#if anything storebought tastes better

[gwensy]

can i be emotionally vulnerable crumbl cookies are not fucking good

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Let the old man listen to mach//ine girl

Specifically this one

[teruthecreator]

this is ur reminder to save ur veggie/meat scraps so u can make a delicious broth for these cold winter months <3 

[gothhabiba]

I wish I could ask a question of someone who has a cooking blog. A few months ago, I had Turkish style kahvalti at a Lebanese restaurant and I think it's one of the top 10 meals I've had. One of the things that was served was a small bowl of very coarsely ground spice mix used as a dip, listed as za'atar on the menu (that was not red in color). It was so good I want to eat it with everything all the time. I've been unable to find anything similar since! I've tried other za'atar mixes in my search, and in comparison they taste almost dusty, too finely ground, or somehow don't seem quite as fragrant, or just have a different flavor profile, and I can't quite put my finger on why exactly. I want to try to recreate it, but I'm not sure where to start - I'm assuming these recipes are like the ones from my own culture, where your grandma tells you to just add as much of each ingredient as feels right, and between that and regional variations... I wish I knew of a cooking blog where I could ask for tips on where to start! It seems like quite an undertaking, but I'd so welcome having an idea of where to look or just a starting off point... It's too bad I don't know of any good cooking blogs with recipes that consistently lead to delicious food, though.

Someone with a cooking blog might say that za'atar may refer either to a group of herbs (namely, any of several species of wild thyme), a condiment made by grinding any of said fresh herbs with toasted sesame, salt, and maybe sumac, or a spice blend made with dried herbs and ground spices. The spice blend known as za'atar does vary significantly based on region.

If the za'atar mixes you tried were storebought, they perhaps taste 'dusty' or not fragrant because they were ground a while ago--spices lose fragrance more quickly once they're ground. If the za'atar you tried was actually a herb dip and not a spice blend (were the herbs dried or fresh? was the mixture wet?), then that could also explain why you're experiencing a mixture of dried herbs and spices as "dusty" in comparison. Either way, I'd recommend trying to make something yourself. You'll have better luck figuring out how to recreate what you ate if you have a good palette, but even if you're not confident that you could immediately identify e.g. caraway in a spice blend, you can narrow down your search a little bit:

If the za'atar you had wasn't red, you'll want to stay away from recipes (mostly Lebanese ones) that call for a lot of sumac.

Try to look specifically for recipes from people who identify themselves as Turkish or of Turkish descent.

A search for za'atar specifically as part of a kahvalti led me to this recipe for kahvalti; the same blog contains this recipe for za'atar. It involves massaging olive oil into dried herbs and ground spices, so blends not including this step may have caused them to seem "dusty" to you?

I recommend using whole spices and briefly toasting them before grinding them--this will improve their fragrance a lot.

I'm not sure where you live or if this restaurant would be likely to be importing their herbs, but if you don't have access to Turkish wild thyme, a blend of thyme, majoram, and oregano might be worth experimenting with (since several of these wild thyme varieties are really closely related to majoram and oregano).

I don't know why, but the more specific and less 'Westernized' or generic you want a recipe to be, the more likely you are to find it on YouTube rather than a written blog. Search "وصفة الزعتر التركي" on YouTube and watch what they do!

It's too bad I don't know anyone with a cooking blog, though. I guess you'll just have to keep looking around at random.

[sludge-wizard]

I’ve noticed lately there’s an uptick in people who write characters as being poor/growing up poor(particularly Mario and Luigi), and I love to see it because I grew up poor myself. I wanted to compile a bunch of memories I have of growing up poor as a potential reference to anybody who wants it, because i know not everybody here was broke but wants to write characters as broke and it can be hard to find resources that AREN’T just guesses at what things might’ve been like. do note my own experiences aren’t universal, but they’re what I’m familiar with since it was my own childhood.

Definitely not a totally complete list and I'll add more as I think of them, and if people want to ask me questions for any clarification, go ahead!

-Brushing our teeth by taking a mouthful of watered down mouthwash and sticking the toothbrush in your mouth and brushing with your mouth full so we didnt need to buy toothpaste

-often times breakfast was just a glass of milk because it was relatively cheap

-fancy family breakfasts were sundays only and usually simple french crepes because they’re only eggs milk and flour, and we’d have them with butter+sugar or lemon+sugar

-my mom was a waitress at nights and those days she’d send home leftovers from her job as dinner since they didnt want to waste at the restaurant she worked at

-Birthdays i always shared with my older sister and parties were every other year with a hard limit on 5 invites each. they were either at the small family owned movie theatre or the bowling alley.

-I never had a playdate at my own house. I never understood at the time, but i know now it was because our house was really run down and we didn’t have extra snacks or anything to entertain guests really

-once a month our mom would have enough change scrounged up to send me and my siblings (5 of us total) to the corner store 2 blocks down for slurpees. Highlight of the month.

-we’d have quesadillas a lot (tortillas with cheese salsa and chicken, not really authentic) because one grocery store chicken could feed everybody for 2 days straight this way

-fried rice or hash browns with bacon and onions were a common meal since onions, potatoes, rice and bulk frozen bacon was cheap at the time

-every family pet we ever had were rescues we got for free with the exception of my 2 current cats which my mom bought for $75 off of kijiji 14 years ago. I still have the kitties!

-we often had those massive flatpacks of assorted soda flavours because it was cheaper than juice or bottled water but we were limited to 2 cans a week

-we shared the bathwater up until we were in highschool, and even then we wouldn’t drain the tub if somebody else needed a bath and they could re-use the water.

-the local church would send a lot of donations our way. the most prominent were bags upon bags of day old bakery bread they couldnt sell.

-a lot of times dinner were whole frozen fish we could get for cheap since they were too small to cut and sell as fillets.

-hot dogs were a VERY common meal because they were cheap in bulk frozen packs

-the fanciest appliance in the whole house was a massive, clunky kitchen maid my mom got at her wedding.

