#why she puts lentils in every soup i do not know

[obsob]

god ive made such a good fucking soup. i should get a nobel prize or something

[worldoffanfiction2021]

{Image Sources: Dong Hua: https://daydaynews.cc/en/entertainment/419895.html Fengjiu: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1196337391276429/}

The family of three deities had bid adieu to their relatives in Quingqui and taken the magical boat to Bihai Cangling. Dijun and Fengjiu had both managed to handle their respective duties and arranged for messengers to visit them here at their new place of residence, actually their real home, for the next few months. They were all very excited about it.

Fengjiu was remembering their last visit fondly. The last time she had been here, she had spent some magical time with Dijun.

Dijun was also remembering his last visit. But there wasn’t any fondness in those memories for him. He had been there was to build the Star Light ward. He had not expected to come back alive to this place, much less to come back alive with his wife and son. He looked at Xiaobai and marveled at her. It had been her who had saved him and saved his home. She was the best. He lovingly played with her hair.

Gungun saw that they were about to reach to a beautiful landscape, the likes of which he had never seen. “Father, your home is so beautiful. It’s even better than the Sky Kingdom!”, he exclaimed clapping excitedly.

“Gungun’s reaction to Bihai Cangling is just like yours when you came here for the first time.”, said Dijun smilingly to Xiaobai. "It's your home too, Gungun. It’s our home.", he added. He liked the sound of that very much.

Xiaobai noticed that a lot had changed since she had last visited. Row of fruit trees and vines had been planted - grapefruits, pears and grapes. There was a long corridor with an artificial hill. The hill really looked like a real rocky mountain, just smaller than a mountain. On either side of the corridor there were beautiful trees of foiling flowers. Spiritual birds danced to ‘paying homage to the Phoenix’ near by.

Then there was a pavilion overlooking a lotus pond. White and pink lotuses swayed gracefully in a cool breeze there. White sandalwood on each side of the pavilion gave the seating area a perfect cover from sun.

Xiaobai recalled her own words from the last time she had visited. Dijun had done everything she had asked for. She was transfixed.

When they walked a little further, her jaw dropped to the floor. Sitting atop a slightly raised platform was a house. Not just any house - the bamboo house she had drawn! Oh, Dijun!!!! She stood dumbfounded with tears in her eyes.

Dijun realized she had stopped walking and turned around. When he saw her face he asked with worry, “What’s wrong? Did I mess it up?” Forgetting about Gungun watching them, she ran forward and hugged him. She buried herself in his arms and said, “No, Dijun. No mess up. This is perfect. You made our home. Our home!” She choked on her emotions and couldn’t say anything else. Dijun smiled and planted a kiss on her head.

Gungun was watching all this and came running. “Mother and Father are kissing again. I want a kiss too.”, he giggled. Dijun picked him up and twirled him high. His giggles and Dijun’s laughter filled the space. And Xiaobai’s heart. They were home.

When they went inside, Xiaobai realized that all the basic things they had planned for, had been done. There was a study, a living room and a well-lit, well ventilated kitchen. The large kitchen window overlooked the fruit trees. There were two identical rooms - one for Gungun and another for his little brother/ sister, as Dijun explained, his eyes hinting mischievously. It made Gungun very excited to think that he would have a playmate. Then there were a couple guest rooms. Dijun and Xiaobai’s  room was a spacious suite with a large bed. A foiling flower tree was the headboard of that bed. They even had a nice little hot spring next to their room.

“Dijun, the house is great, but there’s still work to do. We have to set up the kitchen, the wardrobes and such.”, began Xiaobai. “If I do everything, what will you do?”, he interrupted her, pretending to be arrogant and tapped her forehead. Then he leaned in and whispered in her ears “But I have already done so much work here. You owe me big this time.  I will collect my dues from you at night.” Seeing her cheeks instantly color up pleased him.

There was a balcony behind their room. It overlooked a large playground with targets set up for practicing archery, an open space for sword plays and martial arts. On one side was another building. “That is a workshop where we can forge weapons. I have also placed all the weapons I have made or collected in a room in there. I am sure you will like it.”, said Dijun. She looked at him with pride in her eyes. Dijun felt that all his efforts had been completely worth it.

“I am so hungry, mother. When can we eat?”, asked Gungun. “You and Father can put your things in your rooms. I will quickly get food ready.”, said Xiaobai patting him. They all went their separate directions and got busy.

After some time they all got together in the dining room and ate a simple but delicious meal. Fengjiu had found that right next to the kitchen was a vegetable and herb garden. She had picked some fresh veggies to prepare rice porridge and mushrooms-vegetables stir fry. Some lentil cakes rounded up the meal. She had always been good in cooking. Her years in mortal realm had helped her perfect  the art of making do with whatever was available.

After they cleared up all the food, Fengjiu wanted to go to her room and take a nap. But Dijun insisted they go to the lotus pond and catch some fish. She almost suspected that he wanted to keep her away from their bedroom. “May be he has made a mess in there with all the stuff. I better not go in there or else I will end up cleaning everything myself.”, she thought to herself as she followed her guys to the pond. When they got there, she rested her head in Dijun’s lap and dozed off happily.

She woke up a little while later when tiny hands were trying to tap on her head. "Mom, wake up! Look I caught a fish!! My first ever fish!!!", Gungun was showing off with eyes wide with excitement. She couldn't help by smile at him. "I will make sweet and sour fish for dinner tonight with this. You both like it, don't you?" She said. Two heads full of silver hair nodded in fervent agreement. "Like father - like son", she chuckled.

She completely lost herself in cooking dinner. In addition to sweet and sour fish, she also made sticky rice and soup. "For Dijun and Gungun. They need this nourishment.", she told herself. All this was gobbled up pretty quickly between the three of them.

After dinner they took off for a long walk that led them back to the weapon forge. Dijun took them in and Fengjiu was like a kid in the candy store. She enjoyed designing and creating mechanical weapons. Among other things, this was something she and Dijun had in common. Gungun was quite curious and looked around with amazement. But he was slowly beginning to get tired and needed to get to bed. So they all returned homewards.

"You take him to his room and get him ready for bed. I will bring him a glass of milk. He will sleep well with that.", said Dijun. Fengjiu nodded and walked away holding Gungun's little hand. In his room, she helped him bathe and change. They both were happy they didn't need to dye his hair anymore. As she was settling him in his bed, Dijun came in with a glass on milk in his hand. He made sure Gungun finished it up. Then they both dimmed the candles, kissed Gungun sweet dreams and left the room.

When they reached the doorstep of their bedroom, Dijun gestured Fengjiu to stop. "What's wrong?", asked Fengjiu puzzled. "Close your eyes.", ordered Dijun. "Why should I?", replied Fengjiu more puzzled. "Please, Xiaobai. Do as you are told.", Dijun coaxed her. So she sighed and closed her eyes. "You are acting very weird tonight.", she said.

She found herself being lifted in his arms. She felt the door opening and he walking in with her.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Feng Jiu asked. "Not yet, just a little bit longer.", Dijun replied. She could feel the smile in his voice.

"What's going on? I am opening my eyes now." She nagged him anxiously as she felt herself being lowered on something extremely soft.

"Wait. Just a few more moments.", Dijun replied as he adjusted her clothes. "Okay, you can open your eyes now.", he said.

She was so not ready for what she was seeing. The room had been transformed. It looked like a bride's chamber on a wedding night. There was an altar placed for heaven worship ceremony. Gold, white and purple lanterns adorned the ceiling. Matching candles, flower arrangements and curtains hung everywhere. Every seat in the room and the whole bed was covered in foiling flower petals. She was draped in her wedding gown. And then as she turned towards Dijun she saw that he himself was looking extremely handsome in his wedding attire. Nothing in the room was nearly as mesmerizing as the sight of the regal man himself. He took her breath away and she could not help but stare at him open mouthed.

"I never gave you a proper wedding. I have regretted that very much.", he said huskily as he walked towards her with a purple veil. "Tonight, let's get married, Xiaobai.", he said softly as he came close and arranged the veil over her hair. She didn't know what to say or do. She was completely under his spell.

He led her by her hand towards the altar. They kowtowed to the heaven and earth. They remembered her parents and kowtowed for them. Then they bowed to each other. Very carefully he lifted her veil and took her hands in his.

"In all three eternities you are the only one who has moved my heart, Xiaobai. You, little fox, will always belong to me.", he looked deeply into her eyes and promised possessively.

She smiled with stars in her eyes and promised him back, "In any eternity I will bring you in my life. Because I love you the most Dijun, you will always belong to me."

He leaned in and planted kisses on her face. He kissed her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her nose and then covered her lips with his. He felt her respond to him and deepened the kiss. She trembled and moved closer in his arms. Slowly he moved to her ear. "Ever since I have had this dress made for you, I have imagined so many ways I would like to undress you from it.", he teased huskily. "Um? So you got this elaborate and extravagant dress made only so that you could undress me from it?", she asked pulling back and squinting her eyes at him. "HHmm.. ", he pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. "You are so... ", she started to say, but completely lost her train of thought under his hot, hungry gaze. He claimed her lips again and started undressing her.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 66 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya decided that parenthood might be in the cards after all, Pearl couldn’t get Dahlia out of her head, and Violet worried that Sutan’s friends would never be able to respect her.

This Chapter: Brunches, presents, an announcement, a trip to the champagne room, and a new hire.

***

Sutan opened the door to his apartment, a smile blooming on his face at the fact that the light was still on, which meant Violet hadn’t gone to bed yet.

It was after 8, Sutan spending the day with Gigi and then going to a Christmas reception in the evening with Tamisha, his boss pleading with him to please come with her and make sure no one she hated talked to her, Sutan guarding her for the entire cocktail hour.

“Violet?” Sutan called out, hanging his jacket up and toeing his shoes off.

“Bathroom!”

Sutan walked through the apartment, the door to the bathroom open. Violet was standing at the sink, her fingers braiding her hair into French braids.

“Hey,” Violet smiled and gave him a quick kiss, her lips tasting faintly like sugary lip scrub. “I didn’t know if you’d be home, but I got dinner for you too.”

“What are we having?” Sutan leaned against the sink, watching Violet who unscrewed the lid on one of her face creams, scooping out a dollop and rubbing it into her skin.

“Lentil soup.”

“Yum.” Sutan drawled, his tone bone dry.

It wasn’t that he hated lentil soup, but he’d never understand why Violet ate it voluntarily when the entirety of Manhattan's takeaway options were open to her.

“Don’t act like that,” Violet huffed, holding up her hand with a bit of leftover face moisturizer, silently asking him if he wanted it and Sutan nodded, Violet’s fingers gliding over his cheek seconds later. “It’s good for you.”

“Do I at least get bread this time?” Sutan had to bite his lip not to smile, Violet looking at him like he had grown a second head when he had complained about the distinct lack of bread on his plate the last time she had ordered dinner.

“Yes,” Violet rolled her eyes, but she continued rubbing in tiny circles, even dipping her fingers again to make sure she had enough to cover his entire face.

“Lucky me,” Sutan wasn’t sure if he was talking about the bread, or about the strange little things Violet always tended to do for him, this little traditions of theirs starting in Paris when Violet had needed to get rid of some extra hand moisturiser and had ended up massaging it into his skin.

“Did you have a good day?” Violet ran a finger down his nose, the pressure weirdly comforting, her never ending attention to detail carrying into this as well, the finishing tap on his nose a sign that she was done.

“Very good.” Sutan smiled as he watched Violet wipe her hands, her bedtime routine done for now even though she was still in her work clothes. “Been all over the city. Shopping, dinner, the whole shebang since I’m training a new model.”

“Great.”

Violet wasn’t fully paying attention because she had already heard of days like that before, instead grabbing her crutches to get to the kitchen, but Sutan didn’t mind.

In past relationships, he would have been interrogated if he had said he had spent the day with a model, Kahmora in particular, always keeping an eye on him.

He hadn’t thought much of it then, hadn’t even considered that there could be anything wrong with it, after all, it showed that they cared, but he had to admit that it felt amazing that Violet trusted him to do his job and just his job.

“I put your soup in the fridge,” Violet made her way to the kitchen table, sitting down to keep him company while he ate his dinner. “Sorry that it’s cold.”

“I don’t mind,” Sutan pressed a quick kiss to her temple, walking over to the fridge. “Oh. Speaking of.” Sutan looked over his shoulder. “I got you something.”

“You did?”

“It’s on the table.” Sutan grabbed the container of soup, an order of bread lying untouched on the counter. “White plastic bag!”

Just like with the ring dish, Sutan hadn’t actually realised how often he just dumped his stuff on his kitchen table, the quick pitstop he had taken at home to change into evening wear just enough time to add to the ever growing pile that Violet patiently stacked against the wall every single day.

Sutan dumped the soup into a bowl, opening the cabinet that hid the microwave to pop it in.

“Sutan… What…” Sutan turned around, looking at Violet who was holding the iPhone 6 box he had picked up at the Apple store. “What’s this?”

“A phone?” He leaned against the counter, the microwave humming away. “I’m sure you’ve seen one before.”

“I understand that it’s a phone, but why are you giving this to me?”

Sutan paused, that question not at all the one he had expected. He was thankfully saved by a ding, the microwave telling him that his food was ready so he had time to think.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? They had the newest model in stock,” Sutan took his bowl, grabbing a spoon before he walked over to the table, Violet’s brown eyes following his every step. “And your phone is barely working.”

“I don’t think-” Violet pursed her lips, clearly swallowing her words. “I can buy my own phone.”

Sutan smiled. Of course. He should have seen it coming. You wouldn’t know it just looking at Violet, his girlfriend so prim and proper from the outside, but she was adorably non-materialistic if it didn’t concern clothes.

“You could, but you haven’t, and I happened to be at the Apple store.”

“I-” Violet looked at him, her brown eyes searching his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome lovely eyes,” Sutan captured her healthy foot under the table, holding it between his own. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

***

Bianca picked up the French press and poured herself a second cup of coffee, inhaling the fragrance as she lifted it to her lips. She and Courtney had been in bed all morning, but finally decided to wander downstairs for a very late breakfast.

She looked up to where Courtney stood at the stove, concocting some kind of tofu scramble.

“How’s it going over there?”

Courtney had insisted it was one of the few things she knew how to cook, happily chopping tomatoes, zucchini, shallots, and pretty much every other vegetable Bianca had on hand before dumping it all in a sizzling wok. Bianca was frankly unconvinced that she knew what she was doing, but told herself she’d eat it regardless.

“It’s great! Almost done!” Courtney chirped, adding what Bianca noted was a respectable amount of hot sauce for a white girl.

“Sounds great,” Bianca said, opening a cabinet to grab some plates.

“It’s so nice having a stove,” Courtney commented. She said it in a breezy, offhanded way, but it gave Bianca pause, turning towards her with a furrowed brow.

“You don’t have a stove?”

Courtney bit her lip, suddenly embarrassed, and explained, “Well, my place is a studio, and...uh, there’s not like a full kitchen.”

Bianca nodded, doing her best to keep the judgment off her face. No stove meant that whatever place Courtney was renting was not a real studio, and likely an illegal sublet. She shuddered to think of all the potential safety violations in that kind of set-up. Nevertheless, she decided to drop the subject, putting the plates down and slipping an arm around Courtney’s waist, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you for making breakfast, baby.”

“Anytime…” Courtney gave the pan another stir with a wooden spatula before leaning back against Bianca, letting her hold her even tighter.

“So listen...I, uh...have a proposal for you.”

“Oh?” Courtney tilted her head back, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, so, there’s this big fucking board meeting scheduled for January 6th, so I’m probably gonna stay in town over the holidays. I was thinking that maybe you could stay here, while Galactica’s shut down. With, uh, full stove access. Would you like that?”

Courtney whirled around, her beautiful face beaming, throwing her arms around Bianca’s neck and exclaiming, “I’d love it!”

