#buttered baby turnips

[petermorwood]

More food photography.

The header and this...

... is Oven-Roasted Pumpkin antipasto with Olive Oil, Herbs and Pine Nuts. It’s intended for European Cuisines, and is based on this South Tyrol recipe.

We didn’t have any cherry tomatoes, though next time a can of chopped toms cooked right down then judiciously spooned about seems a good idea; we also added a sprinkle of crushed chillis for extra zing.

These are Baby Turnips in Berry-Pepper Butter, for Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms.

@dduane​ says the plate looks too empty so we’ll have to re-do them with More Turnips.

Until she decided to reshoot with a different bowl and something to drink (a limited edition stout from The Porter House in Dublin) there were actually plenty of turnips.

However somewhere between end-of-shooting with that lot, and “let’s try again”, there seems to have been a certain amount of Eating The Props...

Oh dear. How sad. Never mind. :-D

This is Beef Heart with Red Wine, Onions, Bacon and Garlic, again for European Cuisines, here accompanied by Trofie and Strozzapreti tricolour pasta.

The recipe - dating back to the days of Minitel - is already there, but deserves a better photo.

If finding a heart is difficult or the thought of taking one apart is a bit too forensic, this treatment works just fine with other cheap tough cuts such as shin or oxtail; sear in advance for flavour and colour, then proceed as per the recipe. Long marination and slow cooking is what does the trick.

Here’s Geflügelragout (Roast Chicken Stew) from European Cuisines. Basically it’s a from-the-shop rotisserie chicken in a rich winey lemony sauce which can be made in advance and stored in fridge or freezer. (Make plenty...)

it’s going to be Brightwood Vintner’s Chicken in The Middle Kingdoms, because they really wouldn’t want to miss out on something this good.

DD’s recipe calls for a lemon cut into thick slices and all pips removed. These slices are then fished out afterwards along with the bay leaves.

My preference - I like lemons - is to slice the lemon as thin as possible (again, all pips removed) and at the end, when the bay leaves are gone and everything is pushed through a sieve, that everything will include the thin lemon slices.

Try it either way. Try it both ways.

Accompaniments could be mashed spuds, rice, Spätzli or even udon; in this example it’s Saffron-Pumpkin noodles; these can be made with a machine or by hand, though hand-cutting gives a pleasing irregular “rustic” result.

Some crusty bread to chase the last of the gravy is also a good idea, so none goes to waste. It really is that good.  ;-)

[marigoldenblooms]

April Foolishness - Headcanons

Pairing (Not all at once): Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader, Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

MINORS DNI - 18+

Summary: How would they react to you failing miserably- masterfully pranking them at every turn?

Tags: Fluff, established relationships, swearing, attempted pranking (mentions of bugs/arachnids, fish), innuendos and tension, comfort, light power usage, no actual smut (fade to black).

A/N: Happy silly day, ya'll!! I wanted to do something fun between classes, so this is it- april fools pranks on my favorite girls. Not proofread at all. Enjoy the boops!

Images are not mine, credit to owners! ~~~

Wanda x Reader

You hadn't been dating Wanda for very long.

Well, if you don't count the years of pining, that is.

You had hidden yourself behind a corner in her hallway, arms out and ready to spook.

This had been your same trick from Halloween (which between that and the turnips did not go well-)

But this time it’d go swimmingly.

After thirty minutes later, you heard the familiar clack of her heels against the compound’s floors, and…

Nothing. Silence.

You peeked around the corner to see where the witch had gone, and-

“Boo.”

Her warm grasp hugged your middle , yet you swear you jumped out of your skin.

“What the- Fuck, Wands-“ Your terror was met with her musical laughter, patting the the sides of your stomach.

“Well if you insist, sweetheart.”

Her voice echoed

She’d let go of you, and you could see the sparkling mirth in her eyes once you turned around.

She placed a quick peck on your cheek, looping your hand with hers to play with your fingers, gaze downcast at them even as her mischievous words would enter your head without her mouth moving.

“If you want to spook a mind reader, darling..”

You gulped as her touch grew more bold, pinning you against the wall- face warming as she’d tilt her head,

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

She’d chuckle at your flustered reaction, her grin cheshire as she’d lead you back to her room, giddy with sweet excitement.

“And happy April fools to you too, Wan-“

~~~ Natasha x Reader

Natasha had always managed to prank you first before you could prank her.

One year prior, you’d ended up with an egg in your hair while your whipped-cream pie prank had gone unsung.

And that was some really good whipped cream.

This year, though- you had buttered her up. Perks of being her partner- the pranks could go even harder.

“Good morning, my dearest sunshine-“ You’d murmur, settling her in with breakfast in bed.

Your trick? Salt in her coffee instead of sugar. Genius.

Natasha propped herself up on her arms, giving you an upturned eyebrow, “Oh, and what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing much..” A shit eating grin plastered her face, one that would soon be returned by the redhead.

“Birthday? Anniversary..?” She’d poke at your side as you sat down, her touch ticklish as she helped you settle the tray of food on her bedsheets.

“M-mmn, nothin’, sugar..” Oh, how you’d be eating those words soon enough.

You’d watch as she’d take a sip from her coffee, eyes wide and sparkling as she opened her mouth-

And sighed in bliss.

What the fuck was wrong with this woman.

“Delicious, baby..” Natasha purred, taking another hardy swig, and you watched as she swallowed. “You’ve outdone yourself..”

“I…uh-“ Your babbling words would be cut short as you took a drink of your own mug-

And was met with intense, uncomfortable sodium.

She cackled as you spit your mouthful back into your cup, punching her jokingly with a red face, “You- you fuckin’-“

“Switched them?”

“Not just the brew-“ Your hand would’ve found your forehead in shock, “But the mugs too- how the shit did you do that?”

“A spy will never reveal her secrets-“ She’d lean up to kiss you, but instead would shift the platter over to the side. “And you need to wash your mouth out.”

“Not before I drink my coffee..” You’d hiss, chugging her now lukewarm mug down.

That was, until you saw a plastic totally real cockroach on the bottom of the mug, shrieking before chucking it against the wall.

“Love you too, dear.”

~~~ Yelena x Reader

You didn’t think Yelena could be scared of anything.

She threw a knife at the fake spider you pranked her with last year.

And she spat in the face of the ‘piranhas’ that had infested your room’s bathroom two years ago.

And even so, you tried again this year- although with something much less terrifying.

You'd flooded Yelena's room with multicolored balloons, painstakingly blowing them up before gently setting them on her floor.

And the best part?

She was asleep in her bed the whole time.

You had almost finished the second bag of balloons when Fanny, ever the sleepy Akita, finally stirred from their rest.

The pup locked eyes with you, and you were so thankful that they didn't bark.

That didn't stop Yelena from waking, though.

The blond would rise quickly, eyes darting around as soon as her dog moved an inch. You swear she had murder in her eyes, although that might've just been from awakening so quickly.

It all left her once she found you, though.

Groggily, she'd wipe at her eyes, mumbling something before kicking her foot off the bed to stand-

Bumping into a stray balloon.

She recoiled immediately, yowling as though she'd been pained deeply- and you were at her side in a heartbeat.

"Yelena, shit- you okay?"

"Yeah.." She'd gruff, her shoulders slacking once your hands found purchase on them. She'd hide her head in your shoulder, a surprising gesture.

You wrapped your arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back, "No need to be frightened, honey.." She'd hold you closer, and a flicker of thought ran through your mind, "Lena..are you scared?"

"What-? No-" She'd deny, her voice especially thick this early in the morn. "You just startled me-"

"That's a form of fear, hun-" Your chuckle was met with a groan from her, before she pulled her blankets back over the two of you.

Her words were muffled, "Fine, you got me- but now you hold me until I say so."

"My big, bad, scary Lena...of course, honey."

~~~ Kate x Reader

No matter what you pranked Kate with, she was always worried about you.

It's not unfounded, after you fell down the stairs during last year's April Fools, but still.

This time, you’d actually get her.

"Kate, made you some brownies!"

You heard her clamor with a fevrency that made her sound like a one man band.

She burst out of the hallway, expression wild with hunger and apprehension-

Until she saw you holding some kiddy scissors exceptionally sharp blades of murder and death and terror and-

“Babe!” She’d screech, barreling forth to snatch the scissors from your careful hands, placing them gently on the counter, before inspecting your palm for even the slightest scratch.

She hadn’t even noticed the brown construction paper, or the cut letter you’d pressed towards her middle.

“Kate, earth to Kate-“ Your smile towards her shook her from her thoughts, “I’m okay, pretty girl..Happy April Fools!”

Between the panic and the praise, her brain had to do a soft restart after that.

After a few more seconds, her goofy grin would return again, almost coy, “Gave me a heart attack there, you know-“

“I know,” You’d motion to the tin of hello kitty bandaids you’d raided from Tony, “And I was prepared, you doofus.”

She’d smile, nodding along until her face flushed- her hand rubbing smooth circles into your hip.

“But if you, you know- wanted to do some scissoring, as they say-“ You’d sigh, shaking your head with a teasing lilt, “You’re verryy smooth, dear.”

You’d press a boop to her nose, a teasing whisper, “I’ll think about it.”

~~~

[7-wonders]

Of Jack-o'-Lanterns and Misperceptions

Summary: You carve pumpkins with two of Dream's sisters in the Dreaming!

Word Count: 1.2k (just a short lil thing!)

A/N: If you haven't read the comics, all you need to know about Delirium is that she's the baby of the family and I would protect her with my life.

The Dreaming is home to many odd and fantastical situations that one wouldn’t normally see in their day-to-day life. But even in a land like the Dreaming, seeing the little group that’s diligently working around a table that’s been set up in Fiddler’s Green gives inhabitants pause. One inhabitant in particular, upon coming across the scene, begins to fear for his life.

“Look kid,” Merv says nervously, putting his hands up in the air as if in surrender, “I don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much, but you didn’t have to show me in such a brutal way.”

You laugh, just barely glancing from your careful knife work to the pumpkin-headed man standing in front of you. “C’mon Merv, surely you know that carving pumpkins is a Halloween tradition!”

“Tradition or not, give a guy a little warning next time before you go around driving a knife through the same thing his head is made of.”

“To be fair,” the dark-skinned woman sitting across from you interjects, giving you a wink, “this was initially my idea.”

Merv groans. “Great, Death’s got it out for me.”

“Do you want me to try and make one that looks like you?” you ask, attempting to butter him up.

He pauses to consider this before begrudgingly leaning against the table. “...Yeah. Give it your best shot.”

It still tends to give you pause when you think about the fact that your boyfriend’s sister, the literal anthropomorphic personification known as Death, is friendly with you. Even when you meet up with her in your world, the Waking, you sometimes do a mental double take when you realize that you’re sitting in a park or enjoying a coffee with Death. The woman has made an effort to try and be a friend to you since you’re in a relationship with her brother – something you very much appreciate, considering there is a whole lot you don’t understand about that which you had believed to be fake until only a few months ago.

In fact, it was Death who had suggested this little project. She had popped by your home one night to say hello while you were watching Halloween, and had remarked how much she loved the movie. Though she couldn’t stay long enough to watch the movie in its entirety with you, you did both launch into a conversation about Halloween and everything enjoyable about it. She had mentioned how she loved to carve jack-o’-lanterns back when they were still made of turnips, and then a devious smile spread on her face before she asked if you enjoyed carving pumpkins.

That’s how you ended up here, in your lover’s domain, dragging a knife through a pumpkin and trying your hardest to beat Death in designing a jack-o’-lantern. How strange your life has become in recent months.

When Death looks up from her pumpkin and smiles, you already know who she’s looking at. Though you have no powers of your own, you can still feel Dream’s presence whenever he’s around you. When he places his large hands on your shoulders, you crane your neck around to look up at him with a grin.

“Hi, Morpheus,” you greet.

Morpheus, as is customary whenever he sees you (a true romantic, he is), kisses you softly. “My love.”

From across the table, Death makes a noise of endearment. “You two are just so cute, sometimes I cannot stand it!”

His lips twitch into a small smile, the most emotion he’ll show around his beloved sister. “Hello, sister.” Dream almost does a double take before amending his greeting. “Hello, sisters. Though I am pleased to see you both, I cannot help but be unsure of when it is that I invited you to my realm.”

“You didn’t,” Death says with a smirk. “Y/n did.”

You smile at Dream sheepishly. “We wanted to carve pumpkins, and this was the easiest place for Delirium to find.”

Delirium, the youngest sibling of the Endless, is currently staring intently at her pumpkin with her tongue poking out of her mouth as she draws on it with a marker. Nobody questions what it is she is attempting to accomplish.

“You are…carving pumpkins,” Dream observes, as if you didn’t just tell him what you’re doing. You share a look with Death over the table when he’s not looking, as if to say ‘men.’ “Why?”

“Because it’s almost Halloween!” you say cheerfully. “Surely you’ve seen jack-o’-lanterns in people’s dreams before.”

“I have. Though, I believe they were turnips and not pumpkins.”

You laugh. “Your sister told me the same thing, but that was also, like, two hundred years ago. You really need to get out more.”

“You wanna carve one, little brother?”

Morpheus shakes his head politely before sitting down next to you in a seat that he conjures from thin air. “I am more than content to just watch, thank you.”

And watch he does, though you think he watches how you interact with his sisters more than he watches the actual pumpkin carving. You can tell that this simple act, of you spending time with his blood, means a lot to him. If anybody has a complicated family, it’s the Endless. You know that they haven’t always been on the best of terms, even he and Death, and so it’s important to you that you accept his family as you’ve accepted him.

Though, you do still find it difficult to spend time with Desire, since they’re very conniving and just not a very good person. You’re working on it, though.

