#(teaspoons and tablespoons are not the same thing)

[pandaspwnz]

Whoever decided it was a good idea to bake a pie on a fucking wednesday afternoon is a goddamn clown and should be dropkicked into the sun

[teaboot]

Things about the metric system that confuse me

Why are there 16 parts to an inch. Like yeah it's divisible by 4 but decimals and percentages on a system based on 100 are so much easier to calculate than fractions.

What are those little sixteenths called

Why don't you have millimeters. What happens if you need to measure something smaller than 1/16th of an inch. Why is your smallest area measurement the length of my fucking thumb

BECAUSE of your dumb inches and sixteenth and fractions, nothing else makes any fucking sense to remember. What's an inch? 16 little notches. What's a foot? 12 inches. What's a mile? 5,280. How the FUCK does anyone remember that. You know what's easy to remember? 10 millimeters are 1 centimeter. Do you know what centimeter means? 1/100th of a meter. You know how many of them are in a meter? 100. Easy shit

Okay this one is at Imperial but whose tablespoon is a tablespoon based off. Why are tablespoons and teaspoons both distinct measurements, they're fucking spoons. They're almost the fucking same. Like if you had "inches" and "binches" and binches were for no reason at all 1/42nd smaller and you only used them for measuring sawdust. Fuck completely off

Okay actually still looking at Imperial and speaking of Teaspoons and Tablespoons, the names don't indicate anything. How would ANYONE simply deduce by name which is bigger or smaller. Why would a spoon for food be bigger than a spoon for a drink. They both gotta fit in your fucking mouth don't they

Did we all standardize our fucking spoon volumes before we standardized our math? And CUPS? Who in the cholera factory was using scientific standard measurements to quality control your cutlery for any of this to be at all reliable for anyone following recipes

Alright back to you Metric WHAT DOES OUNCE MEAN AND WHY IS IT ABBREVIATED AS OZ

WHY IS POUND ABBREVIATED AS LB FOR LIBRA LIKE SCALES LIKE A CRYPTIC ASS ILLUMINATI SECRET MESSAGE WHEN "P" IS PERFECTLY AVAILABLE. YALL AINT PAYING MONEY IN POUNDS AND PENCE SO WHATS THE CONFUSION

Okay also why the hell would the British using Pounds to mean money run away to make America and start using Pounds to mean weight instead. Do I weigh a hundred dollars? Does Chadley at the gym bench press a thousand cents? I hate you

What is a gallon for. What does it mean. You know what's easy to convert to milliliters? Liters. What the hell is an ounce to a gallon

On top of that, what's your measurement transference? We have grams for weight, liters for liquid, meters for distance, and they're all like 1:100:1000 and shit. What do you DO to like. Show how many square inches of mass a gallon has or whatever

Oh shit I ain't even got into Fahrenheit yet

Actually fuck all of us, the end

[ms-demeanor]

Hey also you know that post about getting better at cooking and handling meat and stuff?

Meat is really expensive and it goes bad pretty quickly.

If you're a new cook and you're trying to figure out how to pan-fry something so that it tastes good, might I recommend tofu?

I'm not saying "treat tofu like meat and try to replace all your favorite meat dishes with tofu" (though, I mean, if that sounds good - go for it), I'm saying "it's a lot easier to practice heating a pan and flipping objects in a pan for a meal and seasoning objects in a pan when the objects in the pan cost two dollars instead of ten dollars."

Tofu lasts a lot longer in the fridge than meat does, is easy to season, and you can easily learn how to pan-fry it into a tasty snack (or main course) and only requires a little extra prep. You can also pretend that the tofu is raw meat (the texture isn't dissimilar) and start practicing for things like how to take it out of a package or cut it on a sanitizable surface, etc.

My favorite way to cook tofu is to press extra firm tofu for at least half an hour (you can get a cheap tofu press for around ten dollars, or you can put it between two plates with some books on the top plate - this is that extra prep i was talking about - tofu cooks best if you press the excess water out), then slice a 14oz cake of it into 8 slices. I lay these flat and sprinkle cayenne pepper, mushroom powder, and smoked paprika on all of the slices, then I rub it in and flip the slices and season the other side the same way. I cook it in a frying pan with a thin layer of avocado or olive oil over medium heat, flipping every two minutes until the flat sides start to crisp up a little. Just before the last flip I add about a tablespoon of tamari sauce (you can use soy sauce, I've just got allergies) to the pan, sprinkling it over the tofu so that both sides get a little bit of sauce on them.

I have that with steamed vegetables and with jasmine rice (with two teaspoons of rice wine vinegar per 3 cups of dry rice and 4.5 cups of water). I also make a honey-siracha-mayo sauce that I dip the tofu in.

It's really good. And now I end up eating leftover rice and sauce with fried eggs for lunch at least two days a week and that's also really good.

This has become one of my go-to low spoon foods because it's so easy to make, it's filling, it tastes good to me, and it has become extremely easy for me to keep a stock of tofu in the fridge compared to the effort of keeping un-expired meat in the fridge.

I find that a 14oz pack of tofu feeds two adults for one meal, though I can stretch that to three meals if I'm the only one eating.

It makes a very cheap, filling, easy dinner that I can keep the ingredients around for without too much concern for food waste or anything going bad (the tofu that I get lasts about a month in the fridge and these days I just buy three packs every time I'm at aldi and cycle in new stock - it costs $1.50 per pack)

If you're interested in becoming a better cook, rather than worrying about actual high-risk products like raw chicken that can be seriously dangerous and also cost a fair amount, tofu has a pretty low barrier to entry while also being a good way to learn on a new ingredient that has some similar properties to raw meat.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Foraging

Foraging - the process of searching for and obtaining food sources or medicinal plants in the wilderness.

People on long camping or wilderness expeditions may depend on foraging for extra food or survival when they are adventuring out in the natural world.

In this case, identifying edible plants is a potentially life-saving skill.

How to Identify Edible Plants

Freshly foraged food can help you when you’ve run out of food supplies, but you should know exactly what is safe to consume. For that, you can perform an edibility test. Here is a quick breakdown of the edibility test for plants you find in the wild.

Look for the most common poisonous traits. Rule out mushrooms and plants with milky sap, fine hairs, spines, umbrella-shaped flower clusters, or waxy leaves.

Do a skin test. Take the piece of the plant you want to eat and rub it on your inner forearm or outer lip. Wait 15 minutes.

Do a taste test. If there’s no reaction during the previous step, taste that same part of the plant and wait another five minutes.

Do a bigger taste test. If you don’t taste any bitterness, soapy flavor, or feel any numbness, take a teaspoon of that same part of the plant and chew for five minutes, spitting out extra saliva regularly. Swallow, then wait eight hours.

Eat a small amount. If you’re still not experiencing any digestive issues, eat one tablespoon of that same part of the plant and wait another eight hours. If you still have no symptoms, you can consider that part of the plant edible in the manner in which it was prepared.

Take precautions. Whether you’re practicing sustainable foraging or trying to rough it in nature, use common sense and your best judgment when searching for edible wild plants. Some edible species of plants have toxic look-alikes, or may have edible berries but poisonous stems and bark (such as elderberries). Additionally, not all parts of the plant are edible simply because one part is. Test parts separately before consuming the whole plant, and whenever possible, always do plenty of thorough research when taking a chance out in the wild.

How to Forage Off the Land

Humans can only go 3 days without water, but about 30 days without food. So while foraging shouldn’t be your first priority in a survival situation, it can help you find some extra calories if things become dire. Here are a few tips for beginners on what to look for when foraging for food in the wild.

Look for the right berries. Berries are a good source of carbohydrates, fiber, and vitamins. Aggregate berries (those with tightly packed clusters, like raspberries and mulberries), are 99% edible worldwide. Blue, black, and purple berries are around 90% edible (though you should consider an edibility test). Orange and red berries are about 50% edible, so definitely use an edibility test. Green, white, and yellow berries are about 10% edible and should be avoided.

Catch some insects. Insects contain seven times more protein than ground beef, and they’re much easier to catch than small game. Some safe-to-consume insects include earthworms, mealworms, ants (boil first; avoid fire ants), crickets, and grasshoppers (remove the legs and wings first).

Find edible greens. There are many wild plants that are safe for consumption. Aside from the obvious fruits and vegetables, there are plenty of edible weeds such as chickweed, dandelion, clover, chicory, cattail, and wild mustard. Wild onions are also sometimes available, though they can be tricky to identify. However, if it looks like an onion and tastes like an onion, it’s an onion.

Stay away from busy roads or treated land. Some vegetation can be tainted by car exhaust, oil, lead, or other substances that make their way into the surrounding brush. As a forager, you should stay far away from areas that have been exposed to too many man-made elements, or have been coated in herbicides or pesticides.

Get familiar with common poisonous plants. While distinguishing between edible mushrooms and toxic mushrooms or berries can be tricky, there are some basic, toxic plants that everyone should be able to recognize such as holly berries and poison hemlock. You should also be able to recognize other toxic plants, such as poison oak, poison ivy, and poison sumac. These plants all contain a chemical called urushiol, which is an oil that can cause contact dermatitis and be hard to remove from your skin (hence the prolonged rashes when exposed to these plants).

Poisonous Plant Characteristics

There are many different characteristics of dangerous plants that can make them easily identifiable, even without a field guide. Here are a few traits:

Milky sap: Milky or latex sap is a substance that oozes out of a plant’s branches or stems if cracked or broken. It can cause skin irritation or other strong allergic reactions.

Fine hairs and spines: Fine hairs and spines are usually an indicator that a plant has a defense mechanism to ward off predators. Most of these hairs will cause some sort of stinging or burning sensation when you touch them with bare skin.

Umbrella-shaped flower clusters: Most plants with umbrella-clumping flowers have high toxicity and should be avoided.

Waxy leaves: Also known as the cuticle, “wax” on leaves is a protective layer that helps plants retain water, but can sometimes indicate that a certain type of greenery is a toxic plant and not safe to eat.

Mushrooms: Certain mushrooms may be edible—like morel mushrooms, oyster mushrooms, or chanterelle mushrooms—but you should exercise caution when you find these fungi growing on trees or the ground. Don’t eat any mushrooms that you cannot identify with complete certainty, because they can be toxic.

Some common food sources you can forage for are cattails, acorns and stinging nettles (if boiled), tubers, rosehips, weeds, yarrow, and plantain. Before you forage, you want to make sure that you know how to properly do so, because eating the wrong kinds of plants can be toxic.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[poisonsage808]

streak of bad luck

John Munch x Reader

He always got what he wanted and, to your sudden change of luck, it seemed he very much wanted you.

warnings: black cat reader, you’re so unlucky (sorry babes) past abusive relationship, lingering trauma, hurt/comfort, reader gets mugged, munch crashout, happy ending always

"A trial run?" You echoed.

"Yeah, y'know, that test people do to see if-"

"I know what a trial run is, John, I just..." know I'll fuck it up; know you'll hate it; know you'll hate me after. You swallow the doubt that creeps into your voice, wringing your fingers until he takes them and holds them to his chest. He always knows how to soothe you.

"Finish your thought, honey." He prompts softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm worried. I don't want you to get sick of me."

John laughs lightly, not trying to be cruel but you want to shrink away from the sound all the same. His arms come to collect you, keep you together and by his side. He kisses the top of your head hard, like he wants the affection to take root in your brain.

"That won't happen, baby, trust me. With my track record, you’ll be the one running for the hills.”

You gasp at his awful joke, especially knowing there’s truth to it, brows pulling together in unfathomable horror, “I would not!”

And that pleases him to hear, he kisses your cheek so sweetly you’ll have to go to the dentist for the toothache he singlehandedly caused.

“Then there’s no reason not to try, is there?”

Lips part but no argument follows, you’re genuinely stumped on a defense. Everything you might want to suggest suddenly crumbles on your tongue and instead tastes like a shared kitchen and minty sweet kisses goodnight. Besides, you know every reason you could throw at him would be batted away like he was a World Series champion. He always got what he wanted and, to your continuous change of luck with him, it seemed he very much wanted you.

You gnawed the inside of your cheek, hesitating for a moment longer, “You promise you’ll let me know if it’s not working for you?”

“Promise,” John holds his hand up like a boy scout yet keeping that air of sincerity to him, “I’ll always be honest with you.”

That was months ago. You lost track of how many on account of the fact you were keeping tally of the great number of fuck ups and inconveniences instead. Like washing a shirt that was supposed to go to the dry cleaners, like closing the door on his tie, like stepping on his expensive shoes— how could you be so clumsy with his attire, they’re only the most important things to him! Dumbly burning your hand and letting his coffee pot shatter on the ground, sending him into a brief panic. Ruining dinner because the recipe called for four teaspoons of spice and not tablespoons, practically inedible even for his tolerance. Making him late for work because you couldn’t find your keys and later realizing they were in your pocket the whole time, even though you swore you checked no less than fifty times. Forgetting to do stupid things like turning off the lights, cleaning one spot, the damn grocery list.