Bianca leaned forward to capture her lips in a gentle kiss which soon grew deeper as Courtney arched against her, backing her up against the island. Bianca smiled against her mouth, unable to stop the dimples from piercing through as she thought about how lucky she was.

They stayed like that, blissfully wrapped in each other, until Bianca lifted her head to ask, “Is something burning?”

“Shit!”

***

“Mmh,” Trixie had to bite down a moan, his mouthful of waffles and bacon like an explosion of flavor. “Holy shit!”

“So?” Katya grinned, looking at him with her blue eyes. “Are they up to the standard?”

Their entire Sunday brunch crew, and even Violet, was gathered in their living room, Katya cooking for everyone, the table stacked with hearty and filling winter recipes like ginger and peach pudding, spiced sweet potatoes, apple pancakes and baked chickpeas.

“They’re amazing!” Trixie smiled, shoving another forkful down, the salt and the syrup perfect together.

“Awh thanks sugar butt,” Katya pressed a kiss against his cheek, which made Kim produce a retching noise.

“Take it to the bedroom you two!” Kim threw her napkin at them, which made Shangela snort and Ivy giggle.

“Be careful what you wish for Kimmie,” Pearl drawled, a stack of apple pancakes largely untouched on her plate, “because you really don’t want them to take it to the bedroom.”

“Everyone,” Max rolled his eyes, even though he was still smiling and Trixie snorted, a sense of pride welling up in his chest at Pearl’s words.

Sure, he and Katya had a tendency to be loud, but how could he not when Katya was the hottest woman alive, her innovation, commands and demands in the bedroom so fun and rewarding to follow.

“Actually,” Katya sat up straight, Trixie mourning the loss of her heat for a moment, until he recognized the serious expression on her beautiful face. “Trixie and I have an announcement.”

Everyone grew quiet, all watching them as Katya stood up.

“I’m pregnant...and we’re keeping it.”

At once, the table erupted in cheers, Ivy hopping up off the chair she was sitting on to go hug Katya, while Pearl made a beeline for the kitchen, yelling over her shoulder that she was getting the champagne.

“Congratulations!” Violet smiled, her hands clasped together. “That’s amazing!”

“It is,” Trixie smiled, warm happiness filling his entire body as he watched Katya laugh, Shangela joining in on the hug.

“Mama! I can’t believe you're gonna be a Mama!” Shangela grinned, holding Katya’s elbow and shaking her. “I thought you were completely set on never having kiddos?”

“I thought I was, but-” Katya looked at Trixie, their eyes meeting across the table. “It happened and, I mean. What’s the worst case scenario? That we fuck up and they become a serial killer?”

“Shit, that would be fucked up,” Kim snorted, her eyes widening. “Not that killer isn’t a cool name.”

“Now that’d be something!” Pearl grinned, returning to the living room with a bottle of champagne and several glasses, the stems between her fingers. She bent down, pressing her cheek against Katya’s stomach. “Hi Killer! We can’t wait to meet you!”

“Pearl!” Trixie swatted his best friend's shoulder, but Katya was laughing, holding Pearl’s head and pressing it against her stomach, and while Trixie seriously hoped his child wouldn’t become a serial killer, he had to admit that it was a little bit funny.

“Seriously,” Shangela looked around. “All y’all need Jesus. Stat.”

***

“Courtney,” Tyra said, rapping on the glass jewelry case to get her attention. “Courtney…”

“Court!” Morgan cut in sharply, and at that she finally looked up.

“You ready to take a break?” Tyra asked. “There’s a pho place right around the corner that we could try.”

“Oh, uh...yeah, just give me a couple of minutes.”

Tyra exchanged a put-upon look with Morgan, who returned her look with an exaggerated eye roll. When they’d suggested meeting up, neither of them were anticipating following Courtney around as she scoured antique stores to find the perfect Christmas present for Bianca.

She’d already found a huge book of 1960s fashion photography, as well as a vintage Hermes scarf, but apparently that wasn’t enough for her precious girlfriend. And worse, she’d been talking about nothing except Bianca all afternoon.

Tyra didn’t care if Courtney was gay or bi or whatever, but this slavish devotion to her brand new relationship was extremely tedious, and it made Tyra long for the days when Courtney would date men whose names she forgot three days later.

“Ooh, look at these!” Courtney exclaimed, pointing to a pair of earrings. “Aren’t they beautiful?!”

“Nice,” Morgan said, barely looking up from her phone.

They were nice. As annoyed as Tyra was, she had to admit that. They looked like brass, cut into art deco shapes and adorned with garnets, exactly the right style for Bianca, at least from what Tyra could tell from seeing her on TV.

“Excuse me,” Courtney asked the sales clerk, “How much are these earrings here? I can’t see the price tag.”

The clerk took a key and opened the case, pulling out the earrings to examine the price tag before declaring, “$279.”

Morgan whistled softly under her breath and the clerk raised one eyebrow, just barely but enough to be noticed.

“Shall I ring them up for you?” he asked drily, clearly expecting her to say no, already moving to put the earrings back into the case.

“Um…” Courtney bit her lip, fingertips resting on the edge of the glass.

“Court, you’re not seriously gonna spend that much are you?” Tyra asked, appalled. She’d seen Courtney’s apartment. That girl did not have a damn penny to spare.

“Yeah, she knows you’re poor, there’s no way she’s expecting some expensive gift,” Morgan added.

“No, I know, but…” Courtney squared her shoulders and looked at the sales clerk, saying, “I’ll take them.”

Tyra looked at Morgan behind her back, scandalized, shaking her head. Morgan smothered a laugh with her hand and gave a little shrug as if to say, ‘It’s her credit card debt.’

***

Pearl was back at the club again. At 4 pm on a Sunday. Which was totally normal, right?

Right.

She sighed slightly, swirling the whiskey in her glass, unable to hear the clink of ice cubes over the pounding bass. She should definitely leave, she knew that, and told herself that she would… She wasn’t going to say that she was obsessed, wasn’t going to give in to the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about Dahlia, but she was leaning on the side of pathetic, and if there was one thing Pearl Liaison didn’t do, it was pathetic.

She probably had to rethink that though, as she handed one of the managers 200 dollars in cash, the man taking her to a small enclosed room, a heavy red curtain blocking out the rest of the club.

Her stripper alias was “Sin,” which was both absurdly simple and painfully fitting, Pearl drawn to her dangerous beauty like a spell, hungry for even the smallest taste of her.

Pearl tapped her fingers against her thigh, her lip between her teeth, when she heard a voice come from the doorway.

“Well well well,” Dahlia smirked, pushing the curtain aside.  “Look who’s back.”

Pearl felt her heart skip a beat as Dahlia gave her a slow once-over, her bedroom eyes even sexier when she was so close. Today’s outfit was a sinful (fitting) red set, a garter belt digging into Dahlia’s soft tan skin.

“Mmmh.” Pearl tried to keep her face blank and expressionless, tried desperately to hang onto the last bit of control, but she couldn’t stop her heart from speeding up as Dahlia made her way across the room, her palms getting sweaty as she swayed her hips to the music.

“So,” Dahlia smiled, swinging a leg over Pearl’s lap. “You know the rules right?”

She smelled like peaches, and Pearl had to dig her fingers into the velvet of the couch she was sitting on.

“No touching,” Dahlia reminded her, full lips twisted into a smirk.

“I’ve never been a fan of rules.”

“Good thing that isn’t up to you then,” Dahlia sat down, and Pearl had to bite back a groan as she took her weight, the woman an insane tease. “Promise me that you’ll be good?” Dahlia tilted her head, her lips slightly separated, “or I promise you that a bouncer will kick your ass to the curb.”

“Shit, right, right.” Pearl nodded, and Dahlia grinned.

“Good girl.”

Pearl swallowed. Dahlia reached out, grabbing a remote from behind Pearl, a small speaker inside their room powering up, and Pearl was in heaven as she began to move.

To call it a dance would be generous, but Pearl didn’t care. She was mesmerized by her curves, watching her with rapt attention as she swayed her hips, bent down to slowly unhook the garters, leaving them dangling. Dahlia was sin personified, her bra holding her perfect tits in place, the promise of hard nipples just underneath the lace.

Dahlia turned around, and Pearl knew instantly that she worked out, her ass round and firm, the kind of deliciousness that only came from discipline and hard work. A quick motion and her bra was now unhooked. She let the straps slide off her shoulders, finally dropping the bra on the ground.

“Turn around,” Pearl whined, unable to help herself, and Dahlia looked back over her shoulder, dark eyes flashing with amusement.

“You really want it, huh?” she asked, and Pearl nodded vigorously.

“Uh huh.”

Dahlia turned back slowly, hands demurely covering her chest, lashes fluttering.

“Please…”

She kneeled on the couch, straddling Pearl’s thighs before removing her hands, arching up forward to display her glorious tits, brown nipples hard and so, so close.

Pearl bit back a whimper, and Dahlia began to roll her hips slowly, inching closer and closer until her perfect mouth was right up against Pearl’s ear.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

“How much I hate rules,” slipped out of Pearl’s mouth before she thought better of it, and Dahlia laughed.

“Poor thing...” Dahlia clucked, taking Pearl’s hand from the arm of the sofa and inching it towards her body. First her thigh, skating her fingertips higher and higher up her beautiful tan skin, flashing the naughtiest smile as she got closer to her lace, barely-there panties.

Pearl’s chest heaved, and Dahlia laughed, right in her face, redirecting her hand higher and higher, palm very nearly brushing against one of her pert nipples, finally letting it rest on her bare shoulder as Dahlia ran her own fingers teasingly across Pearl’s.

She arched forward again, those incredible tits grazing Pearl’s own chest. Pearl squirmed painfully on the sofa as Dahlia body-rolled against her, not daring to move her hand from where it was placed, fingers digging into the smooth skin.

She was close, could feel herself on the edge, and orgasm so close just from this, and then suddenly the song had ended, and Dahlia hopped up off her lap, re-clipping her garters, picking up her bra from the floor.

Pearl tried one last hail Mary, hoarsely saying, “Give me your number.”

Dahlia laughed, shaking her head. “No way. This...this is business.” She gestured to the room around them. “That would be...not. And anyway, what would your girlfriend say?”

“She-” Pearl swallowed. “We broke up.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“We did!” Pearl sputtered. “It’s true.”

“Yeah, well, even so...you do know I’m her friend, right?” Dahlia asked pointedly.

“Well…”

“Exactly,” Dahlia said, shaking her head again. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“I want to see you again,” Pearl said.

“You can see me anytime,” she said sweetly, adding pointedly, “As long as you bring cash,” before leaving, shutting the curtain behind her.

Pearl let her head drop back against the sofa, a deep sigh leaving her. Fuck.

***

“So,” Trixie tried not to tap his fingers or look at himself as he watched his computer screen, Skype pulled up.

Trixie didn’t like doing job interviews, the process tedious and draining each and every time, living up to Fame’s expectations and wishes difficult on a good day.

Interviews, however, were especially draining when it happened digitally, trying to act natural hard enough on its own when on screen, but as the manager and department head, it was his responsibility to feel out potential hires, to figure out if they’d fit with his team or not, but he had a decent feeling with this one.

“Are you interested?”

“Fuck yes!”

Trixie had to hide a grin, Aurora practically beaming through the screen. She was very pretty with tan skin, white blonde hair and full brows, the striped shirt she was wearing fashionable and fun.

Aurora had an impressive portfolio, her references were decent, and most importantly, she seemed like someone Fame could be impressed with if given time and guidance.

“Oh fuck-” Aurora grimaced, the enthusiasm gone for a second before she recovered, trying to play it cool. “I mean yes. Yes I’d love that.”

“Great.” This time, Trixie couldn’t hold back the laugh, Aurora probably fitting right into his department if she could keep the attitude in check.

“Our legal department will take care of your visa,” Trixie jotted down that he’d have to talk to Rita, work permits always a massive pain in the ass, “but you’re starting January 10 either way, and hopefully you won’t have to work remotely for long.”

[pixieungerstories]

The Captive - 2

“You are getting fat faster than your kind usually does,” George observed.

Elly gritted her teeth.  “Maybe if I got to go out and exercise more it would be less of an issue.”

George rolled his shoulders and shook like a dog shedding water.  “Of course you can leave!  You can go anywhere you want, as long as you are back on the property by sundown.”

Elly shivered.  “You ate my cat.”

“I don’t know what happened to your cat,” George protested.  “Besides, it’s not like we have mice, what do you need a cat for?”

“Company?”

That made him snarl, “You are supposed to be here as MY company.”

Elly took a step back.  George fought to get himself under control.  “You just need time to get used to me, treasure, I’m sure we can-”

Elly turned and headed back to the stairs.

“Wait!” George commanded.  

Elly paused on the bottom stair and waited, but she didn’t turn to look at him.

There was an award silence for a moment, then George blew out a stream of air through his nostrils.  “You are right.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“I don’t remember your name.”

She turned to look at him, “I’m Elly.”

George nodded awkwardly.  “You are going to need to remind me of that.” He paused for a moment then added, “Elly.”

“I’m the only person you talk to, George.  Try harder.”  With that, she headed upstairs to get ready for the day.

Ben was already in the kitchen, laminating puff pastry.  “Soups today will be chicken and dumplings for the non vegetarians and french lentil as the vegan option.”

“Sounds good, Ben.”

“You ok, Boss?”

Elly smiled weakly at him, “I’m just a little tired.”

Ben grinned, “The storm kept you up too, huh?”

“Something like that.”  Elly mumbled.  “Now are you going to teach me to run the coffee maker or what?”

“What!” he announced triumphantly.  “Go sit down, I’ll bring you a cappuccino.”

They had french toast and coffee together.  Ben always made her breakfast, and technically lunch.  It was just that they staggered their lunch breaks to cover for each other.   He had given up on asking her out when she kept putting him off.

How do you explain to a guy that you can’t be out after dark and that he can’t stay over because the monster in the basement might eat him?  Hell, she couldn’t even become that crazy isolated cat lady.  George hadn’t ever admitted it, but for how guilty he had looked that first morning when she asked if he had seen Mittens, she was sure he was involved in the disappearance.  She had put up signs anyway.  No one had called.

“Elly?”

She blinked at looked up.  “Sorry?  You were asking me something.”

“I was,” he agreed frowning slightly at her.  “But now I’m wondering if you just need the day off.”

She shook her head, “I don’t have anyone to cover for me.”

Ben leaned back in his chair.  “Well, I can run the register and I’m pretty sure the Wednesday morning group could pretty much take care of themselves.  You could always ask to see if any of them want a job as your emergency back up.”

Elly looked down at her plate, “I’m not exactly raking in the big bucks here, Ben.  Honestly, after expenses, my take home is less than yours.  The only reason I’m not folding is the free rent.”

“Shit,” Ben whispered under his breath.  “I mean, I knew it was slow but…”

Elly just shrugged.  “You bring in more customers than the yarn does these days.”

There was a long moment of awkward silence.  “You know if we go out to dinner, I’ll pay, right?”

Elly’s head snapped up and she looked into a pair of worried brown eyes.  She laughed, even if it was a bit on the bitter side.   “Funny thing about that.  There is a long standing clause in the title.  I have to be on the property every day from dusk to dawn.  I can’t go out to dinner with you without losing the business.”

“That doesn’t sound real, Elly,” Ben said softly.

Elly pursed her lips, “Do you have anything in the oven that will burn in the next, oh, say, ten minutes.”

Ben glanced at the clock, “three minutes on the cookies, then I’m all yours.”

Once the cookies were out cooling on the racks, Elly lead Ben up to the attic.  “I hate it up here,” she explained.  “It just feels creepy.”

Ben watched the light bulb flicker, “Bad wiring?”

Elly shook her head.  “I insisted the place be rewired before I moved in.  There was a fire that destroyed most of the property a hundred years ago.  The rest was structurally unsound and had to be demolished.  Somehow this survived,” she pointed at huge bronze plaque

Ben read for a moment.  “Wait.  The king bestowed this land upon your family in 1595.  There wasn’t even a town here in 1595.”

