#its good but i ended up with powdered sugar all over me

[accidentallydoorstep]

"omg they are so attractive😍😍"

The they in question:

[abouttofillhisshoes]

If you're all I need - M.H x Reader // pt.5

A/N: this is genuinely my first time writing anything let alone smut (if you can even call it that, it's just Matty being pathetic for about 4 thousand words) TW: for hard drugs, please take care of yourselves! Its angsty and sad, i had a hard time writing some of it. Ily @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for beta reading this monstrosity. I'm dedicating this fic to @sugar-coat-it for being an absolute legend and the sweetest person ever. Enjoy yourselves my loves ❤️

wc: 4.5k

part six

The Sound was like your second home. The flashing lights and too loud music enveloping you in a sort of warm, comforting hug. You were friendly with the staff, never rowdy or disturbing the peace. They knew about you and Mattys' habit, but then again, the whole club was on some substance or other. 

Tobias, the bartender, had told you multiple times to “Please, be careful,” and to “Always check over it, make sure it's not laced,” you took his words to heart, and Matty always assured you his dealer was straight. 

You trusted him with your life, so you took his words at face value. 

Generic club music filled your ears, your drink was already sloshing in your hand, spilling onto the person in front of you. You apologize profusely, and are met with a scoff and an insult. Typical. Not caring, you turn around to dance with Matty. George was somewhere in the crowd, shouting song requests at the DJ like an absolute knobhead. Too many drinks turned him into a club music connoisseur, always knowing better. It was a miracle he hadn't been kicked out yet.

Matty stopped dancing, tapping your shoulder three times in a pattern. Bathroom. Nodding your head, you laugh giddily in anticipation, making your way towards the edge of the crowd. The neon sign glowed, illuminating your face as you walked past it, Matty following close behind. 

Jess, one of the waitresses, saw you heading toward the bathroom. 

She was your mate from school, being only two years older than you. You saw her mouth something along the lines of ‘be safe’. She nodded at you before going back to taking drink orders from the VIP tables. 

The bathroom was always colder than the dance floor, more comfortable. As you turn the corner to go inside, you spot a familiar face. Ruby. The girl from that night. She looks different, exhausted. 

You embrace, her hands shaking against your back. Offering her a line in return, she eagerly agrees. Matty takes out the baggie from the breast pocket of his suit jacket (yes, he had worn a suit jacket to the club), cutting three lines. Patrons walking in and out of the bathroom stopped to stare, eventually walking off muttering “fucking junkies,” under their breaths. You could care less, snorting your line first. 

Time slowed as you lifted your head up in the direction of the entrance, to see a tall figure standing there. George. Fuck. 

Matty was already doing his line when you tapped him on the back, gesturing to the door. You’d been caught. His eyes were wide, switching between you, Matty, and Ruby, who was still hunched over the sink. 

“What the fuck are you lot doing,” He starts, storming toward the three of you. Ruby whispered into your ear, telling you she had to leave. You nod, as calm as possible, giving her a kiss farewell. She smiled her toothy smile, eye bags under her eyes prominent. 

George had grabbed Mattys face, inspecting the faint traces of white powder under his nose, muttering some along the lines of “Jesus Christ mate, what are you doing?”

His eyes made their way to you, the expression on his face a look of pure disappointment.

“Oh fuck off! It's just a bit of blow, what's the big deal? Loads of people do it,” Matty laughs, avoiding George's gaze. You nod your head in agreement. At the end of the day, what was so wrong about wanting to feel good for a few hours? It's not like you were addicted. 

“You cant say shit like that Matty, it fucking scares me,” his voice quivers, shaken up. “Youre fucking enabling each other, how can you not see that?” You roll your eyes, and Matty grabs your wrist, tugging you behind him. George tries to shout after you. 

“Bugger off, George, you're not my mother,” you spit that last word at him, turning around to make eye contact before losing yourself in the crowd. Mattys hand grips yours with such an intensity you’d think he'd want to rip it off of you. You're both heading for the exit, the warm air of the summer night hitting your skin. 

Matty looks at you, his pupils massive. He's sweating, the powder still sticking to his nose. You reach out, brushing it off. It clings to your fingers. You tap his lips, signaling for him to open his mouth, He obliges, parting his pink, rose lined lips. Your finger feels hot in his mouth as you rub it onto his gums. A whimper escapes him, and he looks down at you, eyes filled with one thing and one thing only. Lust.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. Your eyes narrow, and you bring your other hand up to stroke his face.

“What do you want, Matthew?” your voice is steady. You felt in control. 

Another pathetic whine, his legs buckle beneath him as you trailed your hand down his jaw, stopping at his throat. Your fingers wrapped around it, and you could feel his erratic pulse thrumming in his neck. This felt wrong. Very, very wrong. But you don't stop, you never stop.

Your lips finally connect. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue. His breathing quickens, and you tug off his jacket, revealing his bare chest. The faint light of the alley didn't do him justice, but he looked beautiful. Your breath hitches when he loses a hand in your hair, his fingers weaving through it. 

You can hear faint sirens in the background, as well the sound of cars speeding down the highway. 

“George is a tosser, he doesn't know anything,” Matty murmurs against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth. His left hand rests on your waist, drawing endless circles onto your lower back. 

“Yeah,” you agree. “I hope Ruby’s okay though, she looked proper rough.” Matty shakes his head, pushing your face into his chest. The two of you stand there like that, breathing in each other's essence. A strange sense of unease clouds your mind, interrupted by Mattys lips crashing against yours. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

“Can I pierce you?” 

“No fucking chance you’re going near my body with a needle,” Matty laughs, taking a swig from the bottle of champagne in his hand. You wanted to practice, and Rome wouldn't let you do any more on him. You sigh, laying back on your elbows, staring at the ceiling. 

“D’you even have the proper supplies or anything? Let me guess, Rome has converted you.” You nod, confirming his suspicion of Rome’s involvement. You plead with him further, and he inevitably gives in. 

“If you fuck it up, i will never forgive you.” you laugh at him, slightly tipsy but still in control of yourself. “You have to chill, mate, it's just me shoving a needle into your body.” 

“What do you wanna do? I was thinking maybe a second ear piercing or-” you cut him off 

“I wanna pierce your nipples, that's the one i haven't done yet” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. Truthfully, your heart was racing at the thought of doing it. His was too. 

“Are you sure? I don't want my nipples to disintegrate. It's quite a turn off, y’know? Not having any.” you roll your eyes at him, turning around to get the piercing kit Rome had given you as a late birthday present.   

It contained various needles, disinfectant wipes and starter jewelry. Matty had already laid down onto the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. 

Tearing the wipe open with your teeth, you turn around to face him. His breathing is unsteady, you can tell 

“Calm down, it'll just be a pinch. I know what I'm doing,” he grins, brushing his hair out of his face. “We both know that's not true, but I trust you.” I trust you. The words reverberate through your skull, making you smile. 

You wipe the needle first, then his chest. Using a pen, you mark where you want the jewelry to go. He had picked out a black, circular barbell. Fitting. 

“Ok, just like, take a deep breath. You can't move” your voice is low, your hands trailing up his chest. It felt intimate, seeing him like this. 

“Just do it, I'll be alright,” he shuffles slightly against the sheets of the bed, gripping  them between his fingers. You know he thinks you won't notice, but he's nervous. You press a kiss next to his mouth, your eyes never leaving his. 

Taking a breath to steady your hands, you push through the bud. You expect him to wince, maybe even cry. They were supposed to be quite painful. 

Instead, he moans. Oh? You cock an eyebrow at him, noticing he’s beat red. The sight makes you giddy. He’s enjoying this. 

A small tear rolls down his cheek as he twitches against the mattress. The look on his face is clear. Desperation. 

His hands relax slightly, and you push the jewelry through. 

“G-god dammit, fuck.” The noise is like music to your ears. He grew redder, if that was even possible. His eyes lock with yours. He's embarrassed. A grin spreads onto your face as you flick the jewelry, looking to elicit another reaction. 

Your experiment proves correct, and he lets out a pathetic whimper, slapping his hand over his mouth to stifle it. Too late.

“Do you like it when I hurt you?” you ask, taking in the sight before you. Matty was sprawled across your bed, panting like a dog, skin flushed a light pinkish hue. His chest moved up and down rapidly, his hand covering half of his face. 

His response is a slight nod, eyes searching yours for your reaction. You offer him a smile, your heart full of love. He trusted you that much. He trusted you enough to hurt him. 

“We’ll do one today, save the other for later?” you suggest, your hand playing with his curls. He blinks back tears, nodding at you. His arms reach out for you, pulling you on top of him. Your chests press together, and he winces at the pressure on his piercing. Your lips move against each other, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan at the intrusion, he props himself up on his elbows, looking for leverage. You don't give it to him, pushing him down.

He pulls away, eyes raking over your frame. Grinning, he bites his lip provocatively. Your fingers move to his eyes, smearing his eyeliner down his face. He laughs, the sound morphing into a moan as you grind down onto him. Only slightly, never giving him what he really wants. 

He looks fucked out, raw. You still, getting off him with a wink. He looks at you puzzled, wondering if he did something wrong. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I know what you want, and I'm not going to give it to you. Not until you earn it.” He sits up, eyes silently pleading with you. Pleasepleasepleaseplease. He begged, you could see it on his face. 

“Let's go out, I'm bored,” he shuddered at your words, getting up from his position. Walking over to your wardrobe, he pulled out a shirt of yours to wear. He was going to play your game.  

—------------------------------------------------------------------------  

“Let's do something fun! Lets go decorate plates or something,” you suggest, your words being met with an eye roll from Matty. 

“You're taking the piss, I'd be torn apart if I was seen decorating plates” He laughs, pushing you off to the side. You were walking down an empty street, the sun shining slightly between the clouds. It was fairly warm. 

You neared a hobby shop, dragging Matty in with you, filtering out his groans of protest “Oh for fucks sake, let me go!” he huffs, pulling his arm out of your grasp. You raise your eyebrows at him, a slight smile creeping into your face. He smiles back at you, reluctantly turning towards the large selection of rhinestones in front of him. 

You picked out your favorite colors, giddily holding them as Matty selects a pack of white ones. On the way out, you grab a pack of lighters, one white, one a dark hue of grey. The cashier hands you your change, wishing you a nice rest of your day. With a wide grin on your face, you do the same.

Matty fidgets with the hem of his shirt as the both of you leave the shop. Walking aimlessly, you eventually settle on a park bench, spreading out your supplies. He groans, trying to pick the rhinestones off to glue them on, clearly struggling. You help him, your fingers ghosting over his as you take the plastic sheet out of his hands. 

He had taken the black lighter out of the pack, and was now gluing stones onto it with laser-focus, not wanting to mess up. You took the grey one, paring it with pink rhinestones. Your initials brandished the side once you finished. 

Matty had done the same, even if the letters were a bit crooked. M.H was glued hastily onto the side of his, some of the rhinestones barely hanging on. He smiled at you as you swapped lighters, now holding his.

It looked exactly like the one you had destroyed. A shiver crept up your spine, memories of that night flashing into your mind. The pure rage you had felt, watching the plastic splinter off onto the pavement. The images of Matty plaguing you. 

But that was before. Before he had kissed you. You felt differently now, but still, a feeling of unease spread through your body as you flicked it on and off, watching the flame dissipate.

His hand was touching your, he was saying your name 

You look up, your eyes meeting his. He smiles. 

“Do you like it? I tried my best to make it not look like shit,” his voice was timid, a hint of insecurity could be heard. “I love it,” you assure him, putting the lighter into your pocket. 

“Do you like yours? I know they are not the manliest of colors, but-” 

“I love it because you made it, that's all that matters,” he cut you off, his thumb tracing the back of your hand. 

You feel your heart flutter at his words, doing backflips in your chest. 

He pulled out his red cigarette case, pulling out a baggie filled with weed. The two of you had promised to stay sober today, but you nodded as he asked you if you wanted to smoke. You get out your papes and filters, rolling it for him. 

He had stopped making comments, instead watching you lick the spliff closed with such an intensity, you thought you would catch on fire. His eyes bore into you as you lit up, and you hand it to him to take the first drag. How the tables have turned

His lips wrap around the filter, breathing in deeply, letting the sensation take over his body. He hands it to you, his hands shaking slightly. Your lipstick rubs off on the spliff, painting the filter with a red rim. 

You hold each other, sitting on the park bench, passing the joint back and forth for what felt like hours, until it dwindled out. The streetlamps had come on, one flickering on and off in the distance. The moon peaked out though the clouds, the blue light only making him look more beautiful. 

You observed his face, his eyes drooping slightly as the high took over him. He let out deep breaths, his chest rising and falling slowly. Your fingers were intertwined, his hands felt warm against your skin. Every so often, he would twitch slightly against you. 

The sun had almost set, barely even there as night took over the sky. The people in the park had gone home, only the occasional dog walker passing by you, quietly saying hello. 

“What are we?” his voice pierced through your heart, making it bleed into your chest.

“I dont know.” you answer, pulling him closer. You stayed like that, your bodies melding together until you both fell asleep, his soft snores filling the empty park

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “I just got off the phone with Ross, he wants to hang at their place.” you shout up the stairs. Matty was in the shower, the hot water steaming up the glass of the mirror. 

“Sure, we haven't been over there in a while, innit? It’d be nice to have us all in one place again,” he answers, his voice amplified through the echo of the shower. 

You were draped across his couch, watching the news. The TV spokesperson droned on, boring you half to death with stock market statistics. You switch it off, sighing as you got up. Opening the door to the bathroom, you see Matty standing in front of you. A grey towel hung low on his waist, barely hanging on. Your breath hitches at the sight. 

