#reblog for free bagel

[skybluesprunki]

i wanted the bagel

he listens to skibidi toilet while boxing

[lyn-ne]

sorry

it made me smile :3

[hibiskissedsoul]

— firefighter!rafe getting breakfast after his 24 hour shift ᯓ★

cw: just fluff :)

a/n: i love firefighters. rafe as a firefighter? YES PLEASEEE. like or reblog if you want moresiessss :D

"honey, i’m home!" rafe’s muffled yell echoes through the house.

stepping down the stairs in your pajamas, you rub your eyes and smile at your boyfriend. a paper bag hangs between his teeth, and two little drinks are in his hands as he struggles to kick off his work boots.

he’s too preoccupied with not spilling the drinks or dropping the bag to notice you at the stairs. he hurries to the kitchen counter, carefully setting everything down.

you sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his torso, kissing his back and breathing in his smoky scent. somehow, he smells better after work. manlier. there’s just something about the smell of a hardworking man.

your fingers press into the tight black fabric of his compression shirt. "kildare fire" stretches in red across the back, the letters slightly faded. his cargo pants are smudged with soot at the knees, his belt still clipped.

he lets out a little hum, warm and tired, and you feel his muscles loosen beneath your hands. he leans back into your touch like he’s been waiting for it all night. "there you are." he turns to face you, smiling down with that soft, cheesy grin. "i brought breakfast." he kisses your hair and hugs you tight before pulling away to show you.

"i think the local café has a first responder deal. the lady gave me my stuff for free!" he chuckles, opening the paper bag, which holds two breakfast bagels.

"really? aw, that’s nice... which drink is mine?" you ask, eyeing both cups, then looking up at him. he hands you the correct one—which, you notice, is your exact usual order. every add-on, the specific milk, even the amount of sugar.

you smile into the rim of the lid as you take a sip. "how do you always remember my order? even after barely sleeping?"

rafe shrugs. "i remember everything when it comes to you, baby."

"corny, i know—" he starts to laugh, already expecting a snarky comment.

"no, it’s romantic," you cut him off, giving a sleepy grin and going on your tiptoes to kiss him, hand still around your cup.

he chuckles against your lips. "no bullying today?"

he caresses your back with slow, gentle hands, like he’s savoring being home.

"mhm, not today. you work too hard for me to mess with you this early. maybe once you nap," you tease, kissing his cheek before sliding into his lap at the counter.

he helps settle you, like it’s a routine now—your favorite part of mornings like this. you dive into your breakfast bagel, trading bites with rafe since he got a different kind. you find it endearing—how even after a long shift, he still brings you breakfast. sure, rafe works those day-long shifts that leave you a little lonely. but you know he’ll always come back to you. arms full, eyes soft, happiest when he’s here with you.

"so... you think the café worker was flirting with you?" you ask through a bite, grinning.

"and there it is," he sighs, rolling his eyes as he lightly squeezes your hip.

[xx-vamp1r3-k1ss3s-xx]

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[copperbadge]

Your latest bread success made me wonder if you've tried or had much luck making gluten free bread? I'm so tired of most commercially available options, they all seem to dissolve instantly. Awful for burgers or anything with sauce. I miss sourdough.

I'm afraid I haven't done much work with gluten-free baking; the problem is the gluten tax. As I'm sure you know, gluten-free anything, even just ingredients, are more expensive, and the process of baking is more labor intensive and time-consuming for a product that isn't the same. Even the best gluten-free bread, lacking gluten, is lacking one of the defining characteristics of the thing it's emulating.

Since I can eat gluten and am not regularly responsible for feeding anyone who can't, there's no real motivation to do it. I try to always have gluten-free options when I'm hosting, but that's usually stuff like crudite and dip, charcuterie, or fruit -- things that can also avoid other allergens, and depending on the item be eaten by vegetarians or vegans.

Now, all that said, I can recommend King Arthur's Cup For Cup GF flour for baking; it makes the process fairly smooth and the final product seems pretty sturdy, although admittedly the flour is about twice the price of their normal bread flour per pound. I haven't encountered Bob's Red Mill GF flour in a while, but partly that's because when we stopped using them they hadn't really reformulated in a few decades and their GF flour was pretty coarse, and sometimes made from beans my family members couldn't tolerate. They may have advanced since, this was like 10-15 years ago at least.

The King Arthur website has a variety of GF baking recipes as well as mixes and I do have some experience making their GF bagels, which are pretty good, although I think they're actually better if you halve the size (easier to manage, easier to store, since they really need to be kept cold, preferably frozen, and eaten warmed). I baked those regularly for a while for a colleague's kid who was allergic to wheat, and they weren't much more work than baking regular bagels, just required more delicate handling pre-bake.

I realize this is basic and you've probably tried it, but just in case, any GF product you're going to be saucing (as you say, like burgers), you might try griddling first -- little scrape of butter, toss it in a hot pan for a few minutes. In regular bread it helps to both create a flat barrier so the sauce doesn't sink into the bread, and it also dries it out a little so that it can take more moisture to begin with. This is theoretical though, I've never done it with GF buns. I do know that generally King Arthur recommends toasting GF products baked with its recipes.

Readers, feel free to chime in with recommendations! Remember to reply in comments or reblogs, as I don't post asks sent in response to other asks.

[strawb3rryg2l]

How to Lose 'Bob' in 10 Days, Part 4

Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N

Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.

Word Count: 2,479

Warnings: A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, spooky, creepy, crying, grief, loss, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)

Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.

New here? Go back in time -> Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

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

They met outside a tiny bagel shop in the East Village. The kind of place that had “Cash Only” written in Sharpie on yellowing tape, and a guy behind the counter who shouted, “Lox is love, Lox is life!” every fifteen minutes like it was scripture. The place smelled like burned sesame seeds and boiled onions. A rat skittered somewhere behind a recycling bin.

Bob was already waiting, arms crossed, dressed in all black again—black coat, black jeans, black hoodie peeking out like an omen. He looked like a slightly-less-broody NYC tech guy who’d seen the abyss and decided to code it into an app.

