#Grill Temperature Tips

[grillpartshub-blog]

Grilled Duck Breast: Sure-fire Recipe With Temperature Tips We’ll explore a sure-fire recipe for grilled duck breast that will elevate your outdoor cooking game, along with essential temperature tips to ensure your dish is cooked to perfection every time. For More Details

[jolapeno]

met you once, saw you thrice

lucien flores x f!reader

summary: the first time, he kissed you. the second time, you found yourselves in a bathroom. the third time, well, the third time.

warnings: 18+ smut, fingering aka hands go inside underwear under a tree. not-friends to not-lovers. tension. lots of references to past debauchery. slight mention of lucien's sobriety. lots of plot for some sexy rewards. wc: 5.3k an: this is my submission to summer lovin', brought to you by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy. i got Lucien, and this gorgeous moodboard. im a touch nervous about this man as i usually need the source material to write, so be kind. huge thanks to @pedgito for hand holding and to my circle for lifting me when i kept falling.

You shouldn’t be here.

That’s what you think, hovering under the white canopy away from the sun, surrounded by expensive bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets, their labels catching the flickering candlelight strategically placed around the sprawling garden.

Another bead falls down your glass, the ice in your drink melting. Thick rolls of condensation drip over your knuckles, along your hand, and down your wrist. Each one falls like rain, landing on the flowy skirt of your summer dress.

It's a new purchase, far too expensive, the label tucked inside, hidden away—pressing and cutting into your skin when you move—doing so each time you nod and over-pronounce a hello to those draped in designers and silk, while the grill sizzles and steams as more is added to it.

You shouldn’t be here because you don’t belong.

Not an actor, not someone on stage; not a writer or a producer. Not the girlfriend of one either. Just a friend of a friend—one ditched, left to ferment with the salad wilting in the warm temperatures as Smith flits between flirting with a waiter and the one he really wants.

You’re not sure why you let him convince you to come. Even as you take another sip, glancing at the time on your wrist, the free food and drink are slowly becoming less worth it. Assessing through sideward glances where the hand needs to be before you can dismiss the worries of being a bad friend and hail a cab.

Not that Smith would notice.

To him, you had completed your role, and earned your accolade in his eyes—the role of not allowing him to come to this alone. It would be criminal to do that. To let him arrive at a house tucked into acres, with Dom Perignon on tap and a grill larger than your kitchen.

You know you should be grateful Smith hadn’t traded you for his new friends. The ones who walk red carpets and call him Smithy. You suppose you should also be thankful he brings you so you can take home stories that make you not hate that you live in a studio apartment and work a 9 to 5.

It’s hard not to be bitter right now. On your own. Exhaling and staring around, wearing that plastered-on half-smile perfected from shitty customer service jobs.

Bringing your glass back to your lips, doing one last sweep before you sneak out, fighting the scent of split open apricots and pungent flowery perfume, you see him. Spot him. The crowd practically parting for him to come into view, creating a gap that would make a romantic swoon.

But, you’re no romantic—more thrillers and mysteries on your nightstand than meet cutes and midnight kisses. If anything, you’re more a cynic, a twisted-up, poisoned hater of hand-holding and Sunday mornings.

Especially when it comes to him.

Lucien Flores.

His name echoes around your skull in the same way it did when it was first introduced to you. Dropped to you, honeyed and elongated as though by stretching it out, you’d fall under some spell as he seated himself beside you—a deck of cards in hand.

Tipping the glass, your mouth fills with lemonade, holding his gaze—willing to do so until your eyes burn, until it feels impossible. All stubborn to a fault. Obstinate and arrogant.

You’re saved as a group moves in between the two of you—breaking it for you.

And you decide, rather quickly, it’s time to move—hoping the sight of your back will be enough for him not to press further.

You’re not counting—but he waits an hour.

Crosses the garden, where the tables have moved into standing groups around various points of the green. Some have stood to mingle, to mill around with their flutes and their tales of marriage, honours, and complaints once the grilling finished and the bubbles got to some of the louder women. Others begin the garden games, the ones which had no rules but also had some, as though the aim was to confuse rather than create fun.

Smith had returned between the salad being offered and the grilled steaks. A leaf between his fingers, he whispered he was going back to his tennis match. A twinkle in his eye, a kiss to your forehead, a promise there but one that never really seals itself or makes itself solid. Just confirms that your use was done—You don’t have to wait for me, pumpkin.

A nickname which had once made you smile and now just makes your heart lurch when you let go of his hand and watch him vanish into the house.

One person who hasn’t vanished is Lucien. It surprises you that he’s waited so long to make his approach. Almost as surprising as it is to see him, having heard rumours he’d landed a role in a movie—something British, remote, taking him overseas.

But he’s here. All brown eyes that attempt to drown you, pull you under—dig into you. You feel you should be used to them; they’ve been fixed on you for so long. Soaking you in deep chocolate, thick enough to make it feel like it’s hard to move, to fight it—akin to sludge, mud—as he begins to smirk as he nears.

And maybe he remembers too.

Able to recall a time similar to this. Not the first, but the second. When instead of barbecues and setting suns, it had been wine, cheese and a much later evening. Card games having caused outrage, shrieked words from a woman who should have been cut off a while ago, having caused you to slip out, escape to the first-floor bathroom. Finding he followed.

Don’t think about him—

The opposite sprouts so easily, you have to wonder what soil lives in your mind.

Because, of course, you had thought about it, about him. More than you should. Heat gliding up your neck now, making you shift your shoulders as the straps of your dress cut in, as you do. You think about how his lips felt on the juncture of your neck when you sit in conference calls, and how his hips had dipped before you felt his hardening cock slide over your covered ass. At night, you think about how it feels to have his thick fingers sliding open the button and zip of your pantsuit, how they’d slid inside your new lace undies and collected your slick to enjoy a taste.

The more you stopped yourself, the worse it became. Craving him when the moon was at its highest, hand delving between your thighs as you tried to replicate all the places he touched. Wanting, needing—desperately desiring until you arched from your sheets, sprinkled in sweat as you hissed his name out between gritted teeth.

That’s all you allow.

No second-glances passing newspaper stands when he makes the front page, no secret Google searches when you were frustrated and impossibly lonely. Knowing, and comprehending, that if you did, it would only lead to further disappointment. It would land you somewhere close to remembered disinterest, like those times when you’d found yourself sat across from charm and wit—making you disassociate when your palm rested on white linen with a candle flickering in the middle as you hoped, prayed, internally begged for a comment on how nice you’d looked.

Not again.

Never again.

So, you placed him where you suspected he had placed you. Out of sight, out of mind. Yours a box, right at the back of your mind—the lid sliding free when you needed release, and only then. It marked in thick Sharpie: a good time, even better cock, but comes with baggage.

It’s why you stand as he takes the final steps to you, your hand retrieving your glass, only to find it empty, drained, with only the little bits of fruit and a smidge of ice at the bottom. But his hands were not.

Extending one to you, one that looked close to the one you’d been enjoying—all mint leaves and lemon slices swimming in lemonade.

“What are the chances?”

You snort, taking a sip. “You’ve used that line.”

“Have I?”

“The last time.”

It’s his turn to snort. Staring. Looking you up and down in a soft drag that makes your stomach flip and your skin prickle with heat.

“Next you’ll tell me your name, tell me that you’re a movie star and that you’ve not seen me around.”

For a second, he gives you a silent stare, eyes speaking volumes that you couldn’t hear as he chews his tongue, and flicks his eyes from your chest back to your face once, twice. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

Swallowing, wrapping a hand around your middle, you smile—cold, wickedly. “No.”

“S’that why you won’t look at me?”

You eye him, as he does you. Despising that he looks good—that it’s another silk shirt, slightly unbuttoned, similar gold chains hanging from his neck. Hating that he looks so broad, that you remember how it feels to have them spreading your legs, how his chest feels pressed to your back with his cock in your pussy.

Loathing that right now, as you will a quip, a response, your thigh remembers how his palm felt on it as he held it and speared into you. How much of a mess he made of you, that you’d come so hard you’d seen galaxies and not just stars.

“Never known you to be this qui—”

Scowling at him through your eyebrows, you slide your lips into your cheek and straighten your spine. “Do I still look nervous?”

Your pulse quickens as he takes another step closer. His aftershave smothers you. It’s wooden and earthy this time, it flooding your senses as blood hammers in your ears. Every muscle in your frame going taught, tight—so close to snapping that you expect with one breath you’d play a tune like a harp.

Scoffing, a roll of his eyes and he’s taking a long drink of his water—a pebble of it remaining on his lower lip, it commanding to be stared at, to be wiped, to be noticed and applauded like the rest of him as he replies no.

You’re quick not to react, to let pride flood your expression. Something warning you against it, telling you not to—especially when he places his bottle down. The sound echoes out in the quietness of the moment.

“You do look fucking miserable though.”

There it is. Expecting it, the doorway to show itself so he can use a line to cheer you up, to have you smiling, as though he’s a gift. His cock might be, not that you’ll admit it—not even if he begged, if he pleaded.

“Maybe that’s because this asshole keeps staring at me.”

“You think I’m an asshole?”

Eyes narrowing, head tilting to the side as you shrug. “I don’t think you’re not an asshole.”

Rolling his lips, pursing them, before they flatten into a line—hand stroking the hair along his chin, his jaw, he bathes in it, your insult. Let it simmer, cook, before clearing his throat. “Is that why you gave me a fake number?”

Your mouth falls open. Your eyes quickly widen—all cards gone, knocking the air out of your lungs as your heart slams into your stomach for different reasons as he sneers, and shakes his head.

“Enjoy your drink.”

“I—I…”

But, he’s already turned his back.

While a perfectly good exit window had cracked itself open for you, you don’t take it.

Even if it would have allowed you to bid the ache in the arch of your foot goodbye, slide out with the people moving into the house to avoid the chill and those making their own escape.

But, guilt gnawed, chewed. It there ruminating when you catch sight of his silk shirt between other guests. When the scent of his aftershave lingered in the air when you stepped inside to catch your breath from having to re-explain what it is you do to the same people you had done hours ago.

You know he’s presenting a chance to leave, yet your hand grabs another glass bottle of water, the lemon slice bobbing around as you venture down the lit path no one else seems to be trekking.

The one you know he escaped down earlier, seeing it after you’d heard some of them talking about him—the man who doesn’t settle, the one who’s clean but not really clean, the one who has talent and charm, and they wonder in their hushed voices if his cock is really as big as it’s rumoured.

It took all you had to bite back that it is, wanting to point out you’d discovered it in one of their new bathrooms only three months ago.

You pause when you reach the end of the path as it morphs into perfectly manicured grass. Feet sliding from your shoes as you grab the straps, wondering what you’re doing—cursing yourself as your chest heaves and presses roughly against the too-expensive fabric as you question all life choices.

Because you wouldn’t survive him.

A man too big for you, who wouldn’t fit in your world. There’d be no farmers markets and Chinese takeout boxes in bed; no quaint coffee shops and sharing of woes of the day. It would be unbalanced, wrong, awkward, in the same way, it would be if you let him step into your shoebox of an apartment and battle feeling smaller than you do when you’re alone.

Adventure, you think.

He’d said that the first time—when his fingers had wrapped around your wrist and tugged you further into someone's hedge you didn’t know. All green leaves and the scent of flowers sticking to your skin as his mouth pressed to yours. He’d repeated it in the bathroom, your palm flush to the white tiles above the sink—clawing at grout as he hissed it in your ear, filling you, making your mouth contort around a moan of his name as he dragged his cock in and out of your puffy, needy hole.