Elly nodded sadly.  “Look, it’s complicated, but-”

“Oh, come on!” Ben protested.  “No one is going to take the farm if you go out for drinks with me!”

Elly looked at the floor and shivered.  “The last time the owner of the house was out after dark, a fire burned down most of the house, and a good chunk of the town.  People died.”  She wanted to say more but she was aware this was sounding crazing all ready, so she turned and climbed down the ladder instead.

“You really believe that?”  Ben asked from above her.  Then he stumbled awkwardly and mostly fell out of the attic, barely catching himself on the ladder.  He looked back up.  “That was weird.  It felt like something pushed me.”

“Come down!” Elly hissed.

“I have to go turn off the light,” Ben protested.

“Come down!  You go bake; I’ll get the light!” she insisted.

The light turned itself off with a click.

“That was weird,” Ben commented.  “Is it on a timer or something?”

“Just go, I’ll take care of it.”

Ben frowned at her.  “Just think about taking a day off.  Even if you have to be here after dark, you can at least go out and see a matinee.  Get some fresh air.  Something.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Ben watched her for a moment then turned and left.  Elly went back up the ladder. She noticed the switch was firmly pointed down and therefore off.   “I have enough issues to deal with.  If you want me to be here, you leave him alone.”  Then she stepped down to the second floor and pushed up the ladder and went back downstairs to have another coffee and set about her day.

----

“Come here.”

“I don’t think so.  I’m fine over here.”

George rolled his eyes then he heaved himself to his feet, “I can come to you, but you are much more nimble than I am.”

Elly grabbed tightly on the hand rail, “Sit down.  I don’t want you close to me!”

George froze, “I want to see your face.  Hold the lantern up then.”

“Why do you care what I look like?” Elly sulked but she did as she was told.

“The boy thinks you are unwell.”

“And?”

“I do not want you to be unwell,” George said patiently.

Elly snorted.  “Why does it matter?  I can’t leave.”

“Neither can I,” George growled.  “That is the arrangement.  I do not leave and hunt you.  You do not leave and abandon me.  You promise to keep me fed and I promise to keep you wealthy.  I am holding up my end of the deal, treas- Elly-” he stressed her name, “you aren’t exactly -”

“I am HERE!” Elly snapped. “I gave up my life and my love to be here.  I did that. I am here.  I don’t have to be happy about it.”

George fell silent and sagged.

Elly watched him looking for the trick.

“If the boy makes you happy, he can stay.  I just don’t want you coming home smelling like him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck him,” George quailified. 

Elly blinked, “You don’t actually think I’m a virgin, do you?”

George made a sound of disgust.  “Go.  I am done talking to you now.”  He huffed out a stream of steam and turned his back on her.  Elly fled.

----

It was sometime after midnight when Elly sat bolt upright out of a dead sleep.  She had forgotten to feed George.  She had been angry about not being able to take the day off and then he reminded her she was trapped.   She had been dismissed before she had organized his dinner.  In theory, he would be ok if he didn’t eat for a few days.

But.

Mittens.

Shit.

 She hauled herself out of bed and trudged down the stairs to the shop, then down more stairs to the basement.

The kettle and her cup and saucer was sitting on the walnut table next to the chair.  The room was dark, no electricity down here.  How would she ever get an electrician in?  Tonight though, there was no faint glow coming from George.  She held the lantern up over her head, but the darkness just sucked the light away.

No dragon.

“George?”  Her voice echoed.  The basement shouldn’t be big enough for that.  Then she realized that if he was asleep, maybe waking him wasn’t the best idea.  She crept carefully forward.  Nothing.  She looked over her shoulder and was relieved she could still see the light coming from the doorway at the top of the stairs.  She took a few more steps and found a leather couch with deep button tucks that seemed to match the chair.  Holding the lamp up over her head she could see a large stone arch way further ahead.  Through it there was only darkness.  Elly swallowed and tried to listen for the sound of George’s breathing.

Then her nerve broke and she sprinted for the stairs.

[schleierkauz]

The Color of Revenge: Chapter 3

This chapter burned my house down but here it is. You probably know the drill by now - please tell me if you find any mistakes, share your thoughts and enjoy! :)

Chapter 3: It’s not easy to find a Glass Man

It’s not easy to find a glass man, especially one that doesn’t want to be found. The Black Prince, who had only just returned to Ombra with his following of strolling players, musicians and acrobats, started a search party with all of them.

Meggie’s mother Resa drew portraits of Ironstone that they showed around. Mo and Doria took turns inside the tavern Rosenquartz favored (after the innkeeper had made it very clear that she had better things to do than watching every glass man who sat down on her counter).

Meggie took her brother Dante on long walks through the streets of the neighborhood where Rosenquartz had seen Orpheus’ glass man. She hoped Dante might spot him more easily since he was so small.

But there was no trace of Ironstone anywhere. The futile search and the fear they all felt brought back dark memories. Memories of the reign of the Adderhead and the sinister role Orpheus had played back then. After five years of peace, the past seemed almost unreal. But everyone who searched the city for the glass man remembered all too well the fear and pain of those days. When the sun was setting and they still hadn’t found Ironstone, even her Ugliness’ soldiers joined the efforts. But they couldn’t find him either.

Only one of Orpheus‘ old foes wasn’t in Ombra when Rosenquarz’s discovery disrupted Ombra’s peace. Farid had spent the last year or so at the courts of South Lorraine, being celebrated for his fire shows. It was a long journey there but Doria’s brother, the Strong Man, agreed to go to find and warn Farid after Dustfinger asked him to.

“Well, you seem very sure that Orpheus is still alive,“ Fenoglio said to Dustfinger as they stood at the city wall with the Black Prince and watched the Strong Man disappear down the road. Despite his size he had, as always, chosen a donkey to carry him.

“I never believed he was dead,“ Dustfinger replied.

Another day came and went. One by one, everyone got back to work, even though the unease stayed with them and they knew that from now on, their eyes would linger on any glass man they saw.

“Hell, I just hope Orpheus doesn’t hear about all this chaos,” Fenoglio grumbled as he rested his sore feet in Minerva’s kitchen that night. “That scumbag would probably take it as a compliment.“

“I still hope he’s dead,“ Rosenquartz chirped “and that his glass man will join him soon.“

Dead… As if that meant much in this world. Fenoglio simply grunted and held his empty glass out to Minerva. 

Dustfinger had been dead, so had Cosimo the Fair. It was all too easy to come back from the dead in this world. No, he wanted a more permanent end for Orpheus and his toxic silvertongue.

Minerva filled him his glass with obvious disapproval and put the bottle back in the cupboard. Yes, yes, he was drinking too much – he always did when something was worrying him. Oh, hell, why had he ever invented tiny men made of glass?! Of course, he didn’t say that out loud. If Rosenquartz heard, he would dance over at least five pages of his new manuscript. After dipping his shoes in fresh ink.

Not that it would have mattered much. Fenoglio wrote strictly for fun these days, for Dante or Minerva’s children, but he was still attached to his stories. Resa illustrated them with beautiful drawings that could have competed with the paintings of the great Balbulus – even though he was so full of himself that he strode through Ombra like a puffed up bullfrog.

“Do you want me to make you some hot milk with honey?“ Minerva asked when Fenoglio sighed into his wine. “You’ve barely slept for days. Wherever Orpheus is hiding, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of killing you from afar, do you?”

No, surely not. For inky heaven’s sake! Just why was it so much easier to believe in impending misfortune than a happy ending? They’d had such good years. He hadn’t thought of the other world for one minute. Well, he missed his grandkids from time to time, but Dante and Minerva’s children were excellent substitutes. Hell, he was a heartless old man!

The dogs started barking down in the yard. Visitors so late at night. Minerva looked just as surprised as Fenoglio – and just as worried.

But it was just the bookworm woman who stood at the door. Ombra’s good bakeries had made Elinor Loredan even rounder whereas Darius, as always right behind her like a living shadow, was as spindly as a locust despite all the cakes he shared with her. Truly enviable. He didn’t look as melancholic as usual. Maybe the rumors were true that he’d fallen in love with the girl who dusted Loredan’s bookshelves. She was very pretty. “Stop it, Fenoglio, you could be her grandfather!” he silently scolded himself.

“You won’t believe it!“ Elinor spluttered as she followed Fenoglio up the steep stairs which led to Minerva’s kitchen. “Darius! Go on, tell them! Can’t you see I can barely get out the words?“

Books were still being written by hand in this world, which made them very expensive, so she had found a new passion. Loredan attended the performances of each and every troupe of actors who performed in Ombra, no matter how raggedy. Some of them had started bringing along an armchair for her.

“Tell me what?“ Fenoglio asked. After all these years, Elinor Loredan still managed to drive him up the proverbial wall. He wasn’t sure whether he admired Darius for his patience with her or thought him a fool.

“We had an unexpected visitor today.“ Hearing Darius‘ gentle voice, no one would have suspected that he was a very talented silvertongue. “Orpheus’ glass man showed up at our door.”

Fenoglio’s heart stopped long enough that for a moment he was sure it would never beat again.

“Just walked right in!“ Elinor shook her head in such outrage that it started raining hairpins out of her gray hair. “That disrespectful glass head! I have no clue how he managed to get past the dog!“ The Black Prince had talked her into getting said dog, even though she didn’t like dogs. She couldn’t deny the Prince anything. Fenoglio suspected that she was in love with him. Anyway – it was such a gigantic creature that Mortimer had already proposed the theory that it wasn’t a dog at all but a small bear. Which would in turn explain why he got along so well with the Prince’s own tame bear.

“Great Heavens! Elinor Loredan, who cares how the glass man got past the damn dog?!“ Fenoglio blustered. “What did he want? What did he say? I hope you caught him?“

“Caught him?“ Elinor pushed back her messy hair (it was always messy) and took a sip of Fenoglio’s wine. “The pipsqueak carries a sword! Not much longer than a toothpick but I’m sure he would’ve stabbed me in the hand! Altough he was very polite. Right, Darius?”

“Exceedingly polite,“ Darius agreed. “He told us his new master, a troubadour, was so confused about all the excitement they caused that he told him to visit all of us and explain that Orpheus died four years ago. An avalanche, he said, near Trent if I remember correctly. After visiting us he planned to go find Mortimer and then Dustfinger. His new master apparently has a lot of respect for his fire.”

“Really?“ Fenoglio frowned but Rosenquartz cut him off.

“Lies!“ he shrieked. “That smoky gray miscreant lies as soon as he opens his mouth! A troubadour? The man I saw him with looked more like a professional murderer!”

Fenoglio stepped to the window and looked down at the empty street.

“I don’t like this,“ he murmured. “I don’t like this one bit. I hope he shows up here as well. I’ll get the truth out of him. After all, I invented his kind.”

Rosenquartz rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“He wanted to go to Mortimer next?” Fenoglio turned around with a sudden jerk that signaled determination and impatience – and a hint of fear. Maybe a little more than that. “Alright. Then I will wait for him there.“

“The Folcharts aren’t home,“ Elinor said. “I already told the glass man the same. They’re all with Doria’s mother to discuss the engagement.”

“Engagement, what engagement?“ Fenoglio exclaimed. “Don’t I get told anything anymore?“

“Meggie’s engagement to Doria. I told you last week,“ Minerva said while she handed Rosenquarz a thimble filled with lentil soup. “But of course you don’t remember. You only ever remember things that concern yourself.”

Fenoglio ignored the comment. He was very good at ignoring comments regarding his character.

“But… Meggie is way too young to get married!“ he shouted, very cross that the story had taken yet another turn he’d neither written nor foreseen. “How can Mortimer allow that?”

Elinor abruptly stood up from her chair. “Don’t be an idiot! Meggie’s life isn’t some book you’re writing!” she snapped. “Have you forgotten what she went through? She hasn’t been too young for anything for a long time. You’re just very very old! Good night, Minerva!”

And with that she was out of the door, followed by Darius who had looked very sentimental upon hearing the word “engagement”.

(Next chapter)

[chappedandfadedvds]

Dec 16th, Wednesday 18:13

„What are you doing here?

Jens almost managed to pull his head out without hitting the frame. Almost.

He had to bite his lip in order not to cry out in pain under his breath. Meanwhile his mother had the audacity to laugh at him, when he slowly got to his feet and took the gloves off. He was done anyways. At least he could rub the spot now that was asking for his attention. Fortunately it didn’t feel as if it would swell. At least something.

„I was cleaning the oven.“ He replied instead as he found his mother watching him amused from the end of the kitchen counter. She leaned against it. She also looked as if she would slump to the floor any moment from now, should she not have sufficient support to keep her upright.

„I can see that, but why?“ 

„I needed to keep myself busy.“ Jens stated truthfully. 

After he had come home from dropping off the folder filled to the brim with papers at Alexander De Wael’s office in his law firm. Since that very moment Jens had felt frustratingly restless. Lotte had rushed towards her room the second they stepped into the house and Jens had checked briefly on his mom who appeared asleep. So without any distraction and no interest to just lay on the sofa or his bed he had uncharacteristically cleaned his entire room and vaccumed all floors. To his unfortune it was only half past five, Jens noticed dissatisfied with a glance at his phone.

Therefore he had somehow proceeded to open the oven and figured that the small crusted stains probably shouldn’t be there. With a swift search through the cleaning supplies, he actually found the right bottle and got to work. That was almost fourty minutes ago and now he was done. Perhaps he could start with dinner. It shouldnt get too late for Lotte anyway.

Jens was about to open the fridge when he registered his mom moving a little closer, quite weak on her feet. 

„Are you alright?“

„You shouldn’t be up in your condition.“ He countered, knowingly ingonring his mother’s worried face. He knew that it probably wasn’t the best way to deal with emptional stress, but at least the house will be spick and span afterwards.

„I was lonely.“ His mother sighed and obviously meant it too, as her eyes lost the glimmer while the smile fell off her lips. Great now he couldn’t just send her back upstairs, could he? How unfair. She noticed it immediately, trying to get some lightness into her expression, when she pointed at one of the hanging cabinets next to Jens. The one that hold the cups and glasses.

„I actually just wanted to get something to drink.“ She smirked. „Didn’t know I’d run into the maid.“

„Ha ha, very funny.“ Jens couldn’t help but grin in return, just as amused as she seemed to be at the moment. Maid. He was definitely not a maid. 

„Okay, I concede. Will you at least take the sofa and I’ll promise to get you some water before I prepare dinner?“ He proposed, seeing his mother nod in agreement, before she let her son sneak an arm around her middle to hold her up, while the two of them made their way over. Silence settled uneasy between them and Jens couldn’t quite place where it stemmed from. He just knew he hated it. Perhaps he could just put some music on while cooking. For now though some conversation would hopefully do.

„I actually found a recipe that I wanted to try. Some kind of turkish lentil stew.“ He went on to explain to his mom what ingrediants would be used and talked her through the preperation steps, as he helped her lay down and drape the big wollen blacket over her. She had shivered lightly before, despite the thick socks, long sweats, shirt and cardigan.

Jens had spent all monday afternoon searching for new recipies, which was harder than he had expected. It needed to be something easily digestable, something that didn’t needed to be chewed. So that mainly meant soups. And to be honest, other than a pumpkin or a potato stew his repertoire was greatly limited. Until now, he hoped.

So in order not to have to eat the same two meals in alternation, alternatives were strongly needed.

„I should have let you cook way sooner.“ His mother teased, thanking Jens for the glass of water. She nipped on it, her face faintly contorted as she gulped down the liquid. She tried hard not to show it, but to no avail. Jens noticed it immediately and immediately looked away.

He found it hard to keep his eyes on her anytime she looked ill enough for him not to be able to brush her sickness aside.

