#I like that I can pick a sweet one or a little saltier

[angeletombee]

YOU GUYS, I’M—

[tparker48]

Request for Zombie-Husky-Blog

"Guess what little man, its christmas eve. And you know what that means, its cookie time again"

"No no no, there's no way I'm going in your stomach again"

"Don't be such a wuss" Dillan picked up the little guy as he opened his mouth. Sprawling out his tongue, he dropped him inside, as he sealed his mouth shut. The little guy inside would struggle to pry his captors jaws open as the hot breath washed over them. The large tongue wriggling underneath him as it licked along his body. "You're definitely saltier than last time" Dillan tasted around the little guy as he nudged his tongue more into them. Walking around the kitchen as he turned on the Tv. YouTube would show up in the sceen as La Beast would doing one of his videos. He would be scooping up Ice cream as he placed it into his mouth. Wolfing it down in three gulps before pounding his chest with pride. "Heyy, now That's an idea".

"Let me out of here!" **gulp!**

"Save your energy little guy, your gonna need it with what I've got planned"

The little guy would be tumbling through the through as the light dimmed through the pink surface. The muscled hugging him down into Dillan body as the slime coat them hastened his descent to his stomach. Its groans grew louder as the sphincter ahead welcome him in with a kiss. Depositing him inside the chamber as rolled over to the side wall. "Dang Dillan, I'm not doing this again. Let me..grh!..out!" He pressed into their clammed surface as he thrusted himself into the wall. Barely able to stand on his legs, but enough to allow him to stretch it as his hands squished into him. But something landed on back as he stopped to feel assess it. It felt doughy, and it smelled like...sweet. "It smells like cookies..oh no" another drop would land on him as his drooped off his body. Then another as it came in a larger chunk. "Dillan, I swear when I get out of this Im gonna make you pay! You hear me?!"

On the outside, Dillan would have a set of cookies in front of him as he watched la beast's video. Chewing up the contents of chocolate before sending it down to join the rest inside his stomach. Feeling them land in his stomach, something else inside would buck back. A muffling following behind it as Dillan smiled. "Enjoying the cookies little man, I sure am. A little burnt for my taste, but what can you do" he scratched his belly before he jostled it around. Feeling It wobble in his grasp as he patted over its surface.

As the stomach settled, the cookies be pulled amongst each other as the stomach walls squeezed around them. The surface clomped together as their surface seemed still. But a hand would soon pierce the surface as the little guy resurfaced from among them. Spitting bits of the dough in the process as he did his best to stay above them. But their form was too mushy to even stand on as the doughy pile captivated around his waist. "Nah, it just had to cookies. They're the worst to be stuck with in here. They're soggy, they're gross, and they're too..damn..thick!" The little guy pushed away most of the clumped dough as he splatted them across the far walls. But more would only come in their place as they sunk back into his waist. Suddenly, a drip would come spill onto their hair. It felt cold as it soaked into him. As he looked up, he say the sphincter above above beginning to leak as a white substance dripped between his puckered lips. "..He wouldn't dare" their heart began to race as more of the substance started to trickle down. Before a fountain of it burst through the sphincter as he dropped ontop of them. It filled the stomach as it lifted the cookies inside. Carrying the little along with it as the stomach walls began to contract in a rhythmic pulse. With shift, a wave of cookies would knock into them as it carried him to the other side. Another bringing forming soon after as it dragged him back. "Dillan!" He yelled fighting against the current "Dillan!" The stomach would fill to the top rim as as the fountain reduced to a single string of liquid as the sphincter closed back up like a valve. The area now even more darker as the little guy paddled in the middle.

On the outside, Dillan finished off the last gulp as let out a deep sigh. A whole jug of milk be next to him as he let out a belch. Feeling his belly deflated just partially as his belly compressed around the contents inside. "And that's the video" the youtuber said as he ended the video. Dillan getting up from his seat as he felt the weight of his belly toss around. "You know little guy, moments like these are always a joy to have when it comes to holidays. Why, just look at the fun we had, just the two of us enjoying a good serving of cookies and milk. Wouldn't you agree"

"Mmmph!"

"I knew you'd agree. Welp, the days still young before the fellas get to gift wrapping. Let's we go for a walk huh?" Giving his belly a firm pat, he made his way to the door as he held its round form in his hands.

"No, let's not go on a walk. Dillan! Let me out!" The little yelled managing to grab a fold as he stayed afloat. The large thuds from the outside sending waves into him as Dillan walked. His voice only came out as muffles as Dillan gazed at his belly. Smiling to himself as he rubbed his belly in delight. And with that, left the room as he left out the front door. Taking the little guy with him as he went on a Christmas eve walk.

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 6: “Heartfelt Appeal”

You find two characters that click so well, look them up...and there’s no content! ‘Why?? Someone please make content!’ The pleas go unheard. You’ll just have to make it yourself. Show some love for your rare pairs today!

MORE FANTASYSHIPPING! 8D

Year 2’s Duel Monster Spirit Day! Friendly reminder that ‘Mana’ is the name Dark Magician Girl gave when she introduced herself to Syrus last year.

Colorful banners and streamers hang from the entrance hall once more, market tents set up in the main yard with flashy signs and flags announcing their wares or food or other activities. Syrus stares at it all with the same wonder as last year, and peers through the throng of students hopefully. His other friends have already gone off to find the activities they like best, be it duels or carnival games or the kissing booth, so Syrus is free to wander at his leisure and search.

It’s stupid, it’s silly, and Syrus still wonders if last year was a fever dream regardless of the way Christina keeps teasing him and the ghost of arms he sometimes feels around his shoulders. But still, he hopes and maybe this year he can confirm it for sure.

“Syrus!” a voice calls out that tickles his memory and Syrus swings to face-

“Mana!” Heat floods his cheeks. Dear Ra, did she get prettier or is he just hopelessly, stupidly crushing? “You...you just disappeared last time,” he squeaks out the first thing that comes to mind that isn’t a jumbled mess of pretty hug magic like, and wants to kick himself when Mana’s expression falls.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says, looking so sad it physically hurts. “I didn’t want it to end that way. I lost track of the time and I wasted too much of it showing off.” Her voice turns a bit bitter before she shrugs it off and smiles again. “But not this time. This time you have my full attention.”

“No, no!” Syrus frantically waves his hands in front of him. “I didn’t mean- I what?”

Mana giggles and leans down. “Just for today, you have me all to yourself!” Winking, she taps his nose and Syrus wheezes as his heart makes a valiant attempt at pounding straight out of his chest. Leaning back, Mana clasps her hands behind her back. “So what do you want to do?”

“Ah, well, um, we, we could, we could check out the carnival games,” Syrus finally stammers out a full sentence. Gods he hasn’t been this bad about it since the beginning of the year!

Mana only giggles again as she takes his hand and heads off toward the game booths. “Don’t go hiding in a trashcan on me now.”

Syrus’ brain freezes for a full second. “YOU SAW THAT?”

“I see everything Chinatsu sees! Well, almost.”

Who the hell is Chinatsu?!

*

It takes a solid 30 minutes and two botched carnival games to finally work himself out of that last anxiety attack, but finally his heartrate feels normal and he doesn’t want to die of mortification. If he dies he won’t get to see Mana smile or hear her squeal over the stuffed Happy Lover she won from the last game. Her throwing arm is ridiculously good. She’s also amazingly child-like for...however old she’s supposed to be.

“Ooo! I wanna try that! I wanna try that!” she squeals, pointing animatedly at the food stall with an assortment of pastries. “The bean fishies! Chinatsu loves these! I always wanted to try one!”

Syrus orders them a taiyaki each and ends up going back for seconds when Manna practically melts where she stands. “It’s so rich and sweet~!”

The next half hour ends up devoted purely to letting Mana sample all the food at the festival and discover her favorites. They compare tastes and Syrus offers recommendations. Mana ends up leaning more towards milder flavors of the sweet and savory variety; too much flavor and she’ll gag on it even if she likes the taste. Syrus prefers saltier foods with just a tiny extra kick. Mana’s reaction to hot spices had been concerning but strangely fun.

“Hey, um, if it’s not rude to ask...” Syrus starts as they sit on a bench nibbling on dango. Mana tilts her head to show she’s listening and Syrus ploughs ahead before he can talk himself out of it. “Are you really the Dark Magician Girl?”

Manna chews slowly before swallowing. “What do you think, silly?”

He thinks she is, and he’d call it crazy if not for, well, everything else crazy about the last two years of his life. After literally sentient murder crazy light, he might be ready to believe anything. But then- “Why me?”

“Because you wanted to get to know me,” Manna says without missing a beat. “You didn’t just see a pretty face or a powerful mage; you wanted to know the real me beneath all of that.”

“Oh...” Syrus remembers that conversation. Christina asked him why he had a card crush on the Dark Magician Girl. Did she ask because...

“And because I want to get to know you too,” Mana continues and Syrus sputters as his poor heart makes itself known again. “I’ve gotten to watch you a lot but that’s not the same as interacting. I want you to show me who you are. And I want to show you who I am.”

“Me? But I’m...I’m not...” His eyes fall to the ground as he thinks of that embarrassing episode of hiding in a trash can, of his brother who he couldn’t even stand up to in the end, of the Society of Light that he did absolutely nothing to help stop and even got himself kidnapped by a digital woman and her duel monster lackeys.

“Syrus.” A hand on his cheek brings him back to face Mana’s deep green eyes. “You can do anything and be anyone you want to be. I mean, just look at you already.” She plucks at the yellow blazer and Syrus’ chest fills with pride at the reminder. That’s right. He did do that. All on his own. “You look so good in yellow!” Mana cheers and Syrus’ ducks his face away again. He doesn’t know how to handle all these compliments! “Believe in yourself, and when that’s hard to do, believe me when I say I believe you can do anything.”

Those words might mean more to him than any other praise or pep talk he’s gotten before, simply because they sound so genuine. He’ll hold those words close to his heart for the rest of his life, because someone as strong and powerful as the freaking Dark Magician Girl believes in him. Swallowing, he nods and clears his throat to find his voice. “So, um, what do you wanna know?”

Smiling, Mana stands and pulls him straight back to the carnival games. Oh, so they’re not talking more? Syrus has to admit to being disappointed.

“Favorite color?” Mana asks as they try to catch tiny goldfish and distracts Syrus from the extra shiny one he almost caught.

“Actually...it’s orange,” he amidst sheepishly. “But I look horrid in it.”

“Aw, I think you’d look cute in orange! Like a little pumpkin.”

“A pumpkin?!”

“Oh? I’m sorry, was that an insult?” Mana asks with such genuine concern and confusion that Syrus can’t even be mad.

Shaking his head, Sryus flips the question around on her. “What about you?”

Mana stares at the water in the plastic pool. “It used to be purple...but I think I like grey a little better now.” She looks up and smiles and Syrus can’t help but feel like he’s missed something significant in that response.

“Favorite animal?” Mana asks once they’ve moved on to a ring toss game.

“Dogs,” Syrus says immediately, then feels self conscious about it. “I mean, they’re loyal and fluffy and I’ve always wanted one, they look fun to play with-”

Mana laughs. “Dogs are man’s best friend, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Mine are birds.” Mana looks up to the sky. “Because they can fly. I always wanted that freedom.”

“But you can fly too, can’t you?”

“In spirit form. But I can’t go too far from my card. Like this I can only float a bit.” With a snap of her fingers, her feet lift a couple centimeters off the ground in demonstration.

“That’s so cool.” Syrus stares in awe as Mana sets her feet back on the ground.

“The silliest thing you’ve ever done?”

A deep breath as a laundry list of his most mortifying experiences assault him. Breath out. He digs deeper for an older memory less tarnished by years of ridicule and insecurity. “I wore a sand bucket on my head and called myself a king.”

Mana laughs, loud and sudden, and Syrus takes pride in his four year old self for managing to entertain two people. He doubts he’d share that memory with anyone else; it’s one of the few he has of Zane smiling.

“I used to hide in giant vases then jump out and scare the crap out of my best friend,” Mana says with a wide grin, and Syrus snorts because he can picture it clearly. “Master always scolded me, but his reactions were too fun.”

Her master? Dark Magician then? Syrus wonders what kind of person would get to hang out with both of them. Probably another powerful spellcaster. “What is he like? Your master? Or...is he here today too?”

“Mahad? No, his situation is different from mine so it’s harder for him to cross the border,” Mana says, scanning the festival for their next game. “He’s pretty strict, and doesn’t know how to take a joke. But he’s kind and selfless.” Her voice grows soft and wistful, then she shakes herself and scratches her cheek. “Honestly, we’re kinda opposites, but that’s what makes it fun.”

She points to a shooting game booth before eagerly charging toward it; Syrus shows her how to use the toy gun and manages to beat her at this game. He still lets her pick out the prize, giggling when she picks out a lucky cat keychain.

“Dream career?” The key chain sways as it dangles from her finger.

Syrus fidgets. “It may seem kinda obvious, but I wanna be a pro duelist. A really famous one,” he mumbles, eyes turning to the ground.

“I bet you’ll be more famous that Yugi!” Mana cheers and Syrus quickly waves his hand in front of him.

“No! No, I doubt that!”

“Do you wanna have kids?” she asks while they fish for balloons with little hooks on strings.

Syrus chokes and drops his string straight into the water. “I mean, uh, maybe?? I guess I’d like- like to settle down and- and have a family- eventually...”

Mana smiles, but it looks a bit sad. “Yeah. I definitely want that too.”

“Best childhood memory?” Nimble fingers rifle through the Senbonbiki strings before giving one a tug.

Syrus answers without hesitation. “Zane teaching me how to duel.”

The string is a dud without a prize attached; Mana turns from pouting to look at Syrus with curious eyes. “Oh?”

“Yeah... we...” Syrus looks away, tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice. “We had a good relationship back then.”

Mana hums, reaching out to take his hand and wander back through the festival. “I think...mine is meeting Atem for the first time.”

Atem. That’s Christina’s ace card. Syrus shouldn’t be surprised he’s a duel spirit too. “Are all monster cards duel spirits?”

“Not every card has a spirit attached, but I have noticed almost every design mirrors a creature or person that actually exists.”

“Weird.” Honestly, Syrus never thought about it before, but it’s really weird that a game on Earth could accurately depict creatures from another dimension. Sure, Pegasus based the original cards off carvings he found in Egypt, but those were 3000 years old! Some of the new archetypes look distinctly futuristic, and Jaden designed the Neo Spacians so explain that! Just thinking about it gives Syrus a headache.

“Have you ever lost a fight?” he ventures to ask as they nibble on chocolate bananas.

“Lots of times,” Mana laughs at herself. “Especially during training. And no matter how good you are there’s always someone stronger, so tactical retreat is necessary!”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Syrus nods. The sky’s getting darker. Will Mana still be here for the fireworks? “What’s it like being a spirit?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. “It’s...lonely sometimes,” she admits, voice soft, almost forlorn. “Not many people can see us. We entertain ourselves by watching the world and taking bets on what kind of trouble Jaden will get into next.” Mana shrugs and smiles, an obvious attempt to make light of the situation, but Syrus can see straight through it.

“Oh,” he says, wishing he could put his emotions into words that wouldn’t hollow.

Mana glances out at the darkening sky, voice soft as she asks, “One thing you really wanna do before you die?”

“Huh?” The question startles Syrus as much as the oddly wistful tone. “I guess...” He hesitates. One thing? The thing he wants to do most? That he’d regret never doing? “I wanna be happy. With someone I mean!” he quickly amends and the word babble spills out from there. “I wanna get married and buy a house and share my life with someone. I know it probably doesn’t sounds that ambitious but-”

“No, that’s a great ambition.”

Syrus can’t really name the emotion on Mana’s face. Nodding, he looks down at his feet and fiddles with his hands. “Maybe...if we get to know each other better...you could be that person?” He squeezes his eyes shut, not daring to look up.

An intake of breath. “Syrus...”

The boom rattles through his bones and Syrus screams, flinging himself towards the nearest source of comfort and shelter, straight into Mana’s arms. Oh. Oh, the fireworks! Prying his eyes open reveals bursts of color lighting up the sky as another boom shakes the air. He laughs awkwardly and rights himself, murmuring an apology.

“I don’t have much time left,” Mana says, colored light illuminating her mournful expression, and the dread seizes Syrus by the throat.

“Ki-kiss me properly this time!” Oh gods his voice cracked and got really screechy, but he said it! His hands fist against his legs, trembling as her heart goes off on another marathon, and what if she rejects him? What if he read this all wrong? What if-

“Okay.”

Her kiss lingers on his lips long after the fireworks fade and she disappears back to being a spirit. He can still feel her hand against his own, and this time he knows it’s real.

[copper-wasp]

Even a Devil May Drabble: Dante x Reader: Valentine’s Forgetfulness (Part 19/?)

Rating: E

Words: 1,353

Tags: Explicit Content, Established Relationship, Light Foodplay, Dante Being an Adorable Doofus

Also posted to AO3!

This was a gift for CheesySquid from a discord server, but it seems that their tumblr blog has been deleted or renamed. If you see this and want me to tag you, let me know Squid! (Also, I posted this on AO3 on V-Day but forgot to post it here 😅)

“Dante?” you queried into the darkness of Devil May Cry’s interior. Flicking on the lights, you looked around, immediately sensing something was up. The office was... clean. No pizza boxes or empty Jack Daniel’s bottles on the coffee table, no nudie mags on the floor or dirty dishes piled precariously on the jukebox. Something was definitely wrong.

You didn’t notice the vase of flowers until you nearly walked past it, the only thing on Dante’s desk, besides his treasured photo of Eva. There was a note card, a heart with your name in the middle written on the envelope, and you picked it up. Opening it, you found a note from Dante, reading “Happy Valentine’s Day to the only woman who will still put up with me. I love you, [Y/N].”

Oh fuck.

Today is Valentine’s Day.

Fuck.

You’d completely forgotten, your mind full of all the tasks on your plate at work. And, from the looks of it, Dante not only got you an enormous bouquet of flowers, but also cleaned the entire office as a gift to you.

And the damn flowers were peonies, your favorite.

Feeling awful, you set the note card back on Dante’s desk, shrugging out of your coat and draping it over the back of his chair, along with your bag. You assumed Dante had to go out, so you decided to take a bath, needing to stew in your terrible-girlfriend shame, and hope that ordering some pizza for him when he got home would be good enough until you could get to the store in the morning.

Stepping up to the second floor landing, you paused, seeing light coming from beneath the door of yours and Dante’s shared bedroom.

“Dante?” you called out again, answered with an ‘In here,’ by the man in question. Well, there went your plan to take a nice shame-soak.

You shuffled over to the door, sighing as you opened it. There were rose petals on the (also, somehow, spotlessly clean) floor, a trail of them leading your eyes to quite a sight.

“Hey there gorgeous, I hope you’re okay with having dessert before dinner,” Dante said, already completely naked and sprawled out on the center of your bed. Your mouth fell open in shock as he lifted up a huge bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup and squeezed it all over his chest.

You were still standing in the doorway, biting your lip to try not to laugh. It didn’t work, and a huge bark of laughter racked your form. You clapped a hand over your mouth to try to quell it, but lost it all over again when Dante started laughing along with you, holding the bottle up again to let a long stream of sticky chocolate drip into his mouth.

Once you were able to speak, you made your way towards the bed where Dante was still posed. “Dante, you are such a goof,” you said, shedding your cardigan.

“Good, she’s taking off her clothes, my plan is working,” he said, dipping a finger into the syrup on his skin before pushing it between the lips you loved to kiss.

