#Can I eat garlic and onion together?

[khulkarjiyo]

Onion soup benefits (All what you need to know)

There aren’t many foods in the world of food that can compare to the love and satisfaction provided by a steaming bowl of onion soup. More than just a meal, onion soup is a soothing embrace for the soul, a reminder of the warmth of home-cooked food, and an example of the magic that can be created from a simple vegetable. How do I make classic onion soup? Onion soup benefits To make classic…

[queerlyglittering]

turns out I am not a big fan of plain rice by itself. But Rice with Stuff In It? oh HELL yeah

[edwardslostalchemy]

Okay okay okay okay so what I've noticed about some cooking videos I've watched, the person cooking only uses salt and pepper to season their food. And i mean, nothing wrong with that, but. SPICE things up ohmgggg there's so many spices and herbs to give flavor to food, I'm begging people to use more things other than salt and pepper.

Like I saw a video of someone cooking salmon. Only used salt and pepper. And I'm here like. That is your prerogative, but make use of other spices.

This is how I prepare salmon: either add the juice of an orange or a lemon to give it some good marinade. You can use both citrus fruits if you want, but I use whichever is available in my basket or I pick one over the other to change things up.

Next, I get my spices. I am not into hot foods, so I don't add any hot peppers or hot sauce. But I love certain spices. I add cumin, garlic powder, ground pepper, lemon pepper, and onion powder, in that order. Let the salmon rest for a bit. Then cook it on a pan with oil. It takes like 4-5 minutes to cook each side of the salmon, maybe a bit more depending on your stove, but I don't leave it for too long so it doesn't burn, and I check to see if it's cooked all the way by cutting it in half with my spatula because in this house, we care more about food being fully cooked over aesthetic. My dad brings out the hot sauce, the home made salsa mom makes, and the tartar sauce, and we can add those on the side so we don't cover the salmon with sauces after plating.

It tastes amazing. You don't even have to add the sauces at the end for it to taste good. I use ground pepper, but I never add salt. I don't recall ever pulling out the salt container to add it to salmon. Lemon pepper already has sodium and it gives it good flavor. I do NOT put limits on how much spice i add to the salmon; I put as much of each as I want and feel comfortable. Cumin can have a deliciously overwhelming smell and ground pepper makes me sneeze, but heck if I don't add them.

Sometimes if I feel fancy, i add oregano or parsley flakes, or cut onion and cook it with the salmon so it can give it flavor, too. I've added honey to it when my roommate suggested it. If I want the salmon to be a little red, I add paprika. Sometimes i just go HAM and add some more spices i have in my pantry. Give it flavor!!!

Don't stay in the same cycle of cooking. This is one reason it can become boring. Make it exciting. Idk about others, but only using salt and pepper is boring to me. I will use steak seasoning if it means using something new and different (and I have steak seasoning in my pantry, I will use it). Rub some cilantro on the salmon or some parsley or marinade it over night. SOMETHING. Just don't limit yourselves to salt and pepper.

[texas-gothic]

Dracula Daily Prep: Gather Your Paprikash!

It's that time of year again. Even as we speak, Jonathan Harker has departed for Transylvania, and the unhallowed halls of Castle Dracula. And as he makes his way towards that foreboding country, he will encounter a singular, most enticing of dishes: Paprika Hendl, or as we might know it better, Chicken Paprikash!

This traditional Central European dish explodes in popularity each May as we all gather around our virtual mess hall to enjoy the spirit of this most influential of gothic novels. Perhaps you yourself are considering throwing together a pot this year? Well, if you are, let this be your guide.

So, first, let's discuss the most important of the ingredients here: authentic hungarian paprika. Now, the recipe I first used last year called only for Sweet Paprika, but I personally found that version to be a little bland. I'm remedying this by adding some Hot Paprika as well. However, this is just my personal experimentation. Hungarian Hot Paprika can in fact be very hot, so if you're not comfortable with anything too spicy, feel free to opt only for the Sweet Paprika.

(Both of these I had to order online.)

Next, is another very important addition. As youre gathering your basic cornerstones of cooking (namely yellow onion, roma tomato, and garlic for this recipe) you may find yourself passing up on something that could vastly improve your dish. I'm talking, of course, about Hungarian Wax Peppers. These peppers range in heat, from meak and mild to slightly hotter than you'd average jalapeño. As per instruction, you should only use one. But on my end, I found the single pepper to be a little underwhelming, and I had trouble picking out it's flavor. So, this year, I'll be using two of them.

I got these from Central Market, an upmarket gorcer on Westheimer. They're a cousin of HEB, and you can find one or two in every major city in Texas. If you're elsewhere, try an alternative like Whole Foods, or try to find a European or International food market in your area.

Next, let's talk chicken. You can't have Chicken Paprkiash without the chicken, after all.

You're going to want to go with dark meat cuts for this. Traditionally the dish would use a mix of legs and thighs. Personally, I suggest using only the thighs, which you'll want to get bone-in and skin-on. The thigh provides a flater surface for browning than the leg, as well as more meat.

(A note on food safety, raw chicken will usually only last 2-3 days in the fridge. So you'll want to grab that fairly close to the day you're actually cooking this. If not, you can do what I'll be doing, and sticking it in the freezer until about 24 hours before I start cooking.)

So, as you gather your meat, produce, and spice you're probably asking yourself, "what on Earth am I going to be eating this with?" And the answer to that is spaetzle! A popular dumpling present in lots of Central European cooking, this is exactly what you need to tie this all together.

Now, while you should be able to find some in the international isle of most major grocers, you might also have to visit an international food store, or perhaps something more upmarket. If none of these options work, then there are a variety of other side dishes that work just as well. Egg noodles are a very popular choice, and in my very American attempt last year, I found that mashed potatoes work especially well.

Now that you've got all these things together, you're very nearly done. All that's left is the thickener. Paprikash is thickened using a blend of flour, heavy whipping cream, and sour cream. We'll get onto preparing this mixture in my post on actually cooking the paprikash, but until then, acquiring them should be a cake walk at any place food items are sold.

Now that will conclude the actual grocery list for just the Paprikash itself, but I do have one more pointer on how to really liven up this meal. Now, if you're under 21 or if perhaps you take after our dear, depraved, beloathed Count

Then you can skip this next bit. As a wine professional myself, I find that a well paired glass can add a tremendous flare to nearly any already great dinner. In the case of something like Chicken Paprkiash, and keeping with the Central European theme, I could hardly think of a better match than a good German Pinot Noir, also known as a Spatburgunder. Pinot from Germany typically has a very light body and a refreshing acidity that plays very well with the rich and creamy sauce of Chicken Paprikash. The palate of earth and red fruit should always pair nicely with the smoke of the paprika, as well as being a general good partner for any chicken. I myself am going with this 2020 Rheingau from August Kesseler.

And with that, we are done! Hit those checkout isles and make sure to get home before dark. Terrible things have sway over the world once the sun has gone down. So if the crowd does keep you locked up until nightfall, make sure to graciously accept any crucifixes given to you by kindly, elderly grandmothers and inn keepers. But whatever you do, make sure to pop in on Friday, when I'll be sharing a step by step guide on taking these ingredients and turning them into a dinner that will make our good friend Jonathan go red as a fire truck!

Happy Dracula Week everybody!

[sincerestlove]

Kitchen Cravings - E.P.

i couldn't get this out of my head so i had to write it. please let me know what you think - i’d love to start writing more frequently for emily and jj - if anyone is interested, please let me know.

i hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ - MEN & MINORS DNI.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, washing the bedroom in a faint glow. You and Emily had just finished round four? Five? You lost count after 2, barely able to think nor speak coherently. You were now cuddled up together, Emily brushing her warm fingertips gently up and down your spine as you drew lazy shapes into the soft skin of her chest.

"Hey, baby, are you hungry yet?"

Emily hums at your question, and she takes a moment to consider. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until now, but after you mention it, she can feel her stomach rumbling. "Yeah, I am, actually. Why, you thinking about food?"

"Mhm, since we haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Yeah, I guess we have been pretty busy..." The brunette smiles slyly and leans in to whisper in your ear. "You know what I'm craving right now, love?"

"Hm?"

Emily's voice is low and sultry as she speaks, her lips brushing against your ear. "You." She grins and nibbles playfully at your earlobe, her hand moving down to rest on your hip.

You groan dramatically, nudging her legs with your foot. "Back, you sex heathen. You wore me out."

Your wife grins at your words, feeling a sense of satisfaction at being able to exhaust you so thoroughly. She runs her fingers along your side, enjoying the feeling of the soft skin under her hands. "I did, huh? Well, I suppose I should make sure you get something to eat.”

"Yes, please. Your wife is hungry."

Emily laughs, feeling a surge of affection for you. She plants a quick kiss on your forehead, then pushes back the covers and climbs out of bed. You can’t help but drag your eyes along her naked form, muscles straining as she stretches her arms over her head. Her dark hair was mused and slightly tangled from all of the tugging you were doing on it, lips a pretty pink and swollen. She tugs a loose, large t-shirt over her head, the hem falling just above her knees. “Okay, love. I'll head down to the kitchen and whip something up for you. Any special requests?"

You shrug nonchalantly. “I’ll come with you. I like watching you cook." You yawn, before standing up and putting on your silky black lounge robe, tying it loosely in the front. Slivers of your skin were exposed, Emily’s eyes greedily taking in every inch. “And I’m fine with anything, baby."

She takes your hand, leading you both out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen. "Perfect. I love when you keep me company in the kitchen."

Once you enter, Emily leaves you at the counter and starts opening the cabinets and fridge, taking stock of the food you both have on hand. She turns, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Hmm, let's see... Do you feel like something light, or something more substantial? How hungry are you?"

"Well, you made me come like five times, so, yeah, I could eat something substantial.”

Emily laughs loudly. "I can work with that. How does pasta sound? I've got a recipe for a spicy tomato sauce that I've been wanting to try out."

"Sounds perfect."

Emily nods, feeling pleased that her idea has been approved by her hungry wife. She starts rummaging through the kitchen, gathering the ingredients she needs. "Okay, pasta it is. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Sit there and look pretty while I cook."

You grin. "I think I can do that."

Emily laughs, loving the way you respond to her teasing. She sets up a pot of water to boil, then starts chopping up onions and garlic to sauté in a pan. You watch as she moves effortlessly around the kitchen, chopping the vegetables with skill and ease. "Of course you can. You're very good at looking pretty, love." She says, shooting you a wink over her shoulder.

"Yeah? You think I'm pretty?"

Emily turns to face you, her gaze roaming over your face and figure. Her expression is tender and affectionate, almost reverent, a small smile on her lips. "Absolutely. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You coo at her sweet words, her smile turning a little more intense, eyes lingering on your form. The way you look wrapped up in that loose robe, bare legs exposed, is very distracting. Emily feels the stirring of desire flare up in her stomach, but she does her best to push it down and focus on the task at hand.

She turns back to the stove, where the onions and garlic are sizzling away in the pan. She takes a deep breath, trying to focus her mind completely on cooking and ignore the distraction of her very attractive and very accessible wife sitting just a few feet away in a very thin robe.

She starts adding tomatoes, marinara and spices to the pan, stirring and mixing them in. She can feel your eyes on her back, and it's getting increasingly difficult for her to maintain her focus instead of turning around and pushing you against the counter.

"The, um, the water should be boiling soon. I'll add the pasta in and then the food will be ready." Emily stumbles slightly over her words, glancing over her shoulder to see you already staring, grinning at her like a cheshire cat. Your head rests casually on your hand, eyes dragging slowly down Emily’s form. There’s a twinkle in your eyes, one that she knows too well.

The pot of water starts boiling, and Emily takes it as an opportunity to turn away from you and pour the pasta into the colander, successfully draining the water, before adding it to the saucepan. She stirs, making sure that the noodles are coated evenly in sauce. She can still feel your eyes on her, and her skin prickles with anticipation.

"You almost done over there, baby?"

Your question snaps Emily out of her thoughts, and she looks over at you with a mix of frustration and hunger in her gaze. "Almost. Just, um, just another minute or two."

After a few more minutes, the food is ready, but Emily is so distracted that she continues to mindlessly stir the sauce. You smirk at the sight.

"Done?"

Emily nods jerkily. She reaches out to turn off the heat on the stove, her hands shaking. "Oh. Yeah, I'm done."

You push away from the counter, sauntering toward the fridge. You intentionally squeeze past the tight space between the counter and your wife, brushing your body against her back, hands teasingly skimming the exposed skin.

Without even realizing it, one of Emily's hands reaches out, her fingers lightly tracing along your hip. She can feel your warmth through the flimsy fabric.

She steps closer, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and pulling herself flush against her body. She nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of your skin, every inch of contact sending jolt after jolt of desire right through her.

Y/N smirks, craning her neck to nuzzle her nose into Emily’s skin, taking in the faint scent of her sweet perfume. "Let's go eat, love. Don't want the food to get cold, right?"

Emily groans, her hands clenching slightly on your hips as she forces herself to hold back. She wants to press you up against the kitchen counter and take you right there, but she knows she needs to wait. "Tease."

Emily reluctantly moves to the cabinet and pulls down two plates. She can still feel the ghost of your body against hers, the way your bodies were pressed flush together. The sensation is burned into her skin, her mind swimming with the memory of that heat and that desire. She carefully scoops a serving of pasta onto your plate, trying to keep her hands steady as she does.

You smile as you take the plate, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to your wife’s lips. "Thanks, baby."

"You're welcome," Emily murmurs, her voice a little huskier than usual. She watches as you take the plate to the table, her eyes tracking your movement.

As you sit down, you slide Emily a drink from across the table, her favorite seltzer, before scooping a hefty spoonful of parmesan cheese onto your pasta.

Emily picks up her own fork and tries to focus on her food, but it's hard to concentrate on anything other than the sight of you sitting across from her. She can feel the heat pooling in her stomach, her body practically aching to touch you, to feel your skin against hers again.

You watch Emily intently as she eats, smirking at the way she struggles to restrain herself. You let your robe slip a bit more down your shoulders, exposing the top of your breasts to Emily’s darkened, blown out eyes.

You can hear how her breath hitches in her throat as you make that small movement, revealing more of your bare skin. Emily's eyes rake over the newly exposed flesh, her mouth going dry at the sight. It's almost too much to bear, the sight of her wife's body nearly bared to her. She grips the edge of the table tightly, her knuckles going white with the effort it takes to hold herself back.

You grin over the top of your drink. "You okay over there?"

Emily takes a deep and shaky breath, her eyes still locked on your body. She's breathing heavily, practically shaking with desire and need. "I'm fine," She says, her voice ragged and hoarse. "I just... I need you. Like, right now. And that robe is not helping things at all."

"What? This thing?" You intentionally slip it further down, fully exposing your breasts and hardened nipples to your wife.

Emily can't tear her gaze away from the sight of you lounging before her, exposed and provocative. Her eyes rake over every inch of your body like she’s starved, taking in the curves and the dips, the planes and the lines. It's like pouring gasoline on the flames of her desire, the primal need inside her growing hotter and fiercer with every passing second.

"Are you going to just sit there, or you going to come over here and do something about all that pent up tension you’re feeling?"

Without another word, Emily lets her fork clatter onto her plate and pushes herself up from the table, stalking around it with a predatory grace, her eyes fixed on you the whole time. She's like a panther closing in on its prey, her movements slow and purposeful. She stands over you, looking down, drinking in the sight of your bare skin up close. Her eyes rake over your body hungrily, heart pounding in her chest.

You smiles up at her teasingly, allowing the robe to fall open fully.

