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#( just ate sourdough with souP )

shoku-and-awe · 1 year

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Highlight from America: New Year's Day barbecue! My brother, who has learned to smoke, made ribs, burnt ends (aaaaahhh), and wings, and everything was amazing—I think smoked wings might be one of the best possible ways to prepare chicken. I helped out with some roasted vegetables and cornbread.

The recipe (from a very 70s cookbook I found in a cabinet!) is called Sky-High Cornbread. Since I mostly bake with sourdough/natural yeast, it was really fun to see just how intense commercial yeast can get. I felt like it tripled in size during the time I was expecting it to maybe double. And it turns out it's also fun to punch down dough!

The other interesting thing was that initially, I thought this bread was a failure—we ate it warm with soup, but it was boring; no strong flavor, minimal cornmeal texture. BUT THEN we had it leftover with this barbecue and toasted it and OH MY GOD, it was irresistible! And because I am a middling baker, I have lots of experience with bread that’s meh as is but makes good or very good toast, but don’t get me wrong: this is bread that’s meh as is but makes restaurant-quality toast. Incredible texture and flavor. Addictive.

#barbecue #bbq #american food #cornbread #contains meat #very meat in fact #murka

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askwhatsforlunch · 2 years

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Iced Cucumber Soup (Vegetarian)

On our second day in Carcassonne, as we were trying to make up our minds on what to pick as an arvo snack after a sunny walk along le Canal du Midi, Jules and I ended up at a cosy ice cream parlour, which also offered savoury options, notably a very tempting soupe glacée au concombre. We had ices, of course, our new favourite, violet ice cream, Jules with frozen yoghurt, I, with a raspberry sorbet. But, as I read the list of ingredients on the blackboard, I realised I had them all at home, except the cucumber! So, I bought one at the grocer’s today, and made this Iced Cucumber Soup, with fragrant herbs and flowers picked in the garden, and ate it in the garden at lunch! Indeed a delight on a hot day! Happy Monday!

Ingredients (serves 1):

1/3 large cucumber

a small bunch Garden Chives

1 fluffy sprig Garden Parsley

half a dozen large (or a dozen small) leaves fresh mint

a small garlic clove

1/4 cup Greek Yoghurt

2 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt flakes

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

3 Garden Cherry Tomatoes, rinsed

2 Marigolds, to garnish (optional)

Thoroughly rinse cucumber. Cut in half lengthwise, and into slices. Place cucumber slices into a bowl.

Finely chop fresh Chives, Parsley and mint and add them to the bowl.

Peel and halve garlic, and add to the bowl as well along with Greek Yoghurt, olive oil, fleur de sel and black pepper.

Using a hand-held blender, process until smooth and well-blended. Pour cucumber soup into serving bowl, and chill in the freezer, one hour.

Halve largest Cherry Tomatoes, and arrange them on top of cucumber soup, along with Marigolds, if you wish. Drizzle with a little olive oil.

Enjoy Iced Cucumber Soup immediately, with slices of just toasted Sourdough.

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willow-sadly · 2 years

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food log: 9th may

limit: 800

breakfast

protein porridge

lunch

(i ate some of it already oops, and i didn’t eat the egg yolk,,, tho why did i eat all the wrap ??? 😫)

dinner

soup

2 slices of sourdough

i forgot again to show before i ate but it’s A Lot better than completely forgetting :)

snak

baby bel (62)

rice cake (40)

102

intake: 904

burned: 45

net: 859

//also why is the text on the images like that?? or is that just me?

