#no one in this family can cook

[smilesrobotlover]

Benji, Faima, and Orchid stuff cuz I’ve been thinking about them fr. They’re so cute and silly

[inkskinned]

probably time for this story i guess but when i was a kid there was a summer that my brother was really into making smoothies and milkshakes. part of this was that we didn't have AC and couldn't afford to run fans all day so it was kind of important to get good at making Cool Down Concoctions.

we also had a patch of mint, and he had two impressionable little sisters who had the attitude of "fuck it, might as well."

at one point, for fun, this 16 year old boy with a dream in his eye and scientific fervor in heart just wanted to see how far one could push the idea of "vanilla mint smoothie". how much vanilla extract and how much mint can go into a blender before it truly is inedible.

the answer is 3 cups of vanilla extract, 1/2 cup milk alternative, and about 50 sprigs (not leaves, whole spring) of mint. add ice and the courage of a child. idk, it was summer and we were bored.

the word i would use to describe the feeling of drinking it would maybe be "violent" or perhaps, like. "triangular." my nose felt pristine. inhaling following the first sip was like trying to sculpt a new face. i was ensconced in a mesh of horror. it was something beyond taste. for years after, i assumed those commercials that said "this is how it feels to chew five gum" were referencing the exact experience of this singular viscous smoothie.

what's worse is that we knew our mother would hate that we wasted so much vanilla extract. so we had to make it worth it. we had to actually finish the drink. it wasn't "wasting" it if we actually drank it, right? we huddled around outside in the blistering sun, gagging and passing around a single green potion, shivering with disgust. each sip was transcendent, but in a sort of non-euclidean way. i think this is where i lost my binary gender. it eroded certain parts of me in an acidic gut ecology collapse.

here's the thing about love and trust: the next day my brother made a different shake, and i drank it without complaint. it's been like 15 years. he's now a genuinely skilled cook. sometimes one of the three of us will fuck up in the kitchen or find something horrible or make a terrible smoothie mistake and then we pass it to each other, single potion bottle, and we say try it it's delicious. it always smells disgusting. and then, cerimonious, we drink it together. because that's what family does.

[turtleblogatlast]

Something I love about Leo is that, canonically, he IS capable of cooking, he’s just completely incapable of using a toaster. He’s banned from the kitchen not out of an inability to make edible food, but because being within six feet of a toaster causes the poor appliance to spontaneously combust.

[kacievvbbbb]

Look Mihawk’s eyes definitely glow in the dark and this fact definitely threw Shanks of the first time he learned it which coincidently was during their *coughs* first time. But it’s kind of hot and he’s grown used to it now……mostly.

Because you know Mihawk is definetly the type of dude to never turn on a light ever and with his propensity for staring unblinkingly and his half hazard middle of the night sleeping habits. It’s a bit of a bit of a problem .

the years Shanks has lost of his life waking up to a floating pair of shimmering golden and ringed eyes staring at him in complete darkness he will never gain back and are best not talked out.

Also imagine if Mihawk is prone to midnight snacking (making up for all the food he doesn’t eat during the day to maintain his vampiric reputation) so many a red haired pirate have woken the ship with Shrieks having stumbled into the very dark kitchen to see a pair of otherworldly eyes completely demolishing a plate of leftovers or an entire charcuterie board staring right into their soul.

Ben and Yasopp have almost shot him multiple times(with only one of those times being on purpose) Many a crew member has solicited Shanks to get his boyfriend exorcised and the ship cleansed. In 2 years the closest Zoro ever came to cutting Mihawk was while blindly flailing his swords around in the dark trying to fend of the kitchen demon that besieged him during his midnight beer run. This will happen every night, they never talk about it. Zoro never figures out it’s Mihawk and is pretty sure the Kitchen is haunted. Won’t keep him from his midnight protein shake (he is no longer allowed beer)

Perona is the only person who is even slightly normal about this (she lived on thriller bark floating pair of eyes in the dark is child’s play) she just switches on the very bright white kitchen lights, effectively blinding Mihawk and leaving his terrible posture and he use of his precious kogatana to eat meatballs exposed to the light. She gets a cup of water turns off the light and leaves. The next day Mihawk buys her a new dress they never speak of this again.

