#a cup of sugar a pinch of magic

[luveline]

congratulations on 35k lovely, what you’ve built is so admirable and i am forever in awe of your talent!! thank you for all that you do around here to brighten up our days. i would love to see “i knew you would be here” with our main man hotch if it inspires you! and if not, sending so much love regardless <3

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

thank you, and thank you for your request! fem!reader suggestive

The lights above are glaring and colourful. They shine in your eyes as the song changes again. This is far from the usual bar you frequent with the BAU, but it's not work, so. Silver linings. 

"Liven up, sweetheart," Derek says, sliding a plastic cup toward you with a smile, surprisingly free of bravado. "It's a mojito, alright?" 

"Thank you," you say. Derek Morgan is your eternal saviour.

You take a sip. It isn't nice. It's more alcohol than anything else. "Does it still count as a cocktail if it's all white rum?" 

"Sure!" Emily says. She opens her hand and you let her take it for a sip. Her skinny brows pull down into a wince. "Uh, maybe not. That is rum with a pinch of soda water." 

"Don't forget the lime!" Derek says. 

You take the lime wedge between your teeth and smile. It's sour but refreshing compared to the contents of your cup. The sugar makes your cheeks ache.

"You look happy." 

You almost choke, spitting the lime wedge into your hand. You quickly wrap it in a napkin and look up, meeting the eyes of your boss. Hotch is smiling at you, an expression he saved for out of work hours, and it's nearly enough to let you forget what he's just seen you doing. 

"Teeth are looking a little green," Rossi adds from behind him. 

You wrinkle your nose. Even the implication is gross. 

Hotch rounds your back to stand in the gap between your seat and Emily's at the tall table. Rossi slots in on your other side. 

"Where's Reid?" Hotch asks. 

You lean toward him to look through the crowd of people. "He's right… there." You point at Spencer where he's performing a magic trick for a small crowd of enchanted and tipsy women. 

Hotch drinks from a plastic cup. It's really not his style. 

"I didn't think we'd see you tonight, sir," you say. 

Hotch's arm brushes your side under the table. He presses in until all you can smell is his cologne cutting through the sticky scent of mojito, though he keeps his gaze resolutely on the inside of his cup. 

"I knew you'd be here," he says. 

You spread your legs a touch. He can feel the movement, and his hand brushes the outside of your naked thigh in response. His words fluster you immediately — you bite your lip to hold in a sudden sigh, breath rushing out your nose instead. His touch does something worse to you, his fingertips dancing lightly across the top of your thigh and feigning down. 

"So you came to torture me," you murmur, so quietly only he could ever hope to hear it. 

He hooks his hand under your knee and pulls your leg toward him. You can't hold in the sound you make that time, a tiny gasp as your legs come apart completely. 

"Torture is a strong word," Hotch says, sounding more pleased than he has any reason to be as his hand smooths lazily toward the apex of your thighs, "I was thinking more like play with." 

"We're going to dance!" Emily declares. 

"We'll join you in a second." Hotch smiles. "Just need to get some specifics clear with Agent L/N." 

Rossie shakes his head. "Always working. Typical." 

[maryhale1]

The kitchen witch

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

In a cozy kitchen, warm and bright,

Lives a witch with magic light.

Her cauldron's just a well-worn pan,

Her magic scents the room's expanse.

With wooden spoon, she stirs the pot,

Her magic made from what she's got:

A pinch of thyme, a dash of sage,

Her ancient book, a weathered page.

The garlic cloves, the onion sweet,

Transform with her, a witch's treat.

With every chop and slice she makes,

A charm of health and joy awakes.

She brews her potions, teas of gold,

In porcelain cups, her tales are told.

A simmering broth, a bubbling stew,

Her incantations hidden in the brew.

Her broom, a simple sweeping tool,

Clears away the mundane and the cruel.

With every sweep, a spell is cast,

To cleanse the space of shadows past.

Her apron, tied with care and love,

A talisman of warmth, thereof.

Each thread a stitch of ancient lore,

A tapestry of those before.

With salt and sugar, flour and yeast,

She conjures up a wondrous feast.

Each bite a blessing, each sip a song,

In her enchanted realm, we all belong.

So in this kitchen, magic thrives,

In daily tasks, the spell survives.

The kitchen witch, with humble grace,

Turns home into a sacred space.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[revasserium]

heartslabyul #1 - magic

riddle.

he thinks it’s magic, the way you let things drip off you — like morning dew off a perfectly pruned rose; how your acceptance frames your smile like the sun frames the day, how your heart is large enough for the entire world to fit inside it. how you allow for the rules and the breakers, how you trust the promises and the makers — the ease with which you take his uncertainty and turn it into something sweet, something beautiful. how you can cup a broken glass in your hand and wonder at all the ways it might be fixed. he thinks its magic, how you draw laughter from those around you like drink, how the world seems brighter with you in it, with you sitting by his side at the head of the table, how your hand seems to fit perfectly in his. it’s a magic he has no name for, a magic that does not need to be cast in order to be felt, a magic that is innate to you, and he is learning, to be sure, of how to wield this kind of magic too — to taste the kindness like strawberry jam on his tongue. he is learning about the imperfections, about the cracks in the world, and how they too can be called beautiful.

ace.

he thinks it’s magic, the way you take all his teasing and throw it right back at him, quip for quip, jab for jab; he thinks that he must be going insane with how late he stays up thinking about you — of all the ways he might try to push your buttons tomorrow, and the day after, of how you might cock your eyebrow, how you might grin and turn his stomach into an entire circus of unruly animals, of how he could melt into your laughter, sink into glitter behind your eyes, coax you into just one more adventure, if only to feel you next to him, to share his lunch with you (however unwilling he might seem, he yearns for it), to chatter about the mundane with you — like history class or alchemy or how he still can’t get that one spell right, only for you to tell him that maybe he’s just not trying hard enough. and maybe he’s not — maybe he’s doing it on purpose. maybe, maybe, he just wants the magic of your voice, telling him to try it, to try harder, one more time.

deuce.

he thinks it’s magic, the way you take all the fight out of him, how your quiet echoes through him like the last bell of the day — how you can pull him back from the brink with just a touch, a purse your lips, a bat of your lashes. he melts at the sound of your cadenced breaths, at the soft shuffle of your uniform as you lean over to peer at his textbook during study period. he wonders if it’s normal to feel like he’s flying even outside of flying classes, if this is some kind of ancient magic they don’t teach in class, how you can tilt his world from its axis with a word, a smile, a single wink. he thinks its magic, the way he finds himself drawn to you, like your north to his compass rose, leading him towards a future that he never considered himself capable of — one that is both exciting and true, one that is both strength and fortitude, one that doesn’t make a distinction between too much and too little, but is settled, perfectly, right in the middle.

trey.

he thinks it’s magic, how you can whip up a dish in the matter of minutes, without measuring cups or weighing scales, he thinks is uncanny, how you can add a pinch of salt and a sprinkle of sugar, swirl the pasta sauce in the pan three times, bring it up to your lips to taste and just know that it’s ready. because you see, he grew up a baker, and his world has only ever been metered and measured, weighed and worried, and he marvels at the way you move through the kitchens, humming to yourself, tasting this and smelling that. you see, he thinks he could watch you for ages, how you navigate the spices and herbs, how you grin at him over the mixing bowl or ask him to help you steady a particularly large boiling pot, and he really thinks its magic, how you are the salt to his sugar, the savory to his sweet, the perfect balance, his other half — how the world tastes so much better with you by his side.

cater.

he thinks it’s magic, how you can be so much yourself, and never question it. how you’re so certain of your own identity that even though the camera lens, all it takes is a single glance for him to tell it’s you. how you never asked him of the ways in which he might split himself open, into halves, into fourths, eighths, sixteenths, just for you. the first time you see him pull of his signature spell, you’d simply clapped and smiled and told him that well, the more the merrier, right? and he thinks he’s been in love with you since — because you were the only person who told him that people contain multitudes and that we’re all someone else with other people and that we are all a kind of infinity, aren’t we? each person a vast sprawling galaxy of stardust and personalities, of bits of themselves that they might not even know yet, and isn’t it a wonderful thing to be able to explore that with someone else? so yes, he thinks, when he’s honest with himself, in the dark of his own room, not posing or preening for anyone else, yes — he wants to explore all the different facets of himself, and once he finds them, you’re the first person he wants to show them to.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2022: October 13th

Day 13: Monster Fucking // Dirty Talk // Object Insertion

Agent Whiskey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Incubus!Whiskey, demons, non-con/dub-con sexual intercourse, somnophilia, oral (female receiving) 

**Incubus: a demon in male form that seeks to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

He comes to you in the night. Creeps into your mind and enters it as if you are in the most beautiful dream. He’s gorgeous. 

You’ve always had a thing for cowboys. Tight jeans, boots and cowboy hat. Paired with an ego the size of Texas and belt buckle to match, they were your kryptonite. All of your friends make fun of you for it, but you have made no apologies for it. 

It starts out innocent, talking. His accent is thick and charming. You like the look of him with a strong jaw, lean neck and sharp nose. The mustache makes you think of Burt Reynolds and you had always secretly wanted to ride his mustache when he was Bandit. He calls you sugar and darlin’ in ways that melt your panties and you wake up with an ache in your core that no amount of masturbation will cure. 

Then he touches you. His touch is magical and each time you yearn for more. Your skin tingles and your cunt clenches as he slides his hands along your body and whispering praises. Telling you how beautiful and how he aches to make you his. All you need to do is to tell him yes. 