“Yeah?” he asks, shaving cream covering his face and neck. Jesus Christ. 

“I need to do my makeup, move.” you shove him out of the way, riffling through his bathroom drawer, looking for the makeup bag you had left there. Sure enough, you find it, the red material sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the towels and colognes filling the space.

You start doing your eyes, lining your waterline with a deep blue. Matty continues shaving next to you, nearly nicking his skin more than once. You make eye contact in the mirror multiple times, blushing as you look away. God, you're so pathetic. 

He scoots past you and makes his way towards his room, presumably to go and change. The urge to follow him is strong, but you stay in your current position, looking at him as he walks away. You hear the bedroom door close, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. Finishing up your routine, you go back downstairs and sit on the couch, waiting for Matty. He takes an oddly long time, and you can hear him shuffling around in his room. You wonder what he's doing, absentmindedly playing with the posh table decor his mother had set on the table. 

Eventually, deciding he's taking too long, you walk over to the window located in his kitchen and crack it open. Lighting your cigarette, your eyes travel up and down the street. Children ride by on their bikes, their older siblings chasing after them. The occasional family walks by, waving hello at you before returning to their conversation. You ash into the sink. 

A little girl makes eye contact with you. She reminds you of yourself, eyes full of innocence and naïveté, her rose colored dress blowing in the wind. You take a drag of your cigarette, watching as she walks by. 

“You ready?” a voice says behind you, making you jump, almost banging your head against the wall you were leaning against. You turn around, seeing Matty in front of you. He has your jumper on, the red one. It's freshly washed and pressed, paired with a blue pair of loose fitting jeans. His hair is messy as always, the blonde highlights sticking out, framing his face.

“You need to start giving me my clothes back,” you say, gesturing to his top. 

“Only if you cough up mine,” he says with a laugh, pointing at your pants. They were, in fact, his. 

“Touché.” you shrug, walking past him, grabbing his wrist to pull him after you. Throwing your cigarette into the trash, the both of you put on your shoes. 

It's sunny outside, and you can see Matty sweating in his your jumper, but you don't say anything. You stop by the corner shop on your way there, buying a pack of fags for Matty. 

The cashier tucks her hair behind her ears as the both of you walk up to the counter to pay. He asks for parliaments, and she hands them to him 

“That’ll be 6 quid,” leaving the sentence open “and your number?” she asks him, batting her eyelashes. The question makes you freeze, eyes on Matty. It seems to take him by surprise, he sucks in a deep breath before opening his mouth to speak: 

“Nah, that's alright, this is my girl right here,” he takes your hand, lifting it up. His girl. You nod timidly, and the girl apologizes. “You're so cute together,” she comments, giving you the fakest smile you've ever seen. You shoot one back.

“Jesus, sorry mate, didn't want to let her down too hard. Soz for using you as a cover.” A cover? Was that what that was? 

“No big thing, glad my gender could be of service,” you try to sound unbothered, grinning at him the best you can. Your heart deflated in your chest, a weight crushing down on it. You were his mate, not his girl. That was clear now. 

The rest of the walk is spent with headphones in your ears. Micheal Jackson's “Bad” played, drowning out your thoughts. 

The hallway leading to the flat is cold, the white marble almost too white, like it had been recently cleaned. Matty bangs on the door, yelling at Ross to open up. He does.

“Jesus Matty, there's this thing called a doorbell-” “Stop fucking me off and let us in,” Matty pushes past a very offended Ross, stalking into the livingroom. You trail behind him, seeing George come into your line of sight. 

Your breath hitches. This is the first time you’ve seen him since that night. He looked uncomfortable, eyes darting around the room. It smells clean in the flat, and you assume Hann had had another one of his cleaning frenzies. 

Adam’s sitting on the sofa, and so was george. They looked tense. Matty was in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea. You sit down next to Hann, watching Ross make himself comfortable on the giant sofa chair. The air is thick, full of something you can't recognise. 

“Matty, can you maybe sit down?” Adam says, his voice deep and tired. He obliges, sitting down on the edge of the sofa chair next to Ross. Mattys hand holds the mug of tea, tapping his fingers against the ceramic. George is fidgety next to you, rolling and unrolling his sleeves, letting out uncomfortable coughs every few seconds. You narrow your eyes, cocking your eyebrow at him. He shakes his head. 

“We know you’ve been using,” Hann’s voice cuts through the silence. Mattys head perks up. 

 “Blow? Seriously?” 

“What about it?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. Fuck. Matty clears his throat before speaking.

“What she said– what does it matter? It's just blow, nothing special. Everyones on it, y’know.” His voice comes out rough, deep. 

“Its fucking horrible, how can you do that to yourselves?” The question comes from George. He told them 

“You fucking told them? Are you taking the absolute piss?” you sound harsh, he looks at you with wide eyes. Matty laughs maniacally, setting down his mug on the coffee table. The tea sloshes onto the glass, dirtying it. 

“Ohh- I get what this is-” he looks at you, shaking his head. “This, my love,” he gestures to the three men sitting around you “Is their pathetic attempt at an intervention.” You scoff, looking at Ross, who confirms his statement. 

“We’re worried about you two, just– “ Matty walks over to you, cutting him off. You get up, nodding at him in silent agreement. You needed to get the fuck out of here. Now. 

“Youre all a bunch of fucking tossers, what do you care what we do? It doesn't affect you!” 

George speaks up: “Of course it affects us, you're our best mates, for fucks sake.” His voice trails off, seeing you ignore him made his heart hurt. What did they know? They shouldn't fucking talk about things they had no clue about.

“Fuck you guys, honestly,” Matty spat, his eyes full of hatred “C’mon love, they probably don’t want two dirty junkies in their living room, hm?” You're already at the door, pushing it open. Hann yells after you, but you ignore him. Absolute asshole, staging an intervention like you were lost addicts. Fuck him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

You're back at Mattys place. You don't talk about what happened in the flat, you just hold each other. He had switched both of your phones off on the walk back. Adam was calling both of you like a crazy ex, begging you to come back and talk. You ignore him. 

The curtains are drawn closed, painting the room in darkness. The only light is coming from the TV neither of you is paying attention to. 

“D’you fancy a line?” he asks, grinning down at you. You agree, getting off of him. He cuts two lines, letting you snort yours as he watches. It hits you like a truck, the feeling of pure euphoria. How can something that was ‘bad for you’ be this good? It made no sense. You mentally curse at Adam for trying to act like your parent. He had no fucking right. 

Matty started deeply into your eyes as you climbed back on top of him, straddling his lap. Once again, there's purple glitter around his eyes, shimmering in the light of the TV. He smirks at you provocatively, locking your lips with his. He kisses you with passion, moving his lips in sync with yours. He pulls away. 

“You,” he starts, punctuating the word with a kiss to the edge of your mouth “are a work of art.” 

You smile at his words, threading your hand into his hair, tugging hard. He whimpers into your mouth, twitching beneath you. 

“You're hard.” you state, pressing a kiss to his jaw, biting down. He moans again, arching his back. 

“I–,” he starts, interrupted by your hand reaching down and squeezing him through his pants. He pulses in your hand, begging. Another pathetic whine, his hips buck into your hand. 

An idea pops into your head, and you slowly get off of him. He protests, his eyes watching you stand up next to him. He looks so beautiful like this, breathing heavily and painfully hard.

“I want you to touch yourself for me, Matthew." You can see him twitch as the words leave your lips. 

"Go on, give me a show.”

[omgahgase]

idk man but i just picture din as this amazing cook who can whip up an delicious, healthy meals for grogu out of like 3 lame ass ingredients and luke is just never allowed in the kitchen bc he somehow burned water so din told him one day "i'll do all the cooking" and he does. and he's good at it.

but give this man a recipe for a cake or pie? no. absolutely not. he will serve you a blackened brick and think nothing is wrong with it. din's homemade cookies? this man is a mandalorian, he'll make the spiciest space chocolate chip cookies you've ever tasted. and that's if they make it out of the oven edible and not charred. not even grogu can stomach his baked goods. boba, cobb, and fennec have all told him that he's a terrible baker, and din's response is always, "you guys are just picky."

"yeah, vod, i choose to keep my teeth. not chip them on those abominations."

"bo is right—"

"don't call me that."

*chuckles* "bo is taken. call him booba."

"can it, shand."

din just shrugs and plops his horrendous snickerdoodles on the coffee table like they didn't just rattle the entire surface. meanwhile luke is in the kitchen with han saying that he "absolutely baked this bread! i'm capable of it!"

han takes another slice and gives luke an incredulous look, eyebrow arched and overly bushy. "sure, kid."

"i did!

"this is best kirffing bread i've ever had. it tastes like the holy land and carbs had a baby. i don't even believe if there's a holy land, but dank farrik, this bread can take me there."

"han...it's just bread."

and just like that, luke discovers that he can bake like a man mad. whatever he envisions, he can make with ease. cookies, snickerdoodles, cupcakes, pastries. he can bake it without so much as reading the recipe twice and din is flabbergasted.

"how can...how do you do that?"

"do what, my love?"

din waves his hand in a blobby, misshapen circle with luke—and his disaster of a kitchen whipping up some sort of blue macaroon for grogu that din knows comes out perfect every single time—in its center.

luke chuckles and moves around the island to place a floury kiss to his cheek, smearing some left over batter into the scruff of his chin.

"call it a gift."

"is this some sort of...force thing?"

luke laughs again and din hopes he kisses him one last time bc he deserves it for bringing forth such a lovely sound.

"no, it's just a me thing."

din hums, still not 100% convinced it's not luke and his confusing, space wizard magic, offers to help. only, luke shoos him out of the kitchen, brandishing his batter ladened spoon, dripping sticky all over the floor din just cleaned that morning.

"absolutely not. the last time you helped me, you mistook the sugar for garlic powder. chewie threw up, my love. i've never seen chewie throw up.

"...that was one time."

luke pats his cheek with delicate fingers, and if din wasn't already leaning into his touch, he would've griped about the batter trickling down his jaw.

"one time too many. it's fine, i can handle myself in here. now, get going. go on, out of my kitchen."

luke hops up onto his toes to press a fleeting kiss to din's lips and—really, it should be criminal how easily luke can turn off din's brain with one simple touch bc he didn't even notice how he ended up in the living room with both grogu and the family loth-cat trying to lick the drying batter off his face.

[goosewriting]

Mikey with blue prompt 1 and 32, trying to teach the reader how to make cookies but they're uh... Not. That good at it lmao. But they keep trying and it ends with them making a pretty good batch!

Vanilla extract (rottmnt Mikey x reader)

prompt 1: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw something up that fast before.” prompt 32: “Do you take constructive criticism?” “Not without crying.”

summary: Mikey and reader bake cookies together, but reader is really bad at it. 

relationship: Rise!Mikey x GN reader

warnings: reader being a danger in the kitchen lmao 

word count: 1.2k

A/N: (this one can be read as both platonic or romantic!) as someone who really likes baking cookies, this hurt a little to write XD also enjoy the currently tumblr-relevant little joke höhö

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

– – – 

Mikey and you had decided to bake cookies, which you had never done before. You had actually never baked anything before, and you weren’t exactly an ace in the kitchen. So he was more than happy to teach you. He even had the recipe book open on the counter so you could check the instructions with him. After all, how hard could it be? 

“First things first” Mikey says, as you both finish tying your aprons. “We need to measure all the ingredients.”

And that’s when disaster already hit.

You had never really handled flour before, so you flipped the package over with a little too much force, causing a lot of flour to spill onto the counter instead of into the measuring cup. Mikey was quick to tell you it wasn’t a big deal, and wiped the surface with a damp cloth, instructing you to either go slower or use a big spoon to get the powder out bit by bit. 

After the dry ingredients were all measured and standing on the counter in their individual bowls, it was time to mix them up. You remembered Mikey mentioning that the dry and the wet ingredients had to be mixed separately first before combining them. So you grab the sugar and are about to pour it into the flour, when Mikey stops you.

“It’s actually better to mix up the sugar with the butter” he points out. “It makes the butter fluffier.”

Now you’re even more confused; how would that even work?

Following the turtle’s instructions, you first mashed up the butter with a fork, then put that and the sugar into the stand mixer. You turned on the machine, but the dials were opposite of how you thought, so you set it to the maximum speed. That not only almost broke the mixer, but it also sent the bowl and its contents flying. You sheepishly cleaned up the mess and measured out more sugar, while Mikey told you not to worry about it for the second time that day.

When the butter was all mixed with the sugar, it was time to add the eggs. You were about to reach out for one when Mikey stepped in and said he’d do it himself. Fidgeting with a spoon in your hands, you watched as he skillfully cracked them open, the yolk and whites falling into the bowl in an almost elegant way that you felt was intended to mock you. He didn’t get a single eggshell piece into the batter either. 

After mixing everything together (now that you knew how to properly operate the stand mixer), Mikey handed you a little bottle that read “vanilla extract”. You opened the bottle, giving it a sniff, and hummed in delight at how good that smelled.

“Hey, look at me” Mikey suddenly said in a serious tone, grabbing you by the shoulders. “One tablespoon, not more. You understand? Just a couple of drops is all it takes.”

You nodded and did as he said, adding only a small spoonful of the thick liquid to the batter. After closing the bottle, you looked at the spoon for probably a second too long, because Mikey snatched it from your hand.

“You don’t want to lick that, trust me” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll regret it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. It smelled so wonderful! Of course you wanted to lick it. It surely tasted just as good right? 