The worst was when you locked yourself out of the flat with the stove on. Your day was horrible and your brain was fried and you still aren’t quite clear on how it happened but with your never ending bad luck you aren’t shocked! He thinks it’s funny now but when he got a call it looked like someone was breaking into his apartment, he was scared out of his mind. It was the one time he hoped, prayed, you weren’t there. Throwing his car into park, crooked and half on the sidewalk, John ran over to where the officers stood next to you. They explained what you did, how you’d locked yourself out but your name wasn’t on the lease so they didn’t believe you. It was reasonable, wasn’t it?

His face switched comically fast when he saw the handcuffs around your wrists.

He sent you inside to spare you but you could hear through the door. He was loud when he was mad, his quick witted snarky profanities had nothing on the infinity train of insults he rammed into those uniforms. Shocked wasn’t strong enough, you were nearly fully convinced he was lying— at the very least embellishing as he’s prone to do— when he admitted he had a bit of a temper issue. Your heartbeat was louder still in your ears, a warning drum. You didn’t mean to flinch when John joined you inside, you didn’t mean to cry, you didn’t mean to back away, you didn’t mean for the apologies to fly out of your mouth the way they did. He looked pained when you held your arm out as if it could keep him from coming closer. Of course it did, because how could you not know he would always listen.

Every time you expect his wrath, prepared to receive it in any way it would come, he reaches for your shoulders so carefully that you wonder if you had the power to slow time. “Sweetheart,” he says in that tone you love and hate, the one that can’t forgive you because what could be there to forgive, so soft it makes you want to cry, “it was an accident.” And after eleven months exactly— oh look, you do remember— you think you’d get used to it, eventually it would sink in that John Munch is never going to hurt you in any conceivable way.

“What are you thinkin’ over there?”

You blink at yourself in the mirror, then at John leaning in the doorway. Ready and dressed for work, hair slicked back meticulously and suit pressed to perfection, he was devastatingly handsome. Maybe it was just the lost look in your eyes that made you feel less put together today, but he looked at you like he always did. Radiant. When your confidence was lacking, he lent you some of his because lord knows he has more than enough to spare.

“Did you know it’s been eleven months?” You ask, turning around to match his ease and lean on the counter, “Since we, well, y’know, not technically moved in together.”

Because you hadn’t, not really. A good portion of your stuff was here but you still went back to your apartment… once in a blue moon. In your absence you think a spider might’ve moved in.

John knew how to boil a frog. He put up with you living out of a suitcase for a week, if that, then put your clothes away in his dresser. He noted, not unkindly, that you were doing laundry frequently, maybe you should bring over more clothes. When work got busy and he ended up coming home later, he casually suggested moving over your hobbies so you wouldn’t be bored waiting for him. Did you know he really liked that painting you had in your apartment? So much so that he made a space for you to hang it up in his. He surprised you by stocking the fridge and pantry with things you, and only you, liked.

And he smiles, really smiles, because he absolutely did know that and isn’t it just so perfect that you brought it up!

“Not that I believe in cosmic signs but I do think that might be the universe trying to tell you somethin’, sweetheart. Quit wasting money on that place, you’re over here all the time now.”

“Not all the time,” you mumbled, averting your eyes as if looking for the last time you even thought about going there. ‘There’ and not ‘home’ because his place transformed into a shared one somewhere between all those disasters.

His careful steps closer are not unlike the ones he takes when he thinks you’re going to crack if he so much as looks at you wrong.

“Admit it,” he cages you against the counter, kissing the crown of your head, “trail run’s over. Time to move in. I can get off early today,” a kiss to your temple, “we’ll pack the rest of your stuff and drop off the notice,” your nose, “go out to celebrate?”

John always gave you space to say no, always made sure you knew he wouldn’t be mad if you did. However it was more of a question than he was willing to admit, you almost forgot that in his alluring cloud of confidence. His tone bled with hope because it’s not the first time he’s suggested it.

“I—” You huff, try to breathe air and not the infectious hope. Being pragmatic was proving to be a struggle, “I want to.”

He’s painfully patient, running a hand up and down your arm, “But?”

You swallow, “No buts��� I want to. Let’s move in together.”

You thought it was just an expression, but his eyes sparkle at your agreement. Someone else might think he’d won the jackpot with the way he was beaming.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I mean, if you’re sure.”

You’re ass on the counter before you can blink. His mouth is on yours, sending a jolt of energy up your spine and it’s not from the taste of coffee! He’s sure, he’s so sure and he wants to show you how damn sure he is. You’re so dizzied by the passionate kiss that you forget what you even agreed to. John gets a little carried away, excitedly murmuring things he absolutely should not be before you both have to work.

“Baby!” You squeak as he pops the button on your pants, “We have to leave in—“ you take his watch off the counter and point the proof at him, “15 minutes!”

Humming, he nods feverishly like he really and truly understands. Behind his glasses, his eyes work overtime to find a solution for the massively inconvenient problem you reminded him about. He figures it out because he always does when he really wants something.

“Do me a favor, honey,” he winds the belt of said watch around your wrist and fastens it securely, kissing your palm, shoulder, ear, “tell me when it gets to 10.”

~

It all happened so fast. He hates that, he’s sick of hearing that expression. They’re cliches because they’re true, though. One minute you’re walking— no, floating— to the police department, more than ready to take that next step with your boyfriend. Butterflies tickle your insides with their pretty wings every time you think about it, making you involuntarily smile.

That must’ve been it.

You must’ve been looked too happy, too pleased with everything. Higher powers were surely warring over your good fortune, one of them isn’t on the same page as the rest because you’re supposed to be horribly, miserably unlucky in all departments. John wasn’t meant for you and, really, you should’ve known. His affections were marvelous and magical and easy. God, it was so easy to fall in love with him. Nothing was easy for you, you always had to learn the hard way.

“Gimme your wallet and you can walk away.”

Something you don’t see, can’t register, rests between your shoulder blades. Even through your clothes it’s cold and sends a shiver out to the rest of your body, effectively freezing you.

“I said gimme your wallet.”

Wordlessly, you fumble for it. You make the incredibly fucking stupid mistake of handing it to your mugger and not throwing it far like John told you to.

“The watch, too.”

In your fear induced rush of adrenaline you didn’t understand, the words hit your ear but didn’t compute. You don’t wear a watch, you don’t have one to give him. Then the weight of it around your wrist is so heavy your arm wants to pop out of its socket and fall off entirely. The watch— his watch.

“No.” The word dumbly crashes off your tongue, practically a question.

The weapon, whatever it was, was made quick and painful jab to the side of your head, the connection spinning both you and your head. You stumbled against the side of a brick wall, keeping your eyes downcast because that’s what you used to do to when you were hit.

“I ain’t asking, gimme the damn watch.”

Unconsciously, your hand wrapped over it as if to hide what you both knew already existed.

It wasn’t yours to give, you shouldn’t even be wearing it! What if you had cracked it or wo— well, actually, this would qualify as a worst case scenario, wouldn’t it? You risked a glance at the ground by your assailant. Cargo pants licked against bright red sneakers, information you could trade later to redeem yourself. Only, you had to be alive to do that.

Horribly ashamed and teary eyed, you unbuckle the leather.

~

You swallow hard on the lump in your throat but it won’t go away. It just sits there, undecided, waiting to choke you or send you into tears. John didn’t get off work for another five minutes and you, in your hilariously foolish streak, thought that you could quietly reporting the mugging.

In the precinct your boyfriend worked at, around people that recognized you immediately, to someone that knew him by name.

The officer took his darn time going over the questions with you, looking for a pen for you to fill out your contact information when John bursted in. His wild eyes searched until they found you, then he was over in two sweeps of his long legs. You hated that your impulse was to back away, you had to force yourself to be impossibly still as his hand leapt forward, but he caught that tiny jump.

His hand curled into a fist and fell just before he touched you.

“You’re bleeding— Why are you bleeding? What happened?”

Brown eyes, usually so soft and comforting, were murderously locked on the side of your head. You went to cover the wound that offended him, the aching bump on your temple but the light touch might as well have been a full press. You hissed and pulled away. Flakes of dried blood dusted your fingers. You didn’t even notice.

“Can—“ you inhaled sharply, eyes darting all around at the people who were starting to stare, “Can we not talk here?”

Sending a pointed glare all around, John didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Still, he mumbled “we done here?” to the officer who nodded even though you hadn’t filled out the form. Without touching he put his arm around you and angled himself as a shield, ushering you out of the building.

You had practiced everything you were going to say on the rest of that shameful walk to the precinct. You’d explain, apologize, offer to replace the watch, and then maybe he wouldn’t be so upset! Out the corner of your eye he seethed like a quiet moment before thunder boomed and lightning struck. And you forgot everything.

He barely made it halfway through the parking lot before he turned around, kicking a tire of a car. His hands threaded his hair like he was grasping for a shred of composure even though he’d already lost it. To you, he gestures up and down with a hardened expression that makes you feel smaller than ever.

“What happened!? I had to hear from Lewis that you walked into the station with a bruise? Why didn’t you come straight to me!?”

Ever since the incident, he always tried to protect you from his temper. He’d go on walks, presumably to hit something outside, or to the bar to yell at someone there. He doesn’t bring his rage through the front door. John never so much as raised his voice at you until now.

“Please don’t be mad.”

“Don’t be—!?” He cuts himself off with a curt breath, shaking his head, “You can’t ask me that, you just can’t! Look at you! What the hell happened!?”

You blink, searching the ground trying to find air but there’s none.

“I lost your watch.”

“What?”

You wince at his incredulous tone, crossing your arms to protect yourself from his ire.

“I got mugged. I didn’t throw my wallet like you said to an-and the watch, your watch, he asked for it and I said no. But then he hit me and I didn’t have a choice!”

He clenched his jaw so tight you swore any second that you’d hear a crack of a tooth. His eyes were dark, yet ablaze like a wild forest fire.

“You—“ He scoffed, smiling sardonically at the sky. Sliding his hands under his glasses, he dragged them down as he sighed heavily, like he was trying to come back down to Earth, “My watch? Why? Why would you do something so incredibly reckless!?”

Tears sting at your eyes again but this time you can’t keep them at bay, they flood and pour over. You dig your nails into your skin.

“I just.. I didn’t know what else to.. I’m sorry, I’ll pay you ba—“

He crosses what little distance there is too fast, you squeeze your eyes shut and hold your breath.

You’re enveloped in a crushing embrace. John presses you to his chest like he wants you to move in, you can hear his rapid heartbeat right under your ear.

“Baby, I don’t give a fuck about the damn watch! I care that you’re hurt! You were mugged, and you didn’t wanna tell me that first!? Jesus Christ. Never scare me like that again, I don’t ever wanna hear from someone else that you got hurt— y’know what, better yet, I don’t want to hear you got hurt at all.”

You feel awful all over. Of course he didn’t care about the watch. Of course the only way he could ever hurt you was by holding on too tight.

“You’re… not mad?”

“Not at you.” He breathes, pulling away slightly to look down at you. “Honey, if you don’t know by now how much you mean to me then I’m doing something very wrong here. You’re the one thing I could never replace.”

He cradles your face with a gentleness that fills you with guilt, how could you ever think he would hurt you? That fire in his eyes was fueled by fear the whole time, you didn’t notice it because of your own. John ghosts his thumb around the bump at your temple and you feel every little movement before it even happens.

“Are you hurt anywhere else? Should we go to the hospital?” He shook his head right after the question left his lips, deciding himself, “Yeah, we should. Car, where’s my car.”

He’s looking everywhere but at you as you flounder for words, still attempting to catch up to him. You dig your heels into the gravel as he starts to guide you forward.

This was too easy. He was being too nice, too understanding. He forgave you too easily. He deserved better than a black cat that just happened to cross his path and follow him home.

“John—“

“Don’t argue with me on this, ok? Not now, not ever. You are the single most important thing in my life and you’re…” he sucks in a sharp breath, catching his voice and temper rising again.

His eyes flicker to the side and back but you know where they went. You shift in his grasp, wrapping your arms around him this time. His hands don’t know where to settle for a change, struggling to find a hold that will give him the closest proximity to you.

“Finish your thought.” You say softly.

A weak, proud chuckle leaves him. He’s been working tirelessly to help you unlearn the abuse you went through. It’s always worth it he says, but moments like this are unbelievably special. To both of you.

John’s arms squeeze carefully and he breathes you in like you’re oxygen.

“You’re hurt. Baby,” the fond moniker is so heartbreakingly soft, “you don’t know how badly I never wanted to see you with another bruise.”

“I’m,” you swallow the instinctive apology even though it’s true, you are sorry, “I’m hurt, yes, but.. you’re making it better. Can we just go home?”

The word slipped out before you could snatch it back, making both of you go still.

“Home?” He echoes quietly, thoughtfully, hopefully. Pulling away, just enough to look into your eyes, “You still wanna move in?”

You almost succumb to your doubts, but you persevere and manage a slightly teasing, “I should be asking you that.”

“No,” its immediate and makes your heart swell, “you shouldn’t.”

He leans in slowly, tipping your chin up so he can capture your lips in a sweet and gentle kiss. The gesture washes away any lingering worries, replacing them with that delightful buzz you had earlier. John rests his forehead against yours, his smile is infectious.

“We can go home after I make sure you’re not concussed.” He promises.

