#only egg casserole

[somepancakeonline5377]

Confession when I was in elementary I used to think “honestly they have something going on” and I still think that. Do yall fw this ship or nah?

[enby-with-2-hats]

it's 4:51 am and I can't sleep because the quiche my friend made fucked up my stomach :(

[hells-wasabii]

How would each of the Hell characters(Hotel group, Lucifer, Overlords, Vees) do while cooking entirely on their own? Can be platonic or romantic, whichever you want

A/N: So I know I said 2, but the other one isn’t ready yet I’m still writing it. It’s gonna be pretty big too since it’s that velvette part 2. But I had to get my cat spayed today so I’ve been super busy all day keeping her out of trouble and from hurting herself :/ but anywho, enjoy!

Characters: All that I write for

Type: Hesdcanons (hazbin cast cooking headcanons)

Charlie

With Charlie, I’m a little torn. On the one hand, she’s a princess, so cooking would likely be more of a novelty considering she likely had staff to do it for her. But this is Charlie we’re talking about. She would go out of her way to learn how to cook. Wouldn’t give up either, not until she could do it on her own. I would imagine that she started learning from Vaggie and reading cookbooks.

Vaggie

When it comes to Vaggie, she can cook some, but she’s definitely super humble about it, brushing off any compliments because it’s ‘just food’. If the issue is pressed I can see her getting a little embarrassed about it. It’s mostly dishes that she had been taught while she was growing up, along with basic dishes that don’t necessarily require a honed skill to make.

Angel

Angel can cook, though he doesn’t exactly put much effort into it. I can definitely see him just throwing something together so he can eat and move on with whatever else he has going. Baking is a different story. I can really imagine while he was growing up he would sneak his way into the kitchen while his mother and Molly were baking. He picked it up pretty easily. And as someone who enjoys baking let me just say that his extra set of arms would be so helpful.

Husk

Husk was an entertainer in life, growing up in a casino, learning the trades in the house. That also includes the kitchens. Sure he likely didn’t spend a whole lot of time there but he still picked up a thing or two. So he’d be able to hold his own fairly well when it comes to making a homecooked meal.

Alastor

While it’s canon that the radio demon can cook, I feel like he specifically likes to cook recipes his mother left behind. Cooking recipes from his youth reminds him of joining his mother in the kitchen whipping something up for lunch and helping her prep for dinner. He’s not all that adventurous in the kitchen, though. He likes to stick with what he knows and what he grew up with.

Niffty

Having died in the 50s as a young housewife, I genuinely believe that she at least knows some fad recipes, like those salads and casserole recipes. Jello molds too. But that’s not to say that she wouldn’t know some basic stuff. I can definitely see Niffty being the type to try to create whole new recipes with varying, mostly horrifying results.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is a genius, there’s no doubt about that, but the man can’t cook. At all. He’d burn water honestly. But baking? Oh yeah, he can bake with out a doubt(but not necessarily the decorating part), it’s basically science, but not cook. He’d quite honestly have the Egg Bois help, but let’s be honest here, that’d be a disaster too.

Cherri Bomb

I’ll admit, I wasn’t to sure about Cherri. She just doesn’t seem like the type to cook. Nah. Cherri is the queen of takeout. She can boil water but that’s really about it. Honestly, she’s only really a couple of steps above Sir Pentious, but she can’t bake either. Sometimes though, before Angel went off to the hotel, she would go out and buy ingredients and stuff and go to his apartment and they (he) would make something.

Vox

This man absolutely can cook, and he’s pretty damn good at it too. Considering he’s the television demon, he’s going to have several cooking shows. Hell, he even stars in a couple of them. That being said, he’s not one to do things half-assed. Sure, a lot of cooking shows have stuff that was prepared beforehand, but with Vox’s he goes out of his way to actually make the dishes in real time.

Valentino

I stand by my headcanons from my Valentino posts. He can cook, but it’s honestly a solid 50-50 on whether or not it’s burnt or edible. He’s pretty easily distracted, whether it’s a phone call or something else entirely, so if it's a dish that you have to pay close attention to, it’s likely to not turn out right.

Velvette

Velvette can do some light cooking, but nothing too extravagant. She’s got more important things to do, such as keeping Vox and Valentino on track. With a schedule as busy as hers, I don’t think she would cook often, preferring either Vox’s cooking or takeout. Oh but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t take a picture and post it, because it’s Velvette, of course she does. Oh! But She’s probably been on Vox’s show as some sort of celeb guest type deal, the dish they made definitely stuck with her, so she might make it from time to time.

Zestial

Considering how long Zestial has been around, I would be more surprised if he couldn’t cook. You can’t convince me that after a while he at one point went through hobbies like a revolving door. Cooking absolutely would have been one of them. This man would absolutely try making the craziest things. He’d be up to date on all of the cooking fads, know recipes and cooking methods from several time periods and cultures. With him, there’s no telling what he might cook up next.

Carmilla

While I don’t think that she would really set aside time to cook often, she’s pretty skilled in the kitchen. Carmilla would likely have a couple of nights out of the month set aside to cook a meal with/for her and the girls, a tradition that carried on from their life before hell. She’d even take the opportunity to try new things while cooking.

Rosie

Oh, Rosie can absolutely cook, it’s canon that its a hobby of hers. She’s very well versed in a multitude of cooking methods, and while she may not entirely like a whole lot of new-age gadgets in the kitchen, she can’t really deny the fact that they can be quite useful. I’m willing to bet that she would have an Instapot (they’re great I have two and one of them has an air fryer attachment)

Adam

Adam would never openly admit it, but he knows how to cook. He was the first man, he would have had to learn eventually, even if it was something as simple as preparing meats. That being said, he can grill. I’d be willing to bet that he’d host a little barbeque after the annual exterminations for the exorcists, maybe even enter into grilling competitions.

Lute

Lute’s honestly a bit of a wildcard when it comes to cooking. She might have been able to cook while she had been alive, but nowadays not so much. It had been a long time since she actively made anything, so she’d be pretty rusty. But other than the basics, I don’t really see her being able to be too creative in terms of cooking either. She’d honestly probably stick to what she knows and wouldn’t stray too far away from that.

Emily

I don’t necessarily think that seraphim would really need to eat, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t or don’t. In Emily’s case, I would imagine it as a scenario where she wanted to do something to get closer to humanity. They were her charge after all, or rather their state of happiness. But all humans eat and many find joy in doing so and even in the act of cooking, so she absolutely would be thrilled to learn! She’s getting better at it by the day.

Sera

Sera had likely done the same as Emily when she was a young angel, though I don’t see her sticking with it. I definitely think that she taught Emily to start her on her little culinary journey. She can cook, she just… doesn’t. I’d even go as far as to say it’s been centuries since she’s actually cooked a meal of any kind. That being said, if she were to jump into the kitchen nowadays, she probably wouldn’t have a very easy time finding her way around.

Lucifer

Lucifer is a man of many talents. He can absolutely cook, possibly even Michelin level, he just chooses not to. He likely just considers it a novelty of sorts, considering he has the power to simply poof food right in front of him. Honestly, it’s pretty helpful whenever he’s depressed and doesn’t feel like making anything. But, when it comes to his family and friends, he’s more than happy to whip something up.

Lilith

Another one who would likely consider cooking to be a novelty. Considering how she’s the second most powerful being in hell, and fiercely independent with more important things to worry about. Lilith wouldn’t concern herself with cooking unless it was with her family, and even then it likely didn’t happen that often after Charlie grew up.

Bonus:

Alastor Cat

Would wind up burning what ever building its in down. Was it intentional? Was it an accident? The world may never know

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Herbs, Spices & Seasoning

Herbs and spices can add flavor and variety to your food.

Use a little at first, then add more when you are sure you like the flavor.

To substitute dry herbs for fresh, use ¼ teaspoon powder or 1 teaspoon crushed for 1 tablespoon fresh chopped herbs. Some herbs and spices are expensive.

You might want to buy only a few of the less expensive herbs and spices you will use.

Herbs and spices lose flavor and can spoil or get buggy if kept in the cupboard longer than a year.

If you use herbs and spices slowly, buy small containers, or store them in the freezer.

Uses of Herbs, Spices & Seasonings

Allspice - A mixture of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves. Use in fruit desserts, pumpkin pie, apple cider, cakes, cookies, chicken, beef and fish dishes.

Basil - Tomato and egg dishes, stews, soups and salads

Bay leaves - Tomato dishes, fish and meat dishes

Celery seed - Juices, soups, salads, vegetables, pot roasts, poultry, rolls and biscuits

Chili powder - Chili, bean and rice dishes

Chives - Potato dishes, soups, dips and sauces

Cilantro - Latin American, Indian and Chinese dishes, salsa, stir fries, (Coriander leaves) legume or rice salads, hot cooked rice, grilled chicken or fish, or a dish of ripe tomatoes. Use fresh if possible.

