#i usually have one loaf out and one in the freezer

[sim0nril3y]

Deployment

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: The time has come. It's his first deployment since you've become a couple. The goodbyes are difficult. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), lots of angst, talking of leaving, talking of dying, canon-typical swearing.

One more night. One more night in his arms. What if he didn’t come back? What if he got hurt? What if he went missing? Honestly, you weren’t sure that you could cope with the never knowing what happened. Please, please, let there be some type of miracle that might happen so that Simon wouldn’t have to go. Things had been going so well, it simply wasn’t fair. If only he had any other job in the world. If only he was still a butcher, or something normal like that. Why now?

“Sleep.” Even with his eyes firmly closed Simon commanded you to rest. “You have work tomorrow.” Simon sounded tired, you supposed it was 2am, he had a right to be tired. “I don’t care.” You answered with a sad and quiet tone, eyes fixed on his sleeping frame in the pitch blackness that filled the room. “The morning is going to come whether you sleep or not.”

There was silence for a moment and Simon wondered if you had actually listened and then he heard it. Sniff. Then quiet. Sniff, sniff. Then even more silence before. Hck. Sniff. Sniff. His eyes pried open, adjusting momentarily before finding your face crumbling with emotion, lips firmly frowned and trembling, eyes filling fast with tears that were trickling down your face and soaking the pillow beneath you.

“Babe.” He whispered, reaching out to gently touch your shoulder, squeezing in a comforting way. “Don’t… Don’t bloody cry.” Simon whispered, his own voice a little thicker than usual. “Oi, c’mere.” Then pulling you across the sheets into his arms, holding you to firmly in his strong arms. “You dozy bloody moo…” He whispered, soothingly rubbing your back in small circles as you hiccupped and sobbed into his throat. “I know, I know.”

Honestly, he’d never had to deal with this before. Of course, he’d been around other colleagues and watched how hard it’s been for them to be away from their loved once. For him, it had been a very long time since he’d been in this place before and it was never like he had someone waiting for him to come home. It added an entirely different layer of fear, there was that fear of exposing you to danger but there was always a fear of leaving you. It felt like it hadn’t been that long since he’d learned to love you, allowed himself to let someone new into his life and now there was the possibility it could be all ripped away in an instant. Simon wanted more time, but that wasn’t something he was going to be afforded.

Still, even as your tears flowed Simon just held you, strong and tight in his arms, shushing you and caressing you so gently until your body just succumbed to exhaustion. It brought him pain to think of you being apart from him in mere hours now, sobbing yourself to sleep without his strong arms and his kind words. Fuck, it had never been this hard before.

The following morning Simon was up bright and early to finish his checklist. It seemed that you were restless too and that early awakening lead to you following him around like a lost puppy, eyes watching the clock as if counting down the seconds. “Babe, I’m just going to put some fuel in the car. I’ll be back. I promise.” He’d assured when your eyes had filled with wayward tears as he nabbed his keys. “Sweetheart, can I take a piss in peace, please?” He’d begged as you chased him into the bathroom for the second time that morning.  “I’m just going to get a loaf of bread from the other freezer, stay here.” He'd commanded as he unlocked the back door. “Babe, if you wanted to join me in the shower all you had to do was ask…” Simon had purred before you two fell into the steamy shower.

Later that morning you were munching down some toast, eyes fixed firmly on Simon as he made himself a strong tea. It was difficult thinking that tomorrow morning you would be going through this routine on your own. The thought alone was enough for a lump to stick awkwardly in your throat. “Right…” Simon began then, causing you to push down any of those awful feelings and focus. “I’ve left a list of numbers over there…” Turning he held his mug in hand and nodded in the direction of a lonely notepad, it was full of names and phone numbers and occupations. “Reckon they’ll be able to fix any problems you might run into, alright? I’m not gonna be able to be in contact all the time, so I need to know that if there is a problem here, or with you, or with the car that it’ll be covered.”

“Right.” You agreed gently, taking another solemn bite of toast. “Against my better judgement…” Simon continued, stepping across to sit opposite you at the kitchen table. “I’ve added you to my car insurance, use it when you need it, please don’t write it off.” There was almost teasing to his tone. “My driving isn’t that bad…” You grumbled and this only earned a smirk as he took another sip of his tea. “I’ve got all the utilities set up. The mortgage is on direct debit. I’m even paying that kid down the road to come a mow the garden whilst I’m gone, he’s happy to be making a little extra money and it’s one less thing for you to worry about, which means one less thing for me to worry about.” Simon explained.

A frown found your lips. “I’m capable of looking after myself and the house, you know…” Simon lets out a soft sigh then and replies. “I know, babe. I…” He seems to pause, as if taking a moment to find the right words. “I like to know that I’ve covered every possibility at home so I won’t have to worry when I’m out there…” Simon said it like out there was a very distant place, very cold, isolated and very far from you. “Okay?” Silently he was asking you to just trust him and give him these final few hours to make sure everything was set up in a way that gave him comfort, the comfort of knowing that you were safe at home. “Okay.”

The way that you watched the clock on the wall was like you were begging it for more time, making some kind of trade so that Simon wouldn’t need to go. Regardless of what you promised the time still came. There he stood loading his bags into the waiting cab, you stood a couple paces back wanting to give some space. “Let me drive you-” You attempted to persuade. “It’ll be too hard.” Simon answered with finality.

He closed the boot with a shunt and then turned to be looking at you. “It’ll be better to leave you here at home and then call you once I arrive on base. Okay?” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself too. “C’mon now…” He muttered, watching as finally the emotion broke over your face, all that strength crumbled and the tears began to trickle once again. “Oi…” Simon muttered, wrapping you into his warm strong arms. Those same arms you wouldn’t feel again for month. Your last embrace. “It’ll be easier like this. I promise. Easier for you. Easier for me.” Simon whispered, squeezing you so tight in his bulging arms. “I love you.”

It was something so rare and so emotional that you actually gasped, glancing up at him through your watery eyes. “Love you too.” Your words came out less controlled, spoken through a sob. “Love you.” You added, as if to make up for the initial emotional sentiment like Simon might have not been able to hear you over the lump in your throat. “Call me-” “I will.” There was a solid promise.

Then one final kiss. It was searing, his lips pressed against your own so hard that you thought he might bruise you. You never wanted this kiss to end. You didn’t want him to climb into the cab. You didn’t want his promises or his declarations of love and devotion. No, you just wanted him…

A second later Simon detangled you from his arms and climbed into the cab. He knew that one of you had to be strong in this moment and that you were never going to be the one to walk away, so he needed to. Even if it hurt more than being fucking shot Simon needed to step away. He had duty. He had honour. Someday maybe you’d understand, or maybe you never would, but he hoped that at least you’d find some type of normality without him around…

Once he’d arrived on base Simon got back into a routine seamlessly, everyone thought of him as the emotionless and stoic ‘Ghost’. That was all that he wanted to be to these people. The less they knew about his life the better, that way he could shield you from anyone using you against him. He’d never forgive himself… however, there was one person that needed to know. Officially, he needed to speak to Price, if the worst should happen you’d need to know.

It was late. Far too late to be doing all this, but Simon knew that his Captain would still be up. Rapping his knuckles hard against his door a voice called out and in he stepped. John sat at his desk, pouring over paperwork on his desk and gifting Simon a very tired smile as he entered. “Captain.” He kept his voice firm and professional as he entered. “Lieutenant, what do you need?”

For a moment Simon stood quietly, mouth pursed as if he racked his brains for the right words. “My next of kin…” “It’s blank – like we discussed.” About to dismiss him when Simon spoke again. “I need it changed.” John seemed shocked by these words, the argument that they had over not having one and now to have him so quickly change his mind. “What do you need from me?”

John blinked, once then twice before collecting a form from his desk. “Just jot their details down…” Passing over a pen as he watched Simon began to diligently fill in the boxes. His hand-writing was just as he expected, messy and haphazard, but his mind only went to Simon’s homelife… John wondered, did he have someone special? Who was it? What were they like? How long had they known each other? What was the relationship? All these questions that John wanted to ask, but knowing Simon wouldn’t get a single answer. “If I die, tell her.” Yanked back to reality with one simple sentence. “Not some letter. No some top brass. You tell her, Captain.” Sliding the piece of paper back in his direction. “Don’t tell her how - she won’t cope with that.” John nodded. “For fuck sake, don’t show her a body if there is one. She’d never sleep again.”

“Need you to make sure she gets access to my pension. I want every fucking penny of it going to her.” Simon placed down the pen hard on the table. “My house. My car. The shirt off my dead fucking back. I want it all going to her. Okay?” There was desperation in his tone. This was a conversation they were meant to be having 6 weeks ago, with legal and suits around to sign it all off. Not the night before he was going to be put on a plane into a warzone. “Simon-” “John, please…” He didn’t need to see the rest of his face to know that Simon was in anguish, his eyes were enough. “I’ll see that it happens.”

Masterlist | Ask | 10-04-2024

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x oc #simon riley smut #simon riley angst #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw3 #ghost call of duty #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x oc

[petermorwood]

Here’s that herb bread from yesterday, sliced and buttered.

It’s far more cheesy than herby so the herb content will need stepped up. This is an interesting effect, since dried herbs are usually more emphatic than fresh ones. Also, even after overnight in a bread bag, the crust remains more assertive than we like.

So today DD is making a Second Draft loaf, with increased herbs (more tarragon, more basil), a bit more liquid so the dough isn’t as dense, and shaped a bit thinner. The baking time will also be about 10 minutes shorter. Most of this should produce a less armoured crust.

And, after saying all that, the First Draft bread is still very good; I have a feeling it’s going to make great toast, just the thing for even more cheese on top, or maybe some cold cuts (memo, check freezer for salami or some sliced roast beast.)

I also suspect it’ll be great toasted and well-buttered alongside a bowl of nice hearty February-weather soup, like the sausage-goulash soup with peppers & sour cream I made a couple of weeks back; recipe for that queued for later today.

*****

ETA: Second Draft loaves, just out of the oven - the baguette was baked on a baguette tray (duh) and the ammonite was baked in a cast-iron pot.

They smell great, and both have a lot more give, suggesting they’ve got a proper crust instead of an armoured carapace - even though that would be entirely right and proper for the ammonite...

#food and drink #breadmaking #food and cooking of the middle kingdoms #experimental baking

[drpeppertummy]

Ice cream and Leon?

hewwoww this is so tiny & disjointed but What Ever its somethinggg

[mild post-stuffing stuffing]

Leon hadn't been quite as enthusiastic about ice cream as his friends.

It wasn't something they normally did, going out for ice cream together, particularly after a meal. It had crossed their minds once or twice, but Shel would be too full for dessert, or they'd have somewhere to be, or nobody would feel like going. Today was different. The three of them had gone down to the bagel place for lunch together, and, determining that they'd earned a nice long dick-around lunch break, decided to hit the little ice cream joint before it closed for the season. It had been Angela's idea. Shel often joked that all of her teeth were sweet teeth, and he wasn't wrong. Not one to turn down a little something sweet himself, he'd gladly been on board, and Leon had smiled and nodded along.

Unlike Angela and Shel, who had saved some leftovers from lunch and still had room for dessert, Leon had left the bagel place absolutely stuffed. He couldn't fathom putting anything else in his belly right now; even the smallest cup on the menu seemed like far too much. Still, that was what he ordered, and he sat down with his friends at one of the little round tables.

"I thought Janine was gonna kill you today," Angela said to Shel, dipping into her sundae.

"Oh my god!" Shel laughed out loud, a rare divergence from his usual soft, wheezing laughter. "Can you believe her? She is too much."

Leon nibbled on his little cup of ice cream and listened to his friends gossip. Shel could talk shit like nobody's business, and Angela loved to hear it. Normally, Leon would be right there with them in the conversation, but right now he was focused on pacing himself as he ate his dessert. His stomach felt taut and heavy and a little bit unsteady, and each bite seemed just a bit too much. He silently scolded himself for getting it at all. He hadn't wanted to make the outing awkward by not getting anything, but Shel and Angela wouldn't have cared. It was too late now, though; he had his ice cream, and he supposed he may as well eat it.