Knowing your luck, you should’ve seen that coming. There was surely more to be said later, the conversation was left far from unfinished. However you stopped tallying up your misfortunes, deciding right there to erase the mental board on a whole. Because if you really wanted to keep score of something, the focus should be on him. The comforting thought of eventually being home with John would forever be more than enough.

[cressidagrey]

Recipe for Love - Peach Cobbler

Summary:

Azriel finds a bakery and creates his very own reward system.

Warnings:

Kinda Rhys Bashing, but when don't I do that?

A/N:

thanks to @k-godling for listening to me rambling on about this and finding the perfect name for that Bakery! This will eventually be a series consisting out of One-Shots, so if you have an idea, shoot it my way! (Also, if anybody actually tries out that recipe, let me know lol)

Peach Cobbler Filling 2 ½ cups sliced canned peaches ¾ cup canned peach syrup ¼ cup brown sugar (packed) 1 ½ tablespoons cornstarch Few grains salt Dough 1 tablespoon granulated sugar ⅛ teaspoon baking soda 1 cup prepared biscuit mix (or your own biscuit recipe) ⅓ cup cultured sour cream 2 to 3 tablespoons milk (if needed)  Sweet or sour cream for topping

Place peaches in bottom of casserole. Mix peach syrup, brown sugar, cornstarch and salt. Pour over peaches. Set casserole in hot oven, while mixing dough. Stir sugar and soda into biscuit mix. Add cream and milk to make soft dough; mix lightly. Place by spoonfuls on top of hot peaches. Bake 30 to 35 minutes until well browned. Serve warm with sweet or sour cream. 

The Spymaster of the Night Court was contemplating killing his High Lord. 

Or maybe it was Azriel contemplating killing his brother. 

Maybe it was both. 

Whatever it was, Azriel was definitely mentally planning Rhys’ tragic demise as he trudged his way through Velaris. 

It wasn’t the first time he had done it. Wouldn’t be the last time either. 

He would never actually go through with it. 

(Probably.)

Regardless of how annoying Rhys was… regardless of how the words of last Winter Solstice were still echoing in his head. 

Alone the thought of a pleasure hall made him want to throw up these days, after all.  

He didn’t. Azriel knew better than that. 

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. 

It was his own fault for allowing himself to fall in love with a mated female. It was his own fault for thinking that maybe he had a chance…for thinking that maybe…

He had never had a chance. Pretending otherwise wasn’t going to help him. 

Rhys had made himself clear months ago and then had done the same again today…today when Lucien had asked Elain to dinner and she had agreed. 

Of course, she had agreed. Azriel had taken himself out of the running months ago. 

Azriel had followed his High Lord’s order to the letter. 

Azriel had done everything that was asked of him, even when it had broken his fucking heart and left him…desolate. 

And as a thank you, he got Rhys’ crooning in his mind that See, Az? They worked things out. 

They had. Good for them. 

The food had tasted like ash in his mouth and he hadn’t managed to get down more than half a plate. Not more before he had excused himself, citing unrest in Spring…and had walked out of the River House without even properly seeing where he was going. 

Away. Far, far away. 

He had half a mind to let the shadows take him away. Maybe somewhere deep in the Illyrian Steppes, where there was no being anywhere near him. Where he could throw his magic at a mountain and destroy some rocks with the fury that embered deep within him…

You should get a treat! The shadows told him brightly at that moment, nearly making him stumble. 

What?

Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him. 

The more forlorn he got, the more depressed…the more optimistic they became. The more they tried to get him to smile…the more they fed him with petty gossip included in their intelligence gathering… the more they did everything to make his life easier for him. 

They were trying. 

It was sweet.

I am not a dog, he grumbled back to them. He wasn’t. 

And besides…he didn’t deserve a treat anyway. For what? Doing his job? Surviving another week? Not killing Rhys during lunch that day? Not wringing Lucien’s neck for politely asking Elain to dinner? Not scratching out somebody’s eyes like a rabid…

Of course not, Master, the shadows agreed easily. You should still get a treat. Something nice, just for yourself. 

Something nice, just for yourself, he turned these words around in his head. 

He did have a lack of that in his life, but then he always had. He had never really had started to amass anything…collect anything…no little things to litter his rooms with…not even as much as a hobby, unless one called insomnia and stabbing the practice puppets in the House of Wind until they were reduced to rubble that. 

All of it was just…his job was his life and that was it. 

And it wasn’t like he deserved it anyway. 

Just like he didn’t deserve a mate, didn’t deserve Mor and didn’t deserve Elain…He didn’t deserve a fucking treat either. 

He clearly didn’t deserve anything that made his life easier. 

There’s this little bakery, the shadows proposed quietly. You could buy yourself a slice of cake! 

A slice of cake. A slice of cake before flying back to the House of Wind, barricading himself into his room and writing another report. 

A slice of cake before he would let the loneliness take over completely…before he would never even allow himself to look at any female ever again because he was not going to go through this pain again. 

Being a little bit overdramatic, Master? the shadows asked him with a sigh and he wanted to growl. 

No. No, actually, not really. 

Why shouldn’t he be overdramatic? 

At least in his own damn mind. It wasn’t like he was throwing that into anybody’s faces. Even when he had wanted to. He had wanted to scratch that smug little smile off Rhys’ face with his bare hand and…

You don’t, Master, the shadows sighed. You didn’t even want us to steal his favourite jacket. 

They had offered. They had offered to make Rhys’ life filled with annoying inconveniences. Azriel had said no after that Winter Solstice. Now he was reconsidering it. 

The problem was just that it wasn’t going to make him happy. 

The shades would be petty and that would be it, but he wouldn’t…it wouldn’t make him feel better. 

He would still feel unfairly treated…he would still feel always pushed to the edges of his family…the one whose emotions didn’t really matter…who’s happiness wasn’t a priority, not even a footnote, set firmly behind whatever was good for the court and that was that. 

He was the one send to do the dirty work, the one expected to deal with it, because clearly it didn’t bother him… which was a lie. Of course, it bothered him. But his skillset made him the obvious choice so…

Mor and whatever these 5 centuries had been…Mor who could have outright turned him down when he had yearned for her and had never bothered to do so. He was still waiting for her to do it. Even now. 

His hands clenched slowly, the scars feeling tighter. Autumn was coming…as soon as the leaves began to turn, the joints started to hurt him. 

They have double chocolate chip cookies, the shadows whispered like it was a state secret. He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. 

Sugar was his one weakness. 

The shadows knew that. 

It would just be a few copper coins…maybe a silver one or two…his steps faltered.

One slice of cake? As a treat? Just a few minutes sat in one quiet corner of a bakery…alone. With just his shadows…that did sound…nice. 

As a treat for not killing Rhys, Azriel proposed. and for not doing anything, saying anything…for keeping his temper in check. 

He could work with that, right? 

It could be his very own reward system. One slice of cake for…for surviving another week. For not faltering. For not scratching anybody’s eyes out…for not loosing his temper and go into the illyrian Steppes and destroy a small mountain in a fit of rage. 

Huh. 

Maybe the shadows were onto something.

One shadows wrapped himself around his wrist and started tugging him along and Azriel followed. 

Down the bustling streets of Velaris, towards the outskirts of the Rainbow. 

There, Beehive Bakery took up the ground floor of a brownstone Townhouse…a yellow and white striped awning stretching over the length of it. It’s name was screamed from it’s sign above the door that was pushed open, quiet but lively conversation reaching his ears from within. There were three tables outside, filled with people, but as he walked into the shop, careful to tuck his wings into his body…there were still one or two tables left. Even one right there in one corner. 

It smelled heavenly in there…like vanilla and almond, wafting out of the oven thet must be in the backroom…a young High Fae was manning the till. She looked young. More a teen than anything, dark curly hair covering her head…Her limbs hadn’t yet lost all their coltish length. 

“Welcome to Beehive Bakery, what can I get you?” she asked him with more enthusiasm than  he had seen in a long, long time. 

For a moment, he came up short, eyes roving over the baked goods laid out behind the glass of the counter…and then finally snagging on the first cake in front of him…Peach Cobbler. It looked…great with a golden brown crust…there was one slice missing so he could see the perfect orange of carefully sliced peaches peeking out. 

“One Slice of Peach Cobbler, please,” he requested. 

“Coming right up,” she chirped brightly. “Some tea as well?” 

Azriel answered in the affirmative, quietly charmed by her sheer enthusiasm…A few moments later he exchanged a couple of silver coins for a plate holding a slice of peach cobbler, topped with a dollop of cream and a delicate teacup. 

He took both to the table he had sussed from the beginning. Clearly the worst place in the whole shop…but for his usage, it was perfect.

 The darkest corner, right in the back…covered in shadows…nobody would be able to peek at anything if he did choose to read some reports…and nobody could surprise him from the back. 

It was perfect. 

Perfect was also the only word he could imagine for that Peach Cobbler. Quite frankly it was best thing he had ever eaten. Tart but Sweet…and the topping crumbling and the peaches ooey gooey…it was so good it was startling. He could just get a teeny tiny bit of cinnamon in there…

Alone that Peach Cobbler had been worth every single coin. 

By the first forkful, he felt likes osmehting in his chest was easing. By the time he was left with only a third of it he was already dreading to finish the whole piece, because then it would be gone. 

And that just didn’t seem fair. 

He watched the people entering and then leaving again, some just coming for a single loaf of bread, some of them buying pastries or slices of cake to go…some sat down with a friend and conversed with them…The Beehive Bakery seemd to be a quietly buzzing hub of Velaris. 

The young girl behind the counter was busy fulfilling orders and smiling at every customer, some that called her by her name, Juniper. 

Halfway through the afternoon, a new female joined her behind the yonder. This one older, much tinier, her body filled out with lush curves…Blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, held back by a handkerchief. 

“Done for the day?” she asked Juniper, and Azriel watched silently how she nearly absentmindedly fluttered around the space, replacing empty displays and generally making sure everything was in order. 

“I can stay if you need me, B,” Juniper said quickly but the blonde female waved her off, handing her a envelope from one of the pockets in her frilly pink apron. It had strawberries all over it, Azriel realised with some amusement. Juniper took the envelope, opened it to sneak a peek and then stared at her again. 

“That’s too much,” Juniper complained, clearly longsufferingly but B just laughed. 

“No, it isn’t. It’s just enough,” she promised and Juniper hugged her in thanks. 

“Thanks, B,” Juniper mumbled, before hanging up her apron and disappearing. Leaving B or whatever her name actually was, clearly in charge. 

In the meantime, Azriel had the shadows find him some of the reports he needed to read that were enchanted for secret keeping, only been able to be read by his eyes and his eyes only. 

B knew seemingly everybody that came into the bakery, knew the names of every customer, knew their order…and so Azriel settled in at that table and spend the rest of the afternoon, reading his report and draining his tea until only dark dregs remained. 

He listened to the cadence of her voice as she talked and relaxed in that little corner, where nobody paid him any mind. Nobody flinched away from him. 

Nobody cared. 

It wouldn’t stay his only visit. It would become a weekly tradition, a habit that he shouldn’t have but still had. 

Because he wanted to go to the Beehive Bakery. 

It was the one thing he wanted. 

What Azriel wanted had never mattered. 

Not really. 

Unless it was right here. Unless it was him buying himself Peach Cobbler and cream.

Unless it was him sitting in the darkest corner and just watching. 

[ltwilliammowett]

Cooking like a Sailor - Mince Pies

Christmas is fast approaching and at this time of year, there is a little treat that should not be missing anywhere, especially in England, not even on board ships. There, too, sailors can look forward to a mince pie.

Mince pies go back to a medieval pastry called a chewette. Chewettes were either baked or fried and filled with pieces of liver or meat mixed with boiled eggs and ginger. As a variation, chewettes were filled with dried fruit and other sweet ingredients. In the 16th century, they developed into a Christmas speciality. In the 17th century, liver and meat were increasingly replaced by kidney fat, and since the 19th century, the sweet form has largely established itself as the typical mince pie in Great Britain and North America. Mince pies with meat have not been common since the 19th century.

But now to the recipe from the late 18th century (Lobscouse& Spotted Dog, by Anne Chotzinoff Grossman, Lisa Grossman)

You need 1 pound of short pastry and 1/2 pound of puff paste. Preheat the oven to 450° / 230°C and prepare the pastry. Roll out the short pastry to a thickness of approx. 0.3 cm on a lightly floured work surface and cut it out so that it fits into a muffin tin with one edge (this is easiest), then roll out the puff paste to the same thickness and also cut it out so that it can serve as a lid, i.e. slightly larger so that you can still seal the whole thing well.

Fill everything with the filling and bake for 10 minutes, then turn the oven down to 350°/175°C and bake for a further 20 minutes.

Now the filling

3 pounds shin of beef 1 pound suet, finely grated 1 3/4 cups dried currants 3/4 cup raisins 3/4 sultanas 1/2 cup candied orange peel, coarsely chopped 3 cups tart apples, peeled cored and coarsely chopped Juice and coarsely chopped zest of 1 lemon Juice and coarsely chopped zest of 1 Seville orange 2 tablespoons grated ginger 2 cups of sugar 1 teaspoon mace 1 teaspoon ground cloves 2 teaspoons ground nutmeg 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon of salt 1/2 cup cider 1/2 cup brandy 1/2 cup red wine

Cook the meat until it separates from the bone and chop finely. Now mix everything with the remaining ingredients. You can fill your pies now or keep the mixture in the fridge and use it later for an even more delicate flavour. As a tip for a meat-free version, you can also use dried cherries or other dried fruit.

