#Culinary Odyssey

[pebblegalaxy]

Exploring the Charms of India (Bharat): What Makes it a Cherished Place to Live

What do you love about where you live? In the vast tapestry of the Indian subcontinent, where culture, history, and diversity converge, the question “What do you love about where you live?” reveals a harmonious blend of feelings and life encounters that deeply touch the souls of all the Indians. India, a land where tradition dances hand in hand with modernity, where spirituality mingles with…

[wellubia]

🌟 Unveiling the opulent essence of tradition and luxury - "Sadabahar Paan," a symphony of flavors that captivates your senses and elevates your indulgence! 🎵🌿🌹 🏆 Embrace the epitome of culinary excellence with our best-selling masterpiece, meticulously handcrafted to perfection. Each bite unveils a treasure trove of taste, a dance of delightful notes that entwine on your palate, leaving a mesmerizing afterglow that lingers on your taste buds. 🌟 Beyond being a mere snack, Sadabahar Paan is an indulgence steeped in time-honored traditions, crafted with love and expertise. This artistic creation ensures that you not only relish its taste but immerse yourself in a profound cultural experience. Dare to embark on a flavor odyssey with Sadabahar Paan - an unparalleled blend of taste, culture, and wellness. Elevate your moments of joy and celebration, and let the luxuriant charm of Sadabahar Paan leave an everlasting impression! 🌟🌿🍬

[jadeannbyrne]

Jade Ann Byrne Presents: Neon Nights: The Taco Bell Cosmos

In the vast expanse of a future not wracked by dystopian cliches but painted with the neon glow of endless possibility, a figure stood beneath the celestial marquee of Taco Bell, a testament to the eternal human saga of late-night cravings. Jade Ann Byrne was her name, a contractor to this grand establishment, a caretaker to an army of automatons crafted in her own image. With a cascade of…

[haveli12]

Indulge in Heritage and Cuisine at Haveli, Ranjit Avenue, Amritsar

Immerse yourself in the opulent heritage and exquisite culinary offerings of Haveli in Ranjit Avenue, Amritsar. Discover the rich cultural tapestry of Punjab while savoring authentic delicacies crafted with traditional recipes. From tantalizing kebabs to decadent desserts, every bite is a journey through the flavors of Punjab's vibrant culinary heritage.

Read More: https://qr.ae/pstLYZ

[visit-new-york]

Crosby and Broome Street

Crosby St & Broome St New York, NY 10012

Unveiling the Splendor of Crosby Street & Broome Street.

In the heart of Manhattan's SoHo district lies an enchanting convergence of history, artistry, culinary excellence, and urban allure – the iconic intersection of Crosby Street and Broome Street. These two thoroughfares, each with its unique character, weave a narrative that transcends time, revealing the captivating evolution of a neighborhood that has blossomed into a haven for creativity, luxury, and vibrant community life. Embark on a captivating journey as we delve into the intricate details that define Crosby Street and Broome Street in SoHo, transforming them into a destination unlike any other.

A Stroll Through Time and Architecture

Crosby Street, a narrow cobblestone path, invites visitors to step back in time. Its cast-iron facades, remnants of the neighborhood's industrial origins, have been artfully repurposed into galleries, boutiques, and residences. The very buildings that once housed factories now stand as testaments to SoHo's ability to seamlessly fuse history with modernity, each cast-iron detail whispering stories of the past while embracing the future.

Intersecting Crosby Street, Broome Street adds another layer to the architectural panorama. Amid the luxury boutiques and contemporary structures, the Old St. Patrick's Cathedral stands tall, its Gothic Revival architecture an eloquent reminder of the immigrant history that helped shape the neighborhood. The streets serve as a living embodiment of how a community can pay homage to its roots while embracing change.

Artistic Expression and Creativity

Crosby Street's artistic soul continues to thrive through a fresh blend of pop-up exhibitions, murals, and interactive installations. The street itself has become an ever-changing canvas, a vibrant symphony of colors and shapes that captivate passersby and engage the imagination. It stands as a testament to the power of art to transcend conventional boundaries and inhabit the very essence of a neighborhood.

Broome Street's creative vitality is equally vibrant, boasting galleries, studios, and performance spaces. These intimate theaters provide a stage for emerging artists, musicians, and actors to share their talents, breathing life into the neighborhood's commitment to nurturing artistic expression in all its forms.

Culinary Odyssey and Pleasures

The culinary offerings on Crosby and Broome Streets present a feast for the senses, a tantalizing fusion of cultures and cuisines that reflect New York City's global character. From cozy cafes to upscale dining establishments, these streets offer a culinary symphony that celebrates diversity and innovation. Each dish and cup of coffee is a testament to the culinary artists who infuse their creations with a passion that mirrors the vibrant spirit of the neighborhood.

Retail Therapy and Luxury Lanes

For the discerning shopper, Crosby and Broome Streets emerge as a haven of luxury and style. The boutiques and flagship stores of luxury brands create an ambiance of refined elegance, where the latest trends and timeless fashion converge. The windows serve as a visual masterpiece, drawing in fashion enthusiasts and blending artistic expression with the world of commerce.

Community and Cultural Fusion

Beyond the aesthetics and commercial offerings, Crosby Street and Broome Street thrive as hubs of community engagement and cultural fusion. Throughout the year, these streets come alive with a myriad of events that unite residents and visitors, fostering a sense of belonging and shared identity. Art walks, street fairs, and seasonal celebrations fill the air with excitement, allowing individuals to immerse themselves in the neighborhood's vibrant tapestry.

Local artisans and craftsmen also find their home along these streets, offering a glimpse into the ingenuity and entrepreneurial spirit that define the SoHo community. From handmade crafts to vintage treasures, these local establishments contribute to a sense of authenticity that resonates with those who seek to uncover the heart of the neighborhood.

Residential Enclaves and Urban Sanctuaries

Crosby Street and Broome Street are not just destinations for exploration; they also embrace a vibrant residential community that calls SoHo home. Living on these storied streets offers a unique blend of urban sophistication and neighborhood charm. Residents find themselves at the nexus of luxury and convenience, with high-end boutiques and dining establishments just steps away from their front doors.

These streets, with their cobblestone pathways and historic facades, serve as urban sanctuaries where residents can escape the bustling city and find respite within a community that values both creativity and connectivity. The sense of camaraderie that emerges among those who reside on Crosby and Broome Streets is a testament to the enduring allure of this remarkable neighborhood.

Conclusion: A Continuum of Splendor

In the heart of SoHo, Crosby Street and Broome Street stand as sentinels of a neighborhood that has gracefully evolved while preserving its character and heritage. These streets are not isolated entities; they are part of a continuum that weaves the past, present, and future into a seamless tapestry of experiences. From the cast-iron architecture that whispers tales of industrial prowess to the vibrant artistry that defines its modern incarnation, this intersection beckons travelers and locals alike to embrace the charm, creativity, and community that define SoHo's essence.

As you traverse the enchanting landscape of Crosby Street and Broome Street, you're embarking on an exploration of the soul of New York City itself. Through its art, architecture, culinary delights, and dynamic community, this iconic intersection embodies the spirit of a city that is both a canvas and a masterpiece – a city that thrives on innovation while honoring its storied past. SoHo's odyssey continues, and at the crossroads of Crosby and Broome, its timeless allure is more captivating than ever before.

[zaidshair]

location: ze hub @lindiwe-in-camelot

Zaid followed his nose...and the obvious announcement on the loudspeaker. A buffet. On that docklike structure overlooking the coastline (Zaid had to admit, an ideal location for a trendy, touristy bar & grill). Zaid wasn't just confused by the cheery announcement of food, and alluring scents wafting from this 'Hub'. He was also doubtful of the buffet's culinary merit. A buffet seemed ambitious, and Zaid was expecting something akin to stale bread and even staler water.

So for a myriad of reasons - hunger included, that blasted announcement was right. After expending all that adrenalin, Zaid needed energy - he made his way over to the Hub. He didn't like that he was so easily persuaded to go there. Like a lamb to the slaughter? Fattening them up first into full-bellied complacency? How paranoid was too paranoid on a place like this? But it was either check out this buffet and judge it, or return to the Odyssey to find a can opener for all the mystery tins he'd pilfered from the cruise ship's pantry.

He wasn't alone at least, or the first to approach the Hub. No one was eating yet, the atmosphere hushed. And Zaid understood why, as he got closer. The food was...beautiful. Hot dishes steaming as if freshly cooked. Deep fried fish and tempura that still sizzled. Vibrant charcuterie neatly arranged. Bowls of stews, curries, soups. Even the loaves of bread and dhalpuri and pita looked freshly out of the oven.

"Bloody hell..." Was it even real? Zaid compulsively swept his fingers across a tower of fruit skewers, and they all toppled under his sweep. "Oh fuck - sorry -" Zaid looked up at the beautiful woman on the opposite side of the table, who seemed to magically appear just in time to catch his faux pas. He scrambled to collect the skewers. "I was just testing them to, erm..." A stupid explanation that didn't need to go further.