#ed diet #i will be skiny #i want to be a skeleton #getting skiny #restrictive ed #i want to be th1n #anor3x1a #tw ana thoughts #caloric restriction

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daisynik7 · 3 months

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HI ANGEL BEAR SNOOKUMS 🫶🏼 IT'S OFFICIALLY THE WEEKEND (after you clock out) I HOPE YOU HAVE A MARVELOUS DAY AND IF NOT IT'S OKAY I TOO AM READY WITH BLANKETS AND OPEN ARMS!!!! 😌

honestly, i don't know if this is a cheat code but i have this set of kitchen shears that i got at costco some years ago and it came with poultry shears that are spring loaded so that does a bulk of the heavy work but absolutely! a sharp knife is key even a pairing knife allowing for more agile movement/ flexibility:) i try to use the entire bird too to reduce waste, i bet the soups and stocks she makes are delicious!

lol i really am kicking kento out of our marriage now with the bread-baking too 🫢, haven't chosen a recipe yet, either a standard sandwich loaf because ✨soup and sandwich✨ or a crusty loaf, since you mentioned it, maybe sourdough!

yay for going home early! those are the kinds of work difficulties i prefer to hear about. i've been snacking on a snack called sembei(?) it's a Japanese rice cracker, slightly sweet and salty, in terms of texture i'd say it kind of resembles a wafer??? 🫠 i'm not sure how better to describe it, it's something my dad ate as a kid and he just bought a giant bag from costco and now it's all i've been snacking on, but i've finally touched my drafts! and i'm starting to read Emma by Jane Austen because my dad keeps telling me to lol.

anyways be safe, be kind to yourself, enjoy yourself, and treat yourself lavishly!<3 i love you to smithereens mwah 🥰

my stunning wifey!! I'm counting it as officially the weekend! I'm technically wfh, but work has finally died down this week and I'm feeling good!

definitely not a cheat code because part of succeeding in the kitchen is having the write equipment! I'm such a firm believer in that! why do something one way when there's a better, more efficient tool to do that for you?!

also, kento who?! LOL jk jk, we still love him I know, but he's got nothing on the two of us 🥰 either of those bread recipes sounds AMAZING. I can already smell how delicious it will be just from imagining it! nothing is better than freshly baked bread! enjoy it my culinary queen!

I feel like I've had sembei before! I used to eat so many Japanese rice cracker snacks growing up. love the sweet and salty combo. speaking of Costco and snacks, they actually sell a giant back of shrimp chips that are garlic flavored! it might depend on location, but those are ADDICTING.

yay for writing, so so so proud of you! any progress is good progress. Jane Austen novels are classic. I haven't read any myself, but one of my fave movie adaptations is the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice, so maybe I should start reading some of her work lol. I hope you enjoy the book!

have a wonderful weekend my love! stay warm, stay safe, treat yourself to something that brings you joy, and get enough rest! love you so much! ❤️❤️❤️

#my lovely thea #lovely moots #wifey's love letters

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flourescencia · 4 months

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full audience for The Boy and The Heron today I honest to god cannot tell you when was the last time I went to a theater room that full since the pandemic hit. I hope Miyazaki really does retire this time around because this would be the perfect movie to leave as a culmination of his career, even more because it feels as if it takes from so many of his past creations ! but it's very refreshing too. felt very bewitched and enthralled throughout it's run. then I took the bus and I got home in two hours and a half and chatted with my mom and pet my dogs and I just ate soup with sourdough bread toast from the bakery my brother is working at. I'm gonna watch a few more episodes of Kimi ni Todoke and then I'm gonna browse LinkedIn for a new job. I don't wanna think about having miserable work on monday. send me good luck that I'll be able to find a better job soon 🫒 that's all for today

#txt.me

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thomaslaurencetempleton · 1 year

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I found four slightly lint-covered gummies in my sock drawer and ate them a couple hours ago. Not sure if they're CBD, THC, or just plain 'ol stale gummy bears. Either way, now I'm playing God and creating new worlds:

Notes:

Perpetual stew is sacred to the <insert culture name here>. It is gifted as almost a "sourdough" base of soups from parents to children. As long as some facet of it remains you can make more. It is medicinal in every way to keep you healthy & strong. Each family has their own recipe and they stand by it as the best.