„I would have only declared you insane and gone off to smoke with Moyo or something.“ Jens replied, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as he continued to brighten the mood a little. „Honestly, imagine 16 year old me spending hours in the kitchen to cook?“

Jens had tilted his head at her, expectantly awaiting her reaction. They both knew very well that that was close to inconcivable. Jens would have done anything in his might to not have to deal with every kind of housework. He was a pretty shitty son to have, now that he reminded him of his sixteen year old self. He had drank at parties til the middle of the night, smoked too much weed, sneaked out to his girllfriends, ditched way too many classes. 

Truth be told, he prayed to any god willing to hear him out that Lotte would come to be a very considered and an easy teenager to have. Because he wasn’t sure how long he could keep his cool if not. At this point in his life Jens would quite likey have kicked his own younger self’s ass, for the bullshit he had pulled.

His mother only chuckled, definitely confirming him to be right on his assesment.

„Oh you are so correct. I am very happy that you get to understand my point of view finally. Though I’d absolutely would have you checked by a doctor if I had found you cleaning the oven back than.“

„Glad to hear that you aren’t now calling for therapy.“ He laughed surprisingly content again. „I really should start on dinner though. Call me if you need something, yes?“

„Yes, son!“ She saluted him with a wink, only to lay her head back on the pillow that leaned against the sofa’s arm. His mother’s eyes fell shut, signaling Jens to better leave her to rest for another hour until they could eat together in the livingroom later that evening. The last couple of night, he only had brought her some dinner to bed, while Lotte and him ´had ate first at the table downstairs.

It would actually be a nice change for once.

Lotte would love it.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

[stories-by-rie]

#4 Winter Panic

A/N: there’s some swearing in this one, also some panic

Several months later, winter was still clinging to Guhlsdorf, covering it in a coat of white. While everyone was longing for the spring to come, the new students at the Searcher’s School had found a new home behind those walls that shielded them from the outside.

 It was a boring day. The first year was only theoretical studies of runes and while harsh wind was blowing outside, the students were listening to the different types of runes associated with healing purposes.

  “And this one, called Hanne, is a rune that will slow down blood flow. How and why that can be useful is something you will study next year in medicine class. But you need to be able to read it either way of course, and it will be relevant for the midterms.” The teacher, Mrs Martens, in front of the class was a woman close to her retirement. She wore her grey hair in a strict bun, wrinkles on her forehead that surely had come from all the frowning. Despite her appearance, she was a very soft person though. Her voice was light and when she spoke, it was a little as if the words danced to her students. She was quite tolerant and maybe even as the only teacher at that school, she was indifferent to Jeanne’s family relations. Not only indifferent, but she actually seemed to have grown quite fond of her. Which might have been the reason, why she instantly noticed when something was wrong.

 “Ms Everley, are you fine?”, she interrupted her class and every head turned to the pale girl sitting in the back of the classroom. She had buried her face into her hands and as her name was mentioned she flinched and looked up. “Is it your headaches again?”, Mrs Martens added.

 “No, no, I am fine”, Jeanne replied hurriedly, her voice a little stiff.

 “Are you sure? You may go to the infirmary if your health isn’t well.”

 “Mrs Martens”, another girl interrupted and put on a too friendly smile, “I think Jeanne must suffer from exhaustion, since she clearly didn’t have a headache, but fell asleep during class.”

Chatter and quiet giggles echoed through the room and Mrs Marten’s friendly face grew a little darker.

 “Well, if it’s exhaustion, you may be excused from today’s lecture and rest instead. If that’s not the case, I want to ask you to listen more carefully, please.”

Gloating hung in the air until the teacher resumed the course. Obviously, Jeanne stayed in the class, after all she hadn’t fallen asleep due to exhaustion but boredom.

  “You can’t always fall asleep during class, they’re going to kick you out of school”, Ahn scolded on their way back to their dormitories after class was over. Jeanne let her shoulders drop and sighed deeply.

 “I know, I know. It’s just so boring. I can’t help it.”

 “You have to think of something exciting instead. Like, think about your favourite noodle soup. You won’t fall asleep.”

 “Ahn, if I have to hear your passive complaints about the school’s food one more time, I’ll feed you my succulent”, Mira bickered and crossed her arms before her chest.

 “It’s not my fault! We’ve been here for four months now, and the only soup they serve in the canteen is lentil soup. Lentil! Who liked lentil soup?”

 “Anyway. They won’t kick you out for falling asleep, but the other students already dislike you, so you shouldn’t give them something to hold against you”, Mira said to Jeanne.

 “I know, I know.”

 “It’s kinda unfair. My family never taught me anything about runes, Collectors and Searchers. Nothing aside from anecdotes that is. You really have such a cool advantage”, Ahn dreamed and opened the door to their dormitory for them.

  “Well, at least you actually think that classes are interesting. So I don’t know whether I would call my strict education an actual advantage.”  It was late in the afternoon and the few hours of their free time laid before them. After their tight schedule, no one of them really was in the mood to do any activities, and so they agreed to just hang out in their rooms. Ahn left on her floor and finally Jeanne and Mira were alone in theirs again as well.

During the time the two girls had managed to warm up to each other a little and the first thing that happened as they entered their dorm was that Mira turned on the music. Jeanne, who never really had bothered for this art, liked the change. She sat down on her bed and started to read through one of her books, while Mira worked on her playlist, singing along to one of blackpink’s songs, dancing along as good as possible while working on her laptop.

  “How can you actually read stuff like that after that horrible day? Isn’t your head going to explode learning those high level runes?”

 “I was sleeping during all classes. So...”

Mira giggled and as she had her music set, she pulled out her crotchet and sung along in very questionable Korean.

  It was only a few hours later that sirens started wailing. Mira and Jeanne both shot up, alarmed looks on their faces.

  “Maybe it’s just a training?”, Mira whispered.

  “At nine in the evening?”

  “Is that the siren for fire or creatures?”

  “Creatures.”

They looked at each other, and in unison got ready to leave the dormitories.

Hectic voices yelled through the building, over all of them the older students who tried to keep the panic down.

  “Where’s Ahn?”, asked Mira with slight fear in her voice.

  “Don’t worry, she’s probably already outside. Let’s just hurry.”

The sky was already black and the clouds shut out all the light the moon could have offered. The heavy and rhythmic steps of the Searchers stomped through the snow, while the lower grades walked towards the open spaces where they had to gather.

  “Fuck, I can’t see Ahn anywhere.” Mira stood on her tiptoes but it was impossible to find single faces among the mass of students.

  “Don’t worry, Mira. She definitely is here. You’ll notice as soon as someone whines about being hungry”, Jeanne tried to calm her, but it didn’t work at all.

  “There! I can see her room mate! Why isn’t she with her?”

Mira fought her way through the people, Jeanne following her closely. Ahn’s room mate was chatting with other classmates, the same horrified look on her face.

  “Tanja, where is Ahn?” Mira had put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, her grip a little too tight.

  “Gosh, what do I know. She wasn’t in our room when the sirens started so she could legit be anywhere.”

  “Fuck. Jeanne. Let’s look for her, please?”

Jeanne didn’t like that idea at all. They weren’t supposed to leave the gather places under any circumstances, but she also saw the panic in her friend’s eyes. Moreover, she considered Ahn her friend as well and was worried just as much.

  “Okay.” They stormed out of the place, a few hands tried to hold them back. The cold wind stung in their eyes and lungs and it was hard to walk on the high snow, causing them to nearly slip several times. Mira yelled Ahn’s name over and over again, but the sirens were way too loud for her to actually be heard.

  “Damn it, Jeanne. Where is she?”

They stood close to the school ground’s gates, the flashing light throwing bizarre shadows on their faces. With a loud humming the flood lights got turned on, illuminating the whole campus in white light as if it was day.

  “Fuck, I can’t see anything”, Mira cursed. Blinded by the light, they would have nearly missed Ahn who was running towards them.

  “Mira! Jeanne! Oh wow I am so relieved to find you here.”

  “Shit, Ahn where have you been?”

  “The drinks dispenser in our dormitory is broken so I went for the one in the dormitory next to ours. But I didn’t know the way to the gathering place from there”, she apologized and with a slightly mischievous grin she added “Why, were you worried about me?”

  Mira was too angry to answer and just grabbed her wrist to lead the way back.

A fast shadow lunged at them. Ever so elegantly, Mira kicked it away from them.

  “Don’t you touch her!”, she shouted at the creature. The cold light made the grey body look even more like a corpse, the four eyes staring at them, a gnarl rumbled inside.

  “How did those get inside?”, Ahn shrieked and dropped her water bottle.

The creature shook its body, crunched down and prepared to jump at them again.

  “This should not be possible”, Jeanne mumbled and before they could be attacked again, they started to run.

  “Just don’t look back, just run to the gathering place!”, Mira said.

  “I honestly don’t know if that’s such a good idea, we will just lead them to the rest of the students”, Jeanne replied.

  “Isn’t a Searcher here anywhere? Help!”, Ahn shouted and did the only reasonable thing.

  “There are more!”, Jeanne warned them as she had dared a look behind.

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

Mira mumbled another curse and started to run even faster. “Let’s just find someone who knows how to fight these things!”

  A loud thud as one of the creatures got hold of Jeanne’s leg. She kicked herself free and with a helping hand of Mira, she got up again.

  “What are you still doing here? You were supposed to gather – oh shit!” Finally they had found a Searcher. The girl stared at the creatures with the same horror as they did, but she had her collector ready. The golden device hovered above her left hand and with the right she quickly chose the rune and blasted the creatures away.

  “Go to the gathering place. Don’t tell anyone of this just yet to avoid panic!”, she ordered and the three friends quickly complied.

~ masterlist ~

[nowhereiswhereibelong]

73 Questions

I mas tagged by: @mrs-machinegun-norris about two centuries ago sorry

On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?

• 5

Describe yourself in a hashtag?

• #sadbicht

• Cause I'm a bad bicht you can't kill me, only I do that

If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?

• Aaron Taylor-Johnson

• Colson Backer

If your life was a musical, what would the marquee say?

• The crazy bisexual is on the loose

What’s one thing people don’t know about you?

• That I cant handle silence

What’s your wake up ritual?

• All my cats and family yells at me till I roll of take my meds and stare at the wall till I'm late

What’s your go to bed ritual?

• Make sure I cleaned the litter box and that my cats have food and water then is up to bed and reading anything and everything till I fall a sleep

What’s your favourite time of day?

• Night time (I get the zoomies), or when I'm home alone

Your go to for having a good laugh?

• I really like comedy and some that make me laugh even when I watched 1000 times: John Mulaney, Daniel Sloss, Russel Howard and Sarah Millican

Dream country to visit?

• As many as I can! I have an extensive list

What’s the biggest surprise you’ve had?

• Last semester 3 professors at university were really supportive and understanding and I didnt expect them to be so kind or belive in me that much.

Heels or flats/sneakers?

• Sneakers everywhere all the time for any given reason

Vintage or new?

• Vintage bits and pisses of different eras but late 80s early 90s give me live

• And I'm obsessed with 70s buildings dont know why

Who do you want to write your obituary?

• An creative stranger - go nuts dude freak people out

Style icon?

• dont have one I guess

What are three things you can’t live without?

• My cats

• My phone

• My guitar

What’s one ingredient you put in everything?

• I'm crazy about mustard

• My dad always says anything salivary can be better with cheese and anything sweet be better with chocolate - not that far from the truth

What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for?

• Elvis Presley

• Jane Fonda

• Janis Joplin

What’s your biggest fear in life?

• Failure

• The dark

Window or aisle seat?

• Window: you can look at the view, it's better for sleeping and during the day sunlight for reading

What’s your current TV obsession?

• A have many, it's a problem, but right now mind hunter

Favourite app?

• Instagram and tumblr

Secret talent?

• I like to lie to myself and say acting but maybe just weirdly good at pretending to be good at things (ain't that the joke huh)

Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?

• I would say it was dumb, stupid and streamly dangerous but when I was 16 a friend and I went to some guys house in a very weird neighborhood and lied to our parents about it and only 1 other friend new (also our taxi couldn't find the house). We meet those two guys at a friends party and they said that they were throwing one and that we should go, and our dumb selfdestruting alcohol hunting minds though, why not. It was not a party. It was just a hang out with us and one other guy and to this day I dont know how we left at 7am (the only way to get out of there was the first bus because uber wasn't a thing yet and me and my friend were to scared of what kind taxi driver we would find) unharmed and not sexually harassed, given that one of the dudes that our friends new more hated me for a few months for not putting out for him, cause you know, men.

• I'm absolutely sure they wanted a sex party that didnt happen. But I did show my unasked skills of knowing every single black veil brides lyrics.

How would you define yourself in three words?

• Anxious

• Laud

• Loyal

Favourite piece of clothing you own?

• The stolen 80s tshirts from my dad

• High waisted shorts

Must have clothing item everyone should have?

• A comfortable pair of jean shorts that you feel pretty in

Superpower you would want?

• To stop time

• I get to anxious trying to time manage and it just snowballs from there. And sleeping in without being always late.

What’s inspiring you in life right now?

• Machine Gun Kelly (I stared listening to his stuff a few months ago)

• But always and forever is the passion that moves people

Best piece of advice you’ve received?

• Be/do to other people what you wanted to be done for you

Best advice you’d give your teenage self?

• It's not just on your head it's a real thing, you're lot alone, and it ok to need help.

A book that everyone should read?

• Harry Potter: that even thou I have read multiple times it still is amazing and full of symbolism that people brush through some times.

• Women who run with the wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés

• My older sister made me start this book and its absolutely live changing and I belive should be obligatory to all women in this world. This book is a live long work by this psychologist and through miths, legends, folk tales and stories she puts together what she calls the wild women archetype and what is the feminine instinct is and how those tales teach us about it and how to have a healthy relationship with her.

What would you like to be remembered for?

• For being kind

How do you define beauty?

• It's an powerfull force within

What do you ~love most~ only love about your body?

• The shape of my eyes

Best way to take a rest/decompress?

• Listening to music and dancing around

Favourite place to view art?

• I dont understand sorry

If your life were a song, what would the title be?

• Static supernova

If you could master one instrument, what would it be?

• Guitar and piano cant choose only one

If you had a tattoo, where would it be?

• My planned ones:

• Orca

• Felix felicis

• Tree

• Mother earth

• Penicillin allergy (I dont trust nobody)

Dolphins or koalas?

• Dolphins

• Did you y'all know that orcas not only aren't whales but belong on the same family as dolphins?

What’s your spirit animal?

• Orca

Best gift you’ve ever received?

• My cats (even thou there are rescues they're my little special gifts from nature)

Best gift you’ve ever given?

• On my best friend wedding my friend and I gave a performance as siluetes (it was private beach and all the light were off and we had the car headlights behind us) I played the song you are in love by taylor swift while she did an beautiful performance on silks the song represented their relationship and how she shared it if us in a very sacred way and the silks was a representation of her herself and how the 3 of us saw in the last few years her transformation from a very broken person to the women she was born to be.

• Yes we were crying the hole time but was the most genuine and beautiful think I ever done so yeah

What’s your favourite board game?

• Dix it, its awesome go play it pls

What’s your favourite colour?

• Petrol blue

Least favourite colour?

• The color of lentil soup my mom makes it looks like a baby have serious digestive problems

Diamonds or pearls?

• Diamonds of the symbolic value of "the pressure that could've break us made us into diamonds insted"

Drugstore makeup or designer?

• Drugstore makeup, the one I know that are real brands hauahauahs

Blow-dry or air-dry?

• Air-dry

Pilates or yoga?

• Pilates even thou I must prefer sports mostly

Coffee or tea?

• My blood is coffee at this point

What’s the weirdest word in the English language?

• Wolrd, because English is not my first language and specially in an American accent the pronunciation of wolrd if simply the worst and is absolutely obnoxious and unsettling.

Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?

• Dark

• But my absolut favored is a 70% cacao white chocolate. It's incredible but I only got to buy it twice :(

Stairs or elevator?

• Stairs, I also love to sit on them

Summer or winter?

• Winter. I only like heat if I'm inside very cold water

You are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat?