Zaid tried again, after clearing his salty, watery throat. "Wonder where this all come from?" And the more damning observation: "No one's eating, yet."

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: Feeding Frenzy

The Autumn's mess hall was alive with the usual din of chattering soldiers and clanging dishes, a symphony of everyday military life. However, at one corner table, a scene unfolded that would have made any ordinary observer do a double-take. Linda-058, known more for her deadly precision with a sniper rifle than her gastronomic exploits, was embarked on a veritable odyssey of eating.

Her armor, a testament to countless battles, stood quietly beside her, its metallic sheen catching the fluorescent lights. The table in front of her resembled less a place for a meal and more a testament to culinary excess. She methodically worked her way through five plates of BBQ steak. Each piece was cooked to a perfect medium-rare, the outside charred just enough to lock in a smoky flavor that melded seamlessly with the juicy, tender interior.

Beside the demolished plates of steak lay the remains of sixteen trays of teriyaki-flavored yakisoba. The empty containers were streaked with the remnants of the sauce, a sweet and savory glaze that had once coated the soft, springy noodles and tender chunks of chicken.

In a display of contrasting tastes, ten bowls that had been heaped with chocolate ice cream were now little more than empty shells, streaked with the remnants of the rich, creamy dessert. Linda seemed to relish the cool, sweet treat as a counterbalance to the savory onslaught of her main course.

Adding to this impressive array were two large pans of lasagna, their layers of pasta, rich cheese, and tangy tomato sauce now indistinguishable, a testament to Linda's thorough enjoyment. And, as if to top off this feast, two buckets of turkey legs lay picked clean, the meat so tender it had fallen off the bone, soaked in a hearty, savory gravy.

Across from this spectacle sat John; his own meal, a simple tray of beef-stew, looks much more... conversative than Linda's. His posture was relaxed, his movements as he ate his own, considerably smaller meal, were methodical and composed. His eyes observed Linda with a mixture of amusement and adoration.

“Ever consider a second career as a competitive eater, Linda?” John’s voice held a playful edge, a rare lightness for the Spartan known for his stoicism. Linda paused, a half-eaten turkey leg in hand, and met John’s gaze. “Why, John, worried I’ll eat everyone out of house and home?” Her voice was light, teasing, a stark contrast to her usual terse communication in the field.

John’s reply was dry, a hint of a smirk in his tone. “Just thinking about the logistics of resupplying our food inventory.” Linda chuckled softly, setting the turkey leg down. “Food is fuel, John. You of all people should understand the importance of being well-fueled for whatever comes next.”

John nodded slightly, conceding the point. “I suppose if anyone can turn eating into a tactical advantage, it’s you, Linda.” There was a brief silence, filled only by the ambient sounds of the mess hall, before Linda spoke again, her tone more reflective. “We push ourselves to the limit in every other aspect of our lives. Why should enjoying a good meal be any different?”

John chuckles. “Fair enough.” As they continued their meal, the conversation drifted to lighter topics, a rare moment of normalcy in the life of a Spartan. For a brief time, the looming shadow of war receded, giving way to the simple pleasure of sharing a meal and conversation with a trusted comrade.

Finally, as Linda pushed back from the table, a look of contentment on her face, they both stood. Without another word, they collected Linda's armor and exited the mess hall, their strides in sync, ready to face whatever challenges the universe had in store for them.

@empresskadia, @silverpelt3600, @makowrites, @authortobenamedlater, @ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask, @mrtobenamedlater.

[jgmartin]

CACKLE HILL

[TW: graphic, gore]

The house sat as a broken, teetering tribute to the dead, perched atop Cackle Hill like a crown of rotting lumber. It was an old property. Shambling. Many years ago, it belonged to a wealthy aristocrat named Erich Cackle. The story goes that Erich had a taste for delicacies. He imported fine foods from all around the world, everything from snake wine to escargot.

Why?

Well, he loved to taste things. He delighted himself with new flavors, new culinary odysseys. At one point, he decided to try human meat. And at one point, he decided that he liked it very much.

Today, it’s estimated that over a hundred different corpses litter Cackle Hill. It’s officially recognized as a burial ground. A final resting place for a legion of people with no name and no history, no record of their existence besides the occasional femur rising from the dirt. One Halloween in 1989 though, Cackle House added a new page to its book of nightmares. A page that our town would never forget.

That night, four children climbed the hill. They crawled through the thickets and thorns that encircled the mound, and then crossed into the home of Erich Cackle himself. The infamous cannibal. All four of those kids? Massacred. They’re still finding pieces of them today.

Ever since, the house has been closed off. Out of bounds. The authorities claimed it was out of respect for the deceased, for the dozens of unmarked graves that covered the property, but the locals knew better.

The locals knew that Erich Cackle had never been tried for his crimes. They knew that he lived a full life, one with blood on his hands, hair in his teeth, and human flesh in his stomach. They knew that despite being dead for over a hundred years, Cackle still lived in his old house. They knew he watched the town from atop his hill– that he hungered for that most exquisite taste that he could no longer have.

Or at least, that’s what you’d hear on the playground. Around campfires. It’s what your older brother would taunt you with before turning off the lights for bed.

Stories like that were, and still are, magnets to children. I think that’s why our parents constantly regurgitated warnings to avoid Cackle Hill, to steer clear of it at all costs. But urban legends have a special pull on the sixteen-and-under crowd, and one night, many years ago, my friends and I learned we weren’t immune.

I think that’s why we did it, really. The three of us.

I think that’s why we crawled through the bramble that encircled the hill, why we suffered the thorns that pressed in on us like a barbed-wire fence, and braved the house of a cannibal on Halloween night. I think that’s why we made the worst mistake of our lives.

The passage up the hill was awful.

The thick bramble blotted out the moon like curtains to a window. We navigated by feeling alone with Landon in the lead, Wendy behind, and me in the rear.

A blanket of thorns pressed us down, preventing us from being able to even crawl. Instead we slid across the ground like worms. My heart worked overtime as my muscles burned, each movement more difficult than the last. It took us over an hour to make it up the hill, and once we did we needed another ten minutes just to catch our breaths.

As we did, we realized how isolated we were. At the top of the hill you couldn’t hear the cars zipping along the streets below, and even the army of trick-or-treaters looked like little more than smudges as they marched back home for the night.

It was just us there, all alone at the top of the world.

Well, us and Cackle House.

It stood twenty feet away, a tall, teetering structure with a crooked shadow. The front of it was adorned in broken windows and rotting wood. Its walls, now sagging and crumbling, looked to have once been painted white, but all that remained of that were chips of discolored beige.

I pulled my jacket tighter about myself. It suddenly felt cold. Frigid.

“I didn't think it was possible," Wendy remarked, "but this place feels even more haunted than it looks."

Landon smirked. “That’s just what they want you to think,” he said. “Dead people are just bones in the dirt, Wend. There’s no such thing as ghosts. My brother told me the only reason they say all of that stuff is because there’s actually a lot of valuable junk inside Cackle’s house– they just don’t want kids looting the goods."

Goods or not, it was hard for me to imagine looting anything from that house. It was a tight enough fit coming up here with just the clothes on our backs, let alone getting back down with a backpack full of antiques. The thorns had already cut my arms to ribbons.

“Whatever,” Wendy said. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with. This place gives me the creeps!”

Landon rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a girl. Man up."

She planted her hands on her hips. "Ever notice how it's always the women who survive in horror movies? Maybe it’s because we're not idiots."

"Whatever you say," he said with a laugh, digging in his pocket and pulling out a flashlight. He flipped it in his hands. "If I was in a horror movie I'd probably outlive everybody– monster included.”

"Oh yeah?" I said. "And how's that?"

“Because,” Landon said simply, turning on the flashlight. “I always come prepared.” He stepped up to the battered front door and gave it a tug. It opened easily, inviting us with a low groan. He craned his head inside the doorway, sweeping the light around as if to make sure the coast was clear. Then, satisfied, stepped into the darkness.

I followed.

Inside, it was a mess. Cobwebs lined every corner of every ceiling, and what walls weren’t decorated in peeling paint were covered in faded graffiti. Beer bottles lay strewn about here and there. Old ones. Probably from a couple decades ago, back when the bramble wasn’t too overgrown to traverse. A scatter of chairs filled the dining room, three in pieces and spread out across the floor, and another bo-wlegged and weary, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Dust covered everything. Bugs skittered across the countertops, spiders and cockroaches alike, standing guard over a row of black-and-white photographs. Still lifes from a different time. One photo pictured a smiling man, his teeth a snaggle that jutted out in odd directions. The man’s eyes were sunken. Hollow. His fingers were long and skeletal, draped over the shoulders of two sullen-faced girls.

“That’s him,” Landon muttered. “Erich Cackle himself.”

Wendy shivered beside me. “Ugh. He looks even creepier than I imagined.”