Now you can serve your little treasures, give them as gifts or put them out for a kind soul on Christmas night. Bon appétit!

[petermorwood]

Wow-Wow Sauce

For @redwineand12gaugeshells... :->

In fact that bottled sauce (and nervousnigels) no longer exists, and in any case its principal ingredients of (squints) horseradish and mustard are way off base.

Wow Wow sauce was meant to go with boiled beef, and since a major ingredient was the meat's broth *, it was more like a pan gravy made at the end of cooking, than something intended to go into / come out of a jar in the preserves cupboard.

* 1817 was well before stock / bouillon cubes, however "portable soup" was a Known Thing and could be a possible alternative. The recipe is specific about using fresh broth, but here's how to make portable soup, because You Never Know.

Real Wow Wow sauce had no hyphen, no sulphur, no saltpetre and definitely no grated wahoonie, though some "real" ingredients of the Discworld version - mangoes, figs, asafoetida, anchovy - suggest Terry was taking inspiration from labels in his own kitchen, such as those on HP Sauce, Worcestershire Sauce and Yorkshire Relish.

*****

Dr Kitchiner's "The Cook's Oracle" is available online from Gutenberg (the 1833 American adaptation) as well as a PDF of the 1822 UK Third edition from Internet Archive.

Here's his recipe - whose title, for extra interest, includes the original name for what became "Bully Beef":

The good doctor's "pickled cucumbers" would have been vinegared like cornichons or gherkins, not brined like dill pickles. In addition, pickled walnuts are easier to find than they used to be; even the Tesco supermarket chain carries them...

...as well as mushroom ketchup.

You'd probably still need to make the other herb vinegars and the shallot wine (based on dry sherry), but those are easy, just a matter of steeping the herbs in the liquid for a week or so then straining off and bottling the flavoured fluid.

Another useful ingredient for period cooking is anchovy sauce, which is less, er, emphatic than full-on anchovy essence. You could always scale up if you like the taste.

This also has the advantage of being a pleasant - if you like fishiness - sauce in its own right; try a teaspoonful in a tablespoonful of EV olive oil then tossed with hot pasta. Yum...!

This one's from the same company as the mushroom ketchup and the packing clearly emphasises their "period-ness" (is that a word?) The anchovy sauce is a bit harder to find, but well worth tracking down.

*****

Finally, here's a Youtube short of Wow Wow sauce being made and sampled. It looks entirely acceptable, like a cross between a thin chutney and a thick sauce, and would be, to use Dr Kitchiner's own word, "piquante".

As a side-note, that by-play with tinned corned beef was a bit pointless, since its texture and flavour are both utterly unlike beef that's been slowly, gently boiled (simmered, TBH) with halved onions, carrots, root veggies etc.

Use shin or silverside; the magic tenderiser for those cheap cuts is Time (or a pressure cooker) - though you can also add a sprig or two of Thyme if you want...

[giuliettagaltieri]

Project: Galatea

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x AI!reader

Synopsis: Allowing you sentiency made things more complicated between you and Miguel. But Peter Parker from Earth-199999 decides to take on an unfinished impossible project of his late mentor, and possibly bring you and Miguel back together.

Warning: Questionable nerd writing, spiderverse context, angst

Word Count: 6218

1 of 3

You are one of Miguel O’Hara’s greatest regrets. 

You were created as an artificially intelligent system and with the advancements brought by the time Miguel created you, he was able to make you connect, bond, and feel.  He was lax with your restrictions.  Thinking of you as a companion than a holographic computer system.

He gave you a name that is not patterned to your system, it was just a name he gave you as he thought it suited your features that was just generated by the programming.  He wanted your appearance to be something that is yours, and not something that he created based on what he preferred.

You usually sat on Miguel’s shoulders before he even became Spiderman, working as a bioengineer at Alchemax.  He knows it’s late when you start yawning and you lean on him for a nap, kind of like how someone would put their phone on a power saving mode.

“Miggy, let’s sleep?”  You often say as you plop yourself atop his hair.

He just chuckles as he works on his suit, getting tired of the easily ripped fabric of his previous gear, he decided to create one that is made of unstable molecules.  “You can go offline.  I’ll have to finish this.”

“’M not sleeping if you’re staying up.”  You huff.  “Come on, you can work on that tomorrow.”  You fly in front of him and cross your arms.

He notes how your halo is a bit dimmer.  “Alright.”  He often wondered if you can really get sleepy.  You are created through codes and though it is evident that you can have emotions, you can’t possess qualities the same as a real person would.

Your wings flutter excitedly as you flap them so you can perch yourself back on his head.

It was a little inside joke between you.  You are the rational voice when he is about to do something stupid.  An angel on his shoulder.  Your sudden appearance would often startle his enemies and wonder what the fuck you are and you would simply smile, point at Miguel and say, “I’m his conscience.” 

Your halo and wings often glowed in the softest hue of pink and white.  Their hue depends on your mood.

Miguel yawns as he enters his bathroom.  You shriek and shield your eyes when he lifts his shirt up to strip.

“You pervert!”  You stomp your heel on his forehead and even though he can’t feel it, your annoyance was enough to amuse him, Miguel’s laugh was muffled by his toothbrush. 

You often sit on the faucet as you wait for him to finish his shower.

“What does a shower feel like?”  You muse, your chin resting on your hand while your elbow is perched on your thigh.

“Uh…wet?”

You roll your eyes at his response.  You look away from him when he comes out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“It’s refreshing, I guess.”  Miguel shrugs as he scoops your light projected body on his large hand.

Your tiny hands hold his thumb for balance, not that you need it but you felt the need to anyway.

“Go offline now, firefly.  See you in the morning.”

“Don’t forget to buy groceries tomorrow.”  You say before flickering.  “Goodnight, Miggy.”  And you disappear.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”  He smiles.

On Sundays, you both share lazy mornings.  He would often walk around his apartment in nothing but his boxers and you eventually get used to it.  You would sit on his shoulders as he attempted to cook for himself.

“No, it should be three tablespoons of soy sauce, not teaspoons.”  You would correct him every now and then and he would just switch the utensil, knowing that you have unlimited access to the recipes online.

You would lie on your stomach on the throw pillow he would put on his lap as you watched a movie.  “She easily could have transferred the data and he won’t have to go through all that.”  You would comment now and then as your tiny feet sway in the air.  “But that’s fine, I guess, he looks hot fighting the bad guys.”

Miguel would jostle the pillow and you would dramatically roll as you struggled not to fall off, it was probably because of the spatial awareness he gave you.

You would often sulk when he goes on dates.  Not responding when he asks you how to tie the piece of fabric that should be his tie.  He often found you sitting on top of the bookshelf, your knees tucked to your chest as you drew shapes on the dust covered surface, the shapes not really being made, reminding you that you are only a projection, a hologram, an artificial being, someone who can’t be with Miguel.

“Oh, come one, firefly.”  Miguel would sigh as he watched the soft glow behind the books.  “It’s only a date.”  But you don’t reply.

When he comes home, earlier than he should have been, he’s a little disappointed when you don’t greet him. 

“Y/N?  Where are you?”  He calls as he looks around his apartment.  His hands are already loosening his tie.  “Come on, I didn’t even kiss her.”

Miguel chuckles lightly as he sees your head pop out from behind the picture frame containing a silly photo of the two of you.  “You didn’t?”  You ask.

“Nah, her breath stinks of onions.”  Miguel throws his coat on the sofa and he collapses next to it.

You giggle and you fly to him, landing on his chest, laying down on your stomach once more as your hands support your cheeks.  “Yeah?  You didn’t like her?”  You ask a little excitedly.

Miguel shakes his head as he keeps his eyes on you.  He smiles when you cheer out of happiness.

He would also have fun watching you play dress up in front of his holographic tablet.  He’s in his bed, just lounging and you’re on his abdomen, swiping the screen to find a new dress to wear.  Miguel glances at the clock on his nightstand.  You’ve been at it for hours.

“I like this one, what do you think, Miggy?”

The man turns to look at you, only for his spit to go down the wrong tube, making him hack.  “What the hell is that?”

You look at the white skin tight dress that covers your tiny holographic body.  “A dress?”

Miguel frowns at you.  “Says who?”

A cute brow is raised at him.  “Calvin Klein.”

He clicks his tongue.  “It looks like underwear.  The fuck would you choose such an old brand for?”

You scoff and continue to scroll to look for something else.  “It’s a classic.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

Then it happens one day.

You are helping Miguel battle Mysterio when he meets her.  He caught her just before she fell to her death.

Next thing you knew, they were going on dates. 

“Yeah, I know.  I’ll deal with the symbiote sighting tomorrow evening.”  He says hurriedly as he makes his way to his front door but you land on the doorknob and you look at him angrily.

“You can’t choose a girl over an entire city!”  You say sternly as you place your hands on your hips.

Miguel raises a brow and smirks down at you.  “What an exaggeration.  Are you jealous?”

Your frown deepens.  “Miguel, you can’t seriously go on a date when Carnage is at large!”

He straightens up and looks at you, annoyed.  “If I wear the mask all the time, I’ll go mad.  Just let me be Miguel O’Hara for tonight.”

Miguel does not return to his apartment that night.

And you don’t respond to his calls for a week. 

“You’re such an inconvenience, Y/N.”  He quips.  “I made you so you can help me with my work.”  He says as he looks around for the villain that was wreaking havoc in the city.  “Stop sulking and do your job!”

You would reluctantly pop out and help him, only speaking when needed, giving him the information that he needs and nothing more.

It was difficult for you to watch Miguel slowly fall in love with her, and even more so when he loses her.

He became sad and angry, very angry.

“Miguel?  You need to rest.”  You say softly as you watch him perfecting an experiment.  You peer on his work and your eyes widen when you see a powerful focused energy hovering on Miguel’s work table.

You immediately fly to his face.  “Are you mad?  Do you realize what you are doing?”  He turns to the other screen but you follow him around.  “You can’t tamper with time and space like that.”

All lights suddenly go off and Miguel exhales deeply through his nose, his eyes full of rage as he glares at you.  “Power it back on.”  His voice is low and it was the first time you have ever felt fear because of him but you stand your ground.

The man does not falter with his disapproving look on you but you refuse to power his computers back to life.  You won’t just stand around and let him interfere with the natural order.

“My name is Miguel O’Hara and I am authorizing a shutdown sequence.”  He says and you frantically look around as a bright red screen flashes behind you.

“Miguel, don’t do this!”  You cry to him, your eyes begging as you press your tiny hands on his cheeks but his eyes remain cold as he stares at the screen.

“Commence shut down of the Intelligent Digital Assistance System.  Project name: Galatea.”  Miguel looks at your pleading eyes.  “For good.”

He watches your eyes fill with sadness before your form flickers just like how it used to whenever you whisper ‘Goodnight.’  And he watches the pixelated tear roll down your cheek before you disintegrate into a million tiny pieces.

The events that followed after his decisions of tampering with the fragility of the multiverse was his punishment. 

There was no undoing it all.

He wished he just listened to you when you tried to stop him.  It wouldn’t have come to all of this.

Now, he dedicates his life to protecting what else is left.  Trying to keep the multiverse intact to prevent the same mistake from happening.

And Lyrate Lifeform Approximation was created, or Lyla. 

Miguel made her different from you.  Lyla is created to be more objective, more functional, with just a right amount of spunk for a bit of personality.

The Spider Society was then formed.  A strike force dedicated to keep the multiverse from tearing apart.

In there, he found a sense of sympathy.  The people in there suffered just like him.  A lot of spider-people were in pain.  But not all of them knew how to follow orders.  Not thinking about the consequences of their actions.  Never willing to sacrifice a portion of themselves for the greater good.

Like Miles Morales.

Or Peter Parker of Earth-199999.

They both came around eventually, after a couple or more heart attacks from Miguel.

Peter Parker was trying to learn from Spider-Byte and how future tech works.  He was given a specific holographic screen in the corner and he’s been trying to pick it apart for hours. 

“Wow, Ned’s not gonna believe this.”  He whispers as his eyes dart from one file to the other, being connected like faint orange lines.

“Hold on, what’s this?”  Peter mumbles as he taps on a tiny file that is placed separate, somewhere isolated, forgotten.

“Can I?”  Peter scratches his jaw.  “Should I?”  He shrugs before opening the file.  He rolls his chair backward as the tiny file explodes to the most intricate coding he has ever seen.  He saw something like this before.  When he studied Tony’s AIs.  Or at least what was left of them.

He clicks on a file, one of the millions.  A large ‘RESTRICTED’ was flashed on the screen in bold red letters.  He tries again and the same word is flashed.  He tries again and again until he sees Miguel O’Hara himself in front of a mirror and a miniature angel on Miguel’s hand.

“You like it?”  Miguel asked.

The holographic angel nods excitedly, pure joy evident in her eyes.  She twirls around in front of the mirror, inspecting her wings and adoring her tiny halo.

