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#pretend it's a peanut butter cookie

griffinisgae · 29 days

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The companions favourite ice creams

Lae'zel: "what is iced cream?" would try the plain flavours first, settle on pistachio as a fave

Gale: ate 7 tubs of chocolate ice cream when mystra ghosted him, but his favourite is something fruity

Karlach: ALL OF THEM

Shadowheart: pretends to not be able to pick a favourite. it's actually vanilla

Astarion: black cherry

Wyll: mint choc chip :)

Minthara: rum and raisin. May pick out raisins and sneak them into wylls choc chip to disappoint him

Minsc: cookie dough, peanut butter for boo. He bites into it every time and winces every time

Jaheira: baileys over plain ice cream

Halsin: sticky toffee/caramel. he makes a mess but that's ok

#bg3 #bg3 shitpost #lae'zel #gale #astarion #karlach #wyll #shadowheart #jaheira #minsc #minthara #halsin

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webslingingslasher · 6 months

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and peter never shuts up about trouble to may

she teases him for it all the time and when they finally make it official may tells trouble.

“i just knew you were the one for him, he always talks about you. that boy is head over heels”

trouble and frat peter are total endgame

AAAAAA WAIT WAIT PETER DROPPING THE BOMB W YOU IN HAND AND MAY FREAKS CAUSE SHE'S BEEN WAITING FOR IT SINCE HE STARTED TALKING ABOUT YOU.

---

may, never one to complain about another friendly face, was smiling hard at you.

'oh, hello! peter didn't say you were joining this weekend.'

she was extremely happy, it was the first weekend she's seen you after your split. she assumes her nephew made right like he said he would, it had been a quiet few weeks on peter's side.

'he wanted it to be a surprise, did it work?' may answers with giving you a tight hug, 'very. i missed you,' she lowers her voice, it doesn't do much. 'and he did too.'

'may.' peter doesn't like his secrets being told.

'oh, i know he did. he cried.' your hip was pinched, 'hey. no more.' he really doesn't like those secrets being told.

may gives another gentle squeeze before stepping back, she's about to give peter his own hug until you elbow him.

'sorry, i thought embarrassing you was in my job description now.'

'i'd prefer if it wasn't.' you loop your arm around him and lean a cheek on his shoulder. 'deal. can i still do it in private though?' immediate agreeance, 'absolutely.'

may sees nothing but pure love, she really hopes peter does it right this time around. peter places a kiss on your hairline before gently loosening his arm. 'i'm gonna set our stuff down, two seconds.'

it's more affection he's ever been open to sharing with may, she's caught kisses and soft touches before, but she can't place a time he's willingly done it in her eyesight. peter knows she'd tease him too much.

'i see things are going good?'

you feel shy, peter said he wanted it to be a surprise.

'very. i'm really, really happy. he um, he told me about everything.' may knows exactly what you're hinting at, not that her nephew filled her in on his plans. 'and everyone?'

you laugh lightly, 'yeah. i'm still trying to wrap my head around that, i have this weird new sense of worry now. i don't know how you do it.'

it's comforting she has someone to relate the anxiety to, it's a new feeling and it's something she never thought she'd be able to share.

'it gets easier, but it never goes away.'

'hey, hey, hey,' peter's voice becomes gradually louder when he picks up on the conversation. one look at you and you know what he's about to say, you can't even try to stop the smile.

'i just got her, let's not scare off my girlfriend, may.'

a sharp gasp, hands cover her mouth. 'shut up! you're lying!'

peter plays cool, 'i told you i was going to fix it.' you nod approvingly, 'he really did. he even... peter, you wanna show her or should i?'

'oh, i got it.' your boyfriend clears his throat, 'i love you.' loud and proud. it doesn't matter if he's said it a hundred times in the past month, it'll never get old. 'i love you, too.'

peter looks at may, 'you were right. there's nothing compared to that feeling.' your bottom lip pokes out, 'aw, petey!'

'i knew it! i knew you were the one and i knew he'd figure out a way to get you back and ah! i just knew it!' you were held tighter than before, a squeak has peter crossing the linoleum to your side.

may releases you to tug her nephew in for his own hug, she holds him tighter than you think you ever have. it's warm to know she wanted this just as much as you did.

'i'm proud of you,' it was quiet, not really meant for your ears. you'll pretend you didn't hear it. 'thanks, i am too.' since everyone's caught up and you have no reason to feel like a slight stranger, you hum around their bodies on a mission to the kitchen for the cookies you've been smelling since the second you walked in.

mumbling around a snickerdoodle, 'is this an okay time to tell you that i'd much prefer a batch of peanut butter cookies?' may turns to you with an amused look, you may have led on that peter's favorites were your own.

'what? i didn't want to feel like i was changing the routine. it's peter's fault, he knew and kept letting me lie.' peter clicks his tongue, 'oh, no, no, no. don't blame me, i told you i'd ask and you said i couldn't be trusted.'

'yeah, but,' you look at may for support. 'have you ever been at a friends house and ask for something and instead of your friend covering for you they're just like 'mom, may wants a popsicle!' and you feel like punching yourself in the head cause like, why would you do that to me?'

peter gasps, 'i would never! i would conceal a murder for you in ten seconds, you think i'd sell you out on some cookies?' may holds a hand to her chest, 'i would love to make you a batch of peanut butter cookies, or we could make them together and talk about peter.'

he shuts it down in a second. 'no, no talking of me. thank you.'

'well, since you're my boyfriend now i think i should finally be able to hear your embarrassing stories.'

'no, not allowed, trouble.'

'but i already love you!'

'and i'd prefer if we keep it that way.'

'i've loved you longer.'

you always have to one up him.

'fine. you get three, and nothing from middle school. we're not there yet.'

your teeth sink into a snickerdoodle, happiness you've never felt before hasn't faded in a month, if anything it's gotten brighter. you could really get used to this.

may can't remember the last time her apartment was filled with this much love.

#uni extras #frat!peter drabbles

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

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AITA for using the dog's peanut butter to make cookies?

I'm about the only person in my family who was born with the ability to bake anything (RIP to our oven of 2016, brutally murdered by mom) and for the last week my sister has been nagging me for peanut butter cookies.

We do not make a habit of stocking peanut butter, since the cookies are about the only thing we eat it in, but we do always have a jar in the cupboard for the dog for his lick mats and his kongs. Its literally normal peanut butter, people brand, just without the chemical that makes it bad for dogs in. Literally just normal peanut butter.

Its not contaminated because we only ever use it on his clean stuff, and we clean his toys well and properly and don't let him lick the spoon. So for example we never use it on a toy he's already licked and we wash all his toys before we put peanut butter in them. So its not full of dog slobber or anything.

I got super fed up with her nagging me so early this morning I made some. With the dog's peanut butter. She just came back, excitedly ate like six, then smugly said she knew asking so much would make me go out and get peanut butter earlier than the mid-week food shop, which is when I told her we'd buy some so I could make her cookies.

I laughed and told her I just used the dog's one since its exactly the same, and clean, and she spent 15 minutes bent over the sink pretending to throw up and is now on the phone ranting to her friend that I'm disgusting and tried to poison her. She even messaged in the family chat to tell our parents not to eat the cookies. Neither of them have seen it yet.

AITA? If the peanut butter was contaminated and gross I wouldn't have used it at all, I'm not that kind of person, but its clean and exactly the same stuff we'd buy to make cookies with otherwise, so I genuinely don't see the issue. I've had 2 cookies already and they taste delicious.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw

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whore-for-chris-evans · 1 year

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Let's talk about the Avengers Assemble series.

I think the only reason it couldn't get a season 6 was because it was giving fans all the things the MCU couldn't/didn't. And filmmakers didn't like that. Seriously:

- It had a lot more of Falcon being an awesome dude (even had Falcon's mom bring them cookies on his first day)

- It had much more focus on Hawkeye and his cool sass and cool archery. He invented new arrows regularly.

- It had Stony. Lots of it. Absolutely made up for the near-complete lack of Stucky (because the movies already have that)

- Hawkeye being Stony shipper #1

- It had Black Widow being much better than in the movies (no sexist/objectifying portrayal of her)

- It actually explored the daily lives of the Avengers. Thor and Hulk fighting over peanut butter. Hawkeye enjoying said peanut butter while watching them fight. Steve and Tony doing training together. Steve and Tony talking about stuff. Lots of stuff.

- Tony used to pretend to be Captain America as a kid. There were pictures. There's a scene where Steve lends his shield to Tony during practice to see what he does with it.

- Hulk collects glass figurines in this universe. And keeps his room squeaky clean. And has a titanium blanket. Bruce is still a fucking genius.

- There were villains who haven't even been in the MCU yet.

- It ended its version of Civil War on a better note. Aka Steve and Tony team up for the bigger fight instead of acting like toddlers.

- Defeating Thanos was much easier here.

- It explored Steve's past and actually showed a more human side of him.