• If nutrition value doesn't matter, ice cream

A desert you don’t like?

• Orange cake. Bad memories and I vomit every time I try to eat it.

A skill you’re working on mastering?

• Singing and playing the guitar

Best thing to happen to you today?

• I think I made a online friend :D

Best compliment you’ve ever received?

• That I'm kind

Favourite smell?

• Buttering sugar

Hugs or kisses?

• Hugs i Iike to be permanently attached to some people at times

If you made a documentary, what would it be about?

• Domestic violence

• Parenting

Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?

• Today I was trying to play this song called Ronan and cryed my eyes out like all the other times I tried before It's a song of child cancer in the mother's perspective

Lipstick or lip gloss?

• Lipstick

• I'm a red matte lip stan

Sweet or savoury?

• Sweet

Girl crush?

• Billie Elish

How you know you’re in love?

• The only time I think I've been in love I only realised it because they left and I didnt understand why i was severely hurt by it and changed the way I created all relationships after that. And then it hit me

• So pain and heartache.... yeah that's depressing as shit

Song you can listen to on repeat?

• When the sun goes down - Arctic Monkeys

If you could switch lives with someone for a day who would it be?

• My own self but not a anxious depressed mess just to feel what it's like

What are you most excited about at this time in your life?

• That I dont need to make decisions

[vaguely-concerned]

Overwatch cookbook lore thoughts

b/c I’m not proud, I’ll be excited beyond reason for any scraps of lore and these are actually really fun

- let me open by saying that “A longtime resident of the Southwest, where cultures collide and outlaw justice prevails, Jesse McCree built his own personal brand of right and wrong. Also born out of a complex history, these cookies have a decidedly old-world flavour with a twist” are the greatest lines ever conceived in the English language, and I am tempted to put my pen down for good in the face of it. Nothing I write will ever be as good. ‘also born out of a complex history, these cookies’ what more could I even add

on a further personal note: I can’t fucking believe I actually hit on the emotional implications of the cookies thing like two years ago! between that and the was-temporarily-a-farmboy vindication I can keep warm on cold nights for approximately fifty years, thank you, my AU is at least canon adjacent in ways I didn’t expect lol

also the idea of him starting the day by downing a drink that handily combines alcohol and caffeine makes me feel honor bound to reiterate that young jesse living off of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and adrenaline must have been a wild-eyed, wildfire clever, awesome-in-the-original-sense sight to behold. I am laughing and crying simultaneously, which is the mood he habitually inspires in me god bless him  

- for some actual new info and not just my rambling internal monologue: Torbjörn’s wife Ingrid is a genius chemical engineer! One gets the feeling the Lindholm household is very warm and loving but exhausting to anyone without the genes for constant curious tinkering and experimentation

- There are very clear, very intentional mentions of both Vincent and Emily, which has me so sad all over again that this development team is housed in a company that actively sides with tyranny and human rights abuses (as opposed to the more tacit complicity of the rest of the industry, which remains shitty but at least most of them don’t cheerfully double down on it in public. ah ain’t capitalism grand fuck blizzard as a company, sympathy to the good people working for blizzard it must be a uncomfortable place to be) 

- winston dipping bananas in peanut butter pudding to get them down fhdskjafhsakf now I don’t know how aging actually works for borderline-my-god-what-has-your-science-wrought biological experiment gorillas, but he! is! such! a! teenage! boy!!!!! the sweetest hairiest teenage boy! give him his family back! dr. winston sr used to make them cookies ;o;

- Reinhardt remains indecently wonderful and delightful. ‘Beneath Reinhardt’s armor is a jovial man with an insatiable zest for life’. poetry. 

- ‘Though she had little time to cook, Ana could put together a comforting lentil soup even on nights when Fareeha insisted she needed nothing. A mother always knows best’ 😭😭😭😭 I am practically allergic to mother figures but you know what for all her faults ana amari is the actual best and I love her so much, they somehow managed to convey through fareeha’s recipes how much she misses her mom,  h e l p  

- D.Va’s entries are just. harrowing. I like that they don’t look away from the horrible inhuman weight on her shoulders every hour of every day even in this lighthearted cooking book, that was real nice of them 

- jack morrison is an absolute sweetie pie and it hurts me. seems like he’s one of the few heroes who actually does some cooking, along with reyes! also that little tidbit about him and ana eating breakfast together back in the day (and him absolutely doing the cooking in that duo)... BrOTP 4ever, between that and the mention of reyes, amari & morrison eating churros together after missions I am emotionally compromised

- I’ve seen Genji’s before actually but for some comments: a) the fact that across the lore one of his most consistent Things is that on some level he just... really wants his big brother back? even after everything?? is an eternally bleeding wound in my heart that never heals, b) the shimadas had a dedicated family chef! and it sounds like they had a slightly closer relationship with the boys than what’s implied to be the case in the ogundimu family, for example, and c) genji is one of the characters who’s mentioned the most in other characters’ recipes, predictably! I like that he learned to like the healthy muesli... eventually lol (also I feel like the canon has vacillated on whether he actually eats and drinks stuff still, but all this seems very settled that he does and has the whole way, even under Mercy’s care)

- can u believe... that hanzo’s idea of a simpler, happier time involves him overachieving enough to let him have a few minutes to himself and a meal alone. how does he do that. how does he break my heart at every turn. why is ‘diligently completing the tasks his father had set out before him’ so crushingly achingly sad. he just wants to eat nice simple foods in peace everyone leave him alone I will fight talon I will fight the shimada clan pls just let something nice happen to him Y______________Y

- GLØGG GLØGG GLØGG GLØGG! secondhand scandinavian joy (the book neglects to mention that it’s a drink heavily associated with christmas/at the very least wintertime, it would feel super weird to drink it during the summer lol) also ‘saft’ seems to be called ‘squash’ in a lot of places in English, I had never thought to translate it before it’s just such an iconic childhood staple lol 

- I love that sombra’s show how much of a fucking nerd she actually is. being an elite amoral-ish hacker is 2% cool parkour and glowing implants and 98% sitting in the dark in front of a screen with snack food for days at a time 

- I don’t like Ashe very much, but BOB making comfort food for her unasked and her parents having ruined most desserts for her through emotional neglect and general shittiness are both undeniably heartbreaking

- *mercy, dead eyed, pouring brandy into her chamomile tea* self medicating (I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS ACTUALLY CANON IT IS SO FUNNY)

- Roadhog conscientiously writing down Junkrat’s -- let’s generously call them ‘recipes’ -- just in case he’ll want them later is the most weirdly heartwarming thing I have ever heard 

- “They’re a great dessert to share anywhere, including at clandestine meetings for plotting the next world crisis” allow me to just... savour this mental image of talon members eating sweets under doomfist’s watchful eye for a bit (also... beneath the tough man act he is  s u c h  a rich fuckboy. he prefers gin because he thinks it’s more sophisticated oh my GOD)

[bensboynton]

cooking with ben h.c

requested: no

word count: 594

warnings: fluff, some swearing, unedited.

A/N: lowkey a whore for domestic ben so i had to write this. here u go.

ok so i just KNOWW ben loves to cook. 

even if he’s not necessarily the best at it

so every time you get up to make breakfast, lunch, dinner, etc, he’s hot on your heels to try and help. 

he claims he took a culinary class in high school, but isn’t exactly sure what all the settings mean on your microwave. 

“ben, why are you using the popcorn setting?”

“because i’m making microwave popcorn!”

“did you not see the big label on the back of the package that says ‘do not use popcorn button?”

“...no.”

ben really likes to watch you cook too. 

especially when he burns the first batch of whatever it is you’re making and you force him to sit down at the table you can take care of everything else. 

he also really enjoys buying new aprons and cooking utensils for your kitchen. 

“babe, did you see this spatula? we HAVE to buy it! it has a dog on it and it looks like Frankie.”

he starts to watch more cooking shows, especially all of the ones gordon ramsay hosts. 

he really gets into them sometimes, muttering under his breath how absolutely stupid the mistakes the contestants make are. 

“unbelievable. how do you just ‘forget” to add salt? i swear if she doesn’t get eliminated this round i’m going to stop watching this god forsaken show.”

but he’ll never stop watching it and you know it. 

ben also has gotten into the habit of exchanging recipes with joe. 

“babe, look at this lentil soup recipe joe just sent me. i think we should try it.”

ben really likes to try and surprise you with home cooked meals,, but while it may be extremely delicious, he manages to leave the kitchen looking like a disaster. 

same thing for when the both of you try to bake.

but sometimes, it’s even worse. 

the occasional flour fight takes place, and next thing you know you and ben are covered in the white powder and it looks like there was a slight snow storm in the middle of your kitchen. 

but you couldn’t stay mad at ben for longer then a few minutes, especially when all he does is hug you from behind and massage your shoulders while your making something like the cute little fuck that he is.

ben is also a very precise person, always needs the measurements to be absolutely perfect when he’s making something. 

is absolutely the person that will dump the ingredient out of the measuring cup and scoop it back in multiple times to be sure he has the perfect amount. 

ben gets so frustrated if the recipe doesn’t work out. 

“i don’t understand, i put all the ingredients in and double checked the measurements, left it in the oven for the set amount of time, what happened? why does it look like that?”

“did you use baking soda or baking powder?”

“baking soda. why?”

“because the recipe calls for baking powder.”

“oh.”

but don’t get me wrong ben can still make some really good food.

like one time, he made this four cheese lasagna for a get together you had at your shared flat with some of the borhap cast, and you about cried when you took your first bite. 

he was so happy with himself that he voluntarily made dinner all by himself every day that week. 

until he forgot about some pasta he put in the pot and fell asleep on the couch, and was rudely awoken by a smoke alarm and the overwhelming smell of something burning. 

you had to take away his cooking privileges for a week after having to clean that mess up. 

he was sometimes a mess in the kitchen, but he was your mess, afterall. 

[hallsp]

Ramadan Diary

Ramadan is a month of fasting, prayer, and self-reflection for the world’s two billion Muslims. The observance of Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam, a central tenet of the faith. The holy month itself commemorates the start of the recitation of the Qur’an to Mohammad, culminating in Laylat al-Qadr, the Night of Destiny, which celebrates the very first revelation.

The date for Ramadan varies from year to year, as the Islamic calendar is based on the movements of the moon, not the sun. This year, it began on the night of Sunday, May 5th, when the religious authorities glimpsed the thin crescent of a new moon.

I decided, after some encouragement from my students, to fast for all of Ramadan as a kind of personal challenge. This is a diary of my progress.

Monday, 6th May

Today was long, and hungry. I didn’t eat a morsel, nor drink a drop, all the livelong day. It wasn’t easy. I thought about food quite a lot. Bron, my roommate, is also fasting so we can do iftar together. An app tells me that the evening call to prayer, called maghrib, is at 19.27, but it began a small bit later — an agonizing two minutes — at about 19.29. Maryam, my other roommate, and raised Muslim, told me we have to wait until the prayer is finished, bless the food bismillah, and then eat. I broke the fast with some water and some dates, as is the custom, then devoured a chicken curry.

Tuesday, 7th May

Small bit easier today. Didn’t think of food so often. I was noticeably more tired though. I slept for an hour when I came home. Some strange reactions from some of the teachers to my fasting, but a lot of encouragement from fellow-fasters. Advice from other fasters includes waking at 3 or 4 AM for suhur, the pre-dawn meal, and easing into the iftar in the evenings with soup and salad. I decided against suhur, for reasons of laziness, so my fast is actually more extreme, having one meal, as opposed to two meals, per day. Broke the fast with some dates, a lot more water, and the last part of my chicken curry.

Wednesday, 8th May

Getting into the swing of things now, the hunger isn’t so obvious throughout the day, but much less energy. I’m in a very good mood, though. I’ve decided to make a fattoush salad, with the help of my Syrian friend Majd, who’s Christian and thinks I’m crazy for fasting. He also helped make lentil soup, another staple dish, with Bron, my roommate. So, this was a proper iftar: dates, soup, salad, and bread.

Thursday, 9th

Talked with the Biology teacher, who’s also fasting. He tells me that people ought to re-orient their mind towards other people during Ramadan, and that it’s not about feasting once the sun goes down. Look out, not in, essentially. More advice received: do not eat an even number of dates. Mohammad used to eat three. Broke the fast with (three) dates, and water. I made my own fattoush, which worked out very well. We also had leftover soup from yesterday, and I bought chicken tawouq, which I ate with bread.

Friday, 10th May

Today is International Day at school. The worst event for people fasting. There was food from every country on the planet. I had to borrow a tupperware container to bring the food home. Worse, today is Friday. The weekend is here. I have to go on a trip to Batroun for a bachelorette party with my friends leaving Beirut at about 5pm. Drink will certainly be taken. I can’t avoid it. Anyway, I’m not doing the fast for religious reasons, so once the sun goes down, I can eat, drink, and be merry. The hangover will be tough without a lot of water to compensate, though. We arrived in Batroun at 19:30 so I hopped out of the van, chugged some water, had a few dates, then started into the champagne. I managed to squeeze in a chicken burger in between the drinks.

Saturday, 11th May

The hangover wasn’t so bad, actually. In spite of this, I broke the fast for the first time — to drink a small bottle of water. As sins go, not so heinous. I was just so thirsty day after the night before. Religiously, you can break the fast if you’re pregnant, or menstruating, or sick. Maybe a hangover is a type of sickness? Anyway, spent the day on the beach, mostly under cover, and rested. Broke the fast back in Beirut with dates, some tuna fish, and pasta.

Sunday, 12th May

Apparently there’s an exemption on fasting if you’re traveling. I could’ve done with this on the road to Batroun! It also excuses my breach the day of my return to Beirut, I reckon. Broke the fast with dates, water, tawouq, bread, and pasta.

Monday, 13th May

People are always giving you advice when they hear that you’re fasting. Some of it contradictory. Bron was told not to drink so much water before eating at iftar. We decided to try it. Broke the fast with dates, no water, and chicken curry. Then copious amounts of water after. No obvious difference.

Tuesday, 14th May

Bron makes a strong point. Those who alter their body clocks by sleeping during the day and eating all night are cheating in a way. They’re just moving their day around, and sleeping through the hunger. It’s not a proper fast if you can’t feel the hunger. Broke the fast with chicken curry, round two, and lots of water.

Wednesday, 15th May

I feel hungrier today, not sure why. More advice with recommendations for iftar. The mindfulness coach thinks I ought to break the fast with some warm water, not cold, perhaps herbal tea, as this prepares the stomach better for eating, to be followed by three dates. He’s also of the opinion that people should be humble during Ramadan, no talking about their fast, no feasts at iftar, certainly no Instagram pictures. Broke the fast with a chicken burger from Smoked Bun, post-dates. Ridiculously nice.

Thursday, 16th May

I have a day off school today, for the funeral of Patriarch Sfeir, a Lebanese Maronite Cardinal. It was more difficult being home, actually. At work, even though I’m much more active and using more energy, at least I’m kept busy. Today, I caught myself watching cooking videos on YouTube. Broke the fast with (three) dates, and beef fajitas, but made with Lebanese bread.

Friday, 17th May

Broke the fast with a gorgeous mujaddara, a spicy mix of lentils, rice, and onions, made by a chef friend of Bron’s. Eaten with some of his delicious homemade bread, and some 961 Red Ale. Today is my good friend Enzo’s last night in Lebanon so drink will have to be taken again. What choice do I have?

Saturday, 18th May

Asma, Maryam’s friend from the UK whose working with a medical NGO in the Beqaa Valley, came for iftar. She’s a practising Muslim, so we had to lend her a Qur’an and find the Qibla, the direction of prayer. It was nice to get some more insight into the traditions. Apparently we can eat as soon as the call to prayer begins. We ate three dates, some ripe peach, and drank water, followed by mint tea. Dinner included pasta, fattoush, and more mujaddara. We also had ayran, a traditional kind of sour yoghurt drink. After dinner, we drank some Turkish coffee, then some Indian desi chai, made with ginger and milk. Finally, we had some traditional sweets, heloweyat. A proper iftar!