You suppose adventures are fleeting, not ever after.

Something momentary, nothing serious.

You wonder if he’s actually an adventure or if he just thinks he is. Whether he struggles to leave the fun of who he plays or whether it bleeds into him—a patchwork personality of who he’s had to morph into. It gives him the tools to be an escape, becoming a pause from the mundane, but nothing that stretches itself out passed an evening into the daytime.

When you spot him, your adventure has his phone in hand—spinning it, round and around. Lit cigarette between his lips, the tip burning, paper crisping.

“You seem like trouble.”

Lucien doesn’t turn, but he hears your announcement.

The phone pauses in its 180—it catching the light flickering in the tree above, making the leaves and branches more ominous than they do surrounded by the vivid oranges and reds of the sunset, all fiery intensity. As though the horizon itself had caught fire from the tension, the sun sinking slowly into it, leaving a trail of molten gold and crimson streaks.

“Trouble?” he asks, deep, guttural—caked in smoke and disbelief.

“Trouble.”

Taking another step closer, you stop close to his side. Handing him the bottle, feeling him take it as drop your shoes and stare in the same direction he is—taking in the shades as they deepen before the sun bids the day goodbye.

“That realisation come before or after you came on my cock?”

Nostrils flaring, you regret finding him almost instantly. Shame blooming, filling you from stomach to throat. “A-after.”

He makes a noise, and leaves you in the cold of his mood. To the point, you question again what it is you’re doing. Why you fucking care. Because you don’t. Not really. There’s nothing to know, to latch to—no feelings that could become anything more than a crush.

Incompatible, you think. Incompatible. Incompatible. Incompatible—

“You brought me water.”

His head turns, takes you in—and sweeps you in the familiar brown from earlier. And this time, you let it hang on your shoulders like a sweater. Let it warm you, and bring you comfort. Allow it to smother the shame and force it to seep away as he blows out rings of smoke.

It quickens in its retreat when he pushes off from the trunk, pocketing his phone—it stretching the pocket of his dark jeans as you will yourself not to stare at the bulge already there.

“I did.” It’s matter of fact, no further questions—head dipping, a tightness forming as you shake your head and exhale. “I… I just don’t think your sobriety is a joke.”

You feel his gaze snap to you as the words hang—stringing themselves together like twinkling lights. Unwilling again to meet him, wondering if he was thinking about it, that first time. When a sentence was said in response to a casual joke as the two of you hid out of view. It was made by someone you didn't know, at a party where people pretended to be friends when really they were trying to belittle one another, and Smith pretended he wasn’t in love with the older man he’s vying for.

His cigarette is almost out when you look at him, the lit end illuminating his face in some ways, and casted shadows in others. But, you could see his eyes searing—likely able to even in the darkest night. It etches into you as he takes another drag, as your nose tries to capture the scent of it, it so him, a thing which comes to you when you’re close from your own hand, blotched by it.

“Do you have a collection of silk shirts or something?” 

Smirking, blowing a smoke ring between the two of you. “Do you not like my shirts?”

Breathing, you fight saying I do. Not enjoying that you think of how they feel between your thighs when he'd spread you with his thumb when his tongue had licked from clit to hole and made you sob.

“They’re okay.” 

“Liar.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes. “Says you.”

“She miss me?” Stuffing the cigarette under his shoe, leaning the water against the base of the tree as his chains catch the light as he straightens. “Bet she’s missed me.”

“She?”

His lips curl, eyes flicking down to the place your thighs meet, before he hauls them back up.

And it’s instant, the way heat floods your cheek, pussy fluttering around nothing—remembering.

The noise is first, recalling whispering sweet nothings as he slid inside you in one thrust. Next is the feel of him, the stretch, how impossible it had felt as he kept going, and going, until those fingers, thick and dexterous slid over your swollen nerves. Then, there’s the aftershave, the same as he’s wearing tonight. How it mixed with smoke and liquor, and roses and expensive hand soap—

“D-don’t flatter yourself.”

But you swallow, give it away. Shaky on two legs as you try to look unfazed.

Because you’re pulsing between your legs, starving, aching. Trying to blink back memories of his tongue, of his thigh, or his crooked smile in the mirror as he repeated your name, over and over, like it held weight—like it lived on his tongue and in his mind—

“Parched, are you?”

“Parched?” you hiss. “Who the fuck even are you? Who the fuck says parched—”

Snorting harshly, leaning in his stance as he shrugs, “Oh, you know who I am. I’m baby, baby, right there, baby, I’m gonna come, Luci—”

In a step, your chest is flush with his—hands steadying you on your hips as your palm flattens to his words. You’re aware of him smirking, gloating, right against your skin; feeling the wiry hair around his mouth scratching at you, the same one that left your skin raw and irritated from lapping up the taste of you both before sending you back out to smile.

Lowering your hand, you become conscious of how close you are and how his fingers spread out, holding you tighter, keeping you pinned against him as you descend into his web all over again. Embers spreading out, electricity pulsing out from where his fingers touch you over your dress, as your body recognises, identifies.

“I’m trying not to be an asshole.”

“Is that what you’re doing…”

His hand reaches up, stroking your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip as you take in a deep breath. “Tell me you don’t want me to make you come.”

You should. But, you don’t.

Instead, you close your mouth around his thumb, swirling the tip of it with your tongue as he grunts, right in the back of his throat before he slips it out with a pop. A second brews, and then another before his mouth crashes to yours, all impatient, hungry—rough. Lips parting for him as you feel him lick into your mouth, tasting cigarettes and lemon, at the same time as your back meets bark.

And you’re desperate, yearning.

Tugging him close, palms sliding over silk as you make a note that it’s softer than the faux-paint-splattered one. More velvety, smooth. Hooking your hands around the back of his neck as you pull him closer, practically feeling each breath as coolness slides up your leg, the heel of his hand gliding behind as he bunches the fabric in his hand, his jean-covered thigh coming up between yours as you hiss into his mouth at the contact. Lost in it, in him.

In how intoxicating he is, how wrong it is, clawing at him to come closer, to touch you, whining as he teases you by rocking his knee and slides his palm to cup your breast through your dress. Thumb expertly hardening your nipple, tongue lathing over a spot on your neck that has you keening.

You forget, for a moment, blissfully allow yourself to until he’s pulling at it—tugging at the label as you try to pull his face up.

“Shit, Lucien, no.”

He grunts. Not mockingly, but not full of surprise either. “Planning on returning this?”

Clenching your teeth, you take a breath—needing air to fill your brain to help you think. To ignore the way your lips are swollen and your underwear is already soaked and pressing to his thick thigh.

“Yes.”

“You look too fuckin’ good in this dress to return it.”

“Well unless you’re going to buy it, I have no other choice—”

“I’ll buy it.”

“No you fucking won’t.”

Because it would be wrong.

More than an exchange of your body, more than a mutual appreciation and hunger and need. It would be a gift. A something more. A thing that would fester in your closet and make you hope when you see it, make you dream when your finger slides over the fabric.

“Lucien.”

His fingers drop it, let it hang—the tag. Both your embarrassment and the price of it, just there, as his lips slide down your jaw.

“You won’t want to return it. You’ll want to see it hung in your closet—bury your fingers in your underwear as you stare at it, thinking of this.” Teeth grazing over your pulse, tongue swirling a signature you suspect is his own. “You’ll think of me when you stick that toy in your pussy, wishing it was me, turn it on right between your perfect fucking thighs and—”

You blame his fingers ghosting over your upper thigh for what you let escape, let slip free. “Already think of you.”

Pausing, his shoulders bow—somehow becoming even broader before his head comes up from his place buried in your neck. You see it, words, kindness—a bunch of things he could likely reel off that would make you ruin the wet patch on your gusset even wider.

But he ingests them, consumes them like they never existed. A different offered kindness, you suppose—as though he knows, can see, and begins to understand.

“Be rude of me not to say hi to her then.”

“Why do you…”

His thumb hooks into one side of your underwear, dragging it from its place. Aware of it, the way he’s gentle in shifting the fabric down, handing you the bunched-up dress with a pointed stare, before he’s teasing your lace from between your slick, soaked core. Tugging it down your thighs, eyes not breaking from yours, exhaling as he licks his lips at the sight of you bare to him in the middle of someone's fucking garden.

“Lift?”

And you do, without question. Taking a deep inhale in, closing your eyes, hand covering your face as you lift one foot, then the other.

Finding him staring when you look down. Ogling. Admiring you like what is there between your thighs is some art piece, an exhibit, a thing he’d queue for—as he pockets your panties.

“I’m keeping these.”

“Lucien…”

His hand urging yours to take the balled-up fabric of your dress as he rises, places kisses on your outer thighs, dragging his face slowly up your frame—breath fanning out, somehow feeling it under your layers.

“I’m. Keeping. Them.”

You swallow, silently surrendering. Back of your head flat against the tree as his hands nudge your thighs to part.

“Gorgeous.” He whispers. “You’re so gorgeous—prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

A protest readying, but stolen as one of his thick fingers slides over and through your folds. Knowing you, understanding you. Standing as he drags your slick to your desperate, swollen clit, swirling it, massaging it as you hiccup his name and forget all about his compliment and chase his lips instead. Instead, your hips move on instinct, desiring—determined to find more friction even as he just slowly draws a circle.

You know he’s grinning. Cockily. Frame pressing to you as you feel his hard cock against your thigh—hips keeping you pinned. Fixed.

“You want my fingers? Let me give you my fingers, baby.”

Nodding, fingers tangling in his curls you say it, more in a whisper, something close to a whine: yes, please, yes—

Aware of the heaviness in the air, how thick it feels, even in the breeze. In the same way, you’re aware of the way he breathes good girl. It makes you shudder, yearn, more so when he slides his fingers down from your clit and works two into you.

You gasp. Almost crying out. Unable to stop yourself when he curls them inside of you, bearing down on him, squeezing him, hand releasing your dress as your fingers grip his forearm.

“Want me to stop?”

Shaking your head, no, no, no—

“Good,” he breathes, kissing the side of your mouth. “She’s the best pussy I’ve ever had my fingers in.”

You almost hiss your bet that he says that to all the girls. But, your teeth grit. Not wanting him to stop. Not as your head tilts, eyes opening to see the navy blue smothering burnt orange, blurring the afternoon into the night through your lashes. Shh, he coaxes, as your nails dig into the bark, as he finds that spot inside of you that makes you dizzy, makes you pant. He works it, makes you roll your hips and his palm catches your clit in teased movements—

“Feel so good clenching down on me.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and buries it right into your neck as he nips, as he grazes his teeth over your skin. “You tell me one thing but she’s giving you away, baby. Telling me all your secrets.”

Your hand tightens around the fabric in your palm, mouth falling open, paused around words that won’t appear—

“Said you’d tried to make your fingers feel like mine. But they just, wouldn’t, do.”

Each word is punctuated by his fingers fucking into you, crooked, making you messier, wetter, hearing the evidence of it, all filthy, obscene. Enough to get you barred from one of these events again.

Good you almost think, until his mouth slants over yours. Then, it’s bad. Very bad. Each flick of his wrist, and curve of his fingers solidifies it. How bad it would be to lose this, to lose him. The man who has your vision spotting, darkening in the corners.

“Fuck me, Lucien. Please—”

“Not tonight.”

Blinking, hearing it over and over: not tonight, not tonight, not tonight. Your body is lit, more electric than skin and muscle. Thrumming, vibrating bone against blood as he drags his moistened lips against your cheek.