“You’re late,” he said, crooked smile pulling at one side of his mouth.

“I had to pick up something important,” she said, and handed him a Build-A-Bear in a tiny tuxedo.

“Meet our emotional support child. His name is Mister Cuddles.”

Bob blinked once. Took the bear like it might be explosive. Gave it a once-over like it was evidence in a crime scene.

Then, deadpan: “Mister Cuddles has your eyes.”

Damn it. That was supposed to be too much. But Bob didn’t flinch. If anything, he cradled the bear more gently than expected, like it meant something.

They ate everything bagels on a sticky bench in Tompkins Square Park. A pigeon stared them down like it had unfinished business. Halfway through her cream cheese monologue (“You have to toast it exactly 90 seconds, otherwise you lose the spread-to-bread ratio and then what’s the point of living?”), she dropped the bomb.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We should move in together.”

He paused. Chewed. Swallowed. “You snore?”

“Violently,” she answered.

“Cool. I’ll get earplugs.”

She stared at him. “Do you… like chaos?”

Bob shrugged. “It’s New York. You have to.”

By Day Six, she was running out of red flags. Nothing worked. Not the fake spiritual awakening, not the red sock sabotage, not the sobbing in Chelsea about a melting swan ("It reminds me of the transience of connection!") or mailing herself love letters signed “Yours in every timeline, Bob.” He didn’t run. He laughed. Worse—he seemed to like her more.

So, she changed tactics.

The haunted walking tour in the West Village was meant to unnerve him. Not because of the ghosts—but because of what they might stir up. She wore her favorite coat, the one that hugged her like a memory, and walked beside Bob through the chilly fog that settled over the cobblestones like a shroud.

Bob showed up in a beanie pulled low and a black wool coat, looking like the ghost of a heartbroken poet. It annoyed her how good he looked in the fog.

“You believe in ghosts?” she asked, stuffing gloved hands into her coat pockets as the guide rattled off a rehearsed spiel about suicides and spectral sightings.

“I believe New York keeps secrets,” he said. His eyes flicked toward a darkened window above them. “And I believe I’ve seen weirder.”

“You ever felt like you’ve been somewhere before, even when you haven’t?”

He looked at her carefully. “All the time.”

The guide launched into a story about a woman in the Gilded Age who leapt from her brownstone window and was still seen pacing the stoop when it rains. Y/N tried to listen, but her head was spinning—not from the story, not even from the cold, but from Bob. Bob, who felt too familiar. Bob, whose warmth made her ache in a place she’d kept sealed off for too long.

And then it happened.

They learned in at the same moment—her to whisper something snarky, him to hear her over the roar of a passing bus—and collided. Lip-to-lip. A second. Maybe two. But warm. Startlingly warm.

She pulled back with a half-hysterical laugh, nearly tripping on the curb. “That was—ha—that was not planned. I was going to make fun of your hat—”

But he wasn’t laughing. Bob looked stunned, like she’d just whispered something in a language he hadn’t heard in a long, long time.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

She blinked. “You mean my nose slamming into your jaw?”

“No.” He shook his head, slow, deliberate. “There was… something else.”

A shadow flickered in the window behind him.

She glanced up instinctively—and for a split-second, the reflection staring back at her wasn’t hers. It was older. Paler. Wearing the same coat but with eyes not her own. She opened her mouth, then closed it. When she turned back, Bob was already speaking.

“You’ve known me before,” he said, quiet as a confession.

Her stomach flipped.

“You’re being weird,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

They stood there, fog curling around their feet, the streetlamp above flickering in that unnatural way lights do when something is off. Around them, the tour group moved forward, oblivious. The cold pressed in. From inside her coat pocket, a buzz.

One new photo.

She pulled out her phone. It was her and Robert—except she’d never taken this one. She was wearing the coat she had on now. Her arms around his. The background looked like this very street.

Bob leaned closer to see the screen. His shoulder touched hers. A jolt went through her. Not of fear. Of something worse. Recognition.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Her lips felt cold, her chest hollowed out.

Because deep down, she already knew.

And then—another whisper. Ancient. Familiar.

“He doesn’t remember you. But he will.”

“D.” That cryptic messenger. That damned voice. It echoed inside her like a bell tolling from another lifetime.

She stepped away from him, panic flaring behind her ribs. The ache, the pull toward him, it wasn’t romantic anymore. It was existential. A cruel, cosmic riddle.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears rising too fast to stop. “Just give me a moment.”

She turned away from him, away from the fog, from the past clawing at her like fingernails against glass. Her vision blurred. This ghost tour wasn’t just haunted; it was a sick joke. Her ghost walked beside her. Her husband’s shadow. Her grief. And now this man, this Bob, who laughed like Robert, who smiled like hope, was unraveling everything she had stitched back together.

She couldn’t breathe.

The air felt thinner here. Like something was watching. Judging.

She felt Bob reach for her again. She didn’t let him touch her.

Because if he did, she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.

Y/N's vision blurred at the edges. Her breath caught in her throat and refused to move, like something heavy was pressing down on her chest. The fog around them thickened, or maybe it just felt that way. Her ears rang. Her limbs tingled.

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and took a few steps back, trying to disappear into the sidewalk. But the feeling wasn’t going away. If anything, it was getting worse. Her heart thudded like it was trying to escape, and her hands trembled even inside her gloves. Panic attack. That’s what this was.

Bob stepped forward, slowly. Not intruding, not pushing. Just… there. His voice came gently, low and grounding. “Y/N.”

She didn’t answer, eyes darting away.

“Hey. Look at me.” She did. Barely. “You’re okay,” he said, voice firm but kind. “You’re here. Breathe with me, alright?”

He lifted his hand, palm up, inviting, not demanding. She hesitated but reached for it. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and solid. Then his other arm came around her, easing her into a hug. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t performative. It was shelter.

“Just breathe. In for four, out for four,” he said softly. She mirrored him, clumsy at first, but it helped. The fog inside her started to lift.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his chest, voice muffled. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re overwhelmed,” Bob murmured into her hair. “We all get that way. Even superheroes’… ghost wives.”

