#drops this on the dash like a hot potato

[sgiandubh]

For a very quick, but effective fix: Pasha's improv rustic pizza

Meet Pasha IV, Shipper Mom's British Shorthair spirit animal and soulmate:

This is the most lazy & gourmet being ever to grace this planet, so it's only normal to dedicate the following quick fix recipe to him (pets are never 'it' in this house, nor should they ever be - damn grammar!).

This is a freestyle recipe I invented for myself back in my first days of desperate cooking apprenticeship, in Paris. Leaving home at 18, with virtually zero food skills, I quickly realized it was not reasonable to eat every single day in town. My path to cooking began with books, fantasizing scrumptious recipes and a lengthy, persevering trial and error process. I always was a difficult, horrendously fastidious client, but now I was slowly turning into a monster, keeping my eyes peeled on cooking gestures and mannerisms, wherever I could find them.

This pizza experiment was an instant success and the moment the coin dropped: I actually could do things to and with food, that would be something more than survival. The rest is reading ahead, combining ahead and never being shy to ask around for that recipe. From taxi drivers to friends, they were all more than happy to generously indulge, all around the world.

You need whatever you have loitering around in your fridge and you aren't really sure how to recycle. I even happily, barbarically put mac & cheese or cold satay noodles (want my recipe? I poached it in Phnom Penh) on it. Tuna/corn/red onion is a sure combo and so are deli bits and bobs/corn/Vidalia onion. Cold roast beef, too. Diced ham, onion and even roasted potatoes leftovers, plus heavy cream - only in winter. Sardines (tinned), lemon/orange zest, ground pepper and perhaps a dash of coriander leaves (add herbs at the end, otherwise, they will go bitter). Fresh goat cheese, pistachio, figs (even fig jam will do) and balsamic vinegar. Sky is the limit. I also never use Mozzarella, and yes, please curse me - I always use Irish red cheddar, because this is what you are likely to find in my fridge until the end of time. And whenever you can or see fit, break an egg on top of it three to five minutes before you take it off the oven: it's called Pizza Radio and it is a local Corsican secret.

Preheat the oven at the usual temperature: 350 Fahrenheit/180 Celsius.

Unroll a store-bought pizza pastry sheet in a parchment paper lined 13x8 baking pan. Let rest while you prepare the easiest sauce in the world.

Mix Heinz ketchup, Sriracha and sweet Thai chili sauce. Should yield about a cup - proportions vary according to your own resistance to heat: one of the reasons you should taste your own concoctions and do it often. If you went overboard with the sacred Sriracha, immediately add honey or some brown sugar, until rectified. Add two Tablespoons (30 ml) of EVOO and mix well. Spread on the pizza pastry sheet with your usual brush.

I always try to use this one, but any brand will do:

4. Add the grated Cheddar, with spiral, clockwise movements (this is something I stole from a pizzaiolo in Florence, it is the only way to make sure all the surface gets evenly covered).

5. Thinly cut the onions (you know: halve them, then go ahead exactly like you would do for onion rings or quarter them and go ahead for more caramelized crunchiness, curse TPTB and cry your arse out). Add them on top. I had red onion - it is stellar with cold cuts.

6. Add whatever it is you want to garnish the pizza with. In my pic, we had thinly cut (recycled) debreceni kolbász (Debreziner) sausages and diced Prague/cooked ham (you need something more neutral to counterbalance all that heat).

7. Finish off with 150 grams/5 ounces (drained) canned sweet corn. No particular brand, but make sure it's dry before you add it on top of this.

8. Bake in a very hot oven for about 20 to 25 minutes. Take out, let breathe (5 minutes tops), cut and devour. I guarantee no leftovers.

You're welcome! We'll get to more serious things this evening, though.

[drivinmeinsane]

Winter Break ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Three ※ Henry Letham / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: During winter break, Henry decides to take you to meet his parents for the first time.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: Hurt/Comfort. Self Harm Scars Mentioned, Canon Divergence - Henry Lives, College Student!Reader, Not Entirely Reliable Narrator, Established Relationship

※ Word count: 1924

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

There is a repetitive sound in the room when you wake up, the dry rasping of graphite over paper. You know without looking that Henry is beside you on the bed. The weight of his observing stare pins you in place like a physical touch. You’re sure that he has likely been sketching you for a while. One of his hands reaches out to adjust the way the blanket drapes over your body.

You peer at the clock resting on the floor beside the mattress, staying still while he manipulates the cloth however he wants. It is already past noon. Usually, the both of you would be on campus by now, but winter break allows for small luxuries. No early morning and a lull in assignments feels almost decadent. 

“Good morning,” you say, fighting to speak through your yawn.

“‘Morning,” Henry returns, closing his sketchbook in favor of giving you a less remote kind of attention. He drops it onto the floor before sliding back under the covers to wrap an arm around your waist. You trace the spaces between the cigarette burns on his forearm as though you are an ancient astronomer mapping the constellations.

Just when you are on the cusp of falling back asleep, Henry speaks. His breath blows hot against your shoulder. “I guess we ought to get going, huh?”

You sigh in response, knowing that he is not wrong. There are only so many hours of daylight left and the two of you need to squeeze in a visit to his parents today. You have never met them before and Henry wants to make the trip to go see them, complete with something cooked at home.

Electing to officially start the day Henry rolls away and gets to his feet. You do the same, following him to the living room. While he steps out for a brief smoke, you beeline to the kitchen to start gathering up the ingredients. You are just setting the carton of eggs on the counter when he comes back inside and wedges himself next to you in the narrow space. He immediately starts helping by peeling and grating the potatoes while you dice the onions. Henry heats up a frying pan of oil on the stove, and you set to mixing the shredded potatoes, onion, flour, and eggs together. He begins frying the mixture after dropping sizable dollops of it into the pan. He doesn’t flinch when beads of hot oil hit his bare arm, just watches the food fry with a pair of tongs in his hand. 

As he keeps a close eye on the cooking process, you silently check in with him by running a hand down the knobs of his spine. He nods in response, letting you know he is alright for now. Slightly more at ease, you ready a plate with a folded paper towel and set it on the counter by the stovetop. You do the same with a tupperware container. It will help to drain the excess oil off of the latkes as he takes them out of the frying pan and when you move them off the plate for transport.

He and his mom had made them together every year while his dad busied himself with setting up the chessboard for a lengthy post-dinner game. Henry told you the previous day that it would not feel right to visit empty handed. A last minute dash to the grocery store following that conversation had helped put today’s plan in motion.

You observe him while he cooks, your hands itching for a pen and a piece of paper. Henry is the kind of person that makes you want to write about him, to let endless streams of consciousness flow onto a page. Those feelings made a home in you ever since you saw him hunched over his sketchbook on the floor in between classes. The two of you had quietly observed each other for weeks until you had finally approached him when you needed a partner for an assignment in your only shared class that semester. He had been shy and withdrawn, not at all like he is with you now. 

Coming out of your musings, you move to your partner’s side and begin transferring the latkes. Henry turns the burner off and sets the pan on another to cool down when he scoops up the last of them with the tongs. Now that the cooking is out of the way, the two of you get ready together. You do not dare to leave Henry alone right now, not when he is so vulnerable. Like a stubborn shadow, you will be stuck to his side for the foreseeable future. Thankfully, the next semester is a couple more weeks away. 

