#there’s like. actual recipes on it I think that’s cool

[renee-ckstrong]

I massively fucked up making cookies and made something completely different

Ok not too different, they didn't become a sirloin steak what actually happened is that the mixture didn't form together like it should so instead I just bunged it into two trays and just decided to see what would happen.

So what we have chat, is something that is somewhere between a biscuit and a blondie.

I dub it 'The DEEP Cookie'. They're pretty nice. I like them. Here's the recipe because what if Tumblr wants to make some Deep Cookie. Idk, you want it it's there.

Ingredients

200g Softened Butter (preferably unsalted but does it matter?)

200g caster sugar

1 egg (I used medium but realistically, an egg is an egg)

half a teaspoon of vanilla extract (I mean it, half a teaspoon I know what you are like Tumblr)

400g Plain flour

3-4 desert spoons of chocolate spread (I am so sorry I don't remember how many it was. I did not plan on making Deep Cookies and did not know I needed to remember how to make them)

Method

Preheat oven 200C/180C fan/gas 6 or I think that's 392F/356F fan in Fahrenheit.

Beat butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon.

Then add the vanilla extract and egg and beat that.

Add half of the flour mix that in with the wooden spoon.

Then add the chocolate spread and the rest of the flour. Mix with a spoon until it doesn't seem like the spoon is doing anything and then use your hands.

Make a futile attempt to bring the dough into cookie dough, decide that the mixture is too wet and give up. Find two square trays at about 3cm depth (or like any trays with depth to be fair, that's just what I used, I'm not your mum). Line these trays with baking parchment/baking paper.

Put in the oven and like you can just like keep checking them but I recommend just putting them in for like 35-40 minutes although if you want them to be more gooey and cookie dough like put them in for less time. Then take them out and let them cool. You can cut them however you like but I did it into sixteen.

I don't know if anyone will like use the recipe or read this or anything but like there they are. Pls don't @ me if they are shit.

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

God I love the sugary spire website

[moeblob]

Impulsively shoving a guy's hand in your mouth after having the thought "oh just like when my little sister used to prick herself on a rose thorn" and then immediately being treated like a pet who ate something they shouldn't have? Wonderful. Thank you, Thane.

(also not pictured is Thane apparently trying to scrape your tongue with his hand BEFORE pouring the holy water down your throat because NO. BAD.)

[bigkickguy]

I JUST WANTED TO DRAW DA PURPLE GUY TEAM UP!!!!

[puppyeared]

man ok so you know the spiciness scale on menus that show you how spicy a dish is so you can order based on your tolerance. can we have that for sauces too please

[blujayonthewing]

I really should not try to add 'create video content, a thing I have never done before' to my cicada plans when I've already got a lot of other stuff to keep track of but I do kinda want to on account of I do wanna try eating some and I'm really annoyed that almost everything I could find about doing that is framed as 'WOOOAAHH EEEUUUGH you can EAT?? these HUGE DISGUSTING BUGS???? watch me EAT some BUGS OOOAAHHHH' like okay I get it we live in the culture we live in but there's really not even one video on this from the perspective of approaching entomophagy in the spirit of sincere openness and curiosity??

[icewindandboringhorror]

various little Pictures of thinges

[wantonlywindswept]

gotta say i have been seeing some extremely cold takes in my chosen fandom of late and i am both Not About It but also Very Tired

[mishkakagehishka]

Jokes aside, i'm so happy i got connected to the people i did on here that i'm now so casual and normal ab the idea of yume. I knew i was gonna have so much fun here and i ammmmmm

[kerra-and-company]

You reblogged "tell me about your toons" post so here I am, about to spill the beans :3c

Airell doesn't refer to himself as a sylvari nor mordrem. He always corrects people who call him that. "Not a sylvari", "not a mordrem", etc. In my writing I avoid using these terms either until Airell's identity as a dragon scion/dragon is fully established to the characters around him and the reader.

I sure did!! :D And hell yes, please always feel free to spill beans if you want to!

Ooh, interesting interesting!! That's very fair, and I love how you handle it in writing too. I imagine he has to make that correction pretty often as well, which has gotta be a little unpleasant for him. Hope he hasn't run into too many people who are insistent even after he corrects them.

