#rubbing seasoning into a chicken breast

[kidfur]

baby powder is like... seasoning for ur butt

[starlooove]

Some of y’all so desperate to prove u season ur food that all ur shit is salty!

[minswriting]

18+ nsfw | mdni | spencer reid x reader

warnings: p in v, loss of virginity, fingering (f), etc.

imagine losing your virginity with early season spencer. the both of you have never really slept with anyone before and after a private conversation after a case, the two of you had decided to lose it together. just friends helping friends right? that was until spencer had arrived to your place with a bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly at your door, dressed in a fresh sweater vent, cardigan, and pair of slacks. and you? you were dressed in a simple summer dress.

you had prepared a meal, nothing too fancy. just a chicken and pasta dish that you thought would be good to have before anything and a glass of wine, to ease any tension. the two of you had a great time, just chatting, laughing with one another. the nerves you had felt previously had gone away as spencer told you random facts about random topics. it made you realize that your choice to lose your virginity with him was a good one.

“are-are you sure you still want to do this?” spencer asked after the two of you had made it to the bedroom, both of you sitting on your bed next to one another. “we don’t have to do it yet if we aren’t ready,” he added.

you looked at the brown haired boy, giving him a small smile. “i still want to,” you replied softly. “do you?”

spencer nodded his head, reflecting your smile on his face. “yes, i do,” he said. he brought a hand up to your check, moving a piece of hair that had fallen into your face and tucking it behind your ear. “can i uh- can i kiss you?” he asked.

“please,” you said.

spencer licked his lips before leaning in, hesitantly kissing your lips. the kiss was soft and tentative, something you hadn’t really felt before. you’ve had your first kiss of course but it never felt as…tender as this kiss. you kissed spencer back, putting a hand on the back of his head.

eventually it led to the two of you pawing at each other, the kiss getting hungrier and deeper. you both had taken your clothes off for the most part, except for your underwear. spencer wore a pair of plaid boxers while you wore a black bra and panties set.

spencer would lay you down gently, going on top of you shakily as he kisses your lips. his movements are tentative, shaky, a bit unsure. but you’re both more than eager. his hands roam your body while your arms are wrapped around his neck. his right hand gently grazes your bra, hesitating to massage the flesh underneath. so he pulls away from the kiss. “can i touch you?” he asked softly.

“yes,” you replied in the same tone.

spencer licked his lips, as he brought his hand underneath your bra, massaging the skin gently. you let out a soft moan as his fingers brushed against your nipple. he moved his hand to your back, shakily unclasping your bra and pulling it off of you. he threw the material to the other side of the room, taking in your breasts. “you-you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, looking at your tits and then at your face.

you gave him a smile. “thank you,” you said softly, allowing your hands to roam his torso.

spencer licked his lips. “you know, when your nipples are stimulated, they send sparks in the genital sensory cortex which is the same part of the brain as vaginal or clitoral stimulation,” he exclaimed, pressing kisses down your neck and onto your chest. he kissed your right boob before taking your nipple and putting it into his mouth. he sucked and licked on the nub.

you let out a soft moan, “oh,” you said, feeling your arousal pooling in your panties.

spencer used his other hand to trail down your body, his fingers making their way to the waistline of your panties. you let out a shaky breath, spreading your legs for your coworker. he slipped his fingers underneath the waistline, bringing them to your slit. he moved his middle finger down and up your cunt, spreading around the wetness before finding your clit and rubbing circles onto it.

you moaned again, this time your eyes fluttering shut as your pussy was finally being touched. with how knowledgeable spencer was, it wasn’t too surprising that he knew exactly what would pleasure you.

spencer continued to rub your clit in circles while sucking on your tits, making you feel as though your body was on fire. you could feel his bulge pressing into your thigh, signaling just how much this was turning him on. after a few minutes, spencer stopped rubbing your clit, his middle finger dipping down to your hole. you let out a shaky moan as he inserted his finger. “you’re so wet,” spencer murmured, looking at you as he thrusted his finger inside of you slowly.

you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut. the feeling was foreign but not bad. you’ve touched yourself a few times before but it had been different. your fingers were different from spencer’s. and his felt so good. “wet for you,” you whispered, licking your lips.

“yeah you are,” spencer smiled, adding another finger and curling it, hitting your g-spot.

you let out a louder moan, arching your back as he thrusted his fingers faster inside of you. “oh fuck!” you said. “f-for someone who’s never done this before, you-“ you moaned mid-sentence. “you know quite a bit.”

spencer let out a breathless chuckle, continuing his pace with his fingers. “i’ve studied a lot,” he replied, watching you.

you felt a heat building in your abdomen, signaling the beginnings of your release. you let out a whine of pleasure, your walls tightening around spencer’s fingers. “so close,” you said, bringing a hand to spencer’s shoulder to hold onto.

“yeah?” spencer said. “go ahead, cum for me, baby,” he replied as he worked his digits inside of you.

and so you came, thighs shaking, back arching, moaning. “spencer,” you moaned as you came. spencer fingered you through your orgasm and when you finished, you relaxed, breathing heavily. spencer removed his fingers from your cunt, looking at you with flushed cheeks. “you’re so beautiful,” he said, bringing his fingers to his mouth. he licked the digits, tasting your juices on his tongue. you watched him as he began to suck on his fingers. you bit your lip, watching him. even though you had just came, you felt yourself getting aroused again. “and you taste delightful,” spencer said as he stopped sucking on his fingers. he looked at you, licking his lips. “are you- are you sure you want to continue? i mean- you did just finish. i don’t want it to be too much for you,” he asked with consideration towards you.

“please,” you responded. “i want you, spence.”

and that was all spencer needed to smile and get up. “i- uh i came prepared of course,” he exclaimed, looking around the room for his pants. the bulge in his boxers was very prominent as you looked at him. you pulled your panties off, throwing them to the side as you waited for spencer. he grabbed his pants, pulling out a condom from the back pocket. he walked back over to the mattress, holding the packet in his hand. he swallowed thickly before slowly pulling down his boxers, revealing his hard length. he let out a hiss as the cool air hit his cock.

spencer’s cock was big to say the least. it was red and angry, begging to be touched. “you’re so big,” you whispered, almost amazed at the length. it wasn’t too girthy but it was perfect.

“you think so?” he asked a bit shyly.

you nodded your head, looking up at spencer with a smile. you looked back at his cock, licking your lips. spencer cleared his throat, ripping the condom package open and tossing the foil to the side. he began putting the latex on his cock, pulling it onto his length and ensuring it was on properly.

“are you ready?” he asked, looking down at you.

“yes,” you said clearly, looking up at spencer.

and then he was back on top of you. you spread your legs for him as he brought his cock to your pussy, teasing you by rubbing his tip against your clit, causing the both of you to let out small moans. “it’s going to hurt at first,” he murmured a bit shakily as he held himself up by one hand, his other guiding his cock.