-we always made our own fresh pesto since it was much cheaper than storebought pastes. it also tastes WAY better imo

-every christmas the local church would request gifts of a certain variety, under the premise of secret santas. they’d ask for “gift for -gender- child, -age-, -interest- and then send the gifts to the appropriate family. We got a LOT of gift cards to places like indigo or EB games/Gamestop for this reason

-the year my older brother and I got nintendo DSlites for christmas was because we were donated money. we each got 1 DS game each, and took turns with them. all the DS games we got after that were second hand or donated.

-I had about 15 random Littlest Pet Shops and no houses/playsets for them because again, donations. the one year I finally got one was during a white elephant at the local church, where I got the messenger pigeon and post office.

[bumblebeerror]

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about cleaning, it’s that different shit has different uses, and mixing everything together at BEST just makes them react and gives you a completely useless product - and at worst, you forget the rug you’re carpet cleaning with disinfectant bleach was peed on and now you need to open every window.

SO! Here is my handy-dandy guide to how to use cleaning supplies!

So first off: branded, labeled, storebought cleaners should ONLY be used as intended on the packaging, and should be used SEPERATELY from other storebought cleaners. Tracking down every last ingredient is annoying and stupid, it’s better to just use, wipe, rinse, and then use the other thing.

However! If you are a cheap motherfucker like me, here is my list of vital cleaning agents you need on hand:

Isopropyl alcohol - disinfectant primarily. You can get a bottle of 90% and dilute it by up to 1:3 with water. Also effective as window cleaner, and good for getting smells out of fabric.

Hydrogen peroxide - this is what would medically be called an astringent, but it’s not used for medical purposes very often anymore because it’s an acid that is very good at breaking down organic matter like skin cells, and doesn’t discriminate. It’s typically sold at 3% concentrations and doesn’t need diluting; use on mold, especially in houseplants or in your bathroom. It’s also better for cleaning your ears than qtips.

Baking soda - most people mix it with vinegar, but that kind of fizzing action is only useful in areas that need grime loosened that can’t be reached manually. It’s most effective when used as a scrubbing agent, or when used to soak up liquid. Also a decent all-around deodorizer. Dont mix with water unless adding a a Tbs or two to mop water.

White vinegar - my bread and butter, baby. This shit is great for a lot of things, but most useful is that it neutralizes the smell of cat pee. It’s also good for combating smells in general, and makes a decent fabric softener because it washes away residue left by laundry detergent. Dilute to 1 part vinegar, 3-4 parts water.

Bleach - Old faithful. A disinfectant safe for use on pretty much every surface when diluted to 1:9 with water. Let me repeat that: For use on surfaces as a disinfectant, especially ones that will be touched often, DILUTE BLEACH by 1 part bleach to NINE PARTS WATER. I promise you, you don’t need more. Don’t add anything to bleach. It is its own little magical guy, let it shine.

Soap, ideally some form of detergent - most of these other guys are for disinfecting or odor control, this guy, Hydrogen Peroxide, and baking soda are your main Elbow Grease guys. Soap is made to break down oil especially, but it’s a solvent for most things if you scrub hard enough. You can enhance the scrubby-ness of it by adding banking soda, but bleach or vinegar will denature the lipids that make soap a good solvent.

Secondarily, these things also help:

Lemon juice - Smells nice, has some antibacterial properties, and the scent lingers nicely. Mix with vinegar or alcohol only.

Mint / Spearmint/Peppermint oil - bug repellent. A lot of bugs taste with their feet, and strong smells can ward them off. Doesn’t particularly matter if the oil is food safe, since it’s to keep bugs away. Can be mixed safely with soap or alcohol, but keep kids and pets out of small unventilated spaces while you’re spraying. Dilute about 20 drops of oil in a spray bottle filled with water, add about the same amount of alcohol or soap, shake to mix. Spray around doors, windows, and corners.

I’m gonna be so real, you can do a lot with these here, without ever mixing them more than I’ve described. Go forth and don’t cough up blood trying to clean.

hey remember how awhile back i mentioned that tiktok has a whole trend where people mix cleaning supplies well i redownloaded tiktok so im finally able to show you what i mean

[castle-dominion]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers ♡

1- when I say good morning to someone (if we exchange more than just "good morning" but also "how are you") & they say they are doing well. It honestly makes my day better to know that someone else is enjoying their day, not struggling through it.

2- Ice cream. It's so good. I know fancy ice cream is supposed to have a lower overrun but I love fluffy storebought ice cream too.

3- consuming media. I love getting into new content in a feral way, I hyperfixate & it gets me so excited. The simplest thing, like a one-second look or dropping a pen can make me froth at the mouth. It is a little embarrassing but it makes me happy

4- People. I am happy when I go to school & people greet me by name, when I greet everyone in my class by name, when my uncle visits us for dinner once a week, when I visit my dad & he gives me a big hug, when someone shows me something just because they thought of me, when a bus driver whose name I don't know stops their exit because a person I've never seen is running to catch it, when a couple I've never met gets married, when someone offers me a ride home, when my old roommate had daily skype calls with her mom back in india, when someone uses my name in conversation, when I'm just sitting somewhere & I overhear two people in conversation, when a pretty person walks by, when a not-my-taste person is in a good relationship, when someone wrote a nostalgia song 10 years ago, an emo song 20 years ago, 50, 100, 500 years ago & I still hear it today. When a fossil is discovered of a human with a healed femur.