“That’s it. Give it to me, can feel you squeezin’. I know you’re close, baby. So, soak my fingers, want you to stain them, make—”

You come somewhere amid his sentence—right when he kisses you properly. When he presses his vulgar words to your mouth and curls his fingers to meet that spot that has you arching, tensing and chasing. It’s maddening, and everything else before that. Hitting you, and exploding out—something like liquid fire erupting through you as you bear down on his fingers. Each cry and whine muffled by his mouth, by his tongue licking past your teeth and his hips being flush to yours. Pinning.

Because he doesn’t slow or stop even as you tremble. Not doing so until you’re gasping, frayed, all shaking nerves and splintered edges. Lucien swallows each heaved and hissed version of his name until you’re nudging him with your forehead, face scrunching, fingers pushing on his forearm until he retracts.

And, like it does in the movies, your dress falls back down into place. Creased, likely ruined. But nonetheless perfect to anyone who may glance.

Not that you care. Not as you chase normal breaths, as you blink and he comes back into vision, all ridiculously handsome and wide, brown eyes.

Because he’s watching you, seeing his lips curl into his cheek, fingers being brought to his mouth before he wraps his tongue around them. Licks and sucks you clean from them—

It makes you breathe heavier. Want more.

Even on shaky legs, you take a step closer to be flush to him. Arms sliding around his neck, finding your mouth glues back to his as though it should be there. Tasting yourself now, discerning it from the other things he’s enjoyed tonight.

“You do make me nervous when you stare.”

He gives a short laugh, hand on the back of your neck, tugging you back so he can stare into your soul. Something there. Something hurt that has healed all wrong, left things poisoned and rotten as you.

“You know I’m too fucked to be anyone’s anything, right?”

You smile, fingers teasing the hair on the back of his neck. Swallowing, seeing it shift back—the usualness of the two of you.

“See, this is where I think you’re an asshole.”

“For being honest?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head—lips ghosting over his. “Because I think you’re a liar. I think you’d kill to be something, never mind an anything.”

Smirking, but you suspect he stops it from being a smile. Offering silence, instead of a lie—a thing that’ll hurt and sting.

“You going to keep the dress?”

Shrugging, offering a roll of your eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“You think I could have your number now?”

Biting your lip, you tug on a particular curl. Hearing a dull yelp, watch him narrow his eyes. “I think you can have an email address and take it from there.”

Snorting, he tilts his head back as the both of you hear a commotion from the other end of the garden. Private time likely ending, his name called out in confusion by the same high-pitched voices you’re sure were comparing his inch size earlier.

“I fucking hate these things.”

“Yet you come to them every time,” you reply.

And then his head moves; stares at your side profile as you pretend not to notice. “So do you.”

So you do, you think.

hope you enjoyed! this was so much fun, and also so scary. but i did it, wahayyy. now, i should admit, i may have fallen for him...

npt's [added from the liked post]: @yorksgirl @maggiemayhemnj @janaispunk @sawymredfox @angiewatson

@survivingandenduring @saradika @purplerain04

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi 👋🏻 I’m currently very sick rn and I need cuddles and love from either Clark Kent or Simon Riley, you pick. And could it just be fluffy and sorta angsty with a ps!reader who is just super mopey and mad about being sick and others things. You can pick most of the background for this!!

Btw love 💗 all of your writing 💛🦡🙃

.⋆｡Sick Days and Comfy PJs｡⋆.

Clark Kent x plus size reader

Sick days require your boyfriend to become your live-in nurse, but who are you to complain.

Warnings: sick!reader, fluff, little smidge of angst but not really, general sick warnings, brief nudity WC: 840

A/N: I hope you feel better soon! I’m so glad you find joy in my writing and I hope you get some out of this one 💚

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“I’m dying.”

“No you’re not.”

“I feel like I’m dying.” There was a sigh.

“You just have the flu sweets.” 

“I swear it’s the plague.” The bed groaned and the weight of another person settled on top of it but you didn’t move to look at them. A large hand cupped your head over the thick blanket draped on top of you.

“Can you let me take your temperature again?”

You grumbled back. “No. Too cold.” 

There was another sigh and then the blanket was moved aside, sending a wave of cold air into your little cave of sickness. You groaned in annoyance as you attempted to escape the disruption but before you could, your boyfriend’s thick arm wound around your hips and pulled you up. 

“That’s just the fever talking.” His voice was much clearer now as he held you to his chest while he rummaged around the mountain of things on your nightstand. Your head was pounding with a migraine that was only compounded by your clogged sinuses. 

“Clark.” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut against the harsh light bleeding in from the hallway. 

His palm spread out across your back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your shoulder blade as he finally found the thermometer. “Just a couple minutes sweets and then you can go back to sleep.” The cold metal tip prodded your lips for a second before you begrudgingly opened your mouth. “That’s a good girl.” He cooed and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“I hate you.”

He chuckled softly, the vibrations of it rumbling through his chest. “I know sweets.”

“Dumb alien genes.” Clark sighed again.

“I can get sick sweets, just not with anything here on Earth.” You cracked your eyelids open to glare at him again, letting him get a good look at your bloodshot eyes and dark bags from three days of fitful sleep. “Fine. I’m sorry I can’t get sick. How can I make it up to you?”

“Grill me a cheese.” The thermometer beeped and Clark gently pried it from your lips. You gave out a rattling cough. “And lemme wear your pjs.”

He tsked and wiped off the end with a tissue. “Still too high. Alright, how about a nice hot shower and I can throw my clothes and your blanket in the dryer so they’re nice and warm by the time you get out.”

“And a grilled cheese?” He gave you a look.

“I’ll heat up some of that soup mama made. A grilled cheese might be too heavy for your tummy.” You stuck out your bottom lip at him. Clark tugged you up higher on his chest, letting your soft legs wrap around his waist as you rested your head in the crook of his neck. His hands fell to your ass and unable to help himself, he gave the plump cheeks a gentle squeeze.

“But you’re the one that got me sick.” He had taken you out on a little fly around Metropolis four days ago, ignoring your warning that it was too cold for you to be whipping around the clouds with him.

“That’s not- ok fine, I’ll make you a grilled cheese.” You beamed up at him. “But only if you don’t complain about a stomach ache afterwards.” He rose to his feet as gently as he could, keeping you from being jostled too much.

You sighed and clung onto your boyfriend, feeling utterly sorry for yourself. “Don’t like being sick. Hurts so much.”

“I know sweetheart.” Clark kept you wrapped up safely in his arms as he turned on the hot water.

“You won’t leave me?” Steam soon filled the small bathroom, making it a little more bearable when he gently stripped you of the old pyjamas you had on. Clark paused.

His brows furrowed and he looked up at you from where he knelt on the tiled floor, one socked foot in his hand. “I’d never leave you. Where-where’s this coming from sweets?”

You shook your head and roughly wiped away the tears of aggravation. “It’s dumb.”

Clark pulled off your sock and threw it into the laundry basket in the corner before standing up to his full height. “It’s not dumb if it’s making you this upset.” He cupped your full cheek. Your hands curled into his t-shirt and you nodded.

“I’m sorry I’m so annoying, making you take care of me.” 

“Hey. I take care of you because I love you, you aren’t annoying or a burden. You’re mine and that means I take all of you. Ok?” You nodded and he rewarded you with a soft peck to your chapped lips. “Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up. Finish your shower and I’ll get everything ready for you.”

With a gentle pat to your ass, you were bathed in hot water, easing the pressure behind your eyes. “Love you sweets. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”

And as the bathroom door shut, you smiled. Sick days with Clark weren’t bad at all.

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[its-time-to-write]

Ohhh love to see you’re back! 💜💜💜💜

How about a Jaime x baker!girlfriend? Maybe she doesn’t really know who he is so when he acts all arrogant she just throws him out of her bakery? And he’s like “her! I want her! I’m in love! 🥰 🥰🥰🥰”

Still feeling a bit rusty lol. Next on the docket is the married at first sight fic. Not sure how long or short it’ll be but I’m doing my best!! Thanks for the requests🩵🩵

god, it’s brutal out here

“How many cakes do we have?” you mutter. “Four. Four cakes. I should’ve stuck to pastries. But nooo, I had to show off my fancy decorating. Fuck me.”

The door chimes, signifying the first customer of the day. You sigh, slap one more sticky note on the wall, then head to the front.

Today will be like every other day, which is nice; a revolving door of customers, some looking for a quick bite and others placing larger orders for weddings, birthdays, dinner parties. 

Baking is a ritual; you wake up early every morning, make a fresh cup of coffee, then begin mixing, kneading, and measuring. It’s a dance; you weave between the fridge, the oven, and the counters. It’s a science; you slice with precision, check temperatures for perfection, bake until golden.

Late in the afternoon, after you’ve closed, you’ll bring leftover bread and desserts to your flat for your friend group’s weekly dinner. Everyone will contribute something, from appetizers to mains to drinks. The weather is nice enough that dinner will be in your backyard and you mentally choose dishes as you take customer orders. 

Your bakery closes in five minutes when the bell jingles once, twice, three times. You sigh. Three fucking closers. 

The last is a man around your age and you won’t lie, he’s objectively good looking. But his teeth are just a little too sharp and his clothes are just a little too flashy. He’s like one of those frogs, brightly colored so you know they’re poisonous.

He rattles off a long order without giving you a moment to really take it down and then just stares expectantly at you when you tell him the total.

“Cash or card..?” you ask after a beat. The man tilts his head.

“Neither..?” he replies, mirroring your tone. “I’m Jamie Tartt.”

You grimace. “And you expect free pastries because your last name is on the menu?”

“I’m Jamie Tartt,” he says again. “I’m like, really fucking famous.”

He has a stupid grin plastered on his face and you really can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

You stare at him in disbelief. “I don’t have time for this. I think you should go.”

Jamie’s a little shocked. It takes him a moment to actually register your words but he does. He turns on his heel and you lock the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. Any thoughts of his beautiful face are distorted by his shit, entitled personality.

—

“I brought tequila,” says Dani with a grin. “And a friend.”

The dinner party is already in full swing but this is classic Dani. Always late, always with tequila, always with a surprise.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of ours,” you reply. “Everyone’s out back. Flo’s grilling and Ed’s in charge of music.”

You and Dani shake your head. Ed should not be in charge of music. 

“I will go fix this,” Dani says and then he’s off, leaving you alone with his friend.

You turn to introduce yourself and see-

“Jamie Tartt,” you state. It’s all you can do to hold in a snarl.

“Hey,” he says, and at least he’s sheepish. How someone like him is friends with Dani is beyond you.

It does make a little bit more sense, though. Dani is a footballer (you know that at least) so you’re assuming Jamie must be in that world as well. You should have known, he was the exact type of pretty and stupid you’ve found most footballers to be, professional or otherwise.

“What’s your problem?” you ask bluntly. “You’re friends with Dani, but you’re an entitled dick. How does that work?”

The tips of Jamie’s ears tinge red. “I- it’s not like that. I mean, it fucking was like that but not anymore and besides- was flirting.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“It’s true!” he hastily continues, “just were doing a piss-poor job. Didn’t come out like I meant it to.”

“You can say that again,” you agree and Jamie flinches, slightly.

“I am sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to be a prick. Roy says it’s just the way I am, it’s in my fucking bones or something. I’m working it though,” he adds. “I can tell you about sometime. Maybe over dinner?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

Jamie shrugs. “What have I got to lose? You already look like you fuckin’ hate me. Can’t get much lower than that.”

“Maybe,” you reply. “Going to ask need a drink first though. If you’re friends with Dani you’ve got to have something going for you, but I still think you’re a bit of a prick.”