“I’m FiNiShEdDdDdD!” Delirium finally trills before turning her pumpkin around with her delicate hands to face you. “WhAt Do YoU tHiNk? ShE lOoKs LiKe ShE wOuLd MaKe A gOoD fRiEnD!”

She’s carved the features of a jack-o’-lantern’s face over and over again, creating a pumpkin with mouths, noses, and eyes that are in a variety of positions they are not typically found in and sideways or upside-down. After studying it for a moment, you look up and grin. “Looks great, Del. Want me to put a candle in it so that you can see it lit up?”

Delirium squeals and nods, her red curls bouncing around her face. When you place one of the electric tea lights inside the pumpkin and turn it so that she can see her masterpiece, she claps her hands together in excitement. Butterflies and tiny fish fly around her, the visible manifestation of said excitement. “I lOvE iT! dOn’T yOu ThInK iT lOoKs FaNtAbUlOuS, dReAmY? dEaTh?”

“It looks wonderful, sister,” Morpheus dutifully says.

“Fantabulous, indeed,” Death adds.

As Delirium chatters on about pumpkins and pumpkin pie and oh, the time that she found herself in a giant pumpkin with mice like Cinderella, Death listening good-naturedly, you glance over to see Dream watching you. You smile at him and kiss his cheek.

“Sorry for not asking before inviting your sisters into your realm.”

“Do not apologize. I find myself glad that you are on good terms with my sisters.” He lays a hand on top of yours. “Thank you for being so open to spending time with them. It means a lot, not only to them, but to me as well.”

“I like Death and Delirium. They’re fun to hang out with. Plus, they tell me embarrassing stories about you.”

He smirks. “Ah, so that’s been your plan all along?”

“It’s a fun, unexpected little perk.” You look over at Merv before looking at your pumpkin, making sure you’ve got his left eye just right. “Now, care to watch as I recreate your janitor on an inanimate pumpkin?”

As expected, Dream does more of watching you than he does watching the actual carving. Not that you mind, though.

[hongzhizhu]

🍀 Irish Stew 🍀

A delicious and hearty stew made with tender braised beef chunks, caramelized onions, thyme, Italian parsley, black pepper, salt, carrots, turnips, leeks, and baby Dutch potatoes. Served with buttered homemade Irish soda bread.

Cookbook was gifted to me from @subatomicskud 💚

The only changes made to the recipe was substituting the lamb with beef, adding the optional vegetables suggested in the cookbook, and cooking it in a slow cooker overnight.

I used a recipe from Bigger Bolder Baking for the soda bread.

(Miguel plush is by NissizSky on twitter)

[dduane]

Frankly it’s magical that as much of this made it through the photo session as did. :)

[gentlemanlymermaid]

breakfast:

* honey glazed luski w/ bakeapple tea jelly

* cherrywood-smoked venison bacon

* roasted peach & pineapple fruit salad

lunch:

* toasted ciabatta grilled cheese with red pepper & caramelized shallots

* sautéed stringbeans w/ lemon balsamic glaze

dinner:

* creamy periwinkle chowder w/ sautéed crab roe

* maple butter braised baby turnips & wild greens

* roasted sweet corn basted in white miso butter

dessert:

* smoked butterscotch pots de crème

* caramelized plantain beignets

[finn0]

chipotle order?

OZ version is GYG or Zambrero in which case the beef burrito from GYG is somehow the shit, but zambie's used to have like an adobo chicken that was curried almost which was astonishingly delicious but now they don't do it, but I would suggest if you're making a burrito please put some curry in your pulled chicken or pork because it weirdly works so well with all the other regular mexican flavours

thoughts on veganism?

far too much work and you'll find yourself talking about it all the time. if you have to ask whether sour patch kids have gelatine in them and whether you're killing the planet by eating fists full of sugar shaped like pink watermelon babies, it's negating not having a bloody chicken wing once a decade

a specific color that gives you the ick?

really pale, almost washed out white people skin. like the peaky skin of someone who's about to be sick

mythical creature you think/believe is real?

I've encountered enough river eels to imagine that something fucked up and huge lives in Loch Ness. Or the Ogopogo in Canada. Or the Mongolian death worm. A giant worm in the sand dunes of the Gobi desert? Probably!

favorite form of potato?

Creamy dauphinoise with a tiny bit of chili in it. Or a really crisp latke.

do you use a watch?

no, irrelevant creation. also calling it a timepiece is so ridiculous.

what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

OCTOPUS

do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

anything where i'm not sweaty and my balls can meet their best friends, my knees

do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

Oh yes, cocoa butter vaseline on my face all day, hyaluronic acid after a shower around my eyes, same thing but in cream form as a night cream

on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

ginger ale, because air travel is the least likely place I will ever drink alcohol. and orange juice swells me up like poison ivy

anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

a few trinkets, but I've never thrown a book away in my life

brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

Dove cucumber soap

first thing you’re doing in the purge?

finding a former manager and breaking her limbs before throwing her down a well

do you think you’re dehydrated?

constantly

rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

best to worst: freezing, drowning, burning

thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

underrated and preferred

an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

vaping honestly.

your boba/tea order?

total waste of money. a teabag is 1 cent at home.

the veggie you dislike the most?

I used to violently hate beetroot until I learned how to roast them properly and a friend made some amazing borscht. So now? idk, even kale chips are good. love brussel sprouts. love parsnips. love asparagus. idk. I guess I've never had a turnip every before.

favorite disney princess movie?

I could not give less of a shit about disney

a number that weirds you out?

?

do you have an emotional support water bottle?

I have lost every water bottle I've ever owned within one week

do you wear jewelry?

I have 3 key rings that I wear on my pinky because if they fall off they're easily replacable and I also lost my engagement ring the very next day after the fact

which do you find yourself using, american or british english?

british because it's from there and I never have to say aluminum

would you say you have good taste in music?

oh. no.

how’s your spice tolerance?

incredible. i've eaten cayenne peppers raw as a snack

what’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

the least amount of short and shirts I can, I am out of control overheated at all times

last meal on earth?

honestly a crispy pork banh mi and a ripe mango that I eat over a sink

preferred pasta noodle?

rigatoni, with pork sausage, fennel, chili and cream. Ina Garten's recipe is the absolute bomb.

[sumathihospital]

DIET DURING PREGNANCY

You need to eat one extra meal a day during pregnancy.

Take milk and dairy products like curd, buttermilk, paneer-these are rich in calcium, proteins and vitamins.

Eat fresh/seasonal fruits and vegetables as these provide vitamins and iron. Cereals, whole grains and pulses are good sources of proteins.

Green leafy vegetables are a rich source of iron and folic acid.

A handful (45 grams) of nuts and at least two cups of daal provide daily requirement of proteins in vegetarians.

For non-vegetarians, meat, egg, chicken or fish are good sources of proteins, vitamins and iron. A well balanced diet consisting of a variety of food helps in the growth of the baby and prevents anaemia

RICH SOURCES OF IMPORTANT NUTRIENTS :

Iron : Green leafy vegetables, whole grains, cereals, dry fruits, nuts, meat, jaggary.

Calcium : Milk, milk products, sesame seeds, almonds, soya milk, turnip, egg.

Vitamins : Orange and dark green vegetables, citrus fruits, apple, tomato, amla, vegetables, meat, fish, eggs, sunlight, milk and milk products, soya products.

Proteins : Paneer, milk and other milk products, combined grains, seeds, nuts, egg, meat, poultry, soya beans.

Fats : Butter, ghee, oils, nuts.

Prefer using variety of local seasonal foods, vegetables and fruits being grown in and around your area

Maternity Hospital in Madurai | Madurai best IVF treatment center :

Sumathi Hospital is one of the leading hospital in Madurai specialized in

best ivf treatment in madurai INFERTILITY, UROLOGY, ANDROLOGY, RENAL TRANSPLANT, DIALYSIS, PAEDIATRICS , GERIATRICS & EMERGENCY Care.

Sumathi Hospitals & Institute of Super Speciality:

Address: 334-A, Anna nagar,

Madurai-625020, Tamilnadu,

Mobile number: +91 735 880 0889

Email :sumathihospital@gmail.com

[vegi1]

Is vegan pregnancy safe?

As long as you eat a wide range of healthy plant foods and include key nutrients in your diet, you can get all the nutrients you and your baby need without eating animal products. Also, if you are a vegan who does not eat any animal products including meat, fish, poultry, eggs, dairy and honey, your pregnancy must be under the supervision of a nutritionist. In some cases, it is also necessary to use fortified foods or vitamins and supplements to ensure that you are getting enough of the nutrients you need. In the pre-pregnancy examinations, inform your doctor about your vegetarianism.

Protein

Eat several servings of protein-rich foods every day. Good sources of plant protein include legumes, soy products, nuts, seeds, and nut butters.

iron

You will have a blood test early in your pregnancy to check your iron levels. If iron levels are low, your doctor may also recommend taking an iron supplement.

A pregnancy supplement may provide some iron. But you also need to eat several servings of iron-rich foods every day. Good sources of iron include fortified breakfast cereals, whole-grain or fortified bread, fortified pasta, legumes, tofu and other soy products, and leafy greens such as spinach and beets.

Avoid drinking tea or coffee with your meals because these beverages contain tannins and polyphenols that make it harder for the body to absorb iron from plant foods. Instead, eat something rich in vitamin C, such as homemade orange juice, homemade ketchup, or a homemade broccoli rabe, as vitamin C helps your body absorb iron.

zinc or zinc

Try to eat several servings of zinc-rich foods every day. Many iron-rich foods, such as beans, soy products, fortified breakfast cereal, and whole grains contain zinc. Other good sources of zinc for vegetarians include nuts and seeds.

Calcium

Eat several servings of calcium-rich foods every day. Good sources of calcium include:

Almonds or sesame seeds that must be in your diet.

Almond milk or soy milk, fruit juice, and breakfast cereals or cornflakes that are fortified with calcium. If you are only a vegetarian and not a vegan, calcium-enriched milk, cheese, and yogurts can be a good choice for your daily calcium supply.

White beans, sugar cane molasses, chickpeas, calcium coagulated tofu. To know if tofu is coagulated with calcium, look for a calcium salt such as calcium chloride or calcium sulfate in the tofu ingredients.

Some green leafy vegetables include kale, turnip greens, Chinese cabbage, broccoli, and bok choy. Other sources such as spinach, beetroot and beetroot also contain calcium, but the body does not absorb calcium from these foods as well as the previous ones.

Vitamin D

This vitamin helps the body absorb calcium. Some types of vegetable milks, orange juice and cerlac are enriched with vitamin D. Many pregnancy supplements also contain vitamin D. If your supplement does not contain it, it is better to take a vitamin D supplement.

Vitamin B12

Vitamin B12 plays an important role in fetal brain development and is mainly found in animal products. Therefore, vegetarians need a reliable alternative source for their daily intake of vitamin B12. Plant-based sources of this vitamin include supplements, fortified foods and drinks such as soy milk and other plant-based milks, breakfast cereal, and edible yeast. If you do not eat foods containing vitamin B12 every day and your pregnancy supplement does not contain it, you may need to take a separate supplement to get this vitamin with the approval of your doctor.

Iodine

Iodine is also important for fetal brain development. Iodized salt and dried seaweed are good plant sources of iodine. If you don't eat a lot of these substances, check your pregnancy supplement to make sure it contains iodine.

DHA

DHA is an omega-3 fatty acid that promotes brain and eye development in the fetus. This substance is found in fish, fish oil and seaweed. Since it can be difficult to get DHA from sources other than fish, it's best to take an omega-3 supplement derived from seaweed and suitable for vegetarians.

Remember to always talk to your doctor, midwife or nutritionist before taking any supplements during pregnancy. In addition to eating a variety of fresh, frozen or canned fruits and vegetables or whole grain products, make sure you eat foods or supplements that provide the above nutrients that are important for a healthy pregnancy.

[petermorwood]

Take an ordinary root vegetable - in this instance, a parsnip - and peel it. Then slice it...

...and sprinkle it with Herbs Of Choice (oregano, tarragon) - and some spices - pepper, chilli, allspice - because why not?

Then put it on a baking tray, and drizzle it with oil (vegetable, olive, sesame, flavour-infused, your choice) and roast it for about 20 minutes at180°C.

Then (1) use it as a photographic side dish or (2) scoff it as soon as it’s cool enough, because it’s way better than expected and the quicker it’s eaten the crunchier it remains.

NB, ask if Step (1) is finished before proceeding to step (2) or, like the Business Of The Buttered Baby Turnips, eating the props before an unexpected second shoot can lead to Remonstration - and trust me, you wouldn’t want that, even with gravy.

*****

Besides what’s used for seasoning, roasted parsnips have a fascinating flavour all of their own; slightly sweet with a peppery back-note. Try them, they’re good.

[aarohij]

Slice to Perfection: Techniques for Beautifully Cut Vegetables

Want that professional-looking salad platter? We got your back, with uniformly chopped vegetables delivered to your dining table. But hey, vegetables are more than just aesthetics.  They are full of nutrition and form a non-negotiable part of your balanced diet. Since fruits and vegetables form the first part of the food web they lie at the higher trophic level and biologically carry more energy in comparison to other sources of food such as dairy and poultry. The easiest way to utilize their goodness in your food is to include them in at least two of your meals every day, even if it is in the form of snacks.

Ways To Incorporate More Fruits And Vegetables Into Your Diet

Eating those nutrients need not be all lavish and time-consuming. Fruits and vegetables can be incorporated into your meals very easily. Salads, smoothies, and spreads are some of the easiest ways. Also, since the fruits and vegetables are not cooked for these recipes they are considered even better for the bodies as they are closest to their natural forms and not processed. They can be used as toppings to your pizzas to get your mother’s approval or be added to your next barbecue. One can switch to healthy sliced snacks with peanut butter spreads and yogurt and chocolate syrup dips or have muffins, pancakes, or nut bars feasts. Last but not least, who does not like those spicy crisp sandwiches with extra cheese?  All these require minimal food prep or if you still do not have time you can order fresh-cut vegetables and fruits online.

