abiteofthecoastatdecoys

[clown-around-and-find-out]

moodboard of shit i constantly quote which results in nobody ever knowing what the hell im talking about

[luveline]

I can definitely see a steddie x reader where reader is just enjoying their banter bc she thinks they’re being adorable and Steve is annoyed and Eddie is just being cheeky

Reader would definitely be just smitten about it, in all honesty-

“You’re not doing it right, Steve.” 

“Am too.” 

“You are not, babe.” 

Eddie sounds so genuine, like he truly cares that Steve’s not doing it right, but you can tell he’s messing with him. It’s in his smile. He sees you noticing him and puts a finger over his lips. 

“You owe me,” you mouth. 

“What did I do wrong?” Steve asks, agitated already. 

“You have to press the plastic down,” Eddie says, stepping behind Steve where your boyfriend tries to grate a head of broccoli using the food processor. “This bit. Babe–”

“Stop with the babe, you’re patronising me.” 

“That is not true.” Eddie takes him by the hip, reaching around him to shove the hand guard down onto Steve’s broccoli. 

“You’re seriously patronising me.” 

Eddie talks close to Steve’s ear. “Now why would I do that, Steve?” 

Steve smiles but pushes him away. “Get off of me, I can do it. Go irritate Y/N.” 

“I’m just trying to help,” Eddie says. 

“You’re not, you’re trying to make me mad.” 

“Is it working?” 

Eddie dives away from his shove and ends up hanging on you instead, arms slotting over your shoulders, warm and relaxed as he turns his flirting to you. “What’s the damage?” 

“He figured you out pretty quickly. No charge this time.” 

“How generous.” He sounds as warm as he feels, leaning in to draw a line on your cheek with his nose. “Think he’ll take the bait again?” 

“Aw, don’t,” you laugh, though really you want him to. Steve is a good looking guy and it’s worse when he’s playing mad, he gets loud and his brows draw together, darkening the honeyed brown of his eyes to a more shadowy colour that you adore. “He’s just trying to make dinner for us. He’s so nice.” 

“I’ll make it up to him,” he promises, kissing your cheek. 

Eddie once again approaches Steve, this time with a softer disposition, like he might be giving him a kiss. Steve lets Eddie touch his arm, lets Eddie wraps his fingers around his wrist and press a cheek to the top of his shoulder. 

“Don’t try and say sorry now,” Steve warns. Then, after a few seconds, he wraps an arm behind Eddie's shoulder to rub his arm roughly. It’s fond and annoyed at once. 

“I’m just trying to help.” 

“I know how to use the blender.” 

They sound in love. It makes you laugh, one because it’s nice to see, you love them too, and two because Eddie’s messing him around again. 

Steve looks back at you suspiciously. 

“I know you know how to use it, I’m just trying to help,” Eddie says. 

“Are you?” 

“Sometimes you get kind of stubborn.” He encourages Steve’s face back to his with a kind hand. Steve sticks his tongue in his cheek as Eddie tucks a lock of stray hair behind his ear. “You know, on account of you being extremely stubborn,” Eddie whispers. 

Steve rolls his eyes and shrugs away from him. “I’m used to being right. You know, on account of you being an idiot.” 

“Don’t act like that.” 

Steve lets Eddie link their pinky fingers together, even as they continue to argue about the blender. Feeling a little left out, you slide off of your barstool at the island and sidle up on Steve’s other side. 

“What are you doing?” you ask. “Broccoli and cheese?” 

“Uh-huh. Don’t know why I bother,” Steve side eyes Eddie, the one out of the three of you who loves broccoli and cheese soup more than breathing. “He’s making it more difficult than it’s worth.” 

“It’s gonna be done at bed time if you keep taking so long.” 

“Don’t start on me too.,” Steve says, though he leans in for a kiss soon after. 

Eddie tries to high five you behind his shoulders. You grab his hand and wrap it around Steve’s shoulders, who then tries to sweep you both in for a hug, assuming an Eddie style apology, and regardless of all the teasing he’s endured. 

“I don’t wanna cook anymore,” Steve mumbles. 

Eddie feels sorry, then, and tries to kiss his neck. 

You pinch him. “Let’s just order takeout.” 

[revelboo]

can I just say how much I love! your!! writing!!! I wasn’t really a Starscream or Bluestreak fan before because I have a tunnel vision on Bumblebee but stumbling upon your account made me adore them so much!! I like how neat your writing style is even though you make it as bullet points because I’m usually not fond with bullet points style, however! Something about how you focus on the description and “show not tell” the most is sooo tasty idk how to describe it. Thank you for your wonderful writings 😔🙏💕

Thank you! The bullet points were mostly a way to clearly demarcate a view point shift since these are snippets rather than anything fully fleshed out. Normally, I’d only head hop every other chapter in a paranormal romance manuscript, but that wouldn’t work here.

Also: Pleasure to Meet You by Motion City Soundtrack is my theme for this fic

Everything is Alright pt 34

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Watching you walk over to your stash of human things on his desk, a little more tension eases. Everything right again, even though he’s fully aware of how fragile it is. That worry still there eating at him, a dark tide just waiting to crash down on him. But not at this moment. You offer him a little smile as you drape that old cleaning cloth he first gave you about your shoulders. Like a ghost, Soundwave’s disdainful ‘inadequate’ floats through his processor.

• Somehow going back with Starscream feels more like reality than going home to your actual life had. Like everything else was a dream, less real than this. Because this has become home. Well, not quite if you’re being honest. It’s not this place at all. It’s him and it’s a curious new feeling, fragile. Breathing in the scent of him from your blanket, something settles inside you and you look up as he runs a big hand over his helm, wings fidgeting. “After my rotation, we’ll refuel together,” he says, optics flicking to your dwindling supply of stolen junk food. It’s not a request to share a meal, but a certainty that you will do this. You smile anyway.

• “I’d like that.” You’re smiling at him, happy to be near him. Glad to see him and it almost hurts, a bittersweet ache that he’d almost given this away. Let you slip out of his hands. Reaching down, he runs the tip of a servo over your soft cheek, the touch lingering as you reach up to lay a hand on him. Such a small thing, but it means more than you can ever realize. It takes an effort of will to break that contact instead of curling his servos around you and bringing you to cradle against him.

• There’s an impulse to call out after him when he leaves, and your fingers fist in your blanket to keep yourself still. To not run to the edge of the desk and reach out. He’s not leaving you again. You know it, but that jangling uncertainty is still there. That he might leave and not return.

• You’re back. Soundwave hesitates, feeling that now familiar tangle of emotion at the back of his processor. When you’d just disappeared from his awareness, he’d assumed Starscream had accidentally killed you. It had always been a possibility with the Seeker’s temper. Thought that you were just gone and that loss has twisted about his spark, because as frustrating as the chaos of your mind is, he’s gotten to where it’s familiar. Always just there at the back of his processor, a warm presence he can’t shut out like music softly playing. He’s pushing up from his desk, aware of his cassettes looking up in surprise.

• When the door slides open, you stand up expecting Starscream, but it’s Soundwave. His helm turns, visor flaring slightly as he spots you and strides over. Head tipping back as he reaches a huge hand for you, almost not noticing the faint tremble as his servos curl around you and he lays his other palm on the desk, big frame bowing over you. Silent aside from the ragged sound of him venting. One of his servos slides against your neck over your pulse, but otherwise he’s still aside from that strange shivering. You lay your palms on his hand, staring at that unreadable, hidden face. Had he been worried about you? That fragile feeling you don’t dare examine too closely stirs as you wish you weren’t so very small so you could wrap your arms around him. Around them both, because they’re yours. And it’s worth fighting for.

Previous Next

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

Long-Distance date/bonding ideas I've learned while making it work with my femme

Streamed Movie Night: Discord has a function that let's you stream video and gaming alike! I'd recommend Nitro because otherwise stream quality is gonna SUCK (and you need to do some weird fiddling to get services like Netflix to work) but you can enjoy movie night with your boo

Tabletop Simulator: If you both have about $20, and a computer with even a low budget graphics processor, this program is invaluable. The base games are neat but the real trove is in the Steam Workshop. Mod makers upload hundreds of boardgames from Catan to Azul to outright heavy ones like D&D and Warhammer. My femme and I now have a weekly boardgame night (she actively challenges me at strategy games and it makes me so happy to have a partner that does 🥰)

Coffee shop dates: Go to a place where the shop has wifi (or you have a really good data plan with your phone), pop your headphones in, and just video call. I promise you, there will be more people there who find it sweet than those who find it weird.

Spotify Jam Sessions: I don't know about other music apps, but we both have spotify and it now has a function that let's you invite others to a shared listening session. Music is really important to both my femme and myself, and the ability for us to literally listen at the same time and talk about the music is truly quite lovely.

Parallel crafting time: Admittedly, I'm Neurodivergent as hell, and parallel play baseline is big for me. But pop on a videocall and make some crafts together. Bonus points if you get similar materials and share what you've made together

Call every night: no seriously, even if you both are busy the entire day and can't talk, call for at least a half hour or so to round your day off. That lack of certain forms of intimacy means you need to be really on top of other forms. On top of affirming love for one another. If you're trying to make long distance work long term, calling to just. Be with eachother is so important.