- It showed Steve painting portraits of all his teammates (aww) and also getting frustrated when his paintings don't turn out right (which is accurate and a much needed thing to show)

- It had him staying in the present (even after a time-space glitch caused Peggy and Howard to end up in the 21st century). Not that Steve didn't want to go back with her, he just chose the more sensible option.

- There were better jokes.

- All of them were attractive, even in animation. (I fell in love with AA!Steve first and AA!Clint is the reason I had a crush on the archer for a while)

- It did underrated characters justice.

- It was going great (really, 13 stars out of 10)

But that's why they shut it down.

Because too good wasn't okay for them.

#avengers assemble #disney xd #avengers #avengers cartoon #this series has my heart

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literaila · 1 year

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cookie dough

summary: is this one about self doubt or about cookie dough? who’s to say?

warnings: fluff, bad jokes (it’s midnight shhh), self-doubt, sweet peter, mean peter, mean reader, cookies, ovens

if an escape is what you're looking for, then peter seems to be the perfect place.

"which one?" he's asking you now. "there's chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle, macadamia nut..."

you are definitely not just staring at his lips.

you are completely focused, swear to it.

you look down to the cookie dough he's frowning over. "i kinda just want to eat it."

peter looks up. "you said that you wanted to make cookies."

"i said that i wanted cookies. you said that you weren't going to make them alone," you nudge him with your shoulder. your lip twitches at the dubious look on his face.

"now you're saying that you just want to eat the cookie dough?" he raises a brow.

"look at how good it looks..."

peter blinks. "you can't even see it," he says. "it's just the pillsbury dough boy."

"i always did have a bit of a crush on him," you grin, taking the package from his hand.

"i'm going to pretend that you didn't say that," besides you, peter cradles a hand to his chest, mock offended.

he was already up when you called.

peter was already waiting for you to interrupt his middle-of-the-night activities and drag him along on some endeavor to keep yourself entertained.

you are lucky, you know. lucky that he was there when you needed him.

not that you admit to needing him, of course. this is a mere coincidence.

though, your jaw has gotten a bit sore from laughing.

"this one says 'eat or bake,'" peter says. "we can get two. i'll make the cookies, and you can eat the dough."

you frown at him, pushing away the 'safe to eat' dough. "that just ruins the fun."

"the fun being salmonella?"

"breaking the rules, peter," you frown at him, high and mighty with your cookie dough in your hands. by the time you get to eat it, it will be mush. "acting like a kid again and stealing a spoonful of dough from the bowl even though mom said not to--"

"it's cookie dough."

"i'll take five, please."

peter laughs. "you can't afford five of these."

"i can if i have the help of a very generous boyfriend."

peter nods. he grabs a package--probably a terrible flavor, probably just to irritate you--and starts walking away. "let me know when you find one."

you run along after him, trying to steal a peek at what he picked out. "i hope you know that this earns you no points," you say.

but it does.

peter is here with you, keeping away the loneliness that likes to creep in on nights like this.

days when it gets dark far too soon and every hour feels like five different ones.

days when without him, you think, you might cease to exist.

peter gets points for just being there. for smiling at you like he is now. for kissing the top of your head and wrapping a hand around your waist as the two of you walk towards the checkout.

"this is terrible," you say, taking another swipe of his sugar cookie dough.

because, yes, peter is trying to get on your nerves. it is in no way deserved.

he snorts. "then why are you eating it?" and then, because he's both taller and crueler than you, he moves the baking sheet out of your reach.

"i need to properly judge you," you lean over his shoulder, examining his hands with curious eyes. "i just wanna help."

"you want to steal the rest of the cookie dough."

"why did yours come in circles?" you ask. "that's so much better than squares."

"we'll draft an email while these are baking."

you scowl at his back--glare at him when he looks to you with a cheeky smile--and move to sit on the counter. you still haven't opened your dough yet.

"sugar cookies..." you whisper under your breath.

"anything more than that," peter says, "and you'd get sick."

you throw a dish towel at him. he catches it without a blink of an eye, continuing to place the circular patties of dough on the sheet. "you just picked those out so that i wouldn't eat all of them."

"i'm saving you from crashing off a sugar high. you're welcome."

"thanks, mom."

peter chuckles. he thinks that you can't hear it, but you can.

"when are you going to be done?" you ask. "this is boring."

"maybe if you weren't a thief i would let you help."

"i am your executitive chef. i have to make sure that everything's up to standard."

peter hums. he places the sheet in the oven, stepping back and spinning around.

there are lines under his eyes because it's three in the morning.

but he's smiling at you, and he still hasn't asked you to get out.

it's a good enough sign.

"now i'm done."

"good."

peter's smile widens, he takes a step toward you. "why?" he asks. "got big plans?"

you smile back, leaning into him. "wanna cuddle."

if peter laughs, you can't hear it.

but he is quick to obey your command. he removes any distance between the two of you in an instant, hands wrapping around your back, nose falling into your hair.

you can feel him breathing against you.

every inhale is like a reminder; a sweet little love letter, letting you know that he's all yours.

you breathe with him, swearing that it will get you even closer than you already are.

"good?" peter whispers to you.

he might be smiling. he sounds like he is, but you aren't sure.

you nod against his chest, relaxing into the sound of him swallowing. the careful release of his shoulders, the smooth curve of his neck when you trail a hand up to his hair.

he shivers.

and you breathe in one last time.

"sorry," you whisper against him. you're almost hoping that he can't hear.

but peter doesn't miss much.

"for what?" he asks, head falling so that it's closer to yours. lips right against your cheek.

he kisses the skin of your jaw like it will convince you to tell him all of your secrets.

which, in all honesty, it might.

"just..." you sigh against him, unsure if you're conflicted or if peter's just distracting. "i know you were probably busy."

peter pauses. he moves back, looking you in the eye.

"i mean, i didn't want to interrupt any plans you might've had tonight," you continue. "and i know i'm being more clingy than usual. it's just been a long week and i missed you, and... i don't know. i’m just sorry.”

there is a moment of silence.

a moment when you can hear the buzzing of the oven right next to you, the warmth coming from the floor beneath your feet.

you can feel peter because he's right next to you, and you still feel so far away.

a distance farther than the eye can see.

"baby," peter whispers, hands drawing circles behind your ear.

"yeah?"

you aren't looking at him, just at the floor.

"you didn't interrupt anything. and you aren't being clingy."

you raise a brow. "peter--"

"--and if you are being clingy, then i don't mind. i like hugging you and holding your hand, and almost tripping over your legs when you try to walk as fast as i do--"

"hey," you protest.

peter laughs. "all of it. i love all of it."

he's absolutely sure. he's brushing the self-doubt off of your shoulders and telling you that this shirt, this confidence doesn't fit right.

but you've grown used to swimming in the fabric.

"i just don't want to push myself at you all of the time. we're independent people, we can do independent things."

"you know what i do when you're not here?" peter asks you, mock-serious. he's smiling because he's an idiot and because you are. but he's still three inches away from you. breath on the skin of your forehead.

"homework?"

peter looks up, thinking about it. "okay, yes. sometimes. but mostly i just sit around, trying to come up with excuses to call you."

you frown. "you don't need an excuse to call me," you tell him.

"neither do you," peter reiterates. "i don't think that spending time with you is an interruption," he laughs a little bit. "actually, if you wanted to interrupt me more when i'm doing homework..."

you breathe again, trying to stifle the doubt.

"you don't have to apologize just because you asked me if i wanted to go to the store with you."

you nod against him, because, sure, you agree.

but you won't meet his eyes. but peter could be lying, and he could be secretly annoyed with you right now.

and there are cookies in the oven that are going to burn and you aren't sure if peter set a timer or not.

"hey," he interrupts, making you look at him with a gentle push of your chin. "i'm not lying."

you scowl.

he laughs. "i can read your mind, you know."

"no, you can't."

"then how do i know that you're thinking about how much you want me to kiss you?" peter leans down, his breath a gentle lurking. like a pitter-patter of your heart.

you smile almost against him.

and then you close the distance, molding yourself to him in an instant.

and he clarifies a million things. he tells you over and over again that you are worthy of something, if only him. he rewrites sonnets on your skin, leaving behind marks that won’t fade with time.

peter bruises your lips and swears that it’s all out of love. he’s gentle as he ruins your skin, soft and teasing as he dents the once soft curve of your neck.

he whispers words into your mouth and they echo back. he tells you that you won’t be able to escape that easily.

then he pulls back, smiling.

"was i right?"

you hum. "not sure. you might wanna try again."

peter almost gets a laugh out before the oven beeps and interrupts both of you.

you groan.

my masterlist here.

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @valvlry

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chapel-of-rizztual · 7 months

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Gould being dewormed? Say more, which ones are good and which ones hate it

Copia uses the gel he rubs on the back of their necks just because it’s easier then getting them to take pills…less teeth and all that, he found that out the hard way.