“I have to apologize, babe,” you said, losing your boots and socks next. “I forgot today was Valentine’s Day.” You quickly unbuttoned your dress pants, pushing them down over your hips to puddle on the floor.

You looked at your boyfriend, who was giving you a gentle look, as you started to unbutton your blouse.

Dante smiled, gesturing for you to join him on the bed. You did as he asked, kneeling at the end of the mattress, fingers still working on the buttons of your shirt. “It’s okay. I knew you would,” he said, “You’ve been so busy at work, and I wanted to do this for you. You saw the flowers too, right?”

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile. “I did. Thank you, Dante, they’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“You’re gorgeous,” he replied, helping you push your blouse off of your shoulders. Your bra and panties didn’t even match, but the heat in Dante’s eyes told you that didn’t matter, that all he was interested in was getting you out of them.

Before he could tug the strap down your arm, you pushed him back onto the mattress, avoiding the drips of chocolate migrating down his body. You quickly straddled him, his cock jumping beneath you, dipping your head down to lick a long stripe over his chest. You pulled his nipple into your mouth, sucking it clean and he grunted, his hands moving to grasp at your waist.

“How long were you waiting for me?” you asked, dragging a finger down his abs and lewdly sucking the chocolate from it, looking down into his eyes.

“Hours, days, who knows?” Dante joked, but you wiped the smile off his face when you scooted back on his thighs, grasping his cock in your warm hand. Pushing his legs apart, you settled between them, enveloping the head of his cock in your mouth, a little bit of a chocolatey taste still on your tongue. It got a lot saltier as you swirled over his slit, swallowing the precum that had gathered. Dante was already moaning, and you took more of him into your mouth, tag-teaming with your hands either on the rest of his substantial shaft, or gently massaging his sack, trying to hear one of each of Dante’s array of noises.

When you released him from your warm, wet mouth, he looked thoroughly debauched already, eyes half lidded as he gazed up at you.

“Want me to ride you, cowboy?” you asked, reaching behind you to undo the clasp of your bra. Your breasts free, Dante’s hands cupped them, thumbing over your nipples and making you arch into his touch.

Dante didn’t respond, just spared a hand to snap the elastic of your panties, urging you to remove them. You slid off the bed, making a grand show of removing the lacy underwear, shaking your rear at him as you pulled them down.

You took another lick of chocolate off of Dante’s abs before straddling him again, letting his cock rub against your slit. You were soaked, sucking him off exciting you almost as much as him, and when you raised your hips to sink down onto him, his length slid smoothly against your velveteen walls until it was buried to the hilt.

You rolled your hips once, earning another beautiful noise from the man beneath you, before setting the pace that both you and he enjoyed.

His name was on your lips, blackness creeping in at the edges of your vision as your climax loomed, Dante harshly whispering filthy things as you let your hands smear the remaining chocolate syrup over his body. His fingertips went to your clit and with just a few practiced swipes your cunt clenched around his length, tears clinging to the corners of your eyes.

You cried out Dante’s name, feeling him buck up into you frantically before he too reached his end, coming deep inside you.

Grabbing one of your hands, Dante pushed your fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as he cleaned the sweetness from them.

“We did make a little bit of a mess, didn’t we?” you asked between panting breaths, seeing the flecks of syrup that had landed on the sheets.

“I’ll clean ‘em later,” Dante said, cock still happily inside you. You bent forward, not caring about the mess, and let him wrap his arms around you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dante,” you said quietly, pulling him in for a proper kiss, full of tongue and whimpers.

“You too, babe,” he replied, kissing your forehead. “Wanna get a shower?”

“That would be wonderful,” you replied, feeling sticky from more than just the chocolate syrup. “And then we can get some pizza.”

Dante looked like you’d just gifted him the world, a big goofy smile on his face as he helped you to the bathroom. You professed your love and thanks to him throughout the rest of the night, especially when Dante carried you back to bed for round two.

-:- -:- -:-

Thank you for reading!

Find me on:

Twitter: @copper_wasp_

AO3: @copper_wasp

Discord: @copper_wasp#1545

[madlymiho]

Helloooo @9k8jt ! Thank you so much, you're so kind!!!

I went for a scenario here! Hope it will suit you, my dear! ~

Words : 1439

Crocodile scenario : meeting his future girlfriend who was a member of the Roger’s crew (read after the cut)

Crocodile looks at his drink, focus on the waves made by the brown liquid, lazily licking the transparent wall, while his mind is trapped somewhere else. Times flies cruelly, he thinks, his boring stare wandering a moment on his only and damaged hand. Cruel enough to slowly poison your body, taking your time without you even notice. What an odd and impetuous world. But then, Crocodile looks up, directly at the lady who’s drinking at the bar. She’s not so young as well, despite her gorgeous features and her silken hair, her body and shape body dressed with a refined scarlet dress. There are a few signs of time, as well, gently spreaded here and there on her face, creating soft and inviting wrinkles whenever she smiles at the bartender. Crocodile feels like he has already seen her before ; yet, he has met so many people since then that he can’t actually put a name on this face. He sighs and takes a swallow from his drink, cursing within his failing memory, while he’s ready to leave the bar ; business isn’t waiting, and he needs to get ready for a next meeting. Back on his feet, dominating almost everyone in the bar, Crocodile makes his way to the exist, walking near the bar and this mysterious woman he’s sure to know. She turns her head, furrowing her eyebrows, before she slams her glass on the wooden bar and crosses her arms around her chest.

“I thought you are called a Sir today, Crocodile,” she calls him, with a powerful and deep voice. “So rude coming from the gentleman you are.”

Crocodile, picks in his curiosity, immediately turns around to face this unknown woman. She now tilts her head, her stare playfully watching his unamused face.

“You grow saltier than I would expect.” She continues, taping the stool next to her to invite him.

Crocodile only offers one of his favorite insulting smirk, not even looking at her hand which is still patting the chair to invite him to join her.

“I don’t have time for you, madam.”

Always polite, yet harsh and severe, Crocodile knows how it could hurt a lady to be called “madam” when she desperately tries her best to still look young and fresh. He notices a spark of anger in the back of her eyes, and for moment, they just stare at each other without adding a word. But then, she offers him a bestial grin, enlightening her features with a sort of animal wrath. She turns her head, grabbing her drink with a firm grip, not even interested by him anymore.

“Still the same brat you were when he took this hand from you.” She simply says, drinking on her whisky.

Crocodile freezes, this time, truly mad at her, not entirely content to hear someone mentioning his past without any consequences. He takes a step forwards and pulls on the stool to make his way, sitting directly next to her while he puts his hook on the bar, somehow reminding her that this is not a subject she should joke about. Her smile grows even bigger as she clicks her fingers to call the bartender.

“Give him some bourbon, young man,” she says, ignoring Crocodile’s deadly stare on her features.

“I’m not drinking with you.” Crocodile answers severely, his voice so loud and patronizing that everyone in the room went silent for a second.

She snorts and nods at the bartender while the young man is still holding the bottle of bourbon in the air, not entirely sure that he wants to pour that drink.

“Quit your aggressive attitudes already, Croco-boy. It’s a reunion party.” She states, almost nostalgic, pushing Crocodile’s fresh drink in front of him.

“Cut the crap and just tell me who you are, so I can once again deny your invitation and handle my business without you annoying me.”

“I’m almost hurt that you don’t recognize me, Croc.”

Now that he’s closer, he feels that he’s entirely sure to know her, yet, his memory is failing him and he still can’t picture where, and most importantly, when he has already meet her. For a moment, he decides to analyze her features, lingering on her face until he notices a long scar crossing her eyelid, tracing a white line down, to the edge of her mouth. He knows her. He’s sure about it now. This scar, he has already seen it before.

Crocodile eventually grabs his drink, pointing at her face with one of his thick finger.

“I remember that.” He simply says with a husky voice, taking a swallow from his bourbon.

She gently skims her scar, her eyes focus on the numerous bottles hung behind the bar, before she turns her head and faces him.

“Of course you do, I got it from the same person who took your hand, back then,” she says while she smiles at him, almost with an intimate one. “Still, I was less stupid than you were.”

Crocodile raises a surprised eyebrow, more focus on her statement than her last insult. But then, as he still looks at her face, he suddenly remembers someone younger he used to know. A beautiful apprentice on the most famous pirate ship ever, with a well-known Pirate King at its head. Crocodile pinches his lips together, his gaze slightly darker than before. Roger wasn’t someone he used to appreciate, yet, he can’t say that he doesn’t respect his crew and their achievement in the New World, even today.

“Name LastName.” Crocodile eventually declares, an almost invisible grin blooming on his features. “What an unpleasant surprise indeed. I thought that Whitebeard has killed you, a long time ago.”

“Almost,” she smiles, her scar reflecting the softened lights of the room. “I must say that he was pretty good to handle his halberd, especially twenty years ago, when my captain and him were always fighting. He pelted me down in the sea, but I managed to survive.”

Crocodile remains silent for a second. Indeed, he was not so far when Roger’s crew and Whitebeard’s one were still at war. In those blurry years of their youth, no one was able to tell who was the strongest between those two enemies. The pirates war has been cruel and quite long, and many of them have been forever marked by their confrontation. Name was only 18 years old back then, and she was sailing with Roger, along with Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, becoming one the three apprentices of the Pirate King. Crocodile was already on his own back then, but he has always be known for having a grudge against Whitebeard for some obscure reasons, even if rumors has always said that it was because of his long scar across his face and his missing hand.

“You’ve aged well, despite your wounds.” She eventually says, her voice soft and tender, to the point that Crocodile feels caught off guard for once.

“You’re not too bad as well, for a pirate granny.”

She laughs and shakes her head, amused by Crocodile’s aggressivity and his lack of manners when it comes to bound with anyone.

“The pirate granny got a 700 000 000 berries bounty on her head, boy. And she hasn’t been defeated by some angry teenage rubber child.” She snaps back, gazing at Crocodile with a playful stare.

He sighs loudly, picked in his ego, but strangely amused by her behaviors. He remembers now, how she looks when she was just a 18 years old girl, playing the little pirate on Roger’s ship. Back then she was already a fierce girl, and a beautiful one. Yet, Crocodile must admit, time has been gentle with her, enough to transform this sweet young woman into a gorgeous mature lady.

“Do you care for another drink?” Crocodile eventually offers, far from his usual habits.

She raises an eyebrow, frankly surprised, but smiles softly and nods her head.

“I’m sure we have thousand stories to talk about, Croc,” she says before she finishes her drink and slams the glass on the bar. “Your treat, this time.”

[lisinfleur]

Mishaps - Chapter 01: It’s my life

Author’s notes: a little bit late (it was supposed to be posted yesterday hahaha) but here it is! And happy birthday to our sweet @bluearchersstuff once again! Thanks to @honestsycrets for the help with the elaboration!

Warnings: cursing. A LOT.

Words: 3001

 "Sunshine? What the fuck..."

"Well fuck you, Sigurd! Don't put it on me if you can't fucking find anyone to call you sweet nicknames ok? I was pretty happy being her sunshine and it would be great if you were doing your fucking job instead of throwing every single mess Ivar does on my fucking back because of this childish shit in between the two of you. So, go fucking screw yourself and stop messing with her stuff!" Hvitserk said, annoyedly pulling your phone from his brother's hand, causing Sigurd to giggle at his anger.

"Fucking chill, Hvitserk," he said, sighing. "I think more than anyone I'm the one who understands how fucking full you are of cleaning someone else's bullshit. I'm the damn dumpster, remember? I clean up Ubbe's, Björn's, Ivar's, even your bullshit. I'm the fucking market guy, keeping our stupid family clean when you guys are fucking throwing shit on the damn windows!" Sigurd shouted, pointing his index towards Hvitserk "How many times I fucking cleaned up your ass, uh? What's the matter about doing me a damn favor and release me from wiping Ivar's lame butt once?"

"Shut up!" Ubbe shouted louder, causing both of them to get silent; Sigurd lighting a cigarette, Hvitserk with your cellphone in his hands.

That "Sunshine (Hvitserk)" in the shining screen, hitting his head like a hammer.

Things were going so great with you... That moment in your coffee store was becoming his favorite of the day. Now, everything was destroyed thanks to his damn life and his fucking brothers' fight, of course.

"Instead of fighting each other and arguing, we should be thinking on how to get the fuck out of this. It all started on a fight, so let us fucking chill and stop shooting each other or we gonna get ourselves killed before the cops can do it for us!" Ubbe completed and Hvitserk sighed while Sigurd was pulling the smoke into his lungs, expelling it in a long trail that vanished in the air.

"Kill her. I'll get rid of the two bodies. Problem solved, as always. She gonna get into the missing per..." Sigurd started, but Hvitserk didn't even let him finish that stupid idea, cutting his voice with an angry shout.

"Are you fucking crazy? Hell no! No one will kill my Ann, ok?" he said, putting your phone into his pocket after silencing the device to avoid any incoming calls.

Sigurd giggled again, this time, debauched; and Ubbe lifted his face up, looking surprised to his little brother's actions while Sigurd was taking the words out of his mouth, asking from them both: "And what do you suggest, genius? To let her live, for you two to live a beautiful love story in which she'll forgive you for fucking kidnapping her, accept the fact you're the biggest drug dealer in town, and keep serving you breakfast and calling you sunshine with her sweet little mouth shut by day and full of your dick by night?"

Ok. Sigurd was a little bit saltier than Ubbe was thinking, but the essence of the questions was the same.

Even then, Hvitserk never was the more patient of the brothers...

"You fucking son of a bitch!"

"Hey! Hey, stop... Fucking stop!" Ubbe yelled, holding Hvitserk's physical attempt to advance against Sigurd, stopping his brother against his chest and standing in the middle of the two of them. "Enough! Fuck! Why can't I have brothers like Harald and Halfdan, uh? They fucking love each other! Why my damn brothers have to hate themselves so much? Shit!" he cursed, pushing Hvitserk back to his seat and pointing Sigurd, angrily, forcing him to go back to his place near the window. "Fine..." he started, sighing and pointing Hvitserk, "You don't want us to kill the girl. And want us or not, our father's grandsons will have to come from some pussy around, Sigurd, and not every girl in the world automatically dreams about finishing her life married to a Gods damn gangster."

Sigurd sighed. Ubbe was right, after all. "So what?" he said, expelling one more cloud of white smoke.

"You gonna do your fucking job and clean Ivar's mess and do not fucking roll your eyes to me, Sigurd! It is your damn job and Hvitserk is right. If I had called you and not him, he would be doing things slow with his girl and nothing would be going like this." Sigurd growled, angrily, but Ubbe continued "You gonna fucking clean up the mess with the police officer and stop this shitty fight with Ivar. My responsibility is to keep Ivar in line to avoid new stupidities like that and I will solve it with him. However..." his blues landed on Hvitserk "Ann's mess is yours, Hvitserk. You did this shit, you fucked things up, and this is past the time for you and Ivar to learn Sigurd will clean up our messes to keep the family's name and stuff working clean. But it doesn't mean he will have to act like a mom walking around the house, picking up wet towels and changing our diapers. We aren't kids anymore. Sigurd's job is to keep things clean: he's not our fucking maid. You find a way to deal with your girl's situation by yourself and don't fuck us up. If she opens her mouth, you gonna go to jail by yourself and I'll put a bullet into her head. Deal?"

Hvitserk sighed annoyedly. But at least that way he could warrant Ann's life for long enough for him to explain himself and try to keep things right for her.

He still didn't have any idea of how would he do it, but yet, he sighed.

"Deal. Deal... Just leave her alone. The last thing I need is my girl afraid of any of you."

"Great. Take care of this." Ubbe settled, starting to walk towards the door as Sigurd was finishing his cigarette before following him.

"Tell me one thing, Hvitserk," Sigurd asked, stopping his walk in the middle of the way to look at his older brother "Why her? Why a random chick? I mean, why not that one you like to fuck... Dora... Lora..." he said, trying to remember the name Hvitserk spat with no problems.

"Thora. She's with the cops. Girl is sending information about Ivar's brothel and fucking him up. Ivar will burn her soon." Hvitserk said, sighing.

The reason why he started to think about having his own life was exactly this one: discovering the girl he had fallen for was marked to die made him start to search for new things...

And then, you.

He was the one supposed to be calling you a ray of sunshine: you sprouted in his life like dawn after a dark night.

However, there you were, his ray of sunshine, shrunk against his bed's headboard, looking at him with all the fear of the universe in your face, hands tied, face covered in tears you must have cried silently listening to his damn brothers talking shit in his living room.

You surely heard Ubbe saying he would put a bullet into your head and if things weren't fucked for him before, now what chances did he have?

"Shit..." he cursed, coming into the room slowly, closing the door and locking it so you couldn't flee. "Will anything go right in this fucking day?"

He wasn't talking to you, for sure, but even then, you were listening to every single word he said. Especially after what you heard him talking outside of that door...

"Kill her..."

You were disposable shit for guys like him.

Guys like your father...

"Kill the bitch!"

That conversation brought your "best" memories back. Oh, you would remember to thank him for the little gift. Sunshine, your ass! That son of a bitch was a motherfucker drug dealer and you could bet he had the key to that damn door because you had the misfortune of working near one of his spots!

Fucking fate...

He came near, sitting on the edge of the bed, not so close, but also not as far as you wanted him to be.

"Hey, princess... I'm so sorry," Hvitserk started, really seeming genuinely sorry for what he was having to do to you.

But how could you believe in him now?

"Things went up completely different from what I was planning." he continued, sighing bothered "It's not that I would hide it forever, but I was expecting to get you near me, close enough for this shitty life I have not to be a problem for you. Shit... I can't talk to you like this!" he growled, causing you to shrink even more on the bed when he came closer, squeaking when he touched you.

However, all he did was untying you, releasing you from the painful knots that were hurting your arms and your ankles. Then, he came back to the same edge: the place of the bed opposite to the one you were sitting in. A fair distance.

"Better now..." he sighed looking at you, still looking like the same sweet guy from the coffee shop "I was trying to take things slow... You're a nice girl and I was really interested in starting something with you. Fuck, this was supposed to be my best morning!" he complained "After days I finally got your phone number and you were calling me sunshine... This day was supposed to be painted in a fucking rainbow! Not like this..."

Hvitserk stopped talking when he noticed your eyes looking around, surely studying the room for ways to get the hell outta that place. Again, he sighed, surprising you not only with his discovery - so accurate - but also, with a meek reaction about this.

"Please don't try to run away," he asked, looking at you with sad greens.

Damn heart!

You were so melted by him that something in your brain was desperately trying to defend him, justify his actions, find any reason to protect your mental image of him from what he was for real.

A drug dealer. A criminal. Just like your father.

"I really want to make things up... So, let us start again, ok?" Hvitserk tried, sighing and talking to himself for a moment "As if it was easy to start from somewhere..." he rolled his eyes.

And for a single moment, there it was, again, that part of you trying desperately to identify with him. To see the same frustration in his eyes that you had in yours.

It wasn't easy to start from anywhere...

"You're a drug dealer. Let us start there," you gave him a point and his eyes became even sadder.

But he smiled, small, disappointed.

"It wasn't my idea of a restart," he chuckled, lightly, but seemed to be resigned "But you have a point. I am what I am. And I can't deny it. I'm Hvitserk Ragnarsson, son of Ragnar Lothbrok. And well, the shit about us is true. We aren't just the heirs of one of the biggest trading company in the world. Me and my brothers... We are the heirs of an empire my father built upon drugs, whore houses, smuggling, guns and all this shitty stuff we shouldn't be messing around." he confessed.

Giving you two conclusions of all that speech: first, that you were fated to end up sunk in this world until your neck; and second, but not less important, that you wouldn't be leaving that place so soon...