Schedule Time: As an extension of the above, just because you're calling every day, doesn't mean ensuring you have dedicated time for eachother isn't important. I'm talking like. An afternoon/evening once a week type thing. Be together for a long period of time while you can't be physically together.

Technology has honestly made what I always thought impossible for myself feel possible. The advent of videocalling my femme every day helps so much of the potential pitfalls that could have happened, and the best part is its more or less free (I pay for discord nitro but I digress). Don't get me wrong I'm having my hard days still. The inability to hold her when I want to take care of her is particularly bad. I show care and love through things like physical touch and food so much. But getting creative, and being consistent have really made this feel possible and sustainable until we get to the "next stages" bridge.

If you have ideas you found fun/helpful please toss em in the replies, tags, etc. Always open to more date ideas with my girl 💕

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

The Mango (The Surprise, Part 13)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, innuendo, implied sex, periods, mostly just fluff, reader taking care of Emily because our girl deserves it Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Emily comes back from a hard week in the field and you treat her in all the ways you can possibly think of. Because she's baby girl and she deserves to be taken care of.

Week 23: The Mango

In both your personal and professional life, you were a wildly independent person. Self-sufficient, dedicated, proud of the work you did and how hard you’d worked to get where you were. You were nobody’s doormat, nobody’s housekeeper, nobody’s mom.

If anyone else you knew, especially men, asked you to cook for them or do their laundry or take care of them in any way, you would have been personally affronted. You would have said, “You’re a fucking grown-up, do it yourself. I’m not your mom.” And you’d mean it.

So it embarrassed you a bit that, with Emily, you acted like a full-blown ‘50s-style housewife and you loved it. Not all the time, of course. But enough of the time that you couldn’t just brush it off. Dinner on the table when she got home? Your pleasure. Packing her lunch? A joy. Doing the laundry and making sure she always had a second go-bag packed and ready in case there was a quick turnaround on cases? You lived for that shit, especially when you hid little notes in the pockets that said things like:

I love you (so does little mango)!

We miss you! <3!

So proud of you for saving lives and kicking criminal ass! P.S. It’s hot. ;)

The bottom line? You were down bad for Emily. You had been from the moment she’d asked you out and all the years since. But after you’d gotten pregnant, your roles had switched a bit. Emily had always taken care of you well, but in the last few months she'd taken over significantly more of the household tasks since you were often tired and achy. You ordered takeout more often than you cooked (Emily had tried, but after her third time setting off the fire alarm you’d said, “You know what, babe, why don’t we just order out?”).

You missed taking care of Emily. God knows, she wouldn’t let anybody else do it. So when she’d called you from the jet to let you know she was on her way home after a grueling week in the field–made even more grueling by the fact that she was on her period–you set out to treat Emily right. To treat her in all the ways you used to treat her before you got pregnant, in all the ways that Emily deserved to be treated and so rarely let herself be.

You had groceries delivered to make her favorite meal, and when the little Find My dot that was Emily showed up at Quantico and started making its way back to DC, you ran her a bath–water scalding so it’d be nice and hot when she came in, fragrant with lavender Epsom salts. You lit candles, turned the bathroom lights low, even put her favorite hoodie and sweatpants and a fluffy towel in the dryer so they’d be toasty and warm when she got out of the bath.

You started on dinner, playing Emily’s favorite Salah Ragab record on the turntable. The food processor growled as it worked overtime to blend a homemade hummus, complete with your secret ingredient: a splash of aquafaba. You chopped parsley and mint for fattoush, made a marinade for the chicken flavored with all the spices Emily loved so much from her childhood years in Oman and Egypt, sumac and cardamom and coriander and all the others that you ordered online from a specialty Middle Eastern spice seller.

Your oven shawarma wasn’t as good as shawarma from a spit in Cairo, but it was about as close as you could get at home, and Emily loved it. And you made a damn good fattoush and hummus. You sliced cucumbers and tomatoes, whipped together a quick yogurt sauce.

You’d just put the chicken and veggies in the oven and were starting on the cream cheese filling for the stuffed dates when you heard the door open and shut.

“In the kitchen!” you called, hands sticky from slicing the dates.

Emily looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, her blazer rumpled from a long day of travel. But her face lit up when she saw you.

“Do I smell… shawarma?!” she asked, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your neck, her hands resting protectively over your baby bump.

“Mmhm.” You grinned, feeling Emily’s body melt into yours, the tension in her muscles already dissipating.

“What’s the occasion?” She turned you around, so she could lean her arms on your shoulders, running her fingers through your hair.

You shrugged. “Can’t a girl just want to treat her wife?”

“She sure can.” Emily smiled and leaned in to press her lips softly to yours. You held your hands out at your sides so you wouldn’t be tempted to press them into Emily’s clothes or skin.

Emily pulled away, watching you lovingly as you sliced and mixed and stirred.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, lowering herself into a chair and wincing slightly.

“In the kitchen!?” You scoffed. “Absolutely not. There’s a bath ready for you, so go relax for a bit.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aw, honey. That’s so sweet of you.” She grabbed your hips again, once again turning you away from the counter so she could press you against it in a hungry kiss.

You giggled and swatted at her with a dish towel. “Go before the water gets cold!”

“Care to join?” she asked suggestively, pulling lightly at the waistband of your shorts.

You smirked, gently grasping her fingers and moving them away. “I have to finish dessert.”

Emily walked toward the bathroom like a scolded puppy, looking back with big eyes. “I can think of something else I’d rather have for dessert,” she commented, eyebrows raised.

You waved her off, blushing furiously. “Get out of here, you dork! Go take your bath!”

“I thought we were treating me tonight!” Emily called from the bathroom.

“That’s an after-dinner treat, honey,” you yelled back. “I’ve got shit to do first.”

“Fine! But I’m gonna hold you to that!”

You shook your head, grinning, as you spooned cream cheese filling into the halved dates, pressing them into a mixture of crushed pistachios and rose petals. God, you loved your wife.

When the dates were plated, the bulgur in the fattoush soaked through, the pita warmed, and the chicken covered in foil and resting on the counter, you washed your hands and went to find Emily, grabbing her comfy clothes and towel from the dryer.

You heart surged when you found her still in the tub, eyes closed, face relaxed. This is what your girl deserved. You leaned down to kiss her on the forehead.

“You alright, honey?” you asked, trying to squat down next to the tub, but ending up on your knees thanks to the baby.

She hummed in affirmation, keeping her eyes closed. “Thank you so much for this, baby,” she mumbled quietly.

“Anytime, love.” You watched her for a few more minutes, then set the stack of warm clothes on the bathroom counter. “There’s a warm towel and some PJs here for you,” you said, struggling to get to your feet.

“You good?” Emily chuckled, watching you out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.” When you finally managed to make it to your feet, you had beads of sweat on your forehead. It wasn’t even that your belly was that heavy yet, it was that it threw off your center of gravity and made moving from one position to another awkward. “Get dried off when you're ready,” you told her. “I’ll get dinner on the table.”

You were proud of the spread when you stood and surveyed it. Shawarma chicken straight from the oven, spiced and heavenly-smelling. Warm pita bread and a swirl of smooth, creamy hummus with just a bit of paprika and olive oil on top. A lovely, vibrant fattoush, sliced cucumbers, juicy tomatoes. A little plate of stuffed dates, popping with green and pink from the pistachios and rose petals.

Emily walked in, hair wet around her shoulders, blotching her sweatshirt. You pulled her chair out for her but, before she sat down, she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in for a hug. She smelled like lavender and fresh laundry, and you breathed her in, holding her close.

You could tell by the way she lingered there, by the way she breathed easier with her body pressed against yours, that Emily would need a lot of touch tonight. Not just in a sexual way, though Emily’s sex drive was always through the roof on her period. You could tell that tonight, Emily would let you hold her, that she’d curl herself around you tightly, possessively, as if to cover the most that she possibly could of your surface area.

In other words, she needed comfort. And she didn't get it from anyone else, not really. It had taken her a long time to even ask for it from you, to seek it out. So when she did, you were always more than happy to oblige. More than happy to hold clingy, sweet, needy Emily for as long as she needed.

She whined a bit when you pulled away, and you kissed her cheek, playing with her fingers.

“You’ve got to eat something, love. Then I promise I will not let you go for the rest of the night.”

She sat obediently, squeezing your hand, and piled her plate with all the things you’d made, eyes rolling back in her head when she swiped a finger through the hummus and put it in her mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she gushed. “I swear your hummus tastes just like my friend Zainab’s mom’s from when I lived in Oman.”

“It’s the specialty spices,” you shrugged, taking a bite of pita with shawarma and veggies.

“No, I think it’s the special person making it,” Emily cheesed, beaming at you.

You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, you’re getting it tonight.”

“I certainly hope so.”

When your plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked safely into the fridge, you led Emily to the bedroom, pulling back the covers for her, tucking her in.

