#utensil crocks

[iriseliza00]

Utensil Crocks : Top 5 Best Utensil Crocks 2022

[marinelethellec]

Enclosed - Traditional Kitchen

Remodeling ideas for a mid-sized, traditional, single-wall kitchen with a soapstone countertop, a brick backsplash, an island, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, a red backsplash, paneled appliances, and a black countertop.

[believeitwillcometrueforever]

Traditional Kitchen - Kitchen Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless single-wall brown floor and dark wood floor enclosed kitchen remodel with an undermount sink, soapstone countertops, brick backsplash, an island, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, red backsplash, paneled appliances and black countertops

[autumnlesterhowell]

Seattle Kitchen Enclosed kitchen - large traditional dark wood floor and brown floor enclosed kitchen idea with shaker cabinets, gray cabinets, white backsplash, subway tile backsplash, paneled appliances, an island and multicolored countertops

[benevolentbirdgal]

honestly, as an aspiring historian, my new(ish) hill to die on and what is growing to be my biggest pet peeve is the seemingly pervasive notion, judging by people's response to my undergrad degree and what my peers have experienced, that there's no work to be done in history. The books have been written, the shows have been produced, nothing new under the sun. My fellow humanities people - hell, even soft sciences people have definitely expressed this to me as well. And it's a crock of malarky.

Nothing shatters this illusion so profoundly like reading people's incredibly specific, hundreds of pages thesis or dissertation on the history of a particular airline or a writing utensil or religious strife in a less than two decade period in a very specific part of the U.K. or streetcars in a particular city or the gay community in one rural county in a span of less than a decade or a century's worth of Jewish labor history in colonial Georgia.

I mean, doing research and finding out there's fuck-all nothing or close to it on a subject you were really excited about (cries in undergraduate thesis) runs close, but at least with that you can delude yourself into thinking there's nothing there to be written or said or analyzed.

But the idea that everything's already been written & researched is a much harder sell when you're staring down a 324-page dissertation on the history of Delta airlines (but only to the second world war) or a 181-page thesis on the military-masculinity complex specifically in the U.S. context specifically from 1940-1963.

There are other reasons being a historian is difficult, and why there aren't that many historian jobs. Most of the reasons come down to money, and the field not being particularly valued as a producers public goods in a capitalist society. But it's not because there's not work to be done.

[mherbidity]

Comprehensive First Apartment Check List/ Shopping List

My boyfriend and I are looking for move into our first place together soon, and I wanted to share things we are buying from amazon for our first place, and organize them into a list by category. I am using tumblr as my medium to create said list. I’ll continue to update it!

Bedroom

Double laundry basket

Bed side table w/ outlet

Bathroom

Towels

Plunger/towel brush

Bath mat

Shower Curtain

Soap dish/ soap holder

First aid kit

Kitchen Essentials

Plates

Cereal bowls

Silverware

Baking Pans

Pots & pans

Water Glasses

Wine glasses

Food containers (cereal, noodles, etc.)

Tupperware

Cooking Utensil Holder (for spatulas, etc., for the counter)

Cooking Utensil Set

Paper towel holder

Coffee pot

Water filter

Tea Kettle

Crock pot

Trash can

"Don't make me poison you" dish rag

Cleaning Essentials

Broom + dust pan

Dish Brush

Swiffer Sweeper

Vacuum

Other

Candles

Air fresheners

Tape to use to hang heavy things up

[aurumacadicus]

Stony and something with apple cider/pumpkin spice?

Love spices <3

--

Steve was hit with cinnamon as soon as he walked into the apartment. He took a moment to just stand there, eyes fluttering closed, letting the warmth of the spices just sink in. Cinnamon, of course, on top--but there were also cloves, and ginger, and nutmeg. Something else, too, a little sweeter? He couldn't quite put a name to the scent.

Under it all was apples. He wondered if Tony had baked an apple pie. He liked to tease him with them, sometimes--an American icon for The American Icon, he'd always chortle. It was charming, enough that Steve had never had the heart to tell him that his favorite pie was actually strawberry rhubarb. He inhaled deeply one last time, but he couldn't catch a whiff of baked pastry.

Cider, he realized, eyes flying open, and charged into the kitchen.

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed, slapping his hand away from the crock pot. He hid it with his body as Steve backed off. "That's for tonight."

"Aw," Steve complained, then frowned, brows furrowing together. "What's tonight?"

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and crossed his arms over his chest as he slowly reminded him, "We're having that Autumn-themed movie night to celebrate the first crisp day of Fall? You said you'd make old-fashioned popcorn balls."

Steve blinked, then quickly turned to look at the clock. Popcorn balls didn't take a long time, but they could be a little tedious. "Fuck, I forgot that was today. I need to shower after that mission."

"I already popped the popcorn," Tony offered, glancing at the clock as well. "I put it in the oven on low because the recipe I found said it needed to stay warm. If you tell me how to make them into balls, I can do that while you take your shower."

Steve immediately started rolling up his sleeves. Popping the popcorn was the most tedious part. He could make the syrup and get the balls started to show Tony how big they needed to be. "Did you get the candy thermometer?"

"Yeah," Tony answered, pulling it from the utensil drawer for him.

"Great. I don't need the syrup to get that hot, so this'll be quick, if you don't mind finishing for me once I show you what to do."

"Always," Tony answered, going up on his toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Just for that, I'll get you a cup of cider."

Steve turned, catching Tony's chin in his hands. "No need," he said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips before Tony could question him. He ran his tongue over Tony's bottom lip, urging him a little closer, and Tony obediently let his mouth fall open with a moan.

He tasted like apples, and cinnamon, and a little bit of caramel. He liked to line the rim of his cups with it like a margarita, dip it into a cinnamon-sugar mix. When the hot cider ran over it, it added an extra depth of flavor and sweetness to it. It added an extra depth of flavor and sweetness to Tony's mouth, too.

Tony carefully grabbed his shoulders and eased him away, eyes fluttering at his own reluctance to stop. "We should get the popcorn balls finished," he said, frowning at the pot still in Steve's other hand.

"If we work together, we can finish quickly, and then we can shower together to save time," Steve offered.

"You're cute," Tony teased, leaning up for one last, quick kiss. "Natasha threatened to rip the seams on one of my suits and I'd only know which one when it fell off me if she found us getting handsy again."

"It's our fucking home," Steve complained, but Tony laughed, walking over to ladle out a cup of cider as consolation.

[consolecadet]

Bird themed items belonging to my mother, ranked:

Chickadee vase and tiny knitted (?) finch (?): 8/10 very cute but I’m not sure why they are in among the cereal bowls

Six plush birds watching from a high kitchen shelf: 7/10, loses points for feeling of surveillance but gains them because the birds make annoying sounds when squeezed and are out of squeezing reach at this height

Utensil crock with birds my mom decoupaged onto it: 5/10 it’s in a dirty spot but has a certain handmade charm

Hand-woven bird sculpture: 10/10, it’s charming, she made it herself, and its display at an Audubon Society art show earned her a solo show of her woven sculptures next year

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Full spread: 6 Oct. Suptober

Not for the first time, reality stabbed Dean right in the chest like a unkillable homicidal maniac would: he fucking loved Cas.

deancas first kiss, s13-ish au 🎃

"All right, let's see what we've got." Dean clapped his hands together and bounced on his feet. The long, new-to-the-cave coffee table was loaded from end to end. "Salsa and chips, yes. Sour cream and black olives?" He searched around. "Check." They were in a divided bowl shaped like a bat. "Pickle spears, yes, potato chips, yes, pirate booty, yes." He scooted two plates closer together; side by side, they looked like pumpkin spouses. "Little naans and hummus, check. Did I forget the spinach dip?"

Cas unwrapped a bowl that had been covered with foil. "It's here." He brought up a basket of brown cubes from under the table. "Along with this fake pumpernickel." 

Dean helped him make room for both. "Don't let Sam's snobbery rub off on you."

"I do not care about the authenticity of this bread," Cas said solemnly. "It was on sale, though."

"Nice." Dean approved of grocery clearance racks in a big way. "What else?"