Dew: Surprisingly likes it. Genuinely shocks everyone with how well behaved he is for Copia. He’s happy to sit there with his hair tied up in a high bun as Copia rubs the gel onto his neck. He even purrs and once Copia is done he rubs his head on his chest as a thank you. He gets kissed and head pats after for being so good.

Phantom: Doesn’t mind it. Doesn’t really acknowledge it. But he’s very fidgety because it tickles, okay? Copia has to distract him peanut butter to get him to be still. He doesn’t really know what’s going on, all he knows is he gets peanut butter in exchange for Copia rubbing his neck a little.

Mountain: Tolerates it. Sits there pouting the entire time but let’s Copia do what he has to do. Gets a little lecture from Copia each time about how important it is because he’s always outside. Also because he’s always outside he has to have flea baths but he doesn’t mind them, especially when Aether helps him.

Cumulus: Also tolerates it. She doesn’t really like her neck being touched for long but she trusts Copia. He does get a little warning growl if he takes too long though.

Swiss: Pretends to hate it. Hisses and bites and Copias hands and puts up a massive fuss about it but purrs as soon as Copia touches him. Gives him a kiss once he’s done as an apology for being such a shit.

Aurora: Thinks it’s a game. Copia has to chase her around the entire ministry and pin her down. She laughs the entire time and once he’s done she tries to pin him down and put the gel on his neck.

Rain: Hates it. Has to be muzzled or he will bite. Hates the feeling of something touching his neck, hates the feeling of the sticky gel drying on him. Gets the same lecture as Mountain but doesn’t pay attention because he’s too busy growling. Has to have flea baths as well but he likes those, especially when he can join Mountain.

Cirrus: Growls and side eyes him the entire time but let’s him do what he has to do. She has to have another ghoul, Sunny mostly, with her because having her neck touched makes her feel a little anxious but she knows it’s important so let’s Copia do it.

Aether: He likes it. Maybe not as much as Dew, but he still likes it. Him and Copia always end up taking for ages after, drinking tea while Aether fills him in on all the tea in the ministry. He likes spending the time with Copia.

Sunshine: Like Phantom, she doesn’t really acknowledge it. She likes the attention she gets and Copia always gives her a cookie after. He tail wags the entire time.

#the band ghost #ghost headcanons #nameless ghouls #This is so silly

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ladytesla · 4 months

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The Great Faerun Baking Show (Part one of possibly more)

Intelligence is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put ketchup in a profiterole. Dexterity is crafting a croquembouche out of red craquelin-encrusted ketchup-filled profiteroles. Strength is carrying that croquembouche from your bench to the judge’s table. Constitution is being able to withstand the pressure of having your tomato croquembouche being judged by Prue Leith. Charisma is trying to convince Paul Hollywood that your tomato croquembouche was a completely logical idea.

Twelve new bakers have been chosen to enter the tent. Over the next ten weeks, they will face 30 brand new challenges. Every aspect of their baking will be scrutinized and put up to the scrutiny of Prue and Paul. Each week one will rise to become Star Baker, and whoever crumbles to the pressure will be sent home. But who will go on to win the Great Faerun Baking Show?

I came up with this horrible idea so now I’m inflicting it on all of you. May the gods have mercy on your souls. So here’s how this odd little imagine is going to work. I have no idea what’s going to happen. I’m just going to roll a D20 ‘bake check’ for everyone, and write out the results, including what everyone rolled so y’all know I’m not cheating just so my druid boyfriend can win. The person with the lowest total score (out of a possible score of 60) goes home. I’m going to write this in short form, but if this gets a lot of traction I might make this a full-scale fanfiction with shenanigans on like AO3 or something.

Our bakers are 6 men and 6 women. I put all romanceable companions, Jaheira and Minsc, Dammon because he’s wonderful, and because I’m making the rules here, my tav Medora. If you’d rather not deal with someone else’s tav, just pretend it’s Alfira since they’re both female bards. If you're interested in seeing what my sleep-deprived mind came up with one night, read on!

Week One: Cake Week, or "why did you think putting literal blood in a cake was a good idea"

Signature Challenge: Swiss Roll Cake

Astarion: Dark chocolate and blood orange. It cracked a little on the top, but it tasted quite nice.

Dammon: Apple pie. Surprisingly for a blacksmith who works with heavy-duty equipment he’s really good at making small, delicate things. It had a tiny lattice top in royal icing like a real apple pie would. It tasted excellent.

Gale: He wanted something unusual and colorful, so he went with ube. He wanted to use magic to make it float or change color, but was told that was against the rules. It’s okay though, It was still really nice, and beautifully presented.

Halsin: Wild blueberry and honey. He harvested the honey himself, and was proud to say so. Unfortunately he used sugar instead of salt because he got distracted by some ducks walking by outside the tent, and it tasted awful.

Jaheira: Chocolate and peanut butter. It’s flavors her kids like. Unfortunately Paul seems to always have issues with peanut butter and how it glues his mouth shut. He wasn’t as big a fan of the cake as Prue was.

Karlach: S’mores swiss roll with toasted marshmallows on top. She toasted the marshmallows a bit too much, but that’s part of the charm of s’mores. She’s not sorry.

Lae’zel: Matcha and black sesame. Interesting flavor choices, but not as well-executed as the judges would have liked.

Medora: Lemon meringue. The meringue was very poorly executed, the lemon curd squished out of the sides of the cake, and the cake itself cracked horribly.

Minsc: Chai swiss roll. The swiss roll wasn’t as tight as it should have been, but the flavors were lovely.

Minthara: Chocolate and whiskey swiss roll. Accompanied by shots of whiskey, in an attempt to bribe the judges.

Shadowheart: Cookies and cream swiss roll, with a neat half and half black and white design. It wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but she managed to cover up some of the worst sins with strategically-placed oreos.

Wyll: Red velvet. A classic flavor for a classic guy, and executed almost perfectly.

Technical Challenge: Cherry Cake

Bakers will be listed in descending order of success.

Karlach

Lae’zel

Minsc

Jaheira and Shadowheart tied, actually. You decide who gets fourth.

Either Shadowheart or Jaheira, depending on who’s your least favorite lol

Medora

Halsin

Wyll and Gale also tied. Pick your favorite.

Gale or Wyll

Astarion

Dammon

Minthara

Showstopper Challenge: Chocolate Celebration Cake

Astarion: Tiers are lopsided and the texture is claggy, but he did his best to charm the judges and distract them.

Dammon: Not as successful as his signature round, but his piping work was surprisingly delicate.

Gale: Attempted to make a chocolate tribute to Mystra. The sculptural aspect was lacking, but he was one of the few contestants to use ruby chocolate, which was unique.

Halsin: Used even more foraged berries on a white chocolate cake. Very successful.

Jaheira: Dropped her cake before she could finish decorating it. Could not be judged.

Karlach: Put in some cinnamon and chili to make a Mexican hot chocolate cake. Very nice.

Lae’zel: No one knows what dimension that chocolate came from, only that it was amazing. She got a Hollywood Handshake.

Medora: Finally seemed to get with the program and baked a lovely triple-chocolate cake.

Minsc: Despite him not having hair, Boo drove him like it was a scene from Ratatouille and created chocolate perfection. Hollywood Handshakes for both of them.

Minthara: Her cake was very dry and didn’t have enough frosting.

Shadowheart: Insisted her cake be colored black with activated charcoal and got it everywhere.

Wyll: Tried to go for a classic again, and did well, but the judges wondered if he played it too safe.

The Results

Our star baker this week with a total score of 49/60 is: Karlach!

And unfortunately due to her total score of 18/60, Minthara is the first to leave the tent.

And that concludes Cake Week!

Biscuit Week

Bread Week

Pies and Tarts Week

Underdark Week

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noblesixjm04 · 6 months

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Im baking rn and.

Chief is the type of guy to just steal the cookies right off the sheet. He's too impatient to wait for them to cool. No amount of hiding the tray or smacking his hand away is going to stop him.

Fred would pretend he's not gonna take any. But the moment you turn your back to do something three of them are gone.

Kelly eats the cookie dough raw. You will lose half the bowl before you even start baking.

Linda will eat all the chocolate chips making you change course and make peanut butter cookies instead. (Trust me when I say she planned that out.)

#halo #shit post #blue team #john 117 #fred 104 #kelly 087 #linda 058

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anewkindofme · 6 months

Note

What Do you think about little TK and Cg! Owen

I think I love everything about it!

Owen is such a great dad and is supportive of TK. He was able to pull him back from the edge. Plus, I think Owen has some guilt from not always being around after the divorce. He would support TK regressing and want to take care of him as much as possible.

I see TK not wanting to tell him as he thinks he’s too old to need his dad. Especially as he thinks Owen wanted another baby when they thought Gwen’s was his. But Owen assures him that TK is who made him a dad and he’ll always want to take care of him.

He remembers all of the games that TK loved to play as a kid and takes him to the park. Owen saved TK’s childhood stuffed animal that he thought was given away a long time ago.