“You know these are just gonna get untucked, right?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Shh,” you scolded. “Let me take care of you.”

You crawled into bed next to Emily, drawing her body into yours, holding her gently as you pressed your lips to hers. She melted into the kiss, already breathless.

You brushed her hair out of her face, placing your hand gently on her lower stomach. “How are your cramps?” you asked. “You want any medicine or anything?”

“The only medicine I need is you,” she said, guiding your hand lower.

You chuckled. “Alright, Romeo. Calm down.” You lowered your face to her neck, planting kisses all across her shoulder and collarbone. “I told you I’d take care of you, and I will.”

Emily held your face gently in her hands, looking deep into your eyes. “Why are you so good to me?” she whispered.

You pecked her on the lips. “Because I love you. And you deserve good things.”

And with that, you started your long, slow journey across the topography of Emily’s body, ready and willing to give her every good thing you possibly could.

[double-u-qed]

early birthday post! i wanted to write something relatively fluffy involving hot rod vaguely within the g1 cartoon universe. full story under the cut.

Title: Sleep Well, Little Star

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Hot Rod, Arcee, Springer, Kup, Ultra Magnus

Tags: Team as Family, Found Family, Food Insecurity, Injuries, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Infection, Fever

Summary:

Still, if there’s one thing Hot Rod is determined to hold onto for the rest of this war, it’s his hope. Like a kindling ember, he grasps it between his servos and feeds it nothing but love, love, love and wishful thoughts, lacing the two together until they’re indistinguishable. Until he’s positively smothered by its warmth. Anger will do nothing but diminish its flame, so if he has to choose a role, he will gladly play the fool.

FULL:

His leg is busted. There’s no way around it – it’s bent at an all sorts of wrong angle, twinging badly as he grapples with the crumbling wall, knee locked up and shaking. The landslide of fallen debris was to blame, a piece of what had once been a building falling on the limb in his rush to escape. Smashed it real good, it did. He can see things he hadn’t even known were inside him, a trail of energon following behind.

But it’s not… that bad? All things considered; it could be worse. He can still sorta move it – just barely enough to shuffle around awkwardly, but nonetheless; it’s progress. It’s been a few orns and he’s managed to make it to a new city at least, as unrecognizable as it is. Not that he would be able to identify it even if it wasn’t in ruins; he’s never known a time where every place didn’t look unremarkable and desolate. The only indicator that this isn’t the same city he’d previously been holed up in is the fact there weren’t any buildings for a while before he got here.

It was just his luck that his injury would start to get worse the moment he stepped foot in someplace new. It was just his luck to be injured at all, really, without a proper medkit to at least clean out the area. Infection was likely, but again – he’s been through and has seen much worse, so he’ll gladly take a busted leg over the other options. Such as being dead. Being dead would be very bad and painful, and he’s never been the best at sucking it up and working through pain.

Now successfully upright without a wall collapsing this time, Hot Rod gives himself a little smile of triumph before it eases back into a grimace. That… that exerted more energy than it should have – he can feel it twisting in his near-empty tanks, all coiled tight. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation, but he’s fresh-out of what limited rations he managed to scavenge from the last wreckage. He doesn’t need a mirror to know he’s grown out of his features a bit, either, his hunger turning in on itself. At most, he’s got a few solar cycles before he falls into stasis.

(He tries to ignore the smears of dried energon next to his shaky servo; tries to ignore the lightless optics racing through his processor every time he shutters his own).

Energon is going to be a problem. If he does find any, there’s a high risk of it being spoiled, or a trap. Decepticons were just bad like that, leaving cubes out as bait for the lone, wandering souls left on Cybertron. They didn’t care that they were practically starving out their own flesh and blood. Their greed wasn’t one of pure survivalist instinct; it was something far more sinister.

Hot Rod cycles in air and lets it out slowly, shifting more of his weight to his good ped, cautiously letting go of the wall he’d been using as a crutch. When he doesn’t immediately fall to the ground, he takes a few unsteady steps forward, internally cringing at the sound of metal scraping across metal. He doesn’t – well, it would be a lie to say he doesn’t feel any pain from the movement, but it’s bearable enough to keep going.

So he does.

It’s a mindless, automatic thing to him by now; crouching down in piles of rubble and sorting through the mess, bit by bit. Almost all of the paint has been scratched clean off his servos, what little remaining being a pallid, sickly sort of hue. His spoilers don’t even so much as twitch at the harsh, cold air that blows by. None of this is new.

Bitter, selfish anger wants to take what little control he has. It wants to be ugly and loud, claiming unfairness and spouting nothing but hatred at the world.

But it won’t do him any good. It never has, really. His anger won’t be anything more than a droplet lost in the sea. And it isn’t like he has it all bad, even if he’s alone in his plight. He’s still alive, for one thing, and not everyone can say the same. He’s alive and relatively well. The dull, ravenous ache of hunger is a sign that he’s alive. It’s the lack of feeling you have to look out for.

“Ah.”

He pauses, digits locked around the metal beam he’s lifted up. His optics cycle, loud in the otherwise silence. It’s a small emergency ration, just sitting there – the kind that soldiers often carry. It’s the brittle, tasteless kind. The kind that’s like paste and dust simultaneously in your intake once it’s chewed, suffocating if you don’t have something better to help wash it down.

He swallows it all before he can think twice of it.

It doesn’t satiate the hunger, not by a long shot – but it does make it ease its grip a bit, tension draining from his frame with a content sigh. It makes it a bit easier to focus as well, the edges of his visual feedback less fuzzy and dark. He hadn’t even realized it had gotten this bad.

Like a king upon his throne, Hot Rod leans back a bit, rubble helping him sit upright. It’s not very wise to leave himself vulnerable and open like this. It isn’t, but he figures he deserves at least this much. Just for a bit. Just a moment to himself to relax and take in the fact that the hardest part of the day should be over and done with for now.

The sky is alight with small, twinkling stars watching down on him from afar. He wonders what else they’ve seen, the stars. He hopes it’s not all bad, that they’ve seen some pretty things, too. A foolish thought, considering he knows what he’s seeing is already long gone. Gone and no longer there, just an afterimage phantom of company.

Still, if there’s one thing Hot Rod is determined to hold onto for the rest of this war, it’s his hope. Like a kindling ember, he grasps it between his servos and feeds it nothing but love, love, love and wishful thoughts, lacing the two together until they’re indistinguishable. Until he’s positively smothered by its warmth. Anger will do nothing but diminish its flame, so if he has to choose a role, he will gladly play the fool.

…

He doesn’t remember falling into recharge, but it must have happened at some point. His optics are no longer trained up towards the sky, but to the ground. Flakes of rust – gold, red, and stained with blue, purple and blue – fall in specks across his vision, floating through the air.

It’s still, but it isn’t silent. He’s not really sure what it is, but something has changed.

He’s on his side. He doesn’t remember rolling over onto his side, but he’s definitely on his side. Hm.

He thinks… he thinks he should get up. That would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?

But the ground’s so warm and he’s so tired. Everything feels heavier than he remembers, his optics sluggishly shuttering open and close. The very thought of moving is rather tiresome and not very appealing. Moving means leaving this warmth. Moving means facing reality. Something sharp is prodding into his side, but he pays it little mind. He’s in no danger.

No danger to be seen, although he gets the feeling he’s forgetting about something. Something important. Something that could be dangerous, if forgotten. But he’s dropped it somewhere in the branching trails of his mind. He’s lost it and doesn’t know where to look. The fog that’s taken up space there has devoured it, leaving him stranded. It’s hard to think over the whirring loudness all around.

His head has been tossed into the ocean, bobbing up and down just to stay afloat. It pulls him to-and-fro, all dizzy and lost to its rhythm. Any idea he has gets swept up in the tide, the rough edges wearing down.

He’s been laying here for a while, hasn’t he? That’s no good. He should get up. Get up, and…

He’s not really sure what comes after that.

His face scrunches up as he tries to recall what happened. Why is he on his side? It’s uncomfortable sleeping like this, with his spoiler and all. He doesn’t usually sleep like this. It leaves his back exposed as well, and he hates that.

It’d been hot last night for once (was that last night?). That single fact itches and nags at something in his processor. It irritates it, the whirring sound getting louder and louder. Maybe that’s why he’s down in the discarded metal. It’s cool down here, down in the metal. Down, down, down, down from the sky and up.

He feels like a star, burning hot from the inside out. He’s fallen and he’s burning, that’s why it all hurts. He’s not where he’s supposed to be. The metal here doesn’t feel of home, twisted and biting like the jaws of a turbofox. He used to feed them back home, and they would always nip at him, drawing energon. They’d all their friends over to laugh at him with a high-pitched yip.

He doesn’t like it when that happens. They always leave soon after.

The world spins and spins as Hot Rod tries to get up, if only to stop the biting. He doesn’t want to bleed – that would be bad. Would it? He thinks it would be. Because then… something bad would happen. Something even more bad.

If only he could put together the disconnected pieces. They’re right there, nearly in his grasp, yet he only clutches air.