But your plan couldn't come to fruition as Mikey was already starting the next step. He added some chocolate chips, mixed it a little more, then sifted the flour into the batter. He first folded it in with a wooden spatula, then with his hands. 

Taking out the dough, he skillfully kneaded it on the counter, and you wondered how many times he had done this before, he clearly knew what he was doing. With the rolling pin he flattened it all to a cookie-worthy thickness and stepped aside to make place for you.

“Would you do the honours?” he asked, handing you a container with several cookie cutters. 

You squealed in glee at all the cute designs, and chose one in the shape of a sea turtle. Surely this was the easiest, impossible-to-mess-up part, right?

Mikey first observed you with happiness, content that he could teach you something new. But with every passing second, his expression turned to horrified confusion. Somehow, and he still couldn’t understand how, every single piece of dough you had cut out, came out looking like anything other than a turtle. Even when you switched to the regular circular cookie cutter, the cookies you were scooping up from the counter looked like disfigured sad little blobs. Before he could stop himself, he mumbled under his breath.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone screw something up that fast before.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. You gasped, giving him a hurt look, then looking back at your handiwork in front of you, and you pouted: he was absolutely right. 

“But hey, we came this far!” Mikey tried to comfort you. “They don’t have to look perfect, as long as they taste good; that just means they’re homemade! All that’s left is to bake them.” 

So you did, except that you forgot to set the timer for the cookies in the oven while you were cleaning up the kitchen. You both got distracted talking about a game, and as you were taking out your phone to show it to him, he sniffed the air.

“Say, how much longer on the timer?” Mikey asked and craned his neck over your shoulder to look at the oven in horror.

“Whoops” is all that you managed to answer, before you both rushed to save whatever you could of your precious baked goods. Mikey quickly slipped the oven mitts over his hands and opened the glass door, a concerning cloud of smoke erupting from behind it. Taking the baking tray and placing it on the stove, you both stood silently before it, staring at the practically carbonised little blobs on it. 

“Hey, it’s fine~” Mikey suddenly said, one arm over your shoulder while his other reached out to grab a cookie. You couldn’t stop him in time, as he had already popped one in his mouth. The crunching that came from his chewing mouth was as concerning as it was horrifying. You could only watch in shock as he actually gulped it down.

“Hmm” he sighed, rubbing his chin in thought. “Do you take constructive criticism?” 

“Not without crying” you answered, and your shoulders slumped. How could you mess this up so badly?

Mikey chuckled and pulled you in for a hug, giving your cheek a little peck, which made you feel a little better. He then suggested making a new batch, but this time he made sure to give you more detailed instructions and guide you through every step. That new batch actually turned out really well, and you enjoyed your well-deserved prize with some hot chocolate.

– – –

Bonus: 

You were sitting at the table with the rest of the turtles, all eating your cookies and complimenting you on how good they had turned out, when you remembered something. Excusing yourself for a second to go get more hot chocolate, you stepped back into the kitchen, and reached for the vanilla extract bottle. You gave it another whiff, enjoying the smell, and poured some drops onto a spoon. As soon as you put it in your mouth however, you immediately regretted it. Mikey was right: this tasted awful. Going “Ew! How?!” followed by coughing, you heard a laugh from the other room, and Mikey’s voice: “I told you so!”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[vrilgothic]

Excerpt from an interview with Ted Kaczynski (aka Unabomber) in which he recounts his day to day life in the forest:

BVD (the interviewer): What was an average day like for you in Lincoln?

TJK (Ted Kaczynski): That’s a very difficult question to answer because I don’t know that there was an average day. My activities varied so much according to the season and according to the tasks I had before me on a given day. But I will describe a representative day…

TJK: …Well, let’s take a day in January, and let’s suppose I wake up about 3:00 a.m. to find that snow is falling. I start a fire in my stove and put a pot of water on. When the water comes to a boil I dump a certain quantity of rolled oats into it and stir them for a few minutes until they are cooked. Then I take the pot off the stove, add a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and some milk—made from powdered milk.

While the oats are cooling I eat a piece of cold boiled rabbit meat.

Afterward I eat the oats. I sit for a few minutes before the open door of the stove watching the fire burn down, then I take my clothes off again, get back into bed, and go to sleep. When I wake up, the sky is just starting to get light. I get out of bed and dress myself quickly because it’s cold in the cabin. By the time I’m dressed there’s a little more light and I can see that it’s no longer snowing and the sky is clear. Because of the fresh snow it should be a good day for rabbit hunting. So I take my old, beat-up, single-shot 22 down from the hooks on the wall. I put my little wooden cartridge-box, containing 16 cartridges, in my pocket, with a couple of books of matches wrapped in plastic bags and a sheath knife on my belt in case I have to build a fire in an emergency. Then I put on my snowshoes and take off. First there’s a hard climb to get up on top of the ridge, and then a level walk of a mile or so to get to the open forest of lodgepole pines where I want to hunt. A little way into the pines I find the tracks of a snowshoe hare. I follow the trail around and around through its tangled meanderings for about an hour. Then suddenly I see the black eye and the black-tipped ears of an otherwise white snowshoe hare. It’s usually the eye and the black-tipped ears you notice first. The bunny is watching me from behind the tangled branches and green needles of a recently-fallen pine tree. The rabbis is about 40 feet away, but it’s alert and watching me, so I won’t try to get closer. However, I have to maneuver for an angle to shoot from, so that I can have a clear shot through the tangle of branches—even a slender twig can deflect a .22 bullet enough to cause a miss. To get that clear shot I have to lie down in the snow in an odd position and use my knee as a rest for the rifle barrel. I line up the sights on the rabbit’s head, at a point just behind the eye…hold steady…ping! The rabbit is clipped through the head.

Such a shot ordinarily kills the rabbit instantly, but the animal’s hind legs usually kick violently for a few seconds so that it bounces around in the snow. When the rabbit stops kicking I walk up to it and see that it’s quite dead. I say aloud “Thank you, Grandfather Rabbit”– Grandfather Rabbit is a kind of demigod I’ve invented who is the tutelary spirit of all the snowshoe rabbits. I stand for a few minutes looking around at the pure-white snow and the sunlight filtering through the pine trees. I take in the silence and the solitude. It’s good to be here. Occasionally I’ve found snowmobile tracks along the crest of the main ridge, but in these woods where I am now, once the big-game hunting season is over, in all my years in this country I’ve never seen a human footprint other than my own. I take one of the noosed cords out of my pocket. For convenience in carrying I put the noose around the rabbit’s neck and wrap the other end of the cord around my mittened hand. Then I go looking for the trail of another rabbit.

When I have three rabbits I head home. On arriving there I’ve been out some six or seven hours. My first task is to peel off the skins of the rabbits and remove their guts. Their livers, hearts, kidneys, brains, and some assorted scraps I put in a tin can. I hang the carcasses up under the shelter, then run down to my root cellar to fetch some potatoes and a couple of parsnips. When these have been washed and other chores performed—splitting some wood maybe, or collecting snow to melt for drinking water—I put the pot on the boil, and at the appropriate time add some dried wild greens, the parsnips, the potatoes, and the livers and other internal organs of the rabbits. By the time it’s all cooked, the sky is getting dark. I eat my stew by the light of my kerosene lamp. Or, if I want to economize, maybe I open the door of the stove and eat by the light of the fire. I finish off with a half a handful of raisins. I’m tired but at peace. I sit for a while in front of the open door of the stove gazing at the fire. I may read a little. More likely I’ll just lie on my bed for a time watching the firelight flicker on the walls. When I get sleepy I take off my clothes, get under the blankets, and go to sleep.

BVD: I envy you, too … While work, that does sound wonderful.

Freedom and autonomy. No time clock to punch, whether literal or figurative. But let me shift topic. You just mentioned sleep. Was your bed, or bunk, comfortable?

TJK: Well, it was comfortable enough for me.

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Could you write a little something for Leos birthday if you have the time and spoons please? :)

Happy birthday Nutter Butter! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, and this was combined with an ask for a goalie point :)

TW for mild making out (at the very end)

Leo stared at the ceiling. Fake stars in green-tinted pinpricks stared back.

If he squinted, something like Orion’s Belt appeared near the closet. He frowned—that had rapidly become his least favorite constellation from name alone, though no others offered themselves up to take its place. The three of them got a little carried away when they first decorated the ceiling, and all intentional star placements anywhere but Finn’s face had quickly gone out the window.

The analog clock in the living room ticked faintly. Somewhere outside, a car’s muffler pop-cracked in a burst of noise. Logan mumbled an incoherent protest and pushed his face further into Leo’s bicep. Finn continued to snore softly, the only sign he was still breathing in the depths of sleep.

Leo stuck his tongue out at the back of Finn’s head with more petulance than he usually allowed himself. It just didn’t seem fair that Finn could practically die for eight hours every night while he was stuck counting plastic outlines of nonsense.

Logan lifted his head a half inch, mumbling some sleepy thing in the rough voice Leo loved so much. “Dors,” he heard somewhere in the midst of it. Logan blinked a couple times, brows pitching. “I can help?”

Leo smiled softly in the darkness. “Sleep, cher,” he whispered, trailing his fingertips down the scratchy edge of Logan’s jaw. “ ‘m okay.”

Logan was quiet for a long moment before he swiped the front of Leo’s curls aside and kissed his forehead, then pulled him over so their positions were swapped. A breath came loose in Leo’s chest when he felt Logan’s heartbeat against his cheekbone and a large hand in his hair. His other hand came up to rest at the small of Leo’s back, tracing tiny circles that made him shiver. “You’re okay,” Logan repeated. He met Leo’s gaze with a drowsy smile. “Remind me to kiss you in the morning.”

Giddiness flooded every part of him. “I can do that.”

“Hmm. Good.” Logan stretched his legs out; his toes just brushed Leo’s ankles beneath the covers. “Big day tomorrow, soleil.”

He was asleep in the space of his next heartbeat. Leo pressed his cheek to warm, soft skin and counted stars behind his eyes.

The next time he opened them, the sun was up and their phone alarm was ringing madly. Logan reached over and smacked it, and kissed him without prompting.

“Bonne anniversaire, pinotte.” The words pressed into Leo’s bottom lip like a promise and his stomach fluttered. Logan grinned, tugging at him until Leo was tucked beneath him with an excellent view of his biceps. “What do you think? Do we wake the redhead for a proper celebration, or do I get you all to myself first?”

--

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Leo stood comfortably behind Finn at the stove while beignets popped and fizzed in oil. Finn scooped the last of the batch out and leaned back into him, big stupid gorgeous brown eyes turned bright from his glasses. “I get better every year,” he mused. The smile at the corner of his mouth tasted like powdered sugar.

--

“They’re taking Blackwood out,” Sirius panted, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Almost done. Kill it, Knut.”

Leo nodded, gnawing at his mangled mouthguard as Sirius skated back to the bench. His pulse hammered in his ears—the game had been a fucking fight from start to finish and everyone was rabid for one more goal. Logan and Finn had promised not to bust themselves up over breakfast that morning, but he knew they had been struggling all night.

He’s just so punchable, Logan groused between the second and third, so sweat-drenched he glittered. I can’t even go for one?

Lose a tooth on my birthday and you’re sleeping on the couch, Leo had countered, and that was the end of it. It was a terribly convenient trick to have up his sleeve.

Finn came to a sharp stop next to him as they set up for the next face-off. His focus could’ve sliced through pure diamond, but it gentled when he glanced at Leo. “If I get one, it’s for you,” he said, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Leo wondered if his dopey grin would be plastered over ESPN, then found he didn’t care. He winked and Finn shook his head, turning back to the puck.

It fell.

White and vivid red snatched it up and Leo went down for it, bracing his stick across his body—his skates jerked right—the moment of impact hummed up his arms and he snapped his stick forward, a holy mary pass if he’d ever done one, a hope and a prayer and a leap of faith that it would be free enough for a Lion to snatch it up—

A goal horn went off.

Correction: their goal horn went off.

Leo did a double take. It was far too early for that. Everyone was still by his net, screaming and yelling and—“Oh, hey,” he managed as Finn slammed into him.

“What the fuck was that?” Finn spluttered. His helmet was long gone and lovely auburn stuck up in every direction, giving him the distinct appearance of having stuck his finger in a light socket. A wild grin covered his face as he all but leapt into Leo’s arms to hug him. “Happy fucking birthday, baby!”

“I…” What the fuck? The stadium was on its feet, along with the entire bench. Or at least, those who hadn’t hopped off to join the mob around his net. “Okay, easy,” he laughed when three more bodies swarmed him. “Which one of you nailed that one?”

Talker barked a slightly-hysterical laugh. “You, you goddamn legend!”

Leo frowned. “No, I didn’t.”

A hand—Logan’s hand—grabbed him by the chin and tilted his face toward the big screen. He watched the face-off happen again in slow-motion, from Finn’s crooked grin in the left corner to the puck drop to the feral lunge of players in a tie game at the bottom of the third. He saw himself brace for it before the camera slowed even further. It was strange to watch his own eyes track the puck as it neared, and even stranger to see himself bend to whip it out of the stampede.

He watched the puck fly between skate blades and into open ice.

He watched one of the Devils take off after it, and Remus blaze up behind him in a few powerful strides that cut up the ice.

He watched the puck outstrip them both and bounce neatly off the empty goalposts into the net.

He was grateful for the second replay, because that just wasn’t right.

Finn was vibrating when Leo looked down again. “I scored,” he said. “That’s not right.”