Owen is definitely the type to want him to eat healthy often and finds ways to sneak fruits and veggies into everything. But of course he makes TK’s peanut butter banana smoothies. Owen also uses TK’s little times to sneak in lots of lotion and bubble baths to keep his skin smooth.

TK definitely becomes one of the firehouse’s babies. Owen brings him to work sometimes and he’s spoiled by everyone. Judd gives him cookies and all the treats. He plays with Mateo. At first, TK is self conscious about being little in his place of work, but as he’s not the only one, he gets comfortable. One of his favorite things to do is sit at his daddy’s desk and pretend to be captain.

Owen finally gets him the puppy he always wanted. TK brings him to the firehouse to play with Buttercup.

I see TK dropping between 3-5 years old. He’s a very active little. Owen jokes that he keeps him young.

Also, the first time Little TK calls him “daddy”, Owen tears up because he hasn’t heard that since he was 8.

#age regression #sfw agere #little tk strand #caregiver owen strand #sfw littlespace #sfw caregiver #911 lone star #anon asks #asked and answered

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sukimas · 4 months

Note

🔥 food

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

Revealing the tattoo on my arm that says "I Fucking Hate Peanut Butter".

More seriously, people in general have a strong tendency to believe that their tastes in food are the only correct ones. For something that's got empirically measurable differences in how people experience it (due to physiology), this doesn't make a lot of sense. But even more than taste in art, taste in food seems to bring out the "you are wrong, only I know the truth" in people, whether it's about spice levels, tartness levels, or whether fish or tomatoes are good. This causes people with uncommon tastes a whole lot of hassle for no good reason other than lording your opinions over them, and if you're pushy enough about your tastes in food you've doubtless encountered many, many equivalents of the second grader who pretends to have a peanut allergy just so it doesn't have to eat your peanut butter cookies.

#ask game

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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 1 year

Text

I don’t hate you

When - 40ish minutes after The first Christmas ‘without,’ Part 2. You were unable to successfully nap. And the turkey is still not ready to eat, but there are cookies!

What - there are cookies!, skimming stones, yearning, forgiveness (working on it), reconciliation, healing, found-family and a slow burn Daryl x You at Christmastime, y’all. You spend time with Rick to remind yourself that you don’t hate him.

Genre - found family fluff and slow burning

Perspective - You 2nd person, Daryl 3rd Person

Pronouns - neutral they/them

TWs? - some language, some anger, and Carl looks at mushrooms growing on a tree stump eww

Which stories should I have read first? - A fu--in’ great Christmas, The first Christmas ‘without’ Part 1 and 2. Like a traditional Sunday dinner will help you know what they’re talking about while y’all are eating cookies. There’s reference to souls stripped bare. Then, read every other chapter!

How much time will I need to read it, troublemaker? - 25 minutes? It depends :D

Do you have a Masterlist? - there are two for The Slowpoke Series, the main one here in publishing order (recommended), and this one here in chronological order if you prefer!

40ish minutes later

Him

............................

“Who got the most?”

Y/N turns from their spot on the ground facing the lake and subtly does that hand gesture thing that means they were finishing up a prayer. “Beth, then Glenn, Mags and me tied for third, Carl came in fourth. Oh, and Glenn was trying to convince us to do a chicken swim at some point while we’re here.”

He hums, smiles (on the inside) at the memory, then wonders how would he have done if he joined the rock-skipping contest?

You know what, why wonder? He’s gonna try skimming stones right now.

“Careful about gettin’ too close to me, Daryl, I’m almost done eating a spoonful of peanut butter.” They hold up the spoon with the extra long handle and wave it a little in warning.

“Nasty.”

Y/N shakes their head and winks. “Delicious.”

Confused at himself as to why he suddenly feels shy, he picks up a smooth-ish rock and looks sideways at his friend and tries to digest all the damn butterflies in his stomach. “Shoulder still good after pelting rocks?”

They nod and take the spoon out of their mouth to confirm, “Very. Not to brag, but I haven’t grieved it up in a over a month.”

He rounds his arm, throws—aw, shit, the only thing it did was go ploosh. Well, that was embarrassing, fuck.

��That was the warm-up, try again,” Y/N chuckles.

He grabs another, flings it.

Ha, that’s right! Three skips, motherfucker!

Take that, you fucking lake.

As his friend bursts out laughing, he becomes aware that he said the lake thing out loud.

Cheeks flaming up like a burner on a gas stove, he holds back a snort and deadpans, “I’m here to entertain,” as he reaches down to find another rock that was flat enough for skipping. He peeks behind him. “Gonna join?”

A pretend whine detailing how they “just got comfy, exceptin’ the fact that my butt is an ice pop,” comes before they stand up and grab a stone of their own. With a twist to the side to fling their rock onto the lake, they naturally mimic his “‘Take that, ya fuckin’ lake,’” as they throw. Their rock makes two big skips and one little one.

That they’re smiling makes him smile. He wonders if they saw him smiling like an idiot when they waved at him from over on the rock when they were sitting with Glenn. He then wonders if they were smiling back…

His turn, so he hurls another one out there and gets—four skips? Hell yeah!

“Four? Nice!” they praise. Already prepped with another rock, they take their turn and toss out there, getting two short hops. With a shrug and a smile, they tell him, “You could give Rick a run for his money, he’s good at this.” Y/N then wipes the dirt off their fingers and looks out at the water, tucking their hands under their scarf to warm up. “Did you notice that asshole’s ambidextrous?”

Which came out…not at all how they sound when they’re joking around. “You feelin’ any better than before?”

There’s a longer pause before they respond, “Y-yeah, I think so.”

“Quarter.”

Y/N makes a little huff and, sorry, that shit still makes Daryl smile on the inside. He unbuttons the pocket of his coat and pulls out his new nicotine gum. Let’s see if the stuff works… “Want me to kick his ass for ya?” he grunts (as a joke), poking out a piece from the foil packet.

Y/N lightly elbows him. Their eyes look brighter. “One of these days I might could say yes—you’d best be mindful of those offers, sunshine.”

He pops the gum into his mouth and shrugs. “I can kick his ass, no problem.”

“Ain’t saying you can’t.” Good, they’re close to giggling, he can tell.

“That ambidextrous thing, though,” he mumbles, “that coulda complicated stuff, thanks for the heads up.”

“Nah, Shane always bested him, you’d do fine.”

“Shane bested me, too, so, I dunno.” He chews the gum and few times and adds, “So did you, for that matter. You even fought T-Dog off unt—”

—ohhh shit. Okay, that was intended as an honest observation, the way they’d been able to fend off more than one person like that was badass and impressive as fuck, but reminding them of that night was brainless as fuck. The imaginary knee that hasn’t kicked his balls in something like two months shows up and knees him good.

That night, most of the group, in one way or another, had helped to either take Y/N’s weapons away, physically restrain them, or talk ’em down.

Then they’d left, which was huge for them. Huge for everyone. It didn’t last long, he’s damn grateful for it, like, they’d even told Carl it was temporary. But still. Them leaving ‘their’ Carl was big.

And he gets one final knee to his danglers when his friend makes light of it. “But together, y’all conquered, and a good time was had by all.”

Always with the making light, this one, even when they’re clearly trying to swallow so they don’t cry, and smiling even though it’s not fooling anyone. Such as right this damn minute. Well done, Daryl.

He can’t seem to grab the right words to smack into a sentence, what’s the protocol for this?

Also, why are they smiling at him? And pointing a spoon at him?

“Uh-oh, dude, if you’re fixing to get all awkward and apologetic or uncomfortable around me, I’ll go scoop more peanut butter onto this spoon and chase you with it.”

Hands up in surrender, he catches himself cracking up. “I’ll go get the jar right now, slowpoke, where’s it at?”

With another head shake and a giggle, they lightly cup their hand on his upper arm. “Alright, s’go back, Dary-bear. Carol, T-Dog and Beth were making a surprise, let’s see if it’s ready yet.”

............................

You

............................

New baking secret learned today: baking cookies on a piece of tinfoil on top of a woodstove is somewhat tricky and requires flipping, however, it makes the room smell heavenly! They weren’t ready when you and Daryl poked your heads in, but after you and Lori came back from doing laundry, the water department building was toasty warm and smelled like a bakery.

Another secret you learned about two hours ago, unrelated to baking, is to not forget to push the front seats back when napping in the truck. This way, when you roll over in your sleep, you don’t fall into the wedge between the backseat and the floor; your nap was very short (nonexistant), and the mp3 ran out of charge anyway.

Back to the cookies, they were made with farina, corn starch, applesauce from those little sealed cups, some of the sugar rations, other stuff. You started bouncing as soon as you took your first bite. You’re still bouncing at your spot by the window where you’re doing your shoulder PT while nibbling on one.

Lori is cranking up the little rainproof crank radio with the plugs and charging ports (and flashlight!) in it. It’s got a little solar arm out to speed up the process, but all told, it’s not very efficient.

And there’s no turkey ready for consumption just yet, but there are cookies.

“Lore, want another?”