"Hey, Leon the Lion, you alright? You're awful quiet," said Shel, giving him a gentle nudge in the side.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm just tired," he said, smiling halfheartedly. Then, unsure why he'd only given a half-truth: "And full."

"A winning combo," said Shel, patting him on the back.

"You could always bring that back and stick it in the freezer," suggested Angela. Leon thought about it.

"It's just a tiny bit," he said noncommittally. "It'd probably get all gross in there anyway."

"True," she agreed.

Slowly and reluctantly, Leon finished his ice cream. It took him longer to reach the bottom of the cup than it took his friends to get through their much bigger desserts, and by the time he did, his stomach felt uncomfortably stretched. He sighed and rested a hand on his belly. It poked out noticeably over his belt, straining against the fabric of his now too-snug shirt.

"Christ, I don't wanna go back," he groaned.

"Hey, you better steer clear of Donna," warned Angela. "She brought some kind of gross oat loaf she made. She's been pushing it on anyone she sees."

"Ugh, good to know," said Leon. "I think I'd explode if I tried to eat anything else."

#writing #belly kink #tummy kink #stuffing #stuffed belly #message #suggestion #xleonx #xshelx #xangelax #burst mention

[ghostofskywalker]

can you do 26 from the first list with bucky please?

absolutely, here it is!! this went way longer than i had originally planned, but i hope you enjoy it :)

words: 2,171

summary: When Peter mistakes you and Bucky for a couple, some feelings start to come out. But you were positive that he didn't like you the same way, so you tried to keep your distance. 

Not Lovers

bucky barnes masterlist

You were surprised to see Peter Parker in the kitchen of the compound when you stepped in for your morning coffee, Bucky not far behind you. He had an ID card for the compound and would sometimes come by for training sessions or the occasional meeting with Tony, but he wasn’t someone who lived there. “Good morning Peter,” you said as you headed over to the coffee machine to start a pot, grabbing yours and Bucky’s favorite mugs from the cupboard on the way. “What brings you here so early in the morning?”

Bucky made a beeline for the freezer, searching for something to eat. He held up a box of waffles and a loaf of bread, silently asking you which one you’d rather have. You nodded towards the waffles, and barely seconds later he was loading up the toaster and pressing the start button.

Peter just sat and watched the two of you, and it was as if he had forgotten that you had asked him a question. “Earth to Peter,” you said after a few moments, waving your hand in front of his face with a laugh. “Anyone home up there?”

Bucky snorted as Peter snapped back, almost dropping his phone in the process. “Sorry!” he said. “I missed what you said.”

“I asked what brings you to the compound so early on a Saturday?” you said, a smile crossing your face.

“I need your help.” He seemed nervous to ask, for reasons you didn’t understand.

“Sure, I’d be happy to help with something!” you said brightly, trying to calm him a little, because you didn’t know if it was just his “spider senses” or if something was really wrong, but he seemed more on edge than usual. “Unless we have a training session I didn’t know about, then I’m going to need you to tell Tony you never saw me.”

Peter laughed, and it seemed to relax him a little. He took a deep breath before speaking. “I need your help too Mr. Barnes,” he said, and Bucky turned to him with a confused look on his face.

“No.”

You shot a look in Bucky’s direction, raising your eyebrows as Bucky stared back. Him and Sam always teased Peter, and he was just a little to trusting sometimes when it came to the things they said to him. “What that idiot over there means is that he’d love to help you,” you said, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t be able to say no to you.

“Okay,” was Peter’s response, and he still looked unsure of himself. “Do you mind if i observe you guys for a day? I have to write a romantic scene for my creative writing class and I need some inspiration.”

Whatever you expecting him to ask, it wasn’t that. You were silent for a second as you tried to think of a response. Was this some kind of joke that Sam put him up to? “Um, that’s fine,” you said, confusion showing on your face. “But we’re not dating.”

Peter was clearly not expecting you to say that, and now he didn’t know what to say either. Eventually, he timidly broke the silence. “You’re not?”

“Nope.”

“…Are you sure?”

Now this was really confusing. “At least as far as I’m aware,” you said, shaking your head. This had to be some kind of setup, you thought, and you decided to try and figure out what was going on. “Why did you think we were together?”

“Did Wilson tell you to ask us that?” Bucky cut into the conversation. He looked just as confused as you did, so that was some comfort at least. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t have liked to be dating Bucky, but it was just surprising to hear someone mistake you for lovers (it had happened before, but always in places like restaurants and grocery stores, not by someone you knew).

Peter’s face paled, and he shook his head. “N-No,” he said. “I just always see you two together, so I thought that you were dating. I didn’t know, I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay Peter, don’t worry,” you said. “But I’m afraid we probably won’t be much help for your assignment.”

“It’s fine,” he said, clearly growing uncomfortable with the awkward situation he had just caused. “I’ll just figure something out, watch a rom-com or something.” Thankfully, FRIDAY came over the intercom to tell Peter that Tony had been looking for him, and he was able to quickly make his exit with a last-ditch apology.

Right as he left the room, the coffee finished brewing and the waffles popped up from the toaster, so you were able to distract from what had just happened. Breakfast was silent as the two of you sat there, clearly shocked and unsure what to say. Eventually, you decided to break the crushing silence. “That was weird.”

Bucky nodded. “That’s for sure,” he said. “I still think Wilson or Stark put him up to it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you saw how he was shaking when we walked in, that had to be either Sam or Tony.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said. The conversation fizzled out and you went back to your coffee, but you almost felt sad at his response. You liked being friends with Bucky, and he was without a doubt the person you were closest to in the compound, but the fact that he didn’t even seem to consider you as relationship material hurt, more than you would like to admit.

***

Days later, you still couldn’t get that strange morning out of your head. Did Bucky really only see you as a friend? He seemed completely convinced that this was all some kind of elaborate joke, and it stung. When you had been mistaken for lovers in the past, he would just politely tell whoever had asked that you were together and then laughed with you about it, but you didn’t want to laugh about this. The truth was that you had fallen for him, and you knew it was stupid to care like this, because he had not once ever made it seem like he was interested, but you couldn’t help it.

You started to avoid him, and you didn’t even realize you were doing it until Wanda asked if you two were fighting. You looked at her like she had three heads, and she explained that she usually always saw you and Bucky together no matter what time of day it was, but lately you had been spending more time by yourself. You told her that everything was fine between you and it was just a product of your busy schedule, but she didn’t seem to believe you, though she thankfully let the subject of conversation drop.

You didn’t even think Bucky had noticed that you hadn’t spent as much time together, but he quickly proved that belief wrong when he showed up at your bedroom door in the middle of the afternoon one day. He had invited you to watch a movie with him (something you did all the time), but you weren’t quick enough to hide the flash of pain that crossed your face at the thought of spending three hours sitting next to him and having to come to terms with your unrequited attraction. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, worry flooding his face. “If I did-”

But before he could finish his sentence, you shook your head. “No Bucky,” you said. “I’ve just haven’t been myself lately, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said gently, reaching down to take your hand. “I just can’t believe I didn’t notice you were going through something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. It’s not like you ever notice me the way I want you to, you thought.

“The way you want me to?” His words felt like a slap in the face, and you quickly realized that you hadn’t actually kept that last sentiment to yourself like you wanted to. “Y/N, what did you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Like I said, I just haven’t been-”

Now it was his turn to cut you off. “I don’t want you to lie to me,” he said, a pleading look on his face. “And I can tell that I probably have something to do with the way you’ve closed yourself off recently, so please, can you just tell me what’s wrong?”

You felt like you would rather be anywhere else in the world but here at this moment, and you took a deep breath before responding. “When Peter mistook us for a couple, you brushed it off like it was nothing, and then you were convinced it was nothing but a practical joke played on us by Sam or Tony,” you said. “Do you really not even see me as even an option for romance, so much so that you can’t believe we might look like a couple to someone like Peter, who doesn’t spend much time here and doesn’t know us that well?”

He stood there in silence after you finished speaking, but it didn’t matter. Your question had clearly already been answered, it was just the one you didn’t want to think about. “Y/N-” he started to say, but you shook your head.

“Don’t worry about it Bucky, you don’t have to lie to protect my feelings.” You turned back away from the door, pulling your hand out of his grip as you did so.

Or at least, you tried to pull your hand out of his grip. But Bucky was a lot stronger than you were, and he pulled you back to face him, so close that you were standing just inches apart from each other. “Y/N what I wanted to say before you cut me off was that I said what I did in order to try and hide the fact that I’m head over heels in love with you.” He saw you start to open your mouth to respond and quickly placed a finger over your lips. “And I know you probably think is me lying to you, but please just hear me out, okay? You’re not only the nicest person I’ve ever met, but you’re also one of the only people to treat me as a person when I first arrived her, and you were never afraid of me, even when I was still afraid of myself. It was the easiest thing in the world to fall for you, and I’ve tried so hard to hide it because I didn’t think you needed to deal with me and all my baggage, but I’ve hurt you, and I never wanted that to happen.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It almost felt like a dream, but the way Bucky was looking at you and the way he was holding you close to him was real, and you could barely believe it. “Bucky-” you started to say after he pulled his hand away.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I never meant for this to happen, and-”

“Bucky,” you repeated, slightly louder this time.

His eyes met yours. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” That was not what you had intended to say, but it was too late now to change anything.

A smile broke through his face. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to ask you that.”

“Well, you were taking too long, so I had to take matters into my own hands,” you said playfully.

“Oh really?” was his response, before he leaned in to place his lips on yours. Everything you had planned to say in response disappeared into thin air as he kissed you, and his hands found your waist almost instantly. You melted into the kiss, not caring for one moment that you were still standing the hallway where anyone could see you.

But maybe you should have cared, or at least moved into your room, because a voice interrupted you just moments later. “Y/N? Bucky? OH MY-”

The two of you broke apart to see Peter Parker standing in the hallway, his face growing pink as he realized what he had just walked by to see. You had an apologetic look on your face, but Bucky didn’t seem as bothered. “Go away Parker,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

Peter didn’t have to be told twice, and soon you were alone once again. “Guess he’ll have something for his creative writing class after all,” you said with a laugh.

“We’ll just have to hope he doesn’t run back and tell Sam,” Bucky said, leaning in to kiss you again. “Because then we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you want to call him back and tell him to keep it a secret for a while?”

Bucky paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I just want to kiss you again.”

You smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”

- the end -

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #marvel #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

[tonguetiedraven]

Ao No Summer 2023 Prompt: Shopping!

I went bonrin for this one. Short and sweet!

(⁠♡⁠ω⁠♡⁠ ⁠)⁠ ⁠~♡~(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)

Shopping with Rin was always a bit of an adventure. Ryuuji had been on many adventures with Rin, but shopping was the chaotic sort of adventure that felt like it really shouldn't be one.

But then again, Rin had always made food and adventure. Rin also managed to feed the two of them, Kuro, whatever other random demon had found its way into their house, lunch for Yukio for each work day, and something to feed any random visitors they might have. (And it couldn't be something as simple as instant ramen because Mephisto had given Rin a personal grudge against that for a meal and he had a tendency to growl anytime that Ryuuji mentioned it as an option.)

All of which meant that shopping trips with Rin tended to be a bit long, and strangely involved. Ryuuji would suggest making a list every time they had to go to the store, and every time they went to the store, his idea was shot immediately down. Usually with a look from Rin like he was questioning his boyfriend's intelligence for even bringing it up. Ryuuji didn't get looked at like he was stupid all that often, but there was something about shopping, specifically grocery shopping, that made Rin use that look far too often.

The lists were never made, and the trips were never quick.

