#Cast Iron Burner

[grillpartshub-blog]

Comparing Replacement Stainless Steel Burners for Sterling Gas Grills We’ll compare online replacement stainless steel burners for Sterling 5131-64, 5131-67, 5653-64, 5653-67, and 5653-84 gas grill models. For More Details

[bouncinghedgehog]

An Unusual Art Nouveau Cast Nickel & Porcelain Stove, from France (Circa 1900).

[marnz]

how do people cook without cast iron? What do you guys use?

[leaveherwildliketheflowers]

My almost 1 year old just slept through our fire alarm going off. She is truly my daughter.

[phoenixiancrystallist]

I don't know what I'm making, but I'm making it!

Ingredients so far are a 12.5oz can of chicken, 3tbsp butter, enough black pepper to make me happy, 6oz finely shredded Parmesan cheese, and milk.

In another pot I'm making penne pasta as soon as the water boils :D

Cook the chicken in butter over a low to medium heat, sprinkle with pepper while it's cooking. Once the chicken is cooked, alternate adding Parmesan and milk to desired consistency, stirring constantly. Maybe do this while the pasta is boiling or after the pasta is already cooked. Don't be like me. Don't decide "I'm gonna put this on pasta! :D" while mixing the cheese and milk with the chicken. That way lies trouble.

[turayochina]

GAS GRIDDLE--Outdoor Cast Iron Burner Gas BBQ Grill Plancha Griddle Table Top Gas Grill

[mochalate]

[3] new notification!

msby!atsumuxreader || w/c: 1.1k + 1 min of video (yes, video.) chocolate chip cookies are the way to a guy's heart. (everyone knows that!) a/n: wow I thought I wouldn't post anything this week, but one really good chocolate cake later, I felt alive. Perhaps Atsumu and I are more similar than I thought. 🔔Please use full screen for the video!

[<-chapter 2][chapter 4->] ||[start from intro][masterlist]

Back when you were still at university, you had a part time job at the campus gym. Legally, you weren’t allowed to call yourself a nutritionist at that point, but that’s what you did. It was never anything complicated— the hardest thing had been managing expectations. 

No, you won’t have noticeable muscle definition in a month. 

Yes, you’ll need quite a bit longer than a week to lose ten kilos.

That will give you results, but perhaps a more sustainable plan?

So yes, expectations. You’re in a career chock-full of them. You’re good at managing them. Even when it’s hard.

Or so you’d thought.

Can I keep starin’? 

(Could it really be that easy?)

With four words, Atsumu Miya had ripped open the top of that flimsy cardboard box you’d oh-so-carefully stuffed your expectations in, and now you were struggling to (convince yourself to) put them back in. For the last few hours, you’ve been fiddling with that metaphorical scotch-tape, not quite daring to believe he could be interested in you— and yet unable to let go of that fantasy.

Was it a fantasy? 

You can still picture his flushed-red face, the anticipation and anxiety in his eyes. It wasn’t the kind of look you expected from a flirty joke.

Or…

It's when Osamu has to stop you from trying to grab the piping hot handle of a cast iron pan for the second time that you realise you need to come back to your senses.

“Osamu,” you ask, timidly. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Atsumu.”

Osamu turns down the flame on the burner, and looks at you. His face is neutral— some people went as far as calling those droopy grey eyes of his ‘expressionless’, but you preferred to think of them as steady. Osamu always said it like it was. 

He’s going to give you the reality check you so obviously need.

“How stupid am I for thinking I have a chance with Atsumu?”

You brace yourself for a scathing reply. Perhaps, ‘Next time, I won’t stop ya from burning yourself.’ Or maybe, “That oaf? Sorry, the only thing he’s attracted to is balls. Volleyballs, that is.”

What he does instead, is sigh heavily, and a little exasperatedly. 

“Did ya two idiots finally figure it out?”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“You heard me,” Osamu says, turning up the flame once more. He stirs the simmering broth as he speaks. “He’s been actin’ stupid all week. And you’ve been actin’ stupid around him for a while.”

Oh. Oh.

There’s no way you’re ever putting those expectations away ever again, because that stupid box is all soggy at the bottom now. Soggy, because the raging mix of relief and happiness swirling around in your chest— the weight lifted off your shoulders because you don’t have to pretend anymore—  is making you tear up. 

Osamu hears you sniffle. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he says, tapping off the broth and setting the spoon beside the stove, “you know he isn’t worth cryin' over.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face, as he brings his large hands up to your face, wiping away the tears. “Want me to beat him up for ya?”

(You think he really might be your best friend.)

“You’re just looking for an excuse to!” You say, pulling his hands away as you laugh. 

He holds them up in mock defence. “Hey, two birds and all. Are you going call him?”

You’re already scrambling inside your purse. “I… think I forgot my phone at work.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I take it back, yer perfect for each other.”

“Hey!” You say it indignantly, but his words make you feel warm. Perfect for each other. “Can I borrow your phone? Would that be weird?”

“He’d make it weird,” Osamu scoffs. “Just go over.”

“I— I should bring him something.”