His optics and vents all stutter as one as he finally manages to get himself sitting up, a harsh pounding erupting in his head. It’s not like the hunger, but it’s close in the way it ebbs and flows, coming and going. It’s a bit easier to think like this, the tidbits of memory a little bit closer with every firework of pain.

He-

Gunfire is the first thing he manages to process before he’s taking cover.

Fever – that’s what this is. It’s so obvious now, alertness leaving his body feeling cold as he struggles to pick up the lost bits of his mind. He’s out in the open in Decepticon territory with an infection settled in his busted ped, because why wouldn’t he be? His luck may have kept him alive this long, but it sure seemed to be against him at the worst of times.

The sounds of war are so near and loud and devouring, and he – he can’t think. He can’t think over the feeling of his body deciding he’s an intruder, working against him. He can’t think over the hunger that’s had enough of being prisoner, clawing at the walls of its enclosure. Can’t think over the memories in his own head as the distinct sounds of blasters carry on.

The sounds ricochet from opposing sides, yells carrying through the dark. He can’t tell how many people there are over the chaos and his overclocked fans, but he knows that there’s more than one group fighting. Fighting and…

The bit of energon in his tanks churn.

Then, it’s over.

Over isn’t a good sign, typically. But curiosity has always been in his nature, making him peek out from the slight cover he managed to squeeze himself behind.

There are three – four? It looks like four figures there, just mere silhouettes in the cloud of dust. Four threats that he has no chance of eliminating, he thinks with pain and panic bleeding together as one.

 

If they notice him, it could easily be the end.

Hot Rod doesn’t want to die. It sounds childish to his own audials and mind, but he doesn’t want to die. His hope is simple and a bit like a sparkling kicking up a fuss, banging their fists against the floor. He just doesn’t want to die and extinguish that bit of hope he took such care tending to. It’s all he has left.

Stilling his very being, leaving what he can only hope is no trace of his existence, he observes the figures for a moment. One of them is massive, a hulking figure leering over the others. Their commander, maybe? Definitely trained in combat, with the way they carry themselves.

They’re searching for something. Supplies? Other bots? It’s hard to know, their intent unclear.

The chances of them walking over here are depressingly high. And all he can do is pick up a jagged piece of metal and brandish it in front of him. Hands shaky. Air cycling much too quickly. Optics losing focus. Haze threatening to pull him under.

They’re getting closer – each fall of their peds into the metal ground is like the tolling of the bell. Ice inhabits his lines, from spark to processor. He presses himself close to the wall, something like resignation being his intrusive, unwanted companion.

He can feel the probing, probing eyes. He can hear them get closer. His grip on his makeshift weapon tightens as he maneuvers himself with a last intake of air.

He twists. He swings. He-

‘Arcee, no!”

The shout startles him, his peds tripping over each other and his weapon easily tumbling down from his loose grasp. It all happens so fast. He’s falling again, again. Falling and hitting the cool metal, frigid against his overheating systems.

He thinks he hears a hiss as someone presses their weight upon him, immobilizing him against the floor. Maybe they’ll let go? Maybe? Now that they know he’s no threat, not anymore. He can barely stand, sick as he is. He’s no threat.

Then the weight is suddenly gone, servos brushing gently against his helm. There’s noise. Some odd noise.

Words. They’re words. They’re speaking to him.

His optics online to see a worn, worried face staring back at him, trying to pull him into a sitting position. It’s so use, though – Hot Rod’s systems have gotten comfortable in the lull they’ve found themselves in, powering down into nothing more than a murmur.

“Is he alright?”

Two pairs of optics shine brightly over the shoulder of the mech inspecting him. Static makes it unclear what they look like, but he gets the feeling they might be young. Young like himself, maybe. Impossibly young in war.

A small laugh makes its way past his lips, hitching into something incomprehensible as the older mech takes a step back. He says something over his shoulder to the others, his hand never leaving Hot Rod. He can’t tell if it’s unwanted or not. His processor is still stuck on the idea of this being the end.

“He’s got an infection from what I can tell. He’ll need to be taken back with us to properly recover.”

No, no – leaving wouldn’t be good. Others had tried that already; it never lasted long. People came and went similar to the hunger, their absence felt just as much as their presence.

Hot Rod’s meant to stay here where his biggest worry is his own aching head and the burn of his own optimism.

But these mechanisms – they don’t seem to get it, heaving him up as if he weighed nothing more than a sparkling. A steady, comforting hand that he can’t help but lean into soothes his aching frame.

His captor, who may not be a captor at all, shushes him gently. “It’s alright now, sweetspark. It’ll be okay now.”

Oh… it’s not just him clinging on with hope. It’s not just him stringing together pretty words that are capable of both harm and good.

He never knew someone else’s hope could be this warm.

Being on the road with Hot Rod has taught Arcee many things. Some of them aren’t that surprising, nor does she have the luxury of saying that she hasn’t ever observed them before. His quirks are all too common in other bots since the war, but that doesn’t make it any less painful to bear.

Place a cube in front of him, and he’ll freeze. Grow ever so still in a way that’s uncharacteristic of him. Then he’ll stare at the cube, almost as if he doesn’t really think it’s there. Next is the snatching. A rather crude word, but an appropriate one. He’ll snatch it real close to himself, no matter how natural he tries to make the action seem. It’s a wounded, instinctual motion – common in wildlife.

As bright as his optics will be, aflame with something downright predatory, he’ll never scarf it down. He’ll sip it carefully and in rotation almost. Too much could make it a waste, after all.

He subspaces his cubes often as well, rationing out any bits he can’t finish. Anything he comes across is similarly stored for later, his face carefully blank as he does so.

But he doesn’t have to, is the thing – rations haven’t been as hard to come by as the Autobots from Earth have thwarted plan after plan. It’s better now.

When she says as much to Hot Rod, he just stares at her, not saying a thing. It’s always up to Arcee to awkwardly change the subject, with Hot Rod all too eager to smile and follow through.

Kup’s smile is something bitter whenever she brings this up with him. The old mech can only rub soothing circles into her palm as he tells her there are many burdens they’ll forever carry with them. Her kindness is appreciated, but it’ll take more than love to make it all believable.

Ultra Magnus—who was perhaps the first to take to Hot Rod, fussing over him despite wanting his elaborate image of someone more firm—always says something similar, but she doesn’t miss the way he deliberately makes their youngest member’s portion a little bit bigger than theirs.

Neither mech ever mentions it, but it’s clear it’s appreciated in the way Hot Rod will duck his head a bit, contemplative.

It gets her thinking. It gets her and Springer thinking. It’s been a long, long time since they first picked up Hot Rod, and everything and nothing has changed. The war doesn’t seem like it’ll end any time soon, forcing their hands into fighting more often than not.

It’s all Hot Rod has ever known, but there used to be a time for other things. Celebrations and good fortune.

And a cause for such frivolities is just about upon them.

Hot Rod isn’t sure when he first notices it, but something strange has been going on. It’s not exactly a big thing, only being noticeable in the smaller details you have to really search for.

Springer and Arcee have been talking on their own a lot lately. Nothing strange, but their optics are always deliberately away from him when he enters the room, as if they don’t want him to know they’ve been talking about him. It’s a forced kind of silence. Maybe even a guilty one.

Try as he might, he can’t think of anything he’s done to make them angry. He tries to make a habit of apologizing immediately the moment he realizes he’s stepped out of line. He can be hot-headed, words often tumbling out without his control, the irritated side of him making his rationale take a backseat.

But he wants to be good. This is the longest he’s ever stayed with someone, and he- he needs to stay… He doesn’t think he would survive going back to the stifling quiet of loneliness where it’s hard to remind himself what functioning involves.

Every compliment from Kup fans the fires of hope. Every teasing remark from Arcee makes him feel seen and wanted. Springer’s habit of joining in and inviting him to play games brings him a joy he lost somewhere along the way. And Ultra Magnus’s patience and willingness to teach him means more to him than the other could possibly ever know.

He feels like he belongs.

So why?

What did he do that was so bad?

Unease has his heart in a death grip as he paces his room of their temporary base, trying and failing to summon an answer for this odd alienation. Even Kup and Ultra Magnus have added to this uncomfortable feeling.

He doesn’t like being ignored. He doesn’t like being turned away. He doesn’t like being dismissed.

There’s only so much a small flame can take before it’s gone.

He needs to confront this problem head-on. He needs to understand so he won’t do it ever again. He’ll leave if he has to. He won’t want to, but…

Mind made up; he leaves his room. The others are likely to be in the common room where they have all their monitors strewn up.

As he gets closer to the room, he feels himself faltering, hesitating. The lights are off. The lights are almost never off, except for when they have to hide themselves in case of an enemy being near. They can’t afford to be caught unaware, scrambling for a weapon in the dark.

“What’s going—”

A flash of light is his only warning as shouts of, “surprise!” cut through the quiet. A jolt of alarm zaps through him, his optics resetting and cycling to take in the sight of Springer and Arcee standing by a table full of all sorts of energon goods, Kup and Magnus smiling at him brightly.