Cinnamon - French toast, fruit and fruit salads, sweet potatoes, pumpkin and squash, puddings and apple desserts, ham or pork chops

Cloves - Whole cloves on ham or pork roast; ground cloves to season pear or apple desserts, beets, beans, tomatoes, squash and sweet potatoes

Coriander seed - Middle Eastern dishes, spice cakes and cookies, soups, roast pork and salad dressing

Cumin - Mexican, Middle Eastern and Indian dishes; beef and lamb, dry bean dishes, marinades, chili and tomato sauces; ingredient in curry powder

Dillweed - Tuna or salmon salad, potato salad, pickles, dips and sauces

Garlic - Mexican, Italian and Oriental dishes and in salad dressings; can be used fresh or dried, minced or powder

Ginger (fresh) - Oriental dishes, marinades for chicken or fish, fruit salad, dressings

Ginger (ground) - Gingerbread, spice cake, pumpkin pie, poultry or meat, soups, stews, stuffing, squash, sweet potatoes

Ground peppers: black, Cayenne & white pepper - Meats, casseroles, vegetables and soups

Italian seasoning - A mixture of marjoram, oregano, basil and rosemary; use in Italian dishes such as spaghetti

Marjoram - Egg and cheese dishes, meats, fish, poultry and vegetables

Mint - Fruit salads and fruit soups, melon, berries, cold fruit beverages, cooked carrots or peas, chilled yogurt soup, lamb, tabbouleh

Mustard - Sauces for meat and fish, in marinades, salad dressings, chutneys, pickles and relishes

Nutmeg - Cooked fruits, pies and desserts, baked items, spinach, sweet potatoes, eggnog and French toast

Onion - Any dish where onion flavor is desired; can be used fresh or dried (minced or powder)

Oregano - Italian dishes, chili, omelets, beef stew, meat loaf, pork and vegetables such as broccoli or tomatoes

Parsley - Meat, soup or vegetable dishes; adds color

Paprika - Stew, chicken, fish, potatoes, rice and hard-cooked eggs

Rosemary - Egg dishes, meats, fish, soups and stews, and vegetables

Thyme - Fish, poultry or meats, in soups or stews, vegetable salads

If these writing notes help with your poem/story, do tag me. Or send me a link. I'd love to read them!

More: On Food More: Word Lists

[strangerstilinski]

hiii my dear <333

would love if you could combine [heal] and [kiss] with steve 🫶

love u n have the bestest day

[HEAL] sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities. [KISS] the sender lowers themselves into the receiver's lap in order to kiss them properly.

Steve is bleeding. Again.

And why is it that Steve always seems to be fucking bleeding? If it's not a fistfight, it's inter-dimensional monsters. And if it's not monsters, it's foreign governments who hold no qualms against beating and torturing minimum-wage mall employees in the hopes that it might yield answers.

This isn't like any of those times. You know that. And yet, watching the slow trail of blood ooze from the gash at Steve's hairline, crimson dripping slow down his temple and smearing into his brow — It makes your stomach turn. Makes your knees wobble just slightly. The floor suddenly feeling decidedly unsteady beneath your feet.

You'd asked him to find a casserole dish and he'd practically crawled his way inside one of the lower kitchen cabinets in his search. Wide shoulders crowded into the space, his narrow waist on display as he reached even farther and prompted his shirt to ride up. Your eyes had been glued to the dimples at the base of his spine, objectifying gaze too stuck on the way his jeans pulled on his backside and thighs, the way the elastic waistband of his briefs cut into the softness of his hips-

He'd yelled triumphantly as he re-emerged, and you'd been too distracted to warn him to watch his head when he turned a bit too early and bashed against the edge of the opening with a resounding thunk.

You couldn't care less about cooking dinner, now. You're entirely too consumed with worry at the sight of the blood pouring from Steve's head. And, alright, pouring might be a bit dramatic. But your boyfriend is bleeding, and it's slightly your fault.

You push him from the kitchen and he drops dutifully into a chair when you give his shoulder a pointed shove. Both of your hands find their way to his face, warmth bleeding into your palms as you try to angle his head into the light a bit.

He only winces a little when you push his hair up out of the way so you can see where his skin is split. Your fingers tighten around his jaw, biting into his cheek as you turn his head this way and that in an attempt to get a better look. A frown pulls at your lips as you note the swelling that's already building into a sizable lump, and no sooner have your lips quirked downward when Steve's hands find the backs of your thighs.

"Hey, pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be pouting, pouty." His hands tighten, dragging you forward until you're standing slotted between his legs.

Warm, honeyed brown eyes peer up at you, his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs in a comforting motion. The way he looks after you, even now, when he's the one who's injured — It sends your heart thrumming wildly.

You snatch some paper towel from the tabletop and dab at his head lightly, frown sinking further when blood immediately wells back up and begins to follow that same path down his forehead and into his eyebrow.

"It seems like it's bleeding a lot," You tell him, blotting at the growing egg on his head again, "I don't think it should be bleeding this much. Should it be bleeding this much?"

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.

You repeat his words back, mockingly, putting a little more pressure on the towel to his head. And then, "How much is 'a lot'?"

To your frustration, Steve just shrugs again, "I dunno, should stop in the next few minutes, I guess. If it does, we're good. If not, I guess I'm probably a goner-"

The pressure you're applying to the towel increases enough to have Steve wincing again, but you refuse to feel bad.

"That isn't funny." Your eyes drift as Steve's lower lip juts out, soft and plush and not even remotely portraying genuine apology. "Now who's pouting?" You grumble quietly.

"The guy who just came within an inch of braining himself to find your casserole dish, actually." Steve returns your snark all-too easily, "You know what'd really help, though?"

Your eyes narrow just slightly at the sweet edge to his voice, at the way his palms press with a little more intent into the backs of your legs. He's still looking up at you, lips quirked up now into that flirty grin of his, chin jutting out like he's expecting you to just bend down to kiss him already.

"What?" You ask, infuriatingly breathless in the wake of his touch, the gentle rumble of his voice.

"C'mere."

He pulls at your thighs again and you realize he's trying to get you to sit down. You smile softly, stepping back from between his legs and settling into place in his lap. Your thighs frame his hips, towel still pressed firmly to his head all the while.

"Better?" You ask, nosing at the space between his brows before placing a fleeting peck to his forehead.

Steve hums, "No, no, not quite. Think you could spare another kiss?"

"Oh, I suppose," You sigh woefully, like it's a big ask, though you both know it isn't. Your lips find the bridge of his nose, "Like this?"

Steve hums again, "Not quite. Little lower, honey."

You lean back just a bit to look at him, the way his eyes have clouded over with something like adoration. It still makes your head spin, that he looks at you like that-

Your thumb strokes his cheek, lips finding the tip of his nose and just staying there for a moment — waiting.

"Lower." He orders softly, his nose nudging up against you as he tips his chin up toward you.

Your lips brush his cupids bow, faint stubble scratching softly when you press the faintest kiss to his mouth. "Here?" You whisper against his lips, breath mingling warmly with his own, "Does this help?"

He knocks the bloodied paper towel from your hands and ignores your protests as he drags you back down for another kiss, this one deeper.

You're breathless when you pull back again, your eyes glued to the shine of spit on Steve's lips before your gaze flicks up to the drying blood at his hairline, the cut clotted and no longer bleeding.

"Hey, you stopped bleeding." You tell him, relieved.

"Yeah, that's great-" He says blankly, already sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you back in, "Now, c'mere-"

[marxism-transgenderism]

That poll of midwestern dishes is so funny cause all the replies from people elsewhere are like "these cannot be real" but the actual food history of the midwest behind that is so interesting. When midwest what invaded and settled by the US, it was expanded principally as a commercial enterprise of large companies getting granted allotments from the government. It was done not only to fuel land speculation on a previously unheard of level but to create new markets for the eastern states to sell their goods to.

So when the midwest was settled its primary economy was what of farmers who grew crops primarily to sell back east to be able to buy goods that came east and to the growing industrial cities of the region, including food. People still grew crops that they would eat (corn on the cob is a classic), but that was by and large to supplement what was bought rather than subsisting on it.

So the dominant things you see in primarily white settler midwestern food is mass produced, commodities like ground beef, salted pork, canned beans, and macaroni. Well known sweets are generally things that can easily be whipped up with eggs, flour, and sugar like sugar cream pie and butter cookies. And this continues right up to today with many of the main recipes people learn to make are casseroles, stews, and hideous looking but unbelievably delicious mixes of processed foods. Most other dishes more complicated than that you can trace directly to Betty Crocker.

But the thing is, this food history is one primarily the white settlers who were able to buy land and committed the ongoing genocide that created the white midwest. On the ground, indigenous dishes both ones that existed prior to colonization and ones like fry bread from colonization still persist especially in the norther midwest. Black dishes are common across the region, especially in cities where Black immigrants fled to during the Great migration. Tex-mex and Central American food is incredibly common.

So when midwest food is talked about, it's primarily the simple, commodity based dishes of the white settler population that are acknowledged. Food from other cultures, despite being more common than the white food dishes in large parts of the midwest, is either ignored as not really midwestern or appropriated. To the point that even now corn is primarily associated in the US with the white dominated commercial farms rather than as one of the primary foods of the Indigenous population that made this region so prosperous before and during colonization.

