pound of bacon

“Broken” (Chapter Four)

I love this Chapter! I love Bucky getting to know the team better, and I love Sam. Bucky and Tony talk for the first time as well, and its a sweet moment. Long chapter, almost 3500 words.

Please make sure if you’re reading this you at least hit the like button, I am tagging ALOT of people, and am only getting about half of liking it, and maybe a handful of people reblogging, which is super discouraging. Writers don’t ask for much, so please just show the fic a little love! Ill post again when most of the tag list has responded to the fic!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS HERE

Enjoy :)

*******************

Out of everyone, it was Sam who made the first real effort to drag Bucky out of his room and into the world.

Sure, Clint would come and knock on the door if Bucky was late for a meal, and of course Steve invited Bucky along to everything he did, even if it was just walking downstairs for some coffee. But it was Sam who decided that he had had enough of Bucky hiding away after a week or so and showed up to change it.

“Bucky!” He knocked on the bedroom door loudly. “Bucky, I know your ass is awake, open this door. Don’t make me come in after you!”

“Sam.” Bucky opened the door and looked at Sam cautiously, left arm behind his back, wings nearly hidden behind his shoulders. “Are you looking for Steve? He’s in the–”

“Looking for you.” Sam folded his arms across his chest, wings rising in interest as he looked Bucky up and down. “I was thinking– I know you can run, seen it for myself. You want to go for a run with me this morning? Usually Cap goes with me, but he’s taking his sweet time in that shower so why don’t you and I just go?”

Bucky shifted uncertainly at the thought of leaving the Tower at all, much less without Steve, and looked back into the room as if hoping Steve would appear and make a decision for him.

Sam caught the quick motion and cleared his throat. “What, you need permission? You’re a big boy, come on. Get some fresh air, wind through your wings, all of that.” Then he raised an eyebrow challengingly. “Unless of course you think I’m gonna outrun your ass. You’re as old as Steve right? Pushing a hundred?”

“A hundred?” Bucky blurted before he could catch himself. “The hell I am!” 

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I Trained Crows To Bring Me Quarters

By reddit user LeoDuhVinci

In college, I struggled to make ends meet.  Most of my meals consisted nearly entirely of ramen noodles, garnished with a scrambled egg if my finances were stronger than usual, combined with the weekly splurge of a candy bar and soda each Friday.  I worked a part time job, but city rent was expensive, my classes were too tough to work more than twenty hours a week, and my parents had cut me off the year before.

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Birthday Girl

Chris Evans/Reader 

A/N: so this is my first request, it’s for the lovely, @captainhallow  I hope you enjoy it Madi! Sorry if it’s kind of all over the place

Request: hi! It’s my birthday, so i was wondering if you’d do a fluffy birthday/easter fic with Chris Evans? Thanks <3        

Originally posted by capsteverogers-things

“Wake up, wake up!” Chris says cheerily while shaking me awake.

“Already?” I whine while rolling to face him. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get ready, birthday girl. I’m going to go make you breakfast” He tells me with a peck on the cheek. 

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National Best Friends Day

Fandom- The Outsiders. (Entire group, nobody specifically.)

Warnings- None. Not a very long fic.

