#((Has followers should do starter pot

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

[dduane]

Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms: Eggs Devilled with Pepper and Marigold

At the beginning of Freelorn's and his people's dinner with the proprietor of the Ferry Tavern at the edge of the Waste Unclaimed, the Lady serves the guests this dish as what used to be called a “whet”: a starter meant to take a little of the edge off the diners' immediate hunger while at the same time sharpening it for the courses to follow.

As such dishes go, this one's relatively simple and quick to prepare...

What makes it stand out is a combination of the local spicery—unmistakably Steldene in nature, with its emphasis on combining sharp and arresting flavors—and a touch of the seasonal, with the inclusion of fresh marigold petals. Marigold as a flavoring agent is much used on the eastern side of the Middle Kingdoms' continent, especially in northern parts, where their version of the common "pot marigold", Calendula officinalis, comes earliest into bloom (or remains in flower right through the North's temperate winter).

Though the text describes the preparation of the eggs as "devilled," this is plainly just a translator's convenience. On our Earth, the term—its diabolical or infernal associations originally associated with strongly spiced meat dishes—started in the 1800s to creep into usage for other foods, specifically eggs. But whether for meat or not, such usages are nowhere to be found in the Middle Kingdoms. Since the eschatology common to the Four Realms contains no afterlife scenario in which the deeds of the wicked are punished with eternal torment, there are also no devils—and for that matter, no fallen angels.* The actual term used for the eggs would have been the Steldene word miwhitvhej, a pun on an old word for "double-yolked"—the "doubling" here meant to hint at the extra labor involved in producing the dish.

The peppers associated with this recipe in its description are exclusively what Middle Kingdoms cooks would describe as "berry-peppers"; and a great number of spices fall into this category despite neither being berries nor peppers. Mostly (as has been discussed elsewhere), when cooks in the Four Realms use "berry-pepper" as a generic term, they almost always mean our common black peppercorn, Piper nigrum.

In this recipe, though, there's an implicit suggestion (cf. ingredients listed in Darthene cookery texts such as the famous Endeidwhë hIrrhéillnu) that the cook should feel free to add spice to the dish by playing mix-and-match with their favorite local varieties of berry-pepper. And though we haven't yet attempted this recipe with Sichuan pepper, that would certainly work well. Complaints in the text from Freelorn's friend Moris about "the aggressive spices and sours of Steldene food" most likely have more to do with traditional regional-Darthene attitudes toward the Kingdoms' variant of the Sichuan pepper... which would have turned up either in the goose dish or the parsnips they were served at dinner, and maybe in both. Make no mistake, though: Moris wouldn't have been complaining about nothing. The Kingdoms' Xenozanthoxylum microdraconis—containing from six to ten times our Earth's Sichuan "pepper's" amount of the capsaicin-analogue hydroxy-alpha-sanshool—packs quite the punch.

As for the other main flavor additive to these eggs: the Wikipedia page for Calendula officinalis describes it as "a short-lived aromatic", and so it is. Those using it for culinary purposes do best to use it fresh... though it can definitely be used as a dried herb if reconstituted and used soon afterwards. Its flavor and savor are gently peppery, light, and surprisingly fresh. To dishes to which it's been added, marigold lends a fragrant herbal grace-note that's evanescent at best.

In an egg dish like this, therefore—routinely served cool or cold, and with a taste, texture and quality that points up seasonings rather than overwhelming them—marigold makes a perfect addition. A favorite foil for it, either in the eggs themselves or on the side as a conserve, is lemon or citron... though when varying the recipe in this way one must be careful not to allow the citrus flavor to overwhelm the delicate flavor of the flower.

*The closest that Kingdoms-based folklore gets to this concept is in tales of the medveilh folk (OArl. "foregoers"), a class of powerful but nonphysical beings said to have been created by the Goddess when She was still learning Her craft, and now (by their own choice) said to be estranged from Her. Nor are the Shadow-affiliated beings whose descriptions are translated in the text by terms like "demonic" ever connected with hot or spicy foods. If any quality of temperature is folklorically associated with demonkind in the Kingdoms, it wouldn’t be heat, but cold.

…Click on the right-hand tab at the top of the dish’s dedicated page for the recipe.

[clatterbane]

The first step of some pizza dough using that Nerd Cider Yeast Starter is underway! This is basically a quick sponge with the starter and some of the flours. That starter hasn't gone very sour yet, but it should hopefully be a good flavor.

Being the person I am, I'm not following that recipe very closely. But, I thought I would share it because I do really like their flexible approach to ingredients--which is not far off what I ended up working out myself from experience. (I definitely do not claim to be any kind of super baker, but I've had 15+ years to figure out what seems to work.) Only, they describe and explain better.

The different categories of flours/starches commonly used in gluten free baking are a very useful thing, focusing on their main function in a recipe. That would be roughly why I do tend to balance wholegrain flours with ones that they're putting into the "binding" and "starchy" categories here. The commercial GF blends I've been getting tend to consist entirely (or almost) of binding/starch ingredients, plus usually some psyllium powder and/or gums. You could use that on its own for certain applications like cakes and cookies, but it would most likely not make a very appealing bread used alone. No matter what they show on the package. 😒

For this pizza crust, I'm using a combo of oat flour and this Laila's nearly all starch white blend in with the mix of sorghum, buckwheat, and psyllium that are already working with the yeast starter.

Haven't had anything like that in ages, so I decided to make this as a pan pizza in my trusty smallish cast iron skillet. It's also extra easy that way. The common Swedish style pizza crust is pretty good, but all I've had in a couple of years is one basic style of thin crust. Time to mix it up some!

(Though, unlike that person's wheat flour pan pizza through the link, I am planning to play it safe and prebake this some before topping it. Is that a good idea? We'll find out.)

The well-oiled other half of the dough went into an also oiled Ziploc, to save in the fridge for later. This is definitely a two individual pizza recipe, or one really big pizza. Tempting as it may be, with just me here tonight? One skillet load of thick crust pizza should be plenty plus some.

Why all the emphasis on oil, btw? A lot of GF bread doughs tend to be sticky as hell from the psyllium/gums standing in for gluten, and also softer/wetter than wheat doughs. You WILL want plenty of some type of grease on the outside of the dough itself and your hands before trying to work with the stuff.

Unless you want this kind of situation in your kitchen--except it's bread dough, your hands, and anything else it or they touch.

Anyway, that crust is now proofing in the oven. ⏰😩 Maybe the mixing pot bowl has soaked long enough now to clean it out in the meantime.

[sharky857]

I have a mighty need to know what mods you installed on stardew :o

I'm gonna list only the actual mods I wanted to get, leaving out the ones needed to make said mods work in game.

Also, quick and due premise: I play 100% solo, just so the "judges & juries" may kinda rest their "OMG THATS CHEATING" tiddies with some of those mods.

That being said, currently I have the following mods installed. All can be found on "Nexus mods". This is gonna be quite a list, so I'm adding a break to trim the post down.

Also: no links. Wouldn't want Tumblr to think this post as some form of spam. 😅 (But I'm writing the mods' names as they are on that site, so if anyone is interested, they should also be very easy to dig out via the search bar.)

"No Cooties" + "Free Love" + "Platonic Partners and Friendships", all installed from what's an "aroace bundle" I stumbled upon while looking exactly for the thing. The forced relationships as they are set in the game have been quite a turn-off for me.

"(DGA) Sewing furniture set", its a DGA (Dynamic Game Assets) type of mod that allows players to have their own sewing machine at the farm. This same mod also comes with the dye pots to recolour your stuff. So yeah, no more need to plan a visit at Emily's! :D (Just a fair warning: the dye pots are huge.)

"(DGA) Piano", another DGA mod. The creator remodelled a large couch into a piano, trying to make it similar to the one into Elliot's cabin. This mod is of the DGA kind because you can actually play it.

"Blahaj", it's exactly what you can expect it to be: the "Blahaj" shark from Ikea. 💖

"DGA Hanging pride banners", another DGA mod from the "aroace bundle" and with tons of LGBT+ pride flags to put on display on your own indoors.

"Starry night interface", a content pack (I refuse to use the abbreviation, just in case Tumblr-bot might detect and see it as that other abbreviation :°D) that changes the UI into the lilac-purple-pastel blue colours, plus some more aestethical changes in the way icons and portrait borders look.

"Flower dancing", a mod that makes your farmer finally wear "That Godforsaken Attire™". I think it also makes your farmer actually follow the dance moves a bit better. Bonus point! You can tweak this mod's options to decide if your farmer is gonna wear the dress or the suit, regardless of their gender. 👀

"Seasonal cute characters", a mod that replaces every single NPC's portrait and in game sprite with a version of theirs whose clothes change with each season (and also event).