Part of the problem was that Rin liked to look at everything. He would pick through all the produce, move every can, squeeze every loaf, pick up every spice and squint at it, check the prices and check them again, and spend long enough in the freezer section that Ryuuji almost always wished he had brought a coat. The boy Ryuuji intended to marry someday simply could not leave a grocery store unless he felt like he knew everything it contained in its depths.

The boy Ryuuji loved also couldn't remember something for longer than 5 minutes, so every time they came back to the store Rin seemed to have to once again reacquaint himself with the entirety of it.

It would be utterly exasperating if it wasn't also so fascinating to watch Rin create new recipes and ideas right in front of him. A random vegetable would give him an idea for a brand new masterpiece that sounded slightly strange, or entirely incomprehensible to Ryuuji while Rin eagerly described it at a quick ramble, usually with incorrect words, and then the moment they got home, Rin would start to create his new masterpiece and it would be delicious and the memory of their lengthy trip would begin to fade.

The second reason for their lengthy trips, other than the aforementioned need to know everything in the store, and the tendency to create new recipes while he was roaming the aisles, was that neither Ryuuji or Rin (or Yukio for that matter) made anything close to a lot of money. Exorcist had fairly meager salaries, and there was rent to be paid, insurance to be bought (because Rin's method of fighting did tend to result in some things burning, and a few buildings or furniture being mildly destroyed), new clothes to be bought because the fighting and flames were rough on them too, and they never had a lot of money to spend on food.

Yet, one would never know with the quality and the quantity of food that Rin managed to produce. Ryuuji could happily tell them that it was because Rin spent hours on finding the best deals. Rin—who had failed most of his math classes and had only passed any of them because Ryuuji, Yukio, and Konekomaru had dragged him through them—would stare at the prices and compare them and figure out substitutes or how he could completely remove specific ingredients just so that he could fit their price range.

Most people considered Rin to be an artist in the kitchen, and Ryuuji would be the first to agree to that description. Rin was able to create masterpieces on a whim in the kitchen. He could sculpt beautiful items and create exquisite new tastes all while making it feel like love, but...

Ryuuji thought that Rin was also an incredible sight in a grocery store. He was an artist there as well, not as one traditionally thought of them, but there was something beautifully creative and incredibly resourceful and the way he would take the challenge of their tiny budget and make it last and stretch and be something delicious and exciting. And while he would not be opposed to shorter trips, he still thought it was fun to watch Rin work.

#bonrin #aonosummer2023 #ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #ryuuji suguro #ryuji suguro #rin okumura #bon x rin #bon suguro #aoex #bonfire

[slutforstabbings-archive]

I saw you’re taking requests 😊 could you do Corey planning a romantic evening in—candles and roses all over the place, romantic music, a nice dinner and then a movie after—the whole spiel. Hope that helps the fluff funk! Good luck with writing by the way, don’t push yourself too hard! ❤️

Ummm, I only know how to push myself too hard but thank you for you concern lol. I really enjoyed writing this, it definitely helped me get more comfortable with fluff! I think this is gonna find its way into my long fic I'm working on. Thank you sm for the request, I hope you like it <3

LoveSong

Corey Cunningham x gn!Reader

1754 words

taglist: @rebel-blue @nachtmahr666

Corey parks his motorcycle on a side street instead of his usual spot by the door and lets himself into your apartment with the key you gave him. It feels weird, he’s never been in here without you before. But you wouldn’t have given him a key if he wasn’t allowed to come and go as he pleased. He’s been planning this for a week, going back and forth with himself if it was too corny or not. He struggles to close the door, his hands are so full of all the stuff he needs to make tonight perfect. 

He goes to the kitchen and spreads all his supplies on the island. Two bouquets of roses, one to tear apart for the petals, a bottle of wine that he hopes is good for as much as he paid for it, a salad kit, a frozen lasagna from the take and bake section of the fancy grocery store, a big long loaf of Italian bread, a pack of tea lights, a carton of raspberry sorbet, a real vase so you can stop putting the flowers he gets you in containers you fished out of the recycling. 

Your oven groans like it’s haunted as it preheats. Corey darts around your kitchen, starting and stopping different tasks, feeling scattered. He places the wine and the sorbet in the freezer. He fills the vase with water and dissolves the plant food, but forgets to put the flowers in it. He grabs a small bowl from the cupboard then abandons it on the counter. He pulls all the petals off a single rose, then remembers a story you told him. 

“One time a roommate I had put a bottle of wine in the freezer and forgot about. I guess because hard liquor doesn’t freeze she thought it would be okay but wine is way too low in alcohol content for that. It expanded when it froze and the fucking bottle exploded on me when I opened the freezer. Scared the shit out of me.” You laughed and shook your head. “Our freezer was sticky and full of broken glass the rest of the time we lived there.” 

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. He opens the freezer apprehensively, squeezing his eyes closed in case of projectiles. The wine is still liquid and the bottle is intact. Close call. He breathes deeply and tries to organize his thoughts. One thing at a time. The oven chimes. Lasagna first, then. He reads the instructions a third time and notices something new. TIP: it says next to a little drawing of a lightbulb. Place a cookie sheet under the lasagna pan to catch any sauce or cheese that bubbles over. He finds a cookie sheet and slides the lasagna onto it and into the oven.

The rest of the preparations go more smoothly. He follows a recipe he bookmarked last night to make garlic bread. He finds a giant mixing bowl and fills it with ice for the wine, like how fancy restaurants always do it in the movies. He does his best to clean off your dining table. Usually when the two of you sit here to eat, you just shove all the shit that accumulates over the week to the side. But you know what’s on the table and Corey doesn’t, so he awkwardly stacks things instead, placing the piles all at one end so there’s room for the spread he envisions. Then he smooths one of your kitchen towels flat on the table and sets the lasagna in the middle. He brings the salad and the garlic bread into he dining room and tries multiple placements to see what looks best. He feels so out of his depth but he’s determined to do a good job. He Googles table setting diagrams and does the best he can with your mismatched thrift store dishes. 

He’s doing the last few steps, sprinkling rose petals in a path from your front door to the dining room with one hand, and scrolling through all the playlists you’ve made him with the other when he hears your car crunch the gravel outside. Corey sprints to the dining room, slipping on his sock feet and gut checking himself on one of the dining chairs. Wincing, he hides where you won’t see him from the door, and presses play on a song just as you unlock the door. 

______________________________________________________________

As you stand at your front door preparing to insert your key into the lock, you hear a thump and then a very faint groan come from inside. What the fuck was that? You unlock the as door as noisily as possible and swing it open very slowly. The last thing you want is to surprise an intruder. You peak inside hesitantly. It smells good. Why does it smell good? Just as you start to fear something way freakier than a simple robbery, you notice the song playing over your speakers. 

Whenever I’m alone with you… You make me feel like I am whole again. Wasn’t Corey just saying he was glad you introduced him to The Cure? You step inside and finally see the rose petals scattering the floor and the warm glow of candle light coming from the dining room. That cheesy motherfucker, you think as butterflies fill your stomach. You smile and bite your lip in spite of yourself. 

“Where are you, you big sap?” You call out.

“Follow the petals!” He shouts back.

You follow the petal trail into the dining room and see him standing at the head of the dining table, beaming above all his hard work. Your mouth hangs open in shock as you take in all the details. More rose petals surround the table, on top of which you see a dozen roses in a gorgeous crystal vase, a delicious looking dinner and -

“Are those proper two course place settings?” You laugh.

“They’re my attempt,” Corey says sheepishly. 

You come around the table and grab his face in your hands. “This is so…” You trail off, opting to kiss him instead of finishing your thought. It conveys what you mean much more eloquently anyway. When you release him he pulls a chair out for you. 

“Thank you, sir,” you say. His face instantly turns bright red and he clears his throat.  

Corey piles salad on your plate and pours you a glass of wine. The two of you eat and try to talk through your giggles. You knew he had a romantic side, but this is really something else. Somehow you feel even more giddy than when you first met him, even more like a silly middle schooler writing Mrs. Corey Cunningham all over your notebook. You watch his every movement. Could it be possible he’s becoming even more of a babe? Or is it just because you love him?

God, that’s a scary thought. You’ve been suppressing it violently every time you have it. It just seems so fast, you’ve only been “official” for a month. But trying to shove it down the past few days has made you feel like a cartoon character on a sinking ship, plugging holes with every finger and every toe just for more to appear and the water to keep rising. He smiles at you, all long teeth and crinkled eyes, and the boat capsizes. You love him, you love him, you love him. And now that you admit it to yourself, you have to admit it to him too. 

Before you can say anything, he stands.

“Are you ready for dessert?” Corey asks

“There’s dessert?” 

“Of course,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Stay here.” He stacks all the dinner dishes onto the cookie sheet and takes it to the kitchen. You idly wonder if he’s ever had a job as a bus boy. You try to guess what dessert is by the sounds you hear him making in the kitchen. Something refrigerated, or maybe frozen. That doesn’t narrow it down very much. 

He returns with a bowl heaped with scoops of something the color of blood, two spoons sticking out. He sets it on the table and scoots his chair closer to yours before sitting down. You take a hesitant bite. Raspberry. It’s delicious. You devour the bowl together without speaking, just watching each other. 

“Corey…” You finally break the silence. “This was really special.” 

“It’s nothing.” He shrugs.

“It’s a lot more than nothing. You put a lot of hard work into this and it was really cool. No one I’ve dated has ever gone out of their way for me like that before.”  In the short time you’ve known him, he’s done more for you than your ex did for your entire three years together. He looks at you like you’re God. He cares if you cum. He listens. 

“How is that possible?” He asks. You snort at the question.

“I thought that was just how it was.” You say, shaking your head. “Corey I… I love you.”

Before you realize what’s happening he’s out of his chair, pulling you up from yours into a tight embrace, pressing you against him like he wants to fuse your bodies together. You squeeze him back and you can’t fight the goofy smile you break into. 

“I love you,” he says back, voice strangled with emotion. He releases you just enough that he can look at your face. “I’ll never treat you bad. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never walk away from you.” You look into his eyes. He looks so intense in the candle light, lit almost like the villain in a black and white movie. To your own astonishment you believe him.

“I have one more thing planned,” he says after a long pause. He leads you to the living room. You sit on the couch. Corey turns on the tv and connects his phone. You see the name of the movie he’s casting and laugh.

“The Lobster?” You say, incredulous.

“You said it was your favorite romcom,” he says. 

“That was a joke,” you say, face scrunched to keep yourself from dissolving into a giggle fit. “I do really like the movie but it’s a dark comedy. It’s not a date movie, unless you’re on a fucked up date.”

“You’re on a date with me,” he says. 

“Point taken,” you say, amused and surprised at his self deprecating joke. You pat the couch next to you. He puts his arm around you as he sits down and presses play.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #corey cunningham x gender neutral reader #fan fiction #mine #ask

[ukulelekatie]

Hi i just read your tags on the bread poll, and i'm wondering why do you have to have toast if you freez your bread? Can't you just defrost it by puting it in a bag and letting it sit for a few hours? Or even better if you defrost it in a microwave it's crust stays chrispy and i can't really tell the difference. Sorry if this is a weird ask but i just want to know why do you have to toast it?

Great questions!

Okay I think the disconnect here is maybe coming from what type of bread we're talking about? For reference, I'm from the land of super soft squishy sweet pre-sliced grocery store bread that other countries love to make fun of (aka the USA). This was the kind of bread I was thinking of when I answered the poll:

For the defrosting in a bag method, it sounds like you're talking about defrosting the entire (unsliced) loaf at once for later use? I was picturing taking one or two slices out of the loaf and just defrosting that with the purpose of eating it immediately. Which I suppose you could still defrost by letting it sit, but I don't really feel like having to plan hours in advance whenever I want to eat a room-temperature sandwich.

As for the microwave, I've never tried defrosting this kind of bread in one! I was always under the impression that it would get soggy, like when you microwave leftover pizza and it turns out all mushy and weird. Might have to try it out to test my suspicions.

So that leaves me with one option: put it in the toaster. And I can never seem to get it to the point where it's just defrosted enough that it's not cold but not too much where it starts to get toasty.

