#crockpot history

[pjakes]

Slow Cooking (The Crockpot)

The Crockpot has a rich history that dates back to the early 20th century. Here’s a look at the key milestones in the evolution of this beloved kitchen appliance: 1936: The story of the Crockpot begins with Irving Naxon (born Irving Nachumsohn), who filed for a patent for a slow-cooking device designed to cook beans. 1940: Naxon’s patent is granted for his “Cooking Apparatus,” laying the…

[mademoisellesarcasme]

a life-changing food option a good friend introduced to me that i officially adore:

potatoes in chili.

[eroguron0nsense]

The Mysterious Mysteries of Mr Sir Crocodile (Character Analysis)

(Apologies in advance for discrepancies from my usual tone and for holding off on everyone who voted for this on my last poll. Honest to God I hope y'all enjoy this in some capacity because I've been procrastinating on this meta so long it's derailed ALL my other One Piece writing and I only accomplished it through addy-fuelled mania)

This was such a fucking pain to write. I really wanted to say something about Crocodile and what makes him so fascinating that wasn't like, another fan theory or just a set of headcanons, but that's easier said than done?? We could boil it down to immaculate design, screen presence, attitude, or just the fact that he got brought back as an unlikely ally who shocked everyone by saving the protagonist, but I don't know that those factors in and of themselves make for a villain who's become such an object of fandom obsession.

Whatever it is, it's certainly not backstory or depth, because 24 years and hundreds and hundreds of chapters after his introduction, we still know nothing about Sir Crocowani's past beyond a vague confrontation with the Late Great Edward Newgate (that apparently like, ruined his dreams or something?), and some totally-not-just-a-threat-to-out-him-if-he-betrayed-the-alliance blackmail material the Queen of the Queers is holding over his sandy reptilian ass. I was born and grew into adulthood in the time it took Oda to tell the world fuck all about where he's from or his inner thoughts, or his actual honest motivations and traumas.

All we have about this character are questions. Why did he save Luffy and Ace –very conspicuously after both of their lineages were revealed to the world– against all logic and reason? Does he have ties to the revolutionaries? Is he the long-lost son of Rocks D. Xebec? Did he bounce on Comrade Dragon's Monkey D and squirt out the fucking Warrior of Liberation? I assume Oda's going to tell us more about him, but at this point, he's managed to keep a tighter lid on Sir Crocs, Inc.'s past than the fucking Secret History

You may be wondering, dear reader: what the fuck is my point? What is there, at this final stage of Long Running Pirate Manga, for me–Frankie EroGuroNonsense, OP Tumblr Community Z-lister with like, 7 mildly popular meta posts under my belt–to write about the legendary Sir Krokorok that hasn't already been said or theorized? What eagle-eyed observations did I make while rereading Alabasta and writing toxic Crobin fanfic? Am I going anywhere with this? Sorta. Yeah.

Let's start with listing things we actually know about Crockpot, in roughly chronological (??) order: –attended Gol D.'s execution way back when he was my age, along with anyone else who's anyone from his generation.

–At some point, met and was known well enough by Iva that she could effectively blackmail him

–Made it far enough on the Grand Line, somehow getting to the New World, and managed to pick up an 81,000,000 bounty (low end for a warlord, presumably scouted fairly early in his career)

–Wanted to be Pirate King until he gave up on it, not 100% explicitly confirmed but most likely due to getting his ass beat so badly by Whitebeard that he settled for picking off small fry and racketeering behind a government desk job. This makes him profoundly relatable to the rest of us depressed fucking losers who acquiesce to our own mediocrity.

–At 30, after presumably licking his wounds for a hot minute, sets up shop in Alabasta, comes up with a clever evil plan to quietly build up enough arms to conquer the world with a WMD, and then gets his years-long bioterrorist coup attempt foiled by a 17-year-old.

The rest we know: after a brief moment of glory as the unsung MVP of Impel Down/Marineford, he immediately reverts to Failguy Mode, gives all his money to a literal clown, and consequently gets roped into the neverending uncontrollable PR nightmare that is Cross Guild. It's still super vague and we know little to nothing about his past before the Alabasta Saga (for all we know he had a fling with King Cobra)

...Onto his personality and mannerisms. This shit's a lot more revealing. Superficially, he's everything: immaculate Bond villain levels of charismatic villainy, unbelievably ostentatious, dripped out like a Pimp, constantly smoking cigars, absolutely dripping with smugness and grease and disdain. Owns exotic pets and a giant casino, and spends every waking moment either grinning like a maniac when he's got the upper hand or storming around in a fucking mood when anything goes mildly wrong.

He's also pretty hardened underneath all that, obviously couldn't have lived a day on the grand line or survived Impel Down Torture otherwise. But even in Alabasta, Crockery gives off an air of being distinctly more grounded and willing to get his hands dirty than other flashy, established villains who flaunt their wealth and status. A big part of it is just his really hyper-masculine indomitable tough guy persona, but even early on he's very much micromanaging his operation, fighting people hand to hand in (as opposed to, say, Doffy, who literally puppeteers people while lounging around) and makes a point to keep almost all of his followers at a distance and rely on them as little as possible. He rants a bit about how dreams and whatnot are pointless follies, as One Piece antagonists tend to do, and repeatedly taunts Vivi about how her idealism can't save her, but with the context that he wanted to find Laughtale himself, it feels a lot like projection.