Note- Requests are open. I also mention Gordon Ramsay, but ignore it if it bothers you.

~~~

  Light was pouring through the cracked curtains of the room. A golden color was beaming right across Pony’s eyes. The warm and comforting smell of coffee beans wafted through the house. Other scents, those of food, weren’t as prominent as the coffee. Pony rolled away from the bright sunlight and tried to open his eyes. Was Soda cooking or was Darry? Nobody had to get up early on the Saturday morning, but it seemed like someone had.

  Pony caught a glimpse of Soda’s face. The golden sunlight turned his hair a wheat gold and his skin looked sun-kissed. His jaw had some stubble across it, which caused it to make his jaw line jut out. His hair was sticking up everywhere and was extremely fluffy. Soda would have looked like a god if there wasn’t drool running out of his mouth and down his chin.

  Pony tried to contain his laughter as he noticed dried drool in other places on his face. Pony glanced at the clock on the wall. It read ‘11:30’. Pony sighed and closed his eyes. Ten more minutes wouldn’t kill anyone.

  Pony had drifted off again when something big landed on him. Pony’s eyes snapped open to see Steve, Soda’s best friend, laying across him and Soda. Soda was still sleeping and Pony was glaring angrily at the Steve. Steve didn’t have cake on his face, which was weird. Steve always had cake on his face when he was at the Curtis house. Pony muttered angrily to himself about being woken up as he pushed Steve’s legs off his body.

  Pony grabbed a pair of pants off the floor and didn’t bother trying to find a shirt. He could have cared, but he didn’t. Pony yawned and ruffled his own hair as he walked out of his room. The three brothers had taken showers before going to sleep for the night, so they had grease-less hair. The Curtis brothers had very fluffy hair without grease, and it was a lot more unruly than you’d think.

  The jeans Ponyboy had grabbed off the floor must not have been his, since they were barely hanging on his hips and covered the tops of his feet. He wasn’t fully awake yet, so that didn’t exactly bug him. He got excited when he heard the sounds of food being cooked in the kitchen. Darry must have been up.

  Pony caught sight of Two-Bit sitting in the middle of a spot-less living room. He was trying to balance his converse on the top of an old beer bottle. The floor’s were spotless and the rugs didn’t have a speck of dirt on them.

  Pony rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yeah, the floor and rugs were clean. Pony looked around the room to see the pictures, shelves, and table had been dusted and looked way to clean for comfort.

  Something rattled in the kitchen and Pony’s gaze snapped in there. Dallas Tucker Winston was standing next to the stove cook breakfast. The juvenal delinquent was stirring pots, flipping pancakes, putting bacon on a plate. Pony saw a familiar head of dark hair and he noticed Johnny standing at the sink and washing the left over dishes from the day before.

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  • Bel: Hey, I've been watching cartoons downstairs and haven't been grocery shopping in a while, could you make me dinner?
  • Fran: I got stuff for stir-fry.
  • Bel: What else is on the menu?
  • Fran: Searched the fridge, found some "go fuck yourself" in the back.
  • Bel: Sounds fattening.
  • Fran: I heard it's a pretty lean meal. And thin. Also, flaccid.
  • Bel: I don't like your customer service, I'm taking my business elsewhere. Captain, can you bring me food?
  • Squalo: I have whiskey and a half-pound of bacon. I don't live well.
  • Bel, several minutes later: I walked to Chick-fil-A. WALKED. Like a PEASANT.
  • Fran: Actually, Chick-fil-A sounds pretty good right now.
  • Squalo: Voi, will you bring Chick-fil-A to me?
  • Fran: Yeah, the Captain and I need two Number Ones.
  • Bel: You want me to take a shit on your doorsteps. Got it.
  • Fran: No, that would be a number two.

weathergirl1  asked:

Can I get preg Yang craving

Okay.

~Breakfast~

Blake: Okay Sweeties. What do my two favorite girls want for breakfast? *Blake smiledas she stand next to a very pregnant Yang, Kissing the top of her hand before kneeling down and kissing her belly.*

Yang: Hehe, Aw. Blakey!~<3 *Yang smiled kissing Blake.* Can we get… Five pancake with two blueberries, two sprinkles, and chocolate syrup, 6 waffle all with kiwis, exactly one pound and a quart of bacon covered with caesar ranch dressing and eggs.. OH! sugar.

Blake: Uh, Okay? I’ll see if we have the ingredients.

~Lunch~

Blake: Hey Babe. Have you seen my tuna fish sand- *Blake asked her wife until seeing Seeing her in the living room eating a massive sub sandwich.*

Yang: Hmm? Moh, Morrme. *Yang started with a mouth full before swallowing.* AH, Sorry Blakey. Our Kitten was craving a Tuna fish, fried squid, lobster, sushi wrap, shark, sting ray sub with sprinkles.

Blake: It’s… fine…

Yang: … You want s-

Blake: God yes! Please!

~Dinner~

Yang: I swear our kitten is going to eat the weirdest shit when she grows up.

Blake: That or have everything with sprinkles.

Yang: That too. Now may I have a another bowel of Snap crackle pop, noodle, ice cream, orange, banana, turkey soup with sprinkles?

Blake: But its you tenth bowel?

Yang: the kitten, SHE HUNGERS!

~Later that night~

Yang: Psst. Blake?… Hey Blake… *Yang whispered, pointing her sleeping wife.*

Blake: Zzz-NuhMuh Huh? *Blake woke up and yawned as she turned to her wife.* What’s wrong Yang?

Yang: Cravings.

Blake: Sigh… Alright. What does our kitten want?

Yang: Nothing.

Blake: Huh? But you sai-Whuh? *Blake began to yawn as Yang moved between her legs and lifted her so her head sh between them.*

Yang: I said Cravings but they aren’t our kitten’s. Their mine. *Yang smiled as she kissed the inner thigh of Blake’s  leg and her butt.*

Blake: 0///^///0