Emily’s eyes feast on the sight, taking in every inch of your newly exposed skin, every contour and curve. Her body is thrumming with desire, the need to touch and taste you driving her mad. She steps even closer, her hands itching to reach out and touch you, to stroke your soft skin.

"Are you just going to stare, honey?"

At your challenge, Emily's last shred of self-control snaps. Without warning, she moves forward, pulling you out of your chair and pinning you up against the closest wall, her body pressing flush against yours. Her hands roam greedily over your bare skin, taking ownership of your body, hot and smooth under her touch. Emily's mouth captures yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, their tongues tangling in a possessive, dominating gesture.

You laugh breathily as your mouths separate, grabbing Emily’s hands and placing them on your bare hips. Her blunt nails dig into your skin, the light sting of her grip leaving small crescents in their wake. “There she is."

Emily grunts in response, trailing hungry kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin.

"Finally snapped, huh? What did it for you, baby? Was it the robe?"

Emily's lips move up to your ear, her tongue tracing the outer shell. Her breath is hot against your skin as she speaks, her voice low and rough with desire and need. “I asked you to sit there and look pretty, not tease me in this fuckin’ robe." She groans again, biting gently on your earlobe. “Couldn’t help but make you mine.”

You grin, moaning as she feels Emily’s lips and tongue on her skin. "You know I’m already yours, Em."

"I know, but sometimes I can't help myself. I just need to remind you."

You slink your arms over Emily’s strong shoulders, leaning close to whisper in her ear. "Remind me then."

Emily's hands begin to wander, roaming over your body once again with a desperate, hungry need. She tangles her fingers in your hair, pulling your head back sharply so she can attack your neck again, biting and sucking, leaving dark purple marks as she goes, eventually moving down and landing on your hardened buds. She takes one into her warm mouth, sucking harshly, her slender fingers tugging on the other.

You groan in desperation, grabbing Emily’s hand and shoving it between your legs, as you hold her head to her chest. Emily laughs teasingly at your movements, deciding to have mercy and run her fingers through your pussy.

Her hand is immediately drenched, the feel of your wetness driving her nearly insane. She moans against your chest as her fingers run through your folds, touch hungry and urgent. “Someone’s excited.”

Her mouth trails kisses across your chest, fingers pressing and rubbing teasingly against your sensitive flesh.

You moan breathily, throwing your head back against the wall as you grinds down on your wife’s hand, chasing your pleasure.

“Look at you, sweet thing. Flushed, desperate, needy. All that teasing for what? If you wanted to be fucked, you could’ve just asked.” Emily grins cockily at you, stuffing two fingers inside of your dripping hole.

She revels in the feeling of you grinding against her hand, the sounds of your moans and sighs. Her hand begins to move faster. She knows exactly how to drive you wild, exactly how to elicit these sounds and reactions from her wife. She's single-minded in her pursuit of your pleasure, her own need and desire feeding into the primal drive to make you fall apart in her hands. She feels almost drunk on you - your scent, your skin, your sounds - it’s all encompassing.

You moan loudly, almost pornographically, at the pleasure roaring through your veins. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, biting down harshly on your lip, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching as Emily’s thumb finds your clit, pressing down and circling harshly. She pushes her fingers even further inside you, nudging that sweet, spongy spot.

She grins against your shoulder, her fingers continuing their relentless onslaught. She can feel the tension building, the way your body is shaking and trembling against hers. She knows you’re close, she can feel it in the way your body is responding to her touch, the way your moans and gasps are becoming more desperate and ragged, chest heaving.

"Fuck, I’m close, baby, please-" Your voice breaks off at the end, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping onto her shoulders tightly, the taut muscles flexing under your hands.

Emily smirks. "You're begging so prettily, baby. You wanna come?" You nod desperately. "Yeah?"Her fingers move even faster still, her touch rougher. Her mouth moves to your ear, voice a low, husky whisper. "Come on, pretty girl. Come for me. Make a mess on my hand.”

With a final, sharp twist of her fingers, you finally cry out, your body shuddering against Emily's as ecstasy washes over you. She continues to caress and stroke you, helping you ride out the wave of your orgasm, her touch gentler now, as you squeeze her fingers inside you.

Emily keeps you pressed against the wall as you come down from your high, her hand still between your legs, gently stroking the sensitive flesh. She watches with satisfaction as you pant and whimper, body still twitching and shaking with the lingering pleasure of your orgasm. You swear you could see stars in your eyes.

After a few moments, Emily slowly withdraws her hand, bringing it up to her mouth and deliberately licking her fingers clean. The sight makes you shiver, another wave of arousal bubbling deep in your belly.

Emily kisses you deeply, tugging on your bottom lip as she pulls back slightly. "I'm not done with you yet, love."

You bark out a laugh, gently nudging your wife by her shoulders. "Jesus Christ woman, give me a break - I nearly passed out just now."

Emily laughs, nuzzling her nose into your hair and pressing a kiss there. After closing your robe, she takes you into her arms gently, ushering you to sit on the couch. “Sit down, love. Let me get your dinner so you can finish it.”

You sigh deeply as you plop yourself down on the couch, legs spread lazily, resting your head over the back cushion. Boneless and spent, you allow your eyes to slip shut momentarily as Emily gathers your plate and fork, bringing it back to you.

“Here you go, babe.” As you open your eyes and lift your head, the brunette places your bowl and fork in your hand, smiling sweetly at you.

“Where’s your food?”

“I put it in the fridge, I’ll eat it later." Emily lowers herself to her knees in front of you, never breaking eye contact. "Right now, I’m hungry for something else.” She brushes her hair out of her face before she places her warm hands on your already spread thighs, squeezing lightly.

You mouth falls open at the erotic sight, feeling your skin tingle. You were at an utter loss for words, watching as she grabbed underneath your knees, pulling you closer to her mouth.

“You are going to eat your food, and I’m going to eat you. If you don’t finish first, I’m going to edge you all night. I won’t be nice either, and you won’t get to come. Got me?”

Oh.

She looks at you, brow raised, waiting for an answer. “I…okay. Yeah.” You manage to breathe out, picking up your fork and hurriedly finishing your plate.

Emily grins, as she brings her mouth to you, warm and wet.

“Good girl.”

i will be opening my requests again soon - as always, please let me know who it's for and be as detailed as possible. thank you and i hope you liked this one! :)

[kcrossvine-art]

Hi fellow adventurers!! Welcome to chapter 2! We're going to be attempting a nice lil fruit-focused quiche/frittata/pie thing. And yes, tomatoes are fruits.

Who says you cant eat totally normal things in a dungeon with definitely no monsters in them? 

You know what that means; Man-Eating Plant Tart!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to a Man-Eating Plant Tart?” YOU MIGHT ASKThe way its prepared in the show is akin to a frittata, but the crust is borrowed from quiche world.

Eggs

Whole milk

Bell peppers

Persimmons

Cherry tomatoes

Pitted green olives

Thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

In the show they use leftover hotpot stock, slime, and mashed up fruit as the batter ingredients. Fruit mush is easy to work with but I couldn't find any stand-in for slime that would cook correctly into what they made in the show, and the hotpot stock is just not thick enough to carry the base. It is too many watery ingredients at once. Needing a thickening agent, both gelatin and agar agar were tried. It was edible but the texture was… gelatinous. Regular egg and milk will serve for our purposes.

The next complication was the crust- so in the show its made with the skins of fruit, straightforward yeah? Well. You see it also has to be 1. Thick enough to bake without burning 2. Harden through cooking to be sliced and held and 3. Inedible. Lotus leaves? Plantain leaves? Really thin gourds? I couldnt find any historical basis for a savory food cooked in this method, or similar method, with an intentionally inedible crust. I could find a few dishes which used leaves as their crust, but none that hardened during cooking and even less that used fruit skin. I chose sweet potato skin for its visual match and texture. It is edible, and it is not a fruit.

I hope youll forgive me for these 2 major deviations as i wanted to keep it looking how it does in the show while also ensuring it tastes good.

AND, “what does a Man-Eating Plant Tart taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKFluffy, airy, savory, salty.

The density of the eggs is offset by the crisp fruits

And the saltiness doesnt overpower the remnant fruit-sweetness

(If you eat the crust) the sweet potato brings this nice muted, smokey, flavor

Spongecake-esque in consistency

Would pair well with cranberry or strawberry juice

Would also pair well with a mellow hot sauce?

. You can use heavy cream instead of milk for a creamier batter . Roast the fruit longer to remove more liquid if too wet (and vice versa if too dry) . Smoked paprika, pepper flakes, cumin, garlic powder, and onion powder would taste good in the mixture

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"A mixture of mashed up and cut up Man-Eating Plant fruit, slime and scorpion soup is poured into a pan lined with the flattened peel of the fruit and cooked before garnishing with some more fruit. Described as salty by the group."

From start to finish this recipe took 3-ish hours? Shredding the potatoes took the longest, so if you get them bagged itd be cut down. A very filling recipe and a good way to sneak veggies/fruits in if you have a hard time getting enough of those essential nutrients. The best advice i can give is to add salt/seasonings at every stage of the process, to build up layers. It makes a difference flavor-wise (even if its just salt). I advise against reheating if possible. The filling will make the crust soggy over time.

If you want to be closer to the cooking of the show, you could double the fruit amounts and mash them together while halving the amount of egg and milk. I hadnt tried due to budget reasons, but it should work with some finangling. I'll pass the final verdict off to you guys with how todays recipe turned out <333

What would you rate this recipe out of 10? (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do better, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

3 Eggs

13oz whole milk

2 bell peppers

2 small persimmons

140oz cherry tomatoes

12oz pitted green olives

34oz thinly sliced OR shredded sweet potatos

Salt

Pepper

Method:

Heat oven to 420f and grease a 9-inch pie pan.

Thinly slice (or shred) your sweet potatoes and squeeze out any excess moisture. Coat in olive oil, salt and pepper.

Press sweet potato mixture evenly into and up the sides of the pie pan.

Blind bake for roughly 25 minutes or until lightly golden-brown. No worries if the edges get crisp.

Remove pie pan from oven and set aside.

Core and chop up your bell peppers and persimmons. Coat with olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Line out on a baking sheet, evenly spaced, and roast for roughly 20 minutes or until softened. (you can do this at the same time on a separate rack from the pie crust if you have room)

Remove the stems from your cherry tomatoes, and drain/dry your green olives if canned.

Bring a frying pan to medium heat with olive oil. Add the green olives and sautee until their skin texture starts dimpling. Add the cherry tomatoes and continue sauteeing for about 5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Once the bell peppers, persimmons, cherry tomatoes, and green olives are all done, set aside to cool until just above room temp.

Lower the oven temperature to 350f.

In a mixing bowl combine your eggs and milk, add salt to taste. If you want other seasonings nows a good time!

Once uniform in color and texture, add your cooked fruit. Stir until evenly distributed.

Pour mixture into the potato pie crust.

Bake for roughly 40 minutes. The filling should be mostly firm, but wiggle *slightly* when you shake the pan.

Remove from oven and let rest for roughly 15 minutes before serving.

[wardenparker]

The Stars Re-Align, part 1

Frankie Morales x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: M for Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.1k Warnings: Reader is given an age and a grown daughter. Starts out as Santiago x reader. Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mentions of military service (obviously), glancing mention of Tom's death, past drug use, off-page abusive relationship, panic attacks, complicated relationships, family drama. Summary: When your daughter and your boyfriend talk you into having a birthday party, you are not prepared for all of the surprises that come your way. Notes: A little love triangle and 'one that got away' vibe for your Feral Frankie Friday!

“Rachel!” Calling from the kitchen is an old, unbreakable habit by now, but dinner is almost ready and you know your daughter is in the living room studying. She has plans with her boyfriend tonight which means she’s getting her reading out of the way, and you’re proud of her for having such good habits and steady resolve. It’s not at all what you were like at her age, and you’ve worked hard to make sure that she has opportunities that you never could have. Being a young single mom was rough, but every second you have with your little-girl-turned-young-woman is worth it. “Supper’s ready, honey. Find your bookmark!”

“Sure thing!” There’s no point in reminding you that her book is a digital copy, no bookmark needed, but she dutifully saves the spot and closes her laptop. “It smells good.” She compliments, walking into the kitchen and over to the fridge to bust out the bottle of wine that had become a habit with dinner since high school. Nothing fancy, just a cheap sangria, but it was a ritual that both mom and daughter enjoyed. “Are you going out with Santiago tonight?” She asks as she gets down the glasses to pour.

“He might come over to watch a movie since you’re going out.” Your two-month-old relationship isn’t deeply committed or deeply anything yet, really, but you like him. He’s attentive, handsome, and funny, and deeply — okay there’s one deeply — good in bed. “Do you want the good parmesan, or the shaker can? We have both.” Spaghetti with onions, peppers, and sausage isn’t necessarily gourmet, but it’s a family staple. Something your dad used to make you when you were growing up in New York City and you have made for your daughter her whole life afterwards.

“Good parmesan.” She hums. “Let’s be fancy tonight.” Bringing the glasses over to the small kitchen table, she moves on to set out the silverware. A chore when she was younger, it’s now just become habit when you eat together. ‘Working together as a team’ is how you always phrased it and it’s something she loves about her relationship with you now. You’re a team. “I’m going to stay at Ben’s tonight, so you and Santiago can have wild sex.”

“Be safe.” She’s twenty-four, so you’re not going to quibble about her sleeping over with her boyfriend, but you do give her a meaningful look when you set down the plates on the table. “Don’t make me a grandmother and I won’t make you a sister.”

Rachel laughs, it’s the same statement you have been using since she was first dating boys after puberty. “But Mom!” She pouts playfully. “I really want a baby sister!”

“Think I’m getting a little too old for that option, honey,” you huff, but laugh anyway. “Ask Santa for one at Christmas.”

She grins at you, bringing over the basket of breadsticks that are an Olive Garden copycat. Plain frozen ones that you brush with butter and garlic salt. So many of the meals you have together are mocks of the restaurant meals she had wanted when she was younger and you couldn’t afford. As an adult, it’s humbling to see the lengths you went to in order to make her happy.

“You’re coming back tomorrow, though, right?” Though you typically aren’t one to make a big deal out of such things, Santiago had offhandedly mentioned to your daughter a few weeks ago that it was a shame you weren’t doing anything for your birthday and Rachel had jumped on board with talking you into a party. The backyard barbecue will be small, but a chance to meet your boyfriend’s friends and have a few of your own friends from work come over. “It was half your idea, after all.”

“Yeah, I’m going to be there.” She promises. “Oh, is it okay if I bring Ben?” She asks. “He’s got another party to go to if not, but he said he would rather spend time with me.”

“Yes, you can bring Ben.” He’s a few years older than Rachel and has had a very different life experience, but you like Ben Miller. He’s doing his best to make an honest way in the world and he treats Rachel with love and respect. And probably in ways that you want to know absolutely nothing about. “There’s going to be plenty of food. Santiago and I are managing that end.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “Of course you are cooking for your own party.” She huffs.

“Get sassy with me and I’ll send every stitch of leftovers home with other people,” you threaten, though it’s hollow and comes with laughter.

“Not like you won’t make enough to still bring home food.” She shoots back with a grin. If there was ever a party, you always made too much food. It might be pasta salad, but you and she would be eating it for a solid week after everyone had gone home.

“Nothing fancy,” you assure her even though you know she’s right. “Burgers and dogs. And veggie burgers for the few people that skip red meat. All the accoutrements. Santiago is in charge of the grill, which he’s very happy about. And I’m making that cheese dip you like along with my guac. Salsa is coming out of a jar despite protests.”