You don’t know why you resist. His dark, mahogany eyes beg for you to give yourself over to him. To put your pleasure into his hands and he will take the ache away. He will make you feel better than you’ve ever felt before. Still, night after night, you break from the dream before you can give into you the cowboy who calls himself Jack Daniels. Or Whiskey, if you’d prefer. He’d winked at you and made you bite your lip when he had told you that. 

Still, night after night he comes to you. Wearing down your defenses. Actually making you want to sleep more so you can spend time with him. You wake up tired, wanting to go back to sleep, to have him come back to you and spend more time with you. 

Yes. His eyes change when you say yes. Darken to almost coal and then they are mahogany again. His smirk is even more charming and wicked, heat pooling in your core and making your body ache in that familiar feeling. 

“Perfect, sugar.” He coos, his voice like honeyed whiskey, low and smokey as his delight curls though you. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Those hands start to peel your clothes off, touching your breasts and thighs with a hungry touch. Barring your body to him while you are heavily limbed and almost unable to move. Watching  when he pulls piece after piece of his clothes off to toss on the floor and reveal long, lean limbs and firm muscle. His cock is gorgeous, curve up with the leaking tip nearly purple. 

It makes you needy, whining and reaching for him. At this moment, you need him more than you need air. The yearning that has built up is nearly overwhelming, threatening to take over you completely. Only able to see him, need him. Blind to everything else. 

His tongue presses against your clit, making you cry out and his chuckle is wicked, winking up at you while his tongue slides through your folds and gathers your slick up, moaning at the taste. 

Again and again he strokes your clit, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it playfully. It makes your hips jerk up and grind down on him. Wanting more and greedy for it and the sweet release that you know that he can bring you. 

His hand, large and hot, cups your breasts. Squeezing them, holding them while he torments your nipple with harsh pinches and plucks. Every roll of his fingers pulling moans out of your throat. 

One hand letting go of your breast, gripping your hip and his shoulders are wedged between your thighs. Wanting you to cum with every stroke and flick of his tongue, every suck of his mouth. Winding you higher and higher with every second that passes until you feel your orgasm being ripped out of you. 

Nearly delirious with pleasure, your eyes are hazy. Nearly unfocused as he climbs up your body and hovers over you. If you weren’t nearly blacked out in bliss, you would notice the wings that slowly unfurl behind Whiskey. 

He slides inside you, making you gasp and your thighs try to close but he is already there. Filling you inch by inch as he sinks deep, his cock kissing your womb and still he is working himself into you. Grinding deeper and growling. 

You don’t notice that his eyes are black, not just to the pupils but the entire eye. Black as night with no hint of light or warmth in their depths. You don’t notice because your own eyes are closed, cinched shut tightly as you whimper his name. “Jack, oh fuck, Jack.” 

“That’s it, sugar.” He groans, sounding much raspier than he had before, something mercurial rumbling beneath. Rolling his hips and expanding the wings to their full span as he bottoms out inside you. “Let go, let me make you scream.” 

Your hands are on his shoulder, hanging on when he starts to move. Sharp, hard thrusts that make you squeal and cry out every time he pushes deep. The slick slap of his hips filling your ears, although you would see that it is amplified by the wings that are rustling as he fucks into you if you were able to do more than just let him rock into you. 

Thrusting sharp enough to make the bed bang against the wall, Whiskey fucks you. Harder and better than anyone ever had. It was like he was inside your head. Anything thought you had about pace or the tilt of his hips was immediately fulfilled without even opening your mouth. All you can do is moan his name, titling your head back. 

When you cum, your scream is loud enough that your voice cracks. Your cunt gushes around his cock and he growls, rocking into you harder and making you gasp out as he pounds into you. 

He rocks into you harshly another dozen times before he is pushing deep. The heat of his spend filling you and making you moan out again. Your eyes barely crack open and then spring wide when you catch sight of him. 

Horns are sprouting out of his forehead, curling up. Giant wings spread wide and pulsing as he bares sharpened teeth. The human features are still present, mixed with the ones that you cannot even begin to explain, hearing a harsh, guttural word that you don’t understand rip out of his throat while the last spurt of cum fills you. 

****

Gasping, you sit straight up in your bed. Panting and covered in sweat as your head swivels around the darkened room. Looking for him, needing him to explain what had just happened. Until you realize it was a dream, making you slump back into the bed and look over at your clock. The numbers read 3:33 and you close your eyes again. 

It takes you a few moments before you open your eyes again. You had gone to bed in shorts and t-shirt and now you are naked. You can feel the cool slide of the sheets against your skin. The ache between your thighs is more from use than desire or longing and you feel the slickness. Reaching down and swiping your fingers between your folds, you smell it. It wasn’t your scent, it smells like cum. 

You bite your lip and swear you hear Jack’s voice. “Sweet dreams, sugar.” 

[sallowsdiary]

Today has been one of those days that makes you question the very fabric of reality. I was minding my own business, trying to sneak a few chocolate frogs out of the kitchen (don’t judge me—a boy needs his sugar intake), when I stumbled upon the most bizarre sight I’ve ever witnessed at Hogwarts. And that’s saying something, considering this place is essentially a magnet for lunacy.

It started innocently enough. I was on my way back from Potions, feeling rather pleased with myself after successfully swapping Garreth’s potion ingredients with something that may or may not turn his hair into a bird’s nest. Honestly, if he keeps letting me sit next to him, he’s practically asking for it. But I digress.

As I passed the third-floor corridor, I heard the unmistakable sound of sniffling. Naturally, I was curious—or at least bored enough to investigate. So, I followed the sound and, to my utter shock, found Nearly Headless Nick sitting (well, floating) in the corridor, looking as if he’d just lost a game of Gobstones.

Now, Nick is usually a bit of a downer, what with the whole “can’t join the Headless Hunt” thing, but this was different. He was holding what appeared to be a ghostly handkerchief and dabbing at his translucent face. The sight was so surreal that I actually had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming (note to self: pinching is a terrible way to test reality; it just hurts).

Naturally, I asked what was wrong, and after a dramatic sigh that only a ghost could muster, Nick explained that someone had—and I quote—“ruined the spirit of All Hallows’ Eve” by playing a prank that went horribly wrong. Apparently, some Ravenclaw thought it would be funny to “banish” Nick temporarily with a modified vanishing spell during the Halloween feast. Nick didn’t take it well. He’s been moping ever since, claiming that no one respects the dead anymore.

I, of course, had to suppress the urge to laugh. A ghost, upset about a prank? That’s like Peeves complaining about too much noise! But Nick was so pitiful that I offered to help him get revenge. After all, Slytherins are nothing if not opportunists.

So, we concocted a plan. Tomorrow night, during dinner, Nick is going to float right through the Ravenclaw table, moaning about how he’s been “eternally cursed.” I even suggested adding some ghostly chains for dramatic effect—because why not go all out?

In return, Nick has promised to help me with my History of Magic essay. If anyone knows the real scoop on the Goblin Rebellions, it’s him. Besides, if my plan works, Nick will owe me one, and I’m always up for collecting favors from the dead.

After the encounter with Nick, I headed back to the common room, where Ominis was trying to explain the concept of “muggle jokes” to me. Apparently, muggles have these things called “knock-knock jokes.” I listened to one, and it made absolutely no sense. Who in their right mind would stand at a door and tell someone to guess who’s there? Just say who you are and get on with it. It’s as if muggles enjoy wasting time.

Anyway, I’m ending the day with a nice hot cup of cocoa and a new prank idea for Peeves. I wonder if he can be convinced to help me switch all the Gryffindors’ brooms with rubber chickens before the next Quidditch practice. It’s high time those lions got a taste of their own medicine.

—Sebastian

[chirp-a-chirp]

Court of Darkness 12 Days of Christmas

Here’s a 12 Days of Christmas song rendition for no_one_8473 as a part of the 2023 CoD Discord Secret Santa gift exchange!

…

🎶 On the 12th day of Christmas, my consort gave to me…🎶

12 Cookies Burning!

*Smoke wafts through a crack in the kitchen*

Sherry: Oh, I meant for these cookies to be red. I suppose black will have to do.

Roy: You have time to bake another batch before the party. Perhaps dear Rio will assist.

Sherry: OK! Will you partake in these cookies then brother? *Offers plate of charred discs*

Roy: …of course.

11 Garlands Hanging!

Fenn: *Hangs garland and mistletoe over windows and doors of the S:Ranks lounge* Toa! Come here and test this mistletoe with me.

Toa: *Ignores Fenn, walks past him with stack of papers in hand. Knight scurries behind with another equally large stack*

Fenn: Oh Kniiiiiiiight…*pinches his butt*

Knight: OI!

10 Cups Aligning!

Tino: *Brings out a tray of teacups and plates* Masters Luxure and Invidia, the Christmas tree is beautifully trimmed. Wait, where is Master Lynt?

Nine Letters Signing!

Toa: We cannot delay in sending these missives Knight.

Knight: I can’t believe Idina and your father expect you to work on Christmas! They’d better get coal in their stockings.

Eight Whisks A-Turning!

Sherry: Let’s see, three cups of sugar…

Rio: *Whisks batter in a bowl* Sherry, that’s salt, not sugar. Easy to mistake though!

Sherry: Oh. *Gestures to jar of salt* But I used this jar for my last batch of cookies. I guess Roy likes salty cookies?

Grayson: *Face remains stoic* …yes.

Seven Frantic Searches!

Tino: *Wanders down the hallways AGAIN* Master Lynt where ARE YOUUUU?

Lance: Oi cease your yelling! Try searching the courtyard.

Six Pies A-Baking!

Rio: These pies turned out brilliant! But I haven’t a knack for decorating.

