#chowder/farmer

[atlasthemayor]

Little funny comic Idea, because they absolutely would (original by @dankmath who's not here anymore)

[timetraveltasting]

LIGHTHOUSE CORN CHOWDER (1896)

It has become unseasonably cold recently, and our landlord hasn't turned on the central heating yet. So, this calls for another warm and cozy dish from Tasting History: Lighthouse Corn Chowder from 1896. The recipe comes from Fannie Farmer's book, The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book, published in 1896. While this exact recipe was not used by lighthouse keepers, it contains only ingredients they had access to based on supply logs from the late 1800s. Lighthouse keepers had a tough life in the 18th and 19th centuries. Schedules and training books from the time show that their tasks were required to be attended to both day and night, leaving few hours for uninterrupted sleep. Their diet of mostly dried and canned foods, regular exposure to mercury from maintaining Fresnel lenses, and this unforgiving sleep schedule meant that many were prone to melancholy and other unstable mental states. A warm chowder is little comfort in these conditions, but they did have the ingredients to make this corn chowder from Boston in 1896. They often ate chowders and soups because these dishes could keep warm all day and night while the lighthouse keeper was working. Max claims this is one of the best soups he has ever made, so I felt obligated to give it a try. See Max’s video on how to make the dish here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

Due to the ingredients in this dish being fairly common, I was able to stick to the ingredient list fairly well. I used bacon fat instead of the fatty salt pork, and for the crackers, I used Wasa Sesame & Sea Salt Rounds, which actually mimic the thickness and dryness of the pilot bread the lighthouse keepers would have had fairly well - albeit with added sesame and salt.

I first scalded the milk, being careful to look for bubbles rising in the milk along the edges and the hints of a boil before taking it off heat, since I don't have a cooking thermometer (I should really get one by now...). Next, I warmed the bacon fat in a pot and fried the onions in it until browning, preparing some of the other ingredients in the meantime. I strained the onions in order to let the remaining bacon fat drip into a larger pot and set the onions aside. In another pot (so many pots involved in making this dish...), I boiled the diced potatoes for 5 minutes or so to soften them a bit, then strained them and added them to the large pot with the grease. I added the boiling water listed in the recipe and boiled them until soft. I turned the heat down to medium-low, then added the onions, corn, and scalded milk, heating slowly to bring it back up to a light boil. While waiting for this, I soaked six crackers in milk for 10 seconds each, then broke them in half and added them to the pot. I couldn't fit eight in without the pot overflowing! At this point I realized I had mistakenly missed the step to add in the butter, salt, and pepper, so I frantically added them in and tried to stir to combine them without breaking up the crackers too much. Because I acted quickly, I don't think this mistake affected the final result too much. I let the soup simmer, thickening a little with the crackers, then removed them in order to ladle out the soup into bowls. I added the soaked crackers back on top in the 19th-century fashion and served the corn chowder with a side of bread and a dry cracker. While not the prettiest or most colourful dish, it did look cozy and hearty when I served it forth!

My experience tasting it:

I took my first spoonful with a bit of corn, a bit of onion, and a chunk of potato. It was good, and indeed very cozy, but a little on the sweeter side, thanks to the corn and the onion. I decided to try the soggy cracker in my next spoonful. I was expecting to not like the texture of this, but it had absorbed the flavour of the broth really nicely, and it disintegrated quickly. Still, the overall flavour was a little plain. At this point, I succumbed to my desire for more seasoning and added a bit more salt and a few grinds of black pepper. This made all the difference. The corn chowder went from a sweet soup to a nice savoury dish! Before, the chowder had reminded me of the milk soup I had previously made, and now, it tasted unique - much more like a chowder than a soup. Still, the thickness of a modern chowder was not achievable with just whole milk, butter, and crackers. While my husband and I both enjoyed the corn chowder, I don't think I could consider this recipe a keeper; it requires too much transferring of pots for not much pay-off, and I think I prefer most other chowders I have had over this one (especially my mom's clam chowder). I'm sure this corn chowder recipe has warmed the stomach of many a lighthouse keeper and Bostonian, but I fully believe that our chowder skills have progressed since the 19th century, and our chowder recipes nowadays trump this one. If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Lighthouse Corn Chowder original recipe (1896)

Sourced from The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Farmer (1896).

1 can corn. 4 cups potatoes, cut in 1/4 inch slices. 1 1/2 inch cube fat salt pork. 1 sliced onion. 4 cups scalded milk. 8 common crackers. 3 tablespoons butter. Salt and pepper. Cut pork in small pieces and try out; add onion and cook five minutes, stirring often that onion may not burn; strain fat into a stewpan. Parboil potatoes five minutes in boiling water to cover; drain, and add potatoes to fat; then add two cups boiling water; cook until potatoes are soft, add corn and milk, then heat to boiling point. Season with salt and pepper; add butter, and crackers split and soaked in enough cold milk to moisten. Remove crackers, turn chowder into a tureen, and put crackers on top.

Modern Recipe

Based on The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Farmer (1896) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1 quart (1 L) whole milk

3 tbsp fatty salt pork, or bacon fat

1 onion, diced

4 cups Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/4” pieces (about 4-5 potatoes)

2 cups (475 ml) boiling water

3 cups canned sweet corn, drained (about 1 pound, 4 oz worth)

3 tbsp (45 g) butter

2 tsp salt

3/4 tsp pepper

8 large plain, thick, dry crackers (don’t use something like Ritz or club crackers, they’ll disintegrate)

Method:

Scald the milk by adding it to a saucepan and warm it over medium heat until it reaches 180°F (82°C). Set it aside and let it cool.

Heat the pork fat in a large skillet over medium-high heat for a couple of minutes until most of the fat has melted into grease. Add the onions and cook for 5 minutes, stirring often so they don’t burn. You want them to be translucent and start to brown.

Carefully pour out any remaining grease into a pot (using a strainer is really helpful), and remove any fatty pieces that might be remaining. Set aside.

Add the potatoes to a small saucepan with just enough water to cover them. Bring to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes, just to soften them up a bit.

Strain the potatoes and add them to the pot with the grease from the onions, then add the boiling water and set the pot over high heat and bring it to a simmer. When the potatoes can be easily pierced with a knife, reduce the heat to medium-low and add the corn, scalded milk, and onions. Stir and slowly bring it to a gentle boil.

If you’re using smaller crackers, you can skip this step. If you’re using large crackers, break them into large pieces and add them to a bowl of cold milk, soak for 10 seconds, and take them out. Set aside.

When the chowder begins to boil, add the salt and pepper and stir. Add the butter. Once the butter is melted, add the softened crackers and let them float on top while the chowder simmers for another 10 minutes to 15 minutes to thicken.

If you want to follow the 19th century recipe, take out the crackers, though I find this to be more trouble than it’s worth, since you put them back on top once you’ve ladled the chowder into a bowl. Either way, the chowder is now ready to serve forth.

[dracutgrl]

perfect!

[lsdoiphin]

Foods of Vestur

@broncoburro and @chocodile provoked me into doing some illustrated worldbuilding for Forever Gold ( @forevergoldgame ), an endeavor I was happy to undertake. Unbeknownst to me, it would take the better part of a week to draw.

In the process, I conjured about an essay's worth of fantasy food worldbuilding, but I'm going to try and keep things digestible (pardon my pun). Lore under the cut:

The Middle Kingdom

The Middle Kingdom has ample land, and its soil, landscapes, and temperate climate are amenable to growing a variety of crops and raising large quantities of livestock. The Midland palate prefers fresh ingredients with minimal seasoning; if a dish requires a strong taste, a cook is more likely to reach for a sharp cheese than they are to open their spice drawer. Detractors of Middle Kingdom cuisine describe it as bland, but its flavor relies on the quality of its components more than anything.

KEY CROPS: wheat, potatoes, carrots, green beans, apples, pears, and grapes KEY LIVESTOCK: Midland goats, fowl, and hogs

ROAST FOWL: Cheap and easy to raise, fowl is eaten all over Vestur and by all classes. Roasted whole birds are common throughout, but the Middle Kingdom's approach to preparation is notable for their squeamish insistence on removing the head and neck before roasting, even among poorer families. Fowl is usually roasted on a bed of root vegetables and shallots and served alongside gravy and green beans.

GOAT RIBEYE: Vestur does not have cattle – instead it has a widely diversified array of goats, the most prominent being the Middle Kingdom's own Midland goat. The Midland goat is a huge caprid that fills the same niche as cattle, supplying Vestur with meat and dairy products. Chevon from the Midland goat is tender with a texture much like beef, though it retains a gamier, “goat-ier” taste. It is largely eaten by the wealthy, though the tougher and cheaper cuts can be found in the kitchens of the working class. Either way, it is almost always served with gravy. (You may be sensing a pattern already here. Midlanders love their gravy.)