~~~

Blake: … I think my new kink is pregnant sex with Yang as she pound me like no tomorrow. Into tomorrow.

Sun: *Sprays the tea that he was drink at Neptune’s face.* Wha?

Neptune: DUDE!  

5

Meet the burrito-filled bacon pizza burrito. Yes, that’s right: Some gluttonous/stoned genius managed to wrap two pounds of bacon and three chipotle burritos within a large cheese pizza. The pizza burrito then is topped with more cheese and baked to form the most insane munchie of all time.

anti-anti-survivor  asked:

i just fucking picked up Snow Crash again too, I'm right at the part where YT delivers the pizza for Hiro

Now I’m rereading too, and–

–the motherfucking swagger on this book I swear to God.

The Deliverator belongs to an elite order, a hallowed subcategory. He’s got esprit up to here. Right now, he is preparing to carry out his third mission of the night. His uniform is black as activated charcoal, filtering the very light out of the air. A bullet will bounce off its arachno-fiber weave like a wren hitting a patio door, but excess perspiration wafts through it like a breeze through a freshly napalmed forest. Where his body has bony extremities, the suit has sintered armorgel: feels like gritty jello, protects like a stack of telephone books.

[…]

The Deliverator’s car has enough potential energy packed into its batteries to fire a pound of bacon into the Asteroid Belt. Unlike a bimbo box or a Burb beater, the Deliverator’s car unloads that power through gaping, gleaming, polished sphincters. When the Deliverator puts the hammer down, shit happens. You want to talk contact patches? Your car’s tires have tiny contact patches, talk to the asphalt in four places the size of your tongue. The Deliverator’s car has big sticky tires with contact patches the size of a fat lady’s thighs. The Deliverator is in touch with the road, starts like a bad day, stops on a peseta.

Why is the Deliverator so equipped? Because people rely on him. He is a roll model. This is America. People do whatever the fuck they feel like doing, you got a problem with that? Because they have a right to. And because they have guns and no one can fucking stop them. As a result, this country has one of the worst economies in the world. When it gets down to it–talking trade balances here–once we’ve brain-drained all our technology into other countries, once things have evened out, they’re making cars in Bolivia and microwave ovens in Tadzhikistan and selling them here–once our edge in natural resources has been made irrelevant by giant Hong Kong ships and dirigibles that can ship North Dakota all the way to New Zealand for a nickel–once the Invisible Hand has taken all those historical inequities and smeared them out into a broad global layer of what a Pakistani bricklayer would consider to be prosperity–y’know what? There’s only four things we do better than everyone else:

music
movies
microcode (software)
high-speed pizza delivery

The Deliverator used to make software. Still does, sometimes. But if life were a mellow elementary school run by well-meaning education Ph. D.s, the Deliverator’s report card would say: “Hiro is so bright and creative but needs to work harder on his cooperation skills.”