She pulled back, blinking. “That was weirdly specific.”

His mouth twitched. “Just a guess.” Then, tilting his head, he added, “Also might’ve been Mister Cuddles who told me.”

A laugh broke out of her throat, sharp and sudden. She wiped at her face, embarrassed, but the smile lingered. “I hate that that worked.”

“I don’t,” he said, mock-solemn. “It’s my greatest achievement to date.”

They stood in a moment of quiet, the haunted tour trudging a few yards ahead. The guide was still droning on about old spirits and gas lamps, but it felt distant. Removed.

Then Bob asked, casually, “Want to ditch this tour and come over to my place?”

Y/N blinked. “Your place?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just to hang out. We can order overpriced sushi, roast bad Netflix movies. Or you can sit in total silence and judge my throw pillows. No pressure.”

Her mouth opened to say no, too soon, too weird, too dangerous. But before she could speak, something about the way he said it so normal, so him made her ears perk up. Bob’s place. Wasn’t he involved with the New Avengers somehow? Elise had dropped that in a half-sentence earlier this week. A visit could help the article. Fill in the gaps. Explain the mystery.

She tried to stuff the curiosity back down, but it was already rising, hot and flickering.“Only if…” she said slowly, “it’s okay to have me over.”

Bob grinned, that crooked grin again. “Of course it is.”

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

The apartment was not an apartment.

It was a building. Or at least, a massive, converted warehouse in Midtown with clean lines, gleaming elevators, and a private keycard entrance. The lobby alone had better lighting than most luxury spas.

Bob led her through a secured hallway and into an elevator that required a palm scan.

Y/N whistled low. “This is either very cool… or a very elaborate kidnapping.”

“Bit of both,” Bob replied. “But don’t worry. I only kidnap people with excellent taste in bagels.”

The elevator opened onto a private floor that looked more like a boutique hotel than someone’s living space. Industrial ceilings, exposed brick, wide open living spaces… and framed portraits on the walls. Not just art. Faces.

She paused. Something in her chest clenched. She didn’t know these people, not really, but her body reacted like it did. One of them was Sam Wilson. Another was Monica Rambeau. And then there were others she had seen only in passing reports or Elise’s files.

Ghosts of a life she hadn’t lived. Or hadn’t lived yet.

Bob noticed her staring. “It’s weird, right?” he said gently. “You feel like you’ve walked into someone else’s dream.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

Before she could ask more, footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.

“Well, well, look who finally brought someone home,” a familiar, dry voice teased.

Yelena Belova stepped into view, blonde bob bouncing, holding a cup of something suspiciously glowing. Behind her came Walker, grinning like an overly proud golden retriever, followed by Ava Starr (phasing slightly, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to be fully in this room or not), Alexei dragging a giant Costco bag of snacks, and finally—

“Bucky Barnes?” Y/N whispered, stunned.

Bucky nodded. “Hello, nice to meet you.”

Yelena laughed. “Bob has told us about you.”

Bob looked down embarrassed and nudged her shoulder. “Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is the extremely underpaid, mildly dysfunctional, and weirdly attractive New Avengers.”

“You forgot emotionally damaged,” Ava added.

“Oh, that too,” Bob said smiling shyly.

Y/N tried to keep her face neutral. But her mind was spiraling again. Because here they were. All in one place. Not a fantasy. Not a file. Real.

And if they were real, and Bob was one of them, then maybe just maybe she was closer to the truth than she thought.

Bob leaned close, voice quiet near her ear. “You, okay?”

She looked up at him. At the warmth in his eyes. The steadiness.

“No,” she said honestly. “But I think I’m getting there.”

He smiled. “That’s good enough.”

Alexei took one look at Y/N, then turned dramatically toward the rest of the group, arms thrown open like he was about to announce the second coming.

“This,” he declared, “is cause for celebration!”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Alexei, we already ate. And you’ve been celebrating things all week.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving her off, “but this is different. Bob brought someone home. A real live person! With blood and feelings and—” He squinted at Y/N. “—a face that looks like she hasn’t run away yet. This is progress!”

Bob looked like he was either going to laugh or sink into the floor. “It’s not that serious.”

“It is extremely serious,” Alexei insisted. “You never bring people here. Last person you let up here was that delivery guy who cried when you tipped him too much.”

“That was one time,” Bob mumbled.

Y/N blinked. “You… tipped a delivery guy so much he cried?”

“Emotionally unstable man,” Bob said dryly. “And I was drunk. And hungry.”

“I still think about him sometimes,” Ava said from the kitchen. “I hope he’s okay.”

Alexei clapped his massive hands. “Enough! We must eat like family. Come, Y/N, you are guest of honor. You sit at the head of the table.”

“I really don’t have to—”

“No, no, we insist!” Alexei was already dragging out chairs, pulling leftovers from the fridge like he was preparing a feast. Half a dozen mismatched takeout boxes appeared on the long kitchen island. Thai, Indian, pizza, and something that looked like soup but might’ve been a science experiment.

Y/N sat awkwardly at the head of the rustic table while the others filled in around her. Ava spoke lowly with Yelena. Yelena stole fries from Walker’s plate while pretending not to. Bucky poured drinks like he’d done this a thousand times before.

And Bob? Bob sat beside her, giving her space but never quite leaving her orbit.

The food wasn’t fancy, but the warmth in the room was real.

Alexei raised a glass of soda with a proud grin. “To Y/N, for not running out the door immediately.”

“To Y/N,” the others echoed.

Y/N smiled despite herself. “Thanks… I think.”

As the night carried on, stories were told some clearly exaggerated, some probably classified, and Bob leaned in now and then to whisper a joke or fill in a detail. At one point, Yelena asked with her usual bluntness, “So… are you two dating, or is this like a hostage thing?”

Y/N choked on her drink. Bob just shrugged. “Bit of both.”

Even Bucky cracked a smile.