[epiphainie]

this is one of those fic ideas i wanted to write for every ship i've ever been into so it will probably never happen but i'd like to have a silly story with 40 yo, single, lonely tommy kinard who's been down on his luck all his life - like i'm talking ridiculous levels of mom dying at childbirth, dad being terrible, horrifically unfortunate experience of the military, a series of failed jobs, a series of failed relationships, friendships never sticking for long, risks he takes always going south, somehow getting paper cuts through chainmail gloves, missing the bus while trying to avoid his daily encounter with the neighbor's dog etc. - one day opening the door of his downtrodden studio apartment to this beautiful man who stands there like a fucking angel. who looks at tommy with big apologetic eyes, red cheeks of shame, and twiddling thumbs of guilt and stutters, "so, uhm, i wish you didn't have to learn it this way but hi, i'm the guardian angel who, as it turns out, misplaced your files about four decades ago, and so uhm it just resurfaced, haha, and like yeah, i've been banished here for penance. i'll take the couch, it's fine."

[ratatatastic]

https://youtu.be/RbgDHyeQNdE?si=WXnghZZuAyvgumVL

Keith saying him and Matthews fiancé do the cooking for him and he just sits there and heckles them. So on brand.

"And how about your barbecuing skills? It looked like you knew what you were doing behind that grill!" "Well, Matthew is pretty useless so! Unlike Brady—Brady can, you know, does things on his own but Matthew likes when I'm down there so I do cook and his fiancée, Ellie, does a great job so. He just sits back and critiques us but forgets that we're the ones doing all the work for him. Which—hey! It was playoffs! I'll do anything for my children."

NHL Tonight: First Shift | 10.16.24 (x)

unfortunately tracks for him and im still crying into my hands its always the one who cant cook for shit thats the mouthiest about it

and considering this clip from faceoff it really does track

[scriptedencryptid]

crows and their cooking

Cranium Artillery (Head Cannons)

Kaz has opened a cook book maybe twice in his life time. in his defense he was a little busy being exceedingly poor, stealing food scraps, and relying on take out for at least 8 years…

[cherry-tries-to-art]

Do Berdly and Rowan ever enjoy gaming together in family events, and also how nice are the events, is the christmas get together like a homecooked banquet?

i think "enjoy" is a bit of a strong word, at least in rowen's case haha.

given the prequel status of deltarune yellow, berdly is a bit younger than rowen, they usually get stuck with babysitting him during holiday get togethers. i don't actually know if rowen plays games, but if they do they probably enjoy more rhythm games or bullet hells, games that require a good reaction time and have a lot of replayability. berdly's jrpgs probably aren't very interesing to them, espectially with how much berdly can run his mouth talking about them...

[cowboy-kidd]

complicit // a regressor bruce wayne & caregiver alfred pennyworth drabble (pt. 3)

x - x - x

—NSFW DNI—

After Bruce’s little ‘slip up’ Alfred becomes more of an observer than an active participant in his charges' activities. He no longer does any poking or prodding. The realization that he doesn’t have to forcibly pry the boy open for answers but rather that he will come to his caretaker of his own accord (subconscious or otherwise) noticeably settles his heart and steadies his hands.

Just as Alfred’s patience pays off, so do Bruce’s escapades become more apparent. He overhears the boy sneaking into the cookie jar his guardian does his best to keep full- a well-before dying wish of Martha. When he pretends to be asleep by the firelight and Bruce brings his beat up coloring book and snapped in half crayons to come messily fill up the dirtied pages. His mourning grows louder and sounds much more pronounced- his sobs no longer muffled by an already damp pillow. The expression of his emotions become much more apparent in his face and body language, a stark contrast to what is usually such a “well put-together young man who knows how to handle himself.”

It doesn't show in the big things either. It’s one of the many critiques of Bruce that one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking. The slightest downturn of a lip at that day’s breakfast menu. Whenever Alfred isn’t where he’s expected to be at any given moment. When something’s too high for the boy to reach.