Sherry: Leave that to me! *Performs luminary magic so the pies glow with an ethereal yet somehow tasty light*

FIIIIIVE…SAUCY LOOKS!

Fenn: *Pats his lap invitingly* Will no one sit with me?

Sherry: Maybe you’ll have more luck if you wear this. *Sherry laughs and places a red hat and white beard on Fenn*

Rio: *Promptly sits on Fenn’s lap* Santa!

Four Mugs of Cocoa!

Tino: *Furiously destroys a snowman on a courtyard bench. Under the snow is Lynt, snoozing upright in a sleeping bag*

Lynt: *Wakes up* Hi Chino. *Blinks drowsily and drifts back to sleep*

Tino: Aaaaah! *Shoves a mug of cocoa in front of his young charge.* You need to keep warm! And get ready for the party!

Three Spell Books!

Rio: Toa, stop grading papers and join our Christmas party!

Toa: *Is about to shake his head until Tino arrives with a cup of cocoa*

Tino: This cup is made with Qelsan chocolate. I can procure more if you celebrate with us.

Toa: *Drinks cup of cocoa and smiles*

Two Scratchy Throats!

Fenn: Aren’t you two going to eat any other food?

Roy: *Continues eating Sherry’s cookies, washing them down with copious amounts of milk. Grayson joins his Master*

Roy: N-no. I prefer to eat something made with love.

Grayson: *Grimaces throughout his gaging* I agree.

And a Happy Holy Night Paaaaaarty!

Every Consort: Merry Christmas!

Sherry: Brother, you ate all my cookies! I’ll make sure to add extra salt to my next batch just like you like them!

Roy: *Chokes on his milk*

[saralovesyouu]

Chapter 7 — “Forbidden.”

Summary : Days pass from the Hell of Mirrors incident, you can’t stop thinking about it. Hanako is no help, so what better option than to drag Kou with you!

Warnings : Not much, minor cursing here and there, reader going a bit manic and expressing signs of PTSD at some point, obvious implications that reader is female (ex. Use of she/her pronouns, etc.), mood swing-ish reader.

( A / N ) : I tried not to procrastinate but I got busy with work and stuff so I didn’t have much time. I didn’t let myself sleep tonight till I got this out. I will try my best to be more consistent with chapters and at least get these things posted every other week. This is proofread so enjoy!

Prev. >>> Next (not available yet)

A couple days have passed since the Hell of Mirrors incident, and you’ve tried to find for another way back in. You tried every mirror possible, but none would budge. Hanako didn’t care much either, he said to just leave it alone for now and they’d figure it out another time.

Even Kou seemed a little odd about it. He wanted to see Mitsuba too, but it was like at the same time he was avoiding it. Part of you understood him though, you knew what it felt like to be forgotten before, and it was certainly not a good feeling.

“Can you hand me the sugar?” Satou asked, looking over at you.

You finally had snapped out of your thoughts, “Sorry, what was that?”

Satou chuckles “The sugar, can you pass it to me?” He repeats.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod, eyes scanning over the counter before finding the sugar. “Sure.” You grabbed the bag of sugar, and a measuring cup.

“We need one and a half cups of sugar.” Kou mumbled, eyes scanning over the list of instructions.

You nodded, and scooped up a cup of sugar.

Satou looked over at Kou, and Kou only shrugged.

“(Y/N), are you okay? You seem a bit zoned out..” Satou finally spoke.

“Yeah, just tired.” You excused, pouring the sugar. It was more than just being ‘tired’ — you were anxious. You wanted to see Mitsuba again, talk to him. But you didn’t know where to find him — and the Hell of Mirrors was not an option anymore because you couldn’t get in. Maybe you could ask Yako again?

“(Y/N).” Satou panicked “T-That’s too much sugar.” He yelped, quickly taking the measuring cup from your hands.

Flinching, you snapped back to reality “Shit— I’m sorry..” You muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Satou frowned, putting a hand on your shoulder “Usually you’re the one who’s the most focused out of all of us.”

“Yeah, I am, don’t worry about me okay?” You assured him with your signature smile “I’m just tired.”

Satou eyed you suspiciously, then glanced over at Kou who in turn only shrugged his shoulders. He then sighed, letting his hand drop back to his side.

“We’re your friends, don’t forget that okay?” Satou offered you a smile “So don’t feel like you have to hide anything from us. If you’re not feeling good you can tell us.”

“I know, I know,” You sighed, leaning forward and propping your elbows on the counter, burying your hands in your hair “—I’m okay, I promise. If I’m not, you guys are the first people I’m going to.”

Satou was skeptical but didn’t push the topic, nodding and going back to the batter. “We need to put in a little bit more of each ingredient to make up for the extra sugar.”

There you stood, in front of the mirror in the girl’s bathroom. Your hands holding onto the sink, staring into the mirror as if doing so would magically bring Mitsuba back.

“How long has she been there?” Yashiro asked, walking in through the bathroom doors and setting her bag down by the entrance.

“A while.” Hanako shrugged, he’s too busy playing hanafuda with the mokke again to care.

“Well you’re no help.” Yashiro sighed, walking behind you and placing a hand on your shoulder.

Your gaze didn’t falter, staring intensely at the mirror. “You think Yako will help me get in again?” You asked before Yashiro could get a chance to speak.

Yashiro raised an eyebrow “Again? By yourself? I-I don’t think..”

“I dunno, I don’t think so.” Hanako shrugged a second time.

You frowned, finally turning around to look at Hanako instead “Are you sure?”

“I doubt it but you can try.” Hanako simply replied, glancing up from his cards for a second to look at you before focusing back on his game. “She probably will if you keep asking her to the point of annoying her, go give it a try.”

Yashiro looked between the both of you “I.. um.. she shouldn’t be going alone, if that Tsukasa guy shows up, she could get seriously hurt or something.”

“Then get the kid to go with her.” Hanako suggested “I’m sure she’ll be fine. That Mitsuba.. (Y/N) was the only one he was trying so hard not to hurt.” He noted, “So I’m sure she’ll be fine. Worst case scenario, Mitsuba will probably just send her out again.”

“But—“ Yashiro tried to protest, concerned for your safety.

“Okay, thanks Hanako, bye.” You shouted as you grabbed your bag and ran out the door.

Yashiro frowns “Hanako, and if she gets seriously hurt?” She would feel responsible, having gotten close to you since the whole spiritual thing, she saw you as her younger sister.

“She won’t, she’ll be fine.” Hanako assured, placing his cards face down onto the space next to him and standing up “Now come on, you have to get to cleaning toilets!” He beamed, teasingly nudging her.

Yashiro’s frown deepened.

“Kou, Kou, Kou!” You called out, running up to said boy, who was currently with Satou and Yokoo.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)!” Yokoo hums, smiling at you with his signature smile.

“Hey Yokoo, Kou, come with me I need to do something.” You grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, tugging on it.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Satou asked, raising an eyebrow at your eager.. whatever it was.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” You half heartedly answered, brushing them off. “Now let’s go!” You began practically dragging Kou with you, who in turn yelped.

“Oh okay..” Yokoo muttered, glancing at Satou.

“No idea, she was like this earlier, except zoned out.” Satou shrugged. “And she wouldn’t budge when I asked her what’s wrong.”

Yokoo pursed his lips, obvious concern written all over his face. “She.. it’s gonna affect her not letting anyone know.”

“Yeah.. I know. I tried getting her to open up but she kept saying it was nothing. It may just be nothing, but we’ve known her for a while to notice this pattern.” Satou mumbled. “I just hope it doesn’t get as bad as last time..”

“Let’s not look too much into now though. If she’s not okay, we have to trust she’ll come to one of us or all of us. And if she says she is we have to trust her on it, even if we think she isn’t.” Yokoo shrugged, fidgeting with his sleeves.

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” Satou sighed “I just wish she’d tell us what’s going on.”

.

.

“So what are we doing exactly?” Kou asks, trying to keep up as you sped through the halls.

“Yako, we’re going to Yako.” You look behind at him for a moment before looking straight ahead again “I wanna see Mitsuba again.”

Kou flinched and froze in his tracks, making you stop as well. He pursed his lips.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, you didn’t try to pull him along — not wanting to force him.

Kou frowns, looking away. “What’s the point if that guy won’t remember me anyways?” He mumbled, pulling his sleeve from your grasp.

Your gaze softened “Kou.. just because he didn’t recognize you doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember you.” You sighed, moving to wrap your arms around his torso.

Kou went stiff momentarily, then relaxed, his arms coming around to wrap around your waist as he buried his face into your shoulder, trying his best not to stain your school uniform with his tears — his shoulders trembled.

“I’ve got you.” You assured, leaning your head on top of his. “I promise, we’ll get him to remember you.”

Kou chuckled dryly “You can’t make that promise you know.”

“I know,” you smiled “—but I sure as heck can try to fulfill it.”

Kou took a deep breath, smiling. “So then what’s holding us up?” He asks, wiping the last of his tears with his wrist “Let’s go find us a kitsune.” He grinned.

“Nope, nuh uh, I won’t do it.” Yako frowned, crossing her little fox arms across her chest. “I only did it for number seven because it was emergency — I’m not gonna do it just say cause you say so.”

“But this is an emergency.” You insisted.

Kou joined in “Yeah, we’re on a mission to—“

“Find that ghost boy friend of yours? If he doesn’t wanna let you in you know he’s not gonna.” Yako sighs, trying to make herself comfy in the bookshelves.

“Yako, please. I.. I know you probably wouldn’t understand but this is important.” You pleaded, “All we wanna know is if he’s okay.”

Yako paused for a moment, thinking deeply on whether she should or shouldn’t. “Hmm..” she hums, her eyes shifting from you to Kou and then back to you. “Fine, but this is the last time I help you.” She sighed, finally giving in.