From a bag on the saggy couch Cas took out an orange tray of dark purple cupcakes dusted with black glitter. "I don't know what this icing is supposed to signify." 

"It just looks spooky," Dean said, excited at the prospect of freshly baked sugar.

Cas squinted at the cupcakes and at him, but found one last spot on the table for the dessert.

"A full spread." Dean clapped his hands again. "This looks amazing."

"Oh," Cas said, going back to the bag. "I hope it's okay. I also bought plates and napkins. They seemed seasonally appropriate."

"Dude," Dean said, "these are awesome."

He hadn't even thought about plates and napkins. They already owned reusable plates and paper towels, and he was used to making do. He sat on the couch and beheld the glory of the bounty: the napkins were covered in a cackling skull print; in the center of each plate was a fanged mouth dripping cherry-red blood. He fucking loved Halloween.

He looked up at Cas and Cas's halfway worried expression, like he expected to be reprimanded for spending an extra ten bucks outta the bunker budget. Not for the first time, reality stabbed Dean right in the chest like a unkillable homicidal maniac would: he fucking loved Cas.

"They're perfect, honest," Dean said, because saying that other thing out loud was just… No. "Thanks for picking them up."

He reveled in the relief that flooded Cas's face and they spent a long breath gazing at each other, Dean's heart ticking like a murderer's metronome – and then someone knocked on the door frame and Dean nearly fell off the couch.

"Hello, Jody," Cas said, sounding forcibly welcoming. 

Suddenly the cave was full of people. Sam and Donna came in with clanking six-packs of Oktoberfest lager. Jody hefted in a crock-pot of chili so strongly scented Dean just knew it was gonna burn the hair out of his nostrils. She sat the appliance on the edge of the bar, and plugged it in under the neon Chevy sign draped with cobwebs. As if from nothingness, bowls and utensils materialized.

Jack staggered through the door with an enormous bucket of candy and a duffle on his shoulder that appeared to be filled with a toddler-sized bag of popcorn. "Mary said she'd teach me how to make kettle corn," he explained.

"I think you make that with unpopped popcorn, kid," Jody said, helping him divest of the foodstuffs. 

"Maybe she remembers how to make popcorn balls," Dean said, having only the faintest memory of those from his third October. 

"I do," Mary said. She'd appeared with a tray of sandwiches. "We'll work on it at intermission, if you want, Jack." Once the sandwiches were on the bar, she gave Dean a quick hug and moved on to hug Sam. "Thanks for throwing this gathering, by the way."

"Sure." Dean tamped down any bittersweetness about Mary not living at the bunker with them and chose to be content that she'd accepted the invite. He saw Cas standing way over on the other side of the room – so, as many as ten feet away – and went to be nearer. 

In that corner they beheld the crowd chatting and vying to fill plates and finding spots on the couch and in the matching recliners. Sam pushed the tv as far against one wall as possible and the foosball as far back against the other. It would be a tight squeeze for everyone to have a good view of the movie (Dean's choice: Quicksand III: Terror at Pleasant River) but no-one seemed bothered about it. The snacks were already a hit. 

"Aren't you going to eat something?" Cas asked.

"In a sec." Dean leaned back into the corner and was happy when Cas joined him. "Do you mind sitting on the floor?" He crooked a smile at him. "I'll be down there too."

Cas shook his head, his eyes dropping to Dean's mouth in a way that made Dean's stomach flutter. "I don't mind."

Dean's willpower, his shame and pride rolled into one stupid ball, vanished at that exact moment; he kissed Cas soft and quick and Cas, without hesitating, returned the favor. They kept the corner from collapsing and stared at each other in sweet, quiet shock. 

"We all gettin' a smooch or is it just you guys?" Jody called out. She bit into a cupcake and chewed pointedly.

Now all attention was on Dean and Cas. Jack and Mary had stopped mid-chew to watch. Sam's eyebrows were all the way atop his head. Donna was grinning like a jack o'lantern. Jody kept eating her cupcake with an expectant air.

"Show's over," Dean told everyone sternly. But he softened the effect by threading his fingers through Cas's.

"Happy Halloween," Cas said, just loudly enough for Dean to hear, and yeah, Dean thought, it really was.

[retro-vagabond]

So I wrote a fic for @batboysxprompts for Pumpkin. It's a #steddie Halloween fic. That became a little longer than I anticipated. Reminder I haven't wrote since high school and this was done on my phone notepad so I apologize for format being kinda meh. Anyway hope you enjoy and Happy Halloween!! 🎃:

He stands on the porch holding the horror tape he was asked to bring, fixing his glasses one more time. Almost hesitating to knock, he doesn't want to seem too eager, he told himself to ease into things with this. Eddie and him had found something in each other that clicked since the Vecna incident happened.

The kids were growing up finally free to roam without the threat of a ticking clock or whatever creature that stumbled into this dimension. They were out at a monster/horror double feature at the drive-in, Wayne out with Jim for beers and bowling, leaving him and Eddie alone for the night.

He could smell Wayne's famous chili through the door, as he raised and knocked. Eddie had invited him over for a surprise, he honestly wasn't sure what to expect, but a night in with him sure beat any Halloween rager that would be going on tonight.

It didn't take long before he was greeted with big earthy brown eyes and smile, pulling him in for a warm embrace, "I was wondering what was taking you so long out there big boy. C'mon I need your help, what we need is in the back of the van still."

"Back of the van-? What do you have planned?", he follows puzzled after letting go of him.

"Well I didn't want anyone to smash them before we had our fun with them!", opening the back doors to his van to reveal two big pumpkins. "I stopped at Merrill's Pumpkin Patch on my way home. Figured we could carve them, have some of Wayne's chili he left in the crock pot for us, and maybe watch whatever movie you picked out."

He looks at Eddie taking him in as he's nervously fidgeting with his hair, "This isn't to lame for Steve Harrington is it? This is probably lame. I mean we could do something el-"

"N-no no! This is actually perfect," he cuts him off to stop the self doubt. He rubs the back of his neck, "I've just never carved a jack-o-latern before."

"What!? How have you never done this before?!", he shrieks theatrically.

"Dad didn't like getting dirty, said mud would ruin my our clothes. Same with trick or treating, they were never home so I'd order pizza with the money they left and just watch movies until I pass out. Then high school happened, that stuff just wasn't cool anymore.", Eddie just pulls him into his side, gives him small kiss on the temple. He knows all too well what it's like to have a shit father too.

"Well we're going to change that Pumpkin make this our new tradition. Mom did this with me up until she passed, Wayne and I carried on with it after that, now I get to share it with you.", he reminiscences before pressing another kiss to my cheek and going in to grab a pumpkin to hand it to me and grab the other before closing the door.

"You're such a sweetheart, you know that? My knight in shining armor", I say as we make it into the house. "Only the best for you my liege," he smiles back, if their hands weren't full he playfully swoon into his arms.

Setting up at the kitchen table, Eddie had laid out newspaper and utensils to carve and scrape out the inwards. They come up with designs, Eddie of course meticulous with detail. When he sticks his hand to pull out the guts, it's definitely a weird experience. He has to remind himself that the Upside Down is gone that this thing won't bury its teeth in and drag him under.

He looks at Eddie, his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth and the look of determination is enough to push all those bad thoughts away. He's such a kid at heart, and he really loves this man for it. He settles with something that would make Laurie Stroude proud, which is fitting for the movie he brought. Eddie makes sure to save the seeds to rinse, salt, and cook for Wayne later. Tea lights are lit and put into the finished jack-o-laterns. Eddie has out done himself with a tall tower with a dragon wrapped around it. Light shines through the tower window. Eddie takes a snapshot with his Polaroid camera to preserve the memory.

They settle in with a bowl of chili that always hits the spot with this chill in the air. Steve will have to tell Wayne later this one was for the books as he sets his bowl to rub his stomach. Once Eddie finishes he picks both bowls up to set in the sink to soak and wash later. He hurries back to Steve on the couch resuming his spot cuddled up to him.

Steve laces their fingers together, bringing them to his lips to kiss Eddie's knuckles, "Thank you sweetheart, I really needed this."