The character trait that's harped on a LOT in canon, and probably the most pertinent one to whatever demons he has, is Croconaw's profound pathological distrust for everyone around him. It's a huge part of what makes him a good early foil to the Nefertari family and the Straw Hats, whose collective strength is derived from organic human connection; Crocalor, by contrast, makes sure that up until the very last moment, he keeps most of his people so distant from him that they genuinely have no idea he's even their boss. His relationship with Robin is interesting, but he turns on her immediately when he realizes she either can't or won't give him the location of Pluton and has his dramatic stabbing/"I forgive you" lines about how he never trusted her or anyone from the start. He says the same shit to Mihawk when he suggests they join forces, even citing their mutual distrust as a kind of paradoxical justification for why they'd actually work well together.

Arguably the only exception is Daz Bones, but even that relationship is still a pretty reserved one; one of the few traits Daz exhibits is a similar avoidance of human connections to his boss and even though they've ironically formed a bond despite it, I can't imagine that they're emotionally close. I find these more explicit declarations of paranoia a lot less indicative of what's actually going on in Croconut's head than subtext, but I feel inclined to mention them just because it more or less tells us that his background/trauma has something to do either with betrayal or alternatively just being jaded and deprived to the point of self-isolation.

Krookodile's character gets a little bit more interesting when we get to see him again in Impel Down being a smug little manipulative rascal right up until he gets blackmailed by his endocrinologist, which is definitely medical malpractice but also funny as hell. I also appreciate that literally the first thing he does after getting out of his cell is change into a big coat and cravat to keep up appearances, but it's not until Marineford proper that things get really complicated. Saving Luffy and Ace is the first selfless thing we see Crobat do–while yelling at Luffy that he needs to protect what matters to him properly, no less– and he just keeps fighting for them after that, teaming up with his most hated rival crew to cover Luffy's retreat and telling the entire WG to go fuck itself multiple times over. He fights everyone on sight with no regard for his own safety, talks mad shit to Doffy, and demonstrates a genuinely compelling amount of honest to god chivalry.

For a short time, we see Crocomotive less as a really entertaining cartoon villain and more as a person with hidden, profound emotions and a confusing moral code that's seemingly incompatible with the vicious little creature we met in Alabasta. We come to understand, in a few very brief lines that give us way more questions than answers, that Cromagnon has deep-seated, emotional convictions he actively suppresses, and that whatever baggage he has is probably tied to wanting to or failing to save something of his own. His resentment of Newgate, who he really really wants to have a go at (despite theoretically no longer caring about the ambitions of his youth) is indicative of a desire to revisit the fight that probably ruined his dream and ego, but it's also tinged with a deep-seated grudging respect for a living legend.

Crock–Afire Explosion's obvious seething hatred of Doffy also gives us a few more insights into what's wrong with him. On a surface level, it makes sense that he dislikes a profoundly obnoxious, even flashier fellow warlord who achieved more or less the same goal he set out to in a shorter time, fucks with his business, and then mocks him/tries to recruit him right after his very public defeat and imprisonment. He postures a lot, especially with his lines insisting he's on a higher level and that Doffy could only ever join him as a subordinate, but he's visibly steamed in their initial encounter and clearly hasn't liked him for quite some time. I bring this up because if we stretch our interpretation a little (for the sake of my argument), Croc Holliday's distaste for someone who's (outwardly) so much like himself and embodies all of his villainous characteristics from back in Alabasta might also suggest that deep down, he doesn't actually like the things they have in common; he sees right through Doffy because he's done the same shit and he hates what he sees.

Having gone over all that, I've come up with some key characteristics of Crocomelon that I'll use going forward:

–Extremely performative: puts an ungodly amount of energy into maintaining a carefully curated persona, and projecting a certain amount of power, masculinity, and prestige. Not necessarily an unnatural or inauthentic one, but a constructed and purposeful one nonetheless

–Deep-seated paranoia, hidden secrets; probably intertwined. Keeps personal details on tight, tight lockdown, probably afraid of being known.

–Constant projection of his own insecurities and failures onto other people, making a point to be uniquely cruel in Alabasta to an idealist who loves her people and a dreamer who wants to be the Pirate King.

Ironically, he demonstrably respects and defends two people–Luffy and Whitebeard–who theoretically embody everything he hates or scorns (ambition, goodness, love, connection, romanticism, greatness in the traditional sense) and he intensely dislikes the villain most like himself, or at least the one who shares a lot of his worst characteristics (ostentatious manipulative scheming rat bastard backed by people stronger than himself) –The Grinch's heart grew three sizes at Marineford because of like, the compelling power of brotherly love and reminders of his youth or something

SPECULATION, CONCLUSIONS??

The difficulty with writing anything definitive about Crocko's Basilisk is that he's such a mystery, which functionally lets the fanbase project literally whatever weird personality traits, potential backstories, or anything else they could possibly come up with onto him. So I want to be clear that I have absolutely no interest in theorizing about the specifics of his past or secret identity or potential baby daddy or anything along those lines; I'm only interested in what we can infer about his personality by extrapolating from canon. And the conclusion I keep coming back to, the one that I'm convinced is true on some level, is that Crocodile is living a lie and he fucking hates himself. Everything he does, from how he acts to what he claims to believe, is a desperate effort to cope with his own insecurity and failure and cover up a past version of himself he's deeply ashamed of.