“i’m a big girl, i can take it,” you replied softly, bringing a hand to spencer’s hair and moving a strand out of his face before resting it on his shoulder.

spencer leaned down to kiss you softly, slowly moving his lips against yours. he guided his cock to your hole, slowly and carefully easing himself inside. you inhaled sharply, feeling the stretch of having a cock inserted inside of you for the first time. “are you okay?” he whispered against your lips as he stopped for a moment.

you nodded your head, eyes closed in slight pain. “just keep going,” you whispered back, holding onto spencer.

and so he did. and when he finally bottomed out, he stayed still, allowing you time to adjust. he had read in several books that women tend to feel quite a bit of pain during their first time. so he wanted to ensure that you felt good before he began moving.

after a few minutes, the stinging began to ease up. and you could feel yourself relaxing. you swallowed, opening your eyes to see spencer’s beautiful brown orbs already looking down at you. “i think- i think you can move now,” you whispered to him.

“are you sure?” he asked, looking unsure.

“i’m sure.”

spencer nodded his head, leaning down once more to capture your lips with his as he moved his hips out and then back in very slowly. the both of you moaned. he began to get into a rhythm of moving slowly, relishing in the feeling of your tight and wet cunt around him.

“god, you feel so good around me,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as he thrusted his cock in and out of you.

you let out a shaky moan as the pain turned into pleasure quite quickly. he was filling you up so deeply, something you had never felt before. and god did it feel good. “is so deep,” you said, gently clawing at his back. “you-you can move faster.”

spencer swallowed before moving his hips faster inside of you, causing you both to whine. it felt so good. you finally understood what everyone had been talking about. sex truly was pleasurable. and sex with spencer just certainly felt…perfect. it didn’t matter what else was going on in the world because you had him. and this experience is so much more than just sex with a coworker.

“fuck,” spencer moaned, grinding his cock inside of you. “i don’t think i can last,” he said, embarrassed.

you moaned, nodding your head. “that’s okay,” you replied, kissing spencer’s lips. “just as long as it feels good, that’s all that matters,” you reassured.

spencer let out a whimper, burying his face in your neck as he thrusted his hips. he moaned into your skin, moving his hips more frantically. you felt your own orgasm approaching as his cock kept hitting that spongy spot inside of you repeatedly. and with a loud whine, spencer was cumming, moaning your name as he came. it didn’t take long at all for you to follow, arching your back as you moaned spencer’s name at him.

and when you both finished, spencer pulled out, moving to lay right next to you. the both of you were breathing heavily, taking a moment to process exactly what had just happened. after a few minutes, you looked over at spencer, who turned his head to look at you, and the both of you smiled and laughed. “i can’t believe that just happened,” you said, laughing.

“ahh me neither,” spencer replied, moving so that he could put his arm underneath your head. “i’m glad it did though.”

you smiled. “me too,” you replied. “we’re definitely going to do that again,” you said.

“oh most definitely,” he said as he brought his fingers to your chin, lifting it to meet your lips with his.

after that, sex with your coworker became a normal thing. and it was safe to say that feelings eventually became involved.

[kasumichow]

Chicken Breast - Oven-Roasted Chicken Breasts with Carrots and Red Potatoes

[asunflowerana]

06:50 PM — Nanami Kento

"Fried or grilled chicken for dinner?"

"Uhm—" a grunt can be heard from the other line, followed by the sounds of slashing and inhuman shrieks. He must still be busy. "Uhm, grilled is good, love. What you're thinking for side dish?"

"Cheesy mashed potatoes and tomato sauce, just the way you like it." You close the fridge door, holding the phone with your free hand while the other arm carries the pot of fresh seasoned chicken you prepared a few hours ago. You organize the counter with all the ingredients, pan pre-heating with butter.

"Perfect." There are a few more distant grunts, but you can still understand your husband's approval, making you proceed with your dinner plans. "Don't forget to lower the heat, in case you want to practice your dance moves again."

"It was just once, Kento!" You sulk, not like being called out for grooving in the kitchen. Did you burn a few things back then? Yes, but who didn't? It was your favorite pop playlist, your body went on its own!

Making sure your phone stays still well between your ear and shoulder blade, you land the first filet of chicken breast on the hot pan, a not-so-usual sizzling sound taking place in the room. Yep, let's definitely lower the heat, you move your fingers around the knob. "I won't burn our food again, smarty pants. Stop bullying your wife."

But you can't stay mad at him for too long. Not when you feel his deep, breathless chuckles flowing right inside your ear, into your mind and heart, making your stomach flutter like a scholar girl just like every single time. "I'm sorry love, you're right. Your food 's heaven, burned or not."

Letting out a last huff, you roll your eyes, feeling your lips curve in a lopsided smile. You bet Nanami has a similar one on his face right now. "How long 'til you come home?"

There's a small pause, filled with lowly breaths and the far sound of crickets. Maybe he finished what he was dealing with. "45 minutes from now. Think you can hold tight?"

"You're not deserving, but I'll make an effort." Now you hear the perfect form of a snicker, making you wish you could kiss it away and fill that pretty cheeky face with even more kisses. You miss your husband. "Come safe, 'kay? I'll see you soon."

"See you soon, love. Stay safe."

And the red finish button is pressed. Nanami carefully returns the device inside his pocket, now investing his whole attention on the last, persistent curse gaping at him behind a pillar, thinking it could catch him out of guard.

Rubbing of the remains of blood coming from a small cut on his jaw, he roughly loosen the tight knot of his tie that you so lovingly did this morning. He needs to move without restraints if he wants to get the next subway, though.

"Let's finish for today, shall we?"

And like every weekday, Kento makes it on time.

© asunflowerana 2024

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 10

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: back to work but still hurting.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You’re grateful only for the reprieve of Sy’s shower. He spends at least an hour in the bathroom but it’s not nearly enough time to figure this out. He’s not going anywhere and you have no way of changing that. And with how things are going, it won’t be long before you’re entirely trapped with him. 

The helplessness suffocates you. You slowly get up, needing to do something, anything to keep your thoughts from spiralling further. Or him. 

You go to the kitchen and pull out some chicken. Even with your recent shop, what you have won’t last. Not with two people. You marinate the tender breast as you pull out the jasmine rice and your mini rice cooker. Everything you have is built for one, it’s another reminder that he’s invaded your life. 

The bathroom door opens and you stay hidden in the kitchen. It’s only as he calls your name that you poke your head out. You don’t want him to think you’ve tried to escape again. Imagine that, escaping your own life. 

“Here,” you squeak and your mouth hangs open. He stands in only a towel. It’s low enough that the trail of hair along his stomach grows thicker just above the knot. Your lashes flick and you cough, “just starting dinner. Jerk chicken and... and rice.” 

“Sounds delicious,” he grins and runs his fingers through his beard. “Much better than field rations, eh, Aika?” 

He whistles at the dog and she perks her ears up. Sy sighs and drops his arms, smiling at you dreamily. Your eyes wander to the scars all over his body; a thick raised one along his ribs and smaller ones flecked along his shoulder and a line on his lower stomach. 

“I’ll get dressed,” he rubs his hands together, “can’t be eatin’ in my towel, huh?” 

“Sure, uh, I... I’ll be in here.” 

You go back into the kitchen and stare at the rice maker. You see the reflection of his scarred mind in his body. Again you can’t help the rent in your heart. That sympathy that underlines your fear. He’s a tortured soul but not one you can soothe. You don't know where to begin. 

You put the chicken in the oven and set the rice to cook. Next you look for a veggie. Broccoli. Standard. You’ll add a bit of seasoning. You’re not very hungry, even as the aromas rise in the air. 

“God, it’s hot in here,” Sy growls as he appears in the doorway that opens to the dining space.  