The Ideal Cut

Brunoise (Fine Dice)

The ideal use of this cut is for garnishes and stuffing. Some common foods used in this cut are carrots, onions, bell peppers, and other hard root vegetables like beets and turnips.

Chiffonade (Shredding)

Widely used for leafy green vegetables and herbs including spinach, basil, mint, and fenugreek to list a few, in the form of sautee, stuffing, and garnish. They are directly cooked into dishes in some cultures including India.

Julienne/Allumete (Matchstick cuts) and Baton

Stir-fries and salads are made by using vegetables such as carrots, potatoes, and cucumbers. These vegetables are also used in noodles in this form by many cultures including China and Korea.

Macedoine (Small Dice)

Those healthy soups are incomplete without the dice of yam, sweet potatoes, radish, and spring onions.

Parmentier (Medium Dice), Carre (Large Dice) and Paysanne

The most common cut for those mouth-watering lunch and dinner recipes and barbecue is made of potato, Onion, Yam, carrot, bitter gourd, bottle gourd, spinny gourd, chow chow, zucchini, brinjal, capsicum, and tomato.

Slices, Stripes, Rondelle/ Washer

Your classic roasts, grills, baked snacks, and salads of cucumber, baby corn, tapioca, taro roots, and plantain stem are a magic of artistic slices and stripes

Mincing and Crushing

Those smooth thick pastes and sauces of onion, garlic, and ginger are essential to the drama of your routine cooking.

Buy your perfect cuts online

Say goodbye to those long hours of meal preps and visit the just-right platform of GreenChopper to buy cut vegetables online in Banglore and create a plate of health for your family.

[valgasnewsthings]

Soups are on cereal infusions.

 Rice soup , mucus for diets nr 1,2.

Ready rice cook in water, in weak boiling till ready , filter, and infusion mucus add in broth, lead till boiling and salt.

Serve with butter oil. For diet nr 1 a mucus infusion dilute a boiled milk.And rice you can change on rice flour as for dietic  meal and baby s meal.

Oats soup mucus, for diets nr 1,2.

Oats wash, and cook in water.Filter,  infusion dilute in weak broth, lead till boiling and salt. In serving dress with butter oil, for diet nr  1 mucus infusion add in egg-milk mixture, add sugar, salt, mix and warms.And  not boiling.

Rice soup with tomatoes.

For diets nr 5,7, 10,15

Carrot, turnip, white roots chop on cubes and slightly fry in oil, after adding water and cook till ready. Wash rice, keep for ten min in hot water, add on sieve, again wash, after filtering and in boiling water or broth for 5 min, after adding ready vegetables, salt, cook 30 min.

Scald tomatoes, clean, cut on pieces, put in soup, and cook 7 min, in using tomato puree his warms with butter oil, and put in soup before 5 min till ready. Serve with fromage, sprinkle with petroselinum green, or dill.

from Valga s health news,gardening,and cooking ,and beauty . https://ift.tt/XP8qIdm via https://ift.tt/J3ed9C6

[edgewaterfarmcsa]

FALL CSA WEEK 5

P I C K L I S T

COLLARD GREENS - SWEET POTATOES - OREGANO - PURPLE TOP TURNIPS - LEEKS - ACORN SQUASH - CARROTS - GARLIC - BEETS - MINI BROCCOLINI BUNCHES - LETTUCE 

BREAD: CHEDDAR JALAPENO SANDWICH BREAD (!!!)

Oh Goodness gracious, it is impossible to hide from all this change that is currently brewing.  So much energy around the election, the Lunar eclipse, and now the weather.  On Monday Roy and I were harvesting collard greens in tank tops and the sun felt so hot and so good, and we were both so aware of this extremely fleeting moment.  On Tuesday we all woke up, stepped outside to greet the day and promptly ran back inside to put on 10 more layers, all our woolies, and our neoprene gloves.  We saw this change coming about a week ago in the 10 day forecast. Ever since, we’ve been working hard to accomplish as many outdoor tasks as possible before the hard frosts really sets in.  For example, Carrots are being dug and stored nearly daily.  Turnips also harvested.  And around the farm, the great button up for winter continues. Tasks include pulling rebar from the field, storing remay in bins, cleaning greenhouses, oiling tools, etc….  Also we’ve been thoughtful in what we pick and when.  Allie and I knew this day would come in which we’d be hemming and hawing over late fall harvests while on the 48th bunch of kale and the chill drops right into your bones.  So this week we treated ourselves to harvesting from inside a greenhouse.  Oh it is such a farmers dream!  When temps turn south, you step right in, shut the door, and you are existing in a tropical bubble.  Ray was savvy enough to think ahead about this. While we were still harvesting for Summer CSA back in August, he was seeding, planting and prepping for this moment in which it is waaaaaaay more fun to pick in a toasty greenhouse than the blustery cold.  So on Monday of this week when the sun was hot, we picked all the field veg: collards, oregano, leeks, purple top turnips and on Tuesday we harvested baby broccolini bunches and lazy lettuce from the greenhouse while outside the cold wind blew. 

Pro-tips:

MINI BROCCOLINI BUNCHES: I know! I know! These cuties are too small to base an entire meal off of, BUT they are so dang tasty!  Eat the whole thing, stalk, leaves, flowers, etc! Hopefully by cutting all the plants back we will see a regrowth by the last CSA pick up (fingers crossed)!

Beet and Turnip Gratin Servings 8 by Brandon Matzek

9 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided (1 for the skillet, 8 for the sauce)

4 1/2 pounds mixed beets and turnips (I used red, gold and chioggia beets, peeled and sliced thin crosswise (I used an mandolin)

3/4 cup finely chopped leeks

2 teaspoons minced garlic

2 teaspoons chopped fresh oregano

Kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper

3/4 cup chicken stock, preferably homemade

1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Grease a 12-inch cast iron skillet with 1 tablespoon of butter.

Working from the outside in, tile sliced beets and turnips in a rosette pattern. I started with red beets on the outer edge, then gold, turnips, and chioggia. If you don't want to fuss with all of that, check out the note above.

Warm 3 tablespoons of butter in a small skillet set over medium heat. Add shallots and cook until soft, stirring frequently (about 4 minutes). Add the garlic and thyme and cook, stirring constantly, for 1 minute more. Take the pan off the heat, and stir in the remaining 5 tablespoons of butter. Once the butter is melted and incorporated, season to taste with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Pour the butter-garlic mixture evenly over the prepared beets and turnips, then pour over the chicken stock. Cover the skillet tightly with foil, then bake in the oven for 45 minutes. Remove the foil and cook until the top of the gratin is just starting to brown and get crispy (about 30 minutes). Let the gratin cool for 30 minutes. Sprinkle with chopped chive just before serving.

  SERVINGS: 6/ TIME: 4 HOURS, MOSTLY HANDS OFF 

SOURCE: JUBILEE, BY TONI TIPTON-MARTIN

 I was unable to get ham hock or smoked turkey wings the week I made these (in the more unevenly-stocked months of the pandemic) and decided to use bacon (8 ounces thick-cut in 2-inch segments) instead for the smoky flavor. The broth doesn’t have the depth of a broth made with bones, but the flavor was excellent.

SMOKY SOUL STOCK2 smoked ham hocks or smoked turkey wings (see Note)

2 medium onions, quartered

4 celery stalks, including leaves, halved

2 carrots, trimmed and quartered

2 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed

1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns

2 bay leaves

GREENS AND DUMPLINGS1 1/2 quarts Smoky Soul Stock (above)

1/2 cup chopped onion

1 garlic clove, minced

1 pound collard greens

2 small dried red chile peppers or 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

3/4 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste (used 2t diamond in greens)

Black pepper

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1 1/2 cups coarsely ground cornmeal

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon granulated sugar

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

Salt, to taste

Make the Smoky Soul Stock: In a large heavy stockpot, bring 3 quarts water, the smoked meat, onions, celery, carrots, garlic, peppercorns, and bay leaves to a boil. Reduce the heat, and simmer, partially covered, until the flavors are well-blended, about 2 hours. The broth develops a stronger flavor the longer you let it simmer.

Remove the meat from the broth. When cool enough to handle, pull it off the bones (discard the skin, fat, and bones). Chop the meat and reserve for another use. Use a fine-mesh sieve to strain the stock. Refrigerate the stock until the fat floats to the top. Use a slotted spoon to skim off the fat and discard. Store the stock tightly covered in the fridge or freezer.

Make the Collard Greens with Cornmeal Dumplings: In a saucepan, bring the stock, onion, and garlic to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer while preparing the greens.

Thoroughly wash the greens and trim away the stems, if desired. Discard the stems or chop small. Stack 2 or 3 leaves on a cutting board and roll tightly into a log. Slice the greens crosswise into 1/4-inch-wide ribbons. Place the greens and the chiles in the broth and return to a simmer. Cook, covered, for about 1 1/2 hours for very tender greens; you may cook them for less if you have young greens or prefer greens with more chew. Season to taste with salt and black pepper. Spoon out about 1 cup of the potlikker (the cooking broth) and set aside.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, sugar, and 3/4 teaspoon salt. In a small saucepan, melt the butter. Add the reserved potlikker, and heat to just below boiling. Remove the potlikker mixture from the heat and whisk half of it (1/2 cup) it into the dry ingredients, and more if needed, 1 tablespoon at a time (I needed almost the full cup to reach a thick batter consistency). Let stand 5 minutes. When cool enough to handle, use wet fingertips (or in my case, a big scoop) to shape the dough into 6 dumplings.

During the last 15 minutes of the collards’ cooking time, carefully drop the cornmeal dumplings into the pot with the greens, making sure the dumplings rest in the potlikker. Cover the pot and simmer until the dumplings are cooked through, 10 to 15 minutes.

Serve the greens and dumplings in bowls with plenty of potlikker.

[lathalea]

Frerin and the Terror from the Deep Mines

I wrote this story as a big thank you for @naryaflame who requested Frerin, fluff, Erebor and a Dwarf-woman OC. If you've read my fic "Springtime at the Lonely Mountain", this story happens in the same AU, quite a few years before the events of the main fic. I hope you'll like it! :)

Relationships: Frerin & Dwarf Female OC

Rating: G

Warnings: none

Tiny Khuzdul Dictionary: Amad - mother Adad - father Sigin’adad - grandfather Sigin’amad - grandmother Irak’adad - uncle Durh'atam - troll-breath Fundanud - tiny elf

* * *

There were three things Frerin absolutely hated: porridge, turnips, and girls. Well, most of them, at least. Baby Dís was an exception. Besides, at this point, she was more of a wailing bundle of anger with chubby hands and feet than anything else.

Anyway, this day was the worst day of Frerin’s life. It all started with breakfast. Porridge, yuck. And what was worse, Amad made sure he ate it whole. Double yuck. Then, while he snuck into the kitchens to snatch some butter cookies, he overheard the Cook discussing the menu for today’s dinner. Turnip stew! Yu-u-u-ck! And if that wasn’t enough, it turned out he wouldn’t go for a pony ride with Adad because it was snowing too much. Stupid weather.

Frerin threw his pillow across the room. It landed on his desk, making a few scrolls fall to the ground. His tutor told him to read a chapter from “Hammers, Chasms and Dwarven Steel. The Fate of Khazad-dûm”. Boooring. The thick tome waited for him on his desk, next to the pillow, mocking him. At least he had it a bit better than Thorin who was supposed to read “The History of the Decline and Fall of the First Elven Empire, volume one”. A whole book! And about elves, no less!

That was it. Frerin wasn’t going to spend a whole day in his room, reading about some very old and very boring kingdoms. Why read about some faraway mines when he could explore the mines of Erebor on his own? It was time for an adventure!

He left his room and snuck out of the royal wing using a secret corridor Thorin showed him once. He reached the oldest part of the mines and managed to get inside without anyone noticing. It wasn’t the first time he did this, and certainly not the last time. No one worked in the Old Mines anymore; the miners he asked about the reason behind it would stare at him for a few moments and then say something about depleted deposits and not wanting to dig too deep. Then they would offer to show him the New Mines instead. Once, he was even shown the place where the Arkenstone was found.

Today, Frerin decided, was a good day to explore that mysterious, half-collapsed tunnel that seemed to lead down towards the deepest parts of the Mountain. He always wanted to know whether it was true what some miners said, that there was an underground lake, as huge as the whole Mirkwood Forest. Others said they saw a red river of lava flowing in the darkness. Whatever the truth was, Frerin wanted to see it for himself.

He lit up his mining lamp, a gift from his sign’adad Thrór, and went into the tunnel. It was easy, at first, and he knew the way quite well. He walked and walked, and then he took a few turns, jumped over a heap of rubble or two… and then he realized he didn’t recognize this part of the Old Mines at all. Darn it! He kicked a stray pebble, sending it into darkness, the clacking disappearing in a distance. He should have turned left, not right, at the last crossing… or was it the one before it? He sighed. The shadows cast by the light of his lamp danced on the green-black walls of the abandoned tunnel. Silence surrounded him. Silence and darkness. Frerin took a closer look at the shadows. Was it his imagination or were they formed like tentacles of a great water monster, crawling towards him? He shook his head. Great water monsters existed only in books! He recalled a drawing he once saw. The monster had twelve tentacles and a maw filled with sharp teeth. He gulped, seeing the shadow tentacles on the wall creeping a bit closer towards him. They were not real tentacles! These were just shadows! Lifting the lamp over his head, he grinned, seeing the shadows disappear. He was an explorer, and he would explore this new part of the mines anyway! It wasn’t like he was afraid of the dark! Not at all! He wasn’t a baby! He was almost quarter battle-age!