And then there's the issue of the freezer flavor. I don't know if it's just me being weird with sensory stuff but I usually can taste when bread has been in the freezer and I don't like it

But also all of this is irrelevant anyway because 1. I don't even buy this kind of bread anymore, I just bake my own and 2. I eat so much of it that I never have to worry about freezing it to keep it fresh, it's usually gone before it gets to that point anyway.

Thanks for your curiosity, hope this makes sense!

#food #bread

[little-homestead-in-the-suburbs]

Operation Functional Home: Take Two- Day 7

Project: Freezer clean and inventory

Cleaned out and organized my small freezer above my fridge.

SO MANY BANANAS! I apparently shoved lots of over ripe bananas in there this year, along with several bags of either freezer burned chicken and various roast poultry carcass frames (bones and scraps) for making soup stock.

Cooked up a big pot of poultry stock to pressure can tomorrow as well as two loaves of cinnamon banana bread to help clear out part of the freezer. Also disposed of some extremely freezer burned mystery meats and veggies that I just couldn't deal with.

Pics of the three containers of soup stock chilling overnight and one loaf of bread.

I also added a door inventory using dry erase marker to help track what I have, as a variation on my fridge calendar inventory. I've tried paper ones in the past but can't manage them as usually they get knocked off or something spilled on them.

Pic Left - freezer inventory, Pic Right- Fridge date inventory mostly for stuff I make or that goes bad quickly.

Improve:

- organized small freezer

-decluttered and organized food storage cabinet, trashed a lot of recycled containers in a swap for glass and limited recycled. Peanut butter jars are great for soups and freezer meals short term.

Maintain:

- kitten litter boxes, and quick sweep

- kept up with dishes 2.5 loads done

-made chicken stock

-made banana bread

-took out trash

-picked up yesterdays eating dishes

-took out compost bucket

#cleaning #clutter #unfuck your habitat #building new habits takes time #one day at a time #ufyh #undiagnosed neurodivergent #operation functional home #sustainability #neurodivergence #little homestead at camp #suburban homestead #home canning #home cooking #organization tricks

[msbarrows]

Mar 1 - another ‘do several things’ day. Washed more laundry, including my bedding and my blanket hoodies. Even *gasp* broke out my iron and ironed the washed bedding, which I have not bothered to do in literal years. The bedding I put away in the cupboard now has smooth hems instead of the weirdly pleated mess they typically appear out of the dryer with. Also of course remade the bed, with different bedding. With good luck on shipping times the next time I change it might be to the ‘moss bed’ bedding.

Baked a loaf of San Francisco firehouse bread, because that stuff is yum.

It being the beginning of the month, I also hauled out my emergency go bag and updated/topped up the charges of the electronic devices in it. Forget if I mentioned it at the time, but a week or so ago I also replaced the box of Cliff bars in it with a fresher box of Cliff bars (and have been snacking my way through the older bars since) plus added a box of fruit bars to it as well. Those should both get replaced again in another 6 months (so in September). Though I might try to get them offset so I’m not replacing both at the same time forever; the best before on the fruit bars is later, so I may wait to replace those until October or even November.

Also spent much of the afternoon making a batch of pizzas, my usual one for supper tonight and two to freeze for later. Went overboard on the toppings, because why not. Also, I had neither canned tomatoes to make sauce nor premade red sauce on hand, so I hauled a tub of tomato vegetable sauce out of the freezer to use for it instead (tomatoes, tomato paste, onions, garlic, sweet peppers, zucchini, seasonings) which usually I keep on hand to use as a soup base (and it’s the last tub of it, so I need to make another batch of that too in the nearish future). Topped that with chopped onions, chopped peppers, sliced mushrooms, diced bacon (cooked before adding), diced ham, fresh pineapple, sliced green olives, cheese, and pepperoni. It was delicious.

#Thing A Day #March 2023 #Mar 1

[lewis-faith]

Trip 2, day 13. The funny thing about Heavenly Hostel is that the top floor where myself and the other volunteers are staying has no curtains in the bedrooms, so an early start is pretty much guaranteed. I suppose this neatly fits in with our schedule but after my marathon day yesterday I was glad that a bit of early morning cloud got me through to 6.30am, as oppose to the usual 5am wake up.

I was still tired, the long days were catching up with me and I was definitely nearing the point of needing some days off. I chatted to Paul and he seemed fairly confident he could take both cats staying at the hostel to England and I could then fly back as intended. He just needed to get the owners of the cat he brought, their visas, and they would all go the following day. I explained to Paul the ins and outs of the Warsaw visa office to help him get a result and off he went.

I was expecting a new family of 6 to stay at the hostel, as well as Nick who would share with Paul for one night before taking myself and Ed's room on the top floor. Other than that it was a relatively quiet day ahead. Flo suggested we indoctrinate the Ukrainian guests with some British cooking that evening, which would be the last night for myself and all the other volunteers who had helped all week. A few ideas were knocked around and I suggested doing an English high tea. Then dropped myself in it by suggesting I would bake some cakes and make some sandwiches! The idea was leapt on and the rest of my day was destined to be spent in the kitchen. Ed, Amy and I went shopping for ingredients and also some garden toys / games for the children guests.

I had few food ideas of my own but when I discovered the BBC guide for putting on a high tea it was much easier to plan everything, more than enough recipes - including vegan alternatives. A Victoria sponge was of course mandatory and although I have plenty of cake baking experience I've not to my recollection made a Victoria sponge. As it is quite a simple cake it is all the more important that the sponge is perfect. A tea loaf cake seemed a good choice to fill everybody up and is very easy to make so that was added to the list, then an idea for something yellow and blue was put forward. Rather than cheating with food colouring I decided on blueberry for the blue and lemon for the yellow, although the plan morphed along the way it ended up as lemon-shortbread with blueberry icing. The savoury dishes would be freshly made egg mayonnaise & cress sandwiches along with cucumber & smoked salmon sandwiches.

With the shopping done I made a start by soaking the fruit and nuts for the tea loaf in strong English tea, I added to the recipe walnuts and a small amount of a Polish dried fruit mix that included dates and papaya amongst other things. You see walnuts a lot around Poland, we have a walnut tree in our back garden so on a good year lots of walnuts find there way into my food too.

The baking tray I bought for the Victoria sponge was a bit massive, maybe 12 inches wide (that was all they had in the local supermarket). My plan was to try and make the mix rise sufficiently so that it could be cut in half. This is not how you are supposed to do it, instead you are meant to bake two separate halves - I was pushed for time though. I made the sponge lactose free but with eggs (so not vegan) and set it off for baking.

I wasn't entirely sure if I had bought self-raising flour or not and I had no weighing scales to use, so I was mentally preparing myself to do a runner rather than present everyone with the a very large and probably inedible biscuit. I had more confidence in the fruit cake but everyone was expecting the centre piece to be right. With the sponge baking away I made the shortbread dough quickly, again lactose free. This is very quick and easy, although I realised I had no rolling pin or any kind of cookie cutters. Off it went into the freezer to chill, the warm weather was softening the vegan butter too much.

The sponge by now was rising well in the oven and was browning off nicely, that said it wasn't looking high enough to cut in half. Time was definitely not on my side so my plan B was to cut this sponge down the middle and stack the two halves to make a Victoria sponge in the normal way (just there only be half of one), as the tin was so massive this was probably sensible. I waited a few minutes longer and the sponge looked pretty great, I checked the setting with a knife and then released the tin casing. All seemed well but when I turned it over I discovered it wasn't quite done on the bottom. These fan ovens, I'm not used to them. So off it went back in the oven, upside down, as my levels of panic went up a notch. Along with it went the shortbread, I had used a large jar of honey as a rolling pin and opted for oblong shapes cut out with a blunt knife.

The fan oven is a bit of pain and probably not the best option for baking, it's good for getting the oven hot quickly but the heat distribution is not ideal. Baking prefers an overall body of heat rather than anything directional. So I turned off the fan option and kept an eye on both the sponge and shortbread, things were at critical mass. During all this other activity I had been reducing a pan of frozen blueberries to mix with icing sugar, a decent idea but I had no sieve. I propped a cheese grater on its side into a bowl and spooned in the reduced blueberries, to my relief out came plenty of pure blueberry juice. As it was still a bit runny I had to use a lot of icing sugar to get the right consistency, enough for the whole of Warsaw.

As this was all going on and I was retrieving the sponge and shortbread from the oven, I get a call to ask if I could pick the family of 6 up from the visa office, they were ready and waiting. Sure no problem I said. The sponge was now perfectly cooked. So I did a rush job of icing the shortbread, Jackson Pollock style, and made the batter for the fruit cake. I left Flo in charge of baking the fruit cake and drove off to the visa office. I didn't have a phone number for the family but was assured they would be waiting by the door. When I got there it was quite amazing to see it was the family I had done a big clothes shop for some 4 weeks earlier. They didn't completely recognise me at first, I was now in summer clothes and with a lot more facial hair, I showed them a photo to help them remember.

We got back to the hostel safe and sound and the fruit cake was out resting, looking perfectly cooked. Time to boil some eggs and make some sandwiches. I now had Miles and Ed to help out, off came the crusts from many slices of sliced white. Miles told me while helping out he was a competing the next day in 400m hurdles, after the busy week he'd had I was very impressed, apparently quite a decent athlete.

Things had got a bit delayed so we were now having our high tea at dinner time but no one seemed too bothered.The teas were brewed and everyone joined us in the kitchen and got stuck in, the food was going down well, both with the Ukrainians and the volunteers. The tea cake and egg mayonnaise sandwiches getting special remarks. The Victoria sponge had found it's place as desert and was yet to be fully assembled, I didn't want the cream making the sponge soggy. I had bought a vegan alternative but it didn't pass my taste test for this particular application so my back up of whipped cream from a can was used. I used a whole jar of strawberry jam and as much cream as gravity would allow, to make a cake I was genuinely quite proud of. The only trouble was cutting it into small slices was a bit taxing due to the generous filling of cream, we got there though and everyone loved it. I'll have to do this again but with more time to play with.

It was a really lovely evening and a nice way to end a pretty successful week, we tried to invite Wonder Lady but she wasn't having any of it. She's very professional like that.

Ed and Amy were doing another early morning airport run so it was goodbye to them and Miles. Their contribution was so valuable and much needed, I don't think any of us will ever forget the night with the air raid siren. Miles really did do a lot of miles, driving to Krakow and all over. Ed was solid throughout and happy to do anything asked of him. Amy gets special mention for laughing at my jokes, and generally being pretty sharp and not short of a good idea or two, the consummate copilot. I hope to see them all back at some point.

Paul was successful at the visa office so this meant I was no longer need to drive any cats across Europe, just as well as my energy was not up to it.

[copperbadge]

hey sam, how far ahead do you bake your breads for? not literally daily...? i'm coming to terms with wanting more baked goods for normal instead of treats, but i find it easier to plan for casserole that only has fridge-or-freezer as options

Oh gosh no. Technically Tuesday is my day for baking bread (and tending the windowsill garden). I do bake bread at other times if like, I randomly run out, but generally Tuesdays I make a loaf of bread for sandwiches/toast and usually some kind of snackin' bread, like pretzel knots, mini-bagels, or milk rolls, for a bit of variety. I'm just one person so that usually lasts me through the week, and sometimes I freeze the loaf or turn the leftovers at end of week into bread crumbs for later use.

I will probably have to move bread to the weekend when I start working in-office again, but the breads I make are generally pretty low-maintenance; of my regular recipes, most either require an overnight rise in the fridge, or allow you to pop it into the fridge for up to 24 hours if you can't bake it immediately. Helps of course that I'm up at 3am most days; I can make the dough, give it a first rise, pop it in the fridge, and bake it either that evening or the following day if I want to. The bagels require a little more love than most, but right now that's not a huge issue since I'm home all day and they only need attention in 15 minute patches.