“It’s the oven,” you say as rinse the head of broccoli, “sorry.” 

“Ah, you know, it’s not half so bad as the desert,” he chuckles, “Aika knows. The way the sand gets all in your mouth and—and everywhere else.” 

“I can’t imagine,” you murmur, “wouldn’t be a day at the beach, I’m sure.” 

“Mm, no,” he agrees as he leans on the wall, “not a bad idea. I could take ya down for a beach day. We could get some good pictures. A few videos.” 

“Maybe, I don’t know,” you focus on your task. You put the broccoli on the cutting board and pull out a knife. 

“You want me to get that, sweetie? Don’t wanna cut yourself now,” he pushes away from the wall. 

“No, I got it,” you line up the knife and chop the head in half. He winces. 

“It’s dangerous, you got a smaller one?” 

“Really, Sy, I’m fine,” you insist as he looms closer, “let me just get dinner ready and you can sit--” you hiss as you pull your finger back at the sudden slip. 

“I told ya,” he accuses as he grabs your hand and examines it. His grip is iron and you don’t resist. There’s no blood. 

“It was just my nail,” you wiggle the top of your finger, “please--” 

“Let me do it,” he insists and reaches for your other hand, “give me the knife, sweetie.” 

You hesitate but hand it over. You’re not sure why he’s so nervous about it. Still, there’s no sense fighting over sharp objects. 

“We gotta work together, don’t we?” He says as he chops.  

“Sure,” you agree thinly. 

You turn to get a sheet pan for the broccoli. You’ll dress in oil and some spices, maybe a bit of lemon juice. As you lay parchment paper over it, he drops the knife in the sink. 

He remains, crowding you as he watches you work. You spread out the little branches and drizzle them over. You put them in beside the chicken and rinse off your hands. You dry off and glance over at Sy. He's watching you. 

“You really don’t have to stay out here,” you say. 

“I like being around you,” he grins, “still can’t believe it’s real.” 

Me neither, you think. 

“Well, all that’s left is the waiting,” you set a timer, “so...” 

“Ah, well, s’pose we can do that on the couch.” 

“Oh, well, I was gonna get the laundry together,” you say, the excuse popping up spontaneously. 

“Why don’t you wait ‘til tomorrow?” 

“Right, uh, I wanted to get it done. I need to get back to my commissions tomorrow.” 

“Mmm,” he hums flatly, “you work too hard.” 

You withhold a mean thought. He hasn’t mentioned work since he showed up. What about that desk he was talking about? You know better than to challenge him. You’ll keep the peace as long as you have to. Get through dinner then worry about the real test; bedtime. 

“Alright, let’s sit,” you relent and reach for his large hand.  

It’s not an affectionate gesture, merely appeasing. You can still hear his voice booming and the thump his skull made on the wall. Not to mention the state of his face and the dent in your wall. You can’t forget what he’s capable of. You can’t deny that you’re lucky he only hurt himself. 

He lets you guide him out of the kitchen and you try not to show your reticence. You won’t think of what happened on the couch last time. Besides, you can’t leave the food to burn. 

💗

You eat at the table. It’s an excuse for some space. As you waited for the timer to save you, you were trapped in his embrace. His constant touching and cooing. You should be flattered when someone tells you you’re pretty and perfect but he just makes you want to combust. 

You can hardly stay still. You clear the table and tidy up what mess is left in the kitchen. You can hear him prowling in the other room. You wipe down the table and peek up as he stops to watch you. 

“Almost done?” He asks. 

“Sure, uh, I’ll finish and get washed up for the night.” 

“Washed up?” He echoes. 

“Brush my teeth, wash my face, all that,” you explain. 

“Oh, yeah, makes sense.” 

“What about Aika? She need to go out?” 

He stops and looks at the dog, still laying at the door. 

“She should,” he intones grimly, “I’ll take her then.” 

He disappears into the bedroom as you let out a breath. It’s not much. You know you’re just putting off the inevitable. He reemerges with the jangle of keys and you see your phone case peeking out of a pocket in his cargo shorts. He might seem scattered but there’s something about him that assures you he’s just as calculated. 

“I’ll be back,” he assures and stops just by the door, “sure you don’t wanna come with us?” 

You rinse off the cloth and shake it out. 

“I’ll be fine.” 

“You should come...” he mumbles. 

“Sy,” you go to the doorway parallel to the apartment door, “I promise, I won’t go anywhere.” 

You have nowhere to go. 

He stares at you. His looks pale and drawn. He cracks his neck as he tilts his head one way then the other. He lets out a long exhale as he sets his head straight and he steps closer. Aika stands, her paws scuffing on the hardwood. You gulp as he makes himself bigger and glares down at you. 

“I know you won’t,” he says quietly, “because you know I’ll follow you anywhere, don’t you, sweetie?” 

You bat your lashes and gulp. You nod, “yes, captain.” 

His lips curve and he reaches to grab you, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you close and kisses your forehead, “good girl. Get nice and fresh for me.” 

He lets you go with a growl and you stand frozen between the counters. Aika watches him with her doleful eyes as he steps into his boots. He opens the door and points her out, not bothering to take the leash with him. She looks at you, wiggling her nose, before she goes. 

The door snaps shut behind Sy and jolt you. You can’t shake the grit in his voice. The subliminal threats laced into his proclamation of devotion. He found you and he’ll find you again, so why bother trying to run? 

You shut off the kitchen light and flit into the bedroom. You gather up a set of pajamas. A white tee and short pairing with little sliced oranges stamped into the fabric. You lock yourself in the bathroom and face yourself in the mirror. You look just as afraid as you feel. 

You lay out the pajamas to one side of the sink and put on the fluffy headband that keeps your hair out of the way. You start your usual routine, the familiarity the only comfort you have left. Brushing flossing, exfoliating, moisturizing, and toning. It’s the little things you started to make yourself feel better but they just aren’t working this time. 

You hear him return as you button up the pajama top. You stare at the door with dread and gather up your shirt and skirt, along with your panties and bra. You teeter on the balls of your feet, trying to find whatever you might call courage. He gets there first. 

The knock makes you jump. You quickly go to the door and flip back the lock. He opens the door from the other side before you can. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you answer dumbly as you hug your armful of clothes. 

“Oh, you look... nice. Refreshed.” 

“Um, yeah,” you say as you waver. There’s no room to get around him. 

He steps back and waves you out. You carry the clothing into the bedroom to dump in the hamper and turn to find him looming in the doorway. Great. 

“You smell good,” he purrs as he peels off his shirt. 

“Did you lock the door?” You ask. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. You got me here to take care of ya,” he scoffs and hurls the shirt so it just barely clings to the side of the hamper. “Those are some cute jammies.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you look down and pinch the sides of the shorts. 

“Long day,” he stretches and drops his arms, unbuttoning his shorts shamelessly. 

“Yep,” you agree, “be nice to sleep.” 

You go to the edge of the bed and slip beneath the duvet. You tuck your chin down as you hug yourself beneath the fluffy cover and keep your back to him. He flips the light off and you nearly whimper. The bed dips behind you and cool air flows under the blanket as he climbs in behind you. 

You’re not surprised when he swathes you in his thick arm. He pulls you against him, his furry chest flush to you as he purrs. You grasp his forearm and squirm as his heat surrounds you. He nuzzles your hair and plumes hot breath over your scalp. 