“I want more than just another,” she muses under her breath. “I’m gonna stick with the two I already ate. I might take a walk around the lake to get way from them, in fact,” she laughs. “The mp3 is almost at four bars.”

The nod you make in response that the music player is almost ready doesn’t match the uneasy look on your face. You can feel your facial muscles not cooperating to make you look relaxed and chill.

Best change the subject: “It is Christmas Day, it’s a requirement to eat too many cookies. Besides, you can relax the willpower a little when you’ve got a baby in there. Oh! I’m gonna find the Frog and Toad story about the cookies and read it to your belly!” you babble.

Her hand briefly rubs along her very tiny bump. Crazy that she was able to feel them moving two or three weeks ago, it was so early! “People are already beginning to…” she pauses, then shifts closer to you. “You know how Hershel doesn’t want to be treated as delicate? How you don’t like needing help or admitting when you need to take it easy?”

“That’s never happened ever,” you deadpan, which makes her smile.

“As the months go on, I’m going to need more help, and, and attention, whether I want it or not. So before that, I-I don’t want to accept any special treatment. You understand.”

Munch, munch, munch. You chew slowly in an attempt to make a point. “It’s a cookie.”

“No special treatment. And I’m just so…” Her eyes shut for a moment. She opens them and looks embarrassed. “Oh, Y/N, I’m just so hungry,” she softly confesses. “All the time. At the house, there was an old box of baking soda in the closet.” She opens her eyes and appears embarrassed. “I almost tossed it into the toilet to stop myself from eating it. I had to give it to Carol. That’s what I’ve started craving, it’s — anyway, I’m pretty certain I’ll lose it and pig out in front of everyone one of these days. And we’ve already been far too,” a pause to find the right word, “humbled enough around each other.”

“And she draws the line at eatin’ a third cookie, ladies and gentleman,” you poke fun while pausing your PT to book it over to the med bag for the vitamin supplements. Lori tends to get nauseated when she takes them, but craving baking soda, something non-nutritive? An extra vitamin can’t hurt. “Just a sec, that’s the cute name for this new cookie recipe. Why, we should oughta make ‘special treatments’ every Christmas henceforth!”

“Yo, why are we saying ‘henceforth?’” Glenn calls over with his mouth full.

“I named the cookie special treatments and said we’ll have to make ’em every Christmas henceforth.”

“What does that even mean? That name sucks, dude.”

True. Rude. “Well, what grand name do you got?”

“The ‘water departments.’”

“Eesh, y’all stink at names,” is all T-Dog will deign to say as he paces around doing a little food dance of his own while he savors every bite. “How about: the ‘apocalyptic masterpi’—nah, that won’t work, this ain’t the Apocalypse, it was just an outbreak of a novel or mutated disease, most likely a viral one,” he narrates to himself. That’s what all the news stations had been reporting before they went out. Dr. Jenner had seemed to echo that hypothesis, you guess.

Maggie starts chuckling to herself over “The water treatments, is that a better name?”

“The, um, special departments…” is Beth’s contribution, and the lengthy “special water department treatments,” is what Carl giggles from the floor where he and Beth are laying, staring at out the window while they indoor cloud-watch.

“The water department specials?” Lori offers, accepting the vitamins from you and quickly taking them down with some leftover coffee.

In terms of the other choices, that was pretty solid. Sounds more like a civic tax discount, but, “Yeah, I’d eat those.”

Glenn’s grinning wide. “Now we have something to serve with our trademarked drink.”

Trademarked drink? “Hold up, you mean ‘The CDC?’ Or did we go with the ‘Dr. Jenn—no, not that name, I’m deletin’ it,” you mutter.

Glenn hesitates, “‘The CDC’ is an okay name.”

“I guess,” you start to think, but catch eyes with T-Dog. “Teddy, you remember how Glenn drained his so quick?”

“And all that wine, and how he felt the following morning, yes I do.”

Maggie starts laughing. She’s heard the story quite a few times. You grin at her as you lean against the windowsill by Lori and say, “How about we rename the drink ‘The Glenn?’ That sounds cool.”

The namesake seems cool with it. “Oh heck yes! You know why that name sounds cool?”

“’Cause he is the coolest,” you drawl, as cheerful as you’d felt this morning when you all prepped for making sure Christmas would still feel relatively normal, especially for Carl.

The cheerfulness goes *poof* when you hear Lori calmly tell you in your ear, “It’s charged up, honey.”

You turn.

Look.

She’s holding out the mp3 player and new(ish) earbuds you just been gifted.

To explain: back closer to when it happened, it was how she’d help you to spend time with Rick, how you could stay calm but still reestablish your bond with him. That’s why you brought it up to him earlier, you’d figured it was a good idea…

Lori also knows that during that big fight with Glenn you’d had about a month back, when he name-called you ‘Nurse Ratched,’ you’d taken that very personally. It hit as if he were saying you’d lost yourself the way Shane had, like your conscience had become deformed. Whenever you fight with Glenn about Hershel, you kinda might could still be scared that others see you as a cruel, unfeeling ticking time-bomb.

Back to your music-listening with Rick, a plus was that it gave you full leave to get some of your aggression out via (playfully?) insulting his taste in rockabilly.

Your eldest sister had just about every genre on her old mp3 she gave you; hard rock, screamer, Motown, Gregorian chants, big band, P&W, R&B, Bollywood, reggae, classical, musicals, pop, Latin, Korean—you name it, she had it. She also added music and made playlists for friends and family. Including rockabilly for her good friend’s husband/stepbrother’s best friend.

Which isn’t so bad, it’s just mildly entertaining how into it Rick is compared to stuff like Zeppelin or Jimi or Cash. In his defense, he can’t help but bounce along to Britney, though.

Right, you have to answer Lori, don’t you?

“I don’t want to” is what untactfully hops out of your mouth. You were supposed to be subtle about it, Y/N.

“Honey.”

“I’m meant, um, I’m good now. I don’t need to.” It’s too late, stop trying.

“Maybe he needs you to,” she gently hints.

Needs you to? Did Rick—Rick noticed that you’d gotten angry about him again, didn’t he? That asshole always notices.

“Lori, he’s the resident atheist, he’s not gonna wanna sit though me playin’ Christmas carols, anyways, you know how he gets about God stuff.”

She still holds out the music player.

Fine. Mindful that you are on the grumpy side after your failed attempt at a nap, you accept the mp3 from her hand and put your hat back on. But before you bust out there to listen to music with (say it, Y/N) your brother, you first call out the door, “Daryl, can I have my coat back?”

As much as you don’t want to take off Daryl’s poncho, you’d like your other, deceased brother’s coat back on.

Either to remind Rick of him or because you feel more grounded in that old coat because it still smells like Shane and home a little bit, you aren’t clear.

............................

1 minute later

............................

Daryl’s letting you keep the poncho on, he says he’s comfortable in just his leather jacket for now. In thanks, you impulsively took your scarf off and flopped it around his neck (you were worried that he’d get cold in just the jacket. It’s darned chilly out.)

You feel better that you can keep his poncho on. Safer, you guess.

Is that silly? It’s not like it’s armor.

And why would you need armor in the first place?

............................

Him

............................

He figured he could keep watch while he and Maggie were about to start guard duty, anyway. It was regular guard duty, by the way; the group stopped being on edge about Y/N being unaccompanied around Rick the second week after their brother was killed, it hadn’t taken long.

And it’s not like he’s gonna stand over them, he’ll just be nearby. No big deal. He’s just — it’s not the weird, nice feeling in his chest this time exactly, it’s more of that damn invisible string thing happening again. When it happens, it feels right to be a little closer to Y/N, make sure they’re safe, he guesses. And seeing them wearing his clothes makes him wanna stand taller, so he turned down his poncho even though he’s kinda cold.

Right, um, anyway, walkers had a way of sneaking up on people, never mind that other living people could be a way bigger threat to his two distracted friends listening to music and staring out at the lake. So, he’ll keep an eye on them.

There are some bolts he needs to sterilize and sharpen, anyway.

............................

1 more minute later

You

............................

Sleeping bag in hand so your butts won’t get too cold, you silently walk with Rick around the edge of the lake as to be in view of the little building. You get to the water’s edge and flop the sleeping bag on the mossy part near the bank. The water’s frozen over just a bit.

Through your yawn, you state, “You get one Ronnie Dawson song and Yakety Yak, then it’s carols, Rick.”

He catches your yawn and stretches as he replies, “Sounds good.”

You both sit and silently look out at the water. But it’s in your periphery that you notice you aren’t quite alone. With a glance first at Rick, you turn and stare openly for a moment because you’re slightly annoyed.

Is he the babysitter or something? That he’s whittling the points of his bolts isn’t fooling you.

Murmuring to Rick in a light, self-deprecating tease, “Daryl’s our warden this time,” you hold out one earbud for him and gesture toward where your favorite redneck is loitering.

“It’s not like that,” Rick murmurs back.