He makes an amused expression. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

You make your best puppy face. “Please?”

Osamu sighs. “Well, he’s been complainin’ about those raisin bran cookies for weeks now…”

“I think it would be best if you don’t say anything. Just let it blow over,” the publicist says. She’s using the speakerphone, and her voice sounds far away. Atsumu can hear the clack of keyboard keys in the background. “I mean it, Miya. Log out of everything. No, uninstall everything.”

“Don’t ya trust me even a little bit?” Atsumu asks. He tries to sound teasing, but his heart isn’t in it.

“No,” she says bluntly. The call goes blank.

Atsumu collapses back on to his bed, legs hanging over the edge. He holds his phone up over his face, staring at the ‘call ended’ until the screen turns itself off, and then sighs heavily.

It’s not that he’s worried. She was right, it would blow over. But it would happen again. And he knows that each time, it would chip off a little piece of you; and eventually leave your edges jagged and rough enough to cut.

You’d resent him for it.

Atsumu unlocks his phone. It’s easy enough to find those pictures of you and Osamu again.

You look so happy.

He doesn’t think he was being delusional earlier, he knows there was something more than plain embarrassment in your eyes when you’d looked at him; and yet, he can’t shake the thought that he’s being selfish. 

The photo is cropped awkwardly, and he knows you and Osamu are close, but he can’t help but feel disheartened, and then hate himself for feeling like that. Were you two actually seeing each other? Was he meddling in his brother’s happiness, your happiness? What did he have to offer that his brother didn’t, save for the scrutiny of strangers?

The phone buzzes.

His eyes flick up to the notification bar. It’s a DM request from one of his new-found confidantes.

(Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do.)

In that brief moment, Atsumu understands his mother, and her panic at the state of the house when guests were imminent. He even understands, as he turns a couple of the trophies he has on display a few degrees to the left, why she would go around adjusting her many throw pillows in those last few seconds. That time seemed to stretch endlessly.

And then the doorbell rings, and time seems to somehow come to a stop and rush forward at the same time.

Atsumu stumbles on the carpet as he rushes to open the door.

And there you are.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you say, fiddling with the lid of the plastic container in your hands, “can we talk?”

(Wow, he thinks for some reason. I think those are cookies.)

Osamu walked her over because the publicist was calling around to find her, when she couldn't get a hold of reader on her number. He was worried about her going alone. What a prince. Divider @/cafekitsune Tweet images edited from here and Shokubutsu Zukan (by Tsutsumi Kakeru). Had a hard time finding the source for that image lol, it's been used in SO many fic headers. Each time I reverse image searched, If found a slightly less cropped version until it ended as the full page. and then i had to google translate this russian pirated manga site. next chapter will be the last + I will post a little bonus from the osamu POV. :)

[kaycrowley]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

You are a Saloon Girl in the lawless town of Xetas, and you have caught the eye of a certain mischievous outlaw.

(Cowboy Loki X Saloon Girl Reader)

(ADULTS ONLY 🔞: Semi-Public Sex, P in V Sex, Doggy Style, Bondage, Gagging, Clothed Sex, Sex in Front of a Mirror.)

Tags: @prince-ben-solo @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @high-functioning-lokipath @glitchquake @lokisstarlight

It was a typical afternoon in the Saloon, the patrons were all enjoying their drinks, conversing and laughing with each other. In the corner, a group of patrons were playing Poker, while the ragtime piano was playing as the Saloon Girls danced on stage. All was well until the doors swung open, the afternoon light casting an ominous shadow across the floorboards. Everything came to a stop when the patrons and workers alike saw the tall man at the double doors. He was known by many names; "The Menace of Mischief, Silver Tongue, The Frost-Hearted Foe, but the one name he truly went by was Loki Laufeyson.

His icy blue eyes scanned the Saloon as he made his way towards the bar. The only sound that can be heard was the tinkling of his spurs and the thumping of his boots across the floor. He took a seat on the stool at the bar, his gaze meeting that of the intimidated bartender. "I'll have ma'self a base burner." He finally spoke, his voice deep with a strong drawl. The bartender nodded and poured him a glass of whiskey and slid it over to him. Loki caught the glass and tipped his hat before taking a swig. Sensing that he wasn't here to cause trouble, the Saloon slowly bustled back to life, the conversations flowing, chips clacking, and the ragtime piano playing. Loki swiveled in his seat to watch the Saloon Girls on stage, smirking at the flirtatious display. One particular girl caught his eye, a girl wearing a green dress with black lace and a black feather in her headband. You were that girl, dancing in the center with your peers, Natasha, Carol, Wanda, and Janet, who were each dressed in their respected colors; black, blue, red, and gold.

After the little stage show, you headed for the Powder Room to freshen up. Loki slowly got up and made his way after you, looking behind his back to make sure that nobody was watching. You were in the Power Room, powdering your nose, when you suddenly heard a man's voice say "Howdy there, Missy!" You yelp and jump, placing a hand over your heart. Loki chuckled. "Didn't mean to scare ya, I jus' wanted to say that you look mighty fine up there...and up close too." You blushed at his forwardness, but you forged a smile. "Why thank ya, Stranger." You replied, but Loki got closer. "Oh I ain't no stranger, sweetie. You know damn well who I am, don't you?" You gulped and nodded slowly. "O-of course, Sir..."