He looked around and took a step ahead.

“Are you lost?” a voice echoed somewhere ahead. Frerin froze. No, this was not the voice of a monster. “Show yourself!” he exclaimed bravely. Whatever lurked in the shadows, he’d show them he wasn’t afraid! He heard pebbles clacking against each other, and then a few slow steps ahead. Something very small and very dirty appeared in front of his eyes.

“Hello,” the dirty little creature said, its face and clothes covered with coal dust.

“Hello,” Frerin replied. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún. And you?” the creature squeaked. “You’re a girl!” his eyes widened in surprise. “Of course I’m a girl!” she rested her fists on her hips. “Who do you think I was? A troll?”

“You’re too short for a troll!” Frerin protested. “And you’re too rude for a dwarf! You still haven’t told me your name!” Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún, stomped her little foot, raising a cloud of stone dust.

“I’m Frerin, son of Thráin,” he folded his arms on his chest, just like his irak’adad Fundin sometimes did. “And you’re as dirty as a war boar!” “Maybe I am, but at least I’m not a liar!” the girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re not prince Frerin! I saw him once from far away, and he wears a brown and golden tunic, and he has a small crown, and he rides a chestnut pony! You are not him!” “My pony is in the stable! And that crown is too big and keeps falling over my eyes!” Frerin gritted his teeth. What did that scrap of a girl know about being a prince!

That scrap of a girl tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, “Whatever. I still don’t believe you! A prince would do some princely stuff now and not walk around the mines with a mess of a hair!” she huffed. “Go away now, I’m busy.” “You go away, I’m much more busy!” he protested, raising his voice. His hair wasn’t a mess! He simply refused to braid it in the morning, and that girl had no right to scold him. He was a prince!

“Yeah? And what are you so busy with?!” she squeaked even louder than before, taking a step towards him. “I’m searching for the Skarr’s treasure room!” Frerin puffed up his chest. Skarr, the Terror from the Deep Mines of Erebor, was the monster he knew everything about. Amad, Adad and Sigin’amad Urtha would tell him tales of this legendary creature many heard of but no one lived to tell the tale. The miners would speak of the signs Skarr left in the mines and of the way he shook the ground, making some tunnels collapse if he was angry with the Dwarves. He was supposed to have big horns, sharp claws, and skin as hard as stone. They said that Skarr could travel through rock and become invisible, and that he would kidnap the pebbles who wouldn’t wash their hands before dinner, but Frerin wasn’t afraid. One of the legends said that somewhere deep under the Mountain, there was a chamber containing the biggest treasure in the whole Middle Earth, guarded by the monster, and Frerin intended to find that place. Maybe if he found it, he’d become famous and wouldn’t have to read those boring history books anymore? The miner who had found the Arkenstone was granted great riches by the king as a reward, and so he didn’t need to work any longer! Frerin wouldn’t mind not having to study any longer.

He looked triumphantly at the annoying little girl in front of him… and saw her throwing her head back in laughter. “Skarr’s treasure room? Everyone knows it’s a fairy tale for pebbles!” she giggled, her laughter echoing in the tunnel.

“It is not!” Frerin frowned and took a step towards her. “It is too!”

“It is not!” “It is too!”

“It is not!”

“It is too, you Durh'atam!” the girl, Dagrún, or whatever her name was, yelled. Frerin growled. She was calling him names! Where did such a small girl like her learn a swear word like this one?

“You are a Durh'atam yourself!” “No-o. I smell nice!”

“But you look like a mine rat!” he pointed at her dirty… everything.

“I don’t! Besides, it’s not my fault! I was searching for a hidden passage to...” suddenly, she covered her mouth with her hand.

This was getting interesting. “A hidden passage to where?” Frerin demanded.

“It’s a secret, and I won’t tell you!” the girl shook her head vigorously, making some of the grey stone dust fall from her hair. In the faint light of his lamp, Frerin noticed several copper-colored strands.

“Then I won’t show you my treasure map!” he said. Irak’adad Gróin, one of the best negotiators in Erebor, would have been proud of him. “What treasure map…?” there was a hint of curiosity in her voice. The girl’s eyes widened. They were as blue as the Lake. And big. But she was an annoying little creature anyway. Besides, she added, “You’re making it all up! You’re not a prince and there is no map!”

“Yeah? Then how do you explain this?” With a big grin, Frerin took out a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. Now she will feel embarrassed, and she will blush like all the other girls, and be amazed by his great finding.

She looked at him and blinked. Then she looked at the parchment in his hand, and blinked again “Let me see!” In a blink of an eye, she grabbed his map, tore it out from his hand, and unfolded it.

“Hey, be careful! It’s very old! I found it in my Sigin’adad’s library!” Frerin started.

“Alright, alright, give me more light, I want to see it all!” she stuck out her tongue from her mouth, clearly trying to decipher the drawings and runes. Frerin groaned. She was supposed to be impressed and not annoyed! But perhaps not everything was lost. Perhaps she will be amazed when she sees…

“Ye... Olde... Trea...sure… Map. Pro… per… ty... of Skarr,” she read slowly. Clearly, putting runes together was not her forte. Frerin smirked as she raised her head to look at him. “Seriously? A map belonging to Skarr? And leading to his treasure? Doesn’t he know where it is? Is he a bit forgetful, like my Great Granny?” Frerin fumed, allowing anger to take better of him. Which was good, especially since he didn’t really know how to reply to this vexing girl, but he didn’t intend to inform her of it. “Skarr isn't forgetful! He is a scary monster and eats little girls like you for breakfast!”

“I’m too fast for him!” she protested, stomping her foot again. “Besides, he eats only naughty pebbles, and I’m a nice young lady! Everyone says so!” “Nice young ladies wear nice dresses and smile!” “That’s what boring young ladies do! I’m an ex… expl… explorer!” Dagrún announced with pride in her squeaky voice. “You aren't! I’m an explorer, and I’ve been here first! It’s my tunnel!” he replied. “If you are an explorer, then tell me what is at the end of this tunnel,” the copper-haired girl narrowed her eyes and pointed into the darkness ahead of him. The darkness where those shadowy tentacles came from. Frerin gulped. “There’s…” he furrowed his brow, trying to think of something. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to realize that he was lost and had no clue what was waiting for them in that darkness at the end of the tunnel. “First you tell me about that secret passage!” Dagrún stared at him for a few moments in a very annoying way, and finally said, “And then you tell me about the tunnel?” He nodded in response. The girl looked around and lowered her voice to a whisper, “So, the secret passage should be somewhere here. And it should lead to the deep forges.” “The deep forges? But we’re not allowed there before reaching half battle-age!” Frerin exclaimed. He remembered his father strictly forbidding him to visit that place. Too dangerous, Adad said. But Thorin, who had already started his apprenticeship as a blacksmith, was there a few times already and he seemed fascinated by the place. The gigantic furnaces, the machinery, the shining new steel objects - Frerin wanted to see it all, too! “Well, if you’re a chicken,” the girl grimaced, “I’ll go to the deep forges alone!” “I’m not a chicken, you… you fundanud!” It was supposed to be an insult, no one liked to be compared to an elf, even a small one, but the girl... she just laughed. “I’m too fat for an elf! And they don’t have sideburns,” she flashed her surprisingly white teeth at him. Frerin groaned, “I’m not even sure you have sideburns, you’re so dirty!” “You can insult me as much as you want, but I know you’re afraid to go to the deep forges with me!”

Frerin swallowed. Searching for that secret passage probably meant going into the scary darkness ahead. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to disobey Adad. But he would never admit it to this little girl who stared at him intently. Somehow, he wanted to show her how brave he was. Even if she was too annoying for her own good. “I’d go there even now, but you don’t know where the secret passage is, fundanud!” “I will know soon enough! I just have to find the right tunnel! Look at the map, Durh'atam! See that red dot? And those walkways?” she pointed at the parchment. “It has to be somewhere nearby,” Frerin admitted reluctantly, focusing all of his attention. Why hadn't he noticed that red dot before?

“That’s why I asked you about the tunnel!” she rolled her eyes. “See here, if there’s a big statue at the end, we’re in the wrong place. But if there’s a crossing…” “Let’s go and check!” He took the parchment from Dagrún’s fingers and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Let’s go!” she agreed with a happy squeal. “You are not going anywhere,” a sonorous voice sounded in the tunnel.

The girl gasped and hid behind Frerin. He lifted his gaze and saw Drengi, one of the members of his Adad’s personal guard. Drat! He was in trouble. “H-hello, Drengi, what are you doing here?” Frerin smiled faintly.

“I’d like to ask you the same question, your highness. Your parents have been searching for you for hours!” the large guardsman replied, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “Your highness? So… you weren’t lying, were you, Durh'atam?” Dagrún pulled at Frerin’s tunic. “I wasn’t, fundanud,” he shook his head. “And who might you be?” the guardsman focused his attention on the girl who hid back behind Frerin

“I’m Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún,” she mumbled. “And Frerin was helping me find nice rocks for a school project!” “And I’m Drengi, son of Dygvi, at your service,” he made a small bow, making her giggle. “And do your parents know you are here, Dagrún, daughter of Gudrún?” She shook her head and lowered it shyly. If Frerin stood a bit further away, he wouldn’t have noticed the devilish sparks in her eyes, nor the wink she gave him.

“I asked Frerin to come here with me… and then we got lost… Will you please take us home now, Master Drengi?”

And, of course, Drengi did as she asked. Frerin was speechless. He couldn’t believe that a pesky little thing like her could turn into the nicest little girl in the world so quickly. But then again, it looked like she came up with just the right excuse. Drengi didn’t scold him too much, speaking something along the lines of “think first, be chivalrous later”. That fundanud was pesky, yes, but perhaps she was a tiny bit clever, too.

Dagrún was returned to her parents first and as she said her goodbyes to Frerin, the annoying little girl giggled, showed him her tongue, and then signed in Iglishmêk when the grownups weren’t looking, “Tomorrow. Be at the entrance to the Old Mines. Same time. Take the map with you, Durh'atam.”

Maybe this day wasn’t that bad after all… and maybe she wasn’t that bad either. For an average girl. Although he had to correct himself. Dagrún, that annoying, vexing, and irritating fundanud, wasn't an average girl. She was the true Terror from the Deep Mines and Frerin, son of Thráin, was sure that even Skarr would run away from as far as he could. When it came to Frerin, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

Don’t forget to let me know what you think about this story!

Read it? Like it? Reblog it!

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @shrimpsthings @dark-angel-is-back @sherala007 @amelia307 @anyaspidergirl-blog @justfollowtheroad @jotink78 @rachel1959 @saltwater-in-the-afternoon @linasofia@bitter-sweet-farmgirl @yourqueenunderthemountain @guardianofrivendell

[adhdanalogbrain]

Do you have any tips for healthy eating with adhd? I've seen suggestions in the past for microwave meals, but I'm weird with the textures of those and often times the thought of cooking, especially if its just for me, sounds like too much effort

OP, i have been sitting on this ask for weeks because i wanted to give you a really really good all-encompassing answer (with photos etc) that would solve all your food problems....

...but that obviously isn't happening any time soon. so instead I've reblogged several other fooding-while-ADHD posts (and will continue to do so when I find good ones!). And I'm going to give you the short, short version of the beautiful answer that lives only in my head:

FROZEN VEGETABLES

+

QUICK-COOK GRAINS

=

EASY HEALTHY FOODS

Ok so let me explain. Microwave meals are vile because: 1) lots of different textured food cooked for the same amount of time creates bad textures, 2) ridiculous amounts of sodium and preservatives taste gross and hurt your stomach, 3) heckin' expensive, and 4) full of germs, don't look this fact up, you really dont want to know, just trust me on this.

HOWEVER! You can make your own easy, balanced microwave meals for super cheap by combining absolutely normal frozen vegetables, quick-cooking grains, and your own seasonings.

As a quick reminder, a well-balanced meal is comprised of:

50% non-starchy vegetables (aka, 1/2 of your plate)

25% carbs / starches (1/4 of your plate)

25% protein (1/4 of your plate)

1 serving of dairy

1 serving of good fats

Here's each of those categories broken down further (bold items are readily and cheaply available frozen):

Non-Starchy Vegetables: Artichoke, asparagus, baby corn, bamboo shoots, green beans, wax beans, bean sprouts, beets, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, celery, cucumber, eggplant, leafy greens, jicama, kohlrabi, leeks, lettuce, mushrooms, okra, onions, peppers, radishes, rutabaga, tomato, turnips, water chestnuts, zucchini, summer squash.

Starchy Vegetables: Corn, hominy, parsnips, green peas, plantain, potato, pumpkin, winter squash, sweet potato.

Grains: Bagel, bread, pita, tortilla, barley, bulgur, oatmeal, kasha, millet, quinoa, rice, pasta, couscous, green peas, beans, lentils, black-eyed peas.

Proteins: Meat, eggs, fish, beans, black-eyed peas, edamame, falafel, hummus, lentils, nut butter, tofu, cheese, cottage cheese.

Dairy: Milk, soymilk, yogurt

Good Fats: Avocado, peanut butter, nuts, canola oil, olive oil, olives, margarine, mayo, corn/cottonseed/flaxseed/safflower/soybean/sunflower oil, flax seeds, pumpkin seeds, sesame seeds.

FUN FACT ABOUT FATS: Many of the vitamins in vegetables are fat-soluble, which means your body can absorb them much better if they are eaten with fats. I hereby give you permission to add oil/butter/whatever to your meal, to eat your broccoli with ranch dressing, etc etc. (Also, eating good fats is good for your LDL cholesterol, and helps you feel full longer)

You'll notice that some items are on more than one list! That's because plant-based proteins also count as carbs/starches. Don't fret too much over this-- just know that if you've got beans in your microwave-safe bowl, you don't need to go hunting down a separate protein, you can just add more beans.