You and Kou both smiled widely, glancing at each other and looking at Yako again. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it, but this is the only time I’ll be helping you out!” Yako insists, when really she has a soft spot for the two and she definitely would do it again.

.

.

“Well, here we are.” Yako hummed, back to the liquid mirror-like portal from before.

You brought your hands up to slide them across the surface, watching it create ripples under your fingertips. “Last time we were here I got sucked in.” You mumble, dipping your hand in the mirror and flexing your fingers before removing your hand and letting it rest at your side again.

“Not this time, fortunately for you.” Yako pointed out, you hadn’t gotten forced in.

“So..” you turned your gaze to Kou “Here goes nothing, right?”

“Yeah.” Kou nodded, taking a deep breath in.

Three…

Two..

One.

Suddenly you were falling, reflections all around you with people — no, they weren’t people — entities of people you both knew laughing and mocking you both. Kou reached for you, holding you close to him as he protected your head. It started to get brighter and it felt like you were getting closer and closer to the bottom. That was what it felt like, until..

“Jeez, are you trying to get yourself killed?” A familiar voice scoffed.

You both found yourselves caught in the hand of a bony limb as it moved you towards one of the floors, and that’s when you saw him.

“Mitsuba!” You immediately cried, running towards him and throwing your arms around him.

“H-Hey, I get I’m cute and all but there’s no need to cling to me you perv!” The boy in question yelps, but there’s no denying the way he reluctantly wrapped his arms around her waist and the flush of his cheeks.

“He didn’t hurt you did he?” You asked, bombarding the poor ghost with loads of questions “Why didn’t you let me back in you jerk.” You pouted, punching his shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Mitsuba laughs, feigning hurt. “And no, I’m not hurt.”

“Good, you better not be.” You sighed in relief, letting yourself relax a bit.

Mitsuba looked behind you to Kou “Oh.” He muttered, making eye contact with the other “It’s you again.”

“Yeah, it’s me again.” Kou repeated, shifting from one foot to the other a bit awkwardly.

“What.. what’re you guys even doing here?” Mitsuba asked, gently grabbing you by the shoulders to push you off a bit.

“I dunno, we just wanted to visit I guess?” You shrugged, it was an obvious lie and a good cover up but Mitsuba seemed to buy it.

“Visit the Hell of Mirrors? Really?” Mitsuba lets a laugh-like scoff slip past his lips. “Yeah this isn’t really the type of place you’d want to visit.”

“..definitely.” You nod, “Okay fine, truthfully we just wanted to see you.”

“We?” Mitsuba inquired, raising an eyebrow as he looked between the two of you.

“You remember Kou, right?” You asked, grabbing Kou’s arm and linking it with yours. “He was your friend too.”

Mitsuba narrowed his eyes at Kou and frowned “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”

Kou sighed, rubbing his forehead “Figured.”

Boy.. this might take a while.

.

.

The three of you ended up talking to pass the time, flipping through the pages of the yearbook from which Mitsuba had photographed the pictures within it, all that he did not seem to remember.

“Hey um.. earlier you guys mentioned something about Tsukasa doing something bad to me.. what’d he do?” Mitsuba asked suddenly, making the both of you look at him. “I mean, he’s the one who brought me back here so I wouldn’t disappear.. he can be mean and scary sometimes but he won’t hurt me.” And then at each other.

“Um..” you looked a little uncomfortable, shifting around in your spot. “It’s complicated I guess.”

“It’s really hard to explain, I have no idea how to put it in words.” Kou was equally uncomfortable.

“What? It can’t be that bad?” Mitsuba laughs, but his smile faltered as he realized you two weren’t joking. “Was it?”

You decided to be the one to tell him, taking a deep breath. “It was just after I got you to remember me, the day after, actually.” You began, fidgeting with your sleeves. “We were altogether trying to figure out your ‘unfinished business’ as Kou called it.”

“To help you cross over to the afterlife.” Kou added.

You nodded along “You had told us it was a probably a picture, so we got your camera and we went around different parts of the school to take pictures.” You continued “It was funny, especially since most of the time you were basically just bullying Kou.” You giggled.

Mitsuba smiled, yeah that did sound like something he would’ve done.

“I think I have the pictures? I don’t think I ever gave them back to Kou.” You admit, fishing into the pocket of your shirt, and there were the pictures in question. “Here, see for yourself.” You hand them over to Mitsuba.

Who in turn tenderly grabs them, looking at each of them individually.

The pictures varied. Some were genuinely beautiful, and the ones he took when he was messing with Kou made him have to stifle his laughter.

Mitsuba laughs “Yeah you’re right, I probably did bully him. And had a blast doing it.” He smiles, showing you guys the photo where — he assumed — he was trying to take a photo of some kittens and Kou ended up getting attacked by their mother.

You giggled at the memory, while Kou only pouted.

Mitsuba froze as he saw the picture of you and Kou, and his gaze softened. You looked so pretty to him, and.. there was Kou too, I guess. He stared a bit mesmerized but then cleared his throat, handing them back over to you. “A-And then what? You two didn’t do anything dirty to me did you?” He teased.

“No you pervert, we didn’t.” You sighed, but smiled fondly nonetheless. “We ended up going inside cause it started to rain, and probably gonna leave at that point since school had already finished by then. But that’s when Tsukasa found us.” You had to clutch onto your stomach to prevent yourself from throwing up, the nausea already settling itself in. “The rest of it was a blur. All I can remember was feeling a bit scared. No, that’s an understatement.”

“I was absolutely terrified.”

“He said something about how you left without his ‘permission’ and you looked scared too.” You continued, feeling your hands start to tremble, to which you clearly balled them into fists to stop them from shaking. “He..” the squelching noise and the sound of Mitsuba’s cry rung in your ears. “He hurt you.”

Mitsuba flinched “Hurt me?” He repeated in question, reaching forward to try to hold your hand, seeing as though you were shaking and you looked like you were about to cry. The second his fingertips brushed your knuckles, it all flooded back to him. The empty feeling he felt, the pain, the shock, the fear. It was drowning him. He quickly stood up. “No, no, no that’s not true, not true.” He mumbled to himself, backing up as he buried a hand in his hair.

“I blacked out after I yelled at him, he knocked me out when I tried to attack him.” You admit, voice trembling and small.

Mitsuba’s head whipped around to Kou, eyes watering. “Is he gonna hurt me again?”

“No, don’t worry Mitsuba.”

The two of you froze, Mitsuba flinched.

“I’m not here to hurt you, remember? I brought you back so I could grant your wish.” Tsukasa grinned from ear-to-ear, swinging his legs as he sat on top of the railing. He hopped off, inching closer to Mitsuba.

You stood up immediately, though your legs were shaky, willing yourself to stand next to Mitsuba, stretching out an arm in front of him. “I won’t let you hurt him again.”

“(Y/N)..” As much as Mitsuba admired your bravery, if Tsukasa was really as dangerous as you two claimed he is, he doesn’t want you to get hurt either.

“That’s funny,” A child-like giggle left Tsukasa’s lips. It didn’t last long though, quickly etching into a frown. “What makes you think you’re strong enough to stand against me?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mitsuba, kick them out if you don’t want me to deal with them.”

“B-But Tsukasa..” Mitsuba protests.

“Mitsuba.”

Without another word, Mitsuba did as he was told, sending you both away. Just like the first time, you were dragged out through the mirrors. Yours and Kou’s protests fell on deaf ears.

“From now on, you can’t talk to them, ‘kay Mitsuba?” Tsukasa spoke commandingly, frowning upon said boy like a mother scolding her child.

Mitsuba flinched, mouth agape “But—”

Tsukasa didn’t let him finish “No buts. Do you understand?”

Mitsuba hung his head low in response. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Dude, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me right now.” You groaned in frustration, standing perched up on the sink and slamming your fists into the mirror.

“Hey, hey, let’s calm down a bit okay?” Kou yelped, “If we break something, Hanako will be upset.” He warns.

“Like hell if I care,” you frowned, turning around slightly to glance at him.

“Kid, what the—“ Hanako stood there dumbfounded. He sighed, floating up behind you and picking you up from under your arms.

“Put me down!” You protest, squirming in his hold.

Hanako dragged your squirming figure to a corner, setting you down. “Time out.”

“Time out?” You scoffed “I’m not a kid.”

Hanako hugged you, ruffling your hair. “You’re not, I know. Just cool off.”

You huffed, crossing your arms.

Kou frowns “He’s right, just sit still. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“This is stupid.” You retorted.

.

.

It wasn’t long before Yashiro arrived for her daily bathroom-cleaning duties, setting her bag down by the door. “What.. happened.”

It was definitely a strange sight. Kou and Hanako were just sitting with the mokke and playing hanafuda, and you were sitting in the corner just drawing shapes on the floor with your finger.

Kou sighed, setting his cards down for a moment. “Long story short, we got Yako to take us back into the Hell of Mirrors, we talked with Mitsuba, and just when he finally realized Tsukasa came back and forced him to kick us out. (Y/N) got on the sink and starting banging on the mirror again so Hanako put her in time out.”

Yashiro gave you a pitiful look. “(Y/N)..”

“I need to get back in there, there’s no telling what that thing might do to Mitsuba.” You speak before she could get a chance to.

“And there’s no telling what he might do to you if you’re not careful.” Hanako frowned “Kid, I care about you. Don’t go doing anything stupid that can get you hurt or possibly even killed. You can’t go up against a supernatural as dangerous as Tsukasa.”