And for a moment just a small, quiet moment Y/N didn’t feel lost. She didn’t feel haunted. She just felt here. Real. And maybe, just maybe… she wanted to stay.

Nothing lasts forever though, Y/N had a clear understanding of that.

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

Author's Post Note: Writing writing writing

[bluedalahorse]

From the outside, it looks like a fairy tale cottage. Flowers in the windowsill, a little bit of ivy climbing the walls, a beautiful garden around the back. As you enter through the door, a bell jingles above.

🫖 Welcome to Felice’s Tea Room! 🫖

Felice herself greets you and leads you to the table you reserved out in the garden. She tells you that starting a cozy cafe like this has always been one of her dreams, even though her parents had different plans for her. As she hands you the menu, she explains that she created special tea arrangements inspired by her female friends:

Sara’s tea includes Irish Breakfast tea, farm fresh egg salad sandwiches on rye, cinnamon oat scones with apple butter, and carrot cake petit fours.

Maddie’s tea includes ginger green tea, avocado and gravlax on mini bagels, chocolate chip scones with organic butter, and cookies and cream cheesecake tartlets.

Stella’s tea includes Söder tea, pickled herring on crispbread, blueberry elderflower scones with lemon curd, and white chocolate violet meringues.

Fredrika’s tea includes Empress Grey tea, classic cucumber sandwiches, blackcurrant scones with jam and clotted cream, and cardamom rose macarons.

Of course there are also countless other baked goods and tea blends available, and you can mix and match and build your own tea if you like. But for know you’re drawn to the friend-inspired teas. Felice tells you she can make substitutions based on allergies and dietary restrictions and/or preferences.

(If your order includes a substitution, feel free to elaborate in the tags.)

Enjoy your afternoon tea! And don’t forget to support Felice’s entrepreneurship by sharing about her business through a reblog.

Posted in response to the prompt “menu” for Characters Month at @youngroyals-events.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

The interior of the car is sleek and shiny. You don’t want to touch anything as you strap the seat belt across your torso. You feel bad enough that he insists upon getting your bags in the car. When he’s at last in the driver’s seat, you relax. 

You glance out the window at the patch of grass where Jake was moments ago. He slinked away as you hid behind the tinted glass in triumph. One little victory after a year of terror. 

“So, shall we?” James asks as he turns the engine. “We’ve some ways to go,” he adjusts the mirror and glances over at you. “I know it isn’t good etiquette but I must say you look beat. It won’t bother me should you doze as I drive.” 

“Oh, uh,” you rub your cheek bashfully, “thanks, I... spent all night packing so--” 

It’s not a complete lie and you’re sure he can fathom the truth after the morning’s confrontation. Admitting it will only make it worse. You just want to leave it all behind. 

“Of course. I apologise for the short notice but thank you very much for being so accommodating,” he says. 

He shifts into gear and checks his blind spot before he slowly steers away from the curb. 

“Me? Thank you for the drive. I’m sure I’ve could have found a bus--” 

“You would assume but as I said, the location is remote and you’d still need to get from the station to the house. I don’t mind at all. I’ve not been to the manor in some time and I’m overdue to check in on it.” He explains, “I’m happy to do so with company, if I’m to be honest.” 

“Ah, okay,” you accept. You cup your hand over your mouth as a yawn rises without warning. “Mm, sorry.” 

“As I said, please, rest your eyes. We have a long road,” he says. “Oh, you won’t mind some music? Any preference?” 

“I’m not picky,” you assure him and lean back against the seat. Despite not wanting to check out, your body is screaming for sleep. Your muscles ease against the firm cushion and you can’t help a groan. “Whatever you like.” 

You turn to look out the window, watching the streets and the few pedestrians on the pavement. Your lashes flick, weighed down by the sleepless night and the peak of adrenaline. Your head lolls and you let your eyelids close. Just for a minute and you’ll open them again... 

When you stir, the car is still but idling. The engine hums and the AC flows. You look over at the empty driver seat and jolt upright. Huh? 

Your panic is curtailed as the door opens and James appears with a tray of cups and a paper bag. He smiles as he lowers himself into the car and balances it all in his lap. 

“I didn’t know if I should wake you but I grabbed some coffee. Sugar and cream if you need,” he wiggles free a cup and puts it in the holder. “And they had some lovely looking bagels--” 

“Oh,” you wipe your chapped lips with the back of your hand. “You didn’t have to—I'm sorry I fell asleep...” 

“I did expect it,” he chuckles as he hands you the paper bag. “It is your choice. I got one sesame seed and a pumpernickel. I hope that’s acceptable.” 

“Mm, pumpernickel?” You clasp the top of the bag, “thanks, that’s... that’s so nice.” 

“Not at all,” he takes his own cup as he puts the tray behind his seat. He inhales the scent through the slot of the lid. “Ah, not terrible. They had English.” He lifts the cup slightly. “How typical, yes? That I would rather tea.” 

“I don’t mind tea,” you shrug and open the bag. 

“We will eat then be back on the road. Further on, we will have something more substantial.” He explains. 

You check the first bagel; sesame, and hand it to him. You sit and unwrap your own. Before you can have a bite, you gape at the digital clock in the dashboard. 

“Holy... two hours?” You utter. 

“Oh, yes, the time breezed by,” he remarks. 

You hide a frown and bite into the toasted bagel. You feel a bit better but a glaze of dizziness lingers. You need the sleep but you’re embarrassed all the same. You shouldn’t be snoring in the passenger seat on your way to a job. After all, he’s technically your boss. 

“Really, don’t worry,” he says as if he can read your mind. 

“I’ll try not to,” you swallow. 

You finish your food with minimal conversation. You’re still a little groggy but not as tired. You manage to stay awake as he sets off again. 

You glance over at him. He’s a stranger but something about his presence is calming. So much so that you lost all wariness. After what you’ve been through with Jake, you should’ve taken a bit more time to think this through. It strikes you then that this man is taking you to some remote location, based on a single conversation... 

You shake off your suspicion. It’s Jake. That’s all. He taught you distrust. Someone you thought was your friend, turned out to be a monster. Well, they say you’re more likely to be assaulted by someone you know. Maybe it’s good that you barely know James. 