“Ain’t this nice? I could spend every night like this,” he growls as he keeps you curled up in one arm as his other hand trails down your side. “Never slept much over in the s—over there.” 

You squeak and stare into the static darkness. You tremble and force out a yawn. Maybe he’ll get the hint. For once. 

“I’m tired too, sweetie,” he toys with the bottom button on your shirt, “I know I’ll sleep all nice and cozy with you.”  

His fingers tickle your lower stomach and crawl beneath the cotton. You go rigid as he creeps up your soft flesh and you latch onto him as you try to stop him. He presses his lips to your crown. 

“Don’t be bad,” he warns in a gristle. 

You let him go with a babble. He brings his hand to cover one side of your chest. He squeezes and lets out a raspy groan. He rolls his hips and you feel he’s in need again. You close your eyes and brace yourself. It’s worse than the couch. You’ve laid yourself down in his trap. 

“You’re so soft, sweetie,” he fondles you, swirling his rough fingertips around your nipple, “so warm...” he inhales your scent and snarls, “you got me hurtin’ so bad.” 

[boinday]

The God and The Devil

Just a little folk-gothic about loneliness, the countryside, and keeping a cat. For the spooky season! 1.8k words ^_^ (Copyright Bóín Day 2024)

---------

There's a fire in the garden. Again.

I step outside, careful to close the sliding glass door behind me so Cock Robin can't get out. He prowls the length of the glass with performative indifference, pretending he only follows so far to rub his whiskers against the doorframe. Pretending not to notice the orange flames spitting up into the blue-dark twilight sky.

I take the watering can, already full, from the patio and walk to the center of the garden, where the effigy burns. It is bigger than the last one. About as tall as my knee. I douse it before it catches in the dry summer grass.

Our cottage is in the middle of County Leitrim. In that typical part of Leitrim where nothing really is. I bought it because I could afford it, derelict and rotting as it was, surrounded by a sea of disused fields, twenty kilometers from the nearest shop. It still cost more than my parents' first home; a restored Victorian townhouse purchased in the eighties. I do what I can with the cottage. Funnel all my earnings into making it habitable. Close off the rooms that drive me into despair. I think I got Cock Robin because I was lonely. Or because he was lonely. I can't remember which.

I remember I found him quite endearing at the shelter, though. He is a peculiar shade of brown for a cat – almost chocolatey – with a striking ginger breast by contrast. His eyes are yellow, and suspicious. He's large and fat, and maligned by a snaggletooth that gives him a permanent sneer. Despite his unfortunate face, he is docile, cuddly, and a formidable companion. I don't blame him completely for what's happened, though he must think I do. Why else would he be confined to the house, he thinks. Why else would his dear mother jail him.

Cock Robin, for all his lazy mornings and babyish ways, is a talented and voracious hunter. I never exactly approved of him catching mice, but I suppose I tacitly endorsed it by allowing him outside, into the fields where he was undoubtedly the apex predator. At first I would only find pieces of the mice: a half body, a dismembered foot, an internal organ licked clean of blood.

But as Cock Robin acclimatised to the good life of being a kept cat, and gradually grew rounder from tinned tuna and cold cuts of chicken, he must have grown bored with the taste of mice. Because more and more often, he would bring them home alive.

He would bring them home alive, and with them stunned and confused between his careful teeth, he would howl for my attention. Once I would rise from whatever task I was at, he would wait for me to approach, present his quarry, and kill it in front of me. People say this is a cat's way of teaching hapless humans how to hunt, and perhaps they are right. But from the way Cock Robin would proudly deposit the poor creature on the step, whole but for the killing wounds, and bounce along to the cupboard where he knows I keep his treats, I think this ritual is more akin to a crude, kitty capitalism.

'I have rendered you the service for which our two species coexist,' Cock Robin says with his closed eyes and loud purr. 'Now I shall collect my fee.'

I don't like to watch things die. Even spiders, which I hate, I can't bring myself to kill. Even indoor plants, which are a chore to keep, I endeavour to save from my own habitual neglect. And now even mice, already trapped in the jaws of death, I am compelled by my conscience to rescue. Cock Robin objects to my charity, but he is stupid enough to trust my approach whenever he has some poor living thing in his maw, and once I am close enough, I grab him. Sometimes he drops them instinctively when he hears my stern demands, and sometimes I must pry his mouth open, but he always gives up without much fight.

The difficulty then is re-catching the mouse. I keep gardening gloves by the sliding door for this task, now. If they are sufficiently traumatized, I can simply scoop them up, walk to one of the neighbouring fields, and gently release them into the long grass. If they are lucid, though, they jump away; run, climb, scramble for their life. Those times are harder – especially if Cock Robin is still in the room. But I always catch them. Once they're out of his teeth, I find a way to cup them, grab them, cradle them. Out they go to the fields. Alive to survive another day.

I must have caught at least a dozen mice when the first gift appeared. I didn't know it was a gift then, of course. It was four raspberries, piled together on the doormat. I'm sure I thought it was odd at the time, but I simply picked them up and set them on a fence-post for the birds.

A few days later there were twenty raspberries. A whole punnet's worth. I certainly thought that was odd, and it ignited some paranoia in me. There are no other houses in sight of my cottage, only fields. Not even cattle graze there, so there is little cause for anyone to come out as far as my place on the quiet country road. I fretted about axe wielding maniacs, countryside bandits, the sort of nightmarish characters you might hear about on a True Crime podcast. Of course, as far as threats go, raspberries are a tame and obscure one. Hardly worth calling the Gards over. I think I mentioned it to some friends, and they laughed like I was crazy. I think I laughed too. I didn't want to be crazy.

The raspberries continued to appear for weeks, sometimes with a whole apple rolled into the mix, sometimes ornately arranged among picked daisies and buttercups. I tried to ignore them. Hoped if they rotted on the step, that would send a message. But the damaged, old raspberries were removed in the night, and replenished with fresh ones by morning.

At a certain point, I decided it was best to just wait up. I drank three cups of coffee and, with heart pounding and carving knife in hand, sat in the perfect dark of my kitchen, and waited.

It was just before dawn when I saw them. I'd imagined every manner of strange or dangerous person, - I'd spent the night staring at the middle of the glass door, the height you would expect a person to stand - and so I almost missed them. The tiny, moving bumps of darkness scuttling along the ground towards the door. It looked like the patio stones had come to life, and were rippling towards the cottage in little waves.

I stood and approached. Quite a stupid thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it anyway. I could see them in their droves: hundreds of mice removing the old, imperfect fruit and rolling in the new. Some of them carried the flowers in teams of two or three. I crouched slowly by the glass door, enraptured by their industrious energy. By the sophistication of the endeavour.

One of them must have noticed me, and the noticing spread, because almost instantly the bustling and bumbling little bodies went still. I went still as well. It was relatively dark out, the sky just lightening to a gloomy blue, but I could tell they were looking at me. Then, in another wave of collective movement, their bodies stretched upward – stretched towards the heavens, tiny front paws raised above their mousey heads – and then fell down again. Prostrating themselves on the ground.

I watched the motion repeat several times, paws stretching skyward, then falling back down, before I realised I was watching some strange, cultish worship. They were bowing to me. They were bowing to me.

I ran away, as any rational person would. I closed myself into my bedroom with Cock Robin, who was sleeping none the wiser. And I thought about how truly impossible it is to keep a mouse out of your home, if the mouse has a mind to get in.