[kondensaduhhh]

TF2 Mercs: Cooking HCs

all the mercs can cook, theyre all grown men ffs, but they're just better at certain things than the rest of them

this long as hell😭😭 good god, didnt expect it to be this long

first of all; Scout. Scout can absolutely cook, i personally think that a single mother who raised 7 sons is, first of all, a badass, and secondly, will not tolerate any of that "Women belong in the kitchen" bullshit, she taught her sons how to do basic life skills.

while, yeah, Scout can cook, he cooks breakfast foods best. sure, hes a little flinchy when the bacon starts poppin' but nothing he cant handle. He makes the best pancakes, toast, french toast, bacon, eggs, hell, the mercs don't get it but somehow even the way Scout makes cereal and milk in a bowl was better.

he doesnt measure either, he just eyeballs everything, which was one if the reasons he could bake for the life of him, no matter how many times his Ma and bros taught him. he makes killer milkshakes though.

Pyro!! idc idc hes a grown adult, hes not gonna burn anything, least of all the kitchen, he's too experienced with fire for such an imbecilic notion. Pyro's the best at making desserts, not really baking, he knows the basics, but not really his forte. Pyro made everyone's opinion on jell-o turn positive, theyre just that good. he can make flans, hard candy, ice cream, if its a dessert he can probably make it. everyone's favorite of his tho is caramel popcorn

Soldier usually either burns food or undercooks it but for some reason only when it's a shallow fry, he's great at deep frying and grilling, like hes super serious abt it, like he never lets whatever it is hes cooking out of his sight, he doesn't set up a timer or thermometer, its like he just knows when the food is fully cooked, he almost looks catatonic as he just stands there completely still watching the food cook but immediately starts yelling at his usual full volume when some tries to sneak in a bite of the food that IS finished cooking.

the demoman. most of Demo's food will usually have a very vague taste of alcohol in it, barely noticeable, the other mercs only realise it when they find out who cooked it. Demo's food always tastes great, unfortunately he can only make it once and he won't be able to recreate it, they're almost always just random ingredients that he somehow turns into a masterpiece.

although, there is one recipe he can make completely the same without fail, and it's his mum's favourite soup.

the engineer is the best at baking, with countless family recipes memorised and tweaked by his engineering prowess, it really is no competition. hes on par with Soldier in the grilling department, used to be a problem whenever they wanted to grill, and the two would butt heads, Heavy always put a stop to it before shit got too out of hand. at the end, it was Soldier who was the main griller, and Engie settled on making the casseroles and biscuits.

when it starts to get cold, everybody (ahemscoutahem) begs Heavy to make soup. While being in the mountains for 20ish years, Heavy found a lot of ways to make soup, from thin, brothy soups, to creamy, sticks-to-your lips soups. Fortunately, they dont have to beg for long since Heavy is always happy to cook his comfort foods for his friends, and while yes he does have to substitute most of the protein, the mercs dont see a problem with any of it, even though Heavy says it's not the same because it's not bear meat.

Medic can cook, it just so happens the only foods he can make without the aid of a written recipe are German dishes. He doesn't have much of a relationship with food, but can cook, but he does like to experiment which often gets tested out by either Pyro (bc he can stomach pretty much anything somehow), Sniper (bc Medic still wants to know if the food is edible and Pyro kinda doesn't count, and Sniper is the least picky with food), and Scout (this is mostly bc Sniper called him a pussy when he commented on the food)

Spy barely, very rarely will make food for the team, but if his ego was stroked enough he just might make a French dessert where he would pretty much blockade the kitchen bc French desserts are 'extremely fragile' hes exaggerating ofc, he just wants the kitchen to himself. while he does appear to be quite cold to the team, he does care for them and will, occasionally, not always, make them smth to eat when he notices smth amiss, he wont let them know its him (but they know, bc who else would elegantly plate smth as simple as frozen waffles?)

and finally Sniper. Sniper, if alone, would only eat what is necessary, not very picky either, has and will eat scorpions again if necessary. but whenever its his turn to cook for the team he always cooks family recipes, he has a box filled with index cards with his mum's handwriting, ranging from bread recipes, to a 3-day marinated beef stew. he usually just cooks the pasta soup and rice soups tho for stretchability of the dish

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 6 - Baking & Cookie Decorating

pairing: pre-steddie | word count: 1,911 | rated: G

A couple days later finds Eddie on his way to Steve’s house at the early as fuck hour of 8:30am

“AARrugh–fuuck!” he curses again, trying to stifle down another cracking yawn, “It should be illegal to be up this early.”

“You mean the normal time people get up?”

“No, normal is lunchtime. Realistic is two.”

“God, you’re such a loser.”

“And yet you still hang out with me.”

“Uh, no. I hang out with Steve and El and Lucas and sometimes Dustin. You’re just there by association.”

“Ouch Red, that hurts my soul.” He winces dramatically 

“What soul?”

Eddie grins at her, “Touché, Maxine”

Her tiny, pointy knuckles meet his bicep as he pulls Bessie into the Harringtons’ driveway.

They’re having a pre-thanksgiving dinner with the party before they all have actual Thanksgiving with each of their families, and Max insisted on coming over early to help Steve with preparations.

“If we don’t go help, he’s going to do it all by himself you know.”

“Robin will be there, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, he’s gonna do everything by himself. You know Robin is moral support at best.”

“And what are we gonna be, huh? You think I’m any better?”

She had huffed at that. “We’re going, Munson.”

So, here they are. Like Eddie suspected, as soon as they breach the front door, Robin is visible on one of the stools at the island, sleep rumpled and a mug in hand, and Steve is standing at the stove already.

“Good ‘morrow to you, Lord and Lady Buckley,” Eddie bellows, startling them both, “Myself and the young Miss Mayfield have traveled far to be with you on this momentous day, and to offer to you our services.” he gives them a dramatic bow, glancing up through his lashes.

Steve is grinning, Robin has collapsed forward onto the counter in front of her, Max is groaning. 

He stands straight again, “We may only be a couple of lowly peasants in your Kingdom, but the call to help was unavoidable.”

“Eddie did not want to come help, lemme make that clear.”

“Shut up, Max”

“You shut up, liar–”

“Okay, okay!” Steve laughs, interrupting them, “Many thanks to you both for making the trip; your help will be greatly appreciated.”

Eddie’s stomach goes soupy, he loves when Steve plays along.

“So, what can we do?” he asks, clapping his hands once and rubbing his palms together like he’s itching to get started.

“Well, it is still pretty early (“I told  you.”, “Shut up, Eddie.”), so right now you can help by telling me how you like your eggs.”

The turkey goes into the oven halfway through breakfast, Steve having prepped it last night, so Steve starts to cipher out what else he needs to make.

“Dustin said that Claudia was making a pumpkin pie for us, so we’re set there, I’m making the sweet potato casserole, Lucas said that his mom is sending over a pan of greens with him and Erica, Robin has the stuffing covered–”

“I make a mean can of Stovetop.” Robin cuts in from the sink where she’s washing the few dishes from breakfast.

“Pretty much everyone else is bringing something…” Steve looks lost for a moment, then his expression turns tense, that crease between his brows cuts deep into his skin.

Max must see this too because she says, “What about cookies?”

“Cookies?”

“Yeah, like the sugar cookies you made everyone a tin of last year?” “You made everyone sugar cookies?? Why wasn’t I given any?” Steve rolls his eyes, “‘Cause last year you were just Eddie “The Freak” Munson,”

“Hey–I resent that,” Eddie pokes Steve in the chest, “I’m still Eddie “The Freak” Munson, thank you very much.” “Many apologies, Your Freak-ness, how ever shall I make it up to you.” His tone is sarcastic, but the words make a whole matter of unsavory retorts gather on Eddie’s tongue.

“C’mon Steve, I want those damn cookies!” Max demands, smacking a palm onto the counter to really sell it.

“Hey! Language.” 

“I also want some of those damn cookies.” Robin agrees.

“Yeah c’mon Stevie, I didn’t get to have any last year and now I’m curious.” “Dude, they’re the best cookies ever. I hate that he only makes them once a year.”

“Okay, okay, fine! Lemme make sure I have everything I need.”

He does, so he gets to work as requested demanded, though he does send Max and Robin (with her newly acquired license) to the store for powdered sugar. “For the frosting..I’m sure you want frosting on these, right?”

Eddie sticks close after they leave, watching Steve work and passing him ingredients.

At one point, Eddie scoops up a cup of flour for him, only to have Steve wrap his hand over his on the handle of the cup and start to stir the flour in it with a fork.

“Uh, do you always need to stir your flour before putting it in?” Is that a thing? Eddie has never done that, even within the few times he’s ever actually baked something before.

“You do if the person scooping packs it into the cup like this.” Steve teases, spinning the fork around in his hand to scrape the now-overflowing heap of flour off the top of the measuring cup and back into the bag with the handle. “Flour doesn’t get packed down to measure, fluffy and loose measurements only.” Steve pulls Eddie’s hand forward and upends the cup over the mixing bowl. 

Eddie’s mouth feels like it’s coated in flour.

“There! Perfect. I’ll need another cup just like that one.” Steve smiles and passes the fork to him.

He lets Eddie's hand go and turns back to the bowl, mixing the flour in with one of those rubber scraping spatulas instead of using the electric beater he’d used for the eggs and sugar.