[robustcornhusk]

partner's sister is staying with us for a month (for work reasons)

apparently she is very looking forward to eating my cooking

on the one hand, oh fuck oh fuck they have HIGH EXPECTATIONS of me

on the other hand, their whole family was super impressed when i made everyone spaghetti one time (marcella hazan's tomato sauce - plum tomatoes, onion, salt, fat. it's a good recipe!) so perhaps the bar isn't too high

[exopelagic]

I am baking cake at midnight and it is going to kill me <3

[onelessdreamer]

Okay random ass thoughts time; so I'm rolling a joint, and get a whiff of my green and I'm like "that's a really odd smell what is that?" And I'm sitting there for like 5 solid mins just sniffing this joint, when I finally figure it out.

"This smells like pork! Wtf? What kinda weed smells like pork? Specifically, fish and chip shop battered sausage pork."

And what blows my mind about this whole situation, is not the weirdly unexplained smell of my weed (I'm still confused), but the fact my brain somehow not only isolated the smell, but pin pointed the EXACT smell it was reminding me of. It didn't just smell like regular chicken no, it smelt of ol grandma's home made bbq chicken wings dipped in her super secret recipe honey glazed sauce and my brain recognized that and pulled it out of the depths of my memories ... the brain is actually wild

[lunarobyn22]

Mentally cackling at my new syllabus... What's even better is that he's 100% serious

[helladventurers]

Girl send help, can't sleep because viddy gayme too good

[lovebugism]

how abt eddie x shy reader , she meet’s wayne accidentally & she brings like sm food for the week he LOVES HER but shes so shy

a request deep from the archives that i haven't stopped thinking about since i got it hahah please enjoy xoxo — you spend a fluffy morning in with the munsons (established relationship, fluff, 1.2k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie rouses from his sleep like a king on a sunken-in couch. 

Saturday morning cartoons play on the TV just ahead of him, mostly on mute ‘cause you’ve got the radio going in the kitchen. Something soft and soulful and too low for him to hear. The trailer swells with the scent of something sweet, of syrup and cooked sugar. 

Speaking of sweet…

His flushed cheek rubs against the arm of the couch when he looks up to find you. He can see you just over the top of the counter, like a scene from a movie. You’ve got a bowl of something wedged in your elbow, and you stir at it with your free hand — half-distracted because your nose is stuck in an open recipe book on the counter. Your glasses fall slowly down your nose. You try to push them up again with your shoulder, but they slip back down a second later.

Your gentle humming fills his ears, and Eddie figures this is what heaven must be like. There’s no greater nirvana than this.

He rises and stretches and walks the very short distance to the kitchen. Still warm with sleep, he wraps himself around you, chest flush to the expanse of your back. “Whatcha doin’?” he lilts, muffled into your sweater.

“Cookin’,” you answer in the same tone, only softer and a little more sheepish.

Eddie breathes hard once. You think you feel him smiling. “Dumb question, huh?”

“Did you sleep good?” 

“Too good to be passed out on the couch for an hour.” He lifts his head to prop his chin on your shoulder. It bobs against you with every word. “You were supposed to be sleeping with me, by the way.”

“I tried. But then I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“Correction. You wanted to make Wayne breakfast.”

Your giggling is as soft and sweet as the cinnamon concoction you’re stirring at. “Well, I don’t want either of you to starve, actually. So sorry for making sure the Munson’s are taken care of.”

Eddie’s chest swells. His heart starts to warm so much he’s scared it might burst. He tucks his face back into your neck and holds you tighter. “Don’t apologize, sweet thing. ‘M just being stupid.”

“That nickname’s not gonna stick, Eds,” you tease, tilting your head until your cheek meets his wild hair. “You can stop trying now.”

He scoffs and pulls back from you. His eyes, still softly swollen with sleep, are wide and glittering. “Why not?” he shouts, a bit too loudly to be so close to your ear. “You’re sweet and you’re my thing— it’s literally the perfect nickname.”

“You’re thing?” you echo with a distant laugh. “I’m not a toy, Eds.”