It was the following week that Cock Robin was attacked. He came in from the fields, mewling in a pitiful manner I'd never heard from him before. There was a piece of wood lodged in his right eye, about as big as a toothpick. I rushed him to the vet. They couldn't save the eye. An unfortunate accident, they supposed. A mishap while Cock Robin was climbing through a hedge. We agreed he ought to be an indoor cat from then on.

Now they've taken a liking to effigies.

I kick through the smoldering remains of this latest one. Their understanding of human proportions has certainly improved. I see they've stitched leaves together with plant fiber and bug silk to simulate clothing. I wonder how they learned to light the wood. I wonder if this is what we looked like, too, when man discovered fire.

I look up the length of the garden to my rotten little cottage. Cock Robin is sitting politely behind the glass door, watching me through his surviving eye, tail ticking away in simmering upset. He wants to be out here, I know. He wants to exercise his divine wrath.

I wonder, as well, how they make sense of us. It seems impossible to me, that they cannot know how dearly I love Cock Robin. How I infinitely prefer him to any little mouse, no matter what mercy my conscience mandates. How he sleeps beside me, inside the cottage that is so alien and fortified compared to the world of empty fields around it. I suppose it is a contradiction inherent, that they should give me tribute while reviling the cat I openly adore.

I suppose that even God adored Lucifer, once.

I stomp out the last of the embers and wriggle my phone out of my pocket. I've been photographing these things, for posterity – not that anyone would believe them. It would be written off as some natural phenomenon, or AI fakery, or perhaps they'd simply say I'm lying. I photograph it anyway.

Trudging back towards my cottage, I turn on the phone's flashlight. This is a newly formed habit. I hold the light above my head and sweep it over the neighbouring field, in an arc. Tiny pinpricks of light glow back at me. An ocean of beady eyes, watching in the darkness.

I shout at them to go away, please. I say that I have nothing for them, and thank them for their worship but I'd really rather they just move on. There's no response. There never is. They cannot understand my prayers. I am too huge and powerful to be understood. But still, I pray.

[foodffs]

Cajun Chicken is chicken breasts rubbed with Cajun seasoning and pan-seared, with browned and seasoned cremini mushrooms, all in a luscious creamy cajun sauce made without heavy cream.

[is-this-yuri]

i dont even LIKE chicken that much which is why it's so embarassing that i can cook with it better than most people whose chicken i've eaten.

it's a tale as old as time. your mom is making chicken tonight. maybe it's chicken parm. maybe it's chicken and dumplings. maybe she's getting cultured and making arroz con pollo. usually though, it's the blandest, driest chicken breast. you need a hacksaw to get through it and the dry seasoning rub sandpapers the roof of your mouth. how does she keep fucking up the chicken this bad?

so here's the thing: FDA guidelines about safe temperatures for meat are idiot-proof. if you are NOT an idiot you don't have to hypernukeblast all the flavor and texture out of your meat anymore.

watch this minutefood video for a great rundown of the numbers. i don't personally temp my meat, but i reccomend you do, and experiment like she has in the video until you're comfortable doing it by vibes.

LEARN TO COOK STIR FRY! this will teach you everything you need to know to cook chicken well, and it's two simple things:

1. chop it into little pieces

2. marinate it in liquid seasoning

the first tip is somewhat optional, as it's perfectly possible to cook a juicy full chicken breast safely, but you're always going to run the risk of overcooking it in an effort to get the center to a safe temperature. if you're looking for whole chicken breast, the oven is your friend.

the second tip is VITALLY IMPORTANT. dry powder seasonings don't penetrate into chicken meat well, and since chicken breast is usually an irregular shape (compared to say pork and beef cuts that tend to be flat), you'll end up with underseasoned bites if you rely on a seasoned crust. a liquid marinade will also hydrate the meat which i suspect contributes to even cooking, but more importantly leads to juicier meat.

i rest my meats for at least 2 minutes before cutting them, but the jury is out on whether that actually helps it retain moisture. if you've done everything else right, resting or not resting shouldn't make a big difference. if you want to visually check the meat has cooked through, absolutely cut it in half.

IF YOU END UP WITH DRY CHICKEN!! you can improve it by adding it to something wet, like a ceasar salad, or make it into chicken salad. shredding it will help with the texture too. or just feed it to your pets.

that's it! go forth and make delicious, succulent, juicy chicken!! good luck!!

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Curtis Brothers Minific

“What are you doing?” Soda lounged in the doorway, watching Darry put away the chicken Pony had made for dinner.

His brother jumped a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothin’. Just putin’ the leftovers away.”

For all his voice was steady he looked guiltier than Steve had that time mom had caught him stealing cookies back when mom and dad were still alive and little things didn’t matter so much. Soda wasn’t sure what, but it was clear he was hiding something.

“That’s your chicken. Pony an’ I made sure to save you some.”

“I just ain’t all that hungry is all,” Darry shrugged, trying and failing to be nonchalant.

“Bullshit.” Darry was always hungry, they all were, teenage growth spurts and growing boys and all that jazz. “Are you gettin’ sick or something?” 

He couldn't help the slight spike of panic that shot through him at the thought. Darry hadn’t been proper sick since before their parents had died, and Soda knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t any good at looking after sick people. That wasn’t really the issue though, they could figure that out, but he got a bit nervous himself whenever Darry looked any sort of vulnerable, and Pony went clean crazy. He didn’t even want to think of the headache he’d have to deal with if his big brother was getting sick. Trying to nurse Dar, and go to work, and try and talk Pony into talking would make for a very tough week indeed.

“I ain’t sick,” Darry told him, batting away his attempts to check for a fever. “I mean it Soda, I’m fine.”

“Then why ain’t you eating? And why are you actin’ like I caught you doing coke off the countertop? I swear you never looked so guilty in your life.”

“I ain’t.” Darry set his jaw stubbornly and went back to slicing the leftover chicken breast and wrapping it in plastic wrap.

“Yeah you are. C’mon superman, spill.”

Darry sighed, like talking to him was the biggest chore in the world. 

“It’s track season,” was all he said, rubbing at his neck again. For a second he didn’t get it- then slowly, Soda felt himself grin.

“You big softie! You’re savin’ it for Pony, ain’t ya? So he’ll have his favourite before his big race.”

“The kid’s gotta eat,” Darry said simply, but Soda could see his cheeks flushing.

“There’s a bit of peanut butter in the cupboard. He could’ve had that.”

“Not when I’m about to finish it he couldn’t,” Darry said, putting the last of the chicken in the fridge and swiftly pulling the jar of peanut butter out of the cupboard, spreading it across a slice of bread.  “Now don’t touch those leftovers and make sure Steve doesn’t either, savvy?”

“Yeah, I savvy,” Soda grinned easily, following Darry into the living room, clicking the kitchen light off behind him.

Pony didn’t notice, and Darry would never admit it, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that Dar spoiled the kid rotten. 

The next morning Pony let out a joyful whoop when he found the leftover chicken and hurriedly fixed himself a sandwich. For all he tried to hide it, Darry’s smile didn’t quite fit behind his newspaper. 

Soda didn’t bother to hide his own grin as he ran out the door. His brothers were the strangest guys he’d ever met, but god did he love them.