The shitty stuff he was confessing could give the police a HUGE North to start beheading all his brothers and fuck his father's entire "empire", as he was calling.

He would never let you go with this.

"Each one of us has a place in this shit and yes, I'm the drug dealer of my brothers, because, despite Ubbe's fear I would end up consuming our entire stock, I'm the one who knows this shit enough to warrant we aren't selling trash to our clients." Hvitserk continued, almost not looking at you.

To be honest, he was looking like someone nervous. Scared of your reaction...

"My father was the biggest fish in this town. We have some big deals to take care off and we still have to crawl out of his shadow to place our names over everything and get the respect we need to keep the stuff together, working straight." he sighed "But I'm still a man, you know?" his eyes came to yours and then, you saw...

That same shadow you used to carry into your eyes.

The shadow of a life you didn't want to live...

"I still have my own dreams, my own desires. I like the money and stuff, but I don't want my children involved in this. I don't want my family mourning me as we did when our father got himself killed. I want to settle down, have children, see my grandchildren... I'm not like Ivar... So yeah, I was trying to get some distance. And..." his voice failed for a moment and he smiled.

That smile you were so in love with...

How much of himself he was showing you since the beginning?

Was he being himself by your side?

"You were my distance," he smiled sadly again "The stuff I was trying to start with you... It was making me feel free, you know? Just a normal guy, flirting with a beautiful girl behind her balcony every morning. It was making me happy, relaxing me. I don't even like those muffins for real - I mean, not from that store - but they were becoming the best muffins in town just because of the smile I was getting from you every day before the first bite. And now... Shit..."

You kept your eyes on his. Your heart recognizing his emotions so bad... That lowered head, that smile disgusted of his own life...

How many times did you lay down in your pillow thinking how unfair it was not to be able to tell him your true name or be yourself?

Your body relaxed from tension and fear. It wasn't like you weren't afraid anymore. But you couldn't be afraid of someone like him.

Someone like you...

"I never wanted to get you involved in this shit. I mean, I know you would get involved in my life anyway but... It wasn't what I wanted or planned, I..." he got wrapped in his own arguments, stepping in the same dead end you stepped so many times in your mind, laughing disgusted of himself.

The same way you did for so long...

"What the fuck was I thinking, right? I fucking ruined your life. I'm sorry," Hvitserk said, getting up, clearly walking towards the door.

And so, your voice sounded again, meekly.

"Stay..."

He stopped his steps, looking over his shoulder, finding the same sweet girl for who he fell so helplessly, looking at him without all that fear in your eyes you had at the beginning of this conversation.

And you saw hope in his eyes...

He didn't change a single bit: it was still the same man you saw in the coffee store every day, shyly smiling at you in the beginning, charmingly laughing, being sweet. And now, so hurt by the same thing that had hurt you so bad in your entire life.

He wasn't really planning anything that happened. Somehow fate decided to screw things up for him like it had screwed things up for you more than once.

It wasn't your first identity. Probably, it wouldn't be your last.

He wasn't the person to who you would say "Hey, that's fine, I'm Y/N, Horik's bastard daughter by the way!". You knew exactly how his father ascended in life by killing yours and how your father died - news are like gunpowder wicks, especially when you're in touch with the police.

It was poetic justice, for you. Yet, you couldn't tell him the truth about yourself. But he was telling the truth about himself and you could sense this. The smell of truth in his words...

"I don't wanna be alone here... I won't tell anything. Just... Just don't hurt me, ok?" you asked, feeling tears starting to form in your eyes. "I don't wanna talk about this but I had enough for a lifetime, so please, Hvitserk, just don't hurt me."

He came closer, sitting by your side. His hand touched your face, softly wiping your first tears from your cheek. All that sweetness in his eyes breaking your heart.

It would be so damn good if your lives weren't an enormous mess! He could be a suit guy as everyone thought he and his brothers were. You could have been born Mary Ann Watson. Your father could have been an HQ enthusiast. You could have been his escape from a business life... He could have been having lunch at your house and visiting an old grandma named Ann to spend the Christmas day...

But life wasn't good to none of you.

At least, you could find comfort in each other.

"I won't hurt you. Neither will my brothers. Don't mind about Ubbe's words or Sigurd's saltiness, I won't let them hurt you, princess. I promise." Hvitserk said, his thumb still sliding softly in your face when you slowly leaned yourself forward, laying your head against his chest and hiding into his arms.

He took a moment to hold you back, surprised...

The last thing Hvitserk was waiting was to have you in between his arms at the end of that day. Maybe something in your life was broken as his entire life was broken, after all.

He couldn't understand your reaction, but he didn't say a word, surrounding you with his arms and breathing deeply the scent of your hair.

And you could hear his heartbeat becoming slower.

He was relieved.

After all, he didn't lose you.

After all, you were safe.

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[crowley-fe11]

Sushi & Profiteroles

You're now chatting with a random stranger.

You both like mpreg, and ineffable husbands.

Stranger: Angel, weird question, but what's hunger feel like? -C

You: Well, it can come as your mouth watering at delicious smells. A Or you can feel your stomach nag at you if you haven't eaten in a while. A Do you mind if I ask why? A

Stranger: Not really something I tend to experience much, hunger, but right now I'm fairly sure I would damn a priest or two for sushi and profiteroles. -C

You: In that case, I know of a wonderful places for both those things! A

Stranger: Think they serve 'em together? -C

You: I don't think many places do. But we can place a takeaway order for sushi and pick up some profiteroles while we're at it, if that sounds like a plan. A

Stranger: Right. Is that weird? I feel slightly like you might have just found that weird. -C But heavens yeah to takeaway. -C

You: I mean, it's a bit unusual for you, dear. But it's still perfectly fine. A

Stranger: Honestly, I feel a bit weird lately. -C

You: Well, perhaps getting what you're hungry for might help? A How else have you been feeling that way? A

Stranger: Been nauseous a couple of times -- that was weird, let me tell you. Felt like the few times I didn't sober up quick enough to beat the hangover, except without the headache. -C And honestly, to be blunt, I've been a bit... bloated. -C

You: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, my dear... A How long has this been going on? A

Stranger: I dunno. A few months maybe? -C Three months? -C

You: Why didn't you tell me sooner? A As soon as we have takeaway together, perhaps we should check on this. A

Stranger: Maybe. Been sort of ignoring it, to be honest. -C

You: Well for now, if your physical form is telling you something, it would be best to listen. A Any particular requests for sushi? A

Stranger: Saltier the better. -C I'll trust your expertise. -C

You: Of course. A

Stranger: My physical form is currently telling me it doesn't want to work with a really nice pair of cigarette-leg jeans I've had for the best part of fifty years. -C And for some insane reason that's really upsetting. -C

Stranger: Want to come over? -C

You: Of course, anything to help you feel better. A

Stranger: Thanks, angel. -C Bring food. -C Door's open for you. I'm going back to bed. -C

You: Absolutely. I'll be there as soon as I can with everything. A

Stranger: [Would you like to go to prose?]

You: (Sure! Would you like to start, or would you like me to?)

Stranger: [I'm happy to!]

Stranger: Crowley took 'going back to bed' seriously. The whole operation involved two blankets, a heavy duck-down duvet, seven pillows, and a surprisingly comforting mug of sweet tea. The offending jeans had been blasted out of existence (probably regrettable; they were a lovely vintage piece), leaving a small scorch mark on the floor, although he kept the lights low so that probably wasn't too noticeable. Black leggings and a long, loose tee-shirt seemed a much better option. As soon as he heard the door, he perked up a touch. Having Aziraphale around always made him feel a bit better, however much they might snap and bicker; even more so since the dam finally broke on the eternal question of intimacy. Maybe a hug would do him some good, too. "In here," he called through by way of greeting, unnecessarily. "C'mon in."

You: Worry seemed to still nag at Aziraphale as he picked up the sushi and pastries that Crowley had requested. Though he knew no matter what might be going on with the demon, it was likely best to make sure he did whatever he could to ease the other's mind before delving into that. Once he'd arrived at Crowley's flat, he let himself in as his love instructed and went straight for the bedroom at his call. "Hello, dear," he greeted softly as he laid eyes on the other, who looked incredibly comfortable in bed, and he brought the bag of takeaway as well as the pastry box in, setting them down carefully on the bed before he took a seat at the edge and pressed a tender kiss to the demon's forehead. "How have you been holding up?" He asked as he carded his fingers through the auburn locks, offering him a loving smile.

Stranger: Better for seeing you, Crowley thought, and mentally gave himself a little shake for being so sappy about it. "Been worse," he said out loud, which at that exact moment in time was at least the truth. No nausea; nagging hunger, if that's what it was, but nothing insurmountable; and now Aziraphale was here -- no doubt poised to fuss, but /here/, which was a rather nice thing. He shifted back and shuffled over, flicking a wave to rearrange the pillows for both of them. "Come on up here. Bring the sushi. And the pastry."

You: Aziraphale gladly took the invitation to join the other, bringing the food he'd picked up for the other as he smiled at Crowley. "Let's see if any of this makes for improvement," he added with an optimistic smile as he pulled out a box with one of the sushi rolls. "I thought the Dragon roll might be good for you, but then again, I did get a few different ones as well, if you'd prefer something else. Or if you're more hungry, even. I also got a number of profiteroles as well for that same reason," he told the demon softly as he settled in alongside him.

Stranger: Crowley was already into the sushi before he'd got the pastry up too, although happily went in at the profiteroles too. Okay, maybe sushi-and-cream-profiteroles /was/ weird, but damn it, something about the combination hit the spot. "Feel free to share," he said sidelong, almost as an afterthought, settling in - noticeably more content - by Aziraphale's side with both the sushi and the pastry within easy reach of both of them.

You: It was surprising to see how much Crowley immediately dug in. The other seldom ever expressed hunger with Aziraphale before, and if anything, the meals they shared were more for quality time on his part, even if he did have something to nibble on. Though this was anything but nibbling now. "Of course, love. I just want to make sure you have everything you want, too," the angel answered softly as he started on some of the sushi, figuring a profiterole or two would be nice afterward, if any were left over.

Stranger: It didn't take an awfully long time - actually, arguably an embarrassingly short amount of time - until most of the sushi and all but half a dozen of the profiteroles were gone. Crowley nudged the boxes over deliberately, contented, and no longer feeling so tetchy and (not that this was the word he'd have thought of) craving, and tucked himself in right by Aziraphale's side. "M'kay, well. Better. You have those, go on." He paused and rested a hand over the slight little curve at his middle, mostly hidden under the loose t-shirt. "That's not going to help with the bloated bit, but feels better, weirdly..."

You: "Well. I'm glad this hit the spot," Aziraphale answered with a smile, finishing his sushi before enjoying some of the remaining profiteroles. It was certainly unusual for the other to eat so much, and especially for any amount of it to show on his slender frame, which the angel noticed how the demon's hand rested there. Though he knew that was a touchy topic for the other at the moment, and upsetting him further by making any comment was the last thing he wanted to do. "Have you noticed anything else odd lately?" he asked curiously, still trying to wrap his head around what might be going on.

Stranger: "Not really," Crowley said thoughtfully, rubbing a bit over his middle without thinking before catching himself and shifting his hand, rather self-consciously, around to rest on top of the covers. "Told you about the nausea. Been tired, but I know that one, I'm good with tired. And hungry now." He glanced sideways. "Apparently for weird combinations. Not that you can talk," he added with a teasing grin. He'd spent more than one evening of quality time in restaurants which were no doubt the very best in the business, but struck Crowley as downright weird.

You: Aziraphale couldn't help a small chuckle at Crowley's playful accusation, and he wrapped his arm around the other's shoulders. "Of course, dear. But other than the nausea, and perhaps the tiredness, you haven't felt like anything was /wrong/, have you?" He asked softly. That was the main aspect troubling him, after all. He'd do anything in his power to help and support the demon if that were the case, though he didn't want to jump to conclusions just yet.

Stranger: Fussy, Crowley thought, but he'd known what he was inviting in when he'd asked him over -- not just takeaway, but, well, fussing. And it was sort of endearing, anyway. He let Aziraphale wrap him up in a hug and cuddled in alongside. "Nope. Apart from feeling sick a couple of times a few weeks ago -- that's gone now, best I can tell -- and... that." He sighed and tapped his midriff. "Which is-- fuck. I don't know. It's irritating me. Can't miracle it gone. Not 'cos I've been eating. And aesthetically, I mean, why's it even getting to me? 'Cos you're bigger than I am and you're bloody gorgeous."

You: "Hey, that doesn't mean you're not bloody gorgeous right now," Aziraphale answered softly. "You're lovely, beautiful, and absolutely irresistible, quite frankly. It could be a number of things, but if you'd like to, I can gently probe to at least see what's the matter?" He offered as he held Crowley close. "I can do that just as easily as I can heal someone, after all. But it's up to you."

Stranger: Crowley hesitated for just a second, then sighed and slightly reluctantly tugged the t-shirt up. There was a definite little curve there, firm, sort of... full. Certainly not flab. "Go on then." He shifted a bit to lie down, glancing back up at him almost curiously. "I s'pose, to be fair, I'd rather know, y'know?"

You: "I definitely agree with you on that," Aziraphale answered with a small nod, letting a hand move down to Crowley's abdomen, which was definitely bloated in some way, and he closed his eyes as he concentrated on the area. Though his eyes snapped open and he gasped at what he felt. The life he felt within the other. "Oh, Crowley..." He breathed, looking up at the other in awe.

Stranger: "What?" Crowley shifted up a bit, answering the awe with wide-eyed concern. "What is it? Angel--" It /probably/ wasn't terrible, but Aziraphale got excited about /misprinted bibles/, after all. Probably best to be really clear here.

You: "R-right, yes! Good lord, how do I put this?" Aziraphale stammered as he looked back at Crowley, who had worry in his gaze. He really hoped this news might give him reassurance, though it really was a lot to take in. "It feels like you're with child..."

Stranger: "I'm...?" Crowley blinked. Slowly, he raised a hand to rub lightly across the swell. "Oh... fuck... are you sure?" (Brb, sorry!!)

You: "I mean, I could sense the heartbeat, and some of their tiny movements," Aziraphale answered. "Even that they have a part of each of us..."

Stranger has disconnected.

[lynyrdwrites]

Harmless

Well, I asked and people said “sure, I’ll read your original nonsense!”  So of course the first thing I wrote was a story about a serial killer.

---

The house is charming.

              It’s painted yellow, with a white porch where a chair swing sits, surrounded by carefully maintained pots of flowers.  If I close my eyes, it would probably take me back to my childhood. We had a porch like this one; it didn’t have the swing, but there had been wicker furniture, where mother would sit and watch us play in the front yard, while she drank lemonade and enjoyed the warmth of summer.  

              I miss her sometimes.  Mother. I sometimes miss my sister, too. Maybe I should visit her.  It’s been too long; at least five years. Maybe even more.  I wonder if she’s changed her phone number.

              The doorbell chimes brightly within the house.  The noise is muffled, but I can still hear the three cheerful chimes it gives.  Now isn’t the time for nostalgia.  That come later.  For now, I smile.  It’s a harmless smile.  A friendly smile.

              I’m harmless.  I’m friendly.

              The woman, when she opens the door, is smaller than I had expected. Her hair is gray, but it only shows at the roots, where she’s starting to let it grow, now that she’s decided she’s old enough not to maintain the dye.  She has a deep belly laugh, the kind only someone who truly enjoys life has.

              She’s not laughing right now.  

              Her eyes – a color somewhere between green and gray – are narrowed behind thin framed glasses.  Everything about her says suspicious.  

              I brighten my smile.

              I’m harmless.  I’m friendly.

              “My car broke down,” I say, motioning behind us, to where the car sits, it’s hood up.  It’s been a useful tool, that car.  Maybe someday I’ll think of it with the same nostalgia as I think of my mother.  “Could I use your phone – maybe you know the best mechanic to call?”

              “I thought you kids all had cellphones,” she says, though her suspicions have lowered somewhat.  I can tell.

              After all, I’m harmless. I’m friendly.  Why would she be suspicious of me?

              I haven’t been what anyone would call a kid for at least a decade, but I still turn my grin sheepish and rub the back of my neck as I shrug.

              “I’m the worst,” I admit.  “I never keep it charged.”

              In my pocket, my cellphone is a weight.  It’s fully charged; I always keep it fully charged.  So much of life is spent waiting, and I hate not being able to amuse myself when I’m waiting.  

              The woman doesn’t know that, though.  But her own son says the same thing, all the time.  I know that.  She thinks it’s just a coincidence, and the similarity makes her face soften.  Her eyes seem more green now, as though the gray is only there when she’s on her guard.  She’s not anymore.

              Her smile is pretty.  It’s harmless.  She’s friendly, now.

She stands back and lets me into the house, and I feel a thrill of victory that I know won’t show on my face.  It’s been at least a decade since my face was so easily read.  Now it shows only what I want it to.  

              She shows me to the small terrible, where she still has a landline, even after all this time. It’s charming, just like the whole house is charming, and that nostalgia is a drumbeat in the back of my mind.  I wonder if she has lemonade.

              “You can call the mechanic.  They won’t be in, but you can leave a message.  And call the motel down the street.  Tell Tommy you’re here, and he’ll come pick you up.  I’ll make us some iced tea while we wait.”

              It’s not lemonade, it’s not quite perfect… but nothing is ever perfect.  It’s better that way.  Now the nostalgia will be there, but it won’t be overwhelming. I don’t like to be overwhelmed, not when I’m working.  

              I am thirsty, though.  I bet she makes the tea extra sweet.  She’s a grandma to a three year old.  They always make it extra sweet.  

              “Thank-you, ma’am,” I respond, and turn my attention to the phone as she wanders into the kitchen.  In my pocket, I carry a pocket knife.  It’s surprisingly easy to slice through the cord of the phone.  She has a cellphone, but she keeps it in her car.  She and her son had an argument about it, because she always forgot it.  So she started leaving it there, with a chord that her daughter bought her, so she could charge it while she drove.

              It’s smart.  After all, she has the land line if she needs help in the house.

              I drop the wire and it hangs uselessly as I pocket my knife.  

              My smile is no longer harmless.  I’m no longer friendly.

              Truly, I never was.

---

              She’s been baking.  Scones with blueberries in them.  I’m not overly fond of blue berries, but she also has homemade raspberry jelly, and it calls to my sweet tooth.

              I take a sip of the iced tea as she gets a plate together.  I was right; she makes it sweet.  Mother had always been so careful about how much sugar she put in the lemonade I remember so fondly.  I grew used to it, but in my adulthood I always took it sweet like I wasn’t able to in childhood.

              “You make sure you drink that all up,” she says to me with a smile.  It crinkles the corner of her eyes.  Would mother smile like that, if she’d had the chance?  She probably would.

              I want to shake my head. It’s odd, all the nostalgia I’ve been feeling. Usually I might feel it for a moment or two – right at the beginning, maybe again at the end – but not like this.

              It’s the house.  It’s too much like ours had been.  

              But the woman isn’t like mother.  Mother never made it to gray hair and grandchildren.  I need to remind myself of that.

              “Drink up,” she says, reminding me that I need to stay alert.  I have a job to do, now.  I take pride in my work.  Others might argue that it’s just a hobby, but I don’t agree with that.  It’s not payment that makes it work, it’s the achievement you feel.

              “And you need to put the butter on these scones,” she adds, as she puts the plate in front of me.  “It’s not right, just putting jelly on.  That’s not how scones are meant to be eaten.”

              The butter is saltier than I would like, but it can be easily hidden with the jelly.  The scones themselves are soft and moist.  I eat two before I really think about it, and go to wash it all down with the iced tea.