With a few hours of daylight left, you both get into Henry’s inherited SUV. He shoves a Radiohead CD into the player almost immediately after starting the vehicle, not able to bear the ambient silence right now. He turns the dial so that it is low enough to be considered background noise. You’re just able to hear the opening lyrics to Airbag over the sound of the vehicle. The tupperware container in your lap is hot, almost burning you through your pants during the start of the half hour drive to New Jersey. The chessboard and its pieces rattle noisily in their case on the back floorboard. The drive is mostly filled with conversation about an upcoming literature class that you will both be attending for the spring semester. Since you first met in freshman year, you have tried to share one class a semester. It gives the two of you something to look forward to during the day.

It is not until you are only a streetlight away from the destination when your nerves finally get the best of you. You turn to your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.

“Don’t be. Mom and Dad are gonna love you. Promise.” He takes his hand off of the Ford Exploror’s steering wheel and offers you his pinky.

You hook yours around his and yelp as he clamps his finger onto it and draws your hand down towards his knee. He lets you go as soon as you make contact with the top of his thigh. You press your palm into the meat of it. The gnarled scar tissue arching across the top of it is apparent even through the material of his pants. You idly trace your fingers over the ridges, soothing you both with the repetitive motion. 

“We’ve got three minutes until we pull up. You’re gonna be fine.” He laughs a little and drums his hands on the steering wheel to the music playing on the radio. “Bet you would steal the title for favorite family member.”

You feel tears sting your eyes and you squeeze his leg. “Unlikely. I’ve heard you talk about them a lot. You’re their boy, Henry. That doesn’t change.”

The other college student just nods. Mahlus Gardens is just ahead on the left and flipping the signal on, he makes the turn through the gate onto the narrow drive. He leans forward, scanning for the right lot. Upon locating it, he slows to a stop. He angles the tires and pulls the parking brake. You sit in silence before he steels himself and unbuckles your seatbelt, letting the material start sliding across your chest. He undoes his as well and drops out of the SUV. He loops around to your side and pulls the door open before you can reach the handle. He skims a fingertip over the bridge of your nose and steps back to let you stand at his side so he can close the door. He snags the chess set out of the back before taking your hand. 

Together, you walk through the grass. One of your hands holding Henry’s and the other carrying the tupperware container. Finally Henry finds the right spot and comes to a stop. Beside you, he takes a shaky breath and lets go of your hand to drop into a squat. You kneel beside him.

“Mom, Dad, this is my partner. ‘Thought we'd stop by. The first night of Chanukah is tonight, and I…” He breaks off, almost curling into himself. You pick up the conversation in his stead.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Letham. It’s nice to meet you.” At your side, you hear Henry let out a small sob and swipe at his face. You put your hand on his back and rub it soothingly. “You’ve raised a wonderful son.”

You both sit on the lawn across from one another and settle in. You place the tupperware in the middle and Henry takes out two latkes and places them side by side in front of the family gravemarker. Henry sets up for a game of chess. As you play, you eat despite neither of you having much of an appetite. The food is comforting though, enough so that Henry manages to relax. He tells stories about his childhood, filling in for his parents, embarrassing stories and all. In return, you talk about how the two of you met. You share some of the best moments you have had with their son. It is bittersweet. An ache settles in your chest.

Once the sun is finally starting to tap the horizon, Henry calls a close to the match, you’ve been locked in a stalemate for the last half of it anyway. Your fingers brush as you jointly put away the game. He stands and dusts his pants off before offering you a hand up. You allow him to help you to your feet. Before making the journey back to the vehicle, Henry rests his hand on the stone for a moment. 

“Bye, Mom, Dad.” He makes no promises to be back. 

You are the one who drives back to the apartment. Henry looks out the window the entire time, biting at the sides of his fingers. He looks wrung out, on the cusp of screaming or crying. Maybe both. There is a reason you both had decided to save the visit until the break. Going to class and managing emotions would have been difficult. This is Henry’s first Chanukah without his parents. There was no way of knowing that the previous one would end up being the last.

You put the Explorer in park once you pull into the crowded parking lot of your apartment complex and tap his arm. He follows you to the door, emotionally exhausted. The tupperware container goes in the fridge and once you vacate the kitchen, you meet Henry at the window. The Shamash is in his hand as he looks down at his family menorah. It was one of the only things he had kept that belonged to his family. It was passed down through his father’s side for generations. You had painstakingly helped him clean and polish it the night before, a task he and his dad used to do together every December.

Once at his side, you pick up the lighter resting on the window ledge next to the menorah. You flick the wheel. It lights in a smooth motion, flame steady. You offer it to Henry. He tilts the candle and holds the wick in the fire until it ignites. You stand at his side in silent support as he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. He shakily starts to recite the blessings, tears running down his face.

[shoot-of-corruption]

Blog Announcement

Hi there my lovelies! It is a rare guest, Ria here :D

I put on an Oblivion Let's Play to hold my blood pressure low while formulating this announcement, so you better settle down with me xD

I would like to announce here how I will deal with my main blog and all my side blogs on tumblr from now on.

As most of you know, I am working a full time job in retail, so my nervous costume tends to be a tiny bit thin after around 9,5hrs of shift. I am happy to announce to you all that my time as a worker in retail is finally a finite one. If everything works out right, I won't just be able to start a homeoffice job by next year, but also live at a completely different place and city. Sadly there is still a good while of wait ahead of me until then and a lot of things are unsure as of yet. But I will do my best to get to that destination, because right now everything is pretty much murdering me.

What does that mean for my blogs? I have been on Hiatus for a long while, on and off, over years. And yet I have always returned here, more or less satisfied or happy with my performance or the RPC.

From this day on I will treat myself better about being able to come here and also, I will not spread myself thin anymore. I will transform Mariku into an Ask- and Art-Blog. Interactions are always welcome, on and off Anon, as well as dash commentary or writing pieces and updates of myself. You can tag Mariku and me in everything, the followed tags will stay the same, I will just update a few things on my BIO in the next days etc. [maybe I'll finally force myself to make a card, should the mobile pages not work anymore].

Things that will for the close future not be done on my blogs:

RP-Threads: no matter if long, short, or anything. I am torturing myself, because I cannot say no to new thread ideas and the moment I really get invested into plots, threads, ideas or anything alike, my partners tend to just leave and let me drop like a hot potato and I honestly neither need nor want that hate in my life anymore.

Anon-Hate: Will NOT be displayed on this channel. I will keep my Inbox with anonymous messages on, but every piece of disgusting hate will be immediately plucked out of the screen and burned in a bonfire. You will not get a stage here and you can be assured, that I will piss and shit on your disgusting hatred and then laugh about it for the coming week, because you are the most pathetic thing that I had the displeasure of even having to lay a momentary glance on <3

RPC/personal Drama: I will ignore drama and strictly remove myself from it. I will not be part or target of any hatred, impulsive meanness and/or random bouts of radical opinions. If you don't feel seen/represented in my opinions, turn around and find a place you fit into, but leave me and my muses alone.

Things that will be done on this blog (and partly my side blogs):

Ask-Memes: Of any kind. Ask-Plots, random asks, symbol ask memes, color memes, background memes, AU-memes and YES, also art related asks.