"Seasonal outfit revision - Elliott", it's installed-but-not-really. This mod's been created by a different author from the former, so that players could replace Elliott's portraits in "Seasonal cute characters" with these revised versions. The reason is that the original mod uses one of the early portrait versions for Elliott, while the "revision" replaces those portraits with the current Elliott. Alas, it's lacking the "beach Elliott", so the only way to not have his babyface'd version while he's on Ginger Island would be to remove that specific asset.

"AT Telephone recolor", an AT (Alternative Texture) mod so I could finally stop to have only one, fugly red phone in mah haus (and on Ginger Island). :°)

"Map teleport", a very handy mod that (I presume) functions based on the in game totems, but with some extra perks. For starter: totems can teleport you only to a fixated location marked by a statue (or an obelisk). The map teleport will YEET you on any location pointed out by the map; all one has to do is open the map and click away. On a side note: Idk if this is intentional or not, just know that you can also teleport your horsie. This has been happening to me every single time I would use this exploit while my farmer is still on the saddle. Which is twice as handy, especially to roam around Ginger Island. *cough!*

"Skull Cavern Elevator", a mod that works exactly like the elevator in the mines. No more, no less. Now I see how some players would share screen of their farmers at something like "skull cavern level 654786".

"Chests anywhere", yet another very useful mod that allows players to access and interact with any crafted chests, fish tank, and even shipping bins and fridges as if they were additional inventories, no matter where they are. I decided to install this mod because I was sick and tired of having all of my 36 backpack slots full while roaming either some volcano or the skull caverns. 😤 Bonus point for the mod offering an in menu-inventory option to rename all of the "chests" mentioned above.

"Vibrant pastoral", merely a reshade mod. Installed mostly because I'm trying not to go blind when it's winter time in Pelican Town (the overall white colour seems toned down). :°D

"Deepwoods mod", it's a mod that adds a fan-made explorable area accessible from the "Secret Woods". It's a nice, not-so-little place to explore, with different levels and enemies (mostly a green recolour of the ones found in the mines) and looks exactly what an unexplored woods would look like. You just gotta play to see it. 💖 On a side note: the author said that it's also complatible with other mods, like "SVE" (aka: Stardew Valley Expanded).

"Yet another jump mod", a mod that allows your farmer (and their horse) to actually jump. Quite handy to save some time by simply jumping over obstacles instead of going around them. 😈

"Item recovery", a mod that merely allows players to recover all the items they may have lost upon "dyingn't" in the mines/quarry/cavern/volcano, instead of just one. I have yet to "dien't" since installing this mod, so Idk if it actually works.

"Craftable auto-petter", because my dumdum bum never purchased a single one from Joja until I had the chance, and I read that the chance to find an auto-petter in alternative ways is quite slim. 😔

"Combat controls", simply a mod that make your farmer actually aim where they should: where your cursor is actually pointing at. I was sick & tired of getting my HELTH dangerously low only because the loser on screen was facing the wrong direction. 🙃💢

"Carry chests", simply a mod that lets you pick up and move around chests without needing to empty them completely first.

"Auto-grab truffles", a mod that implement an additional option for the "auto-grabber" already available in game, so that it can pick also truffles up. It's installed but I have yet to try it out in game, so Idk if it works as intended.

"Dynamic night time", a mod with a more "natural" shift between the light in different times of the day. It works like a charm even with the reshade.

[inspiteallthedanger]

Why do you think that people on tumblr (and increasingly elsewhere but more here) are so desperate to defend Paul. I think there are like one or maybe two blogs that ever seem to criticise him and yet there’s all these people desperate to defend him and say he never makes any wrong decisions. Even when he demonstrably has. I’m asking you because you clearly love John but also don’t seem to hate Paul so I thought you’d have a decent perspective

Hello darling - it’s very funny that we know you sent this a couple of days ago, and it’s not related this these couple of most recent conversations. But, I do think it’s probably proving the concept I think you’re talking about. I’ll put this under the cut so everyone can just scroll by if they feel so inclined.

In short, I think it's that people want to have fun and that's different for everyone.

Anyway as a starter, I'd like to say, I don’t think there are people saying, “Paul was the worst man alive, the break up was entirely his fault and he sucks” in the same way that most of his stans aren’t saying, “I think you’ll find Paul has never done a thing wrong in his life”. What you do see, is that when you do point out something at least two or three people will leap in to explain either why Paul was doing it or why the other person was actually to balme. And, this is real life; people are complex and I think Paul is a good person. He’s not trying to upset people (most of the time but certainly sometimes he’s also just being petty). But, at the same time, he’s also certainly hurt people, as he himself readily admits. 

As to why this is happening, I think it’s probably very normal to want to stick up for a person you care enough about to make a blog focused on. I think it’s increasingly a thing to feel you’re not allowed to like someone who isn’t morally correct. So, I sort of think people take it personally when you say someone they adore has done something wrong or hurt people. On top of which, there usually ARE reasons (obviously) for why he’s doing what he is. 

I love Paul a lot, but I love him because he’s a weirdo that can be petty and mean, while also being sweet and charming. But obviously I’m okay with that because I adore John too. 

Finally my answer to all these things is always… it’s Tumblr’s fault. It often feels like once one person says they disagree with a take, it opens up the floodgates for a load of other people to all agree. But, because of the way Tumblr works, it means you’ll need to scroll through those takes with no way of avoiding them. So it can feel like it’s an avalanche when really it’s not. 

I would say that I think part of what you’re seeing is that Paul just has more fans than the others. As John very much said himself, was always the case. I see who follows me and I would say that 60% of them at least are Paul-focused rather than Beatles overall. Then probably George. So, that acerbates the above problems.

I do this too, of course. My friends on here will tell you that I will defend one of them, often even after starting the conversation with, “He’s literally the worst and a bad person”. But at the same time, I’m very happy for people to be mean about J or P because they were shitty at times. I think I will discuss it, if I feel there’s evidence that this is simply an opinion that’s not based on much. But, again, a lot of people aren’t here for that sort of engagement. They want to look at pretty pictures and feel good about their fave. Which is totally understandable - and again - why Tumblr sucks. Because all of those things all fall into a mixing pot and you can’t really filter them out. So. Yeah. 

In short: people defend their fave and don’t always appreciate criticism when they’re actually not here for that sort of content. And we should find an alternative to Tumblr. 

[sb-group-nepal]

Making Organic Chicken Feed

A solid, well-balanced feed is necessary to grow healthy and big chickens. Although the readily available chicken feeds are simple fixes, are they enough for your poultry?

The commonly available chicken feed has been nutritionally calculated. But when it concerns business, one cannot rely on packaged goods.

In addition, the idea of the “green revolution” has encouraged people to produce their feed from all-natural products.

You may produce your chicken feed on your farm using only organic material. There are generally four different types of chicken feed.

These varieties include mashes, crumbles, pellets, and whole grains.

The chickens on a farm are fed avariety of feeds.

Do you intend to use organic feed to feed your flocks of chickens?

Continue reading the post to discover how to make organic chicken.

Required Ingredients

Chickens need a diet that is balanced nutritionally, with an appropriate amount of lipids,proteins, minerals, vitamins, and carbohydrates, just like humans need.

Additionally, fresh water is a crucial component of the diet in chicken feed.

You should check the water needed every two hours because chickens drink twice as much water as they feed.

In addition, individuals frequently overlook the additional nutritional components of vitamins and minerals in chicken feed.

The age of the chicken is a key consideration when creating the chicken feed.

Different types of feed are required for poultry at different developmental stages.

Similarly, adult chickens that lay eggs require a significant amount of calcium in their diet.

To improve food digestion and strengthen the chicken’s immune system, additional nutrients, such as oregano, cayenne, and probiotics, are added.

Making Organic Chicken Feed: The Process

Feeding your chickens organic chicken feed is safer and more nutrient-dense.

While creating your blend, you must pay special attention to the macronutrients and micronutrients.

Another crucial aspect to take into account while grinding one’s own organic chicken feed is food texture.

Chicken food’s textures

1. Mash

Like newborn babies, the newly hatched chicks’ digestive systems are still developing.

Furthermore, the chicks’ beaks are still growing.

Thus, they are unable to consume the coarse feed.

As a result, the meal for the young chickens begins as a mash and has a consistency akin to potting soil.

Starter feed is another name for the food intended for young chicks. It is high in protein to suit their nutritional needs.

This feed is given to the baby from birth to 8 to 12 weeks.

2. Crumble

The size and texture of crumbles are a little bit larger and more gritty than mash, similar to granola.

By the chicken’s 12 weeks of age, this is often fed.

Chicken breeders frequently use crumbles as a mediator diet to switch between mash and pellets.

The chick is fed until it begins to lay eggs for the layers.