FETTUCCINE WITH CHEESE: Noodles were brought to the Middle Kingdom through trade with the South and gained popularity as a novel alternative to bread. The pasta of Midland Vestur is largely eaten with butter or cream sauce; tomato or pesto sauces are seldom seen.

CHARCUTERIE WITH WINE: Charcuterie is eaten for the joy of flavors rather than to satiate hunger, and therefore it is mainly eaten by the upper class. It is commonly eaten alongside grape wine, a prestigious alcohol uniquely produced by the Middle Kingdom. The flavor of grape wine is said to be more agreeable than the other wines in Vestur, though Southern pineapple wine has its share of defenders.

BREAD WITH JAM AND PRESERVES, TEA SANDWICHES, & ROSETTE CAKE: Breads and pastries are big in the Middle Kingdom. The Middle Kingdom considers itself the world leader in the art of baking. Compared to its neighbors, the baked goods they make are soft, light, and airy and they are proud of it. Cakes in particular are a point of ego and a minor source of mania among nobility; it is a well-established cultural joke that a Middle Kingdom noble cannot suffer his neighbor serving a bigger, taller cake. The cakes at Middle Kingdom parties can reach nauseatingly wasteful and absurdist heights, and there is no sign of this trend relenting any time soon.

CHOWDER, FARMER'S POT PIE, GRIDDLECAKES, EGGS, CURED MEATS: If you have the means to eat at all in the Middle Kingdom, you are probably eating well. Due to the Midland's agricultural strength, even peasant dishes are dense and filling. Eggs and cured meats are abundant, cheaper, and more shelf stable than fresh cuts and provide reprieve from the unending wheat and dairy in the Midland diet.

STEWED APPLES AND PEARS, JAM AND PRESERVES: The Midland grows a number of different fruits, with apples and pears being the most plentiful. In a good year, there will be more fruit than anyone knows what to do with, and so jams and preserves are widely available. Stewed fruit has also gained popularity, especially since trade with the Southern Kingdom ensures a stable supply of sugar and cinnamon.

NORTHERN KINGDOM - SETTLED

The Northern Kingdom is a harsh and unforgiving land. Historically, its peoples lived a nomadic life, but since the unification of the Tri-Kingdom more and more of the Northern population have opted to live a settled life. The “settled North” leads a hard life trying to make agriculture work on the tundra, but it is possible with the help of green meur. The Northern palate leans heavily on preserved and fermented foods as well as the heat from the native tundra peppers. Outsiders often have a hard time stomaching the salt, tang, and spice of Northern cuisine and it is widely considered “scary.”

KEY CROPS: potatoes, beets, carrots, tundra pepper KEY LIVESTOCK: wooly goats, hares*

GOAT POT ROAST: Life up north is hard work and there is much to be done in a day. Thus, slow cooked one-pot meals that simmer throughout the day are quite common.

VENISON WITH PICKLES: Game meat appears in Northern dishes about as much as farmed meat – or sometimes even more, depending on the location. Even “classier” Northern dishes will sometimes choose game meat over domesticated, as is the case with the beloved venison with pickles. Cuts of brined venison are spread over a bed of butter-fried potato slices and potent, spicy pickled peppers and onions. The potatoes are meant to cut some of the saltiness of the dish, but... most foreigners just say it tastes like salt, vinegar, and burning.

MINER STEW: While outsiders often have a hard time distinguishing miner stew from the multitude of beet-tinged stews and pot roasts, the taste difference is unmistakable. Miner's stew is a poverty meal consisting of pickles and salt pork and whatever else is might be edible and available. The end result is a sad bowl of scraps that tastes like salt and reeks of vinegar. The popular myth is that the dish got its name because the Northern poor began putting actual rocks in it to fill out the meal, which... probably never happened, but facts aren't going to stop people from repeating punchy myths.

RYE TOAST WITH ONION JAM: Rye is hardier than wheat, and so rye bread is the most common variety in the North. Compared to Midland bread, Northern bread is dense and gritty. It is less likely to be enjoyed on its own than Midland bread, both because of its composition and because there's less to put on it. Unless you've the money to import fruit spreads from further south, you're stuck with Northern jams such as onion or pepper jam. Both have their appreciators, but bear little resemblance to the fruit and berry preserves available elsewhere in Vestur.

HARE DAIRY: Eating hare meat is prohibited in polite society due to its association with the haretouched and heretical nomadic folk religions, but hare dairy is fair game. Hare cheese ranges from black to plum in color, is strangely odorless, and has a pungent flavor akin to a strong blue cheese. It is the least contentious of hare milk products. Hare milk, on the other hand, is mildly toxic. If one is not acclimated to hare milk, drinking it will likely make them “milk sick” and induce vomiting. It is rarely drunk raw, and is instead fermented into an alcoholic drink similar to kumis.

MAPLE HARES AND NOMAD CANDY: Maple syrup is essentially the only local sweetener available in the North, and so it is the primary flavor of every Northern dessert. Simple maple candies are the most common type of sweet, though candied tundra peppers – known as “nomad candy” – is quite popular as well. (Despite its name, nomad candy is an invention of the settled North and was never made by nomads.)

TUNSUKH: Tunsukh is one of the few traditions from the nomadic era still widely (and openly) practiced among Northern nobility. It is a ceremonial dinner meant as a test of strength and endurance between political leaders: a brutally spiced multi-course meal, with each course being more painful than the last. Whoever finishes the dinner with a stoic, tear-streaked face triumphs; anyone who cries out in pain or reaches for a glass of milk admits defeat. “Dessert” consists of a bowl of plain, boiled potatoes. After the onslaught of tunsukh, it is sweeter than any cake.

NORTHERN KINGDOM – NOMADIC NORTH

Although the Old Ways are in decline, the nomadic clans still live in the far North beyond any land worth settling. They travel on hareback across the frozen wasteland seeking “meur fonts” - paradoxical bursts of meur that erupt from the ice and provide momentary reprieve from the harsh environment. The taste of nomad food is not well documented.

KEY CROPS: N/A KEY LIVESTOCK: hares

PEMMICAN: Nomadic life offers few guarantees. With its caloric density and functionally indefinite “shelf life,” pemmican is about as close as one can get.

SEAL, MOOSE: Meat comprises the vast majority of the nomadic diet and is eaten a variety of ways. Depending on the clan, season, and availability of meur fonts, meat may be cooked, smoked, turned to jerky, or eaten raw. Moose and seal are the most common sources of meat, but each comes with its own challenges. Moose are massive, violent creatures and dangerous to take down even with the aid of hares; seals are slippery to hunt and only live along the coasts.

WANDER FOOD, WANDER STEW: When a green meur font appears, a lush jungle springs forth around it. The heat from red meur fonts may melt ice and create opportunities for fishing where there weren't before. Any food obtained from a font is known as “wander food.” Wander food is both familiar and alien; the nomads have lived by fonts long enough to know what is edible and what is not, but they may not know the common names or preparation methods for the food they find. Fish is simple enough to cook, but produce is less predictable. Meur fonts are temporary, and it's not guaranteed that you'll ever find the same produce twice - there is little room to experiment and learn. As a result, a lot of wander food is simply thrown into a pot and boiled into “wander stew,” an indescribable dish which is different each time.

CENVAVESH: When a haretouched person dies, their hare is gripped with the insatiable compulsion to eat its former companion... therefore, it is only proper to return the favor. Barring injury or illness, a bonded hare will almost always outlive its bonded human, and so the death of one's hare is considered a great tragedy among nomads. The haretouched – and anyone they may invite to join them – sits beside the head of their hare as they consume as much of its rib and organ meat as they can. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan processes the remainder of the hare's carcass so that none of it goes to waste. It is a somber affair that is treated with the same gravity as the passing of a human. Cenvavesh is outlawed as a pagan practice in the settled North.

HARE WINE: While fermented hare's milk is already alcoholic, further fermentation turns it into a vivid hallucinogen. This “hare wine” is used in a number of nomad rituals, most notably during coming of age ceremonies. Allegedly, it bestows its drinker with a hare's intuition and keen sense of direction... of course, truth is difficult to distinguish from fiction when it comes to the Old Ways.

SOUTHERN KINGDOM

The Southern Kingdom is mainly comprised of coast, wetland, and ever-shrinking jungle. While the land is mostly unfit for large-scale agriculture, seafood is plentiful and the hot climate is perfect for exorbitant niche crops. What they can't grow, they obtain easily through trade. Southerners have a reputation for eating anything, as well as stealing dishes from other cultures and “ruining” them with their own interpretations. KEY CROPS: plantains, sweet potato, pineapple, mango, guava, sugarcane KEY LIVESTOCK: fowl, marsh hogs, seals

GLAZED EEL WITH FRIED PLANTAINS: A very common configuration for Southern food is a glazed meat paired with a fried vegetable. It almost doesn't matter which meat and which vegetable it is – they love their fried food and they love their sweet and salty sauces in the South. Eel is a culturally beloved meat, much to the shock and confusion of visiting Midlanders.