5- rocks. I love rocks. I love mountain climbing, I love dirt, I love gravel, I love clay, I recently learned about how fine clay is, I love soil, I love mud, I love limestone, I love minerals, I love tektites, I love silicon dioxide, I love other silicates, I love glass, I love metamorphic rocks, I love lab grown minerals, I love "crystals" that are not minerals, I love rocks that are not minerals because they have So Many minerals in them with No Crystal Structure so it is technically not a mineral, I love stuff that could have been a mineral but then it didn't become one or it got altered like obsidian & glass, I love sand, I love asbestos even, I love geologists & spiritualists & I like finding the commonalities between them, I love licking rocks to see if they are bones & see the prettiness underneath, I love soapstone carving (apparently it is quite the hobby in Métis communities), I love metals which are technically minerals, I love shiny shiney how do you spell that shiny things, I love rocks & minerals

Now those chain mail ask things are great & a staple of tumblr, but I find them a little bit anxiety-inducing so I am going to forgo the second half of this ask & say: you, you reading this, the one who actually made it to the end of the post, think of five things that make YOU happy. Don't need to write it or anything, just think.

[inkskinned]

When the honey showed up, we all just took it inside. That was one of the things about it - it was always a little warm, always in the same simple jar and the nice plaid bow. Handmade-like. Most of us put it in our pantries or in the back of our cabinets, some put it in the fridge. we just thought to ourselves: gee, what a wonderful present.

I don’t know how long it took before we all had one. For a while, the most that would happen was two-minute feel-good op ed pieces in local newspapers. People would run little letters to the editor to find out the “culprit”. Sometimes there were faux-serious “investigations” when that parent freaked out about the possibility of drugs in honey. Most of the time, it ended quickly. After all, it was a nice gift from a neighbor, and it was yours. that was another thing. A house could be 122 people, and we’d all find our own jar on the doorstep, one at a time. we would know when it was ours and when it wasn’t, no matter how alike they looked. nobody ate it, at first. It was yours, and you wouldn’t eat it, and you couldn’t eat another person’s. it just wasn’t done. and the thing is - in that imaginary house, of 122 people? we’d all buy other honey. it was both there and took up space - but none of us thought of it as actually existing. we’d put down our storebought honey right next to it and think - why did i buy another? i’ve wanted to try this one for a while. and then the thought would simply be out of our head, because this is our third bag of baby carrots we have bought to let spoil again.

it was that one person who mentioned it on youtube. actually i think it was a vimeo “urban legends” series. some person with 6 followers who deleted like instantly. but then 6 people said something similar: everyone they knew had this one specific honey story. and then 12. and then all of a sudden we all woke up to “#honeyonthedoorstep” globally trending. we all posted our pictures of our honey and called each other liars and got into discourse fights with vegans and people without a sweet tooth. In 24 hours, it was running the media. 9-at-night serious news anchors leaned over to each other and said “now john, did you hear about this?” and despite their disbelief, they’d admit: i got the honey too. I think somewhere in march. maybe around the 5th. but i never ate it or thought anything of it. i just thought - what a nice gift. 

By the end of the week, there were YouTube challenges and instagram memes and a netflix miniseries in the works. Lots of people tried to eat their honey, and most who “succeeded” were deemed a hoax - but truth be told? it’s not good tv to watch someone pick up honey and say “actually it’s not ready” or something similar and just decide to go do something else. i tried once, winedrunk and thinking i could be famous because it’s just honey. and i remember thinking that exact thing - it’s not ready. i realized i needed to go do dishes, this was stupid and kind of cringey. 

and people freaked out, of course. outside of the jokes were parents who were asking if their children would get a jar one day, if this was a one-time thing. there were so many conspiracy theories the government finally had to say something (not that any of us were actually listening), there were massive hunts to find “the team of honey dispatchers”, there were plenty of false confessions, there were rallies to destroy the things. i don’t know if anyone actually did, because in the end? it was just a jar of honey, and it was yours, and it would be a shame to throw it at the floor just because the internet told you so. I moved three times that year - grad school, job, other better job. i always took mine with me. it wasn’t a real choice, it was just... like taking a plate that belonged to your grandmother, or carrying a song stuck in your head. it was just something that was going to come with, but it bore no special attention. and then back into the pantry it went.

two weeks later? we all just... moved on from talking about honey. it was in some memes, it was in BuzzFeed’s “top 5 weirdest stories (that are actually true)”, it was going to be the central plot of books and horror movies. but it wasn’t interesting, not really, anymore. it was like saying “all people need food”. it was just true, and not really changing. every consecutive conspiracy video got less likes, and by the end of the year, it was old enough to be a staple in bad stand-up comedy and in coming-of-age children’s shows.

nobody believed the first ones who ate it. the most traction that those posts got were from friends and family who barely remembered the whole fad. we all just figured it was a weird annual resurgence kind of thing. 

but then people were definitely, absolutely, 100% eating their honey. i think i heard about one of my coworkers first. i didn’t know her; she was in another department. she told everyone it was very similar to “normal” honey. just a little tarter than she’d expected.

twitter was in an uproar. the honey was sweet to some. spicy to others. horrible, bitter, like a thousand stingers. it was perfect, it tasted like summer. most people said: it’s just honey, and absolutely regular.

those of us who weren’t ready were biting our fingernails for a while, going to our pantries, wondering - what the fuck do i mean it’s not ready? but it wasn’t ready.  

like i said, it’s warm, always. But you just... know. one day you realize you really want honey on toast. or honey on tea, honey on a banana, just... honey. i remember opening it, but it didn’t feel like any more interesting than going to the cabinet for honey ever feels. i pour mine, usually, skipping a spoon because i’m usually too lazy. i was already in the middle of my meal before i realized - this is the honey. it’s not just a normal breakfast, it’s the breakfast, holy shit. 

mine is just, you know. honey. it has a little hint of spice and sweet to it, which i actually quite like. it reminds me of this red pepper jelly my family used to get, and it makes me happy. but in the end? it’s honey. i don’t feel like i’m connected to a seventh realm. it’s good on oatmeal and bad in coffee no matter what some of you will tell me.