I had to agree. There was something about the photo that made my insides squirm. Maybe it was the empty look in Cackle’s eyes, or maybe it was the fear that seemed to dance in the eyes of the girls. They looked uncomfortable. Deeply so.

“Those are probably girls he ate,” I said, my stomach turning. “Do you think they had any idea what he was going to do to them?”

Landon pulled open a drawer in the next room over. The kitchen. “Probably,” he said loudly. He appeared around the corner with a rusty carving knife, waving it around with an expression of mock-derangement. “Think he cut up any kids with this? Looks rusty. Could’ve been he never cleaned the blood off.”

“Oh, come on!” Wendy groaned. “Seriously, Landon. People were murdered in this house and you’re making more insensitive jokes than my dad. Put that thing back.”

“What, Wend?” Landon said with a cheeky smirk. “Everybody knows that Cackle loved chowing down on kids. Have you read his journal clippings? I found some online, and in one of em’ he said he thought kid meat was juicier than steak and twice as delicious.”

“Ew,” Wendy said, crossing her arms. “That’s disgusting. Even for you.”

Landon brought his arm to his mouth, and pretended to give it a chew. “Yum!” he said. “You guys want a taste?”

A clatter sounded from down the hall. My heart leapt into my throat, and I turned gazing down the dark corridor, terrified I was going to see Erich Cackle’s ghost.

“What’s up?” Landon asked me, taking his arm out of his mouth.

“Did you hear that?” I said.

“Hear what?” Wendy said, shaking her head.

“Be quiet for a second. Listen.”

We stood in silence. My ears strained, doing their best to parse through the pitter-patter of roving insects and the unremarkable groans of an old house settling. “It sounded like somebody dropped something,” I muttered. “Like they bumped into a table, and something fell off of it.”

“Ghosts? Oh, hell yeah!” Landon flipped the carving knife in his hand and tossed the flashlight to Wendy. She caught it with a frown. “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “If Cackle jumps out at us, I’ll gut him like this.” He pantomimed shoving the carving knife into his stomach, complete with a goofy, tongue-lolling expression.

Wendy groaned.

Air touched my neck. A soft breeze– but warm and humid. Like somebody’s breath. I gasped, wheeling around fast enough that I stumbled into Wendy.

Landon snickered. “Oh come on! Not you too, Ian. See what you’ve done, Wendy? You’re scaring him.”

Wendy shot him a scathing look. She turned to me, put a hand on my shoulder, “Is everything alright? You look stressed, Ian.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just… Don’t like spiders. Thought maybe I felt one land on me.”

“I don’t see any,” Wendy said, checking me over helpfully.

“Thanks.”

Landon heaved a sigh. “Alright, maybe you guys are right. I thought this place would be a little more haunted house and a little less… well, drug den.” He kicked an old beer bottle into the wall and it shattered. “This place is kinda just a giant moldy dump, isn’t it? Tell you guys what, why don’t we check out Cackle's bedroom, and if that’s a dud– we can head out.”

“Fine,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. “Hurry up and get this over with. The longer we spend here the more I think I’m gonna get bit by a rabid racoon.” She pushed past him and opened a door at the end of the hallway. “Well?” she said, tapping her foot expectantly.

Landon shrugged, then took off toward the door. I followed him.

But then something hit me.

I doubled over, retching. The stench from the open door was unbearable. Rancid. Grotesque. It smelled like a blended mix of pig shit and perfume. I pinched my nose shut, gagging as I looked up at Wendy and Landon. They looked at me like I was having a fit.

“You don’t smell that?” I asked, grimacing.

They exchanged looks. Wendy shook her head. “No, I don’t smell anything– well, nothing new. Sorry, Ian.”

"Maybe your gigantic nose is just better than ours?" Landon offered.

“Oh screw off,” I grumbled, stepping toward the bedroom. "Let's just get this over with."

Landon grinned.

Cackle’s room wasn’t the mess I expected, but it certainly wasn’t in great shape. At its center was a large bed, draped in old blankets covered in fungus. Cockroaches roamed across the surface. As Landon swept his flashlight over them, they spread and scattered, disappearing off of the bed and beneath the floorboards. Wendy shuddered. “Disgusting…”

On either side of the bed loomed two large dressers, both finely carved. On top of them sat a forest of beer bottles. In the far corner, tucked away in a mess of cobwebs and dust, stood a tall mirror. A crack ran down its center. Curious, I decided to give the mirror a closer look, but the closer I got the worse the putrid smell became. My stomach twisted. The scent bordered on unbearable.

“Alright,” Wendy muttered. “There you go, Landon. We saw the bedroom and there’s no ghosts. Let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Landon said, passing her his flashlight. He slipped past me to more closely examine the mirror. He stopped in front of it and cocked his head to the side, gazing at his dusty reflection with strange fascination. He stood like that for several moments. Then his head snapped forward and he stared at the floorboards. He tapped his foot against one. It groaned. He tapped another, and this one replied with an echo.

“I think there’s something under here,” he said softly. He lifted his foot, then smashed it down on the suspect floorboard. Once. Twice. The board warped, but it didn’t break. He frowned.

I shifted, beginning to feel uneasy. “C’mon, man. We don’t need to trash this place any more than it already is. Let’s just get outta here.”

“One second,” Landon said, brushing past me and snatching the flashlight from Wendy. “Let me see if I can find a hammer first.”

Before either of us could protest, he was gone. His footsteps creaked along the twisting hallway before fading entirely. Wendy and I stood in the dark. I don’t think either of us dared to move, not when we’d already seen a handful of used needles scattered around the house. The only light we had came from scraps of moonlight, fractured and broken, filtering in through cracks in the boarded-up windows.

“Okay fine,” I said to her. “You were right. You’re always right. This place? It’s a total creepshow and we shouldn’t have wasted our time coming up here.” My nostrils ached with the smell of something rotting.

“I know,” she said tersely. “But you know how Landon gets. Once an idea enters his head, there’s no talking him out of it– we’ll just let him see what’s under the room, and then we’ll leave. Last thing we need is him throwing a hissy fit.”

“Good point.” The two of us stood there in silence, waiting seconds that turned into minutes that soon began to feel like hours. I didn’t know what Wendy was feeling. I never thought to ask. But I knew what I was feeling– terrified. I’d felt a creeping dread since first stepping into that room, and it had only gotten worse.

A creak of footsteps sounded from down the hall, coming our way. A flashlight glow appeared on the open door, growing brighter, casting a larger, more looming and twisted shadow as Landon neared. When he stepped back into the room, he looked odd.

It was his face, I think. It seemed different. It’s hard to describe, but the carefree aloofness I’d known in Landon since preschool was missing. Absent. Something had replaced it, and that something was calculated, serious.

“Ready?” Landon said, in a voice not at all his own.

Don’t trust him.

I whipped around. I’d just heard something… a voice, speaking to me. It wasn’t Wendy. It was a man, but I couldn’t place it for the life of me. My eyes scanned the bedroom. They drifted over the shadowy bulge of the bed, the towering dressers and then settled on that mirror. That awful mirror. It made my skin crawl just looking at it and then–

“Jesus!” I exclaimed, stumbling backward.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy asked, following my gaze to the cobwebbed mirror. “Was it another spider?”

I shook my head, my voice sputtering and panicked. “No. It was… It was a reflection, I think. I swear I just saw eyes in the mirror watching us.”

Landon clasped my shoulder, squeezing hard. “Poor Ian just needs a break from the scary bedroom. He can go down first.”

“What?” I said, feeling disoriented. My mind was still reeling from the shadow in the mirror. “Why me?”

“You're the tallest,” he reasoned. “Since we can’t tell how far the hole goes down, you’ll have the shortest drop.” He gave me an uneven smile. “Safety first, right?”

I looked at Wendy, but she knew as well as I did that Landon wasn’t one to be talked out of a plan. I sighed. The sooner I did this, the sooner we all left. “Fine,” I said, holding out my hand. “But I want the flashlight.”

“Sure,” he said.

I reached for it.

He pulled it back. “Not yet though. I’ll throw it to you once you drop down. I don’t want you falling on top of it and breaking it, not when we still need it to get out.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Landon didn’t seem at all like himself. This version was cold, indifferent, and uncomfortably calculating in ways I’d never seen my best friend act.

“He has a point,” Wendy said in a small voice. “Don’t worry, Ian. I’ll make sure he tosses it.”

“Whatever,” I said, shaking my head in exasperation. “Have it your way.”

Landon’s mouth split into a wide smile. He dropped to his knees and lifted his hammer over the floorboards. It came down with a deafening crack. The wood, old and rotten, splintered easily. As Landon smashed away at it, his expression turned ravenous, vicious, he seemed to take a bizarre pleasure in its destruction. Wendy and I watched. I still wonder if she saw in him the same thing I did then, but I never got a chance to ask her.