“Let Ben bring the salsa.” She volunteers immediately with a grin. “He’s got some recipe he got from friends he used to serve with.” She explains. “He was going to make it for their party but we can hijack it and bring it to yours.”

“Deal.” That’s one more thing off your checklist and you’re fine with that. “And the cake is coming from an actual bakery, not a supermarket. I do listen to your protests most of the time.”

“The buttercream is far superior.” She huffs happily and lifts her glass when you are both sitting down at the table. “To a wonderful birthday weekend.” She offers. “One you never forget.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You tap your glass against hers and smile. “Forty-two feels like it will be a good one.”

******

“We have the cake, the burgers are all ready to throw on the grill. Fish is bringing the baked beans, Ironhead is bringing the potato salad and you said Rach’s boyfriend is going to bring the salsa?” He arches a brow in concern. “What do you know about this guy? Is it good salsa? Because I’m going to be offended if it’s Pace.”

“I was told he has a recipe from somebody he served with.” The Pace is in its jars in the cupboard where Santiago can’t be offended by it, and you slip past him to look at your checklist taped to the cupboards one more time. “Coleslaw is made, cheese dip is made, and you filled up the outside fridge last night so that’s all set. I think we’re okay. The last thing is the guac and that only makes a few minutes.”

Santiago slides behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach and hums. “So we have time to go back to the bedroom?” He asks playfully, even if he would haul you back there if you said yes.

“Only if you’re planning on disappointing me,” you tease, knowing he never has and never would. Not on purpose. Still, you twist to kiss away the pout that has certainly formed there. “People are going to be here any minute.”

“We could always tell them to go the fuck away.” He laughs as he suggests it and then the doorbell peels out right afterwards. “That’ll be Ironhead.” He predicts. “Will’s always early.”

“Is that his real name? Will?” You call back when Santiago goes to open the door. You can make guacamole with your eyes closed due to the fact that you’ve had this recipe longer than your daughter has been alive, and you go to the fridge to get the ingredients.

“Yeah!” He calls back over his shoulder before he opens the door to find his friend on the doorstep. The smiles are genuine, almost guilty considering the shit they’ve gone through for the past five months since South America. Grief and sorrow have pulled at them, but it also has finally started to let them live again. “You made it!”

“Of course I did. You didn’t think I’d miss out on seeing your ass do something domestic, did you?” Will ‘Ironhead’ Miller slaps Pope’s shoulder. “Nice place she’s got. You tried to move in yet?”

Pope chuckles quietly and shrugs. “Maybe in another month.” He jokes. “Gotta get in good with the kid first.”

“Right, the kid.” With another friendly slap, Will Miller steps inside the house. It’s well-appointed, clean, and obviously loved. “She coming today?” He thinks so, but he can’t remember. Although a barbecue and pool party seems like a kid thing. But somehow Will remembers the kid not being kid. Teenager? He can’t remember now.

“She spent the night with her boyfriend, but she’ll be here.” Pope nods. “Although she’s already said she won’t call me daddy but I can take her for ice cream.”

“Nobody ought to be calling you ‘Daddy’,” Ironhead huffs.

Santiago laughs and shrugs. “You’re right.” He admits, knowing that he’s not father material. One of the reasons you were an attractive option was that your kid was grown. He didn’t have to play daddy, although from what he’s understood, the dad was your first love and was too immature to stick around. “Benny didn’t ride with you?”

“His girlfriend’s got a family thing today.” Will shrugs slightly, but honestly he’s impressed. His kid brother is crazy about this girl. It’s six months in and he’s starting to use some very committed language — which is fucking thrilling to Will as it signals Benny finally starting to grow up where sex and relationships are concerned. “He’s gonna come by later.”

“That’s good. I want him to come and have a few beers. Fish should be here shortly.” Pope will be happy to see everyone, it’s better than just checking in and having a beer. This will be a good time to really catch up. “How’s things with Marie?” He asks Will softly, knowing that Frank has been a little closed mouth about things between him and his lady. South America hadn’t been great for their relationship, although no one really likes her, she’s the one who was dabbling in drugs and got Fish hooked on coke.

“She was throwing some fit last night about Fish being out with another woman.” Which is obviously bullshit. Frankie would never step out on the mother of his child. But living in the apartment next to Frankie and Marie means he overhears plenty of bullshit. “All he was doing was asking if she wanted to come today. So who knows what kind of mood he’ll show up in.”

“Shit.” Pope sighs and shakes his head as he escorts Will though the living room and towards the kitchen where you are. “He needs to just bite the bullet and leave her.”

“We all know that. But it’s Fish. Too loyal for his own fucking good.” Will hadn’t been expecting to see anyone standing in the kitchen, let alone you, and he clears his throat. “Um—sorry, ma’am. Soldier’s habit,” he apologizes.

“It’s fine,” you promise him, actually laughing at the sheer display of manners. “I survived my daughter’s teenage years. You want to know who swears more than soldiers? Teenage girls.”

It’s been a long goddamn time since Will has been around teenage girls, but he just nods politely and offers his hand. “Will Miller.” He introduces himself. “Santiago has talked you up to be some kind of Wonder Woman, and it looks like he was underestimating your worth.”

"That's very kind of you, Will." You take his hand and introduce yourself easily enough, reflecting momentarily that Santiago has pretty friends. Blonde and blue-eyed isn't your type, but good looking is good looking. "Would you mind helping us get the last few things outside? And the pool is open, I hope Santiago told everyone."

“Absolutely, ma’am.” Like any good solider, Will is going to follow orders and he immediately picks up the heavier items to carry outside. “You have a beautiful home.”

"Thank you." It's something you worked hard for, and you continue to work hard for every day. Everything in your life has been to make sure your daughter is healthy, happy, and well taken care of. It was a lucky break that you got a well-paying job in your field to boot. "And you don't have to call me ma'am. Though I appreciate the manners."

“We need to give her a nickname before Taz does.” Will snorts.

"Taz?" You haven't heard that name before, and it piques your interest as Santiago helps you set things out on the table on the deck.

Will chuckles. “Youngest in our team.” He explains. “Short for Tasmanian Devil. Brother’s like a whirlwind of stirring up shit.”

"Got it." The Army nickname thing had taken you a second to get used to, but you're on board now. It's a brotherhood thing, and you like that Santiago has such a tightknit group of friends still. It's not something you've really had much of in your life, so you're glad to see when it happens for people you care about it. "Well, I told Santiago, but whenever your friends get here just let them into the backyard. The bathroom is off the living room, but everything else worth getting at is outside."

“Yes ma’am.” He smirks slightly when he says that again before disappearing out of the sliding glass doors.

"Are all your friends polite and helpful?" You glance back at the man you've been seeing for the last few months and crack a smile. "I'm glad you invited them. It's about time we started to meet each other's friends."

“Until they are assholes.” He jokes, giving you a bittersweet smile. “We lost a friend half a year ago and it seems like we’ve had a hard time getting back in the routine. Thought this might be the little jolt we needed.”

"Then we'll make sure it's a fantastic day." He hasn't confided too much about his years in the service or about where he was before moving back to Florida a few months ago, but this is probably a large part of the reason why. Either way, you slip your arms around him for a comforting hug. It's the least you can do, when he's gone through something terrible and is willing to open about it a little.

“It’s your day.” He protests, turning and kissing your lips. “It’s supposed to be good for you, not me. We will have a few drinks, have a few laughs and then…” He waggles his brows. “Well kick everyone out and I’ll make you cum until you pass out.”

The hum that forms in the back of your throat is as pleased as it is dirty, and you kiss him once more before your doorbell rings again. "I'll get it," you nudge his nose with yours and step back, albeit reluctantly. "Go hang out with your friend."

People trickle in little by little. Friends from work, mostly, and the one mom from Rachel's school days that you stayed friends with despite Rachel and her son never actually having been friends. Eventually the text comes through from your daughter that she's a few minutes away and that makes you smile brighter than just about anything else today.

Pope pulls out his phone and texts Frankie, wondering when he’s coming – or if he’s going to come at all. He is worried about him, knowing that he’s under a lot of pressure. Marie blames him for losing his license and then going down to South America for two weeks when it was only supposed to be one. He couldn’t even tell her what happened and that was causing issues.

Had to wait for the babysitter. On my way now. Says the text that comes through a few minutes later, but there is a temporary distraction from waiting for Catfish: Rachel's car pulls up and parks outside the house, expelling both your daughter and her boyfriend onto the front lawn.

“Come on, Ben.” Rachel grabs his hand and rushes him towards the door. They are running behind because of the pre-party activities he had talked her into and while she’s not regretting that in the least, she wants to get inside and wish you happy birthday.

“Sounds like everybody’s out back, baby,” he steers her toward the fence surrounding the backyard instead of the front door, but when that brings him closer to the actual driveway of his girlfriend’s house he frowns — deeply — in confusion. He shouldn’t recognize the two vehicles sitting behind Rachel’s car and her mother’s, but there they are: Pope’s slick vintage Corvette right next to Will’s jacked up picked up truck. There’s no denying the two vehicles, he’s seen them together far too often. “The hell?” Benny breathes, but Rachel doesn’t hear him. She’s too excited to see her mom and moving them through the gate before he can hang back to do a double take at the cars.

“Mom!” Pope looks up at soon as he hears a familiar happy cry but then he’s immediately frowning. Watching as Ben Miller moves through the fence gate with Rachel. “What the fuck?”

“I told you she was bringing her boyfriend, didn’t I?” Santiago’s level of confusion is confusing in its own right, but you ignore it in favor of meeting your daughter at the edge of the porch to give her a massive hug. “Hey sweet pea!”

It helps that Benny looks just as stunned as Pope does, Will stopping short when he sees his younger brother and doesn’t hesitate to call out. “You made it!” He huffs out and shaking his head at his brother’s fickleness. “Girlfriend’s family already kick you out?”

“Nooo…” Benny blinks against the sunlight, having left his sunglasses in his truck. “You’re at the wrong party, assholes.”

The ball busting smirk immediately slides off of Will’s face, due to the knowledge that there is no way they could be at the wrong party. “Benny…” He glances at a stunned Pope and sighs heavily. “We’re at the right party.”

It only takes about a second more, but by the time Benny breathes “Ohhh shit.” He’s also cackling with laughter. “Are you telling me—” The younger Miller brother looks around and drops his voice for the sake of not embarrassing the girl he adores. “Are you telling me Pope is banging my girl’s mom?”

Will snorts and shakes his head. “Looks like.” He agrees quietly. “Hell of a birthday surprise.” He hopes that it won’t change your daughter’s mind on dating him, Rachel has been fantastic for Ben.

“Fuck….” Pope snickers quietly, shaking his head at the irony. He should probably go spell this out for you so you don’t take it the wrong way. No one knew. Even after hearing about Benny’s girlfriend for months, only Will and Fish had met her so far.

Rachel pulls back and gives you a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday Mom.” She hums, winking at you. “Santiago spend the night last night since I was with Ben?” She’s not been paying attention to the guys, too focused on you.

“We fell asleep watching our second movie.” It’s mostly true — true enough that you can play it off as innocent because you did technically nod off during the second movie — but the empty bowl of popcorn and wine glasses in the living room had waited until this morning to be cleared away once you hauled each other off to bed. “Did Ben have a fight last night or did you guys just go out?”

“No fight.” She shakes her head. “Next weekend, so we just got to go out. Although he wants to know if you would like to come to the fight.” You’ve met Benny and she thinks you like him, but she wants you to get to know him better. Which is why she had suggested they go to your party today instead of his friends’.

“If you want me to.” You don’t feel too excited to watch your daughter’s boyfriend get beat up, but you do want to get to know him better. Rach is so obviously head over heels for him.

“It’s up to you.” She smiles and looks back at Ben, curious to find Will here. “Um— what’s his brother doing here?”

“Whose brother?” Turning to follow her eyes, your head tilts slightly in interest. Santiago and Will are deep in conversation with Benny already. “That’s one of Santiago’s friends. Will.”

“Mom…” Rachel’s eyes widen slightly. “That’s Will Miller…Benny’s older brother.”

“That…” You swallow, slowly registering the situation as you watch the men interact. “That makes things interesting…” You’re dating a man who served with your daughter’s boyfriend…this is going to get complicated…

“Oh god.” Rachel bites her lip as Benny and Pope quickly break away and come over to the two of you. “So…”

“So, this is interesting.” You repeat the phrase almost disbelieving.

“Kind of a funny coincidence, huh?” Benny wraps his arms around Rachel and plants a kiss in her hair.

“I didn’t know.” Rachel promises you with a small shake of her head. “Shit, Ben. I can’t believe I didn’t know it.”

“I think I know why.” You observe, clearing your throat and accepting the comfort of Santiago’s arm around your waist as you look up (and up) at Ben. “I’m going to guess that your nickname while you were serving together was Taz?”

“Yeah.” Benny nods and looks back between all the other men. “Oh fuck, we’ve been just using our nicknames and they didn’t know.” He groans. "I'm sorry baby." He turns to Rachel with an apologetic look. "Pope was talking about his new girl and spending as much time as possible with her, so he missed the last fight you were at."

“It’s a little unconventional,” you admit, wondering what Santiago thinks of all this. “But not terrible, right?” As close in age as you and Rachel are, it wouldn’t be the first time you have had mutual friends. Just the first time you were ever dating mutual friends.

"He's a good guy." Pope assures you, like it's the first time you've met Benny. "And we can kick his ass if needed."

Benny snorts and rolls his eyes. "You wish, old man."

“Rach?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently and you give her a questioning look. While this isn’t the day you want to have — after all, you do like Santiago — it’s ultimately up to her. Everything is and always has been in your life, and you made that decision for a reason.

"I don't think that you need to stop seeing Santiago just because he knows Ben." She rationalizes. "I think it's fine, what do you think?"

“Just as long as you’re comfortable with it.” That goes for the men involved, too. But they don’t seem to mind beyond being apologetic.

Rachel snorts and shrugs. "Just as long as they don't share sex stories." She giggles and shoots Santiago a smirk. "And we won't either."

“I was not planning on it, sweet pea.” You might be close, but that’s a step too far even for you. “Never ever.”

Agreeing completely, she walks up to Pope and gives him a hug. "So if you make my mom cry, I'll have my boyfriend beat you up." She teases.

“Got it.” She’s a grown woman, but he can’t resist the urge to mess with her thick hair, watching her face wrinkle in disapproval before she moves back to Benny, who smooths the familiar curls with care. “Now we just need Catfish to get here and we’ll have everybody.”

"I'm here!" A hand appears over the fence before he opens it, hat pulled low, and he grunts when he picks up the cooler full of ice and beer that he had stopped and picked up on the way. "Sorry I'm late."

“Fish!” Benny kisses the side of Rachel’s head before peeling off to grab the cooler from him and take it to the porch so his friend can catch his breath. He doesn’t see the tick in the tilt of your head or the way your eyes widen just a second later.

'Fish', or Francisco Morales, looks up and smirks at Benny when he grabs the cooler. Thankful, although he wouldn't make too much of a fuss about it. Getting older sucked and he's still feeling the effects of that workout he helped the other man do just two days ago when his normal sparring partner was sick. "'Bout time you made yourself useful." He huffs playfully and looking towards Pope to wave. Freezing with his arm halfway up in greeting when he sees someone that he had never expected to see before – you.

The way you shrink into yourself immediately is instinct. As much shock as anything else. But within seconds you’re stepping forward to block Rachel from view and shakily a demand an explanation. “What the shit is going on?” You hiss, though you’re not exactly sure who you’re talking to, you just don’t want to make a scene in front of your coworkers. They consider you to be such a calm, collected woman.