it’s just, you know. once you get your jar, and it’s ready, you have a little honey roughly every 24ish hours. it’s nothing absurd. it’s just honey, i mean - it’s like saying “you’re alive, so at some point, you should probably eat.” Most of us, it hasn’t really changed our schedules. it doesn’t seem to ever run out, which is good, because we’re always forgetting to check to see if we need more before we go shopping. for most of us? you don’t die if you miss a few days, even a few weeks, you don’t go crazy trying to get it back. sure, there’s weirdass cultists who worship it, but most of us just seem to think - it’s nice to have, and it’s okay to want this thing.

now, there’s some stuff out there, you know, about what it all “means”. and honestly, we all notice things. i’m not the only one who has seen that good people tend to think their honey tastes good and eat it normally. bad people tend to eat their honey frequently but hate every second of the eating. there are plenty who will snort and say “i’m a good person and i think it tastes like dirt” and plenty who will say “i’m a shit person and i think it tastes like the summer i finally kissed her”. and i don’t know, not the way i knew if it was ready, but it feels like a simple thing amidst all the messy. and it’s probably helpful that i think mine is, like most people’s, just a nice in-the-middle. i mean, the other day i heard it asked like a star sign - what’s your honey like?

there’s this one thing, though, you know. i choose to believe, because it might make me secretly happy. it’s like believing in nessie. i know realistically it’s probably just hearsay. but there’s this underground rumbling that, over time, the honey changes. just a little, every day, unnoticeable to most of us who go to work and do our best by others but still sometimes steal toilet paper. there’s these stories of people who made it rich by selling out their friends, who stole patents, who argue that others should charge for insulin - that they liked the honey, at first, but over time, it’s gone rotten. and similarly, every so often, there’s these stories of people who were normal “regular” honey people, who helped someone out of the bottom. who chose to be just a little bit better than they were the day before. who had moments of decisive kindness that changed them. they all say the same thing: since then, the honey has been amazing, and they work to keep it that way. 

my grandmother and my mother were never surprised. they have this saying about bees and their secrets. my mother said to me: we have always had these tiny angels. they’re just giving us each a taste of the world we are making.

my grandmother later tells me, while watering the flowers, almost the exact same thing: they will haunt us when they go, because they keep books in their combs. and they see us giants, and no matter who we lie to? the world of bees will know.

[castillon02]

Tracy/Eve Ficlet

After she receives the news, a steady parade of determinedly un-shifty-looking visitors come by their flat---her flat, now---with offerings of food in pre-sealed containers: deli platters, bagged salads, set-and-forget roasts with vegetables, frozen cartons of curry. Like MI6 couldn’t make up a poisoned bag of salad if they wanted. But it’s a decent gesture. 

Tracy picks at the deli crackers. She calls the office---she works with a suicide prevention charity---and tells them that she won’t be in due to a death in the family. She curls up on the sofa because the bed has too many memories in it. She crochets a series of hand towels; crochet hooks aren’t sharp enough to be tempting and there’s nothing else for her to do. James’s job is handling the funeral. Papa probably knew what happened before she did and there’s no one else she’d need to tell.

She makes woolly squares and curses at every mistake because it’s better than cursing at the fact that James is---.

Eve Moneypenny, when she comes, says, “I brought ingredients. Let me cook this fresh for you,” and holds up a reusable Sainsbury’s bag. She’s wearing a blue dress and a face full of makeup that doesn’t quite hide the bags under her eyes. 

Tracy surprises herself by letting her in and following her to the kitchen, where she sits at the table and watches someone else use James’s knives, James’s cutting board, James’s stove. 

Eve puts wide, flat noodles on to boil and fills the air with the tang of chopped green onions and the sound of her talking. “This is a recipe my babysitter taught me when I was just little---I was so proud to be able to make dinner! I think Auntie Ye was just happy to be able to sit down for a few moments after being dragged to and from the park---you know how energetic kids are. Oh, you don’t have the cilantro-tastes-like-soap gene, do you?” 

Tracy shakes her head. Felix did---she and James had always teased him about it. 

Eve chops the cilantro, and then she pulls two jars of chili oil from the Sainsbury’s bag and slides them across the kitchen table to her: one has a storebought label, while the other is clearly homemade. “Mine tastes better,” she says cheerfully, “but I’ll understand if you want the version that was officially quality-tested.” 

Tracy taps the jar of homemade oil. Her manicured nails clink against the metal top. “This one,” she says. 

Eve smiles. “Good choice!” She opens the jar. 

Chili and garlic fumes waft from the table to Tracy’s nostrils. Tracy inhales deep breaths of it, letting the spice into her lungs, and abruptly feels more awake than she has since that first visit from M. “Christ, that’s potent,” she says. She dips her finger around the rim and licks it; her eyes and nostrils water. “That’s---that’s really good.” 

If she dabs at her face with a tissue for longer than might be warranted from the spice, Eve, busy draining the noodles into a colander and mixing them with the herbs and oil once they’re back in the pot, does her the courtesy of not commenting.    

The plate of noodles, sharp with herbs, steaming hot and slick with the chili oil, is unlike anything James had ever cooked for her. Tracy’s stomach growls. She eats two helpings. Then she puts her hand on Eve’s and says, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Moneypenny.” 

 Eve’s eyes widen. “Me?” she asks. “But---” 

“He trusted you,” Tracy says. “More than almost anyone. And you’re here looking out for me, like he would have wanted---maybe like he asked you to, in case something happened to him.” 

Eve tilts her head, clearly allowing herself to be caught out.

“But you were his friend,” Tracy says, straightening her spine, pursuing her point. “His best friend, in some ways. Who’s looking after you?”   

Eve makes a shrugging motion. “It’s fine. Really,” she says flatly.  

Tracy shakes her head. “It’s not. You’re grieving too. Please, let me be the one who brings you dinner tomorrow.” 

Eve raises her eyebrows. “He told me you can’t cook,” she says. 