Open Commissions: I will open art commissions again after I had a bit more training on my tablet, for everybody, who wants to commission art. They will likely be limited and they may also for training reasons only be for free for training, thus included in art memes, but I will open paid commissions eventually again, definitely this year. I cannot tell you details, yet, but keep your eyes peeled ;)

IMs and Mun related things: You are definitely allowed to write IMs and ask me questions!! I am here to have fun as all of us are, so if your fun includes coming into my IMs and leaving a cat meme each day or send me weird asks, I am all here for it!! All of this might sound very dickish of me, but I just feel like I get too emotionally hurt and immersed and I want to protect me from bad feelings and you from my wrath xDDD

Thank you for reading all of this and I hope all of us can stick to those ground rules (for now) - we will get on peachy! If the fact that I am not RPing (for now) on here is breaking you beyond compare, I do own a Discord and I am usually willing to share it. Please contact me on here before adding me, so I know who exactly is adding me on there, otherwise, I might not accept your request. Discord: sangnoire

I will warn you though, that I will be very selective with accepting RPs and partners on there still and that any unwillingness to accept that will be met with... a uno-reverse card reaction x'D

[inseparableduo]

It’s late enough. I feel safe enough to rant about an extreme pet peeve of mine in peace. Sorry if it’s not well worded and doesn’t make sense. I’m grabbing my soap box and spewing from the top

I really, really, really hate people who just do things to follow along. Like it’s one thing to get on board something (video game, movie, tv show, make whole new characters) bc you see others talking about it and it genuinely interests you so you get into it and enjoy it. That’s perfectly fine!!! You find so many amazing things that way

No what bothers me is you don’t genuinely enjoy it, you can’t really get into it, only understand surface level stuff because you barely enjoy it and it’s hard to follow along as is. You are basically doing things “just so you won’t be left behind” and then you wonder why you are so sad ITS BECAUSE YOU ARENT DOING THINGS YOU ENJOY YOU ARE JUST TRYING TO FIT IN AND THEN GET UPSET YOU DONT LIKE THE SPACE WHEN YOU DONT HAVE TO!!! LEAVE AND FIND YOUR OWN SPACE

I used to see so many ppl make ocs on a whim to follow some trend on the dash only to then drop it like a hot potato the second a new trend comes a long. I’ve distanced myself from this side of tumblr for a few reasons but the biggest is I don’t want my muses treated like a trend. They are not a trend to me. I didn’t create them to cater to someone else’s niche. I created them for myself and I have fun showing them off yes but like,,,,, I’ve put so much time into them this is not a fleeting interest to me.

Like,,,,, you really need to make things for yourself. Do things that you fucking like to do instead of trying to like things other people like. Yes you may feel lonely sometimes but I promise you if you just wait and talk about the things that you actually like and enjoy you will have waaaaaay more fun doing those things because you actually like them and not just joining a bandwagon

[cease-your-release]

Another Not-so-Willing Associate

Out on the hunt for your next victim, your plans are cut short by a mysterious swine-faced figure. After a stress-filled chase and classic forest floor scuffle, you may just find yourself with a new business partner. (1,582)

Content warning(s): Minor violence, knife and blood mention, light neck cutting, chasing, wrestling

Part 2 of "Conundrum of Carnage" Part 1

Also on AO3!

You’re tracking someone down, walking far behind him on the street. After weeks of preparation, everything is in place, and all you need is the lucky soul. Eventually, when you get an opening and you’re close enough, you grab him and pull them into the alleyway-

When, suddenly, you’re forcefully shoved to the ground.

You stumble, but quickly recover and look up through your mask to see a large figure in a black windbreaker jacket and realistic pig mask, and that is definitely not who you were chasing after. The stranger that has interrupted your plans stares down at you, their grip still on the person you’d been stalking, as you look up at them from where you were laid out on the ground.

Your breath gets heavier as the adrenaline picks up, your heart pumping fast in your chest as hot blood rushes through your veins. You glance from the assailant to your meant-to-be victim, seeing him unconscious as the person holds them up by the coat with one hand like it’s nothing. You’ve had difficult prey before, some who put up a decent fight, but never anything like this. You don’t know who this person is, but they sure as Hell don’t look like a friend of either you or the sleeping body in their grasp.

With no hesitation you get to your feet, then dash past the stranger to run out of the alleyway and to the park across the street.

The figure, mostly likely a man, lets out a low, angered groan, releasing the unconscious person in his hand, causing them to just drop to the ground like a bag of potatoes. He turns and sprints after you, giving chase as you run into the park.

You hear the exclamation, and the ensuing footsteps, loud and heavy on the pavement. You practically dive into the wooded area behind the swing sets, not stopping or slowing despite the branches whipping your arms and legs through your clothes, not that the epinephrine coursing through your body allows you to feel the burn of them, anyway. As you weave between trees and hop over rocks, branches and foliage as you rush through the woods. The hooded figure continues to give chase, barreling into the forested area and crashing through the brush with absolutely no regard for himself, all with the sole focus of reaching you.

Though you’re quick, the figure catches up soon enough. You feel and hear the presence behind you, getting closer while you have nowhere to go but forward, but it’s not enough. You hope that if you just keep going, maybe he’ll get tired, or trip, just one wrong step is all it would-

Your frantic thoughts are cut short by strong arms that wrap around your frame, then the weight that brings you to the ground.

The man quickly mounts you and holds you down beneath his weight, pinning you to the dirt and leaf-littered ground, his hands wrapped tightly around your arms and holding them down. You fight the whole way, obviously, kicking your legs and thrashing your arms. It’s actually pretty difficult for him at the rate you’re going. Even once you’re truly pinned, there isn’t much room to move, though you still try.

He has to adjust his weight over you in multiple directions to keep you from moving too wildly, but the extra effort just seems to frustrate him even more. Suddenly, he wraps a large hand around your wrists and pins them above your head. “Damn it, stop struggling or I’ll snap your arms off!” His voice is deep and muffled by the pig mask covering his face, but the threatening tone comes right through.

You don’t recognize the voice right away, but you hear the command well enough, and that does make you stop, because he definitely seems strong enough to actually do it. That doesn’t at all stop the sheer panic, though. That’s when you see his free hand reach for the mask on your face, and start struggling again, turning your head away frantically.

The fact that you stop struggling doesn’t ease his tone whatsoever, he’s only growing more irritated with every passing second. He tries to grab at the bottom of your mask, to lift it up and off, but seeing your struggle in response causes him to let out an angry snarl, his hand releasing your wrists only to grab your jaw with enough force to make you wince. “Stop it, stop!” he growls, pushing down on your face to try and keep your face steady, “Don’t. Move.”

After a momentary grunt of pain and a short dizzy feeling, you blink your eyes open and think as quick as you can. You take advantage of your new lack of restraint, and in response to your hands being freed, reach up to pull his own mask off. It’s rather easy, given that it’s completely latex and the snout of the pig hangs down rather close. And once you get a good look, you gasp.

All at once, the rage immediately leaves his face as the shock of having his identity exposed washes over him. He freezes completely, with the exception of his eyes widening as he hears you breath of surprise. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Mark Hoffman utters, his voice no longer muffled and now clearly recognizable, just like his face.