"Anything for you pumpkin," he grins before pulling him closer to kiss him properly. They settle in for the night eventually dozing on the couch.

When Wayne gets home he smiles getting out of the truck. Lights dimly flickering in the pumpkins on the porch brings a warm smile to his face. Going in he's sure to be quiet, his boys asleep on the couch. Taking Steve's glasses off and putting them on a nearby table before pulling a blanket over the both of them. He's happy deep down seeing Eddie find someone who understands him, he was reluctant at first, but over time he could see Steve needed and loved him just as much. And with that he turns off the kitchen light and calls it a night knowing this house finally feels like a home.

[sjsmith56]

Friends in Need - Chapter 14, Lord Buchanan

Summary: Buchanan introduces Lord Stark to the skills of his cook before they ride for Lord Falcon’s lands. Lady Natasha and Lady Yelena arrived with the Queen’s Guards to assist in the battle against their father. The women alert the soldiers still loyal to them to join Stark’s contingent that is already there. One of them, Silas, recalls Lady Yelena before they last saw each other seven years before.

Characters: Lord Buchanan, Lord Stark, Cook (OFC), Commander Hogan, Lady Natasha, Lady Yelena, Bren (OMC), Bren’s son Silas (OMC).

Warnings: Description of battle. Yelena wounded. Discussion of one’s humble origins.

Author notes: Yes, young love will be explored that will have reverberations throughout the kingdom. Silas, born in a brothel, but loved, acknowledged and honourable in his own right, will aspire to win the heart of noble born woman who has already vowed not to marry so that she doesn’t lose her status. Buchanan will be in the heart of it as the King’s Right Hand. All part of the transformation of this world.

<<Chapter 13

🥣 ☕️ ⚜️

Buchanan was awakened early by the falconer with a message from Lord Falcon.  He had control of his castle but was still besieged by Dreykov's force.  Half of Lord Stark's men that were sent to him were pressing the opposition from outside the walls but they needed more help.  Buchanan alerted Rhodes to prepare two thirds of his men and all of Stark's men to ride, while he and the remaining third stayed to guard the castle.

"My Lord, I am well able to fight," protested Rhodes.  "There is little pain in my wound."

"Commander, I need someone I trust to protect my lands," he replied, placing his hand on Rhodes shoulder.  "I trust you more than anyone.  Hopefully, with our men combined with the rest of Lord Stark's we can defeat Dreykov quickly.  Stay, I beseech you."

Rhodes nodded and left to do his master's bidding.  Buchanan returned to his castle, finding Stark had also risen.  He updated the lord on the status of the fight and proposed they ride together as a combined force. 

"Your commander is already alerting my men?" asked Stark.

"Aye, as we speak," said Buchanan.  "Come, we have time to break our fast.  Do you object to eating in the kitchen?  I rarely eat in my dining room."

"I have never eaten in my kitchen but I don't object," smiled Stark.  "Lead on."

He followed Buchanan through the passageways down into the kitchen where it was warm and brightened by the morning sun entering through the windows placed high on the walls.  A place had been laid for Buchanan at the table and he bade Stark sit in his place while he went to the cupboard, helping himself to another plate, bowl and set of utensils.  The cook came out of the larder, pleased at the presence of Buchanan.  Stark noticed how her face brightened at the sight of her master, thinking the man was lucky to have such loyal servants. 

"Sit down lad." She jokingly shooed him away from the cupboard.  "Let me get those.  Who have you brought with you?"

"Cook, this is Lord Stark," said Buchanan. "He has never eaten in his kitchen.  Can you show him why I prefer eating here?"

"I thought it was for my great beauty," she cackled, "but it is because I make you feel welcome, isn't it?"

"Am I welcome?" asked Stark, amused by the older rotund woman.  "I don't want to intrude on your domain."

"Aye, you're welcome M'Lord," she grinned.  "I've known this lad since I bought vegetables from his father and him.  Both were always gentlemen to me.  When the Lord before him died without children and the lands awarded to himself I decided to stay and make sure he never wanted for a good meal.  I'm still here so I must be a good cook."  She leaned closer to Stark and spoke in a loud whisper that made Buchanan's face red.  "He's also a good master."

Gathering their bowls she filled them with oatmeal which had slowly cooked overnight at a low temperature.  From another covered crock she spooned apple preserves over it.  Placing the bowls before them she placed a jug of fresh milk on the table and told them to eat.  While they ate she cut several portions of bacon for each of them and started frying them.

"Your eggs, Lord Stark," she looked at him, "how do you like them?  Scrambled, with the yolks hidden or showing...."

"Scrambled, please," said Stark as he hungrily ate his oatmeal.  "Might I have more oatmeal, please?"

The cook snuck an amused look at Buchanan, knowing that he was showing off her culinary skills, pleased that he had such faith in her. 

"Of course, M'Lord," she said, taking his bowl and filling it up again.  "Would you like some tea?  I also have a new concoction that a pedlar brought to me before we were besieged.  Coffee, I believe it is called.  It has stimulating properties and I've been told it is a good way to start the day."

Stark looked at Buchanan.  "This angel came with the lands?" he said, his face beaming.  "You are a blessed master.  That oatmeal is the best I have tasted.  I would try this drink called coffee, please."

The cook made both Buchanan's and Stark's eggs and bacon, with bread she had baked the evening before that she toasted.  Served with a slab of cold butter she then poured both men a generous mug of coffee.  Buchanan took his with a bit of milk.  Stark tentatively tasted it, then poured some milk in and tasted it again.  Smiling he drank more and dug into his main meal, eating it heartily. 

"Tell me, Cook," said Stark, with hope on his face, "are there others like you?  After tasting this food I find my own cook wanting.  Surely, you must have a sister or a daughter that you have taught."

"I have two daughters," she replied, "and two sons that serve in the garrison.  My daughters are both married and content to feed their husbands and children, good men both.  Lord Buchanan has asked me to start training my replacement so that he and his good wife are well fed for many more years."

"Pity," replied Stark.  "I have eaten at many fine tables and this is the best food I have ever tasted.  You, madam, are a goddess of good food."

Stark stood up, took her hand and kissed it with a flourish.  The cook beamed with pride that a great lord such as Stark would be satisfied with her fare, praising it as he did. 

"All I can say is that this lad has always made his presence known in my kitchen," she said, beaming at Buchanan as if she were his mother.  "He has always made sure my pots are in good condition, my food stores substantial, and my efforts appreciated."

Stark nodded his head sagely.  "Your words of wisdom will stay with me," he replied.  "Perhaps if I show my cook some more appreciation she will try that little bit harder."

Both men made their goodbyes to the cook and went back up towards the courtyard.  At the doorway Stark looked at Buchanan as he pulled his gloves on. 

"You are a good master," he said in praise.  "Perhaps your experience growing up as they did has tempered the tendency to look at yourself as their superior.  Something that I should aspire to, I think."

Both men's mounts were brought to them and rose onto their horses.  The company of men around them also mounted their beasts, as did the archers.  Sir Archer Barton joined the two men and together they led the company towards the lands of Lord Falcon, many hours ride away.

⚜️ ⚜️ ⚜️

Lord Stark's commander was in his tent when Lady Falcon and her sister Lady Yelena arrived with their company of the Queen's Guards.  Commander Hogan smiled when he saw the women.  If their abilities were half of what he had heard they would be of great use.

"M'Lady," he said, pulling out a chair for Lady Falcon.  "Please, we need your knowledge of these lands.  Your Lord has command of his castle but the lands around are being held by your father's army.  What can you tell me?"

"Unfortunately, very little, Commander Hogan," admitted Lady Falcon.  "This is my first visit to my husband's lands.  I can tell you more about my father's men, including some which may be convinced to join me and my sister.  I propose that she and I approach them under cover of darkness."

"Why would such men change their allegiance?" asked Hogan.

"Because their allegiance was to our mother, whose land our father inherited upon her death," explained Lady Yelena.  "They knew she wished us to learn the ways of battle and to marry for love, not for status or alliance.  They were our first teachers in combat."