Now, unfortunately, Oda did not conceive of Crocodile as a trans man but stories belong to the people and we can do what we want let's forget about that and play it straight because he's constantly performing gender as a means of compensating for a deep-seated shame and self-loathing from whatever traumas and secrets he keeps hidden. Even assuming he's a cis man, he deliberately chooses a hypermasculine persona with a Capital V Villain moniker and pimp outfit and speech pattern he's carefully curated to project masculine power–physical, political, and financial–and we know it's performance because we see him break kayfabe and get legitimately fucking angry whenever he's confronted by a person like Luffy, who's crazy and brave enough to try and do what he couldn't and risk everything for love and hope that he cannot bring himself to feel for another person, or reminders of the past he tries so desperately to bury.

The lessons he's wrongfully obtained from his past are as follows: Idealism is a weakness. Dreaming is a weakness. Connections to other people and being known are crippling liabilities (If he is, in fact, trans and closeted, that's all the more reason to be existentially disgusted by what he used to be). All the hope he brought to the Grand Line, all the excitement of trying to carry on where Roger left off, needs to be purged and buried because all he got to show for it was loss and humiliation. But he can't stop wanting more, and ironically, after he gives up on conquering the Grand Line, he ends up chasing the same fucking poneglyphs and weapons because his ambition's still there; it's just compromised and much more jaded.

Everything he does that's seemingly contradictory makes sense when you realize that Crocodile resents his failure and wants to avenge himself. He makes a big show of talking down to Luffy and Vivi's petty ideals and shit-talking Newgate and his family, but he still wants to fight Whitebeard like he did way back when and help Luffy protect what matters to him. He hates Doffy, who's honestly just a more successful schemer than he is because it's a constant reminder of what he settled for when he took that warlord post and fucking gave up. He claims to trust no one, but he keeps Daz by his side and rewards his loyalty because he can't help but trust someone who respects him so deeply and follows him to the ends of the fucking earth long after losing the material incentive to do so. He claims to look down on people who aim for the stars and fight for love and joy and freedom and yet, in his most vulnerable moments–not in the face of violence or imprisonment, but when he's emotionally compelled to defend a child and help save his brother–we see how badly he wants that for himself.

TLDR: Crockman Holic is deeply insecure in his masculinity, desperately needs psychological help, and his character/potential redemption arc in One Piece is just dealing with his midlife crisis.

[alchemistc]

too many toasters | bucktommy 1/1

Tommy contemplates asking Buck to move in with him.

read on ao3

He's reorganizing a cupboard to make room for the massive crockpot he'd found for a steal at an estate sale (thinking of the stew he wants to make for Evan the next time the Santa Ana's are chasing at their heels) when he notices.

Evan's protein powder, still balanced on top of the fridge because he's hesitant to claim the spot Tommy had cleared for him weeks ago.

Evan's spare immersion blender, brought over because he'd seen Tommy's old-school espresso maker and wanted to try his hand at foam art. Unsuccessfully, considering both of them were avoiding cows milk at the moment.

The spare set of Jeep keys looped next to the garage door, which Evan hadn't asked him to return after Tommy changed his oil, and Tommy had taken to touching on his way out of the house like a wife stroking a token of her husband far off in a foreign country fighting a war.

In the living room, the blanket over the couch is tucked and folded in a way Tommy can never replicate and doesn't try, because he likes the look of it, hanging neatly over the arm of the loveseat.

In the garden, a second set of gloves, too unwieldy for anything but pulling thick weeds.

In the bathroom, the mouthwash Evan swears by tucked next to Tommy's aftershave in the medicine cabinet.

In the bedroom, two hoodies Tommy has stolen and stretched out the shoulders of - a flavored lube in the bedside table drawer that they'd both laughed themselves silly about after one use and Tommy hadn't had the heart to toss in the trash the next morning - three department issue tee's folded neatly in his wardrobe that Evan outgrew years ago and has retrofitted for sleepwear - a book on the bloody history of the potato on top of the ancient PS4 setup Tommy still hasn't moved to the living room.

And more - Tommy can picture them all in his mind clear as day, and his heart lurches fondly, warningly, in his chest.

They’ve settled somewhere between normal and warp speed, now that the early relationship milestones have all been blown clean out of the water. Spare keys exchanged, controversial sexual fantasies shared, shovel talks mostly avoided by the sheer power of dry wit and matching bitchiness, I love you’s exchanged beneath a hazy crescent moon with half a bottle of Merlot drunk between them and the wisteria hanging off his pergola tickling their noses. Tommy counts the time Evan had let him throw the Jeep up on the lift so he could do a full diagnostic rundown, and Evan counts the time Tommy let him Facetime with his nephew in Reno. Milestones, common and uncommon, that Tommy had stumbled through with a hand clenched in Evan’s, absolutely prepared to match both speed and psychosis.

He’s met the parents, at more than just a passing glance with his face covered in the same soot that painted a radius around Evan’s mouth. He’s fully integrated into the 118’s groupchats - every iteration, though he’s fond of the Maddie-Karen-Athena combo that never fails to go for the throat where station fuckery is involved.

They’ve done the stupid zodiac quizzes Tommy’s sister had sent him, Evan curled into the circle of his arms and ignoring the barrage of texts he’d gotten from Maddie after he’d asked her what time of day he’d been born, grinning into the skin of Tommy’s pec at the readout and then promptly reminding Tommy that neither one of them believed in that shit, anyway.

They’ve talked about the future — for themselves, individually, for the possibility with a partner. For each other, if (when, Tommy’s heart whispers) they make a good run of things.

Evan’s lease is up in a month.