Your own mask is pulled off next, revealing yourself to him as well. But, instead of staying in the shock for too long, you quickly reach a hand up, revealing a knife now pressed to his throat.

Mark’s eyes widen further as the cool, sharp edge hit’s his skin, his gaze immediately going panic-stricken. He stares at you with complete bewilderment as he sees that the person he’s been chasing, and now has pinned down beneath him, is you.

“Get the fuck off of me.” You say coldly, but the fear behind it is undeniable.

He raises his hands in surrender, letting go of your face and keeping them visible to you as he starts to slowly lift himself up.

You quickly get yourself to your feet until you’re standing, keeping the blade on him the entire time and backing him up against a tree as he sits, scooting back on his hands. You rip your mask from his grasp and put it back on, staring at him. “I fucking knew you were working with Jigsaw. You’re stupidly obvious, you know that?”

Mark watches you as you put your mask back on, the shock starting to leave his expression as you finish speaking. “You knew?” he asks bluntly, with genuine bafflement to his tone.

“Of course I did. You walk around like you’re untouchable, I can practically smell the self righteousness on you.” You seethe, the anger clear in your voice. “Just like him, aren’t you? All of that ‘technically never killed anyone’ bullshit. Coming from an actual murderer, if you’re gonna do it, own up to it. Coward.”

He narrows his eyes at you as you speak. A myriad of emotions wash over him as he listens to your harsh words. “Self righteous?” He says incredulously, a sharp laugh escaping through his clenched teeth, “You know nothing about me. You have no idea.”

“I know enough.” You retort, pressing the knife further into his neck, breaking the skin just slightly. The small, almost undetectable cut that forms on his neck as a result draws a very thin, small trickle of blood to the surface. “And now, you’ve ruined my kill. I had everything set for that prick, and you messed it up! He’s probably already awake and running to tell the police about it. Not that it matters much to you though, huh, detective?”

That comment causes a scowl appears on his face. He ignores your question, because you’re completely right, and instead continues with a steely tone, “It wasn’t your kill to take.”

“Oh, but it was yours?” You ask incredulously. “Since when are you the one who makes that decision? You fuckin’ cops.. you think everything you say goes, and your moral code is the only one. You’re so full of yourself.”

His glare remains on you silently, a mixture of outrage and frustration evident in his heated stare and tense expression as his hands ball into fists.

You tilt your head at him then, forcing yourself to calm down with a deep breath. “It seems like we’re in a situation here, detective…” You muse, looking him up and down, though he can’t see that through the mask. “You know who I am, but I know what you are. You can’t snitch on me, because you know I’ll talk. So… I’d say you’re under my thumb now.”

The frustration and anger on his face falters slightly, his eyebrows pinching upward a little before he can collect himself. His jaw grinds, and he looks entirely unhappy with that predicament. “You wouldn’t.” he spits, but his voice lacks certainty.

A small laugh escapes you at that. “You’ve read my cases, you know damn well how much I would.” You snap back, leaning in a bit closer as your voice drops. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you on this fine evening, partner.”

The word comes off like a taunt, making his glower at you darken even further. But that’s about all he can do. You’re right, and he knows it.

Once again, the detective finds himself being another not-so-willing associate to yet another serial killer.

[ohtobemare]

Okay last one 😁

“I think I might be in some kind of love with you.” Is Bobby and you know it!

Ok, no joke —Bob was HARD. Hopefully this is decent!

Talk to Me, Baby

“Bob? Bobby, wait!” 

Your words connect with Bob Floyd at the exact minute he drops his gear just outside the transport that’s about to disconnect him from California turf. 

Brow furrowed in that little way of his, he checks over his shoulder to find you careening past a group of officers lingering with their families, red-faced and sweating as you offer a hasty and insincere apology to people who could, truly, care less about you. 

Stopping only to stagger out of your heels, you clutch them to your chest as you race the rest of the way to Floyd, who’s jogged away from the Huey to, presumably, meet you. Tears are burning in your eyes and have been since sending him off this morning. 

Deployment was a hell of a thing to spend your day thinking about,  for sure—and Bob wasn’t even a pilot. Natasha was a great aviator, certainly, and you trusted her with more than secrets, but—something about sending Robert Floyd, the love of your life, off in her hand and her hands alone hit hollow in the base of your gut. 

Bob knew you loved him. But you hadn’t said it. Not this morning. 

Ricocheting off your spine, as you’d attempted, and failed, to work today, you couldn’t shake the thought that this brought an entirely new meaning to putting someone’s life in another man’s hands. Or, in this case, Trace’s hands. Reminding yourself that Bob trusted her, that she was on this mission for a reason, only kept you sane through your staff meeting—with lunch came an entirely new wave of fear, anxiety, and nerves. 

You’d been shaking thinking about Bob, halfway across the world, loading into a plane with your picture pasted to the dash for what could be the last time. He needed to know. You needed him to know, in case knowing was the only thing he had left. 

You’d dropped work faster than a hot potato, told your boss to take a PTO day.  Hauled ass from your corporate office to the base—Bob was due to leave in, now, what was two and a half minutes. At the decision to leave he’d been slated to leave in an hour, and you’d driven faster than probably even conceivable to Fast and Furious. 

Screaming into the visitor’s lot, you’d practically thrown your ID at check in, rushing the officers manning the desk. They, of course recognized you since you were all the time and had been merciful not to call the MPs when you’d bolted past the desk, calling for Bob Floyd to “Hold on for one fucking minute!” 

Now, his fine features are narrowed at you in a look of confusion, as if he didn’t understand you running right toward him. Fifteen feet, ten, five, and then you catapulted yourself into him, starfishing his tall frame with your face buried into the chest of his flight suit.

Wholly uncaring if any of his friends and fellow officers can see you or not, you cling to him, welded to the tarmac that’s hot beneath your bare feet.  Trying to contain your shaking sobs as his arms envelop you tightly, he smells like cologne, jet fuel and whatever material the damn flight suit is made out of. Fingers twisting into the flight suit, you can barely hear Bob shushing you softly over the thrum of his heart in chest. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice deepens with concern, huge hand rubbing your back comfortingly before he shuffles you back enough to take your face in his hands, concern muddying his features. “Did something happen? Honey?” 

Resting your hands on his forearms, you shake your head in his hands, trying to ease air into your chest. Oxygen is doing little to nothing for your lungs, but your heart seems to stop hammering against your ribs with excruciating pain as Floyd begins to walk you through breathing exercises, eyes tracking yours purposefully. 

“Talk to me, baby,” dark concern is in his eyes now, his brow pulled into a deep furrow, “I want to help. What happened?” 

Finally, heaving breaths, your eyes close and you release a shaking, heavy breath. “I don’t want you to go,” eyes opening to watch his face fall into one of apologetic sympathy, your fingers curl into the arms of his flight suit, the material stiff beneath your nails, “Bob, I—” 

“Honey, I know, but—” 

“—Bob. I think I might be in some kind of love with you,” your voice cracks and you sob again, stepping forward to rest your face against his chest. Curling into him, the thought of him leaving and not coming home is on a toxic loop in your brain, rattling your bones, plaguing every throb of your heart. 