“So,” Eddie re-wets the inside of his mouth so he can talk correctly, “Why do you only make these once a year?” He carefully scoops up another helping of flour.

“They’re usually Christmas cookies and I– aw shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any non-Christmas themed cookie cutters.”

Eddie immediately thinks back to one of the last Christmases he had with his mom. Ouch…damn it. 

He gulps down the lump in his throat. “Do you have any empties?”

Eddie can feel Steve watching him as he works, carefully cutting the tops and bottoms off a good sized bag of empty soda and beer cans over the sink. He cuts the new aluminum rectangles in half lengthwise and sets the strips aside.

“You’ve made these before?”

“Yep! Easier to make your own than buy them, y’know?”

Steve chuckles, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“My mom liked to make new ones every year, so I have a lot of practice doing this,” Eddie pushes on, picking up a strip of metal and folds it in half lengthwise. “We’ll need some tape for the open side, but basically you fold it like this, shape it however you want, and fold the ends over each other to keep them closed.”

He demonstrates, making a messy heart shape pretty quickly. “You can link more than one together if you want, too. Make bigger ones…Ta da!” He shows off the ‘finished’ shape.

“Sweet!”

By the time Robin and Max return, Eddie’s got a pile of aluminum strips ready to go, and Steve’s done with the dough.

“Perfect timing, ladies, come help us make cookie cutters.”

Max pulls up a stool immediately, grabbing a couple of the metal strips, but Robin huffs. “Aw, what? We have to make the cookie cutters first? I thought I’d come home to a house full of cookies, Steve.”

“The dough has to chill in the fridge for an hour, and we don’t have any Thanksgiving themed ones.” Steve says, rolling his eyes at her. “Also, you weren’t even gone that long!”

Robin pulls up a stool, “Excuses, Steven.”

Turns out, there’s not that many shapes associated with turkey day, so after the obligatory pumpkin shape, and a surprisingly well-shaped turkey-looking blob, they make whatever else they feel like.

Robin uses a ruler she found in a drawer to fold some ridges into a circle shape, “It’s a pie, obviously.”, Steve uses a few strips to make what he says is an elephant, “Yeah, an elephant. These are the two ears and this is the trunk.”, Max uses two of the strips to make some sort of flower shape with five pointy petals, “A…poinsettia?” Eddie asks; “A demogorgon.” Steve and Max say at the same time. Ah., and Eddie spends his time linking a good few together to make the Hellfire demon. 

“I hope this doesn’t get all blob-y.”

Steve looks over at his creation, “It shouldn’t, the dough holds up pretty well when it’s baked; that’s why you let it chill for a bit.”

He stands then, retrieving the saran-wrapped hunk of dough from the fridge and gets to work rolling it out.

Eddie watches the muscles in his arms bunch and pull, and, like a sap, thinks about how they’d feel wrapped around him. He likes hugs, okay? Sue him.

The four of them cut batch after batch after batch of cookies (each of them sneaking bites of the dough as they do), and by time they are baked and fully cooled, the sweet potatoes are in the oven, the stuffing is sitting done on the stove, there’s a sheet of rolls waiting to go in after the casserole, the others start to show up.

“Oh sweet, cookies!” Dustin’s finger immediately dunks into the bowl of frosting Steve just finished whipping up.

“Hey! Hands off, asshole, I still need to color some of that.

Steve passes Eddie a bowl of the stuff, a couple of drops of food coloring sitting on top. “Mix that up, will you?” I’m making the orange, that’s yellow.”

Eddie gives him a mock salute, “You got it boss.”

“Henderson, grab the sprinkles, you’re helping with these.”

The island is a disaster by the time they are done frosting the cookies. There’s colored sugar everywhere, loose M&Ms, broken pretzels, and there’s even a glob of red frosting hanging precariously from the underside of one of the far cabinet doors (somehow).

Each of the new arrivals grab up a couple of the cookies to decorate once they get in, adding their own goofy-looking additions to the heap.

Mike and Nancy are the last to arrive, toting a huge bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes, and they dig into the turkey soon after. 

They eat and eat and eat, laughing and eating some more, that by the time anyone gets around to the cookies, the very outside of their frosting has hardened to a crust and the inside is still soft and sugary.

“Oh my god, Steve.” Eddie moans, “This is the best cookie I’ve ever tasted.”

Steve’s face flushes pink, but he smiles wide. “I’m glad you like them, Eds.”

“I need to take some home to Wayne.”

Steve passes him a tupperware container of their creations as he’s leaving, along with an index card with Steve’s distinct handwriting is scrawled across it; the recipe for the cookies.

Eddie gets home that night just before Wayne heads in for his shift. “Y’have a good day, son?” he asks, plucking out one of the cookies from the container Eddie holds open for him as they pass each other in the doorway.

He smiles wide, “Very..”

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 5 (Day 7) | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[smallgodseries]

[image description: An eight-armed figure in a blue dress and shoes, a striped blue and white apron with the tine figure of Small God Hummel sewn on, feathered headdress and blue bakelite bracelets stands in front of a dark larder – in which outlines of food jars and dishes can be seen. They bear 5 glowing jars that seem to be candles in primary colors. Text reads, “50, Kitsch Annette ~ The Small God of Organized Pantries”]

If she could make people understand one thing and one thing only, it would be this: that food has no moral value, and that anyone whose pantry can be considered “full” is a virtuous person in her eyes, regardless of whether that fullness is kale chips and quinoa or Girl Scout cookies and pre-mixed buttercream frosting.  She cares about the quality of the shelves, their fullness and fineness, not their contents or what the latest diet craze has to say about those contents.

If she could make people understand two things, it would be that a well-stocked, well-indexed pantry is a palace beyond price, a lofty cathedral filled with miracles waiting to be mixed.  Cakes to be baked, potatoes to be peeled, spices and seasonings over which people have so very often gone to war, ready to be sprinkled over meat or folded into casseroles.  Holes in the shelves are not to be borne; a regularly updated shopping list is worth a thousand impulse buys or once-a-year stocking runs.  Every household should, in her eyes, be able to shut its doors and sustain itself for as long as plausible.  She understands all too well that not everyone can afford the luxury of a proper pantry, and she weeps for those outside the warmth and light of her hearth, whose stomachs are too often empty, whose soups, when they exist at all, are too often unseasoned.

She would feed the world, given rice enough and time.

If she could make people understand three things, it would be that another cup of water can always be added to the pot, that one more potato can always be diced into the hash, that one more egg is not so great a sacrifice, for look, the poorest among her following understand these things, make their offerings both wise and wide, fill the bellies of those around them.  For even the fullest shelf will be empty in a moment if placed before the starving, and so she will accept no hunger among her faithful that could be filled, will believe no table full when a single plate more could be placed upon it.  There is always room to feed your fellows.

She was a god of harvest once, and plenty.  She still is.

But seriously, replace your spices every four years, or they won’t be anything but faintly scented powder, and that is a blasphemy in her sight.

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

“Oi, I’m making that fried rice and veggie stuff you like so much.” He calls from the kitchen, the duffel bag he’d brought home with him from patrol beside the front door as he stomps to the kitchen. “Want chicken or something else as the protein?”

You laugh softly, not looking up from your phone as you remain tucked within the couch. “The egg is the protein.”

A scoff sounds closely followed by a chuckle. “Smartass.”

“Love you too.” You call back with a grin that makes him roll his eyes when he spots it.

He opens the refrigerator to grab the necessary ingredients and freezes, his brows twitching as a vein begins to appear within his temple but he speaks calmly. The leftover casserole that had been there this morning when he left was still there…meaning only one thing. “Whatcha have to eat today?”

All color drains from your face as you immediately know where this is going, the phone in your hands falling to your lap as you slowly start inching from the couch to stand. “Uhm…I had…coffee…”

His spine straightens so fast you’d think he was one of those collapsible/retractable toys that kids are playing with these days but there was no humor in his narrowed ruby eyes or expression when he turns away from the refrigerator to face you from over the bar style kitchen counter.

A chill slips down your spine when one of his brows twitches. You swallow thickly when he raises a hand and gestures to come to him with a finger. “I-is that not acceptable? No?”

“C’mere.”

“I’m not really that hungry—“

“I said c’mere!”

“I think I’m fine over here—“

“GET YOUR ASS IN THIS KITCHEN NOW, DAMNIT!”

[five-miles-over]

For All Time, It Was Always You

Chapter 2: Mrs. Laufeyson

A/N: Thank you everyone for all of your positive comments! I really appreciate it, and hope you'll like this little continuation from the suburbs AU inspired partly by Wandavision.

Summary: After Loki leaves for work, you explore your new house and try to fit in with this world that feels too perfect to be real.

Pairing: Loki x Wife!Reader

Warnings: None really. Talk about 'traditional' gender roles. A surprise cameo. And silliness.

You waved goodbye, standing at the doorway as a black Chevrolet Bel Air departed from the house with Loki in the driver's seat. And like the doting wife that he thought you were, you blew a kiss in his direction.

When the car disappeared from your line of sight, you meandered into the sea green kitchen and filled a steel kettle with water, letting it sit on the stove the way a hen sat on her eggs. While the kettle grew hot, you searched the cabinets for tea bags,…and anything else that might help you understand this new, suburban world. A world in which you were the newlywed wife of a TVA employee who shared a name with the Norse God of Mischief. 