What to do with all the information i just dumped on you:

1. Grab a microwave-safe bowl and add 1/4 cup water

2. Add half a meal's worth of non-starchy veggies

3. Add your carb/starch (3/4 of your bowl is now full)

4. Add your protein (bowl is 100% filled)

5. Add oil of your choice

6. Add spices and seasonings -- spice mixes are your friend. ADD A DASH OF SALT. Salt helps dissolve flavors on your tongue, making your veggies extra delicious.

7. Cover and nuke until cooked.

VOILA!! A BALANCED MEAL IN 6 OR SO MINUTES!!

You're done at this point, but I'm going to add some extra info/ideas below:

Quick-cook grains such as oatmeal, couscous, quick rice, and quinoa can be added along with the frozen veggies and cooked until soft

Some veggies cook faster than others, so you may need to add the slower veggies first, nuke for 4 minutes alone, then add the rest of your meal and continue cooking

You can freeze your own veggies! 1) Wash, peel, and chop just about any cook-able vegetable, 2) place in microwave-safe bowl with 1/4 to 1/2 cup water and cover, 3) microwave until veggies are soft, but not full cooked, 4) drain, set aside to cool, 5) Place in plastic freezer bag and add to freezer. NOTE: Unlike storebought veggies (which are flash-frozen at -40° F), home-frozen vegetables are good for about a month, so write your own "best by:" date on the bag with a sharpie.

You can also do the above with any dried beans. Cook the beans per the instructions until almost fully cooked, then FULLY DRAIN and freeze. If you hate the texture of canned beans, this may be a good solution for you. Dried beans, when cooked, are much less mushy than canned beans.

ADD FROZEN VEGGIES TO LEFTOVERS TO STRETCH THEM OUT FURTHER. Especially leftovers with a sauce.

Add frozen veggies to canned soup to both stretch it out further and to make it 10x more delicious and satisfying.

Cook grains in bone broth for both protein and deliciousness

Frozen, pre-cooked meat and meat substitutes are also widely available and can be added to the mix.

You can pre-mix your meals (including the grains) and store them in individual plastic bags in the freezer at home or at work until you're hungry. DO NOT LET THEM THAW IN THE FRIDGE. Frozen foods do NOT go in the fridge, they go straight from freezer to microwave. The reason is germs.

Tofu and cheese cannot be frozen, sadly.

That's all i have at this time! Now I'm going to start eating my microwave bowl of leftover takeout + frozen peas.

[docholligay]

An Overwatch Christmas Carol: Stave III---The Second of the Spirits

Hello there! The third part of this is up up up, and at 11,000 words I know it’s long, so if you wanted to read it in parts that’s great and okay! I worked hard on this and I hope you like it! 

Her alarm struck, though she had not set it, and she felt at her own body as she awoke from the horrible nightmare. 

Ana, like most people of her ilk, believed herself ready in any moment for any sort of thing that came her way, that she could master it, and tolerate it, and come out victorious. So have all of us, in a moment where we are very courageous in our own homes and beds, said that same. And so despite the harrowing nature of what she had just experienced, it seemed to Ana Amari that anything between a children’s choir and an army might have been just as expected. 

But what Ana was most unnerved by, and utterly unprepared for, was nothing. The alarm sounded, and still it stayed dark, a cold, and quiet, just as her room had always been, and no matter how many times she looked over to the clock, at five, ten, or twenty minutes, still the same nothing answered her back. This was enough to make her brave, as it might us all, and so she spat her words into the darkness. 

“Ridiculous.” 

There was a light from the other room, at that, peeking and shining under the door with a brilliance Ana did not know.. The apartment in Brixton was tiny and dark, and would never have been accused of any manner of warmth by anyone, and yet now the light coming from the living room was golden and warm, dancing light firelight on the walls despite there being no fireplace anywhere near the building. 

“Right then!” There was a chipper, high voice from the other room, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!” 

Ana stepped out of bed, creeping toward the door. There had been Jack, and there had been Reinhardt, and despite herself, it was getting harder and harder to pretend that it was all something in her mind. And she knew that voice, had known it for more years than semed reasonable, when she reflected upon it. 

She turned the corner into the living room. There was a tree brightly festooned with ornaments and tinsel, and while it might not have been the finest tree in the world it had clearly been dressed with great enthusiasm. There were stockings hung from the edge of the window, carefully nailed in, mismatched and well-loved. The room rang with an echo of laughter, almost as a chorus, but one voice above them all. 

And, on what had been her coffee table, now grown long and covered with a white cloth, a grand feast, ham with a rich, shiny, glaze, turkey overflowing with stuffing, rich turnip and parsnip gratin, dripping with sauce, bowls full of roasted potatoes and mashed potatoes, pigs in blankets, Yorkshire puddings, and mince pies with brandy butter. 

Tracer sat cross-legged on the end of it, in a bright green sweater, which looked thick and soft even from this distance, a crown of red and green gold star tinsel, mixed here and there with  jingle bells, on her head. There was a Christmas pudding in front of her, and she popped a bit into her mouth before she looked up and saw Ana. She swallowed, licked the fork, and grinned. 

“Right then.” She set down the plate, and leapt to her feet, “Come on! Christmas is ‘alf over already!” 

Ana opened her mouth to protest, but if she had to hear another lecture about narrative structure and known mythologies, she was going to lose whatever was left of her mind. Besides, she had little belief that Tracer would care much about her own feelings on Christmas, and even smaller still was that small pang of regret, the part from last Christmas still dancing in her mind. 

“You already said that.” She allowed. 

Tracer stood up straight for a moment, and considered, hand at her chin. “I did, didn’t I?” she laughed. “Was right both times!” 

Lena Oxton had died. Ana knew this. She knew it in the same way that she knew Jack had died, and Reinhardt had died, and she had attended their funerals, and she had seem them burned or buried. But Tracer’s death was newer to her, having been an interruption to the month of November, the dirt on her grave not quite settled. 

It was as, well, unsettling, as her encounter with Reinhardt had been. The room seemed to respond to her, the lights twinkling when she laughed, the smell of the Christmas feast following her about the room like a cologne. The flames seemed to dance and she bopped about the place, and it was only in that moment, Tracer’s eyes glittering brightly, that Ana noticed something. 

She wore no chronal accelerator. Ana never would have remembered her without it. 

Too much. Draw back. 

“You look fairly good, for someone who has been dead for six weeks.” Ana snorted. 

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, and the cheer left her face. 

“Don’t get smart with me Ana, not in the mood.” She scowled, “Doing this for Jack, because I said I would, so I did, and I’m a woman of me word. But don’t think I particularly feel any sorrow over the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone. I don’t, not a drop.” 

Ana opened her mouth for a moment, and then reconsidered. The image of Jack in her mind, of him somehow gathering this group of people beyond the grave to help her, the constant reiteration that this was her last chance, somehow for once in her life, Ana Amari could not come up with some sharp rebuke. 

She looked straight ahead, and frowned, adjusting her scarf. “The night will be over before you know it, so, let’s go.” 

Tracer nodded. “Right then.” She snapped her fingers, and the two them exploded into sparks against the night, rushing off into the present. 

They were outside as the morning sun shone brightly through the streets of London, even the fog feeling it must cast away into the night and not disturb the sacred joy of that beautiful and crisp day. There was the smallest dust of snow on the ground, though you would have been forgiven for thinking it was so much more for the delight in children’s eyes as they gazed out of their windows. 

Tracer ran down the sidewalk, jumped, grabbed onto a pole and swung back toward Ana, all in one swift motion, landing right in front of her, eyes glittering. 

“Christmas morning!” She gestured grandly, London caught in a sort of pause, the hurry Ana was used to at seven am only a distant memory. “‘appy Christmas, London!” 

Tracer rushed over to where a bunch of pigeons were cuddled on the eave of a window, and pulled two large handfuls of birdseed out of her pockets, tossing it all in front of them. 

“‘Appy Christmas, little ones!” 

“Did you just have that--” 

But Tracer was already off, running through the sidewalks and stopping wherever she found someone to greet. A happy Christmas to the little dog with a biscuit, a happy Christmas to his owner with a box of tea, pulled from that same pocket. A happy Christmas to the nurse just walking to home, hoping her husband could distract the kids long enough so she could see them open presents, a gift card to the Pret by the hospital pressed into her hand even as she looked confused. A happy Christmas to the bus driver with a bottle of scotch, rested by his side with bow. . 

Eventually, Tracer seemed to realize herself, and broke into a laugh that seemed to ripple through the street, the lights glowing a touch brighter as she did it, even the icy lace on the windows seeming to glitter just a little more brightly as she dashed back toward Ana. 

“Right, right, I,” She dramatically paused in front of Ana, “Love Christmas. But you don’t ‘ave to!” She interrupted Ana’s protest, “For that isn’t the real point, not ‘ere, is it?” 

“Giving people all these things, but,” Ana shook her head. “Is the point that people will be driven into debt over it? That it’s an excuse to press honest people into working more and harder, and later? The Christmas spirit, for sale at Mark and Spencer’s.” 

“Marks and Spencer, but I’ll allow it.” She rocked back on her heels. “There are plenty of people who don’t understand the meaning of what Christmas is, and often they’re the ones with the biggest trees, and that’s the God’s honest truth. What I show you ‘ere? Ought to be in every day. Every where. Because it isn’t about any ‘oliday, or turkey, or nothing. Is it, Ana Amari?” 

She drew something out of her pocket, a small gold book,, maybe the size of a credit card, and she flipped it open before pressing it into Ana’s hand. A picture of her and Pharah, Pharah only a baby, long ago and oh so far away. They both looked so different. So full of promise. 

“Come on, Ana, there is just so much to see.” 

She looked up from it only to realize that they were inside someone’s living room, parents looking at each other with tired eyes as a little girl ran happily around a dollhouse, placing the furniture in this room or that. 

“Up all night constructing it, they was,” She shook her head, the bells tinkling, “but it ‘ardly matters. Was all she wanted, right?” 

Tracer drew something out of her pocket, and knelt down next to the girl’s dollhouse, nearly nose to nose with her. Ana, whatever Reinhardt might think, had listened to him, and assumed the same was true here, that they could neither see nor hear the two of them, but the girl paused and looked in Tracer’s direction with such intensity that Ana wondered for a moment. Tracer put something in her palm, and closed her hand around it, smiling. 

Tracer jumped back up next to Ana and threw an arm around her, Ana shrugging it off just as quickly as the little girl opened her hand. 

“Look! Mummy! Daddy! It’s a kitty just like Patch! I didn’t seen it before oh it’s just like her!” 

Her parents looked confused, each looking at the other, but the little girl was radiant in that moment of joy, and though Ana refused to look over at Tracer, she could feel the happiness pouring  off her. 

“I don’t know what you--”

“Next!”

But Tracer’s fingers snapped again, and they found themselves back in Brixton, outside of Ana’s apartment building with the falling, tattered awnings over crumbling bricks at windows. It was nothing to look at, but at least it was a place to sleep, and that was all the more Ana thought of it. It looked particularly dreary, if she were being honest, today, where she could see the scraps of Christmas trees in windows, and plenty without, people like her who didn’t participate in the nonsense of Christmas, who were fully cognizant that nothing changed on one day, no matter when that day was. 

“Up she goes!” 

Tracer grinned brightly, jumped on top of a dumpster out back, and grabbed onto the drainpipe, the tinsel in her hair shimmering in the dim morning light, throwing off stars into the daytime. She quickly began to shimmy up, humming “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” as she did so. 

“Tracer,” She crossed her arms and stared up at her, “I have a key.” 

“...You better not pout, I’m telling you why,” Another pull up the pipe, “Lena Claus is coming, to town,” she looked back down at Ana and shook her head merrily, “No you don’t! Left it in your room, then, didn’t you?” 

She did not wait for an answer, simply started back up the pipe, as Ana felt for a pocket that she realized wasn’t there. 

“Tracer.” 

“What?” She turned around, swinging out with one arm, “Bit too old for this, Amari? I could do it all day.” 

Ana huffed, but scrambled up onto the top of the dumpster and grabbed the pipe. 

“Death has done wonders for you health, but not your attitude, Oxton!” 

Tracer nodded. “That IS true.” 

Ana began to climb behind her, grumbling as her hands tried to gain purchase on the cold drainpipe, her hands aching with the swell in her knuckles. Feeling her age, a bit, but also feeling a bit of something else, something she could not quite place. She looked up at Tracer above her, still climbing, toward the third floor, occasionally giving a bit of a bounce, or a swing. 

Perhaps it was a bit....bad. It was true, that Tracer was well in a way Ana had not seen her in more than a year, and that was all she had said. But there was a sudden realization that Tracer so loved this moment, with a glowing smile and a song on her lips, because she was still basking in the joy of what it was to have her body obey her again, just as it had for years. It felt unkind, even if it wasn’t unfair, to criticize her for it, and she could not remember having had the feeling much before, least of all with Tracer. 

“....Just you wait, poppet, got all her gifts ‘ere in her back trouser pocket, Lena Claus is coming to town…” 

Ana struggled to pull herself up, slipping a bit on the iciness of the pipe. 

Maybe not that bad. 

“That doesn’t rhyme!” Another small slip, and a scowl as one of her slippers dangled off her foot. 

“Slant rhyme, innit?” Tracer looked in a window, “Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me. ‘Ere we are!” She cocked her head and laughed down to Ana, her nose wrinkling, with its spray of freckles gathering like bunches of holly, those lights in all the windows bouncing again, along with her. 