Hot, heavy tears skip down the front of his suit, and after a few seconds of Bob’s arms just hanging languidly at his sides, he rests his chin in your hair and just holds you. His heart ticks up a little faster, you can feel it against your cheek as you cry into his chest, and when he begins to rock you side to side, shushing you softly, the hard knot in your stomach releases just so. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he curls into you against his chest, arms tightening around you as the back of his hand cradles your head against his pec, “it’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna come back, I promise. This is just a routine run, baby girl—it’s only two weeks.” 

“Two weeks is forever,” you mumble into his chest. 

“It is not,” he chuckles, tugging your hair back just a little with his fingers, so you’re staring up into his face. “It just feels like it. And I’ll be able to call you and we can Facetime, so really it’s like having me right here in California.” He winks at you, nose scrunching just a little as if it helps make the point. 

“I know,” you sigh, reaching to brush away the tears beneath your eyes, “just having you here, Bobby—” 

He chuckles, hand skipping over your cheek lightly to cup your jaw, “I know, I’m pretty irreplaceable,” this, coupled with his little shrug and eye roll behind his glasses make you smile a little, giggling as his finger drops beneath your chin to tip it up. “But don’t sweat it, doll. I’ll come back to you. I always will as long as I can.” 

The corner of your lips tug  up in a smile. “You promise, Bobert?” 

His nickname never ceases to make him grin, and he nods once, firmly. “With whatever equivalent the Navy offers as a scout’s honor,” he holds up to fingers, kisses them, and presses them against your lips lightly. Giggling into them, you kiss his fingers back, and he draws them back to his own lips. 

Someone at the chopper calls for him, signaling the two minute mark, and he nods over his shoulder to them. “I gotta go, sweetness,” he kisses your forehead soundly, before taking your face again to kiss you deeply on the lips, “wait for me, yeah? I love you.” 

“Always, Bobby,” kissing the corner of his mouth again, you smile softly at him as he salutes you lightly, turning on the heel of his boot to hustle back to the chopper. Throwing his gear inside, he swings into the Huey, leaning partially out of it to smile down at you softly with that totally Bob Floyd look about him. 

“Be safe, my love. Come back to me in one piece.” 

[ccaptain]

♥ What's the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

kisses ur head like a little plushie ♥ -- @vohunara

In 2023, and by extension, 2024, people are still doing the ship-and-dash, aka lovebombing people and latching onto them, developing a deep emotional connection in order to ship, and then dropping them like hot potatoes with zero remorse once the person can no longer provide serotonin shots and scenarios of two fictional characters kissing and fucking. The second the ship stops, the stream of affections stops too. It sucks.

I had this happen somewhat recently to me too, and in turn I have detached myself from the emotional connection I developed once I spotted the first signs of having outlived my usefulness. I have absolutely fucking nuked the shit out of anything even remotely related to this ordeal, and walked away. Others cannot, unfortunately, do the same on command.

If it happens to you, remember this: they have the right to end what you two have at any moment with little to no explanation, but you have the right to feel hurt about it. You have the right to vent about being essentially used to your friends, who will most likely want to know what happened to provide you with comfort and reassurance. You have the right to feel plenty of emotions about it.

And, if they come back to ''clear up a misurestanding'', to ''fix what was clearly a miscommunication'' or other phrases like that, or essentially giving you a non-pology, you have the right to not reply, or to directly block them. Hell, you can even block them after they give you a proper, heartfelt apology aknowledging their mistakes, or if they don't give you closure at all.

[adehl]

my favorite way to prepare cauliflower is sauteed in a high-heat-friendly neutral oil (canola<3), with turmeric, black pepper, cumin, paprika, chile powder, a few drops of dark soy sauce and like 8 grains of dark brown sugar. it's so incredibly delicious on its own or as a side to basically anything, or throw some small white potato chunks and chickepas in the pan too and serve it as a main course

my favorite way to prepare napa cabbage and similar is to cut off the tips of the leaves, wash and lightly salt them, let them sit for the time it takes to make an instant pack of spicy kimchi ramen, drain the liquid from the cabbage, then pour the hot ramen broth over them (serve in the same bowl as the ramen!). the broth will cook it slightly without making it lose crunch, and it's light and refreshing to bite into it while you enjoy your noodles

my favorite way to prepare king oyster mushrooms is to cut them into strips (or just use seafood/enoki mushrooms whole instead), saute with butter, light and dark soy sauce, lime juice, and an eensy bit of hot sauce. when theyre cooked, serve them as the main flavor component in sushi or spring rolls, with carrot and/or cabbage and/or tofu and/or red bell pepper and/or salmon etc. delicious!!!!

my favorite way to prepare kale is to massage it (with a dash of rice vinegar if you want) until it becomes softer and slightly brighter green, then serve as the base of a salad with fried tofu or tempeh, steamed sweet potatoes, a scoop of cooked brown rice or farro, cucumber slices, and a thin peanut sauce

omg :’) this is so sweet, i am delighted. i am 100% trying these, ESPECIALLY king oyster in sushi, that sounds amazing. the tip about napa cabbage in ramen is excellent too. thank u so much for sharing with me 🥬💚🥬💞

[kedakirahei]

Woah. an actual, proper intro/pin post?

Hey! Yeah, I'm finally making one of these. about time, too! ALT ACC: @c4tt41l-the-stupid

I go by LITERALLY dozens of names, but four that I will always respond to are Zeph/Zephyr, C4TT41L, and Keda. im the guy who cant make up his mind when it comes to shipping characters haha, multishipping fun

I am not religious and never will be. When I swear to something or the like, i most likely will replace a word with 'Void' or 'The ancients', 'Three Moons', 'By the stars', 'In the name of THE DREAMER', etc...

I am a yucky little self-shipper (Thats right- I ship my ocs and self inserts with canon characters). If you don't like that, please do not bother me about it. I don't want to hear it. If it bothers you that much, you can just block my account or ignore me. Thank you.

Transmasculine! Please respect my pronouns- HE/THEY preferred!

I accept everyone and anyone, xenogenders, neopronouns, homoflexible, etc.

...well.. almost everyone..

....Except for you disgusting Pro/Com shippers, Ableist, "Super Straights", TERFS, Shota/Lolicons, "MAP"/Pedos, Zoos, Etc, Get off of my fucking blog, NOW. You are NOT welcome here, not now, and not EVER. That goes for all other problematic and disgusting-acting people. if you fall under the general DNI list, do not interact with me.

Despite being English (U.S.A), I tend to be really fuckin trash at speaking my own native tongue. I am trying to learn:

Spanish

Norwegian

Proud shipper of HOURGLASS/SPEEDRUN (SHATTERED OMORI x LICKETY-SPLIT KEL), SHUTTERBOMB (STRANGER X LETTERBREY) and NIGHTSHADE/OREOSUNDAE (STRANGER X OMORI)

Sometimes, I project onto characters i like, so hope that doesn't bother you guys! I mostly project onto my OCs, though. Those posts will often be dark in theme, so be wary.

■ ♡ ☆ I AM A MINOR. PLEASE DO NOT MAKE SEXUAL OR SUGGESTIVE JOKES TO ME UNLESS YOU'RE A FRIEND THAT I'M FINE WITH DOING THAT, ITS JUST COMMON DECENCY, DONT DONT FOLLOW ME IF YOU POST NSFW!☆ ♡ ■

stupid extra words and information under cut

• I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism at a pretty young age, at around 2.