3. Pellets

The chicken is fed pellets made of entire grains once it has reached adulthood and maturity. Only chicken that has reached an age of at least 18 weeks is best suited for this food texture.

These feeds are more extensive and more challenging to digest. The pellets are in good shape, making them simple to store and giving them to backyard poultry.

Making Organic Chicken Feed: The Step-by-Step Process

Making organic chicken feed at home can be time-consuming and labor-intensive. The steps involved are as follows:

Gather the necessary items, such as corn, fish meal, peas, oatmeal, kelp, and aragonite. All kinds of essential nutrients must be present in the elements.

Obtain a reliable supply of vitamins and minerals. You can also choose the readily accessible vitamin and mineral combination on the market.

Dry off and wash all the organic raw ingredients. Now crush those components in a spotless mixer grinder.

In an enormous container, combine the components in an appropriate ratio for the age group. The growing chicken needs to be fed more proteins than carbohydrates.

Feed mixture created from organic ingredients. Due to their distinct growing requirements and weak digestive systems, extremely young chicks may not be acceptable for the recipe above.

Follow these steps to create an organic feed for young chickens:

Incorporate at least 22% protein into the feed composition.

To mix and mash the meal before giving it to the chicks, grind it into a fine powder.

Brewer’s yeast, sunflower oil, and other mineral mixtures are available for use as chicken feed.

For young chicks, water is a crucial component of their diet.

Despite being wholesome and risk-free, homemade organic chicken feed has several drawbacks. These are a few of the penalties:

It can be challenging to search for each item in lesser quantities.

Making the feed is a highly time-consuming and laborious task.

These DIY feeds are not subject to quality inspection. As a result, it is impossible to know whether the meal contains all nutritional benefits of the chicken feed.

[nurseriesmilllane]

Find out how to choose the ideal grass, flowers, and other plants for your yard.

Do you know how to identify great bedding plants for use in flower pots and gardens? Pick strong plants and stay away from weak ones, such as those withered leaves, uneven growth, or damaged stems. However, if you want to purchase flowers, you should thoroughly inspect them beforehand. The choices with the most flowers aren't necessarily the greatest.

Although garden flowers are beautiful, you might put your time to better use. Remember that these late starters still have time to complete their tasks. You need to understand why they are working so hard to succeed. They won't thrive in their new environment since they can't adjust to it after being transplanted. Therefore, you may choose the most affordable bedding plants close to Worcestershire there.

Following transplant shock, some individuals may briefly become less active, although the majority recover completely or virtually completely within a few weeks. While most economies continue to grow, a tiny minority either stop growing altogether or go through a growth slump from which they never completely recover. Nutrients and water in excess won't be of any benefit. It takes some investigation and comparative shopping to get cheapest bedding plants near Worcestershire.

Exactly how do you want to prevent this problem?

Even if the blossoms haven't opened, a seasoned gardener will know to choose bedding plants with the greenest leaves. After learning how to take care of it, they use it to produce lovely blooms all summer long. In garden centers, it could be difficult to find immature, non-blooming annuals. They assume that more blooms signify a higher-quality plant and that gardeners are mainly interested in flowering plants.

Instead than trying to stop them from taking the flowers, you should just let them go.

If necessary, pinch the blossoms, but the outcome will be pleasing. Any information taken from another source has to be referenced [here]. Remove the blossoms and any visible flower buds if you want the plants to have a greater chance of surviving after you've put them back in their native habitat. Your fingernails or a pair of shears will work.

[mitchamsocialuser]

Wood Fired Pizza Ovens

If you’re looking for a way to enjoy pizza at home, you might want to consider getting a wood fired pizza oven. It’s not only a great way to prepare a one-pot meal, but you’ll be able to enjoy the food even more than you could if you made it on your stove.

Getting it to the right temperature

Wood fired pizza ovens are great for making pizzas. But if you want to get the most out of your dough, you need to understand the temperature of your oven.

The temperature of your oven will depend on the type of wood you’re using. You can also get the most out of your oven by choosing a build that’s well-insulated. This will keep the heat in and your crust crispy.

Using an infrared thermometer can be a good way to determine your oven’s temperature. An infrared thermometer works by measuring the heat radiated from the fire. While you won’t be able to use it to check the actual temperature of your oven, it will give you an idea of what the average household oven can do.

There are many different types of wood for a wood-fired pizza oven. Applewood, beech, and oak are the top choices. These are all great options for baking your pizzas, and will provide you with the best heat yield.

Choosing the right wood

Finding the right wood for pizza ovens can make or break the flavor of your pizza. The type of wood that you use will impact the taste, as well as the way your pizza is cooked.

There are many different types of wood to choose from, depending on your personal preferences and the type of pizza you want to make. A few popular choices include applewood, cherry, maple, walnut, pecan, and oak.

Maple is a favorite for many people, as it burns slowly and produces little smoke. It has a sweet flavor that is not overpowering. Cherry is another wood that adds a touch of fruity flavor to the pizza.

Hickory, on the other hand, adds a rich flavor to meats, but is also bitter. You may also want to avoid alder, as it can stain clothing. Also, you should be careful not to burn treated wood. If you do, the wood may release toxic chemicals into the pizza.

Cleaning the ash and burnt toppings off

The cleanliness of the oven is important for its performance. It is especially important to clean it immediately after use. This will make sure that it does not damage the pizza toppings. However, it can be difficult to clean up stains. Fortunately, there are several steps to follow to ensure a squeaky-clean oven.

First, the wood should be completely dry. If the wood is damp, it will not burn hot enough. In addition, it can also cause smoke.

Once the wood has dried, it should be seasoned for at least one year. This will help reduce the amount of sap that the wood contains. Depending on the type of pizza you plan to cook, you can use walnut, maple, apple, pecan or cherry.

You can also mix fruitwoods with other hardwoods to get a milder flavor. For example, you can blend elderberry trees with other fruitwoods. These woods are good for cooking vegetables and meats.

Cooking one-pot meals

If you have a wood fired pizza oven, you can cook a variety of foods. These can include fish, pork, and other dishes. They are a healthy and versatile cooking option. Besides, the fire imparts a smoky flavor to the food.

When it comes to recipes, you should have a little practice before you attempt to cook with a fire. To determine the right temperatures, you can use infrared thermometers. Thermometers are cheap these days and are perfect for measuring the right temperature.

For starters, you can make scampi. This Italian dish is quick and easy to prepare. You can choose from different flavors and ingredients to suit your taste.

Another great dish is a lava cake. To create this dessert, you need a few essential ingredients. It is easy to cook in a wood fired oven. In addition to chocolate, you will need eggs, sugar, and butter.

Another fast and simple meal to cook in a wood fired pizza oven is shrimp. You can even prepare the recipe ahead of time.

[syllvane]

halfway- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: the unofficial sequel to wanting but also a standalone piece. a little ooc at the end, as a treat

“Why don’t you just say something?” Jesper asked, getting tired of the way Kaz looked at you when you weren’t looking. Kaz didn’t say anything, his hand gripping the cup that he was holding tightly. “I mean you both like each other, so why don’t you just-”

Kaz cut him off with a withering glare, a promise that Kaz would cut his tongue out if Jesper continued speaking.

Kaz finished the rest of his drink and although he tried his best, he found his gaze constantly being pulled back to you, as if you were a planet with your own gravitational pull.

Saints, he had it bad for you.

The worst part was that you didn’t even know what you were doing to him- or maybe you did and maybe you liked seeing Kaz Brekker suffer, maybe this was punishment for him putting as much distance between the two of you as humanely possible, or as much distance as Kaz could bear, anyways.

He ordered another shot and he didn't wince as it went down.

He managed to pull his gaze away from you, looking at Jesper, who had found better company in the person sitting on the other side of him.

Kaz tapped Jesper’s shoulder, who turned around and looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’d disappoint her,” Kaz said, the words falling out of his mouth before he could even register what he was saying. “That’s why I don’t meet her halfway. I’d disappoint her, and she deserves better than that.”

“You’ll disappoint her if you don’t meet her halfway,” Jesper argued and Kaz nodded solemnly, as if he had considered this.

“Maybe. I don’t think I could watch her fall out of love with me up close though. It’s better this way,” He said, motioning to the distance between the two of you.

Jesper didn’t say anything to that, mostly because he’s seen how the two of you look at each other when the other isn’t watching and he isn’t all that confident that this is the best way to handle this situation.

Kaz signaled the bartender for another shot and Jesper grabbed the shot from him, holding it high above his head.

“Jesper,” Kaz said warningly and Jesper might have been scared if Kaz wasn’t slurring his words.

“Why don’t we just slow down- do you want to go back to the Slat?”