Jamie smiles. “I can work with that, love. Let’s get you that drink.”

[psychosith]

Stars Around My Scars

luke skywalker x reader

summary: luke sees you shirtless for the first time since you escaped the empire

warnings: mentions of torture, injuries, nudity???

a/n: guess who’s back from their lengthy, unplanned hiatus? me! i’m back! enjoy this little ficlet while i decide what im gonna write next!

two long months you had been held in a star destroyer, subject to endless torture as the general grilled you on various rebellion happenings. it had destroyed you, body and mind. you thought you would die there, alone and bleeding in the cold cell, until you’d been saved by some rebels in stormtrooper getup. it was tricky, but you managed to make it back to the rebel base and reunite with your boyfriend, luke. he gave you space, let you heal from the traumatizing experience.

through your period of recovery, you continued to aid the resistance as best you could. you met with rebel leaders almost daily to plan attacks and missions, and it was after one such meeting that luke followed you back to your bunk.

flashbacks from your time in the empire’s clutches haunted you, and they were looming particularly large today. you were plagued by the memories, and you longed for the sort of comfort only luke could provide. so you asked him if he would stay in your room tonight to keep you company.

the door to your bunk whirred as it slid open and you walked straight to your closet. the dress shirt you had donned for the meeting was itchy and tight and you wanted to get it off. you grabbed a loose t-shirt and headed to the bathroom to wash off while luke settled on your bed. you had been so comfortable with him before your capture that it felt weird to be showering without him, but you knew if he saw what they had done to you he would be too disgusted to stay with you.

so you would bathe separate from him. you didn’t bother locking the door behind you as you shucked your dress shirt off and made to turn on the shower. the warm water let off a gentle steam and fogged up the mirror. you stepped under the spray when the temperature was to your liking and sighed in relief. a warm shower was just the thing to help you relax. the water washed away all your thoughts and feelings and replaced them with a sense of calm.

you took your time in the shower and by the time you got out your fingers were pruned and wrinkly. you had your back to the door and you didn’t register it opening.

“babe…” your whole body tensed when you heard luke behind you. while you were naked. all your scars were on display.

you felt a calloused hand reach for your hip. “don’t touch me,” you bit out. you couldn’t stand to look back at him, the disgust you knew you would find in his face would break you. “it’s gross, i know. just let me put on my shirt.”

“is that what you think?” luke snatched your wrist before you could tug the shirt over your head. “you think that i find you too gross to look at? that i don’t want to see you naked because of these?”

he traced a scar with his fingertip. “yes,” you said, “i know that’s what you think. don’t tell me, please. i couldn’t bear it if you thought me to horrible to be with.”

“i don’t think that at all.” he took your chin in his hand, turning your head up so you were forced to look at him. “you’re so beautiful, don’t you see that? these scars don’t change that. they just show how strong you are, that you could overcome such a thing. don’t ever think they make you ugly. ever. you’re still the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

against your will, you smiled softly. you didn’t even entertain the idea that he might be lying, for the intensity of his words was too strong to be a lie. he took the shirt from your hands and discarded it, leaving it abandoned on the tile floor.

luke led you back to the bed and laid you down, snuggling close beside you. he pressed featherlight kiss after featherlight kiss to your scars and traced them with the tips of his fingers all throughout the night. in that moment, you wondered why you ever thought he would think you less for the trauma you went through.

in that moment, you had never felt more loved

[aduckinpain]

The Boat catches

(when the Lantern falls)

Tags: Landoscar, Lando Norris centered, Lando Norris Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Anxiety for Lando, Happy Ending, Lando goes through it but Oscar helps, Past one-sided attraction to Carlos Sainz, Fluff, The Qatar GP 2023 caused me damage, Coincidentally started writing this on Lando's birthday

Word Count: 2.7k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

When the only source of luminosity in the sky, are hints of the sun’s light in its reflection on the moon, and the stars’ glow, the city is awakened. The street lights decorate the roads from one side to the other, almost like humans are creating their own constellations, linking each soul, each mind, each thought. The night breeze flows alongside the sidewalk. At a time where people are supposed to rest, minds flee. 

On Lando Norris’ street there is a night light. It’s a bit too far away from its friends to create a cluster, but it still continues the glow on the tiles of the neighborhood. 

It’s new, yet it flickers. However when the lights go out, it closes last. 

There’s a tension around it. It sparks the air, electrocutes it.

It looks lonely.

It feels alone.

Anxiety makes nerves feel alight. It makes muscles tense. It makes thoughts enter, escape. It strings you up like a guitar being aligned, or a violin being played.

When he was a teen, Lando started showing intense progress in his karting. This meant more wins, but also more interviews, words to say, words to assume, to interpret, guess. He doesn’t like having to guess. It leaves you vulnerable, unprotected.

PR training had started early, young. Yet for something that was supposed to advise him on how to answer the grilling interviewers, it made him feel wholly unprepared. He second guessed everything and anything. What if became his favorite phrase. 

Being scared of answering wrong on your team's behalf is one thing, but the fear of answering wrong on your own behalf is another type of monster. It didn't matter how much training he did, nothing could seem to prepare him for the onslaught of people who were digging for his demise. Everything he said would be analyzed, scrutinized, misinterpreted.

The night light would glow so bright it’d short circuit.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Out.

Breathe please.

He can’t breathe.

Really bright things tend to run hand in hand with heat. 

The better he was getting, the closer he was nearing his dream. Heat started to seep in. Or maybe out.

The announcement reached people incredibly fast. 2018 was soon ending and 2019 was approaching, getting closer by the second. The temperature got higher with each step.

But you can’t feel the heat when you’re on top of new achievements, new possibilities, new promises. You can't feel the heat when your adrenaline is skyhigh, flying impossibly close to the hidden expectations of others. Time counts its seconds and gets closer to a collision.

It happened unexpectedly.

He was naive to forget.

But did he forget? Or did he hope?

Up. Up. Up.

The boom echoed in his head.

Lando burned.

Carlos Sainz was officially introduced to be his new teammate. Electric current ran through him. strung him up further. The light flickered.  A new person to interact with, to open up to. He had to make this work, wanted first impressions to uphold themselves in the future. No drama, no possibility of rumors to emerge. 

And time passed on. In fact things were going really well. Carlos was extremely friendly, and to his own surprise, Lando managed to warm up to him quickly. Before even realizing it, Carlos became an extender, an assured surge of power, of comfort, of safety. He was more experienced than Lando and seemed to have no qualms giving him tips whenever possible. Helping him along the way.

So the years continued. They got closer. Whenever the light flickered, Carlos stood by his side, unwavering. Lando can’t say he got over every stress in his life, but it greatly helped when he realized the night light wasn’t alone anymore. 

Maybe that’s why it stung.

Since childhood, Lando knew that looking at boys the same way that he looked at girls, wasn’t exactly openly accepted by all of society. He came to terms with it quickly. His family, luckily, has always been incredibly supportive of anything Lando has expressed, so telling them came up naturally. The problem however, wasn’t his family. 

Norris decided to become a racing driver knowing fully well that no matter what facade the FIA has pulled on its inclusivity, it would never support someone who came out in the industry. Money would be lost, and whichever team he went to in the future, wouldn’t complete their contract, as he would not be allowed to race in certain states. That would mean points not being won and championship rankings being lost. So Lando made sacrifices. Sacrifices that made the light dim. Enough to stay open, but muted enough to still hurt. Ache.

He locked it up. Closed the screws on the door of the cables, on the sides of the column. Hammered them in.

It was naive to think that’d be enough.

He felt the heat again. He got electrocuted. Max straight up asked him about it one night, and things clicked into place. Or maybe they were always there, just hidden.

Puppy love he'd said. Adorable how he could see Lando making heart eyes whenever he looked at his teammate.

He’d love to say the realization came with a moment of excitement. But the next thing he knew was the feeling of being cold. Like a bucket of ice cold water was spilled on his head. He felt hands holding him upright and the air escaping him. Teeth chattering. Edges blurring. The next morning Max brought him water, sat down next to him and apologized. 

Max wasn’t wrong, Lando just didn’t like that he was right. 

It’s not that he didn’t know, it’s just that saying out loud made it real. 

The door cracked. The cables were peeking. 

Carlos should never find out. Besides, he is in a relationship, so what would the point be anyway?

But easy was apparently not something that the universe allowed Lando to have, because he swore, that in some moments, it didn’t feel like puppy love. It felt reciprocated. The fleeting touches, the reassurance, the kind words, the champagne on the podium. Spilling on him as if to send a message. 

He hated to say it, but Lando had hope.

Shouldn't he have learned the lesson by now?

What was hope to a suffering man, but a slow descent?

Because somehow, Carlos found out. Being the kind soul that he is, he tried reassuring the young man that it was fine. It was okay.

Lando didn’t flicker.

Lando just, closed.

The door was broken. The cables were out.

Carlos tried repairing things. Lando was a big boy, he could handle rejection.

2021 was looming.

A spark.

The light bulb blew.

Lando’s favorite races have to be night races. Not because of the states he’s traveled to, or the tracks. Because of the fireworks.

Bright, blinding, colorful, temporary .

They made people stop and stare, they made people awe in delight, squeal in excitement. They left an impact.

Fireworks were strong. They didn’t flicker.

But they stopped. They fell. From heights much greater than a night light.

But no one thinks of the firework after it’s gone.

No one thinks of where it lands.

2021 arrived with a new teammate in tow. Daniel Ricciardo. Used to be a Red Bull driver. Extremely experienced and seemingly friends with anything that had a pulse and breathed air. 

At first he was weary. His extender hadn’t left, he just became longer, moved further away. This new teammate seemed to be a fuse.

With the new year starting, Lando decided he would be a changed man. His therapist told him change was great as long as it stemmed from a desire to get better.

This year Lando erupted.

He’d gotten a podium as a night light, he’d get more as a firework. 

It took a bit more time, but he warmed up to Daniel. He could see his struggles and understood that they both needed the support from one another. This year’s Lando wouldn’t care about what people on the internet would think. He’s grown. He's changed.

The more success a man achieves, the greater the fall. Points and near podiums didn’t satisfy Lando anymore. He wanted more. 

Sochi 2021.

The firework had done its job.

It was falling.

Doesn’t matter where, cause people weren’t searching.

It fell.

He fell.

He didn’t know where.

Daniel also left. Everyone apparently, did at some point. The night light had its extender and the firework had its fuse, but the distance was greater and the bottle was empty. 

The heat kept burning.

2023 came with new arrivals.

@OscarPiastri

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

8:00 PM · Aug 2, 2022

44.2K Reposts 50.7K Quotes 386K Likes 4,282 Bookmarks

Oscar Piastri is here. A rookie with a lot of potential.

The roles reversed right under Lando’s feet before he had any time to react. The carpet is pulled, and before he knows it. He’s freefalling into water.

Confetti seemed like a safe bet. It’s light and falls slowly, yet it is shiny and radiates happiness. Lando thought confetti would be his next choice. His next change.

Confetti however tends to be either paper or plastic. It either sinks and disintegrates or it flows, crumbled. 

But Oscar Piastri doesn’t aid confetti. 

He aids a lantern.

2023 started and Lando wanted it to end already. To say the car was bad would be an understatement to the definition of the word bad itself. 

The car was garbage. 

Forget the podiums. They can’t even get to the points.

Along with the car, long before the season started, Lando looked into his new teammate. Things would be different this time. He was the older, more experienced one. He had to be level headed and cool, so the rookie could warm up, feel comfortable. 