• I have a really bad time reading tone over text. Please try not to be too rude to me, it actually hits a lot harder than you think. Alternatively, use tone tags.

• I make AUs then drop it like a hot potato. please dont expect me to be consistent with anything, especially not AUs and art i make.

• If I like alot of your posts, its because i have no life and constantly check my dash every day. I am chronically online.

• i will have periods of complete inactivity, especially when it comes to my drawings.

• I struggle to control how i am feeling and tend to have outbursts of anger commonly, tending to take that out on my characters and sometimes others. Please know if i say something rude, i do not mean it, and PLEASE TELL ME WHEN IM GOING OVERBOARD.

• My askbox is ALWAYS open until i say otherwise! Don't be afraid to speak to me, i don't bite!

• I am a Multifandomic Mess. I might switch fandoms in a week, then go back or whatever.

• I use "Dude", "Bro", "Homie", etc in a gender neutral way. If you dont like these nicknames, Do tell me and I will stop calling you it!!

• i use "<3" platonically when i am talking to a person. My actual heart goes to my fictional characters aha

• Tag requests are okay, don't be shy!

• I am a big shipper of characters, and i mean BIG, i am SO INDECISIVE.... Artisaint, SolarFlare NIGHTSHADE/OREOSUNDAE, SHUTTERBOMB, and HOURGLASS/SPEEDRUN are my main ones. I do like all other non-problematic ships tho!

• I repeat things on occasion. Do tell if I have repeated something over and over multiple times.

THE AMOUNT OF TAGS I AM GOING TO ADD IS PAIN.

[voltronbthb]

looking death in the eyes.

prompt; bleeding through the bandages. requested by; anonymous. fandom; voltron: legendary defender. focus character; keith. relationship(s); n/a. trigger(s); blood, attempted murder. written for @badthingshappenbingo​​!

“so,” the alien sneers, baring his teeth at the young human in front of him, “it seems we have a mutt amongst us.”

“just let him go! he’s the leader of voltron,” shiro growls out, “it shouldn’t matter whether he has galra blood in him!”

the alien - a large, fox-like species known as the tarulans - looks over at the atlas captain, teeth still bared. “and you. you were captured by the galra and tortured by them, yet there is one amongst you who shares their very blood and you have not killed him.”

“because he’s not like the majority of them,” hunk tries to reason calmly, “if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t even be here. the black lion accepted him as her paladin, so therefore, he’s trustworthy.”

“the black lion had a galra paladin before, according to the tales, and we all know how that fared,” another tarulan sneers, glaring at keith with the same vitriol as the first. she brings out a dagger, sharp and glinting in the dim sunlight of the unusually chilly planet.

“we will be doing you a huge favor by killing this mutt,” the first tarulan says eerily calmly, his voice not matching the glare he gives the rest of the team, as he grabs keith by the back of his armor and roughly pulls him in front of him, holding him like you would hold a disobedient dog or cat by the scruff of the neck, “you have to understand that, at any moment, he could easily turn on you.”

keith looks at the team with tears in his eyes, silently begging for them to help him. he feels the dagger being placed against his throat, and it takes all of his strength not to cry out.

“do the honors, varina,” the male tarulan commands, and the female nods, hardness in her expression.

“no!” shiro shouts as he dashes forward, the others doing the same and readying their weapons. however, he is stopped by another tarulan who grabs his human arm and twists it behind his back painfully, with a knife to his own throat and a menacing look that screams ‘move and you’ll be next’. lance, allura, pidge, and hunk are dealt the same blow.

all they can do now is watch, mixtures of anger and helplessness in their eyes.

varina drags the blade ever so slowly across the black paladin’s neck, prolonging the torture. keith can feel the blade going deep as she puts pressure on it, and soon, his throat is dripping crimson liquid down his armor. hot tears streak down his face as he silently screams, begging in his mind for it to just stop.

a blast cuts the execution short, and the rest of the paladins and shiro look up to see the mfe team soaring through the sky.

“it looked like you needed some extra help,” james griffin informs. as they land the fighter jets behind the lions, he is the first to rush out and take aim at the female holding onto shiro who was caught off guard by the initial shot. the other mfes take aim as well, each one aiming at the other tarulans who immediately raise their arms in surrender.

“kill my people,” the tarulan still holding keith, who is now unnaturally paler than he normally is as the blood keeps pouring, roars, “and we will return the favor towards your pathetic kind!”

“then let our people go!” james retorts.

“not until this mutt dies! he is untrustworthy! are you willingly blind to the fact that he can turn on you in the blink of an eye?!”

james raises his rifle and aims it at the offender, his eye trained on him. he takes the shot, and the tarulan leader cries out in pain and lets go of keith, who drops to the dirt like a flimsy sack of potatoes. varina snarls and lunges quickly at the mfe leader, teeth bared and eyes blazing with rage.

allura acts quickly and retrieves her bayard, effectively lassoing the female tarulan around the waist and knocking her to the ground. james and shiro rush toward the fallen black paladin, james ordering ryan kinkade to get a medkit from his fighter jet.

keith is incredibly pale, the crimson a stark contrast against his now snowy white complexion. his eyelids are drooping, even as shiro urges him to stay awake, to stay with them, and his breathing is shallow.

shiro begins to wrap gauze around keith’s neck, being ever so gentle and delicate and apologizing profusely when he feels even the slightest movement that may indicate pain. however, he soon realizes that this may need more than some flimsy bandage...

...because even as he wraps many layers around his neck, the blood saturates it much too quickly. fuck, the dagger may have hit an artery or cut through to keith’s esophagus, and that can be way more dire than they imagined.

soon, he hears howls in the distance. fuck, they’ve called for backup, and from the looks of the growing figures, it’s a hell of a lot.

“griffin, fly keith back to the atlas and get him into a medbay stat,” shiro orders, “and keep wrapping gauze around his throat. the rest of you, get back to your lions and fighter jets.”

he looks back toward the mob of tarulans, with various weapons and armor. an entire army, he realizes.