So now he has this other job. No brightness or creativity involved–but no cooperation either. Just a single principle: the Deliverator stands tall, your pie in thirty minutes or you can have it free, shoot the driver, take his car, file a class-action suit. The Deliverator has been working this job for six months, a rich and lengthy tenure by his standards, and has never delivered a pizza in more than twenty-one minutes.

{fic} Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed (part 2)

Word Count:  2.5k
Relationship:  Lucien/Cassian
Characters:  Lucien, Cassian, Rhysand, Feyre
Warnings:  Depression, PTSD, also just a lot of regular Sadness, Abuse

Here on AO3.

__________________

Cassian had made Lucien exchange cell numbers with him before Feysand got back. So far he was very nearly regretting it – despite Lucien’s obvious skill as a photographer, he kept sending Cassian blurry pictures of guys lifting weights at the gym with the caption is this u.

But finally, Cassian had a chance to use number as he’d intended.

When should I pick u up? he texted to Lucien bright and early Monday morning.

id hopd ud forgotten about that he got back five minutes later. He was surprised Lucien had responded so fast – he’d expected him to be asleep, as any sensible person should be at the god-awful hour at which Cassian awoke.

Nope, sorry. What time?

He was still waiting for Lucien’s reply when his 6am Tai Chi class started to trickle in, so he put his phone in his bag. Once he’d waved all the businesspeople too hipster to do yoga out the door nearly an hour later, he grabbed it again, expecting a text from a few minutes after his own. Cassian frowned when there was no message notification on his phone. He decided to give Lucien the benefit of the doubt. For now.

But by eleven he was done with that nonsense.

If u don’t tell me what time 2 pick u up I’m going 2 come and park outside ur house.

He grinned as his phone pinged not five minutes later:  come by at 1 tmrw. u suk.

Cassian grinned. ;) See u at 1.


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House Guests

Pairing: Clint x Reader
Words: 3,145
A/N: Hi there, I did pre Age of Ultron Avengers because times were simpler back then. I feel like I took this thing in a really weird direction, but I like it so lemme know if you do too!


*Knock knock*

You blearily blinked your eyes open at the loud knocking on your door. The dim light on your clock read 2:47 am and you groaned in annoyance. No one ought to be bothering you this late at night. You couldn’t think of anyone who would even think to come to your house. The knocking persisted and you figured you would just deal with it, whatever it was.

Slowly, you made your way to the door, picking up a metal bat on your way over. You slung it over your shoulder and chanced a glance through the peephole. The porch light was off so you didn’t see much and you didn’t think it would be smart to change that. The knocking was still there and you debated between calling the cops or just dealing with it yourself. You weighed the pros and cons, but made a decision as the pounding only got louder. With a deep breath, you threw the door open, ready to swing.

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Oh my, Darling~

Do you hear that? It couldn’t be! Your tummy is grumbling! You must be starving! I can’t have that now, not in this kitchen. Have some chips dear, I’ll make you a sandwich. How does a grilled cheese with bacon and extra cheese sound? How about I fry up the whole pound of bacon and let you eat it while you wait. A hungry feedee, impossible- you should be stuffed at all times! When you’re done with your buttery sandwich, I have cheesecake for dessert. But you’ ve got to eat all of your vegetables, and potato chips certainly count as vegetables, they’re made of potatoes after all. I want you to finish the whole bag of chips, then you can stuff your face with this cheesecake! It’s dripping with strawberry pie filling and melted chocolate, two of my favorite deliciously sweet things. I’m not sure you can finish such a rich dessert,

but then again, you are SO hungry~

3

Hannibal Cookbook:

  • Title: Beef Roulades with Walnut Parsley Pesto
  • Episode: 2x6 Futamono

Information:

  • Yield: 4-6 servings
  • There are multiple hannibal entries for each recipe in the show. Check out my ‘hannibal cookbook’ tag for more.
  • Image and recipe source are the same.