You groan in frustration, burying your hands in your hair. “It’s all so infuriating. I want to do something about it, but I can’t do anything. I feel so useless.” You mumble.

“I know the feeling.” Hanako replied sympathetically, putting his cards down to put a hand on your shoulder. “I was scared too, when Yashiro got dragged into the Hell of Mirrors. I felt useless because I couldn’t get in, I couldn’t do anything, really.” He rambled on. “If you’re going to get into trouble like that, at least have a plan, and an exit route.”

“You didn’t have a plan going to save Yashiro.” You scoffed, but a smile found its way onto your lips.

“You get what I meant.” Hanako pouted, playfully shoving your shoulder. “Don’t dive head first into danger. Make a plan and then you can.”

“But you did it.” You quipped with a smirk, nudging him.

“Cause I can’t technically can’t ‘die’ a second time.” Hanako frowns, ruffling up your hair “You can. Be careful, figure something out and then you can try, okay?” He sighs “That boy will be alright, Tsukasa probably won’t destroy something that has the potential to destroy us.”

“Probably? That’s reassuring.” You snort sarcastically.

“I’m serious. Focus on one thing at a time.” Hanako groans, scolding you.

“Hanako’s right, you two could’ve gotten seriously hurt going in there alone without a plan.” Yashiro sighed, leaning on the bathroom stall door. “Tsukasa is dangerous from what I can tell, there’s no way you can beat him if he was able to kill number 3 in his own boundary.”

“I guess..” you mutter, standing up and crossing your arms.

“You guess? He knocked you out when you tried to interfere with him and Mitsuba.” Kou narrowed his eyes down at you, “They’re both right, no more dragging me with you if you don’t have a plan. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Fine, fine, jeez. I’m not a baby.” You whined, a pout resting on your lips.

“No but you are reckless, and incredibly selfless.” Yashiro smiles.

“Uhh thanks?” You trail with an awkward smile.

“I don’t think that’s a compliment.” Hanako snorts.

As you both quickly got into your usual playful banter, Yashiro turned to Kou.

“Hey, keep an eye on her please.” Yashiro asks, her voice spilling with concern “I don’t want her to get hurt. I’m sure none of us do.”

Kou nodded “I will, I promise.”

.

.

It was getting harder and harder to sleep at night. Tossing and turning in bed, trying to get Mitsuba off of your mind but it wasn’t easy. He’s okay, they assured you, but why did you feel like he might be in deeper danger than he started? You need a plan, and fast. But what can you do? Tsukasa won’t allow you near him, and Kou will probably keep an eye on you for awhile to make sure you don’t go manic from the whole ordeal. But.. Kou’s not watching you at night, is he?

( A / N ) : Finally got this done!

Tag list : @tr-mha-fan

[ataurusinabookshop]

Apple pie from Magic Strikes by Ilona Andrews

Ingredients

For the Crust:

▢ 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

▢ 1 1/2 teaspoons salt

▢ 1/2 cup unsalted butter cold, cubed

▢ 1/2 cup shortening cold, cubed

▢ 6-8 tablespoons ice water

For the Filling:

▢ 8 cups apples I like ginger gold or granny smith, peeled, cored, sliced 1/4 inch thick

▢ 2 tablespoon lemon juice

▢ 3/4 cup granulated sugar

▢ 3 tablespoon all-purpose flour

▢ 1 teaspoon cinnamon

▢ 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

▢ 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

For the Topping:

▢ egg wash

▢ coarse sugar

Instructions

For the dough:

Mix the flour and salt together. Use a pastry cutter or forks to cut in the butter and shortening until mixture resembles pea-sized crumbs. Add the water one tablespoon at a time, stirring between each until dough starts to come together.

Press dough together, divide in two and then shape into a thick disks and wrap in plastic wrap. Refrigerate 30-60 minutes or up to 3 days.

For the Filling:

In a large bowl, mix the apple slices with lemon juice and the sugar, flour, and spices together. Place in the fridge for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees with a rack in the lower third of the oven.

For Assembling:

Roll out one dough disc (leave the other one in the fridge) on a lightly floured surface into a 12-inch circle and transfer to a pie plate.

Place the apples in the dough, discarding the liquid in the bowl.

Roll out the remaining dough into a 12-inch circle. Place on top of the apples. Trim excess dough (if desired), pinch the edges of the dough together, and roll it under itself. Flute the edges. Make 5-6 slits in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape.

Brush the top of the pie with the egg wash and sprinkle with coarse sugar. Bake for 45-55 minutes until golden. Place a pie shield on the pie after 25 minutes to prevent edges from getting too browned.

Let pie cool on a wire rack. It takes 2-4 hours for pie filling to set. Store leftovers in

[autisticempathydaemon]

Redacted-tober 2023 Day Thirteen

Prompt: Huxley & Dream

Pairing: DAMN polycule

cw: slight angst, does this count as hurt/comfort?

Summary: The DAMN Halloween Haunt and Festival is bittersweet for Lasko and Freelancer; thankfully, Huxley’s there.

Read on AO3 soon!

<- Previous Day | Next Day ->

“You feeling alright there, dudes?” Huxley asks warmly, handing his partners their luridly food-colored cups of grape lemonade. “Don’t tell me you’re crashing from all the carbs and sugar already; we’ve barely started.” Lasko and Freelancer take them, grateful but subdued, their quiet demeanor out of place among the Halloween festival and crowd. Damien had another hour to his ticket table shift, and Gavin had been pulled away by another daemon friend (a ruse to go hang out with Caelum for a bit). In the meantime, Huxley went to get food and came back to two somber human-borns.

“Just people-watching,” Freelancer says, wrapping an arm around Lasko’s shoulders and pulling him closer against them. Huxley sits on the bench to the air elemental’s other side, the three of them sharing a little body warmth to combat their revealing costumes. It seems like the whole of the Empowered community passes by them: fantastical d(a)emons with horns and tail shown off, elementals dressed as various Avatar the Last Airbender characters, more than some Pikachus and Magnetos, and huge shifters of various species parading about like a Narnian zoo.

“It’s kind of like, like a dream or something?” Lasko offers quietly, fidgeting with the zipper of his borrowed jacket before looking up at Huxley with a wistful, amazed expression.

“What, all the fun costumes and animals in one place?” Huxley laughs. “Isn’t that just Halloween?”

“Not the costumes,” Freelancer says, offhandedly stroking Lasko’s hair while still gazing distantly into the crowd. “It’s everyone using their magic so openly, so freely… making it look so fun and easy.”

“It’s kind of hard to get used to,” Lasko mumbles, his eyes taking on that faraway, sad look that the freelancer has before jumping out of his seat with an indecent squeak. He claps a hand to his freshly-bitten ear just as Freelancer yelps indignantly as their ass is pinched.

“Not a dream, see?” Huxley asks, wide grin turned impish and mischievous and even more handsome and joyous as his partners laugh.

[the-font-bandit]

SAINTS OF STORM AND SORROW COCKTAILS

Cocktails inspired by the wonderful SAINTS OF STORM AND SORROW by Gabriella Buba!

An engrossing Filipino-inspired fantasy featuring vengeful gods and the people connected to them. Queer and complex and full of characters making difficult choices, it's a spectacular read.

So of course I had to make a trio of drinks, inspired by the three types of gods-blessed magic users in the story. Tide-touched, Firetender, and Stormcaller.

Tide-touched

A hint of oceanic flavor, topped with just a hint of sea foam.

- 2oz seaweed infused vodka*

- 1.25oz lime juice

- 1oz Cream of Coconut

- Sea salt (for rim)

Optional: one drop blue food coloring

* Soak kombu in vodka. I used 3 pieces of kombu (about 2"x3" each) in one cup of vodka and let sit for an hour or so before straining.

1) Rim a cocktail glass with sea salt

2) Shake all other ingredients together with ice

3) Strain into glass 

Firetender

Heat and spice, with the tang of pomegranate.

- 2oz lightly-aged (gold) rum

- 1oz lemon juice

- 1/4tsp ginger syrup**

- 3/4oz grenadine***

- Pinch red pepper flakes to taste

** I use ginger syrup by Liber & Co, but you can make your own by lightly simmering chopped fresh ginger in equal amounts of sugar and water.

*** Use the real pomegranate stuff. You can make your own by heating equal parts sugar and 100% pomegranate juice on low heat until sugar dissolves completely.

1) Combine all in a shaker with ice 

2) Shake well

3) Strain through a fine mesh strainer into a cocktail glass 

Stormcaller

With the bright, sharp bite of lightning and a hint of earthy petrichor.

- 2oz mezcal

- 1tsp black peppercorns

- 5-6 leaves mint

- 1oz lemon juice

- 1oz simple syrup

1) Muddle peppercorns and mint in a cocktail shaker in the simple syrup

2) Add everything else plus ice

3) Shake well

4) Strain into a glass using a fine mesh strainer

[abramsbooks]

RECIPE: Grilled Pork Tenderloin with Chimichurri (from Meal Prep Magic by Catherine McCord)

It was in Argentina where I began my love affair with chimichurri; a pot of it accompanied whatever meat we were eating. Just the thought of pairing it with pork tenderloin makes me giddy.

PREP TIME: 15 minutes, plus 1 to 2 hours for marinating COOK TIME: 15 minutes SERVES: 4 to 6

¼ cup (60 ml) Dijon mustard

½ cup (120 ml) apple cider vinegar

3 tablespoons light or dark brown sugar

8 cloves garlic, minced

⅓ cup (75 ml) plus 2 tablespoons olive oil

1½ teaspoons kosher salt

2 to 2½ pounds (910 g to 1.2 kg) pork tenderloin, fat and silver skin removed

½ cup (15 g) packed fresh cilantro

½ cup (15 g) packed flat- or curly-leaf parsley

1 small shallot, peeled

2 tablespoons red or white wine vinegar

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

Pinch crushed red pepper

Freshly ground black pepper

Place the Dijon mustard, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, half of the garlic, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, and 1 teaspoon salt in a large zip-top bag. Squish the bag to mix the marinade. Add the pork tenderloin and use your hand on the outside of the bag to move the marinade around the pork. Marinate for 1 to hours at room temperature or overnight in the refrigerator.