However, from the first search result he got on google, he realized that not only has he never done this before, but the new guy was the most impervious man he had ever witnessed upon.

Carlos was warm, bright. Carlos aided him, and still does. He helped Lando come out of his shell and express himself. Losing him had made the light nearly disappear. But he moved on and grew.

Daniel was loud, safe. Daniel helped him as much as Lando helped Daniel. Losing Daniel felt like saving him. He reluctantly moved on and grew.

Oscar Piastri was, according to the internet, quiet, monotone, unimpressed and on the other hand, according to Alpine, he lacked integrity.

At the same time, Oscar Piastri was an amazing talent on the grid, who had set high expectations after showing showstopping results in F2. 

As intriguing as it felt to Lando, he was reluctant to be excited. This man seemed like a mystery, a quiet one at that.

How do you warm up to a man who feels cold?

At least he was cute.

So the car was bad. The season couldn’t get any worse. But Lando couldn’t let Oscar get through his first year like this. Full of disappointments. 

At the beginning he felt stumped. Oscar was polite, incredibly so, and seemed to highly respect him. It made him a bit uncomfortable. This guy was just a year younger after all.

But he still couldn’t figure him out. They did video challenges and media work, and with each one, Lando poked and prodded, anything to get a reaction. 

Slowly, very, very slowly, the ice started to thaw.

On the street, next to the night light, long pieces of metal along with cables arrived. Everyday they would slowly be constructed.

On a lake near his house, a boat would pull its anchor, slowly setting sail.

Its destination?

The heart of the lake.

Its cargo?

A lantern.

The year continued. The air grew warmer. The lights would open later than usual. The city still felt alive.

Summer break arrived. 

And according to the engineers. 

Improvements were coming.

The night light flickered, along with its new companion.

The little cluster of glow anticipated.

The lantern was being held. 

They popped off.

The season continued with a bang. Points were being scored left and right. Lando was getting podiums and Oscar, who was always in points, kept going higher and higher. 

They were thriving. 

The higher a man soars, the higher his chances to burn, get.

Qatar was heat personified.

The light was overheating. Melting.

Help.

Getting out of the car after quali, Lando beelined for his driver's room. Andrea caught up to him, understanding and comforting, and informed him of his post-race duties. Lando wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

He honestly can’t say he remembers anything they asked him. He just remembers his own words. 

Bumping inside of his head. Making sure they’re engrained on the side of his skull. 

‘Nothing. Lack of talent.’ he’d said.

He believed it.

Max called him that night, tried to comfort him. He’ll always be grateful for his childhood best friend. 

Today however he just wanted to be quiet.

He deserved it.

Deserved the quiet air and chaotic thoughts. 

Deserved the cold. The shivering.

The gasps of air. The lack of it.

The room was dark, but his blurry vision wouldn’t have let him see anything anyway.

The sounds moved around the empty room.

He felt alone.

He had jinxed it.

He felt like confetti. Soggy and wet, left on the lake. Floating away.

The clock read 1 AM, he should be asleep.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

At first he froze. It was late, whoever it was should think he’s asleep and leave.

His phone lit up and pinged. 

Oscar Piastri has sent a message

OP: Open the door 

LN: no

OP: please?

Have it be known that Lando Norris was a weak, weak man.

Getting up was a monumental task of its own, but Lando did it. He walked to the door one sock on, the other who knows where. Felt very fitting, similar even, with his current state of mind.

The door opens and Lando squints. Fuck the lights.

Oscar Piastri is standing at his door and it should be criminal how soft he looks. 

Lando has learned from past mistakes. He reminds himself of sacrifices.

They stood there for a bit until Oscar gently pushed him into his own room and closed the door.

He didn’t ask, didn’t talk. 

He just, stood quiet. Moved things around.

He was there. 

He was present .

Lando didn’t know when it happened but he was back in his own bed. Shoulder to shoulder with Oscar. The silence engulfed them but this time it was serene. He felt Oscar’s head turn, felt his gaze stay there for a while.

He melted at the first contact of arms around him. Put his head in the crevice between Oscar’s shoulder and neck and let go.

His body shook. A hand stroked his back, the other playing with his curls. 

He unraveled. But the landing was soft.

The firework got caught.

'Breathe .' was whispered into his ear.

He did.

A gentle hand raised and opened the lantern.

As much as he wanted to strive for a win, Lando was well aware of the realistic chances of anyone winning against Red Bull. Well, against Max anyway.

But still, he came back strong. Another podium, another pole position. His career is thriving. His life is booming. The future is bright. 

His present is warm.

The clock strikes midnight on the 13th of November. 

Gentle hands shake him awake. He opens his eyes, gazing into brown orbs. A curl falling on his forehead. 

Warm lips brush his own. Happy birthday is muttered against his skin. The distance closes. The possibilities endless. 

He smiles into the kiss. Breaks apart and nuzzles their noses together.

Thank you.

He falls asleep. 

The night light doesn’t have to strain anymore. It has a friend to help light the way.

He hadn’t sacrificed anything but his patience.

The lantern is set aflame. Hands push it towards the sky. And it goes up, up , up.

It rises and even if it falls, there is a boat, standing, waiting, right at the heart of the lake. 

And the boat catches.

Lando feels alive.

He's not alone anymore.

Lando feels human.

-End-

Notes:

A short analysis:

Lando himself is the night light. He feels a bit isolated at the beginning as he was a rookie. His anxiety certainly did not help. So when I write the heat seeps out, it is because, he himself is the light. Later on Oscar shows up and gets constructed right next to him, an exact parallel to his first year as a rookie building a career for himself. They become a cluster, one lights the way of the other.

I think it is easily understood but I'll still write it. The cables are his emotions.

Lando is the firework, the confetti and later on the lantern. At last however, Lando is human. Complex and unsure even to our own species. We make mistakes, we make sacrifices, but whether we want to or not, time will move and we will have to adapt.

The boat is Oscar. This is directly inspired by the Tangled, Rapunzel scene as I love that movie.

The boat will catch the lantern, so it can never blow out or get soggy. It awaits in the heart of the lake.

The lake is Lando's mind.

Hopefully I managed to capture the essence of these drivers. <3

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Lando himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some likes, reposts and comments!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen and Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

[najia-cooks]

[ID: Small flatbreads stuffed with ground 'beef' and green olives; a plate of mlouwi and a Moroccan teaset are in the background. End ID]

بطبوط معمر بالكفتة / Batbout m'mr blkefta (Moroccan stuffed flatbreads with 'beef')

Batbout—also known as toghrift (تغريفت) or mkhamer (مخامر), based on the region—are Moroccan flatbreads which usually have an interior pocket. Large batbout are often served with grilled meats or to sop up juices from tajines, while smaller ones are stuffed with various fillings. Batbout are sometimes made thicker so that a pocket does not form, and then dipped in a honey-butter syrup like baghrir; some Moroccans reserve the term "mkhamer" for this preparation.

Batbout are eaten year-round, but are especially enjoyed during Ramadan as a side dish on the ftour (فطور; fast-breaking) table, where they are stuffed with ground beef, tuna, chicken, or cold cuts. You could also serve stuffed batbout as a main with a green salad or Moroccan cooked salad.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Makes about 15 small flatbreads.

Ingredients:

For the flatbread:

1 cup (120g) bread flour

1 cup (165g) semolina flour

1/2 Tbsp active dry yeast

1 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp sugar

About 3/4 cups water

For the filling:

3/4 cup TVP (textured vegetable protein)

1/2 cup + 2 Tbsp water or vegetable stock

1 tsp soy sauce

1 tsp vegetarian beef stock from concentrate, or substitute more soy sauce

1 onion (yellow or red), minced or grated

3 cloves garlic, chopped

1 Tbsp tomato paste

1/2 small green bell pepper, minced

1/2 small red bell pepper, minced

Small bunch of green herbs (ربيع / rbi'): cilantro and/or parsley

2 tsp sweet paprika

1 tsp ground turmeric

1 tsp ground black pepper

1/2 tsp ground ginger

1/2 tsp ground cumin

Red chili powder or hot sauce, to taste

Squeeze of lemon juice (optional)

Olive oil, to fry

You may use your preferred ground beef substitute in place of the TVP; in this case, omit the water and stock concentrate.

Instructions:

For the flatbread:

1. Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl. Make a well in the flour and add in just enough water to make a smooth, slightly sticky dough. You may need more or less than 3/4 cup.

2. Once the dough comes together, knead it by hand for 10 minutes, or in a stand mixer with a hook attachment on medium-low for 7 minutes, until it is very smooth, soft, elastic, and tacky. Add additional water or flour as necessary.

3. Form the flatbreads. Larger flatbreads may be formed by breaking off a small handful of dough, rolling it in flour, and patting it flat until it forms a round about 1/4" thick. Small flatbreads are often made by rolling out the dough about 1/4" thick on a floured surface, then cutting circles of the desired size out with a cookie cutter or glass.

4. Set flatbreads aside in a single layer on a floured surface, cover, and allow to rest for one to two hours, until noticeably puffy.

5. Heat a large dry skillet on medium and add as many flatbreads as will fit. When they puff up slightly, flip each one to the other side. Continue to cook, turning over as necessary, until flatbreads have dark golden brown spots on each side. You may find that the flatbreads puffing up gives you room to add more to the skillet; continue in this way until all flatbreads are cooked.

Batbout breads may be kept at room temperature for a couple days at this stage, or frozen for use later.

For the filling:

1. Mix all ground spices in a small bowl. Hydrate TVP for about 10 minutes in hot water, stock concentrate, soy sauce, and a spoonful of the spice mixture.

2. Heat 3 Tbsp olive oil in a large pan on medium-high. Add TVP and spread it out in a single layer. Allow it to brown without agitating for a few minutes before stirring it, scraping the bottom of the pan. Repeat this process a few times, adding more oil as necessary, until the TVP is deeply golden brown on all sides. Remove TVP from the pan.

3. Heat another 2 Tbsp of olive oil and fry onion for a couple minutes until softening. Add bell peppers and spices and fry for another couple minutes until spices are fragrant.

4. Add tomato paste and stir to combine. Add olives and herbs and mix. Return TVP to pan and mix to combine. Remove from heat. Add hot sauce and lemon juice, as desired.

To serve:

1. Cut a slit in the side of each flatbread with a small, sharp knife. Stuff with hot filling and set aside. Serve warm.

[blushstories]

I can not apologise enough for the amount of requests i’m sending in but you’re just TOO GOOD. Also i’m ill and sad. Could you maybe please write something with reader who’s got like a stomach bug and is just sick in the sense of their stomach just bloody hurts so much lol and she says she’s dying and Butcher just calls her a fucking idiot but is still sweet on her. Thank you <3 <3 <3 <3

thank you!!! much love <3 I haven't had a stomach bug for a while but hopefully this is at least still reminiscent of what it's like!! cw mentions of throwing up

The Boys point Butcher in your direction when he comes home, throwing his coat over the back of the couch.

In your bedroom, you're twisted in the sheets as if impersonating some ancient Greek deity, unable to find a comfortable enough position to rest in. Butcher raises an eyebrow, never having seen you like this before.

"What's the matter with you?" He asks. You smush your face into the pillow next to you, taking a deep breath to relieve the pain whirling around in your stomach.

"Hurts," You say. "What hurts?" "Stomach. I think I'm dying," you say, putting two fingers to the pulse point on your neck.

“You’re not fucking dying, don’t be daft,” he says, approaching with heavy footsteps. The back of his icy hand touches your forehead and he winces.