Frowning, Pope turns towards you, reaching out to touch your arm and stepping closer to you. "Babe— what's wrong? What are you talking about?" He follows your gaze back to Fish and he grunts in confusion. "Fish? He's another teammate. One of my best friends."

“Fuck.” Deflating on the spot, you feel like you could just collapse where you stand but that wouldn’t help the situation any. “We—we, um—know each other,” you explain quietly. “But it’s been a long time.”

Feeling like he's been kicked in the chest by one of those fucking mules, Frankie stumbles forward and murmurs your name softly. "I— what are you doing here?" He asks, frowning slightly.

“This is my house.” You wonder if Santiago even explained where he was inviting him, or if you have a nickname to their group just like they all do to each other. “I wouldn’t expect you to still remember my birthday.”

All the blood drains from his face and it falls into a wounded look. Realizing that you have to be Pope's girl. "I— remembered." He murmurs quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Seven billion people in the world. Figured someone else would have the same day too." It's almost a kick in the teeth, that comment of yours. Considering he had a fight with Marie because he had said your name this morning when he was talking to himself after waking up. You were the reason he had fought, again, with the mother of his child and she had pitched a fit and left. Making him wait on a babysitter so he could come to this party. To find out that it was for you. He's so fucking lucky that Marie isn't here. He clears his throat roughly and bites his lip. "Happy birthday, gatita." He uses the nickname from a million years ago and steps back. "I should go."

A press of overwhelming guilt and the instinct to stop him makes you reach out, grabbing his arm before you can stop yourself. “No. You shouldn’t.” You admit, even though it hurts.

"No," He shakes his head and gives you a wry smile. "I should." He sighs softly and looks over at Pope. "This is your girl, huh?" He asks, confusing the other man even more. "Keep her and take care of her." He tells him. "You'll regret it if you don't." He reaches for your hand and pries it off his arm gently, squeezing it before letting it go.

“Where’s Fish going?” Benny returns from the deck just a second too late, but just in time to watch Frankie leave again and see the bewildered looks on his friends’ faces.

"I don't fucking know." The entire day has been one big bag of surprises and Pope doesn't particularly like surprises. He turns towards you for some kind of explanation, although the nickname gatita sounds familiar, like Fish has mentioned it before. "You know Frank?"

“We grew up together.” It’s the best you can hiccup out before you take off like a shot, following Frankie through the gate. “Frankie!” He’s already down at the street, but he pauses when you call his name and it gives you time to catch up.

Waiting for you as you rush towards him, Frankie takes off his Standard Oil hat and scratches his hair. Struck by how nostalgic the moment is, waiting for you to catch up to him so many times once upon a lifetime ago. “Look, I’m sorry.” He sighs when you are closer. “I didn’t know, okay? I’m going.”

“I think you should stay.” Not as fit as you once were, you puff a little and put your arms around your waist. “We, uh—for Santiago, if nothing else. You’re his friend and I—I’m somebody you used to know.” And there is so, so much to tell him…

The idea that you might want him there makes him pause and he frowns slightly as he stares at you for a moment. “Only if you’re sure.” He still hesitates. “It’s your birthday after all.”

“It is.” And you’re not sure. You’re really not. But since he’s reappearing in your life almost twenty-five years later, the lump in your throat is winning over logic.

“Last time I saw you was on your birthday.” Frankie frowns, wondering how he could have been such a shit head back then. “Seems like the circle is complete.”

“Eighteen was a long time ago.” It was right before he left for boot camp, and you’d been pushing him to commit to you before he left. A stupid thing to do at such a young age. You know that now. But you were so stupid in love with him back then and there was so much going on.

“Yes it was.” He can admit that, biting his lip and shuffling slightly. “And I was an asshole.” He had broken his own damn heart, even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.” Squeezing your eyes shut makes you feel like your heart is going to burst, but the universe has decided that it’s time to finally time to come clean. “I was scared. And I’m sorry.”

“I was stupid.” Frankie has so many regrets from that time of his life, just compounded over the years and he almost steps closer to you, but he doesn’t. He can’t, he doesn’t have that right anymore. “I proved you right. I didn’t come back.” The argument is still confusing in his memory, just as much as it had confused him then. You had pushed to get married before he left and he had wanted to wait. It had become a sticking point and in his stubbornness, he had broken up with you.

“You didn’t come back and you didn’t have a cell phone…and then your parents moved.” With their only child moved on, Frankie’s father had accepted a transfer upstate from the Standard Heating & Oil Co that both of your fathers worked for. “I had—I had no way to talk to you. To—to tell you—” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, surprising you since you thought you had cried every last tear you had over Frankie Morales.

“Tell me?” Frankie frowns and he does step closer, hating to see tears in your eyes again on a birthday. Especially because they seem to be because of him again. “Tell me what, gatita?”

“Fair warning.” Wiping at the corners of your eyes, you can’t quite look him in his even when you straighten out again. “You’ll hate me. And you probably should, at this point.”

“I don’t think I could hate you.” Frankie admits quietly, unable to even imagine a world where he would.

“You might.” Wiping your hands down your face and breathing out a deep, frustrated groan, you look up again to see the eyes of the boy who was your first everything looking back at you, and you crumble. “I didn’t have any way to contact you,” you repeat again, knowing you could and should have tried harder anyway. “And I was scared of losing you because — because I was pregnant.”

The way his brows pull down is instantaneous and he immediately puts his hands on his hips and twists around as he absorbs your news. “You— you were pregnant?” He chokes out, looking back at you with a wounded expression. “I— what? No? What— pregnant?”

“That’s…that’s why I was pushing you so hard to propose.” You admit, eyes cast down at the ground.

“You didn’t say a word.” Frankie shakes his head. “Why— why didn’t you tell me? If I had known—”

“I thought if I told you that you’d only run away from me faster.” Which, at eighteen years old, had seemed like pretty sound logic to you. “By the time I was scared enough to just want you there regardless, it was too late. You were…you were gone.”

“By the time—” he shakes his head, eyes wide and he swallows harshly. “What happened? Don’t— I— what are you saying?”

"I'm saying that you have a daughter." A fact which sticks in your throat now like you had tried to swallow a pinecone. "Who is smart, and kind, and headstrong, and stubborn as hell. But she's doing so well for herself that a lot of that stubbornness just slides right by."

Frankie blanks out for a minute, staring at you before he turns away. Grappling with his emotions as he bends over and tries to take a breath, groaning slightly in disbelief. “No.” He shakes his head, turning back to you. “No! Don’t tell me that!”

"I'm sorry." It isn't worth much, as apologies go, but you kneel down beside him on the grass and wonder if he'll be mad enough to strike out if you put a hand on his back. "I really am. You should have known a long time ago."

“Twenty-four,” he chokes out. “You are telling me I have a twenty-four year old daughter?” His face screws up in the regret and tears. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

"I had no way to tell you." It's a lame excuse, or at least it feels lame, and you do rest your hand on his back but it's so gentle you don't even know if he can feel it.

“Oh fuck….fuck, fuck, fuck…..” Frankie moans, closing his eyes and his fists bunch against his thighs. “I-I-I— don’t— I can’t –”

"Frankie?" His breathing sounds panicked, and you soothe one hand in circles around his back. "Breathe, okay? Just breathe. Everything's okay. She—she's grown. She's raised. No one is asking you to do anything."

“I—I missed it.” He manages. “I missed everything.” Closing his eyes as he realizes that his trajectory of his life would have been vastly different if he had known.

Oh. It's the opposite. The exact opposite. He's not panicked that you're going to expect him to stay, like you thought he was. He's upset that he missed Rachel's childhood. "There's...there's still the whole rest of her life ahead."

“I— I should have been there.” He drops his head down even more. “Fuck— you must hate me. She must hate me.”

"It's my fault you didn't know. Why would I hate you?" As much as it has ever hurt to lose him, you've never actually hated him. Just missed him. Which isn't the same although they can be confused for each other. "And Rachel— Frankie, she knows the truth. That we were young and lost touch."

“Rachel.” He shakes his head, focusing on her name and it’s so goddamn familiar. “Her name is Rachel?”

"My aunt Rachel died right before she was born," you explain, wondering if he even remembers meeting your mother's sister a million and a half times at different family functions while you were together. He was always invited for every holiday.

“God.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, hating that he had been such a fucking idiot back then. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

"I am, too." More sorry than you can possibly say, but what else can you do at this point but try to move forward?

“So I managed to ruin another birthday of yours.” He pushes aside the grief and sorrow that is threatening to overwhelm him and locks it down. Compartmentalize, shutting down, it’s what he knows best. He can freak out about this later when he’s left.

"It's not ruined." It's awkward, and it's uncomfortable, and you're not really sure what to do now. But it's not ruined. "It's—it's not—I don't know what today is, but it's..." you sigh heavily and stand up again. "I don't know, Frankie. If you want to leave that's up to you. But our lives cross now, and I know...I know Rachel would want to meet you."

“Oh god. Is she— is she there? Here?” He asks, shaking his head. “Can I meet her?”

"If I wasn't going to let you meet her, I would have just kept my mouth shut about the whole thing," you needle him gently. Just wishing he could or would do as much as crack a smile. It seems desperately needed.

The huff, the quarter of a smile is almost involuntary. Almost in disbelief and he looks over at you with a heavy stare. “I want to meet her.” He tells you quietly. “If I had known, things would have been so different for us, gatita.”

"No use crying over spilled milk, I think." Twenty-four years of regret is a lot to process, but you nod in acknowledgement. Just a small motion of thanks that he is at least saying out loud what you suspected.

“Fuck.” He huffs again and uncurls his hands to wipe them on his jeans. “I’m nervous.”

"Telling you not to be seems cruel," you huff, though you're not sure what else to say. "No one planned this. No one saw this coming. It will be as much of a shock to her as it is to you. As—as it was to me to see you."

“Forty-two.” He shakes his head and looks back over at you in awe. “You don’t look a day over fucking eighteen.” It might be a small embellishment, but you look amazing and so much like the girl he has loved for so long.

"You're not so bad yourself." Santiago may be on the other side of that fence, but a part of your heart has always and will always belong to scrawny Frankie Morales from Brooklyn. Even if he isn't scrawny anymore – which is a thing you can't help but notice.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself before he nods. “We should go back.” He murmurs.

"I promise she's not scary." Although you'll understand when it is a complete shock to her. And to the others. "Just...let me tell her first? I ran after you so fast that I didn't explain to anyone else yet."

Both of you stand up and he scrubs his hands on his jeans again. “Sure, sure.” He agrees, knowing that it could be sort of a shock, even if she’s known about him her whole life.

"Remember to breathe," you advise him with a wry chuckle, even though it's good advice for you too.

“When I remember how.” Frankie snorts, slightly pacing in place as he glances towards the back yard gate.

"Come on." Nodding toward the yard, you take a step in that direction to see if it will spur him on. The urge to offer him your hand is misplaced, and you have to quell it by putting your hands in your jeans pockets. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

Frankie exhales roughly and trails along behind you, wanting you to take the lead. He has to tell you about Luna at some point, but he will do that after he meets the daughter he never knew he had.

“Sorry about that.” Once you’re on the other side of the gate again, you see Rachel standing in the midst of Santiago, Benny, and Will all looking concerned. “That was…unexpected? Shall we say?”

“Mom?” Rachel moves closer to you and frowns as her eyes slide back to where Frankie is hanging back. “Why are you upset with Fish?” She asks softly, looking back at the other three men and then back at you. “You said you knew him? When? I don’t remember you dating him.” Your dates had been few and far between, even rarer that she had met them, but she would have remembered someone called Catfish.

“I’m not upset, sweet pea. I’m just surprised.” It’s a lie, but a prudent one. You are upset, and it’s because your little slice of peace has been disturbed. But no one did that on purpose, so you’ll just have to live with it. “Why don’t we—we should talk about this inside.”

“No. Here. Now.” She has inherited her stubbornness both you and Frankie. And she’s eyeing the man she had met a few months ago and hung out with suspiciously. He looks like he’s about to be sick and she’s not above taking a baseball bat to his knees if needed, whether or not she had liked him before.

“Rach, I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmur, looking around the backyard. Most people are milling about and a few are in the pool, but they obviously all know something is up.

Rachel stares at you for a minute and then she shoots Frankie a glare because you look so upset before she turns around and marches towards the house.

“You guys, too,” you decide, figuring it’s probably best to get all of this over with. Santiago is dating you, Benny is dating Rachel, and Will is bound to find everything out soon enough.

There’s not a lot of hope for him with the glare shot his way, so Frankie hangs back for a moment. Reconciling the fact that Rachel is the girl that Benny has been dating. His daughter is dating his friend. His friend who has been bragging about his girl to him. And their sex life. He’s going to throw up or punch Ben in the mouth.

Once everyone is inside, you check to make sure the bathroom is empty and close the sliding doors tightly. Everyone outside can wait. This is far more important. “Everything is okay,” you start, making sure that right off the bat Rachel knows you aren’t mad and Santiago understands you don’t hate his best friend. His best friend. Fuck. “It was just—as surprising as it was to find out Santiago and Ben are friends…this is an even bigger surprise.”

Frankie leans on the side of the wall, staring at the tip of his boot as he tries to wait for you to tell Rachel. He can’t blurt it out, she’s your kid. Not his— not really. He hasn’t done a goddamn thing to help raise her, but he has to admire the job you’ve done.

"The thing is, Rach." Blowing out a breath, you reach out for your daughter's hand and just pray she won't hate you. "You wouldn't remember when I dated Frankie. Because it was before you were born."

“Hermano.” Pope’s eyes widen and the nickname clicks. He knew he had heard it before. “Gatita? This is—” he whistles quietly. “Mierda.”

When Rachel still looks confused, you breathe deeply and try your best not to shake. Or to chicken out. "There are a lot of blanks to fill in along the way, but...sweet pea...Frankie is—" Oh god, you're going to throw up. You're absolutely going to throw up. "He's your father."

You could hear a pin drop, or a mouse fart, the room is so quiet. Every head snapping towards Frankie in judgement and he doesn’t pay them any attention, focusing on the one person right now that matters. His daughter.

"I don't understand." Rachel stands bog still, clutching your hand with eyes as wide as saucers as she looks frantically between you and Frankie. She had liked this man. He is a good friend to Ben. But now she doesn't know what to think.

“Your mom and I were high school sweethearts.” Frankie isn’t sure what you might have told her, but he’s going to tell her what he knows to be true. “More like middle school, but you know?” He shrugs. “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” He promises. “I swear I didn’t know.”

Will sighs from the other side of the room. “Oh shit.”

"Everything I ever told you about him was the truth." You had worked hard to always be fair to Frankie when you were raising Rachel, even if it led to never telling her very much about him unless she asked. "He didn't know, and I had no way of telling him. It's been...it's been twenty-five years since we even spoke to each other. So you can understand why I was surprised to see him walk in today."

“And he’s friends with your boyfriend and mine.” There’s a note of disbelief in her voice that Frankie doesn’t blame her for.

“We were on the same team for years.” Frankie explains. “I was their pilot.”

“That’s why we lost touch,” you remind your daughter gently. “He left for boot camp.” Considering Ben isn’t the first Army boy that Rachel has dated, you have always sort of had a suspicion that she was subconsciously searching for her dad in these men. It just never occurred to you that it would actually work.

She looks at him, almost accusatory in her gaze. “Why did you never come back?” She demands. “If you loved her, why did you just walk away?”

That makes Frankie wince, and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Have you ever done something dumb and been too goddamn proud to admit you were wrong?” He asks quietly, and Pope, despite his own feelings about the entire situation, won’t let Frankie’s daughter twist in the wind.