[kitchenwitchtingss]

FEEL BETTER CHICKEN SOUP

Today I woke up and felt a little ill. So I decided to make myself some good old feel-better chicken soup.

Being mixed, I've always grown up with two different versions of chicken noodle soup, so eventually when I grew up I just combined the two! Hispanic chicken soup usually uses tomatoes sazón, adobo, chicken thigh, lemon, and rice, but American chicken soup usually uses noodles, chicken breast, plain broth, salt, pepper, and celery.

So here's one way to twist the two together.

This recipe is pretty easy to make when you don't have a lot of energy because there is about an hour and a half of cooking where you can just sit down and relax while doing it.

3-4 Chicken Thighs or Legs (I prefer bone-in because it has more flavor and is more tender.)

3 tbsp Garlic honey (works well if fermented, it's fun and easy to make your own!) - Healing, Protection, Purification

One Goya Sazon Packet

1 Bay Leaf - Protection, Healing, Purification

1/2 Cup Baby Carrots (You could just chop up a regular carrot too lol)

1 yellow Onion

2 tsp grated Ginger - Cleansing, Energy, Healing

Half a bag of egg noodles (You could also use rice) - Longevity

4 cups chicken broth

2 green onions

Chicken Seasoning:

4 cloves garlic  - Protection, Healing

1/8 cup chopped parsley - Protection, Strength

1/2 tbsp olive oil

2 tbsp adobo seasoning

1 tbsp thyme - Healing, Abundance, Health, Prosperity

2 tsp basil flakes - Abundance, Prosperity 

1 tsp red pepper flakes

Salt and pepper - Banish Negative Energy

Juice of half a lemon - For Healing

Hot Scallion Oil:

2 tbsp oil

1 tbsp green onion

DIRECTIONS:

Blend the chicken seasonings listed above in a blender or in a mortar and pestle. Whichever you prefer. Rub on chicken and fry in a pot with oil until each side is browned. About 4 minutes on each side.

Add in yellow onion, ginger, and garlic honey, and cook until soft. Add in carrots and chicken stock. Add in Bay leaf and goya season packet. Cook for about an hour.

Add in green onions, and taste if the soup needs more seasoning. If it does, season to taste. Simmer for another 20 minutes.

When the chicken is tender enough to where it is falling off the bone, remove the chicken from the bone and discard the bones and bay leaf.

Add in egg noodles and cook for 7-9 minutes with the lid on, until the noodles are cooked.

Heat up 2 tbsp of oil until very hot. Add in green onion and cook for a little under a minute.

Laddel soup into a bowl and top with a spoonful of scallions and scallion oil.

Enjoy!

Editors Note: I'll never understand how people take such aesthetic photos of food loll.

[feyburner]

tumblr user feyburner, i have a confession. i don't know how to roast a chicken, or do anything with a chicken, and at this point i'm afraid to ask.

I can tell you're afraid to ask bc this isn't really a question. But I will answer it anyway. I'm always happy to talk about chicken.

You’ll be pleased to learn that roasting a chicken is so easy. The below explanation is quite long bc I am including all the information I can remember, to set you up for chicken roasting success. But, essentially, you’re rubbing a chicken in oil and seasonings and putting him in the oven for like an hour. Done.

Remember that people have been roasting whole chickens since the dawn of time using whatever they had around bc it’s the most low effort, high reward meal ever. You could say the word “salt” in a chicken’s general direction and toss him at a candle flame and he would still turn out great.  

To roast a chicken:

Buy a whole chicken, however big you want. 4-5 lbs is enough to feed 3-5 people with leftovers.

Prepare a workspace with a plastic cutting board (not wooden bc raw chicken juices) and paper towels. 

Remove the giblets, pin feathers, extra flaps:

1. Stick your hand up his primary orifice and pull out anything loose. There is usually a handful of little organs like heart and gizzards and sometimes these strings of pale bean looking things (tbh not sure what those are). Save these for stock, except the liver (super dark squishy organ) which will disintegrate. You can eat the liver separate if you want.

2. Trim off any sticky-outy bits that have pin feathers on them, and the flaps of fat/gristle over his orifice. Save the fatty bits for stock. Leave the triangle of fat directly above the orifice (his tail). 

Pat the chicken dry with paper towels inside and out. Get him as dry as possible. 

Spatchcock: You don’t have to spatchcock/butterfly but I like to, bc it maximizes outer surface area for that good good crispy skin. Also easier to get breasts and thighs done at the same rate.

All you have to do is cut the backbone out of the chicken with poultry shears or kitchen scissors if you’re desperate. Then push down hard to crack the breastbone so he lies super flat. Save the backbone for stock or jus. How to spatchcock step by step guide.

Dry brine: Prepare a bowl of coarse kosher salt. More salt than you’d think. Like 1 Tbsp per lb of meat. Rub salt over the whole chicken inside and out. Don’t skimp on the salt especially on the inside. It will not make your chicken crazy salty, it doesn't penetrate the meat that deep. Also some will be wiped off before you cook. 

Put the chicken on a wire rack on a baking sheet and chill uncovered in the fridge for 2-24 hours. The point of this step is the salt draws moisture to the surface of the chicken, which then evaporates in the circulating fridge air. It helps you get crispy chicken skin.

Dry brine + resting isn't 100% necessary, if for some reason you must produce a roasted chicken on a time crunch. But it's a good practice.

Roasting time:

Pat excess moisture off chicken inside and out. If you did not spatchcock you can stuff the inside with a halved lemon or garlic head, herbs, whatever you want. 

Seasoning rub: Prepare a small bowl with olive oil (maybe 1/4-1/3 cup?), salt, freshly cracked black pepper, and whatever dried herbs and spices you want. A good starter is: salt, pepper, parsley sage rosemary thyme, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder. I love me some Cajun spice mix like Slap Ya Mama. Start with like 1-2 tsp of each (1 tsp spices, 2 tsp dried herbs) and build from there. Don’t be shy. Recipes on the internet are like “Use 1/2 tsp herbs for this whole recipe” because they’re heading off 1-star reviews from annoying people who can’t handle a molecule of flavor. Season with your heart, your pussy, and your balls. Don’t be ashamed to use a store-bought spice rub. It’s not lazy, it’s efficient. Also, who gives a shit.

Rub the oil all over Mr. Chicken like he’s an Ancient Greek warrior-prince you’re preparing for the Olympic Games. 

Some recipes tell you to use butter, or slip butter under the skin, but butter has higher water content than oil and might not get you the ideal crispy skin. You can do whatever you want though. It’s your chicken. 

Preheat the oven to 425°. People will tell you a billion different temperatures—screaming hot, low and slow—but I’m here to tell you that it is so hard to fuck up a roast chicken, you can experiment and the results will always be great. 

I like to start at a high temp for 30 minutes to get the skin crisping and then reduce to 375° for the rest of the time to avoid burning. Sometimes you’ll have to cover him with foil if the seasonings start charring. That’s fine.

General cook time: 20 minutes per lb of meat, give or take 20 depending on oven temp. A 4-5 lb chicken at 425° -> 375° generally takes me ~1 hour 20 minutes. If you do low and slow at like 325° it might take 2+ hours. Just check on him periodically. Tbh it’s harder to overcook a chicken than you probably think. 5 minutes, or even 10-20 minutes, is NOT the difference between beautiful tender juicy chicken and a bone-dry tragedy. Chicken is not turkey. He is versatile and he can take it.