“You scored,” Finn confirmed. “You scored, baby, holy shit—”

“I scored.” It just felt wrong in his mouth. Someone whooped in his ear. His stomach felt funny. “I scored a goal.”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, OVERACHIEVER,” Kasey said loudly from the clog of red and gold around him. “HOPE YOU’RE PROUD OF YOURSELF!”

Leo let him drag him in and yank his helmet off to ruffle his hair up. Despite his words, Kasey was smiling like a lunatic. “I scored.” The funny feeling in his stomach became a shiver, became a burn, became—“I scored! Bliz, I scored! I got a goal!”

Another cheer went up as tears stung Leo’s throat and a wild laugh burst out of him. They crushed him in a pack of pads and sweat and everything wonderful, the stadium was chanting his name like a prayer, his picture—his picture—was on the jumbotron. Leo’s legs went out from under him, but he didn’t fall. He was squished in too tight for that.

“Is the clock done?” he asked in a sudden burst of clarity. He received no answer. It didn’t matter; the tie was broken. He broke the tie.

--

“I feel immortal right now—”

Leo broke off with a groan when Finn’s mouth found a knee-weakening spot beneath his jaw.  “And goal, baby, a goal, you got a point.” Lips and teeth branded the words into his skin with the hammer of his heart. Pascal’s family room blurred around him with the adrenaline that had yet to fade after two hours. Logan pulled him down for a bruising kiss and he went like putty.

“Gotta call my momma,” Leo mumbled as he leaned down for more.

“You already did,” Logan panted.

Leo shook his head. “Gotta call her again, I got a point.”

“—scuse me, excuse me, pardon, excuse me, move, coming through.”

Finn stopped sucking at the bend of his neck and Leo whined. He opened his eyes to puppy-dog any of Finn’s PDA shyness away, only to be met with a sharp silver gaze instead. “Five minutes,” he promised, dragging Logan back in by the front of his shirt.

“Best friend privileges,” Regulus countered. They stared at each other for a long moment before Regulus’ expression split with a smile. “Crazy-ass goalie.”

“Is this why you guys play hockey?”

“Yes.”

“I feel like I’m high.”

“Why do you think I stuck with it for so long?” Regulus laughed. Leo fell into him the second his arms opened for a hug. A hard smack to the back knocked something into place and he finally got his limbs to work again, squeezing Regulus as tight as he could. “Merde, Knutty, you’re going to break my ribs.”

“I hear it’s a family habit.”

Regulus flicked his ear as a laugh shuddered through them both. “I’m choosing to believe that goal happened because I was in the stands.”

“Then you better start coming to every game.” Leo lifted him off the ground an inch before releasing him, though they didn’t part far. In his clearer vision, Regulus was happily flushed and still decked out in Lions colors. He reached out and yanked the beanie down over Regulus’ eyes. “Ready to be a superstition, Black?”

“You’ll never take me alive.”

“Non, I think that’s our job,” Logan teased, pulling Leo back steadily by his belt loops. “We get first dibs on the birthday boy.”

“Best friend privileges,” Regulus repeated.

“Boyfriend privileges,” they chorused.

A dark brow arched. “Fine. I’ll go let Celeste know the three of you aren’t interested in the cake, then.”

“Woah, woah, hey—”

--

Leo stared at the ceiling. Fake stars stared back, thin threads of green connecting them in a glowing web. They shone just bright enough to pick out shapes when he let his eyes unfocus. Cassiopeia. Polaris, with its new halo. Both Dippers.

He licked his lips and tasted birthday cake still. Their silly cardboard party hats would be waiting in the living room when he woke in the morning. Finn breathed deep and slow against his collarbone like a metronome of sleep.

A thumb brushed over the rise of his rib; he hummed quiet acknowledgment and felt Logan smile into his shoulder. “Knutty?”

“Ouais?”

“Remind me to kiss to you in the morning.”

[your-next-daydream]

Okay I know its, like, the end of fucking July but I read your most recent deadpool hcs and now I HAVE to get the low down on how he celebrates Halloween with his s/o. Like imagine him literally ripping off his arm as part of the costume and constantly getting complimented on how "real" it looks lmao

Ok so Halloween is like my favorite holiday EVER, so the way I rushed to do this when I finally saw your ask.

He's so hype for Halloween because he can just go out as himself and not feel bad about how he looks.

Totally dressed up as Freddy Krueger just because he didn't have to do much work to make it look good.

He kept joking that he was now on par with wolverine because he did get the Kruger claws.

Another time he went as a zombie and just ripped one of his armsboff just to keep pointing at everything with it

"Accidentally" slapped someone with his dismembered limb.

He always gets so many complaints about how good he looks so that does make him feel slightly better about himself.

He kept trying to get you to dress in his Deadpool suit but you said no because "that thing is practically threaded together with cocaine at this point"

If you guys aren't walking around but instead handling out candy to kids he'll get on the roof and jump down at a lot of them.

"hey honey it's almost time to go!" You yelled towards Wade referring to a party you both were invited to a party at the academy by Colossus.

He groaned throwing on the green and red striped sweater. "It's probably gonna be boring though! I mean it's mainly going to be smart assed kids and adults with sticks up their asses!" He shouted back coming over to where you were pulling you to him by your waist. "Maybe we can just stay here instead and have our own fun."

Laughing you pushed him back. "We can have our fun later, for right now I know you love Halloween so we are going to go to this damned party. Plus don't you want to spike the punch or something." You said opening a cabinet that had stored alcohol.

He gasped offended. "I would never do such a thing! How did you even know that was in there? Not that I put it in there or anything." Leaning over you as he spoke you closed the cabinet.

You scoffed at him looking him up and down. "You totally would and you know it! You "accidentally," you held up your fingers to make a quoting gesture, "put cocaine on some donuts saying it was powdered sugar and them gave them to Logan!"

He crossed his arms with a laugh. "Yeah but I know he won't die from something like that so technically it was all in good fun!" He started laughing harder at the memory of Logan being hunched over for a bit from consuming that much of the drug in that way.

You stifled your own laughter trying to reprimand him for his actions. "Alright it was admittedly a bit funny, but there's going to be children there this year so he careful." You warned him walking over and wrapping your arms around him.

"Alright fine I won't pull to many stunts if that makes you feel better. But I better get a reward for playing nice." He grumbled picking you up to place you on the counter.

You shrugged your shoulders pulling him in by his shirt collar. "I don't know maybe if you're on your best behavior I'll give you one." You murmured against his lips before crashing yours to his.

He pulled you closer to himself wrapping your legs around his waist before kissing you back with fervor. He pulled away smirking at you "can't keep your hands off me for long can you?"

You rolled your eyes pushing him off and hopping off the counter. "Nope not when it comes to you Wade, now let's get to that party!"

.

.

.

.

.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

[spooniechef]

Instant Hot Chocolate Mix (1-2 spoons)

I like me some hot chocolate, but obviously it comes with its own set of problems. Lactose intolerance is an issue, though largely I take a Lactaid and bear it. Plus, frankly, the quality of instant hot chocolate mix is not all that and the alternative of making cocoa the old-fashioned way is time-consuming and involves a lot of stirring and who has the time? I mean, especially if you live alone and making enough for one cup is just a pain. Thing is, awhile ago I tripped over a TikTok (whose TikTok name I do not now remember) where the person was making their own shelf-stable instant hot chocolate mix. I saw that and thought, “If she can do it, why can’t I?” and started Googling recipes. I found one on Julie’s Eats and Treats page, but noticed pretty much right away that the actual prep stages needed to be tweaked a little, because for all it’s only four ingredients and no heating, there’s more to it for someone with chronic pain than the recipe makes out. So I’ll provide the recipe, then bullet point a few tricks to turn it from a 2 spoon recipe into a 1 spoon recipe. It’s worth it either way, though; it tastes so much better than the store-bought stuff.

Here’s what you’ll need:

1 cup cocoa powder (use the good stuff)

2 cups icing sugar (powdered sugar is another term for it)

2 cups powdered milk (there is lactose-free powdered milk but you’ll have to go to a health food store or order it online)

1/3 cup granulated sugar

Seriously, use the best cocoa powder you can get hold of. I personally like Green and Black’s. Not really sure what brands are available in North America.

Here’s what you do:

Using a sieve, sift the cocoa powder, icing sugar, and powdered milk into a large bowl

Add the granulated sugar

Stir until thoroughly mixed

Store in an airtight container in a cool dry place

You’ll need about a third of a cup of the instant hot chocolate mix for a large mug of hot chocolate. Add marshmallows or flavouring as desired (a drop or two of mint or orange extract can be glorious).

Sounds easy, right? The thing is, icing sugar is incredibly dense, and sifting two cups of it is painful. That’s on top of the other stuff that needs sifting, and then stirring on top of that. The sifting isn’t optional, incidentally; even smaller clumps will make it harder to properly mix, so you’ll end up with uneven flavour between cups. However, I picked up a few tricks to make the sifting and stirring easier.

Use half-measures or lower where possible. The powdered milk’s okay to do one cup at a time, and the cocoa isn’t too terrible as it’s only a cup, but the icing sugar is difficult do even sifting one cup at a time, never mind two. Sifting the icing sugar in half-cup increments gives an opportunity for microbreaks, and prevents you from having to lift two cups of dense powder one-handed.

Stir the icing sugar instead of sifting. Making your sieve-bearing wrist do all the work just causes more pain in the end, and can be messy if you’re doing a side-to-side sift because the whole mass will tilt in that direction and possibly spill into the bowl unsifted, or just onto the counter and/or floor. Using a soup spoon to stir the mixture around spreads out the wrist action required, and involves less hefting of any kind of weight. Plus when you get to the last dregs and clumps of sugar too big to fit in the sieve’s holes, you can just press them down with the soup spoon and crush them up smaller, which will get those last bits into the mixture.

You can do the same “press the dregs down” trick with the powdered milk and cocoa, incidentally, but with the powdered milk, there will be some tiny hard nodules at the bottom no matter what you do. Just ignore them; an amount that small doesn’t affect the recipe.

Stir with a whisk instead of a spoon. Not only does it mix a fine powder better, but if you stick the whisk into the mix and lift, you’ll get a lot of the powder trapped inside the whisk, including the stuff on the bottom that needs to blend with upper layers. That makes the preliminary blending a lot easier and quicker, and involves less stirring and more of an up-down motion of elbow and shoulder. This should help if repetitive motions cause you problems. (Don’t use an electic mixer, though; those go too fast and you want control or you’ll end up with powder everywhere and the cocoa powder in particular sticks to everything and is a bugger to clean.)

This, like the versatile chocolate fudge from last week, is another one of those morale booster recipes. I find it’s nice to make things just for me, especially when they’re better than I could buy at the store. Nothing says “self-care” like spending part of a good day making something nice to give you comfort during the next few bad ones.

[sams-sass]

In The After

Chapter 3: Autumns Changes 

Hello! Here is Part Three!!! Thank you so much to everyone following this story, I really appreciate you. 

Summary: This takes place after the finale. You are blurry wife. This is you and Sam’s story. 

Pairing: Sam x Reader (we are in the home stretch, I promise)

Warnings: I don't know...fluff? Maybe some language. Is the fact that Sam is FUCKING ADORABLE a warning? Because then, look out. Mutual pining. Emotional saga. Slow burn. This one is kinda long, I don't know, I’m a wordy bitch sometimes. Listen, I also do not know WHY there is so much DIALOGUE but there just IS. I am trying my best to make Holly and Amy funny while also making them more than one dimensional. 

Read Part One Here

Read Part Two Here

----------------------------------

There was an extra crisp to the air as you pulled into the bakery parking lot, staring for a moment at the black impala that sat still running. You had told him to come later. You felt yourself smile and suppress a chuckle as you climbed out of your car and walked to the door to unlock it. He called out as he jogged over to you. 

"Hey!" You called back with a wave. The two of you entered the bakery, and you rubbed your hands together after flipping on all the lights. Turning to face him, you realized he looked different somehow. He looked good. You couldn't deny that. The cold air had left a pinkish blush where it nipped at the tip of his nose and the high points of his cheeks. His eyes seemed bright and happy as he looked around the kitchen. 

"Good morning." He said, his eyes settling on you. 

"Good morning. Looks like you were the one waiting for me this time." You answered back with a smile. 

"Sorry, I'm early. I was uh…well, I was excited." He admitted sheepishly. You giggled while looking down, embarrassed. 

"It's been a while since someone beat me here." You agreed, taking a step towards him. He just smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Coffee?" You asked, breaking the tension growing between you. 

"Please." He said. Your hands got to work scooping coffee grounds, but your mind was left to wander. He was here with you…alone. You felt the heavy weight of his gaze, causing goosebumps to crawl over your skin. You silently wondered what it would feel like to touch him. You hadn't felt this way in years. You hadn't looked at another man since the day you met Josh all those moons ago…and yet…you wondered about Sam. 

You turned back to him as the coffee pot brewed, its earthy aroma quickly filling the space. 

"What's my first assignment of the day, boss?" Sam asked, placing his elbows on the counter and leaning forward. Clearing your throat, you rubbed your hand over your bicep as you thought. 

"Well…the tables could probably use a good cleaning. We are always so tired at the end of the day that we wipe them…but only give them a proper cleaning every once in a while." You explained. 

"Clean tables. Got it." Sam answered smoothly. 

"Oh, and today is Wednesday, so it is intake day. Walter will be here around noon to deliver the flour, salt, sugar, baking powder, and baking soda. And then Greg will be here around 2 to deliver all the fruit and extras like cinnamon." You said, listing things off on your fingers. 