“He used to talk about his gatita.” He interjects. “Regretting not making up with her and wishing he could get in contact with her.”

“It was harder back then, honey.” The gentle reminder is important, because Rachel might not have grown up in a world of luxury but she’s definitely never known a world without cell phones or social media. “When I told your grandparents that you were coming, we moved. It was just a little further outside the city, but the place was bigger and the neighborhood was safer. Your grandma found a better job and— and with neither of our families still in Brooklyn, we couldn’t have found each other. Even if your dad had come back looking for me, or tried to call our old apartment? We wouldn’t have been there.” At least she hasn’t ripped her hand out of yours yet. You’re considering that a good thing “We were kids, and we made mistakes. Very big ones. But you know he didn’t leave because he didn’t love you.”

“I would have never.” He promises, his voice thick with emotions. He shakes his head and frowns slightly. He doesn’t know why he didn’t realize who she was to him now that he knows. She looks just like a perfect combination of you and him, with your nose, thank God. But her ears curl just like his.

“Oh god…” In trying to process everything, Rachel glances up and looks at Frankie’s hat again, groaning to herself and wiping one hand at the bottom of her neck just like he does — but neither of them ever noticed the simile gesture. “I always just thought the hat was a funny coincidence,” she admits with a huff.

“My hat?” He takes it off and scrubs his hair quickly before putting it back on his head. “Had it since I was a kid.”

The Miller brothers look confused, and you offer them a wilted smile with your explanation. "Both of our fathers, Rach's grandfathers...they both worked for Standard for forever. That's how Frankie and I met."

“Oh shit.” Benny frowns slightly and moves over to Rachel’s side, squeezing her hip supportively.

"I know this is a lot." It's a lot for everyone, but you're mostly just talking to Rachel. Your whole adult life has been lived for your baby girl and now emotions are unraveling at light speed. "But nothing has to change. You're a grown woman, sweet pea. And whatever relationship you want with your Dad is up to you."

“I’ve spent time with him.” She admits quietly. “After a fight of Benny’s.” She looks back at Frankie and bites her lip. “But I’d like to get to know him as my dad.”

"I know this just got sprung on everybody," you murmur again. The fact is that right now you have a yard full of people and all you want to do is disappear under your comforter and pretend it isn't happening. "But...life throws you curveballs, right?"

“Yeah.” Frankie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and feeling like his entire world has turned on its head. Wishing like hell he could snort a line but he promised himself he wouldn’t touch that shit again.

"We should give you guys some privacy." When Will finally speaks up, it's to motion to his brother and to Pope that maybe they should step outside. There are a lot of emotions creating tension in this room and they're not going to be made easier by having an audience.

Pope shuffles slightly, wanting to stay, but he also needs to think about this entire thing. The situation is blowing up and he doesn’t want to make things worse.

"Maybe you could throw the burgers on the grill? And we'll be out in a few minutes?" He had offered to be in charge of the grill today but that was before everything had gone to hell and now you have no idea what he's thinking. "And I promise we'll talk through everything, too."

“Of course.” He nods and doesn’t lean in to kiss you like he might have just a few minutes before walking in this house. Feeling almost guilty for the entire situation right now.

That missing kiss is enough to tell you that everything has changed. Santiago has never shied away from affection or from public displays, and this is exactly the time that a partner might have offered that kind of comfort. Whatever you end up talking to him about later, you're now prepared for him to end things. But you can't fault him for that. You had a baby with his best friend – even if you didn't know each other then.

“Baby?” Benny looks at Rachel, checking with her before he leaves.

"It's okay," she promises him, going up on her toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I'll find you when we come back out." And she's going to find a White Claw or six in the garage fridge, too. Fuck.

“Okay.” He shoots Frankie a worried look, not liking the despair on his friend’s face and shuffles to the door.

"I figured it might be easiest to just tell them the facts up front and then let all of us talk," you tell them both, now wondering if that was the right move at all.

“Yeah.” Frankie nods, understanding why you did it, but he looks over at Rachel with regret and waits for her to say something.

"Do you, actually...do you mind if I talk to Frankie—" Rachel hums awkwardly over it, before reconsidering. "If I talk to my father alone for a few minutes?" She sort of feels like they're ganging up on him, and while she has questions and she's sure that you do, too...hers are going to be very different from yours.

“I don’t mind.” Frankie glances back over at you for approval.

"I should go make the rounds outside." As much as you don't want to, it is your party and they are your guests out there. Most of whom noticed that something odd has happened even if they don't know what. Still, you nod and lean over to hug your daughter. "Come back out when you’re ready. Ben looked like he'll worry until you do."

“I will.” She promises and Frankie catches your eye as you glance over at him.

“Thanks.” He murmurs, thanking you for the opportunity to talk to Rachel. He knows you could have been very different with this entire thing. Blowing out a breath when you walk out and shut the door, he looks back at his grown daughter. “So hit me with it.” He tells her.

For a second Rachel is dumbfounded. She just stands and stares at him, but then her shoulders slump and she shrugs and she blows out a long sigh. “I guess I know the real reason my middle name is Francine,” she poses, shaking her head. “Mom said it was because The Nanny is her favourite show and I completely fucking believe that because she worships Fran Drescher, but I’m willing to bet that’s one of only like six lies she’s ever told me in my whole life and it’s actually because of you.”

“Francisco Alberto Morales.” He introduces himself to her quietly, nodding and trying not to be humbled by the fact that you gave your daughter a version of his name. Something to connect the two of you.

“And you guys were…you were together for a long time?” She knows the story. She’s heard it from you over and over again. But something in her feels like she needs to hear it confirmed from him.

“Seventh grade until her 18th birthday.” He frowns at the way that makes him sound, how callous it could be construed. He has just walked away after so long.

“And she wanted to get married.” Rachel prompts, needing these landmarks of the story confirmed for her.

“We had a plan.” He shuffles slightly and looks around the neat and well decorated home. You’ve done well for yourself and it shows. “I was going to get through boot camp and my ‘A’ school while she started college and then when I got to my first duty station, she would transfer to a school nearby.” His shoulders round when he remembers that last fight, the missing piece now clicked into place and with maturity, he can see that you had been terrified, not overbearing. “Her birthday, she blind-sided me with getting married.”

“She wanted to skip forward and get married first, and you didn’t agree.” She can see it from both sides, now. As an adult it makes sense why an eighteen-year-old planning his life would think his girlfriend was just trying to trap him — or even that she wanted the wedding more than she wanted him. “But…you never got married at all? Even after Mom?”

“No.” Marie isn’t married to him, he couldn’t do that even if he had been inclined to. She was still technically married to some guy in her past, or so she claimed. “But….”

“Oh god, don’t say Marie.” Rachel bursts out, talking before she can even think. “She’s awful, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. I didn’t feel like I had a right to say anything before but I totally do now and she’s abusive and terrible, and I will absolutely help you leave her if you need help. I’ll babysit Luna anytime and — oh my god Luna is my sister—”

Frankie shuffles and looks down at his feet. Marie hadn’t been at her best the first time that Rachel had come to the bar after the fight. She had been pissed off because his hearing had been postponed again and he wasn’t closer to getting his pilot’s license back.

“Look, if you’re happy, it’s whatever.” Rachel shuffles, not realizing she’s moving the same way as Frankie, and shrugs. She senses she’s hit a nerve. “I’ll still help with Luna whenever you need. I—I always wanted a baby sister…”

“She’s not bad.” Frankie had dealt with her for a long time and it seemed harder to leave than it was to stay. “That was a bad night.”

“If you say so.” She doesn’t believe him, but the very first day she meets her father isn’t the day to push too hard.

He doesn’t know what to say, so he looks around the house again. “Did you and your mom struggle?” He asks quietly.

“My grandparents helped.” The short answer is yes, but she doesn’t want to make him feel guilty. “We lived with them when I was little, then we moved down here when I was about thirteen. Mom got a job with Disney.”

Frankie nods, frowning slightly. He has his retirement and his Thrift Savings Plan from the military, which he will hopefully be able to not use once he gets his license back. He’s not in the best position to offer any kind of help, but he will. “You’re in school, right?” He asks.

“I’m getting my masters at UCF.” Rachel nods again. “I still live with Mom. Here, I mean. She didn’t make me leave or anything when I started college.”

She’s dedicated. Frankie knows that college, especially graduate programs, are expensive. “That’s good.” He bites his lip and wonders if the offer would offend her. “I have my G.I. Bill.” He mentions. “I can gift it to a spouse – which I don’t have.” He shrugs. “Or a child.”

It's a very sweet offer, but that doesn't really surprise her. She already knows Frankie is a sweet guy. "Save it for Luna," she tells him. "I have great scholarships, and that way she'll be able to look forward to school without worrying about student loans."

It’s feels like a rejection, even though he knows it’s not. He nods and clears his throat. “That’s good.” He has an odd sense of pride for her achievements, even though he had done nothing to contribute.

"What do you want to know about me?" There's probably plenty, but now Rachel feels a bit self-conscious. She's at least heard stories about him. All he knows about her is whatever Ben has told him.

“Everything.” The word tumbles out before he can stop himself and he looks embarrassed. “I— I want to know everything.”

"Everything is a lot," she laughs, but understands. She wants to know everything about him too. She's wondered about her father forever. "What if...what if we did some father/daughter stuff? I could come over and spend time with you and Luna or we could grab a drink sometimes? Just...exist together. And all the get to know you stuff will come in time?"

“Yeah.” He nods eagerly and smiles at her, his eyes crinkling and his face lighting up at the idea. “I like that. Any time. Any time at all.”

“Okay.” She’s feeling bone tired by all of this so she can only imagine how you and Frankie feel, but as Rachel moves over to the notepad on the far table to write her number down for him, she purses her lips slightly and tilts her head. Her thinking face. “Don’t…please don’t be too hard on Mom?” She asks, holding the slip of paper out to him a second later. “She doesn’t ever say it, but I know she’s missed you. And she worked so hard to raise me alone, she just…she deserves the world.”

“I’m not mad at your mother, querida.” He promises, taking the paper and looking down at it before he folds it up carefully and tucks it into his pocket. “I’m mad at myself.” He explains. “Too goddamn proud to admit I was wrong, and I apparently missed out on a hell of a life.” He looks up at her with pride. “And a hell of a daughter.”

“Well shucks, Paw,” she laughs, obviously very touched by the sentiment. “I guess we both have a bunch to catch up on. But we can do that.”

He snorts and huffs out a grin. “By the way, I’m going to punch your boyfriend in the mouth.” He warns Rachel. “So don’t go screaming at me when it happens.”

“Benny?” She makes an audible huffing sound. “What did he do?”

“You’ll find out.” He won’t say now, but he shrugs. “He deserves it, and he’ll know it.”

“Seems weird, but okay.” Men do weird things sometimes. She’s not so young that she doesn’t know that.

He chuckles and sweeps his head off his head again. “You look like your mother when you wrinkle your nose.”

“It’s funny.” She wrinkles her nose again but consciously, wondering if she really does look like you that way. “She always said I had your smile. And your ears.”

Frankie reaches out and brushes her curls back behind her ears and smiles. “You do have my ears.” He admits.

“Is it weird? She asks, stifling a laugh. “To realize that?”

“Surreal.” He admits with a sigh. “I don’t know what to think. I went from being too old to have a six-month-old, to being the dad to a grown ass woman.”

“I was teasing Mom about wanting a little sister last night,” Rachel admits with a groan at the irony. “Shows me right.”

Frankie smirks slightly and shrugs. “Isn’t life sometimes a kick in the teeth?”

******

“What a Fucking kick in the teeth.” Will pushes out a sigh in the backyard, cracking open the beer he grabbed from the cooler Fish brought.

“Yeah.” Pope frowns at the grill, pushing the perfectly aligned burgers with the spatula. “Who would have thought?”

"What are you gonna do?" It's not as though Pope has had a lot of time to think, but Will knows him long enough to know that the wheels are already spinning. They have all heard Fish talk about his gatita, and now that they know who she is? It at least warrants a reaction.

Pope glances over at Will before he looks back at the grill, his movements a little stiffer than just a moment before. “What can I do?” He asks rhetorically. “She was his first.”

"Just because she was his first doesn't mean that he has to be her last," Benny offers, not quite sure what else to say. They all know that Pope had been starting to fall for you, even if it had never been said. Now he is very obviously pulling back.

"No, but she would want him to be." He admits quietly. "She had told me about her first love. She didn't tell me his name." He says pointedly when Benny opens his mouth to ask the obvious question. "But she told me enough to know that she's still in love with him. And we know that Frankie never got over her."

"So it's not about stepping back," Will observes, sipping his beer in the hot Florida sun. "It's about letting them be together."

Closing the grill, Pope sighs, hands on his hips as he looks around the backyard and comes to his decision. "Don't you think Fish deserves to be happy?" He asks quietly.

"Of course he does." The idea that Will might think otherwise practically makes him clutch his proverbial pearls.

"And fuck knows we want Marie gone," Benny huffs under his breath.

"His gatita is the one to make both of those wishes come true." He's sure of it and he will bow out like a gentleman. It's the least he can do since the last half year of hell in his personal life is partially his responsibility. He had pushed Fish to come to South America. Pope looks back at both of the other men. "Want to help me fix Fish's life?"

Benny is the first to smirk, clapping his hands together and rubbing them dramatically. "You gonna pull a binder out of your ass or are we talking this one through?"

"First, I'm going to get really drunk and pretend like I'm not falling on a sword." Pope snorts, snatching the beer out of Will's hand and taking a drink. "Then, we're gonna figure out how to get Fish custody of Luna." He tells them quietly. "That little girl is the reason he's still with Marie."

"We just need proof that she's the one with the drug problem." Will mumbles, not wanting to say those words too loud. "And we need his hearing to go through so he can get his damn license back."

"Yeah." He sighs and points at Will. "Can you talk to your ex?" Pope asks, knowing it's a big favor. "She's still working in the DA's office, right? Maybe she can help us? Or know someone who can?" Being a paralegal isn't the same as being an assistant DA, but she knows people.

"I'll see if she can at least point me in the right direction," Will nods in agreement, knowing that as uncomfortable as talking to his ex-fiancée will be, it's definitely the right course of action. "She always like Fish. It shouldn't be too hard to get her to give an e-mail or phone number of who can help."

“Marie isn’t going be happy learning about Rachel.” Pope glances at Benny. “You know that.”

"She's going to be furious." Ben agrees, wiping his hand through his hair and blowing out a raspberry. "She's gonna think Fish kept it from her on purpose."

“Poor bastard looked like he was about to fall over.” Pope sighs. “I hate this.”

"We're gonna make it work," Benny promises him. "Sorry you got shoved into the middle of it, though."

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t and it actually really hurt that he was going to have to end things with you and pretend that he’s just friends with you, but his brother is worth it.

"Better to find out now than a year from now," Will offers, knowing it isn't a whole lot of comfort. But at least it's honest.

“Yeah.” You walk out of the house and he immediately turns to watch you. “Better now.” Santi murmurs, his heart aching.

******

Most people leave around dinner time, splintering off to nighttime plans or to go home to their families. Santiago, Frankie, and the Miller brothers stayed long enough to help you clean up and Rachel is loading the dishwasher when you realize Santiago has gone temporarily missing. On a hunch, you go down the hall to your bedroom and frown to see him there, tucking things back into his duffel bag.

"Decided not the stay the night?"

He hates that you caught him and he stands tall after shoving in a t-shirt and tamping down the guilty feeling. “It’s been a…surprising day.” He tells you. “Figured it might be better to change the plan for tonight.”