“I’m fine,” Kaz said defensively, though it sounded as if he was not only trying to convince Jesper but himself as well.

“Kaz-”

“I said I’m fine,” He growled and Jesper frowned, drinking the shot that Kaz had ordered before wandering off, no longer interested in his company.

Kaz stood up from the bar as well and walked to his office, closing the door behind him and sitting on his chair, waiting for his mind to clear.

When you saw Kaz the next day, he was stumbling into the kitchen of the Slat, bleary-eyed.

His clothes were disheveled and you were given the distinct impression that he spent the night in his office.

His eyes met yours and he gave you a look that you think was supposed to be threatening.

“Not a word.”

The threat didn’t stop the small laugh that came out of your mouth and you saw him soften as he stood next to you, leaning his cane against the cabinets.

“You look cute,” You said, handing him the cup of coffee that you had just poured moments before. “Your blush is even cuter.”

He nearly spat out his coffee, settling for choking on it and coughing instead.

“I-”

“You hate me, you love me, you hate me for making you love me, I know. Don’t waste your breath.”

The coughing subsided but the glare he was giving you did not.

“If anyone else said that, I would’ve hit them with my cane.”

His gloved fingers brushed over yours as he handed you his half-full coffee cup.

“That’s just it though, isn’t it?” You asked, staring at the cup of coffee. “I’m not just anyone.”

He looked at you carefully, studying you closely in the morning light.

He has stolen many things before; precious jewelry, artwork, you name it.

These moments with you are the most valuable out of all of them, he thinks.

“No, you’re not just anyone,” He finally said, trying to memorize the way you looked. “You should really find someone who will meet you halfway, you know. Someone who can say ‘I love you’ back.”

You smiled, though there was an undeniable twinge of sadness in your voice as you spoke.

“I really should,” You conceded, taking a sip from his coffee mug. “You're not just anyone either, though.”

You handed him the mug back, your hands brushing against each other again. He took another sip.

“Do you think Pekka is single?” You asked thoughtfully and this time he did spit out the coffee.

“Don’t even joke about that, or I’ll…” His voice simmered out, because what could he do? Break-up with you? The two of you weren’t dating. Hurt you? You would see his empty threats for what they were.

“You’ll what?” You asked, your eyes flickering over to him, daring him to finish the sentence.

“I hate you,” He said, because it was easier than saying the truth.

“I hate you too.”

A moment passed between the two of you. He took another sip of the coffee.

“Don’t go after Pekka,” He said suddenly, the same intensity in his voice as before. “You can date anyone you want, I just… not him. Anyone but him. He is…”

“I know,” You cut him off, taking the coffee back from him. “I would never.”

You didn’t know, if you were being honest, why Kaz hated Pekka Rollins so much. You didn’t know about Jordie or about the Reaper’s Barge or about why he wore the gloves. All you knew was that it mattered to him and that was the beginning and end of everything.

A smile tugged at Kaz’s lips.

“Besides, he’s a total creep. I wouldn’t date him for a million kruge,” You added, mostly so that you could see the smile on Kaz’s face grow.

“You deserve better than him anyways,” He said, stealing back the coffee cup and taking another sip. “How’d you know I would be coming down here?”

“What?”

“The coffee. You made it the way I take it.”

He didn’t realize how much he enjoyed making you flustered until a strange expression appeared on your face, followed by a sheepish laugh.

“Oh. I… I started taking my coffee that way. So that there would be some for you if you ever wanted it.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t know what to say, because what is love if not that?

What is love if not the countless pots of coffee that you’ve made in the hopes that he’d have some too, one day?

Standing there, he can see that you’re waiting for him to call what you’ve been doing childish or stupid, but he doesn’t.

He just stands there next to you and finishes the rest of the coffee. You turn back to keep unloading groceries.

“I’m sorry, for putting so much distance between us. For not meeting you halfway and for not even trying to,” He said shakily, the words spilling out of him before he could talk himself out of it, before he could convince himself that the two of you would be better off standing there in silence. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can love you in the way that you want to be loved- in the way that you deserve to be loved.”

You turned around to face him, tears welling in your eyes, and Kaz got the horrible feeling that he had said the wrong thing.

Instead, you grabbed both of his gloved hands tentatively.

“Saints Kaz, don’t you get it? Any way that you love me is how I want to be loved,” You said softly and Kaz let out a sigh of relief, releasing a weight that he hadn’t realized that he had been carrying. “And as for putting distance between us, you can make it up to me.”

A laugh escaped from his lips.

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Well, for starters, finish putting groceries away with me.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Yeah, well…”

[lasquadrasfuckhouse]

should you let la squadra cook for you? 🍳

it depends on what they're making. but generally:

risotto is a pretty darn good cook, but you feel kind of bad about asking him unless he's planning to cook but doesn't know what to make b/c he's often busy. with baking tho he's one of those people who's always making different breads b/c you get the benefit of something homemade but it needs time to rise and shit so he can still go do other stuff in between. formaggio probably named the sourdough starter that risotto's kept in the fridge for like 3 years. let risotto cook for you if he offers or you catch him at a good time.

prosciutto is very good at cooking, but though it's not that he's Uncreative, he's the kind of person who likes to follow the recipe without too much variance, so if you're looking for something that relies mostly on vibes for cooking it, he's probably not the most compatible for that dish. he's king of making do tho, he knows what works together and what you can substitute so he's amazing at working with a kitchen of odds and ends. for a lot of things, you should let prosciutto cook for you.

pesci is another amazing cook. he's really good at making food feel homey; if 'the secret ingredient is love' could be applied to anyone, it would be pesci. he's not really the one to go to for making something feel fancy because, while he doesn't eschew presentation entirely, it's just not what he thinks Makes a dish, and he's kind of right because his food is so damn good no matter what. similar to pros on recipe-following but a little more flexible, and can make simple things like soup Really Really fuckin good. you should absolutely let pesci cook for you.

formaggio is pretty good at cooking! takeout is always fun but homecooked food hits different in his opinion because, like pesci, it's about the love and effort. it's not always perfect but that's part of the beauty of it in his opinion, it has personality, it's a lil personal somethin somethin to reflect yourself or your family recipes or your friends that you're making it for. he just enjoys it, and he always makes things in big batches/portions b/c he's all about those leftovers that let the flavours meld together. let formaggio cook for you.

illuso is actually a great cook, largely by necessity of being rather reclusive and not wanting to rely solely on takeout or cheap shit. he's creative with it too, great at adding his own lil twists or flairs that just make u go oooh, can follow a recipe or vibes extremely well. the main thing is he usually cooks for himself unless it's his premeditated turn to make dinner or he's feeling generous; outside of that, you'll have to offer something in exchange and pay upfront (but don't worry once u make the deal he won't cut and run). if you have something to pay the Illuso Being Nice tax, you should absolutely let him cook for you.

melone is... not a very good cook. he gets a little too carried away with creative liberties and it just ends up fucking weird. sometimes he hits a sweet spot in experimenting where it's actually pretty good but most of the time you're just kind of like, what the fuck is going on in my mouth rn? baking is easier because it's an exact science, if you give him a set of instructions and tell him not to stray he won't. you can leave him with like, boxed pudding or cake mix and not much else. it's inadvisable to let melone cook for you.

ghiaccio is not a great cook either because he just gets frustrated and overwhelmed with the whole thing easily. if it has to be timed right? nope. burned by popping hot oil/water/steam? he'll hiss and grumble but then he has to keep watching the stove/holding the pot and ah fuck. if something goes wrong he's like WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE THAT and tries fixing it but then he has to do something else and it just spirals. it has to be very simple or very precise or both, because there is something about cooking that just does not click for him. don't let ghiaccio cook for you.

sorbet is an amazing cook. his learned cooking tradition is more on the exact side of things but he has both the craziness and finesse to make vibe-based dishes really well, and be creative without getting too out of hand. he can go fancy or homey, but everything he makes he does really well, because he finds it satisfying. he also just really enjoys taking care of those he's close to. and even if you're a target? he thinks poison is for pussies, so you're at least guaranteed a great meal before you're taken out. there are no downsides to letting sorbet cook for you.

gelato burns water and is less picky than a raccoon. doesn't bother with recipes unless it's right in front of him and his judgement for substituting/freeballing is terrible. time doesn't exist for this adhd king so everything is either under or overcooked. he will try making microwaved baked potatoes and says 'please i KNOW you have to stab holes in it so it doesn't explode 🙄' then puts it in for 12 minutes and makes the whole kitchen smell like burning for the next 48 hours. he's trustworthy with a few basic things he has memorized + has years of experience on or are impossible to fuck up, but otherwise, please don't let gelato cook for you.