When Landon finished his work, he sat back on his heels. He panted, gazing at the jagged hole of splintered wood he’d carved into the floor, and said, “That should do it.” He lifted the flashlight and beamed it down into the hole. I couldn’t make out a damn thing. It was like the darkness was too thick for light to break through. Again, that feeling of deep unease ran through me.

“We’ll be right here,” Wendy said, squeezing my arm in encouragement. “Don’t worry.”

I shook my head, the insanity of the situation becoming impossible to ignore. I couldn’t do this. There was no way I was jumping down into a hole I couldn’t even see the bottom of– why was that so hard for my best friends to understand? “Look guys,” I said diplomatically, “I’m just not feeling it. I’m sorry but–”

A hand shoved my chest. Hard. I gasped, my mind spinning as I realized I was falling, as I realized one of my friends had just pushed me into the hole. I shot out my arms. I tried to catch myself on the sharp ridges of the hole, willing to suffer some cuts and scrapes if it meant saving myself a broken leg, but it was no use.

Screaming, I fell.

Pain found me. It ripped through my tailbone like a gunshot. I cried out, knowing I’d crashed into the bottom of that dark pit, and I wondered how far I’d fallen. My eyes blinked back tears. I couldn’t see a thing. The only thing I was aware of was how much pain I was in.

“Landon!” I heard Wendy shriek above me. “Are you crazy? You could've killed him!”

“Sorry, Wends!” he laughed, sounding more like himself… or at least, an approximation of himself. “I didn’t mean to shove him that hard. Scouts honor. I was only messing around!”

I groaned, looking at the two facing swimming in the darkness. Landon and Wendy. I must have only fallen six or seven feet, but it felt like an eternity. It was also too far for me to get back up on my own. I’d need to find a ladder, or a rope. I pushed myself to my feet to begin my search–

And crumpled to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Wendy called.

I grit my teeth, whimpering in pain. “It’s my ankle,” I said. “I fell on it, and I think it might be broken. I can’t stand up.” I screwed my eyes shut, my eyes watering. I’d never broken a bone before.

“One second,” Wendy shouted. “I’m going to go find a step ladder”

She took the light and disappeared, leaving me and Landon alone.

“Thanks, asshole,” I seethed. “Why’d you have to push me? Are you nuts?”

But Landon didn’t respond. In the darkness, he appeared as little more than an unmoving silhouette, but somehow I got the impression he was staring at me. Like he could see me in a way I couldn’t see him. I heard him tap his hammer against the palm of his hand. I heard him begin to hum, quiet and soft.

“Have you got your phone on you?” I asked, swallowing my pain. “You might need to call my parents– not sure I can make it out of here. Even with a ladder.”

Landon didn’t answer. He continued to hum, slapping his hammer against his palm. My skin crawled. He was watching me. I knew that. I could feel it.

“I’m talking to you!” I shouted, my pain burning through my patience. “Are you listening? I’m fucking hurt because of you asshole, so stop being a creep and answer!”

No, a voice whispered.

I froze. The voice hadn’t come from Landon above – it had come from down here.

My heart pounded. I stared blindly into the darkness, doing my best to parse through the shadows but couldn’t see a thing. A dull thud met my ears. It sounded close. I shifted backward, sliding away from it only to hear what sounded like breathing in the dark. Heavy, ragged breathing.

“Hello?” I gasped.

Something shifted in the black. It sounded like footsteps sliding through dirt, moving slowly, steadily in my direction.

“Landon…” I stuttered. “There’s somebody down here, man!”

No response. Landon kept humming, kept tap tapping his hammer against his palm.

Once again I tried to push myself to my feet. Once again, pain exploded across my ankle. I collapsed into a heap of hyperventilating terror. That thing, whatever was down here with me, shuffled closer still. Panicked, I scanned the dirt floor with my hands, feeling for something, anything, that I could use to defend myself. A rusty knife. A big rock.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Wait.

What was that?

My hands closed around something long. Metallic.

A screwdriver.

“Hey,” Wendy’s voice called from above. “You still alive down there?”

“Get me out of here!” I shouted. “There’s somebody fucking down here!”

Wendy blinded me with the glow of the flashlight beam. “That’s odd,” she muttered. “What’s somebody doing down there?”

What– how the hell was I supposed to know? “Wendy I’m ser–”

“–did you happen to see this mirror, Ian? The one in the bedroom?” Her voice sounded distant. Dreamy. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it’s a real beaut. Now, can you please get me the fuck out of here like RIGHT NOW?”

Why was it so difficult for them to understand I was in trouble down here?

In danger?

Something crashed next to me. I scrambled from the sound, realizing moments later it was the legs of a ladder. The ladder creaked and groaned, its frame bending as Wendy clambered down it, followed by Landon. He jumped onto the dirt.

“You nearly bashed my brains in!” I shouted, furious.

“What is this place?” Landon muttered, ignoring my outburst. “It feels nice. Drafty.”

I studied him warily in the flashlight glow. What had gotten into him? Landon was acting totally bizarre– calling this place nice, drafty? “No idea,” I seethed, “but I think there’s somebody down here so hurry up and help me out.”

“Heard you the first time, Ian,” Wendy said, sweeping the flashlight over the musty crawl space. The beam revealed several thick wooden support frames, stacked together close enough that they almost resembled a twisting corridor. A labyrinth. Scattered all across the ground were fat feces and animal bones.

But no sign of anything else.

Wendy brushed past me, her eyes almost as wide as the smile she wore. Minutes ago, she’d seemed to detest this house, but now she seemed in awe of it. “It’s a total maze,” she breathed. “This crawl space just goes on and on, doesn’t it? There are so many twists and turns down here. I bet you could get lost.”

“How much do you wanna bet there’s something incredible down here?” Landon asked, looking at her with wild eyes. “I bet we could find some old handbags made of human skin if we poked around. A souvenir like that would sell for big bucks.”

“Why don’t we have a look?” Wendy suggested.

Landon and her linked arms.

The idea of Landon going into the dark with Wendy made my skin crawl. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but this Landon wasn’t the Landon I knew, the Landon I grew up with. He was something different. Maybe, something dangerous. Not a minute ago he’d nearly caved my skull in by dropping a ladder on it.

“Don’t,” I said.

The two turned to look at me. Their faces were hard to see beyond the glare of the flashlight, but they looked somehow hollow. Vacant.

“Why?” asked Landon darkly.

“Because I wasn’t kidding before. I saw something down here earlier. Maybe it was just an animal and you two scared it off, but what if it wasn’t?” I swallowed. “Look, let’s just get out of here. It’s late. I’m hurt. Help me up the ladder and let’s all go home? Please?”

Wendy eyed me. “You saw something down here?”

“Well, no. I meant to say I heard something–”

Landon slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Ease up, Ian! We won’t be long. Just do us a favor and try not to piss your pants while we’re gone. The last thing I need is you reeking like a diaper while I’m carrying you down the hill.”

Wendy laughed.

The two took off, their silhouettes shuffling between the support beams, before disappearing around a sharp bend. I swallowed. My skin prickled with goosebumps, and I became acutely aware of how thirsty I felt. Sitting here like this, it was worse than any broken bone. Here, alone in the dark, I felt vulnerable. Open.

A minute passed.

Then a few more.

“Guys?” I called. I couldn’t see the glow of their flashlight anymore. How far did this crawl space go on exactly? It seemed much larger than the footprint of the house above, but maybe I was just imagining things–

Wait.

That sound.

My heart raced, my pain fading beneath a wave of adrenaline. It was the breathing. The same heavy, ragged breathing I’d heard in the darkness before had returned. Except this time it was closer. This time it was next to my ear.

I lashed out. My arm swung in the direction of the breath, my screwdriver held firmly in my grip, but I connected with nothing but open air. “Wendy!” I shouted. “Landon! There’s something here!”

They didn’t respond.

“I’m serious!” I said, and by then I was practically screaming. “Get back here! I’m not kidding around!”

Silence.

Then, from the shadows, a voice. This one high-pitched. Childlike.

Run, it told me. Run now, and don’t stop.

I scrambled away, putting my back against a support beam. I felt like a cornered gazelle. Where was Wendy? Landon? They had to have heard me by now, I’d been shouting at the top of my lungs…

Another voice reached my ears. This one a voice I recognized, and somehow, that felt all the worse.

Landon.

His voice was low, quiet. He sounded like he might be just ahead of me, somewhere in the near that sharp bend where I’d watched him and Wendy disappear just minutes earlier. He’d turned off the flashlight, though. Without it, I couldn’t see a thing.

“Now that we’ve got him here,” Landon said, “I think I’ll bash his brains in. Tenderize them. Then, I’ll give you the first bite.”

“No,” Wendy replied, her voice reverberating all around me. “I want to cut him open and see how much I can eat before he dies.”

“Greedy,” hissed Landon.

“I thought the whole point of bringing him here was so we could take our time?”

“It was, but I wanted to play with his brain, not stir up his guts.” Landon grunted. “Where did you put the saw?”