"Just for tonight?" You have a feeling you know the answer, but you want it out in the open. No questions or doubts.

His eyes slide away from you and for a moment, he falters. Wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. “No.” He admits, walking over to you and cupping your cheeks in his hand. “I am— was— falling in love with you.” He won’t lie to you. “But you’ve been in love with Frank for far longer than you’ve loved me.”

It's enormously frustrating for him to be both presumptuous and right. The last thing you want is to admit it, especially as tears press at the back of your eyes, and so a protest comes out of your mouth instead. "He's with someone else," you point out, knowing that someone mentioned it earlier. One of the Miller brothers, you think. "He's—he's—it's so complicated, Santi."

“I know it is.” His brow pinches together and he leans forward to kiss your forehead. “And if it’s too complicated, I won’t let you twist in the wind.” He promises. “But you deserve to find out if your love for him is still there.”

"This isn't how I saw today ending." Overwhelmed and next to tears was definitely not on the docket, but you're not going to beg him to stay. That's not the kind of girl you are anymore. You haven't been in a long time. "What a shitty birthday."

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Pope closes his own eyes and leans his forehead against yours. “I can stay if you want.” He offers in a whisper, feeling guilty all over as his resolve crumbles.

"You'd feel guilty if you did." He's a good man, that's why. It's part of what you liked so much about him when you met, and part of what's grown on you. "Like you were betraying Frankie."

“I would still stay.” He promises.

"You'd feel guilty and then you'd start to resent me." The defense mechanism of crossing your arms over your chest might guard you in spirit, but it doesn't stop you from feeling like utter dogshit in this moment. "Just...know that this isn't how I wanted things to go between us. That's all."

“I know.” He murmurs softly, the slight smile on his lips ironic. “I know, baby. I didn’t want this either.” He admits. “But I’m still going to be here for you. That won’t change.”

“Could I just ask you one favor before you go?” All things considered, it’s very minor and sort of the least you could possibly ask.

“Anything.” Pope would do anything for you, he’s proving that, but he wouldn’t deny you simple request if it’s in his power to take care of it.

“I don’t know if you’re going to see them at all tonight or not but just…don’t tell Rachel yet? She’s going to spend the night with Ben again and I know her. She’ll come straight home to be with me instead. I don’t want to ruin her night.”

He chuckles softly, aware of what that says about you as a mom. “You are a good woman.” He murmurs, leaning in kissing your forehead again. “I won’t say anything to her.”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow.” You promise him. It’s not that you want to hide things from her — it’s that you know she’ll act rashly out of loyalty to you if she finds out tonight. She might even break up with Ben, which is the last thing she actually wants or that you want for her.

“When you tell her is up to you.” He would never think that he should have an input on your relationship with Rachel or when you tell her. “Whenever you are comfortable.”

“Well…” A shrug and a half sigh are the best you can do, not really sure of what else to say. Maybe you’ll get on Pet Finder tonight and look for a cat. Or three.

“Oh…” Pope reaches into his bag and pulls out your gift. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone.” He tells you quietly. “But this is for you.”

“You didn’t have to.” Especially now. Especially with everything that’s happened today. But you still smile weakly and accept the bag. Yup. It’s gonna be me and three cranky, elderly cats. That’s my future. “I—um, thank you. It’s…very sweet of you. You’re a very sweet person.”

“No, I’m not.” Pope snorts as he steps back. “But you are worth the effort.”

Impulsively, it does make you want to ask why he’s leaving, then. But you know the answer. You know this is about you and Frankie having a past and that nothing is going to change Santiago’s loyalty to his best friend. What’s even more annoying is that you like that about him, it hits harder and hurts more. All you can say without letting the emotions through the floodgates is just to excuse yourself to grab the book of his that you borrowed because it’s downstairs in the living room.

Staring at the door, Pope sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket to text Will. Deciding that he needs a drink after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[overstuffd]

Taking you out to a - unbeknownst to you - feeder cinema.

'It's amazing!' I tell you. 'They have waiter service right to the seats - and I got us a great deal. We're going to watch a marathon of classic stoner movies and we get dinner and unlimited snacks. Doesn't that sound perfect?'

Without thinking your hand goes to your growing pot belly. You kept saying you need to take it easy on indulging your appetite for greasy food - but your gut rumbles in response.

After a moment's hesitation, you agree that it sounds like fun. I smile, hungrily.

They're stoner comedies, so of course I get you stoned beforehand. Plenty of bong hits before we head out, encouraging you to hit my vape on the -thankfully- short walk to the movie theatre.

When we get there, the staff are so delighted to see you. They explain that you'll be served one course of dinner between each of the four movies and there'll be a midnight feast at the end. In the meantime, help yourself to the snack table.

Snack table hardly does it justice - there's a huge buffet set up with every kind of appetiser you can think of. I encourage you to go through to the theatre and get comfy in your seat while I fix you a plate.

The seats are really two person couches, with soft looking pillows to prop ourselves up on. They're pretty well sized, but with your thicker thighs you realise we'll be pressed close together.

You get settled, and I show up with your pre-dinner snack. If you weren't so stoned you'd say it seemed like a lot. Your plate is stacked with mozzarella sticks, garlic bread and mac and cheese, all of them geneorusly portioned out for you by me.

As it is though your munchies are kicking in hard, so you accept the plate and start eating. Before the film starts one of the attendents comes by and smiles as they place a bucket sized soda cup and extra large popcorn next to our seat, on your side naturally. I already let them know your favourite candies, and they're mixed through the popcorn, the chocolate gently melting in the still warm kernels.

The film starts, and soon you're snorting with laughter like a dumbass at the cheesy jokes and slap stick. Your mouth is dry from the smoking and all the salty food, so you end up chugging your soda hard, but whenever it starts running low one of the attentive staff is there with a replacement.

The same happens with your popcorn, you're only halfway through before your carton is replaced with a fresh batch. It makes it hard to keep track of what you're eating, but between the snack plate and the endlessly refilling bag you're pretty sure you've already had what most people would consider a meal.

It's hard to concentrate on that though, because the first movie is over and it's time for appetisers to be served. You almost don't believe me when I say you haven't even had the first course yet.

Before you put up too much of a fuss though I hand you my vape - no, the staff won't mind I promise - and you relax again, especially when I offer you a pair of gummy edibles to kick in during the movie.

I took the liberty of ordering for you, and you're already faded by the time your heaping pile of nachos arrive, loaded with cheese, guacamole, sour cream, hot salsa, jalapenos and brisket. The spiciness hits your sensitised pallet hard, but there's always more soda to soothe it.

The second movie has started now, and as it plays you polish off your nachos, and most of my order of onion rings once I pass it over.

At some point, your soda cup is replaced with an extra-large cold beer, but you chug that down just as happily, your mind getting floatier with every gulp.

At the end of the second movie the main courses arrive, and you try and tap out. The greasy, double-patty burger is huge, even ignoring the massive side of fries and slaw. The attendents have bought you mug sized tubs of spicy mayo, creamy burger sauce and barbecue to help everything slip down easily, but even so.

You turn to me, your eyes big as the third film starts to roll. I pretend to be sympathetic, but my words are the last thing you want to hear. 'Oh, poor thing! Are you too out of it to eat your dinner even though you're so hungry?'

You try to put together a protest but forming a whole sentence is beyond you at this point, so you flop backwards and let me slowly feed you the burger and sides, holding the dripping handfuls to your mouth until you take a bite and then pushing salty fries in afterwards. When you slow too much I push my vape into your mouth again and the new rush of haziness gives you another burst of energy.

You don't remember anything that happens in the third film, just the growing heat between your legs as your waistband presses harder and harder into your stomach.

The final break - dessert. I get up from our seat, and even if you'd been able to speak you didn't think to ask where I was going, your mind completely preoccupied with the pressure in your belly.

When I come back though, you've realised there's a sundae bar in the lobby that I've visited on your behalf. A huge bowl of softserve, another bucket really, smothered in caramel and chocolate sauce, peanuts, cookie crumb and whipped cream.

Your stoamch audibly groans when you see it, but you're so docile you let me push more than a few spoonfuls between your lips before you start turning your face away, struggling even to move that much.

You're expecting me to grow more forecful, but instead I set the icecream aside and pay attention to your straining gut, undoing your pants (you sigh in relief, they were moments away from bursting) and rubbing slow circles on your belly. My hand dips lower as I make lazy circles and you moan appreciatively, way too far gone to care about embarassing yourself in public.

The film is drawing to a close, the lovable losers have completed their stoner quest, and you're getting close to finishing too. Once you're frantically grinding against my fingers, though, I pull away, and suddenly the icecream bucket is back at your lips.

No spoon now, the softserve has melted into a thick and creamy shake mined with sweetness. I part your lips and tilt the bucket so it pours into your mouth. Youf flabby mind can think of only one defence against choking on it so you swallow, slowly, painfully, your overstretched stomach straining at the additional pressure.

The credits of the movie are rolling and you're almost finished with your shake - and my hand is back between your legs, rougher than before.

I've been training you to come when your stomach is straining, so I up the speed as you take your last mouthful and you finish over my fingers.

I ruffle your hair and wipe a little icecream off your cheek as I coo at what a good job you did for me.

The staff are in no rush for us to leave, which is good because you can't stand right now.

Instead they leave the lights low as I gently rub your eager belly, enjoying the deep rumbles as you start digesting your enormous meal.

When you've recovered a little I'll walk you to the car - and maybe if you're good we can get drive through on the way home.

[justbreakonme]

Signs of Change

Whumpee didn’t like it, when the seasons started to change. It still made him uneasy, knowing just how cold the nights could get and just how precarious his position could be. He was only safe as long as he was good, and the outdoors had no mercy.

But Caretaker did.

“Hey, Whumpee, why don’t you come in here? It’s warmer, since the stove’s going.” Caretaker’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he obeyed.

When he rounded the corner into the kitchen, the warmth enveloped him immediately. There was a large, silver soup pot boiling away on the stove, and the smell of onion and garlic and herbs and all sorts of things instantly made his mouth water.

“It needs to simmer for a bit longer, I think. Do you want to come sit with me?”

Whumpee nodded, and took a seat where he always did, across from Caretaker at the old wooden table.

“Not a talking day, huh?”

He shook his head, rubbing a fist in a circle over his chest.

Sorry.

“It’s fine, you’re good. I just like to check-in so I know.”

Whumpee couldn’t ever explain why sometimes words just, failed him. But, after his old owner, after being silent for so long, he sometimes felt…stuck.

“Do you feel like playing cards? I think we have enough time for a round of war…”

Whumpee nodded, dutifully turning to grab the cards from the little shelf in the corner. He liked cards. War was the first game they had played together, back when he’d first been bought rescued.

Caretaker had made it very clear that he wasn’t owned, anymore.

But he hoped maybe, maybe if he was really, really good, he could be. He had tried, once, to ask what he could do, if anything, to earn being owned again, but, the words had died in his mouth and he’d gone silent for days.

He understood why they didn’t want to own him, he wasn’t really worth very much. But, sometimes, he let himself believe that between him trying his very hardest and Caretakers inexplicable mercy, there might be a chance. Someday.

Caretaker handed him a stack of cards, and he brought the tips of his fingers to his chin, hand open and palm towards himself, then moved his hand out in front of him, almost in a swinging motion.

Thank you.

“You’re welcome.” Caretaker smiles as they play their first card, and he follows suit.

The game goes by quickly, and soon, the oven timer went off, making them both jump.

“Here, we’ll just scoot these over a bit and we can play while we eat. Would you grab the spoons?”

He nodded, carefully moving his pile of cards to the side and heading for the silverware drawer.

As Caretaker ladled out the soup, he placed a spoon at each of their spots, then, unsure if he should sit or wait for the next task, he hovered between the drawer and the table, wringing his hands.

As they turned to grab the bowls, they noticed his hesitation. “Go ahead and sit, I’ll bring the bowls over.”

Another tap-then-outward gesture of thanks, and he sat back down, watching as they carefully ladled out two bowls of steaming soup.

Carefully, they carried one bowl at a time to the table, oven mitts on.

“Ooh- don’t try to hold it, it’s super hot.” Caretaker dodged where Whumpee had tried to help set the bowl down, instead opting to set it down on the edge and scoot it over so it didn’t spill.

He rubbed his fist over his chest in a circle again, more frantic this time.

Sorry, sorry!

“You’re good, I just didn’t want you to burn yourself,” they returned to the table with their own bowl, tossing the oven mitts onto the spare chair after settling in, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

He tried to mimic Caretaker, who was blowing gently on their soup, but the lump in his throat got in the way.

He wished, as he often did, that he could speak without speaking, in more ways than literally. He wished he could make them know things.

If he was patient and waited for his voice to return, or if he went to get one of the whiteboards Caretaker kept laying around for him, he could tell him that he would do anything for them. That they had his loyalty and devotion, his mind, body, and soul.

But he couldn’t make them know it the way he did. It snuck up on him, in moments like these, then hit like a tsunami.

His stillness must have caught their attention because they looked up. “You okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard and smiling, then gave a timid thumbs up.

You don’t own me, but, I belong to you.

They grinned, giving him a thumbs up back, and another tsunami took his breath away.

But, that was fine. He’d let the soup cool on its own, and they would play cards, and for the first time in a very long while, he was able to forget the changing seasons and the morning frost.

It couldn’t touch him here.

Caretaker wouldn’t let it.

[furiousgoldfish]

When I was a little kid, I asked my mother 'What does a child need to survive in a desert?'. She wouldn't give me a straight answer, so I had to pull it out of her bit by bit. Would a child live if they had fruit? 'That's not enough', she said. Would it work if the child had milk? 'Maybe'. I kept asking what else, and then she put the dots together, and figured out why I was asking. 'Children can't survive without their mother', she told me curtly. I frowned, not liking this response. 'But, if they had fruit and milk?' I insisted. 'No. Child can't survive without a mother. Don't even think about it.'

But, I was thinking about it, and she knew it. She knew I was trying to find a way to escape the house we were living in. I was 6, maybe 7 at the time. She repeated over and over to me, you would die outside this house. Nobody else would take you in, there's no place for you anywhere else. You would only be a burden.

I didn't like that. I didn't like the idea of being a burden anywhere. But, I supposed she was right, other people didn't need a stray kid.

In my quest of not being a burden, I wanted to learn how to work. In the house I lived in, there were countless chores to be done, but somehow I was always stuck with the ones that required no knowledge or skill. Put the logs over there, clean, carry this over there, sweep, scrub, throw, wash, dig, gather, relocate, hold, lift, put down, bury, shut up, and don't ask questions. I wouldn't get any answers even if I did ask, why am I doing this, whats it for? I wasn't to know. I was kept blind, following orders, up to myself to figure out what was this a part of.

When I'd be ordered to do something I didn't know how, I would be told I 'should have learned it by watching others do it', but I was never free to watch while others worked. In fact, if anyone in the house was doing anything, and I was sitting or lying down, I would be screamed at for 'just watching others work and doing nothing'.

Reaching adulthood, I really wanted to know about cooking, but mother always chased me out of the kitchen if she was making something, or she would chore me with 'peeling the vegetables', which would then take all of my attention. I tried to sneak into the kitchen and learn by myself, but she chased me away as soon as she'd catch me, telling me off for 'wasting resources'. But, as she noticed my inclination, she decided to inform me, in a very clear manner, that I would never in my life know how to cook. You see, I was clumsy, slow, stupid, and would always only mess it up and waste precious ingredients. It was far above my abilities to learn how to cook. She gave me a clove of garlic to cut, and I couldn't do it well on my first try. She told me it was a proof that I was 'no good'. Then she gave me an onion to cut, and yelled at me for 'taking too long'. Now it was proven twice over. I couldn't cook. Everything would be ruined because I was taking too long to cut the vegetables. Also, I didn't know where food was even stored in the kitchen. She would never show me. (The food was stored in boxes in the basement. I would find out years later.)