To make the chimichurri, in a food processor, place the cilantro, parsley, remaining garlic, shallot, the remaining ⅓ cup (75 ml) olive oil, the red or white wine vinegar, lime juice, crushed red pepper, remaining ½ teaspoon salt, and black pepper and pulse until finely chopped.

Heat a grill to medium heat. Grill the marinated pork on several sides for a total of 14 to 15 minutes, or until the internal temperature is 135 to 140°F (55 to 60°C) when checked with an instant-read thermometer inserted in the thickest part of the meat. (Alternatively, you can use a cast-iron skillet to roast the pork. Heat over medium-high heat and add 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Sear the pork all over for a total of 6 minutes. Transfer the pan to a 400°F (205°C) oven and roast for 15 to 20 minutes.)

Allow the pork to rest for at least 10 minutes to allow the juices to settle before slicing. Use a sharp knife to cut pork on a bias into ½-inch (12 mm) slices and top with the chimichurri sauce.

Make sure not to overcook the pork. Pork should never be cooked to more than 135 to 140°F (55 to 60°C). You want the internal color to be light pink.

Make double the amount of chimichurri sauce to serve with fish, shrimp, chicken, or steak later that week.

TO ENJOY LATER The cooked pork can be cooled and refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 3 days. Enjoy at room temperature or warm for 30 seconds in the microwave. Store the chimichurri in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 5 days, or freeze in ice cube trays then transfer to labeled zip-top bags for up to 4 months.

PREP IN ADVANCE Place the zip-top bag of the pork in its marinade in the freezer for up to 3 months. When ready to cook, place the pork chops in the zip-top bag in the refrigerator to thaw overnight; cook as directed.

Become a faster, healthier cook with secrets from Weelicious founder and meal prep genius Catherine McCord

With celebrated cookbook author and Weelicious founder Catherine McCord's step-by-step process, your kitchen will be beautifully organized and fast, healthy family meals will be at your fingertips—starting with 100 of her favorite recipes. McCord believes that success in the kitchen comes down to two things—organization and meal prep—and she’ll show you how to master both in Meal Prep Magic.

One step beyond the ideological approach of Marie Kondo and The Home Edit, McCord brings you a practical guide to organizing the most important space in your home and using it. If you’ve ever lost leftovers to the back of the fridge, failed to find a spice that you know you bought, or faced a cabinet full of mismatched Tupperware, her advice will forever change your relationship to your kitchen.

After showing how to maximize your space for efficiency, McCord offers up her favorite family recipes. Including tried-and-tested secrets for saving time, these recipes are easy to prep ahead, make entirely ahead, contain basic ingredients that are always in your pantry, and/or strategically employ your freezer, air-fryer, Instant Pot, slow cooker, and more. Think grab-and-go breakfasts like Raspberry Creamy Chia Puddings, creative packed lunches including easy-to-assemble Salad Jars, healthy snacks like air-fryer crispy artichokes, and irresistible dinners that are even better leftover, such as lemony chicken thighs with lots of herbs.

By following McCord's simple strategies for meal prepping, you’ll always have food on-hand to enjoy throughout your busy week, limiting your trips to the grocery store and time spent in the kitchen. Eat healthy meals you love, while saving time, money, and your sanity. Never again stress out about what to make for dinner! Meal Prep Magic is a lifesaver for any and all home cooks, busy parents, and fans of Weelicious and McCord's popular book Smoothie Project.

For more information, click here.

[parfumieren]

Ruby red.

It came to me recently why fragrances containing grapefruit notes pose such difficulties for me: without fail, they remind me of dieting.

Armed with a horror of plumpness left over from their own girdle-bound maidenhoods, our mothers ruthlessly surveyed us for signs of unruly growth. As we blossomed, they pinched us back. Impatient sighs issued forth whenever we ate ice cream (or licked our fingers); frazzled copies of the Pritikin and Scarsdale Diets magically appeared in our paths. Finally the offer came: wouldn't we like to share Mom's "special" meals? We gamely ate soft-boiled eggs (no butter!), dry squares of wheat toast (no jam!), carefully-measured half-cups of low-fat cottage cheese cradled by leaves of lettuce (iceberg only-- fewer calories than romaine). And if we still wanted dessert after all that… enter the grapefruit.

Halved and served without sugar or garnish, the grapefruit proclaimed the proverbial 'strait gate' traveled by the would-be slender girl. Who else would eat something so acerbic, so biting, so reluctant to give up its contents? The fact that it had its own custom tools of extraction declared its challenging nature-- we had to really work to eat it, and for our pains, we'd more often than not receive a mouthful of bitter pips or a painful squirt-in-the-eye. To prevent the exercise from seeming overly punitive, we could choose a "fancy" pink or red grapefruit over the everyday "white" variety… but a maraschino cherry for decoration?! Are you crazy? Those things are seven calories apiece!

Today I am a grownup, in charge of my dinner plate along with my destiny. While I've come to enjoy grapefruit, I rarely buy them at the store or order them in restaurants. I simply can't shake the opinion that they're the housewife's "austerity measure"-- an edible form of self-punishment for secretly wanting a sloppy ice-cream sundae. Their very scent is a guilt-provoking jolt-- and that's why I've largely avoided that note in perfume.

Why spoil one of life's most wonderful indulgences with the bitter smell of penance?

Tastes change, as do opinions. Little by little I've talked myself into sampling without shuddering. For the most part, the compositions which work best for me cast grapefruit as a supporting player rather than the center of attention. I'm not fond of it swizzled with caramel, but I will take it paired with sea breezes and fresh flowers. And if I'm in the mood for a confection to make up for all those skipped desserts years ago, I sniff Guerlain Aqua Allegoria Pamplelune (grapefruit sorbet) followed by Lavanila Vanilla Grapefruit (grapefruit panna cotta).

The point is, I've gradually come to terms with the persnickety pamplemousse. If I feel any guilt now, it's because I didn't give this note the chance it deserved.

Here are a couple of Citrus x paradisi fragrances that I credit for talking me around:

Citron de Vigne (Fresh) A bright, true pink grapefruit essence whose astringent character is encouraged by tannic tea and red wine notes, this comes closest of all to the scent of a fresh grapefruit in hand. Imagine laboriously working a thumbnail under the pliant peel… the stickiness of the peel essence on your palm, followed by the sting of juice… the cottony texture of the bitter pith… the pink inner flesh veiled but visible… Now pour yourself a garnet glass of Pinot Noir and get ready for a refreshing, mouth-puckering treat.

Scent Elements: Neroli, bigarade, pink grapefruit, red wine accord, jasmine tea leaves, lemongrass, patchouli, sandalwood, amber

Oyédo (Diptyque) For this grapefruit maceration, substitute a half-and-half mix of kiddie grape juice and Jarritos Tamarindo for the red wine, and throw in a bunch of fresh thyme. It sounds like it could be a mess, but somehow it achieves a crazy balance. I prefer the savory drydown to the supersweet opening, but patience being a virtue, the wait is well-justified.

Scent Elements: Lemon, lime, yuzu, grapefruit, mandarin, orange, mint, caraway, thyme, tamarind, cedar

[ava3-2002]

chocolate chip banana bread

Taste This Sweet Chocolate Chip Banana Bread and Treat Your Senses

The smell of freshly baked banana bread floating through the home is very warm. Add in the creamy, melty richness of chocolate chips, and you have an irresistible treat. For good reason, chocolate chip banana bread is a traditional favorite; it’s rich, moist, and ideal for any time of day. Enjoy this delicious baked item warm straight out of the oven for breakfast or as a rich dessert; either way, it will satisfy your needs and leave you wanting more. Explore the world of chocolate chip banana bread and learn why it is so popular.

The Ideal Combination of Flavors

Banana bread is a delicious treat in and of itself because to its moist crumb and sweet banana flavor. However, the addition of chocolate chips takes the mixture to a whole new wonderful level. A symphony of flavors is produced when ripe bananas and chocolate are combined; the natural sweetness of the bananas perfectly balances the richness of the chocolate.

Ingredients:

3 ripe bananas, mashed

1/3 cup melted butter

1 teaspoon baking soda

Pinch of salt

3/4 cup sugar

1 large egg, beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 cup chocolate chips

Instructions:

Preheat your oven to 350°F (175°C) and grease a 9x5-inch loaf pan.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the mashed bananas and melted butter.

Add the baking soda, salt, sugar, beaten egg, and vanilla extract to the bowl, and mix until well combined.

Gradually add the flour to the mixture, stirring until just incorporated. Be careful not to overmix.

Gently fold in the chocolate chips until evenly distributed throughout the batter.

Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top with a spatula.

Bake in the preheated oven for 50–60 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Allow the banana bread to cool in the pan for 10 minutes before transferring it to a wire rack to cool completely.

In conclusion, chocolate chip banana bread represents coziness, nostalgia, and homemade goodness in addition to being a delicious treat. This well-loved recipe will thrill your taste senses and make you grin with every bite, regardless of your level of baking experience. Thus, why not bake a loaf right now and discover the magic for yourself? Your taste buds will always be appreciative, and your friends and family will appreciate you. Cheers to your baking!