"Then say it..." Loki cut you off. "...say my name."

You looked him in the eyes and said. "Y-you're....you're....Loki....Loki Laufeyson, the fella wanted by Sheriff Stark in Yorktown."

Loki smiled and chuckled at your answer. "Good girl."

"What do you want from me?" You queation.

"Don't 'cha worry, I ain't here to hurt ya." Loki reassured. "I just wanna show you mah Ace in the hole." You back away, a little scared. He chuckled again. "Oh no, it ain't no barking iron...well, not the kind ya think." He winked, unbuckling his chaps to lower his pants, revealing his member to you. You gasped and blushed, looking down at the thickened rod. You look up at him and lick your lips. "I guess I can be friendly~" you purr. Loki smiled and grabbed his lasso. "Atta girl~" he tied your wrists together, before wrapping the rope around your torso, tying your arms to your chest. You bit your lip, being tied up to get fucked by a notorious outlaw excited you. Loki bent you over in front of the vanity and lifted your skirt up, pulling your pantaloons down to reveal your ass and quim to him. He took a step back to look at them in all their glory and whistled. "I tell ya what, that's a mighty fine lookin' pussy ya got there~" You couldn't help but blush at that statement. Loki reached over and gently petted your awaiting lips, causing you to gasp and let out a little moan. Loki smiled and continued to rub his long, dexterous digits against your lips, wanting to make sure you were good and ready for him.

Once you were wet with arousal, Loki removed his kerchief from his neck, and wrapped it tightly around your mouth, gagging you. "I'm sorry, Huckleberry..." he said. "...as much as I love to hear ya sing, I'm afraid I'm gon' hafta keep ya quiet so ya won't get caught bein' a floozy." You nodded understandably and you felt his large hands gripping your hips. You anticipated his grand entrance, which he did smoothly. You moaned into the kerchief as he slid inside you, letting out a soft groan. "Oh mah stars..." he whispered, trying to contain himself. He gripped onto the lasso with one hand before he started to buck, keeping a firm grip onto your hip with one hand. Your moans were muffled by the kerchief, and Loki can be heard making restrained panting sounds. He wanted to be louder, but alas, he couldn't chance it, what he was doing was already too risky. You lifted your head and looked into the mirror of the vanity, seeing yourself with the green kerchief around your mouth and Loki behind you, pistoning his hips into your supple ass. He looked into the mirror at you and smiled with a breathless chuckle. "Now ain't that a sight?" He said, referring to how you two looked in the mirror. You weren't going to lie, watching yourself being bound, gagged, and fucked by this man only heightened your arousal, making yourself slick enough for him to pick up the pace. The Powder Room was filled with the sounds of your muffled moans, his panting, the clacking of his bullet belt, and your skins slapping. It was all so erotic and thrilling.

Loki was so close, his panting was increasing, switching his gaze back and forth to the mirror and his cock sliding in and out of you. He leaned forward, pressing his torso into your back and began fucking you vigorously, causing you to moan louder into the kerchief. "That's it..." he huffed. "...come on, girl." After a few good thrusts, Loki gritted his teeth and grunted, pushing his cock as deep as he can before releasing. You moaned into the kerchief and came around him, your walls squeezing his cock as if to milk it of all he's got. Loki shuddered and his cock throbbed at the sensation, giving you a few good extra spurts before slowly pulling out with a wet pop. He huffed and looked down at the results of his hard work, your cunt was now dripping with the man's semen, which was heavily erotic for him. Loki tucked himself back into his pants before removing the kerchief and untying you. You slowly stood up, looking down at the marks the rope left on your bare arms. Loki chuckled and ran his hands along the markings. You saw his hands glowing and the markings disappearing. You gasp and turn around, mouth agape in awe. "How did you...?!"

"Now, now, you know that a magician never reveals his secrets..." Loki grinned. "...now, perhaps you could be my little magician and never reveal our secret to nobody." He winked, causing you to blush. "I won't, Sir!" You reply, earning yourself an even bigger smile from him. "That's a good girl~" he purred before tipping his hat and slowly exiting the Powder Room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the realization of what you've just done. You smirked at the thought...this was going to be a dirty secret that you're sure as hell taking to the grave with you. You began to wonder if by chance you ever encountered Loki again, perhaps he could show you another reason why he's been nicknamed "Silver Tongue"...

[windvexer]

what part of your craft do you think looks the coolest? regardless of how powerful or helpful it is lol

Looks the coolest? Fun question :D

I'd definitely have to say the handicrafts.

I mean come on, he's so cool, right?

I really really enjoy creating things and I've made from scratch, or heavily modified, almost everything I use (exceptions being things like mortar and pestle or metal incense burners; these are things used to hold or make modified things).