King Arthur has started to release recipes where you can parbake -- bake the bread partway, then freeze for later full baking. I'm going to start investigating that but I've got to get my freezer emptied out a little first.

My advice would be to pick a day where you know you'll be home most of the day, so that you don't have to worry about timing it up, and bake on that day until you get the rhythm of rises and bakes. No-knead breads and pizza doughs (which you don't HAVE to use for pizza) are often super forgiving if you need to put the dough into the fridge and run off and do something, whereas pretzels and bagels tend to require more attention in the form of boiling, water baths, etc.

Good luck and happy baking!

#food #sam cooks #baking #bread

[weaselle]

cooking for people who have no idea what they are doing (or are just, like, real depressed)

Okay, I’m a professional cook, but also, I get depressed. This is the cooking I do when I’m depressed, because I need the simplest path to a whole meal.

This is not for vegetarians, because, while I wholeheartedly support people choosing vegetarianism, and also enjoy cooking for vegetarians, for me, the simplest path to a meal includes meat. Perhaps when I am less depressed I will work on options.

A lot of recipes focus on achieving food that is in some way special, using special techniques, or using a precise list of carefully measured high-end ingredients... and that’s not this, this is all the parts of cooking that are not those things.

First, shopping

Meats Starches Veggies Sauces Breakfast/Snack

For a whole week you’re going to want

3 kinds of meat, with five portions each. So, for example, five chicken breasts, 10 sausage links, and 2-3 pounds of ground beef. Other possibilities include pork chops, salmon, some kind of steak, whatever. 

You’re going to want up to 3 starches. Honestly I usually stick to just rice, but you can go with rice, potatoes, and pasta. If you want to use quinoa or polenta or something, thats on you.

And, you’re going to want about 3 types of vegetables, again, about 5 portions each -- and try to stay green. So personally, I usually get 5 medium zucchini, 2 medium heads of broccoli, and then either yellow squash or mushrooms. A bag of salad greens is also a good option, and I have an easy way to make a good salad, which I will do as a separate post.

Next pick something easy that works as either breakfast or a snack. For me this is a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a bunch of bananas. Sometimes it’s nice to have an additional option here, like cereal or yogurt. 

Last, you’ll want 2-5 sauces in bottles. I would definitely recommend a low sodium soy sauce be one of them, and maybe a BBQ sauce for the other. I usually also include worcestershire and sriracha but go with whatever you want, teriyaki sauce, A1, whatever you know you’ll eat. Hell, you can use Italian style salad dressing as a cookable sauce if you really want.

Oh, and If you don’t already have some at the house, you’ll need pan lube: butter and/or some kind of cooking oil. 

Okay! we’re done shopping! Affordability isn’t the main focus here, but is undeniably important -- I live in a very expensive area, this shopping trip is going to feed me well for a week and costs me about $100 bucks. When I was living in Alabama, it probably would have cost me more like $70. You won’t need to get stuff like the sauce and rice and peanut butter every week, so you’re definitely looking at a monthly grocery bill of something like $300 depending on where you live, and that’s not too bad. 

Prep

hell no, I’m depressed, the only prep I’m doing is putting two packages of meat in the freezer and the rest of this stuff in the fridge. You CAN box or bag each portion of meat separately so you can really alternate what you eat -- me, I’m gonna eat chicken for two or three days, then beef for two or three days, etc.

and listen, don’t fuck around with microwave settings or running water on things to defrost them. If you package the meat all up separately, just move a portion from the freezer to the fridge each time you cook dinner. Or, if you do like me, move the whole package when you go to cook your last portion of the previous stuff, and just deal with the fact that it will probably still be a tiny bit frozen when you go to cook next.

Tip: When you cook dinner, you’re going to make enough for lunch. That just leaves you one small meal - I often smear peanut butter on a peice of bread and wrap it around a banana like a taco - fast, easy, practically no dishes, relatively healthy

____________________________________________________________

Cooking (this is going to take about 25 minutes)

You’re going to need

ONE frying pan, medium size w/ lid ONE boil pot, medium size w/ lid knife, a spatula and a cutting board.

If you want to be fancy, you can include a big spoon. Looks like this

No matter what the specific ingredients you’ve chosen, the basic format is going to be:

Start your starch heat pan, put meat in the pan flip meat and add veggies, cover with lid remove meat and add sauce finish starch put everything on a plate while it is still too hot to eat and you are standing in the kitchen anyway, wash the like, 4 dishes you’ve gotten dirty. eat.

Okay, before you even get everything else out, start your starch. For rice this means rinse the rice and put it in the cold water and set it on high heat, for pasta this means put your salted water on the stove on high heat. For potatoes, you can use my perfect mashed potatoes recipe (I’ll do that as a separate post) or, honestly, you can wait until you’re halfway done with the rest of everything and microwave the sucker for like 8 minutes. I would never do that in a restaurant, but trying to feed my lethargic depressed ass? Absolutely.

easy rice: Fill your smallest coffee cup with rice, put it in the pot. Rinse. Fill the same cup twice with water, add to rice. Bring to a boil, give a good stir, turn heat all the way down, put a lid on it for something like 15 more minutes.

Okay, now lube your pan. Butter, olive oil, whatever. You’re probably looking at an amount more than a teaspoon and less than a table spoon of whichever you use. Personally I try to use as little olive oil as possible, so I pour a large coin sized amount (a quarter in the U.S.) into the pan, ear off a piece of the paper towel I’m going to use as my napkin for the evening, fold it up tight, and sort of paint the oil around so a little goes a longer way.

Pan lubed? Great, turn your burner on. highest heat will work but is not ideal, medium heat will work better but is still not ideal. Halfway between the two is perfect for chicken, a little hotter for beef, a little lower for fish.

Now remove two portions of your chosen protein (that way you’ll have tomorrow’s lunch too). By the time you get the packaging open and stuff, your pan is probably hot. If it’s not, let it get hot. You don’t want the oil to start smoking (warning, butter will burn faster than oil) but if you shake a single drop of water off your finger into the pan, you want it to sizzle.

If your pan is hot, put your meat in. The more you do this, the more you’ll perfect the timing, but you’re going to cook it for ~about~ 7 minutes before you flip it, maybe a couple minutes longer if it’s chicken or pork, maybe a couple minutes less if it’s beef.

Now that your meat is in, prepare your veggie. Rinse it off, cut off any part of it you don’t want to eat, and then cut what’s left into pieces the size of a large bite. Don’t worry, it’s going to get a little smaller when you cook it. Take your time, you’ll probably finish in less time than the meat needs.

Time to flip your meat? Great. Do that, and then dump your chopped up veggie in the pan. It does not matter at all if the pieces are not touching the bottom of the pan -probably most of them will not be, a bunch will be on top of the meat, that’s fine.

Put a lid on it. Now add your pasta to the water, or put your potato in the microwave, or check your rice. If following my perfect mashed potato recipe, mash now.

Rice tip, checking: eat a grain, you want zero crunch. If it’s not done and there’s no liquid, add a splash of water and stir. It it’s done or close to done, but it is still very wet, give it a big stir and leave on the stove with the lid off for a couple minutes.

Your meat still has like, at least 4 minutes, so rinse off your cutting board and chef knife, get out a plate, table knife and fork.

 Meat done? Great. Take the meat out of the pan, leaving the veggies in. Add sauce to the pan. I like to also use a little wine, because it’s usually already in the house, if you have some and want to, pour a large swallow of wine in the pan with the sauce. I’ll often mix a couple sauces, like worcestershire and soy (makes something similar to teriyaki) or hot sauce and BBQ

Stir the sauce around with the veggies. This, called deglazing, is an important step for two reasons, 1: it will get up a lot of the flavorful stuff that has stuck to the pan and make your sauce better, and 2: it will make washing the pan much easier. Okay, put the lid back on for one to two minutes, maybe stir a couple times. Basically you want the sauce to stain the veggies.

Your starch should be done, turn off the burner, put a portion on your plate, and stick the rest in a ziplock or tupperware or something. Go ahead and throw the second portion of meat right in there with it. 

Turn off the stove and scoop the veggies onto the plate, and pour the sauce from the pan over everything.

Now, while it’s too hot to eat, and you’re standing in the kitchen anyway, wash the pot, pan, and spatula. It should be very easy because of the way you used the sauce and because nothing has had a chance to harden. This usually takes me about 2 full minutes.

__________________________________________________________

OKAY! it’s been 20-25 minutes, you’ve got dinner and tomorrow’s lunch (just add another cut up veggie, pour a different sauce on, and put it in the microwave for two or three minutes) AND there’s no danger of dishes piling up on you :) You can even add “washing last night’s plate and fork for use tonight” to where you rinse the cutting board to really keep it full circle.

It’s not gormet. It IS accessibly healthy, affordable, and easy.

If you are extra depressed, forget the starch and use more veggies; this cuts what little work there is by up to half

Using this format, you can have three good meals per day and only spend 30 total minutes a day in the kitchen — including clean up! (dishes piling up tends to exacerbate my depression and makes cooking your next meal harder)

And it’s easy to give yourself a wide variety, from soy glazed chicken, zucchini and rice one night; to steak, mushrooms and pasta the next; followed by BBQ pork chops, brocoli and potatoes... I suck at math but there’s probably a hundred options

Just to recap, because I know I was very detailed and this might seem overwhelming, once you read through the above to answer any questions you might have, simply

-Start your starch -lube & heat pan, put meat in the pan, about 7 minutes -flip meat, add veggies, lid, about 7 minutes -wash knife and cutting board -remove meat and add sauce to veggies, re-lid, 1-2 minutes -finish starch, refrigerate extra meat and starch  -put everything left on a plate -wash pot and pan -eat.

#cooking #food #depression meals

[ejzah]

A/N: As @mashmaiden, once again, kindly reminded me, today is the anniversary of Kensi and Deeks meeting. What a wonderful 12 years it’s been.

***

Oh How Things Change

2010

“You like him, don’t you?” Callen asks, catching Kensi glancing behind her.

“Who, Deeks?” She forces a laugh, rolling her eyes at the question. “He’s kind of an idiot and clearly thinks way too highly of himself,” Kensi adds.

“Uh-huh.” Callen shares a smirk with Sam.

“But those blue eyes and fluffy curls can make up for a lot of sins,” Callen teases.

“You always do go for the oddballs,” Sam adds. “A smart-ass too, which is your type.”

“It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Hilarious,” Kensi says, deadpan. “I would sooner go out with Beale than Detective Marty Deeks. He’s scruffy, sketchy, and unpredictable.” And his smile definitely hadn’t made her stomach flutter just a tiny bit. “Not in a million years.

***

2016

“Hey Kens,” Deeks calls out cheerfully as he walks into the house and stashes his bag in its usual spot. A second later he registers clanking coming the kitchen and frowns, following the sound. “Kens?”

As he enters the kitchen, he’s greeted by a wall of steam and the faint scent of smoke. Once the fog clears, he sees Kensi standing over the sink, relentlessly shaking a large pot over the basin. There are more pots on the stove, a clear baking dish lined with foil, and the microwave flashes “done” every few seconds.

“Kensi, what’s going on?”

“Oh my god, Deeks,” she gasps, spinning around and promptly dropping the pan in the sink. When she goes to pick it up, she hisses, popping her thumb into her mouth. “Damn it! No, don’t come in here. Just, leave for a few minutes and I’ll have this all cleaned up.”

She’s wearing a red halter dress with an apron over the front, platform sandals, and has her hair curled and down around her shoulders.

She tries to wave him off, but Deeks ignores her, stepping farther into the room to survey the damage. He can see a few splashes of something red and lots of empty boxes; other than that, it honestly doesn’t look that bad.

“I don’t care about the mess,” he says as Kensi continues to look distressed. “ I just want to know what’s going on. You’ve never tried to cook anything here since you moved in.”

Running her hands through her hair, she sighs.

“I wanted to surprise you with dinner, your favorite dinner, so I asked your mom for her lasagne recipe,” she explains.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but what gave you the urge to turn domestic?” She flushes slightly at his question, making a random motion with her hands.