[aliceblossoms]

The stationary series

Part II

GoodTimesWithScar and Iskall85

Synopsis: a series which depicts my view of what types of stationary each of the hermits would use, and how their office would look! To avoid a massive post, this has become a series. Under the headcanons of each hermit i’ve included a list of the stationary to use for reference. 

GoodtimeswithScar:

This man is an elf, and no matter what anyone says will pull out the most inconvenient and uncomfortable quill to write with whenever and wherever

He considers is bonus points to do it in front of other hermits, especially during the earlier parts of the season to establish his elven identity

It takes a while for him to upgrade his quill with some help from other hermits to a quill with a silver front piece decorated in elegant patterns while holding a whole lot more ink

It's more comfortable to write with, so he finds himself finding excuses to take some extra notes and use it more often

He doesn't mind how he needs to refill it more often than a regular fountain pen, and instead finds himself calmly enjoying the process

Taking joy in sitting down with a pot of ink to refill it, choosing the colour to write with for the upcoming days

He has a shelf dedicated to the different ink pots, where they are displayed, and he can look at it from his desk

Because of the many different coloured inks, he can keep apart the notes from the last month apart based on the colour of the writing alone

Therefore, it is no surprise he mostly selects ink based on their container, and prefers extravagant looking ink pots to display on numerous shelves

He likes picking colours of the same colour family per month or week

He spends a surprising amount at his desk, and therefore since he lives in a tree, he would have a desk made from a large oak tree cut along its length

The papers he has on it are roughly organized in piles in the corners of it, though he definitely has a small rack where the different quills he possesses are displayed so he can pick one for the day

Due to his impulsive nature, there aren't too many carefully laid out base plans to be found, as he mostly follows his feelings on a lot of it, instead his papers are about future shops he plans to build, or materials he may need

Due to his elven nature, he would try his best to incorporate more swirly lettering within his handwriting

Does take a while for it to become natural, but his handwriting has grown a lot neater as he does so

He also likes leaving a wax seal whenever he needs to leave notes for other messages instead of signing with his name

Due to his elven nature and because his starter base is a magical tree, it should not be a surprise that he chose a grand tree as his wax seal signature

From left to right: Diamine inkvent calander series ink pots, a green extravagant quill, a turquoise quill with a few sticks of wax to melt for a wax seal, a green wax seal with a golden tree, diamine anniversary inks in the shape of a pie.

Iskall85:

BIC pens.

That is it, he doesn't like to use any fountain pens despite loving the way they look

He will lose any and all pens that are on him, so instead he buys a fifty pack of BIC ballpoint pens to leave around everywhere so that no matter where he is, there will be one nearby

Has tried the other hermit's recommendations for pens but he's lost every single one of them

Does not like having a desk set up and instead prefers a wall with goals or achievements he'll work towards to, for which he has a pot of ink and brush stand beside it

Since he makes most plans on the go, and impulsively build, like he has done with most of his starter base this season, a desk or office wouldn't have much use

When he does feel the need to write something down, he'll either set a sign by his goal board, or he'll use any scrap piece of paper around

When he does use a paper, he'll tear off a piece if it is too large and he'll write up what he needs to do

He will carry that around until he's finished the task, and proceeds to burn the piece of paper (with delight)

When he is around other hermits and needs to write something down,     he will just ask to use whatever they have around

His BIC pens will spread to hermit's houses he visits often, as it starts with him just forgetting them sometimes and telling the hermit to just keep it around for when he is there next time

He will continuously lose pens as well, and though he has no clue where to, he will buy more BIC pens to replace the disappeared ones

For sketching new build ideas (when he even does so, since he likes  building impulsively and seeing where it takes him) he likes using a mechanical pencil

One of which can always be found around his living space, and he would consider it his favourite type of stationary

His handwriting, however, is scratchy, messy, and he does not really care much about it

Most hermits cannot quite decipher it without asking for some hints, especially since he integrates Swedish words in his notes

From left to right: Black indian ink with a paintbrush, two silver coloured mechanical pencils in the width .5 and .7, BIC pens, and notes made from scrap pieces of paper

[romanianwilkinson]

MONSTER CAMP QUOTES STARTERS

A collection of sentence starters from the game Monster Camp. Feel free to change words and pronouns as desired. CONTENT WARNING(S) FOR: Monster Prom/Monster Camp spoilers, suggestive, cursing, crude content

“ I just have it here because [NAME] insisted that I offer it, as a marketing stunt. ”

“ And lastly, super-horny-type players no longer get a charm buff against tsundere types! ”

“ War machines don’t turn me on or anything! ”

“ I don’t wanna be weird, but do you mind if I climb inside of you and play around with your main turret? ”

“ A wine to DIE for, you say? Well, darling, don’t threaten me with a good time! ”

“ This one just says ‘ hmu with that reaper dick, daddy ’. ”

“ You on your phone, as always! Probably making blogposts on your Tik Tok page. ”

“ Yeah, you really don’t want to witness a repeat of the last time [NAME]’s diehard fans went without a selfie for fifteen minutes. My tailbone still hasn’t completely healed. ”

“ Now hold still, this will only hurt for a moment --- ”

“ Yay! You found a shenanigan! ”

“ My poems all have two or three emotions in them, AT LEAST. ”

“ CRYING IS OBVIOUSLY A COMPETITION TO SEE WHO CAN SQUEEZE THE MOST WATER OUT OF THEIR EYES! ”

“ No way, really? The way to WIN at poetry is by LOSING at life? ”

“ I dunno, maybe fall in love with someone who’s married and develop an opioid addiction? ”

“ HELL YEAH, SPEEDRUN! ”

“ It’s morbid, but... kind of romantic? ”

“ GASP! Google+? Are you kidding me? The psychopaths behind that global tragedy are here?! ”

“ Prison has changed me, [NAME]. Would you like to trade me some cigarettes in exchange for my fundamental dignity? ”

“ Undermining the laws of reality, subverting life and death, that’s the kind of stuff my followers expect. But CHEATING? No way. ”

“ Though we are imprisoned in chalk jail, we are free in our hearts. But our hearts are also imprisoned in chalk jail. ”

“ Um, no, I am NOT groveling. I am posing a dignified query to [NAME] that just so happens to be performed on my hands and knees. ”

“ I didn’t know you condoned playing the friend card to get free labor, [NAME]. ”

“ Ah, but saving the world doesn’t put avocado toast on the table. We indie seancers and necromancers need to pay our rent too, you know. ”

“ And as you know, I am illustriously Internet-famous, so if you could shower me with adoration and give me the pizza that would be fabulous. ”

“ Do you wanna fuck the pizza or not? ”

“ Are you ready to go swimming? I must admit, darling, I’ve always wondered what you would look like while... wet.”

“ Did you turn this date into an orgy without consulting me? ”

“ Gosh, I love it when you insult me! Please do it more! ”

“ Now who wants to make a baby? ”

“ What if she puts a curse on me that makes me magically forget the location of the clitoris?! ”

“ Hey, don’t knock wacky decisions that endanger us all! That’s how I always manage to stay a step ahead of my nemeses! ”

“ Oh gods, I’ve killed so many monsters, just for being monsters. This is making me question my entire moral foundation. I NEED MORE THERAPY. ”

“ I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: fish give better pedicures than people! ”

“ You’re not tricking me into parenting a stupid egg. I’ve never fucked even ONE chicken! The egg is not my son! ”

“ You came to visit me at camp, Daddy! ”

“ Don’t be ridiculous, I know your brand of horny, [NAME], and this ain’t it. ”

“ I thought we both agreed to be nothing but vague and haughtily aloof about our past dalliances. ”

“ Point EAST, compass! EAAAAAAAAST! You dumb fuckboot!!!! POINT! EAST! ”

“ One time I was told a soul’s worst fear was bugs and I inadvertantly sent The Beatles. It happens to the best of us... And the worst of us. ”

“ SOMEDAY I SHALL DEFEAT YOUR FIVE STRANGE FEET! ”

“ Why do you keep suppressing your monster half? Embrace your true nature! ”

“ Wow. I didn't think this was possible, but I guess I was... wrong? About social media? Oh dear God, is this how grandparents feel?!?! Am I a GRANDPARENT?! ”

“ I don’t know! I was relying on my friends to cover up my bold and idiotic statement! ”

“ ... I ate the oars. ”

“ PSYCHE. The ocean can eat my ass. ”

“ So pucker up, [NAME]! I'm about to declare mouth war on your FACE! ”

“ YOU FOOLISHLY FOOLISH FOOL! You're showing our inexperience! YOUR HONOR, THE ENTIRE LEGAL TEAM PLEADS THE FIFTH! ”

“ That's right. I'm talking about a classic Transylvania Hot Tub, a Seth Brundle, and a REVERSE Reverse Romanian Wilkinson. ”