Sunday, 19th May

No hunger pangs at all today. I think my body has fully acclimatised to fasting. A small group of us went to see some childrens’ theatre in Tripoli, directed by a friend of ours and starring some kids from a Syrian refugee camp. It was really entertaining. The boys put on a production about a couple of swindlers selling dodgy seeds. The girls had a modern take on Cinderella. I could understand most of it, so I’m happy. We rushed back to Beirut for iftar. I decided to order a Ramadan Combo from Malik al-Tawouq: lentil soup, salad, and chicken tawouq platter, and a date cookie called ma’moul. Plus, a Miranda tamarind soft drink. The guy who delivered it was fasting and so forgot to take any money! We also ate some traditional Ramadan cheese sweets, heloweyat al-jibn, made with clotted cream called ashta, which we bought in Tripoli. They were spectacular. There’s a beautiful full moon tonight, which means: we’re half way through Ramadan! Ramadan Kareem!

Monday, 20th May

I genuinely don’t feel hungry during the day any more. Intellectually, I know I need to eat, but there are no hunger pangs. It’s not an obvious hunger. My sense of smell is more active, that’s about it. I decided to make chicken biryani today, which worked out really well. No big communal iftar today, as the final episode of Game of Thrones is available. Some things are more important.

Tuesday, 21st May

Bron invited two work friends over, a Syrian Muslim and a Jordanian Christian, and we also invited Dennis from downstairs. Bron made another batch of lentil soup, which was nicer even than the last one. She made fattoush as well. I contributed the remaining biryani. We had a huge variety of ice-creams with cones for dessert.

Wednesday, 22nd May

I didn’t eat so much today. I think my stomach is getting smaller. Broke the fast with three dates, some of the leftover lentil soup, a Mexican bean and tuna fish mix, and some fried haloumi. Fried haloumi is my new favourite food. Also, had a little pot of yoghurt.  

Thursday, 23rd May

The routine now is to break the fast with three dates, and follow this with warm tea, usually mint tea. This really helps the transition to eating. Today, I had a big plate of pasta, some fried haloumi, and a yoghurt.

Friday, 24th May

It’s 38° today. It’s so hot that the cold tap runs warm. It’s at times like these that you appreciate the true value of something as simple as a glass of water. Tonight we’re hosting iftar on our balcony. Maryam made a Palestinian vegetarian maqluba, meaning upside-down, which is made with layers of fried vegetables, potatoes, and rice, which is then flipped before serving, and topped with fried cashew nuts. It was delicious. I made fattoush for seven people, complete with fried pita bread, and it was my best one yet. I was relieved, as I was serving Arabic food to Arabs. My friend Shadi brought his fiancé all the way from Damascus. We eventually made our way to Mezyan in Hamra, where I was rewarded with a free drink for boldly asking for one. It’s Ramadan, after all, the season of good will.

Saturday, 25th May

Myself and my house mates, Maryam and Bron, went to the Beqaa Valley to meet with Asma, who had invited us to iftar with her boss, Doctor Fares, and his extended family. It was such an amazing evening. Typically Syrian. First, we sat around half-talking, half-watching Arab dramas, like Al-Hayba and Khamsa Wa Nos, while the family cooked. People were coming and going all the time. We then went for a short walk with the good doctor’s kids, who were adorable. His eldest daughter, Lamar, had very good English. Then we moved to the garden where we played cards, a version of Trumps. I managed to cheat a bit with help of the kids. Finally, as the sun went down, we ate in a big group in the garden, sitting on cushions around a selection of dishes. There was soup and salad, alongside three different meat dishes: chicken, lamb, and fish. The flavours were superb. The family were a lively bunch. At one point, Doctor Fares insisted on feeding us from his hand. I also discovered that they knew one of my colleagues in Eastwood. Lebanon is a very small place! We sang happy birthday to one his kids and topped it all off with cake. It was the best iftar experience so far.

Sunday, 26th May

Went to Souq al-Ahad, the Sunday market, with Bron. Such a crazy place. We bought some spices, some olives and maqdus (baby aubergine stuffed with chilies, and then pickled) from Aleppo, and salvaged an old backgammon board. It’s a great place to wander for a couple of hours. At one stage I was offered a taste of something, and when I said I was fasting he immediately said (in Arabic): “Me too, I’m Muslim. Are you Muslim? Are you Sunni or Shi’a?” I had to disappoint him by saying neither. It was at this point that he said, with utmost confidence: “It’s only a matter of time.” We broke the fast with a vegetable curry, alongside some maqdus and some Lebanese bread.

Monday, 27th May

I was a small bit busy with work tonight so I had three dates followed by a simple pasta with pesto rosso, onions, and tomato. Naturally, had some mint tea and gallons of water.

Tuesday, 28th May

Today, I had the least amount of food yet. I just had a simple pasta with spicy tomato sauce and cheddar cheese. I couldn’t even finish it. I think my stomach has shrunk over the course of Ramadan. I’m definitely losing weight.

Wednesday, 29th May

Today was a tough day. I was in a bad mood for some reason. I think it’s to do with not having enough energy. Usually, during the whole of Ramadan, my mood has been positive. I think I need to eat enough to maintain my energy levels. Tonight I made chicken vindaloo with egg noodles.

Thursday, 30th May

I had more energy today, back to my normal self. I broke the fast with the remainder of my chicken vindaloo. Also, the requisite number of dates and some mint tea.

Friday, 31st May

Another Friday is upon us. The last, in fact, of Ramadan. Tonight is a big night for Muslims around the world. No-one is quite sure exactly when Laylat al-Qadr is supposed to fall, but most believe it’s the 27th day of Ramadan, which is tonight. It’s also a Friday, so it’s a big deal. We had our last group iftar in the apartment. This time we had three Syrians with us, so we had plenty of help with the food. We had a rice and aubergine dish, a water melon and feta salad, a tabbouleh salad, and some fried haloumi. Later, I nipped downstairs to say goodbye to some friends, before moving to Strada 51, a local bar, and winding up in a swimming pool in a club at 4am. Your typical Laylat al-Qadr.

Saturday, 1st June

I had Arabic class with my friend Majd, from about 2pm. He spent half the day preparing a chicken and rice dish to break the fast with at 7.45. Bless him. I broke the fast with this and some delicious Ethiopian soup made by our friend Jodie, called shiro. It was spicy, and the perfect match for the chicken. I followed this with a few drinks with an Irish guy visiting Lebanon for a week.

Sunday, 2nd June

I broke the fast with three dates, some water, and pasta, alongside some fried haloumi. The end is nigh.

Monday, 3rd June

I had to work today, but I’ve been given the rest of the week off work to celebrate Eid al-Fitr, the Festival of Fast Breaking. Today might well be the last night of Ramadan, but we’ll have to wait for the religious authorities to check on the phase of the moon. It will end either tonight or tomorrow.

If Eid begins tomorrow, Muslims will gather for special prayers called Salat al-Eid, which is usually followed by a small breakfast, the first daytime meal in a month. Eid is usually celebrated by visiting relatives, where gifts are exchanged, and zakat is given to the poor. The kids will get a tidy sum of money. Unsurprisingly, food is very important. After a whole month of fasting, all sorts of delicacies will be eaten.

It’s official. Eid begins tonight. The fast is over. I broke the fast by going to Tariq al-Jadida, a busy part of the southern suburbs, with Bron. We then went to Dahieh, where we had some saj with jibneh and zataar, before walking through the market in Sabra and Shatilla. We ended up back in Tariq al-Jadida looking for heloweyat. We weren’t very successful, but we were given free street food: foul with lemon, and seasoned corn. Tomorrow, I’ll go for breakfast in the morning, and then hit the beach.

Epilogue

This month has been really amazing. I’ve learned so much about the traditions of Islam, I’ve met so many different people, I’ve tasted lots of new foods, and I’ve had some great experiences.

It was trying at times, but the effort was definitely worth it. Ramadan really focuses the mind, and makes you very thankful for what you have. It’s also helped me to think more about portion size and also about my own health. Lastly, it’s helped me bond with others who are fasting, and brought me closer to my Muslim friends and students. I can now say with pride that I made it through the full month of Ramadan.

[slaytorism]

My parents are my biological parents..

On a certain Freaky Friday, a raccoon and I swapped souls. Now, this is how I look like after 10 years, while the coon is serving time in prison for sex trafficking. It is a joke, needless to say. Turns out the said crime is only frowned upon among humans. 

But, never have I not been a bit solicitous around my identity. When I was little, probably 4 or 5, my parents humoured me with an accidental slip of a tongue - that I may have been an adopted child. I was a pretty self aware kid, as all children usually are at that age; so I started maintaining observational notes about behavioural traits, similarities and dissimilarities alike. I presume, these were signs of a boy with an extremely bright future ahead of him. But it was not until the age of 7 I dolled up the courage to confront my supposedly biological parents about this issue. Well, that’s a lie. I was looking for an excuse upon being asked, ‘Why the hell, wasn’t I studying and instead watching TV?’

My only creative response to it was, “Mother, am I adopted?”. My mum was obviously taken aback; established an unusually stern eye contact while adjusting her face to emulate someone who is visibly agitated; as if she was upset about her favourite Hindu deity being featured on a desi edition of the Hustlers magazine. Flabbergasted, her only swift response was, “Well... it depends.” Now wouldn’t you agree that this response is a siren of a sort. All this time I had imagined I could turn out to be a snowflake or a comic book inspiration and here I was, projecting my insecurities encapsulated in a bombshell of a discovery about my birth, which I hadn’t made yet.

Me: “What do you mean, it depends?”

Mum: “It depends on your exam results. Look, it’s no secret. Your father is an accomplished engineer and I am an award winning teacher. So, there has to be something about you that would be socially recognised as a bit academic. Isn’t it honey? (looking at my father) What do you say, dad?”

Dad: “Yeah, yeah - he is fine.”

Me: “What do you mean I am fine?”

Mum: “What your dad means is that, you are so far... not adopted.”

Me: “So, if I perform poorly in the exams, would you put me up for adoption? Mum, I am 7. It’s usually done before human conscience manifests into thoughts and memories. I will remember who you are and frankly, I would be very unhappy with your actions.”

Mum: “Well, let’s not go there young man. WE.. have been pretty unhappy with YOUR actions. (looking at my father) Wouldn’t you say so, Dad?”

Dad: “Yeah, yeah - not good.”

Mum: “Exactly. We have been observing and you are not serious about your education at all. We are concerned!”

Me: “Is that why you’d put me up for adoption?”

Mum: “Now hold on, (pause).. we would never do that..  (looking at my father) right. Dad?”

Dad: “(nodding) Its not as easy as it sounds.”

Mum: “Correct. Also, as you said, it is too late.”

Me: “Is that why? Is that the only reason?”

Mum: “No! We think you’re special.”

Dad: “Did we give him the brochure of the special camp, we are going to drop him this summer?”

Mum: “Oh, yes! Baby, you’re going to a camp for special kids. How exciting!”

Me: “Are you... (whispering) are you calling me the R-word?”

Mum: “(twitching her eye brows) R - what, honey?”

Dad: “He means Retarded.”

Mum: “No! Never! (looking at my father) Right, dad?”

Dad: “Yeah.. we don’t (pause).. we don’t think you are.. (air quoting) the R-word.”

Me: “Then, why am I going to special camp?”

Mum: “Look, we are your parents. We know what is best for you. Just to summarise; a) you are not up for adoption; b) you are not (hushing) the R-word. Good? Now, do you feel better my baby?”

Me: “But that was never my original concern. My question was, AM I ADOPTED?”

Mum: “I have got papers to grade, I cannot deal with this right now; (looking at my father) can you please take care of this?”

Dad: “Yeah.. yeah. On you go! I will sort this out..”

Me: “(whimpering) Dad?”

Dad: “Now look son. (thoughtfully) Do you enjoy spicy hot food?”

Me: “Yes?”

Dad: “Do you know why?”

Me: “I don’t know. I am Indian?”

Dad: “Nope. Of course not. It is a misconception. Indians are more genetically prone to have ‘peptic ulcer’ than most other racial communities in the world. It is demonstrably incorrect to assume Indian food is spicy hot. What is more accurate is.. Indian food is simply.. (with pride) ‘spicy!’. (spelling out) i.e.? We are the best in the world when it comes to flavours in our diet!”

Me: “I don’t get it.”

Dad: “Can you list out all the meals that your (a bit loud, enough for my mum to hear from the kitchen table) BEAUTIFUL MOTHER ... has been cooking all this week?”

Me: “Well, yesterday we had Palak Paneer (Cottage Cheese with Minced Spinach Gravy), day before Gobi Aloo (Curried Cauliflower and Potato)  and Tadka daal (Spiced lentil soup); before that, Bhindi Masala (Okhra in spicy gravy)? The day before that..”

Dad: “Nope. There you go.. I mean, well done. You got the first two correct. But, no Bhindi my friend. It was Baingan bharta (mashed Aubergine with herbs) and vegetable stew.”

Me: “Oh. Yeah. (confused)”

Dad: “You take it lightly my friend but this a fortune not everybody is lucky to have. (he continued) You. Are. Getting. Freshly cooked, delicious meal every single night for your dinner and every night it is different!”

Me: “Okay..”

Dad: “Meaning, you are not having the same garbage some of your friends have, EVERY NIGHT!”

Me: “Well.. my best friend’s muuuu..(interrupted)”

Dad: “..I would not finish that sentence, if I were you.”

Me: “Understood, sir.”

Dad: “Now, what I was saying... “

Me: “Why do I enjoy spicy hot food more than an average gassy Indian men...”

Dad: “Well put (high-five-ing).. and not just enjoy, you can TOLERATE it better also.”

Me: “Is that my superpower?”

Dad: “No! That shit will kill you someday. But you’re 7 now. Anything you eat is simply a blessing, really. You’ll figure it out yourself in future. Hopefully after you’re 18. Depending on how the summer camp goes.”

Me: “(staring blankly)”

Dad: “The point is, you are different.”

Me: “I know! I totally, knew that! Thank you, Dad!”

Dad: “And, it is simply because Alcohol is super cheap in Srilanka.”

Me: “.. wait, what?”

Dad: “Yes! 8 years ago, your mum and I, travelling young and free in the mystical land, eating the shitty shit Srilankan food.. just chillies, really. We had been eating chillies for 10 days straight. Goes without saying, one good night, we find a cool British pub, we get super hammered and what do you know, voila! (pointing at me).”

Me: “(staring blankly)“

Dad: “Dude! You were conceived in Srilanka! That’s why you are so good in gulping chilly soup all day.”

Me: “What is ‘con seeve’, dad?”

Dad: “Well, that part comes from your mum. Not me! At least, you can breathe easier buddy. You are not adopted! Congratulations, man!”

Me: “I guess, that’s a relief. I guess, I am not adopted.”

Dad: “In theory, yes. Definitely. Not Adop..(switching on the TV).. I need to watch the news buddy, do you wanna go to your room?”

Me: “Okay, dad.”

Mum: “(oblivious to the whole discussion) Guys, I am tired. Can we order some takeaway tonight?”

[canidae-dyke]

I decide to post some of that story I mentioned before. It’s not exactly at a good stopping point but it’s just where I am. I’m very open to critique. I’m new to writing this genre and I know that there’s a lot I could improve.

The salt burned in the lacerations around my wrists. I’d been bound the the rock since Astraios had coursed the sky, and Eos now marched toward the horizon with grim determination. She marked the hour of my doom. Soon I would be part of this world no longer, but instead a shade in the world below. And what had I done to merit such a demise? Nothing. I simply existed. It was the jealousy of some god that caused my plight. One could count one a single hand the number of problems for which the gods are blameless. My punishment was a case of misinterpreted hyperbole. It all happened one night at a feast. We were loose on unmixed wine. Upon our table there lay injera, with spreads of lentils, beans and chicken. Our guests of honor were Pharaoh Ramesses II of Upper and Lower Egypt and King Piyama-radu of the Hattian Kingdom of Wilusa. My father, Cepheus, had invited them to our court on the coast of Ethiopia in order to secure peace between their nations.