All of it is so achingly foreign and yet just as familiar as the butler’s own sleeping quarters. He knows in his mind's eye where his clothes are, how his furniture should be positioned, and what his made-up bed should look like. And yet everything is so different. This is not his room. This is Bruce in the absence of his parents. And it’s not necessarily that Alfred doesn’t know what to do- it’s more of a how to go about it. Like he’s holding an instrument he once knew how to play a long time ago, only to have it thrust upon him in the wake of a new realization.

On top of that, there is an insistent nagging in the back of his head that would otherwise be unrecognizable and even ignorable if not for the way it stops him in his tracks whenever he cracks the door open a bit and finds his young charge smothered in soft colorful blankets; the fragrance of both his mother and fathers perfume mixing garishly but permeating throughout the room nonetheless.

The binky from the other morning wedged between his lips and above it all; he looks at peace. The dry tear streaks caked on his face hold no weight. The boy is in stark resemblance of childlike innocence, picture-perfect. If Alfred didn’t know any better he’d assume something much more wholesome was going on. A child who wanted to stay up, lured to sleep by teary aching eyes and a familiar soother over the tongue. But he does know better, and instead he is like a deer stuck in headlights. Staring blankly at the face of a child who has no business grieving so seriously.

In fact, it is an inexplicable phenomena how silent and put together a child who used to be so rowdy and loud can be. And Alfred had just left it. Should Bruce not be stomping his feet and shouting at the top of his lungs until it reverberated off of the high ceilings and shook the chandelier till it fell from its perch?

Should he learn how to quiet himself and curl into a ball in order to no longer inconvenience those whose very presence is there in order to be inconvenienced? Should he feel inexorably selfish for wanting what can no longer be?

Those are the thoughts that keep the Wayne Family Butler awake far into the night. That keeps him scrubbing the counters until his knuckles are a bright, pomegranate red. That allows him unrest whenever he finds the strength to simply sit down. Until one day he finds himself in the store on a familiar drowsy and drizzly day. Gotham’s staple. The rain plops against the entranceway in a random fashion, roughly beating against the storefront's glass doors.

He’s standing in the baby aisle, memory’s flitting through his mind with the likeness and rapidity of a familiar rolodex that used to perch so prettily (still does) on Thomas’ desk. When Martha was pregnant with Bruce she’d drag him here and hand him a basket. Only to fill it with milk and cookie baking ingredients. Then she’d walk right over to the very aisle he’s standing in.

The tiles are squeaky clean, a murky reflection of his black penny loafers glaring back at him. He deigns to move his eyes down, keeps them glued on what’s in front of him. As if looking around and observing his surroundings would break the reminder of such a painful saccharine memory.

The aisle is put together nicely. It’s like the thousands of soothers, bottles, blankets, and their ilk glare into him- their perfection anything but in the wake of their use. The faint call of Martha’s voice makes his head twist to the side. Neck cracking with the speed, eyes alight with intensive, almost-there recognition. But the voice floats off somewhere far and safe. Somewhere he cannot reach in this Tantalus complex. Martha is not there. Martha will never be there. But he is.

He’s here. In the baby aisle. Grabbing new coloring books and checking the price tags to make sure that only the most expensive markers, pencils, and crayons are in hand. Added to that are a few new binkies and soothers and bottles that he’ll have to boil. There is a wetness on his face that he wipes away with an uncanny quickness as he gently places said accessories inside of his cart. Right next to some milk and cookie baking ingredients.