They haven’t talked about it.

He only knows because Eddie had mentioned it, about as subtle as a bullhorn, before Tommy had to stop him from gossiping about all the missteps Evan’s had with living with significant others in the past.

(”There are things about Evan I should hear from Evan first,” Tommy had told him, a little more stern than he’d been going for, enough to make Eddie visibly swallow down a barrage of thinly veiled disdain for Evan’s exes.)

Evan hasn’t brought it up, but Tommy knows a little , enough to piece together why he might be reluctant to broach the subject.

But as Tommy shifts the popcorn maker into a corner and removes the toaster he’s been tinkering with to no avail for six months now, crockpot sliding in without so much as a rustle from the other kitchenware stuffed in there, he thinks about the recent quiet that has swallowed him whole on nights when they just can’t quite make the revolving door of their disparate schedules work. He thinks of the times he’s pushed through the door to Evan’s loft, dead on his feet and world-weary after a patient arrived at the helipad DOA — of the sound of his voice falling into a tangent easing something inside Tommy even though his joints and his heart were both still aching.

He thinks of the way Evan looks, toothpaste on the corners of his lips because he’s had a thought halfway through brushing that couldn’t wait the extra forty-five seconds to be heard. He thinks of the way he hates washing his sheets between visits, now, because he doesn’t like losing the faint scent of Evan’s shampoo on the pillowcase.

Tommy closes the cabinet and makes a beeline for the jug of protein powder sitting on top of his fridge. Opens the cabinet door above it and shifts the jug back into the spot he’d assigned it weeks ago.

“Right,” he says, out loud, into the silence of the house.

The house sighs back at him.

---

Tommy is incredibly good at stifling the part of himself that enjoys rom-coms more than any other genre of fiction. He’s had years, decades, to push his soft sighs down below his diaphragm where they can’t hurt him.

Evan appreciates how little fanfare there’s been to most of their firsts. The lack of pressure, the ease with which they’ve approached things that they’d both previously considered watershed moments.

He considers texting Eddie to ask him if Evan has mentioned anything about re-upping his lease. Tosses that thought aside almost immediately, because he can already see the snarky response: There are things about Buck you should hear from Buck first.

He nearly reaches out to Bobby, before he remembers Bobby’s soft smile, a month and a half ago, while Evan carted a squealing Jee-Yun around Hen and Karen’s backyard, his gentle smile when Tommy had handed him a club soda and lime. (”You know, I never thought I’d see Buck settle in to something he doesn’t need a pep talk about,” Bobby had said, and something had unfurled in Tommy like a delicate flower reaching for the sun.) He could. It’s stupid to think Bobby wouldn’t be happy to talk to Tommy about something like this — but there’s a quiet voice in the back of his mind telling him this is something he needs to figure out for himself.

In the end, he keeps it simple. Just enough romance to maybe give Evan a heads up. Two nights after shoving Evan’s protein power where it belongs, Tommy tells him to dress slightly more than casual, picks him up in the Nova he’s been fixing up for three months, drives him up the PCH until the sun is low on the horizon. They watch the clouds spark up in pinks and purples, the sea reflecting colors back, and then Tommy gets them burgers and beers, and they walk them off in the twilight, shoes in their hands as they drift along the sun-warm sand.

Evan points out a cloud that he swears looks like the tree in the front yard of the house he grew up in, and Tommy seizes the moment, shifts the slim box from his back pocket while Evan is turned away. It’s nearly too dark, and they should probably have turned back for the car twenty minutes ago, but Evan has a step count he likes to meet when he won’t be at the gym for a few days, and they’ve got plans for a long weekend.

Tommy takes a deep breath when Evan turns back to look at him. His breath tumbles out in a rush when he catches sight of the box. “It’s not a ring,” Tommy tells him, cringing, hyperaware all of the sudden that Evan would absolutely know that just by the size and shape of the box.

Evan tilts back on his heels. There is a gentle grin on his face — the one he had five seconds before Tommy told him he loved him, the one he wore the first time Tommy threw one of his hoodies on in the chill of the loft and raised the cuffs surreptitiously to his nose, the one Tommy sees every time he presses a kiss to the pink mark over Evan’s brow.

Like he knows.

Like he’s been waiting on Tommy to catch up.

“You could have just said something yourself,” Tommy notes, with a hint of sass, as the picture comes into focus. “You didn’t have to send Eddie in to drop hints.”

Evan bites his lip. “Is that for me?” That cloud looks like the tree outside my childhood home, my ass.

Cheeky. God, Tommy loves him. “Could be.”

Evan crab-hands his way forward, and Tommy shifts his weight back just enough that he misses, in the growing dark. There’s a little helicopter on the keyring he’d bought, no key attached because Evan already has that, and it’s so sappy he’s bound to get half a dozen teasing texts about it the very first time someone at the 118 clocks it. Tommy doesn’t care.

Evan shifts his weight back, drops his hands to his sides. Tommy can see the moon reflecting off the water in the sparkle of his eyes. “Ask me,” Evan says, and Tommy leans in to kiss him, instead.

---

Tommy finds no less than six of his henley’s in the depths of Evan’s closet while they’re paring down the parts of his wardrobe he doesn’t wear anymore. Rather than comment on it, he folds them neatly and adds them to the keep pile.

The Buckley’s, always deciding to be overbearing at the worst of times, try to buy them a new mattress when they hear through the grapevine that Evan is moving.