“Miggy, it’s perfect!”  You fly up to kiss his cheek.  The connection between you was impossible to miss.

And the screen goes blank.

“Are you kidding me?”  Peter grasps his hair as he jumps around in excitement.  Peter squints his eyes to read the file name.  “Galatea.”

“Greek mythology Galatea?”  Spider-Byte wonders behind Peter.

Peter flinches, his sidersense clouded with the amount of enthusiasm being contained in his body.  “I-I don’t know.  I don’t know yet.  It’s-”

“That’s the file name of my older sister, Y/N.”  Lyla suddenly pops out between them.

“Lyla, you know her?”  Peter asks, not being able to hide his eagerness.  “Is she an AI like you?”

Spider-Byte and Peter look at her in anticipation.  “I’m not sure if I should talk about her.”  She looks skeptical before she breaks into a wide grin.  “Well, there’s no order for me not to so I suppose I can.”

Two sets of eyes follow Lyla around as she glitches towards Peter’s screen and she pops up a photo of you sitting on Miguel’s head as the two of you wore similar aviators. 

“She’s Miguel’s first AI companion.  Way before the Spider Society was even created, before he was even Spiderman, I think.”  Lyla rubs her chin as she opens her own tiny screens.  “Though, I’m not sure.  Miguel replays their videos together in the dark when he thinks he’s alone but I can’t really find most of her files.”

“It was compressed there.”  Peter points at the screen, trying not to get distracted from what Lyla just told them.  “Did she get corrupted by a virus?”  His thoughts wandered to the articles he read about Ultron.

“No.  She uhm.”  The small screen Lyla created vanished, making her glowing face look a bit dimmer.  “Her program was shut down.”

Spider-Byte glanced at the screen that has you and Miguel in it.  “Why shut down a working program?”

Lyla glances at your face on the screen.  “She was created differently.  More empathetic and subjective.  For some reason, she was sentient.”

Peter gawks at her and he shares a look with Spider-Byte.  “Was that even a possibility?”  Spider-Byte asks.

Shrugging, Lyla gives them a tight-lipped smile.  “Well, it happened, didn’t it?”

“She was sentient but she was shut down?”  Peter asks incredulously.  “Did she go rogue or something?”

Lyla shakes her head no.  “She was the total embodiment of those wings and halo.”

“Then why was her program shut down?”  Peter asked, his face twisted in pure confusion and disbelief.

Lyla doesn’t respond and turns to your picture with Miguel and your matching smiles.

Spider-Byte sighs.  “They got too attached, didn’t they?  Her and Miguel?”

Peter frowns at her question but remembers Wanda and Vision J.A.R.V.I.S. 

An impossible idea pops in Peter’s head.  It’s irrational, risky, and impulsive but those are just some of the qualities Peter got from his mentor.

“Do you think Miguel would give her codes to me?”  Peter blurts.

Lyla and Spider-Byte looks at him as if he just asked if he could go break a canon.

“Absolutely not.”  Was Miguel’s response to Peter when he finally asked the bigboss for your codes. 

Peter curses under his breath.  He even had to ask MJ and Ned to help him create a presentation as to why Miguel should give your codes to him.

 “Oh, come on.  I rehearsed that speech for a week!”

“She holds classified information.  I can’t just give a copy of her to you.”  Miguel says as he taps on his holographic screen.

“Not a copy.  The original code.”  Peter says more seriously.  “Protocols and memory.”

Miguel pauses and glowers at Peter from his shoulders.  The look was enough to make Peter second guess himself but his resolve comes back, stronger than ever.

“I’m trying to bring her back to you.”  Peter says loudly.

This catches Miguel’s attention and he turns to look at Peter from above the platform in his office.

“Elaborate.”  Miguel looks at Peter with a blank expression.

Peter pumps his fist secretly and clears his throat before speaking.

“I am currently studying bioorganics and I’m trying to complete an unfinished project of my mentor, Mr. Stark.  He created a synthetic body that is not made of vibranium but something that is made of organic materials.  You know, like a real person.” 

Miguel looks at the screen next to him which is flashing Peter’s proposal.  “And you want Y/N to bring life to that thing?”

“Well, it won’t be easy without the mind stone but I heard she’s quite sentient.”  Peter explains while gesturing with his hand way too much, clearly nervous.  “That is also assuming that her operational matrix adapts to the organic body.”

“What if you fail?  I’ll lose all her data.”  Miguel says, a threatening tone clearly heard in his voice.

“Last time her file was opened was years ago.”  Peter quickly shut his mouth when Miguel throws him a dangerous look.  “What I’m trying to say is, this is a chance.  You could potentially see her again, this time, with a physical body.”

Miguel heaves a sigh and chooses to glare at the walls instead.

“I know something painful must have happened for you to shut down her program like that.  But it doesn’t feel right to trap a sentient being in a set of codes.”  Peter frowns at his feet and grumbles the next words.  “Come on man, I’m trying to give you a chance to apologize to her, face to face.”

Silence fills the entire room.

Peter is waiting for Miguel to yell again but he is taken aback when he looks up to see a defeated and longing look plastered on Miguel’s face.

“Just…”  Miguel pauses, it was difficult for him and Peter can see it.  “Don’t destroy her code.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Hara.  You won’t regret it!”  He beams at Miguel.

“I sure hope not.”  Miguel turns to his screens to resume his work.  “And Mr. O’Hara was my father.  You can call me Miguel.”

Peter wasted no time and started working on the project right away when he got back to Earth-199999.

It was difficult, trying to follow Bruce and Tony’s work.  Especially when the body is more susceptible and reactive.  You even had the anatomy of a real person, inside and out.

The project was something that Peter cannot do on his own.  He needed his friends and MJ and Ned were more than willing to help.  Both were hesitant with the thought of literally bringing an AI to life, considering what happened before in Sokovia.  They did not know you, MJ and Ned, they were wary as they should be with all the risks they were about to make.

Peter had to turn your code upside down, in and out, trying to look for glitches or any malicious intent but found none.

The three of them are taken by surprise as to what your synthetic body could do.

It was MJ who noticed first.  You have a lymphatic system.

By next week, Ned finds out that you have a fully functional endocrine system.

There was always something in you that they discover for the first time when they delve deeper.  Which makes it difficult for them to make real progress.  Just as they thought they made a breakthrough, your synthetic body just shows another ability that blurs the line between you and humanity.

“You need to stop looking at her like a robot.”  Miguel tells him one day as Peter seeks any advice from him, considering that he did work in Alchemax as a bioengineer.  “Treat her like how you would treat a human.”

That was when Peter decided that just him and his friends can’t do it alone.  They were only college students!

This project calls for someone who has a doctorate in medicine and knows the human body like the back of their hand.

It was difficult for them to get Stephen Strange to have a look at the setbacks they encountered in your body.  But when given the right information and told what he wanted to hear, Stephen was already opening a portal to Peter’s dorm room.

“I’ll tell you what’s the problem.”  Stephen says.  “Some of her neurons are meeting in a terminal.  Electrical impulses can’t get through, causing circuit failures.”

Peter squints on the holographic screen that Stephen zoomed in.  “Yeah.  That’s where the mind stone is supposed to be.”

“But the AI has an awakened consciousness, she won’t be needing it.”  Stephen mutters more to himself.  “And the mind stone's already gone.”

Ned walks over to look at the screen, a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.  “But you’ll be able to redirect them, won’t you?”

Stephen does not respond, only staring intently at the holographic form of your shell.

MJ glances at the anxious look on Peter’s face as he awaits Stephen’s answer.  When silence still follows, MJ rolls her eyes.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much, Ned.”  She sighs, making Stephen narrow his eyes.  “There could be a thousand neu-”

“A trillion.”  Strange emphasizes.

“A trillion neurons to redirect.  He might be a neurosurgeon but he is not a miracle worker.”

Ned sucks in a breath and raises his cup to his lips and sips quietly, eyes wide, awaiting Stephen’s response.

Stephen suddenly rips off the sling ring and slips it somewhere in his robes.  Peter takes a step back, almost getting hit by Stephen dramatically taking off his cape.  “I’m about to become your deus ex machina.”

MJ snatches a piece of bread sitting on Peter’s dining table and takes a bite, sending a wink to Peter.

“Stark really outdid himself.”  Stephen marvels at your intricate anatomical structure.  “The shell does mimic the human body, the nerves, fiber, and vessels.”  Stephen squints at something and hums.  “But there’s the issue of physiology.”

Peter looks at the metallic casket and to Stephen.  “What about physiology?”

Stephen points at the left side of your pelvis.  “That’s an ovary.”  He drags his finger on the screen to point at the right side.  “There’s another one here.”

Peter could only look at Stephen.  Waiting for him to confirm what was running in Peter’s head.

Surely Tony did not think that far ahead to give you that ability.  That is ethically ambiguous.

“It is possible that it is not functional.”  Stephen rubs his jaw.  “Perhaps we could think of it as a vestigial organ for now.”

Peter simply nods, following Stephen as he zooms in on your lumbar spine.

“She has a functional endocrine system.”  Ned recalls, making Stephen whip towards him.  “I ran a noninvasive test and I detected traces of estrogen, progesterone, and FSH.”

Stephen runs a hand on his face.  “And hCG?”

Ned ponders for a moment.  “Yeah, human chorionic gonadotropin was also there.”

MJ clutches her bread a little too tight.  “She is capable of gestation?”  Her voice came out as a shaky whisper.

All eyes turn to Stephen who shakes his head.  “That is ridiculous!”  He chuckles dryly.  “That shouldn’t be possible.”  He stares at the holographic image of the synthetic shell.  “Was Stark trying to play God?”  His voice was starting to raise, his fist clenching.

“Whoa, I’m sure that’s not it.”  Peter raises a hand nervously as he gulps. 

Strange points at the casket.  “You realize you’ll be bringing a being to life that isn’t supposed to exist.” 

“She has a name!”  MJ interjects.

“You understand that you are overstepping your mortal bounds.”  Stephen continues.

Peter looks at Stephen, shocked.  “Please, sir!  I-I only want to finish this project for Mr. Stark.”  He points at your holographic body.  “And set her free from her digital prison.  We are about to give her a chance to live, like really live.”

Stephen glances at your metallic casket warily.

“She’s not a villain.”  Peter says more calmly.  “I checked her code a thousand times.”

Stephen shakes his head. 

“I can’t believe I’m about to take part in a project that is the peak of Stark’s god complex.”

Peter grins. 

The chance of meeting you does not seem so impossible anymore.

Miguel watches Peter Parker of Earth-199999 with a sharp glare. 

The “project” that the kid told him about has been going on for six months but he has been given zero updates regarding your progress.

His jaw tightens when he catches the kid stealing a glance at him from across the cafeteria in HQ before ducking his head again.

“Why don’t you go ask him what’s wrong?”  Peter B says blankly at Miguel as he stuffed his mouth with fries.  “Kid’s been doing that for the past hour.”

Miguel scoffs.  “If he has something to say, he will be the one to approach me.”

For the past months, Miguel has been dropping hints to Avenger Peter, the nickname seems to really make the kid happy so the entire Spider Society just rolled with it.  Miguel made sure to assign him on missions that might aid his project.  The kid can be dense sometimes in picking up indirect messages but Miguel does it anyway, almost sighing out a breath of relief when he watches Peter’s eyes glimmer with realization.

“Whope- Okay!  I gotta run.  See you around, Miguel.”  Peter B snatches his drink and clumsily leaves.

Miguel glares at the man’s retreating form before he hears his name being called.

“What?”  Miguel spits.

“Uh, is this a bad time?”

Miguel looks to his side and narrows his eyes at Avenger Peter.  Finally, he mustered the courage.

“What is it?”  Miguel straightens, his enormous arms crossing in his chest, looking a bit threatening.

 Peter looks at the empty seat in front of Miguel, he’s not sure if it’s rude to just sit there without being invited to but he does it anyway.

“It’s about Y/N.”  Peter whispers rather too loudly, basically defeating its purpose.

Miguel’s eyes flickered with fury, making Peter swallow harshly, trying to choose his words very carefully.

“I know I really took my time with the project but the good news is that we successfully transferred her code to the shell.”

Oftentimes, Miguel would pitch in sarcastic comments but he can feel the weight in Peter’s words that he finds himself closely listening, trying to take in every detail that Peter shares.

“We managed to synthesize her code and reprogrammed her synapses to sync and adapt to the body.”  Peter heaves a breath.  “But the thing is, we can’t get to wake her up.”

The crushing feeling of losing someone again was not easy for Miguel to ignore but he nodded at Peter’s words.

“Did you try amping the power source?”  Miguel suggests.

Peter nods slowly.  “Yes.  We tried from nuclear fission to the arc reactor.”  Peter leans back on the cafeteria bench, looking too nonchalant despite the shadiness of his words, Miguel won’t be surprised if one day he finds out that the kid’s locked up in prison for conducting mad experiments.  “I was thinking of contacting Thor but I really didn’t know how.”

Miguel masks the disappointment in his eyes with a stern look.  “Did you make sure that you got all her system matrix properly embedded in the body?”

“Definitely!”  Peter nods.  “It’s like she’s far away, dreaming.  She’s there but she’s also not.  Y/N’s shutting us out.”