              My glass is empty, and I blink at it.  When did that happen?

              “Oh, here.  Have more.”

              She fills the glass again, and I don’t argue.  The iced tea is delicious.  It’s all delicious.

              I feel light headed.  

              “Oh, don’t fall over, dear.  If you need to rest, lean forward.”

              She’s standing at my side, her smile warm and friendly, and I’m not sure how she got there so quickly.  She helps me to lean forward, and I let my weight rest on my forearms.  

              Harmless.

              Friendly.

              Until she isn’t.

              “It’s rude, you know,” she says, her grip surprisingly strong on my arms. “To listen to people.  To follow them.  Very rude.  I don’t do this very often… but sometimes people are so rude.  Drink your tea.”

              I don’t want to drink the tea anymore.  Something is wrong.  I need to get away.  My phone is in my pocket.

              My hand slides against denim and I nearly slip off the chair.  The woman tsks and rights me.

              “Don’t continue being rude.  I’m sure your mother taught you better.  Drink the tea.”

              Mother did teach me better.  My head feels so heavy, but I remember that mother always taught us better. Sometimes her teaching hurt. But we both took them to heart.

              Until mother couldn’t hurt anyone anymore.  But she’s still here, still in the back of my head, and I can almost hear her voice.

              Drink your lemonade.

              I feel like I’m floating, as I lift the glass to my lips.  It’s still sweet, but almost too much now.  It’s heavy and wrong on my tongue, but I drink it anyway, and the woman strokes my hair.  

              “So very rude,” she sighs.  “It’s what happens when boys lose their mothers too young.  My Tommy knows better, but we don’t want to upset him.  We’ll make sure you’re gone before he comes to visit.”

              I must slide off the chair, once she moves away again, because I find myself on the floor unable to move.  When the woman comes again, there’s something dangling from her hands.

              The phone and it’s cord.

              “You ruined this,” she says, and her voice is so very disappointed.  

              You ruined it, Mother’s voice echoes, and I want to ask for forgiveness.  To say I didn’t mean it.

              But I did. I did mean to ruin it.  No one can tell me what to do now, now that Mother is gone, and I try to get up.

              My arms are heavy and I can’t get purchase.  It’s easier to just lie on the floor, my cheek on cheap linoleum.  

              I blink, and the world disappears.  When it comes back, she’s kneeling next to me.  I’m surprised she can kneel like that.  She hadn’t seemed so spry before.  

              I blink again, and the world seems dark.  

              I keep blinking, and the world keeps changing, and when I finally see the woman again, she no longer looks pretty and friendly.

              It occurs to me, far too late, that she never was.

---

              “He tried to kill old Millie.”

              She sits on her porch swing, wrapped in a shawl that the very nice young detective got for her, holding a warm mug of tea between her hands.  She’s not really that cold, but she was shaking with adrenaline, and she let the detective make his assumptions.

              It’s tea time, anyway, and she had to pour most of her iced tea down the drain.  She likes it warm and just a little bitter anyway.

              The two detectives look over at her, and Millie musters a smile.  The adrenaline has faded, and she doesn’t feel glee.  Not like that boy would have.

              She doesn’t like having to teach the children lessons.

              They roll him by her.  He’s hidden within a heavy cover, but she knows that his face is pale and lax.  Not charming, like it had been when she opened the door, or calculative and anticipatory, as it had been when she had watched him from her front window.

              He had been good.  Probably one of the better ones.  But like all the others, he’d known he was wrong. They all knew they were wrong.  Otherwise they wouldn’t come to her.

              She sighs and leans back, and knows the detectives think she’s just relieved. But really she’s sad.

              It’s such a shame when children lose their mothers.  She doesn’t want to have to teach them their lessons.

              But really… they need to learn.

[edgewaterfarmcsa]

CSA WEEK 14

P I C K L I S T

RASPBERRIES!!! - WATERMELON - GREEN KALE - LEMONGRASS - ASIAN EGGPLANT - THAI BASIL - SWEET CARMEN PEPPERS - SHISHITO PEPPERS - DANGJO CHEONG YANG HOT PEP - CARROTS - ONION - GARLIC

 Pooh Sprague (original farmer at Edgewater with wife and fastest bean picker Anne) infrequently updates a blog on our website -Pooh’s Corner- that offers his seasonal farming perspective etc… he posted this on Tuesday (September 14th), just in time for the CSA newsletter, thought yall might like checking in on Pooh’s thoughts…

 PRO-TIPS:

Shishitooooosssss!!  You know what to do, but if you have forgotten: bring these peps right to your pan or grill, shmear in olive oil and fry or grill until popped and blistered.  Salt and Devour immediately

FOR NOTES ON LEMONGRASS AND HOW TO USE: 

Scroll back to week 10 and read up on all things lemongrass. 

 BUT FOR MY FAVORITE THING TO DO WITH LEMONGRASS, SEE:

 TOM KHA SOUP (Thai coconut chicken soup with chicken, mushroom and coconut milk)

8 oz. (226 g) boneless and skinless chicken, breast or thighs, cut into strips or thin pieces

20 canned straw mushrooms

1 1/2 cups coconut milk

1 cup water

1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 3-inch lengths and pounded

6 kaffir lime leaves , lightly bruised to release the flavor

6 slices galangal

8 bird's eye chilies, lightly pounded

3 tablespoons fish sauce

2 1/2 tablespoons lime juice or to taste

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Add water, lemongrass, galangal, chilies, kaffir lime leaves into a pot and bring it to boil. Add straw mushrooms and chicken and boil it on medium heat for a few minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add coconut milk and boil for a couple more minutes. Turn off the heat and add lime juice and fish sauce to taste. Add chopped cilantro before serving.

If you can't find galangal, do not use ginger. Ginger is not the substitute for galangal. "Tom Kha" means galangal in Thai. However, if you absolutely can't find galangal and still wish to make this because you love this soup so much, just make it without galangal.

 https://rasamalaysia.com/tom-kha-gai-recipe-thai-coconut-chicken-soup/

 Spicy eggplant from the burma superstar cook book

Curry style eggplant awesome over rice.

 3 Japanese Eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups)

1 teaspoon salt

2 ½ tablespoons canola oil

2 cups finely diced yellow onion

3 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1-2 Thai chiles, thinly sliced or 2 tablespoons minced jalapeno

1 small dried chile, broken in half, seeds retained

2 teaspoons shrimp paste

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon fish sauce

Handful of fried garlic chips (for how to on garlic chips: again head to our CSA BLOG and scroll back to CSA week 6)

Cilantro or thai basil sprigs for garnish

1 lime or lemon cut into wedges for garnish

 Season the eggplant with salt and scatter onto a clean dish towel.  Let it sit while you prepare the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.  Once the eggplant begins to bead with water, wrap the towel lightly and squeeze to remove excess liquid from the eggplant.  

 In a wok or pot, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the eggplant, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring often, until the eggplant begins to soften, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the eggplant and transfer to a plate.  

 Heat the remaining 1 ½ tablespoons of oil in the wok.  Add the onions and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching, until softened, about 4 minutes.  Stir in the garlic, ginger, fresh and fried chiles, and shrimp paste and cook until the onions are completely soft and starting to turn golden, 3 more minutes.  

 Add the turmeric and paprika and then stir in the eggplant and about ½ cup of water.  Lower to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is very soft and most of the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes.  Season with fish sauce, adding more for a saltier flavor, and squeeze a wedge or two of lime over the top.  Serve in a bowl and top with cilantro (and or thai basil!).  Offer extra lime wedges along side.   

 The 7th Inning Stretch September 14, 2021:   We are approaching mid September here. School is back in session and as if that weren’t a wake-up call, we are staring down the ultimate harbinger of fall with the arrival of the World’s Fair in Tunbridge, VT. Surely the days will start getting much shorter now, and we often remark about it. We will see the breaking out of sweatshirts, neoprene picking gloves, rain gear and wool toques. In their orange rain pants the crew looks like they just came off the boat from the TV series “Deadliest Catch.” As the season winds down, many farmers are licking their seasonal wounds. We are -in farmer terms- “just past the 7th inning stretch” in our seasons, and there is still much to accomplish. This includes a lot of planting and seeding within the greenhouses to serve the late fall CSA. Our onions are gathered up, the first of three plantings of carrots up and in the cooler, and if Mike can find enough parts between our two old potato harvesters to make one functional harvester, we will soon be digging our 6 acres of potatoes. Once that crop is all graded, sized and stored in our barn, we can start washing and shipping them. We can then turn our attention to: cleaning up the place; planting next year’s garlic; readying the strawberries with sprays and mulching for next spring; fixing broken doors and sills in our funky collection of old greenhouses. Then the contracts will expire on the Jamaican crew, and they will head home to tend their own farms by early November. Plenty to do, and seemingly insufficient time and bodies to make it through the list. I have heard the muttering of “I wouldn’t mind a good frost now….” and this time it didn’t come from my lips first. On many farms, the wet July here in the Twin States brought forth an epic surge of weed germination and growth…and Edgewater was no exception. We daily watched the galinsoga engulf the strawberries, with no spare hours available to get in there and clean it out. We are looking for a good frost to freeze it down, leaving the strawberries to bask in the filtering fall sunlight without competition. Fortunately, the strawberry plants are in very good shape, and we are (perhaps foolishly) getting optimistic about our spring prospects. But everyone is busy harvesting and packing out 10 hours a day, and soon the light levels will dictate just how long we will be able to work in the fields. Despite a crop failure with pumpkins and winter squash, we have an almost epic fall raspberries crop. Trying to harvest and move that crop is mopping up a lot of extra hours. In the farmstand we have had to close down on Mondays for the rest of the season, because of a labor shortage, and we have had to reschedule the help we have. Labor shortage or not, our melons,tomatoes, pepper, cut flowers, leeks will be out there for another 4 weeks unless a frost stops them in their steps. Weather continues to be the biggest challenge and unknown for farmers, along with a dearth of local labor. Our season started hot and droughty from the end of March until the end of June. It was abnormally hot for so early in the growing season, and that created some minor problems in the greenhouses, but there was a non-stop 10-15 mph breeze or wind that just never abated. I felt like we were trying to farm in Pueblo, Colorado. The lack of rain was tough enough, but the constant wind withered and devastated transplanted crops. Then, the weather changed, and in 20 minutes we got an inch of rain, and it then continued to rain off and on for a month. A lot of disease showed up, so we were confronted with trading one extreme problem for another. However, August turned up benignly normal, and with adequate moisture the potatoes sized up and the field tomatoes and melons kicked into gear. We have been challenged, but thus far undamaged, by hurricanes. Many of my seacoast friends prepared for the worst wind event they hoped never to see. Weather models were in constant flux for us here in the Upper Valley. On the Saturday that Hurricane Ida was making landfall on Long Island, the forecast for us from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was calling for a range of 2-12” of rain. I understand that weather forecasting is not an exact science, but for me there is a big difference in the amount that 2” dumps and what 12 “ would look like. At two inches I would get the tractor bucket out after the storm passes, and do a little touch-up work on our gravel roads and driveways. After twelve inches in so few hours I would be knee-deep in insurance claims, as well as sleeping and cooking meals in our farmstand….for a long time, too. What did we really get in the end? In what was forecast to be the middle of the storm, I went out and mowed my lawn. And I could not have been happier to be doing so. Fall will always be a great season to me. There is plenty of natural color in the pumpkins, ornamental corn, and chrysanthemums as well as on the trees in the woods. The warmth in this season is welcome, as opposed to the intense sun and heat of summer. Fall crops roll into the pack house: beets, potatoes, turnip, carrots. Onions, garlic, leeks and cabbage. When it's cold, we can add a couple of thin layers of clothes to keep warm until the sun burns through the fall fogs and warms us. Migratory birds come and go, and soon we will start to lure the songbirds to the birdfeeders. In deep fall, the woodstove starts to operate with greater frequency. Then one day in November, it (the woodstove) will start its full time nonstop operation until late April, when the sun once more strengthens its grip on us all.

 PRO-TIPS:

Shishitooooosssss!!  You know what to do, but if you have forgotten: bring these peps right to your pan or grill, shmear in olive oil and fry or grill until popped and blistered.  Salt and Devour immediately

 FOR NOTES ON LEMONGRASS AND HOW TO USE:  head to the CSA blog - yes! Did you know that these newsletters get posted weekly on our web page? https://www.edgewaterfarm.com/csa-blog… 

Scroll back to week 10 and read up on all things lemongrass. 

 BUT FOR MY FAVORITE THING TO DO WITH LEMONGRASS, SEE:

 TOM KHA SOUP (Thai coconut chicken soup with chicken, mushroom and coconut milk)

8 oz. (226 g) boneless and skinless chicken, breast or thighs, cut into strips or thin pieces

20 canned straw mushrooms

1 1/2 cups coconut milk

1 cup water

1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 3-inch lengths and pounded

6 kaffir lime leaves , lightly bruised to release the flavor

6 slices galangal

8 bird's eye chilies, lightly pounded

3 tablespoons fish sauce

2 1/2 tablespoons lime juice or to taste

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Add water, lemongrass, galangal, chilies, kaffir lime leaves into a pot and bring it to boil. Add straw mushrooms and chicken and boil it on medium heat for a few minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add coconut milk and boil for a couple more minutes. Turn off the heat and add lime juice and fish sauce to taste. Add chopped cilantro before serving.

If you can't find galangal, do not use ginger. Ginger is not the substitute for galangal. "Tom Kha" means galangal in Thai. However, if you absolutely can't find galangal and still wish to make this because you love this soup so much, just make it without galangal.

 https://rasamalaysia.com/tom-kha-gai-recipe-thai-coconut-chicken-soup/

 Spicy eggplant from the burma superstar cook book

Curry style eggplant awesome over rice.

 3 Japanese Eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups)

1 teaspoon salt

2 ½ tablespoons canola oil

2 cups finely diced yellow onion

3 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1-2 Thai chiles, thinly sliced or 2 tablespoons minced jalapeno

1 small dried chile, broken in half, seeds retained

2 teaspoons shrimp paste

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon fish sauce

Handful of fried garlic chips (for how to on garlic chips: again head to our CSA BLOG and scroll back to CSA week 6)

Cilantro or thai basil sprigs for garnish

1 lime or lemon cut into wedges for garnish

 Season the eggplant with salt and scatter onto a clean dish towel.  Let it sit while you prepare the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.  Once the eggplant begins to bead with water, wrap the towel lightly and squeeze to remove excess liquid from the eggplant.  

 In a wok or pot, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the eggplant, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring often, until the eggplant begins to soften, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the eggplant and transfer to a plate.  

 Heat the remaining 1 ½ tablespoons of oil in the wok.  Add the onions and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching, until softened, about 4 minutes.  Stir in the garlic, ginger, fresh and fried chiles, and shrimp paste and cook until the onions are completely soft and starting to turn golden, 3 more minutes.  

 Add the turmeric and paprika and then stir in the eggplant and about ½ cup of water.  Lower to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is very soft and most of the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes.  Season with fish sauce, adding more for a saltier flavor, and squeeze a wedge or two of lime over the top.  Serve in a bowl and top with cilantro (and or thai basil!).  Offer extra lime wedges along side.   

 The 7th Inning Stretch September 14, 2021:   We are approaching mid September here. School is back in session and as if that weren’t a wake-up call, we are staring down the ultimate harbinger of fall with the arrival of the World’s Fair in Tunbridge, VT. Surely the days will start getting much shorter now, and we often remark about it. We will see the breaking out of sweatshirts, neoprene picking gloves, rain gear and wool toques. In their orange rain pants the crew looks like they just came off the boat from the TV series “Deadliest Catch.” As the season winds down, many farmers are licking their seasonal wounds. We are -in farmer terms- “just past the 7th inning stretch” in our seasons, and there is still much to accomplish. This includes a lot of planting and seeding within the greenhouses to serve the late fall CSA. Our onions are gathered up, the first of three plantings of carrots up and in the cooler, and if Mike can find enough parts between our two old potato harvesters to make one functional harvester, we will soon be digging our 6 acres of potatoes. Once that crop is all graded, sized and stored in our barn, we can start washing and shipping them. We can then turn our attention to: cleaning up the place; planting next year’s garlic; readying the strawberries with sprays and mulching for next spring; fixing broken doors and sills in our funky collection of old greenhouses. Then the contracts will expire on the Jamaican crew, and they will head home to tend their own farms by early November. Plenty to do, and seemingly insufficient time and bodies to make it through the list. I have heard the muttering of “I wouldn’t mind a good frost now….” and this time it didn’t come from my lips first. On many farms, the wet July here in the Twin States brought forth an epic surge of weed germination and growth…and Edgewater was no exception. We daily watched the galinsoga engulf the strawberries, with no spare hours available to get in there and clean it out. We are looking for a good frost to freeze it down, leaving the strawberries to bask in the filtering fall sunlight without competition. Fortunately, the strawberry plants are in very good shape, and we are (perhaps foolishly) getting optimistic about our spring prospects. But everyone is busy harvesting and packing out 10 hours a day, and soon the light levels will dictate just how long we will be able to work in the fields. Despite a crop failure with pumpkins and winter squash, we have an almost epic fall raspberries crop. Trying to harvest and move that crop is mopping up a lot of extra hours. In the farmstand we have had to close down on Mondays for the rest of the season, because of a labor shortage, and we have had to reschedule the help we have. Labor shortage or not, our melons,tomatoes, pepper, cut flowers, leeks will be out there for another 4 weeks unless a frost stops them in their steps. Weather continues to be the biggest challenge and unknown for farmers, along with a dearth of local labor. Our season started hot and droughty from the end of March until the end of June. It was abnormally hot for so early in the growing season, and that created some minor problems in the greenhouses, but there was a non-stop 10-15 mph breeze or wind that just never abated. I felt like we were trying to farm in Pueblo, Colorado. The lack of rain was tough enough, but the constant wind withered and devastated transplanted crops. Then, the weather changed, and in 20 minutes we got an inch of rain, and it then continued to rain off and on for a month. A lot of disease showed up, so we were confronted with trading one extreme problem for another. However, August turned up benignly normal, and with adequate moisture the potatoes sized up and the field tomatoes and melons kicked into gear. We have been challenged, but thus far undamaged, by hurricanes. Many of my seacoast friends prepared for the worst wind event they hoped never to see. Weather models were in constant flux for us here in the Upper Valley. On the Saturday that Hurricane Ida was making landfall on Long Island, the forecast for us from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was calling for a range of 2-12” of rain. I understand that weather forecasting is not an exact science, but for me there is a big difference in the amount that 2” dumps and what 12 “ would look like. At two inches I would get the tractor bucket out after the storm passes, and do a little touch-up work on our gravel roads and driveways. After twelve inches in so few hours I would be knee-deep in insurance claims, as well as sleeping and cooking meals in our farmstand….for a long time, too. What did we really get in the end? In what was forecast to be the middle of the storm, I went out and mowed my lawn. And I could not have been happier to be doing so. Fall will always be a great season to me. There is plenty of natural color in the pumpkins, ornamental corn, and chrysanthemums as well as on the trees in the woods. The warmth in this season is welcome, as opposed to the intense sun and heat of summer. Fall crops roll into the pack house: beets, potatoes, turnip, carrots. Onions, garlic, leeks and cabbage. When it's cold, we can add a couple of thin layers of clothes to keep warm until the sun burns through the fall fogs and warms us. Migratory birds come and go, and soon we will start to lure the songbirds to the birdfeeders. In deep fall, the woodstove starts to operate with greater frequency. Then one day in November, it (the woodstove) will start its full time nonstop operation until late April, when the sun once more strengthens its grip on us all.