It’s weird. Very weird.

“What’s… happening?” he asks, feeling sorely out of the loop.

It’s Arcee who answers him, beaming in a way he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “It’s the anniversary of you joining up with us!” she explains, her servos already interlocking around his wrists as she eagerly guides him over to the table. She shoves a plate into his hands, stacking it high. “We don’t know exactly how long it’s been, but we did remember the date! It’s just… been too chaotic to celebrate it, you know? But it’s been calm lately, so…”

She shrugs, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “We just wanted to surprise you, I guess.”

He hears her, but his attention is still fixed on the plate in his hands. There’s… a lot of food here. Most of it pastries he’s never seen before. It’s no doubt all delicious, but-

“This is… for me? The- the weird behavior, the whispers, the glances? They were all because of this?”

His voice is a bit reedy and laced with static. He can’t help it; he’s at a loss and overwhelmed. Overwhelmed but full of love, love, love. Burning love that makes him giddy and shaky, a vulnerable smile on his face as he continues to eye the energon sweets before him. He can’t even remember the last time he had the chance to eat anything just for fun.

A large servo clamps down on his shoulder. It’s Magnus, his optics practically swimming with adoration as he encourages Hot Rod to begin eating. “Of course,” he says, words just as full of care. “It’s always good to indulge yourself here and there. I’m – we’re all happy to call you on of us, you know.”

And Hot Rod does. He’s blanketed by that fact, his head and spark full of sheer gratitude as he spends the night surrounded by the people that mean everything to him.

[dragon-in-the-woods]

Considering how Starscream cloned himself and now Orbit has a ton more older brothers (and an older sister).

Skywarp was told to babysit but he's worried that Orbit might be too sticky and ruin his finish- kids are usually like that, right? Orbit wants to play with his airplane and truck toys but Skywarp is concerned that he'll hurt himself. Orbit wants to get energon ice cream but there's always a possibility, however small, of an Autobot attempted to poison them both. Skywarp manages to make him lunch and his afternoon snack but he nearly panics when the baby food is poisoned purple!- oh wait, that's just the color of the energon. Orbit wants to nap together but what if Skywarp rolls over and hurts him?? Skywarp means well and loves his baby brother but he needs someone else there to manage his anxiety.

Thundercracker thinks he's too good for babysitting- until he sees those green doe eyes then yeah, he totally meant he'd babysit right away! He's better at babysitting than anyone else! He gets huffy when Orbit beats him in a simple "baby" game but is remedied when he gets a bit too into playing with his toys. Soon Orbit is coloring on his coloring book while Thundercracker is still playing with the toys- well, he claims he's using it for battle planning! Yeah, that works. He's also the best cook out of everyone, yeah!! It doesn't take much effort to put energon formula into a bottle or stir the mixture into baby food, but Thundercracker takes the ease as a sign of his superiority. Orbit likes it too and purrs while napping on his chest later. (Thundercracker is many things but he'll admit that Orbit is the best at being his cute baby brother.)

Sunstorm is absolutely fawning over the chance to babysit the adorable Orbit. He's cooing at and praising Orbit for any slight move. He cuddles Orbit for the absolutely amazing pictures he drew him. He is astounded by Orbit's excellent taste in cartoons. (That Spongebob guy seems familiar...) He admires how Orbit can easily figure out little puzzles Megatron left for him to stimulate his growing yet intelligent processor. He is amazed that Orbit manages to eat his entire lunch without getting too messy. He purrs and chitters excitedly when Orbit climbs onto his lap for a nap. Soon the pair are purring loudly while napping until the great and powerful Megatron gets home.

Dirge and Thrust get to babysit together- wondrous. They quickly start squabbling while Orbit takes the opportunity of not being supervised and gets up to mischief. Dirge starts hoarding toys while Thrust gets upset that Dirge grabbed the exact horse toy he wanted!! Orbit shows them how to dress Barbies and now the clones are practically duking it out over who made the best outfit on their respective Barbie- Thrust complains because Dirge took all the "cool" options. The kitchen is a mess because someone threw a formula bottle at the other while Orbit got into the fridge and ate an entire pack of yogurt. Megatron sets them straight and makes them clean the house while he gives Orbit a bath. Two stars because at least Orbit is alive and didn't get injured.

Slipstream is hesitant to babysit, but she soon settles in. Orbit is a calm kid and cute. She mostly lets the kid do his thing while she watches. But soon Orbit wants attention and she relents, coloring with him and playing with him. She tries to get him to play a more structured game- but he's just a baby, after all, and is soon sticking the chess pieces in his mouth. Slipstream relents and cuddles him on her lap while giving him his afternoon bottle. She's not at all a motherly type but she's decent, at least. She's distant but warming up to the adorable sparkling.

...Ramjet gets in trouble for telling Orbit that he's adopted.

[timetraveltasting]

FARTS OF PORTINGALE (c. 1597)

Yes, farts. No, not that kind. I cooked another historical dish from Tasting History this weekend: Farts of Portingale, meatballs that were likely eaten during intermissions of Shakespeare's plays in 16th Century England, recipe c. 1597. See Max's video on how to make it here (and to find out why they are called farts!) or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from the Youtube description of the video.

My experience making it:

I made a couple changes from the recipe below: I used lamb instead of mutton, I omitted the currants (I worried that using both dates and currants would make the dish too sweet, like Sweet Measure!), and I added some peppercorn gravy, because Max mentions that they may have added sauces to it, but we're not entirely sure, and I think meatballs in general usually go well with a sauce.

The process of making it was a little pain-staking, but only because I couldn't source any minced lamb, and as a result, I had to 'mince' it myself by making fine cuts with my knife (I don't have a food processor or blender). Otherwise, the recipe would probably take only 20 minutes to make, but it took me about 2 hours of mostly mincing! The farts, once balled up, stayed together pretty well while boiling, only losing a couple pieces of dates from their outsides. Despite being boiled, the farts developed a nice outer coating similar to frying, like Max mentioned. I was super happy that they turned out well and looked very similar to Max's, minus the lack of currants.

My experience tasting it:

My husband and I tried one meatball without gravy in order to see how they taste on their own first. Max describes Farts of Portingale as having a slightly Christmas-y taste; mine had only hints of a Christmas-y taste, likely from the cloves. The seasoning was lovely and unlike anything I've tasted before, but reminiscent of a pot-roast-style seasoning. The lamb was a little on the chewy side, but I suppose this could be due to my sub-par mincing skills. I will probably try making this with beef mince next time so that I won't have to mince it myself.

We then poured our peppercorn gravy over the farts. This made all the difference! The farts' seasoning really came alive, the dates inside them balanced out the peppercorn gravy perfectly, and the heat of the mace really came out as we continued eating. This gravy doesn't normal linger with spice, but the mace from the farts definitely did. My husband and I both loved the dish and will definitely make it again - I've added it to my recipe book. Next time, I will definitely use beef mince though, turning this into a nice, quick weeknight dinner option. Definitely our favourite recipe so far. If you end up making it, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Links to harder-to-find ingredients:

Currants

Mace

Clove

Dates

Farts of Portingale original recipe (c. 1597)

Sourced from The Good Huswife’s Handmaide for the Kitchen by Thomas Dawson

How to Make Farts of Portingale Take a peece of a leg of mutton, mince it smal and season it with cloues, mace pepper and salt, and dates minced with currans: then roll it into round rolles, and so into little balles, and so boyle them in a little beefe broth and so serve them foorth.

Modern Recipe

Based on the adaptation from The Past Is A Foreign Pantry and Max Miller's version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1 lb (450g) leg of mutton or lamb

⅛ tsp cloves

½ tsp mace

½ tsp black pepper

1 tsp salt

⅓ cup (60g) dates

⅓ cup (60g) currants

1 quart (1 L) unsalted beef stock

Method:

Mince the mutton or lamb as fine as possible (almost ground). Then mix in the spices, dates, and currants and form into balls about the size of a golfball.

Heat the beef stock to boiling and drop in the balls. Boil for 6-7 minutes, then remove with a slotted spoon and allow to cool.

Serve them forth.

[little-svt]

GENDER-NEUTRAL | FLUFF

Wc: 1.1k+

Taglist: @pastel-princess-please @kiki-woo @fishsquishh

Say So

Rarely did you meet with a little Joshua, and even rarer it was that you caught a glimpse of him any younger than big kid age. But he’d been pretending not to watch you as you began prepping for dinner, pouting to himself from the living room as he was faced with the unfortunate reality of being small.

Joshua loved to cook. He’d like to think he was quite good at it. Maybe not the best in the group (he let Mingyu take that title) but definitely better than Jeonghan. So even as a little, he was hurt when you’d left him to play with his toys instead of letting him cook with you like you usually did together. Who needed toys?! Not him!

“Hey, honey. What are you doing??, you ask, running your fingers over the knife handles as you decided which one would be best for chopping. Joshua usually did that. When you were met with silence, you looked up to see the poutiest Shua you’d ever seen. It seemed that each time you’d turned your back, him and his toys found their way a little close until he ‘played’ just on the border between the kitchen and the living room, just close enough to peek at you over the countertop from his spot on the floor.