"I can help with that. No problem." Sam answered. He was easy to talk to. Calm and steady. Centered. You liked being around him; regardless of how attracted you grew to him, he was good company. You watched as he unbuttoned his flannel cuffs and began rolling them up his forearms. You tried your best to look impassive as more and more of his skin became exposed. You stared at his smooth flesh that bore the occasional scar or blemish. Veins bulged against hardened muscles that flexed with every twist of his arm. Long fingers gently moved the fabric higher towards his elbow. You hadn't felt the stir of arousal in years. Hadn't stiffened against the creeping heat that blossomed in your core quickly. The ding of the coffee pot startled you back into reality. You jumped slightly and turned to hide the blush crawling across your skin and to pour the coffee. You and Sam made your cups the way you liked and sat silently while drinking for a minute. Sam leaned over the table again, holding himself on his elbows, and you did the same, staring at each other for a moment in the steam of the hot coffee. 

"I should clean those tables." He said suddenly, and you both jerked upright at the realization that you were getting closer to one another. 

"Uh yeah…I have to fold the croissants." You mumbled, scratching your head and looking anywhere but at him. 

You got to work on the dough, and Sam filled a large bucket with hot soapy water. He went into the dining area and sat directly on the floor to clean the tables. He felt…confused. You confused him, and he desperately wanted to understand. Sam was a man of science. Of facts and logic. He was a man who always looked to history and knowledge to comprehend and solve a problem in front of him, and yet. Here you were, making him feel like a pubescent teenager. You weren't an equation to figure. You weren't a puzzle that Sam could move pieces around until they fit together correctly. You were…well, you were you. He wanted to be respectful of you and your pain, but he also found himself leaning closer to you. He tried to get to know you better, but he couldn't stop staring at how the light bounced off your skin. He wanted to give things time, but he was beginning to wake up every day wondering how he could make you smile. You were there. Causing him to put the past where it was always meant to be. Behind him. To heal. His wounds, still open and raw, felt like they were finally being cleaned and bandaged. He scrubbed the tables until the water in his bucket ran brown and mucky. He stood to get fresh water when the door opened, Holly and Amy bursting through it. 

"No. We can't all be cats again. I can't do it." Amy was saying to Holly, her face turned away. 

"Oh, come on! It's so easy-." Holly stopped talking and froze when she saw Sam standing there, a bucket and rag in his hand. Sam tried to put on his most charming smile and give them his least awkward wave. Obviously, you told them…I mean, how could you not…

"Sam?" Amy asked. 

"What are you doing here?" Holly furrowed her brow. Ok, so clearly, you hadn't told them. 

"Uh…well. I work here. Now. Like today. This morning. Today is my first day." Sam sputtered nervously. The friends exchanged a look while trying…and failing…to suppress a smile. 

"Ohhh…Y/N hired you," Holly said, her voice sounding playful. 

"Yes," Sam answered, keeping his voice even and giving away as little information as possible. 

"Fun," Amy said back with a devilish grin. They both sped off into the kitchen like children going to recess. 

“Y/N!” They both called in unison. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, relishing the five seconds of silence you had before they found you. 

"So. Sam works here now?" Amy said relatively calmly when they found you in the back, squashing raspberries for frosting. 

"And you didn't tell us," Holly said. You could hear the slight annoyance in her voice. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys. It all happened so fast. He was saying he is staying at that motel on Smith and that he was low on funds, and I don't know, it just kind of…slipped out. I should have called you. I am so sorry." You explained in a rushed whisper. 

"The motel on Smith? Rats don't even go in there." Amy said, wrinkling her face in disgust. 

"Ew. Yeah, I would have offered him a job too." Holly agreed, grabbing her apron off the hook. 

"I love you guys. He will help with busing tables, dishes, deliveries, and intake. Everything but baking." You explained, getting back to crushing raspberries. 

"We love you too. And that all sounds awesome. I hope it works out." Amy said sincerely, Holly nodding her head in agreement. The three of you fell into an easy routine of baking. About an hour later, the first customers started filing in, and the day was officially buzzing. Sam was more than helpful; you don't think you had ever seen anyone work as hard as he did. Customers barely had time to finish their food before he was scooping up plates, bowls, cups, and mugs. Their coffee never ran cold as he constantly refilled half-drank cups. He was quick on his feet. His mind was sharp and observant. Always finding something to do. At noon, Walter pulled the truck to the back lot, waiting for help. Sam bounded outside before you could even get his name out of your mouth. He introduced himself to Walter and instantly began moving sacks of flour, sugar, and salt. You rang someone out at the register and noticed the rags that always sat by the counter were getting low. You made your way into the kitchen for more when you stopped dead in your tracks. Sam was unloading sacks and boxes of items. He had stripped down to just a black V-neck t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders but hung loosely around his slim waist. Flour dusted his skin and hair lightly, and a slight sweat sat on his brow. He grabbed two bags at a time, throwing them onto his shoulders and bending at the waist to pile them neatly next to the loading space. You gulped at the sight, your brain ceasing to work and comprehend anything beyond what you were looking at. Sam slapped his hands together, a small cloud of flour surrounding him in a white poof. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe off the sweat and flour from his face. A peak at golden skin kissed with a trail of brown hair and muscles you didn't know you needed to see. He turned and saw you, a smile growing on his flour-streaked face. 

"Hey, I didn't see you there." He said around breaths that made his chest heave heavily. 

"Uh-huh." You said, clearing your throat in embarrassment.

"Hey, Y/N, where- oh!" Amy bumped into you as she rounded the corner. She looked at you confused until she turned and saw Sam, the bottom of his shirt still in his hands. His breath came in hard and fast. White patches lay across his skin. Her face moved between confusion, shock, to understanding and finally settled on a cool arrogant smirk.  

"Amy!" You practically shouted. "I was looking for the rags that we keep by the counter. Have you seen them?" You asked, trying to cover your tracks. 

"Right there, honey." She said, pointing to a pile of rags literally two inches from you. 

"Awesome! Thanks!" You said, grabbing the pile and racing out of the kitchen to save yourself further embarrassment.  

The rest of the day passed by quickly. Sam continued to be the world's most helpful busboy, and Holly and Amy continued to tease you whenever he was out of earshot. But you didn't care anymore, not after catching his eyes every time you looked up from the register. Not after how his face had softened when he saw you in the kitchen. His skin was still sweaty and white with flour, all traces of the present leaving his expression the instant he looked. You were beginning to feel the warmth in your chest, the involuntary flip of your stomach. He was bringing back feelings you had assumed you would never feel again. The days were much more manageable with Sam there to help. Holly and Amy even said how amazing it was to have him around. Friday morning started like any other. You folding dough. Holly making bagels. Amy prepped fruits and batter. And now Sam, cleaning whatever he could get his hands on. The bakery was spotless, and it was all thanks to your ridiculously attractive new hire. However, as the hours passed, you noticed Sam looked…nervous. Twitchy and anxious. Finally, you understood why. 

"Hey, Y/N, can I talk to you quickly?" He had found you after the lunch crowd left when there was a lull in customers. 

"Of course." You said, walking back into the kitchen for privacy. Your heart was beating so fast in your chest it was making you sweat. 

"I was wondering, and you could say no, but I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner with me tonight? It doesn't have to be weird, and I don't expect anything. I just want to spend time with you."

"Oh." Was all you could manage to get out. This was different from what you expected. This was…well, you couldn't quite put a word to the mess of emotions currently charged through you. Sam didn't say anything, and you were pretty sure he wasn't breathing, either. 

"I can't." You said finally, and although he tried to control it, you could see the hurt cross Sam's face. 

"I understand." He said softly. 

"No, Sam, no. I want to, but I actually can't. I have plans to watch Practical Magic with Amy and Holly tonight. We watch it every year on the Friday before Halloween." You explained, feeling both of you lose some of the weight that had been sitting on your shoulders. 

"Oh!" Sam said, his voice full of enthusiasm. At that moment, Holly walked into the kitchen. 

"Hey, guys, what's going on?" Holly asked, grabbing a poppy seed bagel off the counter and cream cheese from the fridge. 

"Y/N was just telling me about your movie date tonight," Sam said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. 

"Ah yeah!" Holly said, cutting her bagel in half and putting it into the toaster.

"Best night of the year! My ultimate feel-good movie." 

"Practical Magic? I have never seen it." Sam said. 

"What?" Holly asked, her movements stopping at once. Her hands were frozen in a stirring position from when she was mixing the cream cheese. 

"Yeah, I have never even heard of it," Sam said with a shrug. 

"But…midnight margaritas," Holly said, her hands still frozen, mixing the cream cheese. 

"What?" Now it was Sam's turn to be confused. Amy busted through the back door, her mouth chewing the apple she held in her hands. 

"Amy." Holly began. "Sam has never seen Practical Magic," Holly said, finally moving. 

"What?!" Amy said loudly. 

"Uh yeah…no," Sam said. He wore a look of amusement at their befuddlement. 

"But…I wished for you too." Amy said as she walked over to stand next to Holly. 

"I'm sorry?" Sam asked, his eyebrows coming down over his eyes. 

"I think you may have broken them." You whispered, leaning closer to Sam.

"I wished for you too! It gets me every damn time." Holly said, turning to Amy. 

"Girl. The way he looks at her." Amy said, bending her knees and literally swooning. 

"Un.fucking.real." Holly agreed, punctuating each word for enthusiasm. 

"I don't know, Holly. I know someone who looks at you the same way." You said, joining in the fun. 

"If you bring up Eamon right now, Y/N, I swear to god," Holly said, pointing at you with a knife covered in cream cheese. 

"Fine, fine, fine." You said, throwing your hands in the air. 

"I have an idea," Amy said with a smile. "Sam. Why don't you join us this evening?" She said, giving Holly a look out of the side of her eye. 

'Oh yeah!" Holly said…almost too excitedly. "Come watch with us!" She said. Sam laughed and then looked at you. 

"You are more than welcome if you want to come." You said, nodding your head. 

"Uh, sure!" Sam said. "I just have to figure out what to do with my dog. These are long days already." He said. 

"Oh my gosh! Miracle! Well, obviously, he can come tonight, and starting tomorrow, he is coming to this bakery every day." You said, your hands flying to your face with the realization that Miracle had been sitting in a disgusting motel room all day. 

"No, no. That is way too much. We can't have a dog in a bakery." He said, gesturing with his hands to the super clean kitchen. 

"Well, it is my bakery, and I say we can! Plus, he is well-trained, so I am not worried about it." You said, leaving no room for questions. 

"So tonight at 6. You and Miracle at Y/N's." Amy said, keeping direct eye contact with you as she bit into the apple. Oh no. What had you gotten yourself into?

"Oh! And the tradition!" Holly said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

"Oh yeah! You have to bring chips and dip." Amy said to Sam. 

"Chips and dip…?" Sam asked, confused. 

"Yeah, we all bring a bag of tortilla chips and a dip. Really, we don't care if it's jarred salsa from the grocery store. It's just tradition." You explained. 

"Oh ok, well what are you bringing so I don't bring the same thing?" Sam asked. He was getting kind of into this girls' night. 

"I am making spinach and artichoke dip." You said. 

"And I am making chili dip," Holly said around a mouthful of bagel. 

"I'm making white bean and lemon dip." Amy piped in. 

"Ok! I will see you there!" Sam said, nodding his head. 

"17 Sycamore Lane." You gave him your address. 

"17 Sycamore Lane." He repeated back to you, his full smile showed off his dimples, and you couldn't help the sheepish grin you gave back. Sam left the kitchen, letting you watch him walk away. 

"Y/N/N, when he smiles at you with those goddamn dimples…." Holly trailed off, raising her eyebrows and widening her eyes. 

"I know." You said, letting yourself feel the soft flame of titillation in your core.  

As soon as you got home, you immediately started cleaning. Your house was never gross, but bras were hanging on door handles, dishes in the sink, and the guest bathroom could use some attention. As soon as you finished that, you started the dip. Your spine began to tingle with nerves at the thought of Sam being in your home. And that he asked you on a date. And that you had to stop yourself from screaming, "yes!". You nervously scratched your neck when your front door opened. Holly and Amy let themselves in; no need for formalities with lifelong friends. You preheated the oven to bake the chili and spinach dip as you all gabbed and talked as if you didn't just spend the entire day together. About fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang, and you felt your stomach drop at the sound. 

Sam stood outside your door holding a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa. Miracle sat beside him, his tail gently wagging in the cold October evening. You opened the door, and Sam's stomach did an involuntary flip at seeing you in the comforts of your home. You had changed into sweatpants that sat low on your hips, a long sleeve shirt that hung loose on your frame, and slippers. The scarf you usually wrapped around your head in the bakery was gone, and your hair fell into its natural state. Before Sam could get a word out, Miracle ran up to sit in front of you, waiting patiently for a few pets. You laughed before bending and giving in to his demand. 

"Come on in!" You said to both of them. Sam followed you and Miracle into the house. It was…cozy. That's the word that Sam would describe it as. Cozy. Everything was soft and calm. The comforts of home could be found around every corner. Blankets, candles, potted plants, and picture frames. Memories of your life could be seen everywhere. Throughout the years, you, Holly, and Eamon, then the six of you, Darren, Amy, and Josh came into the group. Birthdays, celebrations, and normalcy. All things that Sam had so desperately craved his whole life. Sam let his eyes take it all in, focusing on one picture in particular. It was you on your wedding day with Josh. You looked the same yet different. Josh stood beside you, holding your hand in his. He was a handsome man with kind eyes. You both wore huge smiles that encapsulated your entire faces. Sam couldn't overlook that you looked stunning in your white gown. 

"Oh yeah. That's my Josh." You spoke next to him.