Chimney spends a week giving Tommy shit about the keyring, and Tommy retaliates by buying Jee a toy copter that lights up, makes noise, and can manage to hover off the ground just at ankle height.

---

“We have four toasters,” Evan comments. They’ve spent an entire three days off unpacking, the both of them unsettled by the idea of leaving boxes stacked around the house, or in the spare room (Thank you, Eddie, for that shared trauma response).

He’s shirtless, rubbing a serum into his skin as Tommy settles in on his side of the bed, soft pink lips parted, favoring his good leg a little. Tommy’s already reaching for the massage oil by the time Evan has finished his thankfully simple skincare routine. Tommy needs to upgrade his stock medicine cabinet, if Evan is going to continue stockpiling a backup of both of their respective skin and hair products.

He waves the bottle of massage oil at Evan when he moves towards the bed, and something eases in Evan’s expression — the reminder that Tommy pays such close attention to him always enough to turn him a bit gooey, and Tommy has never used it for evil, but he could, if he wanted to. “Do you want to get comfortable to sleep, or is this going to make you horny again?”

Evan grins, bright and wide, a little mischievous as he tilts his head and cocks a hip. Down to his briefs, there’s not much left to Tommy’s imagination.

“Not my fault you’ve got magic hands.”

“I’m merely trying to perform a service for my partner who has been moving boxes up and down stairs for a week and a half.”

“I’ll perform a service on you,” Evan rebuttals, tongue between his teeth, and the muscles in Tommy’s groin tighten on instinct, more than anything else.

“Three out of ten for cheesiness. I’ll give you six overall for sticking the landing.”

“That’s at least an eight and you know it,” Evan argues, the side-sleeper knee pillow already out from under the bed and propping up his leg as he shifts to get comfortable.

Tommy doesn’t warm the dollop of oil in his hand before he slides his palm up Evan’s thigh, and Evan makes a noise halfway between a squeak and a snort. He shoots Tommy a bratty look that Tommy wants to devour, but —

He warms a much more generous pour of oil between his palms before he slowly searches out the deepest knots with gentle fingers, and Evan sighs, eyes tipping closed as Tommy works. His dick twitches in his briefs, but Tommy ignores it, for the time being.

They’ll have time for it later.

[castielsarmpit]

Main character Deaths and Grief

My controversial opinion is I don't think that main character deaths are always a mistake. If the are done well the catharsis and emotional payoff can be major and the show more engaging.... but if the deaths are handled poorly, bad writing, missing important characters, pointless, or the reactions of the characters are subpar and don't fit thee characterizations then the death feels pointless.

The widower arc in supernatural season 13 with Dean being fucking obliterated when Cas dies. He literally kills himself (see doesn't stay dead but) he crashes out. We know how Dean as a character reacts to people he loves deaths, but to Castiel's deaths especially. The season 13 is gut wrenching, mostly because of Jensen's performance but the catharsis and pain of dean's loss makes the death impactful.

Thats why in season 15 when in "Despair" the love confession and death scene is impactful. But they show handles the deaths super poorly, Dean would not be fucking sitting and cuddling a dog after that. It was like they gave up and forgot how to write Dean as a character, then he fucking dies on a rusty nail in the last episode. It's haphazard and in no way matches the emotional impact of the season 13 arc. Shows are more than capable to do some deaths well and most deaths bad. They ruined everything with shit writing.

That is why the Bobby funeral episode "The Last Alarm" 8x16 of 911 was so disliked. There was none of the real catharsis or expression that the audience needs after the first major character death in the shows history. it was detached and felt hollow. The funeral scene was like 5 mins the only impactful scene was of Chim and buck on the roof.

"Don't drink the Water" 8x17 actually achieved every thing they did wrong in 8x16. It was like fucking whiplash. The scene of Buck in the confessional speaking to bobby and crying was gut wrenching, he was lost and desperate and felt like no one needed him. It finally expressed the feelings that fit with what we know about buck's characterization and relationship with bobby.

We also finally got real Eddie storylines, after they literally left him out of the 2 part episode where the only main chapter death in the show happens (so fucking dumb) and we get to see the reaction and the call and the tension that is tearing both buck and Eddie apart emotionally. we see Eddie, Karen, and hen, have an open and honest conversation about where they are at and how they are worried about buck. Eddie feels guilty that the last words he said to bobby were about crockpot deals, and Hen feels the sympathy and they are openly grieving on screen. it was so impactful.

It was filled to the brim with important character conversations and connections and crash-outs.

The scene with Buck and Eddie fighting in the kitchen finally allows the audience to grasp how they are both feeling, after being closed off or literally offscreen. The explosive emotions and complex feelings comes crashing out in a sensational scene. It finally gave the audience the catharsis of Bobby's adoptive son finally being real about his emotions. Eddie and bobby also had a really special relationship and we got to see elements of that too.

The real kicker was Buck and Eddie being in a standoff, which is rare to this degree. They fought and then Buck thought he was going back to Texas. When in fact he was bringing their son home, because he knew it was the only thing that could make buck feel loved and whole again, Eddie always knows what Buck really needs. The scene with Peppa and Buck in the kitchen so so incredible, thee discussions of grief and accepting change, helped the audience more forward with the chapters as the grief and life goes on without bobby.

This episode works because it focuses on the human interactions, relationships, and the way grief manifests for different people. The way 911 flopped so fucking bad with "Last Alarm" made having any faith in the show runner and writers pretty hard. Then they walloped us with a show stopping exploration of grief and moving on. What in the world is going on....