“Nasty temperature you got,” he comments, pulling his lips into a thin line and standing up straight. He folds his arms across his chest and stares at you analytically.

“I know,” you say emphatically. You pout, not wanting to be a nuisance but wishing to convey that you’re certainly not comfortable.

“Have you taken any paracetamol?” He asks. You haven’t been sure that painkillers would be able to do anything, so you haven’t taken any. You shake your head. “How much water did you ‘ave today?”

The almost full glass of water glares at you from the sidetable. Butcher frowns. “How the fuck do you think you’ll get better without water, eh?”

You pull the covers up to your eyes, caught. If MM were here today, he knows you would’ve been cared for, but to see you neglecting yourself has thrown him off. He doesn’t expect you what comes out of your mouth next.

“I don’t want to throw up,” you murmur into the soft creases of your duvet.

“You what?” You don’t repeat yourself because it’s clear that he just needs a moment to process what you’ve said. “It’s that bad?” Another wave of pan crashes through you.

You nod, finally pulling the covers down because it’s now too stuffy and you quite like being able to breathe. He runs his hand down the bottom half of his face, holding on to his chin for a moment.

“Don’t you worry, love. Hold on for a moment, yeah?”

Without another word, he disappears, and a breeze of cool air sends ice through your veins. You gather yourself under your blankets once again, absolutely hot and bothered and heavy and foggy.

Butcher returns with a tray about half an hour later. It has a glass of orange juice, squash, a bottle of pills, a bowl of dumpling soup and a grilled cheese.

He sets the tray over your knees and then there’s a hand on your cheek and a thumb massaging your temple. His eyes scan your face slowly before he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Since when did you become so doting?” You tease, voice coated with dust. Butcher shakes his head, holding back a smile.

“In your dreams, love. Give us a shout if you need something,” he says, pushing himself up from the bed.

“Wait, Butcher,” he pauses mid-move. “Could you stay, maybe? If you want, it’s just a little lonely—“

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” he says softly, rounding the bed to slide next to you.

“Shoes off, please,” you say with a tap to his shoulder. He looks at you with raised eyebrows, before heeling off his boots with enough force to launch them across the room. You smile at his theatrics, but then he points at the tray.

He’s a wonderful cook.

[lorimay2862]

Twin-Cuisine Technology: Mastering the Art of Dual-Basket Air Frying

In the realm of modern kitchen appliances, the dual air fryer stands out as a revolutionary tool. With its unique twin-basket design, this appliance offers unparalleled convenience and versatility, making it a must-have for any home chef.

What is a Dual Air Fryer?

A dual air fryer is an advanced version of the traditional air fryer, featuring two separate cooking baskets. This allows users to cook two different dishes simultaneously, saving time and energy. Imagine preparing crispy chicken wings in one basket while roasting vegetables in the other—without any flavor crossover.

Key Features of Dual Air Fryers

"The dual air fryer is designed to enhance your cooking experience by providing flexibility and efficiency."

Separate Cooking Zones: Each basket operates independently, allowing for different cooking times and temperatures.

Large Capacity: Ideal for families, dual air fryers can handle larger quantities of food.

Energy Efficiency: Cook multiple dishes at once, reducing overall cooking time and energy consumption.

Versatility: From frying and roasting to baking and grilling, the dual air fryer can do it all.

Benefits of Using a Dual Air Fryer

Why should you consider adding a dual air fryer to your kitchen arsenal? Here are some compelling reasons:

Time-Saving: Cook two dishes simultaneously, cutting your meal preparation time in half.Healthier Meals: Enjoy your favorite fried foods with up to 75% less fat.

Convenience: With pre-set cooking functions, making a variety of dishes is a breeze.

Easy Cleanup: Most dual air fryers come with dishwasher-safe baskets and accessories.

Popular Dual Air Fryer Models

Several brands offer high-quality dual air fryers. One notable example is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, known for its versatility and user-friendly features.

How to Use a Dual Air Fryer

Using a dual air fryer is straightforward, but here are some tips to get the most out of your appliance:

Preheat: Preheating ensures even cooking and optimal results.

Use the Right Temperature: Different foods require different temperatures. Refer to the user manual for guidelines.

Shake the Basket: For even cooking, shake the basket halfway through the cooking process.

Experiment: Don't be afraid to try new recipes and cooking techniques.

Maintaining Your Dual Air Fryer

Proper maintenance can extend the life of your dual air fryer. Here are some tips:

Regular Cleaning: Clean the baskets and accessories after each use to prevent buildup.

Check for Wear and Tear: Inspect the appliance regularly for any signs of damage.

Store Properly: When not in use, store your dual air fryer in a cool, dry place.

Conclusion

The dual air fryer is more than just a kitchen gadget; it's a game-changer. Whether you're a busy parent, a health-conscious individual, or someone who loves to cook, this appliance offers something for everyone. With its twin-basket design, versatile cooking options, and user-friendly features, the dual air fryer is set to become a staple in modern kitchens worldwide.

For more information on dual air fryers, check out this highly-rated model.

About Toshiba

Toshiba is a well-known brand in the home appliances industry, offering innovative and versatile products designed to make your life easier. One of their popular products is the Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, which features 8 cooking functions, Fuzzy Logic Technology, and a 24-hour delay timer.

For more information on Toshiba's range of products, visit their official website.

Additional Resources

Understanding Air Fryers

Toshiba Small Rice Cooker

[necros-writing-stuff]

YOU WANT TI HEAR ABOUT THE RECIPE I WANNA BAKE FOR EDEN??? 👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️👁️

ALRIGHT FOLKS, I hope y'all are ready for my fav seasonal treat.

I hope Eden would like it too

TODAY'S TREAT ISSS *drum roll*

NUSSECKEN BABY!!

It's a german, cookie-like treat whose name roughly translates to "corner nuts." I'll be using grams and mls because I don't know any other measurments.

INGREDIENTS!

For the topping

200 grams of butter

150 grams of sugar (I usually put less sugar, do as you like tbh)

15 grams of vanilla powder

4 tablespoons of water

400 grams of whatever nuts you like! Almond, hazel, walnuts, you name it. I personally really like almonds, sometimes mixed with hazel.

For the cookie base

300 grams of white flour

1 teaspoon of baking poweder

130 grams of sugar (again I usually use less)

2 eggs

15 grams of vanilla powder

130 grams of butter

extra ingredients

Dark chocolate (you'll need this one to garnish the topping)

Jam (traditionally you use apricot or orange marmelade, but you can use the jam you like most.)

PROCEDURE!

Start with the mixed nuts topping, because it'll have to cool down before you can actually put it together.

For the topping:

- take yor nuts of choice and blend them. Cut them up enough to have a rough crumble. You want them to be crunchy, not creamy. But definetly not big chunks. A crumble consistency.

-in a pot, put in the butter, sugar and water, and melt them.

- add your crushed nuts and cook them for 5-10 minutes MAX. Just enough to combine it all and be a little sticky.

-let it cool down a little.

For the cookie base:

-in a bowl, put all the ingredients together, and start working them with your hands.

-You have to work it like a pie crust. If you don't have experience, here's sone tips:

-don't use electronic tools. Your hand's warmth will melt the butter and combine it better.

- at first, it'll feel dry and crumbly and you'll be tempted to put liquid in it. DON'T DO IT. trust the process. Believe in the slowly melting butter.

-keep working it until a solid dough forms. It has to be firm and the ingredients must be well combined.

-don't overmix it.

COMBINING THE INGREDIENTS

-Take a solid tray, put some baking paper on it. Slap the cookie base on it and start flattening it. Ideally you'd put it in a rectangular shape to cut the cookies better.

-The cookie height should be around 0.5 to 1 cm tall. Depends if you want a tall cookie or not, or if you simply prefer quantity over quality.

-Slap the jam of your choice on the cookie dough. Distribute it on the whole surface. Use more jam than you think you need: it'll help to stick the cookie and the nuts together.

-slap the nut topping directly on the jam. Don't care to keep the layers clean, smear the jam with the nuts if you have to. That shit has to stick together. Distribute the nuts evenly.

-shove the bad boy in an oven at 200 degrees Celcius for 20-25 minutes. Check the sweets, if you want the nuts to be a bit toasty you can put on a grill mode at the last minute. NO MORE THEN A COUPLE MINUTES. Otherwise the nuts might burn.

- let the bitch cool down to room temperature.

- once it's cold, cut it up into triangles. (That's the traditional shape, squares work too)

chocolate topping:

- take a large pot, fill it with water and put it on the heat to boil.

- take a smaller pot, put in enough chocolate to coat the cookies in, and submerge the small pot into tue warming water.

- this is a pretty safe way to melt chocolate without burning it. Just be careful to not splash yourself with the boiling water.

- once the chocolate is melted, take your cookie triangles and dip the corners into the chocolate. Then put them on a tray with baking paper and let the chocolate cool down.

-alternitavely, take a sac-a-poche, fill it with the chocolate and just pipe it on the crumbled nuts. A spoon works too.

Let the chocolate cool down and VOILÀ! NUSSECKEN!

They're not too difficult to make, the only bore is the waiting time for stuff to cool down. Hope y'all like this recipe! ;)

I want to feed it to Eden snsbnansn

OK BEFORE I FORGET:

What kinda sweets do you think Eden likes? I thought about the Nussecken because the nuts remind me the forest(?) somehow and it feels very homely to me. If you have headcanons, oh Maestro of Eden, please share >_<

-💜

1) thank you so much for the recipe, I'm gonna try it at some point and I'll let you know how badly I do at it lmfao.

2) I think you're right that Eden would like this a lot because we see them enjoying roasted chestnuts in game. Which makes me think they'd enjoy those chocolate bars with nuts in them.

Also, scones with fruit jam! Both made by PC! Black Berry jam piled on Eden's shelf in the seasons they grow, ingredients for scones on every shopping list.

Keep Eden away from anything resembling warheads or sherbert. If it's sour they'll die. Just nice and sweet things, but not artificial flavours.

[kennethhammond4183]

The Ultimate Guide to Dual Air Fryers: Everything You Need to Know

In recent years, the air fryer has become a staple in many kitchens around the world. Among the various types available, the dual air fryer stands out for its versatility and efficiency. This article delves deep into the world of dual air fryers, helping you understand their features, benefits, and how to choose the best one for your kitchen.

What is a Dual Air Fryer?

A dual air fryer is an advanced kitchen appliance that allows you to cook two different dishes simultaneously. Unlike traditional air fryers, which have a single cooking compartment, dual air fryers come with two separate zones. This feature is particularly beneficial for preparing meals that require different cooking times or temperatures.

Benefits of Using a Dual Air Fryer

Why should you consider adding a dual air fryer to your kitchen arsenal? Here are some compelling reasons:

Time Efficiency: With the ability to cook two dishes at once, you can significantly reduce your meal preparation time.

Versatility: Dual air fryers often come with multiple cooking functions, such as baking, roasting, and grilling, making them a versatile addition to any kitchen.

Healthier Cooking: Like traditional air fryers, dual air fryers use hot air to cook food, requiring little to no oil. This results in healthier meals with fewer calories.

Convenience: The separate cooking zones allow you to prepare a complete meal in one go, without the need to juggle multiple appliances.

Key Features to Look for in a Dual Air Fryer

When shopping for a dual air fryer, it's essential to consider several key features to ensure you get the best value for your money:

Capacity: The size of the cooking compartments is crucial, especially if you have a large family or frequently entertain guests. Look for a model with ample capacity to meet your needs.