Next to a box of Earl Grey Tea was an entire section of the cabinet dedicated to biscuits of various brands and flavors: chocolate Hobnobs, Jaffa cakes, McVitie's digestive biscuits, shortbread, Bourbon cookies, and Oreos. At least three, unopened tubes of Oreo cookies. Were all of these sweet treats for you, or for your - you couldn't believe you were actually using this word - husband?

With a shrug, you grabbed a tube of the Oreo cookies, ripped it open and started eating them one by one. Holding the blue wrapper in one hand, you continued searching through the other kitchen cabinets. 

You found nothing but flour, brown sugar, white sugar, spices, marmite, extra virgin olive oil…, and two jars of strawberry jam from the same brand for some reason. And then, something next to a box of spaghetti caught your eye. A cookbook, with various pages dog-eared, titled Delicious Recipes For All Time, Always.

You blinked, carefully taking the book from the shelf. For All Time, Always? That's a weird title to call a cookbook…, a vague title as well. Inside the cover was a handwritten note, scribbled in blue pen.

The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Congratulations on the wedding, Mrs. Laufeyson! Loki's a lucky guy.

-Mobius M. Mobius

So that's who Loki was talking about at breakfast. He mentioned cancelling plans with someone named 'Mobius'. Someone who was making him watch tedious videos at work today. 

Jumping to the dog-eared pages of the cookbook, you came across various recipes: poached eggs, blueberry pancakes, macaroni and cheese, spaghetti bolognese, green bean casserole, Cumberbatch pie, curried chickpeas in coconut milk, angel food cake with strawberries and cream, chocolate mayonnaise cake…

Whiiiiiiieeee!

You whipped your head over your shoulder and immediately silenced the kettle's whistle, turning off the stove. Damnit, you went looking for tea bags and found yourself exploring everything except tea bags. Shaking your head, you shoved an Oreo into your mouth and opened the box of Earl Grey tea bags. 

Then, you opened a cabinet filled with plates, bowls, and cups, grabbing a white ceramic mug for your tea bag. On the top shelf of the cabinet was a pastel blue gift box. While the tea bag steeped in hot water, you reached for the box using a chair as a makeshift stepping stool. Inside the gift box were two mugs labeled 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' in gold calligraphy And like the cookbook, there was a handwritten note as well. 

For all the mornings you'll have together. Congratulations to you both, Mr. and Mrs. Laufeyson! May the years ahead be filled with lasting love and happiness.

-Jeremy, Joyce, and Bill Hazeldine

With a gasp, you quickly closed the box and put it back on the shelf…only to open the box, taking another peek at the note. Mrs. Laufeyson...you underlined those words with your fingertip. Taking a deep breath, you put the box back on the shelf for good, promising to never use those mugs unless you were with Loki. 

By this point, the tea was hot enough to be enjoyed but not scalding that it would burn your throat. You took a sip, relaxing in its warmth, holding the mug with both hands. "Mrs. Laufeyson", you repeated to yourself. You looked down at your left hand, the emerald ring still on your middle finger just the same way it was this morning. 

After you finished drinking your tea and scarfing down the rest of the Oreo cookies in the container, you wandered into the living room. It was just across from the kitchen, a pastel yellow room with white bookshelves containing all kinds of hardcover and paper cover works. One would probably need an entire decade just to finish reading all the books kept inside the living room. You tilted your head and wondered which of the books were your husband's choice. But before you could sit down on one of the couches, you heard the doorbell ring.

"Who is it?" You asked, fixing your hair. 

A light, female voice came from outside. "It's Joyce!" As you made your way to the front door, you caught a glimpse of yourself in mirror hanging in the hallway. Your hair was miraculously styled, and you were wearing a cute set of pajamas…It almost made you stand still for a moment just so you could admire how desirable you looked. No wonder your husband was so lovey-dovey this morning.

The doorbell rang again. Putting on your best smile, you dragged your feet towards the door and opened it. 

Standing outside was a thin, middle-aged woman -presumably Joyce - with a bowl cut hairstyle, wearing a light blue shirt and straight-leg jeans. "Oh hello, dear. So good to see you again!" She gave you a warm smile and a hug, rocking you in her arms.

"Good to see you too, Joyce." You politely reciprocated her hug and let out a small laugh. "Thank you again for the mugs, they're lovely."

Joyce placed her hands on your arms for a moment, looking up at you. "I haven't seen you both since you came back from your honeymoon. Oh, look at you…" She marveled, "Married life seems to be treating you well."

"Thank you so much," you looked down, deciding to be as demure as possible, hoping they wouldn't ask too many questions about the honeymoon. "I…I couldn't be happier, Loki is so sweet to me." When your eyes met Joyce's, you touched the back of your neck. "I…He makes me feel like the luckiest lady in the world, Joyce."

Joyce quietly laughed with you. "You remember my son Bill, right?" Towering over Joyce was a lanky teenage boy with golden curls, blue eyes, and the face of an angel. He wore a grey t-shirt, worn-out jeans, and beat-up sneakers. 

You reached out to shake his hand. "Of course I do," you lied. "Hi, Bill."

"Afternoon, Mrs. Laufeyson." Bill greeted you with a smile that could make London light up during a blackout. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you." You placed your left hand on your heart, showing off your wedding ring just a little. "How are you, Bill?"

"I'm alright, thank you." Bill nodded. "I've been working with the church, teaching Sunday school. Thought it'd be a nice way to spend my summer after my first year of college."

"That's very thoughtful of you."

"Thank you. I thought it would be good for my theology course to do something like that," Bill admitted before reaching into one of his jean pockets, procuring a small blue velvet box. "Actually, I have something for you, Mrs. Laufeyson." 

You covered your mouth in disbelief. "Oh, Bill…"

"Please, take it." He extended the box to you. "I bought it for my former-girlfriend Jewel." Blinking, you gingerly accepted it, running your finger along the lid. "Former girlfriend…You broke up with her?"

Joyce intervened, "He had to do it, dear. She was nothing but trouble."

"I'm so sorry."

 "No, I'm sorry." Bill shook his head. "I bought it for her a long time ago, but I suppose it was never meant to last. But, I really want to give it to someone. Please, consider it a belated wedding gift, Mrs. Laufeyson."

You smiled, opening the box to find a sterling silver bracelet. Simple, yet elegant. "Thank you, Bill. I'll treasure it. If you ever want to talk, or just stop by for some tea, the door will always be open for you."

"Thanks, Mrs. Laufeyson," he graciously said. "And I hope Jewel finds someone else who'll make her happy."

The three of you stood quietly outside your house before you spoke up. "Joyce, would you and Bill like to come inside for some tea?"

"Not today, dear. I'm so sorry, Bill's coming with me to do some errands. And I'm sure you might need to catch up on some sleep after such a busy honeymoon." Joyce teased you a little with the last bit. "Might only be a matter of time before you and Loki get a visit from the stork."

You laughed, looking down again. You remembered how Loki hugged you from behind this morning and teased you with the idea of "finishing what you started on the honeymoon". Almost instinctively, your free hand rested on your stomach.

"We should have dinner sometime, Loki and I would love to have you over, we can catch up," you blurted. Joyce enthusiastically agreed and said she and her husband would love that.

"Tomorrow night," Joyce promised. "Would seven-thirty be alright?"

"Absolutely!" You nodded, already imagining how to tell Loki when he came home from work. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"See you tomorrow." Joyce and Bill waved goodbye as they climbed into their car and drove off. 

Something ached inside you as you watched them drive off, maybe because it reminded you of the way that Loki drove off this morning while you stood at the doorway waving goodbye. As you closed the door once again, you pondered over going out tomorrow, even if it was just something as small as a mid-morning stroll while Loki was out. But for now, there were other things that needed to be done.

Tagging: @anukulee @smolvenger @pineappleandro @lotsoflokilove23 @talklokitome @rumin8ting @12-pm-510 @painedfever @iambetterthanbefore @princess-ofthe-pages @thenotoriouserg @lokischambermaid @lokiismineforever @lokidbadguy @lokisgoodgirl @lokisprettygirl22 @holdmytesseract @wheredafandomat @wolfsmom1 @lovelysizzlingbluebird @evelyn-kingsley @muddyorbsblr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @icytrickster17 @thatdummy-girl @fantasyfan4life @huntress-artemiss @itsdoni @gruftiela @ellooo0ooo @ireallyneedtherapy @jennyggggrrr @turniptitaness @lokiforever

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

what do you think the chains favorite breakfast foods are (if they eat breakfast)

I WAS HALFWAY THROUGH ANSWERING THIS AND MY PHONE DIED AND DELETED EVERYTHING I HAD WRITTEN, DEATH AND SORROW AND DESPAIR.

Okay I'm good now.

ANYWAYS, I split you ask into two sections: first, their favorite food ever if they can get their hands on it, the second what they like to eat on the road. And then a final unhinged rant at the bottom about the one thing about teenage boys/young men and their food that I'll never understand: Bacon.