 PRO-TIPS:

Shishitooooosssss!!  You know what to do, but if you have forgotten: bring these peps right to your pan or grill, shmear in olive oil and fry or grill until popped and blistered.  Salt and Devour immediately

 FOR NOTES ON LEMONGRASS AND HOW TO USE:  head to the CSA blog - yes! Did you know that these newsletters get posted weekly on our web page? https://www.edgewaterfarm.com/csa-blog… 

Scroll back to week 10 and read up on all things lemongrass. 

 BUT FOR MY FAVORITE THING TO DO WITH LEMONGRASS, SEE:

 TOM KHA SOUP (Thai coconut chicken soup with chicken, mushroom and coconut milk)

8 oz. (226 g) boneless and skinless chicken, breast or thighs, cut into strips or thin pieces

20 canned straw mushrooms

1 1/2 cups coconut milk

1 cup water

1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 3-inch lengths and pounded

6 kaffir lime leaves , lightly bruised to release the flavor

6 slices galangal

8 bird's eye chilies, lightly pounded

3 tablespoons fish sauce

2 1/2 tablespoons lime juice or to taste

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Add water, lemongrass, galangal, chilies, kaffir lime leaves into a pot and bring it to boil. Add straw mushrooms and chicken and boil it on medium heat for a few minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add coconut milk and boil for a couple more minutes. Turn off the heat and add lime juice and fish sauce to taste. Add chopped cilantro before serving.

If you can't find galangal, do not use ginger. Ginger is not the substitute for galangal. "Tom Kha" means galangal in Thai. However, if you absolutely can't find galangal and still wish to make this because you love this soup so much, just make it without galangal.

 https://rasamalaysia.com/tom-kha-gai-recipe-thai-coconut-chicken-soup/

 Spicy eggplant from the burma superstar cook book

Curry style eggplant awesome over rice.

 3 Japanese Eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups)

1 teaspoon salt

2 ½ tablespoons canola oil

2 cups finely diced yellow onion

3 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1-2 Thai chiles, thinly sliced or 2 tablespoons minced jalapeno

1 small dried chile, broken in half, seeds retained

2 teaspoons shrimp paste

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon fish sauce

Handful of fried garlic chips (for how to on garlic chips: again head to our CSA BLOG and scroll back to CSA week 6)

Cilantro or thai basil sprigs for garnish

1 lime or lemon cut into wedges for garnish

 Season the eggplant with salt and scatter onto a clean dish towel.  Let it sit while you prepare the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.  Once the eggplant begins to bead with water, wrap the towel lightly and squeeze to remove excess liquid from the eggplant.  

 In a wok or pot, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the eggplant, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring often, until the eggplant begins to soften, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the eggplant and transfer to a plate.  

 Heat the remaining 1 ½ tablespoons of oil in the wok.  Add the onions and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching, until softened, about 4 minutes.  Stir in the garlic, ginger, fresh and fried chiles, and shrimp paste and cook until the onions are completely soft and starting to turn golden, 3 more minutes.  

 Add the turmeric and paprika and then stir in the eggplant and about ½ cup of water.  Lower to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is very soft and most of the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes.  Season with fish sauce, adding more for a saltier flavor, and squeeze a wedge or two of lime over the top.  Serve in a bowl and top with cilantro (and or thai basil!).  Offer extra lime wedges along side.   

The 7th Inning Stretch September 14, 2021:   We are approaching mid September here. School is back in session and as if that weren’t a wake-up call, we are staring down the ultimate harbinger of fall with the arrival of the World’s Fair in Tunbridge, VT. Surely the days will start getting much shorter now, and we often remark about it. We will see the breaking out of sweatshirts, neoprene picking gloves, rain gear and wool toques. In their orange rain pants the crew looks like they just came off the boat from the TV series “Deadliest Catch.” As the season winds down, many farmers are licking their seasonal wounds. We are -in farmer terms- “just past the 7th inning stretch” in our seasons, and there is still much to accomplish. This includes a lot of planting and seeding within the greenhouses to serve the late fall CSA. Our onions are gathered up, the first of three plantings of carrots up and in the cooler, and if Mike can find enough parts between our two old potato harvesters to make one functional harvester, we will soon be digging our 6 acres of potatoes. Once that crop is all graded, sized and stored in our barn, we can start washing and shipping them. We can then turn our attention to: cleaning up the place; planting next year’s garlic; readying the strawberries with sprays and mulching for next spring; fixing broken doors and sills in our funky collection of old greenhouses. Then the contracts will expire on the Jamaican crew, and they will head home to tend their own farms by early November. Plenty to do, and seemingly insufficient time and bodies to make it through the list. I have heard the muttering of “I wouldn’t mind a good frost now….” and this time it didn’t come from my lips first. On many farms, the wet July here in the Twin States brought forth an epic surge of weed germination and growth…and Edgewater was no exception. We daily watched the galinsoga engulf the strawberries, with no spare hours available to get in there and clean it out. We are looking for a good frost to freeze it down, leaving the strawberries to bask in the filtering fall sunlight without competition. Fortunately, the strawberry plants are in very good shape, and we are (perhaps foolishly) getting optimistic about our spring prospects. But everyone is busy harvesting and packing out 10 hours a day, and soon the light levels will dictate just how long we will be able to work in the fields. Despite a crop failure with pumpkins and winter squash, we have an almost epic fall raspberries crop. Trying to harvest and move that crop is mopping up a lot of extra hours. In the farmstand we have had to close down on Mondays for the rest of the season, because of a labor shortage, and we have had to reschedule the help we have. Labor shortage or not, our melons,tomatoes, pepper, cut flowers, leeks will be out there for another 4 weeks unless a frost stops them in their steps. Weather continues to be the biggest challenge and unknown for farmers, along with a dearth of local labor. Our season started hot and droughty from the end of March until the end of June. It was abnormally hot for so early in the growing season, and that created some minor problems in the greenhouses, but there was a non-stop 10-15 mph breeze or wind that just never abated. I felt like we were trying to farm in Pueblo, Colorado. The lack of rain was tough enough, but the constant wind withered and devastated transplanted crops. Then, the weather changed, and in 20 minutes we got an inch of rain, and it then continued to rain off and on for a month. A lot of disease showed up, so we were confronted with trading one extreme problem for another. However, August turned up benignly normal, and with adequate moisture the potatoes sized up and the field tomatoes and melons kicked into gear. We have been challenged, but thus far undamaged, by hurricanes. Many of my seacoast friends prepared for the worst wind event they hoped never to see. Weather models were in constant flux for us here in the Upper Valley. On the Saturday that Hurricane Ida was making landfall on Long Island, the forecast for us from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was calling for a range of 2-12” of rain. I understand that weather forecasting is not an exact science, but for me there is a big difference in the amount that 2” dumps and what 12 “ would look like. At two inches I would get the tractor bucket out after the storm passes, and do a little touch-up work on our gravel roads and driveways. After twelve inches in so few hours I would be knee-deep in insurance claims, as well as sleeping and cooking meals in our farmstand….for a long time, too. What did we really get in the end? In what was forecast to be the middle of the storm, I went out and mowed my lawn. And I could not have been happier to be doing so. Fall will always be a great season to me. There is plenty of natural color in the pumpkins, ornamental corn, and chrysanthemums as well as on the trees in the woods. The warmth in this season is welcome, as opposed to the intense sun and heat of summer. Fall crops roll into the pack house: beets, potatoes, turnip, carrots. Onions, garlic, leeks and cabbage. When it's cold, we can add a couple of thin layers of clothes to keep warm until the sun burns through the fall fogs and warms us. Migratory birds come and go, and soon we will start to lure the songbirds to the birdfeeders. In deep fall, the woodstove starts to operate with greater frequency. Then one day in November, it (the woodstove) will start its full time nonstop operation until late April, when the sun once more strengthens its grip on us all.

 PRO-TIPS:

Shishitooooosssss!!  You know what to do, but if you have forgotten: bring these peps right to your pan or grill, shmear in olive oil and fry or grill until popped and blistered.  Salt and Devour immediately

 FOR NOTES ON LEMONGRASS AND HOW TO USE:  head to the CSA blog - yes! Did you know that these newsletters get posted weekly on our web page? https://www.edgewaterfarm.com/csa-blog… 

Scroll back to week 10 and read up on all things lemongrass. 

 BUT FOR MY FAVORITE THING TO DO WITH LEMONGRASS, SEE:

 TOM KHA SOUP (Thai coconut chicken soup with chicken, mushroom and coconut milk)

8 oz. (226 g) boneless and skinless chicken, breast or thighs, cut into strips or thin pieces

20 canned straw mushrooms

1 1/2 cups coconut milk

1 cup water

1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 3-inch lengths and pounded

6 kaffir lime leaves , lightly bruised to release the flavor

6 slices galangal

8 bird's eye chilies, lightly pounded

3 tablespoons fish sauce

2 1/2 tablespoons lime juice or to taste

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Add water, lemongrass, galangal, chilies, kaffir lime leaves into a pot and bring it to boil. Add straw mushrooms and chicken and boil it on medium heat for a few minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add coconut milk and boil for a couple more minutes. Turn off the heat and add lime juice and fish sauce to taste. Add chopped cilantro before serving.

If you can't find galangal, do not use ginger. Ginger is not the substitute for galangal. "Tom Kha" means galangal in Thai. However, if you absolutely can't find galangal and still wish to make this because you love this soup so much, just make it without galangal.

 https://rasamalaysia.com/tom-kha-gai-recipe-thai-coconut-chicken-soup/

 Spicy eggplant from the burma superstar cook book

Curry style eggplant awesome over rice.

 3 Japanese Eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups)

1 teaspoon salt

2 ½ tablespoons canola oil

2 cups finely diced yellow onion

3 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1-2 Thai chiles, thinly sliced or 2 tablespoons minced jalapeno

1 small dried chile, broken in half, seeds retained

2 teaspoons shrimp paste

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon fish sauce

Handful of fried garlic chips (for how to on garlic chips: again head to our CSA BLOG and scroll back to CSA week 6)

Cilantro or thai basil sprigs for garnish

1 lime or lemon cut into wedges for garnish

 Season the eggplant with salt and scatter onto a clean dish towel.  Let it sit while you prepare the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.  Once the eggplant begins to bead with water, wrap the towel lightly and squeeze to remove excess liquid from the eggplant.  

 In a wok or pot, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the eggplant, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring often, until the eggplant begins to soften, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the eggplant and transfer to a plate.  

 Heat the remaining 1 ½ tablespoons of oil in the wok.  Add the onions and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching, until softened, about 4 minutes.  Stir in the garlic, ginger, fresh and fried chiles, and shrimp paste and cook until the onions are completely soft and starting to turn golden, 3 more minutes.  

 Add the turmeric and paprika and then stir in the eggplant and about ½ cup of water.  Lower to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is very soft and most of the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes.  Season with fish sauce, adding more for a saltier flavor, and squeeze a wedge or two of lime over the top.  Serve in a bowl and top with cilantro (and or thai basil!).  Offer extra lime wedges along side.   

 The 7th Inning Stretch September 14, 2021:   We are approaching mid September here. School is back in session and as if that weren’t a wake-up call, we are staring down the ultimate harbinger of fall with the arrival of the World’s Fair in Tunbridge, VT. Surely the days will start getting much shorter now, and we often remark about it. We will see the breaking out of sweatshirts, neoprene picking gloves, rain gear and wool toques. In their orange rain pants the crew looks like they just came off the boat from the TV series “Deadliest Catch.” As the season winds down, many farmers are licking their seasonal wounds. We are -in farmer terms- “just past the 7th inning stretch” in our seasons, and there is still much to accomplish. This includes a lot of planting and seeding within the greenhouses to serve the late fall CSA. Our onions are gathered up, the first of three plantings of carrots up and in the cooler, and if Mike can find enough parts between our two old potato harvesters to make one functional harvester, we will soon be digging our 6 acres of potatoes. Once that crop is all graded, sized and stored in our barn, we can start washing and shipping them. We can then turn our attention to: cleaning up the place; planting next year’s garlic; readying the strawberries with sprays and mulching for next spring; fixing broken doors and sills in our funky collection of old greenhouses. Then the contracts will expire on the Jamaican crew, and they will head home to tend their own farms by early November. Plenty to do, and seemingly insufficient time and bodies to make it through the list. I have heard the muttering of “I wouldn’t mind a good frost now….” and this time it didn’t come from my lips first. On many farms, the wet July here in the Twin States brought forth an epic surge of weed germination and growth…and Edgewater was no exception. We daily watched the galinsoga engulf the strawberries, with no spare hours available to get in there and clean it out. We are looking for a good frost to freeze it down, leaving the strawberries to bask in the filtering fall sunlight without competition. Fortunately, the strawberry plants are in very good shape, and we are (perhaps foolishly) getting optimistic about our spring prospects. But everyone is busy harvesting and packing out 10 hours a day, and soon the light levels will dictate just how long we will be able to work in the fields. Despite a crop failure with pumpkins and winter squash, we have an almost epic fall raspberries crop. Trying to harvest and move that crop is mopping up a lot of extra hours. In the farmstand we have had to close down on Mondays for the rest of the season, because of a labor shortage, and we have had to reschedule the help we have. Labor shortage or not, our melons,tomatoes, pepper, cut flowers, leeks will be out there for another 4 weeks unless a frost stops them in their steps. Weather continues to be the biggest challenge and unknown for farmers, along with a dearth of local labor. Our season started hot and droughty from the end of March until the end of June. It was abnormally hot for so early in the growing season, and that created some minor problems in the greenhouses, but there was a non-stop 10-15 mph breeze or wind that just never abated. I felt like we were trying to farm in Pueblo, Colorado. The lack of rain was tough enough, but the constant wind withered and devastated transplanted crops. Then, the weather changed, and in 20 minutes we got an inch of rain, and it then continued to rain off and on for a month. A lot of disease showed up, so we were confronted with trading one extreme problem for another. However, August turned up benignly normal, and with adequate moisture the potatoes sized up and the field tomatoes and melons kicked into gear. We have been challenged, but thus far undamaged, by hurricanes. Many of my seacoast friends prepared for the worst wind event they hoped never to see. Weather models were in constant flux for us here in the Upper Valley. On the Saturday that Hurricane Ida was making landfall on Long Island, the forecast for us from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration was calling for a range of 2-12” of rain. I understand that weather forecasting is not an exact science, but for me there is a big difference in the amount that 2” dumps and what 12 “ would look like. At two inches I would get the tractor bucket out after the storm passes, and do a little touch-up work on our gravel roads and driveways. After twelve inches in so few hours I would be knee-deep in insurance claims, as well as sleeping and cooking meals in our farmstand….for a long time, too. What did we really get in the end? In what was forecast to be the middle of the storm, I went out and mowed my lawn. And I could not have been happier to be doing so. Fall will always be a great season to me. There is plenty of natural color in the pumpkins, ornamental corn, and chrysanthemums as well as on the trees in the woods. The warmth in this season is welcome, as opposed to the intense sun and heat of summer. Fall crops roll into the pack house: beets, potatoes, turnip, carrots. Onions, garlic, leeks and cabbage. When it's cold, we can add a couple of thin layers of clothes to keep warm until the sun burns through the fall fogs and warms us. Migratory birds come and go, and soon we will start to lure the songbirds to the birdfeeders. In deep fall, the woodstove starts to operate with greater frequency. Then one day in November, it (the woodstove) will start its full time nonstop operation until late April, when the sun once more strengthens its grip on us all.

 PRO-TIPS:

Shishitooooosssss!!  You know what to do, but if you have forgotten: bring these peps right to your pan or grill, shmear in olive oil and fry or grill until popped and blistered.  Salt and Devour immediately

 FOR NOTES ON LEMONGRASS AND HOW TO USE:  head to the CSA blog - yes! Did you know that these newsletters get posted weekly on our web page? https://www.edgewaterfarm.com/csa-blog… 

Scroll back to week 10 and read up on all things lemongrass. 

 BUT FOR MY FAVORITE THING TO DO WITH LEMONGRASS, SEE:

TOM KHA SOUP (Thai coconut chicken soup with chicken, mushroom and coconut milk)

8 oz. (226 g) boneless and skinless chicken, breast or thighs, cut into strips or thin pieces

20 canned straw mushrooms

1 1/2 cups coconut milk

1 cup water

1 stalk lemongrass, cut into 3-inch lengths and pounded

6 kaffir lime leaves , lightly bruised to release the flavor

6 slices galangal

8 bird's eye chilies, lightly pounded

3 tablespoons fish sauce

2 1/2 tablespoons lime juice or to taste

1 tablespoon chopped cilantro

Add water, lemongrass, galangal, chilies, kaffir lime leaves into a pot and bring it to boil. Add straw mushrooms and chicken and boil it on medium heat for a few minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Add coconut milk and boil for a couple more minutes. Turn off the heat and add lime juice and fish sauce to taste. Add chopped cilantro before serving.

If you can't find galangal, do not use ginger. Ginger is not the substitute for galangal. "Tom Kha" means galangal in Thai. However, if you absolutely can't find galangal and still wish to make this because you love this soup so much, just make it without galangal.

Spicy eggplant from the burma superstar cook book

Curry style eggplant awesome over rice. 

3 Japanese Eggplants, cut into 1-inch cubes (about 6 cups)

1 teaspoon salt

2 ½ tablespoons canola oil

2 cups finely diced yellow onion

3 tablespoons minced garlic

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1-2 Thai chiles, thinly sliced or 2 tablespoons minced jalapeno

1 small dried chile, broken in half, seeds retained

2 teaspoons shrimp paste

½ teaspoon turmeric

½ teaspoon paprika

1 teaspoon fish sauce

Handful of fried garlic chips (for how to on garlic chips: again head to our CSA BLOG and scroll back to CSA week 6)

Cilantro or thai basil sprigs for garnish

1 lime or lemon cut into wedges for garnish

 Season the eggplant with salt and scatter onto a clean dish towel.  Let it sit while you prepare the remaining ingredients, at least 10 minutes.  Once the eggplant begins to bead with water, wrap the towel lightly and squeeze to remove excess liquid from the eggplant.  

 In a wok or pot, heat 1 tablespoon of the oil over medium-high heat.  Add the eggplant, lower the heat to medium, and cook, stirring often, until the eggplant begins to soften, about 4 minutes.  Using a slotted spoon, scoop out the eggplant and transfer to a plate.  

 Heat the remaining 1 ½ tablespoons of oil in the wok.  Add the onions and cook over medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching, until softened, about 4 minutes.  Stir in the garlic, ginger, fresh and fried chiles, and shrimp paste and cook until the onions are completely soft and starting to turn golden, 3 more minutes.  

 Add the turmeric and paprika and then stir in the eggplant and about ½ cup of water.  Lower to a gentle simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the eggplant is very soft and most of the water has evaporated, about 5 minutes.  Season with fish sauce, adding more for a saltier flavor, and squeeze a wedge or two of lime over the top.  Serve in a bowl and top with cilantro (and or thai basil!).  Offer extra lime wedges along side.   

[cookingbymama]

Mom’s cooking: by me

Last week, my ASA “dad” Matt suggested organizing a home-cooked family dinner. Since the end of the semester has been relatively relaxed for me and considering how stressed all my peers seemed, I also wanted to help out by bringing them a bit of comfort through food. I ended up dictating most of the menu to be close to a typical meal at home, and it was exactly what I needed and I think what my friends needed: the perfect combination of vegetables, meat, soup, rice, and company. As I cooked with Matt, we reminisced about the familiar smells and sounds of the kitchens of our childhood: the fragrance of garlic and the crackle of wet greens hitting hot oil. I’m so glad that after all these years I was able to pick up some things from Mom, after all. From deciding how many of each ingredient to buy, to deciding how much of what seasoning to use, how long to cook each dish, I understand intuitively what the answers were. 

