mortal human hands such as my own could pick them up). And while they behaved like beasts, I was always very politely thanked for making breakfast once it was over and the frenzy had abated.

Anyways, your ask got me thinking about Malon making a pile of bacon for the boys, activating the beforehand undiscovered "PANIC! BACON!" mode in their brains, and just being utterly confused as they turn into animals. Just the boys descend, and then a few shouts of "Thanks, Malon!" drift in on the wind as they scatter like racoons with treasure, leaving an empty plate spinning behind them.