He smiled and nodded.  "Very well," he said.  "I entreat you to make preparations to infiltrate your father's army and bring us as many as you can to fill our ranks.  A falcon has brought a message from Lord Buchanan and Lord Stark.  Both are bringing a sizeable company that will swell our numbers.  I hope to begin an attack by morning with their arrival.  Will that be enough time to complete your task?"

Both sisters nodded, retiring to their tent to change into dark clothing.  They were going alone on this mission, knowing they could be captured and punished by their father.   Both strapped extra knife harnesses on, expecting to slit several throats as they crept through their father's camp.  They asked Commander Hogan to take command of the remaining Queen's Guard if they were captured and failed to return before sunrise.  Then they were gone, travelling on foot through a series of rocky paths that led down a hill to where their father's camp was believed to be.  As they crept from behind the last piece of cover they stayed close to the edge of the tents, until they saw those that carried their mother's family crest in a specific location on the canvas and stealthily crept into the first one. 

Their mother had been the only child of her father and had learned to not only run the household but also to fight with sword, staff and knife.  Her riding skills had been celebrated.  When her father died and she assumed control of his lands she assumed control of his army as well.  A few had grumbled about taking orders from a woman but those who had taught her and seen her grow from childhood were devoted to her.   Dreykov had ridden through the lands presenting himself as a suitor.  For all of her skill as a horsewoman and soldier, their mother had little experience with men and succumbed to Dreykov's charms easily.  Once they were married he curtailed her fighting activities and impregnated her as soon as he could.  She bore him Natasha, then three years later Yelena.  Five years later Dreykov impregnated their mother once more but she was ill during much of her confinement.  Both she and her son died during childbirth.  Their father mourned the son significantly more than their mother, an act that distressed both girls.  When he forbade them from continuing their training in the fighting arts they sought out her most loyal soldiers.  In secret, those men still devoted to her trained the daughters from then on in the arts of battle.   They also assisted the sisters to escape when their father attempted to marry them off to forge alliances.

The first dark tent the sisters entered held six men, all of them asleep in bedrolls on the ground.  Unsheathing a knife each they crept to the side of the first pair, confirmed their identity and placed the tip of their knives below the men's ears then gently pressed the weapons into them without breaking the skin.  Both men opened their eyes, their smiles creasing their faces in the dark.

"Lady Natasha, is that you, child?" asked the first one in a whisper.

"I am Lady Falcon now, Bren," she replied.  "Here to claim my mother's soldiers.  Are you with me?"

"Aye," he said without hesitation, sitting up as she withdrew the knife from its deadly target.  "There are thirty of us still loyal to your mother and you two sisters.  I see your stealth skills have improved."

"I am a Queen's Guard commander, Bren," she told him.  "You taught me well."

The two men woke up the other four in their tent who also expressed their loyalty to the two sisters.  They sat and listened in the dark as Natasha gave them their orders.

"You will awaken the others who are loyal to my sister and I," she began.  "Stealth is everything.  You must not be heard nor seen as you do this or our father will be alerted.  Outside of the camp is a rocky path that leads up the hill.  Meet us at the clearing at the top of the hill and we will return to the force assembled against my father.  Have them bring our mother's insignia in its proper placement as that will be the entry to their force.  We must all return before dawn."

The two sisters looked outside for guards before returning to the hill path, climbing to the top and waiting for the arrival of those men loyal to them.  Gradually the men arrived in pairs and threes.  All presented themselves to the sisters, to confirm each other's identity by name, by insignia, and to verify they were still loyal.  When Bren and the original six men arrived they confirmed their numbers as thirty men.  Quickly the women led the men back by a labyrinthian path to the opposing forces.  When they approached the sentries Natasha revealed herself and told the one sentry to get Commander Hogan.  He arrived within minutes, with a big smile spread over his face at the sight of Lady Falcon.

"M'Lady, you are as I hoped," he said.  "Why am I here?"

"We have thirty men," she said.  "They should each have an insignia that looks like this."  She flipped open her collar showing a small fleur-de-lis on the inside of it.  "This is the position of the insignia.  If any of them show it from any other part of their uniform, arrest them as they are likely spies.  I could not see well enough to verify their faces in the dark.  Now my sister and I will position ourselves behind this group of men and prevent any from returning to Dreykov."

She covered her head and silently disappeared into the night.  Hogan stood with his sentries, watching as each of the men Natasha had led filed past them, showing the proof of their allegiance.  Each one flipped open their collar to show the fleur-de-lis insignia.  The final three held the insignia up in their hand.  Hogan put his hand up in front of them to block their progress.  The first one attacked him while the other two tried to run.  Natasha and Yelena prevented their escape, subdued the two and uncovered their heads.

"Plum, Feather, and is that Johns getting his ass handed to him?" said Natasha.

Both men looked back at the third who had been subdued by Hogan. In that instant the two sisters held a knife to the men's throats, causing them to raise their hands in surrender.  Hogan signalled for the three men to be taken into custody and approached the two sisters.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"They were young," said Natasha.  "The sons of the original fathers who were loyal.  So were others but they had the insignia in the correct place.  The fact these three didn't, led me to believe they were loyal to Dreykov, acting as his spies in the ranks, and the insignia meant nothing to them.  He probably bought them off with promises of gold, women, things that men like our father value above love and life."

"I bow to your skills," said Hogan.  "While you were away an advance rider from Lords Stark and Buchanan arrived.  They are but two hours away.  Sleep while you have the opportunity and in the morning you will command your combined Queen's Guard and loyal soldiers force.  You are formidable warriors Lady Falcon, and Lady Yelena.  It will be my honour to fight alongside you."

Both women nodded their heads, returning to their encampment where the loyal soldiers were waiting. 

"I don't have beds for you yet," said Natasha to Bren.  "Can you bivouac in the open for now while my sister and I sleep a little to prepare for the battle?"

"For you, M'Lady, anything," said the man.  "I will take care of it.  You and Lady Yelena sleep.  If we attack in the morning you need to be sharp."

Bren directed his men to sleep where they could and be prepared to rouse in a couple of hours.  He saw both women to their tent and positioned himself outside the opening, wrapping his cloak around him and lowering his head to sleep.  Both sisters removed their battle gear but slept in their clothes.  The two hours passed quickly and Bren called to them from outside the tent.  Appearing a few minutes later in their battle gear the three approached the command tent where Stark and Buchanan had just arrived.

"Lady Falcon," said Buchanan.  "Commander Hogan told us you acquired more men by finding those still loyal to you and your sister.  Well done."

"This is Bren, our commander," said Natasha.  "Once we have defeated my father I would like him to lead those loyal to us back to his lands and protect them until the next Lord has been named."

"Who says a Lord will be named?" said another voice and King Steven entered the tent.  Everyone bowed but he waved the action away.  "If being married to Peg and being involved in the creation and training of the Queen's Guard has taught me anything it's that women are just as capable at ruling as a man is.  Since you are already connected to these lands as the wife of Lord Falcon I would like to offer your father's lands to Lady Yelena, assuming we defeat your father."

"No, not if they go to a husband, should I marry," said Yelena.  "I plan to never marry, never give up my rights to a man."

King Stephen smiled.  "Well, then we will have to change some other laws," he said.  "What's the plan people?  How are we defeating Dreykov?"

There was a great discussion from all assembled but within a half hour a consensus was reached and the plan drawn.  Lord Stark, with the largest contingent would lead the main force with the King and Buchanan flanking him.  The Queen's Guard and the extra men poached from Dreykov's service would pinch off the far flank, preventing any of the opposing force from trying to escape.  As breakfast rations were handed out word came through that the attack would begin when the sun was fully risen off the horizon.  As Bren and his men ate their rations Buchanan approached and asked if they required horses.

"Yes, M'Lord," said Bren.  "It was necessary to leave our horses in the camp in order to escape without notice."

"I thought as much," said Buchanan.  "I have brought ten extra with me and the King brought a dozen.  Several of your men will still have to go on foot, I'm afraid."