Ana slipped again, and felt her foot give way, but with a snap of Tracer’s fingers, they were inside a beige-walled apartment much like Ana’s, same layout, same unloveable carpet, same cheap seaming at the windows, but oh, so much more crowded. Not that it was particularly hard to do, but Ana looked at a man and a woman, sitting on their small threadbare couch together, a toddler sitting on the woman’s lap as the two of them directed the three other little children around the tiny apartment, with only a small smattering of toys to distract them. 

Despite this, the apartment felt warmer than Ana’s own ever had, more filled with light despite the bareness of the walls, and maybe it was only the smile between the parents and their children, or maybe it was the chatter in a language Ana did not know, but knew the feeling of without having to understand the meaning, but somehow she felt a certain twinge of what she had felt all those years ago in that miserable military camp, all those Christmases ago. 

She resented it. 

“I suppose I’m supposed to be amazed it’s Christmas here, too?” She glanced sidelong at Tracer. 

Tracer jumped up onto the back of the couch and sat there, cross-legged, shaking her head. “Ana, s’not Christmas here, they’re Muslim, don’t you notice anything? Thought you was,” she made her hands into claws, “the Shrike!” 

Ana glowered, unable to decide if she were more annoyed at herself or at Tracer, and glanced around. Of course she would have noticed, if she had a moment, if she hadn’t been waiting for whatever lesson Tracer meant to lay upon her. 

“Our point in being here, isn’t Christmas at all, as I said.” Tracer pointed to the both of them. “Inconvenienced by Christmas more than anything, they are. All the schools closed, all the meal programs off or offering a bit of ‘am, nothing really to make them keep the slightest bit merry in all the world. But...look at them. ‘Appy to spend the day with their little family.  New to London, right, and filled with something like the Christmas spirit. And that, Ana, is ‘ope. That, Ana, is universal.” 

Ana huffed. “They have nothing.” she pointed her chin to the kitchen, where daal and rice cooked, spiced carefully and beautifully, “Such a meager feast.” 

“But very appreciated!” Tracer jumped off the back of the couch and shuffled toward the tiny corner of the apartment that served for a kitchen. “She’s been working plenty ‘ard, for the meal they ‘ave here. Everyone knows it.” 

The family chattered happily, even as the father had to rise and place a sweater in the sill of the window to keep out the chill from the cold wind that dared to slip inside, and even as the mother smiled sadly toward the large pan on the stove, her eyes full of wishing for something else. But neither of those small, tiny regrets seemed to be able to steal the joy they had at simply being with their children, despite missing a day’s work, despite missing out on the childcare, despite all the things Ana might have laid, not unfairly, at Christmas’ feet, a sense of pleasantness seemed to endure, like cider hanging in the air long after the drink is gone. 

“I--” Ana began to say something, something in the back of her mind, and then shook it away. 

Tracer nodded, as if knowing that the bounds of this room had been reached in their capacity to teach her student. 

“Need to see something a bit more familiar, don’t you? Come on then!” Tracer walked over to the door, and opened it, ushering Ana through, who came along, though grumbling. 

Tracer reached into her pocket and materialized a large cardboard tray, laden so heavily with delicacies that Tracer had to catch it with her other hand. Biryani chock full of meat, paratha so decadent that it looked as if it might melt under the simple wave of Tracer’s hand, sweet rice smelling richly of cinnamon and raisins, and things Ana did not even know, but made her feel a pang of jealousy and hunger all the same. 

Tracer went to knock on the door, thought a moment, and as a sparkle fell from her fingertips, she drew a Christmas pudding out of her pocket, sauce dripping over the sides, nuts and fruits bright on the top. 

“Just so as to welcome them to the neighborhood, try something new, as well.” 

She set it down with the rest of the food, and then knocked. There was a call from inside and the swiftest patter of feet as a little boy rushed and opened it, even as his father rose from the couch to call after him. At seeing Tracer, his eyes grew wide, but Tracer smiled as she put a finger to her lips, and with one last slip into that pocket, took out a 100 pound note and tucked it next to the pudding. 

She turned and quickly went down the hallway, giggling as the father looked all about the place, unable to see anything at all, while the little boy broke into a bright smile himself, and waved. 

Ana found herself waving back, and then stopped herself when she saw Tracer, hands in her pockets, grinning with such a luminosity that Ana would have sworn the hallway was brighter than it had ever dared to be. 

“So you are what, Noel Baba now? Must be nice, to be so easily loved.” 

“Oh!” She slid down the bannister, and at the end, let herself fall into a somersault and popped back up to her feet in one smooth motion. “I’d love to be Father Christmas, really! But of course, no, there’s no real Father Christmas, so near as I know, but, we all sort of are, right? Father Christmas, and all of us spirits, can only come once a year, and so how lucky and powerful can we be? You, on the other ‘and, ‘ave seen that family at the little mail cubbies for six months now, innit?” 

And did not reply, but it was certainly true, that she had seen her. That she had noticed the mother trying to wrangle to children, and the father’s long hours, and the mother has once admired, in halting English, Ana’s scarf, seeming slightly shy of the ragged edge of her own. She had told Ana her name. 

Ana could not remember it. 

“Always ‘ad the power to do what I did, on any given day, right? Could ‘ave given them all that, but didn’t. Could ‘ave given the bus driver what takes you every day a gift, as well. You’ve ‘ad enough chance to be that bearer, Ana. You waste it, and you can’t pin that on me, not rightly.” 

Ana walked down the stairs after her. “I live on the next floor, you have taught me enough--” 

But as she stepped down another stair, her foot plunged into the snow on the sidewalk, and she looked up. On a simple street, still being rebuilt after the Battle, but about half redone with a grocery store and several apartment building patched back together. But even the ruins were decked with lights here and there, a bit of English humor at the edges of a healing misery. 

“Things like that,” she felt compelled to defend herself, “are only patches on, on a bigger problem.” 

Tracer stopped her walking and turned around. “Right then, so you go about with an ‘ole in your trousers til you can buy new? Mustn’t bother with a patch, of course not.” 

She looked over Ana as they stood, nearly nose to nose. Tracer’s eyes did not linger, and never had so long as Ana had known her. They flitted, instead, like a hummingbird, from moment to moment and bit to bit, but somehow you got the sense that she was taking in all of you, whether you particularly wanted her to or not. In her eyes, Ana saw reflected bright lights of gold and white and green, though she did not recall there being lights so near. 

She was still smiling, had never stopped, and this perhaps annoyed Ana worst of all. 

Tracer cocked her head, and she took a step back, looking up and down at Ana. 

“Like there’s no point in apologizing, right?” 

“I tried--” 

Tracer burst out laughing. “Oh, right, right! When you told ‘er that it wasn’t as if your mum were there for you, and so she might as well get over it and see a therapist? Some apology, I’ll say.” Tracer spun around in a pirouette, but than turned back. “And still--” 

“Fareeha is a military woman. More even than me. To the good.  She works things out in probability, in risk, in order. What would be the benefit of sentimentality, for all that? She does not do things that don’t benefit her. She hasn’t since she was a child. She had a plan, even then. She does what needs doing and I--there’s no reason I would fit into that.” 

Tracer looked at her moment, and gave a confused shake of the head. “You really don’t know her at all, do you? No more, at least, than any clerk in the new office, and that’s the truth.” She did not give Ana a chance to respond, to argue. “Come on, then! Let me introduce you to your daughter.” 

Tracer threw her arm around Ana’s shoulder, and though she took a deep breath and tried very calmly not to sock her right in the jaw, she had to admit that the warmth she had felt in those other rooms, she wanted to feel in Pharah’s home. She wanted to know what it might feel like to have the warmth of Pharah’s love, something that had been lost to her for so long. 

Ana had never been to see the apartment they moved into after the Battle for London, and nearly paused for a moment as Tracer let go of her and jumped on the railing and then through the window, but the snap of her fingers gave no moment to think more of it. Their old place, she knew, had been destroyed, parts of it simply cratered in, Pharah rifling through what they had to try and reconstruct their belongings. Mercy, of course, had gone to pieces, by Ana’s measure, some memory of childhood bothering her enough that she kept her distance. The new place had been built of an old shell, like so many things in London, and Pharah had taken pains with the layout. It was a lovely place, bright and welcoming without being devoid of a certain peculiar charm, seeming less like a new-constructed box and more like it might have been in London all this time, even from the inside. 

The furniture was new, and tidy, and Ana nearly laughed to see what she assumed could only be her daughter’s way of making sure everything had its place, and was put into it. Little cubbyholes built in by the door for shoes, books organized by subject and alphabetized, a few lying on the dark coffee table near where Mercy sat, reading one of them. But it was not without its hominiess, the smell of Mercy’s coffee in the air, and even Ana was not immune to it, walking to the mantle over a small fireplace, where a few framed pictures nestled among bright silver and blue garlands. 

“A bit personal innit?” Tracer looked at the mantle herself, ‘Not quite the barracks you imagined.” 

Ana let her fingers rest on a picture of Pharah and Mercy at their wedding, smiling under the chuppah, the pink roses and daisies in Mercy’s hands blooming brightly. Pharah’s hair was in a low ponytail, tightly held and shining, but she wore still the small gold charm in her hair, as she had for so many years. No longer, of course, not after everything that had happened between them.

Ana gave a mirthless chuckle, “All Angela’s, even before she was punishing me.” 

Tracer grabbed at the picture. “She built that chuppah herself, you know. So it’d be a piece of her that was also Ang’s dream. Didn’t put it that way, of course, Fareeha, but that’s what it was.” 

There were other pictures, crowded family tables and smiling faces in different locations--bright beaches and a ski chalet, even one at Disneyland Paris all of them squeezed into the frame together. There were, of course, none of Ana. 

Tracer pointed to one at the edge of the mantle, Pharah and Tracer side by side as comrades they could not have imagined becoming, everything bright and green around them, both smiling, Tracer holding onto an iron gate, but her other arm firmly around Pharah. Pharah wore her usual deep blue, and Ana found herself jealous at the tightness of her grip on Tracer, the way they grinned at each other, Pharah’s other hand at her shoulder. 

“She cared for me, you know.” Tracer said, tapping at the edge of the picture. 

“Yes,” Ana rolled her eyes and turned away from the mantle, her voice brisker and more cold than even that wind outside “I know, she preferred you to me, because she preferred anyone to me, if this is your point I can just go home, because--” 

“Bloody ‘ell, Ana, it’s not what I said!” Tracer scowled, the lights in her eyes near to bursting with the heat of lost patience. “You are so bloody lucky I owe both Rein and Jack a bloody fucking SCORE of favors--” 

“--Well, you don’t owe me any, so you can just--” 

“God no, you’d ‘ad to ‘ave done something kind for me even once for me to owe you--” 

“--Oh, poor pitiful Lena, as if you don’t have enough adoration, you attention hou--” 

“--You meanspirited little desert rat, ought to let you rot, I ought--” 

“--You don’t know the first thing about--” 

“SHE’S ‘OLDING ME UP IN THIS PICTURE!” Tracer had taken it, and held it in front of Ana’s face. Angela looked up from her book, around the room for a moment, confused, and both Ana and Tracer fell quiet. “Didn’t notice, did you? When you looked? But she is. Was just after me last birthday. Couldn’t really stand on me own much.” 

Ana took the picture from her and looked down at it. Of course it was clear, looking at it now. Pharah's arm was at her waist, and her thumb was looped into Tracer’s belt loop, holding her close to Pharah’s solidness. Her other hand was at Tracer’s shoulder, steadying her, as Tracer did her best to hold herself up. She should have seen it. 

Tracer took it back from her and placed it back on the mantle. “Not many people see that, when they look, because that’s way with Fareeha, right? I meant--and you never knew this--she literally helped take care of me.”

“No benefit to ‘er, mostly a drain on ‘er already limited time, being as she was running all of Overwatch herself. But from the time I started to need a bit of ‘elp, now and again,” she passed a hand across the pictures, and small whirls opened, showing she and Pharah together, in a park, in Tracer’s bedroom, out on Winston’s patio, poring over paperwork, simply sharing a lunch together, “Every Thursday, eight to eight, she did. Earlier, it was Overwatch paperwork,” she touched the edge of that whirl in its frame, and it came alive, she and Pharah arguing playfully over a stack of papers, “Pretending it was on business. Got to be more and more, of course. Took the pressure off Em and Win, when I couldn’t ‘ardly do nothing for meself. Cooked, did the washing,” she touched the edge of another photo, and the two of them were in a dark pub, Tracer in a corner chair with the table tucked up close to her, “Got me out the ‘ouse, when she could. When I could, honestly. And,” her voice got soft, “at the fag end of it all…” 

She touched the edge of a silver frame, the whorl opening just a little more to show Pharah feeding Tracer, Tracer’s body trembling. 

Ana looked at the photos, and then over toward the window, where a soft morning snow was falling, so heavy in the drifts that it was easy to forget that it was built of delicate individual lace. Had she been gone from her daughter’s life for so much of that year? She had known that Pharah had assumed the duties of Overwatch, that she was often too busy to be seen, but she had pictured something so much different. So much more in the ways that Ana had isolated herself. 

“You know,” Tracer passed a hand over all the frames, bringing the photos back to themselves, and put her hands on her hips, “I ‘ave had a bit more fun in me life, than that particular bit of it, that much I’ll say. Don’t much like to think about it, though really, you get so much of life, and only, what, two percent of it, maybe three or four at the outside, is all that bad, than what is there to fuss about? But,” She pointed to Ana, “Much as I ‘ate it, you need to know it. You ‘ave to learn to ‘ear Fareeha, love. You must, if there’s any ‘ope at all.” 