“It’s the anniversary of the day we met. I wanted to do something special.” Giving a half-shrug, she casts a defeated look around the room. “Everything was going fine and then the noodles started boiling over and while I was trying to stop that, the garlic bread scorched.”

Deeks closes the space between them and tightly wraps his arms around Kensi’s middle, kissing her temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “This is perfect.” Kensi snorts skeptically, twisting her head to glance up at him.

“Perfect? We’ll probably have to order takeout and the kitchen’s a disaster,” she reminds him.

“Ok, first of all, it’s the thought that counts. I love that you even thought of that day at all.” He shifts his hand up her sides and neck, stopping when he cups her cheeks. Smiling down at her, he slowly lowers his lips to hers. Kensi arches into him, resting her hand on his jaw. When they part, she rests her head on his chest.

“It turned out to be one of the most important days of life,” she murmurs.

“Mine too.” He gestures to the stove, coated in a thin layer of pasta water. “You know, I’m not an expert like Mama, but think this might be salvageable.”

“Really? The toast is really burnt and the lasagne noodles were kind of…sticky.”

“Eh, if we put enough cheese and sauce on top, we’ll never know the difference,” he says confidently. “And I think we have another loaf of bread in the freezer.”

Kensi gives him a tender look and kisses him again, lips soft on his.

“I love you, Marty Deeks. I’m glad you tumbled into my life.”

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi meeting day #fluff #ejzah fanfiction

[girlactionfigure]

“I Love Lucy” was groundbreaking for narrative television. It was the first television show shot with three cameras. It was the first television show to feature a person of color in a lead role. One of its three main writers was a woman. And in one episode, 'Pioneer Women,' it tackled antisemitism when a country club that Lucy and Ethel sought to join wanted to keep out "show people" — i.e., Jews.

That time ‘I Love Lucy’ confronted antisemitism in front of millions of Americans

A nice thing about being alive in this current moment in history is that one can say things like, “television is the great American art form” and people will actually take you seriously. And if television is the great American art form, Lucille Ball is one of its most important founders. If you haven’t seen “I Love Lucy,” please, watch more TV.

“I Love Lucy” was groundbreaking for narrative television. It was the first television show shot with three cameras (hats off to Desi Arnaz for that). It was the first television show to feature a person of color in a lead role. One of its three main writers was a woman. Its success led to Lucille Ball being the first woman to own a major studio. And it brought into millions of homes a woman who was not only a funny physical comedian, but who, to this day, remains one of the most ambitious and confident women to appear on screen (even if she usually got thwarted).

The first time I saw “I Love Lucy,” I was three years old and my mother, in desperate need of a way to keep me distracted, put me in front of the television. It was there that I saw the greatest thing I had ever seen in the entirety of my three-year-old life: the black-and-white image of Lucille Ball as Lucy Ricardo locked in a meat freezer.

This was both the start of my obsession with Lucille Ball and of the television becoming my primary caretaker. Over the years, I watched every “I Love Lucy” episode I could find on VHS. One of my favorite episodes was “Pioneer Women.” This episode is most commonly known as the one where Lucy bakes a 20-foot loaf of bread, but it’s really about discrimination and antisemitism.

“Pioneer Women” aired in the spring of 1952 as part of the first season of “I Love Lucy.” In the episode, Lucy and Ethel bet Ricky and Fred to see who can last longer living like it’s 1900. This means giving up all modern conveniences, fashions and technology. Over the course of the episode, Ricky commutes to work via horse and buggy, Ethel churns butter, and Lucy bakes that famous loaf of bread. As a kid, I loved all of this and would re-enact it with my favorite American Girl Doll, Kirsten, herself a pioneer, and think about the great future that lay ahead of us in vaudeville.

But the episode’s secondary story is where things really get interesting. Lucy and Ethel have applied for membership to an exclusive women’s club, The Society Matrons’ League. At the end of the episode, two representatives from the club show up for a surprise home inspection in order to “look them over.” They arrive to find the Ricardos and Mertzes dressed in their 1900’s garb complete with a butter churn in the living room. Lucy and Ethel are distraught thinking this will ruin their chance of acceptance, but Ricky comes to the rescue by saying that the reason they’re dressed so strangely is because they are rehearsing an act for his club.

This backfires. To the Society Matrons’ League the one thing worse than having eccentric taste is being a “show person.” The representatives admit that a few seasons ago they did start allowing one or two “show people” — because they needed money — so they might be willing to “make allowances.” Lucy questions why, exactly, they feel the need to “make allowances” for show people. The women double down. The episode ends with Lucy telling the women that they can go back and report that she has looked them over and has no desire to be part of their club. Ricky, Fred and Ethel cheer her on, and then the four of them celebrate by eating some bread.

I grew up in Ohio in a town with a country club that, up until the early ‘90s, did not admit Jews; where I was not allowed to visit some of my kindergarten classmates because I was Jewish; and where “Jews control Hollywood” was a common refrain (and something I interpreted as career advice). When the women from the Society Matrons’ League wanted to keep out “show people,” I knew exactly who that was code for: Jews.

There were no Jewish characters on “I Love Lucy” (although the first iteration of Lucy’s maiden name was Teitelbaum — it was changed after it was deemed too Jewish), but there were Jews behind the scenes. Jess Oppenheimer was the creator, producer and head writer of “I Love Lucy.” Lucille Ball was the one who asked CBS to hire Oppenheimer after she’d worked with him on “My Favorite Husband,” the radio program that was the antecedent to “I Love Lucy.”

The person Ball really had to fight for CBS to hire though was Desi Arnaz, who would be appearing in front of the camera. Executives thought Americans wouldn’t believe that “Lucy” was married to someone who was Cuban-American. And Lucille Ball herself, although white and Protestant, had grown up in a small town where the combination of a family tragedy and liberal outlook, made her an outsider and gave her a window onto alienation from American middle class morality.

During the period when “I Love Lucy” was being produced, there were a number of Jews working in Hollywood. But no matter how well they had done, there were neighborhoods they couldn’t buy houses in, clubs they couldn’t join, and people who wouldn’t have them over. Because of this discrimination, most overt Jewishness did not make it onto the screen (a notable exception was “The Goldbergs,” a radio and later TV program), but was instead coded into seemingly non-Jewish material.

Jewish viewers could often pick out the Jewish references and gestalt — and also pick out who involved was Jewish — while non-Jews remained oblivious. Though Hollywood was in many ways created by Jews, there were lots of reminders that the ideal audience they were creating for were non-Jews, those non-“show people,” “real Americans” out there in the Midwest.

Something I only came to appreciate later was exactly how clever the structure of “Pioneer Women” was in its combining of the Society Matrons League and the pioneer days storylines. Lucy Ricardo got up to a lot of mishegas. There was no shortage of things the writers could have had her do that would have made her a Society Matrons’ League reject, but out of all of them they chose to have a set-up that not only led to Ricky saying they were in show business, but that also had the cast dressed as a piece of Americana.

As the club representatives stand there and evaluate them, it’s a reminder of how many institutions have tried to evaluate who gets to be a real American (even my American Girl doll, who had a similar costume to Lucy’s in the episode, didn’t have a Jewish counterpart until 2009). Having Lucy give her rebuke dressed as an American pioneer, highlights the notion that the concept of “real American” is as phony as a theatrical costume and that, in reality, the American story is multivariate and made up of all sorts of people.

I’ve never been able to find anything that confirms that this was the intent of “Pioneer Women.” Oppenheimer, like a lot of Jews of his generation, never spoke much publicly about antisemitism he faced, but he did have a history of adapting family history into “Lucy” episodes (an episode where Lucy can’t get a passport was based on his American-born mother’s citizenship being challenged). Still, for me, who first saw “Pioneer Women” 40 years after it originally aired, it was perfectly clear what it was really about.

And even if the creators never commented on the true undercurrent of the episode, Lucy Ricardo’s boundless confidence in herself — whether that she could be a star or that she could tell bigots exactly what she thought of them — rubbed off on at least one viewer (me, and maybe you, too) and is another reason why “I Love Lucy” has more than earned its place in the hall of fame of the great American art form. In this next year, may “Pioneer Women” finally be made available to stream, and may we all have Lucy Ricardo’s confidence in telling antisemites to go to hell.

Victoria Myers

[walks-the-ages]

I think Tumblr ate my other post, so here's the short and sweet version above the cut:

January 2022:

*literally* every single week, every price-change night, grocery prices are going up.

There's four weeks in a month and that means grocery prices are going up at least 4x every month.

If you have the means, please consider stocking up on the staple foods of your households.

Don't clear the shelves or anything, but if you can, try to invest in a chest freezer (we got one for $200 a few years ago, you might be able to find them cheaper used), and maybe start grabbing an extra loaf or two of bread, and extra box or two of butter, and putting the extras in the freezer.

Stock up on staples that you know you will use.

Start buying the big boxes of instant oatmeal.

Start buying the big bags of rice.

Start buying big bags of the different kinds of dried beans (these can also be used as seeds to grow your own in the garden! Simply plant directly in the grown after your last frost, popping them in the soil and covering lightly)

Stock up on potatoes, and onions, and look up the best ways to store them (seperate from each other!) So rhat they last for months; if they start to sprout, you can plant them in containers. (Potatoes will grow more potatoes, while onions will grow greens and eventually flower and set seed that you can plant at the correct time for your zone.)

Stock up on sweet potatoes. (Cut the end off of one while you're prepping them and sit it propped up in a glass of water. It will send down roots and send up shoots-- once the shoots are long enough, gently break them off the sweet potato peice and plant directly, or stick into water to root further before transplanting.

.Sweet potato leaves can be eaten like spinach, and the vines if left to spread over the ground as they grow will root and form even more sweet potatoes.

Though they both have "potato" in the name, sweet potatoes and regular potatoes are completely seperate species and you should *never ever* eat the plant section of a potato plant.

If you are lucky enough to have your potato plant flower, hand pollinate it, let it set *inedible* fruit, and save the seeds when the fruits are fully ripened. Again, do not eat the fruit, it's poisonous-- but you now have TPS, or true potato seed. Clean it, dry it for a few days with a light fan, and store in a cool dark place like your other seeds. You can now grow your own unique potato varieites next year and save the tuber's of any that turn out well to clone them in the traditional way)

If your fridge is actually organized, you can stock up on apples that are on sale and store them in the fridge-- many of the newer varieites such as Cosmic Crisp and Envy are bred for storage; CC can last up to 6 months in the fridge with proper storage.

Stock up on canned foods your family actually likes, as well as canned goods such as "cream of" soups that can be mixed with rice to create a flavorful meal.

Stock up on ramen noodles-- not much, but it's something, and a hot meal even in the poorest of times. Grab spices and seasonings to refresh your pantry so you can jazz up even simple meals.

If the garden center in your local grocery store is set up, get your seeds early and learn when to plant them in your area, and how to save seeds from what you grow so you don't need to buy seeds again.

If your tap water isn't good (aka like 90% of Americans) stock up on gallons of water, as well as flavoring packets to make the tap water more palatable.

If you drink coffee, get at least one container of instant coffee, and a container of powder creamer if you usually use liquid.

Stock up on frozen meats that are still relatively cheap compared to their fresh counterparts, or buy fresh meat when it is on sale and freeze it, taking steps to prevent freezer burn. Meat prices are going up around a dollar per pound (or more!) each week that I have done the price changes on fresh meat.

Again, don't clear out the shelves, and I'm not trying to panic anyone.

But I work in a grocery store, and every single week I am watching prices go up over and over again.

#capslock #all caps #current events #January 21st 2022 #food shortages #food #grocery prices

[slutforstabbings-archive]

Clean Again

Chapter 10: SELF-INFLICTED read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist and other extras!