What you’d probably describe as a knowing smile spreads across your face. “Is it not?”

“No.”

You nudge him softly with your arm as what anger remains inside you is carried off in the breeze. “Not even a little, though?”

“Go on, troublemaker, let’s listen to some music,” he ribs in response. “And believe it or not, I wouldn’t mind carols. It’s been a fuckin’ great Christmas.”

Your mouth falls open because, first off, Rick doesn’t cuss. Second off (is that a term?), that’s the exact phrase Daryl said earlier. Your cheeks heat again and you’re smiling like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Did my punk repeat something he should oughtn’t have?”

His eyes crinkle and he chuckles, “I ‘might could’ have overheard you and Daryl with him around the fire earlier.”

“Well, now your son is one quarter richer.”

“We’ll have to put it in the bank, save it up for college.”

Once he’s got the earbud in his ear and he gets comfortable, you click play. It’s the live version of one of his favorites. The opening lyrics “Gimme the downbeat, maestro!” bleat out, and, per usual, Rick cannot help but jive along (and snap off-rhythm). It’s very cute.

He mouths along with the lyrics, too, knows them all. Two and a half minutes later, you feel up to joining him in singing along to final words, “Hear me? Whoa! Action packed!”

The next song is equally bouncy and old, so much that you drowsily check to see if your boots turned into saddle shoes.

Your fatigue is briefly overcome when ‘Toxic’ starts to play. Rick snorts and starts to giggle like a little kid while you mouth every lyric (you don’t actually know the exact lyrics, just what they sound like, you feel?) and grooving along to the tempo. His off-rhythm snapping comes back with a vengeance until the song ends.

The Christmas carols finally start after, and your sleepiness returns and goes into overdrive. You lean against the rock behind you. Rick does, too. The sun is shining enough to keep you cozy, the music is softer.

Ricks yawns and stretches again. When the instrumental version of Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel plays, your eyelids are sinking…

............................

Him

............................

Are they both asleep?

Shit, look at that. Both just snoozing, like, right there.

How long’ve they been like that? Damn, it’s a good thing he’s out here keeping watch—keeping watch in general, not specifically on them.

But yeah, might as well let them cop some Z’s.

............................

? minutes later?

You

............................

A familiar tune that you haven’t heard in over three months stirs you very awake. You’ve been avoiding it on purpose, why is it playing? Make it stop, make it stop, make it st—

—You pull the earbud out and sit up with a sharp inhale.

“Kiddo, you okay?” He only uses ‘kiddo,’ when he’s feeling protective.

“Yeah, um, ain’t nothing, it, it j-just got to be too much noise,” you make up on the spot. It sounded casual enough, right? You blink the grogginess away and blindly stare at the clouds as you rest your arms on your knees.

“I saw you were still out, figured that one would help you stay asleep. Your family’s song.”

“You’d think we was making commission, how often Mama or the girls or Shane played it over the years.”

“Shane listened to that song for everything. Insomnia, break-ups, failed tests, rough calls, arrests he didn’t feel right about. In fact he,” his voice gets softer. “He played that song almost nonstop, absolutely nothing else other than that for three whole weeks after your dad passed.”

“Mama replayed her Boyz 2 Men cassette durin’ that.” You were very young when that happened, but that’s the most vivid memory you have. That and the smell of all the casseroles neighbors and such brought over.

“I still remember the streaky sounds the CD player would make when he’d hit the back button. It was something, he ended up not being able to stand the song for four months after.”

“Imagine that,” you mumble. You’ve got the ‘22’ pendant between your fingers again. “Well, Shane was a drama-king,” you joke.

“In his defense, so am I,” Rick almost sounds nervous to joke back.

“At least you’re more Shakespearean than he was. Stronger moral backbone, too.” Fuck it, you’ll speak honestly. You loved him, you would’ve killed and would’ve been killed for him, and you pray that he’s resting in peace, but you know what Shane’s faults were.

“Shakespearean?” Rick repeats.

“Yeah, Shane sounded like a hillbilly compared to you, the way you always talk good and give speeches.”

A groan follows you comment about ‘speeches,’ but then he gets a mischievous look on his face. “I talk ‘good?’”

Aw man, you walked straight into that one. Your mildly British accent comes back out. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, I meant to say that you speak well.”

He gets brave enough to use Shane’s old nickname for you. “Weirdo.”

You don’t mind, you gave him an old nickname, too. “Pork-chop.”

The quiet tinkling of the pendant’s loop running over the small links in the chain as you pull it back and forth, back and forth, fills the silence that follows. It’s an okay silence, too. You’re glad that Lori convinced you to do this today, you think, as you snuggle deeper into your coat and inhale deeply—wait.

You sniff again.

Again.

Your stomach drops to the ground.

Crap. “D-did Daryl smoke in this?”

“Barely. You know how he’s been doing short little spurts, less than a minute. Hey, Y/N, why are you taking the jacket off? It’s cold out.”

“Just checkin’ something.” The chill doesn’t bother you as you press the collar to your nose and sniff. Cigarettes. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You try sniffing the back of the collar. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You check the shoulders. Wood-smoke.

Finally, when you try lower down on the coat, you relax and hug it in relief.

Shane’s scent isn’t all gone yet, neither is the faintest hint of Mama’s perfume that would always linger on things she wore.

A few tears well up and flow out as you feel your pulse going down.

“Does it still smell like him?” Rick wonders very quietly.

“Mmhm,” you mumble, your cheek resting against the soft, fluffy, very worn lining. You bury your face in the fluff and breathe in again.

“Y/N, I wish th—” he stops abruptly and doesn’t finish his thought.

There’s a lump in your throat you try to swallow away.

The sounds of geese flying overhead fill the air. A gentle, cold breeze picks up and you could swear you get a whiff of peanut butter. You start to feel cold again.

From the little building, laughter reaches your ears. Carl, Beth, Glenn. Lori and T-Dog’s voices you think you hear, too.

“Wanna wear it for a while, Ricky? It’s a good coat,” leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t seem to know how/what to reply, so you decide for him and hand it over. Doing that thing where someone looks at another but not in their eyes, he unzips his coat and trades with you.

Oo, his jacket is warm! You begin to unzip the hoodie you have on, quickly remove the poncho underneath, then just as fast zip your hoodie back on and bundle into Rick’s coat before all the body warmth on it disappears in the wintry chill.

His coat also has a fuzzy lining around the neck so you rub your cheek on it. You can imagine Daryl asking “What are ya, a cat?” and it makes you grin.

Rick’s got the music player in his hand, but you see him peering at you — in the eyes, this time. “Why did you switch coats with him today?”

You’re mid-shrug when you notice how you’re hugging the poncho to yourself like a blankie. “I was shiverin’ this morning and he offered.”

“That was kind of him.” It’s unclear to you whether or not he’s teasing you about it (he never has), but either way, this is good. You’re really glad you’re doing this.

“It was,” you answer simply, feeling at peace.

“So, what are we listening to next? I’ll put carols back on?”

“Can you replay the song, Rick?”

“The Zeppelin one?”

You nod. “You can pick which version.”

“Um, sure, of cour—sorry, there are versions?”

“She uploaded the remastered version, the mandolin cover, a live recording from YouTube.”

The poncho, you finally pull back over your head and wear it properly this time, over everything else instead of under. “I feel like an old-timey gunslinger in this.”

With a quiet chuckle, Rick nods. He click, click, clicks through the mp3 for the song. “Of course she made a playlist of only this one.”

A smile forms on your lips. Yeah, your eldest sister made a playlist of only Going to California, with three versions in a row repeated three times. It was for (her step)Mama and (stepbrother) Shane.

He hands you the earbud you’d torn off. You thank him and place it back into your right ear.

The gentle strumming of the guitar starts to play.

Clouds pass overhead as the song washes over you. Three months, you haven’t listened to it. Barely touched Zeppelin entirely, Shane enjoyed them too much.

The mandolin soon joins the guitar’s pretty, soft melody. You don’t feel sick to your stomach this time.

Robert Plant’s voice begins to sing those silly, nonsensical lyrics. Man, you’ve missed this song.

You hear Rick make a shaky inhale, so turn to look. He’s all bleary-eyed, same as you.

“I don’t know why, but something about the tune gets me going,” he hushes.

A sob forms in your throat, so you nudge him with your foot and tease, “Drama-king.” You scoot closer to him. He scoots closer to you.

“Are we okay?” you hear him ask.

“’Course we are. We have been. It was just the holiday gettin’ to me earlier.” And you aren’t just saying it, you mean it. “We’re family.”

Rick swallows and rubs the scruff on his jaw. His eyes are now completely bloodshot. “So was he,” he whispers.

The sob moved up when you heard him repeat the exact three words you’d said to him that bad, bad night. Four simple phrases, nothing fancy or profoundly heartbreaking. But the first one, “So was he,” you dunno, but it hit him like kryptonite, so you learned.

Like, obviously there’s more to it, but no, you’re not gonna delve back down; what’s done is done.