Cooking Functions: Some dual air fryers offer multiple cooking functions, such as air frying, baking, roasting, and grilling. Choose a model that provides the versatility you need.

Temperature and Time Controls: Precise temperature and time controls are essential for achieving the best cooking results. Look for a model with easy-to-use controls and a wide temperature range.

Ease of Cleaning: Removable and dishwasher-safe parts can make cleaning your dual air fryer a breeze. Check the product specifications to ensure easy maintenance.

Introducing the Midea 11QT Two-Zone Air Fryer Oven

One of the standout products in the dual air fryer category is the Midea 11QT Two-Zone Air Fryer Oven. This innovative appliance offers a range of features designed to make your cooking experience more efficient and enjoyable.

The Midea 11QT Two-Zone Air Fryer Oven boasts an impressive 11-quart capacity, making it suitable for family meals. Its two-zone setup allows you to cook multiple dishes simultaneously, ensuring they're ready at the same time. The 8-in-1 functionality gives you the flexibility to air fry, bake, roast, and more, while the elegant black finish adds a touch of sophistication to any modern kitchen.

Here are some of the key features of the Midea 11QT Two-Zone Air Fryer Oven:

Two-Zone Cooking: Cook two different dishes at once with separate cooking zones.

11-Quart Capacity: Ample space for family-sized meals.

8-in-1 Functionality: Versatile cooking options, including air frying, baking, roasting, and more.

Elegant Design: Finished in black, this air fryer oven complements any modern kitchen.

How to Choose the Right Dual Air Fryer for Your Needs

Choosing the right dual air fryer can be a daunting task, given the plethora of options available in the market. Here are some tips to help you make an informed decision:

"The best dual air fryer for you will depend on your specific cooking needs, budget, and kitchen space."

Assess Your Cooking Needs: Consider the types of meals you frequently prepare and the cooking functions you require.

Set a Budget: Dual air fryers come in a range of prices. Determine your budget and look for models that offer the best value within your price range.

Check Reviews: Read customer reviews and ratings to gain insights into the performance and reliability of different models.

Consider Brand Reputation: Opt for reputable brands known for their quality and customer service.

Conclusion

In conclusion, a dual air fryer is a versatile and efficient kitchen appliance that can revolutionize your cooking experience. Whether you're a busy professional looking to save time or a home cook seeking healthier meal options, a dual air fryer can meet your needs. The Midea 11QT Two-Zone Air Fryer Oven is an excellent choice, offering a range of features designed to enhance your culinary adventures.

For more information on Midea's range of home appliances, visit their official website or follow them on their Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and Pinterest accounts.

[dominickeating-source]

Celebrity Chef by Barbara Binstein (Canadian TV Guide, Sept. 22, 2001) Dominic Keating's salad is an Enterprise-ing venture

It's back to the future as the crew of the new starship Enterprise prepares to trek to the stars for its maiden voyage. One hundred years before Scotty even dreamed of beaming anyone up, the first to enlist was munitions expert Lt. Malcolm Reed, a spit-and-polish, by-the-book English gentleman, played by the cheeky Dominic Keating.

Growing up in Leicester, England, 100 miles north of London, Keating fondly remembers watching the original series. "I remember when my dad bought our first colour TV, and I loved Star Trek in colour," he says. Keating acquired his future itchy phaser finger 'practising my Vulcan pinch on the playground'. And when Keating ventured to America in search of stardom, he became hooked on Star Trek: The Next Generation. "I was interested in TNG because Patrick Stewart had the lead role and he was one of the forerunners of English actors coming to Los Angeles, doing what I'm doing now".

It may be one small step for some, but it's a giant leap for Keating to get to another galaxy far, far away, the kitchen. With the help of his girlfriend, Jill, Keating claims he's good at grilling salmon, and can concoct a mean salad with fried zucchini and pine nuts in it. It's just something that kind of invented itself.

"The success of the salad is no to over-fry the zucchini, not crisp, but not soft either". Keating adds, "and if you do it in some sesame oil it's all the better. I often stick the frying pan out the front door just to let it sit and cool down. Other tips? Go easy on the dressing. "I find that North Americans tend to douse a salad with the dressing, so I'm really fussy about that", he says.

With Keating manning the torpedoes as Lt. Reed, it's full speed ahead aboard Enterprise. May the sauce be with you.

Zucchini and Pine Nut Salad 6 cups/1.5L salad greens, mixed 2 cups/500mL baby spinach leaves 1tbs/15mL olive oil 1tbs/15mL sesame oil 2 small zucchini 1 small yellow squash large red onion, sliced 1cup/250mL grape or small cherry tomatoes cup/50mL pine nuts, toasted

Balsamic Dressing cup/50mL olive oil 2 tbs/25mL balsamic vinegar 1 tbs/15mL green onion, finely chopped 1 ts/5mL brown sugar 1 ts/5mL Dijon mustard

Wash salad greens and spinach leaves; trim and dry thoroughly; set aside in refrigerator until ready to serve. Cut zucchini and yellow squash into � inch slices. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, heat olive oil and sesame oil. Add squash slices; cook, stirring for 1 minute. Add onion, cook, stirring until squash is tender-crisp. Remove from heat and stir in tomatoes and balsamic dressing. In a large salad bowl, combine salad and contents of skillet; toss until well combined. Garnish with pine nuts and serve immediately. Makes 6 servings.

Per serving: 181 calories, 4 g protein, 16 g fat, 10 g carbohydrate

Grilled Salmon Satay with Sweet and Sour Sauce

1 lb/750g salmon fillet, skinless (about 1 inch thick) 2tbs/25mL vegetable oil 1 clove garlic � cup/125mL minced onion, finely chopped � cup/125mL red pepper, finely chopped � cup/50mL white vinegar � cup/50mL brown sugar 2tbs/25mL fish sauce 2tbs/25mL soy sauce Optional fresh coriander, chopped

Soak 12 wooden skewers in water to cover for at least 10 minutes to prevent scorching. Cut salmon piece across the width of the fillet into 12 slices. Thread salmon strips onto skewers. Place in single layer in a shallow dish. Cover and refrigerate.

Sweet and Sour Sauce: In saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Add garlic, onion and red pepper; cook, stirring often, for 2 minutes. Add vinegar, sugar, fish sauce, and soy sauce. Bring to a boil; simmer 2 minutes or until vegetables are just tender. Cool to room temperature or cover and refrigerate. Makes about one cup (250mL).

Just before cooking, arrange the salmon skewers on a lightly greased, foil-lined broiling pan; pour � cup (125mL) sauce over. Leaving the skewers on the foil, broil or grill the salmon on the barbecue about 5 to 6 inches form the heat source for 3 or 4 minutes or until opaque. Pour remaining sauce into a serving bowl; cover and warm on high for 1 minute in the microwave. Garnish with chopped coriander, if desired. Makes 6 servings

Per serving: 298 calories, 28 g protein, 15 g fat, 11 g carbohydrate

Source: www.dominickeating.com

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Info for Faith In The Future World Tour CUYAHOGA FALLS, OH, JUN 1 2023

With special guests THE ACADEMIC & SNARLS!

Important Times:

2:00PM - Early Parking Opens

4:00PM - All Parking Opens

5:00PM - Plaza Doors Open

6:00PM - Gates Open

7:00PM - Snarls

7:45 PM - The Academic

9:00 PM - Louis Tomlinson

Times are all approximate. The show information is always subject to change.

Details here.

General admission (pit tickets):

There is no line up for pit

Gate to access seats and pit opens at 6pm after the plaza has opened.

🔆⚠️ HIGH TEMPERATURE ADVISORY ⚠️🔆

Temperatures are expected to reach the 90s F (33ºC)!

Hydrate before the show, while waiting in line and during the show

For optimal hydration drink something with electrolytes such as Gatorade or LiquidIV

20oz Bottled Water unfrozen ALLOWED

Wear sunscreen!

Eat well!

Subject to change. Check the venue’s socials for updates!

Here are important policies:

The venue is CASHLESS! Pay with a card or mobile pay! If you don't have these, staff will be available on-site at the main gate merchandise booth to exchange cash for card, dollar for dollar, without any service fees.

Upgrade Add-ons: VIP Green Room Access ($125), Club Access ($110)

Parking: Free general parking is available to all ticket holders. Free parking is located in our grass parking lots approximately half a mile to a mile from our main ticket gates. ADA parking free. Closer parking pass sales ended 10 days prior to show day online at Livenation.com.

ADA info here 

Cameras: Small non-professional personal cameras are allowed in the venue. Flash photography, video, removable lens or GoPro cameras are not permitted. Flash photography, video recording and professional cameras are strictly prohibited and not allowed in the venue. Photography is allowed providing it is with a non professional personal camera with no flash. Audio recording is also prohibited.

20oz Bottled Water unfrozen ALLOWED

Food in a clear, 1-gallon ziploc bag. One bag per person ALLOWED.

Small binoculars allowed

Non-aerosol sun tan lotion and bug repellent ALLOWED

Standard size 3' diameter umbrella ALLOWED. Golf umbrellas and/or umbrellas with metal/plastic tips are not permitted

Ponchos/Raincoats ALLOWED

Blankets ALLOWED

NO Animals (except service animals)

NO drugs

NO glass, plastic or metal containers

NO coolers

NO knives, firearms, mace, pepper spray or weapons of any kind

NO Ipads

NO selfie sticks

Lawn chair rentals $15

The Allegiant Lawn is not available for purchase and the Lawn Pass is not valid for this show.

Food info here. Make a reservation for the Blossom Grille here (The first 50 diners in our reservations will receive a goody bag with Louis treats included.) It's a full-service open-air restaurant and bar. Menu here.

There is NO RE-ENTRY!

VIEW VENUE MAP

VIEW SEAT MAP

For more details click here

Bag Policy

CLEAR plastic/vinyl tote bags no larger than 12” x 6” x 12” and/or

Small clutch bags (6”x 9”). The small clutch bags do not need to be clear.

No other bags of any type will be allowed. Any bags that do not meet our guidelines must be returned to your vehicle.

For more details click here

Banners, signs and flag policy:

Signs larger than 8.5 X 11 in are not permitted into the venue. This size is a standard sheet of paper.

We do not allow in banners or signs that are larger than this due to the potential to block other guests view of the performance.

All signs must be appropriate in nature and not be a distraction to the artist.