“My dear Cepheus,” Ramesses proclaimed in a swaggering boom of a voice, “not even my own beloved Nefertari can compare to your daughter’s beauty! The way her tightly curled locks are deftly bound behind her head puts all the women of Kemet and Kush to shame!” Declarations like this were in vogue in dimplomatic speech at the time, though very few scribes bothered to write this kind of exchange down. It was simple procedural flattery, and no one needed to see this kind of filler on a peace treaty etched in bronze.

Piyama-Radu chimed in with, “She must get it from you Cassiopeia!” though his words were interrupted by hiccups, “Truly she is more lovely than the Sun Goddess of Arinna herself.”

My mother responded to their praise in jest, “Oh without a doubt, she even outstrips the Nereids!” A chorus of laughter came up from around the table, though I laughed nervously. I’d never relished in the way men praised me. Their eyes would wander and their lips would curl into a smirk that revealed the crude thoughts dancing behind their eyes. Still, it was my role to accept the praise that was afforded to me. My name had practically anticipated the constant adoration. “Andromeda,” they had named me. Protector of men. Such a name imposed expectations upon its owner.

None of us expected what came of my mother’s boast. The gods do not always consider nuance. They are far more likely to fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. That’s what happened to practically every “lover” of Zeus. They leave a trail of bodies in their debaucherous wake. I suppose my mother should have known better than to compare me to Poseidon’s beloved Nereids. Whether or not he even considered them beautiful was irrelevant to him, for they were his possessions, and nothing mortal was permitted to surpass that which he owned. Thus he threw his tantrum. He called upon his creature, Cetus, to raze our coastline. Every day villagers came to us, begging for a way to put an end to the destruction. We had no answer. Yet my father knew. Even when the oracle told him that the only solution was my sacrifice, his face did not move. He knew but must be done but he would not accept it until the gods held the knife to his throat.Yet still for him it was just another dipomatic formality. Instead of a treaty between kings it was a treaty between a mortal and a god. Instead of sealing it with a marriage, he sealed it with a sacrifice. The two were hardly different to him.

So, there I lay, fixed upon the rock. The ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, drawing blood, and the breakers crashed barely a ten yards ahead of me, spraying salt water upon my exposed form. I had pulled my mind out of my body, as much from the humiliation as the fear. I lay bare and helpless as our kingdom watched. A sudden thud snapped me back into the moment. I could feel the vibrations through my body as another blow shook the earth. Minutes passed in that manner, feeling Cetus’ approach but never seeing it. Then finally it crested the horizon. First all I could see was its writhing mass of eyes. Some stood on short stalks like those of a crab, soulless eyes with no color to them. Some oozed on longer tendrils, like those of a snail. Finally, there were those that stood fixed in place, immense compound eyes, like those of a shrimp. All of them fixed their gaze upon me. As it grew closer I saw its mandibles. I would say there were twenty sets, but one could not tell from the way they chittered and interlocked in anticipation. It had a crab’s carapace for its body, but a slimy squid’s mantle hung limply out of the back. It walked upon what looked like crab’s legs, but they were strange and wrong. They didn’t stay stiff when they came down, but bent like cooked asparagus, causing it to bob in seemingly random directions. It had one enormous pincer on its right but a tentacle on its left, with two claws fixed to the end. It stood as tall as a mountain, yet it moved three times as fast as a ship. As it grew even nearer, some of the rocks around me began to shake to pieces, yet sadly mine held. I thought I heard my mother weep, but I must have imagined it, for the stomping drowned out all sound. When it grew so close that I could feel its slaver strike my face, I closed my eyes and prepared myself for my fate.

I expected to be whisked down to the Underworld. I wasn’t sure how it was supposed to feel, but I knew it felt like something. Yet I felt nothing. Not even its spit flying at my face. I opened my eyes. Cetus stood there, still. Too still. Its color was different, its texture smoother. Its shell glistered in the morning sun. It was stone. Its eyes were no longer fixed upon me, but rather upon a point above its head. I tracked up and saw her. The Protector. My protector. A woman, riding a winged horse. She wore a hoplite’s armor, but no helmet sat upon her head. Instead her hair blew free. Yet it did not blow. Rather, it writhed. Dozens of asps hissed and squirmed on her head. She whispered to them and they calmed, pulling back to form a slicked back look. Then she gently clicked, and the horse began to descend in circles. I knew who she was now. The Gorgon. We had heard tales of her, even as far as we lay from the Achaeans. She turned men to stone and despised all life. I shuddered as she came closer. Yet when she pulled out her knife, she used it not to slit my throat but to sever the ropes that held me.

“Im so sorry for what they’ve done to you,” she said in a comforting tone, “I can return you to them if you’d like. I know how some people love their families no matter what. I shook my head. Words stuck in my throat. “Okay, I can help you if you’ll accept. You can come with me and I’ll protect you.” Protect. It was in her name. Medusa, the Protector. From the same word as my name. I nodded. “Alright, first things first let’s get you some clothes.” She pulled a cloak from her riding pack and wrapped it gently around me. I pulled it tight and felt its soft silk embrace me. “Climb on.” She offered me her hand and I accepted, clambering onto her horse. She clicked her tongue again and he took off,beating his wings until we reached the clouds, and then gliding softly. I didn’t look back at the shores of Ethiopia.

We didn���t talk for the rest of our journey through the sky. She knew I wasn’t ready to and she didn’t mind. She understood. Whenever she looked back to check on me I could see in her eyes that she’d endured something far worse. Even if I could have asked, I wouldn’t have. By the time we landed it was nearly nightfall.We alit upon a rocky hill with a cave opening on its side. I hadn’t felt my hunger until that moment, and I began to ask, but before I even had time to speak she said, “I’ll get a fire going and make us some food. I’m sure you’re starving.” I nodded again.

I sat in the cave watching her, her face lit by the fire as she cooked a stew of beans and vegetables with goat’s milk. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a face like hers before. It was soft in some of the ways I’d seen in women’s faces before, yet also rough and solid. I could see a good part of the fear behind her name. Even without her gaze of stone, her face still projected control and betrayed no emotion. Yet I could feel the pain she had suffered. This changed when she brought a bowl over to me with a crust of bread to dip in it. I grinned as I began to slurp my soup and pick up the beans using the bread. It wasn’t until I’d finished eating that I looked up and saw that her expression had changed. Now she had a tender smile from cheek to cheek.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t stare,” she said, looking away.

“Please,” I said, “don’t worry. You’ve done so much for me, I don’t mind.” She looked back at my and smiled again, shyly this time. Her cheeks flushed and she looked away once more.

I laughed, “So you’re Medusa? I always heard that you were more monster than woman. So why am I sharing a meal with you instead of frozen in stone?”

“Oh that?” she laughed as well, “that only works on men. I guess the rumors spread because they’re afraid of a woman who can defend herself.” I laughed again, but more so because it was true than because of any humor. It was the same fear of a bold woman that had annihilated so many other women before her. Zeus feared Metis and so he devoured her, as if it weren’t enough that men like him are so often wont to leech a women’s life forces. Kreon executed Antigone because she defied him. It gave me comfort to know that at least Medusa had the power to fend off attackers.

“It’s a gift from Athena,” she continued, “She’s my patron goddess, she’s always looked out for me, and I’ve always honored her.”

“So why did she-”

“I don’t talk about it,” she snapped. Her face turned cold and she turned away, her snakes hissing as she did. I had never seen a woman as powerful as her before, so what could be too much for her? I didn’t really want to know. I wanted to ease her pain, but it was too dangerous, and if it was a subject she’d rather not touch, I’d respect her wishes. She sat off in the back of the cave, stroking her snakes back into place and looking down into her lap. They resisted at first but eventually calmed while I lay myself down upon the floor.

As the fire died down and I closed my eyes, I tried to fall asleep. But every time my eyes shut, an image of Poseidon’s beast flashed before and I jolted. Even with my eyes open, I couldn’t help but shiver. There was a cold breeze flowing into the cave, and my thoughts still dwelled on the helplessness I’d felt just that morning. I was so wrapped up in these thoughts that I didn’t hear her tread gently over to me. I didn’t notice anyhting until she draped over my body the linen blanket she had been carrying. I felt warmed inside, but still I jolted and shivered. She must have seen that I did so, because she began to sing to me. It was a simple verse that I’d heard Achaean merchants sing down at the docks, but never in a voice like hers. The way she spoke was rough and guarded, but now as she sang, her voiced poured out like a nightengale.

“While you live, be radient!

 Don’t worry your sweet soul

 For life is short for all of us

 And time requests its toll.”

The theme was harsh, yet somehow comforting. I may have had a brush with death today, but so must everyone eventually. While I could live I should live to my fullest and be thankful that I was alive. I don’t know when I drifted off, but when I woke up, Medusa was cooking a dish of rabbit and egg, seasoned with herbs she’d found outside. She boiled four eggs, two for each of us, and lay out the poached rabbit meat in strips on the wicker plates. As she cooked she fed a whole raw egg to one of her snakes. It unhinged its jaw and swallowed it whole, hitching its mouth along, inch by inch, until it had gone down its throat.

“Do they need to eat separately from you?” I asked.

“Good morning to you too,” she retorted, not taking her eyes off the iron pot. I supposed I had been a bit rude to lead with that but I couldn’t really help my curiosity. “And no, they don’t need to eat, I just find it helps calm them. Sometimes they seem to forget they’re a part of me.

“So they have minds of their own?”

“Honestly even after all this time I’m not quite sure. They seem to respond to my emotions but I can never control them when I’m keen to.” She fished the eggs out of the pot with a wooden spoon and brought the two plates over, handing me mine and sitting down to eat hers. It was a plain meal but the rabbit was tender, the eggs were just soft enough and everything was enhanced by her presence. She wore a light tan colored man’s chiton and a chlamys cloak over that. Her smoothed her snakes back again and I stared at her longer than I should have. I still couldn’t get over it. I’d never seen a woman like her before. The way she wore men’s clothes, the way she did up her short hair--albeit hair made of snakes. She presented herself like a man, but she was not like any man I had ever seen either. Even men who dressed exactly the same didn’t have the same influence that she had on me now. I was sure it must be her enchantment. That must factor into it somehow.

[frangipanidownunder]

Eternal: fic

For my anon who recently asked: as much as I hate it, I do love reading a good older M/S fic. Would you ever consider writing something about them being older and dealing with the death of one of them? It sounds morbid, I know, but we like to imagine so much for them and I’ve read so few who can accurately and sensitively approach this whole still creating something poignant and beautiful.

Trigger warning: character death

Tagging @today-in-fic

There’s a man who visits sometimes. Just shows up, like he’s slipped in on the moonlight. He’s gentle like soft light too, sitting on the chair, bathed in silver, silent. He never speaks and at first Mulder thought he was a spirit, a guardian angel watching over him. He tells Scully and she dismisses him. Tells him there’s nobody there, that she’s the only one who sits in that chair. But he knows it means something. A sign, a portent. A benevolent omen.

              “It’s my reading chair, Mulder. You know that. You insist I sit there because it catches the light through the blinds and,” she says, folding back his sheet, “you tell me that it turns my hair the colour of copper, the way it used to shine.”

              He captures her hand and looks at their joint fingers, interlocked. A kiss on her knuckles, one by one. “It’s true, Scully. You had the most glorious hair.”

              “And now it’s just white.”

              “Silver, Scully. It’s the colour of spun silver and moon strands and starlight and when you’re outside in the wind, it streams behind you and you look like a warrior queen. I see you holding up your staff to the gods and screaming.” The effort of talking takes its toll and he flops his head back onto the pillows.

              She sits on the edge of the bed and chuffs out a laugh. “You see me outside with the yard broom, Mulder, sweeping up those leaves. And if I’m screaming, it’s just me… well, never mind. You need to rest.”

              Her wrist is tiny in his grip. She’s lost weight. Worry would do that. Outside, there’s a rush of wind and a flurry of leaves falls. “It’s just you what, Scully?”

              She lays her head on his shoulder. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears and he feels hers through the skin that separates them. “It’s just me yelling for more time, Mulder. There hasn’t been enough time.”

              Lengths of her hair fall around her shoulders and he strokes, coarser now than years before, and wavy. “I think I’ve more than outstayed my welcome.”

              There’s a sound, somewhere between a cry and a laugh, and they stay like that for a while, until her neck creaks and he feels sleep tug at his eyelids. “It’s not fair that one of us has to leave first.”

The pain in his spine travels up and down, increases and decreases. Sometimes it’s deep, invading his marrow, his thought-processes. Other times it radiates outwards, spreading to his limbs and he can’t get comfortable however he positions himself. But when he’s close to Scully, touching her, the pain diminishes and he’s grateful for her palliative effect. She’s told him it’s all in his mind, her placebo effect, but he doesn’t care. Some days, when it’s bad, she slips in beside him, presses her body to his, and soothes him to sleep, skin to skin, like a mother and newborn, bonded physically and emotionally.

Later, in the early grey of dawn, the man is in the chair again. Mulder reaches out a hand and the man smiles, nods. He’s so familiar but before Mulder can ask why he comes, he fades out on the first rays of sunshine. Outside, an owl hoots.

 The doctor recommended a hospice. Scully found one, told him it was a beautiful spot, willow trees bowing into lakes, a Japanese garden, Monet reproductions on the bedroom walls. He shook his head as she listed its attributes.

              “I’m not dying in someone else’s vision of heaven, Scully. I’m dying right here, with you by my side. And if I need a little help, you can do that for me.” She didn’t flinch at the suggestion. She gripped the bridge of her nose, pressing away the uncomfortable necessity of planning that the state didn’t allow. “I want to be at home. I need to be at home.”

 She makes awful soup. It’s thin and watery, under-seasoned, full of soft vegetables and lentils. He never complains though, just takes forever to finish it so that she stays longer with him. Often, she eats with him, but never much. She rubs at her temples, pinches her nose, squeezes her eyes shut.

              “Do you remember that case, the one with the ageing sailors, Mulder?”

              “The USS Ardent? Trondheim. You tried to make me drink sardine juice and snow globe water.” His body is spent, but his memory is as capacious as ever.

              “I think we aged better,” she says, picking at the skin on the back of her hand. Liver spots and veins, lined knuckles. “Didn’t we?”

              He chuckles, putting the spoon down. “You did. And don’t forget, Scully, you’re immortal. You can scream at the gods with your staff and streaming hair and I can watch from wherever I find myself, comforted by that.”

              There are tears sparkling in her eyes. “You would be happy to spend your eternity watching me rage at God?”

              “Isn’t that a fair summation of our life together?”

              She cuffs at her nose. “We did laugh too.”

              “In graveyards and in the rain.” He watches her mouth struggle to smile. “Come here, Scully.” He pats the space beside him. She climbs under the sheet. “I’m not immortal, Mulder. I don’t want to be.”

He nods. “When you had your visions, what were they like?”

              “Painful, like a vice squeezing my head. My heart would race, my skin tingle. I could see him whether I had my eyes open or shut. It was like a movie playing in my mind. Why?”

              “I see William. In the chair, there. I didn’t realise who it was at first. But it’s him.”

              “You think you’re seeing his ghost?”

              “But he’s older. I don’t think he died at the pier. I think he’s come to say goodbye.”

              She sighs. “Why don’t I see him?”

              There’s a comfortable silence, a moment where there’s nothing to say but it speaks volumes. “It’ll be time soon, Scully.”

              “No, Mulder.”

              He presses his lips to her forehead. “I don’t want you to have to feed me or bathe me. I don’t want to be that much of a burden to you. I know it’s coming. And I’m tired now. So tired. I think William has come to make his peace and I feel ready.”