“ Sorry, I was in your ribcage seeing if I could use it to cut strips of crepe paper into confetti and then I got lost in your kidneys. ”

“ There's nothing sexier than a doomed romance between a dating sim player and a hot fictional character. ”

“ That's right! I secretly replaced one of you with a bear while no one was looking, to teach you a valuable lesson about the art of disguise! ”

“ Enchant my armor. I’m going into the lake. ”

“ For VIOLENCE REASONS! ” 

“ This stupid lake monster called me short the other day, but I was too low level to crush him like he deserved. ”

“ That dumb wet dinkhole won't know what hit him! But it will be me! I will hit him! ”

“ No, YOU'RE a fuckshark! Also, what does that even mean?! ”

“ You seriously didn't notice the enormous needles those interns jabbed into your veins as soon as [NAME] got here? “

“ It all makes sense! The Camp Dome is just an elaborate ploy to distract us from the giant mouth that eats campers! “

“ This is the BEST show I've ever seen in my life, which is now at an end! “

“ Am I high, or did he just tell us EXACTLY how to foil his evil scheme? “

“ What, like a few severed heads and visions of my grandpa screaming in horrendous pain are gonna freak me out? Where I'm from, you can buy that stuff at IKEA. “

“ ERROR: Due to the sixth mass extinction, the slaying of leprechauns is inadvisable. “

“ Then why do I have half-finished scarves, decoupage, pot-holders, friendship bracelets, and a taxidermied rabbit in my skeleton? “

“ The wang elemental. ”

“ I also have an uncle who works at Nintendo as a copy machine! “

“ What flavor of ice cream AM I?! Now I gotta know. HA! You know what I should be? 'Pistachio.' Because my outside is HARD, but I'm full of NUT. “

“ I mean, life is a bit like... this sandwich! No, stay with me, I'm going somewhere good with this. “

“ A survival situation without any sexy fun time isn't worth surviving in the first place. “

“ Rut the RUCK?! ”

“ The ' ambulance of the heart ' is just a regular ambulance! Ambulances treat all organs! ”

“ Yeah, that's why I made sure that my so-called ' emotional armor ' was also ' actual armor '. “

“ And being yourself is the key to living your dreams, which is the key to self actualization, which is the key to being really good at sex! “

“ So hot I'd buy that even without free shipping. 10/10, call me some time. “

“ Hi, quick question: does it count as kidnapping if I'm abducting you so you can help me do a thing you already agreed to help with? “

“ I could be wrong, but are you just upset because you DON'T have a skeleton that's inside your body? “

“ I'm gonna get SO FUCKING RELAXED MY HEAD WILL EXPLODE! “

“ Whoah, whoa, hold up. You're fucking my grandma? “

“ No, [NAME], that is a popcorn bag full of more dynamite. Put it down. “

“ I hear that at least 70% of people on Patreon aren't murderers! “

“ If you want cash, just rob banks like the rest of us! “

“ Did it work? Do you feel any less horny? ”

“ FUCK YEAH, LET'S PUNCH THAT MOUTH IN ITS MOUTH! “

“ Yes... incidentally, we are no longer allowed to enter Italy. “

“ Is anyone else turned on right now? ”

“ Yes! Yes! I know what you're feeling! I suddenly see how marrying a corpse isn't okay! “

“ JUST LET ME IMPROVE YOUR SELF ESTEEM, MORTAL! “

“ Look, choose whatever you want, but I'm not responsible for whatever you put in your mouth. ”

[squiiids]

Gut Punch (A game accurate way, and an actually decent way)

"It's supposed to mean "a punch made of innards", but the name actually described what you feel while drinking it."

So this drink was a pain in the ass to make. It's easy enough to throw together some stuff that feels like a fist making contact with your gut, especially when you're working with high proof stuff. I coulda just mixed some straight rye, 151 proof rum, and a glug of absinthe just to make you really hate yourself, but the problem with that lies in the name and flavor text of the drink. It's a punch. There's a series of rules on what to put in it, and what sort of flavor you should be looking for. So, I took the basis of every punch, the classic 17th century recipe in the form of a poem (one part sour, two parts sweet, three parts strong, four parts weak) improvised up a few less traditional ingredients, rebalanced until it tasted right and came up with the following:

Gut Punch as Game Accurate as I Could Manage

1/2 oz lemon juice

1 oz Gut Stock* (recipe under the cut)

1.5 oz Rye Whiskey

1.5 oz Arrack

3-4 dashes Angostura bitters

Shake and pour into an Old Fashioned glass over crushed ice, Add a generous shake of cinnamon and serve.

Gut Punch if it were a decent drink

1/2 oz lime juice

1 oz oleo-saccharum**

1.5 oz dark rum

2 oz Gut Stock* (recipe under the cut)

2 dashes orange bitters

Shake and pour into an Old Fashioned glass over crushed ice. Grate some nutmeg on top and serve

So hey! there's some weird ingredients in there, and I'm gonna talk about em and how to actually make em in a bit, but first let's talk flavors. For starters the game accurate version. Don't make this. It is very accurate to the sensation of a gut punch. There is the initial shock of impact, followed by a slow, dreadful bitterness that has you gagging. Have more than a couple in rapid succession, and you're viable to throw up from the experience.

The second version? It's sweet, loaded with citrus flavor, the bitterness and the sweetness play well together with a drink that is no doubt good for a hot sunny day, which we're moving into as the seasons are changing. Those funky ingredients, oleo-saccharum and Gut Stock, as I called em? I'm definitely gonna have them stocked up in my fridge. In fact, both of them are a good way to keep you from wasting your citrus.

But what ARE both of them exactly? That, as well as how to make em i'm gonna talk about under a read more, since this is already long as hell

So to start off, the name Gut Punch got me thinking. It is supposedly a "punch made of innards", but what innards could they be talking about? Ignoring the less pleasant ideas that this is a mixed drink that somehow uses sweetbread or tripe, I opted to instead interpret this as the guts of an ingredient you would *expect* in a punch, citrus fruits. If you ever work in a bar that uses fresh juice and twists, you know that you're gonna wind up with tons of little juiced and peeled fruity husks that you'll just throw out otherwise. and THAT was my inspiration for the star of this drink, the aforementioned Gut Stock.

But first, I wanna talk Oleo-Saccharum, cuz thats a weird, kinda uncommon ingredient, but it is a really simple one, actually. It's basically sweetened citrus oils that you get by covering muddled peels in sugar, waiting a day, and straining em out. I don't want to waste too much time on this, because other people have talked about this, and better than I'm capable of doing, so you could find a solid recipe for this stuff by searching around.

On the other hand, I'm the only person in the world who knows what the heck i'm talking about when i say the words "Gut Stock" and it's really simple, actually. It was my mission to use every last piece of your citrus fruits reaching the final stage

Gut Stock

combine the pith and pulp of 6 juiced and peeled citrus fruits with 4 cups of water and bring to a boil

lower the heat to a medium-low, and simmer for 45 minutes, when finished, strain out the fruits and pulp.

That's really all it takes, and what's this taste like? The best way to describe it is creeping bitterness. When you take your first sip, it'll taste vaguely like the juice of the fruits it came from, but that gets very quickly overwhelmed by the taste of pure citrus pith. It's not entirely unpleasant, though, as curiosity got the better of me when I mixed it in with the usual punch fixings, and I gotta say, this beats out thinning your punch with water any day of the week. Bitter citrus is frigging amazing when properly sweetened, and this junk is a really nice way to showcase it. Plus it isn't hard to make, and if you mix a lot of drinks, you'll probably already have some juiced fruits on hand. May as well save em and throw them into a stock pot to make a gimmick drink every now and again.

[plaidbooks]

“You know, if I had known you were coming today I would have done a little more to, ya know, set up.” With the boiis something to do where reader shows up early for a date or unexpectedly?

These all take place after the quote is said. I’m also going with early for a date, so y/n is expected.

Rafael: You laugh, taking in his spotless loft. Like his office at work, everything was in its place; it was obviously lived in, but still cleaner than any living space you’ve seen.

“It’s fine, Raf--I’m here for you. Plus, I already like what I see.” You give him an obvious up-and-down look.

He smirks at you, leading you in to his dining area. “Let me set the mood,” he murmurs, kissing your hand. He lowers the lights with his dimmer, setting candles and a glass of wine in front of you.

He pulls your chair out for you, and then he’s off to the kitchen, delicious smells emanating for inside.

Sonny: He’s in a dress-shirt and slacks, his hair neatly gelled back. You smile at him, telling him he looks perfect. His neck and ears turn pink as he gestures you inside. He had set up a dinner table by a wall, fairy lights on and soft music playing.

“W-what would you have done with more time?” you ask in awe.