NARWHAL STEW: Narwhal stew is the South's “anything goes” stew. It does not actually contain narwhal meat, as they are extinct (though the upper class may include dolphin meat as a protein) – instead, the name comes from its traditional status as a “forever soup,” as narwhals are associated with the passage of time in Southern culture. Even in the present day, Southern monasteries tend massive, ever-boiling pots of perpetual stew in order to feed the monks and sybils who live there. Narwhal stew has a clear kelp-based broth and usually contains shellfish. Beyond that, its ingredients are extremely varied. Noodles are a popular but recent addition.

FORAGE: The dish known as “forage” is likewise not foraged, or at least, it hasn't been forage-based in a good hundred years at least. Forage is a lot like poke; it's a little bit of everything thrown into a bowl. Common ingredients include fish (raw or cooked), seaweed, fried noodles, marinated egg, and small quantities of fruit.

HOT POT: Hot pot is extremely popular, across class barriers, in both the South proper and its enclave territories. This is due to its extreme flexibility - if it can be cooked in a vat of boiling broth, it will be. Crustaceans and shellfish are common choices for hot pot in the proper South, along with squid, octopus, mushrooms, and greens.

FLATBREAD: The Southern Kingdom doesn't do much baking. The vast majority of breads are fried, unleavened flatbreads, which are usually eaten alongside soups or as wraps. Wraps come in both savory and sweet varieties; savory wraps are usually stuffed with shredded pork and greens while sweet wraps – which are much more expensive – are filled with fruit and seal cheese.

GRILLED SKEWERS, ROAST SWEET POTATO: While a novel concept for Midlanders and Northerners, street food has long been a part of Southern Kingdom culture. You would be hard pressed to find a Southern market that didn't have at least three vendors pushing grilled or fried something or other. Skewers are the most common and come in countless configurations, but roast sweet potatoes are a close second.

CUT FRUIT AND SEAL CHEESE: Fresh fruit is popular in the South, both local and imported. While delicious on its own, Southerners famously pair it with seal cheese. Which leads me to an important topic of discussion I don't have room for anywhere else...

THE SOUTH AND CHEESE: Since the South doesn't have much in the way of dairy farming, cheese is somewhat rare in their cuisine – but it is present. And important. Cheese is the domain of the Church. Common goat dairy imported from the Middle Kingdom is turned to cheese by monks in Southern monasteries and sold to the Southern public, yes, but as you have noticed there is another cheese prominent in the Southern Kingdom diet: seal cheese. Seal cheese is unlike anything else that has ever been called cheese; the closest it can be compared to is mascarpone. It is is a soft, creamy cheese with a mild flavor and an indulgent fat content. It is used almost exclusively as a dessert, though it is only ever mildly sweetened if at all. It is extremely costly and held in high regard; the most religious Southerners regard it as holy. Dairy seals are a very rare animal and raised exclusively in a small number of Cetolist-Cerostian monasteries, where they are tended and milked by the monks. Due to their status as a holy animal, eating seal meat is forbidden. Eating their cheese and rendering their tallow into soap is fine though.

(HEARTLAND SOUTH) SOUTH-STYLE GOAT: The Heartland South is a Southern enclave territory in the Middle Kingdom. Visiting Midland dignitaries oft wrongly assume that because the Heartland South is in Middle Kingdom territory, Heartland Southerners eat the same food they do exactly as they do. They are horrified to find that familiar sounding dishes like “goat with potatoes” are completely and utterly unrecognizable, drenched in unfamiliar sauces and spices and served alongside fruit they've never eaten. Meanwhile, Heartland Southerners firmly believe that they have fixed the Middle Kingdom's boring food.

(BOREAL SOUTH) “TUNSUKH”: If Midlanders are afraid of Heartland Southern food, Northerners are absolutely furious about cuisine from the Boreal South - the most legendarily offensive being the Boreal South's idea of “tunsukh.” Southerners are no stranger to spice, so when Southern traders began interacting with the North, they liked tunsukh! It's just... they thought it needed a little Southern help to become a real meal, you know? A side of seal cheese soothed the burn and made the meal enjoyable. And because the meal was enjoyable, the portion sizes increased. And plain boiled potatoes? Well, those are a little too plain – creamy mashed sweet potato feels like more of a dessert, doesn't it? ...For some reason, Northerners didn't agree, but that's okay. The Boreal South knows they're just embarrassed they didn't think of pairing seal cheese with tunsukh sooner.

ARMY RATIONS

The food eaten by the King's Army is about what you would expect for late 1700s military; salt pork or salt chevon, hard tack, and coffee. The biggest divergence they have is also one of Vestur's biggest points of pride: they have the means to supply their troops with frivolous luxuries like small tins of candied fruit from the Midland. A love of candied fruit is essentially a Vesturian military proto-meme; proof that they serve the greatest Tri-Kingdom on the planet. Don't get between a military man and his candied fruit unless you want a fight.

[parvuls]

A Comprehensive List Of Jack's Canon Chirps

"Bittle, HEADS UP!" [Bitty passes out] "…Or get into fetal position at central ice. That's also an option."

"You've never seen the sun rise from a rink, eh? Thought you were a figure skating champion."

Bitty: "A fist bump! I didn't know you did those." Jack: "Ha - you gotta work for them."

"The sad thing is, I can tell he's lying not because of the library part? But because he'd never leave a pie unattended."

"Oh and Bittle, before I forget. This summer? Eat more protein."

"When you get Youtube famous don't go out and chirp me all over the internet, eh? 'Night."

"How many of those tweets do you start with oh my god y'all?"

"It's way too easy to make you laugh. Make sure you tweet that." [looks over Bitty's shoulder to make sure he tweets that]

[texts Bitty a smiley face] [follows up with:] "Sorry that was a typo."

"You only tweeted twice while we were working, Bittle. That's a record."

[Bitty gets knocked over] "I guess you're looking for extra checking practice, eh, Bittle?"

"We should get going and let Bittle here text about his walk to class."

Bitty: "E-excuse you, but my kitchen is no place for checking!" Jack: "…Your kitchen?" Bitty: "Well, the kitchen! Now move your big -- uhm." Jack: "My big…?"

[At Thanksgiving] "All that turkey's gonna make you slow for tomorrow, Chowder."

[To a kid wearing a Brad Marchand jersey while asking for Jack's autograph] "You know this isn't me, right?"

"17." [At Bitty's confusion:] "That's the number of pies you baked in September. In case you were wondering where your time went."

"I'm sure you'd be done [with your history essay] too if you had tweeted it. Is that an option?"

[looks at Bitty's tweets] "I said where'd you get that camera not is that the camera you use. Come on, Bittle."

[finds Bitty's surprise cookies] "I'm surprised your cookies got through costumes Bittle."

"I told my mom about all your tweeting? She says you're not following her. I'm more surprised than offended, Bittle."

"Shitty, don't you think I should get a tweet transcript or something since he quotes me so much? For legal purposes."

"Hey, Bittle. That Daily reporter didn't rope you into an interview after that jump?"

[after meeting Farmer] "She was nice, eh? Cute. …I bet you're texting about our lunch now."

[Nursey accidentally hits a kid in the face with his hockey bag] "Nice check, Nurse."

[in the middle of the night] "I figured you'd be up baking a pie or three."

[Bitty gets shoe-checked] "Hey, it's no shoes, no shirt, no service, Bittle."

"Whose shoulders are you going to sit on at Spring C, Bittle?"

[Shitty tears up while kissing the ice] "Crying a bit there, eh?"

[SMH buy Bitty a new oven] Bitty: "I need to bake something right this second!" Jack: "Stop crying first."

"If we move the kitchen table out, you can bring your bed in."

[About graduating] "The biggest change is probably my diet. Less pie."

"And hey, it's a bit different than you and Lardo, eh? Since everyone knew you were in love with her since sophomore year."

[during Falcs Faceoff] Teammate: "Heard you've never lost one a these, I'm scared." Jack: "Yeah, you should be."

[Gets chirped for dating Bitty] "This is a Samwell hockey record. Chirps lasting longer than the ones re: Holster & Esther S." Holster: "…Jack." Jack: ":)"

Nursey: "Yo, Bitty do you remember any French?" Jack: "No." Bitty: "I can speak for myself, Mr. Zimmermann." Jack: "Well. Not in French."

[To Marty & Thirdy] "Hauling your kids around on a sled just about wore you guys out, eh?"

[To Tater] "Potato champ needs more sleep, eh?"

"Bitty? Hey, bud, come on, say something -" [Bitty passes out] "Or you can pass out at center ice. I'm getting deja vu."