A pindrop silence befalls them.

“What did you say?”  Miguel says sharply to Peter as he leans slightly forward.

The kid unconsciously leans backward.  “Y/N’s…shutting us out?”

It all clicks in Miguel’s head. 

“She needs me.”

Peter’s eyes widened at his bluntness.  “Huh?”

“I designed her program to only respond to me.  I shut off her system.  Of course.  Her protocol does not recognize you.”

Slowly, Peter catches up, his eyes widening in barely contained excitement.  “Is she programmed to activate upon voice command?”

Miguel rises to his feet, quickly making his way out of the cafeteria while Peter giddily follows, the largest smile plastered on his face.

“I’m certain I can get her to respond.”  Miguel mutters as he taps into his multiverse gizmo.

The familiar building up sound of the portal fills the air and soon enough a cluster of patterns and colors emerge right in front of them. 

With purpose in his steps, Miguel crosses the portal headed to Earth-199999, to you.

Peter’s room was nothing short of underwhelming compared to the building they just stepped out of but Miguel can see the traces of genius scattered around the room.

On top of a desk, piled notes for astrophysical physics.  Next to the kitchen sink, a perpetual motion machine that is made of the most tedious house materials.  In a corner, a phone is being charged and is hanging by the charger cord.

The lights suddenly power off, coating the room in darkness.  “I know you’re sensitive to lights.”  Peter shrugs, to which Miguel only nods.

“Stop right there!”

Miguel turns to see a girl threatening him with a piece of…toast?  And another kid who is doing a very poor karate stance.

“No, MJ, Ned.  It’s fine, he’s here to help Y/N.”  Peter raises his hands and steps in between Miguel and the other kids.

“Where is she?”  Miguel asks.

The kid trying to do the karate stance points to the corner of the room that is covered by a screen.

Miguel easily slips past them, he didn’t even have to try. 

He ignored the calls as his feet just led him to where you are.  He didn’t know what he should be expecting to see.  But he knew it wasn’t the metallic casket.

“She’s in there.”  Peter stands next to him.  “It’s powered enough and it should activate when you power her system on.”  Miguel can only nod at Peter’s words.  “We don’t have a hypothesis yet as to what would happen when she rises.  But we could probably expect that she would manifest signs similar to someone who just woke up from cryosleep.  Orthostatic hypotension could also be a possibility-”

Peter pauses when he feels MJ’s hand on his shoulder.  MJ nods to Miguel’s pained expression.

The time they spent on your project was enough to drive them nuts and they are dying to see you but looking at Miguel’s face, they know they might never fully understand the longing he feels.

Peter does not know what happened between you two but he can ask another day.  He watches how Miguel’s fingers carefully brush the metallic casket.  If Peter didn’t know better, he would have been greatly disturbed with the amount of vulnerability the man is showing.

“Well, we’re gonna step out for a bit as you wake her up.”  Peter says with a softer smile gracing his lips.  “And I really appreciate the hints you drop every now and then.”

MJ smiles at Peter and she interlaces their hands together.  Ned nods at the two and follows them out.

The soft footsteps soon fade and the sound of the door locking into place reaches Miguel’s ears.

A quiet buzzing was audible from the box that contained you.  It must have been the energy they tried to power you with.  But it was endearing to him in some way that only he could wake you.

There were only a few times where a man of such stature as Miguel O’Hara was brought to his knees.  This was one of them.  His knees hit the cheap fabric of the carpet and his weight bears on his skin.  Miguel lay his hand flat on the cool surface of the metallic box.  And he leans his forehead to it.

With his voice hoarse, he whispers your name.  He swallows the rest of the words.  He does not know why.  He cannot wait a second longer to see you but the fear grips him hard, just like how it did for years. 

It was a cruel terror but his desire to see your face again overpowers any fear.

“My name is Miguel O’Hara and I am authorizing a startup sequence.” 

Miguel grits his teeth when he does not hear the same beeping sounds that precedent your arrival.  His forehead creasing at the memory of you begging him not to lock you away.  He did not deserve you, not after what he did.  But Miguel O’Hara is a selfish man and he would stop at nothing to have you back.

“Commence booting of the Intelligent Digital Assistance System.  Project name: Galatea.”  He sucks in a breath, this time, meaning the next words with all honesty.  “For good.”

Silence has never been louder.  It clogged the room, suffocating him.

“Please, wake up.”  He brushes his lips on the freezing cold case.

A hiss is released by the contraption and Miguel’s eyes widen as he steps back to see you better.  But as more hissing sound came, vapor flooded the area where the metallic flaps were slowly opening.

Then a hand grasped on the opened flaps, then came distressed gasping.

“Y/N!”  Miguel didn’t know what he was doing, his body was acting on its own as he hopped inside the casket to help you sit up.

Your hair covers your face and Miguel reaches to brush them to the side, his large calloused hand rubs on your bare back to soothe you.  It felt unreal to finally have you in his grasp, hearing you, seeing you.

You whimper in pain when a particular cough rasped on your throat.

“Hey, take it easy.”  Miguel whispers as he crouches down so he can see you eye to eye.  “Breathe.”

And when you look up to him with your eyes heavy with exhaustion, Miguel halts his movements as he feels himself being caught up in a temporal illusion.

Time, space, everything felt irrelevant the moment your eyes met his.

“M-Miggy?”  You whisper.

Miguel breaks into a disbelieving smile.

He watches your moonlight bathed face contort to confusion.  You raise your delicate fingers, reaching out to his face but stopping just before your skin touches.  You hesitate, not sure if what you see before you is truly the man you loved.

The tips of your fingers brush on his cheek so softly, he almost doesn’t feel it and you let them run across his warm skin so you can cup his cheek.

Your chapped lips break to the smile he missed and loved so ardently.

He closes his eyes as he lets your fingers dance on his skin.  He holds in a breath when your fingertips smooth out the crease on his forehead and his much larger hand captures your wrist.

For so long, he wanted to apologize.  He did, countless of times, in the darkness and silence of his room, to a photo of you.  His apologies only floating in the air, unheard.

“What I did to you was wrong.  Everyday, I regret it.  I promised you happiness when I created your code but I upset you and I have no right to be hurting in the way that I am.  I was so stupid for shutting your system down when you were only looking out for me.”

The moonlight bathed you, making you glow, an ethereal sight to behold.

“I wasn’t ready to say goodbye when you shut down my program.”  You say as you place your hands on his shoulders.  “But there is nothing you can ever do to make me stay mad at you.” 

He was about to protest when you hushed him.

“I know.”  You smile at him tenderly.  “You don’t have to say anything else.  I know.”

Miguel could feel his chest tightening.  The complexity of the quantum physics, he has no trouble understanding, but what you do to him, he is easily lost.  “I don’t deserve you, firefly.”

You nod.  “No, you don’t.”  You yawn before flashing him a sleepy smile.  “But I’ll stay with you anyway.”

He chuckles, eyes boring into yours. 

You are as stubborn as he remembers you to be.

Your breath mixes together as you let yourselves draw to each other.

His arm slips to your waist, pulling you flush to him.

“Pervert, I’m not decent.”  You mumble against his lips.  “I have so many questions.”

“Save them for later.”  Miguel captures your lips in his.  You let out the deepest breath you have taken and you let him mold your lips together.  “I screwed up.”  He slots your bottom lip between his and he nibbles.  “But I could spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You hum, amused.  “Are you sure about that?”  He kissed your shoulder.  “I can be quite a handful.”

The corner of Miguel’s lips tugs upwards.  “Believe me, I know.”

A teasing smile creeps on your lips and the half-lidded eyes that you are giving him are making him feel fuzzy, it was like you were never apart.

“You are so in love with me.”  You press the tip of your finger to his chest, teasingly accusing him.

He shakes his head as he laughs.

“Always have been.”

Project: Galatea • Project: Pandora • Project: Eros

Ficart created by @tired-lime

[svaints]

Seeing your rules for Rollo, I am genuinely interested of a Rollo x baker reader, especially with trying to befriend him, I just find the idea cute-

Like- what if reader tries to befriend friends him by giving him some bake goods as a gift ( especially croissants )

|𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝐼𝑆 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎. 𝐴𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑙𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑟.

𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊 | 𝖘𝖋𝖜

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞

I couldn't tell if he was ignoring or disliked me in some way or form. Was it because he was annoyed or bothered? I wouldn't know, not ever. Everytime I made an approach he's 'busy' with a book, his assignments, a letter, talking to the staff or his vice president and assistant, it's always something.

The thing was I wanted to be his friend, he was alone when I'd see him anywhere. Everyone said he was rude at times but appreciate some traits of his such as being the smartest student and being helpful at times...but what else is what I'm saying.

He's mysterious to me, I'd like to know him better than knowing him based off people speaking about him.

Therefore, around 5 am I woke up early enough to bake.

Every time we're outside for lunch, I see him eating the same thing. Grapes and bread.

"Would he like any bread though? What if he doesn't like banana bread?" I thought.

So I began making plain croissants.

1/4 cups warm milk

2 tablespoons active dry yeast

1/4 cup granulated sugar

3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 cups unsalted butter, chilled

Mixing was majority of the process to say the least...In a large bowl I combine flour and salt before adding the yeast mixture, then added everything else but butter and mixed enough till it formed into dough.

Rolling out the dough into a rectangle was fairly easy, I placed the butter in the center and folded the dough over it then again before folding it into thirds, repeating it a few more times.

The final dough was cut into triangles and rolled them into croissants, finally, I prepared a baking pan with the butter and placed them carefully onto the pan.

Meanwhile, I looked around for a spare basket i wouldn't be using anymore but that wasn't damaged either. I found one after a min or two and placed a small towel with elegant prints thinking it would suit his style more.

I placed a few fruits such as grapes of green and purple as well as daffodil from the fresh blooming garden close to the school that I started thinking it would hint the friendship I wanted to build with him.

Come to think of it, what if he doesn't accept my request? Like the other times he turned me away before I even got close to him. He didn't even speak he just left before attending something/someone.

It was worth the try.

After 20 mins then I pulled the croissants out to chill and got another small towel to wrap them all up before placing them in the middle of the basket.

The way it looked with the grapes around and small flowers on the side looked lovely, especially with how the baskets outer layer was decorated.

It was 6:34 am once I made my way to the school grounds and towards the student council office. It was a lovely morning sorta cold, but the view made up for the golden sky mixed in blue on my left.

I walked further into the school grounds and to the office before trying to open the door knowing Rollo may be awake during these hours, he always is to clean and kept the school tidy. I try opening the door again but it was locked.

I sighed setting the basket down beside me and began pulling it open again thinking because I had my hands full I must've not twisted the door knob enough.

"What are doing up so early?"

The sudden question snapped me out and I looked over my shoulder seeing Rollo looking a bit suspicious. He looked down at the basket and then at me. "So?"

I sighed picking it up, "It's unfortunate we get to talk for the first time with me trying to get into the council room but I probably wouldn't have any other opportunity to so I made this for you. It's small but the intention for this is a lot more than what you think..."

His expression was blank showing a hint of concern. He took the basket inspecting it, noticing the daffodil staring at what seemed every detail of it and the grapes before the croissants wrapped up the fresh smell filling his senses.

"I apologize for my actions. I take my responsibilitys serious...Honestly, I have seen you from the corner of my eye and everytime my attention is set to you, something comes up or I'm busy, but please don't take it personally. I don't mean to purposely stray away."

Rollo smiled a bit opening the door for us. I walked in before him as I replied to him. After we cleared the misunderstandings, he invited me for a cup of tea later after school to hand him the recipe for the croissants since he loved them so much.

He was a bit quiet letting me do most of the talking but I'm sure he just wants to know me first before opening himself to me and I was fine with that.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Cake-xperiment.

Sometimes things just pop into my head and I have to try them out. Not sure where it came from, other than having 5lbs of whole wheat to bake with until the first, when the EBT gets charged, but the thought occurred to me that you never really see the words "whole wheat flour" and "cake" in the same sentence.

I've been baking for 50 years, and it just never had shown itself as a thing before. And I've certainly never BAKED a cake using whole wheat flour before, not only never have, never even THOUGHT about it before.

So I had to think about proportions and improvise, and came up with some ballpark amounts of ingredients and technique to shoot for, and, well, the results look promising, at least from the outside. Behold: Whole Wheat Cake.

Nice color to it, and I hit the spot with the proportions, as far as baking powder and the rest. It just came out of the oven a bit ago so I'm letting it cool before I frost and cut and render the verdict. I'll reblog with results tomorrow, but here is the ingredients list, I used the old version of the King Arthur 3-egg cake to riff off of.

Ingredients:

3/4 cup (stick and a half) salted butter

1 1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

1 1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 Tablespoon vanilla extract

1 Tablespoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon salt

2 Tablespoons baking powder

4 eggs

2 cups whole milk

3 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1 cup unbleached flour (at the end, may not need all of it).

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

-----------

The adjustments I made to take into account the whole wheat flour and its "thirstiness" helped with the texture. Truthfully, it could use another semi-liquid ingredient (like sour cream or mashed bananas) to bring the moisture level on par with regular flour, but with the Cream Cheese Frosting, it's actually not bad.