This didn’t sound a thing like the friends I knew, yet it was unmistakably them. My body quaked. It trembled. Running on instinct, I shot toward the ladder, pain be damned, and gripped the highest hand-hold I could reach. With an agonized groan, I heaved myself upward.

The rung shattered.

I crashed to the dirt, crushing my ankle beneath me for a second time. I screamed in pain. In the dim light spilling from above, I could barely make out the specter of a jagged bone piercing my skin.

“Help!” I shrieked, praying somebody might be walking by Cackle Hill. Maybe they’d hear me. Maybe they’d come rushing up and burst in and–

No. It wasn’t any use. I knew full well that it was late, much too late for people to be going for a stroll near Cackle Hill. And even if they were– how were they going to help? It took the three of us an hour just to make it through the bramble to the house. I didn’t have an hour.

I wasn’t sure I even had a minute.

The sound of footsteps met my ears, accompanied by a low humming. A figure approached in the darkness. Wendy.

“He’s kinda cute when he squirms,” she said.

She held something, patting it against her side. A saw. Rusty, and metal.

“Wendy,” I said, lips trembling. “Stop messing around, alright? I’m not kidding. I’m hurt, and I need help. Okay?”

But Wendy didn’t answer. Instead, she took a shambling step forward, her head snapping to the side, her body moving like a puppet on strings. Her tongue darted across her lips. They split into a manic smile.

Landon stepped into view beside her, his hollow expression lit up by fractured moonlight falling from the hole above. He slapped the head of his hammer against his palm. He hummed along with Wendy, the same song, but out of sync. Detached. Empty.

It matched the expression across his face.

I knew then that my friends were gone– something had crawled beneath their skin and stolen their faces. Something had taken them. Possessed them.

“Let’s savor this, Ian” Wendy. “You and me. Let’s try to enjoy this moment as much as we can, okay?”

“What�� the hell does that mean?” I whimpered.

“He’d like an example,” Landon said, “Go on. Don’t be shy, Wend.”

Wendy’s tongue fell out of her mouth. It slowly swept up and across her lips, and all at once, she lunged at me. I shrieked in agony. Her sawblade dug into my shoulder. She carved it back and forth. I roared as it tore into my skin, my blood seeping down my chest and through my jacket.

“Stop!” I screamed, writhing.

But Wendy was gone. My friend was gone. This monster wearing her face stared at her work with manic glee, utter derangement dancing in her eyes as she did her best to tear my arm from my body.

My other hand, still gripping the screwdriver, moved on instinct. I swung at her. I swung with everything I had. I heard a wet popping sound, then watched as Wendy’s mouth dropped open. The gleam in her eyes died. She teetered on top of me for a moment, before falling forward with a soft groan.

A river of red flowed from the side of her head, the screwdriver wedged firmly in her skull. Her blood dripped onto my face. My eyes. I gagged, crying out as I tried to push her off, but Landon was quicker. He clambered on top of her corpse, knocking the wind from me in the process.

“Don’t you ever fucking relax?” he said.

I grunted, twisting and writhing. It was useless. In my state, moving Wendy’s body was hard enough, but both of their weights combined were impossible.

“Your friend wants me to tell you it’ll be easier if you close your eyes,” Landon said, raising the hammer. “But I disagree. I like seeing the lights go out.” He brought it down on my forehead with a crack.

My vision blurred. His silhouette became a mess of shadows. Everything from smells and sounds and even the sickening taste of Wendy’s blood became a slurry of madness. Faintly, I could tell Landon was lifting his hammer again. I could tell her was looking to finish me off.

My hands scrambled across the dirt floor. I felt around desperately, searching for anything I could protect myself with– and my fingers closed around something small. Something sharp.

Landon swung. This time I swung with him, throwing my hand upward, jabbing at him– no, jabbing into him. His eyes went wide in shock.

But it wasn’t enough. I was too slow.

The hammer struck my temple, and my world faded to black.

I awoke to a bright room, with dozens of lights shining down on me. I tossed and turned in an ocean of sheets. My head pounded. I felt disoriented– like I was still half asleep.

“Oh, Ian!” a comforting voice said. “You’re awake!

The voice was cozy, familiar. It felt warm to my ears.

My mother.

I blinked, becoming aware of her rushing to a man in the corner of the room. Get the nurse, she told him. And hurry! The man did not seem happy, but he listened to her all the same.

As my vision adjusted, I realized I knew that man too. He was my father.

My dad left the room, the double-wide doors swinging behind him. A moment later, he returned with another man in light-blue hospital scrubs.

“How do you feel?” my nurse asked. He buzzed around me like an over-vigilant hornet, checking the readings of various instruments as he made notes on his clipboard.

“I feel… a little woozy,” I told him. “Sick.”

He nodded. “I’m not surprised. You suffered a severe concussion.”

“Oh?” It was all I could manage.

“Your skull is fractured,” he explained. “But it looks like you’ve avoided the worst of it. No brain damage. You’re likely to experience migraines for some time, however. Do you know what a migraine is, Ian?”

I tilted my head up and down. Even nodding was difficult. My whole world remained a blur– so much so that I almost missed another person entering the room. A woman. She was wearing a dark jacket, with stern eyes. I didn’t recognize her.

“Where’s Landon?” I croaked to my mother. “And Wendy? Are they okay? I had a really bad dream and–”

My mother choked back a sob.

The woman with stern eyes cleared her throat. She put a hand on my mother’s shoulder, and stepped forward to the side of my bed. “Hello Ian, I’m a detective with the police. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if you’re feeling up to it?”

“Sure…” I mumbled.

“I need to know if you remember anything about Halloween.”

I wracked my mind. Thinking was hard. The landscape of my thoughts felt like quicksand, falling through my fingers as soon as I reached out to them– but then certain pieces began to jump out at me. Memory fragments.

“I remember going up Cackle Hill,” I said, slowly. My eyes cautiously swiveled to my father, quite certain I was going to be grounded for life for just admitting I’d trespassed on that property. But my father didn’t get upset. He just stood there, gnawing at his lip. I decided to take that as a good sign, and pressed forward. “I went into the house with my friends Landon and Wendy. It was pretty gross. All we saw was some old photographs, a lot of spiders, and this creepy old mirror that…”

I paused.

There was somebody else there with us, wasn’t there? A voice, I thought. A presence.

“So far that matches what we have,” the detective said, referring to a notepad in her hand. “Around 2 a.m., we received several 911 calls from residents in the vicinity of Cackle Hill, claiming they heard shouts for help. Four officers were dispatched to the house via helicopter. They located you unconscious in the crawlspace.”

I took a sharp breath. It was only then I realized I had plastic tubes stuffed into my nostrils, rigged to an oxygen unit next to my bed. Breathing felt difficult. Harder than I remembered.

The detective cleared her throat. “We found you lying beneath the bodies of Landon Mattews and Wendy Song.”

My heart pounded. Somewhere in the room, a machine began to beep more rapidly. “What happened?” I asked, panic slipping into my voice.

The detective exchanges a look with my mother. She takes a deep breath. “Your fingerprints were found on an old screwdriver and a rusty nail. Do either of those objects mean anything to you?”

My thoughts raced. “Should they?”

“Presumably. They were the objects you used to murder Wendy Song and Landon Matthews, respectively.”

I sucked in another sharp breath. Machines sang throughout the hospital room, their choruses rising to shrill new heights. I suddenly felt hot. Unwell. I’d killed my friends– murdered them. It was enough that I felt numb all over, like my entire body had been crushed beneath the weight of the nightmare itself.

Like it wasn’t even there.

“What we’ve been so far unable to explain, however,” the detective continued, “is the fact that both Landon Matthew’s and Wendy Song’s corpses were partially consumed at the time they were located. Their faces, particularly their cheeks, had been badly bitten. We found traces of their DNA in your teeth, and presently, we believe we’d found evidence of their consumption in your stomach.”

I wanted to vomit.

My mother stepped forward. She raised a hand to the detective, and spoke with a hoarse, broken voice. “That’s enough,” she said. “He doesn’t need to hear that. Not now.”

No, I didn’t need to hear that. Not now. Not ever.

But the detective paid my mother a frown. “Unfortunately, he does. Based on lab analysis of the bite marks, it’s likely that your son not only murdered his classmates– but partially cannibalized them. I’d like to know why. So, I think, would their parents.”

My head spun. How could this be happening? I’d never– there was no way…

“Jesus Christ!” my father shouted, shocking me. My father was normally a quiet, stern man and difficult to get a rise out of. “Look at him, lady! You think he had a choice? You think he crawled underneath their bodies? No! They were trying to fucking kill him and he defended himself!”

My mother pressed a soothing hand against my dad’s chest. She leaned her head on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. It seemed to calm him somewhat. But only barely.

“Self defense is entirely legal,” the detective agreed, “but cannibalism is not self-defense.” She rounded on me, getting right up next to my bedside, leaning down so that her and I were eye level. “But the thing I’d like you to help me understand, Ian, is who the other bite marks belonged to.”