[mongoosingisme]

Title: Operation: Farmer Support

Series: Sticking the Landing (see fic Masterlist for previous part)

Rating: Explicit (MDNI)

Relationship: Harvey/fem!Reader

Summary: Harvey has a phase two of his own. Is it orgasms?

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Read below

You’d always been good at jumping.

Landing, though? Not your forte.

Take the farm, for example. Accepting your inheritance, quitting your job, leaping into a new environment, new lifestyle, new vocation? Fine, no worries.

Actually facing the realities of your new life? A little harder. And that’s where you were. Facing the reality of a pile of firewood that you swore was larger yesterday.

And a bank account that definitely had more in it when you last checked.

And a weather report that couldn’t possibly be that cold, right?

So you were chopping wood. Sure, it wouldn’t have time to cure, but it’d be better than freezing to death, right?

It was hard work, chopping wood. Your back was feeling it. Arms too. Also your feet, for some reason. Worst part, though, was that it was giving you time to think.

About last Saturday.

And the doctor.

And how it’d felt to have him over you.

And how you hadn’t heard from him in almost a week.

Look, it wasn’t like you’d reached out either. It’s the landing thing, right? No problem jumping, but once you’d said your goodbyes that night (gotta get home to be up for chores), after that last, long kiss in the doorway (his hand in your hair, neither wanting to let go)… where do you go from there?

You used to know how to do this, once. A long time ago. But that was back in the city, and it was hard even then, and you knew it didn’t have to be hard. Just a text. Just a “hey.” But Yoba, every time you’d brought his name up on your phone you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

So you were chopping wood.

It was freezing out, but you’d worked up a sweat so that was okay. Your back was screaming at you, but that was alright too. You’d just keep going, keep thinking, keep remembering that night and how he’d-

“Hey there.”

“Shit!” You misswung, buried your axe in the stump that acted as your chopping block. Swung around, hand on your pounding heart. “You scared me!”

It was Harvey. Looking put together as ever in a brown peacoat, plaid scarf, and slim black gloves. The raggedy hand knit hat he wore struck a discordant tone, as did the chagrined look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to, ah, stop by? Say hi and, um, return this?” He was rummaging in a tote bag now, pulling out the container you’d used to ferry your soup to his place.

“Oh, thanks, let me…”

“Do you want me to leave it in your kitchen?” He asked at the same time.

Your kitchen was not in its best state. “No, it’s okay, I can take it.”

He handed it to you. He looked… defeated. “Looks like you’ve got a lot going on here, I can just get out of your way and -“

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out,” you blurted.

You could see it, the way his shoulders relaxed, the way the crows feet around his eyes twitched up. “I should have said something too, it’s just…”

“How?” You fill in.

“How.” He agreed.

You both looked at each other for a moment.

A chicken clucked.

“I brought you some food,” Harvey said, holding up the bag. “I’m not much of a chef, but Gus had chowder on special today, and it’s such good weather for soup and…” he trailed off.

You were trying very, very hard not to cry.

“Soup sounds good,” you said.

Harvey smiled.

——————

Forty five minutes later you were standing in your living room, watching Harvey move around in your kitchen. He’d done the dishes (bless him), warmed the soup in a sauce pan (double bless him), and had poured two very large glasses of wine (why hadn’t you texted him again?).

You’d showered and changed into your non-work uniform (leggings and t-shirt), and it was nothing to sink down into one of the rickety kitchen chairs and watch him work.

Yoba, you were more tired than you realized.

“Sorry again for not texting,” you said.

He quirked up a smile from his spot by the stove. “Really, I should have too. You put yourself out there, it’s my turn to, you know…”

“I know. And it’s okay.” You smiled back. “I’m out of practice anyway.”

He huffed a laugh. Busied himself with stirring the soup. “You’re not alone there. Been a while for me too.”

You folded your arms on the table, rested your head on them. “I thought when I moved here I’d get better at things. Fresh start and all that. Leave some of those bad habits behind. But it’s like���” you trailed off, searching for the words.

“Everywhere you go, there you are?”

You peered up at him from your makeshift pillow. He was watching you through the stream from the soup. “Exactly.”

He opened his mouth to say more when your old timer dinged. “Biscuits,” he said, grabbing a pot holder.

“Biscuits?” You sat back up.

“Don’t get too excited, they’re the kind from a tube. But I thought they’d go well with the chowder. There should be a pot of jam in the bag there. Evelyn dropped it off a little while ago and I’ve been looking for the right occasion.”

“Sounds amazing.” Your peered into the bag, noting the small round jar of jam, a container of hot chocolate mix, a DVD (Rumble in the Bronx, if the explosion on the cover was any indication), and… “what’s this?”

It was almost concerning, the way Harvey’s face flushed red as you held up the unmarked pump bottle. “Oh! Oh that’s… I was… I meant to…” He looked like he wanted to leap over and grab it from you, but the tray of biscuits between his mitted hands prevented it.

You couldn’t help the grin, then. “What iiiiiiis ittttt?” you lilted, swaying the bottle back and forth.

Harvey was hurriedly setting down the tray. “It’s, uh, Yoba, it’s massage oil. I wasn’t… I didn’t want you to feel pressured. Just a… a phase two?” He looked mortified, the poor man, and your instinct to tease him just barely lost out to your preference for seeing him at ease.

“Phase two? So is this a phase one?”

“Yes,” Harvey sighed. He’d given up on the bottle in your hands and turned back to the biscuits. “Operation: Farmer Support. When I didn’t hear from you or see you around town, I figured I’d come out and check in on you. I imagine this must be a busy time, and it was so sweet of you to think of me last week, I figured I’d…” He trailed off, gestured at the soup and biscuits. “Ta-daaa.”

If you weren’t feeling so tired, so utterly exhausted from the non-stop labor of the past few days you would have leapt up and hugged him. Instead, all you could do was say “thank you. Really. Thank you. It means so, so much.”

“It’s my pleasure. Truly. Now how about some chowder?”

You thought that sounded just dandy.

——————

The chowder was restorative, Harvey’s presence a comfort, and by the time the two of you had eaten, cleaned up, and settled in on the couch you felt almost human again.

Well, a human with a very sore back. But that was okay. The point is you didn’t nod off in front of the movie like you thought you would. Conditions were perfect for a nap. Harvey’s arm was heavy and comforting around your shoulders, the slow rise and fall of his chest an invitation to doze. But you couldn’t stop thinking about that bottle of massage oil. About how his hands would feel on you, moving up and down. About all that could be encompassed by the phrase “phase two.”

“So about that massage,” you said, about halfway through the movie.

Harvey looked down at you, the tv reflecting off his glasses. “About that massage,” he repeated. You could feel the vibrations in his chest.

“Is that still on the table?”

“It is.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“What would I need to do to take advantage of such an offer.”

“Well…” he swallowed. “We’d need a place where you could lie flat and be comfortable.”

“Like my bed?”

“Like your bed.”

“What else?”

“Well…” even in the flickering light of the tv you could tell he was blushing. “It would be best if you could take off your clothes. It makes a big difference when it comes to efficacy.”

“Of course,” you agree solemnly. “Efficacy.”

Harvey shifted. “That would be about it. If you wanted, when you were ready, you could go in your room and get… get undressed and get comfortable?”

But you were already moving, sitting back away from him on the couch, pulling your shirt and bra off in one motion. The way his eyes widened made the ache in your back worth it. You winked, then got up and walked towards the bedroom. You could hear a strained “Dear Yoba” as you left.

The bedroom was a little colder than the rest of the house, so you worked quickly to get your clothes off and huddle on your stomach under a blanket. You left the small lamp on your bedstand on and waited. A few moments later you heard a knock on the door.

“All set?”

“All set.”

Harvey entered. His jacket was off, tie gone, sleeves rolled up over his forearms. His hair was messier than usual, as if he’d just been running his hands through it in agitation.

It was a good look.

“I’ve never had a massage before,” you admitted as he set the bottle of oil on the side table.

“Glad I get to be your first,” he grinned. You snorted into the pillow. “Any areas that are bothering you?”

“My back mostly.”

Harvey hummed an acknowledgement. “Is it okay if I pull the blanket down?”

“That’s fine.” The cold air hit your back, but then his hands were there, warm and steady, gently, slowly running up and down your spine.

“You’ll need to tell me if the pressure is okay,” he said, hands soothing, smoothing, sparking a warmth that felt deeper than just his body heat. “This should feel good.”

“It does,” you murmured.

He chuckled softly. “I haven’t gotten started yet.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He left one hand flat on your back and leaned over. You could hear the sound of the pump bottle, then your back was empty again as he rubbed his hands together. “Okay,” he whispered. “Tell me how this feels.”

It felt incredible.