“How long were you in the city?” He asks, piercing through your inner turmoil. 

“Oh, uh, about five years,” you answer. “I... you live there or....” 

“Closeby,” he answers. “I think you can guess I’ve relocated but I do tend to hop around often. I get restless.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you need a caretaker.” 

“Essentially, yes,” he agrees. “I’ve not the ability to remain as long as I need. It was a colleague who suggested it. One of his rare good ideas.” 

“Right,” you nod. 

“Well, I trust you will keep good care of it,” he says over the steering wheel.  

The journey unravels before you. It’s further than you thought, but you didn’t really pay much attention to your destination. You’re more concerned with getting away. All the business of thinking this out can wait until you can breathe. 

As promised, you stop again to eat and relieve yourself. James girds only a few hours left. It’s taken most of the day to get this far and the road ahead is less a highway and more a rural path. You take your time eating, as much not to make yourself sick as to take a break from sitting in the car. 

Back on the road, you feel the exhaustion fall on you again. You struggle to keep your eyes open as the evening deepens. James drives towards a thicket of trees, the moonlight flickering between them. You descend into the darkness as the car thrums through the noise of crickets and swaying leaves. 

The fir thins and opens up to reveal a large stone wall and a wrought iron gate that gleams in the moonlight. The peaks of the large manor are painted silver in the night’s hue. You sit up to see it clearer. It looked big in the pictures but you’re blown away by the reality. 

“A moment,” he stops and puts the car in park.  

He gets out as you watch him through the gloom. He unlocks the gate and pulls it outward, just one side, enough to get through. He comes back and shifts gears, steering through and up the long paved drive. He kills the engine and sighs. 

“I’ll just go lock up before we do the grand tour, if you don’t mind,” he says. 

You give a noncommittal grumble as you undo your seat belt. You just want to stretch your legs. You get out parallel to him and he hurries off back toward the gate. The hinges creak loudly in the night, and eerie high-pitched noise. 

As he returns, the moon hides behind a cloud and drapes his figure in black. “We’ll fetch the bags after. It’s dark out here.” 

You’re too tired and uneasy to speak. Now that you’re here, the second thoughts begin. This man is still, at the core, a stranger. And more, you don’t exactly know where he’s taken you. You push back the doubt as another symptom of your year of torment. That was another man, not him. 

He leads you towards the front door. You climb the curved stone steps as bats flutter off in the sky. You shiver as he unlocks the door and disappears within. A light beams through on and you shy away. He beckons you inward from behind it. 

“Come,” he holds a flashlight. “We’ll need to turn the generator on.” 

“Oh, uh, of course,” you agree and step inside. 

He shuts the door as you enter and he turns to aim the light around the grand foyer. He slowly moves forward, sure to keep pace with you. You admire what you can in the shadows. The staircase that curls out at the bottom, and the carved posts that sharpen to points at the end of the banisters.  

You follow him, huddling close without thinking. It feels as if you might get lost if you stray too far. He takes you along the hallways behind the stairs and to a narrow door at the end. He opens it and shines the light down. 

“You first, I’ll keep the torch above you,” he says. 

You look down the dark staircase then at him. He angles the light and brightens the way down. You turn and take the first step, and the next. Each groans beneath your weight as you put your hand on the railing. You get to the bottom and his own steps illicit creaks. 

He nudges you as points the flashlight across the damp basement. It’s cold down there. You fold your arms as your teeth chatter. You go to the generator and he looks it over. 

“You have the most important task,” he says and flips the light in his hand, “holding the torch.” 

He offers it and you take it uncertainly. You shine it over the boxy generator and he examines it once more. 

“We only need to turn the valve here,” he points, “then the choke,” he moves a rod from left to right, “turn the ignition,” he twists, “and pull the cord.” He grunts as he tugs, “just until you feel resistance and it should--” it rumbles and clanks, then mellows out to a steady hum. “There. Now, let it run for a moment and set the choke to run...” he steps back and dusts his hands off on his pants, “there’s a manual on the shelf over there in case you need to restart it, ever. Thunderstorms are not so kind here.” 

“Oh, okay, uh, yeah. I’ll find that.” 

“Mm, yes, well, how about tomorrow? If you don’t mind, I think I’ll be in better spirits for a tour then. Then you might see it in the light of day, eh?” He suggests. “For now, we’ll find you a place to sleep and get your bags in.” 

“That sounds good,” you agree. “I am beat.” 

“Me too,” he agrees. “There’s an old kettle around, I’ve some tea in my bag. If you’re interested.” 

“Maybe in the morning,” you turn back to the stairs, steadying the sphere of light across them. “I just want to lay down.” 

“Can’t blame you,” he trails behind you. “Given the way the day started, I’m certain you’re merely happy to be away from it all.” 

“Oh...” you utter, a tinge of embarrassment nips in your cheeks. “Yeah, well, that was--- it’s over now, right?” 

“Yes, a fresh start,” he agrees as you start up the stairs and he follows closely. “I do hope you find peace here.” 

[elline]

oh.gofd oh god oh god oh my god please oj my god

[crusty]

Hey yall!!!

I rly need some help for September-October while I'm hunting for a second job lol

I'm only offering default uncolored sketches, and all of the add-ons are completely optional, select what you want in the Ko-Fi order sheet (like if you want color, etc.)!

I'm most concerned about paying my phone bill which is about $115 due on the 11th, so literally anything helps!

If you don't want art, I also accept donations! Feel free to drop me a bagel on my Ko-Fi page! If you donate, send me an ask with proof + character request and I'll scribble a quick thank you doodle :3c

THANK YOU I LOVE YOU <3

PLEASE REBLOG if u can't buy anything thanks!!

contact/inquiries:

crustybagelbites@gmail.com

Alternatives for donations:

P@yp@l: amonci98@gmail.com

C@sh@pp: $CrustyLord

V*nmo: @Toni-Moncivais

[blooming-violets]

Nicest Thing Peter x Reader for 11. In joy? I really like that fic. I reblogged it on my old account. I feel like thats an underrated fic of yours (maybe bc it came out in 2022? Idk). Would love to see what happened to them!