Look at that. That's an orange doily over some cat bones, and that's weird, so I like it. I even made and enchanted the wick in the oil lamp :D

And look at this weird little dude! (I still haven't finished him yet):

I needed a Rosemary Guy, but the problem is that rosemary flakes really badly as it dries and I'd want to replace it. So I made him into a plant holder! I just think he's so cool.

So yeah I think that all the stuff I make looks really cool, making things is probably my favorite part of witchcraft in my life and it brings me so much joy ^-^

Thanks for sending this ask, thinking about all my little crafts has put me in a really good mood

(By the way I got the cast iron mortar and pestle from @upthewitchypunx 's shop and I really like it, I'd recommend one if you're looking to expand your toolset)

[grillpartshub-blog]

Where to Shop online Replacement Stainless Steel Burners for Sterling Gas Grills You can shop exclusively for the perfect burners to upgrade your outdoor cooking experience: For More Details

[thedirtybeanlife]

If you’re down for it could you write a chubby nb reader x Rudy or Alejandro? (Can be SFW or NSFW I don’t mind pookie)

(ofc! it's a little short, but i hope you enjoy!! <33)

Alejandro x Reader

You stand in the kitchen, preparing ingredients for tonight's dinner. Alejandro had been at work since early this morning, way before the sun had risen. Knowing he would be hungry, you ran out to the store and bought the things to make his favorite meal; carne asada, homemade flour tortillas, and fresh pico de gallo. Quickly working, you take the steak that has been marinating since this morning out of the fridge and place it on the counter.

Walking outside, you open the lid of the grill and throw the meat onto the hot rack, closing the lid again and bringing everything else outside and place it on the counter surrounding the grill from a safe distance, making a makeshift outdoor kitchen. After placing everything down, you start chopping the red onion, cilantro, tomatoes, and a jalapeño to make the fresh pico de gallo. You carefully squeeze in some lime juice from a fresh lime and mix it all together, covering it and sitting it aside.

Just as you go to start preparing to make the homemade tortillas with the dough you had made a little bit ago, you hear footsteps approaching you making you look up with a smile.

"Huele increíble aquí, mi amor," Alejandro says with a smile as he walks over to you and wraps his arms around you, effortlessly picking you up like you weigh nothing making you blush slightly. Even after all these years together, you struggled with accepting his affection when it came to your physical appearance.

"I figured you've had a long day, so I'm making your favorite," you say with a grin as he holds you in his strong arms, your feet still not touching the ground below.

"Carne Asada, huh? You know me so well, mi cielito," he laughs before placing a kiss to your lips and putting you back down, moving to lean against the counter your working on.

You smile happily up at him, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek before going back to rolling out the flour tortillas and placing them on a tea towel carefully. You then put a cast iron skillet on the burner of the grill, heating it up and oiling it slightly so the dough doesn't stick.

"I was also thinking i could make you and the boys some dulce de leche mousse this weekend for the gathering Rudy has planned," you offer sweetly.

"I think everyone would love that, baby," he smiles and nods as he watches you, "Do you want any help?"

"Absolutely not. This is my treat to you. You work too hard all day to have to come home and make dinner too," you scold playfully, swatting him away with your dish towel as he tries to step in and help.

He laughs as you swat him away and puts his hands up in mock surrender, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and placing his chin on it after. Alejandro runs his large hands under your apron and shirt, his calloused fingers gently grabbing at your plump flesh and caressing it as he runs his fingers along your curves whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you work.

Within thirty minutes, everything is done and Alejandro insisted he at least could set the table. After a few minutes of trying to tell him no, you give up and he happily walks inside to grab plates and silverware for the table. You carry all of the food inside in two trips and place it in respect places on the kitchen table.

"Dios mío, mi amor. esto se ve increíble," Alejandro gapes at the food as he watches you set it down.

You laugh at his reaction and grab two glasses, pouring some wine into each, handing him one and putting yours down on the table. You pile food on his plate before sitting down and doing the same to yours. He digs in immediately, moaning around a mouthful of steak and tortilla, nodding before swallowing and going in for another large bite.

"Calm down, Alejandro!" you laugh, "It's not going anywhere. you're going to choke, Baby." your smile widens as you look at him from across the table.

"Amor, this is simply the best thing you've ever made," he says in astonishment.

"Ale, honey, you say that every time i make it," you laugh softly and take a bite of your food, eating at a slower pace than Alejandro so you don't choke.

"And I mean it every time," he says seriously around mouthful of food, manners fully forgotten as he savors every bite.

Later that evening, after everything's been cleaned and leftovers are put in the fridge, you and Alejandro sit on the couch, watching a random western movie he had put on, neither of you paying any mind to it as you lay in each others arms, talking about your days and what you did. His fingers run through your hair as you cuddle into his chest under the fuzzy blanket draped over both of you. With his other hand, he slowly runs his hand up and down your back under your shirt, his nails grazing comfortingly over your soft skin.

"i love you, Ale," you say softly, placing a kiss to his jawline.

"I love you more, mi amor," Alejandro responds with a grin, placing a kiss to your lips.