As I stood in the kitchen cutting chicken into bits, my “family” was sitting in the common room, working on their homework. When each dish would come out of the pan and onto the dining table, my friends would come and try a few pieces while I returned to the kitchen, just like Rui, Dad, and I would when Mom cooked for us. 

RECIPES: (starting at top center, working clockwise)

Pickled mustard greens & pork  This dish was devised by Matt, whose family’s culinary background is based in traditions surrounding Hong Kong / Southern China. Mustard greens (芥菜 jie cai) normally taste kind of bitter and taste really good in soups. Pickled, the original defining smell/taste is maintained but combined with a salty umami flavor. The pickled kind is packaged while still semi-soaked in its pickling juice. Soak the pickled mustard greens for at least an hour. Matt says that he usually soaks the mustard greens for longer, but because we had hungry people to feed we did the bare minimum. This meant that the dish ended up being saltier than I would prefer, but everyone else didn’t seem to mind. Another thing that we think may be specific to Hong Kong cuisine is the tendency to coat meat in cornstarch to tenderize it. Cut pork into strips and marinate in soy sauce and cornstarch mixture for at least half an hour. We used about half a pound of pork for an entire package of pickled mustard greens. Heat oil, add garlic, stir-fry pork until lightly browned, then add pickled mustard greens. This dish ended up being the saltiest dish of the four, so it was a good balance to my three dishes. 

Garlic bokchoy A true classic. Green leafy vegetables stir-fried with garlic is a staple to most everyday dinner tables. Make sure you take apart each individual leaf and wash out the dirt! This process can be applied to the cooking of any green leafy vegetable, but in this case we used what we call (青菜 qing cai): Heat oil, add garlic, stir until fragrant, add washed greens, add salt and pepper to taste. The end result is a savory but clean plate of greens! How long you cook your greens should vary on your preference of softness/crunchiness. Typically leafy greens should retain some crunchiness without being raw. 

Two-pepper chicken My take on a Sichuan dish called three-pepper chicken, which uses long hot peppers, bell peppers, and sichuan peppercorn. I don’t love the sensation of numbing sichuan peppercorn, so I omitted it. I love the balance between sweet bell peppers and spicy long hot peppers, but since the supermarket didn’t have any long hot, I substituted in two jalapeños. I also prefer using chicken thigh, but the store didn’t have any chicken thigh that looked good, so I substituted in fresher looking chicken drumsticks from which I cut all the meat off the bone. Regardless of what cut of chicken you have, cut chicken into bite size pieces. Heat oil, add garlic, stir-fry chicken. When stir-frying meat, the standard procedure is add some soy sauce / let that reduce / add some cooking wine / let that reduce. I didn’t have cooking wine but it turned out fine! For seasoning, I added a good scoop of shacha sauce (沙茶酱 sa cha jiang) which we typically only use as a hotpot condiment at home, but it was perfect as a coking condiment in this dish. The sauce is made of bits of different seafood and sesame oil and the flavor complimented the chicken well. While chicken in cooking, cut bell peppers into bite-size chunks and dice jalapeños. To control how spicy this dish becomes, you need to pay attention to how much of the jalapeños seeds are used. For my spice tolerance, I removed half of the seeds from each of the jalapeños, which you can do by cutting the pepper in the middle from stem to tip and scooping the seeds out. Add peppers to cooked chicken, add salt/pepper/soy sauce to taste. Optional last step: turn off heat and add chopped green onions for garnish and a little extra flavor. 

Tomato egg-drop soup This is such an easy soup to make, and is a go-to when time-crunched and you don’t feel like making a bone based soup that would take longer. A hack that my mom always uses is to flavor the soup with the pickled mustard green used to flavor Szechuan style spicy/sour fish stew (酸菜鱼 suan cai yv). I actually never realized that these pickled greens were the same as the ones that Matt used in the first dish, because the ones he used in his stir-fry were mostly stem while the once used in these condiment packages are mostly leaf. You learn something new everyday! First, cut tomatoes into larger chunks and lightly stir fry in some oil. Add water and bring to light boil. We left the soup like this while cooking the rest of the meal so when we came back to it the tomatoes were definitely nice and soft, but it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes on a high boil. At this point, add the spicy/sour fish condiments aka pickled mustard greens and salt. Definitely don’t add the entire package, but incrementally add so that it doesn’t end up making your soup overwhelmingly sour/spicy. To create the egg drop texture, beat eggs in a bowl and add incrementally to boiling soup while stirring the pot. The soup is now done, but for extra flavor, chop up a bunch of green onions and cilantro and dump it all on top, as pictured. 

Don’t forget to pair with white rice! 

[curious-minx]

The Art Patron (SHORT STORY)

Somewhere in between purchasing a full set of decorative Simpsons plates, a perfectly cromulent companion to my custard yellow walls, and generating writing prompts for aspiring writers to never do, I made a discovery that will change my life forever. 

My love language is tinsel wrapped gifts of the highest and personal order. I wanted my lady love to have a very special Kansas Day. She wasn’t from Kansas, nor did she care much for the Simpsons. She liked them just fine. Oh! A fellow is offering the artistic service of turning “ME!” into a Simpson! My walls could use all of the soggy rubber ducky yellow art it can get and seeing as the only pictures I have of myself are in the womb I think this would be one step closer to adulthood. Click, yes, sir please Turn Me into a Simpson button. Huh…$500. That’s really steep. I close the laptop and pace  around my small, growing increasingly smaller bedroom, and  I trip over a foam dumb bell. I am black and bruised. I have even made myself start bleeding. Dammit I guess I have no choice but to turn myself into a Simpson now. How else will I remember how I looked before I broke my face, but I don’t own any pictures of myself!

I have been grocery shopping recently at Sal’s Little Big Sega Bodega! She’s surely got me on camera. I huff down the thirty six flights of my storied building and tip my doorman handsomely. Listen to the heels click and clatter, Big City Blues are calling me. Sal’s Little Big Sega Bodega is one of the only approachable monuments to commerce on this fiscally icy block. I waltzed right in through the copyright infringing doors and blast a salutations to Sal herself. Sal puffs on a waterlogged stodgy and turns a page in a dirty magazine about Russian propaganda. There is a man dressed up in a Sonic the Hedgehog suit cleaning up a bloody mess pooling around the cramped store.

The man dressed as Sonic tells me,“Surf’s up, homie.” The gory puddle ripples and soaks. I step around armed with an armful of Clickers, a steady Shenmue stress ball and a  pre-wrapped Alex Kidd Enchanted Castle hoagie, I will have to pick out the pickled capers but it’s still a nice mayo dense sammie.

“Sal, fair clerkess I am hoping you are having a good day.” I am going to crack into the Sal safe one chit at a chat.

“Nope. Keep it moving, kid. Take your change.” She slides my change across the counter and even though I typically despise when people refuse to make hand to hand contact with lending of money I can accept Sal when she does this. She has clearly lived a life.

“I understand, the ToeJam and Earl flavored condoms don’t stock themselves.”

Sal snaps back, “Look-I know you appreciate all of this geeky shit, but this is my livelihood.”

“Sal, I really think you should take an improv class. You would learn not to start all of these customer interactions marinated in sea salt brine saltier than Ecco the Dolphin’s home...I will see myself out.” Damn I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ask for a simple favor. An old woman with a brawny  pale tattooed man on leash has entered the store just as I am leaving. The old woman takes off her wig, revealing a bald shiny head and a pistol. She begins shoving the pistol at Sal. Sonic turns on the Jet Set Radio to full blast and slips in the bloody puddle.

I don’t want to call the police, but I call the police.

“Hello, I don’t like you.”

“911, what is your emergency.” The tone of the pig operator is harsh and accusatory. I try to swallow, but I am choking on my enchanted hoagie.

“Bang! Bang! Cops and robbers! 72nd and Pacific Ave! Be here or be square!” I hang up the phone and in my burst of adrenaline have to remind myself to not smash my own phone. I go around the corner and wait for the cops who show up. Hours go by and the Sega bodega burns, robbed and pillage. What a world. The cops finally show up when they finally feel like it and are asking Sal the typical useless questions.

“An old woman and her lackey robbed me blind and you’re just going to file some paperwork?!”

“Listen, sweetheart, this is a big bad world. Shit happens. Buck up.” Office Doomsdairy tips his cardboard hat at Sal and takes a Chocolate Milk that has one of the Super Monkey Ball Monkeys winking on the carton. The cop chugs the whole milk carton and slides Sal a twenty.

“Buy yourself something happy, you look like a miserable bitch. Also, I grew up in a Nintendo household you’re lucky I don’t arrest you for being on the wrong side of the console wars! God dammit! I hate all of these sexual harassment protocols! I used to have a partner I could wisecrack to! Thank you for calling 911, have a nice day.” The cop is leaving and I puff my chest like a mighty Maine puffin and say to the officer, “Wait!”

The cop responds, “Dude, I’m on break. Buzz off.”

“No officer, you should take a look at the security camera footage. You will see that Sal isn’t lying!”

“Yeah, sure whatever.” The filthy cop and I go back inside and now with the Wrong side of the Law by my side I can finally get my security camera footage.

“Why don’t you just take a picture of yourself? You have a phone don’t you?” Asks a nagging insipid voice that sounds rough and grainy against my thoughts. I shove the voice away and continue standing by the dirty Lawman’s side.

“So uh I think I need to see the security livestream. You do have a security camera right?”

“Yes, officer, I have security.”  Sal makes a throat cutting motion over to the Sonic man behind her who sadly puts away his Golden Axe. Sal lifts open her gate for the officer to step through and he immediately turns on the bathroom security footage and begins fast tracking and rewinding the footage stopping at every womanly shape. He does this for a while and clutches at his foam padded pants.

“Hey kid, this technology bewilders me. Maybe you should find the crime.” The cop stretches and scrolls through his phone while I fumble with this alien technology hoping to click the right video feed. I eventually stumble, click onto a feed of the main entryway and rewind to the robbery. I look over and notice that the cop is injecting himself with a violent red powder and kicking at Sal’s managerial locker. I rewind further and find a good headshot of myself prior to my accident. Seeing as I stop in every day it doesn’t take long for me to find yesterday’s beautiful face. I cringe and take out my own phone and take a picture of my image on the security camera display monitor. I fast forward back over to the unfolding of the crime. Another cop appears, Officer Wrathsberg.

“Fuckin hurry up Doom! What’s the hold up? You jerking off to potty pics again? And who the hell is this civilian? Get out of here!” I take my leave and hurry back home with a visage of myself in tow. I tip my doorman again and rush back up my thirty six flights of stairs. Back home. My plants are still wilting, my cat still isn’t back from her shopping trip, and my walls are still the color of Big Bird’s sperm. I upload a picture of a picture of myself and take another $500 out of my savings. I am going to be turned into a Simpsons.

The Simpsonfy me fill out form is of a considerable depth. They want to know a lot of personal information that I am frankly insulted no one has ever asked me about before. Some questions make me reconsider my entire worldview. I am going to be one terrific Simpson. I finish the survey and look for a way to tip the artist, but their cryptic Paypal does not offer a tip button so I add on an extra $25 to the $500. I wait. In the amount of time it takes for someone to open and close an app I get a response.

“Thanks. I will see you tonight.”

“Wait, what?” I say out loud and really wish I hadn’t. Going to take hours to get this kind of negative energy out of my house. I type up, “No thanks, please find attached the photograph of my visual likeness to assist you on what I am sure to be a lovely portrait. Thanks again and I hope you have a nice Kansas day!”

I close my laptop and masturbate because I am grateful for being an artistic patron. I feel what Walt Disney must have felt every time he flexed and brought a new animated confection to the world. The wait for the portrait will be excruciating.

My lady love, who is totally not my sister, Franchesca has returned home! I rush to the front door like a toddler puppy hybrid too cute for his own good embracing the warm glow of the Feminine return, and she grunts out a hello. She peels off every article of clothing off from her body and leaves it behind like a scorned Pompei cast away and excuses herself to the shower. I bend down and sweep up her sticky and sweet bundle of clothes and fold them into the clothing hamper. I wait for her shower and she joins me in the rhomboid rumpus (and rumble) room clad in nothing but her Parisian robe.

“So, how was your day?” asks Franchesca, and I look into the depths of her expansive molasses colored eyes.

“Pretty good! I got you a Kansas Day gift! Do you want to open it now or later?” I hand her the wrapped stack of decorative Simpsons plates.

“Um sure? Kansas Day? Is this because I told  you about that anime convention orgy I attended in Kansas? Either way, it is appreciated.” She unravels my gift which is wrapped in such a way to provide a user-friendly experience. She stares  at the top plate on the stack, Lisa and Bleeding Gums Murphy saxing together in the moonlight. The best plate. Franchesca puts it down, not even considering the other four plates in the set.  

“Thanks so much! I am sure one of these will look great hanging up on her walls the color of sick lemon. The purples will work real nicely. Now if you don’t mind me I think I will have a nice lie down for awhile. Wake me if you need anything.” Franchesca retires to her separate bed chambers leaving the pile of decorative plates and wrapping paper. I don’t bother picking them up. I don’t know what sort of reaction I was expecting, but this one left me cold. At the very least she could have dramatically smashed one against my head if she hated them so much. I slink away to the liquor cabinet.

I bend down to the  liquor cabinets’ sleepy filigree doors and whisper into them, “I will take one big and brown, please.” I take out a mostly full bottle of pre-made Whiskey Sour. Too many times I have gotten super sloshed making my own cocktails and making a huge mess in the kitchen, and as anyone who has ever met me always leaves with one and only one impression: “I can tell that he’s not the biggest fan of messes.” I messily chug straight from the bottle until I sputter out the synthetic 65% concoction. I pour another glass in a frosted novelty glass of a franchise I don’t even like and sink into my chaise beanbag lounge. At least when I wake up I will finally be a Simpson.

////

My throat is too dry to swallow. My eyes, too blurry and caked over to blink. My arms were too roped and bound to move. I try to speak but only weakness comes out. Every inch of my body feels like it is experiencing a tingly chemical burn. I produce a groan! That’s progress. The room isn’t spinning, but it’s not a stable clear image for me either.

“Congratulations Mister Branche, you’ve officially been made into a Simpson.”

“Dooough.” I am trying to ask what the hell is going on, but my mouth is also too heavily caked over in a rubbery mask to move. My vision is starting to reappear and I am not too sure I want to keep seeing what I am seeing.

“Hush, now do you want an official Simpson name? I was thinking Albert Sacksworth, but I am always open to my clients suggestions. No rush, but I will need a decision in less than twenty four hours if we are going to sign your official Simpsons birth certificate.

“Dooough.” I am trying to say that this is an outrage and as a fellow literalist I am sickened by this criminal negligence, untie me you scoundrel!

I am released into the world as a Simpson character. I only have eight fingers now. I will use all eight of these fingers to climb my way back into my lady loves’ arms.

The End.

[firethatgrewsolow]

Chapter Fifty-eight

**Hey there - Okay, so this is basically unadulterated smut w a side of sap.  I needed to do it.  Hope you understand. :-)  And I hope you like it.  Thanks for reading! <3**

Michelle quietly closed the bathroom door and padded toward the bed.  Robert was still sleeping, heavily by the look of it.  She took in the lines of his broad back, pausing on the dark little patch of fuzz dusting the lower part.  She caressed the spot, swiftly withdrawing her hand as the singer shifted.  He stilled, and she carefully slid into the sheets, continuing her tentative exploration.  His hair was fanned across the pillow, and she swept it away from his neck, revealing the tiny golden ringlets at the base of it.  She skimmed the tip of her finger across them, gracing each one with a light kiss.  She wondered how much of the night he would remember.  

The dream dissolved as Robert sensed a feather touch on the nape of his neck.  He recognized the feel of her lips and began to smile.  The smile morphed into a grimace at the riot in his head, and he turned to her, stretching mightily, relieved to find forgiveness in her eyes.  “Good morning.”

“Feeling some pain?” Michelle asked, brushing her hand across the pillow crease along the side of his face.

“I’ve been better,” he replied sheepishly, images of the evening flooding back to him.  Just desserts, probably merits worse than a hangover.  He pressed his palm to her cheek.  “I’m so sorry about last night.  I made a mess of everything.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”  He expelled a breath, rolling onto his side.  “I was a . . . Christ, it was complete shambles.”

“It wasn’t complete shambles, just maybe, um, partial shambles,” she teased, her mouth curving.

He traced her lower lip with his thumb.  “Oh, honey, I don’t know what’s in my mind. When I see you with other . . . well, I get a bit territorial, I guess.”

“Just a bit?  I'd say so.”  Michelle combed her fingers through the long tendrils that were tickling her face, marveling at the two sides of him.  A jealous git?  Yes.  But also so gentle and sweet.  And she had to admit there was a piece of her that relished the way he wanted her, the way he needed her.  “It makes you frisky.  I like that part.”

Robert chuckled, nuzzling her ear.  “Frisky?  Is that what you call it?”  He kissed her jaw, trailing his mouth down her neck.  “Then I can be frisky anytime you want.”

Chills erupted as he found her breast, a wave of heat rippling through her.  “I can be frisky, too.”

“Oh, yeah?”  Robert grinned, pulling her on top of him.  Her skin was like velvet as he cupped her backside, his body responding like it always did.  He could never get enough.  “Baby, you make me, mmm . . . I love you so much.” He wrapped his arms around her, totally engulfing her.  “I don’t deserve you.  Do you know that?”  

Michelle propped up on her elbows, wiggling against his burgeoning erection.  “Of course.”

He cocked his head with a pout.  “You don’t have to sound so certain, love.”

A devilish gleam filled her eye as she glanced to the nightstand, which was draped by the silk scarf he’d worn the previous evening.  “I can tell you what you do deserve.”

“And what exactly is that?”  Robert’s dimple deepened as he followed her line of sight.

“I believe you might have an idea.”  She reached for the tie, coaxing his arms above his head.  He started to resist, and she gripped him harder.  “No.”

“Careful, Belle.  Playing with fire, darlin’.  We’ve been down this road before.”

“Not quite . . . and you owe me,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his.  “Just consider it?  For a minute?”  She kissed him, their tongues entwining.  At the hum of his faint groan, her fingers went to work, nimbly twisting the fabric around his wrists and headboard.  The deed done, she broke away, savoring his grumble as she admired her craft.

“Master of distraction, I see.”  Robert tugged at the silk, testing the binding.  “And a pretty good knot, too.”

“You’re so easy,” she replied coyly.  “All you think about is one thing.”

His gaze flickered to her chest.  “I’d say maybe two things, really.”  

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”  Michelle leaned over him, letting her breasts graze the sides of his face.  “And that’s why you deserve to be punished.”  She giggled as he pulled at the restraint, his arousal obvious.  He was strong, but so was her handiwork.  “You’re not getting free so stop trying.”

“When I do get free . . . and I will . . . you are going to pay dearly, girl.”

“Good,” she shot back, deliberately writhing into him.  “Luck, that is.”  She pecked his bottom lip, giving it a sharp bite.

Robert winced at the sting.  “Fuck, that hurt!”  