“we’re in for a battle.”

~~~

keith awakens in the medbay, james and shiro at either side of his bed. he tries to speak, but is shushed by shiro.

“don’t,” the captain says gently, moving a strand of hair away from his face as james gets a piece of paper and a pen from the bedside table, placing it in the voltron leader’s lap, “you don’t want to pop your stitches this soon. otherwise they’ll have to put you under again and redo them.”

keith hastily grabs the paper and pen, scribbling down a message, though his hand movements are abnormally shaky.

‘what happened?’

shiro reads the message, and he looks toward james, then back to keith, who is waiting patiently. he hands the paper and pen back to the black paladin. “the tarulans... they tried to murder you. because...”

keith begins scribbling again. ‘because i’m galra?’

“yeah...”

“well, they lost out on some pretty great allies. fuck ‘em. we don’t need them as allies if they’re going to be bigoted assholes, especially to you, keith,” james inputs, and keith chuckles raspily. shiro only smiles softly.

then, the door swishes open and the rest of the mfes and paladins are standing at the doorway, a distressed medic informing the captain that they would not stay still in the waiting area. shiro smiles and motions for them to come inside, and they all file into the room, expressing gratitude that keith is still alive and letting him know that they were able to defeat the tarulan army that came to attack.

keith gives them all a grin, knowing that if anything ever happened like that again, he’d have more than his own team to have his back. james griffin and the other mfes really proved that today, and as he looks over at the mfe leader and james looks back, his eyes say that he’ll do it again for any of the paladins, but especially for him.

[coolfire333]

"x is morally unpure because the creator said y!!!" well ok, then show me the 100% ethical media. I'm literally waiting. And if you think you know the answer, you don't, because some people are excellent at hiding their biases.

We can say "the creator of x is an absolute tool and we don't support them" without being like "x needs to be cancelled in its entirety." Do you know how many good games/books/films/songs secretly (or openly) had problematic origins?

And before you come at me for "supporting" the other "cancelled" game of the year, I'm not talking about still supporting/positively talking about the works of creators who actively support hate campaigns, I'm talking about interacting with the work of an insensitive prick who just says bigoted things (which is still bad enough but come on there is nuance here)

A lot of you are throwing stones without even realizing that there's probably something you love that has issues as well. We have to recognize the problems that are inherent in a work of media, especially if it reflects the creator's own biases, but if you try to cut out all "problematic" content in your life you will be utterly miserable.

I know this because during the worst throes of my ocd I was obsessed with "cleaning" my dash of "problematic" content and other "thoughtcrimes" by purposefully trying to find it only to block it out and all it did for me was make me an anxious wreck to the point of physical illness. I was like a bomb waiting to go off anticipating that someone whose work I admired was secretly a huge bigot behind my back and was showing no outward signs of this.

Anyways this is getting long enough. Basically I'm very saddened and disappointed that I cannot extend the same fondness I have for this work towards its creator, who seems like a miserable, petty person, but I'm not going to just drop the whole thing like a hot potato just because the creator said rude things either.

[asknarashikari]

While I have never fully watched a season why inoue is the head writer, Donbrothers is very good in my opinion.

Doesn't help that Taro and Sononi are basically having a Romeo-Juliet style romance.

Sononi: Even though I must kill you, my mind, heart and soul are consumed by you.

*Taro.exe has crashed so heard that everyone thought he had died again*

I should note that they also have a duet that is basically their theme when the two are together.

While I think he could have some very good ideas, I think that he works best when he is actually restrained and not given complete rein over the work.

Like, for example, in the case of Kamen Rider 1, which he had co-written with Hiroshi Fujioka (who would probably be not amused if he went and butchered his character). I also hear about how good Agito is, and he had co-written that with Yasuko Kobayashi. Donbrothers seems to be the first project that he worked on solo that seems well received across the board.

I think what really irks me about his writing is his romantic plotlines, which tend to put me off for one reason or the other, especially when they involve love triangles. I could tell you now that once the whole plot with Tsubasa and Miho/Natsumi and Tsuyoshi got going, I would've dropped the show like a hot potato.

And... also, I think you meant Sonoi, the one who has heated drama with Tarou? I've seen enough of them on my dash to know that much, lol

[gpenpaper]

Hey there, fellow station conquerors! Let's talk about setting boundaries at work without making it feel like a boardroom showdown.

You know those moments when you're knee-deep in spreadsheets, and suddenly someone drops a project on your desk like it's a hot potato? Yep, that's the perfect time to channel your inner boundary boss.

Here's the deal: setting boundaries is like laying out your work territory without putting up a "Do Not Disturb" sign. It's about politely staking your claim to your time, your tasks, and your sanity.

And let's not forget the infamous email avalanche. Setting boundaries here means not letting your inbox become a black hole of never-ending requests. Delegate, prioritize, and maybe throw in a witty out-of-office reply to keep things lively.

Now, saying no doesn't have to be a showdown. Think of it as a dance move – smooth, confident, and leaving everyone wondering how you pulled it off.

So, fellow station warriors, let's master the art of setting boundaries with a dash of humor and a sprinkle of assertiveness.

It's not just about productivity; it's about creating a workspace where everyone thrives. Cheers to that – and may your coffee be strong and your boundaries stronger!

[ylkcheeeks]

ah, you have The Affliction!

I know this one, you should decide what it is you desire and then want it harder. Only in the present tense, of course, to avoid trapping yourself with the brass ring ever in view but out of reach. Take care you don’t speak your dreams aloud, for the devil may hear you and steal away your resolve, so you fall short of your goal. Actually you should talk through your plans with people, a second mind can often help discern what’s realistic, and they can help hold you accountable.

You should make a list. The list should go into these four quadrants. Actually this other set of quadrants. Actually don’t order it, just use different types of dots and dashes to indicate what’s what. Really, what you should do is buy another new notebook- the standard size is linked here we get a small commish if you click- and a new pack of pens. And probably some washi tape as well- you deserve a little treat.

This is the system for you. Or maybe it’s filling your calendar in color coded blocks of time until each day looks like a scarf. Or maybe it’s morning pages.

Don’t keep your phone by your bed. Don’t have any clocks or windows facing you if you want to remember your dreams. Don’t sleep like that you’ll hurt your back. Don’t forget to take your evening meds an hour before bedtime. Sleep with an eye mask and ocean waves. Sleep with potatoes in your socks to naturally free yourself from toxins. Sleep in silence, three feet above the covers.

If it takes five minutes, just do it now. If you have something you need to get done you need to just start immediately and work continuously until you’re done. Use a timer and take breaks every 25 minutes. Body doubling with someone else who is working is best. If you can’t self motivate you’re a failure, actually, so hot that down. Just don’t do the things which suck you out of the flow of time, dropping you unceremoniously into three AM, again.

I know your pain keeps you up at night and makes it hard to even move the ways you normally do, but have you tried exercising? Could you try more? Just live right in all areas first, then we can look into handling your pain.

Oh the lack of sleep is impacting your cognition- have you considered melatonin? You’re already taking it nightly? How much? Hm. Well, have you considered exercise? That could leave you tired out enough to overcome the insomnia!

Why didn’t you ask for help sooner? Why do you have to talk everything to death? Why are you so prickly with people just trying to help you?

How long do you think you can rely on your wit and aging charms to win you just enough luck? How are you so good at helping others at the very things you are not doing for yourself? How are you going to fare in the field if this is how you weather the training?

You know what?

I’m starting to think you’re just lazy.

[chiefobservationpeace]

 5 Desi Foods That Will Keep You Warm in Winters