“O-other bite marks?” I sputtered.

“Yes. In addition to those found on their cheeks, your friends also had bite marks on their arms and legs. Strips had been torn clean. Who attacked them in such a savage manner is something that we’ve thus far been unable to determine, but we do know those marks were made by human teeth.”

A shiver ran through me, but whether it was the drugs coursing through my veins, or the sheer horror I felt, I barely registered it. My body felt frozen. Unable to move.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry… I didn’t see anybody else.”

“You’re certain?”

Something bubbled up inside of me. Horror, frustration, self-loathing and shame, coalesced into something like rage, and I finally snapped. “Why would I lie to you?” I shouted. “My best friends are dead and I’m sitting here with a busted ankle and tubes sticking out of me, and you’re telling me I ate them, and now you’re calling me a liar?” Tears poured from my eyes. My mouth trembled with sobs. “What’s wrong with you?”

The detective’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t… feel it then, did you?”

I blinked back the tears. “Feel what?”

She looked to my mother and father, and then to the nurse. Her eyes swam with horror. All three of them looked away from the detective, almost as though they couldn’t bear to get involved.

“I’m sorry to be the one to show you this,” she said, eyes downcast. Reluctantly, she pulled back the sheet covering my torso. With every inch the sheet moved, my heart pounded.

I watched it pound.

I watched my lungs contract and expand. I watched my body, or what was left of it, go about its business as though my torso were transparent and not split open. Tubes spilled out of me from all angles. So many of my organs were missing.

Along with my arms. My legs.

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry. It was all I could do to stare at my hollowed out body in silent horror.

“Whatever took those bites out of your friends…” the detective began, unease in her voice. “We think they also dismembered you, Ian.”

She paused. Gave herself a moment to take a deep, shuddering breath. “They chewed your limbs to the bone, then laid them next to you in a cross. We discovered a small incision made into your side. From what the surgeon suspects, that incision was used to reach inside of you and pull out pieces of your organs. Not enough to kill you. Just enough to taste.”

The detective lowered her eyes

“We found your appendix partially devoured on the far side of the crawlspace, as well as various pieces of your large intestine scattered throughout the house. All partially consumed. Mercifully, your wounds had been cauterized. That’s probably the only reason you're still alive and breathing."

My mind felt blank. I couldn’t process what she was saying. Sure, it was true that I was alive, but did that matter anymore? Could I even exist in a state like this? Existential panic like I’d never felt began to crash in on me like a collapsing dam.

"Ian," the detective said. "If you have any idea who did this to you, I need to know now. Whoever did this to you could be out there intending to hurt more people.”

Whoever did this to me?

My heart pounded. I watched it beat, thump thump, and I knew the detective was right– whoever did this would hurt more people. Maybe not today. Maybe not for another decade even. But they would, eventually.

I knew that for certain.

"Ian?" the detective pressed. "Please. Our clock is ticking on catching this monster– anything you know. Anything you can remember. Do you know who did this to you?”

Of course I did.

I think everybody in that room knew, even if they didn't want to admit it. All of them, standing there and looking at me like I was the victim of some sick junkie or escaped asylum patient. None of them wanted to believe the truth. None of them wanted to accept the fact that the man who fed on my insides was already dead.

He'd been dead for over a hundred years.

[edenfenixblogs]

Hello Eden (is it okay to call you that?)

Do you have any current favourite songs? What kind of music do you generally listen to?

And do you have any favourite books? What kind of books do you like to read?

If you are okay with sharing, no pressure.

Sending you love and strength ❤️

Ah!!! Thanks for this ask @sunnenfinster! What a lovely change of pace.

Eden is fine!!!!!

Ok, so I love music and books!

Of all broad genres of entertainment media, music is probably what I follow least closely. It’s not that I don’t like it; I just am always behind the curve in my tastes. I love listening to most confessional singer/songwriters. I love folk, rock, pop, and rap. I also get a lot of music I like from the background of media like TV, Movies, and podcasts. In general, I love confessional singer-songwriters from any genre.

Fave singers (and the albums I’d recommend from them: songs I’d recommend from that album [notes]):

Jem (Finally Woken: Come on Closer, Falling for You, Just a Ride). All songs on this album rock, to me.

Sheryl Crow (Sheryl Crow: A Change Would Do You Good, [about choosing love over anger and stopping gun violence], Redemption Day [about the Bosnian war], Maybe Angels [could be about aliens or being in a cult idk but it’s a good song about misplaced belief] I love every song on this album tbh. Wall-to-wall bangers.

Missy Elliot (Under Construction: Gossip Folks, Work it)

Suzanne Vega (99.9 F: 99.9 F, Blood Makes Noise, Rock in the Pocket, When Heroes Go Down)

Artists and songs I like in general: Aimee Mann (her voice is like butter and I could listen to her sing forever); Eliza Rickman: Pretty Little Head; Sims: Icarus; Dessa: Call Off Your Ghost; Sifu Hotman: Matches (I know no other songs by this artist but I LOVE this one so much. I’m gonna go listen to it right now); Lorde: Yellow Flicker Beat; Björk: Human Behavior; G Flip: Hyperfine, Gay 4 Me, Killing My Time; Aimee Mann: That’s Just What You Are [I love Aimee’s voice and could listen to her sing the phone book. All songs off her Magnolia Album are amazing too]

And gosh. So many more…

As for books!!!! OMG! I love books so much. I love so many different kinds of books. Some fave genres include: Classic Lit, Magical Realism, Sci-fi/Fantasy/Speculative Fiction; Engaging YA Series, Historical Fiction; Culinary History and Analysis; and Mythological Retellings

Classic Lit Faves:

“To The Lighthouse” by Virginia Woolf [This contains my fave quote in all of literature. This could also never be adequately adapted into a movie. It’s a fascinating look into how people think and how we all process internal thoughts. Must be comfortable with long sentences, semicolons, and allowing sentence clauses to wash over you like ocean waves in order to enjoy this book]

“Cider with Rosie” by Laurie Lee

“All Quiet on the Western Front” by Erich Maria Remarque

“The Portable Dorothy Parker” by Dorothy Parker

“The Odyssey” by Homer, translated by Emily Wilson

“The Iliad” by Homer — both Emily Wilson’s Translation and Stanley Lombardo’s Translation

Magical Realism

“The House of the Spirits” by Isabelle Allende

“Aunt Julia and the Scriptwriter” by Mario Vargas Llosa

“Bless Me Última” by Rudolfo Anaya

“Like Water for Chocolate” by Laura Esquivel

SFF Faves:

“An Absolutely Remarkable Thing” and “A Beautifully Foolish Endeavor” by Hank Green

“The Martian” by Andy Weir

The Tiffany Aching line of the Discworld Series by Terry Pratchett (“The Wee Free Men,” “I Shall Wear Midnight,” “A Hat Full of Sky,” and “Wintersmith”)

“The Locked Tomb” Series by Tamsyn Muir (“Gideon the Ninth,” “Harrow the Ninth,” “Nona the Ninth” so far)

Engaging YA

“The Hunger Games” Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

“Grishaverse” Series by Leigh Bardugo

“Shadow and Bone Triogy” (related to the Grishaverse) by Leigh Bardugo [note: I didn’t know until making this list that Leigh Bardugo is an Israeli Jew! Very cool]

Historical Fiction:

“Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistlestop Cafe” by Fannie Flagg [the associated cookbook is very good. Also, you’ll never eat ribs the same again]

“Tracks” by Louise Erdrich [one of the most interestingly written books I’ve ever read. Has two dueling narrators. This is part of a series of books but can be read as a standalone]

Culinary Analysis History

Bree Wilson’s books (“First Bite: How We Learn to Eat,” “Consider the Fork,” and “The Way We Eat Now,” specifically) are some of the best out there. [I didn’t realize until a couple weeks ago that Bee Wilson and the classicist translator Emily Wilson are sisters! They are both extremely smart, engaging writers.]

“Omnivore’s Dilemma” by Michael Pollan

“An Edible History of Humanity” by Tom Standage

“Food: A Cultural Culinary History” by Ken Albala (this one is a Great Courses course, so not technically a book. But it’s available most places you can get audiobooks. And it’s what got me fascinated with this subject)

Mythological Retellings

“Circe” and “The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

“The Silence of the Girls” and “The Women of Troy” by Pat Barker [TW Rape]

“Norse Mythology” by Neil Gaiman

Genre Defy-ers

(These are some of my All Time Faves that can’t really be confined to any genre)

The “Outlander” Series by Diana Gabaldon [and the related “Lord John” Series by the same author] (TW: for Rape)

“The Anthropocene Reviewed” by John Green

Just Finished Reading

“Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Truman Capote (Wow it was so good. I haven’t seen the movie in a while but I seriously doubt they adapted it faithfully. It was so surprising!!!)