Tracy raises her chin in the air. “I’m Italian,” she says. “You brought me noodles; I’ll bring you pasta. Deal?”  

The next day she makes pesto. A few days after that, Eve returns and makes her a stir fry with a black bean sauce. Tracy shows her a proper marinara. After that she has to call her father for ideas, which surprises and relieves him all at once.  

Tracy and Eve grieve and rebuild themselves, supporting each other one meal at a time. 

[gyllenhaalstories]

imagine taking rapper jake home to meet your parents.

i’m so sorry for the delay, anon! <3 buckle up, it got long and i’m emo!!!!! lil jakey jakes meeting your parents was not something i thought i’d cry about right now but here i am. i listened to nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex if you want to vibe with me!

<3

jake swore he was about to shit his pants when you reminded him of the dinner with your parents.

he ran all over his house, searching for nothing and everything at oncel. one second it was his tie, the next his phone and after that his keys. he was just so terrified. he wanted to leave a good impression.

he dressed up like he was going to the oscars. he put on a suit, a new one he got tailored to his body just for the occasion. he covered all of his tattoos, with those long sleeves. he hid his chain under the color of the shirt you buttoned lovingly. he went to the barbershop too, he got a fresh cut and his beard neat. he looked like a movie star and even if this was not the man with whom you fell in love, you still loved this new persona.

“you’re so stressed that i’m stressed” you’d scream at him while he paced around the bedroom as you put on a simple outfit, some jeans and a button up shirt too. dresses felt too formal. it was your parents, not the pope. “we’re not going. i’m calling them and i’ll say i’m sick”.

jake stopped moving and protested. “if i wanna ask your father for your hand, i better know how he looks like first. if he likes golf, i’m out”.

the joke was unexpected, but it made both of you laugh. he kept bringing up marriage. it was like a running gag, but it felt more and more real. one day you would be called mrs gyllenhaal. and this day would not happen if you died from a heart attack because you couldn’t face the judgement of your parents.

so jake waited for you in the car. he picked a black jaguar, he didn’t want to be too obnoxious. he had the head lights shining bright and blinked them so you pretended to walk like a model and twirl in front of the car before you sat on the passenger seat. “so fuckin’ gorgeous.” jake said and noticed you, too, wore the chain he got you for your birthday. he stretched his arm out to play with it lightly and then proceeded to drive to your parents’ house.

he stopped in the drive way. it was a tiny home, very old with a bunch of flower pots that were wrapped up for the winter. it was lovely already. jake stopped the car and took deep breaths.

“you sound like you’re about to get into labor”

“it’s a neat trick you’ll have to try it”

and you both breathed fast like two freaks in the car while the music was playing in the background. some U2 song. it calmed the two of you down. when you got out of the car, jake immediately grabbed your hand. he needed the comfort.

you were about to ring the door bell when your mother slammed the door open and wrapped you in a tight hug.

jake smiled and looked behind her. he waved at your father.

“mom, dad, this is my boyfriend, jake. jake, this is my mom and dad.”

“hi mom, hi dad” jake replied and it made the two of them laugh.

jake wanted to bring champagne and flowers, but you convinced him to not do too much. your parents were simple people. they would be happy as long as jake didn’t tease you from under the table (the jeans were definitely a good option) or mentioned politics. 

“our daughter has told us a lot about you” your mother said “yeah, we heard you are a singer? isn’t that the dream” your father added

“yeah.” jake smiled awkwardly and took a sip from the glass of water you both shared. you were sitting on his lap, on the love seat of the small living room. your parents asked him tons of questions. he answered them genuinely. he asked them questions too. he was relieved to find out your father preferred hockey to golf.

you sat around the table. it was weird that the fourth chair of the dining table was finally used.

none of your previous relationships lasted long enough to reach this level of intimacy. sex was one thing, but meeting your parents? that was a HUGE deal.

jake behaved like the best man in the world. he complimented the food. it was just simple spaghetti and storebought garlic bread. but it tasted like love and home. he asked for two other plates. your mom even reached to wipe his chin from the tomato sauce.

it filled him with joy. he had a tough relationship with his own family and he felt like he fit right in with yours.

you watched jake with heart eyes. he was so happy to explain his art and craft to your father who kept asking him if he had met blake shelton or the backstreet boys. you know, hip people. jake laughed and shook his head. he didn’t bother explaining that he sang about filthy things the two of you did. he was happy they considered his job as valid. he was not a carpenter or a doctor. but he was happy to spoil you nonetheless.

“you’re doing great” you’d whisper to jake.

everything was fine. until your mom pulled out the baby photos albums. THE SHAME.

“look at that tiny baby booty!” jake pointed and melted. “toohtless! that gums only look, can’t wait to see it again when we’re old and grumpy.” he pulled out a photo. you were wearing matching ugly yellow zipped hoodie and plaid pants. you were holding a teddy bear of the same colour as the one he got you for your birthday. behind the photography it was written happy y/n at the park with her best friend. he asked if he could keep it. your parents agreed. (it was his phone home screen from now on, your lock screen being a post sex glow photo when he could see a tiny drop of cum at the corner of your eye, it was still cute to him). “so she’s always been bad at cooking?” he said and laughed when you found a picture of you and your grandparents where you held a plate of burnt cookies. “hey, not cool! i was only seven!” you pushed him gently. “look at you now, you burn bread in the toaster”. your parents were the ones who melted now.

“so, jacob...”

jake insisted that it was fine your father called him by his full name.

the two of you were so stressed out. the tone of your father’s voice was suddenly heavy and scary.

“yeah?”

“does it hurt to get tattoos?”

jake squinted and you coughed loud enough to cover the whispered what the fuck that came out of his open mouth. his sleeves were rolled up and exposing the ink. “i mean, yeah, it hurts a lot. it’s worth it though. i feel like an art collector.”