“I hope so,” she purred, canvassing her prize.  “Now, where should I begin?”  She rubbed the palms of her hands together expectantly.  “Hmmm.  First, I think I just want to look at you . . . all of you . . . every inch.”  She ripped back the bedding, exposing him in his entirety.  Every glorious inch, indeed.  She let her eyes pore over his body, drinking in each drop, from his curl-dusted shoulders to the trail of the other curls that she loved so much.  He was so fucking hard, as she knew he’d be, and like a magnet to steel, she clasped him, delighting in his quiet moan.  “Does that feel good, Robert?”  She lapped him with her tongue.  Just once, nothing more.  “Is that what you want?”

“You damn well know what I want.”

Her gaze glided up his long, muscular calves and thighs, finally resting on his eyes, which were teeming with frustration.  “Maybe I’ll start . . . here.”  She pounced, nipping his earlobe and delivering kisses down his neck and onto his chest.  “Mmm, you taste salty.”

“I’ve got something even saltier for you.”

“I bet you do.”  She ran her tongue around his nipple, giving it a tug, and she smiled at his sudden intake of breath.  “Do you like that?”

“I like it all, and you know that, too.”  Bloody hell, he was practically throbbing.

Michelle continued her succulent assault, slowing as she reached his taut tummy.  It quivered as her tongue moved across it, and she felt him shift, slightly spreading his thighs in anticipation of what he seemed sure was coming.  Smirking, she stopped cold.  “Not yet, baby.  You didn’t tell me what you wanted.  You need to say it.  Remember that?”  He narrowed his eyes, and Michelle reveled in the power she held.  She drifted lower, slinking a finger down his abs.  “Is this it?” she taunted, painstakingly making her way closer to his erection.  “Oooh, you mean this,” she murmured, tracing lazy circles around it.  His body jerked as she made contact, and she captured his gaze, offering him a soft, wet kiss on the glistening tip.  The flick of her tongue made his eyes shut, and she grinned, stroking the ridge just the way he liked it.  She was rewarded with a low groan that deepened as her mouth enveloped him.  

Robert yanked the silk tether as he thrust, urging her to take more.  “Come on, Michelle.”  

She shook her head, her lips curling up.  “Uh-uh.”

His frustration had graduated to near desperation, and he gritted his teeth.  “You better fucking finish what you started.”

“Well, maybe just a little bit more.”  She kissed him again, licking and sucking as she cupped him, giving him a subtle squeeze.  He was tense . . . and close.  Too close.  “Okay, I’m done,” she sang, snickering at his muted growl.  “I like teasing you.  It’s fun.”  

“Little girl, when I get out of this . . .”

“What?”  She dropped over him in a straddle, rubbing his cock along the insides of her thighs.  “What are you going to do?”

As their eyes met, she let the tip slip in, and Robert pulled the ties reflexively, his head falling back.  Christ, she was already so wet . . . fuck, it was so tight, so fucking good.

The pressure of him right near her entrance was pure perfection, and Michelle moaned, commencing a slow and steady sway, keeping him exactly where she needed him to be.  “Just the tip, yeah?  How’s that?”

“I’ll take anything,” he rasped, pivoting his hips, doing his best to drive deeper.  Goddamn, he was going to come, and he wanted to do it deep inside of her.

“No, no, no,” she chided, stilling as she heard the telltale grunt in the back of his throat.

His brow raised in warning.  “You need to finish this, darlin’.  Right now.”  

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do.”  As her lips formed another sassy smirk, Robert wrenched from the binding, the silk scarf flying apart in tatters.  He was done with the game.  He grabbed her hips and slammed her down, groaning at the hot, wet constriction.  In one motion, he twisted around, tossing her onto the bed underneath him.  “You are going to be fucked hard, and you’re going to be fucked soft.  Which one first?”

Michelle opened her mouth to respond, finding no words.  There was a carnal look in his eyes that she knew all too well.  She’d been kidding herself that she was in control.  He’d known he could break the restraint any second he wanted.  The thought turned her on even more.

“Out of time, honey.  I pick hard.”

She gasped as he threw her legs around his waist, a delicious ache swirling in between them.  “Then do it.”

It was rough and tumble, slick and dirty, with only one thing on each of their minds.  Coming.  She was already out of her head, pushing against him as he had his way.  It didn’t matter . . . she was getting hers first.  The wild rhythm began to work its magic, and her legs tensed as she swallowed, clutching his back.  She was almost there . . . right on the cusp when he grunted, thrusting one last time.  Smug satisfaction poured onto his face as he poured into her, and she collapsed into the bedding, pounding her fist.  “You shit!  You selfish, little . . .”

“Sorry, Belle,” he drawled, his smile broadening.  “One of us had to win.”  He flinched as she swatted his arm.  “Come on, now, that was just a start.  You know I can’t make it in the morning.”

“You fucker.”

His eyes sailed across her body.  “Yeah, I guess I kinda am, huh?”  As she began her barbed retort, he pressed his finger onto her lips.  “Shhh . . . now it’s time for soft, right?  Get on top, baby.”  

He scooped her up, dropping onto his back, the heat returning with a vengeance as he positioned himself, already so hard.  “How can you be . . .”  

“It’s you, darlin’ . . . I could do this all day long.  I’m just here to make you feel good.”

She sighed as he gradually entered her, a slow, sensual slide.  He did make her feel good . . . all the time, no matter what.  True to his word, his thrusts were soft and gentle, and she rocked against him, the sweet push and pull bringing her right back to the edge.  His mouth locked on hers, and she moaned, sensing the luscious tickle inside.  He tasted like cider and cigarettes, his web of warmth encompassing her as he guided her back and forth, up and down, touching the deepest part of her. God, this man is magic.  Everything about him. The tickle transformed into a decadent throb, eliciting another long moan as she grabbed handfuls of his hair.  Fuck . . . the things he did to her.  He gently leaned her back, and she clutched the tops of his thighs, crying out as he hit the spot, a tremor racing through her.

“That’s it, yeah?”  Robert pursed his lips, taking her in.  She was on full display, flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat . . . a beautiful, dripping mess.  He cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs against her impossibly taut nipples, and her fingers tightened around his thighs as she quickened her pace.  Thank Christ, she was almost there.

Michelle began to move faster, her nails biting into his skin as the pressure inside coiled and spiraled.  Her eyes began to well up as she felt the inkling of release.  “Oh, fuck, yes . . . do not fucking stop.”

“I couldn’t if I wanted to,” he muttered, trying like hell not to come.  “Do it, love.”

“Oh, God . . . oh . . .”  Her brow wrinkled as her eyes found his, the exquisite tension finally giving way.  She groaned as her body shuddered, crumpling against him in a damp, sticky heap.

Robert clenched his jaw as she clenched him, no longer able to hold back.  He wrapped his arms around her as she fell into his chest, the sounds of their ecstasy filling up the room.  Fucking hell.  It had been worth the wait.

[hibernatingfeline]

Complication ; jjk

genre;; romance, angst word count;; 1400+

Jeon Jungkook, that name has been mentioned several times on your prayers. It’s been a month since you had a little fight with him, yet it was the last time he texted you. You’ve tried to contact through every possible media but nonetheless, you still can’t reach him.

At first, you thought that he was busy with his career since he had to prepare for the upcoming comeback. But now, your patience is on a critical condition. Only one cure can solve all of this mess,

Him

Stalking each other’s feeds has been your habit since the day he confessed to you, the day when you finally release all of your butterflies you’ve been keeping on your stomach.

The day when he finally gave up his lip virginity and planted it to yours.

Back then, when both of you used to spend your weekend in front of your computer for hours, leaning to each other’s lap just to watch some random movies. When you could feel his warm fingers when he stroked your hair, thinking that you were sleeping. When you can’t help but to draw some doodles on his face right before he woke up. When he chased you around the house because of your doings, and back hugged, hiding his face. You can’t help but to ruffle his hair, dividing it into two before he hid his face again, this time into his own palms because you looked him right into his eyes.

You’ve always admired the way he sings gracefully every morning just to wake you up, the way he stared you every time you weren’t looking, the way he shyly removed your glasses every time you asked him to because your hands were full of groceries. Yet you didn’t realize that all these times,

You’ve always been an admiration to him.

He always knew every time you feel mournful, he tried his best just to cheer you up. Sometimes when you miss that side of his, you just had to act as if he let you down. He got along with the act very well for sure; he knew that you were acting. Thought that you had the entire world just for having him by your side,

But nothing stays forever

“You sure you have to?”

“Yes, I’ll contact you. Don’t worry”

“What if I was asleep?”

“…”

“Jeon Jungkook, we’ll have different time zone, You should have known about this, you should fully aware that by the time you’ve done your works you won’t have time to contact me in any ways because,” you stopped, letting out a huge sigh, telling yourself not to cry in your last meeting with him, the last time you held his hands.

“Spoil it.” He turned serious. You didn’t understand what he was talking about. He took out sunglasses and a mask, and even removed his beanie and put it on your head. He made you looked like a runway idol. He burst out his laughter and you burst out your tears.

You tried to wipe away all those tears, but as soon as you moved your hands, he pulled you straight to his embrace. “You looked like a kid with that beanie on.” You can hear his trembling voice.

Yes, he was crying too.

“You’re such a crybaby.” He whispered to your ears, but you knew fully that he was trying to hide his sadness just like what he usually does. He teased you, in order to stop your tears from coming out. It didn’t help at all. He was the one who made you happy, yet he couldn’t stop himself for leaving a scar in your heart.

BEEP…

You received a notification, but you didn’t even bother to open it because you knew, it wasn’t from him. You’ve tired waiting for his reply. There’s no more reason to lie down in your bed, waiting for a miracle when he came back and say, “I’m back.”

You gave up. It’s time to stop on dreaming and start facing the reality. You slowly brushed a tiny smile as you type,

“Jeon Jungkook, we’re through. Thank you.”

Getting angry for unknown reason was your best pet peeve. Picking up your keys, you drove to the nearest mart and bought some groceries. Thought that nature and this city can distract you from him, you were wrong after all. He still and will always stuck in your mind, no matter how many times have you told yourself to give up. And this place reminded you about him again, you can’t believe what kind of love you had with him a year ago.

Someone called you,

“Ji Yeon ah. Are you okay?”

You didn’t respond. For some specific reason, your mouth kept closed. You couldn’t even answer that one simple question. You felt like missing something that had gone a long time ago. Not wanting anyone to worry about your condition, you faked a smile, “I’m okay. I’m just a little bit tired.”

Usually at these times, you always have that one shoulder you can always lean on. It was genuine, and now you had nothing but a mere pillow which has been a place you laid your tears every time you blame yourself for not picking up his calls because you were asleep. The tears that have become saltier when you see a selca of him and a girl that seemed to be one of his co-workers. The tears when he finally said that he had enough of you because he thought you were cheating on him when you started to ignore his messages and hanging out with some guys he hasn’t met before. The tears that you let out because when you tried to clear all of these misunderstandings, he said that he needs some spaces. The pillow that used to be the witness of your first love, turned out to be a grave of your heart.

As you pressed the red phone button, you passed through a stall you used to go every time you pleaded Jungkook to buy a mango smoothie that has been always your favorite and strawberry as his. Here comes again, as usual, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Ordered a strawberry and mango smoothie at medium size, you slurped both, just to remind yourself how they can’t be mixed together. Sure it was fruity sweet; however sourness suddenly invaded your taste buds and bitterness to your heart. You’ve long realized, how can a talented boy like him who’s admired by all got his eyes on you? Just like how strawberry gets the most attention than mango will ever do, no matter how sweet the mango is.

You arranged the groceries nicely in the fridge, just like what you and Jungkook always do. Your mind was full of questions, you were wondering how life has been doing to both of you. Did something unwanted happened to him? You don’t even know. But the most questionable question is,

“Am I the one who broke this relationship?”

You realized that you can’t blame if he bored of you, of this long stray relationship. Yes indeed he hasn’t been a good partner, but you haven’t done your part as a good girlfriend either. You started to regret how you ended these whole efforts he has been doing for the past year by sending you some voice messages every time he wants you to know that he’s doing just fine there, and you, you only repaid him with a heart-breaking short reply. And when he does the same thing to you, you complained instead of apologizing first.

Wishing that you didn’t send that broke-up-request, you hurried to delete that message. You prayed, hoping that he didn’t read that message. You quickly booked the earliest flight you can get tomorrow, straight to Seoul. To clear all of this misunderstanding, to let him know that you still and always will love him no matter how far you’ve been apart from him. Yet, you had to prepare yourself because no matter how clear your explanation is,

There was still possibility that he’ll end this relationship.

Packing your things up, you brought only few clothes. You’ll be gone by morning. Tired, devastated, all included into one emotion. You closed your eyes, but your mind still blown about how he’ll react. It was half past midnight, and you still haven’t sleep. The sound of the ticking clock continues its ticks as your eyes slowly blurred. It was all dim, but then you felt two hands was wrapping slowly around your waist, the sound of heavy breathing started to invade your ears as your hair being ruffled,

“Happy Birthday.”

[redgrapetae]

since you write for pairings i wondered if you could do a yoonmin soulmate au? thank you!

thank you for requesting!! hope you like it!

Title: I Just Want To See The Light ( & I Do When I’m With You)

No. of words: 2k+

SoulmateAU where when you first meet your soulmate, you can see colours +their first words will be imprinted on your skin. but like, an editedversion of it (will explain in story).

Jimin’ssalty.

He’slike saltier than McDonald’s french fries, and saltier than Jungkookwhen he loses in a game.

Allhis friends around him had already met their soulmate, and wereforever going on about the beauty of colours. Jimin was happy forthem, of course he was, they were, after all, his friends. But healso couldn’t deny he was just a teeny bit jealous. And curious.Well, really curious actually.

Mostof his friends had met their soulmates slightly before or right atthe age of 17, but here Jimin was, at 19, with still nothing.Or, the correct word would be, nobody. Taehyung, one of hisclosest friends, had recently met Jungkook (his soulmate). Andalthough Taehyung did meet Jungkook at 19 (Jimin’s age), itwas understandable since Jungkook had just hit 17 when they met.

Itwas like a thing, where when you reach a certain age, you justseem to gravitate more towards where your soulmate would be, and youjust find them.

Like…like magic.

ButJimin was sure his soulmate was older. He could feel it. Itwas another one of those soulmate things, and the fact that hissoulmate was most possibly older, meant that it wasn’t quiteunderstandable that Jimin hadn’t met him yet. He knew of some caseswhere people never met their soulmates at all, and Jimin would neverwant that to happen to him. He was too much of a romantic, after all.

Itwas a strange concept, the whole soulmate thing. You could know theperson your whole life, but would never know whether he or she isyour soulmate until you reach 17. You don’t just see colourswhen you meet your soulmate. It’s when they speak their first words,and just as those words ink themselves onto your skin, you start tosee colour.

Ifyour soulmate was older than you, and you haven’t reached The Ageyet, your first words to them would appear on their skin, and they’dbe able to see colours. But for you, their first words won’t appearuntil you turn 17, and only then will everything come to light.Literally. This very much happened in Jungkook’s and Taehyung’s case.

“C'monJimin!” Taehyung passes him a grin as he pulls out what he calls a‘red’ tshirt. Jimin wouldn’t know, all he saw was black and white.“It’ll be fine! It’s like… being a late bloomer, ya know?”. AsTaehyung slides the shirt smoothly off the hanger, Jimin’s eyesinstinctively snaps to the small black words written across his paleskin. It said ’You’rean idiot, but I love you, Kim Taehyung,’.It was possibly one of the things Jimin would have neverexpectedto come out of Jungkook’s mouth. (That kid was hard as rock butseemed to turn into jelly with Taehyung.)

SinceTaehyung and Jungkook had been best friends before either of themturned 17, they were already affectionate to each other, hence,Taehyung’s tattoo. Jimin hoped to have something as sweet as that onhis wrist… hethinks.

“Lasttime I recalled, being a late bloomer isn’t exactly a good thing,”Jimin sniffles bitterly, pulling on the red shirt before reaching fora pair of pants. “Don’t. Take that,” Taehyung warned, “That’sorange.It clashes horribly with red,”.

Jiminretracts his hand quickly, before making a face. “Thanks,” Hemutters before taking the 'black’ – Taehyung said – pants fromhis best friend. “By the way, I’m going over to Jungkook’s laterfor a party. Wanna come?”.

Shruggingon a leather jacket, Jimin ruffles his hair. “Nah, I’ve got a shiftas pizza delivery boy later,”. Taehyung gives a simple nod, beforeholding out his fist. Jimin grins when he sees it, then bumps his ownagainst the blonde’s. Theypull away, mimicking an explosion with their fingers.

“Nice,”Taehyung chuckles, finger– gunningJimin as he does so. “See you later, amigo,”He shuts the door behind him and Jimin gives a dismissive wave.

Hechecks the watch on his wrist. 3:00. He had a few hours before work,might as well hang out with Hoseok. Fishing his phone out of hispocket, Jimin dials the number.

–

Jiminmet up with Hoseok at the nearby coffee shop. It was going finereally, Hoseok was still as bright as the sun as he rambled on aboutthe new gig he had (he was a performer, dancer to be exact) whileJimin listened. Jimin was always known for being a good listeneranyways. Sometimes he thinks that’s why all his friends stuck around.

Butthen there’s the familiar chime of the bells hanging on the doorhandles and Jimin turns to look. Which is ridiculous becausenormally, he wouldn’t have cared. But it was on instinct, like howyou automatically turn to look at someone who just walked in late toclass. Not that you were judging, but their movement was sudden, andit attracted you.

Exceptthis wasn’t sudden. It was normal. And yet, Jimin turned to look. Hefound himself enraptured as a black (well of course) haired walkedthrough those doors, hands shoved deep inside his matching blackskinny jeans. The guy seemed to have a permernant pout stuck on hisface but for some reason, Jimin found it cute.

Hiseyes ran up and down the guy shamelessly, and he found his heartbeatstart to pick up. But… why? Could it be…

“Jimin!”Hoseok snapped his fingers in front of Jimin’s face, and the youngerjolts in his seat. He looks up to see Hoseok’s eyebrows knittedtightly together in concern as he stares Jimin straight in the eyes.“Are you okay? You were really spaced out there,”.

Jiminlets out an incoherent 'yeah, i’m good,’ before pushing his chairback and standing up. “Look, I gotta go for awhile,” Jimin barelyspares a glance at Hoseok as he says this. It’s like he had tobe near that guy. Something in his gut was telling him that,screaming at him to 'move closer’.

Tappingon the man’s shoulder, Jimin was about to part his lips to speak whenthe man turned around abruptly, several cups of coffee in hand.Unfortunately, Jimin was standing a little too close, and thecups knocked onto his chest before promptly spilling down onto thefloor and staining both their shirts.

Jimin’seyes widened at the sight (and he was glad that the coffee waslukewarm instead of scorching hot) and he felt himself turn red. Theman’s eyes pierced straight to his, and Jimin’s breath hitched. Hecouldn’t even speak, not with that gaze on him. He wanted toapologize, wanted to buy the man another drink, but he couldn’t. Hewas frozen to his spot.

Theman’s eyes softened for just a second as he looked at Jimin, buthardened soon enough. He didn’t even talk. Not even to tell Jiminoff. Instead, a low growl tumbled past his lips and he shoved pastthe younger with a dirty look.

It’sonly when Jimin hears the 'tink!’ of the bells start to fade does hemove. The cashier is staring at him, and not in a nice way. Hegives a smile that he hopes is apologetic before bending down tocollect the fallen cups. Hoseok is beside him in record time, helpingJimin and passing him multiple tissues before the cleaner comes andshooes the both of them away.

“Whatwas that?” Hoseok exclaims as Jimin washes his hands in the sink.The smell of coffee is strong, and everywhere. “I don’t know,”Jimin swallows. All he can remember is sharp orbs as they staredright into his.