Forgiveness, in it’s fullest sense (which means your anger has gotta go) is something you’re working on, therefore accepting the past and not living in it is important. And for Rick, your brother, he’s in desperate need of forgiving himself.

Though, because of that night, instead of saying ‘I love you,’ as true as those words are, when things are hard, you have a temporary, different way of wording them with him…

“Rick? I don’t hate you.” It’s a false equivalent, you know, but it’s what needs to be used as the translation for the time being

His breath hitches. Rick turns his head away and tugs at his hair for a moment before turning back. “Y/N? I don’t hate you, either.”

You wipe your eyes and say it again. “I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiles a little while staring at the lake. “Good, ’cause I don’t hate you at all, either.”

............................

Him

............................

Nice, they’re sitting close. Good sign. And good cookie, hot damn. Carol snuck some more out and was sharing them. “Thanks for not makin’ them peanut butter,” he remembers to tell her. Shit, a crumb fell out of his mouth when he said that. Damn.

“They would’ve come out so much better if we did, pookie, just letting you know.”

“Yeah, T-Dog reminded me.”

“He’s, um…” What’s she smiling all shy about? “He’s actually making peanut butter ones outside over the fire right now.”

He turns to look. Oh yeah, check it out. T-Dog’s got the flat pan thing balanced over the makeshift grill. “Nasty.”

“Better stay downwind,” is her suggestion. She’s smirking only a little.

He did not expect to become such good friends with Carol, of all people, but he’s real happy it turned out this way. Definitely didn’t expect to become friends with T-Dog, neither. Hell, at first, he couldn’t imagine becoming friends and getting close enough for that damn invisible string to tug every so often with Y/N.

Didn’t expect to stay with or get close to any of the people here, to be honest. It was the last idea in his head that he was gonna stay, and that they’d want him to stick around.

“Would you like another, Daryl?”

“Hell yeah.”

She pulls out a napkin-wrapped small bundle from her coat pocket and hands him two more. He shoves a whole one in his mouth, it’s so damn nice to have a fresh cookie.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Baby Spice Beth by the fire, waving to them from beside T-Dog as he calls over, “Carol! I think it’s go-time for our turkey!”

Beth’s teeny little voice shouts what he thinks is “I got all the fixin’s ready!”

He’s not at all ready for Y/N and Rick to suddenly start shouting, handguns out, “T-Dog, we’re coming!” and “Beth, get Carl and Lori and run to the Hyundai and hide, we’ll get you when it’s safe! T-Dog, find Hershel!”

From the other side, Maggie then shouted something like, “Is Beth hurt? What’s goin’ on?”

What the hell?

............................

You

............................

Today is just full of lessons, ain’t it?

Turns out that you and Rick having music playing loudly in one ear leads to the two of you, upon hearing raised voices but not hearing what they were saying, to immediately assume the worst and jump into action. You’d both thought your people were being attacked or overrun...

A minor ruckus ensued, it’s, um, it’s fine now.

Hershel was amused. You heard him sigh all the way from where he was, then watched as he waved his hand with the yellow walkie in it and continued ambling along on his constitutional around the lake. It’s good that he’s keeping his scarf over his mouth and nose to warm the air while he’s out and about.

Carol told you both that you and Rick looked “kinda cool” when you’d leapt up together and started making for the completely imagined emergency. “It was like one of those movies with the sheriff and the rookie.”

You, obviously, were quick to coo “Aw Rick, you looked like a rookie!”

It was good to see him smiling. When you’d heard the shouts, he’d gone from normal to sweaty in the approximate 10 or so seconds worth of time it took for y’all to get up-in-arms and ready to bust some heads → to becoming some sort of emotion in between embarrassed, confused, and annoyed at having reacted so strongly.

Not that you still won’t occasionally refer to Rick as ‘dicktator,’ but that man is constantly on-alert because he genuinely wants the group safe and protected. He took all responsibility upon himself that bad, bad night. And no matter your opinion on it, the other people in your group rolled with it; you don’t control their choices.

They concluded that it was safer together (which it is, and you’d have it no other way) and they openly accepted those really shitty terms and conditions Rick laid out (which you did not and aren’t pretending to).

You’re pretty sure Rick’s still concerned about the group splitting, or that the group was still “broken,” as Dale had said just over three months ago (which reminds you that you still haven’t done the kaddish thing for him yet today!).

Truly, that stopped being an issue over two months ago. It was only after his initial dick-tator speech and when you were still postal that your people had been flight risks.

The group isn’t broken. It took only like a week for you to calm down, therefore for the group to calm down, but Rick can’t…forgive himself, therefore thinks he can’t ‘fail,’ even in appearance, after having done what he did.

He’ll get there.

While he’s off with Lori and trying to process that today is a good day and he can rest, you took a guard shift early to relieve Maggie. Carl is beside you, just to hang. He’s of course got his deputy hat on, with his little pistol out.

“You’ve got the safety on, baby?”

After a playful whine, he reminds you “Not a baby.”

“Hey. I changed your diapers, you’ll always be a baby to me. Punk,” you correct yourself.

“The safety’s on.”

And you know he hasn’t fired it since two days ago so his gun is still fully loaded minus three rounds. When was the barrel last cleaned and oiled, though? “And you took it apart and cleaned it with your dad earlier, right?”

“Yeah.”

Why did that sound uneasy?

You turn to get a good look at him.

He’s still maintaining proper gun handling, but his head is stooped.

Timidly, he calls your name. “Are you sad about Uncle Shane today?”

“I was. I-I still am, a little,” you confess. Lying isn’t your thing, and besides, that boy notices things the way Daryl does. With a lift of your shoulder, you concede “I miss all of them, just like you do.”

Him and Lori were crying a little yesterday night about Evie (Lori’s sister, Carl’s auntie). After New Year’s last year, she’d secured leave for her first Christmas at home in like four years. When Lori remembered that this was supposed to be the first Christmas with Evie again, she crumpled. Carl, too. “It’s normal that around special days like Christmas, one can feel a stronger sense of loss.”

“But it’s different with Shane!” he blurts out. Wiping his nose, he then starts to shuffle one foot around the twigs and acorns and dried leaves on the ground.

“I know, bud,” you sigh.

He sniffs and starts to pace. You rub your thumb along Dale’s big watch on your wrist and wish there was more you could do to make things better. For stuff like this, it just takes time. Some days are simply gonna be not-so-good. You send up some prayers and ask what to do, then you worry: your nephew didn’t start to feel scared of Rick again, did he?

You’d hoped that was just a one-off thing from that bad, bad night. “Carl, did you feel unsafe around him today or yesterday?”

You have to turn to see him shaking his head. “Sometimes, when he’s angry,” he quietly admits. “But not today. It was, um, it was when I saw…” He sniffs again and runs his sneaker over an acorn. “It’s just that you were playing with the necklace a lot yesterday and today. Then I overheard you talking with Mom earlier…” His little mouth twists and his brows knit close. “Was it okay that I gave Dad the picture with him and Shane and us?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt your feelings?”

“Not one bit, I was proud of you.”

Now he’s staring at his shoes. “Are you angry at dad again, Y/N?”

Deep breath. “I was for a short while.”

He gives a little nod and looks down, then back into your eyes, mouth still twisted as if he’s nervous about your answer. “Did you hate him again today?”

“No. I didn’t hate him today, I ain’t truly hated him in a long time.” You shrug. “Today, I simply remembered what it was like to.”

“I know he’s…not a bad man,” he says more cautiously than he should be.

“He’s a great one and a good one. And I don’t hate him, I love him.”

A shy smile twists his mouth and he relaxes his grip on his gun.

Ew, but now he’s staring at some type of orangey, shiny, fairly large fungus. Funguses? Fungi? Whatev.

Grossed-out and wondering how you hadn’t noticed them until now, you automatically guide him back from it just in case of, you don’t know, um…spores (that’s a thing, right? Mushrooms are just so creepy).

But a sudden flashback to the way you’d been holding Carl so he wouldn’t get any closer to that buck—right before they both got shot—causes you to flinch and let go of his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, just went back to that day with the buck, kiddo, my bad,” you mumble. “Hey, if um, if you go get your mama, she might will know what that one’s called.” Lori’s the resident mushroom expert. Back in the before-times, you’d thought it was a disgusting unusual hobby. Joke’s on you, now. It’s a great skill to have when civilization collapses.

“They look cool.” His face lights up. “Wanna bet if we can eat those?”

“Ew, I’m bettin’ no way.”

“I’m betting yes way.”

You squint at him. “What’s the bet?”

“If I lose, I’ll give you one of my puddings.”

“High stakes, then. And I would give you what’s left in my can of Crazy-Cheez, but I don’t anticipate havin’ to. Are you sure you wanna bet the pudding, baby?”

What’s that mischievous look he’s making for? “I can’t wear your boyfriend’s poncho instead?”

Oh, that’s why. “Sure, yeah, totally — now since when are he and me behavin’ romantic, punk?”