His hands started at your shoulders, pressing firmly, flat and warm and sure. He drew them down slowly, pressing in with the heels of his hands, traversing twin paths down your back, flaring out over your hips.

You moaned.

He froze. “Too much?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. Perfect.”

And it was perfect. As he started again at the top of your shoulders you could feel your body responding. His hands slid smoothly over your back, coaxing the muscles underneath to loosen, to relax. He must have been sensing something from the way they moved, because every once in a while he’d change his stroke, focus in on a smaller area, hold and pull, press and release, do something with his palm, with the ball of his thumb, and you’d feel yourself loosening, becoming heavier, somehow. Melting into the bed.

It felt incredible, giving your body over to him. He worked steadily, with clear intention. You wondered how he’d learned to do this, thought about asking him, but some crucial component between your mind and your mouth had ceased to connect, so all you could do was sigh and melt deeper.

You could hear him make a pleased sound. “Good?”

You breathed out a sound that you hoped sounded like an affirmative. He laughed softly. “Good. How have your shoulders been?”

“Sore,” you managed.

“Alright, tell me how this feels.”

His hands were back on you, thumbs leading now, and you can’t help but hiss in surprise. It didn’t feel like he was pressing hard, but something about how his thumbs were making contact made you tense in pain.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized quickly, running a flat hand over your back again. “Sorry about that. You’re pretty tense there. Can I try it a different way?”

“Yeah, sure,” was all you had the mind to come up with, already sinking back into contentment.

“Tell me how this feels.” He laid one hand where your neck met your shoulder, moved the other up over your head. He spread his fingers, ran them close to your scalp, and firmly gripped your hair. His grip was wide and careful, holding, not pulling, and as his other hand drew a path down over your shoulder you couldn’t help but moan.

“Good?” He asked.

“Good,” you breathed back.

You liked the way his hand felt, gripping your hair.

You liked it a lot.

The room felt a lot less cold now.

Something inside of you felt much, much warmer.

He kept working, your diligent doctor. Kept stroking. Kept that firm grip on your hair. After some time his switched sides, turning your head, gripping the other side of your scalp, running those broad, strong, warm hands over your other shoulder.

At this point there was no denying it: you were putty. Absolute goo, relaxed and pliant and so much more comfortable than you’d felt for days. You wanted to tell him that, to tell him how much you liked what he was doing, how grateful you were, but all you could come up with was a whimper.

He paused. “How are you doing?”

“I like how you’re holding my hair,” you murmured.

You felt the bed shift. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

He was pulling your hair back just a little, turning you to look at him as he joined you in lying on the bed. His face was very close to you, glasses off, that smell of forest and clean mixing with the lavender of the massage oil. His nose brushed over yours. “What else do you like?”

“You,” you replied without hesitation.

He hummed through a smile, brushed his lips over yours. “I like you too. What else.”

“Your hands,” you said. “And your mouth.”

He groaned quietly, pressed his lips to yours. The angle was difficult for you to do much more than part your lips, welcome his mouth, his tongue. Finally. Finally.

He seemed content to control the kiss, increasing the pressure, dipping his tongue into your mouth, fingers still worked into your hair. He broke away with a soft laugh. “You are… distracting. Anything else you’d like from a massage?”

You tried to formulate a joke, something about a happy ending, but the way he was looking at you, so earnest, the willingness to please contrasting so sweetly with his grip on your hair, all you could come up with was “touch me.”

Harvey touched you.

Shifting, shifting you, one arm coming around behind your neck, shoulders, moving you over on your back. The other hand pulling in your hair (gently, so gently) to arrange you. Then it was moving, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, jaw, lip. Lower, to cup your neck. Gently, not pushing, just holding, spanning your throat. You whined, quiet, just once, pushing yourself up into his hand, enjoying the way he sucked in his breath.

He was propped up on his elbow now, watching as his hand traveled lower, over your collarbone, down to your breast. He kept the same sure, gentle movements as when he touched your back, but just his fingertips now, ghosting down to trace around one tight nipple. Teasing. The soft touch redoubled the heat in your core, stomach clenching as he circled the sensitive tip.

“Alright?” He asked. As surely as his hands were moving, you could see a slight nervousness in his eyes.

“More,” you said. You wanted to reach up, pull him in for a kiss, soothe away his hesitance, but you were so relaxed, so languid from his attention that you couldn’t. And it didn’t matter because he was cupping your breast, hand warm and heavy, thumb sweeping out and back to press your nipple against the side of his hand.

Okay. Feeling a little less languid now.

You arched up into his hand, sighing, and pulled him down into a kiss. He went willingly, stubble scraping soft on your chin, and it was your turn to press, slide your lips over his, slick your tongue into his mouth. He groaned, fingers pressing a little harder around your breast, pinching in a way that sent sparks skittering down to your core.

More.

“You’re overdressed,” you observed breathlessly, breaking the kiss.

“I’m overdressed,” he agreed. You helped him with his shirt (least you could do, really) and made a move to pull him down into another kiss, but the man was already moving. Mouth working, littering kisses (and a bite or two) down your neck, over your chest, down to latch around your breast.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, that’s… fuck.” He’d moved to recapture your neglected nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The contrasting sensation, fingers firm and warm and precise, mouth hot and wet and sucking, left you speechless, overwhelmed. You did your best to signal for more, putting a hand over his to keep him there, grounding your fingers in his soft curls and holding him steady. He made a sound of approval, sucking harder.

You’d never been one to climax from nipple play, never thought it was possible, really, but as he worked you could see it, imagine it. The feel of his tongue working sent electricity straight to your clit, left you clenching, gripping around nothing, and you wished his fingers were in you, pumping you as he sucked and -

“More,” you said again.

He broke the suction on your nipple with a huff of a laugh. “Greedy thing,” he said.

“More,” you repeated.

“More,” he agreed. But he wasn’t working his fingers into you like you’d imagined, no, he was moving down now, kissing lower, over your rib cage, your stomach, shifting over you to settle between your legs.

Yoba, who was this man, pressing his mouth to the lowest part of your stomach, looking up through his eyelashes in a silent question (“May I?”). And of course he could, that he was there at all, there in your house, your bed, with you, when you didn’t even have the wherewithal to send him a text, he could have anything, anything he wanted.

You ran your fingers through his hair, made a noise you hoped sounded like “yes,” like “please.” He smiled, pressed one more kiss to your stomach, and settled in lower.

The first swipe of his tongue left you breathless. Broad and loose, traveling from your entrance up to circle around your clit. The next turned you liquid, firm tip of his tongue coursing around your nub, flicking back and forth over the top, so close to too much but not quite. You bucked up without thought, and he smoothed a hand over your hip in response, holding you down.

“Good?” He whispered, looking up at you.

“Yoba,” you moaned.

His eyes crinkled as he went back to work.

This time he set a rhythm, flat of his tongue stroking back and forth over the hood of your clit. It pulsed through you in time, drawing fire from your stomach, your thighs. Your tired muscles protested, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to enjoy every second of this. You unconsciously pressed a hand to his head, holding it there, but drew back once you realized what you were doing. Without missing a stroke he reached for it, pressed it down again, worked your fingers through his hair.

Your fingers tensed as his rhythm changed, and he groaned as you tugged at the strands of hair in your grasp. His pace increased, tongue working the sides of your clit, hand still on your hip, grounding you. You could feel the slight rasp of stubble against your inner thighs, a counterpoint to the giving pressure of his tongue, and the tension rose. Throughout your stomach. Throughout your legs. Down to your toes and up into your shoulders. Heat and strain, pulling inwards, pulling on his hair, both hands now, and he moaned in agreement, small sounds of encouragement as you rose.

“Harvey,” you gasped. “Harvey, I’m-“

And he growled, actually fucking growled into you, pace steady but deeper, somehow, harder, and fuck, that did it. The tension peaked, coiling inward, pulling you up, muscles tensing, tense and sore but perfect, so perfect, the pleasure overriding the discomfort, erasing it, and you were crying out, gasping through the release, hands fisted in his hair. He worked you through it, worked as you peaked and then slowly, slowly melted down. Hips settling, fingers slacking. Kept working, skating over your swollen nub.

Yoba. He wasn’t stopping.

“Are you…” you couldn’t find a way to end the sentence. He was looking up at you from between your legs, eyes crinkled into a smile, hand just as firm on your hip. Keeping you there as he worked you up again. You were wet, so wet that the stroke of his tongue was losing its intensity, but Yoba, his fingers, two of them sliding up into you, slipping into your channel with no resistance. They moved, not pumping but searching, rubbing against your walls until you wailed.

From there it was an effortless slide to your second climax. Fingers working at that perfect spot. Tongue keeping that steady rhythm. Hand pressing down, locking you in place. Making those noises, that encouragement, he wanted you to come, wanted you to feel everything, was going to take you there.