NO Large signs, posters or flags

For more details click here

Contact:

For additional questions please call the venue at (330) 920-8040. You can also access their website. Email blossom@blossommusic.com. Check their twitter here and Facebook here for updates. Address: 1145 W Steels Corners Rd, Cuyahoga Falls, OH 44223

[udo0stories]

Fries with chili cheese sauce are the only thing that will work sometimes. You know? Fortunately, this equally comforting vegan version is now available to satiate that craving! Though it comes together quickly using healthy pantry staples (like fiber-rich lentils!), it feels opulent and special. Friends, all you need to nourish your body and soul are ten ingredients. Allow us to demonstrate how to do it! Given that they are dubbed chili cheese fries, let us talk about the chili first, the cheese second, and the fries third. For the vegan chili, we went with a wholesome base of lentils and seasoned them with chili powder, smoked paprika, apple cider vinegar, ketchup, and coconut aminos. It’s a smoky-savory mix that cooks until thick and flavorful. It’s not too saucy because soggy fries are not a winning move! Now, on to the cheese! We opted for our cashew + carrot vegan cheddar, which is also good on grilled cheese sandwiches and in mac ‘n’ cheese. It has a neutral, cheesy flavor and is super creamy and delicious! For the oven-baked fries, we kept it simple with potatoes, avocado oil, and salt. Cooking at a high temperature (425 F / 218 C) ensures they get golden brown with crispy edges (a.k.a., fry perfection!). Put the three parts together, and you’ve got CHILI CHEESE FRIES! Cue the face stuffing. Keep it simple or make them beautiful and extra special by topping with quick pickled onions or pickled jalapeños, vegan sour cream, green onions, and/or cilantro. We can’t wait for you to try these vegan chili cheese fries! They’re: Savory Spicy “Cheesy” Satisfying Comforting & SO delicious! This dish is the perfect meal for satisfying your comfort food craving and getting your fiber in at the same time. It would also be perfect for enjoying when the “big game” is on (or whatever the sporting folks say). Prep Time: 15 minutes minutes Cook Time: 30 minutes minutes Total Time: 45 minutes minutes Servings 3 (Servings) Course Entrée Cuisine: Gluten-Free, Vegan Freezer Friendly: 1 month (stored separately) Does it keep? 2-3 Days Cook ModePrevent your screen from going dark FRIES 2 large (~1/3 lb each) potatoes, scrubbed clean but NOT peeled, cut into 1/2-inch “fries” (Yukon gold or russet work well) 1 Tbsp. avocado oil 1/4 tsp. sea salt CHILI 1 (15-oz.) can lentils, drained and rinsed 4 tsp. chili powder (or store-bought; if salted, start with less coconut aminos) 1 Tbsp. smoked paprika 1 Tbsp apple cider vinegar 1 Tbsp. ketchup 2 Tbsp. coconut aminos 1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper (optional) 1 tablespoon avocado oil, for cooking Cheese: If serving with homemade vegan cheddar cheese, begin soaking your cashews and carrots now. 2/3 cup (80 g) cashews + 1/2 cup (64 g) thinly sliced peeled carrots covered with boiling water. Set aside.   FRIES: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F (218 degrees C). For easier cleanup (but slightly less crispy fries), line a baking sheet with parchment paper (we didn’t). Add sliced potatoes to the baking sheet and toss with oil and salt. Spread the fries out so they are all on a flat side with the peel facing up, and ensure that no fries are overlapping. Bake for 20–25 minutes or until beginning to brown on the bottom, then carefully toss and bake for another 8–10 minutes until tender but crispy.PRO TIP: If your fries are sticking, use a metal (or other thin/hard) spatula, flip it upside down, and push it under the fries to lift and flip, keeping all the crispy goodness (think scraping rather than scooping).   CHILI: While the fries bake, add your lentils to a mixing bowl along with the chili powder, smoked paprika, apple cider vinegar, ketchup, coconut aminos, and cayenne (optional). Toss until evenly coated.   Heat a 10-inch or larger nonstick or well-seasoned cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add avocado oil and place your lentil mixture into the skillet. Distribute the mixture into the pan, ensuring an even layer. Cook for 4-5 minutes, undisturbed. It should be sizzling and bubbling nicely; if it’s not, turn up the heat a bit.

  Once some of the liquid has cooked off and the mixture is slightly browned on the bottom, use a spatula to flip sections as evenly as possible to brown the other side for another 3 minutes. Once the mixture is darkened in color and looks thick and chili-like, turn off the heat and set aside.   Cheese: Finish making the vegan cheddar cheese at this time. Stop cooking when the “cheese” looks creamy and thick like queso, but before it firms up too much.   Time to assemble! Plate your fries and top with lentil chili and vegan cheese sauce (there will be extra cheese sauce). Garnish with pickled onions (and/or pickled jalapeños), vegan sour cream, green onions, and cilantro (all optional). Leftover chili and vegan cheddar keep (stored separately) in the refrigerator for 2-3 days or in the freezer for up to 1 month.   Serving: 1 serving Calories: 489 Carbohydrates: 66.7 g; Protein: 19.4 g; Fat: 18.6 g Saturated Fat: 2.5 g Polyunsaturated Fat: 3.4 g Monounsaturated Fat: 10.8 g Trans Fat: 0 g Cholesterol: 0 mg Sodium: 652 mg Potassium: 1527 mg Fiber: 13.6 g Sugar: 9.6 g Vitamin A: 2687 IU Vitamin C: 9.5 mg Calcium: 136 mg Iron: 11.1 mg

[mushfiqur]

Santorini in October

Santorini in October, Santorini, often hailed as a paradise on Earth, is a destination that shines all year round. While it's most popular during the summer months, October offers a unique and enchanting experience. In this article, we'll explore why visiting Santorini in October is a brilliant choice for travelers seeking a more relaxed, authentic, and cost-effective Greek island adventure.

Why October is Perfect

Mild Weather: October in Santorini brings relief from the scorching summer heat. With an average temperature ranging from 18°C to 24°C, it's the perfect time to explore the island without sweating.

Fewer Tourists: The summer crowds have departed, and you can relish the beauty of Santorini without jostling through throngs of tourists.

Gorgeous Sunsets: Known for its stunning sunsets, Santorini is even more magical in October as the sky offers a canvas of vibrant hues.

Affordable Accommodation: Prices for hotels and vacation rentals are considerably lower, making it an excellent choice for budget-conscious travelers.

What to Do in Santorini in October

Exploring the Villages

Oia: Walk through the charming streets, enjoy the blue-domed churches, and take in panoramic views of the caldera.

Fira: Visit the capital of Santorini, where you'll find museums, restaurants, and a vibrant atmosphere.

Pyrgos: Explore this historical village, known for its medieval charm and the ruins of a Venetian castle.

Wine Tasting

Wineries: Santorini is famous for its wine. October is an excellent time for wine tasting as the grape harvest season is in full swing.

Beaches

Kamari Beach: Relax on the black sand beach and take in the serene ambiance.

Red Beach: Explore the unique, rust-colored sands and crystal-clear waters.

Hiking Trails

Fira to Oia: Embark on the picturesque hike along the caldera edge for breathtaking views.

Ancient Thera: Hike to the ancient ruins of Thera for a journey through history.

Local Cuisine

Tavernas: Savor traditional Greek dishes in local tavernas. Try moussaka, souvlaki, and fresh seafood.

Seafood: Being an island, Santorini offers the freshest seafood. Don't miss out on the grilled octopus.

Desserts: Indulge in sweet treats like baklava and loukoumades.

Festivals and Events

Feast of Agios Artemios: Experience a slice of local culture by participating in this traditional celebration.

Santorini Arts Factory: Enjoy exhibitions and performances at this cultural center.

Practical Tips

Pack Layers: As the weather can be variable, pack both warm and light clothing.

Book in Advance: While it's less crowded, some attractions and tours may require reservations due to limited availability.

Conclusion

Visiting Santorini in October offers a truly magical experience. With milder weather, fewer crowds, and the island's natural beauty in full bloom, it's the perfect time for a memorable escape. Whether you're a nature enthusiast, a food lover, or a history buff, Santorini in October has something for everyone.

FAQs

Is October a good time to swim in Santorini?

Yes, the sea is still warm in October, making it suitable for swimming.

Are the hiking trails in Santorini well-marked? 

Most hiking trails are well-marked, but it's a good idea to carry a map or use a hiking app.

What's the best way to get around Santorini in October? 

Renting a car or using local buses are great options for transportation.

Can I see the famous Santorini sunset in October? 

Absolutely! The sunsets in October are spectacular and less crowded.

Are there any cultural events in Santorini in October? 

Yes, you can attend local festivals and art events for a taste of Santorini's culture.

[upbeatmelancholy]

As I procrastinate this lovely, blisteringly hot evening, I would like to share my tips and tricks for everyone who does not have AC this summer. My qualifications are that I grew up without AC for much of my childhood and am currently living without AC right now.

House:

Houses love to get hot so here's a few quick tips to help keep it, and you, cool.

Use the weather to your advantage. When the sun goes down, open your windows, especially in second, third, and higher stories. Heat settles up high so let it out while it is a little cooler. HOWEVER: make sure to close them early (like 4 am early) as the sun is coming up to maximize the amount of cool air that stays in the house.

Make your house a bunker. Close up all your windows, blinds, and cover windows during the day. This especially applies to windows that get direct morning or midday sun. It likes to roast your house so stop it from doing that.

Spend as much time as possible on lower floors. If you have a basement, especially an unfinished one, it can be your best friend. Cooler air sinks, less sunlight, and usually underground are winning combos for basements. Either way though, the lower you are the cooler it is usually.

If you can/need to: insulate the outside, circulate the inside. What that means is create barriers to the outside to stop heat from entering. Put up rolled towels in windows or doors that are not sealed well. Inside, keep doors open and have fans going to circulate the air. This helps it feel cooler and stops it from becoming suffocatingly still.

Don't cook if you can avoid it, or cook outside. Definitely do not bake. If you need to cook or bake, try to do it after the sun sets so you can open the windows and air out the house. Alternatively, use a barbeque, grill, or hotplate outside. There are tons of great recipes and you can do almost all your cooking out there.

Yourself:

As a person, here are some things you can do to keep cool.

Drink a metric ton of water. Self-explanatory but you're going to be sweating a fair amount no matter what so make sure to replace it.

Eat cool foods. I don't necessarily mean popsicles and stuff, although those are great. But consider eating things that are lighter, easy to prepare, and easy to eat (one of my staples this time of year is beans, salsa, and tortilla chips). Also eat things with high water contents like apples, they give a feeling of coolness and help hydrate.

Shower warm. This may seem counter-intuitive but by raising your internal temperature it helps your body acclimatize. Always give yourself like 10 seconds of freezing cold water at the end just before you get out though to feel super cool and amazing.

Wear light clothes. Or wear less clothes. Whatever floats your boat. Wear materials that are breathable (more natural materials like cotton) and avoid heavy materials (like polyesters and wool).

Along with clothes, avoid putting things on your head, wrists, and feet if possible. These are places where we lose a lot of body heat and we are trying to encourage that, so don't cover them. A great thing to do is to blow gently on your wrists, it sometimes gives you the sensation of cooling down slightly when you're just too hot.

If you are overheating, use cool water or towel wrapped ice. Specifically near your face, neck, wrists, elbows, back of the knees, and feet. All of these places have arteries and veins close to the surface so it will help you cool down faster. ALWAYS wrap your ice in a towel or move it around on your skin so you don't get burnt by the ice.

Lay down on hardwood or tile floors. It feels great and helps to leech the heat from your body. Tile works better then hardwood for this but anything is better then carpets and rugs.

Right before bed:

I know tons of people have a hard time sleeping in the heat too so here's some tricks just for that too!

Get Wet. Right before going to bed, have a shower, go swimming, run through a sprinkler, or even wipe yourself down with a wet cloth. Do this right before you go to bed and it helps keep your body cool while you fall asleep. Just make sure to leave yourself a little wet and don't dry off fully so the water can act like sweat and cool you down.

Move where you sleep. If you live in a multi-story house or a room in your home is cooler guess what that's your bedroom now. Find the coolest place to sleep and set up shop there instead. It's better to get a good night's rest then not.

Alternatively, find a different surface to sleep on. If your bed is too hot and you can handle it, move to a tile or wood floor. They stay much cooler then anything made of fabrics.

Sleep without blankets and other people wherever possible. If you still need to or want to sleep with someone, don't share blankets so you don't share body heat. Making a wall of pillows is also great to keep bodies away from each other's heat.

Use a fan! Whether you direct it straight at you or have it oscillate it makes a world of difference!

I hope that helps someone somewhere. This comes from a lot of years of experimentation and errors, but it works for me at least. If anyone has anything else to add throw it in here too!