"Looks like it was a wonderful day," Sam said, standing upright to face you. 

"It was perfect." You said, letting your eyes linger on the memory for a beat. You blinked and looked up at Sam. "Anyway, let's get the dips and start this movie."   In the kitchen, Holly sat on the dining room table, also in sweatpants. Amy had her feet up on the table while she reclined in a chair; she had on black leggings and an oversized flannel. They ate frosting directly out of the container with a spoon, but only after rolling their frosting-covered spoon in sprinkles. 

"Where the hell did you guys even get frosting?" You asked.

"The cabinet," Amy said, the spoon still in her mouth. 

"Hey, Sam," Holly said. 

"Hey, guys," Sam said, smiling at the two of them.  

You decided what to drink and moved the dips and chips into the living room with everyone in tow. It appeared that Holly and Amy already had specific seats. They barely even thought about it before grabbing the big couch together, laying a blanket over them, and forcing you and Sam on the loveseat. You both gave each other a shy grin before sitting down. As the soft music of the opening scene filled the room, you felt like your head was spinning. You weren't sure if he had ever been this close to you, but his scent drove you crazy. He smelt of orange peel and sandalwood. Earthy and hearty aromas that fit him well. He was so near, with warm skin just waiting to be touched. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your mind felt fuzzy. Swallowing, you rubbed your hands over your thighs and pushed yourself down to the floor to eat some chips and dip. Holly and Amy quickly followed you. 

"Love him," Amy said, pointing to the television with a chip. 

"Does he even have a line?" Holly asked about the main character's first husband. 

"Nope. But he's adorable." Amy countered, you and Holly shrugging in agreement. 

"Sam, come get some of this food!" Holly said, glancing up at him still on the couch. 

Sam let out a small laugh and jumped down on the floor too. You all grabbed food together, laughing at random jokes and the movie. Holly and Amy putting on quite the show. Swooning and fanning themselves over the cop. Falling on each other when the "I wished for you too" line was uttered. You hadn't even realized that this movie related to your current situation. A husband who made you so happy once was now gone. A new man, creating feelings in you that you thought you would never feel again. A twist of fate. She said the famous, "I dream of a love that even time will lay down and be still for." You understood what she was saying deep in your heart. Even though you loved Josh with everything you had, you also dreamed of a love that sickness could not invade. Of a love that would conquer all evils of the past and the future. A love that others couldn't help but feel envious of and crave. A love that when death came for you, it couldn't bare to part you for a moment longer than necessary. A love to withstand. To endure. To heal. Sandra Bullock said the last line, "fall in love whenever you can." And you felt your eyes involuntarily slide to Sam, only to see that he was already looking at you. Hazel eyes filled with questions and emotions. 

You all said goodnight, Holly and Amy making sure to leave before Sam, so you and he were alone. The door closed behind them, and he turned to face you, clearly feeling awkward. 

"Thank you for inviting me. This was a lot of fun. My brother, he loved chick flicks." Sam said, smiling at the floor. 

"Of course. I like spending time with you." You admitted, swallowing around the bulb in your throat. 

"I like spending time with you, too," Sam said. The air changed in the kitchen, electricity making it heavy and charged. You could almost taste the arousal growing deep in your gut. Sam took a step forward, his hand coming up slowly, fingertips tracing up your arm. Your breathing stopped for the quickest moment, and you almost latched yourself to his body. His face was getting closer to yours until you could hear your blood pulsing through your veins. His hand stopped at the curve of your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek next to your lips. You tilted your head up, inviting him in. But Sam stopped then, his lips turning at the last moment to kiss your cheek gently. He lifted his head only to press his forehead against yours.

"I'll be seeing you." He said, his voice husky and raw before he turned on his heel and walked away. 

"I'll be waiting." You whispered into the air. And just like that, you were hooked. Line and sinker. Fully open to him.

Sam closed his car door and let out a deep breath. He looked back at your house one last time before driving to the motel. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking of you. Couldn't get the scent of you out of his nose. His fingers grazed over his lips where your soft cheek had pressed against him. You were everything he ever wanted, needed, and more. You were the rays of the sun that pushed their way through the dense forest leaves to illuminate the life underneath. You were the flames of a bonfire that danced in the darkness of night, warming everything around it. You were the taste of a favorite and nostalgic flavor lost from childhood, only to be found once more. You were the memorized passage from a favorite book, bringing peace in their constant words. You were the healing. 

The next few days were filled with colored frosting, googly eyes, and homemade candy. Halloween was just a few days away, and you all had to be ready. You, Holly, and Amy decided to be witches this year, and Sam said he wasn't very into dressing up. However, he did a phenomenal job of decorating the bakery. Bats hung from the ceiling at different heights. Spider web ran across the counters and glass display cases. A witch stirring her cauldron was set up in the front window, and a purple and black wreath was placed on the door. You sold out of your Halloween and fall-related treats daily, and the usual customers told you how great Sam was to have around. Miracle now had a spot all to himself in the back room where he lounged around all day, coming out on occasion to greet guests and give Sam a nuzzle. You were happy. Really happy. The days seemed to fly by quicker, and you knew everything would be ok. 

Halloween day rolled around, and the whole kitchen was stocked with treats for the kids and some spiced cider and goodies for the adults. You closed the bakery around 3pm to get ready. You all got into your costumes and waited for Eamon and Darren. They showed up with takeout containers stocked with food. After greeting, you all ate dinner together, laughing and sharing memories. Amy nudged you and flicked her head toward the corner. Holly stood against the wall, her hands on her hips. Eamon stood over her, his arm resting on the wall behind her. You and Amy shared a tight-lipped laugh. 

"They think they are so sly," Amy said.

"It's honestly impressive how clueless they are." You agreed.

After eating, you handed everyone treats and a nice mug of steaming cider. You played Halloween music from the speakers and put the finishing touches on your Halloween decorations. The small kids started to show up around 5 pm, and it was a constant stream after that. You couldn't help but watch Sam with the kids. He was so kind and funny to them. He got down as low as he could to look them in the eyes, so they could choose their desired treat. He made comments to everyone he could about their costume. He even had some of the little girls giggling sheepishly behind their hands. You noticed some of the moms checking him out on more than one occasion as well. 

"You are very good at this." You said to Sam, laying your hand on his shoulder to get his attention. 

"Thank you." He said, turning to face you. 

"You said you aren't the biggest fan of Halloween?" You asked him, sinking your teeth into an apple cider donut. 

"No, I wasn't really…allowed to participate as a kid, and I don't know, it just kind of left a sour taste in my mouth." He explained, opening up a rice Krispie treat frosted to look like Frankenstein. 

"I'm sorry." You said sincerity. "Was there a reason? Did you grow up religious or something?" You asked, trying to get to know him better. 

"Not exactly." He said, looking down and thinking. "I didn't have a normal childhood, we moved around a lot, and my dad…well, my dad was a bit paranoid about many things. Growing up, I didn't celebrate any holiday, so I guess I never saw a need as an adult." He said, and you felt your heart ache for him. 

"Well, I hope this wasn't too much for you." You said. 

"No, no. Y/N, this was amazing. I loved this." He looked serious then, taking a small step towards you. "Tonight, here with you and your friends, I'm starting to see why everyone loves this holiday so much." He gave you a crooked smile, and you had to remind yourself to inhale. You both shared a shy glance and giggle. 

"You know…" You started, "you still owe me that dinner." You said, twisting your hands around your mug.

"It appears I do," Sam said, making direct eye contact with you. 

"How about tomorrow?" You asked.

"You're on." He said, and your chest tightened at the thought.

Tags: Imma tag @thinkinghardhardlythinking @mychemicalimagines​ @lacilou​

[rtgrl]

Cooking by weight has been a very fun and game changing way to do some special meals, unfortunately it is now impossible for me to share those recipes with most people because my documentation process for tweaked/combined recipes is a spreadsheet which has no instructions and requires vibe checks.

For example, here is my ham recipe. This year I used cinnamon stick, pink peppercorns, mustard seed, cloves, allspice, star anise, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, bay leaf, and a little ancho chile, and double sugar (the recipe is low sugar to start with). It's important to be accurate with the salt / cure, but I don't weigh the spices. I just kinda aim for rough visual proportions and give them a light crush.

The cure 1 outputs a range, (min/max) where I err closer to the low number. Ham conversion factor is auto generated, and crunches numbers on the rest of the column. The water (by weight) is the brine, this year I had to make more so it would seal nicely (doing 300g-400g right away next year) which is why there's a 100g ham in column 2.

After weighting it all out its pretty easy. I do about 50% pump rate (injected brine) even though it's not super necessary for a lil 1kg ham like this one. Seal with no air, chill in the fridge, flip & lightly agitate it every day (try to move the spices around a bit)

The 50% pump ensures that even if I end up pulling it at 6 days instead of 7-10, the middle will be cured. So it's good to go Christmas Eve to Boxing Day.

Because it's equilibrium brined with accurate measurements, it doesn't need soaking or anything like that. Just rinse off the spices and cook as desired! This one is getting smoked to somewhere in the 155F zone, I don't think ham should go over 70C but most recommend ham cook temps are too low imo. Keeping it under 70C gets a harder cook without that tough over cooked feeling. Since ham is chemically cured (that's just what ham is, natural ham just uses natural sources of the same chemicals, usually extracted from celery), it can go rubbery when over cooked.

I've done sous vide as well which is still excellent, just not as smoky or visually appealing. Oven is fine, but way harder to control & monitor temperature.

The test batch from Thanksgiving turned out excellently, although the spicing was very different. I did one spicy tasso-style ham, and one herb-y rosemary mustard ham. Christmas ham should be good.

It's a bit of a daunting process, but curing salt is surprisingly cheap online, bulk store spices are cheap, pork still costs way less than ham, and my family/friends are way more open to it than to my other foodie projects (most people I know will not *try* pickled onions if given a choice)

mmm, ham

[infiltracion]

I'LL ASK YOU A MUSIC QUESTION SINCE YOU LIKE THEM SO MUCH. GIMME SOME SONGS THAT FIT YOUR FAVORITE SHIPS FOR SOMBRA.

...ESTABLECIENDO CONEXIÓN, @spec08 .

YAYYYY this is a fun question especially for the both of us since, as mentioned often here, there is a whole blog canon that scoob and i have behind the scenes. it's the reason why my blog is not open to shipping with sombra cuz we just like these pairs so fuckin much LOL so here's the pairs. (keep in mind that this has to do with specifically scoob's portrayals of these characters. anybody reading this who happens to write these characters? does not apply to u we will have a different dynamic entirely <3 anyway with that out of the way, throwing it all under the cut bc its long since i felt the need to explain everything)

starting with our real toxic girls.... sombra & ashe. this relationship is summarized as "i girlbossed a little too close to the sun." tl;dr for any readers that aren't scoob: sombra fucks off to deadlock for a while after ditching talon, ashe gets dangerously attatched real quick to their "casual" relationship, sombra underestimated the situation bad. ashe is dangerous and now has it in her head that they should DEFINITELY get married cuz shes got everything she wants here and sombra like..... lol i dont believe in marriage? :3 (spoiler: that's not a good excuse.) now she's gotta worry about a white woman jumpscare when shes out and about after ditching deadlock. whoops!

SOMBRA @ ASHE.

JOKES ON YOU — charlotte lawrence. this entire song has just a shit ton of symbolism and the build up to just being like fuck it im done this is going too far? it was fun in the beginning but theyre in too deep now and shes gotta GO?? MESSY!

HIGHLIGHT.

drag me to death like a lit cigarette took my last breath like the smoke from my lips i've lied for you and i liked it too but my knees are bruised from kneeling to you i've had enough, but you're too hard to quit we've had our fun, now your sugar makes me sick i've lied for you and i liked it too but my makeup's ruined

ASHE @ SOMBRA.

YOUR LOVE (DÉJÀ VU) — glass animals. once again, entire song has such good symbolism n it mentions so many details that just Sound like sombra like blue hair and the references to all the tech n cameras n the whole like fleeting love situation.... also references to sombras toxic ass side of the relationship they both suck.

HIGHLIGHT.

maybe in time when we're both better at life daylight can open my eyes and you'll still be by my side but meanwhile i've got my contact high you've got your powdered lies we've got these summertime nights night by night i let you eat me alive i want you to eat me alive i want you to eat me alive

bonus: this one's a significantly funnier song but it describes their dynamic perfectly. ashe is the guy, sombra's the woman.

now the other one that's our lil endgame for these two... sombra & satya. also messy but ultimately ends pretty great after sombra is forced to get over herself. tl;dr for any readers that aren't scoob: her and satya meet on a long term talon mission (unbeknownst to satya) and get on absurdly well. tension n all but satya's focused on her work and sombras headin out anyway so nothing really comes of it. she disappears then reappears a couple years later, out of talon and highkey trying to avoid the raging deadlock leader who's mad at her for leaving her at the altar (ashe's words, not her's.) india's a pretty good curveball. the details are fuzzy here but they ultimately get back together here which is great until satya keeps jabbing her and being like FIX YOUR ISSUES OR YOURE LEAVING and shes like ://// FINE! DAMN.

SOMBRA @ SATYA.

NO ES QUE NO TE QUIERA — hello seahorse! i mentioned this one in that music meme i did because it fits sombra in general in relationships but i think it especially fits with the two of them since she's extremely avoidant... runs at any INKLING of intimacy or permanence and it fits especially well after she leaves satya that first time around and is still thinking of her.

HIGHLIGHT.

no es que no te quiera es que te necesito lejos pues es cuando estas lejos, que (yo) más te quiero

(rough translation)

it's not that i don't love you it's that i need you far away because when you're far that's when i love you most

SATYA @ SOMBRA.