It was deeper this time, richer, sensation enveloping you from outside in, making you curl up into his fingers, his mouth, into him. The tension seemed endless, deep in your core, your chest, your throat. Finally it collapsed, breaking apart, falling back, pulling him up, up away from you by the hair.

“No more,” you gasped. “Holy shit, I can’t take any more.”

He smiled. Eyes bright. Mustache wet. “Had enough?” Yoba, he looked smug.

It was a good look on him.

“Get up here,” was your only reply. You led him by his hair, pulled him to your lips, kissed him deeply. Tasted yourself.

He melted into you, bare chest solid and warm against your own. He leaned over your body, bracing himself on his elbow, and you didn’t think he was fully aware of the way his hips were rubbing against yours.

You were definitely aware of the bulge there, though.

You indulged the kiss for a moment more, the dampness of his mustache sending a thrill down your spine. But that press of his hips couldn’t be ignored. You reached down, snaked your hand between your hips, and squeezed him.

He choked out your name. “You�� fuck.” You squeezed him again. “You don’t… you don’t have to…”

“Didn’t you say that last time?”

He groaned softly, laid his head in the crook of your neck. Shifted to the side to give you better access.

Good doctor.

He was still in his dress pants, the thin material doing nothing to hide his arousal. For a moment you considered working him through them, a part of you enjoying the thought of the mess he’d make. But no, he’d taken such good care of you, surely he deserved a little more consideration. So you pushed him over a little more, onto his back, and busied yourself unbuckling his belt.

“Really, you don’t have to,” he began again. You stilled. Looked at him.

“Do you not want me to?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “No, it’s not that, I just…”

You waited.

“I should have called you. Texted you. Something that next morning.”

“Why didn’t you?” You didn’t realize you wanted to know until you asked. As if his answer could help you understand your own silence, your own inability to stick the landing.

“I just… I didn’t know how I’d be received.”

That seemed ridiculous - hadn’t you basically knocked down his door to spend time with him? This one person in your new life that felt familiar, that felt real? But you could see it too, see it in yourself. That it might be better to defer, to assume he wouldn’t want the burden of all that is you.

“I know how you feel,” you said. “I’m glad you came by anyway.”

“Me too,” he said. And it was natural, then, to lean across his chest, kiss him. Softly. Lingering, noses mingling, his hand finding your hair. Pressing against his lower lip. Upper. Pulling back to look him in the eyes.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hi,” he said back.

“Can I make you come now?” You asked.

He laughed, full and warm. “Yoba, yes, that would be… yes.”

And so you set back to work, unbuckling, unzipping, guiding his pants and boxers down and off. His cock sprung up, swollen, leaking. You ghosted your hand over it, heard his intake of breath. For a moment you considered following with your tongue, but then caught a whiff of lavender.

“Can I use some of that oil?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be fine.” He sounded breathless. You could feel him watching you as you pumped the oil into your hands. Rubbed them together. Leaned over and grasped his cock.

“Now I’m not a massage expert like you are,” you started. He groaned, hips bucking up at the contact. “But I’m going to do the best I’m able. How does this feel.” You pumped one hand up, the oil making you slide across his skin deliciously.

“Incredible,” he breathed.

“Hmmmm,” you said. “That’s an awfully big word. Let’s see if we can turn your brain down a bit.” You wrapped your free hand around his sac, cupping the weights within, enjoying as he groaned again. You squeezed gently, rolling, as your other hand pumped upwards. “How about now?”

“Good,” he groaned. “That’s good.”

“Excellent,” you said, and kept at it. The oil made it easy to slick your hand up and down his cock. The wetness at his head grew, eased your way further as you worked it down. He widened his legs, giving you greater access to weigh his sac, pressing, moving in time with the pump of your hands.

His chest was heaving now, as he took deep, hissing breaths. You could see the flush spreading down from his face, speckling across his chest as he groaned. You kept a constant pace, gripping, sliding, pumping, and maybe all that work with the axe was paying off because normally you’d be tired by now. But you could keep going, keep moving, keep watching him gasp and tighten.

His hands opened and closed next to him, his hips bucked up into your hands. And then all of a sudden he was grabbing his cock alongside you, working it with you as he grunted and came. He shuddered, clenching, curving in as his spend shot over his stomach and chest. You relaxed your grip as he did, watching him settle back into the bed, lips slack, eyes lidded and sated.

In a moment you’d find him a washcloth, help him clean up, but for the moment you just laid down next to him. Enjoyed the warmth of his body, his arm as it pulled you in close, his soft kiss on your forehead.

And later, after you’d walked him to the door, lingered on a last kiss, said goodnight for the last time, you rushed to your phone. As you opened up your messages to text him, there was one already waiting for you.

- Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep well.

And it felt like nothing, nothing to send one back.

- You sleep well too. Talk to you in the morning.

And you did.

[aristocrating]

artists the check please gang are listening to in 2024 probably

bitty: chappell roan, and beyoncé obvs

jack: orville peck, but also probably caroline polachek bc he's a soft soul like that

shitty: st vincent, and keeps trying to get lardo to get into her too

holster: sabrina carpenter (ransom: babe whats wrong you haven't said That's That Me Espresso all day), and probably ariana grande because he's overinvested in the whole relationship drama of it all

dex: Everything Everything, who nursey keeps reminding him no one has ever heard of

nursey: allie x, dorian electra or chrissy chlapecka, depending on whether he's depressed, energized or horny

chowder: dua lipa ONLY because he saw the shark fin on the cover of Radical Optimism and then got hooked. farmer only smiled and bought them concert tickets

parse: charli xcx, and threw a Brat release party to the continued bemusement of the rest of the aces

[yuurei20]

Grim Info Compilation part 21: Stealing, Vil and More

Grim will blatantly steal food and he seems unashamed of it, saying that “stolen food tastes way better” and “everything tastes better when it’s forbidden.”

Grim steals carpaccio from Jade’s plate during Halloween (“Food’s way more appetizing when it’s someone else’s”), tries to take an apple from the prefect, decides to take apples from a farmer when Epel tells him no, goes after the prefect’s ice cream during Glorious Masquerade, steals a doughnut from Ace, clam chowder during Port Fest and hints at wanting to steal jewelry from Leona.

Much like how Grim is quick to insult Leona, he also makes a comment during Vargas Camp about Vil’s club members running away because they are scared of him.

Vil replies, “I simply give warning when they don’t do their jobs.” Grim responds, “That’s still pretty harsh.”

Vil has a voice line about finding Grim’s fur on his school uniform.

Grim does not seem fond of Vargas, who apparently would have Grim and the prefect sit on a bench that he used as a dumbbell during Vargas Camp.

I have seen questions before about whether or not Grim is actively floating around the school, as he appears to be, but this might just be one of the ways the game is adapting to the limitations of the visual novel format:

Grim asks the prefect to hold him for a picture, Deuce has a line about him “trotting around underfoot” and Grim asks Cater to lower his phone so that he can see the screen, which all may insinuate that he might just be walking around.

(He also has to jump up and down to be included in a picture during the White Rabbit Fes event)

[bittysfoodbaby]

ok so on top of me being a diet film major at school i'm also on the executive staff of my school's college radio station and that combined with omgcp means it's headcanon time!

you're listening to 91.7 WSMU-FM. don't turn that dial!

lardo started doing radio to keep up the promise to do something technical to her parents after becoming an art major. she chose radio tech ops and programming because it was a chill and easy gig that didn't take too much time out of her day. she ended up being pretty decent at her job and later became known for her cable management skills.

jack first met lardo when he was dating camilla and eventually got involved with the station as a graveyard shift dj to hang out with camilla more as friends (#studentathletethings). lardo often took on the late-night shifts for tech ops, which is just making sure the station doesn't go down in the middle of the night, and noticed that Jack wouldn't use the automated software and do everything manually from spinning tracks to doing his talk breaks live. eventually they became friends over "the old days of radio" and jack referred lardo to becoming the smh team manager.

holster acted as a consultant to the promotions and PR team for one of his finals and observed a morning shift as part of the project. the "bro, we should start a podcast" part of his brain was promptly activated and convinced ransom to do a morning show with him. they mostly talk about college sports and get very heated over college hockey and how much cornell has fallen as a hockey team.

shitty grew up listening to wsmu and used radio as another way to be rebellious against his family. he appreciates the community service and outreach the station does and is ranked the best voice on the station. he hosts a show about local music in samwell and the greater boston area.

bitty joined the promo team after smh found out about his blog and convinced him to join radio after they all realized they did radio together. eventually he became the webmaster of the station's website because he was the only one other than shitty that knew how to use wordpress. his ego grew after he forced hosts to write blog posts during their shifts for the station website and be active on twitter.

chowder used to dj local events in high school and was a pretty decent dj and producer back in the day. when he found out the rest of the team was pretty much doing radio he convinced a radio show about live dj sets boiler room-style.