“in my young days, i’ve always wanted a tattoo. i got the concept. this lovely lady as a pin up girl, quite impressive, huh?.” he winked at your mom who blushed while you tried everything you could not to throw up.

jake rolled his sleeve a little higher and pointed at a spot near the veins of the inside of his arm, close to the elbow. he got the outline of a heart tattooed. you noticed how wobbly the lines were, that’s because it was the heart you always drew at the end of your notes that you left him when you were gone or when he was out working. “that’s my favourite.”

THE WAY YOU JUST BURST INTO TEARS and your mom shouted “time for dessert!”

great timing.

“our daughter told us you loved m&m’s”.

jake turned to look at you. you shrugged.

your mother came back with chocolate cake on which she had sprinked crushed m&m pieces on the frosting.

jake asked to get the biggest slice. “that’s the best fuckin’ cake i’ve had in my whole life.” (which was a lie because the best cake was your ass but details) he said, his mouth full. your mother laughed and your father agreed. they began talking about hockey when your mother asked for your help in the kitchen.

“if we learned anything from you,” she started and handed you a plate to dry. you hated to do the dishes, especially if you were to be lectured like a child. “it’s to never judge people by their covers. we love jake. he’s good to you. you’re good to him.”

you hugged your mom and the two of you cried so loudly that jake dropped his spoon. he thought something bad happened. that you cut yourself with the butter knife or something.

“welcome to the family, jake.” your father squeezed jake’s shoulder as you walked back to him to press a kiss on his cheek.

it was now time to leave, after hours and hours of anecdotes from your childhood or from the time you were convinced you’d marry brad pitt or when you put eyeshadow in your hair to act like you dyed them to be punk but it was raining that day and you came back looking like a sad frosty rainbow.

“you’re my favourite person.” jake told you when he gave you his vest as a coat. it was chilly outside.

you all hugged and shook hands, promising to come back soon for brunch. jake told them he’d make his famous pancakes.

“hold on!” jake exclaimed and pulled you by the arm. you followed him back in the kitchen and he fed you a spoon of the cake. you fed him one in return again. “tastes almost as good as your pussy” he whispered in your ear and kissed your chocolate covered lips.

you finally left the house, waving from the car at your parents who stood on the porch. they seemed satisfied. and you? you had never been more in love.

“can’t wait to rip those tight jeans off your body and fuck you like a bitch.” jake winked and started to drive away. “i’m looking forward to the toothless viagra boosted blowjobs too, that’s gonna feel divine.” 

you slapped his thigh and he moaned in pain. you rested your hand there and he brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss.

“welcome to the family.” you repeated.

[sheriff-caitlyn]

There was no salt. That was the only comfort, and it was a cold one. There was no salt.

Vi had found it curious how intense Caitlyn had been on investigating this trespassing charge. People did stupid things on Heartseekers’ Day. Breaking into a Peak Tower for a picnic was hardly a felony. Still, that was the sheriff for you: focused on work, even on the holidays. It had taken a while to coax Cupcake to calm down. Wasn’t she supposed to go play the piano tonight? She should do that, she played really well, and Vi could grab a drink and hang out at the club to hear her play. It wouldn’t, like, be a Heartseekers’ date or anything, but they’d be together for the rest of the day. That was cool, right? That was okay?

So the evidence ended up locked in Caitlyn’s home office, while she spent the rest of Heartseekers’ Day with her fingers dancing over the keys. Another holiday salvaged by Vi’s wisdom.

But in the morning, the sheriff made herself a coffee - not a tea - and locked herself in her home office. On her desk, there was a card, a photograph, a card marked with calligraphy, half a loaf of bread, a bread knife, a corkscrew, a tablecloth, and a bottle of wine.

But there was no salt. Did that make it better? Or worse?

She sips her coffee and considers the evidence as a whole. She sees now why she had Demacia on the mind, because there it was, hidden in the details of the card he had sent. It helps to see things with a clear head. She looks over to the collection of documents pinned to the wall, and sees her own notation, and remembers the cards she has locked away. Sees the proof of her own assumptions. Time, date, location. It’s all there, she knows how to look for it, and it’s there. This is not a prank. This is his. This is C’s work.

To the letter.

There was no salt. Was that because she was expected to provide it? That C knew what kind of a reaction he was provoking? She certainly felt furious enough to be considered ‘salty’. But there was more to it than that.

There was half a loaf of bread - fresh and homemade, she knew the hallmarks - and there were clues in the crust and the core and the neat line cut through it. A line which matched the knife that had been left. She had not eaten the bread. had not even tasted it. She wouldn’t. It was evidence. And it told a story that made her stomach clench. All she had the appetite for was the black coffee she sipped in increments, before she set it aside to steeple her fingers and stare at the evidence in bags on her desk. 

There was the wine. An expensive vintage, a nice vintage, a fine rich wine famous for its flavour. Unopened. But there was the corkscrew, as an invitation. She could drink it all, if she chose. It was a rich red, meant for celebration, meant to quicken the pulse and soften the gaze. It was a generous gift from a guest to a hostess, or more.

There was the day, and the card. Heartseekers’ Day, and a storebought card. A token on a day that tokens of affection were sent. Even on this adjustment to the day, a day that celebrated friendship and commitment and playful flirtation, the message had been clearer than it had ever been. All innocence lost from what could be an innocent statement: you are always in my thoughts.

It all came together to paint a picture that made her feel ill.

There was no salt. But he had taken half the bread, and left the rest for her. Something to share, something to sustain the both of them. The wine was a gift all for her to savour. After half a decade of waiting for him, no doubt she was ready for the challenge, for the chase, for something to whet her appetite. 

She thinks of Demacia, and of the tall ceilings and vaulted roofs, and the Light that permeated everything: from the stone peaks and palisades, to the lives of the people and the faiths they clung to. To tradition and ritual and everything that the day could mean. To bread and wine and ‘you are always in my thoughts’ as the sun goes down.