"It won't be a problem," Bren assured him, "and I must say these breakfast rations are much better than what Dreykov has been feeding us for years.  I'll be happy to see the old bugger defeated.  My pardon for my rude language."

Buchanan laughed.  "No, I think you described him well," he replied.  "He is an old bugger.  Send your best riders with me to pick up your horses."

Bren detailed ten men to go with Buchanan and return with the horses.  Thinking quickly he determined which men would get the horses and who would still go on foot, including himself in the latter.  He was interrupted by his own son, Silas, born from a regular dalliance with a woman in a brothel.  When she had presented herself to him days before the child was born, she asked him to find the child a good home with a good family.  Lady Dreykov had helped him and the boy grew strong in body, heart and mind with his foster family.  As he grew older Bren knew that Silas was truly his son just by his look and took it upon himself to train him in the battle arts.  He also acknowledged him openly so that all would know Silas Brenson was his.

"Father," said Silas.  "I am willing to go on foot with you.  One of the smaller men can have a horse instead of me."

"I was hoping you would say that," said Bren, with a grin.  "Prepare your weapons for close fighting while I decide who else will be on foot with us."

He went off to assemble his squad.  While Silas was sharpening his knives Lady Yelena came looking for Bren, causing the young man to immediately stand up in the presence of a lady, as he had been taught.  He hadn't seen Yelena for almost seven years having spent time on the frontier, returning just after her flight from the castle, but recalled watching her train when she and her sister learned the battle arts in secret. 

"Bren, where is he?" she asked, looking up at the much taller Silas.

"My father seeks out other men to join our squad of those on foot," he replied readily. 

"Silas?" she said, her voice slightly softer.  "You've grown.  I barely recognized you.  You weren't much taller than me seven years ago when I last saw you."

He smiled shyly.  "It's true," he admitted.  "Father said I had a growth spurt once I came fully into manhood."

"You are what, 16?" she asked, teasingly.

His face reddened at the apparent insult.  "I am 23, M'Lady," he huffed.  "Three years older than you.  You are still just as beautiful."  His face reddened again at the impertinence of his comment.  "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate for me to say such a thing to a fine lady such as yourself."

It was Yelena's turn to redden.  "I don't object," she replied.  "Two years living and working in a barracks to be a fighter has taught me that the circumstances of my birth make no difference on the battlefield.  Tell Bren I would see him when he returns."

She turned away with Silas watching her departure.  Just before she turned the corner she looked back at him and he felt a warmth in his body at the gaze from her.  Sitting down again he continued sharpening his knives, thinking of the blond woman with green eyes.  When his father returned he gave him the message to seek out Lady Yelena, wishing he could have gone with him. 

As the morning sky lightened the final preparations were taken. By the first peek of the sun over the horizon the assembled company were ready.  The horseless squad took the same path they had travelled the night before, waiting for the signal that the attack had begun.  They were to run into the camp yelling and causing a ruckus to generate confusion and panic.  Cutting the lines that held the horses together would also be done to scatter them, making Dreykov's forces more vulnerable.   As they waited for the signal Silas looked at his father as they stood side by side, deciding to speak.

"Were you ashamed of my mother?" he asked quietly.

"No, son," said Bren.  "In many ways I loved her and she loved me.  I slept only with her in the brothel and she chose to work in the kitchens when I wasn't there.  I would have married her but she was indebted to the brothel owner and I could not pay her debt as it was too great."

"Is it true that even a man of lowly birth can aspire to greatness under King Stephen?" asked Silas.

Bren looked at his son.  "What is it you truly wish to know, Silas?"

"How can I win the heart of Lady Yelena?" Silas looked his father in the eyes. 

Bren took a deep breath.  It was an unexpected question but he recalled the boy watching him train her when she was younger.  To Silas, it didn't seem strange for a fine lady to learn the battle arts.  At first he was going to counsel him against pledging his heart to a noble born woman then he realized that some aspirations were noble on their own.

"You can read and write," said Bren.  "Your heart is true and you believe in honour.  Honour her in all ways and it may be possible.  If Lady Natasha can marry a man who was slave born then there is always a chance for a man like you."

A slight smile crossed the face of his son and was replaced by a look of determination.  At that moment they heard the horns signalling the charge and the group of them ran into the camp waving their swords, yelling and slashing at the ties that kept the horses tethered.  They ran straight through the camp and out through the other side without losing anyone.

"Come, we will harry them from this side," said Bren to the others.  "Keep under cover as much as you can."

As they played a cat and mouse game with the camp inhabitants the main groups advanced against the camp itself and began destroying all in its path.  For all the planning it still looked like chaos as swords clashed in battle, and horses shrieked at the sound of the Queen's pistols being fired.  Several men tried to escape by running for cover nearer the castle walls but Bren's men and the Queen's Guard pushed them back forcing them to either fight or surrender.  As more began to surrender Lord Falcon began sending his own army out against those who had besieged him.  From a distance he saw the flame red hair of his lady and galloped his horse to her side to fight with her.  Together they advanced further into the camp searching for Lord Dreykov.  Lady Yelena joined them on her horse and the three fought their way to the command post.  Those inside surrendered but their father was not amongst the men with their hands up. 

"Where is Lord Dreykov?" yelled Lady Falcon.  "My father, where is the scoundrel?"

"He wears a woman's garb, M'Lady," said a frightened attendant.  "He left us to fend for ourselves."

The attendant pointed the direction and the three of them rode looking for a woman.  As they rode there were more signs the battle was over as many of Dreykov's men were either dead or injured.  Lord Falcon whistled out loud and a falcon landed on his outstretched arm.  He bent his head to the creature and whispered to it then sent it off into the air, watching it circle overhead many times before it suddenly darted to a place ahead of them.  Spurring his horse and followed by the two warrior women he spied what looked like an old crone attempting to leave the battlegrounds.

"Halt!" commanded Falcon.  "You, woman, stop and face your lord."

She stopped but did not turn.  Warily, with their swords drawn the three approached her.  Several of Bren's men, including Silas had made their way to this part of the battle and were watching as Falcon approached the woman on his horse.

"Place your hands in the air, woman," said Lord Falcon again.  "Turn slowly so we may see your face."

Suddenly she whirled and pointed a Queen's pistol at Falcon.  Just as it fired a falcon attacked the head of the woman and the shot went wide.  Silas jumped on the woman and forced the weapon from her hand, uncovering her to reveal Lord Dreykov.  The young warrior lifted his former lord up with one hand and looked at Falcon in triumph.  Then his face erupted into misery as he realized the shot had hit Lady Yelena.  Shoving Dreykov to another he ran with Falcon to her side.  Carefully, he slid her off her horse and onto the ground.  A growing stain of blood was on her shoulder and her face looked white as the shock of the injury began to affect her.

"Yelena," said Silas.  "M’Lady, please look at me.  Stay with me until we get a surgeon to treat you.  M’Lord...please, she needs a healer."

Falcon pulled his knife out of its sheath and cut open Yelena's shirt exposing the injury.  Quickly he went to the saddlebag on his horse and pulled out his pouch of dandelion and cat's claw.

"Water!" he ordered. 

A canteen was given him and he piled the herbs onto Yelena's shoulder then wet it well.  Ripping a portion of her shirt off he packed it all onto the wound and told Silas to hold it firmly in place.  Then he whistled for his falcon and whispered again to it before releasing it, watching as it flew away quickly.

"I have summoned the Sorceress," he said, looking at his wife, who was also kneeling beside her sister.  "I fear the bullet hit the artery.  She could lose much blood but the poultice and the pressure will slow it.  You, soldier, what is your name?"

"Silas, my Lord," he replied.  "I was one of Dreykov's men still loyal to the two ladies.  I grew up with them, watched as they trained, and learned the ways of battle from my father."

"His father is an honourable man," said Natasha, then put her hand on top of Silas' hand, "as is his son."

Yelena had watched Silas this whole time, studying his face.  "Your eyes are blue," she said.  "Like the ocean.   I could get lost in them."

"Please, M'Lady, don't speak," said Silas, "just stay awake."

She smiled at him and placed her hand on his.  Falcon touched it and nodded.  "Good, it is warm," he said.  "It means her blood still flows.  She needs liquids."