“Well, I have more lights, and some wine and dinner would be ready and--”

You cut him off with a kiss, whispering that it looks lovely.

“Not as lovely as you, doll.”

Nick: You’re confused--he has rose petals everywhere, Barry White playing softly, wine on the table, and candles burning. Everything looks perfect, including Nick, in a shirt with top buttons undone and nice slacks.

“What do you mean you’d have done a little more?” you breathe, moving into the space.

He chuckles. “Well, for starters, dinner would be done. Plus, I had some other ideas, but now, seeing you standing here, I realize that the only thing I was missing was you.”

Your heart flutters, and he leads you to your seat, handing you a glass of wine.

Mike: After he opened the door, he was heading right back to the kitchen, making sure he didn’t burn dinner. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable!”

You look around his apartment, trying to gain as much information on him as you could--you wanted to know everything about Mike.

You joined him in the kitchen, watching him stir a sauce pot. “Sorry it’s not ready yet--”

“It’s fine, Mike. I got here early,” you reply. He turned to you fully, smiling at you with soft eyes. As if from some unspoken agreement, you both came together, and Mike swayed around his kitchen with you, waiting for dinner to finish cooking.

Peter: He gestures for you to come in, then hurries around, snatching things to put away. It’s not that his loft is dirty, but he wanted to make sure it was spotless before you had shown up. You could see a dining table in the next room, a table cloth on it, and the makings of a setup done. There was an unopened bottle of wine, two glasses, and candles still wrapped in plastic on top of the cloth.

“I’m...so sorry this isn’t ready yet,” Peter mutters, quickly ripping the plastic off the candles and placing them in the holder.

“It’s fine, babe. I’m a little early--”

“A lady is never early. She arrives just when she should,” he replied, tossing you a grin.

You smile at him. “Anything I can help with?”

“No--go ahead and make yourself comfortable while I get dinner ready.”

But instead of sitting at the table, you follow him to the kitchen. He grins again at you as you watch him chopping ingredients. You hop onto his counter, watching him work, and he comes over to sneak a kiss every now and again.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Ginger Snap, Chapter 5

A/N  Know what this fic needs?  More Geillis.  No really, I think you guys are going to like where I’m going with this.   Just bear with me.   Only one more chapter to go after this one, plus an epilogue.   Thanks for coming on the journey with me!  With due credit to Sia, this chapter’s title is Fire, Meet Gasoline.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

Geillis Duncan drove much the way she approached life, which was to say without much regard for rules and at white-knuckle speed.  I gripped her Range Rover’s leather cushion and swallowed any exclamations of dismay as we ricocheted through Edinburgh’s late afternoon traffic.  When we finally slid into an underground parking spot and emerged into the bustling festivity of the Princes Street Christmas Market, I felt the tension of imminent disaster abandon my shoulders.

“Where to first, then?” Geillis asked, looking far too animated by the prospect of accompanying someone while they did their Christmas shopping.

Geillis and I had kept in touch and met for coffee a few times over the past months.  When I explained that I wouldn’t be taking any more cooking classes at Ginger Snap because Jamie was giving me at-home lessons, her reaction was a moonbeam grin.

“Look at ye, wee vixen!  I ne’er wouldha thought ye had it in ya, Claire.  Tho I canna say as I blame ye.”

No matter how much I protested that I was together with Frank and that my relationship with Jamie was purely professional, she refused to believe me.  The ongoing absence of a ring from my left hand didn’t help.

“Now,” Geillis exclaimed once we’d taken in the sights and sounds of the market, “let’s have a keek at yer list.  Where should we start?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the Notes app.  As she read, my friend’s nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Trouser socks, shoe stays, Moleskine notebook, Rive Gauche...  who are ye shopping for, yer grandparents?”

“No,” I protested.  “The first three are for Frank.  The perfume is for me.”

When I explained that Frank had made a list of the items he would like to give me for Christmas, Geillis grew incensed.

“Ye mean he has ye doin’ his gift buying fer him?  Tha’s the least romantic thing I’ve e’er heard.  Do ye even like Rive Gauche, Claire?  And dinna lie tae me, fer I can read yer feelings all o’er yer face.”

Truthfully, I didn’t much care for the flowery scent.  My personal taste ran more towards woodsy or herbaceous aromas.  But it was Frank’s favourite, and it pleased me to please him.  Or it had.  I was beginning to wonder when it would be my turn to please myself.

“Right,” Geillis interrupted my thoughts.  “Marks and Sparks will do jes fine for yer wee granny list.   And then you and I are going shopping fer yer real gift.”

Geillis was a force to be reckoned with in a retail environment.  She navigated like a guided missile from one department to the next.   Twenty minutes later, we were back on the pavement, which glistened with the colourful reflections of decorations strung above.

“Your car is the other way,” I explained as Geillis turned left.

“Aye, tis, but our destination is right o’er here.  House of Fraser.  See?  Tis practically calling yer name, Claire.”

Inside the venerable old building was an astonishing multi-tiered arcade reaching over five stories to a massive skylit ceiling.  The central space was dominated by a fifteen metre-high Christmas tree (a Fraser fir, of course) and every archway of every arcade was dripping with lights.  The impression was like stepping into a Fabergé egg.

Geillis dragged me, slack-jawed, towards the ladies’ wear section.  Circling the racks like a hawk on the wind, she eyed my body, sizing me up quite literally, then thrust several pieces into my hands.

“Geillis,” I hissed, wary of the sales staff hovering nearby, no doubt smelling an excessive commission in the offing.  “I don’t need a new outfit.  And I certainly don’t need,” I shook the garments in question, “something like this.  Wherever would I wear it?”

“Well, fer starters, ye’d wear it tae dinner t’night.  I dinna wish tae offend ye, Claire, but I canna in good conscience allow ye tae set foot in the Timberyard dressed fer a job interview as a primary school teacher.”

With that she shoved me in the direction of the changing rooms.  Deciding to humour her, I was unbuttoning my top when two lacy bits of nothing came flying over the door.

“Start wi’ these.  And dinna think I willna notice if ye’re no’ wearing them!”

I stripped down to my panties, bemusedly wondering how she knew my exact bra size. 

Upon seeing me exit the dressing room in her choice of clothing, Geillis let out a squeal of delight.   She insisted I rip out the tags and leave the store wearing my new outfit, declaring it was her Christmas gift to me.  

I felt tremendously self-conscious as we walked towards the restaurant.  The aubergine velvet jeans clung to my legs in an unfamiliar way and the black turtleneck, while technically not revealing, hinted at kink with its many heavy zippers and fastenings.  Together with my unruly hair, unstraightened for once, I felt like another woman entirely.  I didn’t recognize her, but I felt like she might be someone I’d like to get to know.

The Timberyard was a modern restaurant in a rugged old warehouse, not far from the farmer’s market I’d visited with Jamie.  We were joined there by several of Geillis’ friends, and we ate, drank and laughed until my sides were sore. 

As I wobbled to the loo, I noticed the bartender following me with an appreciative gaze.  It had been a long time since a man had looked at me that way, and it gave me a guilty thrill.

We left the restaurant just before midnight. I pulled Geillis into an impulsive hug.

“Wha’ was that for, hen?” she asked.

“Nothing.  Everything.  Just, thank you for being you, Geil.”

“Och, tis my pleasure, lass.  I only want tae see ye happy.  Now, what do ye say to a digestif?”

After only a slight protest on my part, the two of us piled into an Uber.  Our destination was another restaurant, this time in a converted whisky warehouse by the harbour in Leith.  It was well past last sitting, but when I mentioned this to Geillis she explained away my concern. 

“I ken the owner, who’s also the chef.  Tis a popular spot fer locals in the restaurant scene tae meet after they close up fer a few drinks afore heading home tae their beds.”

Inside, the walls were rough stone, supported in places by industrial metal beams.  The kitchen was open to the main dining area, and I grinned as I thought of Frank’s strong opinion on the matter.  Near the back of the room, lit by dim naked bulbs and the glow from several open fireplaces, was a huge square table surrounded by nearly twenty chairs upholstered in bright yellow plaid.  Around the table was gathered a motley assortment of men and women, all talking and laughing and sipping on a variety of drinks.  And in their midst, his copper hair shining in the firelight, sat Jamie.

A shout went up from the table as Geillis approached.  I hung back, tugging at the hem of my new turtleneck as though I could stretch it to cover my arse.  Besides Jamie, I recognized Jenny, Angus and Murtagh, but I only had eyes for the big ginger chef.  He sat at one corner, probably in deference to his long legs which were stretched out before him, wrapped in black denim.  A black leather jacket hung over the chair behind him.  He looked dangerous.  It was a very good look for him.