Legend--I have a feeling that he likes sweets. Specifically, waffles with whipped cream and berries. They're a little burnt, but Ravio made them for him, so he'll pretend he doesn't notice (and grows to like them better that way). On the road, he'll go for coffee/tea (he's not picky) if one of the others make it, or nothing at all.

Hyrule--does he have a favorite breakfast food? Food isn't very stable where he comes from--Legend and Wild would spoil him so much in regard of expanding his palate. But I imagine that something like a fried mixture of beef/sausage, vegetables, and a starch (perhaps an even poorer version of an already poor person food Shepherd's Pie, perhaps? it could be a breakfast food) would be a sort of filling, tasty, and easy to procure/make/preserve food that he'd like. On that note, I would say something simple, easy to get and preserve, and hardy would be his go to breakfast on the road--maybe meat jerky.

Wild--Also a sweets person. Fruit cake, cinnamon rolls, frosted cupcakes, basically all the little delicacies he could get at a dumb party 100 years ago, he ain't picky, it's for breakfast and it's fueling a day long sugar high. On the road he, unlike the other Links, can be pretty creative with his breakfasts, and he likes his spice as well. So, I think he'd like Meaty rice balls.

Four--direct this question to someone else please. He has four voices in his head fighting to answer right now, and none of them agree. I surely dont know if he doesn't.

Time--Pancakes and farm-fresh scrambled eggs and toast with jam. Malon makes it for him. What can I say. On the road he is a habitual coffee drinker, he wouldn't be functioning in the mornings without it. But he'll also take a poached egg if he has the time (heh).

Warrior--unlike Time who is a habitual coffee drinker, he is a coffee connoisseur. He likes the breakfasts they serve at the castle--a lot of meats and fruits, expensive, and on top of it all, well plated. Not to say that he can't eat simply--he was in a war, mind you--just that he prefers not to. On the road, he strikes me as the kind that would drink those tasteless quick oats (y'know you just add water, shake and go?) and also be very vocal about much time (heh) it's saving him (being none). I don't know what the Hyrule equivalent of those are.

Twilight--our favorite country boy. I think he likes a true southern breakfast. Ham and pan-fried potatoes and eggs over-easy, with a side of cheesy grits and sausage biscuits and gravy like Uli used to make for him (I HC this man has a black hole of a stomach, out of all the Links). On the road he'll inhale a boiled egg or two (salted and peppered if he's feeling fancy) that Wild made for him. I also head canon that Twilight likes tea with an intensity. And not only sweet tea, but like, ALL of the teas. He gets obsessive. I literally have in my detail/subplot tracking documents for BDOR the following entry underneath chapter 8--Tea: "Twilight’s cure to Wild’s voice is tea. His cure to life’s woes is tea."

Wind--whatever his grandma is making, probably with seafood involved. I've had a crab-spinach-egg casserole for breakfast before, it was good, so I'll give him that. On the road, I can see him packing a lot of bread and some meat (dried fish if he can get it).

Sky--This guy honestly has me stumped. Do those on Skyloft eat Loftwing eggs, or are they considered taboo? They have a lot of pumpkins around--do they incorporate them into their meals?@needfantasticstories you know a lot of Skyward Sword lore, bequeath me your wisdom. Anyways on the road he's a meat and bread person like Wind. Practical.

Now, for my rant about young men and their food quirks:

Bacon. Bacon, as I have witnessed, drives the most reasonable of men insane.

I just a few things to say about this. I have younger brothers, and I born witness to many male sleepover parties. I--as the resident nasty fe-male XD--have been (forced) to cook for them in the mornings. Set a pile of bacon in front of them (or really any meat, but I have found that bacon has the strongest affect) and they turn into WOLVES. They start to crowd around and stare as soon as they begin to smell it (which hey, give me space in the kitchen, please!), snatch it up before the grease even cools, and then retreat into their separate corners of the living room/kitchen and scarf it down, all while avoiding eye contact and projecting just how much they don't care about the bacon they're eating (perhaps so one of the others don't take notice and try to steal it). There's an odd little ritual/rules to the thing, too: for example, it's frowned upon to take more than three or four pieces at a time, there has to be enough for everyone, obviously; but if you finish a second and third serving before some poor sod stumbles in and gets himself a piece--why that is acceptable, even encouraged. But at all times, you could feel them watching each other, judging whether each person had taken acceptable amounts. 6 at once, I have determined, is veritably considered too much, as I have watched an entire group of mid-late teenage boys chase another through the house and outside for this crime of greed. Another thing was the presence of literally any other edible food. If there was anything else--eggs, fruit, even something like a few slices of unbuttered toast or coffee or juice sitting out, this reaction was largely tempered--even if none of the boys took the other foods, they would take a meager one or two pieces of bacon and be satisfied, perhaps reassured that other food was present and their hope of a filling breakfast was not in vain. Most, at that point they would restrain themselves from eating anything (other than their bacon tax) and wait so that everyone could eat together. But the mad scramble that occurs when there is bacon and only bacon in the kitchen (even if other things are cooking, nearly done, and visible to them) is otherworldly.

I never saw it with anything else, not eggs, not fruit, not even sausage or any other breakfast food. And it must be noted that I was exempt from their little ritual of judgement--perhaps as the only woman, or perhaps as the cook, I was allowed to take as much bacon as I liked from the pile, once the initial wave had attacked and retreated with their bounty (and the strips of bacon had cooled enough that mortal human hands such as my own could pick them up). And while they behaved like beasts, I was always very politely thanked for making breakfast once it was over and the frenzy had abated.

Anyways, your ask got me thinking about Malon making a pile of bacon for the boys, activating the beforehand undiscovered "PANIC! BACON!" mode in their brains, and just being utterly confused as they turn into animals. Just the boys descend, and then a few shouts of "Thanks, Malon!" drift in on the wind as they scatter like racoons with treasure, leaving an empty plate spinning behind them.

[thevampirelevi]

Stuffed Like A Turkey | NSFW

cw: eddie x fem!reader, holiday fluff, drug use, smut, p in v, creampies, 18+ only! MDNI

The Munsons are invited over to your house for Thanksgiving dinner, so you really show out and slave the whole day away cooking the meal to perfection. To show his thanks, Eddie rewards you with a cream pie.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You grab a dish towel and wipe flour from your hands, the sound of the phone ringing interrupting you as you ask your best friend Parker to take your place and finish making the biscuits.

"Hello?"

"Y/N," you can practically hear the man's smile through the phone, "Hey, um, it's me Eddie. Just wondering what time you want me and the old man to come over?"

You look back at the kitchen to approximate an estimate time. You're about to say an hour from now when the sight of Parker struggling to pry dough from the rolling pin makes you guess again. Better make that two hours.

"How about five thirty?" you answer finally.

"Sounds like a plan," Eddie says. "D'you need me to bring anything?"

"No," you respond, before an idea pops into your head. "Well, actually. Do you have any magic mushrooms?"

The sound of Eddie's laugh fills your ears from the other end. "I'll see what I can do for you, sweetheart. See ya soon."

"Bye Eds," you hang the phone up, sighing as you turn around and come to Parker's rescue just as she's about to put the unrecognizable mounds of dough into the oven.

She looks up at you, embarrassed, "Maybe I should just stick to bringing the cranberry sauce next year."

You take the tray from her, laughing as you set it on the counter to fix. "What the hell happened?"

She shrugs, "I warned you I wouldn't be much help."

You flour your hands once more, chuckling as you salvage what you can and shape the deformed biscuits back into dinner rolls. "Well I just got off the phone with Eddie, I told him to come a little later but I figure everyone else'll probably come at the same time. Think you can handle getting the door for them?"

Parker nods affirmatively, chestnut curls following the movement. "That I can do!"

After you put the biscuits into the oven, basting the turkey while you're there, you get started on the mac-n-cheese. Parker's in charge of shredding the cheddar while you begin a roux, mixing a concoction of eggs, flour, paprika, garlic salt, and onion powder. When that's done, you breeze through making greenbean casserole and mashed potatoes, Parker proving herself to be helpful after all (as long as the tasks are simple enough, like peeling the potatoes and boiling water.) Just as you're finishing the stuffing and buttering the biscuits, the doorbell rings.

Bruce Kyle is the first to arrive. A friend of Parkers is a friend of yours, though lately it's become clear that the two are not just friends.

"Hello party people," greets the tall Poindexter. "I bring you candied yams. And rum."

You and Parker cheer in response, Parker helping him inside and pouring herself a glass as she snacks on olives and cheese. You wiggle your eyebrows at her when Bruce isn't looking.

The next to arrive are actual guests of your own, the newlyweds Harrie and Minnie. When you open the door, you're surprised to learn that Minnie will be eating for two tonight.

"When did this happen?!" you exclaim, hugging her as Harrie and Bruce introduce themselves to one another.

"I'm thirteen weeks today!" she beams.

Everyone is taking their coats off as you guide Minnie to the bathroom, heart full from the news. You'd known her long before Harrie, going way back to Hawkins Middle School. Harrie was her high school sweetheart, the two finally tying the knot last year.

Finally, Harrie is carving the turkey while Bruce and Parker set the table. You're making trips to carefully carry everything to the dining room, now on the pumpkin pie made by Minnie. The doorbell rings, and your heart flutters as there's only one household missing.