Winter is such a relief after the blazing summers. Everyone could do with a little bit of cool breeze after the scorching summer sun. But, when it gets too cold, your body begins to slow down its metabolism in an attempt to keep you warm from within.

Slow metabolism means that fat is not burned as fast. So, you will see yourself gaining inch after inch if you are not following a strict workout regime and diet.

However, there is some good news. There are some foods that keep the body’s internal temperature high naturally by boosting metabolism. They are perfect for you to stay in shape and stay cozy when winters get too cold.

Here are the top 5 desi foods that you should make sure you have in your kitchen this winter:

1. Amarnath

Grains such as bajra and Amarnath are known for keeping the body nice and warm. The best way to enjoy Amarnath is to make a pudding with milk and topping it with some winter berries and a dash of honey. You can even cook it like rice and eat it as a replacement. These grains have an added benefit. They keep you from feeling lazy and sluggish during the winters. They give you a constant source of energy as they are digested slowly to release energy in the process.amaranthgrain2. Desi Ghee

The body needs to burn fat to produce heat within the body. The best and most easily digestible of all fats is desi ghee. This is one of the best options to keep the body’s heat in balance during the winters. It is used in most of our cooking and can even be added over rice and dal to improve flavor.

What is best about ghee is that it keeps you immune from the common issues that you face during winters, namely flu and cold. Ghee prevents the chances of any constipation and also works wonders when it comes to getting rid of all the body’s toxins. If you have a sore throat, just fry some onions in desi ghee and consume it. It is extremely soothing and also prevents the chances of any infections in the future.ghee_625x350_614599307003. Ginger

Ginger is easily the most popular thermogenic foods that is used in India. It is used to make tea that makes you feel toasty when the temperatures drop too low. It is a common remedy for any winter ailment such as cold or cough.

The reason why ginger is so popular is that it has a slight pungent taste to begin with. So, the moment you sip some tea with ginger or bite into a raw root, you feel the heat surging down your throat. It is also one of the easiest and most commonly available ingredients in an Indian kitchen.

Ginger has several medicinal properties. You need to consume it more often during winters because it boosts metabolism quite a bit. It is also very useful in improving the flow of blood through the body. While the former is useful in maintaining the internal body temperature, the latter makes sure that you do not end up feeling lazy and sluggish all day.

Just add a few pieces of chopped ginger to regular cooking. Or, you can brew a nice hot tea that is ideal for the winter months.Tips to stay healthy when smog is high | 98Fit4. Shalgam

Turnip, which is known as Shalgam boosts your body with the energy that it needs to stay warm during winters. You can even choose other root vegetables such as sweet potatoes, radish or yams as they are just as useful in elevating the internal temperature of the body. These roots are loaded with carbohydrates that digest very slowly.

This slow digestion is the reason why they are able to keep the body warm. As the body is continuously at work, it keeps burning up calories to produce heat and energy.

The best way to consume turnip is to make a nice hot stew that goes perfectly with rice or roti. They are also perfect for salads. You can chop them up and mix them with a few leafy greens to make a cozy winter salad. Throw in some dry fruits to enhance the taste and to get that dose of energy that is much needed on the gloomy winter days.

turnip-shalgam5. Sesame seeds

You must have often been warned by the elders in your home that sesame seeds can lead to acne when consumed in large quantities. This is because, they have the inherent property of increasing the body temperature almost immediately after they are consumed. However, when you need to keep the body temperature up during the cold months, there is no better option than sesame seeds. They are used in halwas and chikkis that are made especially for the winter months. You can also eat a few seeds raw when you want to get the internal temperature up. These seeds have several other benefits as well. They are loaded with calcium and iron. The best thing to do would be to soak a few seeds overnight and eat them in the morning. Another popular choice is to eat a few sesame seeds with some jaggery every morning when the winters get to harsh and cold. They also are a rich source of healthy fats that keep the skin from getting too dry.

If you cannot eat the seeds raw, you also have the option of switching to sesame oil for a few months when winter sets in. The food tastes just as great and you also reap the benefits of its thermogenic properties.

These foods are easy to use and are quite common in Indian cooking. So you will be able to find several recipes that incorporate them to make yummy winter dishes that go perfectly with the weather.Top Indian Food to eat in winter | 98Fit

For more food items, check them out here.

READ MORE...Best Indian Diet Plan Weight Loss Weight gain

[amitapaul]

Day 23

Poem 29

29/23

THE CHAIR

1

The chair, the desk,

the large rooms,

the cubicled sections

the long corridors

the colonnaded porticos

and the lawns

with formal borders

a crooked fir tree

graceful frangipani

bougainvillea and quisqualis

and the bridal creeper

trailing over

the boundary walls

I never really knew

how much the gardens

meant to me

and the vases of flowers

on the tables

2.

Teatime was always the best of times

and of course it was always teatime

Well, after eleven o’clock, definitely

Bearers in white with red cummerbunds

and ornate turbans of red and white

with gold piping seen here and there

between the folds, and a stiff hoopoe’s crest

of starched white mulmul topping the confection

could be seen soundlessly floating up and down

the gleaming corridors of power with polished door of teak and mahogany opening on both sides

amidst the potted palms and aspidistras

bearing silver trays with silver teapots

( later steel ) and milkpots and sugarpots

spoons and strainers and starched damask napkins

with Brittania Marie Wafer Biscuits and trail mixes

of spicy salted vermicelli and roasted gram and pulses

at the very least ; at best piping hot samosas

plump with mashed spiced peas and potatoes

served with a dash of Kissan’s tomato sauce

which is in fact mostly made of pumpkin

and ice- cold rosogullas in their own syrup

or sugar- bombs of soft sticky hot gulabjamuns

served with fresh hot Darjeeling tea

O the tinkling of those spoons in those teacups !

and the tiny clouds of steam rising like mini dragons

from each fine porcelain or bone-china tea-cup when tea was poured from the hot teapot pot

into each translucent cup, table brewed -

a soupçon of milk, and one sugar, please .

3.

The gossip was always hotter and spicier

than the snacks and the tea, especially

in the rooms of the departments of personnel

finance and cabinet coordination, especially

on Tuesday afternoons, when the Cabinet

usually met, and transfers and postings were decided :

you could see hacks from over a dozen newspapers

eager for slivers of news that even a passing peon

could drop, before the big feast of the post- cabinet

Press Conference, with pakoras and pineapple pastries

and ready- mixed tea from aluminium tea kettles

for official spokespersons, assistants, clerks,

and media persons. Four thirty to five o’clock

in the afternoon in the Secretariat Conference Hall

under the pink Clock Tower in the Old Secretariat.

4.

To sit for hours

in colour- blocked

salwar - kameez-

dupatta- jacket

poring over petitions

and yellowed pages

of the law books

and “ reporters “

of High Court

and Supreme Court

Judgements with

titles and years

etched on their

covers and spines

in gold on red black

or brown leather

sparring with lawyers

in their black coats

and gowns and stiff

starched white collars

bow ties and recording

evidence and citing

precedents and dictating

judgements in tones

sonorous to drowsy

stenographers

5.

Upstairs in the record room with the port- hole windows

records from a hundred fifty years ago were slowly

falling apart among the district gazetteers, and the clerks

and record- keepers wheezed and coughed

with asthma and tuberculosis, driving up the costs

of medical reimbursement.

6.

One day the marigold garlands and rose bouquets

came out in cartloads and speeches were delivered

framed and presented to a jolly good “ fellow”

and a farewell ride given on a car pulled by colleagues.

That night, a buffet dinner at a posh hotel.

Then silence, more or less.

7.

Cholai, the principal under- gardner,

brought home a bunch of handpicked flowers

on my birthday .

We had some tea and biscuits

and a pleasant chat in the verandah.

Birds sang to us - I , relaxed on my rattan recliner,

He , very proper, on a polished shisham chair.

( ASA )

23/4/23

#23GloPoWriMo

Poem 29