There is a definite difference in TEXTURE, with the bran of the whole wheat figured in, but it's not unpleasant. The additional brown sugar gives the naturally "nutty" flavor just the right kick to integrate it.

The texture would lend itself to an old-fashioned gingerbread quite well. As an experimental cake, we'll give it a passing grade. I would do some aspects differently next time, but for a first try, it's actually quite good.

[lazyjellyfish300]

Jellyyy, I hearrr you are asking for some f/o asks from this post ~👀💌

so I come bearing some emojis! sprinkle me curious nosy! can be for either of your honey's!💗🤭😘🤗

🍄‍🟫 + 🤎 + 🕯️ annnd 💌 !

OMGG Ariel hellooo!! 💕💕💕🥰🥰🥰 I'm sorry for the delay! I've been trying to lock in with this dang kusakabe week 🥴 but now I can finally take a break and speak about my loves. 💕💕 Thank you so much for these 🥹🥹💕💕

🌷 f/o soft asks game

🍄‍🟫 does your f/o have any little quirks or habits that you find endearing? do you have any quirks or habits your f/o finds endearing?

Kento has a little cowlick near the back left side of his head he can never tame in the mornings. 💕 It's partly due to the way the hair grew back after Shibuya. It's very subtle, and I honestly didn't notice it until he pointed it out to me one day. He's very meticulous with applying sunscreen as well as the brand he buys. He strongly dislikes scented products but he'll wear cologne. He's very precise when he cooks and follows recipes to a tee. If a recipe calls for Irish butter, then we'll plan a drive to the seaside village from the farmhouse to get Irish butter. He doesn't believe in adding ingredients "to taste". He wants DIRECT measurements: tablespoon, quarter teaspoon. And if not, he WILL find out, trust. 🙂‍↕️ He can't drink coffee without something to eat. And likewise he won't let me do the same. 💕 Which I appreciate because I get so jittery ☕🥴

Kento loves my demand for too many blankets and pillows on the bed, my chaotic sleeping patterns and how my foot always needs to be touching his despite our separate sleeping positions, the way I frequently mismatch the color socks on my feet, he loves that I'm left handed and thinks the smudge of ink and pencil on my hand after my writing sessions is adorable, and how I select Yoshi without fail whenever we play Mario kart💕

The irony of how Shiu loves his car but hates to drive and grumbles about traffic. His card shuffling skills, how he complains about the price of everything but will go into debt for a fancy wheel of Brie cheese. How he treats all minor occasions like celebrations and will open a bottle of wine if I complete one of my long standing projects around our house💕 and his secret sweet tooth he doesn't want to admit to that honestly rivals mine. 💕

Shiu loves watching me get ready, the stray bobby pins I leave around the house like I'm marking my territory, my love of scented candles, how I refuse to watch any movies where an animal gets hurt, and my need to always have a little treat of some kind, usually coffee and a warm pastry. 🙂‍↕️💕

🤎 do you have any tender, domestic, and/or soft moments you've experienced with your f/o that mean a lot to you?

i love raising children with Kento and seeing how much they adore him, which makes me love him even more. I love how in the evenings after tucking the animals to sleep he'll shed his eyepatch completely and just be comfortable and free. I love how he'll just look at me, without that glimmer of doubt or self consciousness in his expression like he's finally accepted that I see all of him and adore him completely as he is. 💕

i love holding shiu in the shower and cleaning one another after a long day. Physical touch is a huge aspect of our relationship and connecting to one another through skin heals and calms me. Sometimes I'll find myself crying for no reason, like the first shower he gave me after I gave birth. Our baby was safe in the nursery and he just held me for the longest time as I let the tears fall and we rode out the emotions together. 💕

🕯️ do you wear your f/o's clothes? do they wear yours? what's your favorite piece of clothing to steal from them? what's their favorite piece of clothing to steal from you?

Yes! I steal Kento's band tees from college and have all but usurped the entire collection as my own. 🙂‍↕️💕 Kento doesn't really steal things of mine but he has adopted a more casual style because of me💕

I steal and wear Shiu's coats when I go out and about. They're so much warmer than mine and they have better pockets.🙂‍↕️ He's a good sport about it and keeps it dry cleaned in case I feel like wearing it. 💕 Shiu doesn't really steal my clothes either, but he does steal my fancy lotions and creams. 💕

💌 if your f/o wrote you a letter, what would their writing style be like? what is their handwriting like? would they use fancy stationary? maybe normal notebook paper? what about a wax seal? (if your f/o has already written you a letter (or letters!), describe what the letter was like!)

Kento has that doctor's handwriting. Cursive and narrow letters that aren't too legible. But he's so eloquent. His style of writing is very reflective of his thought process which is insightful and contemplative but maintains that pragmatic side of him that is clear and conscise. He doesn't use anything fancy when he's writing me notes from around the farmhouse, but if he's in Tokyo for longer periods of time, he'll send a sealed letter with stationary from his office.

His letters and notes are full of love and encouragement. They're like little promises while he's away but he writes like he never left. Faithful, grounding, forever unmoving in his love and his loyalty. 💕 He always closes them with some iteration of "yours."💕

Shiu's handwriting is chicken scratch in all honesty😂☠️ small and scribbly, but it's him. He's very enriched with his thoughts, both verbally and on paper. The stationary he uses is typically pretty fancy, with elaborate ball point pens and black ink. He's a master of communication and it shows with how well he knows his audience. Luckily, his audience for his letters is usually only me 💕 he usually writes them for special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays. He's always been romantic and seems to have taken notes from my romance novels. Poetic, sweet and full of devotion.💕 Despite whatever MMC I'm reading about, Shiu needs to make sure to remind me that he's the best. 💕

[pumpkinologists]

The Cookie Process

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer decide to make cookies

Warnings: none

Enjoy!

Sounds of confusion and kitchen utensils clanging together in the kitchen would be the first sound someone would hear if they walked through the door. Currently, you and Spencer were working on making cookies. Although the unmixed concoction that sat in the bowl looked like a horrible ratio between ingredients. 

You were shaking your head as you read the recipe that was pinched between your flour-covered fingers. Spencer, how many teaspoons of salt did you put in there?" You looked into the bowl and back at the yellowed paper. "Teaspoons?" Spencer stopped looking for whatever he was looking for.

"Spencer!" You groaned and set the recipe down on the messy counter. "What? Was it supposed to be teaspoons? I could have sworn it said tablespoons." He reached over you and picked up the sheet off the counter. He scanned over the words, and his eyes went wide. "Oh, come on. I could have sworn it said table, not tea," he mumbled to himself with a frustrated groan. 

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you picked up a stick of butter. "It's fine." You shrugged and sighed lightly. Spencer was frowning as he watched you put the stick of butter into the bowl. "Maybe it'll help balance out the vanilla you spilled," he grumbled, searching the counter for something again.

You gasped and put a hand over your heart, pretending like he had offended you deeply. "That was an accident," you pouted, and you nudged your shoulder with his. He huffed and started to measure out the brown sugar.  

After the salt mishap, he seemed to be reading the instructions more carefully and talking to you a lot less. You pouted, crossing your arms. You stared at Spencer. "Why'd you stop talking?" you asked. He only shrugged defiantly. You rolled your eyes at him. "Well, if you don't start talking soon I'm going to take egg cracking privileges away from you." you threatened walking to the fridge and taking out two eggs. 

Spencer froze and gasped dramatically. "But you promised I could crack them!" He turned around to look at you, a measuring cup full of brown sugar in hand. You shook your head and furrowed your eyebrows. "Nuh uh. I did no such thing."

His face looked like you had just stolen something precious from him. "Uh, yes, you did," he countered. His facial expression was challenging. "You said, and I quote," he cleared his throat. "'I promise you can crack the eggs, okay, Spence?'" he said slowly, almost like he was talking to a toddler.

You glared at him, cursing his stupid eidetic memory. He walked over to you, plucked the two eggs right out of your hands, and smiled. "Thank you very much." You continued to stare holes in his back as he placed the eggs on the marble and picked his cup of brown sugar back up.

Spencer usually wasn't wrong, and on the rare occasion he was, he would just go silent. You and him were the same in that aspect, so right now you just stood frozen in place. You could practically see the smirk on his face right now, even with his back turned to you.

Accepting your defeat, you walked beside Spencer. You looked at him, jutting out your bottom lip. He didn't look up or even acknowledge your presence. With a sharp inhale you crossed your arms. "Spencer." a grunt only came from the man as he was now focused on cracking the two eggs. 

A light scowl adorned your face, and you watched his movements. "Talk to me." He stopped mid-motion and looked up at you. "No." He refused, and his attention was on the egg again. "You're no fun." You felt like a little kid. He started to mix the ingredients. "I'll talk to you on one condition." He looked up from the bowl, still stirring.

Your eyes lit up. "What is it?" you asked hopefully. He tried to repress a laugh. "You have to clean up!" He made it sound like you were about to receive the most amazing gift in the world. You frowned, "What? No." He was now looking back down at the bowl. Well, I guess Im not talking," he continued to pay attention to his mixing, while you sat and watched him, frowning when you realized he wasn't bluffing. Finally, you had enough. 

Making a sound of defiance, you gave in. "Fine. I'll clean." you muttered sadly, looking down at the ground. "What was that?" Spencer finished stirring, setting the spoon down next to the bowl. You shook your head with a scoff. "You heard me." he shook his head back, "I did not hear you." he raised his eyebrows and leaned back against the counter. 

A whine left your lips. "Don't make me say it again. Please." He only shrugged and looked away from you, crossing his arms. You pouted and took a deep breath. "I'll clean." You didn't look at him as he let out a small laugh. "I knew I could get you to say it." He grinned triumphantly and began to pull the baking sheet over to him.

Before he could scoop out a ball of cookie dough, you reached over and took some out yourself, eating it before he could say anything. He looked from you to the bowl and gulped anxiously. "Hey! You're not supposed to eat it raw." You only smiled deviously. He said your name seriously. "I'm serious. one in twenty-thousand eggs has salmonella! You could accidentally kill yourse—" you cut him off with a laugh. 

"Why are you laughing? This is," he said, creased his eyebrows, and sighed. "This is serious." You stopped laughing and looked up at him, saying, "Spencer. In all my years of eating cookie dough, I have not gotten sick once." You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the terrified expression on his face.

"But the CDC says—" your cut him off again  and took some of the cookie dough from the bowl again. "Who cares what the CDC says? Live a little." Spencer shook his head when you pushed the chunk of cookie dough towards his face. "No. I'm not risking anything." he took your wrist into his hand and tried to pull it away from his face. 

You chuckled and resisted his grip. Please, Spence, just try it." He still shook his head, trying to get the dough away from his face. "I would never lie to you. I promise it's fine." Spencer continued to say no, pushing your hand away every time it came close to his face.

Sighing, you set your hand down at your side and pouted. "Fine, I guess I'll be the only fun one around here." You mumbled and brought your hand up to put the chunk of cookie dough in your mouth again. Spencer's eyes widened, and he put out his hands and said, "Stop!" His eyes were darting everywhere, trying to get you to stop eating the raw dough. 

"Look," he said, trying to come up with a reasonable way to make the situation better. He gulped nervously and slowly started. "If I try some, will you stop?" His eyes were wide as he watched your reaction. You smiled brightly and nodded your head.

Still smiling, you scooped a piece out of the bowl. You handed it to him, and he took it between his fingers. He started at it and gulped nervously. He looked back at you, and you nodded encouragingly.

He was hesitant when he brought the chunk to his lips, inserting it into his mouth like it would explode at any second. You watched intently, a smile on your lips. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows as he chewed. His eyes, which were shut tightly, slowly started to open, and his expression was filled with surprise when the taste coated his tongue.

He finished chewing and swallowed, his face confused. Seeing this, you grinned widely and clasped your hands together. He watched you silently, not saying a word. "See! I told you!" You put your hands on your hips and watched him shake his head. "Just because it tastes good doesn't outweigh the fact that it is extremely harmful to digest," he tried to argue.

"Oh, it totally outweighs the danger," you said with a mouthful. He seemed to be staring at the bowl now. He looked like he was about to start salivating if he didn't get another bite, but he was too stubborn to prove you right. "Oh, come on, Spence," you said, looking at him holding up a piece in front of him. "You know you want more."

He looked away from you, then looked back with a defeated expression. He sighed, but then a faint smile came onto his lips. "You know what." He took your wrist into his hand and pulled your finger to his mouth, eating the cookie dough right out of your hand. He spoke with his mouth full. "You're right. The taste does outweigh the danger."

He swallowed and smiled. "And the salt really did balance out the vanilla."

[a-gay-bloodmage]

A Qun of Two: Chapter Three

Art by the beloved @caedharlowe

(The Iron Bull & Ozol Adaar)

Ozol Adaar learned, many years ago, as he ran through the jungle arm in arm with his saarebas, that leaving the Qunari behind doesn’t make one a savage. Nor does it mean abandoning the poetry of the Qun. Now, with the dreadnaught left to wash up on a rocky shoreline, he resolves to teach the Iron Bull the same lesson.