–

“You!”Jimin screeches into the phone, and one of his co workers halts togive him a look. He sends her a charming smile, and she blinks,almost confused before walking away. It works everytime. “That’snot how you speak to a customer,” The voice on the other line says.

“You’reno customer,” Jimin sniffles. He looks left and right, making surehis manager was nowhere near before continuing, “Fine. Whaddyawant?”.

“Theones we usually buy, but like 5 boxes of those. All large,”Taehyung replies. Jimin doesn’t have to jot it down to remember.“Yeah? For the party?”. “That’s right,” Jimin can almost seeTaehyung nodding on the other end, “By the way, there’s thiscute rapper here to perform for it. I think you might like him, likeas a friend or whatever,”.

Jiminthinks back of the man he saw at the coffee shop. Definitely lookedlike a rapper now that he thought about it. He shook his head, no,too vague.

“Pizzasare on the way,” Jimin says, ignoring Taehyung’s earlier statement.

“Thanksbro,” Taehyung hangs up the call. Jimin quickly relays the messageto the kitchen, before going about answering more calls. It’s whenthe multiple pizza orders have been made does Jimin put on hishelmet, and climb onto his motorcycle. Well… more like the shop’sone, so that he could make the deliveries.

Hedecides to go to Taehyung’s first. Anyways, Taehyung was their firstorder. Jimin gets there quickly, loving the feeling of wind againsthis skin and the thrill of exhilaration as he zooms and maneuveringbetween crowds. He reaches there in about ten minutes. Taking off hishelmet, Jimin ruffles his hair before running fingers through it inan attempt to try and tame it.

Heknocks twice. Something in his heart sinks when he hears whoops ofjoy and music blasting from behind that door, and he wishes he couldhave spent some time with his best friend too. Jimin doesn’t get longto lament when the front door clicks open, and the first thing Jiminsees is a tuft of hair.

Very,familiar hairstyleactually.

Itwas the same guy from the coffee shop. Instantly, Jimin can feel awarm blush spread across his cheeks.

“Areyou the pizza guy?” He asks, eyebrows arches, eyes flashing as herecognizes Jimin’s face.

Ina fluster and slight captivation, Jimin blurts, “I’m yourpizza guy,”.

Asthe last words leave his lips, Jimin feels a sudden sting on hiswrist and his head spins as colour seems to slowly sink and melt intohis world. The only thing he can seem to see is the man in front ofhim. The man’s eyes widened too, and he’s blinking rapidly at Jimin.“Oh god,” Jimin hears himself stutter, “You’re mysoulmate?”.

Ittakes a while for the man to reply, but before he does, he snatchesthe boxes out of Jimin’s hands and places them on a table somewherein the house. He rushes back to Jimin right after. “You?” Theman’s lips are softly parted, “The guy who spilled coffee all overme this morning?”.

Jimin’sface flares. “Th – that’s me,”. He could feel his heartpounding hard and fast in his chest as he gazed at the man in frontof him. Black hair and beautiful dark brown eyes. Pale skin and pink,pretty lips. Like sure, theother colours around him were vibrant and so alive andyet Jimin could only focus on his soulmate. Oh god, Jiminfelt the sudden urge to kiss him.“I never got the chance tosay sorry,” Jimin clears his throat, before passing a small smile.

“It’sfine,” The man says, “I’m Min Yoongi,”. He holds out his hand,and Jimin takes in a staggering breath. “Park Jimin,” He takeshis hand. Something like an electric tingle travels up his hand, andJimin can’t seem to let go. Instead, he interlaces his fingers withYoongi. “Nice name,” Yoongi takes this in his stride, and whenJimin looks closely, there’s a soft tinge of pink on Yoongi’s cheeks.Cute.

“I– ah,” Damn, why did he make Jimin so breathless?He wasn’t even doing anything except standing there, “I have work,”He swallows.

“Ican see that,” Yoongi murmurs. Beautiful,is the one word that runs through and through Jimin’s head, and hedoesn’t know if it’s because he can see colours now or whether it wasbecause of the man standing in front of him. “I’ll see you?”Jimin asks, unsure, hesitant…

That’swhen Yoongi breaks out in a smile, and Jimin’s heart almost beatsit’s way out of his chest. He’d give anything to see that smileagain. Yoongi after all, did seem like the type who rarely smiled.“Not staying?” Yoongi’s voice is whisper – like, eyes coy.Jimin has work, he knows this, but he also knows they make exceptionswhen you first meet your soulmate.

“Ah,fuck it,” Jimin finds himself grinning, and then Yoongi pulls himforward with surprising strength. “C'mon then,” Yoongi’s handleaves his, but Jimin quickly catches it. There’s this thing aboutyour soulmate, where you feel like you have this strong,undescribable bond between each other even though you may have nevermet. Words couldn’t describe such an emotion.

“Myperformance is up soon. I’ll be uh, rapping.” Yoongi’s eyes dart tothe stage.  By the way, there’s this cute rapper here toperform for it. I think you might like him. “Ohyeah, sure,” Jimin nods.

Yoongigives him a smile again, but this time, a more gentle one, andJimin’s heart flutters at the softness of it all.

He’dhave to deal with his boss’s scolding later, right now… well, Jiminwouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Except here. With… MinYoongi.

–

Yoongistill sometimes blames Jimin for their cheesy but matching wristtattoos, like two halves of a heart only whole when put together, butJimin isn’t complaining. He knows Yoongi sort of, kind of likes ittoo.

[almostdiplomatic]

Will you travel for good food? I think it’s one of the best excuses to get off your lazy bum, hop on a train, and discover a new place and some flavours. Last month, I found myself doing just that. We (and by we, I mean my friend Ute along with a couple of other food journalists) were on an important mission around mid-June. We took a short trip to see whether Medinis, the new Italian restaurant facing the Baltic Sea, was worth the trek from Berlin.

Welcome to Medinis

It’s not that far but it’s not a hop across the pond either. We took the Deutsche Bahn to Rostock and was fetched at their Hauptbahnhof by a van. A short drive later, we were in Heiligendamm. A seaside resort town that’s been around since the late 1700s, it’s a popular destination for royalty to relax and unwind when the sun was out. It recently got a facelift as well. A fancy, new hotel, modernised villas, and dining options can be seen right by the sandy beaches.

The ‘White City by the Sea’

Chef Luigi Frascella who used to head private members’ club ‘Harry’s Bar’ in London was convinced to move to the idyllic location and set up his own restaurant there by real estate mogul Anno August Jagdfeld himself. Jagdfeld is currently redeveloping Heiligendamm and was convinced Frascella’s talent was what he needed for the new restaurant in the complex.

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“I love it here. My wife, my daughter – they are happy living here,” Frascella said with a contented smile on his face. “The sunsets are always different, the produce is fresh. It’s a beautiful place.” As the ‘Perlenkette’ (pearl necklace) villas next door are given a new lease on life, Frascella gets to run his restaurant nearby. And it seems nothing makes him happier.

While al fresco dining at Medinis gives you a wonderful view of the Baltic Sea, Germany’s unpredictable weather is not enough reason for you to eat at home instead. The restaurant’s interior is utterly divine. Mr Jagdfeld’s wife, famed interior and landscape designer Anne Maria Jagdfeld, created a cosy yet elegant space for windy evenings and even chilly days.

For foodies and families looking for a special meal during their beach holiday, it looks like the most wonderful setting. “It’s not easy to keep an elegant restaurant next to the beach,” Frascella admitted. “It’s usually a casual setting near the water.”

Their team, however, succeeded in creating a sophisticated, inviting space that won’t intimidate.

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The most calming combination of blue and white dominate the interior. It reminds people of the vastness of the sky and the sea. Huge windows allow light to filter in while giving you an undisturbed view of the Baltic Sea. Outdoor seats were made to be lower than those inside to allow diners sitting indoors a slice of the view as well.

Classic Italian

Chef Luigi Frascella with his Parmesan and Pepper Breadsticks wrapped in Prosciutto

The Jagdfelds didn’t court Frascella for his expertise for nothing. An Italian was needed to run an Italian restaurant.

But it’s much more than that.

Frascella’s talent in making dishes from his motherland has the power to make you feel at home – and I’m not even Italian. Is comfort an ingredient he imports as well? One can only wonder.

Paired with the view, the warm breeze, and great company that day, I found myself feeling so relaxed with a mouthful of potato salad and truffle shavings.

My type-A personality hardly ever allows me to just let go and enjoy moments during the day but I was doing just that.

Maybe living by the sea and eating Frascella’s creations daily is the answer to fully getting rid of my anxieties?  Ah, that would be the dream.

Only the best

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Insalata di Patate e Tartufo

Fresh Focaccia made in-house

Bread freshly made in-house, truffles shaved on to your plate, balsamic vinegar on tables brought in from a small producer in Modena. It’s in the little things, after all. As for their source in Germany, bio farm Gut Vorder Bollhagen is just a kilometre down the road.

“They provide our ingredients. The chickens are moved every 10 days and they get to feed near the sea. Grass in this area is also saltier which makes the meat taste better,” Frascella said.

Peperoni Arrosto Marinati e Acciughe

The Peperoni Arrosto Marinati e Acciughe even features anchovies from Spain. “I like the ones that come from the Atlantic Ocean,” Frascella said. “They have more muscle.”

As someone who loves anchovies to death but looks at bell peppers with disdain, I now know that the only place I’d let paprika anywhere near my mouth is if it’s from Medinis. The fish’s salty flavours gave the bell peppers a whole new flavour profile and I’m all for it.

Summer picks

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Carpaccio di Manzo

Carpaccio di Branzino

It’s not an Italian meal without carpaccio and Frascella took his beef version to the next level by using mustard instead of the same old lemon juice. It’s got a slightly spicier kick than your usual and is balanced out by the parmesan. Divine.

For a healthier choice, I highly recommend the fish version (Branzino) which used sea bass, a lemon confit dressing, and was topped with vegetables. A refreshing, summer dish.

Insalata di Anguria

Speaking of refreshing, the Insalata di Anguria is something that you should order if you want something that says summer all over it. Sweet and salty at the same time. Creamy because of the feta but not cloying thanks to the miso dressing on top. A light crunch adds texture to each bite due to the fresh watermelons and salad.

Fiori di Zucca

Another favourite of mine from the whole meal is the Fiori di Zucca. Zucchini flower stuffed with ricotta cheese and honey cooked in a way that the flower becomes a light, crunchy shell. Cutting through it was such a joy and having the melted ricotta and honey in your mouth played into my bias for the sweet and salty combo. Just be careful that you don’t bite into it when it’s too hot so the ricotta won’t burn your tongue.

Heaven for pasta

Ravioli di Ossobuco

The bad thing about my job is how it elevates my standards for food. Sometimes, a little too much. After having Frascella’s Gnocchi Pomodoro e Basilico, I couldn’t make pasta at home knowing it would not taste remotely the same.

The cure to this is usually me going for a different cuisine for a week. (I went for Vietnamese and lots of Middle Eastern dishes before I could eat pasta again.) Helps your tastebuds forget a little.

I also enjoyed the Ravioli di Ossobuco and a version with sharp, sheep cheese.

If you want to see how they looked, check the three-minute video I posted above about our visit. You’ll see not just how the trip went but how creamy the sauces are.

Fruti di mare

“Steak or prawns?” Frascella asked the group. At this point, we were utterly full. But leaving Medinis without trying any of their grilled dishes would have been blasphemous. The decision was unanimous and we went for fresh, gigantic prawns, grilled in a Spanish Josper grill.

It was magical, especially with the spiced, salty salad it came with.

Gamberoni alla Griglia alla Pizzaiola

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Sweetness as a weakness

I said we’re full but how can one leave without having dessert?

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Lemon Sorbet

Cioccolato Fondente di Hani, Gelato alla Vaniglia di Haiti

Ananas Sorbet

Truly a sweet ending to the whole trip. Frascella also picked the flower beside the lemon sorbet on the way to work.

Is it worth it?

As someone who will travel for food, you’ll probably think I’m biased when I say that it is. But really – I look at other gnocchis with sadness now.

For people looking for a meal that will impress even the pickiest Italian friend, this is also the restaurant for you.

I say make a trip out of it. Stay in the hotel, have a wonderful weekend by the sea, and enjoy the food. Time it with a special occasion and there won’t be any guilt over the calories and the money you’ll spend on multiple meals at Medinis. Once you try the food there, it will seem pointless to look elsewhere in the area. Yes, it is on the pricier side but for the quality and the service you get on this side of the world, it actually feels like a steal.

Medinis

Prof.-Dr.-Vogel-Straße 14, 18209 Bad DoberanProf.-Dr.-Vogel-Straße 14, 18209 Bad Doberan Open daily from 1200-1500, 1800-2230 Call for reservations: 038203 400647 Visit their website

More later.

Video: Medinis in Heiligendamm – Perfect Day Trip from Berlin Will you travel for good food? I think it's one of the best excuses to get off your lazy bum, hop on a train, and discover a new place and some flavours.

[lindawood]

Game Day Snackdown: Trader Joe’s vs. Whole Foods 365

During the NFL postseason frenzy, the only thing that’s (almost) as important as the score is the snacks, because it takes a lot of energy to scream at the TV for three hours. So in the spirit of all-day grazing, we conducted a company-wide blind taste test to answer a very important question: Which supermarket chain has better snacks, Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods?

After consuming 16 bags each of tortilla chips and popcorn, 12 jars of salsa, 20 tubs of hummus, eight boxes of crackers, 15 pounds of trail mix, 20 bars of dark chocolate, a mountain of chocolate chip cookies, and getting a lot of strange looks in the checkout line, we found that our staff preferred more Trader Joe’s snacks than Whole Foods 365—but it was a close race.

Why you should trust us

Since 2011, we’ve spent hundreds of thousands of hours researching, testing, and writing almost 1,000 guides to help you find the best of everything from headphones to nonstick pans. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that we also have serious opinions about snacks. Our staff’s preferred munchies are as broad and varied as the topics we cover. Some of us chomp on fistfuls of gummy bears, while others reach for hummus with veggies, lightly salted popcorn, or bitter dark chocolate. No matter your snacking style, you’ll likely find tasty bites on this list for your game-day buffet.

Feeding Hungry Fans on Game Day

The Wirecutter kitchen team knows how to throw a party, and we’ve spent hundreds of hours finding the best gear for any occasion, even game day.

By the way, this blind snack test is in no way meant to be on a par with our usual stringent standards. But we had fun doing it, and we hope you have fun reading it! Please bear with us while we poke a little fun at ourselves.

How we picked and tested

We compared store-brand snacks from Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods because they both have locations in most US states, and their own loyal fan bases. To start, we scoured their websites—as well as multiple brick-and-mortar locations in the New York metropolitan area—and documented their copious snack offerings. As we culled the final foods, we tried to cover a breadth of preferences: for the practical snackers we had hummus, wheat crackers, and trail mix. We also served chips and salsa for the spice lovers, dark chocolate and cookies for the sweet-toothed, and lightly salted popcorn for, well, most people.

We decanted the dips, chips, and everything else into serving bowls so there was nary a label in sight, then gave everyone a survey to complete as they sampled. After hundreds of bites and opinions, we have a verdict.

Chips and salsa

Photo: Sarah Kobos

Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s offer a few different store-brand tortilla chip and salsa styles, and while it was easy to find white corn tortilla chips at both stores, choosing an apples-to-apples (tomatoes-to-tomatoes?) salsa comparison was a little more challenging. After sifting out the “fire-roasted” and fruit-infused varieties, we ultimately chose classic Pace Picante-like salsas: Trader Joe’s Chunky Salsa and Whole Foods 365 Organic Medium Salsa. In our tasting, Trader Joe’s was the winner for both chips and salsa.

Over three-quarters of our staff picked the Trader Joe’s White Corn Tortilla Chips, noting they were lighter, crispier, and saltier (in a good way) than the Whole Foods chips, which were described as thick, starchy, stale, dry, dense, and hard to chew. Another point against the Whole Foods chips: Each bag was, on average, 50 percent broken chip fragments, while the Trader Joe’s chips had significantly less breakage.

The Trader Joe’s Chunky Salsa won by a narrower margin than the chips, getting less than 60 percent of the vote. While many respondents noted their general dislike of jarred salsa, the ones who chose Trader Joe’s thought it tasted “brighter” and “fresher” than the Whole Foods 365 salsa. Fans of the Whole Foods salsa (which closely resembles Pace Chunky medium salsa in flavor and texture) liked that it had more heat and a nicer mouthfeel, and found the Trader Joe’s salsa gritty and cloying. Or as one commenter mused, “[Trader Joe’s] starts with sickly sugar sweetness, followed by an overly acidic finish.”

Crackers and hummus

Photo: Sarah Kobos

Both Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s offer their store-brand hummus in various flavors, but we chose to keep it simple with the plain, classic versions. Since eating spoonfuls of hummus didn’t seem appetizing, we added Triscuit copycats from both stores to round out the experience.

The Whole Foods Classic Hummus clobbered Trader Joe’s Hummus Dip by a landslide. Testers preferred the Whole Foods hummus because it was creamier and had more robust chickpea, lemon, and garlic flavors. By contrast, testers found the Trader Joe’s hummus grainy and watery (though they appreciated its strong cumin overtones). Of the three Whole Foods 365 items that beat their Trader Joe’s counterpart, the Classic Hummus won by the biggest margin with about 64 percent of the vote.

Not all woven wheat crackers (Triscuit knockoffs) can hold a candle to the Nabisco classic. Case in point: 88 percent of testers agreed that the Whole Foods 365 Woven Wheats had a dry mouthfeel, and “lacked salt and oil.” The Trader Joe’s Woven Wheat Wafers, on the other hand, “mimicked a Triscuit pretty well,” but we’re sad to report that they’re now discontinued. We’ll stick with the Triscuits.

Popcorn

Photo: Sarah Kobos

We love the convenience of bagged popcorn—no microwave necessary! The problem is that it’s often chewy and a little dense. Sadly, such was the case with both Trader Joe’s Olive Oil Popcorn and Whole Foods 365 Organic Classic Salted Popcorn.

Even though the Trader Joe’s popcorn eked out a 15-point win over Whole Foods, testers felt that it was a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. Said one tester, “I didn’t really like either of them; they both tasted stale to me,” adding, “I preferred [Trader Joe’s] because it was slightly saltier.” We don’t expect the satisfying crispiness, fragrance, or flavor of freshly popped popcorn from bagged popcorn. But both of these brands were chewier and denser than supermarket mainstays, like Smartfood.

Trail mix

Photo: Sarah Kobos

In another landslide win, the Trader Joe’s Omega Trek Mix won over our testers with more than 85 percent of the vote. People preferred TJ’s fruit and nut mélange because the nuts were creamier—yet still crunchy—and the dried fruit was plumper and more pliable than that in Whole Foods’s 365 Strider’s Snack Trail Mix.

Testers noted that the Trader Joe’s mix had a nice sweet and salty balance, where the Whole Foods mix tasted bland. They also favored Trader Joe’s “roasted, crunchier nuts” over Whole Foods’s “soft, seemingly raw nuts.” But the variety of ingredients (cranberries, almonds, walnuts, pumpkin seeds, pecans, and pistachios) is why most people preferred Trader Joe’s Omega Trek Mix over Whole Foods’s mix (raisins, almonds, cashews, hazelnuts, walnuts).

Dark chocolate

Photo: Sarah Kobos

When analyzing the data from our dark-chocolate taste test, we found that people’s choices hinged more on personal preference than they did for other foods.

The Whole Foods Organic Dark Chocolate w from DDigits WP Feed 2 https://wrctr.co/2CC8Tcs via IFTTT