Your boyfriend was one of the most patient people you’d ever know. You’d met his friends, he had to be, being one of the oldest Hyungs. Even when he did feel small, which wasn’t all the time, he was a big boy. Gentle, sweet (occasionally mischievous) and patient as ever. But being smaller than normal, all his patience had flown out the window.

“Hey, little mister. What’s the matter? You don’t even have your blankie?”, this was usually met with him insisting he didn’t need it, claiming he wasn’t little and the subject being dropped but he only inched toward the counter, avoiding eye contact and clenching his fists so small.

“Can I help?”, he whispered shyly though he knew well enough you’d never say ‘no’ if you could help it.

“Baby, you know knives and hot stoves are much too dangerous for even big boys like you.”, you sighed and set the knife on the counter, taking a kitchen cloth and wiping off your hands. Before he could turn away and fumble with his toys dejectedly, defeated, you smiled and patted the stool next to you. With a little Bambi smile, he hopped on the chair and put his hands in his lap, waiting for you to give him direction with brightly shining eyes.

“Okay! What do we like a lot of in our food, Jisoo??”, you quizzed him, opening the cupboard and pulling out an empty jar. Thinking for a moment he tried to peek over your shoulder for a hint.

“Hmmm…”, he vocalized, looking around the kitchen to see if the said ingredient was around him instead. Then, he spotted the small, white, papery bulbs that were always sure to take spotlight in his favorite dishes.

“Garlic??”, he asked hopefully, leaning forward to take it into his hands.

“Garlic!”, you scrunched your nose at him playfully with a smile as you set a food processor on the counter. It had already been decided that a knife would find no place in your little Shua’s hands so the food processor was the next best thing. Eyeing it curiously he pieced together the picture and held out the bulbs to you questioningly.

“Can you peel them for me?”

He always liked to feel useful so the simple task of peeling the garlic would keep him contentedly busy while you did the grown-up parts of cooking. After checking on your pots cooking on the stove you brought Shua in front of you and guided his hands with yours around the jar.

“Okay. Press down real hard!”, you instructed him, helping him crush the garlic, “this one’s ready to peel. You got it, Chef Joshie?”

Giggling, he nodded and worked to carefully peel the garlic, setting it in the shallow bowl you’d set out for him before he looked at you, ready for the next one. Seven cloves of garlic later he watched as you put the jar in the sink and brought a familiar contraption onto the center of the counter.

“Remember what this is called, baby? It’s gonna help you cut up all the garlic for us so you don’t have to touch any sharp knives.”, you watched him think on it with an adoring gaze as you plugged it in, taking the top off so it would be ready.

“Hmm…”, he tapped his cheek in thought. If you could have just gobbled him up right then and there you just might have solely based on the cuteness of his thinking pout. “Food muncher?? Cuz it munches food…? But it doesn’t eat it…”

Holding yourself together, you didn’t want to laugh at him, he did have the right idea. Questioning himself, he was sure that couldn’t be right. It was a bigger word that was just too hard for him to remember.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember how to say it, bunny. It’s called a ‘Food Processor’. But you’re kinda right. It does munch it all up doesn’t it?”, you grinned, pinching playfully at his sides just to hear his little giggles.

“Stop it!”, he squeaked, immediately embarrassed about the sound that had come out of his mouth as if it was anything other than purely adorable.

“Okay, okay. Are you ready? Get your garlic, Shua.”, you got the lid ready, you didn’t want him putting his little fingers anywhere near the blades. Nodding, he lifted his bowl of garlic and carefully poured it all in, looking to you for further direction.

“Good job, bunny. See this button here?”, you asked, pointing to a specific button and letting him hold his finger over it, “when you press this, it’s gonna chop it all up for us. Got it?”

“Got it!”

“Okay, start!”, you encouraged him. Once he pressed the button, he flinched a little at the noise but with your hand on his back he continued, looking between you and the garlic that was definitely well minced, always waiting for your say so.

“All done?”, he asked, almost disappointed.

“All done.”, you smiled, fluffing his hair, “how about you help me stir, Chef Joshua? And I need my expert taste tester, don’t I?”

It didn’t take much to cheer him up and make him feel needed, he never said it but a few words could mean so much more than Joshua ever let on. And a little one like him, definitely needed your guidance, affection and affirmation. Thankfully you’d gotten some experience in the subject of little Joshua.

“And after, why don’t we get started on dessert?”

🧸Endnote: OK SCREW IT I CANT WAIT EVEN A FEW HOURS LONGER TO POST 🤭 I love bareface Joshua so we are utilizing these shots (Hoshi isn’t there (love you Hoshi)) Joshua’s love language seems to be giving gifts, touch and nicknames (like his Hannie) but his receiving is definitely words of affirmation. Sweet boy. ~ 🐶🐰🍓

🧸Masterlist🧸

[paig-does-it]

lets play in the food processor together

original post:

[threewaysdivided]

Chocolate Sapote Pie

Hey 3WD, why are you making a vegan, gluten-free, no-processed-sugar dessert?  Well, you see, I have friends with many, many allergies and felt like a challenge.

This recipe is an experiment with Black Sapote (also called Chocolate Pudding Fruit) – a seasonal persimmon relative that’s high in Vitamin C and has a pudding-like flesh with mild chocolate and caramel notes.  While limited availability of Sapotes means it’s not as accessible as something like Chocolate Avocado Pie, it’s a fun thing to play with if you like poking around with the weird fruit section of produce markets (as a bonus, Black Sapotes were selling for $1-2 per fruit both times I visited).

Let's get cooking:

Kitchen equipment

Blender/food processor

Beaters (hand-crank or electric)

20cm (8 inch) springform cake tin

Baking/ Greaseproof paper

Fridge & Oven

Fine mesh sieve (or tea strainer)

Mixing bowls, spatula, knives, spoons etc.

Prep-time

Bench work: approx. 40 minutes

Oven time: approx. 30 minutes

Cooling time: approx. 2-3 hours (minimum)

Coconut cream chill time:  12 hours (minimum)*

*Coconut cream needs to be refrigerated for 12 hours in order to separate properly before whipping.  Put your cream in the fridge the night before.

Ingredients

Pie crust

300g (10.5 Oz) pecans

4 large medjool dates (seeds removed, roughly chopped)

1 tsp salt

4 tbsp (approx. 60g/ 2 Oz) margarine, melted

Filling

2 large, ripe Black Sapotes*

1/2 cup (125mL) cocoa powder

4 large medjool dates (seeds removed, roughly chopped)

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp espresso powder

1 tsp vanilla extract

*Black Sapotes are ripe when the skin has darkened to a dull green-brown and the fruit is very soft to the touch (it will look and feel over-ripe).

Topping

One 400mL (13.5 Fl Oz) can high-quality full-fat coconut cream*

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Approx. 80g (3 Oz) pecans, toasted** and crumbled

Cocoa powder for dusting

*Use a premium quality coconut cream – the difference in price is very small and cheaper creams may not separate properly, which will stop them from whipping up. **Toast pecans by baking in a preheated 140°C/248°F (fan forced) oven for 15-30 minutes until done to your liking. 

Instructions

Pie crust (Inspiration recipe)

Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F (fan forced).

Line the base and sides of the spring form pan with baking paper.  (Try to minimise wrinkles/folds in the paper lining – this will make it easier to remove the crust later.)

Place chopped dates, pecans and salt into a blender.  Blend until the mixture has the texture of breadcrumbs/ almond meal.

Stream in melted margarine and blend until completely combined (crumbs should stick together when pressed)

Press mixture into a firm, even layer across the base and up the sides of the spring form tin, using clean hands or the back of a spoon to smooth down.

Bake for 10-12 minutes or until the crust begins to brown.  (Watch closely after the 8-minute mark to prevent burning).

Remove from oven. If the crust has puffed up, press back down using the back of a spoon. (Tip: use a toothpick or fork to gently pop any large air-pockets in the base.)

Cool on a wire rack or heat-safe cutting board until the crust reaches room temperature.

Filling (Inspiration recipe)

Preheat oven to 180°C/350°F (fan forced).

Cut open the Black Sapotes.  Remove the seeds and scoop/scrape the flesh out with a spoon. (Note: because Black Sapote skin is very thin and soft when ripe, it cannot be traditionally peeled.)

Transfer one quarter of the fruit flesh to a blender, along with the chopped dates.  Process until completely smooth.

Transfer the sweetened sapote mixture into a bowl alongside the remaining sapote flesh.  Mix until completely combined (use your spoon or spatula to break down any lumps or fibers in the fruit flesh).

Fold in the cocoa powder, expresso powder, vanilla and salt until completely combined.  Taste for flavouring and adjust with more cocoa/vanilla/espresso/salt as desired.  (Note:  adding cocoa will increase the bitterness of the filling alongside the chocolate-y flavour.  This can be hard to counteract without adding sugar or blending in more dates so be careful how much you add at once.)