It's still one my favs because it is just so...me?? Like if I had to chose anything that represented my personality perfectly, it would be Nicest Thing. Just a depressed, sad bitch who loves angst and Peter Parker and enjoys Kate Nash. I feel like I need another Kate Nash song for this "sequel" fic. I'll base it off her song Trash because these two are trash for each other.

You can read this as a separate, on its own Peter x Reader thing if you'd like or you can read it as a future piece to Nicest Thing.

Warnings: Smoking a joint and getting stoned

If porn bots can over take all the tags then I better not get flagged for these gifs.

Peter looked at her through blazed out, squinting eyes. A haze of smoke filled their bathroom as they passed the joint back and forth between them. They were seated in the unfilled tub, fully clothed, and facing each other. She had made him take the spot next to the faucet under the claims that sitting over the drain made her feel “icky” like she might get sucked in. He didn’t mind. Even if their leaky faucet kept dripping cold water over his shoulder. 

“Do you remember the Rugrats episode when Tommy and Chuckie are afraid of getting sucked down the bathtub drain because Angelica tells them a story of some other baby who died that way?” He asked, handing her off the joint. 

She placed it between her lips and he watched with a slow blinking, admiration for her. He loved her. She had been with him through everything. He owed his entire life to her. Without her in his life, he would no longer be here. She was everything important in the world. 

She smiled, remembering, and let out the most beautiful laugh. She always got extra giggly when they smoked. It was one of his favorite sounds. 

“Don’t they fill the drain with play-doh and shit? It’s a weird reddish, pink color. Why do I remember that specific color so much?” She replied, mystified. 

Peter chuckled, “Because old school Rugrats was filled with some crazy ass imagery. It sticks in your mind.” 

“Yeah but I remember thinking that I specifically wanted to eat that color...like maybe it would taste nice…like the imaginary food from Hook.” She passed it back to him, letting the smoke exhale in a little, circular puffs from between her lips. 

“Do you want to get into a pretend food fight with me and see if anything appears?” He grinned. 

Her red rimmed eyes squinted back at him as she laughed, “With the way these munchies have been hitting me the past few minutes, I think it might actually happen. I could imagine food hard enough to make it show up.” 

His mind started to wander as a hungry smile spread across his face, imagining all the food he could eat, and he spoke with a dreamy whisper, “Pizza bagels.”

“What?”

“Let’s make pizza bagels. ‘M hungry. Starvin’. Gonna die if I don’t get some food in me.” 

Her eyes glowed with excitement at the idea, “Pizza bagels. Yes, you’re a genius!” 

“I know,” he giggled, it bubbled out of him without any self control. It wasn’t the weed that did it. It was her. He felt free when he was with her. He flicked out the joint against the ashtray balancing on the edge of the tub. “I really am. Smartest man alive, probably.” 

She snorted, “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. Get your ego in check, Parker, before I have to slap some sense back into you.” 

He beamed at her, his love consumed him, feeling it outshine every other emotion rattling around inside of him. She was beautiful. Stunning. Picture perfect. He wanted to hang her up on his wall like an expensive piece of art so he could admire every day of his life. 

Her shoulders shrunk up to her ears under the intensity of his gaze.

“Stop that,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me with those eyes or I’ll kick you. I’ve got a perfect aim for your crotch in this position.”

Peter shook his head, “Nope, sorry, I refuse. I can’t help it. You look…perfect. The nicest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“You’re stoned.” 

“Yes. Doesn’t change the fact that your lips look very enticing.” He winked at her and tried to scoot forward to get a taste. 

Her socked foot landed against his chest, pushing him back in place, “I thought we were making pizza bagels, not kissing. Weren’t you just starving a minute ago?” 

“Starving for you, maybe.” 

“Peter!” She let out a loud laugh, keeping him at bay with her outstretched leg. 

He was so in love. Completely enamored. Whipped. Head over heels. Trash for her. Whatever he wanted to call it. He belonged to her so wholly. His bleeding heart was in her hand for the rest of his life. He would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again. 

“If you don’t let me kiss you right this very second, I am going to turn this shower on.” His hand reached over his shoulder to grip onto the shower knob with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

She gave a sharp inhale, “You wouldn’t dare.” 

His eyebrows raised, taking on that challenge, “Oh really?”

She knew she fucked up the second before the shower burst to life. From his position in the tub, it shot over his head to spray directly into her face. She shrieked and fell back, sliding down the sloped edge of the tub until she was nearly on her back.

It was all the opportunity he needed to pounce. He leapt on top of her to the sound of her laughter and blocked the shower stream from her face with his back. His arms wrapped protectively around her head as he laid over her. Water pooled around them, warming their bodies, and soaking through their clothes. 

They didn’t feel it. 

All he could feel was the devoted love burning a hole in his chest where his heart used to be. 

She giggled up at him, blinking water droplets from her eyes, and whispered, “You’re an ass.”

He laughed in response and crashed his lips over hers, mumbling against them, “You love me.” 

She sighed in content. Her arms snaked around his neck to draw him closer, melting happily into his kiss. 

“I do.”