“Well, why are you wearing his poncho? And he was wearing Shane’s co—”

“—My coat, not Shane’s. Daryl and I switched for funsies, how’s that?”

“Y/N, are you still scared of dating?”

Good Moses, kid. “I’m cautious and careful. Now, go get your mama, a puddin’ cup, and a spoon, please, ya punk-ass.”

“Pretty sure you owe a quarter for that,” he teases, holstering his pistol. He takes a few steps to head back, but turns around. “Don’t you like him?”

“I like everybody here.”

He huffs in a way not dissimilar to how you tend to. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess I don’t hate him. Happy?”

When you watch the punk-ass raise his eyebrows, redden, and start to giggle, you smile, confused, because: what just happened that you’re missing?

Well, whatever it was, Carl wags his fingers and scurries off to the little water department building, so, you shrug and get back to your guard duty. You chuckle despite the good/scared sensation in your stomach.

Sometimes, you get a tugging sensation from your chest toward that darn mangy hick, ever since that day he’d almost gotten himself killed trying to find Sophia. Other times, it’s just your standard butterflies. But every so often, it’s a good/secure/safe/nervous feeling in your gut.

Peeking back through the trees to make sure nobody is looking in your direction, you wrap the poncho tighter around yourself and you happily swing back and forth, grateful for the temporary peace and solitude. Your people are healthy, together, and happy…they’ve begun teasing you about you and Daryl…you get to wear his poncho…you can listen to Going to California again…

Tipping your head skyward, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Then it hits you: Carl noticed two and a half months ago how you (and his dad) started saying “I don’t hate you,” instead of “I love you” to each other…

Good Moses, and you just told him that…you didn’t hate…Daryl.

Oh my.

Ohh my.

Oh, poop, that punk-ass! That wasn’t what you meant, you love that mangy hick the way you love everybody here!

“Carl!”

............................................

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

Note

I need more Jason and Teddy in my life. Just give me some fluff.

"Jay has a girlfriend," Teddy announced as he skipped through the door.

"Is that so?" Alfred asked, looking up from where he was scooping cookies off a pan, barely hiding a smirk when Jason's face colored and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dude, you telling her I think she has a nice ass and trying to get her to go to the zoo with us does NOT make her my girlfriend."

"Whatever," Teddy scoffed around a mouthful of cookie. "She said she'd get cocoa with us when she got back from California." And before Jason can remind him that you're a busy lady- and that you didn't leave him a phone number, he's off to go and find Damian. Or Stephanie. Or anyone more interesting to play with.

Chuckling, Alfred slid a plate with peanut butter blossoms across the counter and went to get a glass of milk, "You mean to tell me," he said, eyes twinkling, "That Theodore really tried to pick his own mother?"

"Yeah. In the middle of a very busy coffee shop while the poor girl was just trying to get some work done." Jason chewed a bite of cookie and rubbed the back of his neck, remembering the way your eyes went warm. And how seriously you took everything Teddy had said. Despite the humiliation, he'd felt at his 7-year-old trying to get him a date, it still made his heart stutter in the sweetest way.

The Butler watched, amused. "That is a new one for me," he said, "None of you ever tried to get Master Bruce a date."

"I didn't need the help," Bruce said, dropping into a chair, smirking.

Rolling his eyes, Jason stood up from the table. "I better go find Teddy before Steph does." And he pretended not to know that the men who raised him were watching him go. Feeling both fond and concerned.

"Will anything come of it do you think?" Bruce asked. He wanted Jason to be happy. To have more than little flings- someone that could love him and his son.

"It will if Theodore has anything to do with it," Alfred chortled.

#Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd #jason todd brainrot #fluff #Teddy is a good wingman #anon ask #ask answered

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britishchick09 · 2 months

Text

poto rewritten short stories 3/6: raoul's shadowy sleepover

in honor of read an e-book week, i'll be sharing sneak peeks of the rewrite's first short story collection (which will be an e-book exclusive out this spring)! next up is raoul venturing down to the cellars... and into some awkward snack territory! ;)

...

Raoul was excited to explore the opera house at night, but he wasn’t too keen on going to the cellars. Yet he soldiered on and followed Christine and Meg. The stone staircase seemed to go on for miles. He gripped his overnight bag with sweaty hands.

Just pretend we’re in a cave! Raoul told himself. A gray, not rocky cave with stairs and a bridge. That's definitely what a cave has.

He held onto the bridge’s railing and tried not to look down at the murky water below. Meg's excited chattering about the sleepover helped him focus. Finally, the trio made it to the wooden platform that anchored Erik’s house. Raoul took a deep breath. He had done it!

Christine knocked on the door, which Erik opened a few moments later.

"Oh!" He smiled. "Hi, Christine."

Christine smiled back. "Bonjour."

"And hi, me!" Meg added as she popped up from behind Christine. "Oh, yes. Hi, Little Miss."

Erik turned away as Raoul asked, "And me?"

"…Oh. Right," Erik glanced over his shoulder. "Hi."

An awkward silence pierced the air as everyone walked inside the house. Raoul took his watch out of his pocket and compared it to one on the wall. To his surprise, it was five minutes off! He sat on the bed and fixed it as Meg asked, "Are we going to have snacks? I'm starving!"

"I think you've had your fill of chouquettes," Christine said before telling Erik and Raoul, "She had two on the way here."

"They're hard to resist!" Raoul said.

He finished winding his watch and sat on the floor as Christine opened her basket. His mouth watered at the sight of sugary pastries.

"Don't take too many," Christine said as he grabbed a couple. "There won't be many left for me and Erik!"

"I probably won't have many a- anyways," Erik said. "I made peanut butter sandwiches."

Meg grinned as Erik brought a plate out from the kitchen and exclaimed, "Mmm! Peanut butter chouquette sandwiches!"

She set a chouquette in between the sandwich's buttery bread, smiling as she took a big bite.

"I brought some snacks, too," Raoul said as he took a box out of his overnight bag. "Marie made some sweets for the other party."

"Oh, sable cookies!" Christine exclaimed. "And are those chocolate dipped Madeleines?"

"Yep. And the pastel colored ones are macrons."

Erik took a little bite of the Madeleine. "This doesn't taste like my mother at all."

"I got a snack, too!" Meg reached into Christine's basket. "Chocolate!"

She threw little round chocolates in the air. A milk chocolate bonked Raoul on the head. He popped it in his mouth and smiled.

"Mmm, no one beats Rousseau's," he remarked. "Although Menier is close."

Erik looked up from his cookie in surprise. "Are you talking about the bars in the yellow wrapper?" he asked, to which Raoul nodded. "I- I got one of those every Christmas when I was a kid."

"So did I! I'd always sneak a bite of my sisters' chocolate when they weren't around."

Erik chuckled softly. He returned to his cookie, barely giving Raoul a glance.

It seems like we're doomed to be awkward acquaintances. Raoul thought in dismay.

#a lot of great moments in this one! ;)#'this doesn't taste like my mother at all'! ;D #the rewrite is the only phantom adaptation to have erik and raoul be friends!#...well sort of ;)#poto rewritten

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cr1mson5returns · 8 months

Text

I want to preface this thought by saying that I didn't read a lot of comics that featured Dick when I still actively read things that were in circulation at the time. The last time I really kept up with comics that were regularly published was 2011, shortly after the New 52 reboot, and I ended up giving up on comics because of the reboot. So I don't know a whole lot about Dick pre-New 52 or post-New 52. I get a lot of my information from the DC Wiki and fans who've more closely followed those storylines in other series.

That said, I just feel like Dick is the sort of older sibling to look at you, realize you're having a bad day, and ask you if you'd like to make no-bake cookies together. He'll reason with you that this is the best possible way to fix your bad day. The oven isn't involved, so there's no timer to set that can be promptly forgotten, ergo no real danger of burning the house down. The making of the batter is messy and delicious and he'll teach you the right ratio of peanut butter to cocoa powder that'll get them just sweet enough but not so sweet your face falls off. Unless you want your face to fall off, that's fine, too. Plus there's an art form to laying out the little soon-to-be cookies on the sheets, you know. And by the time he's finished arguing a point he didn't have to argue, you're both in the kitchen and pulling ingredients out of cabinets and you've sort of forgotten you were even having a bad day. It's just really nice to be here in the presence of someone who isn't going to force you to talk and doesn't pretend to have answers for any of your problems. He just wants to give you something to do with your hands and your brain that'll make a new, happier memory on this otherwise shitty day.

#i just really like the idea of dick as the older brother who doesn't position himself as the expert on your life #at least not all the time #maybe he gives good advice but he's not gonna force it on you #if you want him to give you advice he wants you to ask for it specifically #dick is soft and kind and warm because he's been so sunken into anger before #he knows how it feels to hate #he knows what it's like to despair #he actively chooses to position himself in love and joy instead #and that's why he's the heart and soul of the dc universe #dick grayson #nightwing #batfamily #cr1mson's thoughts

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