He tipped the canteen to Yelena's mouth and poured some in.  More dribbled out and she laughed, making Silas smile.  Natasha watched the two and stood up, recognizing the beginnings of love. 

"I think she is in capable hands at the moment," she said to her husband.  "Let's deal with my father while we wait for the Sorceress."

They turned to Dreykov who was being held by two of Bren's men.  Natasha walked up to him and slapped him across the face.  "You could have killed your own daughter," she spat. 

"I have no daughters," he snarled back.  "You are both already dead to me."

She turned away then changed her mind and instead punched him in the face, bloodying his nose.  "A ghost just broke your nose then," she said, shaking her hand.  "Take him to the King.  He has forfeited his land and will face trial for his crimes."

Falcon watched his wife with pride.  "Remind me never to make you angry," he said.  "I like my face too much."

"So do I, Sam," she replied.  "I suppose this is as good a time as any to get to know my new home.  Will you take me to it?"

He offered her his hand and they returned to their horses where the Sorceress was already placing an incantation over Yelena's wound and healing it.  Silas, even though his hand was no longer needed had continued to hold and support her, as she herself held his hand in hers.  Falcon looked at the scene then at his wife who shrugged then smiled.  Those two gestures said it all to Lord Falcon.  Just as he had won the heart of Lady Natasha so, it seemed, had this young warrior won the heart of her sister.  It was a sign of the times.

Chapter 15>>

Series Masterlist

[addierose444]

My Kitchen Essentials 

One of my favorite things about having my own apartment has been having my own kitchen. Furnishing the rest of my apartment was an expensive and sort of stressful process. The kitchen however has been a lot more fun because I inherently find kitchen gear more interesting and had enough of the basics to get started without breaking the bank. Because I keep my meals simple and only work with ingredients that I enjoy, I genuinely love cooking for myself. I shared my peanut butter overnight oats and tofu rice bowl recipes in a post about Sunday meal prep a few months ago, but am hoping to share more of my go-to meals in a proper recipe format. 

The core essentials that I brought from home include a 10-inch cast iron pan, a 1.5-quart stainless steel pot, a small wooden cutting board, a pairing knife, a chef's knife, and a pair of scissors. I also brought a basic set of dry measuring cups (¼ cup, ⅓ cup, and ½ cup) and measuring spoons. While I haven’t done any baking here and don’t follow recipes when cooking for myself, the measuring cups have been really useful for cooking various grains. A few items that I brought but haven’t used include a lemon juicer, a garlic press, and a silicone pastry brush. As for non-cooking kitchen basics, I was fortunate enough to be handed down a set of both dishes and silverware and to be gifted a nice wooden salad bowl. I also brought a utensil crock, a mini teapot, two mugs, two glasses, and a few food storage containers from home. 

To further round out my setup, I picked up a sieve (which I use for rinsing rice), half and quarter-rimmed sheet pans (which I currently primarily use for baking tofu and green beans for my rice bowls), a wooden spatula, and a potholder. I love cheese, so a personal essential of mine is a grater. I use it to grate cheddar for my cheesy polenta (which I serve with chicken apple sausage and peppers), pecorino romano for carbonara, and parmesan for Caesar salads among other things. I may eventually add a box grater to my setup, but have thus far been happy with this paddle-style grater that I picked up on my first full day in Washington State. Another item that I bought immediately, but have not personally used is a pair of kitchen tongs. (They did come in handy though for a work picnic). While I don’t regret the purchase per se, this just goes to show the true value of starting with the bare minimum and slowly building out your setup as you discover the limitations through experience. Other kitchen essentials that I picked up but that aren’t directly used for cooking include an airtight container for my rice, a glass food storage container for my lunch, a dish drying mat, sponges, and dish soap. 

It’s not essential, but one fun recent addition to my kitchen is the rice cooker I got for Christmas. The resulting rice is notably better than my stovetop rice, but I will note that it doesn’t exactly save time as the rice is supposed to soak for 30 minutes, cook for 15, and steam for another 15. Another important note is that the measuring cup that comes with the cooker is only about ¾ cup. Thus, when I made my first batch of rice I was a bit thrown off and only had enough rice for three rice bowls instead of my usual four. I made a double batch the second time around which allowed me to create five rice bowls instead. 

While I’m not set up for baking or cooking for a crowd, I truly do have all that I need to cook for myself. Nonetheless, I’m excited to continue building out my kitchen! A few items that I’m considering adding at some point in the future include a kitchen scale, a larger pot, a mixing bowl, a meat thermometer, an immersion blender, and an ice cream maker. We’ll see though because I’m not yet convinced that these items would get regular enough use to justify the cost and space they’d take up in my small kitchen. 

[antilocaprine]

Here is the Goncharov/HLVRAI crossover AU that absolutely no one was waiting for. Gordon is Katya, Benrey is Sofia. How does that fit into the rest of the narrative? No idea. How does that fit into the smoke-sharing scene at the cafe? Just like this:

The sound of approaching footsteps in patent leather shoes is loud, even on the cobblestone streets, even through the thin rain starting to patter on the cafe canopy, even though there are other feet passing by in both directions in other, finer footwear. 

Benrey’s always been a fan of a well-cared-for pair of shoes.

Gordon slings himself into the metal chair on the other side of the round cafe table with the same casual grace he shows everything, as if he expects the world to rearrange itself around him. And the funny thing is, it very often does. He acts like he’s the main character of a novel, and if Benrey didn’t know better, he might believe it to be true. After all, he's certainly pretty enough for it.

As if reading his mind, Gordon flicks a lock of chestnut hair over his shoulder, sending a scant handful of water droplets sparkling in the streetlights from the few lucky clinging beads of precipitation that managed to reach him under his umbrella. Gordon folds up said umbrella, businesslike and bland, and raises a hand for the waiter, speaking in quick words to order a black coffee with two sugars and cream on the side. Benrey knows he will dip the spoon in the cream and use that to stir the coffee between sips. Benrey knows everything about Gordon.

“So?” Gordon says, not making eye contact with Benrey as he pulls out a thin container and taps loose one cigarette. Benrey pulls a lighter from his coat pocket and reaches across the table automatically, and when the flame clicks on, Gordon’s green eyes flash like chips of emerald through his lashes as he dips his head to light the cigarette. The clock tower chimes. Benrey swallows.

“I, uh, I may have…found something,” he says carefully. Gordon leans back and breathes out a stream of smoke, then makes a face. 

“You’ve ‘found things’ before,” he says, squinting at the filter. “What makes this different?”

“It involves your…uh.” Benrey stutters, and Gordon’s gaze snaps to him. 

“Your coffee, sir,” the waiter says, smoothly placing the cup and saucer on the table along with a small crock of thin cream. It’s the wrong season for good cream - the fatter herds are still at higher elevations, and the local cows are whipcord thin and bitter about it. But Gordon doesn’t comment, like another might - he simply nods and picks up the spoon, dipping it into the cream, then the coffee, and swirling the utensil until a wavering tail of white follows his motions across the drink’s dark surface.

“Does it have to do with his business?” Gordon asks over the rim of the cup as he raises it up for a sip. When his eyes close in pleasure and he hums, Benrey swallows again and reaches for his own lukewarm cup.

“It’s, uh…looks that way,” he replies. 

Gordon’s eyebrows draw down, and he sets the cup back on the table and leans forward again. “You look pale,” he says, and reaches across the suddenly too-small table to press the back of two fingers to Benrey’s cheekbone. “Are you…are you sick?”

Benrey breathes out a wordless query, a huff of breath more than anything, and has to fight to keep his own hands down, to stop himself from cupping Gordon’s fingers against his cheek and holding them there.

“Here,” Gordon says, and spins the cigarette to press it between Benrey’s lips. “You look like you need this more than me. Try to, I don’t know, steady your nerves.”

Benrey breathes in sharply, then has to quickly turn his head to release the mouthful of smoke in an attempt to avoid coughing his lungs out at this streetside cafe. Gordon chuckles behind a hand, demure in appearance, demonic at heart. Benrey loves him, loves him, loves him.