The two of you spend the rest of the night cuddled up on the couch, simply basking in the comfort you bring each other, never more content than in this moment.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @mxanigel and @thesingularityseries thank you both <3

tagging @henbased @cloudofbutterflies92 @aceghosts @galaxycunt @ocdemon-747 @unholymilf @wrathfulrook @amalkavian @fourlittleseedlings @harmonyowl @mccarthycormac @madparadoxum @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood @trench-rot @nightbloodbix @roofgeese @inafieldofdaisies @voidika @kyber-infinitygems @clicheantagonist @adelaidedrubman @strafethesesinners @statichvm @peppertheferalraccoon @josephslittledeputy @marivenah @simplegenius042 @theelderhazelnut @josephseedismyfather @v0idbuggy @direwombat @florbelles @poetikat @cassieuncaged @shallow-gravy @cassietrn @strangefable @stacispratt (no pressure of course)

Here's to the first WIP Wednesday of 2024! And here's some more of American Beasts chapter 51 with good old Uncle Staci and the kids:

Staci led the two children into the mess hall and straight through into the kitchen, lifting them both to sit up on the large metal counter across from the stove where he could keep an eye on them. He had never spent much time with kids, never had much time for them before, but knowing that Kit had taken on the guardian role for them meant he wouldn’t fail her. She trusted him to look after them in her stead. 

“You guys like grilled cheese?”

Carter’s mouth practically started dripping with saliva at the words. Grilled cheese was like sweet ambrosia after weeks worth of peanut butter. “We do, yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause that’s about all I can really make you in this place. If there wasn’t a war going on –” He looked over at the two kids starving, shaking and cold, if anyone knew the effects of the Reaping it was these two. “...well I’d be able to make ya something else.”

Staci went into the fridges and grabbed the butter and cheese, and a loaf of bread from the pantry. Grabbing a cast iron pan, he dropped it on the stove burner and turned up the heat. He eyed the kids from over his shoulder as the pan warmed, buttering both sides of each slice of bread. “How long were you on your own for?”

“Three weeks.”

His eyes widened and then his brow furrowed, his back turned so the children couldn’t see his reaction. “Jesus,” he whispered under his breath. “I don’t think I would have been able to do that at your age.” He likely couldn’t now. “I’m impressed.”

Carter tugged his lips into a tight grin, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks.”

Placing the slices of bread in the pan, Staci lay cheese down on one side and then covered that with another slice of bread. He could hear the children sniffing the air hungrily as the bread began to toast and the cheese melted. Memories of his own childhood and his mother making grilled cheese for him after a tough day at school came flooding back. Such a simple meal and yet it was a staple of childhood (and of being a bachelor, if he was being honest). 

“Is that why she saved us?”

Staci paused, holding the spatula to the bread, pressing it against the pan. “What do you mean?”

“Because we proved ourselves.”

“I, um, I can’t really speak for Kit.” He scratched at his brow, nervously twitching. “She has her own motivations for doing everything.”

“But that’s part of the cult’s whole thing, right?”

“Part of it…yeah.” Pratt could feel dark eyes boring into his back, expecting a better answer than that. The kid was smart, he didn’t want to lie. Rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand, he flipped the sandwiches on to the other side so they were evenly toasted. “I have a feeling she wanted to save you because she saw people in need,” he said with a shrug. “I know you probably think we’re the enemy, but her and I, we weren’t always on their side either.” Staci glanced over his shoulder once more. “She tries to do things for the right reasons…she’s not completely cold no matter how much she wants people to believe that…no matter how much she tries to make herself believe that.”

“Why would she want to do that?”

He sighed, biting his lip. “Kit’s a bit of a mystery. There’s not a lot I really know about her, she doesn’t really like people knowing her. She prefers to keep us at arm’s length. All I do know for sure is that she was a soldier…and that when she picks you as someone she cares about she would go to the ends of the Earth for you.”

“How does she pick who she cares about?”

“God, I think that might be one of the questions philosopher’s could ponder over forever.” Staci went and grabbed two plates and brought them over to the side of the stove. “I have no idea, kid,” he said with a shake of his head as he slid the sandwiches onto each plate, bringing them over to the counter where the children sat before starting to make more for them – based on experience, he knew one was never enough. 

As the children brought the grilled cheese to their mouths, they seemed to devour them, cramming as much of it into them as quickly as they could. It broke his heart. Already they’d learned to eat the way those in the cages did, not knowing when the next meal would come. A desperate hunger that left a person wondering if it could ever be filled. He had never seen a child in the cages, he hoped it was because they were sent to another bunker…the other prospect twisted him up in knots. 

Watching them feast, strings of cheese falling from their lips and clinging to their chins, a flash of blood pouring from Kit’s mouth as she chewed on a man’s flesh made him freeze and turn back to the pan. 

A mumbled thank you around the food in Carter’s mouth was quickly followed by another question as he swallowed. “Why’d you join the cult?”

His eyes grew wide as he tried to return to the task of cooking. “Uh, well, I mean…I joined at first because it was either that or…well…” Staci’s words trailed off, petering out when all the steam had been kicked out of him by the child’s barrage of questions.