I am hoping and praying they stay on the season 13 widower arc/8X17 grief/character emotion exploration train, but I guess we will just have to see.

[traumadriven]

As I watch Med, I am thinking about how I see Tyler's relationship with the canon cast, and here are my conclusions.

Goodwin ; obviously he has mad respect for her and treats her with such. Always with the manners with her, the 'yes ma'am' and 'no ma'ams'. Even off the clock.

William Halstead ; Frenemies at best. They won't always see eye to eye, and Tyler will call him all sorts of nicknames but there is a respect there. But, he will tell Will off when he disagrees with him.

Hannah Asher : Softest spot for her after her history. Since Melanie has gone through it too, he gets it and is willing to be a shoulder to lean on if she needs. He admires her strength and is proud at how far she's come.

Daniel Charles : At first he thought therapist, shrinks, psychiatrist were all just hacks trying to get people to do what they wanted. But he saw how Charles handled everything, his patience, or even ones that weren't his and now it's safe to say? Insane respect for him.

Crockett Marcel : The name makes him snicker, but he likes Crockett. He likes calling him Crockpot. Enjoys working with him a lot but will call him out if he disagrees.

Natalie Manning : I admit, he may have had a small crush on her when he first started working, but at the same time he knew it'd never work between them. Especially since they tend to clash personality wise.

Ethan Choi : Navy vs. Army. Ty will joke the only reason that the Army loses the football games is Navy has more than enough time to practice while Army is out doing all the hard work. But otherwise there is a lot that Ethan does that Ty does not approve of, though Ty is a military man like Ethan he doesn't let it cloud his judgement.

April Sexton : He likes her, has respect for her, may have bought her a drink once or twice.

Noah Sexton: He has potential but he does not trust that boy further than he can throw him with his 'get rick quick' schemes. He admires the effort, but at the same time he wonders if he's in this for the right reasons.

Sarah Reese : He liked her when she first started, but with how things went and how she acted when she returned ? He no longer has respect for her and how she treated her patient who was clearly suffering. Truly believes she needs to lose her license.

Maggie Lockwood : He loves her like family, hell, she is family.

[pleasurebutch]

4,7,8,13 please Also random question to add Is there a specific age cutoff that you absolutely cannot talk to also, how can someone just casually talk with you to get to know you

4. What is your most common porn search key words?

I like audioporn, but tend to stay away from the video stuff unless I can confirm that it's consensual that the person posted it and that their an adult, which feels borderline impossible some days. I tend towards strap, dom or sub, butch, maybe threesome if I find a good one.

7. What fantasy has been playing in your head on repeat recently? Is it making you feel like a desperate whore?

Haha, never a desperate whore, more like a needy bitch. I've shared it before though. Handsome butch comes home, sees that I've cleaned the house and dinner is on the stove and rewards my diligence by giving me the gift of her packer. I get on my knees to get it nice and wet before I straddle her thighs, letting it sink into me. She stays fully clothed, nice pants with a button up slightly opened and her tie knotted to keep my hands behind my back. She sets a steady pace fucking into me while leaving bruises on my chest, breasts and neck, telling me what a good partner I am. When I collapse against her, my cum dripping down her strap, she lifts me up, places me over the arm of the couch. She gives my ass a few slaps before tapping her strap against my cunt before sinking it in again, and she loses herself. It's a good thing dinner is in the crockpot because we won't be done for a bit.

8. Describe your tumblr crush in a casual yet obvious way without naming names -be cool and aloof but make it easy for us to draw conclusions, ok?

I actually don't have any yet! I can admit when somebody is exceptionally beautiful or handsome, but I only develop crushes on folks I actually talk to and know. There are definitely some folks that I would love to get to know better, but it's figuring out what to say haha.

13. What it like being such a fucking cutie?

I feel like a fucking cutie now, but I certainly didn't in the past! It feels really great though, and I hope everyone gets to feel like they are hot as hell at least for a period of their lives. The work is worth it

For age specific, I do prefer at least 25 but not older than 38. I feel like it's reasonable enough, it's more about maturity level than anything. I can be proven wrong of course, but that's just rough. Honestly though, you can just dm me about anything. This is of course a side blog, but I've been in various fandom for years, and know far too much about poetry and stories in general. or Queer history!

[simplepotatofarmer]

i took a nap earlier while my oldest watched brittney m. crockpot and cupid so i could stay up tonight and watch them, just in case. we've never let a hen raise a chick before so i'm a little paranoid, especially since cupid means a lot to me.

but she's doing so good. she's such a sweet mama and it makes me tear up, especially knowing her history.

also cluck decided not to be broody now so i think i made the right choice in which hen i picked.

[spindrifters]

let’s have 2 &17 for the ask game please ✨

2. If you put all your fics into a crockpot, what would be the resulting soup?

Literally just a British gentile's attempt at dafina, doomed from the start by putting it in a crockpot in the first place, but Sirius is trying, damn it. Remus appreciates the effort anyway. Hope Lupin is in the corner having a fucking stroke.

17. Assign each one of your fics (or a selection of them) a cryptid.

ocho kandelikas - a golem

history books - the jersey devil

marginalia - whatever the hell is going on in the appalachian mountains

there is freedom in the dark - a werekraken (that's for you, @lynxindisguise)

(very normal fic writer ask game)

[grandma-recipe]

Crockpot Hawaiian Wings: Easy & Delicious Recipe

Why Quality Ingredients Matter

When it comes to making the perfect Crockpot Hawaiian Wings, the quality of your ingredients can make all the difference. Fresh, high-quality chicken wings paired with the right sauces can elevate your dish from good to absolutely amazing!