“My husband’s business may be a bit…rocky right now,” Gordon sighs, stirring another spoonful of cream into his cup. “But I’m sure it’ll all end up - well, as well as it can.” He waves a hand, and Benrey takes another pull from the cigarette as his gaze catches on the twin silver bands on Gordon’s wrist - one a delicate chain, one a ring of scar tissue. Benrey is responsible for both of them.

“Has he told you about the Ambrosini brothers?” Benrey asks, and watches the minute twitch of Gordon’s face that he smooths over immediately. He’s spent years living in a society of sharks, but Benrey knew him before that, and knows every expression he can make almost before he makes it. That was a moment of fear, swiftly pushed down and locked in.

Nevertheless, Gordon’s hands do not shake as he raises the cup to his lips again. “I may have met one or two of them. New business partners, he said.”

“There’s three,” Benrey tells him bluntly. “D’you know where the third one is?”

“Do I want to?”

Benrey sighs and rolls the cigarette to the corner of his mouth. “D’you wanna live?”

Gordon gives him a level look and pulls the square container out of his coat again. “Oh, I see.” He taps another cigarette out, but just holds this one between his knuckles as he dips his spoon in cream again and stirs it into his coffee. “You’re here to get me into trouble. Again.”

“I’m here to get you out of trouble. Again,” Benrey growls, hand darting across the table to grasp Gordon’s wrist. “Or have you forgotten about the last trap you walked into?”

“The trap you led me into?” Gordon responds coldly, yanking his hand free. He pulls both hands into his lap and ducks his head as if to inspect his wrinkled sleeve - but Benrey can see his clever eyes darting left and right, checking for witnesses, gauging the interest of passerby. They are not the only patrons of this cafe - Benrey isn’t that stupid - but the tables to either side of them are empty, and the waitstaff are discreet. 

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Benrey says quietly, choosing his words carefully, as he always must these days. “You remember what I said?”

Gordon’s head is still down, and he replies as if speaking to his lap. “You said, ‘I didn’t tell them to do that.’”

“And d’you remember who was there? Who was listening?” Benrey is leaning forward, and he should pull back, should prepare himself for the disappointment he knows is coming, but he has to try, he has to -

“I know,” Gordon hisses, words sharp and acidic between his teeth. “I know, and I - I understand. I get it. I do. But you have to understand -” He raises his head and Benrey’s chin tips back in shock. Are those tears glittering in absinthe-green eyes? Or is this another act, as so much of Gordon’s life must be these days?

“I thought you were leaving me to die, Benrey,” Gordon says, and now his fingers tremble as he reaches for his nearly-empty cup.

“You had to think that,” Benrey says, biting back the pleading note that tries to undercut his voice. “You had to, it was -”

“I know,” Gordon interrupts, then falls silent. His eyes are focused on the coffee cup in his hand, as if he might read his future in the dregs if he simply looks hard enough. The light of the sodium-yellow streetlamps shining through a curtain of misty rain behind him gives him the distant air of a Caravaggio - or the crystallized perfection of a Bernini.

There’s a reason Benrey is in Naples, and it isn’t just because Gordon is here, too.

“Then you know you can trust me,” Benrey says, pushing just a little. “You - right? You know that.”

Gordon sighs and plants his right elbow on the table, holding the cigarette delicately between his index and middle fingers. His sleeve rides up and displays those slender bands again, both the chain and the scar. This time, Benrey doesn’t move until Gordon gives him another level look.

“I know,” he says. Benrey nods, leans forward, and reaches out with his lighter. The click of the wheel seems suddenly loud, but not for lack of any other sound - the rain still shushes down on the blue canopy, and feet still clatter on the street. Benrey is just utterly focused on the flame cupped in his hands and the burgeoning glow of the cigarette. 

Gordon has always been the center of his world. He never should have tried to be a rogue planet - no matter how hard he tried, he was always going to come back into orbit around this star.

“You still have that old thing?” Gordon nods at the lighter as he breathes the cigarette into life. Benrey blinks at him, then looks down at the dark, blocky lighter in his hand. It’s scuffed, but his name is still etched around the base in a never-ending loop.

“‘Course,” he shrugs, pocketing it again. “S’like a, uh, passport. People know it - they see it and they know it’s mine.”

“Hm,” Gordon says, and the fingers of his left hand stray to his right wrist, to the thin silver chain. Benrey’s chest hurts, but he says nothing. They’re both trapped, and they both know it, and it’s far too late for either of them to get out alone. But together, maybe…

“All right.” Gordon sighs out a trickle of smoke and brings both hands down to rest on the table. “So. Where’s the third brother?”

Benrey smiles. 

                                                          * * *

Night has fully fallen by the time they’ve finished exchanging veiled information, mixed in with gallery opening dates and plans to meet at a fruit stand to sample the newest shipment off the port in two days’ time. Benrey hopes they’ll be able to make it - he’ll need to rely on Gordon to lay the framework of his plan, now, before Benrey can build a trap that will catch his husband, but let him go free. 

The clock tower chimes once more, and Benrey blinks, pulling his watch out of an inner coat pocket, then muttering a curse. 

“You still have that, too?” Gordon’s grin is bright in the dark.

“We can’t all marry into wealth,” Benrey gripes, then sighs at Gordon’s hurt look. “Anyway. It’s a gift from, uh. Someone important. To me.”

“Oh,” Gordon says, cigarette paused halfway to his mouth. “Well. If that’s the case, I guess it’s okay.” His smile is a little gentler, now, a little more private. 

“Yeah,” Benrey says, as he winds the antique pocketwatch. “Guy can be a real jerk sometimes.”

Gordon’s hair bounces as he whips his head around to glare at Benrey. “Oh, for -”

“But,” Benrey interrupts, “I like jerks. Even when they steal my food.”

Gordon blinks, a slice of fried potato dangling from his grip. He puts it down and pulls his hand back guiltily. “I thought you were insulting me.”

“Who says I was, uh, talking about you?”

“Well, unless someone gave you an identical watch,” Gordon says, pointing, “there’s no one else you could be talking about.”

The waiter clears their table and places a leather booklet at the edge of Benrey’s elbow. “Take your time,” he says, and steps back inside.

Benrey’s got his hand on the bill when Gordon flicks it out of his grasp, waving off Benrey’s dutifully-mustered protest. 

“It’s not like it’s my money,” he says sardonically, and places several crisp notes inside. Benrey’s eyebrows rise at the amount, but then Gordon closes the leather cover and the waiter appears as if by magic to whisk it away, and Benrey knows they’ll be allowed to linger.

There are fewer pedestrians on the narrow street now, and the shops up the road have started to roll up their canopies and bring their tables and chairs in for the night. Other storefronts down darker side streets are just beginning to liven up, cheerful voices rising on the dark air, heedless of the misty rain that still falls. In Benrey’s experience, after enough alcohol the average Neapolitan wouldn’t notice if they were standing in a hurricane.

“I should go,” Gordon says, pulling a watch out of his own coat, and Benrey feels a burst of shocked affection like a physical blow at the sight of the scuffed copper cover. 

“You - did - you kept that?” he stutters, and Gordon glances up, freckles standing out suddenly as his cheeks flush, and Benrey loves him. 

“Of course,” he says, after far too little hesitation. “You gave it to me.”

Benrey takes a deep breath and nearly inhales the filter on his cigarette as it flares bright between his teeth. And Gordon, who should know better than to be so obvious, is still smiling, his flustered grin giving way to a smirk as he watches the effect his words have on Benrey. So Benrey leans forward and blows a cloud of smoke directly into his face, the tiny cafe table not big enough to give Gordon enough distance to avoid it.

Except he’s not avoiding it. When the cloud dissipates, it’s because half of it has gone into Gordon’s lungs on a deliberate inhale, and he huffs a laugh through his nose. Before Benrey can lean back, Gordon has taken a drag of his own cigarette and blown an answering cloud across the table, which has suddenly grown far too small.