Currently Reading

“Murder on the Orient Express” by Agatha Christie

Selections From My To Be Read List

“The City of Brass” by S.A. Chakraborty

“Lessons in Chemistry” by Bonnie Garmus

“The Source” by James Michener

“The Secret of Cooking” by Bee Wilson

“Equal Rites” by Terry Pratchett

“A Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England” by Ian Mortimer

“What You Are Looking For Is In The Library” by Michiko Aoyama

“The Doomsday Book” by Connie Willis

I also love to read cookbooks from various cultures to gain insight into those cultures in a very tactile way.

Sending you love and gratitude! 💜💜💜💜

I’m always down to discuss books!

[concerningwolves]

staring longingly at An Early Meal: A Viking-Age Cookbook and Culinary Odyssey but knowing that i can't justify buying it for myself for writing research purposes or for home cooking purposes, and that of the few family members who have asked me what I'd like for Christmas, I wouldn't ask any one of them to spend what is frankly a terrifying amount of money on this book. guess i just have to seethe in unbridled avarice and obsess over the fragments of it i can find online

[digitalmarketingcoaching55]

A Tapestry of Heritage: Exploring India's Golden Triangle

Embark on a cultural odyssey through the heart of India as we unravel the enchanting story of the Golden Triangle. Composing the iconic cities of Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur, this journey transcends time, offering a kaleidoscope of history, architecture, and vibrant traditions. Join us on this virtual expedition as we delve into the cultural richness and majestic wonders that define the Golden Triangle.

I. The Heartbeat of Delhi: A Historical Tapestry

Delhi, where the ancient and the modern coexist harmoniously. Explore the remnants of ancient civilizations at Qutub Minar, walk the storied halls of the Red Fort, and witness the architectural marvels that stand as testament to Delhi's dynamic history.

II. Agra's Timeless Elegance: The Taj Mahal and Beyond

Step into the city that houses the epitome of love – the Taj Mahal. Beyond this iconic marvel, Agra unfolds its historical treasures at the Agra Fort and immerses you in the vibrant chaos of its markets.

III. Jaipur: The Regal Palette of Rajasthan

Jaipur, the Pink City, beckons with its regal splendours. Marvel at the Hawa Mahal, explore the opulent City Palace, and witness the celestial wonders at Jantar Mantar. Jaipur's streets narrate tales of valour, while its markets offer a feast for the senses.

IV. Culinary Journeys: Savouring the Flavors of the Golden Triangle

Indulge your taste buds in the culinary delights of each city. From Delhi's street food treasures to Agra's Mughlai cuisine and Jaipur's royal feasts, the Golden Triangle is a gastronomic adventure.

V. Hidden Gems: Beyond the Monuments

Uncover the lesser-known wonders that add depth to the Golden Triangle experience. From the mystical stepwells of Delhi to the historic gems nestled in the outskirts of Agra and Jaipur, discover the secrets that lie off the beaten path.

VI. Vibrant Markets: Shopping Extravaganza

Immerse yourself in the lively bazaars of the Golden Triangle. Delhi's bustling Chandni Chowk, Agra's vibrant Kinari Bazaar, and Jaipur's colourful markets offer a shopping spree filled with traditional crafts, textiles, and artefacts.

VII. Local Encounters: Conversations with Culture

Connect with the locals and witness the living traditions of the Golden Triangle. From traditional art forms to folk performances, engage in cultural exchanges that breathe life into your journey.

VIII. Practical Tips: Navigating the Golden Triangle with Ease

Equip yourself with essential tips for a seamless travel experience. From weather considerations to cultural etiquette, ensure you make the most of your Golden Triangle adventure.

IX. Golden Triangle Tours: Crafting Unforgettable Memories

Discover the convenience and insights offered by reputable tour operators. Whether guided by our seasoned experts or exploring at your own pace, tailor your Golden Triangle tour to create memories that last a lifetime.

Conclusion: As the virtual dust settles on our journey through the Golden Triangle, we invite you to envision yourself amidst the grandeur of historic monuments, the hustle of vibrant markets, and the warmth of cultural exchanges. The Golden Triangle isn't just a destination; it's a living narrative that invites you to be part of India's rich tapestry. Come, explore, and immerse yourself in the timeless allure of this cultural masterpiece.

[chokrihizem]

In the realm of herbs, one humble green warrior stands out—rosemary. Beyond its culinary prowess, rosemary harbors a treasure trove of health benefits that span the domains of mind, body, and hair. Join us on this herbal odyssey as we unravel the mysteries of rosemary, discovering its enchanting powers for a radiant and rejuvenated you!

Unlock the Secrets of Rosemary: A Herbal Odyssey for Mind, Body, and Hair Wellness

[melawatigomeat]

Buffalo Short Ribs

Robust. Rich. Remarkable.

Embark on a culinary odyssey with our Buffalo Short Ribs. Renowned for their deep, robust flavor and succulent tenderness, these ribs encapsulate the spirit of the wild plains, delivering an unparalleled dining experience.

Why Dive into Buffalo Short Ribs?

Unparalleled Flavor: Savor the depth of buffalo meat, which offers a richer and more complex taste profile compared to traditional beef ribs.

Tender & Juicy: When cooked low and slow, these ribs transform into a melt-in-your-mouth delight, making them a star in dishes from BBQ to braised recipes.

Nutrient-Rich Feast: Filled with essential nutrients like protein, iron, and omega-3 fatty acids, they provide both taste and nourishment in every bite.

Eco-Conscious Choice: Our buffalo are raised on vast, sustainable pastures, ensuring minimal impact on the environment and supporting ecosystem health.

Lower in Fat: Naturally leaner than many other meats, buffalo offers a healthier alternative without compromising on flavor or texture.

Culinary Versatility: From traditional BBQ to gourmet stews, these ribs serve as the foundation for a myriad of dishes, allowing chefs to showcase their culinary prowess.

Discover the wild essence of the plains with Buffalo Short Ribs. Whether it's a family gathering, a weekend BBQ, or a gourmet dinner, their unmatched flavor and texture promise a dining experience that lingers in memory.

Taste the Essence of the Wild. Relish the Buffalo Short Ribs Experience Today!

You'll love our Buffalo Short Ribs in a stew, soup, or chili. Each rib is surrounded by juicy, delicious meat! Great in the crock pot.

Our buffalo (bison) is locally grown and pasture-raised producing flavorful and nutritious high-protein products for your enjoyment.

Source : Yankee Farmer' s Market

---------------------------------------------------------

Remember Us! Browse our Social Media, Meat and Food Global Networks, Please click LIKE, COMMENT, SHARE for all our customers to get accurate and up-to-date information about Halal Meat, Chicken, Livestock, Seafoods business on our official Social Media such as the email address below. Thank you.

https://www.facebook.com/melawatifoodsolutions/

https://www.facebook.com/mohdnoorsuaramelawati

https://www.instagram.com/melawatifoodsolutions/

https://www.youtube.com/@melawatifoodsolutions

https://www.tiktok.com/@melawatifoodsokutions

https://twitter.com/mkfoodsolutions

https://t.me/melawatifoodnetworks

https://wasap.my/+60122802772

Source : Melawati Meat and Food Solutions

#MelawatiMeatSupplier

#MelawatiFrozenSupplier

#MelawatiChickenSupplier

#MelawatiSeafoodSupplier

#MelawatiLivestockSupplier

Date : 11072024 (Thursday)

[barelythesun]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✶ ⠀ ⠀ connections. ⠀ ⠀ journal. ⠀ ⠀ › ⠀ ⠀ dossier. ⠀ ⠀ background.

lee juyeon.   he/him/his.   cismale.   ✧   sunji   noh    is   now   boarding   the   poseidon’s   odyssey!   some   say   the   twenty-six   year   old   is   -empathetic   and   -down   to   earth,   but   they’re   also   known   to   be  -impulsive   and   -indecisive.   it   could   be   because   he   worked   his   way   up   to   be   a   renowned   culinary   chef.   you’ll   know   they’re   around   when   you   hear   about   the   warm   sunlight   on   his   back,   the   smell   of   rain   on   grass,   writing   letters   to   people   and   never   mailing   them   and   trees   being   caught   with   glimpses   of   burgundy   shades   intertwined   in   their   dying   limbs,    which   isn’t   surprising   considering   their   most   played   song   is   fka   passat   by   alex   banin.   we   hope   you   enjoy   your   stay!   (   tofu,   24,   she/hers,   pst,   n/a.   ) @odysseyextras

✶ dossier

name: noh sunji

age: twenty-six

height: 181cm (5'11ft)

eye color: brown eyes that has adversity woven in his irises

hair: scruffy, black & always messy

piercings: one on each lobe

fragrance: crisp aroma of bergamot, blended in with orange blossom and cedarwood that is reminiscent of a stroll in the woods.

birthday: march 11th, 1998

place of birth: san francisco, california

languages: english, korean and mandarin (duolingo)

gender: cismale (he/him)

occupation: renowned chef

mbti: infj-t

habits: bouncing his leg, fiddling with his fingers, staring off into space, sighing and pouting his lips when in thought.

family: father (don't know him) & mother (alive and well)

✶ biography

-born and raised in san francisco, california until he moved to south korea at the age of 21. he grew up as an only child with a single mother that never truly took care of him and her sister who practically raised him whenever his mother would go out doing who knows what.