Tracer walked away from the mantle, and away from Mercy, and hustled toward the kitchen, small but well-appointed, and laid out in a certain unmistakeable logic that could only have come from Pharah’s own mind. She had put so much of herself, Ana thought, in this home, even as soft as all the furnishings were, and even with the Shabbat candlesticks and kiddush cup tucked into the corner of the kitchen. It was as if Mercy was the rose and Pharah the trellis, growing around the things that Pharah had made. 

Pharah was studying a cookbook carefully in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed as she read the same recipe over and over again, flipping back and forth. She had, on her kitchen island, a very large ham, and several ingredients in front of her, everything examined and re-examined as she quietly mouthed the words of the cookbook to herself. It was silly, to see it as another rejection of Ana herself, and yet she felt herself bristle at it. It was one thing, that Ana knew she kept no particular part of her Muslim heritage particularly close, but it was another to see something so plainly in front of her. 

Ana watched her with such rapt attention that she did not even notice Mercy come up behind the two of them. 

“Is that a ham?” 

“Yes.” She did not look up from the cookbook, but looked back to the ham, and then at her book, flipping through to another part, scowling at it all the while. “I understand how to make the bacon my father sends. I have learned how to make a fry-up. This seems like it should not be that difficult, but...it’s entirely new to me.” 

Mercy stood silently for a moment. It had never been stated, but she thought that somehow it had been agreed by them that though she understood Pharah was not religious in the slightest, and sometimes a bit aggressively areligious, depending on her mood, Mercy herself was, and the idea of using her cookware to make pork turned her stomach, just a touch. Was she being unreasonable? Pharah did all of the cooking and never asked anything of her, and--

Pharah’s head snapped up, as if she could read the thread running through Mercy’s mind. “This is disposable.” She touched her hand to the aluminium roaster the ham sat in. “For Christmas.” 

Ana turned to Tracer. “You came to show me what, that without my guidance, my daughter is going to forget herself entirely? Become some soft Londoner full of pig fat? I should expect a Christmas tree next? I know that, that is why--” 

“Ana,” Tracer looked over at her, “You ever just think of...shutting up, every now and again? Watch. Learn something. God’s sake.” 

Mercy thoughtfully touched at the edge of the counter. 

“Fareeha. I am Jewish, you are Muslim.” She looked at her wife. “We don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

“Oh!” Pharah laughed, the fierce concentration of her dissipating immediately as she looked to Mercy, “Yes! No, no, Angela this is not for us. I was--” She closed the cookbook. “Tracer loved Christmas, very much. I thought that Emily and Winston, that they probably wouldn’t--Emily loves the ham, especially--that it would be hard for them. I thought I would bring Christmas to them, in some small way. I can’t--” she looked back down at her glistening pink ham, “I can’t give them, what it is they want, of course. But a ham, I can give. After what happened,” her face grew dark, and serious, “after what was done to her…”

Mercy looked at her with great love, gave an adoring huff of a sigh, and smiled. “What a beautiful idea.” 

Pharah pulled herself from her red cloud, and nodded happily. 

Ana stared at the couple, both chatting now about the ham, side by side, neither of them having any particular clue what they were doing, but the room was filled with their love of their friends, and for each other, and their child, so much so that Ana could almost smell the dinner they planned to cook. They glowed completely in the light not of what they were given, but what they were giving, Mercy inelegantly pointing out side dishes, Pharah noting what might be in the well-stocked and organized fridge. 

“My father!” Pharah exploded in the thought, an excited light in her eyes Ana had not seen for many years. Had she missed all the times it had flashed? Had she only seen her daughter’s cool, collected gaze? Pharah looked at the aviator’s watch on her wrist, and then up at a small clock on the side of the cabinet. “He should be awake by now. He would know how to make this, though I think Rebecca prefers a turkey for Christmas.” 

Ana could say nothing, merely took a step toward them, mouth agape. 

“That’s right, Ana,” Tracer got up from leaning against the wall, “Despite your very best efforts, she grew up ‘uman. Despite your very best efforts to make ‘er something like you, she ‘as a bloody ‘eart after all, and friends, and a family, and she takes care of them, when they need it. Must ‘ave been Sam’s influence, I think.” 

Ana felt a flash of guilt, and pain, and then anger, and she whirled around to punch Tracer, who jumped to the side as Ana’s fist plunged through the wall but did not stop her pursuit. Tracer dodged again as she came, Ana frustrated by her age, and Tracer’s grin, humbled by the fact that it had never only been her ability to blink that made her a terrifying opponent, angrier yet still.  Until Tracer stopped in front of her, and let her hit. Ana put her full force behind it, wanting to take away everything this smug little Englishwoman was saying, because if she could simply hit Tracer, make her stop, it would not be true. 

She hit. 

The fist went right through her. 

“I’m a GHOST, ANA.” Tracer erupted into a fit of laughter so hard it took her a minute to recover, which was not nearly long enough for Ana’s taste, and put her hands on her hips, affecting an exaggerated accent, ‘You look fairly good for someone who has been dead six months, forgot that awful quick, didn’t you then!?” 

Ana let her fists fall to the side, though she did not unclench them. “Take me home.” 

“Cut a bit close, that did?” Tracer peered into her face. “You know why I put up with you” 

“Jack--” 

“No, though you do owe ‘im a bit of kindness, for ‘is work in the ‘ereafter for you. But that isn’t it, Ana.” She looked over to where Mercy tenderly touched her belly as Pharah talked on the phone, wishing her father a Merry Christmas, beginning to measure out something for a glaze. “Jack believed in you, and I owe him my field career, and that’s the truth. Reinhardt believed in you, and he was always kind to me. But none of that is why. I’m ‘ere because Angela Zeigler did everything she could for me, from the day she met me, even to the end, and so if I have to spend one day in your miserable company, I will do that for her. Because she is a woman what believes in mercy above all else, and still thinks you deserve it, no matter me own leanings. Think on that, Ana Amari. You’ve done nothing but spit in ‘er face, going on years, and she still ‘olds out ‘er ‘hand so you can do it all over again.” 

Ana crossed her arms, but did not take her eyes off the couple. “And you want me to admire this?” 

“No, don’t expect that much from you, but I do want you to be cognizant of it, at the least.” She nodded back to Pharah and Mercy. “Some people don’t count the cost.” 

Mercy smiled as she backed away from Pharah for a moment. “I am having a wonderful idea. Just wait.” 

Before Pharah could say anything, Mercy had her coat on and was running out of the house, and before Ana could even think to protest, Tracer had the two of them zipping after her. The door to the neighbors was right across from theirs, and Mercy knocked on it aggressively, and then looked at her watch, and then knocked again, perhaps deciding it was a perfectly acceptable hour. 

A man, in a warm Christmas sweater, his slippers still firmly on his feet, answered. 

“Angela? Is everything all right?” 

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she grasped his hand in both of hers, “But I am wondering, if you have any Christmas decorations you aren’t needing? You see, we have friends, and it has been a very lonely holiday for them, and Fareeha and I have nothing to give.” 

“So she’s going to bother this man and his family on Christmas Day.” Ana laughed, “The Christmas spirit. Togetherness. Poor planning. If family love can be made by cheap tinsel, than what is it anyway?” 

“Shut up, you, and watch.” 

The man startled for a minute, but then nodded his head, “Of course, of course, I know you had some unpleasantness this year, and, I’ll never forget that night you came over, when Camilla was sick.” 

Mercy shook her head, as if it had been nothing, and walked in the door, following him as he looked in closets and pulled out garlands and took some ornaments off his tree, and put them all in a box. He bent down to explain to the children what they were doing, and a little girl ran off to the fridge and brought back a fat santa made of paper plates, a little boy with a stuffed dormouse with antlers. 

They chatted happily to Mercy, and she thanked them profusely, dropped the box right inside her door, and continued onto another house, where there was a tangle of lights given and a bag of tinsel, and then the next, where Mercy was given a large plateful of cookies and other sweets from a little old woman, on and on until Mercy could hardly carry any of it, stacked up as it was. Some of them took it oof their own trees, out of their own kitchens, a spare stocking was taken off the mantle here and there. None of it matched, and all of it was secondhand at best, but it seemed to glisten and gleam with joy. 

As Mercy went to round a last corner, Tracer pulled the two of them into small street that would have been called an alleyway in any civilized city, and pulled out of her pocket a tiny tree. She set it on the ground, and blew on it, and it grew to a fine height, not too large, nothing like the giant affair Winston had set up every year in his home since he’d been in London for Christmas, but smelling freshly of pine. She regarded it, and then threw a strand of tinsel here or there on it, so it would look properly discarded. 

Mercy saw it out of the corner of her eye, backed up, and her eyes grew wide as she took it all in, something she never could have imagined. She clung the little box she had closer, running best as she could toward the house, calling Pharah’s name. 

Ana stood for a moment, the snow falling softly still around her. It was snowing quite a bit, for London, off and on, or maybe it was only Tracer’s wish that this represent Christmas as best it could that made it so. She went to open her mouth, once, twice, but could not bring herself to say what she meant to, what she wanted to. 

“She’s done nothing but help the people around her, be kind to them,” Tracer supplied, “So why wouldn’t they, the one time they get the chance, return it? Come on,” She took Ana by the elbow, “night’s coming on fast.” 

Tracer pulled the two of them down the alleyway, and they turned the corner into what might have been a wall but instead was just another street, in a different part of the city, the darkness having fallen in the moment it took them to slide between the bricks. 

Around them, the warehouse and odd converted apartment buildings rose, lights in this window or that, a tiny balcony with a number of rowdy revelers on it, drinking some hot rum thing that Ana could smell even from the street. Tracer bopped down the sidewalk with her, drawing this thing or that out of her pocket for a stray cat, smiling as she looked into the windows, and then they turned the corner, and her smile faded, just a bit. 

It was the same street she had seen with Reinhardt, and yet it lay so still as the last of the light faded from the city that it hardly seemed that it could have been that same place that had been so fresh and alive, every building like tombstones in a row. 

The house was quiet outside, and so grey. Where before, Ana could have ignored that it had once been a simple shipping warehouse, there was no mistaking it now, the cool metal of it tinny and burnished as the streetlights began to fly on. There were no bright sounds of cheer, or games being played. No lights trimmed the bannisters, no garlands played in the windows, and even the small dashing of snow seemed greyer than Ana had remembered when she had visited with Reinhardt. There was no doubt about the quietness settled over this house, and the darkness of it, just one lone lamp lit, the window before it dimming and greying even that. 

She should have expected it, and yet, somehow, it came as a surprise to her. 

“No point in the, ‘narrative structure’, if Tiny Tim is already dead. As I already told Reinhardt.” She looked over at Tracer. “Aren’t I supposed to turn over a new leaf, and prevent your death?”

Tracer shook her head. “No one could do that, love. If love could have saved me, I’d ‘ave lived forever, and it wouldn’t ‘ave been you that did. Just ‘ow life is sometimes. Sometimes, in life, you lose, love, and that’s the bitter truth of it.” 

“So what’s the point? Exactly.” 

Tracer bucked up her chin and smiled. ‘Come on then! And I will show you, what it is you’re meant to see.” 

They slid through the doorway, Tracer not even attempting any manner of gymnastic endeavor to do so. The smells of fresh baking and cinnamon and apples no longer permeated through the house, and Ana looked about for the giant tree with its bright lights and collection of ornaments, the tinsel hung in garlands around the windows and down the stairway, the music playing, and yet there was nothing, just one lone lamp where Emily sat, even the brightness of her red hair dull in the shadowed light. 

She was reading a book, curled up in the corner of the couch by herself, her hair hanging over the side where the light might have touched her face, and Ana noticed that her eyes ran over and over the same page, as if simply playacting at reading while the whole of her mind was somewhere else. 

The door opened, and a cool deep wind flushed in as Winston came in the door, removing his fogged glasses and wiping them on his sweater. 

“Emily.” He gave her a weak smile. 

“Oh,” she set down her book, page still unread, “I wondered when it was you’d be coming home.” 

She rose to her feet, slowly and quietly, and started toward Winston, who just as quietly took off his shoes and put on his slippers. There was none of the laughter or raucousness that Ana had felt in this room, before, and suddenly, not crowded with a group full of Oxtons, it felt so large. So empty. So silent. 

“I’m sorry, I--” 

“Oh no,” she tightened her sweater around her, “no, don’t be.” 

“I went to--” He hung up his coat, and stared at the wall a moment, “I went to take a wreath, to where she was--well--where she is.” He tried to smile. “One of the silver tinsel ones, with all the rainbow colors and bells? She always--” He took a breath.

“Oh aye, she loved those. Would like that, that you did that, I think.” 

“There are some lovely trees, there, I think in summer it’ll be---she loved green--” Emily touched his arm gently, “--it’s a nice place-- brushed off the stone a little bit. For the wreath.” 

Emily nodded. “Was good of you. I have, well, there’s a ready meal in the oven.” 

They stood there, simply looking at each other, until Winston nodded sadly and slowly worked his way over to the kitchen, opening the oven and taking out the meals inside on their little cookie sheet. Emily had bought several, for him, and he took a large bowl out of the cupboard and dumped them joylessly inside, mixing the mash and what passed for a steak braise all together. He poured himself a large glass of wine, and passed the bottle to Emily, and they sat across from each other at the small table, saying nothing as they quietly ate their food, or picked at it, rather, only a few errant bites here and there. 

“It’s the job.” Ana said, barely convincing herself, the Christmas of the past in this same house still dancing in her head. “We lose people. Good people.” 

“Didn’t bring you ‘ere because I thought you’d care about Em and Win.” Her arms were crossed, and she leaned against the wall, looking at the two of them, her eyes glistening. Then she shook off her sadness, the jingle bells in her hair ringing as she did it, and smiled again. “Ana, did you just call me a good person?” 

Ana  chuckled. “Don’t get a big head.” 

There was a knock at the door, and a robotic voice rang out over the house, echoing in the emptiness of it. 