“They were gonna kill you?”

Staci swallowed heavily and then dragged his tongue across his teeth. Not wanting to answer the question. Not with such a young audience. His silence was all the answer the child needed however. 

“So why’d you stay?”

He’d been through his confession with John, had been interrogated by Jacob, and yet this child seemed to ask all the right questions to give him pause. Staci rubbed his hands over his face, scratching at the dark stubble on his cheeks. “Loyalty. To her.”

“You mean Kit?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sigh.

“Why?”

After everything he had been through, Staci was willing to put his faith in the Father, willing to believe his word that the end was coming soon. After everything he had seen and heard Kit do, it was clear to him that she wasn’t just a fluke. There was no way that all of this had just been a coincidence. God had a plan, He had a reason, and unbeknownst to Pratt and everyone else in Hope County – except for Joseph Seed – she was it. A stranger who rode into town like an ill omen of a shifting tide and changing times. Almost otherworldly in how distant she remained as if she wasn’t one of them, above them somehow, not quite human. And yet for some reason, just like these children, he had been chosen as one of the few she would protect, offering up her own life and freedom for him. Kit had done monstrous things, things that left him with nightmares, merciless and remorseless in her actions. So sure of everything she did, every action thrust upon her by something larger than herself. But wasn’t that what the angels of the end times described as? Warriors, avengers who struck down their foes without forgiveness or pity, saving only those who had faith. 

He had faith. 

“She risked her life to save me, fought to free me. It’s only right I do the same for her.”

[laundryandtaxes]

Do you have any stainless steel pan tips? That slide but that color, damn!!!

Firstly, thank you! Secondly, heat control is absolutely the single most important element to understand when using stainless. It takes a little time to get the hang of it, but most problems that people have when cooking in stainless come down to two problems: they aren't properly preheating their pan, and they're using much too high of a heat level.

Different foods call for different approaches, but in GENERAL, the old saying, "hot pan, cold oil, and food doesn't stick" is true for stainless. A stainless steel pan should be preheated until a few drops of water dropped into the pan dance around the surface, rather than sizzle immediately. If water dropped in sizzles, the pan is not hot enough yet. With enough practice, you can call it a bit early because you'll be able to tell when you're right on the edge of hot enough. But initially, preheat pan until a few drops of water dance around the surface. Then, add cold (room temp) oil and allow the oil to heat for a bit. When deep frying, this takes forever, but for any other form of cooking it should be no more than 2 minutes for the oil to heat through. Once oil is hot, add your food. This will prevent 99% of non-scrambled egg sticking you may experience with stainless.

The second problem- using high heat- feeds the first. Because people don't sufficiently preheat their stainless pans, what often happens is they turn the burner on 9, thinking "high heat," maybe wait 30 seconds, and then toss in oil and cold food and find that their food burns while still being cold. I almost never use my pans on heat settings over 7, and that's 7 out of 10 on my weak burner, 6 out of 10 on my others. 8, 9, and 10 are for boiling water, maybe quicking wilting peppers, etc, and nothing else. You do not need to be on the highest heat setting possible to sear salmon skin- you turn the heat too high, you burn your food, it's stuck in the pan. A good stainless steel pan does an incredible job of conducting heat. 4 is plenty for frying an egg. 5 is plenty to get all the way through cooking chicken thighs. 6 is literally too hot to caramelize onions without burning them, and on powerful stoves might even burn butter. Preheat properly, and you will not feel the need to crank the heat really high to compensate.

Brussels sprouts are one of a very few foods that I start in a cold pan, with cold oil, then slowly bring up to medium/mid high heat. I honestly could not tell you why I do this for Brussels, except that ATK recommends it and I tried it one day and found it allowed me to add oil to the pan once for crispy sprouts instead of multiple times like I had to at higher heat. The other foods I do this with include bacon, and chicken thighs, and for those the reason is that it helps render out the fat, which then becomes the "oil" you would use and keeps flavor concentrated. A chicken thigh that was only cooked in its own chicken fat tastes like nothing else, and cold started bacon prevents splatters. Otherwise, 9 times out of 10, I preheat.

So allowing the pan, then the oil, to preheat, on not too high of a heat, should solve almost all problems you encounter when using stainless steel. I have a few cast irons and still use them but I will probably use stainless every day for the rest of my life now that I'm accustomed to it.

[copperbadge]

I know you don't like Twitter, and I'm not sure how much of this has leaked into the mainstream, but Republicans are *freaking out* because gas stoves aren't all that healthy for kids and aren't great for the environment. And obviously electric stoves are terrible. Someone started talking about induction burners, and isn't that what you use? Or did once? Does it work really well? Or was it just better than what you had?

Yep, when I moved out of my old place (gas stove) and into my new place (elderly electric stove in a much smaller kitchen) I bought an induction burner and set it up. FWIW, Republicans are not the only ones freaking out -- pretty much every news outlet I've seen has covered the issue, some ongoing for weeks now. So it behooves us to talk about alternatives!