With a heavy heart, I gave up on learning how to cook, and resigned myself to feeling forever guilty for 'eating their food', which was something my family regularly held over my head. You know, after I helped digging, working the soil, sowing, planting, weeding and spraying, it was still their land, and their food, and I 'had no right to it'. They were careful never to show me how to actually grow food, but just kept me busy with menial tasks that were never explained to me.

I was convinced my mother was a good person, because she usually wouldn't forbid me to eat, and if she wanted me to do a task, she would tell me in a humane way. For example 'Can you do x?'. The other family members had a more crude way, something like 'Why are you waiting to be told, do I have to spell out everything to you??' so her polite manner had completely won me over, I would have done anything for my sickly, poor, kind and generous mother, who was so worried for my troubled self, who couldn't learn how to do anything, or survive outside the house.

Even though my mother repeated through the years, that I would never be able to do anything, and also berated me if I ever tried to learn a new skill because 'it was worthless and wouldn't earn me any money', I would still sometimes gather a bit of momentum and courage, and figure hey, I should try to get a job. It would take months to gather that kind of confidence. And one such time, I announced my intentions, I'm going to look for a job! My mother laughed without looking at me. 'Who would hire you? You can't do anything.' Poof. That was my balloon of confidence, popping and then deflating into a tiny bulb. I didn't think she had any reason to lie to me. She knew me all my life. If she was confident that I can't do anything... then it had to be true. Otherwise why would she say that?

The rest of the family, of course, agreed. My grandmother, she had fantastic stories to share with me about how quickly I would be kidnapped, robbed, murdered, tortured, sold into slavery, you know all that good stuff that happens to every person outside their parents house. My father, who inherited massive amounts of land, 2 houses, illegally got his hands on a third, earned a very formidable salary, and constantly had me working for free for him, told me that it was in fact, impossible for a person to survive out there without inheritance. I frowned because I didn't agree with this, and I asked, what about the people who get a job and move into the city? They were living just from their wages. He shook his head and said that it may look like that, but they're all just living from their family's resources. I was old enough to not believe him. It's him who couldn't live without his inheritance, because he's an idiot, I thought.

So, I finally got to earn some money online. It was slow, and very tiny amount, I was freelancing and there was no consistent income, but my enthusiasm on being able to earn anything, was strong. After all, I had earned absolutely nothing working for my family for forever, and this was mine. I remember securing a big project and rushing to reassure my mother, to tell her that I was in fact, good for something, and she didn't have to worry anymore, I was going to make something of myself.

'You will never get another project again.' Her face was dead serious. 'You were lucky once. Don't count on this happening again'. I was speechless. Self doubt swallowed me whole. Was this only one-time occurrence? Was I stupid to believe it would happen again? I despaired. She was my mother, and she was older than me, and she knew the world better than I did. She wouldn't say this for no reason. Could she be right?

She brought it up to the rest of the family, and they all had things to say about it. 'Online work isn't real. The money doesn't even exist. You'll never see it. Show us where is this money. You can't, can you? And even if it does exist, it will all get stolen from you'.

Leaving me wrapped in my survival panic attack, they went on with their day, satisfied that they put me back in my place (which was an ongoing panic attack). I eventually recovered, and continued to work on projects. I was approached and told I would fail constantly, but even then, what could I do but work with my anxiety levels up to the roof and wait to fail? I had to try.

I didn't believe I would make it, because my mother's words 'you'll die, you'll die' were on repeat in my head, but I realized I would die in that house anyway, so I ran away from home. My mother was worried about me; she was in fact, so worried she called every person who knew me, all of friends, relatives, their kids, and told them about how badly worried she was for me, and how I needed to come back home. These people, well they were all worried too you see, so they had to call me, to tell me that I'm breaking my mother's heart, that I don't know how it feels to have a child and not know if their child is okay, apparently she was crying every time it rained because she thought I might be outside in the rain.

My guilt was activated, but I knew just what to do to resolve this situation. I responded to my mother's call, and she told me too, that she was dying from worry, so I said, listen! Listen to what I have! And I went around the apartment, and I listed all of the groceries I had bought and stored. I listed everything out to her, and then explained how to make multiple meals, I offered proof to her that I had already, in this short time, learned how to cook, and I was doing fine. I was sure she'd be so relieved to know that her child had food.

In my mind we were continuing the conversation we had when I was six. I have milk and fruit now mommy. You said I might survive if I have that.

'Okay, we KNOW you can do everything yourself--' She interrupted me angrily, unwilling to listen to my ongoing list of resources and skills. I froze. '--but you need to think about what you're doing to us and come back home!'

I hung up. Unbelieving. Two things I've been told in that sentence, and I had a hard time believing either. She- they- KNEW I could do everything myself. Since when? For how long? How could she possibly say this, after telling me my whole life, not only that I didn't know anything, but was too stupid to even learn? She knew I was capable the entire time? She knew I'd do just fine? And, she was angry about it. Hearing the list of resources and skills I had, it made her livid. After crying to all these people, and convincing me she was dying out of worry, she wasn't worried even one little bit. It was all fake. The entire time. She could either tell I was capable the entire time, or.. she never cared enough to even tell. It didn't matter. It only mattered that she convinced me that I can't survive. So I wouldn't run. So I would stay in that house, and so she could watch her violent husband, and violent mother in law beat me and call me animal names. While blocking my only possible exit.

Later I found out she changed her story. She was now telling people that I was now 'rich but so selfish I would not give any of my money to her'. It was almost funny. Her perspective of me rapidly shifted from 'incapable idiot who cannot survive' to 'selfish rich snob who won't give money'.

It stung. I had spent my life trying to protect her. Even after running, all I could think was how badly I wanted to take her away from that violent place, how much I wanted happiness for her. She watched me dying in that house and blocked my exit. She threw me back into the hands of violence and cheered them on as they broke me. She watched a kid being broken and told that kid they could not live, except if they stay and continue being broken, over and over again. I got jealous of all of the mothers who helped their kids escape. And of all the kids whose mothers escaped, taking them with. Keeping them safe. Why wasn't I worth keeping safe? But I can't look back in that way. That's not it. There was nobody to keep me safe. Nobody was my mother. Nobody was my parent.

My six year old self reached their goal. What does a child need to survive in a desert? Some fruit. And some milk. And some other groceries also don't hurt. And definitely not a mother like this one.

[knittingandscience]

Feed the bereaved. They're not dead yet.

This was not an unspoken rule in my community growing up; it was in fact spoken loudly and frequently.

Any time someone shared the news of a death in the family or even just a hospital visit, "don't forget to eat" would be found in the response.

At funerals, someone in the mourning family would always mention the casseroles, the chicken, the pastries waiting in their fridge. There would often be so much they'd ask funeralgoers to take some home for themselves.

This, of course, does not apply the same when family is far away, or when only one household is grieving. There is no overflowing fridge, no countertop full of grocery bags.

When it's my household in that situation, I make Grief Pasta Salad.

Large stock pot (10Qt or more)

Colander

Medium mixing bowl

Liquid measuring cup that will hold 2 cups

Pasta scoop

Fork

2 pounds rotini

3/4 cup finely diced ham (optional)

5 small tomatoes, diced

1 and a half large cucumbers, diced

1/2 cup olive oil

1/4 cup either red wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup balsamic vinegar

1 tablespoon smoked paprika

2 teaspoons dried red pepper flakes

2 teaspoons dried basil

1 teaspoon dried onion

2 teaspoons garlic powder

2 teaspoons molasses

Pinch of salt

Black pepper to taste

Put the water on for pasta. Start preparing your tomato, cucumber, ham (if desired) and put them all in the mixing bowl. You might be able to get all that done before the water boils.

Cook the rotini to desired tenderness and drain.

If your chopping is done, mix the remaining ingredients together in your liquid measuring cup. You can adjust the seasonings as needed* and whisk them together with the fork if you don't want to have to wash a whisk later.

*Author's note: the paprika is non-negotiable.

Put all your solid ingredients into whichever receptacle has the most room. Most likely your stock pot. Pour your whisked vinaigrette over top and mix it through.

This is enough to feed two people for about a day or two. It tastes fine cold.

Eat. You're not dead yet.

[jokeroutsubs]

SLOVENIAN CUISINE: EXPLAINED

Extremely confused by Joker Out’s recent post? Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!

KRANJSKA KLOBASA:

Carniolan sausage is one of the most recognisable Slovenian culinary products. Since January 2015 it has been protected with geographical indication by the European Union. It originates from the historical region of Kranjska, once the Duchy of Carniola, a crown land of the Austrian Empire. The sausage is a reddish brown colour on the surface and bears a faint scent of smoke. Each pair is held together with a wooden skewer.

Preparation: It contains at least 75 to 80% pork (aside from bacon) and at most, 20% bacon. It may contain up to 5% water, sea salt from the Sečovlje salt pans, a little garlic, saltpetre and black pepper. No other ingredients are permitted. It has to be cooked before consumption. It is usually eaten hot, together with sour or cooked cabbage or sour turnip.

Perfect for: folk village parties called ‘veselice’, where they are a common choice alongside wine or beer. For that occasion, bread, mustard, and sliced onion are mandatory accompaniments.

IDRIJSKI ŽLIKROFI:

Žlikrofi is a traditional Slovenian dish, originating from Idrija a small town in the east of Slovenia. Idrija is mostly known for its lace and now-closed mercury mines. Žlikrofi were the first Slovenian dish registered as a Traditional speciality guaranteed (TSG).

Preparation: Žlikrofi are made using pasta, filled with a mixture of potatoes, onion, pig lard, chives and other spices. They are best served with ‘bakalca’ (a sauce made out of lamb and vegetables).

Perfect for: Žlikrofi are eaten all year round and can be served either as a starter, side dish or a main course. Alongside restaurants in Idrija, tourists can also try them at the Idrija Lace Festival or at the Idrija Žlikrofi Festival, where žlikrofi are prepared in more than 35 different ways. The žlikrofi festival is held at the end of August, this year it is taking place on the 24th of August.

POTICA:

Potica (a Slovenian nut roll) is the number one traditional holiday pastry in Slovenia. It has been registered as a Traditional speciality guaranteed (TSG) in the European Union since April 2021.

Preparation: It consists of a rolled pastry made from sweet yeast dough, most commonly filled with walnuts, but there are variations with hazelnuts, tarragon, poppy, cottage cheese and others. Its ingredients are quite basic, but achieving the right balance of filling and dough is challenging. Traditionally it is ring-shaped, baked always in the special shaped potica baking mould (ceramic, glass or tin one), called ‘potičnik’, which has a conical protrusion in the middle.

Perfect for: All holidays, especially Christmas and Easter. Slovenian housekeepers are happy to bake it even outside the holiday season to pamper their loved ones.

PREKMURKSA GIBANICA:

Prekmurje layer cake (literal translation: Over-Mura moving cake 😂) is a special cake originating in eastern region of Slovenia, Prekmurje. The name ‘gibanica’ comes from the dialect expression güba and refers to a fold. Since March 2010, prekmurska gibanica is protected in the EU as a Traditional Speciality Guaranteed.

Fun fact: If you are visiting Prekmurje, you can swing by The House of Gibanica, where you can enjoy the full gibanica experience which includes tasting handmade gibanica, made in the traditional way using a protected recipe.

Preparation: The preparation of this layered cake is quite complex and expensive, which is why it is only served on special occasions. Each layer is topped with plenty of sweet cream, eggs and butter. The dessert requires crumbly and rolled dough and four types of filling, made up of cottage cheese, poppy seeds, walnuts and apples.

Perfect for: special occasions like Christmas and Easter. As it is very filling, it’s not ideal to eat (or prepare) in hot weather.

BOGRAČ

Bograč is a hearty dish, consisting of many meats. It is typical of the Prekmurje region. It is a festive dish, as it is never cooked for just one person. It is best when cooked in a kettle over an open fire. In Hungarian this kettle is called 'bogrács' , hence the name of the dish.

Preparation: Sweat onions in lard, then add a different type of meat to the dish at the end of each hour of simmering: first the beef, then the venison, and finally the pork. Season with paprika and add a splash of white wine. Finally, add the potatoes and cook until they are done.

Perfect for: large family gatherings.

Fun fact: Every year, Lendava* organises the international 'bograč' cooking competition called ‘Bogračfest.’ The municipality of Lendava also holds the Guinness World Record for the largest bograč ever prepared (1,801 kg) since 2021.

* A Slovenian town near the Hungarian border.

Content prepared by: @kurooscoffee, @weolucbasu, drumbeat

Graphic design by: X pastellibianchi, anonymous JOS member

English proofreading by: IG GBoleyn123, @flowerlotus8, X klamstrakur

[ohitslen]

Sharing a meal

I wrote something for this below the cut if you’re interested :)

They never eat anything too tasty, surviving with packeted rations and canned food in their journey. Sometimes they would stop at a little restaurant and eat a nice meal; it really tasted like something gourmet after days of going with grain bars and dry jerky.

There were fleeting moments in between conversations in which one of them would remember some dish, from back in the day when things were easier and they didn’t worry about too many things. They never went deeper into the topic, just mentioning how they missed a good meal.

Staying at an inn or any motel was an expensive thing to pay for. However sometimes they had some extra money from an odd job Vash did or from Wolfwood’s undertaker services, and they would always rent a room as a treat for themselves.

It was a surprise when they entered the room and saw a small kitchen. The space was a little too cramped but it had everything they needed, it was like a deluxe room when they though about all the places they had been at. None of them had a kitchen at all, maybe they had a tiny stove or a mini fridge, perhaps a table sometimes but never the whole set together.

They both looked at each other to confirm they really were seeing the thing, smiling excitedly.

They could make a meal for themselves.

Vash knew how to cook, he had done some work on kitchens throughout his life. A few times he helped Rem when he was a child, he knows how to defend himself. Yet he didn’t know any recipes by heart, not any that would be inside their budget at least. He could get creative and probably whip up a thing or two if he was given enough time.

“I know what to do” Wolfwood said with a smile that irradiated a melancholic warmth interrupting his thoughts . A smile Vash had only seen when he talked about the things he loved.

Vash didn’t suggest anything in the end and just followed what the other man told him to do.

He went to buy all the things Wolfwood asked him for. Vegetables and some thoma meat. There seemed to be some spices in the room so he only bought garlic and onion as per Wolfwood’s request.

When Vash got back, he found Nick at the table arranging the ingredients the kitchen already had. He was already showered, hair messy and with droplets of water hanging on the tips. Getting closer, he could smell the soap, the cheap shampoo and the lingering scent of nicotine that never seemed to go away. He was changed into a black, long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose dark blue pants.

His overall appearance made Vash think how the edges of the man were less sharp, he seemed more relaxed and at ease, even if it wasn’t entirely the case. He just looked, soft.

“Hey welcome back, did you bring what I asked you for or will I have to use your meat for this?” Wolfwood greeted him without looking up from his task, the ingredients being the most interesting thing in the world it seemed.

Something warm pooled at the pit of Vash’s stomach, he didn’t know why that was and didn’t bother to think about it either, just enjoying the feeling.

Smiling, he placed the bags on the table in front of Wolfwood, taking out its contents. “I’m sure I brought everything yeah, I hope my life can be spared”.