-he grew up doing everything and anything to get his mother's love and attention but it was never enough and so, his heart slowly turns cold like the winter breeze in december. he grew not being able to talk about his emotions well, causing him to be an avoidant person which he knows is a problem.

-luckily for him, he was an academic weapon all throughout school but he was never truly invested in any of the subjects. his love for food outshined everything as it was the only consistent thing that his mother would give him; pizza that she would pick up at a local pizzeria the way he sees it is that it was her way of telling him that she loves him which is what gave him a shimmer of hope he had left for the two of them.

-he hardly had contact with his mother as the only time she would reach out was for his birthday or to give updates on her health. he wishes that she would call him more often or that he could but he doesn't think there's enough room in his heart for potential disappointment or rejection so he decides against it.

-after pursuing a degree in culinary arts and working multiple jobs as different genres of cooks, he manages to take off into fame after appearing as a contestant on "master chef" and winning the title. he now owns a handful of restaurant chains that are scattered from korea, california and new york. he focuses on traditional korean food with a slight twist.

-after hearing about her son's success, she begins to call and text him more frequently, asking if he'd move back in with her and provide for her like a good son that he is. hearing these things overwhelmed him as he resents her for not being the parent figure that he wanted so badly. he decides to board the odyssey as a way to escape from her and from reality.

✶ headcanons

-in love with going to the farmer's market for fresh produce

-solves puzzles on his free time; enjoys escape rooms

-when he's not working, he's busy moding his 1997 honda civic type r

-not good with spice but will always order spicy foods

-has a competitive spirit but will never be caught being a sore 'loser'.

-has an affinity for constellations and space

-likes: the smell of rain, jellies, annotated books, cooking, building gundams, fresh produce and film cameras.

-dislikes: mess, hot weather, ginger, being rushed, liars, greedy people, screeching, needles and overthinking.

[helmort]

Arboreal Odyssey

In a time long forgotten, in a realm untouched by the ordinary laws of time and space, there existed a community of extraordinary creatures. These beings, akin to peculiar monkeys yet adorned with six arms reminiscent of insects, possessed a remarkable gift for telepathic communication. Their lives were woven around a magnificent tree, a source of sustenance and sanctuary.

Dubbed simply as "the folk," they flourished in harmonious coexistence upon the boughs of this enchanted tree for centuries. Initially, the tree bestowed its bounty generously, yielding three fruits for each inhabitant every lunar cycle. But as their numbers multiplied, the fruits became scarce, rationed to a mere one per creature.

Determined to restore abundance, a notable member of their midst embarked upon a daring endeavor. Through the artful grafting and nurturing of other flora, they succeeded in coaxing the tree into yielding its plentiful fruits once more. This newfound abundance brought a fleeting sense of tranquility and security to the community.

Yet, the specter of overpopulation loomed ominously. Once spacious branches now groaned under the weight of their crowded inhabitants, perilously close to collapse. Enter another figure of significance, a culinary virtuoso, who intervened with boundless creativity. With ingenious solutions, they expanded living quarters, fortified branches, and bolstered fruit production.

Despite their valiant efforts, the relentless tide of population growth could not be stemmed. With each solution devised, the community swelled, stretching the limits of their arboreal abode beyond its breaking point. Tragically, on a somber day etched in memory, the inevitable came to pass. The burden of the overcrowded branches proved too great, and with a thunderous roar, the mighty tree succumbed, claiming the lives of all who dwelled within its embrace.

And thus concludes the poignant tale of these fantastical beings, their existence transcending the ordinary bounds of time and space, forever etched in the annals of a forgotten realm.

𝑨𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚…💀

DISCOVER MORE ON WWW.HELMORT.COM

[auburniivenus]

Ichigo showed up at Orihime's doorstep with snowflakes in his orange hair & a faint blush on his cheeks. He had spent days rehearsing what he'd say, what he'd do in this moment but now that it had finally come, his mind just went blank-- especially as she opened the door and his brown eyes fell upon her stunning figure. She was so breathtakingly gorgeous, even though they'd been together for a while now, he could still scarcely believe she was his. That she loved him just as much as he loved her. "Hey-- " He held out the bouquet of heliotrope flowers, his face turning redder. "These... These flowers... They mean eternal love. I thought they'd be a good way to express my feelings for you and to ask you if..." He paused, nervousness making his hand tremble slightly as he reached into his jeans pocket to retrieve a small velvet box. "If you want to spend this Christmas and all the ones to come with me?" Ichigo smiled, eyes full of love & admiration searching hers. "Will you marry me?"

YOUR   LIPS   DON'T   LIE.   Within   the   confines   of   her   own   domicile,   the   solitary SYLPH of   her   demesne   stood   perched   amidst   the   culinary   crucible   of   her   kitchen.   The   aroma   of   her   creation,   an   omelette   assembled   with   the   tender   care   of   an   artist   bestowing   life   upon   canvas,   perfumed   the   air,   a   fragrant   symphony   of   pine   and   cinnamon   that   imparted   the   secrets   of   the   season.   She   contemplated   the   profound   silence   that   encompassed   the   evening,   a   lone   odyssey.   A   wisp   of   emptiness   caressed   her   heart,   as   ephemeral   and   delicate   as   a   snowflake’s   gentle   kiss   upon   the   frosted   glass   of   time,   yet   she   harbored   no   yearning   to   cast   her   shadow   upon   her   companions   or   to   intrude   upon   Ichigo’s   familial   abode.   She   sometimes   abhorred   the   concept   of   being   a   burden,   a   specter   in   the   luminous   exuberance   of   others.

As   she   conferred   the   final,   loving   flourish   upon   her   modest   banquet,   the   clarion   call   of   the   doorbell   cleaved   the   silence,   presaging   unforeseen   revelations.   With   her   auburn   wispy   locks   unfurling   like   the   fiery   train   of   a   phoenix   in   graceful   descent,   she   wafted   to   the   entrance,   her   soul   infused   with   curiosity.   Upon   flinging   open   the   door,   a   tableau   of   wonderment   bloomed   upon   her   visage,   as   resplendent   as   the   aurora   borealis   adorning   the   velvet   night.   There,   at   the   threshold,   stood   Ichigo,   an   enigma   covered   in   the   wintry   embrace,   his   arms   cradling   blossoms   that   seemed   to   have   captured   the   vernal   essence   of   Demeter’s   own   gardens.   “Ichigo,   shouldn’t   you   be   with   your   family?   I-It’s   Christmas   eve.”

Her   mane,   now   bejeweled   with   the   delicate   filigree   of   snowflakes,   were   as   a   diadem   of   heaven’s   souls   bequeathed   by   the   nocturnal   winter   herself.   Ichigo,   whose   legitimate   place   was   undoubtedly   woven   into   the   familial   mosaic   of   his   own   abode,   stood   before   her   with   a   surprise   that   outshone   the   splendor   of   the   cosmos.   With   a   query   that   hung   in   the   air   like   the   Sword   of   Damocles,   he   sought   her   hand   in   matrimony,   a   proposition   as   unforeseen   as   a   rose   courageously   blooming   amidst   the   alabaster   snow.   “M-Marry   you?   W-What?”

A   solemn   tear   of   rapture,   a   scintillating   orb   of   purest   glee,   sortied   from   the   perimeter   of   her   caramel   orbs,   etching   a   shimmering   trail   upon   her   visage   as   a   silent   ode   to   the   euphoria   burgeoning   within   her   bosom.   No   longer   would   she   face   Christmas   Eve   nestled   in   solitude;   instead,   she   would   be   encompassed   in   the   loving   embrace   of   Ichigo   and   his   kin,   not   merely   for   this   consecrated   night   but   for   all   the   Christmases   that   destiny   would   lovingly   entwine   into   their   shared   chronicle   of   existence.

Before   the   utterance   of   consent   could   grace   the   air,   before   a   whispered   ‘yes’   could   take   flight   from   her   lips,   she   engulfed   him   in   an   embrace   that   melded   all   the   love   and   luminescence   harbored   within   her   essence.   Their   embrace   was   a   citadel   against   the   tempests   of   the   world.   And   then,   with   a   fervor   that   spoke   volumes   more   than   any   sacred   vow,   she   sealed   her   assent   with   a   deep,   impassioned   osculation,   a   confluence   of   spirits   that   sang   of   pledges,   and   a   future   drenched   in   the   eternal   vermilion   hues   of   undying   affection.   “Y-Yes.   I   always   dreamed   of   being   your   wife.”   A   whispered   against   his   lips. @orangeshinigami