Point to know: the study found that gas stoves are dangerous because they tend to leak significant parts per million into the air when not turned on -- ie, they don’t have good seals against leakage when they aren’t in operation. In a well-ventilated home this is not a huge deal, but it’s still not great. What this means is that simply buying and using an induction burner instead of your gas stove is not a solution -- you need to have the gas line capped and/or gas turned off completely, in order to solve the issue.

Anyway, you can get a full induction stovetop (they're not cheap) and I've never worked with those, but the more common setup is a single induction burner that plugs into the wall, basically like a hot plate, but with the control, heat, and speed of a gas burner. That's what I have; I'm on my second, since my first wore out. They run about $40-$100 for a single burner. I got a decent one from Ikea of all places. When not in use, I hang it on a hook on the wall to make counter space, which is nice. 

Induction burners do not in themselves get hot; they use magnetism to heat the pan sitting on them, which does get hot. Food cooks at roughly the same speed as it would on a gas stove, and you can control the heat in much the same way, although most induction burners have a digital touchpad where you raise or lower the temperature rather than a knob. The single burners can be a bit noisy -- “have to turn my podcast up while cooking” noisy though, not like “jet engine” noisy. 

I don't really understand how they function other than “magnets are involved”. The downside of an induction burner is that there are limits to the pans you can use. The pan has to be made of a metal that is reactive to magnets -- so I can't use my lovely spun aluminum pans or the ceramic pans I have, and most nonstick pans don't work (teflon's bad for you anyway but sometimes you just need a damn nonstick pan). If you have an induction range or want to cook on an induction burner you need to take a magnet with you if you shop for pans, because if the magnet won't stick the pan won't work on the burner. Cast iron does work on induction burners, as do most steel and steel-clad pans.

I love my induction burner. I'd love to get a full induction stove but it just wasn't in the cards this time around, and electric stoves have come a long way so I’m not displeased with my electric stove. The induction burner I have works great, heats fast, functions like a gas stove in pretty much every respect, it just doesn't have an open flame and some of my pans don't work on it. Can recommend, especially if you are sensitive to gas or live in a home not piped for gas, it's a great way to go. Not cheap, but worth the cost.

[frracturedjaw]

Hello! Can I request a Bo Sinclair x GN Reader Oneshot based off this “When I look at you all I can see are the mistakes we’re going to make (The future’s so bright)” ?

I imagine it to be a fluffy, reassurance one shot where Bo is so scared at the idea of loving someone but he tries and he makes a lot of mistakes. The reader then assures him that his efforts aren’t unnoticed and that it’s completely okay because even if what he’s trying to do/express doesn’t come out right, they know he loves them. Mistakes are simply bounds of love for the two :)

warning(s): alcohol, canon typical violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics (reference to reader having initially been a potential victim before entering relationship w bo)

a/n: i know you said fluffy but for me bo is so deliciously fucked up i had to make it a little dark :’) it gets fluffy at the end i promise lol

it’s been raining all day, so you’ve been stuck inside with each other for too long. him pestering you while you try to cook dinner is the spark that lights the dynamite.

“you sure that’s cooked all the way through?” he asks from the table a few feet away, eyeing the spitting meat on the pan.

“I’m sure.” you reply amicably.

“it weren’t on there for that long.”

“you saw me stick it with the thermometer just a moment ago. I’m sure.” you repeat.

“just wanna be sure,” his voice jumps higher in a way that feels condescending. you know better than to point that out, though. “you know what I’d do if you tried to feed me raw meat.”

“I know plenty well.” you’re quiet now, hoping to keep him from getting upset before anything’s even happened.

“you think so?” he stands from the table and wanders up near the counter beside you.

“mmh.” you reply noncommittally.

“what’s that? speak up, doll. you know how much I hate it when you mumble.”

“I’m not in the mood right now, Bo. I’ll let it sit a little longer if it’ll make you happy.”

“not in the mood, huh?” he hums, hand resting on the handle of the pan, shifting the meat around with a gentle shake. the cords of muscle in his forearm tighten. “I’m not in the mood for the fuckin’ backchat, now, either.”

“Bo.” you’ve never raised your voice at him before. not until now, at least. if he wants to try a proper relationship with you, he’s gonna have to try treating you like a person, too, you decide. “quit trying to start shit.”

the screech of him pressing the cast iron pan down and sliding it across the burner makes you screw your eyes shut. that’s when he decides to tip it out on the floor.

hot oil and liquefied fat spatter out onto the tiles and across your bare feet.

you’re out the side door and sprinting into the rain before he has time to grab you. the blinding pain of your burning skin is only made worse by the pelting rain. the field you’re in has some kind of bramble that keeps slashing across your legs, but the new blood doesn’t register over the animal compulsion to get away get away get far far far away.

even when he’s already fifty feet out from the house and into the pour, bo can hear you sobbing. it’s a guttural, ragged breath in, whine-shriek out that he remembers from your time under the garage. at one point he’d convinced himself he would never let you make that sound again. and look how well that’s going, he thinks. he stops and turns to go get the truck. you’re not faster than him, but he needs to be sure you won’t get out too far. he needs to.