Recipe:

Note: You can use prosciutto instead of the bacon (no need to cook, it’s already cured), or skip it all together and just do a roll-up with the pesto of your choice.

Ingredients: 

Pesto:

  • 1 cup chopped parsley
  • ½ cup shelled walnuts, about 1 ¾ ounces
  • ¼ cup grated parmesan or pecorino cheese
  • 2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
  • ¼ teaspoon salt
  • ¼ cup olive oil

Flank steak roulade:

  • ½ pound thin-cut bacon
  • 1 ½ to 1 ¾ pounds flank steak
  • Salt and black pepper
  • Lemon wedges to serve

Directions:

  • Start by making the pesto. Put the parsley, cheese, garlic, salt and walnuts into a food processor. Pulse to combine. Turn the machine on again and slowly pour in the olive oil, just to combine. Reserve.
  • Cook the bacon in a large pan — you will be searing the roulade in this later, so it needs to be wide — over medium-low heat until it is about half-cooked. You want it cooked, but still limp. Do not crisp it up or it will break when you try to wrap it inside the roulade. When the bacon is ready, set it aside on paper towels.
  • Place heavy duty plastic wrap (or two layers of plastic wrap) on a large work surface and place the flank steak on it. Cover with more plastic wrap. Using a rubber mallet, the flat side of a meat mallet or an empty wine bottle, pound the flank steak until it is ½ inch thick or thinner. Flip the meat from time to time to pound everything evenly. Once the meat is as thin as you want it, if you have a meat mallet with a tenderizing side (the pointy side), remove the plastic wrap and pound this on both sides for a minute or two. If you don’t have a meat mallet, you can skip this step.

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  • Look at your steak: You will be rolling it up with the grain of the meat facing side to side. You do this because when you slice it later, the beef will be more tender when you cut across the grain. Arrange the meat until the grain faces side to side, and if it is not squarish or rectangular, cut it to fit. Sprinkle on some salt and black pepper.

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  • Spread a thin layer of pesto on the meat, leaving about ½ inch free on all sides of the meat. Lay down the bacon against the grain of the beef. Preheat the oven to 350°F.

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  • Carefully roll  the roulade up tightly, as you would a carpet. If you want, cut off any bacon that is extending beyond the steak. Tie off the meat with 6 to 8 lengths of string, each about an inch or so apart. Sear the tied roulade in the pan with the bacon fat. You want to quickly brown the surface, not cook the inside of the roulade.

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  • Put the roulade in a roasting pan on a rack, seam side down. If you don’t have a rack, improvise with celery stalks. Roast this for 20-25 minutes, or until the interior of the meat is 130°F. (Note that the ends of the roulade will be far hotter than the center — so always test the temperature from the center of the roulade.)
  • Remove the meat from the oven and let it rest for 10 minutes before slicing. Slice the roulade so each serving is wrapped in string. You can either let everyone cut their own string at the table, or cut it yourself and secure the roulades with toothpicks if you want. Serve with lemon wedges to add a little tartness to the dish.

*Hannibal gifs from this photoset:  http://halinacrown.co.vu/post/81890131021/food-per-episode-2x6-futamono

6

Dragging your ass out of bed through a rougher-than-usual commute to get to your surprisingly cancelled 9am class can be forgiven when it leads to discovering gems such as La Bonbonniere.

Tucked away in the West Village, this fairly priced, delicious, cash only, “no bullshit” paradise was just the safe haven go-to we needed from school. Editing to the menus is done by hand written sticky notes, not re-printing.  The only decorations on the walls are approvals by a ton of famous people and numerous awards the diner has won, deservingly so. Most of the time, no pretty much ALL of the time, I don’t want a “razzle dazzle” tacky-ass “retro” or chic overpriced NYC diner. I want a DELICIOUS stack of fresh pancakes that come with a pound of bacon on top that doesn’t cost $80. Thanks for being there for us, La Bonbonniere. We love you.