For more details visit our website, https://bhakshanangal.com/#/home

[1nksta1neddesk]

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 12: House Call

The next morning had all of us groaning when we finally gathered together in the dinning room for a late brunch. We all crowded at one end of the table, well it was really only me who had changed position as I had moved the farthest away from the doors as I could. Lucien was massaging his temples as I rested my forehead against the cold wood, it appeared that both of us were hung over as Tamlin sat straight in his chair. He was drinking water for once, evidence of his own hangover despite his denial when I had commented on it when I first dragged myself in.

I looked up at Lucien across from me as I pinched my brows together, “And where did Mr.’save my human hide’ go last night?” I purposely pumped the over exaggerated accusation into my words as I lifted my heavy head from the table.

“On patrol, unlike some people who like frolicing with the moon spirits.” I sent a pointed stare at Lucien at the same time Tam did, “With a little bit of company.” He was too snobby about it for my liking as I leaned back in the chair.

“Cauldron spare any poor female who has to share a night with you.” I groaned at him as I nibbled at a slice of coffee cake and sipped at some sweet tea that had found its way to me. He gave me an offended gasp with a hand drawn to his chest before he fell into a twisted grin.

“Rumor says Tam had to carry in a poor female mortal last night.” His eyebrow curled insufferably and I flicked a piece of hardened sugar at him, his hand swatting the air to deflect it.

“You try being a mortal drunk on two cups of solstice wine, though if you don’t enjoy the feeling of your skull being an anvil I wouldn’t suggest it.” He huffed at me as a slice of strawberry landed on my forehead. I peeled it away and glared at him, prepared to throw it back at him.

“Children, children, please not another food fight.” Tamlin interjected and I looked at him. He had been following my movements all morning as me and Lucien bickered at each other.

Lucien cleared his throat before straightening up, intent on saying something serious. “My contact in Winter Court sent me a letter this morning, Tamlin,” A damper on the energy as Lucien's face drew tight and his face lost the laughing warmth, “The blight took 2 dozen of their younglings, gone.” The cake in my mouth became ashen and where it sat in my stomach became rancid as my stomach roiled. “Burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is … unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack.”

We sat in heavy silence, none of us reaching for food or drink as we reckoned with the devastation. It was obvious Rhysand was tied to the slaughter, or at least knew of it. My hand was shaky as I reached toward Tamlin’s hand, the fingernails elongated and sharpened into claws where the tips just barely dug into the polished wood. I was just barely soothing the back of his hand before the claws tightened, digging into the wood and Tamlin was growling as his head bobbed higher, detecting something.

Silence echoed through the manor, unnatural as I had become used to the soft bustling of servants and birds that hung around the balconies. It was wrong as Lucien drew a short sword he must have taken with him on patrol as Tamlin’s canines were elongeated a gleaming with saliva.

“Get Feyre to the window -- by the curtains.” The command was stone as Lucien and I both rose from the table quickly, him pushing me against the wall, pinning me in the drapery as he leaned back into me as though willing me to flatten into paper and melt into the wall. The smallest twinge of smoking cedar pushed with him and I knew I was glammored from view. Tamlin stared at the open doors as Lucien's hand tightened on the hilt, knuckles going white as I wiggled against his back. Tam still sat in his chair, slouching to appear casual for just a moment before casual clicks of hard soled shoes echoed from down the call.

Rhysand appeared at the doors and I stopped wiggling as I stared at him. It wasn’t the same as Calanmai, now he held a mask as he strode into the room as though it was his own home. He stopped a few yards from Tamlin, feline and self assured as he surveyed the room, where Lucien was pretending to gaze out the window.

“High Lord,”he crooned, inclining his head slightly. Not a bow, never a bow. Tamlin stayed in his seat as he looked up at Rhysand, pretending the presence wasn’t causing those claws to remain razor sharp as he cleaned them with a paring knife.

“What do you want, Rhysand?” Tamlin was short in his words, seething it like a viper

Rhysand smiled and I knew he was the real snake, a constrictor already wrapped around its prey as put a hand on his chest. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don’t see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that.” His grin widened as he finished, and something I felt the tension squeeze. Lucien pressed me harder that would surely bruise my ribs against the stone of the wall as Rhysand turned, evaluating Lucien as prey.

“A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien.”

“Go to Hell, Rhys,” Lucien snapped.

“Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble,” Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. I struggled to breath against the wall but just barely kept from wheezing out each breath.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“We were in the middle of lunch,” Tamlin said—his voice void of the warmth to which I’d become accustomed. The voice of the High Lord, but it was weaker than the other High Lord in the room.

“Stimulating,” Rhysand purred.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

“I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.”

“Your present was unnecessary.”

“But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn’t it?” Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. “Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don’t know how you managed it. But,” he said, facing Tamlin again, “you’re such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I’m surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” conceded Tamlin, his voice low. Rhysand approached Tamlin, and each twitch of muscle that guided him was measured. His voice dropped into a whisper, the same whisper of silk sheets dragging against each other.

“What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin—and an even greater pity that you’re so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago.”

Lucien interrupted, “What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore.”

“Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons.” Aching pain tightened my chest further as I resisted the urge to separate from Lucien and soothe the cutting edge of those words.

“At least I haven’t bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell.”

Lucien’s sword rose slightly and I pressed a hand against his back, he gained enough sense to lower the tip of the blade to rest against the floor again, “If you think that’s all I’ve been doing, you’ll soon learn otherwise.”

“Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.”

I dug a sharp nail into Lucien as he growled and the blade twisted, screeching against the marble floors it scratched. It kept that blade down and I was thankful.

A small sighing laugh as Rhysand shook his head slightly, looking towards Tamlin, “Shouldn’t you correct this behavior, its unbecoming of a High Lords Emissary to be so hostile to another court’s High Lord, don’t you agree?” Darkness rippled from him like the invert of heat waves and my eyes became entranced by the fluttering aura around him.

“I don’t enforce rank in my court,” Tamlin said.

“Still?” Rhysand crossed his arms. “But it’s so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you.”

“This isn’t the Night Court,” Lucien hissed. “And you have no power here—so clear out. Amarantha’s bed is growing cold.” If my finger dug back into Lucien’s back he did not react. Anger boiled in me but I tried my best to sooth it as I finished the last touches on my mental shield, fashioned specifically for this meeting.

“I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born,” Rhysand snarled, and he was drawing back as though he had just come to talk about the wonderful weather. “Besides,” his hands slid into the pockets of his pants, “who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can’t truly believe he learned everything in his father’s little war-camps.” I scrunch my nose, not quite pleased to hear about gore and sex as a small sweat was breaking at my hairline.

Tamlin rubbed his temples. “Save it for another time, Rhys. You’ll see me soon enough.”

Rhysand meandered toward the door, a neighbor dismissing themselves. “She’s already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you’ve already been broken and will reconsider her offer.”

Lucien’s breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of my chair. “I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—” Rhysand’s eyebrows pinched just slightly as he studied the table, the extra plate with half-eaten cake on it. Lucien went stick-straight, pressing me harder against the wall.

“Where’s your guest?” Rhysand asked, lifting my goblet and sniffing it before setting it down again, the twinge of disgust on his face informed he did not find the sweet tea as appealing as I did.

“I sent them off when I sensed your arrival,” Tamlin lied coolly.

I felt the excitement at the same time I watched the movement of those shadows pick up. He sniffed the air as he turned and his eyes locked on Lucien, and it was excitement and small disbelief making his eyes glow.

“You dare glamor me?” he growled, his violet eyes burning as they bore into me and I knew he could see me now as Lucien just pressed me harder into the wall. Tamlin’s chair scratched the floor as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, deadlier than any of the knives strapped to him.

“I remember you,” he purred. I stepped out from behind Lucien even as his had gripped my arm and pulled me back towards him.

He turned to Tamlin. “Who, pray tell, is your guest?”

“My betrothed,” Lucien answered.

“Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries,” Rhysand said, stalking toward me. He was handsome even in his fury as I locked my eyes to his, keeping his gaze as he drew nearer. Dark pulsed from him and I clenched my hands to keep from reaching out to the sentient shadows.

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us. Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.”

The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” I was already ripping my arm from his grasp and pushing down the blade, careful not to slice open my hand as I did so.

“I knew you liked to take filth for your lovers, but to stoop so low as to drabble with the human garbage.” Still I did not break my stare, as I set the last soft layer of metal shield. I had constructed my mind like a stone fruit, soft flesh of mind that I bared to him covered in the barest shield of skin, but the vital thoughts I guarded were at the center, hidden by that flesh in an dense sheild of iron and stone.

Rhysand had not paused as he approached me. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

“Leave Rhys,” Tamlin’s voice led itself to a command but it was no more than a puppy's bark to Rhysand as he paused a body length away from me. I put one foot forward, crossing it across the other as I bent at the waist and bowed formally. I did not have any fear as I straightened from my bow.

“At least someone in this court has manners, perhaps you should teach them to your fiancé.” He grinned down at me ,“If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It’s a wonder that you’re still here, actually.”

“My stay ran longer than anticipated, but it is a pleasure to put a name to a face, Rhys.” If he had any doubts they did not cross his face as wicked enjoyment crawled across his face like a spider.

Rhysand was about to speak but Tamlin was growling again, “Get out Rhysand, you have seconds.”

Rhysand clicked his tongue, “If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to me like that Little High Lord.” My body straightened like a rod was ran through every bone and muscle as I felt talons of a large hand scrape along the top most barrier of my mind. The skin of the fruit was sliced and I let small thoughts push out from them as glistening juice. Tastes of the night and towering trees hiding me as I rested during a hunt.