Spice vendors peddle their product to cooks by offering "Chai". A mixture of their spices & herbs steeped in water and offered to their prospective clients. Not necessarily an enjoyable drink, it is meant to showcase the pungency and diversity of their wares.

Dragons have a life cycle. Different phases, generations! The eldest Dragons are monuments in the sky. Ridden by priests devoted to their lives. Some are old enough to be super intelligent, but still a bit wild. The younger the dragon, the wilder it is. But the same can be said about the older they get as well. Going from a tiger in a stand of bamboo, into the bamboo? (not sure if I like this. Maybe just make a baby one and based off previous dragon idea write about how amazing that is).

#writing #fantasy #prettysureimhighasfuck

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mouldyrubbish · 2 years

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i know its ungrateful... but im so grumpy!! my mum promised me to make me her dhal for dinner to help me get better but she forgot and instead she’s just reheating the same leftover soup i ate last night.. and she made guacamole but she’s just putting it? on toast?? like ???? no corn chips??? girl ! on toast!? on SOURDOUGH tOAST!?

#its sooo dumb but it just makes me.... -____-#bruuhhhhhh

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luveline · 3 years

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a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

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Grilled cheese and cashmere sweaters

Prompt number: 5 “Unacceptable, try again.”

Fandom: Knives Out

Paring: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: T

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Swearing. Asshole Ransom, obviously. Alludes to sexy times- nothing explicit.

A/N: It’s my first time writing for him, so thoughts? Also, no spoilers since this takes place prior to the movie/the events in the movie never take place au.

The moment you met Ransom Drysdale you couldn’t stand him, he was a pompous rich bitch that got everything handed to him on a silver platter. But you had to put up with him since you’re his grandfather’s assistant. Working under Harlan Thrombey is your golden ticket into the publishing world, so you weren’t going to let his extremely attractive, asshole of a grandson ruin that for you.

The first time the two of you spoke was when Harlon was letting Ransom stay at the house, while the younger man’s house was getting new windows. A big feat apparently since he has floor to ceiling windows. That doesn’t surprise you, he’s got money, he’s full of himself, and he wants to show off; the windows make perfect sense. Fran had to take the day off so you decided to make Harlon a simple lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup, while Marta sits and talks with him.

Feeling generous you make another sandwich for Ransom, ladling another bowl of soup as well, you take the modest meal over to him. You set it on the table in front of him, he’s snacking on some airplane cookies while he flips through a playboy magazine- real classy. He scoffs at the food you set in front of him, barely sarong it a single glance.

“Unacceptable, try again,” Ransom deadpans, turning his magazine sideways to enjoy the centerfold. You hear Harlon and Marta talk as they walk down the hall and closer to the kitchen so he can eat. “I prefer sourdough bread, not white,” Ransom lazily pokes at the sandwich, face contouring in disgust. “And I only eat Pule cheese.”

“Just to make your image look better I’m sure,” you sneer without thinking of the consequences of Harlon being within hearing distance of you. “No cheese is so good that it has to be worth six hundred dollars a pound. I decided to be nice and make you a grilled cheese, take or leave it. But I’m not making your entitled ass anything else.”

“Eat shit,” he sneers, finally looking up at you with his baby blues, leaning across the table.

“Eat your own shit Hugh,” you rest your forearms on the table, leaning closer to him as well. You two are so close you can feel his hot breath on you, and you can see the dark stubble of his five o’clock shadow starting to come in.

In the kitchen Marta glances at Harlon worried that he’ll fire you for the way you treated his grandson. But all he does is smile, no one has stood up to Ransom before, not any one that could actually make him shut up. His fond, proud, smile, turns into a knowing grin as Ransom’s eyes sweep over your figure. You’ve piqued his grandson’s interest.

After hundreds of horrendous innuendos and failed pickup lines, you finally agreed to go out with Ransom. Just so he would shut up, not because you were actually attracted to him or anything. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The date was nothing special, no fancy restaurants to show off his wealth. Instead he ordered from the fanciest restaurant and you ate at his house. Him hiding you on the first date should have been an immediate red flag, but you forgot everything but his name when you fell into his bed after dinner. The next morning you woke up in a white knit cashmere sweater of his, it’s still your favorite to this day months later. Ransom isn't romantic, he was already out of the bed and came back from a morning run by the time you woke up.