Using fresh ingredients not only enhances the flavor but also contributes to the overall texture of your wings. You want them to be tender and juicy, and that starts with what you choose to put in your crockpot.

Want to know how to make these delicious wings? Click here to read the full recipe!

The Secret to Perfect Texture

Achieving the perfect texture for your Crockpot Hawaiian Wings is all about timing and technique. Slow cooking allows the flavors to meld beautifully while keeping the wings moist and tender. The secret lies in letting them cook just long enough to absorb all those delicious flavors without becoming mushy.

Don’t rush the process! Patience is key when it comes to slow cooking. You’ll be rewarded with wings that are not only flavorful but also have that perfect bite.

Curious about the full recipe? Check it out here!

A Taste of Culture

Crockpot Hawaiian Wings are more than just a dish; they carry a rich cultural history. The fusion of flavors reflects the diverse culinary influences found in Hawaiian cuisine, blending sweet and savory elements that are truly unique.

These wings are perfect for gatherings, bringing a taste of the islands to your table. They remind us of the warmth and hospitality that Hawaiian culture is known for.

Ready to dive into this delicious recipe? Find the full recipe here!

Final Thoughts

Making Crockpot Hawaiian Wings is a delightful experience that combines quality ingredients with a touch of cultural history. Whether you’re hosting a party or just enjoying a cozy night in, these wings are sure to impress!

So, gather your ingredients and get ready to enjoy a dish that’s as fun to make as it is to eat. Happy cooking!

[asiansatire]

Operation MYTEE21

Operation MYTEE21: Trump Drops Truth Bombs and Real Ones

In a move that combined explosive foreign policy with vintage reality-TV flair, President Donald Trump announced the U.S. military’s precision strike on three Iranian nuclear sites under the callsign MYTEE21. Experts say the mission delivered “the largest payload of both munitions and bragging rights in recorded history.” At a hastily organized Mar-a-Lago press conference held between a shrimp tower and an open tanning booth, Trump stated: “We dropped freedom. And also a few reminders not to mess with us.” The B-2 bombers, sleek as a Vegas high-roller and twice as dangerous, flew undetected into Iranian airspace, dodging radar, anti-aircraft defenses, and MSNBC outrage. Trump claims the mission was a “double win” — not only did it reduce Fordow’s enrichment ambitions to powdered cement, it also triggered spontaneous hair loss among campus Marxists across Berkeley. An Iranian spokesperson declared the attacks “an act of aggression against peaceful uranium storage”—prompting laughter from the Pentagon and one Marine general to respond, “If that was peaceful, my grandma’s crockpot is a war crime.” Back in D.C., Democrats demanded to know why the bombs weren’t labeled with trigger warnings or equipped with solar panels. Trump replied, “The only green thing here is envy.” Read the full article

[easyrecipeideas]

Crockpot Filipino Adobo Chicken#AdoboChicken #AsianInspiredDishes #EasyMainCourse #Filipinocuisine #SlowCookerRecipes

Have you ever wished you could recreate the mouth-watering flavors of your favorite Filipino restaurant at home? Well, now, you can. I'm talking about a classic dish that's as rich in history as it is in flavor - Adobo. This is more than just a recipe; it's like a time machine taking you to the hear...

[fracturedgems]

I sit down to write and the weight of 10,000 years of human history suddenly weighs upon me. I am a pile of bones, nerves, and meat comprised of the same carbon atoms that were born billions of trillions of years ago, and as I open ____.doc, I am consciously aware of every moment of that atomic history inside my body.

My eyes burn. The flesh sloughs off my bones like meat left too long in the crockpot. Ants crawl inside me, biting and whirring inside me with a relentless fervor.

I am so fucking tired.

Anyway, that's why I won't make deadline

[alchemistc]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

I didn't catch this notification until after I posted so here, have another tidbit from a different 'still in the notes app' fic courtesy of @beefcakekinard

He's reorganizing a cupboard to make room for the massive crockpot he'd found for a steal at an estate sale (thinking of the stew he wants to make for Evan the next time the Santa Ana's are chasing at their heels) when he notices. Evan's protein powder, still balanced on top of the fridge because he's hesitant to claim the spot Tommy had cleared for him weeks ago. Evan's spare immersion blender, brought over because he'd seen Tommy's old-school espresso maker and wanted to try his hand at foam art. Unsuccessfully, considering both of them were avoiding cows milk at the moment. The spare set of Jeep keys looped next to the garage door, which Evan hadn't asked him to return after Tommy changed his oil, and Tommy had taken to touching on his way out of the house like a wife stroking a token of her husband far off in a foreign country fighting a war. In the living room, the blanket over the couch is tucked and folded in a way Tommy can never replicate and doesn't try, because he likes the look of it, hanging neatly over the arm of the loveseat. In the garden, a second set of gloves, too unwieldy for anything but pulling thick weeds. In the bathroom, the mouthwash Evan swears by tucked next to Tommy's aftershave in the medicine cabinet. In the bedroom, two hoodies Tommy has stolen and stretched out the shoulders of - a flavored lube in the bedside table that they'd both laughed themselves silly about after one use and Tommy hadn't had the heart to toss in the trash the next morning - three department issue tee's folded neatly in his wardrobe that Evan outgrew years ago and has retrofitted for sleepwear - a book on the bloody history of the potato on top of the ancient PS4 setup Tommy still hasn't moved to the living room. And more - Tommy can see them all in his mind clear as day, and his heart lurches fondly, warningly, in his chest.