With this bread, you will never go hungry. With this wine, you will never thirst.

This was a proposal. This could be a marriage.

Maybe the salt wasn’t missing at all. Maybe there was enough flavour in the cards, and in the tears she had shed when she had thought him dead and gone forever, and again in anger when he had dared to wish her a happy new year.

She is being invited back to Demacia. Back to where it all began. Back when they were the closest they had ever been, when the chase had quickened her pulse and sharpened her wits. She is being invited to renew the relationship. She is being shown just what kind of relationship that is.

And she hates it, hates him, hates herself for what has become of it, of her, of this whole affair. She has been chasing a ghost, chasing her mother’s pearls, and now she must chase him again, because he wants to be chased. Because he wants her to chase him. Because he wants her to see herself as he does. 

The anger pinches Caitlyn’s face, and leaves her feeling as hard as an oak tree, and as hollow as a silver ring. She clenches her fists until her fingernails leave crescents in the palms of her hands.

She finishes her cold coffee, and leaves the office, locking the door behind her. The sun is setting, and it is time for her shift. She’ll patrol the streets on foot tonight. The cold and the exercise will help her think.

The roads are free of ice, for the most part. The city keeps them well-salted.

[chat-noir-always-here]

I rewatch Miraculous—The Bubbler

Okay here we go time to dive back into French Sailor Moon aww hell yeee

(J.K. I’ve never sat through a single episode of SM in ma life)

•Tikki’s face when Mari is trying to kiss the Adrien collage wallpaper is low-key funny

•plagg lacks toe beans

•how do you “accidentally” come across your childs emails when cleaning their room? Mari’s mama is devious.

•Adrien is that a cookie keeping your breakfast crescents company? Just like Adrien to have cookies for breakfast.

•Adrien’s pained expression after Nathalie tells him happy birthday😭😭😭poor cinammon roll child

•nino: “You’d think he at least remembers to be young and wanna party a little!”

Adrien: “No Im pretty sure he was a downer back then too.”

LOL roast him, Adrien. Here Gabriel have some ice for that burn.

•Why does Nino’s shirt remind me of Goofy’s Monsters inc. appearance from Kingdom Hearts 3?

• “Am i seeing what I think I’m seeing? Dont tell me its Adriens birthday!” Girl you been his friend since childhood you cant remember it on your own?

• “Dont be a pushover! Literally!” Yeah that goes for Sabrina and Adrien too. You two let Chloe do whatever she wants with you? Yeesh.

• “Ring the doorbell.” Yeah for real ring the doorbell thats what its there for. 🙄🙄🙄

•Mari been forgetting to sign notes since episode one

Facepalms

•Bitch please you cant buy your own son a birthday present instead of bullying Nathalie into stealing Mari’s???

•that fucking painting hanging on the wall right where the staircase in Agreste Mansion forks. Can we just... Can we just burn that painting? Reduce it to fucking ashes. Seriously how can people look at it and not call the French CPS that piece of “art” is the most distubring piece of possessive B.S. i have ever had the displeasure of seeing. My brain hates my eyes for seeing it every time its visible in the show

•Im sorry Nino. Im sorry this dumbass bitch said that to you. (For real tho were you expecting anything different?)

•”Adults ruin everything all the time.” Kiddo your about four-five years from being an adult maybe check yourself

•for real check yourself cuz Gabriel is an ass and said that to you just so he could akumatize you

WORST.

PARENT.

EVER!!!

•i havent played with bubble wands since i was like ten. Are tbey more popular in Paris or is it just Nino’s thing?

•Nino’s akumatized form is so ridiculous, still. First time around it nearly drove me away from this show.

•something else i found ridiculous first time around is bubbling the adults. Its a bit more frightening though when you think about how they only have so much air in their bubble. If LB and CN failed to free them they would have all suffocated to death and Paris would be populated solely by orphans.

•LB you seriously just gonna entrust a couple of kiddos to a stranger? I know you dont really have a lot of options but still. If this were a crime drama or a D.C. movie those kids might not have faired as well.

•”Wow. That was a birthday lunch break to remember. Yaaay.” Kiddo you sound so sarcastic i love it. 🤣🤣🤣

•that little pompom or whatever the hell on top of akumatized Nino’s head jiggles a little every time his head moves and im just. Ugh. Cmon couldnt they have given him a better outfit or at least something less uncomfortable????

•Plagg is literally that little devil Kronk from “The Emperors New Groove” that sits on Kronk’s shoulder and tells him to do bad things. Or in this case, sits on Adrien’s shoulder and tells him to do bad things. “Its fiiiiine shirk your responsibilities for a hot minute and dance with your buddies. Its not like theyre here under suspicious circumstances or anything.”

•Adrien, honey, if you dont want her to kiss you you should say something. I mean i get cheek kisses mean something different in France but Adrien looks really uncomfortable.

•MAAAARRRIIII you just wasted a good deal of transformation time in a fit of jealousy for what i wish i could say was the first and last time 😩😩😩

•Tikki being a good guide and scolding Mari 🙏🙏🙏

•ugh are those storebought cookies? I can practically taste those things. I hope for Tikki’s sake they’re homemade or at least warmed up.

•”You were right Tikki i never should have waited this long.” In other words you shouldve fixed the problem the first time around not wasted your transformation in a fit of jealousy like you did? Correct.

•upon hearing the truth from LB, Adrien immediatley runs off to transform. Good boi didnt know how serious the situation was, is all.

•that look LB gives CN after her yoyo bounces off his head. Giirrrrrl he boyfriend material you knoooowww itttt admit itttt~~~~

• “Kids need adults!” The way Mari says this makes her sound like such a goody two shoes, i really cant stand it for some reason. Oof am i channeling Lila?

wipes my hand on a towel then throws towel away

• LB: “Adults keep children safe and protected! They care for their kids, they love them!”

CN: “Most adults do anyhow.”