              She sobs openly. He cries with her. It stings, it cuts. But folded together, he knows it’s right for them. And she knows too, he knows she does.

 At the end of autumn, rain falls, dampening the remaining leaves that cling to the branches. Every day through November, they’ve spent together in the bed, clinging to each other. He chose the day of his sister’s disappearance because it seemed fitting. Make that date more meaningful.

At some time during the early hours, Mulder notices the room is lighter, glowing. He’s cooler too. Scully is sitting on the edge of the bed, hair falling down her back. He reaches out to her, pressing his palm to the small of her back, his spot.

              She turns. “He’s here, Mulder. William’s here.”

              He struggles to sit but when he does, the chair is empty.

There’s a comfort to know the end is of your choosing. They don’t talk. She’s prepared everything on the outside, the external necessities. And he’s prepared everything on the inside. She makes him comfortable and slips in beside him, leaning into him. She kisses him for the last time. She reaches to the dresser and gives him a cup. She holds one in her own hand, rubbing at that same spot on the bridge of her nose.

              “What’s this Scully?”

              “It’s my time too, Mulder.”

 In his mind, her hair is longer, wilder, the colour of copper, flying free on the wind as she raises her arm in salutation to the gods. He’s right by her side and he lifts his own arms, fingers outstretched to the silvery light. At last.

[eat-pray-and-love]

Time and again...….A Short Story.

 One monsoon in the 1970s my grandfather died. His portrait hung in the pooja room along with the pictures of Gods, demigods and our Gurus. He was sitting on a wooden chair staring quite blankly ahead in the frame. Apparently it was a sketched portrait of an artiste whose name I never got to know. His hair was neatly combed and his forehead revealed a frown that appeared both confused and baffled as if questioning the artiste as to why he needed to sketch him at all. But of course my grandfather never questioned any decisions. He remained silent in the portrait…in death and throughout most of his life. Dadu silently endured the pain from an ailment and even though the house was bursting at the seams with a dozen people, no one even noticed.

In an early memory I am sitting reluctantly with a plate of boiled up ‘death time food’ which the elders called Hobishi….to me it sounded very Japanese. Rukmini will come and eat you up whole , someone says while passing by with familiar ferocity. Most of us were scared of Rukmini . She was maimed and scarred all over, her face distorted after an acid attack, carrying a sack like bag over her shoulders. Stories reveal that her father maimed her in order to enhance the sympathy of passers-by who would drop a penny or two in her aluminum bowl ….a source of income. She was the Francis Drake of our time.

I rushed for refuge to the long window, which gave me an aerial view of the rickshaws waiting in line and their drivers….or should I say pullers. This was my favourite haunt. I considered this window the best place in the house. It even had a jutting inward platform so thoughtfully constructed to allow me to stand and get an elevated perspective of the world below unseen.

Forced into an unwanted afternoon nap, I lay looking at the ceiling with its thick heavy beams clothed in dust and cobwebs. It was in this room that my grandparents started their life with their two sons. There were dusty frames in the room of people standing, a seated woman and many others that I didn’t recognize. My grandparents used to introduce these framed people to visitors time and again.

There was an enclosed veranda with a dilapidated railing and we were forewarned not to lean against or on the railing. In one part of the room lay a bed and in the other part a folded ‘bedding’ rolled up straight along with a jute mat. We were privileged and so occupied the bed. I would play many games with my cousins in that room.

My thoughts wandered from the nooks and crannies of the house to the kitchen which was surprisingly at the entrance on a sectioned off balcony. My grandmother cooked behind a partition dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. The room was never thought of as a kitchen. There was a sack of coal in the corner of the kitchen along with a huge metal drum with a little brass tap and a miniature iron bucket placed strategically below to hold the spill. The misty water in the bucket had to be emptied out onto the open drains nearby time and again.

In front of the kitchen was a make to do dining space. It was definitely different from the modern dining rooms with a rosewood dining table and formal sitting rooms which we strangely called drawing rooms of the house that I grew up in…..in a different part of the world.

In the early years of my childhood, all meals came from this kitchen of my grandmothers. My mother on a yearly vacation, my aunts and others would cook sometimes together, chatting and sharing anecdotes while being assisted silently by Amola.

Amola was a little older than I was at the time. She wore long floral printed dresses. My grandmother found her slow and often caught her unawares smiling to herself, lost in a different world. While mopping, we would exchange furtive glances and in our own way, we found  time to be together. Around 4 pm, when the rest of the house was taking a nap, after a sumptuous meal, Amola would come to me smiling and we would play ludo and snakes and ladders on a colourful board laughing and chatting in careless yet hushed whispers, always careful not to wake up the adults. Amola strangely called me Didimuni though that was not my name.

We were happy following this routine for most of the days when quite abruptly she stopped coming to the house. Her beautiful young mother in a saree Amolar Ma as we were expected to call her took over the household chores with equal elan.  Amola was to be married soon. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye and often wondered what this new uncertain world of marriage, would have in store for her.

The kitchen had a bottle green cemented floor while the rest of the house had a red coloured flooring. The kitchen was dark with a makeshift ‘’low power bulb’’ hanging dangerously over my granny’s head. It had a low sooty ceiling and coloured platforms with a furnace like oven projecting upwards. The cooking here was done on coal fire stoves which looked like buckets coated with thick clay. The coal that went into it was fanned and blown upon the courtyard outside until they lit to a red glow.

Refrigerators were uncommon and were the preserve of the rich and elite. Vegetables, fruits, fish were bought afresh each day. Most of the fish were bought dead but there were some varieties which were just killed and some fish were bought alive and kicking and put immediately into miniature tanks or large buckets before my grandmother butchered them. There were lengthy discussions about the fish scales, quality, size, price, etc by almost all the adults. We were not allowed to jump or play in the courtyard while the fish were being cut and sliced and finally cleaned by Amola’s Ma. It was too dangerous they said.I went to my cousin’s room. He was always seen ‘matching his routine’ as he said and packing all his textbooks into a screechy aluminum briefcase like thing which had a latch quite different to the light weight satchels that I was used to. He remained serious and silent during school days.

My mother was always observed with gracious suspicion as if her world was intruding unknown strange pastures. This was confirmed with greater fury once she had the audacity of ‘’crossing the 7 seas’’ to live with my father in the UK. She was only trusted with cutting vegetables and every morning she sat with these gargantuan bags of potatoes, brinjal, cabbages, greens etc chopping them up with a knife and on a wooden board as opposed to the ‘’bonti’’and sheets of old newspaper. She was often caught reading these newspapers until someone asked her with an alien firmness’’ do you even cook? What do you eat? Soup bread??? Tinned food?? She only smiled filled with quiet astonishment.

She would sit with these damp vegetables often chatting with her sisters husband who was a frequent visitor along with her brothers from ‘’oi bari’’ or the other house referring to her parents home. They would discuss Tagore, novels of yesteryears, debate on new literature, the changing political scenario, Gregory Pecks performance in The Roman Holiday while I played hopscotch on the red cement floor drawing the grid with an old white chalk. Amolas Ma would remind her to dip the cut potatoes into a bowl of water or else they would turn black she said. My mother looked at her and smiled feeding on her own images in her mind.

There was a widowed aunt who lived in the rear section of the house who would often would come out and help in the cooking or add to the spread with a cooked banana stem vegetable . She was an unacknowledged chef among them and it was only later that I realized that Pishi as they called her was a tenant and had relocated from Benares after her husband passed away. I eagerly watched her apply mustard oil to her hands before she cut the banana stem. She was on a restricted diet forbidden to eat anything other than vegetables and lentils. They told me it was because she was a widow. This connection between being a widow and food I clearly did not comprehend. Somehow it didn’t seem strange or wrong to anyone else.

We were in the last lap of our holidays. My grandmother never came downstairs during the tearful farewells as the taxi approached to take us to the airport. Instead she told my uncle to bring a few ‘’aerogrammes’’ or postal letters as her stock had replenished writing to us. She sat knitting sweaters for us firm as a rock yet tears rolling down her cheek. We later learnt that no one disturbed her or entered her room for a few days after we had left.

As a family we strayed much further away from India making another two countries our home for lengthy periods of time. Today I have two grown up sons …one of them living in Canada. I look forward to having him home time and again…so that he can eat rice, dal with us… with his hands, speak in Bengali, revisit our past….things we sometimes worry he will no longer do after we die.

We did visit Calcutta time and again and took back with us draw string pyjamas , tea …the best of its kind and other things special only to Kolkata as the city is now called. We have finally decided to grow old here.

After an early dinner I read the newspaper….look out of my now familiar window and sit in front of my laptop. I decide to send an email to my son in Canada.  Come home son…its been a long time.

[karingudino]

4 Secret Pop-Ups to Try in Sonoma County

As vacationers crane their necks to see the steeple of Saint Teresa of Avila, made well-known by Ansel Adams and the 1963 Alfred Hitchcock film “The Birds,” they have a tendency to miss a nondescript previous picket constructing that leans into the highway on the heart of Bodega.

Under a light 7-Up signal, pink neon letters label the constructing “On line casino,” leaving most passersby to surprise why a on line casino sits on the coronary heart of this quiet hamlet simply 4 miles from the coast. Allow them to surprise.

For greater than 100 years, the constructing — which by no means has been an precise on line casino — has stood as a gathering place, a watering gap and a easy roadhouse. Inside, the area is remarkably darkish and woody, with creaking flooring and an previous jukebox within the nook. Glass-eyed deer look down from the partitions, silently observing because the a long time roll by. It’s not a spot begging for consideration from hipsters to guage its lineup of craft brews.

The On line casino Bar & Grill is a spot to find by chance after which love unconditionally. And the most effective time to cease by is for the Holly + Tali Present every Monday by means of Thursday when native cooks and caterers Holly Carter and Tali Aiona put together dinner menus reflecting the fields, farms and fish that encompass them and unique flavors that encourage them.

Crab mac and cheese on the Holly and Tali Present at The On line casino Bar & Grill. (Heather Irwin / Sonoma Journal)

To name it a pop-up isn’t fairly honest, as a result of the duo have been creating destination-worthy meals for almost six years in a kitchen barely bigger than its two-burner range. Visitors are often locals who — pre-pandemic — popped in to see what was on the menu and sit family-style at candlelit picket tables with mismatched dishes and silverware. For now, it’s a pre-order and pickup state of affairs that’s much less charming however simply as scrumptious. In case you’re fortunate you’ll catch a glimpse of 94-year-old Evelyn Casini standing behind the bar she’s owned for 71 years.

Carter and Aiona are associates who’ve cooked collectively for greater than 12 years after assembly on the close by Occidental Arts and Ecology Heart the place they cooked vegetarian meals for permaculture college students and lecturers.

“We labored in probably the most idyllic of settings in a picket, weathered farmhouse kitchen, dancing to ’90s rap and R&B music at full quantity,” Carter mentioned. “We have been a present certainly. I do know it feels like we’re a tv act or one thing, which imagine me, we joke about. However we’re not. Simply two gals cooking their hearts out.”

Menus change virtually every day, relying on what they’ve secured from close by producers.

Frequent marriage ceremony caterers, they’ve expanded their repertoire throughout the pandemic by internet hosting an extra pop-up per thirty days at Americana in Santa Rosa’s Railroad Sq..

“It retains us busy and recent,” Carter mentioned.

Current menus included such various dishes as Panizzera sausage and brisket lasagna, orange-olive oil upside-down cake (their baked items are unbelievable), Dungeness crab mac and cheese that beats each model I’ve ever had, kale and Brussels sprout salad with prawns, tikka masala, cider-brined pork chops with pink lentils and wild salmon with asparagus. Don’t go in with any preconceived concepts. Simply allow them to prepare dinner for you.

Like at any good pop-up, you must work a little bit to get such wonderful meals. Menus are posted every day on their Instagram web site, @thehollyandtalishow, and also you’ll should name or textual content your order that morning. Entrees are a la carte, starting from about $16 to $25 every for beneficiant parts for 2. Salads and desserts run about $7 to $12 every.

Carter and Aiona’s pop-ups at Americana, which not too long ago featured a Burmese-inspired meal of tea leaf salad and tom kha soup (so creamy and opulent), kimchi-braised pot roast and Kaffir lime panna cotta ($75 prix fixe), are additionally introduced on their Instagram web site.

Now you already know the key behind that curious place nestled within the one-stoplight city the place few take the time to discover.

Extra particulars at thehollyandtalishow.com. The On line casino Bar & Grill is situated at 17000 Bodega Freeway, Bodega.

Miracle Plum pickup

This charming neighborhood market close to Santa Rosa’s Railroad Sq. is a treasure trove of unique substances you didn’t know you completely want, instantly. From artisan tahini and umami bullion to natural yuzu furikake dried black trumpet mushrooms, it’s a meals fanatic’s playground.

What we love is their new grab-and-go kitchen simply down the road. Open 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Tuesday by means of Friday, it consists of high noshes similar to a smoked rooster and beet salad with farro, toasted walnuts, Pt. Reyes blue cheese and pickled celery ($13.50) and the fragile squash and black lentil salad with pickled mushrooms, beets, farmers cheese and a miso French dressing ($12.50). Each salads are a lot huge for sharing or nibbling on all afternoon.

My hands-down favourite is the do-it-yourself egg salad sandwich on Crimson Hen Bakery Pullman Bread (my bread occurred to be a focaccia that day, $8.50). It was gone earlier than I acquired dwelling. Additionally price making an attempt is Bonnie’s Mother’s Noodle Salad with buckwheat noodles and sesame oil or the Friday particular of lemony smashed chickpeas on recent focaccia ($10).

Homeowners Sallie Miller and Gwen Gunheim additionally curate wine and meals made by girls for some additional lady-powered goodness. Lunch orders at miracleplum.com, with pickup at 600 Wilson St., Santa Rosa (the previous A La Coronary heart Catering). The shop is situated at 208 Davis St., Santa Rosa.

Belfare Sonoma

There was quite a lot of buzz about this Petaluma Farmers Market pop-up that includes ridiculously good (and spicy) fried rooster sandwiches with dill pickles, Cajun cabbage, spicy sesame mayo and Belfare Sonoma’s signature “Belfire” scorching sauce. Eastside Petaluma market-goers can also decide up the jalapeño and bacon fried rooster sando with roasted jalapeños, applewood-smoked bacon, barbecue sauce, mayo and American cheese. On the facet, add fingerling fries with nori and sesame mayo and Brussels sprouts with ponzu, Asian pear and Cajun spice.

You’ll usually discover modifications and additions on the menu in addition to seasonal pantry gadgets (Meyer lemon marmalade!) to maintain issues fascinating. Chef Eric Lowe can be well-known for langoustine sandwiches and their beef Wellington, obtainable by pre-order. belfaresonoma.com or @belfaresonoma on Instagram.

Flatbed Farm

Talking of pop-ups, this Sonoma Valley farm and charming farmstand is a favourite weekend vacation spot for Wine Nation guests and locals in search of recent eggs, seasonal produce, oils and rustic flower preparations. Over the following few months, Flatbed Farm is also internet hosting chef pop-ups together with Belfare Sonoma, 25 Lusk in San Francisco and Residing Essence, a health-conscious kitchen a lot beloved for his or her bone broth. Open 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturdays, 13450 Sonoma Hwy 12, Glen Ellen. Preserve on top of things @flatbedfarmglenellen or flatbedfarm.com

Editor’s Observe: Journey, eating and wine tasting may be difficult proper now. Use our inspirational concepts to plan forward to your subsequent outing, be it this week or subsequent yr. In case you go to eating places, wineries, and different companies throughout the pandemic, bear in mind to name forward, make reservations, put on a masks and social distance.

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source https://fikiss.net/4-secret-pop-ups-to-try-in-sonoma-county/ 4 Secret Pop-Ups to Try in Sonoma County published first on https://fikiss.net/ from Karin Gudino https://karingudino.blogspot.com/2021/02/4-secret-pop-ups-to-try-in-sonoma-county.html