The priest snorted at him and grabbed a potato that was rolling off the table. “Aight then, make yourself useful and start washing these and then chop ‘em to reasonable bitable sizes”. Losing no time, he took the meat and was cutting it while giving out the instructions.

While Vash was washing and chopping, the other was already preparing the meat putting it in a pot with boiling water. Once Vash was finished with all he was asked to do, Wolfwood ushered him to take a shower while the food was done, wanting to have more space in the narrow place. Vash did as told in that as well.

The shower felt great, all of the gross stickiness from the sweat and other things were finally washed off from his body. He felt light and a thousand times more content.

As he opened the door the smell hit him in the face, a delicious scent that surely tasted even better. Wolfwood was stirring the pot, poking some of the potatoes to make sure they were on the right term, and they seemed to be as he turned off the stove.

Vash got closer, mouth already watering just from the thought of how it’d taste “That smells so good! What did you make?” He asked with a big grin plastered all over his face.

Wolfwood pointed at the table with his hand, signaling him to sit down a little dismissively while he looked for the bowls on his own. It seemed like he was the kind that with less people on the kitchen when he was there, the better. “Just a broth, nothing too wow it’s something easy, and on budget”. Vash hummed with wonder and served two cups of water to busy himself with something.

Wolfwood poured the two servings of the broth, it was still hot and the bowl must surely be scalding. Yet Wolfwood’s calloused hands never flinched, placing their food on the table without much trouble along with a pair of long spoons.

“Be careful or you will murder your tongue” he warned and Vash chuckled.

“Thanks for the heads up chef, ‘preciate it” the other just scoffed at the title and sat down across him .

They both mixed the broth while blowing at it in hopes for it to cool down a little. However seeing how they were both starving and didn’t care too much about getting burnt or not, they just started to dig in.

Wolfwood was eating eagerly, having spoonful after spoonful of his food. He was beyond delighted. It had been a long time since he had the chance to prepare the broth he used to have back at the Orphanage.

“It’s…delicious” he heard Vash say in a low and calm tone. When he looked up to see the man, he was shocked to find him with reddish eyes that were glistening with tears. It didn’t seem like when was doing a show or anything of the sorts, he just seemed…at peace.

It wasn’t anything extravagant, quite possibly one of the most simple dishes Vash has ever eaten. It was made with the things that they could afford with the little money they could spare, the ingredients were definitely not of the best quality, the vegetables could have used a little more time on the pot. And it was delicious.

Vash felt incredibly warm inside, similar to how he felt when Wolfwood greeted him when he got back, just a thousand times stronger. The first sip he had of it tasted like the best thing ever cooked in his whole life, something he would have every day of the year for the rest of eternity. He didn’t know why that was at first, but after having a second spoon of it he could tell what it was.

It tasted like home.

The flavor of it, it was homely, the savor of melancholy. It tasted like their conversations about missing the past. The tang of the times they would have a peaceful night in the desert grilling worm meat around a campfire. It reminded him when he got sick and an old lady had given him a bowl of soup. It tasted like the first time Rem had given them a try of what meat and vegetables tasted like. It tasted like all the things he missed, and the things Nicholas most likely missed too.

The familiarity of it made him feel fuzzy and full on the inside, and he couldn’t stop eating. He was slow while doing it, wanting to savor every bit of what he could have while it lasted. It was rich, it was simple and it was perfect.

“…You want some more?” At some point, Nicholas had already finished his own bowl and brought the pot over to serve himself again. He looked at Vash with something soft in his eyes the other could not name, his voice was gentle and gravely, sweet and easy on his ears just adding more to the warmth inside of him.

“Yes…yes please” Vash answered, voice cracking a little. Nicholas served him, the sound of the liquid being poured soothing his soul.

Vash ate again, and Wolfwood was looking at him. The priest was taking small sips of water from his cup, always holding it against his mouth even if he wasn’t drinking anything. Vash didn’t really notice when he had started tearing up, thick streams of salty water running through his cheeks, a pool of them welling up at his chin and falling down the wooden table making a puddle of happy tears.

Vash enjoyed the heartfelt broth. He was happy, that bit of simplicity was enough to make him forget of everything else and just focus on that moment.

It was so mundane. Vash smiled with overflowing tears in his eyes while Wolfwood just watched with a fond smile of his own behind his empty cup of water.

At that moment, they were not in a random room at a random place. They were in a place where they had brought their home to, sharing a meal with each other.

[puzzled-pegasus]

wof headcanons but theyre oddly food and substance related for some reason

Although I understand why Tui didn't include very much info abt alchohol or drugs in a kids book there is an extreme lack of culinary related world building so here are some ideas I had while on this train of thought :)

SeaWings tend to be foodies and are generally given cooking classes in school. Which if you think about it, is rather important, because like 60 percent of the creatures in the ocean are poisonous and the rest have parasites and nasty germs so they need to know whats up when it comes to food safety.

SeaWings use a lot of citrus in their food and drinks and they also use it for fragrances and stuff they just really like it

SeaWing nobles commonly eat fugu and there have been assassinations where a chef was bribed to not properly take out the poison so the dragon eating it would die

SeaWings drink to taste. SkyWings drink to forget what century it is.

SkyWings typically eat their meat raw but on special occasions they will barbecue it and put some spices n stuff on it. They don't eat much else besides meat but they do like spicy things like peppers and they also like strong onion or garlic flavors. The little masochists. Anyway,

SkyWings don't really like sweet things and many of them can't even taste them so they're like wtf is a dessert

man do they love them some olives tho. Olives everywhere. In their drink. Out of the jar. On their meat. Oil on their scales. Oil in their hygiene products. They started trading them from the Sand and SeaWings millennia ago but theyve selectively bred ones that grow in the mountains

This one's more drugs than food but SkyWings will sometimes take some kind of stimulant before battle like a beserker so they're all fired up heheh

MudWings are excellent meal preparers and sibs like to all cook together so they'll make a big pot of stew or something

They like bread and desserts, they have easy access to sugar cane being along the east coast and they also use a lot of honey. They're re into canning stuff too, they have a lot of raspberries and blackberries and strawberries in their temperate forest areas and they grow them to make jam and wine and they use honey to make mead

basically they are Cottagecore(TM) and I love them

They also eat lots of freshwater fish and crawfish and whatnot

And they also eat a lot of tatoes

Vanilla grows in the swamps, they use that in their cakes

MudWings deserve some appreciation goddamnit their kingdom is biologically diverse and beautiful

SandWings have tequila because. Yknow. Cactus.

They eat a lot of bugs and lizards, they don't really need to eat every day so it's not a huge deal

they do like coconuts tho and they use coconut oil in a lot of their hygiene products as well as in their cooking

They deep fry a lot of shit. Idk where i got this but trust me. They love things with lots of fat in it bc they need all they can get

Really sticky sweet desserts and candy; enjoyers of those one lollipops with the mealworms or whatever tf in them

also canning stuff like bone broth is very important

pickled cactus as well

rhey probably have a festival when cactus fruit goes in season

what even is IceWing cuisine.

Well way up north where there's nothing but ice it's pretty bad and the dragons have to eat just plain ass meat and seafood, but down into the tundras there's some pretty good stuff like cinnamon, pines for tea, honey berries, and other foraging as well as more diversity of meats

They would probably eat sushi

All the other tribes like to make fun of them and rightfully so bc their food is so plain

they make good honey berry wine tho

Maube that's why theyre so damn grumpy

RainWings are expert foragers ofc but they don't really feel the need to prepare their food in any way

They are, however, in constant dire need of sodium because they get absolutely none from their fruit

So anything salty is wow

Maybe rhey have a place near the mud kingdom border where they can grow some asparagus for salt

they are also the only tribe besides Night that can eat chocolate but forgor 💀 how to make it so the NightWings and them have to re figure it out together

Salted dark chocolate bing bang boom instant delicacy

NightWings used to be able to cook really well, especially desserts and pastry, but they forgor while they were trying to not die on the volcano

[discotitsposts]

soft smells

spencer reid x reader who loves cooking and baking cooking and baking with spencer.

fluff! rated e for everyone!

i keep seeing cooking and baking inspo on pinterest 😫

this is the recipe for bruschetta i used.

(i wanna be his housewife so bad it’s insane)

You hear the front door open as you’re taking the tray out of the oven. You’re so excited for Spencer to try your latest creation, you’re not paying attention to your hands and accidentally touch the super hot tray.

“Ow!” You scream. Spencer runs in and sees you cradling your palm.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” He asks, concerned.

“I accidentally burned my hand.” You hiss at the searing pain. You reach for the freezer to ice your burn.

Spencer stops you, “Wait! Don’t ice it! Ice is the worst thing for a burn!”

Spencer makes you sit at the dining table. He grabs a few things from the medicine cabinet as you watch.

He takes a leaf from your aloe vera plant, and cuts the leaf open. He takes some of the gel from the leaf and rubs it gently on your burn.

You wince at the sensation.

He notices and says, “Trust me it will help.”

“I know.” You manage a smile.

He bandages up your palm and kisses it.

“Alright get more of those every hour.” He says smiling.

“More aloe?” You ask, confused by what he means.

“No, the kisses.” He hands you some medicine to help with the pain. You take it and go back to making your bruschetta.

You pick up the bowl you’d premade with the mixture of extra virgin olive oil, garlic, oregano , basil, onions, salt and pepper. Meanwhile, Spencer transfers the bread onto a cooling rack for you.

You brush the mixture onto the bread slices. It smells divine. Then you add the chopped tomatoes. It envelops Spencer’s nostrils and makes his stomach grow hungrier. He tries to steal a slice when you’re not looking.

“It’s still hot Spence. Unless you want your tongue to look like my hand I would put that back.” He sighs and puts the slice back.

You sprinkle basil on the bruschetta and tell Spencer to wait in the living room. He obeys silently. Stomach growling louder by the second.

In the living room, the soft smell of toasted bread and cheese fills his senses yet again. You’d added mozzarella on top and bring it into the living room some time later.

“Cooled off?” He confirms.

“Yes, try some.” He takes the biggest piece and takes a bite. He moans happily when the taste hits his tongue.

“Oh wow!” Is all he can say.

“Delicious. Nothing better.” You say wiping a crumb off your mouth. You look at Spencer whose face is covered in crumbs. His mouth is full. This is one of the funniest things in the world and you laugh.

He tries to say ‘something on my face?’ but all that comes out is,

“Thomeing o ma ace?”

“Yes!” You laugh so hard you can’t breathe and tears fill your eyes.

After he swallows, he kisses you.

“We should make food together more often.”

“As long as you don’t eat it all before it’s done.” You tease.

“As long as you don’t burn your hand first.” He fires back jokingly.

“Oh yeah? What should we make next?”

“Cake!” His eyes light up.

You giddily run with him to the kitchen to go make a cake. You make a strawberry cake together and Spencer decorated it with pink icing and white icing flowers. You slice up some fresh strawberries and add them on top.

It was the best cake Spencer had ever eaten. Even more so, since it was made with love.

-

the end

-

tags🍓-

(if you would like to be tagged in all future works you can let me know by commenting a 🍓!)

@whoisspence

@lemonadeinfuser

@fictionalobssed

@exoticisles

@in-another-april

@gallifreyan-idiocracy

[kcrossvine-art]

haiiii dungeon delvers! This is a quick one, gratefully both the materials and the dish-type are very close to their real life inspiration :D

As we speak, my favorite catgirl bestfolk is getting introduced to the anime and you haven no idea how much self control its taken to not immediately jump forward to be in sync with her, but theres SO many good recipes before we get there!!!

We will be making a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet today!

(As always you can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes into a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet?” YOU MIGHT ASKIts made from the egg of a basilisk, which isnt a large chicken egg but instead a large snake egg. Oblong shape, soft leather texture, and no eggwhites just yolk.

A large daikon

½ lbs fatty bacon

Shallots

Garlic

Chicken eggs

Salt

Pepper

Arugula (for garnishing)

OPTIONAL; ketchup/hot sauce :)

You could try cooking this using actual snake eggs, but theyre hard to come by and reportedly quite bland compared to chicken eggs. I tried getting my hands on an ostrich egg for the pizzaz of it all. The zoo lady was kind in her dismissal.

AND, “what does a Mandrake and Basilisk Omelet taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASKOmelettes are standard fair but here we cook them like a french omelette and wrap it up like a burrito at the end.

Wetter eggs than im used to ( <- american)

Daikon and bacon r very tasty together

They end up having the same texture almost

Intensely savory. Heavy on the tummy

Chopped green onions would bring more levity to the filling

Ketchup pairs well

(but i prefer medium hot sauce)

Dark coffee pairs well

The acidity of the above 3 is what makes them work with this nutrient Dense dish

. In the show, decapitated mandrakes are more bitter than mandrakes left 'whole'. If you want that difference, using sweet/sour sauce on some of the daikon while it cooks will make the non-sauced daikon seem bitter by comparison. . Maybe ferment daikon too? . Adding a small amount of water with the bacon transfers the heat evenly, a small amount as to cook off before the fat/grease renders. Could also try cooking in the oven.

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"Consisting of a fluffy Basilisk egg omelet filled with minced Basilisk bacon and mandrake.If the mandrake used was killed with its 'head' still attached, it will be less bitter and more mellow" This dish is important as it marks the beginning of Senshi and Marcilles bonding, and the lead-up gives us our first glance into the school Falin and Marcille met at. Objectively the recipe is basic but it was challenging to write out.

Omelette making is muscle-memory, so having to learn the french variation and slow down felt like trying to ride a bike side-saddled.

It took about an hour and a half from laying out the ingredients, to eating the finished thing. I had to take a break in the middle of cutting veggies as my wrists are flaring up, so you could probably go faster unimpeded.

What would you rate this recipe out of 10?(with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Did you love it, did you hate it? What're your thoughts on what I could do different, and what would you have done instead?

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Ingredients:

1 large daikon, chopped

½ lbs fatty bacon, chopped

2 shallots

3 cloves of garlic

3 Eggs

Salt

Pepper

Some arugula (for garnishing)

OPTIONAL; ketchup/hot sauce :)

Method:

Chop your bacon into roughly ½ inch squares. Cut off the ends of your daikon and cube the rest. Thinly dice your shallots and crush your garlic cloves.

Bring a cast iron skillet to medium-high heat. Once at temp, carefully add your chopped bacon to the pan with a very small amount of water.

Add your chopped bacon and stir-fry until almost cooked.

Add your shallots and garlic. Cook for about a minute or until the shallots have softened.

Transfer the bacon, shallot, and garlic mix to a bowl. Set aside. Lower the cast iron skillet to medium heat.

Place your daikon cubes in the cast iron skillet, you should still have enough bacon grease. Add salt and cook until lightly browned on each side.

Add roughly 1 tablespoon of water. Lower heat and cover. Simmer for 2 minutes.

Once your daikon are softened, transfer to same bowl containing your bacon, shallots, and garlic.

Crack your eggs into a seperate bowl and whisk for 2 minutes until 'frothy' with no egg whites visible.

Bring the cast iron skillet back up to medium heat. There might not be enough bacon grease left, so feel free to add butter! If the butter browns you've gone too hot.

Pour your eggs into the skillet. Use a spatula to spread the eggs, scraping down the sides of the pan. Sprinkle salt and pepper in, to taste.

Once your eggs are mostly solid, pour the bacon, shallot, garlic, and daikon filling into the center. If it starts to separate- stop touching and let it rest. Gently fold the edges of the omelette overtop the filling.

Lay a few pieces of arugula on a plate, and flip your omelette onto it :) enjoy!