Behold the difference between their respective households summed up in two seconds. Poor Kitty boi....😿😿😿😿

•Aww the way LB is hugging her kitty as he tries to kick at it ❤️❤️❤️

• “couldnt you have said that 500 feet ago?” Sarcastic chat noir is wonderful

• LB: “we cant stay stuck in this bubble together forever!”

CN: flirty looks

In other words theres something they could do together in their bubble.

asdfghjkl🤣🤣🤣

•the kids’ bubbles look smaller than the adults bubbles. So they are more cramped and have less air. Unfair much?

• “pound it!” Theres a joke in there but i wont. F.Y.I. In French they say something like “good job” so the joke is lost in that version teehee

•”did my son like his gift?” Again bitch PICK IT OUT YOURSELF

• “hey nice scarf Adrien! Off the chain!” Alya honey where DO you get your phrasing from? The late nineties?

• “can you believe my dad got this for me? Its so awesome he’s given me the same lame pen for three years in a row.” What the hell kinda parent gives their child a flipping pen for his birthday??? F.Y.I. In French Adrien says that his father forgets his birthday every year and gives him nothing.

Annnnnnd that wraps up episode one. Ill do episode two some other time.

[daughters-of-liberty]

I used to be disgusted by Alfredo sauce, until I had homemade. It's not even comparable to storebought, it's on another level.

Same with red sauce, and gravy, and soups, or pickles...basically anything that comes in a jar or a can, YOU can make at home, at a better value, with more natural ingredients, to a better taste than storebought.

My Alfredo sauce is better than storebought. YOUR Alfredo sauce is better than storebought. It's so easy to make, why don't we just make Alfredo sauce at home? Why do we give over our sauce-making rights to The Man, maaan?

[romcommunist]

Soup anon from earlier! Sorry about the delay, I sent the initial ask when I was at work lol I'm open to using just about anything, I don't really like onions and mushrooms tho which I know are kinda big with soups half the time

all good lol. onions you wont taste in a lot of them! this is the first thing i ever made and its the easiest thing like before i learned how to even cook/got trained.  minimum prep time. hard to fuck up. serves white people who cant handle even the tiniest bit of spice idk if thats u ~4 tablespoons Butter is like...half an american stick?  1-2 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil - coat ur pan basically 1 cup finely diced onion (however much, go wild. i eyeball) garlic cloves, minced 1/4 cup flour - can add more to thicken 1 quart half-and-half - can use milk but half/half tastes better 28 ounces chicken broth dried thyme and parsley. og recipe was like 1/2 tablespoon each? pinch of rosemary 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg celery/carrots finely shredded - i use about a cup but i really do just eyeball everything spinach - amount preference. add at end. i coarsely shred it CHICKEN. i cheat here lmfao. if you wanna make from scratch you obv just cook/shred it. fresh = better but. who got time for that. buy a rotisserie one and call it a day gnocchi - i buy storebought lmfao i dont have time to make my own gnocchi salt/pepper obviously parmesean to taste onion/celery/garlic in together w oil. cook until translucent. melt butter. whisk in flour and half/half. let sit for about a minute. stock/gnocchi/carrots/chicken/all ur herbs n seasonings in now, ALWAYS TASTE. let sit. gnocchi cook will basically be your timer. add flour if u need it thiccer. parm and spinach when almost finished. add chicken later on if youre using just a rotisserie cuz its already cooked lmao dont let it be dry

play around with the amounts. i really do just eyeball it all. taste is ur guide. this is the original recipe i also do not trust white ppl recipes so i def eyeball heavier than what the recipe calls for lmfao. always taste! you can also absolutely throw in italian sausage/pancetta/whatever smoky meats. smoky/creamy works well together. just watch your ratios if you do cuz you’ll get a lot of salt/fat from there as well

[bondsmagii]

My dads a chef and can make basically everything taste fuckin great but not chicken. There is no good way to make in. Fuckin bland ass demon meat

thank you for being unafraid to speak truthful doctrine. I am by no means a professional chef but I am a rather skilled home cook, and there has never been anything I can do with chicken. even when I would absolutely nail a recipe, it would taste no better than a mediocre dish of any other meat. 

in the past I have made plain-ass storebought white bread taste more flavourful than chicken, and back then my food budget was £2.50 a week. 

[abbacchiosbelt]

you know ya bitch would love to see some Tonio's loving foodie gf headcanons if you got any uwu

ahhh yes, an underrated but very good character — tonio!

Tonio will be delighted to have a girlfriend that loves and appreciates food just as much as he does. Even if you’re not as into the science behind making food and meals as he is, he’ll be glad to have a partner who is enthusiastic about his career and hobby!

Whilst he may run his own restaurant, Tonio is almost never too tired to cook the two of you a delicious dinner when he arrives home. Although he’d be more than happy to make cooking a couple’s activity, he’s quite particular when it comes to cooking — honestly, one of his favorite things is seeing you react to whatever surprise dish he’s made for you! He insists on making dinner, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it.

He’ll indulge you in any craving you’re having for junk food or sweets by making the superior version at home. While it may be a little healthier than going out for fast food, Tonio knows how to make rich and tasty ‘junk’ food at home that tastes miles better than anything storebought. Of course, he’d prefer to make something a little more refined, but he loves seeing a smile on your face or making you happy after a tough day. 

Speaking of tough days, you hardly have to worry about any ailments when Tonio’s around. He’s going to make sure you’re taken care of with something delicious at breakfast so you can feel ready for the day ahead of you... and if you’re feeling bad around dinner time, he’ll take care of that too! Though Pearl Jam may look a little creepy, his Stand is always ready to help you out. 

Although he prefers to cook meals for you himself, he’s not opposed to taking you with him on his travels and experiencing new foods together. One of his favorite things, if you’re down for surprises, is to take you on a weekend trip across the country or overseas to find a rare ingredient or to taste delicious food.