(side note: farmer finds out about chowder's secret life as a dj through a girl on the volleyball team who's friends with a wsmu sportscaster who knows holster.)

dex found himself working in tech ops after a freak accident involving the station's backup recording software went down. he ended up staying because it's the only non-hockey or non-school thing he had.

nursey was approached to be on the station's student spotlight show for his poetry and found out that the whole team was working on the station. he then romanticized the image of analog radio in his mind and what being a late-night DJ was like. he immediately switched to a mid-day jazz shift the next semester.

i swear i have more but i still have fics i need to write before posting more LMAO

[sparklycandyalpaca]

(Chowder StoneCake and RiceTomato “Schnitzel and Gazpacho has injured”)

*Gazpacho ride his scooter for late his job for the farmer market stand*

Gazpacho: I'm late! I'm late!! Better, hurry!!

*A cut scenes of Mung Daal and Chowder was goes to the farmer market. Then they met with Cheesecake and Paella*

Cheesecake (My Chowder OC): Oh, hey, Mung! Hey, Chowder!

Chowder: Hi, Cheesecake! Hi, Paella!

Mung Daal: You go too?

Cheesecake (My Chowder OC): *laughs* Well, yes. I am. I just met Paella where I was go to farmer market, right?

Paella: Yeah. And, we're going to the Gazpacho's stands.

Chowder: Hey, me too. We're supposed to go to Gazpacho's stands!

Mung Daal: But, where is he?

*Back to the scenes where Gazpacho late for his work on stands while ride his scooter*

Gazpacho: Mother says I wouldn't be late for my job!!

Woman: Here's your grocery, sir. Have a nice day.

Schnitzel: Rada.

*Schnitzel walks on the middle way then he heard a noises of scooter*

Schnitzel: Huh? *he looks at it, surprised*

Gazpacho: SCHNITZEL, WATCH OUT!!!

*Gazpacho screams as Schnitzel screams too. Gazpacho hit Schnitzel push harder and get crashed on Guy's stands*

Mung Daal: What was that?

*They turns around, gasps. They ran to them with worried. Gazpacho and Schnitzel are groaning in pain*

Gazpacho: Ouh, my back. It hurts.

Schnitzel: *hold his arms hurt also if you see his arms. He has a crack on cause he's a rock monster* Ouh! Rada, rada, rada, rada!!

Gazpacho: What? Me? You first who walks on the middle way!

Chowder: Gazpacho! Schnitzel! Are you two alright?

Gazpacho: Yeah, I'm fine. Chowder. Mung, I'm sorry for late because I've had been watching all night.

Mung Daal: Yeah, I'll forgive you. *to Schnitzel* Does it hurt your arms, Schnitzel?

Schnitzel: *still hold his arms hurt* Rada, rada.

Chowder: Let me see!

Schnitzel: Rada!

*Chowder away his hands. And he looks on his crack arms*

Chowder: Woah... *he starts to touch his cracking arms like really touch on it*

Schnitzel: Ow! Rada!

Chowder: Oops, sorry.

Paella: How his arms has cracked?

Cheesecake (My Chowder OC): Well, he's a rock monster, Paella.

Paella: Oh.

Mung Daal: Come on, Schnitzel. Let's take you for treats your wounds

*Mung Daal and Chowder help Schnitzel up for go to the Catering. Cheesecake and Paella help Gazpacho up*

Guy: Uh, excuse me. Guys? Who's gonna buy for destroy my stand?

Cheesecake (My Chowder OC): Uh... *she look at the pig guy who wearing glasses walking. she pointed that guy* He buy it!

*They ran away quickly. Mung, Chowder, and Schnitzel goes to the Catering. Cheesecake, Paella, and Gazpacho goes to the his home*

Guy: *to pig guy who wearing glasses. he crossed his arms* You're gonna pay for that, sir.

Paella – @bubblesnack14

[atlasthemayor]

I wanted to make a huge post with this drawing for my birthday (december 4th) but sadly I didn't finish it in time (I drew them all celebrating mainly cause I didn't get to celebrate my birthday myself lmao)

ANYWAYS FELLOW FROG ENJOYERS I'd like to declare from now on that DECEMBER 4TH shall be declared

International Day of The Frogs

Any of you out there, I implore you, release any WIPs you may have about them (Or just make something if you don't have one!), may them be Polyfrogs, Charmer, Nurseydex, Chowdex, Nurseshark, NO MATTER Even if you wanna just drop a sentence long fic, or a paintball pen doodle on a restaurant napkin, ALL CONTENT IS WELCOME (also I know it's late lmao, I got the idea way too late, but this is for fun so it won't matter if you end up doing something like days or even a week after!)

Together, I believe we can all make this a tradition 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡

(Hope y'all are having a wonderful week!)

[kinkshamethegang]

okay okay okay hear me out but as someone whos done the journey from la to vegas by car bus and plane at least a dozen if not more times this year can i just posit my entire crack ship idea of charmer stray cat coaxing parson into a poly relationship like that one post on here?? just imagine farmers been in the cali and nevada desert preserves doing ecological studies with her uni and chowder gets traded to the kings one year and the two end up spending a lot of time in vegas cause shorter travel times or splitting the difference in distance or whatever and farmer ends up making friends with some of the aces wags and that gets her and chowder invited to stuff where they get close to parson and charmer has been together long enough to know when each other has a crush shenanigans happen of course because after everything that went down with jack and bitty kent cant imagine charmer would want him as anything other than a friend if even that and thats fine thats cool he likes spending time with them whenever they get the chance and only one gossip site has said he and caitlyn were cheating on chowder when a pic of them out to dinner together one night was circulating they all laughed it off whenever anyone asked anyway theyre all friends good friends best friends even and kent isnt about to do anything to jeopardise these friendships he has now like hes done in the past it doesnt matter if he falls in love with them theyre just really nice physical cuddly people who dont mind sharing space with him or feeding him or listening to him and chowders planning on proposing soon anyway when caitlyn graduates and is dr farmer so really they dont need a weird fuck up like him messing anything up then kent sleeps with chowder for the first time while hes in la after a game in anaheim and before his brain is even functional enough again to freak out caitlyn is climbing into bed with them and kents in the middle since the wet spot was on the top of the duvet they just stripped off the bed and hes getting cuddled on both sides and he doesnt know how long this is gonna last but maybe maybe he can stay right here for now

just a thought

[gowns]

If you’re going to be a barnacle, I’ll be honest and tell you most mariners hate your guts (more your shells). You and all your buddies collect in amazingly large numbers on the hulls of ships. This slows a vessel down, adding more time to a voyage. So, the ship needs more supplies, fuel, and expensive paint to keep off more of your friends. Even when you die, your shell stays glued tight to whatever surface it’s on. Barnacles can clog the water pipes of engines and do other damage to ships.

Not everyone dislikes you, though. For soups and chowders, chefs like to boil you up, especially your larger relatives that can grow almost as long as this sheet of paper or just as wide at their base. Shipwrecked mariners are overjoyed to find barnacles to eat. The most famous example is after a whale smashed up the whaleship Essex in 1820 in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Some of the starving sailors survived in part by eating stalked barnacles growing underneath their small boats. In Edgar Allan Poe’s novel The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, shipwrecked sailors survive by eating barnacles, and Thor Heyerdahl and his crew enjoyed the barnacles beneath their raft Kon-Tiki on their voyage across the Pacific. Japanese farmers have raised barnacles for fertilizer.

Scientists like to study you. Before Charles Darwin wrote The Origin of Species, he spent eight years writing four volumes on barnacles. US Coast Guard biologists can determine how long a vessel has been at sea, based on the accumulation of barnacles on the hull, and marine ecologists study how ships deliver invasive barnacle species to ports around the world.

[omgpoindexter]

more nurseydex fics!!!

i’ve been doing my duty properly and reading some different nurseydex fics on ao3 lately 🫡 i tried to find some that are more recent, however i inevitably found some that are older but slipped through the cracks for me.

here are some of the ones i came across that you need to read! i might make this a thing again if anyone is interested, im sure y’all have been much more on the ball with reading nurseydex fics than i have over the years but i do love reccing <3

suddenly this summer it’s clear by @dessertwaffles

The summer before senior year, Nursey and Dex become closer than ever.