“Angela is at the door.” 

Winston looked puzzled, but rose up to meet it, trying to pick his feet up a little and put on a brave face, giving an unconvincing smile as he opened the door. Mercy’s cheeks were rosy as she bore the ham in her arms, covered with foil but smelling like a dream, salty and sweet and rich, garlands wrapped around her as she struggled to carry them, her eyes bright with the joy that she was determined to bring with her. 

“Happy Christmas, Winston!” She came in the door without even being asked, “I was wondering, if maybe Fareeha and I could join you? For the cheer?” 

Pharah came up behind her, lugging in the tree and hardly swearing at the pine branches in her face, that same snowflake sweater on in that same bright blue, a red bow jokingly tied in her hair from the decorations they had brought. She looked to Winston, and then took a tattered but convincingly repaired wreath off her arm and stuck it to the door with an adhesive hook, and nodded. 

Winston moved to the side as Emily rose to meet them, Mercy embracing them both and hurrying to the kitchen as Pharah rushed back out to the taxi, bringing in boxes and quickly trimming up the home as neatly as she could with the materials she had been provided, doing an impressive job with the few boxes of scattershot decor. 

And as she worked, the room began to change, even so slightly. Emily began to put ornaments on the tree, and WInston asked Athena to play some Christmas music, and in a few moments the room was not as it had been on that night, but it began to take on the glow of a surviving candle, one that might light others, one that might let this place know warmth again. 

“Fareeha worked--” Ana sighed and walked to where she was decorating the mantle seriously, adjusted each bow, “She worked very hard.” 

“Right, she did. Fareeha is like that, as I’ve said. She took care of me, with not a word. Wouldn’t let me protest it, neither. She’s here for Win, and Em, in their time of need, because Fareeha is nothing if not a rock, right?” 

“She is very practical.” Ana continued to say these things, but they felt further disconnected form her, as if she was a ghost herself, simply saying the things that she had said before, over and over again, in a loop, ever so softly. “No,” she chuckled, just as softly, “Zeina. Not me. Sam. But not me.” 

Tracer faced her, arms crossed, but the look on her face was no longer angry, or cruel, but simply searching. 

“You talk and talk over ‘ow an Amari shouldn’t ‘ave to say nothing, and Fareeha never does, but with her actions. But you still never could speak ‘er language, could you? That all being true, what do you think she’s saying? And what did you say to ‘er, running off all the time, never telling ‘er when you’d be ‘ome, or if, wondering if you’d died until one day, it was true? Or, you let it be true. Even to ‘er.  No Ana, you say Fareeha should speak your language, but she always ‘as. You spoke perfectly bloody clear, to ‘er. 

“L--” 

The thought was interrupted by another knock at the door, a door that did not wait to be answered, but simply opened, and a flood of people came in, all bearing various small things; a Christmas pudding here, a roast there, some garland, gallons of drink. The Oxtons came in, chattering and laughing, and kissed Winston and Emily on the cheeks, and told Mercy how she was glowing, and Mark clapped Pharah’s shoulder and told her what a wonderful job she’d done, and sorry that they had taken a bit of time, but the family was a bit like herding cats, wasn’t it. 

Dva and Brigitte walked through the door to calls of ‘hallo’ and ‘happy Christmas’ and an older woman spotted at Brigitte’s hand as she went toward the kitchen with a large bag of rum and brandy and sweetness. 

“That a ring, Miss Lindholm? Thought we might miss it?” 

Brigitte laughed like a little girl, a blush rising to her cheeks, and flashed its brightness. “I never think you miss anything. She asked me today.” 

Dva shrugged, but in that way that indicated she was quite pleased with herself. “Lena’d give me a hard time for doing it on Christmas.” 

“Oh she would! She was wicked!” an aunt laughed, “But I think it’s beautiful. We would ‘ave invited you personally, but expected you back in the Nordics, we did.”

“We would have,” Dva nodded, “but we thought…”

“Of course, of course, love, say no more, it was right kind of you to think of it, and we’re delighted to ‘ave you! Oi!” She called back to the room, “Guess who’s getting married!” 

There were cheers and jokes and a dozen questions thrown at the happy couple, as cookies and plates of food were passed around. Pharah was complimented on the quality of her ham, Mercy was told how beautifully she glowed, a few children hung off of Winston and asked him to tell the story of how he beat Doomfist again, though he always looked a little sheepish when he told it. Emily was rapidly pulled into an animated conversation over the best of the Christmas puddings, and the tree was lit, twinkling brightly if a bit patchwork. 

Ana would have been lying to say that the room took on the same festivity of the year prior, as there was still the sense of something missing, like an empty spot on a curio shelf, where all the dust and all the space let you know something belonged there, but it was warmer than it had been, and it took on that same glow, even if slightly smaller than the years prior. There was laughter, even if there were a few tears wiped away, a few reassurances that the first year is always the hardest, and didn’t Lena do us all such a favor by bowing out so close to Christmas that the sadnesses seemed to roll together? But still the laughter, the warm, the closeness pervaded, and the rum punch was poured, and they banded together, the lights seeming to grow brighter as they did so. 

Parvati jumped up on the back of the couch, and went to hit the side of her glass before thinking better of it and simply whistling loudly, the room turning to her, and, after a bit, deciding to quiet down to a few muttersw, and listen what she had to say. 

“Happy Christmas, everyone. Know that we all ‘ave a bit on our minds, this year. Not the first time we’ve ‘ad it. Won’t be the last.”

It sounded so much like Ana’s practicality, and so little, and she felt something inside of her pull, some realized notion that to know the facts of the situation and to wield them cruelly were two different swords, than there had been so many people around her that had always known this, and it hd been Ana alone who refused to see. 

“Life’s made up of meetings, and partings, and that’s the way of it, innit?. We’ll carry Lena with us, always.” Parvati raised her glass, “To Lena. I’d say may she rest in peace, but, think we all know that’s the last thing she’d want.” 

Everyone took a drink of whatever they had in their hand, the moment not dark at all, but not because everyone in the room was looking away from the shadow. No, they all clearly knew that shadow, and had sat with it, but they brought their own candle into it, burnishing the pain of the loss with the memory of what had been.

Despite herself, she was taken by the notion. Despite herself, she smiled. 

Tracer leaned in close to her. “You miss the love of it, Ana, and that’s your tragedy. You don’t see how love can make something beautiful. You see the reality of it, but you don’t see how love can make a hard reality somehow bearable.”  

In the back of her mind, London stood, bombed out once again and rebuilding, the patchwork of it stronger and better than what had came before. Hadn’t Egypt done the same? And wasn’t she a daughter of Egypt? How horrible, to know that Tracer was right. 

A man began to sing, not a Christmas carol at all, for Ana was beginning to allow the holiday to melt away and see the truth behind it, the core that came together in a million different worlds, some of which had never seen a Christmas at all, and as his voice raised above the din, they began to join him. 

“...pretty bubbles in the air, they fly so high, nearly reach the sky….” 

 Sniffles and tears mixed in, wiped away with a joyful punctuation. 

“...Then like my dreams, they fade and die!” 

Arms were drawn close around each other, the entire room a tight knot of human light against the darkness, as their voices rose even higher.

“FOOOOOOORTune’s always hiding! I’ve looked everywhere, I’m forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.” 

There was a collapse of laughter, admissions that Lena would have considered it the fittest hymn and carol and battle song of all, and another round of spiced drinks passed around in pitchers. 

“No matter what, nothing sinks them.” There was admiration in her voice, now. 

Tracer’s voice lowered. “Soft Londoners, full of pork fat.” 

She whipped around to look at Tracer. “Don’t MOCK me.” 

“You mock yourself, “ Tracer snorted, “acting as if it’s some manner of courage to push away every kind thing what comes your way the whole of your life.” 

“I--” Ana stopped herself. 

If she valued honesty, what was the lie in what Tracer was telling her? The whole of her life, she had believed that sentiment came to nothing, and it was only encouraging weakness to pad things for herself, for others. How could she ever have thought it would be so simple? She looked at Pharah, sitting alone at the edge of the room, smiling as she drank at her mug, but still somehow disconnected from it all, rubbing at the edge of her watch with a distant look in her eye. 

“Fareeha,” Ana watched her, “Tracer, tell me she will be happy. Tell me I haven’t ruined her the way I ruined myself.” 

“I live only in the moment, Ana. Future’s not me domain,” She gazed over at Pharah and considered a moment. “But I see something...Fareeha, if you look carefully, you can see a red light about her. You can see a shadow on her face. I see an anger, a rage, deep within her, and if these shadows do not change, I fear for what I see in her. I’m only the ghost of the present, and can’t tell you rightly, of course. But you must remember her getting arrested in Dublin, after I died.” Tracer shook her head. “You turned cold, but Fareeha? Puts lines around everything because she knows what’ll ‘appen if she doesn’t. Fire in her may burn down every good thing in her.” 

Ana could not draw her eyes away from Pharah, could not stop seeing the reflection of red light about her, kept telling herself over and over again that it was just from the tree so near, that there was nothing mysterious about it at all, and that every way she had taught Pharah to make an island of herself had not ruined everything. 

The party continued, Pharah eventually being drawn from her chair and brought into the games, Ana convincing herself that her eye was old, and failing her. The warmth of the party continued, drawn close and near with laughter and joy, kisses on the cheek and close hugs, questions about Dva and Brigitte’s plans, stories about Tracer, all coming together into a mulled wine all its own. 

“Right, then.” Tracer said softly. 

Ana looked back to her, a spirit with sharp words and sharper powers, but very much again a woman Ana had simply known, looking at her family with a sorrowful gaze, wishing she could touch them, sing with them, love them. Tracer was like Ana, in that way, she supposed. 

No. Because her family would delight to hold and kiss her again, to hear her voice ring over the room, to see her smile. Ana’s family would not. Pharah barely looked at her. Mercy hated her, after her actions this morning. Her grandchild would not know her. She felt that same pang of jealousy and hunger that she had in the tiny Brixton apartment, deeper now, and more keen. 

Worst of all was the realization that she had chosen this for herself, over and over again, in every word and action. That she had built the walls so high and so well that no one could hope to scale them, that she had laid the broken glass of her own personal miseries across the top and never for one moment realized that her daughter had the strength to not attempt to climb it any longer. That she would urge others never to try, and show them the scars on her palm from her own failures. 

“Can’t stay much longer.” 

Ana noticed the party beginning to get quieter, the lights in Tracer’s eyes beginning to fade, and a sudden panic began to grip her, the sense that she might lose everything she felt she had only begun to grasp, that she was on the verge of something great, slipping through her fingers. 

“You can’t already go. There’s so much more to teach me.”  

Tracer shook her head, somehow growing thinner, and smaller. “I was never meant to be long in this world, Ana. It was always meant to be brief.” 

“I have,” Ana began, and then cleared her throat, and looked to Tracer, “I, I was wrong, not to come to your Christmas party. To your birthday.” 

Tracer leaned against the wall, and the party faded from view, the golds and reds and greens fading into the greys and blue of the city, Tracer now leaning against the wall of an underground station, cap on her head, leather jacket pulled in close. 

“If I could do it over again, I would not have missed your last year.” She paused, “If I could do it over again, I would not have been myself.” 

“Why didn’t you, Ana?” 

There was no anger in it, not this time, just a hanging sadness as she shook her head and leaned against the wall, some annoucement Ana could not quite make out coming over the station. A chill ran through her, in that moment, only the two of them standing there, the hazy glow of fluorescent lights overhead dimming the world in a way Ana could not quite understand, but knew intrinsically. 

“We wasn’t friends, not really, but…I was dying.” 

Ana opened her mouth to protest that this was in the past, that it was not Tracer’s realm. That there was nothing to explain, because it was past now, and so what did it matter, she could not go back and have attended either. She opened her mouth to say that no one would have wanted her there anyway. She opened her mouth to say that she was jealous Tracer had so much of love. She opened her mouth to say, that she had been too proud to admit she was lonely. 

There was a rumble, down the tracks, the train speeding its way toward the station. She could feel the rush of air coming from the tunnel, the lights in darkness, coming. 

“Was dying, Fareeha was trying to bear up under it for everyone, and you couldn’t even--not for neither one of us--not for anyone.” 

The train began to screech into the station, and Ana had the horrifying realization, all in one moment, that it was here for Tracer, and surely enough, as she glanced up to the clock, that horrible long shadow of a hand was drawing toward midnight. 

“I should have gone,” she barked out as quickly as she could, but that terrible, terrible screeching echoed all through the station, shrieking high and loud as she tried to take Tracer’s hand, only to find that it was fading away, “I never hated you, I only, you were allowed to be light-hearted, and I wasn’t, and I was so--” 

Tracer shook her head, her eyes dull with exhaustion, “Can’t ‘ear you, love. ‘Ave to go now.” 

“I can do it different!” She reached out again, “I can learn to be different! I should have been, and I wasn’t, but, Tracer--” 

The doors to the train opened, and Tracer looked at them with a smile, even as her hand shook. “That’ll be me train. I trust you to the spirit what’s coming round next. You must see that spirit, love, no way round it.” 

“What was the point of Jack sending you if I can’t undo any of this!?” She stood in front of Tracer. “I have learned, now, and so you need to send me back, and I’ll do it better,” Tracer’s body passed through her, and she stepped into the car and grabbed onto a pole, glancing back, “LENA!!!”

The doors slammed shut, and Ana pulled and pulled, but she could not stop the horrible droning of the announcement declaring that they were pulling away from the station, and however she screamed and pounded, Tracer could not hear her, but simply looked up at the advertisements on the side of the car, lost in her own world. The train pulled away as quickly as it had come, speeding into the darkness, the only sound in Ana’s ears her own throbbing heartbeat. 

The photo of she and Pharah was cool in her hand.