[veclikevector]

about me. vec to most. lydia to my family. dia to @georgiesliterature. josh’s bumblebee. catch me at a ren fest. cancer sun, taurus moon, pisces rising if you’re into all of that. entj. indian food enthusiast. 80s bitch. make it blue. makeup artist, but not a pro. became a princess after all. lotr nerd. professional yapper. not tatted as far as most know. poet. ranking member of the dead mom & dead brother clubs. sex positive. slytherin. amateur bagel maker. feminist. baby of the family. line dancer. asherman’s awareness. occasional gamer. would rather be practicing magic in a fantasy realm.

rules and regulations. this blog is 18+ only due to the out-of-pocket & not sfw shit i’ll be posting & reblogging. there will be no tolerance for homophobia, racism, sexism, islamophobia, ageism, etc. this is a safe space for myself and those who choose to join in on the chaos. play nice, or you’ll be kicked out. now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s have fun.

shit i post. my writing, random thoughts, and any other shit i feel like sharing. i also reblog things from my favorite movies, books, games, etc.

my tags. ☾ vec’s runnin’ her mouth (my yapping). ☾ vec’s selects (my favorites). ☾ vec’s vignettes (my writing). ☾ vec’s recs (poetry/story recs). ☾ vec’s triple x (the not sfw shit i post/reblog). ☾ ask veclikevector (the asks i answer). ☾ inspo (blog/writing inspo). gin ☀︎ (anything regarding my bestie). josh ❥ (anything regarding my mans).

behind the blog. this is a roleplaying blog ran by @dixonsdarkelf for my oc, lydia vector (vec). the purpose of this blog is to bring my oc to life even more by running this as if it was her running her own blog. she is in a relationship with scud from blade 2, so he's the "josh" that she will be referring to. feel free to reach out via an ask or dm & I'll reply as her! i hope you have fun here and enjoy getting to know my baby angel a little more.

disclaimer. nothing shared on this blog is medical advice, and it should not be taken as such. unless stated, any photos used do not belong to me and come from either pinterest or google (or if other, i will specify). any text message screenshots are fake and were created using either ifaketextmessage.com or fakedetail.com.

quarters of the undead (qotu). coming soon. dixonsdarkelf's ao3. dixons-sunshine's ao3.

© dixonsdarkelf 2024-2025. vec belongs to me. do not claim her as yours, and do not use her in any capacity without my explicit permission. i do not own anything related to twd or its characters. georgie belongs to @dixons-sunshine.

[agent-4-art-contests]

Voting time

@unrelatedghosts has 4 wonderfully drawn as parallel Canon

@princelydelinquents has their evil goo 4

@agentadhdr1zzlander

Has some wonderful 32 art of 4 and 8 comforting eachother after the whole parallel Cannon thing

@sodapoppss has 4 barely in control

@souprnovasplat has this wonderful art of 8 freeing 4 from the masks control

@peppidableppi has 4 and 3 being parallel Canon together

@just-another-splatoon-blog has the whole squad pulling up on 8

@bagel-n-bagel has 8 comforting a tearful 4

@y3llowkiwi has mathematic Cannon

(I will reblog this with the rest of the submissions due to the image limit)

[scarfacemarston]

Yelena Belova Emoji Hc’s Part 5

Prompt here. Please think about taking a second to like/reblog! Writing Hc's take time and effort. Or, how about sending me a request?

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒.

🎂 BIRTHDAY CAKE — when is your oc’s birthday? how old are they? what are their sun, moon, & rising signs (if known)? what about their tarot card, ruling planet, & ruling number (if known)? do they fit the typical traits of these sun, moon, & rising signs?

We don’t know her birthday, but we know her birth year is “1988-199” per the official wiki. There’s been a lot of debate about Yelena’s zodiac sign. I’ve looked at many personality profiles (The same websites I mentioned in early hc lists.) and for the most part, she is portrayed as a water sign with a source or two stating they believe she’s a Saggitarius. Personally, I would say she’s a Pisces. I know, people think “Oh, but she’s free spirted and spontaneous!” You can still be those things as a Pisces. She’s also emotional to the point she occasionally has outbursts. (For understandable reasons, of course!), family oriented, creative, friendly, and sometimes struggles with boundaries like with her family. Pisces can also be known for their desire to be free as well.

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc’s favorite food(s)?

Pelmeni, Pho, Mac n Cheese, Cotton Candy, Vegetable Kebabs, and sushi. She is a vegetarian, imo.

🍰 SHORTCAKE — what is/are your oc’s favorite sweet(s)/dessert(s)?

Pavlova, chocolate cake, and baklava.

🍦 SOFT ICE CREAM — what is/are your oc’s favorite ice cream flavor(s)?

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

🍔 HAMBURGER — is your oc good at cooking? are they good at baking? which one do they prefer?

Yelena can cook to survive and she knows some dishes in case she had to go undercover as a housewife. Cooking doesn’t have the greatest association because of that. She was too young to ever cook with Melina, so she doesn’t have any ties to that as well. She cooks to survive. Be aware if she’s in a queerplatonic relationship, she might lean on her partner to cook. However, Yelena will try to be equal with the housework in that situation.

🥯 BAGEL — what does your oc’s typical breakfast look like? do they usually eat breakfast?

She doesn’t usually eat breakfast, but if she does, it’s a bagel or toast or something similar. If there’s a day she can treat herself, it would be kasha, French toast or eggs benedict.

🥪 SANDWICH — what does your oc’s typical lunch look like? do they usually eat lunch?

She’s usually working around lunch time whether she’s in the field or with meetings. If she’s in the field, it’s vegetarian MREs or if she’s lucky and has time, sunflower seeds, dried fruit and a peanut butter sandwich.

If she’s in meetings, it’s orzo pasta salad with chickpeas, borscht, salads or wraps.

🍛 CURRY AND RICE — what does your oc’s typical dinner look like? do they usually eat dinner?

Again, it depends on if she’s in the field or not. She likes take out best, but she can cook if she has the energy. If she has a romantic/queerplatonic relationship she’ll ask if they are willing to help.

Sometimes she’ll eat egg plant parmesan, mac n cheese, mushroom burgers, shashlik, risotto and fish tacos.

🍸 COCKTAIL GLASS — what is your oc’s favorite alcoholic drink, if they can drink?

She likes beer and vodka, but she’s happy to try the stereotypical “girly” drinks.

☕️ HOT BEVERAGE — does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?

Her favorite is hot chocolate, but she doesn’t drink it often. She drinks coffee the most with a bit of cream and a bit of sugar. She drinks tea the least, but she’ll occasionally drink Chai tea.

[riddlesnap]

Italicize what your muse likes. Bold what they love. Strikethru what they hate. Feel free to edit/add more options if relevant to your muse!