But months later now, you’re getting sick of his lack of romanticism and his wandering eye. You knew going into this what a handful Ransom was, but a dumb part of you thought he’d change when you started dating. But he didn’t. Eight months in and your relationship is still hidden, with the exception of Harlon and Marta. Luckily Harlon only caught you two swapping spit, while poor Marta witnessed Ransom’s hands up your skirt one day.

The relationship is almost all physical, not that you’re complaining too much since he’s built like a God and knows how to please a woman. But it irritates you that he won’t go out in public with you unless it’s for something he has to go to for Harlon, you know he has a strained relationship, at best, with his parents, but you wish he would tell them. Valentine's day came and went and all you got was his package wrapped in a bow, while you had spent hours and an entire paycheck to buy him the perfect sweater to add to his collection.

By month six you were spending most nights in his bed, but he still hadn’t asked you to move in with him. He hadn’t shown a clear sign that he actually wanted to be with you. On the rare occasion you both had to go somewhere with Harlon you could find Ransom flirting it up with multiple gorgeous women. On this particular occasion he let it go far enough that the woman kissed him.

The next day at work you're surprised when you bump into Ransom in the kitchen at lunch time. He looks a little flustered working the stove, a greasy butter stain on his blue sweater, you smile lightly seeing the overconfident man struggling with such a simple task. He gives you a wolfish grin when he notices you in the doorway, plating up his failed attempt at a grilled cheese. One side burned black while the other is nowhere near a golden brown yet.

“The bed was cold last night,” Ransom slides the plate to you as he continues to speak. “And my sweater was empty.”

He’s holding up your favorite cashmere sweater for you to grab and wear now. It’s not a vocal apology and he’s not screaming his affections for you to the world. But for Ransom it's a big deal. The sandwich is his apology, and the sweater marks his claim on you even if it’s in front of people that already know. And for now, that’s enough.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny @mrs-malfoy-always

#ransom drysdale x reader #fictober20 #day 9 of fictober #knives out #fictober 2020 #knives out ransom #ransom drysdale #ransom x reader #ransom x you #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x y/n #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #knives out imagine

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thaylepo · 2 years

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13 and 28!

13. do you have a signature in your style/everyday outfits?

My signature style is generally "incredibly exhausted adult who just wants to be comfortable" with a lot of "this clothing item is gender nonconforming cuz my butt feels nice in it", a sprinkle of "oh you were definitely a hot topic emo in 2002 weren't you", wrapped up in some "hates having to replace clothes and know how to sew by hand sorta", all tied up nicely with "LAYERS!!!"

And i like comfy shoes.

28. how often do you cook?

I try to cook every day. Today i made porridge. Yesterday i made loaded nachos with premade pulled beef from the Mexican store near my doctor's office. The day before that i didn't cook shit and ate bread all day. So I don't always succeed in the goal, but cooking is a difficult process with adhd especially when you are hungry. Limiting myself to one order of delivery food a week has helped immensely in that area. Having things on hand to snack on while cooking, like nuts or crackers, also helps the process of braining out what to cook, cuz as soon as i want to cook my brain forgets every kind if food i've ever learned to make while shrugging at me pitifully like oliver twist with an empty bowl. I love making soup from scratch, it just takes a long time and requires forethought when getting groceries. I make a lot of biscuits from my immortal sourdough, cuz my roommates descend on them in a frenzy and their praise injects dopamine right into my brainpan. My roommate likes to make stew and chili in the slowcooker, so with our powers combined we are unstoppable for days worth of meals.

#I found alphabet pasta at the mexican store too i can't find it in groceries stores anymore #I held it like the holy grail and then bought two #So soup is incoming this week for sure

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