when headlights flood the field with stark shadows, you drop to the ground. the grass is tall enough to cover you, but the path of fallen plants you’ve left in your wake will clue him in instantly. cold doom settles in your belly. your brief stint of freedom is already over. the blinding pain of the burns surfaces at the front of your mind again, and your face is hot with tears. streaked with mud, you stand again. the truck rumbles to a halt some ten feet away. you wait for his boots to hit the ground before you start running again. despite this, he’s on you in seconds. Bo barrels into you like an ox, shouldering you back to the ground. you land on your arm hard and do not move.

you do not move for the entire drive back. not when he gathers you in his arms so delicately, like he’s holding a porcelain doll. not when he pulls a wool blanket around your sodden body and bundles you into the passenger seat. not when he carries you piggy-back up to the bathtub, not when he pulls away your wet clothes and murmurs to himself about the state you’re in.

it’s when he reaches into the tub, for your hand to hold in his, that’s when you slap him away. he flinches away, lips pressed into a thin line.

“I-“

“what do you want?” you can’t think of anything else to ask. first he slaughters your friends, then he decides to spare you. he tortures you within an inch of your life, then decides to keep you like a pet. he locks you in a bedroom and treats you like shit, then changes his mind and convinces you you’re his lover. you can’t think of what he’s trying to do this time. he is silent for a frustratingly long time before he responds.

“… I wanted you to come home.”

“I was home, Bo! and you drove me out! I don’t know what else you want from me!” you splash the dirtied water at him on impulse, then immediately brace against what you know will come next.

you know it, and you see it start, too. you see his fist curl, the one with the thick silver ring on it that leaves the darkest bruises. you see it jerk towards your head, then stop. he drops his hand to his lap and seems almost ashamed. bath water drips from his jaw.

“it was… not right. I’m… I know that well enough.”

“no shit,” you scoff, scrubbing idly at the dirt on your arms.

“yeah.” his hand comes to rest on the edge of the tub. you don’t move, but are just as ready to crush it into the enameled iron. “I see myself doing shit that ain’t right all the time. I see it and I still keep doin’ it.”

“mmh.”

“i wanted to talk with you. at dinner. and… i wanted to break something, too. i’m always wanting to fuck with something. you… were just the closest thing around.”

“guess so.”

silence. the quiet sloshing of warm water.

“i wish the loving things part of me was bigger than the breaking things part.”

“i wish it was, too.”

he doesn’t come to bed. after drying off and laying motionless in the dark, you go to find him downstairs. for what reason, you aren’t very sure, yourself.

when you find him on the couch, he’s smaller than usual. he has his knees pulled up near his chest and his arms tucked close. the TV bathes the cluttered room in blue light that only makes his flushed face more apparent. he’s drank himself to sleep.

you reach out to touch his shoulder, and the moment his eyes open, his lip quivers.

“sweetpea,” he whispers, voice breaking. “i’m sorry i hurt you.”

“you being a sloppy drunk doesn’t make me believe you.”

“i know.” he drops his head back to the couch, still gazing at you. his eyes fill with tears, and you almost go back upstairs then and there, because you’re starting to feel bad. “i wouldn’t believe me either. papa raised a liar.”

“you know we don’t talk about your papa for a reason, Bo.”

“yeah, but it’s true.” his voice wavers, and his hand swings out in search of yours. you grab it, if only to keep him from knocking a bottle onto the floor and making a mess. “he raised a liar and a killer and a shit person.”

“anyone would turn out that way, growing up in this house.” you offer.

“this in’t an excuse, though,” he points to the scars on his wrist. “i chose to pour that hot shit out, not him.”

“that means you can choose not to, next time, also.”

“but nobody’s that patient. she’s so sweet to me, but i only got so many second chances.” he whimpers, seeming to forget he’s speaking to you. “i wouldn’t blame her if she ran out on me.”

“i think that so long as you keep opening up to her, like you did in the bath today, she’ll stick around.”

“mmh.” he hums, eyes drooping shut, but his hand remains firmly in yours. “i s’pose.”

“goodnight, Bo.” you have to peel his fingers off you and lay his hand against his chest to get him to let go.

“g’night.” you hear him sigh as you ease up the stairs once more.

you hear him tiptoe up the stairs a few hours later. you can only imagine it’s early-early morning, judging by the dusty purple sky out the window. he’s painfully slow about setting his boots down at the door. you can barely hear his breathing. his path to the bed is odd, until you realize he’s avoiding the loudest floorboards. he eases onto the bed slowly and presses his whole body against yours. you’re just as careful not to startle him, measuring your breaths, pretending to sleep. after much adjusting, tucking his chin over your shoulder, sighing, he tips his head close to your ear.

“i’ll get better. i promise. i’ll get better for you.” he whispers.

if only for tonight, you believe him.

[turayochina]

TABLE TOP PLANCHA--Outdoor Cast Iron Burner Gas BBQ Grill Plancha Griddle Table Top Gas Grill