VETE DE UNA VEZ — daniela spalla. funnily enough this is another spanish song but it reminds me from satya's pov before they come together for realsies. kinda accompanies the last where it's frustrating that sombra can just come and go and still be accepted back in even tho that shit HURTS.

HIGHLIGHT.

he pasado tantos días, tantas noches haciedo el duelo, el duelo por tí lo dijiste claramente no querías una vida junto a mí pero cada tanto vuelves, me llamas y sabes que jamás voy a decir que no cada tanto, vuelves, basta te pido por favor vete de una vez y ya no vuelvas

(rough translation)

i've spent so many days, so many nights grieving because of you you clearly told me that you didn't want a life with me but every so often, you come back and call me and you know i'll never say no every so often, you call me, enough. i beg of you, please. go away now, and don't come back

[wistfulcynic]

spring equinox cake

to welcome the advent of longer days this year i made a new recipe bundt cake. It was adapted from a recipe i intended to make for the winter solstice (hence the harvest leaf pattern) but the bundt tin i ordered was not delivered--or rather, it was delivered but not to me. The courier company, in typical form, refused to do anything about it. They insisted that the parcel had been delivered and provided “proof” in the form of an extremely blurry photo that was not of my house or indeed of anyone’s house. It was unmistakably an office, in fact. The courier company was unmoved by this logic. i gave the pan up as lost. 

well as it turns out the office in the photo is an estate agent down the street. Earlier this month i discovered an old message from one of their employees on FB messenger, which i hadn’t seen before because messenger for some reason does not alert me when people outside my friends list try to contact me. This message inquired if i had by any chance ordered a cake tin, and when i answered yes i had, the woman said that they had it in their office and i could come by to pick it up at my convenience.  

a spring equinox miracle! 

apparently it was a bit of a Thing in their office, the mysterious bundt tin, and they were very excited when i came in to collect it. i was delighted they had held onto it and made an effort to locate its owner. A good ending all around. 

for the spring equinox bundt cake you need: butter, sugar, saffron, egg, flour, baking powder, honey, brown sugar, water, cinnamon stick, bay leaf, tea or other herbs for infusion. 

(bay leaf for wisdom, cinnamon for love & prosperity, saffron for courage & devotion)

this is a cake with a unique flavour profile that will taste different depending on the honey and the tea/infusion that you choose. i used acacia honey which has a mild flavour and Earl Grey Creme from Bird&Blend, a floral, aromatic black tea. It turned out very moist and a bit dense but not unpleasantly so. The flavour is strongly floral and fragrant like the tea, but the honey is discernible as is the saffron, cinnamon, and bay, though they are perhaps more in the aroma than the taste. 

at any rate, you could mix it up with different herb/spice blends, types of tea, etc. You could eliminate the honey entirely. There are loads of potential variations here. Experiment! (and if you make this please share a pic)(also this can be made without a bundt tin--try a well-lined springform pan and reduce the amount of liquid by maybe 1/3 to 1/2)

blessed equinox and happy longer days to all in the northern hemisphere! Antipodeans, hang in there ❤️.

full recipe below the cut

1/2 c golden sugar  

a few strands of saffron

1/2 c butter, softened 

1 egg

1 c syrup (1/4c honey, 1/4c brown sugar, 1/2c water, cinnamon stick, bay leaf)

2 1/2 c flour 

1 T baking powder 

pinch salt 

1 c hot water infused with tea and/or herbs of choice 

a few hours to one day before making crush a few strands of saffron and add them to the sugar. Set aside.

make the syrup by mixing the honey and brown sugar with water. Bring to a boil, remove from heat and add the cinnamon stick and bay leaf. Leave to cool and infuse.

heat water to an acceptable temperature (boiling for black tea, cooler for green tea or herbal infusion) and infuse. Strain when it has reached the desired intensity. Let cool.

soften butter.

cream butter and sugar until light & fluffy. Add egg and beat well. Add syrup gently. Sift the dry ingredients. With the mixer on low speed add the flour mixture one spoonful at a time, or fold in gently if mixing by hand, until just incorporated. Add the infusion and mix until the batter is a uniform consistency.

pour into prepared (well-greased and floured) bundt tin and bake at 350F/190C for 45-50 minutes. 

let cool 10 minutes before removing from tin by inverting over a cooling rack or plate. 

[rainbowpegasus8]

.Restarting.

As I opened my laptop, it illuminated my dark and messy room. I read the question, "How do you want to live your life?" I stared at it, resting my face on the pillow I was holding. An idea slowly started to form in my mind.

Restart.

I want to restart. 

I want to pretend that everything bad that happened the previous day never happened. Although I would technically be living in a lie, it's better than living in the truth, isn't it?

I tried writing something down, but it just wasn't right. I restarted, wrote, restarted, wrote again and again. Each attempt was different, yet still wrong. Frustrated, I eventually closed my laptop and lay back on my bed, trying to clear my mind. But I couldn't. My thoughts kept going back to that question.

By morning, I still hadn't slept a wink. I rubbed my sleepy green-blue eyes as I got up and headed downstairs for breakfast. My dad was making French toast, and I smiled at him as he saw me.

"Good morning, Dad!" I greeted him cheerfully. "I'm making some French toast, want any?" he replied with his usual big smile. "Of course!" I answered, my voice giving away my tiredness. I pulled out a chair at the table as my dad placed a plate of French toast in front of me. "Thank you," I said, reaching for the knife and fork. I admired the plate of deliciousness, with its powdered sugar, syrup and butter on top, and fruit on the side. The strawberries were my favorite. I cut into the toast, making sure to get some strawberries with each bite. As I finished it, I grabbed a napkin and wiped off any syrup or powdered sugar with a napkin. I got up placed the plate in the sink and headed back upstairs to get ready for school.

I walked into my room and picked out a long green dress that was decorated in white embroidered flowers and put it on. I found my favorite white tennis shoes and slipped them on before heading to my bathroom. As I got into the bathroom and saw my reflection, something seemed off… Maybe it's my hair, I thought to myself as I brushed through it with a comb. Your hair is a bit of a darker brown… Maybe that's it? I thought still trying to find out why I looked off. I grab my makeup bag and put on some foundation, then concealer, and then wipe it all off. Something was still off! Yet I couldn't put my finger on it… 

Restart.

Something inside my head said, “Restart.” But why… I look at my face, and although I hadn't fully wiped off the makeup… It was off my face… I guess you just weren't paying attention I said to myself as I stared at my face. I decided finally to just put on some mascara. I grabbed my laptop and placed it in my backpack (which was full of paper and unfinished assignments). I put the strap over one shoulder, and start walking down the stairs. I got to the end and waved goodbye to my dad as I left our house. 

I traveled down the street passing by my neighbor's houses, and finally ending up in front of our school bus stop. I almost sat down on the bench, but as my fingers brushed its watery surface, I stopped and, with a sigh, stood back up. I waited for a while and as the bus came into view, I smiled, happy that it was finally here. 

I got on the bus and walked towards the back. I sat down, grabbed my phone out of my backpack, and put in my white earbuds. I played my playlist and looked outside, waiting for some of my friends to get on the bus. I must have zoned out at some point because I felt someone tap my shoulder. I jumped looked behind me and saw my best friend, Hannah. 

“Geez! Hannah, you scared me!” I said, a bit mad that she scared me. Hannah laughed at me obviously amused by how scared I got. “Sorry! I was standing there for a while, and you hadn't noticed me.” She said still laughing a bit. 

“Sit down… You don't want the bus driver to get mad again.” I scooted closer to the window and Hannah sat down next to me as I placed my earbuds back into their case. I looked out the window and watched as the trees passed by. We then stopped and picked up my other best friend, Julia. She walks over, and her bracelets kept making that clicking sound… Well... I don't know how to explain it, but if you've heard it, you know what it sounds like. She stops at the seat behind us and sits down. She looks over into our seats. “Boo!” Julia yelled causing me to jump yet again. “Geez! The both of you! What is it with scaring me today?” Julia rolled her eyes and started talking to us. I don't remember half of it though… That was so long ago… 

Soon we got to school, and we headed off to class. I must have looked sad, or tired, because Julia and Hanna asked me if I was okay. “Y-yeah… Just a bit tired…” I said, “I didn't get any sleep last night, our English homework kept me up…” I looked down. “Oooooh,” Julia said mimicking some ghost, “English homework, how scary!” I smack her on the shoulder playfully. “Hey! It's not funny…” Julia grabbed her shoulder, dramatically pretending it hurt. I stopped in front of my classroom and waved goodbye to Hannah and Julia. 

As I sat down in my seat, I almost fell asleep; I guess I was just that tired. I sat and watched my teacher. She was reviewing our worksheet, but soon we started taking notes. I started to write it down, but since it was math, so of course she had to ask questions. I had just started on the question when she called on me to answer the question. I told her that I hadn't finished, and she told me to just work it out on the board. With a sigh, I got out of my desk and made my way to the whiteboard. I started doing the work and when I finished, I stepped out of the way to show everyone my answer. Then my teacher said, “Do we agree?” and almost in unison everyone said “No!” My face had gone red. It did this often, most of the time it was random, but not this time… I was so embarrassed… I wanted the world to swallow me whole as I felt all their eyes on me… I could almost hear their thoughts… “She's so dumb!” or, “Can't she do better?” 

Restart.

There it was again! That voice… Saying “Restart” it's back! I look up and hear my teacher call on me I look up and see the same question on the board. How odd… I think to myself as I get up to the board and start to work it out. This time I got a different answer. The right answer. I stepped to the side again, and the teacher asked, “Do we agree?” this time most people said “Yes!” with some people saying “No” mixed in. 

Next class was almost the same as Math, except I didn't get called on this time. I mostly just sat down and watched and wrote notes. 

Then came lunch. I walked over from Social Studies to the cafeteria, and I sat down at my normal table. Soon Hannah, and Julia sat down next to me. “So, how was class?” Hannah asked. “I don't remember half of it…” I said tiredly, “I was just too tired…” Julia jumped in as soon as I finished talking, “I got to sit next to Soda!” “Soda?!” Hannah asked excitedly. “Yeah!” Julia said. 

For some background knowledge, Soda (aka Jeremy) is Julia’s crush. They are friends, and she gets really excited whenever she gets near him or talks to him. She also always informs us even if he just looks at her. 

Hannah and Julia seemed very excited, even if it wasn't that exciting. They both looked at me, and Hannah slides over next to me “Sooo, ———, do you like anyone?” I looked up. What did she call me? “Sorry, what?” I asked. “Do you like anyone?” She repeated, this time slower. I don’t know if she knows what she said before…. Whatever, it’s nothing to worry about… “No…” I said hesitantly. I don’t know why… My mind wandered over to a guy…. I shook my head, trying not to think about it. They both looked at me. “So, who’s the lucky guy?” Julia asked teasingly. “N-no one! I don’t like anyone…” I said defensively. Hannah looked at Julia “She totally likes someone,” she said. “Yeah,” Julia responded nodding. “Do not!” I answered back. Julia rolled her eyes and looked at me, “Yeah right!” I looked down at my food. After a moment of silence Hannah spoke up, “Anyways, what did you do in art?” Julia started talking all about what she did, and what she made. But all I could think of was how embarrassed I was… Soon everyone got up, and it was time for us to go. 

Soon school ended, and I started heading home. I stopped at the bus stop and waited for the bus again. It felt like forever, as I was just waiting, and waiting. Then the bus came through. I got on, and seeing as Hannah and Julia were carpooling that day, I decided to sit down and listen to music. I sat there for a while and rested my head on my backpack. After I rested for a little while I left end my head slowly and looked at the time. 

…

It. Hadn’t. Changed. 

I rubbed my eyes and looked back at the time, then out the window. Some how, we were on the road, but all the trees kept repeating… That’s when I noticed a voice in my head saying Restart. Restart. Restart. It kept repeating and repeating. So, I tried thinking of something else. That helped a little, and the bus was moving a bit farther before it repeated, but it still restarted… I tried even harder to make it stop… then after what felt like hours, the bus stopped restarting. I went home. Finally. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the bus pulling up to my stop and gathered my things. I was the only one who was getting off, not like there was anyone else anyway. 

I walked over to my house and looked around. Everything felt oddly still… Usually, birds were chirping when I got home, but now it was only silence… It was so… So creepy… But when I got to my front door, I could hear laughing and my dog barking, so I knew that nothing bad had happened. I opened the door and saw my sister Amelia playing with the dog. She was 5 years old at the time, so she must have gotten home from school a couple of hours earlier than I did. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I decided to go to my room and see if I could finally answer the question for my English homework, but when I smelled the fresh tamales, my parents had just made in the microwave I stopped and pulled up a chair at the table. My mom placed the plate of tamales in the center, and Amelia sat next to me. I grabbed 2 tamales and ate them, they were a bit hot, but I didn’t mind. They were amazing. 

I get into my room, grab my laptop from out of my backpack, and pull up my English homework. I stared at the blinking line as it taunted me, reminding me that I still had no idea how to write it. I stared at it for a little while longer before shutting it yet again. I took a shower and got dressed for bed, before laying in my bed, and finally getting a good night’s rest. 

As I closed my eyes, I heard a voice in the back of my mind say Restart.

[pdxbeerandmystery]

I will not lie, the marketing alone was just about enough to hook me. Even if it weren't for the HalloweenMonsterCreepyGhoulishBloody draw, a phlebotomist lives in our household and its always hilarious to torement them with vampire esoterica.