Corey plans a big night to show Reader how much she means to him

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter - luff, angst, graphic violence, alcohol mention, male masturbation, panty sniffing, passing mention of drug addiction, passing mention of domestic violence, knife play but just barely, major spoilers for The Lobster (2015)

5,108 words

A/N: This chapter contains major spoilers for The Lobster. If you haven't seen The Lobster, I think things will still make enough sense, but see the end for a summary of the plot of the film if needed. I've kept the summary vague so hopefully even though the ending of the movie is spoiled by this chapter, you will still be enticed to go watch the movie and see how they got there. It's one of my favorites and I highly recommend it but it is Fucked Up and there is graphic animal death among many other things so be prepared, look up a list of trigger warnings, and watch something gentle and lighthearted afterwards lol

A version of this chapter has already been published on Tumblr and AO3 with the title LoveSong. It was written to fill a request from @rebel-blue but I thought it fit here perfectly. This version has been edited and added to.

@heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to the tag list 💕

Corey parks his motorcycle on a side street instead of his usual spot by the door and lets himself into your apartment with the key you gave him. It feels weird, he’s never been in here without you before. But it’s kinda cool, he feels close to you even though you’re not around. And you wouldn’t have given him a key if he wasn’t allowed to come and go as he pleased. He’d been trying to plan something nice for over a week when he received a cryptic text from you.

He padded down his mossy wooden steps and found the key in a little box with a note from you. Just something I thought you should have, it said. As he stood at the mailbox, awestruck smile on his face, his plan for a special night solidified. Now he struggles to close the door, his hands are so full of all the stuff he needs to make tonight perfect.

He goes to the kitchen and spreads all his supplies on the island. One bouquet of roses to give you and one to tear apart for the petals, a bottle of wine that he hopes is good for as much as he paid for it, a salad kit, a frozen lasagna from the take and bake section of the fancy grocery store, a big long loaf of Italian bread, a pack of tea lights, a carton of raspberry sorbet, a real vase so you can stop putting the flowers he gets you in containers you fish out of the recycling. 

Your oven groans like it’s haunted as it preheats. Corey darts around your kitchen, starting and stopping different tasks, feeling scattered. He places the wine and the sorbet in the freezer. He fills the vase with water and dissolves the plant food, but forgets to put the flowers in it. He grabs a small bowl from the cupboard, then abandons it on the counter. He pulls all the petals off a single rose, then remembers a story you told him.

“One time a roommate I had put a bottle of wine in the freezer and forgot about it. I guess because hard liquor doesn’t freeze, she thought it would be okay. But wine is way too low in alcohol content for that. It expanded when it froze and the fucking bottle exploded on me when I opened the freezer. Scared the shit out of me!” You laughed and shook your head. “Our freezer was sticky and full of broken glass the rest of the time we lived there.”

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck. He opens the freezer apprehensively, squeezing his eyes closed in case of projectiles. The wine is still liquid and the bottle is still intact. Close call. He breathes deeply and tries to organize his thoughts. One thing at a time. The oven chimes. Lasagna first, then. He reads the instructions a third time and notices something new. TIP: it says next to a little drawing of a lightbulb. Place a cookie sheet under the lasagna pan to catch any sauce or cheese that bubbles over. He finds a cookie sheet and puts the lasagna on it, then slides the whole thing in the oven. 

The rest of his preparations go more smoothly. He follows a recipe he bookmarked last night to make garlic bread. He finds a giant mixing bowl and fills it with ice for the wine, like fancy restaurants always do it in the movies. He does his best to clean off your dining table. Usually when the two of you sit here to eat, you just shove all the shit that accumulates over the week to the side. But you know what’s on the table and Corey doesn’t, so he awkwardly stacks things instead, placing the piles all at one end so there’s room for the set up he envisions. 

He needs something to protect the table from the heat of the lasagna pan. You don’t have any kitchen towels in the drawer where you usually keep them, so he goes into your bedroom. He’s gone with you downstairs to your building's laundry room before, so he knows you have a two hamper system, but he can’t remember which is for clean and which is for dirty. He reaches into one and just pulls out whatever’s on top to do a smell test. It’s a wadded up pair of tights and it definitely came out of the dirty laundry. He just intended to sniff them for hamper identification, so he’s not sure how he winds up sitting on the edge of the bed with the crotch of the tights pressed firmly over his nose and mouth, inhaling as deeply as he did the other night to get stoned on your shotgunned smoke. The smell of you lingering on the nylon couldn’t be more beautiful. 

Since the first night he woke up in the hospital Corey has sometimes struggled to believe things are real. Everything in his life seems so much like a bad dream. Even being in your apartment, cooking you dinner, Corey felt like he was on an empty sitcom set, no cast, no crew, no studio audience. Putting on a show with nobody watching. But you, your physical body, left an imprint on these tights that proves you exist, made out of bones and electricity and meat. Gloriously alive. A unique trace of you, so rare a dog or a DNA panel could follow it back to you and only you, out of eight billion other people. The most precious substance on Earth.  

Corey's breath hitches and he pulls the tights away in surprise when he realizes his cock has gotten all the way hard. He feels like a creep, getting aroused by your stuff when you don't even know he's there, and he still hasn't gotten completely over the Pavlovian way he feels shame when he's horny. When he's with you, you distract him, so beautiful and brazen that you make it feel right. But he hasn't been able to do it alone without feeling bad about it since the night of that first kiss. He pulls his phone from his pocket. There are still several minutes left on the timer for the lasagna and almost everything else is finished.

Maybe it's okay... It's not any worse than following you around, really. He pulls his pants and his underwear down to his knees and scoots back on the bed a little. He brings the tights back over his face with one hand and wraps the other around himself. His intention as he starts slowly stroking is just to tease a little, save the rest for the main event with you after dinner. His hand doesn’t get the memo. He tries to slow down and only speeds up, tries to loosen his grip only to squeeze himself a little harder. 

He wants to resist it, but it occurs to him again that this is kind of creepy. Except now the thought doesn't feel as bad. It kinda feels good. What would happen if you came home early for some reason? What would you think, seeing him, in your apartment without your knowledge, practically eating your undergarments in his attempt to inhale the smell of your pussy, touching himself on your bed? The mental image of your face as you realize your boyfriend is a total fucking pervert is so clear, he looks over his shoulder to make sure you aren’t really there. He can imagine the shock in your eyes, the confusion, the fear. Fuck. 

Then the shame rears its head and he retreats from the thought like jerking back from a hot surface, scrambling to think of something else. He comes up with a brilliant idea. He shakes the tights out until they uncoil from the ball he’d squeezed them into and the legs hang limply, then he slides one leg over his slippery, throbbing cock. He bunches the extra length up against his pelvis, drawing himself deeper into the tights, pinching and wrapping the fabric until he’s sheathed in it like a condom. The texture is scratchy but not unpleasant. Corey leans back on one arm, propping himself up on his elbow, getting his hips into it. He brings the toe of the other leg to his face, knowing your smell lingers there too. He pants hard, and it only takes one, two, three gulping breaths for him to get there. Hot, sticky cum seeps out of the nylon.

His arm under him gives out and he lies flat on his back, the soiled tights sticking to him as he softens. He only gets a second to relax before the timer for the lasagna goes off and brings him back to earth. Corey rushes to clean himself off and shove the tights deep into the hamper he now knows is dirty laundry. He sprints through washing his hands, alarm still blaring, and finally yanks the lasagna out of the oven 3 minutes past time. It’s a little dark but it should be fine. Hopefully.

He digs a kitchen towel out of the clean hamper. He smooths it flat on the dining table and sets the lasagna in the middle. He brings in the salad and the garlic bread, trying multiple placements to see what looks best. He feels so out of his depth, but he’s determined to do a good job. He googles table setting diagrams and does the best he can with your mismatched thrift store dishes. 

He’s doing the last few steps, sprinkling rose petals in a path from your front door to the dining room with one hand, scrolling through the playlists you’ve made him with the other when he hears your car crunch the gravel outside. Corey rushes to the dining room, slipping on his sock feet and gut checking himself on one of the dining chairs. Wincing, he hides where you won’t see him from the door, and presses play on a song just as the lock turns.

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

As you stand at your front door preparing to insert your key into the lock, you hear a thump and then a very faint groan come from inside. What the fuck was that? You unlock the door as noisily as possible and swing it open very slowly. The last thing you want is to surprise an intruder. You peak inside hesitantly. It smells good. Why does it smell good? Just as you start to fear something way freakier than a simple robbery, you notice the song playing over your speakers.

Whenever I’m alone with you… You make me feel like I am whole again. Wasn’t Corey just saying he had been listening to Jack Off Jill at your suggestion? You step inside and finally see the rose petals scattering the floor and the warm glow of candle light coming from the dining room. That cheesy motherfucker, you think as butterflies fill your guts. You smile and bite your lip in spite of yourself.

“Where are you, you big sap?” You call out.

“Follow the petals!” He shouts back.

You follow the petal trail into the dining room and see him standing at the head of the dining table, beaming above all his hard work. Your mouth hangs open in shock as you take in all the details. More rose petals surround the table, on top of which you see a dozen roses in a gorgeous crystal vase, a delicious looking dinner and -

“Are those proper two course place settings?” You laugh.

“My attempt,” Corey says sheepishly.

You come around the table and grab his face in your hands. “This is so…” you trail off, opting to kiss him instead of finishing your thought. It conveys what you mean much more eloquently anyway. When you release him he pulls a chair out for you.

“Thank you, sir,” you say. His face instantly turns bright red and he clears his throat.

Corey piles salad on your plate and pours you a glass of wine. The two of you eat and try to talk through your giggles. You knew he had a romantic side, but this is something else. Somehow you feel even more giddy than when you first met him, even more like a silly middle schooler writing Mrs. Corey Carpenter all over your notebook. You watch his every movement. Could it be possible he’s becoming even more of a babe? Or is it just because you love him?

God, that’s a scary thought. You’ve been suppressing it violently every time you have it. It just seems so fast, you haven't been “official” for very long at all. But trying to shove it down the past few days has made you feel like a cartoon character on a sinking ship, plugging holes with every finger and every toe just for more to appear and the water to keep rising. He smiles at you, all long teeth and crinkled eyes, and the boat capsizes. You love him, you love him, you love him. And now that you admit it to yourself, you have to admit it to him too. 

Before you can say anything, he stands.

“Ready for dessert?” Corey asks.

“There’s dessert?”

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Stay here.” He stacks all the dinner dishes onto the cookie sheet and takes it to the kitchen. You idly wonder if he’s ever had a job as a busboy. You try to guess what desert is by the sounds you hear him making in the kitchen. Something refrigerated, or maybe frozen. That doesn’t narrow it down very much.

He returns with a bowl heaped with scoops of something the color of blood, two spoons sticking out. He sets it on the table and scoots his chair closer to yours before sitting down. You take a hesitant bite. Raspberry. It’s delicious. You devour the bowl together without speaking, just watching each other.

“Corey…” You finally break the silence. “This was really special.”

“Oh, uh... It’s nothing.” He shrugs.

“It’s a lot more than nothing. You put a lot of hard work into this and it was really cool. No one I’ve dated has ever gone out of their way for me like that before.” In the short time you’ve known him, he’s done more for you than Orin did for your entire three years together. He looks at you like you’re God. He cares if you cum. He listens.

“How is that possible?” He asks. You snort at the question.

“I thought that was just how it was.” You say, shaking your head. “Corey I… I love you.”

Before you realize what’s happening he’s out of his chair, pulling you up from yours into a tight embrace, pressing you against him like he wants to fuse your bodies together. You squeeze him back and you can’t fight the goofy smile you break into.

“I love you too,” he says back, voice strangled with emotion. He releases you just enough that he can look at your face. “I’ll never treat you like they did. I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never walk away from you, unless you tell me to leave.” You look into his eyes. He looks so intense in the candle light, lit almost like the villain in a black and white movie. To your own astonishment, you completely believe him.

“I have one more thing planned,” he says after a long pause. He leads you to the living room. You sit on the couch. Corey turns on the tv and connects his phone. You see the name of the movie he’s casting and can’t help but laugh.