"Hi Wayne," you smile as you swing the door open. With him is a mousy brunette with wrinkles around her hazel eyes. This must be the date he told you about when you'd first invited him and his nephew over for the holidays.

"Nice to see you Y/N," he starts. "This is Carlie."

"Nice to meet you," she greets, smiling. You step aside to let them both inside, now able to see Eddie further back at his van parked across the street. The butterflies return.

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At first, you'd been very nervous since you first woke up this morning. This being your first time ever hosting Thanksgiving at your place, you worried about how everyone would like what you cooked and even moreso how everyone would get along. The theme this year was 'found family.'

But your doubts proved themselves to be baseless, everyone easing into the ebb and flow of conversation as soon as everyone was seated comfortably. You'd also been on your fifth compliment of the night, promising Eddie as many leftovers as he could carry.

Eventually, your party was reduced to 'Friendsgiving,' Wayne having to be back at the plant tomorrow and taking his date home with him. You nudge Eddie under the table, motioning for him to follow you outside.

"Did you bring it?" you whisper, as if anyone would hear you from outside over the sound of the game on the television.

Eddie grins, dimples making their timely appearance, holding up a baggie he'd hid in the pocket of his leather jacket. "Just what the doctor ordered."

You both take seats on the stoop mere inches away from one another, Eddie producing a joint from the sandwich bag and a zippo from his pocket. He flicks the lighter open, holding the J to the flame.

"Couldn't get my guy to bring me shrooms at last minute," he mumbles as he holds the joint with his teeth. "But I figured you wouldn't mind."

"Even better," you smile, taking the blunt as he passes it to you, blowing smoke from between his plush lips.

The two of you spend enough time away to start raising concern. You sigh out a puff of reefer, standing up as Eddie ashes the J out on the bottom of his boot.

Everyone, apart from Parker, are all too polite and too engrossed in the plates in front of them to be the first to make a comment about your absence. As soon as best friend's eyes are on you, you know what's coming.

"So," she starts, smirking. You're rolling your eyes already as you and Eddie both sit back down at the table. "Where did y'all go?"

"Just a little smoke break," you assure her.

"Without me?" she pouts.

"Don't you worry," you grin, "I've got goodie bags for everyone - except Minnie, sorry."

Minnie fakes hurt, but everyone else is hooting.

"Courtesy of yours truly," Eddie adds. Everyone thanks him while you pass around dessert, munchies now taking over.

Eddie's hand is on your knee and you can see him watching you from the corner of your eye as you squirt whipped cream onto your slice off pie.

"Don't get too full, sweetheart," he whispers in your ear, voice husky. "I've got more for you later."

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───── ⋆⋅˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Guests don't start to leave until around ten, too wrapped up in catching up with (or meeting) one another to notice the passing time. But Eddie sure noticed.

"Call me when you get home safe," you tell Parker inside of a hug. Bruce tangles his arm with hers, helping the woman down the stairs after too much to drink. You laugh, "Take care of her."

Bruce gives you a thumbs up, "Thanks for having us," and the two are off.

You close the door with a sigh, full of food but your social battery empty as you start to feel tired from all of the cooking, all of the interaction, and from the weed.

"Hope you're not too tired," Eddie's hand is in yours, pulling you towards your bedroom. Tingles radiate through out your body, still buzzed and still excited after all of Eddie's teasing through out the entire night; his hand under the table trailing up your thigh, the naughty words he'd whisper in your ear, his eyes undressing you.

Your creative mind, enhanced by your high, wasn't helping either. It was hard to keep your hands off him and remain proper in front of your guests when all you could think about was his hands gripping your waist, fist squeezing your throat, fingers pumping in and out of you while you couldn't peel your eyes away from his rings, Eddie flashing his hands as he'd tell a story.

"Go easy on me," you plead, limbs still heavy, knowing already that it's fruitless when Eddie's eyes darken down at you.

"No dice, sweetheart," he mumbles, trailing wet kisses from your ear down to your chest as he exposes more of it, nipping at the crook of your neck and your collarbone. "You've kept me waiting all night..."

"But, I cooked for you," you pout, sighing as he leaves a new hickey on your neck.

He stops, thinking for a moment. "Fine, I guess you have earned yourself a reward."

The next thing you know, he's pushing you down onto the bed, your hair fanning over the pillows as he bunches up the hem of your dress. You lift your hips to help him as he pulls down your panties along with your tights, you give his belt loop a tug.

"Uh uh," he tsks. "Not yet."

The whine you let out is interrupted by a moan as his fingertips graze over your clit. He licks his lips, tracing a circle as he watches your reaction. He's going painfully slow, dragging out every minuscule movement of his finger making you ache more and more in the process.

"Eddie," you breathe exasperatingly. "Please."

He smiles, that being the magic word apparently as it's all it takes for him to push his now wet finger inside of you, hissing at your warmth. He curls his finger, slowly pulling it out and earning another whine from you. Remembering his promise of a reward, he adds another finger just as he pushes back in, curling again. He's tickling that spot now, making you squirm. Your hands trail his body before finding the spot growing in his pants, palming it. When his lips attack your neck once more, it sends heat directly from the spot where he sucks on your carotid straight down to your core, making your eyes flutter closed.

"Open up wider for me," he mumbles. You do as told, wanting more of him but only opening yourself up to be teased even more. He's practically edging you as he plays with you, refusing to touch you anywhere else except to give you a lovebite. You're on fire where his hands are, but feel cold and lonely everywhere else - this keeps you in the middle, never quite teetering over the edge yet.

But then suddenly he's moving faster, lowering himself to attach his lips to your pussy. You gasp, instinctively closing your legs at the sudden stimulation. Eddie sucks on your clit, groaning as he harshly opens you back up, one hand pinning your thigh to the bed and the other spreading your wetness.

"That's it, princess."

You can't help but to cum, both at his words and the way he's practically making out with your pussy. He doesn't stop, tongue flicking your clit as he overstimulates you.

"Eddie please," you moan, fingers tangled in his hair. For a brief moment, you open your eyes to see him staring up at you in a devilish manner. He releases his grip on your thigh, easing the strain, ghosting his free hand up your body under your dress - the movement gathering the fabric further up and revealing your breasts. His rings graze over your nipples. He's still eating you out, eyes never leaving yours. His fingers work faster than the first time, forcing your second release as you arch your back.

Finally he finishes, lips leaving your clit with a pop. Pulling off his shirt to wipe off his mouth, you let your hands touch his v-line. Your head's still cloudy as you do away with the rest of your clothes, feeling way too hot and just needing there to be nothing separating your bodies. You saunter over to the edge of the bed, biting your lip as you undo his belt. He breathes deeply, caressing your hair. You waste no time undressing him, his dick smacking his stomach when you finally free it.

You can see that he's rock hard, veins bulging from his shaft and his tip swollen with a bead of precum. It throbs as you wrap your hand around it, laughing at the hiss that escapes his swollen lips - glossy from your climax.

He cups your jaw, gently moving your gaze up to meet his. His hips push forward and you don't hesitate to open your mouth for him, blinking up at him through your lashes. Cottonmouth makes it harder for you to breathe than you normally would, but when he juts his hips too suddenly at the sensation of your tongue swirling his tip and hits the back of your throat, saliva starts to pool in your mouth. You pull off of him slowly, teasing him slightly, coming up for air with a string of spit connecting you to his dick.

"You okay baby?" he checks in, caressing your cheek. You nod, not giving him a moment to adjust before you're swallowing him whole, eyes watering. "Oh my god-"

Eddie's biting back his moans as you gag on his dick, head bobbing. You can tell he's close, only punishing hisself when he was teasing you earlier. Just as his hips begin to stutter, you stop again. You glare at him as you kiss the head of his cock, tracing circles with your tongue, enacting your revenge.

He throws his head back, hair falling from his shoulders. "Y/N, baby."

But before you know it, he's the one stopping you, pinning you back onto the bed by your wrists. He laughs darkly before he kisses you, tongue swiping your lip and tip lined up at your entrance. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to move his dick up and down, rubbing your pussy. You gasp, giving him entrance into your mouth as he pushes both his dick and his tongue into you simultaneously.

You take every inch of him, practically pulling him in. You moan into eachother's mouths as he finds a rhythm.

You break away from the kiss, moaning when he grinds into your sweet spot, "Oh Eddie,"

"Right there?" he hums into your neck, sending chills down your spine. "Fuck baby-"

You're wrapping your legs around him, thrusting up into him, both still so close but wanting to make it last forever.

Your everpresent high still having the effects of an aphrodisiac of sorts, you feel the horniest you've ever been in your life - especially when Eddie's eyes meet yours, deep and glinting. Both way you're biting your lip and the way you're looking at him do something wicked to Eddie, giving him butterflies as he gets closer and closer.

"Nut in me," you beg, not an ounce of inhibition left as you become desperate to fall over the edge. "Please Eddie, I need you so bad,"

Eddie whimpers in response, head falling down into the crook of your neck as he bites you, fucking you harder and harder.

All that can be heard is the bed creaking, threatening to break as Eddie pounds into you, and the moans you can no longer bite back as Eddie whimpers into your neck. You tighten around him, squeezing like a vice, making his hips snap into yours - you practically scream as he bites down on your clavicle.