Pull the chicken when a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145° or above. (160° is the “safe temp” but 1. The temp will continue to rise for a few minutes after it leaves the oven, and 2. 160° is the temp at which bacteria dies immediately. 145° is fine for eating. Disclaimer: I am not a scientist just a guy who makes a lot of chicken.)

If you don’t have a thermometer, pull the chicken when you insert a knife into the thickest part and the juices run clear. Gorgeous.

Let him sit for 10-20 minutes before carving. When carving, find the oysters and give them to your favorite person or take them as the Cook’s Bounty.

**********************

Again, this explanation is quite long because I included lots of detail. If you do it even one time, you'll realize it's incredibly easy and intuitive and doesn't take much time at all.

Godspeed!

[goatcheesecak3]

Could you possibly write hcs about trying to teach rodrick how to cook?

Anon I love you for requesting this. Idk if it was intentional on your part, but I've been dropping a few hints that I've wanted to write something like this bc I love cooking, so if you picked up on that THAT'S SO SWEET 😭

Anyways, enough chinwagging, here's my teaching Rodrick to cook hcs

He wants to learn to cook so he can impress his mum, and you want to teach him so she'll see that you're a good influence

He's absolutely terrified of raw meat. You tried to teach him how to butterfly a chicken breast once and he nearly passed out.

He thought seasoning was another word for salt, and thought all the herbs and spices in your cupboard were types of tea.

He was amazed to find out that there are ways to cook vegetables so that they taste nice, and ever since learning a few tips from you he's actually been eating his greens

He is NOT TO BE TRUSTED ALONE WITH THE STOVE. For some reason he thought a good way of telling if a pan was hot was to press the entire palm of his hand onto it, thank god you stopped him just in time.

You constantly have to remind him to wash his hands after chopping chillies, ever since the incident when he rubbed his eyes with chilli juice all over them.

He can't take any of it seriously, when his eyes water while chopping onions he makes the same joke every time, dramatically pretending to sob and saying "I just feel so guilty for killing all these innocent onions"

Once the food has been prepped and is cooking, he gets very impatient and you have to stop him from checking to see if it's done yet every 3 minutes

His favourite thing to cook is homemade pasta, he likes to show off how strong he is when he rolls out the dough - you're less keen since he always finds a way to get flour into his hair

His favourite thing about learning to cook from you is when you go off on tangents about what wine pairs with what meat, which herbs compliment eachother and what the best secret ingredients are. He tries really hard to listen and take in all the information, but he finds himself just gazing at you lovingly, and interrupting you with a kiss. He can't help it, he finds it so irresistibly cute when you get all passionate.

Hope you enjoyed! Requests are still open by the way :^)

[forkfulofflavor]

Slow Cooker Bone-In Turkey Breast Ingredients: Turkey 1 large white or yellow onion, peeled and diced into 1-inch chunks 1 (7-pound) bone-in turkey breast, skin on 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened 2–3 cloves garlic, finely minced 2 teaspoons fresh thyme, chopped 2 teaspoons fresh rosemary, chopped 2 teaspoons fresh sage, chopped 1–2 teaspoons kosher salt, to taste 1 teaspoon smoked paprika (or regular paprika) 1/2–1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, to taste 1/2 cup orange juice (or substitute with chicken broth) 1/4 cup reduced sodium chicken broth Gravy 4 tablespoons unsalted butter 4 tablespoons all-purpose flour 2 cups broth (from turkey drippings in the slow cooker) Salt and pepper, to taste Directions: Prepare the Slow Cooker: Lightly coat the ceramic portion of a 6 to 7-quart slow cooker with cooking spray. Scatter the onion chunks over the base of the cooker. Season the Turkey: Pat the turkey breast dry. In a small bowl, combine softened butter, garlic, thyme, rosemary, sage, salt, paprika, and pepper. Rub this butter mixture over the turkey breast, including underneath the skin if possible, taking care not to tear it. Cook the Turkey: Place the seasoned turkey breast on top of the onions in the slow cooker. Pour the orange juice and reduced sodium chicken broth around the turkey. Cover with the lid and cook on HIGH for about 3 hours or on LOW for about 5 hours, until the internal temperature reaches 160°F. Use a digital thermometer for accuracy. Optional Crispy Skin: For crispy skin, preheat the broiler to 500°F. Transfer the cooked turkey breast to a baking sheet, place on a wire rack, and broil for 5 minutes or until the skin is golden and crispy. Keep a close watch to prevent burning. Make the Gravy (Optional): Strain the cooking juices from the slow cooker, discarding onion chunks. Add additional broth if necessary to make 2 cups. In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium-high heat, then whisk in the flour to make a roux. Gradually add the broth, whisking constantly, and simmer for 5 minutes or until thickened. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve: Slice the turkey breast as desired and serve with gravy. Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cooking Time: 5 hours (slow cooker on LOW) | Total Time: 5 hours 20 minutes Kcal: 350 kcal | Servings: 8 servings With aromatic herbs and butter gently infusing a bone-in turkey breast, this slow cooker recipe offers tender, juicy meat ideal for your holiday spread. The subtle citrus notes from orange juice complement the rich, savory flavors, while the optional broiling step delivers a crispy, golden-brown finish to the skin. Serve it with homemade gravy, crafted from the turkey’s own drippings, for an extra layer of warmth and flavor. This dish makes a delightful centerpiece for Thanksgiving or any festive gathering where you want to make an impression with minimal effort. The recipe is straightforward yet yields a rich, moist turkey, perfect for family gatherings or special meals with loved ones. Paired with seasonal sides, this turkey is sure to be a crowd-pleaser.

[rachellaurengray]

50 Air Fryer Meals Under 300 Calories

Not sure what to make with your air fryer while keeping things under 300 calories? Here’s a diverse list of 50 delicious options, including vegan dishes

Air Fried Chicken Tenders Chicken breast strips with a light breadcrumb coating. Approx. 280 calories for 4 tenders.

Air Fried Turkey Meatballs Ground turkey mixed with herbs and spices. Approx. 250 calories for 6 meatballs.

Buffalo Chicken Bites Chicken pieces coated in buffalo sauce and breadcrumbs. Approx. 270 calories for 6 pieces.

Crispy Air Fried Shrimp Breaded shrimp with lemon zest. Approx. 290 calories for 12 shrimp.

Garlic Parmesan Air Fried Salmon Salmon fillets with garlic and Parmesan crust. Approx. 280 calories per fillet.

Air Fried Fish Tacos Lightly breaded fish fillets with cabbage slaw. Approx. 290 calories for 2 tacos.

Spicy Air Fried Cauliflower Bites Cauliflower florets tossed in a spicy seasoning mix. Approx. 230 calories for 1 cup.

Crispy Air Fried Brussels Sprouts Brussels sprouts with balsamic glaze. Approx. 260 calories per serving (1 cup).

Air Fried Zucchini Fries Zucchini sticks coated in a light breadcrumb mixture. Approx. 240 calories for a serving of 10 fries.

Air Fried Sweet Potato Chips Thinly sliced sweet potatoes with sea salt. Approx. 270 calories for 1 cup.

Healthy Air Fried Chickpeas Roasted chickpeas with paprika and garlic powder. Approx. 230 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Apple Chips Thinly sliced apples with cinnamon. Approx. 150 calories for 15 chips.