“The Lobster?” You say, incredulous.

“You said it was your favorite romcom,” he says.

“That was a joke!” You say, scrunching your face to keep from dissolving into hysterics. “I do really like that movie but it’s a dark comedy. It’s not a date movie… Unless you’re on a pretty fucked up date.”

“You’re on a date with me.” He smirks at you. 

“Okay.” You laugh, pleasantly surprised by his little self-deprecating joke. You pat the couch next to you. He puts his arm around you when he sits down and you nuzzle against him as he presses play. 

“So,” you say as the end credits roll. “Do you think he did it?”

“What?” Corey asks

“Do you think he went through with blinding himself?” You turn to face him.

“Of course. He doesn’t have another option.”

“I mean, there’s no obvious second option, but he could’ve figured something else out. It’s a hard thing to do, to hurt yourself like that. Your sense of self-preservation would get in the way, force you to consider something else, right?”

“No.” He says, with startling conviction. “All other options would lead to death, or something even worse than death. They say they turn you into an animal to give you a second chance, but that’s bullshit. If you’re still yourself inside the animal, that’s a prison. A punishment. If you lose yourself, then becoming an animal is no different from dying. It’s easy to hurt yourself when prison and death are the only other options.”

“But blinding yourself in unsterile conditions with imprecise tools is so dangerous, he might just be committing suicide anyway.”

“Yeah. If he doesn’t do it, he’ll probably die. If he does do it, he might die. But if he does it, at least he tried. Wouldn’t you try?” Corey rests his forearms on his thighs and looks at you with dark, serious eyes. It doesn’t feel like you’re talking about the movie anymore. 

“I would try harder to come up with another plan. If they’re both blind, how will they accomplish anything? Why, after all the shit he’s been through, is he still so willing to hold onto the old system? He’s just gonna give up his whole rebellious thing? No. He should stay sighted and fight to change things.”

“You don’t think he tried hard enough to come up with another plan? He thought of everything. He… He probably thought of a hundred more plans than just what they showed us. He only saw one way out. He did it.” Corey leans back onto the couch, watching your face. 

You look back at him, trying to process what seems like a coded confession. What part of his past is he alluding to? Did he inflict the wounds that scarred him on himself? The thought has never occurred to you. For a long time, your working theory was that it was drug related, a deal gone wrong or something. Corey’s quiet, no frills life would make sense for a recovering addict. But he shows no hesitation to drink, and he’d never smoked pot or seen a bong before the other day, didn’t recognize the sensation of being stoned. 

So then, maybe a robbery? You could see him on either side of that equation. Being young and stupid, making a bad choice and paying the price, or at any age, having an attempt to defend his home go poorly. The other prevailing option was someone’s jealous ex. He’s never had a girlfriend, but all it would take is being in the vicinity of someone with a sufficiently jealous, sufficiently violent former partner. If an abusive asshole decided Corey was a threat... Maybe that was what he meant when he said he was cursed?

No. Self-inflicted. It echoes in your head. What had he said when you'd asked him about it? I was stabbed. Passive voice, almost no information. Your eyes burn thinking about it. Corey just looks at you. 

“Yeah…” you say hesitantly. “Maybe he did do it.” 

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It’s the first night Corey has slept alone in days and days. After he made you dinner, he stayed the night. When he got off work the next day he popped by his apartment to get clean clothes, several outfits worth, and he hadn’t been back since. But tonight after work he came home to his little garage and the studio above it to work on his tinkering. It was a struggle to pull himself away, so many days in a row just made him want more time with you, like someone lost at sea drinking salt water when they're already dehydrated. He knows you feel the same way, quietly giving him permission to violate your three days a week rule, implicitly asking him to stay another night, and another. Eventually he had to come home. 

Some parts he’s been waiting on have finally come in, so he stays in the garage late, until he realizes he’s drifting to sleep with a soldering iron in his hand. The idea of dying in a fire caused by the iron dropping out of his hand to the wooden workbench doesn’t thrill him like it used to, so he climbs the stairs and crawls under the stained, secondhand covers on his stained, secondhand mattress. 

Like he always does when he’s in bed alone these days, he imagines he’s not. He lays there on his side and pretends he’s curled around you instead of his lumpy pillow. His descent into sleep is fitful, plagued by half-conscious dreams and hypnic jerking. 

Corey’s not himself, his body doesn’t belong to him. He’s taller, thicker, stiffer than usual. He looks down at his hands and he’s missing two fingers, not wearing his ring. I’m Michael, he realizes with awe. He’s outside Laurie and Allyson’s house, and he can hear a commotion going on inside. He turns the knob on the side door and is pleasantly surprised it’s unlocked. He’s going to kill Laurie. After all this time, the bitch is finally gonna bite it.

He steps into the foyer and Laurie isn’t there. He is. The real him. Corey that stabbed himself, bleeding out on the floor. Allyson crouches over him, wailing.

Don’t go! Please Corey, don’t go! Don’t leave me!

He wants to go to her, and he's next to her, just like that, like he teleported. I’m not going anywhere! I’m right here, I didn’t leave!

She turns to face him and screams at the top of her lungs, face contorting in terror. Except she isn’t Allyson at all. It’s you. It’s you and he’s Michael Myers, and the knife he stabbed himself with is right there on the floor, and you both spot it at the same time. You’re faster than him, rising to your feet and lunging for it, but Michael is so much bigger than you, he makes it first.

You stomp on his hand without hesitation. He’s amazed and aroused by your decisive brutality, but he can’t feel the pain at all. He wraps Michael’s massive fingers around your foot and yanks your leg from under you. You slam to the ground, your shirt soaking up dying-Corey’s blood like a sponge. He picks up the knife. You scramble backwards on your hands and feet like a crab, but the blood makes you slide and fall. In one stride, he’s standing over you. You roll away towards the front door, pulling yourself up by the handle and throwing it open. Corey-Michael follows you, desperate to break into a run to catch you as you sprint away, but unable to do more than walk with wide strides. He tries to call your name but his mouth won’t work.

The streets of Haddonfield narrow, the houses shrink and warp. The road is carpeted now and lined on either side not with homes, but with bookshelves. The library. He approaches the aisle where he first saw you, where you trapped him to ask about your sewing machine. He rounds the corner, knowing you’ll be there, that mischievous grin on your face. He raises the knife. You turn to face him and he brings the knife down. A thin red line rapidly widens on your cheek, and another across your chest. Your eyes glaze over with betrayed tears. He raises the knife and brings it down again. This time it penetrates your chest and Michael-Corey feels the tip glance off one of your ribs as the blade buries itself to the hilt.

He stabs you repeatedly, sinking in, sliding out. 10 times. 30 times. More times than he stabbed his mother. More times than he stabbed everyone else, combined. He keeps going, long after you’re dead, until the blade gets stuck in your sternum and the knife handle breaks off, and you slide from his grasp to the floor. All the books on the shelves on either side are coated with a fine mist of your blood. 

He throws the broken handle down the aisle, then sinks to his knees beside you on the ground. He cradles your head in his hands and cries. His hands with all his fingers, signet ring back on his pinky, white scar across one palm. He’s himself, survivor-Corey, hiding-from-the-police-Corey, your-loving-boyfriend-Corey. He wails your name. 

Don’t go! Please don’t leave me! I’m so sorry, please don’t go!

Corey wakes up in a cold sweat. He checks his phone. 4am. He’s been asleep less than two hours, but that's gonna have to be good enough. He tosses on a light jacket, shoves his feet into his boots and goes downstairs. In the corner of the garage is a large toolbox. He unlocks it and opens the lid. It’s full of junk, rusted nails and bent wrenches. He pinches the sides and lifts, pulling the false bottom compartment up and out, setting it on the workbench. He places his hand in the now empty box and pushes on one side. A second false bottom flips up out of the way. On the real bottom of the box is Corey’s little collection of weapons.

Pocket knives of different sizes and designs, a Buck 120 hunting knife in its leather sheath, a brass knuckle, a snub-nose .38 revolver not much different from the one Laurie shot him with, and a box of bullets. Things he’s bought or stolen or found. Things he knows it’s tempting fate for him to have, but they make him feel… Not safer, but perhaps more prepared. 

He takes out a knife and flicks it open. It’s the biggest folding blade in the box, more than an inch longer and twice as wide as the toothpick knife Corey carries every day. For a split second, he’s tempted to test the sharpness on himself. Instead, he turns to a cardboard box on the table top and stabs it. The blade glides through as if the corrugated walls of the box are nothing but air. Perfect.

He reassembles his hiding spot and tucks the knife safely into the inside pocket of his jacket.  

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You wake to pressure on the bed, the mattress sinking beside you. You open your eyes a sliver and see a silhouette next to you, ever so slightly darker than the surrounding nothingness. You’re barely conscious but you’d know that shape anywhere.

“Corey?” You croak.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Mmm,” you reply, too sleepy for real words. You scoot away from him and pat the bed next to you.

He shifts to lie down in the space you made, and pulls you into him. He’s so warm and soft and safe, you’re already almost asleep again. He puts his hand under your chin and lifts your face.

“Don’t go back to sleep. I need to talk to you,” he says softly, and plants a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Hmmm?” You ask.

“Come on, I need you awake enough to talk to.” He slides his hand along your jaw from your chin to your ear and back, stroking your cheek with his thumb. His words move through your brain thickly, like molasses. “It’s important,” he says.

You fight hard to rouse yourself. It’s important. Corey warns you to shield your eyes, then he reaches over and turns on your bedside lamp. The amber light stimulates you enough to prop yourself up on your arm and look at him. His eyes are red with deep shadows underneath.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?” You put a concerned hand on his chest.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“What time is it?”

“4:30. There’s something I want you to have.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls something out of the interior pocket. You hold your hand out and he places it in your palm. A pocket knife.

“What..?” You start to ask.

“I want you to be able to protect yourself. You’re so important to me, I need some insurance that you’re safe. I know you’re capable, but you don’t always have a baseball bat. Promise me you’ll keep it with you and you’ll use it on anyone you have to,” he says. 

You sit up and examine the knife in your hand. The handle is made of a rich, dark wood, with something shimmery inlaid. Mother of pearl maybe. The blade has a little groove for one handed opening. You slip your thumbnail into it and pop the blade out. The edge glints in the lamp light. It’s a beautiful knife. 

“Okay. I promise.”

“I‘m serious,” he says. “Promise you’ll use it against anyone you need to. Even me.”

“Corey, I… Why would I need to use it against you?”

“You won’t. But just promise me that if you did, you would.” The prospect is ridiculous to you, but he looks dead serious.

“I promise.”

He grabs your hand, holding the still open knife, and angles it so you’re pointing it at him, the tip grazing the skin of his chest made visible by the two unbuttoned buttons of his henley shirt.

“Promise me.”

“Corey…” you protest. You try to pull away, you don’t want to hurt him by accident. But the strength of his grip stops you. Your heart races. You’re scared, but the fear is oddly arousing. “I promise.”

“That’s three times you promised.” He lets go of your hand. 

A sick impulse comes to you. Without thinking about it, you raise the knife, angling it upward so the tip presses against the soft underside of his chin instead of his chest. He breaks into a wide smile. You apply the tiniest amount of pressure and he raises his chin just a little to get away. You follow him with it, pressing it into his stubbly skin enough to make him pull away again. Then you realize what you’re doing. Horrified, you pull away and fold the blade back inside the handle.

You can’t even begin to apologize before he’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

Summary of The Lobster(2015): A man lives in a society where adults MUST be in romantic partnerships. After his wife leaves him for another man, he goes to a matchmaking resort for single people to meet. If you fail to meet a long-term partner before your stay at the hotel is over, you will be turned into the animal of your choosing. But there's a group of Loners, people who want to be single, that live on the edges of society. The man wants to be a Loner, but finds himself attracted to another Loner, which is against the rules. His partner winds up blind, and he has to decide if he wants to join her in blindness or not.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #mine #smut #fan fic #cc