Benrey gasps in a breath like a drowning swimmer, and he can almost feel Gordon’s warm chuckle in the smoke as it trickles behind his teeth. The bite of it is sharp and golden in the glow of the street lights, and Benrey wishes he could sip smoke straight from the source - wrap his palm around the back of Gordon’s neck, fit their lips together, and share smoky breaths back and forth until the air runs out and all they can breathe is each other.

His own cigarette suddenly burns his fingers. Benrey hisses and drops it on the table, glaring at it reproachfully, then picks up the butt and smothers it in the ashtray as Gordon snorts at him. He’d forgotten it was almost down to the filter.

Wordlessly, still laughing a little, Gordon draws Benrey’s hand across the table. He cups it in both of his and tilts it this way and that to catch the light and check for burns. The tingling has already faded, though there’s no need for Benrey to tell him that. Gordon’s hands are warm, and his old calluses have been softened and scrubbed away by expensive soaps and lotions. But beneath that, his hands are still strong - both of them are, even the one that Benrey nearly caused the loss of so many years ago.

Just as Benrey draws breath to say something - though he doesn’t know what - Gordon stuns him by raising his hand and gently pressing his lips to the back of the first two fingers, kissing the knuckles as gently as one would kiss a mortal wound. It’s only a fleeting touch, but Benrey feels it like a brand - Gordon’s lips burn hotter than any cigarette’s embers ever could. 

Benrey yanks his hand back with an inarticulate gasp, looking around quickly to check for any potential witnesses. The waitstaff are inside the cafe, cleaning up, and there are no longer patrons at the neighboring tables - they have outlasted all the other customers. No one is walking the cobblestone streets nearby, and anyone looking out of a window in the surrounding buildings would find their view blocked by the cafe’s awning.

“Are you crazy?” Benrey hisses anyway. “If the wrong person saw that, you - he would -”

“My husband would have me killed, yes,” Gordon says, rising from his seat. “Or worse, divorced.” He shakes out his umbrella and opens it with a snap, a shower of tenacious droplets pattering down across his patent leather shoes. 

“But -” Benrey protests weakly. “Then - what was that?”

“It was a gift,” Gordon says calmly. “To someone who is…important to me.” He raises the umbrella and steps out from under the cafe awning, his face instantly falling into shadow.

Benrey does not know how to respond to that. What could he say, what words could he find which might contain a fraction of how much he feels for this sad, strange man he’s known since childhood and followed across the world?

“I’ll see you at the fruit stand, Benrey,” Gordon says. “At noon, the day after tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“The - the fruit stand. Yeah. Okay. Fruit.” Benrey puts a hand over his face and Gordon chuckles as he sets off into the dark.

“Don’t be late, Benrey.”

“No,” Benrey says, but it’s too quiet for Gordon to hear. “Never.”

Gordon’s footsteps pace away down the street, heading back toward his gilded cage, umbrella tipped over his shoulder to protect his hair from the rain, and Benrey loves him so much he knows it will kill him.

The clock tower chimes. Benrey swallows, then stands, waves to the patient and well-paid waitstaff, and walks out into the rain.

[mezzaforte78]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Pier One Utensil Crock.

[dlifesworld]

The Best Storage Solutions for a Well-Organized Kitchen

A well-organized kitchen is not just aesthetically pleasing; it’s a game-changer for efficiency and functionality. Whether you’re a homeowner or a kitchen enthusiast, the right storage solutions can transform your cooking space. In this comprehensive guide, our interior designers in Pune explore the best storage solutions that will help you achieve an organized kitchen.

Why Kitchen Organization Matters

Before diving into specific storage solutions, it's essential to understand why kitchen organization is so crucial. An organized kitchen:

Maximizes Space: Proper storage solutions allow you to use every inch of your kitchen effectively.Before you start implementing storage solutions, declutter your kitchen. Remove items you rarely use or that don’t belong in the kitchen. Donate, sell, or store these items elsewhere. Once you’ve decluttered, it’s easier to see what storage solutions you need.

Increases Efficiency: When everything has its place, you can find what you need quickly, making meal preparation faster and more enjoyable.

Reduces Stress: A clutter-free environment promotes a sense of calm and order.

Enhances Aesthetics: An organized kitchen looks clean and inviting, adding to the overall appeal of your home.

Decluttering: The First Step to a Well-organized Kitchen

Essential Storage Solutions for a Well-Organized Kitchen

1. Cabinet Organizers

Cabinet space can quickly become disorganized if not properly managed. Here are some cabinet organizers that can help:

Pull-Out Shelves: These make it easy to access items stored at the back of your cabinets.

Lazy Susans: Perfect for corner cabinets, Lazy Susans rotate to bring items to the front.

Tiered Shelf Organizers: Ideal for stacking canned goods or spices, these organizers maximize vertical space.

2. Drawer Dividers

Drawers can quickly become messy without proper organization. Drawer dividers keep utensils, gadgets, and other small items neatly separated.

Adjustable Dividers: These can be customized to fit any drawer size and keep items of various shapes and sizes organized.

Knife Blocks: Store your knives safely and accessibly with an in-drawer knife block.

3. Pantry Solutions

An organized pantry is essential for a functional kitchen. Consider the following solutions to keep your pantry tidy:

Clear Containers: Store dry goods like pasta, rice, and flour in clear containers. This not only keeps them fresh but also makes it easy to see what you have.

Labeling: Label containers and shelves to ensure everything has a designated spot.

Over-the-Door Racks: Utilize the back of your pantry door for additional storage of spices, snacks, or cleaning supplies.

4. Countertop Solutions

Keep your countertops clutter-free with these solutions:

Utensil Crocks: Store frequently used utensils in a stylish crock on your countertop.

Magnetic Knife Strips: Free up drawer space by mounting a magnetic strip on the wall to hold your knives.

Appliance Garages: These hideaway cabinets store small appliances out of sight but within easy reach.

5. Under-Sink Storage

The area under the sink is often underutilized. Make the most of this space with these ideas:

Sliding Baskets: Install sliding baskets to store cleaning supplies and trash bags.

Hook Systems: Use hooks to hang gloves, brushes, and other cleaning tools.

Tension Rods: Place a tension rod under the sink to hang spray bottles.

6. Wall-Mounted Storage

Free up counter space by utilizing your walls:

Pegboards: Install a pegboard to hang pots, pans, and utensils.

Floating Shelves: Add floating shelves to store cookbooks, decorative items, or additional pantry items.

Magnetic Spice Racks: Mount magnetic spice racks on the wall to keep spices within easy reach.

7. Island Storage

If you have a kitchen island, make the most of its storage potential:

Drawers and Cabinets: Islands with built-in drawers and cabinets provide extra storage space.

Open Shelving: Use open shelving on one side of the island for easy access to cookbooks or frequently used items.

Wine Racks: Incorporate a wine rack into your island design for stylish and functional wine storage.

Tips for Maintaining an Organized Kitchen

Once you’ve implemented these storage solutions, maintaining an organized kitchen is key. Here are some tips to keep your kitchen tidy:

Regularly Declutter: Periodically go through your kitchen items and get rid of anything you no longer use.

Clean as You Go: Clean up while you cook to prevent messes from piling up.

Stick to a System: Consistently return items to their designated spots.

Invest in Quality Storage Solutions: Durable and well-designed storage solutions will stand the test of time and keep your kitchen organized for years to come.

Conclusion

Achieving a well-organized kitchen is within reach with the right storage solutions. By maximizing space, increasing efficiency, and enhancing the overall aesthetics of your kitchen, you can create a cooking environment that’s both functional and enjoyable. Start by decluttering and then implement the storage solutions that best suit your needs. Ready to transform your kitchen? Begin with these essential storage solutions and get help from a team of experienced interior designers in India to realise your dreams into reality. Experience the joys of using a well-organized kitchen today. Happy organizing!

[sesamecd]

may 28

walker and i went to the arcade today :3

we also started cleaning up his apartment and made an $100 bet!! today, may 28th!!! if walker doesn’t have his apartment clean (spotless) by the time i come back then guess who gets $100? >:3 this guy.

i have to find him a crock for his kitchen to put all his utensils in. and we have to get him some silverware and plates.