Transfer filling into your pre-prepared pecan crust.  Smooth the top with a spoon or spatula.

Bake for 20 minutes or until the filling is lightly firm to the touch.

Cool completely on a wire rack or heat-safe cutting board, then cover and transfer to the fridge until chilled through.

Cream Topping (Inspiration recipe)

Chill coconut cream for at least 12 hours.

Remove coconut cream from the fridge (Note:  DO NOT Shake).

Use a spoon to scoop out the thick cream that has risen to the top, leaving the watery parts behind.  (The more water is in your cream, the less firmly it will whip).  Transfer the thick cream to a bowl.  (Tip: have an extra jar of chilled cream on hand in case the cream yield from the first tin is low)

Add the vanilla and salt to the cream. Stir through, then taste test and adjust the vanilla/salt as needed. (Note: Like with plain dairy cream, this should taste more neutral than sweet).

Beat your cream, starting on a slow speed.  Gradually increase speed until whipped to thick, semi-stiff peaks. (Tip: if your cream is very soft to start with, try covering and chilling in the refrigerator to help it firm up.)

Remove the chilled sapote tart from the spring form pan. (Optional:  If the sides of your pecan crust are much taller than your filling, you can use a pair of clean, sharp kitchen scissors to trim it down.  Use a clean hand to shield the pie filling from any falling crust-crumbs).

Spoon the whipped cream onto the sapote filling, using the back of the spoon to make decorative swirls.  (Optional: use a piping bag with a decorative nozzle for a fancier top).

Sprinkle the cream with crumbled pecans.  Dust with cocoa powder using a fine sieve or tea-strainer.  (Note: Add the nuts first - otherwise the cocoa powder will prevent them from sticking to the cream, causing them to roll everywhere when the pie is cut).

Return to the fridge until the coconut cream is completely chilled.

Serve.

[thecheekychef]

Polpette di Finocchietto

Polpette di Finocchietto

wild fennel fritters with pecorino

INGREDIENTS

6c. wild fennel fronds, picked from stems, boiled, squeeze-dried

1 large red onion, finely diced

2 eggs

3/4c. breadcrumbs

1/2c. grated pecorino cheese

1/4c. small dried raisins or currants

pinch of peperoncino

1T wild fennel seeds

sea salt and black pepper to taste

3c. vegetable oil to deep fry

PROCESS

Prepping the wild fennel is the most time consuming part of this recipe. Pick the soft fronds for the polpette, and discard the thick tough stems. Wash the greens thoroughly in a salad spinner then blanch in boiling salted water for about 15 minutes until softened. Squeeze all of the water from the wild fennel, blot on paper towels, or place it again into the salad spinner to remove as much moisture as possible. In a small food processor or with a chefs knife, chop the fennel greens finely and place in a large mixing bowl. Add the diced red onion, two eggs, parmigiano cheese, raisins and wild fennel seeds. Season with a pinch of peperoncino red chili flakes, sea salt and black pepper. Mix to combine and add the breadcrumbs as needed to hold it all together. You should be able to form small “meatballs” that are not too sticky but will hold their shape. Continue making your polpettine with the remaining mix.

In a wide sauce pan, heat at least 2-inches of vegetable oil over medium heat. There must be enough oil to deep fry. It will actually help keep them from becoming greasy if you use more oil and allow the food to float. When a small test piece sizzles in the oil, we are ready to fry!

Carefully place enough polpettine into the hot oil so they can float around without being too crowded. This recipe will make about 30 small balls and depending on the size of your pan you can probably fry 10 at at time. When they become a darker shade of green and you can tell by touching them with a metal spider tool that there is a crisp shell, they can be removed. Let the oil drain off over the pan before moving them to a paper-lined tray to blot off and absorb the additional oil. Continue with the next batch and let the polpettine cool slightly on the paper.

Notes from the Chef:

Finocchietto selvatico has a particular savory, earthy, anise or licorice-like flavor that screams “Sicily”. It’s found growing along the side of the road all over the Sicilian countryside during winter and springtime. Wild fennel is most commonly used in the “pasta con le sarde” dish with saffron and sardines. Fennel and wild fennel are different plants, although they come from the same family. Fennel is the more common white bulb that is served raw in salads while the wild fennel is a bright green flowering Mediterranean plant with fluffy fronds, similar to the little sprouts you usually see growing out of the top of a fennel bulb.

So, we all know that everyone loves a meatball! Polpette — or small polpettine in this case, are perfect bite-sized snacks to serve when you have friends coming over and need a little something to nosh on. They are always a hit with the kids as well! Try this simple vegetarian recipe for wild fennel meatballs or feel free to substitute any leafy green like Tuscan kale, frozen spinach or chopped swiss chard if wild fennel greens are not available.

Like most meatballs, there needs to be something added to the mix that will help hold them together. We are using breadcrumbs, grated cheese, and egg to bind them. It could even be made gluten-free with rice/cornflour breadcrumbs. Like many traditional Sicilian recipes, we’re playing with sweet and savory flavors here. The addition of the dried raisins helps to balance the savory and salty notes of the fennel and parmigiano. With a little dash of freshly grated pecorino on top, you’ll have that snowy feeling even if the sun is still shining wherever you may be this winter.

Read the original recipe on MHz Choice network’s website. Photos by Alberta Cuccia. ©2019 MHz Networks and Linda Sarris. All rights reserved. Intended for personal use only. Any unauthorized duplication, distribution or reproduction punishable by law.

[msdebslp]

WTF: Why Does My Child Say “Curse Words” Clearly but Struggle with Other Words?

Why Does My Child Say “Curse Words” Clearly but Struggle with Other Words?

Parents often ask why their child can say a curse word like "fuck" with perfect clarity, but struggles to tell them they had "fun" with their "friends" or describe "food" at mealtime. This often comes down to how the brain handles different types of speech, particularly for children with language processing or motor speech challenges.

Volitional vs. Non-Volitional Speech

Speech can be divided into two categories: volitional and non-volitional

- Non-volitional speech is automatic. It comes out without much conscious effort, often tied to emotions or habit. Think of a time when you stubbed your toe and a curse word slipped out before you even realized it—that’s non-volitional. Children, especially those who process language in chunks or "gestalts," often find it easier to say emotionally charged or familiar phrases because these are learned as whole units.

- Volitional speech on the other hand, requires conscious thought and planning. It’s when your child has to actively think about what they want to say, organize their thoughts, and then motorically produce the words. For example, describing "fun" at school, saying "food is good," or talking about "friends" involves volitional speech.

"Islands of Clear Speech" in Motor Speech Disorders

Children with motor speech disorders are often described as having "islands of clear speech." This refers to moments when they suddenly produce a word or phrase very clearly. This usually happens when they’re using non-volitional speech—automatic, familiar, or emotionally charged words that come out effortlessly. Meanwhile, volitional speech, like saying new or less familiar words, demands more precise motor planning and control, which can be much harder for these children.

Why Curse Words Are Easier

In many cases, curse words are tied to strong emotions like frustration or excitement, which can make them easier to say. These words or phrases are often learned in chunks as a whole, meaning they don’t require the child to break them down into individual sounds or words. This can be especially true for children who are gestalt language processors, who often learn and use language in larger, more automatic pieces before they develop the ability to break down language into smaller, more intentional parts.

The Challenge of "F" Sounds

Words like "fun," "food," and "friends" require more effort for a few reasons. First, they involve volitional speech, meaning your child has to consciously plan and organize their words. Second, these words start with the "f" sound, which requires **articulatory precision**—bringing the lower lip to the upper teeth and controlling airflow. This type of motor control can be tricky, especially when trying to piece together new or less familiar words.

3 Easy Tips for Parents

1. Model short phrases: Use simple, functional phrases like "I had fun" or "food is good" in everyday conversation. This helps your child absorb new gestalts.

2. Use visual cues: Show pictures of food, activities, or friends while labeling them. This reduces the speech load and helps connect language with meaning.

3. Make it natural: Rather than quizzing your child, provide casual opportunities to talk about things they enjoy, like during playtime or mealtime. This reduces pressure and makes practicing language feel fun.

Understanding the difference between volitional and non-volitional speech, along with recognizing how your child processes language, can help guide your approach in supporting their communication skills.

Here are some gestalt phrases for each word that encourage kids to talk about their experiences:

Fun:

1. "That was so much fun!"

2. "I had a great time!"

3. "Let’s do it again!"

4. "That made me so happy!"

5. "I love doing that!"

Friends:

1. "I played with my friend."

2. "We had so much fun together!"

3. "My friend is so nice!"

4. "I like being with my friend."

5. "I want to play with them again!"

Food:

1. "This food is yummy!"

2. "I like this snack."

3. "That tastes so good!"

4. "Can I have more, please?"

5. "This is my favorite!"

These easy-to-use phrases help kids express enjoyment, socialize, and talk about their favorite foods in a way that feels natural and engaging.

[alchemeiters-records]

Welcome to the Alchemeister’s Records

This time, I'll be crafting a dessert loved by all the fairies and their queen: Titania's Spring Circlet Tart.