“Let her go,” Tamlin said, bristling, but didn’t advance forward. A kind of panic had entered his eyes, and he glanced from me to Rhysand. If I could reassure him I would, but I still stared back at Rhysand as I softened my eyes, “Enough.”

“I’d forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells,” Rhysand said. I felt one of the claws collect the leaking thoughts, tasting what I presented. “How delightful. You must have gotten a rare one Tam, unable to feel fear even as her mind is just shy of being obliterated.” He crooned at me as his hand wrapped around my throat, thumb tracing my pulse point. I pushed more thoughts out, this time the fear of heights as I strapped myself to a tree of the night, fear of nightmares that haunted me when I dreamed. “Oh it would be quick, I promise.”

“Amarantha will enjoy breaking her,” Rhysand observed to Tamlin. “Almost as much as she’ll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit.”

Tamlin was frozen, his arms hanging limply next to him, defeated. “Please” If he would just shut up and quit begging I could solve this, and perhaps I let a little too much irritation slip from me as Rhysand’s forehead rose just a bit.

“Please what?” Rhysand taunted as those claws traced swirling patterns into my mind, cutting more and more away and I left more and more thoughts pouring from it.

“Don’t tell Amarantha about her,” Tamlin said, and his voice cracked.

“And why not? As her whore,” he said with an accusatory glance tossed in Lucien’s direction, “I should tell her everything.” Tamlin pleaded again with short ‘please’s. Rhysand made him beg, a simpering mess as he pressed his foot into Tamlin’s head. Maybe I would have felt bad if I was not reminded of the slaughter of both of their families.

Those claws loosened from my mind and I gained control of my limbs again. I shook them lightly before I gave Rhysand a reprimanding smile, flickers of shock skipped over all of their faces as I rubbed at my head.

“It is quite rude to hold a Lady’s mind without asking first.” I pushed hair from my forehead that was leaking sweat. I reformed the shields into something easier to manage, a smooth wall of solid stone. The headache I had been dealing with since I rose from bed dissipated just a bit as my metal strain lessened. Disbelief and horror was across both Tamlin’s and Lucien’s faces as I smoothed out the violet tunic I had chosen this morning on purpose.

“A rare catch indeed, Tamlin.” Rhys grinned at me and behind the mask of cruelty I might have imagined amusement. “What’s your name, love? It is quite unfair that you have mine but I do not have yours.”

I did not let a heartbeat of indecision pass, “Emiline Jacobs.” I had the name on reserve for years, a young woman from The Children of Blessed that made a pastime of stealing from the elderly on market day. It wasn’t enough to condemn her to the death she would face but it was enough to know there wouldn’t be a house burned to ashes.

“Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I’ve had in ages, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing you three Under the Mountain. I’ll give Amarantha your regards.” He was curt as he nipped lint from the matte black tunic and winnowed. The air didn’t even move for a moment, the element afraid of shredding the last bit of Tamlin’s restraint. We were alone and that fractured each of us.

[interuniversalcookingshow]

(Alright then! Due to the nature of the robot, 2 will be provided since they are kind of short. The only things given for the robot to use was every past recipe and the ingredients.)

Welcome to episode 447 of the Inter-Universal Cooking Show! Today we will be making a Hyper Donut! Ingredients: Asriel Dreemur's soul in his hyper form, 1 donut, 1 bag filled with sugar, 2 cups of coffee, 4 drops of magic, a boiling pot of water, and a cup of determination. First, you will need to mash up half a donut and mix it with some of the coffee in the bag. Then you will need to pour that mixture into the donut, then mix in the drops of magic and pour the boiling pot of water over it. Make sure the donut is nice and moist so it will absorb the magic, then put it in the fridge for 3 hours. After that, take it out and put the determination into the donuts center. Voila! A Hyper Donut!

Welcome to episode 656 of the Inter-Universal cooking show! On today's episode we will be making a Giga Salad! Ingredients: 3 salads, 2 cups of darkness, 1 syringe of magic, a gallon of milk, 1 vegan human soul substitute, and a pinch of salt. First, you will need to drain all the salad except for the dark and toss it with the milk until it loses most of its nutrients and becomes nice and smooth, then you need to add the pinch of salt and the Vegan soul substitute to the mix. Next, add the dark to the mix and let it sit for 10 minutes. Take it out and mix it with the salads again, then add the magic to the mix and let it sit for another 10 minutes. Last, pour the gallon of milk on top, stir and serve! Voila! A Giga Salad!

Uh. Boss? It got out of its containment cell!

[midwesternfoodie]

The Origins of Spaghetti

Few dishes evoke the essence of Italian cuisine like spaghetti. A humble pasta that has transcended borders and become a global favorite, spaghetti is an integral part of Italy's culinary heritage. While modern interpretations abound—ranging from simple marinara sauces to meat-filled Bolognese—there’s something uniquely magical about returning to its roots and exploring the original spaghetti recipe.

The History of Spaghetti

Spaghetti’s origins are steeped in history and mythology, with tales linking it to Marco Polo’s travels to China or ancient Arab traders. However, it is widely accepted that pasta, as we know it today, has been a staple in Italy for centuries. Its development and spread across the country were influenced by the Mediterranean climate, perfect for growing durum wheat, the key ingredient in dried pasta.

The name "spaghetti" is derived from the Italian word spago, meaning "string" or "twine," which refers to the pasta's long, thin shape. By the 12th century, pasta-making had become an art form in Italy, and by the 19th century, spaghetti had established itself as a staple food for Italians, particularly in the southern regions like Naples.

What is "Original Spaghetti"?

The term “original spaghetti recipe” often refers to spaghetti alla napoletana or spaghetti al pomodoro—a simple dish that celebrates the purity of fresh tomatoes, garlic, and olive oil. Before tomatoes were introduced to Europe in the 16th century, pasta was often eaten with cheese, butter, or spices, but it’s the marriage of pasta with tomato sauce that has become a hallmark of traditional Italian cuisine.

In its earliest forms, the recipe emphasized fresh, simple ingredients that were available to everyone, reflecting the resourceful and modest roots of Italian peasant cooking. Today, this classic dish remains a symbol of Italian culinary tradition.

The Traditional Recipe: Spaghetti al Pomodoro

Here’s a step-by-step guide to preparing an authentic plate of spaghetti al pomodoro, as it might have been enjoyed centuries ago.

Ingredients:

400g (14 oz) dried spaghetti (made from durum wheat)

500g (18 oz) fresh, ripe tomatoes (San Marzano tomatoes are ideal)

3-4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2-3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced

A handful of fresh basil leaves

Salt to taste

Optional: A pinch of sugar (to balance the acidity of the tomatoes)

Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Pecorino Romano (for serving)

Instructions:

Prepare the Tomatoes: If you're using fresh tomatoes, start by blanching them. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, then make a small "X" incision on the bottom of each tomato. Drop them into the boiling water for about 30 seconds, then transfer to an ice bath. Once cooled, peel off the skins, remove the seeds, and roughly chop the tomatoes.

Cook the Sauce: In a large skillet or pan, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic slices and sauté until they become fragrant and golden, but be careful not to burn them. The garlic should infuse the oil with flavor. Add the chopped tomatoes to the pan. Stir and cook the tomatoes down until they break apart and create a sauce, around 15-20 minutes. If the sauce tastes too acidic, add a pinch of sugar. Season with salt and let the sauce simmer gently while you prepare the pasta.

Cook the Spaghetti: In a large pot, bring salted water to a boil. The water should be as salty as the sea, which is crucial for flavoring the pasta. Add the spaghetti and cook according to package instructions (usually 8-10 minutes for al dente). Stir occasionally to prevent sticking.

Combine the Pasta and Sauce: Once the spaghetti is al dente, reserve a cup of the pasta cooking water and drain the rest. Add the spaghetti directly to the pan with the tomato sauce. Toss well to combine, adding a splash of the reserved pasta water to loosen the sauce and help it cling to the spaghetti.

Finish with Basil: Tear fresh basil leaves and scatter them over the pasta. Toss everything together gently, allowing the basil's aroma to meld with the tomatoes and garlic.

Serve: Serve the spaghetti immediately with a generous drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and, if desired, a sprinkling of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Pecorino Romano cheese.

Why This Recipe Endures

The beauty of spaghetti al pomodoro lies in its simplicity. Every ingredient plays a crucial role: the pasta is firm and flavorful, the tomatoes bring a natural sweetness and acidity, the garlic provides depth, and the olive oil ties it all together with a rich, fruity note. Fresh basil adds a fragrant finish that captures the essence of Mediterranean cuisine.

Unlike the more complex spaghetti dishes seen today, such as spaghetti carbonara or Bolognese, this recipe focuses on highlighting the pure flavors of the ingredients without masking them with heavy sauces or spices. The original recipe is light, vibrant, and satisfying—a true representation of Italy’s culinary philosophy: less is more.

Modern Twists on a Classic

While the original spaghetti al pomodoro remains unchanged in many Italian households, it has inspired countless variations worldwide. Some add chili flakes for heat, others enhance the richness with anchovies or a splash of red wine. However, purists will argue that the charm of the dish lies in its simplicity and the quality of its ingredients.

Conclusion

The original spaghetti recipe is not just a meal; it’s a slice of history served on a plate. From its humble origins to its place on the global stage, spaghetti al pomodoro encapsulates the heart of Italian cuisine—celebrating simplicity, freshness, and the love of good food. When you sit down to enjoy this dish, you’re partaking in a tradition that spans centuries, with each bite honoring Italy’s rich culinary heritage.

https://www.ambitiousfoodie.com/easy-homemade-spaghetti-sauce-seasoning-recipe/