(I forgot to tag other people in both of these, whoops - no pressure tags @kirkaut, @devirnis @herrmannhalsteadproduction, @middyblue, @princessfbi, @26-cats-in-a-trenchcoat, @firehose118 and anyway else who wants to play)

[ms-demeanor]

When I was a little kid my mom worked grueling hours. She had a long commute, a stressful job, and very little time in her hands for keeping house.

She came from a very poor family - her parents met in the Depression in a mattress factory where workers stayed until they had worked enough to earn the price of a mattress, at which point they were paid with a mattress and moved on.

Being a large family with five kids and two working parents, my grandmother had a collection of recipes designed to feed a lot of people with minimal time and effort. Cottage cheese lasagna, wet dog chicken, and three bean chili were staples in her household.

My mom's mom died when my mom was still in high school, and her dad passed a year later. My mom went to college on a scholarship while her older sisters cared for her younger siblings. There was a falling out in the family because of this - my mother couldn't help to pay for her father's headstone as an orphaned college student working at a Bob's Big Boy, and her two eldest sisters were so offended that they cut contact for years.

After Aunt Beth died in a house fire with her two children, my mom and her sister Yvonne finally mended fences. Along with a renewed relationship with her sister, my mom also got access to her mother's collection of recipe cards. She learned to make wet dog chicken, cottage cheese lasagna, and three bean chili and often left them cooking in the crockpot on her long days, slightly modernizing over the cast iron Dutch oven that her mother had used.

When I was old enough to stand at the stove I looked through this history of love and effort and tragedy and took a moment to reflect, because every one of those recipes sucked dog balls.

So when I want to cook something I search "easy [recipe]" and work backwards until I find something in my skill range that generally matches the ingredients in my pantry and doesn't require washing more than four dishes. Then I tweak that recipe until it is gluten and corn free, and tastes good to me. And then I share it on tumblr so that other people can be spared from the horror of cottage cheese crockpot lasagna.

hey, don't cry. one cup heavy whipping cream, two tablespoons granulated sugar, three tablespoons cocoa powder and whisk until stiff peaks form for three ingredient chocolate mousse, okay?

[distinguisheddinosaurstude-blog2]

Cooking a tenderloin for the first time

Typical 2000s upper middleclass upbringing, never learned to cook. Basic stuff in college, eggs, ground beef. 2 years were spent living off of frozen and fast food with little exception save for crockpot meals and spaghetti. Today I learned from my chef friend of a store selling cheap meat. We go, I lock eyes with a beautiful beef tenderloin, 8/10, 0.8 pounds for $4.27. Friend recommends searing it, which sounds delicious so yeah I'm into it. I learn online to best perform such a maneuver the pan be stainless steel and slicked with vegetable oil for even stoving at a high temp. I bring it home, remember I have no cookware except for my 12 qt spaghetti pot. It's technically stainless steel and olive oil is definitely oil, ooh baby I'm chefing it up. Pots a little dusty from when I made something a couple months ago. I give it a rinse so the surface is perfectly clean and ready to take this gorgeous cut of meat. Set stove to medium high as per directions, dry and rub the meat for cooking perfection. Add olive oil to the pot. The bottom of the pot isn't perfectly flat so add enough to coat the bottom, the edges half a centimeter deep trenches of Italy's finest. Oil pops and smokes a little as it usually does, the pot acting like a megaphone raising the decibels to subsonic gunshot level but other than that the spaghetti pot is a viable alternative to frying pans, I'm a culinary genius. More popping -- bigger. Smoke plume -- also bigger. Luckily the stove has a fan, no problem. Smoke alarm goes off. Pull pot off the heat and smoke alarm off the wall. Wait for annoying life-preserving chirping to stop, put back up on wall. Instant pot goes back on stove more chirping. I've had enough of this modern, dystopian replacement for a coal shaft canary, and put it in time out in another room while daddy is doing big things in the kitchen. My FBI agent enjoying my sitcom Google search history: 'how to sear', 'oil popping in pan', 'how to turn off smoke alarm.' But genius has no time for shame. Time to rub this meat and turn up the heat. (Salt,pepper,garlic,red pepper in case you're curious). Drop that bad boy into the pot, hand fleeing the vicinity for fear of Hell bubbles. Meat completely crumples and folds, must fix for even sear. Watching through the tube of a paper towel roll, poke the meat with a spoon til it's flat. Cook it on low medium heat because the smoke has become unbearable. Eventually flip it over, not even seared. I'm ruined, psychologically. I decide a delicacy is worth a little smoke, crank it up to medium high, converting the top third of the kitchen living space to a fluffy olive-scented cumulonimbus. Coughing, I remember in school we were taught to crouch during a fire to get fresh air. Thank god for public education. Periodically crouching then uncrouching to check the meat progress. Decide it's done, the vapor on release nothing short of a divine smoke signal from god himself telling me what a good job I did, and to ignore the lying meat skin, who displayed a lightly cooked exterior in an attempt to deceive me into thinking there was no sear. Plate it up. Bottom of pot covered in a delectable black crust char and oil mixture. Toast some bread so as not to waste a drop and eat the most scrumptious sandwich I've had in a year.