The White Gold and Amethyst Circlet

Deep within Oberon and Titania's realm, where the fae gather under the moonlight to dance and play, and where no man may enter and return to the mortal world, legends and odes describe a pure white circlet made of gold adorned with deep purple amethysts.

The fairy queen wears it once spring has come; her astonishing beauty and elegance can be compared to no other.

She gathers the admiration of the trees and bushes, prompting them to adorn their branches with white flowers and purple fruit.

This makes them slightly resemble the queen of the forests, letting every inhabitant of her land know that it is yet again the season of beauty, rebirth, and bountifulness.

May all her vassals rejoice in the blessings of her majesty!

First, we will form the crust for our tart. The formula for creating the perfect tart shell, comparable to an earth golem in resistance and appearance, is as follows:

- 20g ground almonds

- 125g cake flour

- 1 tbsp sugar

- 63g cold butter

- 1 tbsp water

Begin by combining the ground almonds, flour, and sugar in a food processor. Run it for a few seconds to combine all the dry ingredients.

Next, add the cold butter and run the processor for a few more seconds until the mixture takes on a yellowish color and forms small chunks resembling the sands of time.

Open the processor, scrape down all the walls and bottom, and run it for another few seconds to ensure all the ingredients are uniformly combined.

Finally, add undine’s pure water and run the processor for 1-2 minutes.

At this stage, if there are abundant undines nearby, the humidity in the environment would cause a clay-like paste to form, making the paste stick together and revolve inside. However, if it does not combine this way, individual clusters of pastry are fine too.

The next step is rolling out the pastry, otherwise known as golem’s clay, to the size of our tart tin. A baking mat with tart-size circles is a perfect tool, though not indispensable.

On a clean working surface, lay down a layer of cling film. Spread a small amount of flour on it, then place the pastry in the center.

In the case we are working with the crumbly variation, take the dough and press it together to form a disk.

With a floured rolling pin, start rolling it out from the center outwards, changing directions periodically. Once it is roughly the desired size, use your hands to push the uneven borders into a circular form as if molding your own destiny.

Then, use the rolling pin to flatten the uneven borders to the necessary size and thickness; 1.5 - 2 mm is optimal.

Once the crust is ready to fit into the tin, flour your rolling pin again to avoid the crust sticking to it while lifting it.

Lift one side of the film, place the rolling pin above the crust, and fold the film as you tuck in the pin with the crust. Slowly peel off the film from the crust and roll away the pin to the middle so it hangs free. Then, peel off the rest of the film.

If the crust breaks while trying to peel it, press it together, roll it out, and try again.

To make the golem’s clay sturdier and break-resistant, you can chill it for a few minutes using Fenrir’s icy breath or by putting it in the fridge before peeling it to harden the butter slightly.

Using your rolling pin and hands, lift the crust over the tin and place it gently into the it.

Once in the tin, use your hands to press down the crust to fit every space and mold it into shape.

Use a fork to make holes in the pastry in the pattern of a magic circle to enhance the flavor and to let air escape and ensure that air pockets won’t form beneath the pastry while baking.

Now it’s time to prepare the cheese filling. The ingredients for the ivory elixir are as follows:

- 300g cream cheese

- 140g sugar

- 130g cream

- 2 eggs

- 1 tsp vanilla essence

In a bowl or electric mixer, combine the cream cheese and sugar. Whisk until fully incorporated and the mixture has a creamy and fluffy consistency.

Add the vanilla essence and cream. Whisk until fully incorporated, then add 1 lightly beaten egg.

Whisk to incorporate, add the remaining egg, stop the mixing, scrape all the sides and bottom of the bowl to ensure there are no lumps left.

Mix one final time on high speed. Once finished, take a spoon or spatula, lift a small amount of the mixture, and let it drop to check the consistency. If it drops slowly running, it’s a success.

Summon a salamander friend to help you preheat the oven or turn it on to 170°C alternatively  gas mark 3.

While our fiery reptile friend warms up the oven, place half the berries in the crust to your preference, leaving space between the berries.

Then, pour in the cream on top, spreading the mixture evenly, and top with more berries.

Once done, shake the tin slightly and tap it gently on the surface of the table to let any air bubbles rise to the surface.

Bake for 30-40 minutes, or until the surface starts to turn golden brown and our salamander friend rejoices in the fragrant aroma.

While the tart is baking, let us transmute a berry-refreshing potion to complement the fairy treat.

The ingredients are;

Berries of choice as desired

2 Tbsp sugar

A splash of water

1 tsp vinegar of choice

In a saucepan, combine the berries, 2 tbsp sugar, and a splash of undine’s water just to cover the bottom of the saucepan.

With a spatula, mix the berries and sugar, bring to a boil over medium heat, then smash the berries with the spatula while boiling.

Add 1 tsp of vinegar of choice to enhance the floral scent carried in the berries by the forest’s blessing.

Once most berries are smashed, the sauce has thickened, and the deep royal red color has appeared. Remove from the heat and let cool until ready to use.

Finally, our delicious fairy dessert is complete. One bite of this Titania’s Spring Circlet Tart will be enough to transport you to the fairy realm for a delightful tea time in the forest with Her Majesty. For more fantastic and delicious meals, please like, reblog and follow. 

Until the next Record, pursue a delicious time with alchemy!

[trendtrackershq]

Opportunities Exploring the Frozen Potato Market: 

Trends, Insights, and Opportunities

Welcome to our latest video where we dive deep into the fascinating world of the frozen potato market!

In this video, we'll uncover the latest trends, insights, and opportunities within the frozen potato industry. From the farm to your freezer, we'll take you on a journey through the entire supply chain, exploring how frozen potatoes make their way from fields to your favorite convenience foods.

Join us as we discuss:

1. The agricultural practices and technologies driving potato cultivation. 

2. Market trends and dynamics shaping the frozen potato industry. 

3. Innovative processing techniques and product developments.

 4. Business opportunities and challenges for stakeholders in the market. 

5. The global landscape of frozen potato consumption and production. 

6. Insights into consumer preferences and demands. 

7. Future projections and potential areas for growth in the industry.

Whether you're a farmer, processor, distributor, retailer, or simply a potato enthusiast, this video has something for everyone interested in the frozen potato market.

Don't miss out on this informative exploration of one of the most versatile and beloved vegetables in the world. Hit that play button and let's dive into the fascinating world of frozen potatoes together!

Remember to like, share, and subscribe to our channel for more insightful content on food and agriculture. Let's stay connected as we continue to explore the ever-evolving landscape of the food industry.

[crazyblondelife]

Fall Comfort Food - Curried Chicken with Coconut Rice

The weather is changing and it’s starting to feel like fall around here! I’m pretty sure it won’t last, but I’m enjoying every second of the beautiful weather we’re having! It’s so nice to eat on the porch and enjoy a leisurely dinner in the evening and my Curried Chicken with Coconut Rice is a fabulous dish to serve when there’s a chill in the air (or anytime really).

When I tell you that I make coconut rice at least once a week, I’m really not kidding! We love it with absolutely everything and I rarely make rice any other way because this rice is the best and it’s so good with Curried Chicken.

This recipe comes together quickly with very few ingredients, so make your rice in advance and put this together right before serving! Don’t be tempted to leave out the ginger because it’s such an important flavor in this dish and the longer you let it marinate, the better it will be! You can certainly play around with the amount of ginger you use (I like a lot) because everyone’s taste buds are different! Anyway you make it, these flavors are so good together so be sure to make extra for leftovers. I came home last night and was going to have a small bowl for dinner and it was completely gone except for a tiny bit of rice! Baldy ate four chicken thighs…I guess he like it but I was a little miffed!

It’s a bonus that this dish is so pretty when it’s plated, making it perfect to serve for a dinner party, special occasion or to make weeknight dinner special. Food should be a feast for the senses…

Add a squeeze of lime juice at the end to bring out the flavors in the curry!

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Rosé is a great wine to serve with rich flavors and it went very well with this dish. You could also serve a more fruity Sauvignon Blanc or a Merlot.

Growing up, we didn’t eat very adventurously at all…the food my mom cooked was delicious, but there was a lot of repetition. When my children were younger, we did have some things on repeat (like my homemade pesto), but I loved to try new dishes and introduce them to new flavors. Today, this curry doesn’t seem very much out of the box, but it would have been very unexpected to have been served this as a child! Just an observation as I was writing this post…

I’ve had the serving platter pictured for a long time and have no idea where it came from. The small brown bowls are from Haand Ceramics and are called rice bowls. I love these bowls because they fit perfectly in your hands and are great for eating by the fire! Use code CRAZYBLONDELIFE to receive 15% off your order from Haand! These hand made pieces make perfect holiday gifts!

Life has been a little chaotic with a new baby on the way and my baby daughter and her family right down the road in Columbia SC. I don’t anticipate things calming down going into the holidays! Life is good and I am busier than I ever thought I would be at 60! I’m really trying to get my blog posts out as often as possible, but hang in there with me…I’ll get into a rhythm soon! Thanks so much for reading today and I hope you make this recipe!