On the Third Day, We Think of Ourselves

Many days passed, until one night, as he gazed out from the shadow of the rocks, he saw the lifeless desert awaken. A hundred thousand locusts hatched from the barren ground, and as one, they turned south, a single wave of moving earth. The Ashkaari rose and followed in their wake: a path of devastation miles wide, the once verdant land turned to waste. And the Ashkaari’s eyes were opened.

—An excerpt from The Qun, Canto 1

Read on Archive of Our Own Here!

The Herald of Andraste’s Baking

A well-known fact about war—amongst those fighting it, at least—is that war is more of a matter of logistics than it is about strength. Mercenary bands, as it turns out, are not as aware of this fact as soldiers are. Yes, to any of my kith who happen to find this entry, it is you that I speak of. A keen mind for numbers and a deep well of patience are inseparable from survival, especially when such survival must be fought in the battlegrounds of marketplaces and tax collectors and taverns. Even a humble jungle cat knows when to rest and for how long as it waits for the next chance to hunt, and it is not unheard of for the more clear-eyed of the apes to take stock of their various little treasures to divide them fairly. It is often a bitter medicine to swallow—this fact that indulgence is not truly measured how much one has or how quickly one obtains it, but in how much such a thing is savored once it is obtained. 

It brings me no small amount of joy that I can hear the voices of my kith repeating my words in a lovingly sarcastic tone. Houses of my heart, know that I adore you despite your poor financial decisions. 

For the times when money flows more freely into metal-skinned hands and the trade routes are clear of import taxes—albeit with more demons—some indulgences can be more often experienced. 

To sweeten the tongue that allows the sometimes bitter-tasting medicine of the Qun to rest upon it, I have taken it upon myself to write down a recipe gifted to me by a woman of Nevarra. I have long since memorized such a thing, but several of the Skyhold staff have requested it, and I see no reason to treat a recipe for shortbread in any manner akin to a secret of the Ariqun. 

Nevarran Shortbread, as gifted to me in the form of moving hands and earnest, if incomplete, Trade. Measurements have been translated into those used by the people of Ferelden. 

1 cup flour 4 tablespoons white sugar 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/2 cup butter, melted 1 teaspoon rosewater Edible dried rose petals to decorate

Let the oven warm with a low fire. If the fire burns too hot, the shortbread will burn, either entirely or only partially, leaving the inside undesirably undercooked. 

While the fire burns lowly, keep the butter close by in a cup so that it melts but does not boil or burn. Gather the dry ingredients of flour, sugar, and salt together in a bowl. It is best practice to use a bowl slightly larger than necessary to avoid spilling any material from the motion of stirring. Blend the ingredients together with a spoon. Once mixed, pour the room-temperature rosewater into the melted butter. Stir together kindly until even. Then, pour the butter and rosewater into the mixture of flour, sugar, and salt, stirring until all is uniform beneath your hands. 

Using a teaspoon, scoop out small hills of dough. Roll each into a small ball, and place it upon a sheet fit for baking lined with parchment that will not burn in the heat of the oven. Once the marbles of dough have been placed upon the paper, press down upon them with a cup until they sit at half an inch thick. Using a sturdy glass is best, but it is not the only acceptable material. When the dough has been pressed, place a rose petal upon it in the center, taking care to be delicate and avoid crushing it. 

The shortbread should cook for ten to fifteen minutes. By then, they will start to brown. If desired, serve warm or at the temperature of the room. If there are rose petals left over, let not one go to waste, and use them to make the shortbread all the more beautiful. 

As I have grown to know the Iron Bull’s tastes in food, I have discovered that he has a deep love for hot chocolate. It is, in truth, quite expected. I have yet to find a Qunari or Tal-Vashoth that does not have their willpower put to the test when they first learn of things such as pastries, cookies, or anything containing chocolate, vanilla, or sugar. Under the Qun, efficiency has dictated that there is no leftover dough to attempt to make do with, and, thus, no such desserts have made their way into the culture. I have listened carefully each time the Iron Bull has described the taste, and I believe I have recreated it just as his recollections dictate. It has taken some time to obtain the chocolate from Rivain, but I have no reason to doubt that my patience has borne fruit. 

This is hot chocolate, as according to the tastes of the Iron Bull. 

3 tablespoons and 1 teaspoon of heavy whipping cream  2 and 1/4 cups of cow’s milk 2 tablespoons of unsweetened powder of the cocoa seeds  1 tablespoon of fermented vanilla  Around 1/2 cup of solid, semisweet chocolate, chopped roughly into pieces  Cinnamon to taste  Orlesian guimauves, if available 

Whip the cream in a mixing cup or a bowl until stiff peaks begin to form. Such a process is tiring and consumes much time, but it is necessary. Once the cream is at its desired texture, set it aside. Be careful to not allow it to warm too greatly and undo much of your work. 

Start a low fire in a stove fit to place a pot upon. Combine the cow’s milk, cocoa powder, vanilla, and the chopped chocolate in a pot. Slowly, heat the contents of the pot, being mindful to stir it constantly. If the mixture begins to boil, remove it from the heat and give it a moment to cool and collect itself before returning it to the stovetop. Once the chocolate is fully melted, remove it completely. Allow the chocolate to cool for two minutes, undisturbed, before stirring again to assure that everything is of a uniform texture. When serving, add the cream once poured, and then decorate with cinnamon. If available, the Iron Bull has reported that Orlesian guimauves are perfect for such a dessert. It is a small tragedy, but a tragedy nonetheless, that such things are not attainable at the moment of writing. A shipment of various Orlesian goods were stopped at the border into Ferelden by a collection of nationalists, who were then set upon by Pride demons. While such a thing has a certain poetic quality to it, it was quite the unfortunate incident.

—A note, written on spare parchment, found tucked inside a cookbook of desserts in the Skyhold kitchens

[jmtorres]

juls's super easy sweet coconut curry for when you're sick

note: this is super easy because i have curry paste and an instapot and a rice cooker. if you don't have these things on hand. well like, you can still make it, but it may not be super easy sick food for you

1lb chicken (approx)

1/3 cup of sugar

1 tbsp red curry paste

2 tbsp fish sauce

1 can coconut cream (trader joe's recommended)

cashews, unsalted

separately, rice

(there's a version of this where you brown the chicken first. the super easy version is not that version.)

okay so get your instapot. you can make this in a big one or a small one. i just started a double batch in my baby instapot.

Put in the can of coconut cream. (Tj's is recommended because it is just coconut and water, no thickeners. if you don't have ibd or some shit and thickeners don't bother you, use whatever.) Note: you can also use coconut milk if you and thicken it with like a teaspoon or two of cornstarch, but due to the nature of pressure cookers you can't add the cornstarch until after you cook, or the instapot won't reach pressure.

Add the sugar. Other people who may have originated this recipe kept dicking with the amount because "oh it's too sweet" they ended up working in eighths of a cup who even has eighths of a cup. Fuck that, I like it sweet, I'm sick, it's comfort food, 1/3 cup measure is easy to find.

Add the red curry paste and fish sauce. Note: the original amounts on this were 2tsp red curry paste and 1.5tbsp fish sauce. This was changed because using a tablespoon measure for both is easier and also stronger flavors are better when you're congested. If you think this might be too spicy for you, go easy on the red curry paste. If for some ungodly reason you are trying to recreate this from scratch, red curry paste contains: red chilis, lemongrass, galangal, garlic, coriander, cumin, shallots, lime zest, and usually shrimp paste but mine's kosher. Fish sauce is a mixture of soy sauce and fish so you can use like a tablespoon of soy if you don't have fish sauce, and maybe like a dash of worcestershire (the closest western equivalent to fish sauce, though it is considerably more gussied up).

Give the mix a good stir. This is not strictly necessary but I'm always paranoid about chunk of curry paste won't separate. I also turn the instapot on saute mode at this point because heat gets things moving.

Cube the chicken and add it to the pot. Or if you bought pre-diced, good on you. I prefer breasts to thighs because I think they're easier to chop up. Also I've discovered that if you're pulling chicken out of the freezer, you do not have to thaw it 100% it is actually easier to cube if it's half-frozen.

Add cashews. I will be honest, I've never measured this. Somewhere between half a cup and a whole cup? You do not want there to be more cashews than chicken but otherwise go wild. If you only have salted cashews, wash them in a strainer first. They will get soft. That's fine, they'll get super soft in the curry. If you wanted a crunch instead, try peanuts, they hold their form better.

Close the instapot and set it to meat/stew.

Make some rice. Maybe like a cup and a half before cooking? Tbh I've never totally figured out how to match the rice to the curry to make them run out at the same time. The curry makes 4-5 servings if that helps.

In like an hour you will have food.

[hempseeeeds]

Oat&Linseed Bread Mix

This is a dry Mix to create very dense Bread that somewhat resembles German style whole-grain rye-and-wheat-and-seeds breads in flavour and Texture.

It goes well as a Sandwich base for sliced Cheese such as young Gouda, or with Hummus, and can be reheated and Made nicely crispy in a bread slice Toaster, Up to a week after First baking it. It's also very filling, and while it's Not inherently gluten-free by Default, it can easily be Made gluten-free without changing any of the properties, by using certified-gluten-free Oats instead of "regular", unclean Oats, and being careful about the content of Spice Mixes.

The dry mixture keeps for months and is a good idea to have around for when you're going to bake Something unrelated, and want to get the most use out of having the oven on. Most people who have an electric oven in their kitchen/as Part of their electric stove, are aware that it's somewhat wasteful/inefficient to Run it Just for one meal, but Life is such that sometimes you DO want to bake a cake, or a pie, or a meat-roast, or oven-baked vegetables, or prepare convenience food such as frozen Pizza or IKEA balls, and it makes very little difference in Energy consumption if you Put in some oat buns at the Same time.

Get yourself one of those 10 Liter buckets that are made of thin-ish, cheap-ish food-safe plastic (Polypropylene) and come with a Lid of the same material that makes a watertight but not very pressure-stable Seal, and is stackable with other buckets of the Same size due to a lip/rim on the Lid. You can get them for free If you know who to ask, because they're the typical packaging that restaurant-quantities of Ketchup and Mayonnaise and Yoghurt and Cream and Applesauce and some types of Frying Fat come in, so most Small Restaurants both use them for internal storage of EVERYTHING, and discard several per week. (If you are neither a regular at a Restaurant, nor Friends or Family with a Restaurant worker, and/or If you are too shy to ask, you May be able to buy a suitable bucket that is filled with Popcorn, or one that is empty and meant to be filled with Dog chow or parrot seed or Chicken Feed Pellets, at a Feed Store where you can buy that Stuff by weight and bring your own Container.)

Then get your ingredients. You'll need 500g of thick-rolled Oats, 500g of Instant/thin-rolled Oats, 400g of coarsely-ground Linseed/flaxseed, 100g of Chia seeds, two teaspoonfuls of mild-curry-spice-mix, and three teaspoonfuls of sea salt. Throw all of these ingredients into your bucket, Close the Lid Well, and Mix thoroughly by shaking or turning the bucket over many times. Or alternatively, Mix thoroughly by stirring with a large spoon before closing the lid.

Variations include using all instant Oats instead of half-and-half, replacing Up to half of the Thick-rolled Oats with thick-rolled flakes of other grains such as wheat/spelt, replacing the Curry with another Spice mix (like a spicier Curry, or Tandoori, or paprika-and-chili, or Mediterranean Herbs, or Pumpkin-Spice), using really fancy pink Salt, or half a teaspoon of Potassium Chloride in addition to the three spoons of Salt, or adding some oily seeds, like de-hulled hempseeds or sunflower seeds, or pumpkinseeds, or chopped hazelnuts, or sesame, or a Combination of several different seeds/nuts, Up to total 200g (per 1kg of oat).

When you are ready to make oat buns alongside the other Thing you are going to bake, boil some water. Measure two Cups (500mL) of the dry mixture into a bowl, and add one Cup (250mL) of hot (boiling/almost-boiling) water. Mix thoroughly with a fork immediately after adding the water, then add a 2-3 tablespoons of Apple cider vinegar, and Mix thoroughly again. Then you can leave the mixture alone for a few minutes and do whatever needs to be done for the other Thing you're Baking, but it's important to Mix before it becomes hard to mix from the water being absorbed unevenly. Within 10 minutes or so, all the water will be absorbed into a VERY thick/Stiff dough, that is easiest to knead and shape If you get your Hand wet with water before touching it. The best shape for baking this bread is a round flat shape Like a thick Cookie roughly the size of an adult human's palm. Two Cups of dry mixture is enough for making about six of these buns, so you should divide the contents of the Bowl into six parts. If you Happen to have Silicone moulds for large Muffins or small pies, you can Just Put each Portion into one of those moulds and Press it flat (to a finger's width) with wet hands. If you don't have moulds available, shape the dough by Hand into flat palm-sized circles, and lay them on whatever nonstick surface (foil, ceramic, metal…)to bake on. Let the requirements of the other Thing you are baking, decide your Temperature for you. If the Heat is 180°C (356°F), then it's going to Take about 15 minutes to Bake the oat buns, and the hotter the Temperature, the shorter the time. They don't rise AT ALL, nor should they shrink unless they've been baking too Long. If you want to eat them right from the oven, you can Break them into pieces and Dip in Something. If you want to use them for Sandwiches, days later, you should use a serrated knife to cut the top and bottom halves apart.