[randomwords247]

Cooking and baking

A small pet peeve of mine with cooking and baking is when recipes say the container rather than the amount

Like, instead of saying "500ml of cream" you say "a pot of cream". Or "a whole can of corn". Like okay which kind of can??? What amount???? Corn comes in more than one size you can't just tell me a can. PLEASE i am begging you tell me the WEIGHT

This is especially a problem with recipes from different countries, for example America. Because your stick of butter is different to our butter. STOP SAYING STICK OF BUTTER TELL ME THE QUANTITY IN GRAMS PLEASE I HAVE A FAMILY

that being said I feel like I see this crop up in like american recipes in particular. Idk if I've ever seen a recipe in one of our cookbooks that does this....

anyway please just tell me the gosh darn weight I am dying here I have a family I JUST NEED TO KNOW THE WEIGHT

[ratwithhands]

Since I finished the manga a few days back, I wanted to revisit my two demon slayer OCs I made last year. Here's Yoshi and Syougo ^^

Syougo and Yoshiaki are childhood friends who both ended joining the Demon Slayer corps after being separated earlier in life. Yoshi spent his years training under his retired slayer father before passing the final examination, while Syougo ended up having to figure his own methods out after his first teacher made it so he couldn't use a true breathing technique again.

As an overview of the techniques they use:

Field Breathing is a technique Yoshi's father came up with over his career in the corps. When he retired, he continued to polish the forms and taught them to Yoshi. Both the name and the forms it utilizes are based on the flora around the rice fields he was raised and later retired to. The technique emphasizes speed, flexibility, and applying pressure to the opponent as much as possible. It's fluidity and aggressiveness leads Yoshi to be quick in handling threats since he pushes opponents around

Spirit Breathing (or if you're using archaic kanji, Vengeful Spirit Breathing) is a breathing technique Syougo made as a way to regulate his body and state of mind after losing the lung capacity to use Total Concentration or other methods. It's based around his base breathing rate so he doesn't overexert himself, which means to an extent he is always using it. In combat it's intended to psych out opponents and help highlight their weak points. Since it's mostly a distraction/intimidation technique, Syougo uses a secondary weapon to get the jump on opponents when they're not focused.

For some bonus design notes, here's some details for how they dress:

Yoshiaki's samue is based on what he'd wear when working at the rice fields with his family. The light green colour comes from being dyed with wisteria leaves, a precaution his mother took hoping it would protect him

Having nostalgia from weaving baskets with his mom when he was younger, Yoshi tends to use dry reeds for securing things. He ties his hair with it, decorates his equipment with it, and though his legs aren't visible, he ties reeds in a crossed pattern over his kyahan

The brown cotton sageo and tsuba he uses are handed down from his father. The scar on his cheek is also there for the same reason, his father had one and Yoshi decided to cut his cheek to look cool and match 💀

Syougo's haori has kogin-zashi embroidery across the sleeves and shoulders. He sewed it himself in between his training as a way to decompress and slow down. His kyahan have a matching stripe across the front

Syougo's tsuba was gifted to him by his current mentor who thought he would enjoy the oblique patterning to match his outerwear. His current mentor also requested a nichirin style tanto for him to use for his secondary fighting technique

The ragged look of Syougo's hair comes from him prioritizing training over all else, even appearance. The only instance where he will fully comb and dress his hair is for important meetings and ceremonies. He does maintain the part of his hair though, modelled after his mentor's (much shorter) hair. This is one doodle with clean hair

I'd write more about their character but this is getting long as it is 💀

I have a piece with Syougo that I'm going to put up soon, and at my sister's request I'll try doing a matching one for Yoshi

Hope you guys like these fellas ^^ I'll see you later

[moeblob]

I like the fact Tremaine's designated color is pink while Germaine's is maroon because if I draw them together it looks so bright and happy but they're in a dying world and both commit crimes many times a week just to survive. But hey, whatever.

If love is how they die, it beats starvation or injury! So letting them be codependent is like a treat almost.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

(OLD OC SKETCHES) Meet Sunnabelle Von Sunnoviche, final daughter of the Sunnoviche family. Peeking from behind a window, she witnessed a wizards final spell, one that reduced the world to a wasteland. Her noble blood damned her to [HELL], but unwanting to suffer with her family, she made a deal with the devil. She now hunts in his name. The top of her head was taken by the blast on that day. The fires of her spirit have boiled her blood into a super-heated plasma.

[taegularities]

some men are textbook villains fr

[onlyasimp4nobody]

[male-duckk]

thinking abt joe/carlos