Air Fried Veggie Frittata Eggs with mixed vegetables, cooked in a small skillet. Approx. 280 calories per serving (1 slice).

Air Fried Breakfast Burrito Egg whites, spinach, and salsa in a low-carb tortilla. Approx. 290 calories per burrito.

Stuffed Air Fried Avocados Avocado halves filled with egg whites and seasonings. Approx. 270 calories for 2 halves.

Air Fried Onion Rings Onion slices with a light breadcrumb coating. Approx. 290 calories for 8 rings.

Crispy Air Fried Tofu Bites Marinated tofu cubes coated in breadcrumbs. Approx. 250 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Spiced Nuts Mixed nuts with chili powder and garlic. Approx. 280 calories for ¼ cup.

Air Fried Stuffed Mushrooms Mushrooms filled with a light cheese and herb mixture. Approx. 260 calories for 5 mushrooms.

Air Fried Eggplant Parmesan Bites Eggplant cubes with marinara and Parmesan. Approx. 280 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Broccoli Florets Broccoli with a sprinkle of garlic and herbs. Approx. 200 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Carrot Fries Carrot sticks with a light seasoning. Approx. 200 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Green Bean Fries Green beans with a crispy breadcrumb coating. Approx. 220 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Portobello Mushroom Caps Portobello mushrooms with a balsamic glaze. Approx. 180 calories for 2 caps.

Air Fried Cucumber Chips Thin cucumber slices with a light seasoning. Approx. 100 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Eggplant Slices Eggplant slices with a light breadcrumb coating. Approx. 250 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Spicy Brussels Sprouts Brussels sprouts with a spicy seasoning blend. Approx. 260 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Spiced Edamame Edamame pods seasoned with chili and garlic. Approx. 200 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Sweet Potato Wedges Sweet potato slices with a light seasoning. Approx. 250 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Vegan Falafel Chickpea patties with herbs and spices. Approx. 270 calories for 4 pieces.

Air Fried Garlic Parmesan Asparagus Asparagus spears with a light garlic and Parmesan coating. Approx. 240 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Stuffed Bell Peppers Bell peppers filled with a mixture of quinoa and black beans. Approx. 280 calories for 1 pepper.

Air Fried Spicy Chicken Drumsticks Chicken drumsticks with a spicy rub. Approx. 290 calories for 1 drumstick.

Air Fried Tofu Satay Tofu skewers with a light satay sauce. Approx. 270 calories for 4 skewers.

Air Fried Vegetable Spring Rolls Spring rolls filled with mixed veggies. Approx. 280 calories for 2 rolls.

Air Fried Coconut Chicken Bites Chicken pieces coated in shredded coconut. Approx. 280 calories for 6 pieces.

Air Fried Lemon Garlic Mushrooms Mushrooms with a lemon garlic seasoning. Approx. 200 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Sweet Potato Chips Thin sweet potato slices with a touch of sea salt. Approx. 270 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Spiced Chickpeas Chickpeas seasoned with cumin and paprika. Approx. 230 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Caramelized Brussels Sprouts Brussels sprouts with a touch of maple syrup and balsamic. Approx. 260 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Green Bean Almondine Green beans with almonds and a hint of lemon. Approx. 240 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried BBQ Cauliflower Wings Cauliflower florets coated in BBQ sauce. Approx. 270 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Avocado Fries Avocado slices with a crispy coating. Approx. 250 calories for 1 cup.

Air Fried Pineapple Chunks Pineapple pieces with a sprinkle of cinnamon. Approx. 150 calories for 1 cup.

These options offer a mix of tastes and textures, perfect for keeping your meals varied and enjoyable while staying within your calorie goals.

[blindmagdalena]

stop I’ve been thinking about this all day 🥹🥹how would homelander react to s/o making dinner for him but she’s acc a really bad cook and he has to pretend the food is good but she knows he’s lying and he then comforts her <3333

The dish smells... interesting.

"Looks great, babe," Homelander says, lying straight through his pearly white teeth. "What's that, are these roasted chest nuts?" He asks, using his fork to push one of the brown, slightly blackened little spheres around on his plate. You pause, looking up from your own plate. "No... they're brussel sprouts."

Oh, Christ. Maybe they were brussel sprouts.

His smile doesn't falter, but he can feel his stomach clench in preemptive rejection. "Yummers." Perhaps it won't be so bad. Some things taste better than they smell. Noting that you're still watching him, visibly nervous about his reaction, he shoots you a reassuring wink. Homelander jabs his fork into the brussel sprout, deeply concerned by the audible crunch it makes. The things we do for love.

Popping it into his mouth, Homelander bites down, his teeth snapping through each charred layer of leaf until he reaches a texture vaguely discernable as brussel sprout-like. "Mmmmmmm," he hums loudly, biting back a cough. What the fuck is that seasoning? Is that turmeric? He clears his throat, maintaining that too-wide, closed mouth smile as he chews. "Mmm...hmmmm...." "Oh god, it's awful, isn't it?" You ask, shoulders sagging as you look down at your own plate. You only made a couple of substitutions to the recipe! Though you did forget to set a timer, so maybe things got a little... dark. You groan, putting your face in your hands. Choking down his bite, Homelander pushes his chair out. "Heyyy, heyyyyy," he coos, moving to your side. He puts both hands on your shoulders and leans in to kiss the top of your head. "I think that it's... a great first attempt," he says, glancing down at your plate. Jesus, why did you cut the chicken breast like that? It looks flayed. "So it is awful," you say morosely. Homelander finds himself genuinely worried for your sense of smell. "Well... It isn't good," he admits at last, half smiling and half grimacing. You look up at him, utterly defeated, with tears welling in your eyes. "I really tried." Homelander hushes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I know! I know you did. It shows. You cooked the hell out of it," he says, gesturing to your plate. "Look at that. Dead as a doornail. And that chicken? Never gonna cross another road." You laugh through your own tears, giving him a gentle push. "Stop." "No, really. I could show off the hack job on that chicken as an interrogation tactic," he says, picking up your knife to follow the lines you made into the meat. "Truly terrifying work." "It's called a butterfly cut," you say defensively, smiling despite yourself. It's disappointing, but the way he's holding you against his chest as he playfully roasts your abysmal dinner is a surprisingly effective balm. Homelander laughs. "Sure it is, chef Ramsay." Sighing, you pull out your phone. "I'll order something in. Burgers?" "Burgers," he confirms, kissing your temple. Cupping the side of your face, he wipes one of your tears away with his thumb. "Try again tomorrow, alright?" "You're sure? At this rate, I might poison you." "C'mon. Not even your cooking could kill me," he says through a devilish little grin. You gasp, his devil-may-care attitude rubbing off on you, deteriorating that initial heartbreak. "You're a wicked man." "Well," Homelander purrs, tilting your chin up to kiss you. "I could be. How about you serve me a little appe-teaser in the bedroom?" "Incorrigible," you accuse, standing up to kiss him properly, looping your arms around his neck. He puts his hands on your hips, holding you close as he kisses you until your tears dry, leaving only contentment in their wake. "Thank you," you say quietly after a time, resting your forehead against his. He smiles, gentle and intimate. "Any time."

In the end, the burgers are good, but it's the after-dinner snuggles that really save the night.