REPOST DON’T REBLOG

Taste Preferences

Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Savory | Sour | Spicy | Umami

Meat, Fish and Dairy

Bacon | Beef | Blood | Butter | Caviar | Cheese | Chicken | Clam | Crab | Cream | Duck | Eel | Eggs | Elk | Escargot | Frog | Game | Goose | Heart | Herring | Honey | Kidney | Lamb | Liver | Lobster | Meatballs | Meatloaf | Milk | Mussels | Octopus | Oily Fish | Oysters | Pork | Rabbit | Roe | Salmon | Sausage | Scallops | Sea Urchin | Shrimp | Squid | Tilapia | Trout | Tuna | Turkey | Venison | White Fish | Yoghurt

Fruit

Apple | Apricot | Avocado | Banana | Blackberry | Blackcurrent | Blueberry | Cantaloupe | Cherry | Coconut | Cranberry | Dates | Dragonfruit | Fig | Grape | Grapefruit | Kiwi | Lemon | Lime | Lychee | Mango | Melon | Orange | Papaya | Passionfruit | Pomegranate | Peach | Pear | Pineapple | Plum | Prune | Raisin | Raspberry | Starfruit | Strawberry | Watermelon

Vegetables, Spices and Grains

Arugula | Beans | Beetroot | Bell Pepper | Bok Choy | Broccoli | Cabbage | Carrot | Cauiliflower | Celery | Chilli Peppers | Cilantro | Cinnamon | Corn | Cucumber | Garlic | Ginger | Eggplant | Green Beans | Jalapeños | Kale | Lentils | Lettuce | Mint | Mushrooms | Mustard | Olives | Onions | Orzo | Paprika | Parsnip | Peas | Potatoes | Pumpkin | Radish | Rice | Spices | Soya | Spinach | Sprouts | Tofu | Tomato | Vanilla | Wheat | Zucchini

Drinks and Snacks

Ale | Bagels | Beer | Biscuits | Bread | Burger | Cake | Candy | Cereal | Chewing Gum | Chicken Nuggets | Chocolate | Chips | Coffee | Cola | Condiments | Cookies | Crackers | Curry | Dried Fruits | Fried Chicken | Fries | Granola | Gummis | Hot Chocolate | Hot Dog | Ice Cream | Jelly | Jerky | Juice | Kimchi | Mac n' Cheese | Marshmallows | Milkshake | Muffins | Nutella | Nuts | Pancakes | Pasta | Pastries | Peanuts | Peanut Butter | Pickles | Pie | Popcorn | Pretzels | Noodles | Oatmeal | Ramen | Rice Cakes | Rock Candy | Salted Caramel | Sandwich | Seeds | Soda | Spaghetti | Spirits | Sushi | Tea | Toast | Trail Mix | Water | Wine

Styles

Baking | Broiling | Casseroles | Frying | Grilling | Pickled | Raw | Roasts | Salads | Soups | Steaming | Stew | Stir Fry | Smoked

[fartemis-crock-a]

Italicize what your muse likes. Bold what they love. Strikethru what they hate. Feel free to edit/add more options if relevant to your muse!

REPOST DON’T REBLOG

Taste Preferences

Sweet | Salty | Bitter | Savory | Sour | Umami

Meat, Fish and Dairy

Bacon | Beef | Blood | Butter | Caviar | Cheese | Chicken | Clam | Crab | Cream | Duck | Eel | Eggs | Elk | Escargot | Frog | Game | Goose | Heart | Herring | Honey | Kidney | Lamb | Liver | Lobster | Meatballs | Meatloaf | Milk | Mussels | Octopus | Oily Fish | Oysters | Pork | Rabbit | Roe | Salmon | Sausage | Scallops | Sea Urchin | Shrimp | Squid | Tilapia | Trout | Tuna | Turkey | Venison | White Fish | Yoghurt

Fruit

Apple | Apricot | Avocado | Banana | Blackberry | Blackcurrent | Blueberry | Cantaloupe | Cherry | Coconut | Cranberry | Dates | Dragonfruit | Fig | Grape | Grapefruit | Kiwi | Lemon | Lime | Lychee | Mango | Melon | Orange | Papaya | Passionfruit | Pomegranate | Peach | Pear | Pineapple | Plum | Prune | Raisin | Raspberry | Starfruit | Strawberry- but bitch is allergic | Watermelon

Vegetables, Spices and Grains

Arugula | Beans | Beetroot | Bell Pepper | Bok Choy | Broccoli | Cabbage | Carrot | Cauiliflower | Celery | Chilli Peppers | Cilantro | Cinnamon | Corn | Cucumber | Garlic | Ginger | Eggplant | Green Beans | Jalapeños | Kale | Lentils | Lettuce | Mint | Mushrooms | Mustard | Olives | Onions | Orzo | Paprika | Parsnip | Peas | Potatoes | Pumpkin | Radish | Rice | Spices | Soya | Spinach | Sprouts | Tofu | Tomato | Vanilla | Wheat | Zucchini

Drinks and Snacks

Ale | Bagels | Beer | Biscuits | Bread | Burger | Cake | Candy | Cereal | Chewing Gum | Chicken Nuggets | Chocolate | Chips | Coffee | Cola | Condiments | Cookies | Crackers | Curry | Dried Fruits | Fried Chicken | Fries | Granola | Gummis | Hot Chocolate | Hot Dog | Ice Cream | Jelly | Jerky | Juice | Kimchi | Mac n' Cheese | Marshmallows | Milkshake | Muffins | Nutella | Nuts | Pancakes | Pasta | Pastries | Peanuts | Peanut Butter | Pickles | Pie | Popcorn | Pretzels | Noodles | Oatmeal | Ramen | Rice Cakes | Rock Candy | Salted Caramel | Sandwich | Seeds | Soda | Spaghetti | Spirits | Sushi | Tea | Toast | Trail Mix | Water | Wine

Styles

Baking | Broiling | Casseroles | Frying | Grilling | Pickled | Raw | Roasts | Soups | Steaming | Stew | Stir Fry | Smoked