Or, Nursey and Dex's developing relationship, as told through their text messages.

i was absolutely grinning the entire way through this. it’s a texting fic, with images rather than plain text (so clever!) but their personalities are so strong and their interactions are just perfect! and you know i love a texting fic

getting used to letting go by @jennybeantime

Dex was supposed to have a fancy job in some city upon graduation, but his plans changed once his uncle died and left the family home in Maine to him. Without immediate obligations of their own, Nursey, Chowder and Farmer follow Dex up there to help him clear it out and clean it up.

this fic is BEAUTIFUL. if you haven’t read it then please do yourself a favour and do it now. it captures certain feelings and emotions so effortlessly and i felt like i was in a little maine bubble living this story with them. i can’t believe i missed this one before, please please read!!

got the feeling you’re the right thing after all by @bisexualnursey

Two and a half years after he breaks up with Dex to go to grad school across the country, Nursey runs into him again when he visits New York for the holidays. What starts as them just rekindling their friendship quickly turns into a whole other thing: a 100% no-strings-attached friends with benefits arrangement while they’re in the same city.

Which is totally chill because Nursey is definitely over Dex. He swears. He’s going back to California soon anyway.

i seriously CANNOT BELIEVE i never read this before but i think i was in my inactive era when this was posted. it’s just so perfect!!! all the feelings and interactions with not only dex and nursey but all the other characters, friends and family, they all felt so real and i loved them so much. i’ll be rereading this a LOT! you should too!!

here i am (leaving you clues) by @averteddeyes

Will loves Nursey. Nursey loves Will. Will isn’t really quite sure how to deal with it.

(Alternatively: Will learns acceptance through poetry, hesitant communication, and brightly colored sticky notes.)

this is really gorgeously written. angst warning, because ouch!!! also poetry as a love language, like a really good selection of poetry, i really enjoyed it and how it weaves into the story. and the bittydex friendship is so important to me!!!

volta by @plusoultres

volta (n.) a turning point or point of change in a poem, most commonly a sonnet.

Or, five times a poem doesn’t reach its intended recipient, and one time it does; five drafts, and one work completed; five turning points, and one ending.

the second fic was inspired by this one, and thank goodness it was because this one totally slipped through the cracks and i’m so glad i read it. their banter is just brilliant and i love the variation in medium, and the poetry is beautiful! i could quote lines from this but im not going to. just. read it

things got weird (when we made out) by @andtimestoodstill

Nursey is being stupid about this. He knows he’s being stupid.

super fun and really cute, i love it when these two are just being idiots. great inclusion of the other teammates too. read it for this line alone: “[You’re doing] That thing where you forget to look like you hate Dex and just stare at him like some Victorian lady who just saw a hot dude for the first time.” because it made me laugh out loud

things that go bump in the night by @smashthatlikebitty

The first time it happens, Dex rolls over and flings so many obscenities in Nursey’s direction that even his Grandmother would have to sit down — and she cursed so much at Dex’s cousin’s wedding that the whole family has been banned from that church ever since.

Nursey just stills in the dark, one shoe off. A languid, infuriating presence. “Chill, man.”

essentially all the times nursey’s clumsy ass wakes dex up in the night. oh how i love pretending these two roomied their way into a relationship! this is so cute, smiled all the way through

some things take two people to build by @cricketnationrise

“You are the single most dramatic person I have ever met,” Dex mutters, trying valiantly to hide his grin.

Or, 5 times Dex wishes their relationship was real +1 time he doesn't have to

this was so fun, yet again i love them being idiots!!! these two in new york city is so important to me. and i for one would LOVE to read the work party 5+1 fic. just saying

[madisonandmore]

Get out the sunscreen, y'all, because our first day of sunny works is finally here, thanks to our fabulous creators!!!

[podfic] getting used to letting go (4 hours, 4 minutes)

Featuring: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter, Chris "Chowder" Chow/Caitlin Farmer

Summary: Dex was supposed to have a fancy job in some city upon graduation, but his plans changed once his uncle died and left the family home in Maine to him. Without immediate obligations of their own, Nursey, Chowder and Farmer follow Dex up there to help him clear it out and clean it up.

[podfic of getting used to letting go]

☀️☀️☀️☀️

The Way Way North (14,027 words)

Featuring: Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Shitty Knight, Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Jack Zimmermann, Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Richard "Coach" Bittle, Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Suzanne Bittle, Eric "Bitty" Bittle & Samwell Men's Hockey Team

Summary: 15 year old Eric Bittle felt like he didn't fit in anywhere: the kids in his new high school didn't like him, his parents didn't understand him, and he recently had to give up his beloved figure skating. When his parents decided to rent a beach house at Cape Cod instead of their usual vacation spot, he was sure it would be a painfully boring summer vacation. But when he met the quirky staff of a nearby waterpark and the cute boy next door, the vacation started to seem a bit more promising...

Inspired by The Way Way Back (2013)

☀️☀️☀️☀️

Eelgrass (5,040 words, Chapter 1 of 3)

Featuring: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter, William "Dex" Poindexter & Original Female Character(s)

Summary: Porter Bay, Maine, tends to stay the same, and Will likes it like that. But when a very attractive stranger opens a bookstore (of all things) in town, Will realizes that maybe it's time for him to change a bit himself.

☀️☀️☀️☀️

Salt Water Hearts (4,318 words)

Featuring: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Summary: Jack should still be out on the water now, scrubbed alive with salt water and carving up the waves. Instead, he was on the sand, his wetsuit peeled down to his hips, a spare beginners board beside his own as he waited for his goddamn client that was goddamn late.

//

Jack is a pro surfer hired to teach Eric Bittle (an upcoming Hollywood talent) to surf for The Breakers, Bittle's next feature film. They do not get off on the right foot.

[missrandomdreamer]

Hey, saw your Stardew Valley Asks and just wanna say thank you! I'd love to use it.✨️

I saw your farmer is an Elliott lover and fishing fan too and you've answered all relationship asks, so I have some others to ask.

Introduction: 4, 5, 8, 9 , 10 , 12, 13, 15

Farm Life: 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8

Take care and have a nice day/evening/night!❤️

Of course! Thank YOU so much! <3 Also love that you love Elliot and are also angler! Your Farmer is so so cute! <3 Totes will send some Asks your way ;3 here are my answers though for the ones you sent I also hope you have a lovely day/evening/night as well! <3

Intro Questions:

4. Signature accessory: Roan's signature accessory is probably going to be her sea captain's hat. Sometimes she will change it up but more often than not you will always find her with that on ;3

5. Aesthetic: I feel like down to her core she has a nautical aesthetic with a sprinkle of cottage core with a smidge of academia.

8. Roan's hobbies consist of reading, researching, going through the artifacts with Gunther and beach-combing. :D With her research she is always wanting to know how Junimos are involved with the history of Stardew Valley and also the story of the Mariner on the shore.

9. It takes a little bit of pushing from Elliot for Roan to relax, I feel a lot of the time she is just going or wanting to research (Which is a form of relaxation for her) but in the end, Elliot gets Roan to settle down in a comfy spot with a good cup of tea or coffee and read. Sometimes he will have her in his lap and read to her or if he has some writing he wants to do he gets her settled in a comfy spot, with a good hot drink in hand and a book and she settles in to read. Eventually she will fall asleep though and Elliot will have to carry her to bed. <3

10. Favorite Foods/food recipe: Probably Roots Platter (has saved her life more than once!) Sea-foam Pudding, Chowder and Spicy Eel <3

12. Roan's favorite seasons are probably Summer to Fall. Summer because the ocean, her favorite fruit is in (oranges) and she just loves the beach. She also loves Fall though, her birthday and the spooky atmosphere that comes with the holidays.

13. Dance of the Moonlight Jellies is her absolute favorite! She loves the sea and jellyfish are some of her favorite ocean creatures and just its the combination of her two favorite seasons, saying good bye to summer and saying hello to fall. She also loves the festivals in Autumn, the Fair and Spirit's Eve. However, her second favorite festival would be the Night Market. Mainly, for the deep sea fishing and the Mermaid show. <3

15. If Roan didn't inherit the farm and she was able to get out of Jojo Cola nightmare then she would have been a historian at a maritime museum . She would have loved to work at a lighthouse, doing tours-excitedly sharing the history of the place and folklore of the land around it.

Farm Life:

Her farm is actually forest of all things. She loves her solitude and so did her grandfather and she loves having all those natural resources at her fingertips. As much as she loves the sea she also loves the forests and the coziness of it. Much like a seal she finds her comfort on land and in the sea.

3. Roan loves all of her animals like she would her children. However, her close companionship lies with her grey cat Seal and her first Midnight Squid she caught, Sapphire. She loves both of them very much and when Roan first saw that squid she was in awe of it <3

5. Her favorite crop would probably be blueberries. She loves all the types of berries along with her oranges.

6. Roan's favorite fruit tree hands down is Oranges! She loves oranges, loves the smell of the blooms and just how they remind her of summer.

7. She has a handful of favorites: nautilus shell (She looooves) dried starfish and the anchor.

8. Her favorite fish is definitely Midnight Squid however she does have a deep love of the little crabs (slightly due to Elliot loving them so much) and urchins (Because she can give them cute fancy hats) Thank you so much again for sending the asks! <3