However, when I was a toddler, my father inhaled the powdered sugar off of a powdered sugar donut and choked so badly that he ended up in the ER. Retrospectively, as an adult working at a hospital, it seems more likely that he triggered himself into an asthmatic attack, rather than "nearly died choking to death on a powdered donut." He did have to take antibiotics. If you asked him, it was because "the powdered sugar in my lungs caused pneumonia." If you asked my mother, it was because "the doctor just wanted him to shut up and leave."

Regardless, donuts coated in powdered sugar (really ALL powdered sugar, but especially the donuts) were forbidden in our home as I was growing up. Of course, the first thing my sisters and I did when we were old enough to be out on our own was try a powder sugar donut. (It might have been the 2nd. We also rented The Exorcist and Rosemary's baby and Frankenhooker.) Powder sugar donuts turned out to be a let down; rather bland and just...blase. (As was Rosemary's Baby. The Exorcist was ok, at the very least from a film history point of view. Frankenhooker was pretty good.)

The point is, I guess, I would have purchased the things for pure effect (even though I don't particularly like them), because I don't particularly belive powdered sugar donuts can kill you (any worse than any other food you might choke on), except that the way they were regarded in my childhood left me with a Very Bad Feeling, regarding powdered sugar donuts: a sort of general uneasiness whenever they are in the vicinity. It just seems best to avoid bringing them into the home and knocking on wood and throwing salt over your shoulder and avoiding cracks and so forth.

By the way, if you are shopping for a phlebotomist, the fact that they are vampire ***Os*** is hilarious.

[buzzerbeaterbin]

My original relationship with protein started as a too-much-of-a-good-thing-is-bad-for-you type deal (most americans overeat period, including protein) due to mindless eating behaviors and then the instant gratification from buffet-style dining halls in college. I overcorrected for this during my stint with uncompromising veganism, leading me to experience a host of maladaptive symptoms (a story on its own for another time) and recognizing that I should probably do something about that, and then I met a very careless personal trainer who told me that I would not, in fact, ever be able to accomplish my muscle mass goals as a vegan. I promptly ate my first bite of salmon in over a year that afternoon, which was the beginning of the end of whatever sort of metabolic regulation my body had maintained up until then (rip). My post-grad year in Ithaca was a long year of on-and-off veganism until I finally realized my gut microbiome had put its foot down to violently tell me that it doesn't like animal protein. I say all of this to illustrate the extremes that I had put myself through over the past few years. This past post bac year was definitely more stable in this regard, sure, but much worse in other ways, so who's to say that it was a W in the grand scheme of things?

I resisted protein powder for the longest time, more than anything else. Because I've always been in constant flux with nourishing my body enough or too much, I never found a regular way to incorporate it into my diet. This and, more significantly, the mental gymnastics I had to perform; the way people glorified this extremely processed product in the name of fitness always rang a bit paradoxical to me. The vegan diet dogma taught me many things, good and bad, but one of the good was that humans are mostly meant to consume whole foods - all of the fiber, starch, and micronutrients that are packaged alongside the fleshy, chewy highlights of, for example, a single kernel of corn, as opposed to just its sugar molecules that are granted an engineered shortcut to our brain (looking at HFCS). I had ingrained in my head that practicing balance and variety would sort most things out naturally, and to betray that principle with a mysterious powder often accused of heavy metal contamination definitely came with mental barriers. On top of that, THE SHIT ALWAYS TASTED AWFUL. There is a lot of sacrifice and discipline that comes with the process of improving your fitness, but goddamn, taking away the joy of eating feels criminal and like a slippery slope to some disordered eating, which plenty of "fit people" have problems with anyway.

I still stand by these criticisms. In an ideal world, everybody would be handed the perfect variation of fruits and vegetables and legumes and spices that comes with not too much but also not too little protein composition, which they would choose to cook up at their leisure by listening to their finely-tuned hunger cues and anabolic windows, set by efficient metabolic systems and pristine hormonal regulation. In this world, everyone would agree with my criticisms and nobody would bat an eye at the at-times-questionable food science invention that is protein powder. But over the years I've truly sat with the pressure that humans are facing in their every day lives - impossibly paced schedules that require us to compensate for sleep deprivation with caffeine and for-profit food systems that pump out cheaply-produced junk with empty calories, just to name a few. My luxury when studying nutrition for the first time in 2020 was existing as a student in a socioeconomic bracket that allowed me to practically live in this ideal world until the world began to open up again slowly. Today, three years later, I've practically flipped the circumstances by pursuing arguably one of the most demanding career paths I possibly could have chosen. My nutrition will on many days be completely out of my hands, along with most things. I guess for the time being, a processed powder incorporated into my regular routine gives me the reassurance that, at the very least, I'm hitting my macros for the day. One less thing to think about.

I was shocked to find out that the one I finally settled on was nearly unanimously hated for how bad it tastes, when I thought for once, it tasted like normal food with no weird ass aftertaste. I try to drink a protein shake once a day using the naked pea - i love it because it's void of the classic sugar alternatives/preservatives that a lot of other powders have. I'm not necessarily opposed to consuming such things in moderation but given that in a good week I'm drinking this every day, I thought it was important to keep it as natural as possible. Although there is some discrepancy because of their sodium levels apparently due to their filtration process or something similar...will have to look into that more when I have more bandwidth. Based on what I know as of now, it's the most cost efficient, natural, and best tasting (clearly subjective) option in the market today. When I drink it with just milk and 2 scoops of PB2, it's vaguely similar to the misugaru latte, a drink my grandma used to make for me when I was a weeee little baby still living in buff. Perhaps this nostalgic touch is just enough to let me tolerate an otherwise admittedly bitter flavor (though honestly, I'd prefer this than ghost which might taste better but has just as much sugar as a candy bar. If I wanted proteinless calories - which I often do - I would much rather commit to indulging and just eat the candy bar).

I'm hoping to regulate my eating schedule a little bit more by the time school starts so I don't have to really think about it during the inevitably busy days to come and so I can fit in these extra grams of protein on a daily basis. I've often felt too full this summer to squeeze in a drink - which, with everything ideally included, ends being 300 calories - pretty heavy and filling considering 1 cup of fruit juice is ~100 and already feels like too much sometimes after a satiating meal. It's too soon to tell if's had any impact on my athletic performance/progress, so tbd :)

[biglisbonnews]

How a Groundbreaking Pastry Chef Bakes Outside the Lines THIS ARTICLE IS ADAPTED FROM THE JANUARY 15, 2022, EDITION OF GASTRO OBSCURA’S FAVORITE THINGS NEWSLETTER. YOU CAN SIGN UP HERE. Toward the tail-end of the 19th century, American cake baking took a giant leap forward. The invention of chemical leaveners such as baking powder and in-home ovens meant that fancy cakes were no longer exclusively for those with full-time servants. No one knows who came up with the American layer cake, but these buttercream-crowned tiers quickly spread across the nation.Although these cakes were decidedly different from their European counterparts, American bakers still tended to look across the Atlantic for cues. French patisserie was often seen as the gold standard of the genre, while fruit-and-nut-studded English “puddings” and rich German and Austrian baked goods made their way over through immigrant communities. Patisserie has never been static. A glance at cookbooks over the decades shows bakers adapting to economic crises, wartime rationing, and the meteoric rise of Betty Crocker. Yet for generations, the archetypical American cake looked like the kind of stately tower seen on the covers of Gourmet magazine. Don’t get me wrong: I love these as much as anyone. But there’s a whole world of desserts out there. One of the most exciting shifts in patisserie in recent years is seeing American bakers drawing inspiration from all over the globe. An American cake these days could as easily be flavored with ube or pandan as chocolate or vanilla, and bakers are just as likely to emulate a Hong Kong bakery’s mille-crêpe as a Parisian bakery’s gâteau. Natasha Pickowicz has a long history of baking outside the lines. The three-time James Beard Award nominee has dabbled with ingredients ranging from worm salt to sunchokes in her innovative, thoroughly delicious desserts.Prior to the pandemic, she was the pastry chef at Flora Bar and Altro Paradiso in New York. Since then, she’s become known for the ongoing pop-up series Never Ending Taste as well as her community bake sales, which have raised tens of thousands of dollars for Planned Parenthood and other organizations. And while she’s tackled all sorts of pastry, it’s her layer cakes that have been turning heads and dropping jaws. The confections—which often come garnished with a garden’s worth of flowers and foliage—bear minimal resemblance to traditional American layer cakes. Rather, they feel like a new evolutionary step.I spoke with Pickowicz about her upcoming book, More Than Cake: 100 Baking Recipes Built for Pleasure and Community, and the beauty of different baking traditions. Here is our conversation, which has been edited for length and clarity. Q&A With Natasha Pickowicz First of all, I just want to say congratulations on the book. Could you tell me a bit about it? Thank you so much. Obviously it was an incredible amount of work, a total labor of love. I developed all the recipes. I styled every single photo. My mom illustrated the book. I feel like the images are so fun and personal because I shot them in the home I grew up in. And I feel like the recipes really work because I tested them in my little kitchen in Brooklyn instead of in a fancy restaurant with fancy tools. What do you hope readers take away from this? I'm hoping that my love of pastry and process and technique really speaks to people. I'm somebody who didn't go to culinary school. I'm mostly self-taught.I'm thinking about [baking] from a different perspective. I don't know how to make a sugar rose, but I think that cakes with more natural decorations, like the plants around us, are actually a more beautiful aesthetic choice, to me.At its heart, this book is really about why I'm baking and how closely it's tied to my relationship with grassroots activism. It’s about how baking is a skill set a person can develop as a way of giving back to their community. Your cake aesthetic is so distinctive. How did you start developing it? When I first started working at Altro Paradiso in SoHo, I spent months and months developing my tiramisu recipe. The way that I make the tiramisu sort of is the whole basis for how I make layer cakes, which is not-too-thick cake layers that are evenly mixed and matched with creamy fillings. The cakes are saturated with another layer of flavor, similar to how a tiramisu is enhanced by a coffee soak. I'm thinking about building layers of flavor and moisture.[In this book], you won’t really see American-style layer cakes, where maybe it's a butter-based cake with three-inch-thick layers with a big separation of buttercream in between. Those are great things. That's not what this is about.I'm constantly reiterating this idea that these thinner cake layers that are super moist and have flavor built into them are all designed to be delicious on the palate. Pulling your fork through a slice of cake when you get those even, creamy cake layers is just one of the best sensations. I'm trying to design cakes that are not overly ambitious, but give you that sort of sense of satisfaction. As someone used to working with very high-level professional bakers, what is your process like trying to translate some of that for home cooks? I think that we have so much to learn as home bakers from how things get done in these sort of higher-production settings and the way that professional bakers work in restaurants—not just how organized your workspace is, but just the way that your work is built for replication and consistency. It's very reassuring to know that if you make this one thing, it will come out the same every single time. It's up to you as the baker to decide if and when you want to make any changes along the way. Your parents have lived in Hong Kong and Singapore, and you’ve spent significant time over there. Could you talk a little about your experience with bakeries throughout the Chinese diaspora? I'm not a historian and not an expert on this, so I don't want anything I say to be the definitive take on a really huge tradition of baking. But I think what I noticed when I would go to visit [my parents in Singapore] is that a lot of these pastry and baking traditions are partially a result of centuries of colonization. You're seeing Western techniques that are coming into East Asian countries. In places like Hong Kong, specifically, where there was British colonialist rule for so long, they're bringing with them traditions of making shortcrust with butter or making eggy custards. And those things get remixed endlessly. In Singapore, it's not just Chinese influences and Western influences. There, you're really seeing such a mash-up of this deep diversity. If you just go to a hawker market, you could have Malay food, Indian, Taiwanese, Cantonese—it goes on and on. [Singapore] is really one of the craziest eating countries I've ever been to in my life. It's so much fun being there. With baking specifically, I think a lot of those pastries that we think of when we think of Chinese bakeries are really like that because of that interplay with the colonialist influence. Here in New York, I think what's really interesting for me to see are how the children of immigrant parents are reinterpreting traditions—not just for an American palate, but it's like this distinctly Gen-Z palate, too. And there's so many interesting ideas that get expressed by younger people who really see these traditions not as precious, but as a way to pay homage to culture by playing around with it or subverting it or reinterpreting it for your context in your situation. Are there any particular spots in New York that stand out to you in this way? Wenwen and Bonnie's obviously are such hot spots here in New York right now, but I think it's exactly for those reasons. I think that people are excited by the presentation of culture through this different, younger generation. It just feels so fresh and energizing. I love Kopitiam, too. They do a great kaya toast, which is an example of that British colonialist presence [in Southeast Asia] and how they're bringing together custard and milk bread, but in this totally different way. How has this kind of cross-cultural hybridization influenced your work? I did this pop up at Golden Diner [in Chinatown]. We worked on this super fun menu for the weekend after Thanksgiving. So I had my version of Thanksgiving pie, but it was with a red azuki bean filling. This is a texture or presentation that feels distinctly Western or American, but you taste it, and there's Chinese five-spice powder, there's condensed milk, there's brown butter, and there's red bean. It tastes like the inside of a red bean sesame ball. That sounds delicious. Do you think we’re going to see more of these kinds of mash-ups in the future? I think as it becomes easier to buy and get these kinds of ingredients outside of just a Chinese grocery store, whether it's a specialty oil or a cool seed or spice, you're going to see people playing around more with these ideas and making them their own.And I think that's really cool. I think that the most interesting thing about recipes and food culture is how these things change and adapt and how we're discussing and sharing the stories and the context that makes that happen. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/natasha-pickowicz-cookbook