“Not all the time—” His boyish giggling is followed by a scoffed breath when you elbow him with your free arm. You shove him away halfheartedly, pushing him out of the tiny kitchen. “What?!” he exclaims, laughing loudly.

“Get out of the kitchen!”

“What’d I do?”

“My french toast tastes good ‘cause it’s made with love, and you’re tainting it.”

“How? I love you more than anything in the whole wide world.” He gravitates back to you despite your efforts to keep him away. He plants a smacking kiss to your lips and grins wide when he pulls away. “See? Now it’ll taste extra sweet.”

You’re glaring at him one moment, then happily accepting another one of his kisses the next.

The front door opens, squealing in protest and rushing in the cool morning air. It’s unsurprisingly Wayne. His work boots stomp heavy on the carpet. He holds a greased hand over his forehead. “My eyes are still closed,” he jokes, voice deep and gravelly. “You two have about three seconds to stop touchin’ each other.”

Eddie scoffs but steps back from you anyway. “That was one time!” he argues boyishly. “And we weren’t even doing anything!”

Wayne laughs a sharp breath, just like Eddie had, but a little bit gruffer. He forgoes the petty banter and shoots you a smile — tightlipped, barely-there, and weighed down by the exhaustion of the graveyard shift. “How ya doin’, sweetpea?”

“Good,” you answer, shrinking into your shyness. “I’m makin’ french toast.”

“That’s my favorite,” the older man grins. “How’d you know?”

“‘Cause it’s my favorite,” Eddie insists.

“It’ll be done soon,” you tell him, all quiet in your sheepishness. “If you wanna get changed or whatever.”

Wayne heads to the hallway, stopping short in the kitchen to muss at Eddie’s curls and pat you gently on the shoulder. “Thank ya, sweetpea,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fatigue. His accent always gets real heavy when he’s tired.

“You’re welcome…”

Eddie doesn’t say anything until he hears the bathroom door shut. “So Wayne can call you sweetpea, but I can call you sweet thing?” he asks, features swirled with offense.

“It’s different!”

The boy follows you to the cabinets like a lost puppy. Then, when you have trouble reaching the vanilla extract on the top shelf, he leans over you to grab it. “No, you just have favorites,” he argues, passing you the small container.

“That’s not true!”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, still pouting as he leans against the counter beside you. He mourns the lack of your attention when you give it all to the french toast mixture on the counter. You spoon in the vanilla with a practiced touch. “…Are you staying over again tonight?” he mutters, shier than you are now.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “If it’s okay with Wayne, then—”

“Wayne! Sweet thing’s staying the night— is that okay?” Eddie shouts before you can blink. The trailer rings with the volume of his voice.

“Eddie,” you scold quietly.

The bathroom door squeaks open. A grunt sounds from the hallway, a nonverbal answer you’re not totally sure what to make of. The man returns in the pajamas he pulled from the hall closet — a thin t-shirt older than Eddie is and a pair of plaid pants.

“I’ll make dinner before your shift tonight,” you tell him with a soft grin that neither of the Munsons can say no to. “I promise.”

Wayne makes another scoffing sound. A laugh, maybe. A smile hints at the corner of his bearded mouth as he pours himself a coffee across the counter — in the painted mug Eddie made him for Father’s Day, several years ago now. 

“Well— In that case, I’m afraid I have to insist on you stayin’, sweet pea.”

“Thanks, Mr. Munson.”

“Call me Wayne,” he tells you, playfully chiding in a parental sort of way. He gives you a pointed look over the cup he sips from and heads back towards the living room. “You’re feedin’ us too good to be so polite all the time.”

You smile to yourself and laugh a quiet, slightly forced laugh.

The sofa squeaks when Wayne settles onto it, sprawling out the same way Eddie had before. Too tired to reach for the remote on the coffee table, he watches He-Man re-runs with heavy eyelids.

“Alright, sweet thing— what do you need me to do?” Eddie asks with a clap of his hands, making a very pointed effort not to drop the nickname. You get all flustered when he calls you that — smiling softly to yourself and then ducking your gaze to hide it from him. You’ll have to pry the name from his cold, dead hands.

You turn to peer at him from beneath your lashes. “You dip the bread, and I’ll fry ‘em?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweet thing.”

“Eddie.”