You can feel him release inside of you, his load hot and plentiful. He's still grinding down into you, riding out both of your highs. "Fuckkkk..."

You're still cumming, throbbing while stretched around him. He kisses you sweetly, shushing you and mumbling sweet nothings. Finally he pulls out of you, both of you whimpering as his cum spills out of you and onto the sheets.

Eddie trails his fingertips against your entrance in a daze, tasting the both of you as he brings his fingers to his mouth.

"Compliments to the chef," he laughs, collapsing next to you, out of breath.

You tangle your sticky limbs together, your head on his chest as it rises and falls, cuddling as your eyelids begin to droop.

Suddenly you can't help from saying, "Thanks for giving me your banana cream pie."

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an: this was my first time writing smut (for eddie) ever, i hope u liked it! obviously i'm loving the idea of smoking with eddie a lot rn, as you can tell by this and the latest chapter of adventureland lol

-levi

[ryctone]

Me before: You know, I don't really wanna make Pumpkin Scone canon to the Custard Guard universe bc it would make stuff complicated :/

Me now: *Creates extensive lore about her*

Sighs.

Anyway, here are the girlies; Pumpkin Scone Cookie and Angel Fruitcake Cookie! (+Dusk Wyvern) :

- Both Pumpkin Scone and Angel Fruitcake attend Casserole Academy, a school in the Crème Republic (bc I doubt the Paladin Academy is the ONLY school there, I would be very concerned if that were the case /LH), it does teach magic, not as complex as the Parfaedia Institute but it does the job.

- I would say they're around 17-18 years old.

- Pumpkin Scone is Pumpkin and Clotted Cream's daughter. She keeps to herself a lot and can't take a lot of social cues often, being homeschooled most of her life due to her parents fear of everyone discovering she can use dark magic... Many cookies found out anyway when she entered her current school so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯. She wants to become an book author and the reason she's studying is to get a degree and not much for the magic aspect of the school. Pumpkin Scone is often casted out by the other students for wielding dark magic, despite her type of the magic not being malicious.

- Angel Fruitcake is a distant relative of Elder Sablé from her mother's side and started living at House Sablé after an incident that caused her parents death as a baby; is technically under the care of Sablé's niece (Lady Sweet Bun) but this one just leaves the maids to take care of her and simply views Angel as another way to take over as matriarch of the House. Is very optimistic and has good sense of leadership, popular amongst the other students for being related to an Elder of the Convocation but wants to be seen as her own cookie. Wants to be a musician and knows how to play many instruments, from the cello to the flute, even if Lady Sweet Bun doesn't approve of her dream.

- Both are best friends

(Friends-to-Lovers trope go brrrrr /hj).

- Pumpkin Scone owns a wyvern companion called Dusk, who is a really rare kind and slightly bigger than a normal wyvern; found him as an egg when she was younger and had been inseparable ever since. He's a bit mischievous with a playful nature, chomps on cookies' heads when he takes a liking to them but means no harm, it's just the way he shows friendship.

And that's all! I care em very much,,

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Please for all things holy - more wife reader introducing doting!bruce to working class things/food. I want my man to experience the joy that is hamburger helper after a hard, cold day. Bisquick chicken? BREAKFAST CASSEROLE DUDE?!

"What in god's name-"

The cacophony in the kitchen was enough to wake the dead. But it was the giggling that made Alfred pause and say a quick prayer. Please don't let them be having sex in the kitchen.

The relief when he shouldered the door open was short-lived. Everyone was thankfully clothed. And even if Bruce was trying to get handsy- why on earth were you making breakfast? And what in the hell were you cooking?

It smelled good. Even if he couldn't identify it. Some mix of sweet and savory.

"I couldn't sleep," you explain, gesturing at the mess.

"And I haven't been to bed yet," Bruce added.

That at least, Alfred thought nodding, explained why he'd only recently heard rattling around. Working around Bruce was probably like trying to avoid a particularly amorous octopus. "I see," he hummed, "And what did you decide was on the menu this morning?"

"Well," you explain gesturing. "I started cleaning and found a crockpot- so I did a french toast thing my grandma used to make and then I figured I should probably put some protein in there somewhere. So. Egg bake thing. Also biscuits and gravy but that's just because I had the time- and there was buttermilk in the fridge."

"Why were you cleaning?" Alfred asked, helping himself to a cup of coffee and pulling up a chair.

"Not that there was much to do," you snort, "But it helps me think."

"Ah." He added cream and sugar and watched for a moment as you smacked the back of Bruce's hand when he started to stir something that evidently didn't need it. And he made a mental note to inform the staff that if you were cleaning something they likely weren't in trouble.

You'd apparently made enough food to feed a small army and as people filtered in you cheerfully told them to take a plate. Odd and unorthodox as it was, he could see it winning friends. Even if there'd be grousing later about the amount of dishes to be done.

Competent, was how Alfred would describe it. Out of the corner of hs eye, he watched Bruce take a couple experimental bites and come to the same conclusion. Dick was much more enthusiastic. Declaring that he wanted your French Toast concoction every day. And that the Biscuits and Gravy were almost as good as the ones the sword swallower would make.

"Thanks, dude," you manage around a stifled yawn.

"Can you make Chili?" he asked.

"Do the Backstreet Boy want it that way?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god."

Bruce snorted, "Your social Security check will be in the mail next week."

"Bite me," you tell him, sticking your tongue out.

"I bet you're bitter," Dick mused. "Or Salty."

[natashatrace]

10/365 || sereshace + quiet

//

Natasha stretches her arms up over her head as she wakes, rolling from her side to her back with a sigh. The comforter’s been drawn up to her chest to keep her warm — with her boys in bed, the blankets are always kicked down to her ankles. Even before she opens her eyes to blink up at the ceiling, she knows Jake and Bradley have already gotten up.

A quick glance to the clock on her nightstand has her sitting up slowly, brushing the sleep out of her eyes and rolling her neck to ease the ache there. Flying a jet for a living is one thing. Flying commercial to head home from her latest deployment is another, an entirely different kind of ache that’ll need more than one night in her own bed.

Their bed.

It’s the first time she’s come home to this — Bradley and Jake all moved in, fully committed in a way they’d only ever talked about for years. Now, though, it’s real. She brushes her teeth at a sink decorated with two other toothbrushes, a jar of Jake’s hair pomade and Bradley’s deodorant.

With most of her belongings still packed up, exhaustion still heavy in her bones, she borrows Bradley’s deodorant and then tugs on one of Jake’s burnt orange sweatshirts. The smell of coffee hits her as she makes her way down the stairs, but the sound of their voices doesn’t register until she’s nearly to the kitchen.

They’re quieter in the mornings than she thought they’d be.

For all the noise they surround themselves with, all the bickering and laughter and life, her boys are better now at settling down. Dialing in. She watches for a moment from the doorway — leans against the frame with a grin on her lips as they manage a maddeningly fluid dance. Jake gets three plates out, one by one to keep the porcelain from clattering too loudly, and sets them on the counter for Bradley to serve up their breakfast.

(His momma’s egg casserole recipe. He makes it every time she comes home.)

Bradley steps around Jake to grab three mugs from their ever-growing collection, his feet silent against the tile and a hand curled around Jake’s hip to keep him still. He’s humming to himself, she thinks, entirely focused on filling two mugs with coffee and one with hot water. Jake drops the teabag into the water just as Bradley reaches to shut the stovetop off, and she’s so focused on their rhythm that she starts a bit at the sound of Bradley’s voice.

“You think she’s awake yet? Or is she still up there snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, grinning. She knows they know she’s here. Jake breathes out a long-suffering sigh, taking their plates and setting them on the table, very clearly pretending not to notice her. “The snoring, Bradshaw. I mean, how am I supposed to keep this pretty face of mine if I can’t get my beauty rest?”

“Guess you’ll just have to let our girl be the prettiest instead, babe,” Bradley says, walking two mugs of coffee to the table.

Jake huffs, setting the third plate on the table and then grabbing his mug of tea. “The sacrifices we’ve got to make. She’s lucky she’s worth it.”

Bradley steps toward the table like he’s going to sit down, but then turns and tugs Natasha into his arms instead, hugging her tight as she laughs. “So worth it. Hey, you. G’morning.”

“Welcome home, darlin’,” Jake greets, kissing her forehead with a grin. “Our boyfriend made breakfast. I seem to remember it bein’ your favorite.”

She tips her head up until Jake gets the hint, leaning down to brush a kiss against her lips. When she pulls back, Bradley’s watching them with a grin, his arms still loosely wrapped around her waist.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in,” she says quietly, squeezing Bradley’s arm. “Missed you.”

Jake’s grin softens. He shares a quick look with Bradley, head tilting, and then Bradley’s smirking. They’ve spoken without saying a damn word and she’s able to see it clearly.

Quieter than she thought they’d be.

Bradley looks down at her, grinning brightly. “You talking to us or the casserole, Tash?”

“The food, obviously,” she insists, twisting Bradley’s nipple though his shirt. He yelps and Jake laughs, the sound quickly turning into an equally high-pitched yelp when she pinches his side. “Outta my way, boys.”