Dragging me by the elbow, Geillis nudged and bumped Angus to one side despite his vulgar protests, then practically pushed me down into the chair directly next to the chef.  With a smug smile of satisfaction, she then retired to the opposite side of the table.

I looked anywhere but directly at Jamie, but I could feel his butane eyes on me.  I was certain he would scorch right through my outer layers and down to where Geillis’ choice in lingerie burned against my tender skin.  The noise from the rest of the table faded away.

“Ye look bonnie t’night, Arsonist.”  His voice was low and gruff and it sent a quickening through my veins.

“Thank you, Jamie. It was Geillis’ Christmas gift to me, and I feel, well... let’s just say it isn’t my usual look.”

“It suits ye, I think.”  He reached out and lightly touched the silver tab of a zipper that ended near my wrist, setting it swinging.  I swallowed and looked frantically around.  Several open bottles of liquor stood nearby. Grabbing the nearest one, I poured myself a generous serving and knocked it back, all in one go.  I tried to steady my breathing.

“Look, Jamie...”

Just then a blond man in chef’s whites called to Jamie from across the table.  An exchange involving a lot of Scottish cursing and an off-colour reference to someone’s lobster pot ensued.  I tried to convince myself I needed to leave.  It was late, I was half-drunk, and whatever I intended to say to Jamie should definitely wait for another moment.  Maybe never.

A hand on my thigh broke my preoccupation.

“Sorry, Arsonist, ye were sayin’ something?”

I wet my lips, frantically trying to recall anything but the feeling of Jamie’s strong fingers, stroking me through the velvet of my jeans.

“I...”

At that moment, the woman on Jamie’s far side broke into song.  The rest of the table cheered and clapped along, and it was impossible to hear anything except the concussive pounding of my heart against my eardrums.

Jamie grabbed my clammy hand.

“Come wi’ me,” he instructed, grabbing our outerwear and pulling me towards the door.  Geillis watched our departure with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

Outside the air was dense and cold, a briny slap after the stuffy warmth of the restaurant.  Jamie obviously had a destination in mind, and we walked hand-in-hand along the cobbled streets for several minutes before finally emerging at the port.  A jetty struck out into the inky sea, and it was there that we ended up.  Besides a few gulls and the winking of a nearby lighthouse, we were all alone.  The sodium street lights caught Jamie’s curls and made them burn.

“Forgive me, Arsonist.  I couldna hear myself think in there.  Tho, come tae think of it, tis no’ much better now.”  Rather than release me, as he spoke Jamie stroked my hand, running calloused fingers over each vein and every knuckle.  I don’t think he even realized he was doing it, but it stole every thought from my head.

“No ring,” he remarked, stroking the finger in question.

“No,” I whispered in response.  

And then it burst out of me, like a tidal wave of feeling that I never saw coming.  I told him everything.  My childhood roaming the globe with my uncle, pre-occupied and rootless, dreaming of stability.  Meeting Frank at Harvard, and realizing that he represented all the things that my life to date had lacked: structure, security, a solid foundation, a home.  And how it took moving to Scotland and coming into contact with a group of near-strangers to make me realize that the price I had paid for that stability was higher than I’d ever imagined.  I’d given up my dream of becoming a doctor. I’d become so lost in Frank’s vision of who I should be that I’d almost lost sight of who I actually was.

By the time the flood of words left me, I was in Jamie’s arms, crying into his leather jacket.  He hushed me with quiet murmurs and languorous stroking of my hair, as one would a child who has woken from a nightmare.

I stepped out of his embrace and rubbed my sleeve across my face.  I must have looked an absolute mess, but he still watched me with those earnest, patient eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I began, “I don’t know what...”

“Claire,” he interrupted.  I’d never before realized just how many consonants were in my given name.  “Ye dinna need tae apologize tae me.  But ye may want tae consider an apology tae yerself.”  At my raised eyebrow, he continued.

“I’m no’ the kind of man tae tell another what they should and shouldna do.  But ye strike me as someone who’s made decisions fer the right reasons, yet ended up in the wrong place.”  Here he paused, as though carefully weighing his words.  “There’s no sin in changin’ yer mind, Arsonist.  Tis very well tae be hungry, so long as ye ken what ye hunger for.”

“And what do you hunger for, James Fraser?”  The provocative words had left my lips before I had the chance to censor them.  His answer came in the form of a blistering look that left no doubt as to its meaning.  Then he gathered himself, banking the fire I’d unconsciously ignited.

“Many things.  Regular, ordinary things, mostly.  My family’s health and happiness.  A faster bike.  My own restaurant.”

“Like Tom’s there?” I asked, gesturing towards the harbour.

“Och, Tom is a braw chef, and worthy o’ every accolade tha’s been showered upon him.  But the hospitality scene in Edinburgh is cut-throat, an’ suitable locations cost a fortune.  Nah, Jenny and I want tae buy back our childhood home in the Highlands.  Tis called Lallybroch, and when our Da passed, our Mam sold it tae her brother.  We’d turn it inta a country inn, wi’ Jenny running the lodging side o’ things and I the dining.  Tha’s the dream anyway,” he ended with a shrug.

I rested my hand on his forearm.  “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jamie.”

Before he could reply, an enormous yawn burst from my lungs.

“Time tae get ye home tae yer bed, Arsonist,” Jamie grinned.   “Come, I’ll give ye a ride.”

“Wait, haven’t you been drinking?” I inquired as we walked back down the jetty.

“Three years sober,” he explained with no hint of embarrassment.  “I went somewhere pretty dark after my Mam died, an’ it took a near-fatal crash tae scare me straight.”  His eyes squinted in a poor approximation of a wink as he added, “Besides, there are better ways tae chase a rush than in the bottom of a bottle.”

“Such as?” I asked brazenly.

Which was how I found myself on the back on a black motorcycle, my arms twined around Jamie’s waist.  Rather than take me directly home, he steered us north, following the coast.  It was very late, with hardly another vehicle about.  We merged onto the motorway, and Jamie picked up speed.  My thighs tightened around his lean hips, the vibration of the motor beneath us shivering up my spine.  As we emerged beneath the hastate lights of the Queensferry Bridge, I stretched my arms wide, icy air ripping against the sleeves of my jacket.  I laughed, although no-one could hear me.  I yelled, and only the wind yelled back.  I was flying.

***

It was nearly dawn when Jamie pulled up in front of my flat.  My legs thrummed, my eyes were dry with fatigue, and my heart ached, but I felt better than I could ever remember.  I handed Jamie back his spare helmet and shook out my curls.  He watched me in that half-sleepy, half-vigilant way of his that I now recognized as desire.

“I don’t know what I could ever say to thank you, Jamie.”

“Ye needn’t say anything at all, Arsonist.  Nae matter what ye decide, it has been my very great honour tae get tae know you.”

Without another word, he kick-started the engine and drove off into the early morning mist.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his vanishing shadow.

***

The lamp above the couch was lit, and Frank lay still beneath its glow.  I realized he had fallen asleep waiting for me to come home.  Instead of regret, what I felt in that moment was pity.

The sound of my jacket being unzipped woke him.  He blinked in confusion and then in shock.

“I’m very sorry if you were worried,” I began.

“Worried?  Do you have any idea what time it is?  My God, Claire, I don’t know what to make of you these days.  You’ve never behaved irresponsibly before, and now you’re out at all hours and you’re wearing,” he gestured wildly with his hand at my new outfit which I had, quite honestly, forgotten I was wearing.  “And your hair, Claire!” he finished, as though the manic state of my curls was definitive evidence of my fall from grace.  Despite my exhaustion, I stood tall.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

[thunderous-shogun]

Sentence Starters. // Accepting.

@kanedoji​ -  ’it can’t get much worse.’

Being ever still in urban setting, within her residence mostly, its often easy for the Shogun to forget more natural sceneries, Amakane was no exception. Though the festive air was hard to miss, its still been a long since last setting foot here.

To think some piece of paper, led one such as themselves here. Its peculiar, to say the least, though not voicing it. After all, better choice canditates could have been accumulated to partake in this... drum event, if Ei recall correctly. 

Thoughts aside, ‘pon hearing what is divulged by the Oni, violet hues looked away from the cooking pot, from what she attempted doing, if one could call it an attempt...

No, nevermind, certainly not what can be viewed as attempt. As per usual, something foul is born. Nothing smelt good about the Tonkotsu Ramen bowl. 

‘‘Surely i have followed the requirements?’‘, regarding the recipe instructions. Ei became well aware of how little skill she has when it comes to cooking. Desserts was more manageable for them, thankfully. 

Ah, she really should have gone for dango. However, the needed ingredients were lacking. 

‘‘I’m quite sure i have read instructions but i digress. This cannot be eaten’‘, well, for Itto’s pals, for their stomaches’s safeties.