#wild arugula

[morethansalad]

Winter Weeds Salad (Raw Vegan)

Containing: chickweed, wild field mustard, cat's ear, dandelion, nipplewort, hedge mustard, bittercress, purple deadnettle, narrowleaf plantain, English daisy, wild arugula or rocket, spearmint, lemon balm, wild chives, elephant garlic leaves.

[magazynkulinarny]

Sałata z ośmiornicą, pomidorkami, oliwkami, kaparami, rukolą i dzikim ryżem

Jeśli wciąż nie odważyliście się skonfrontować z ośmiornicą w kuchni, to postaram się Was do tego przekonać.

Nie jest to wszak spotkanie z Krakenem, legendarnym gigantycznym potworem morskim o fizjonomii kałamarnicy, tylko szybkie i bezkolizyjne przygotowanie niewielkiego głowonoga.

Ośmiornica jest delikatna, miękka i nieco gumowata w strukturze, zaś w smaku przypomina kalmary lub przegrzebki. Nie wymaga szczególnej obróbki, ani ekwilibrystycznych sztuczek. Jeśli jest świeża, wystarczy ją ugotować lub kupić gotową do spożycia.

Najczęściej jej mięsiste macki trafiają do sałat, duszonych warzyw (pomidory, ciecierzyca, fasola), makaronów i risott. Córka mórz i oceanów lubi się z przyziemnymi ziemniakami, zarówno gotowanymi, jaki i smażonymi lub pieczonymi. Często jest grillowana, podobnie jak inne owoce morza (ach, moja pamięć węchowa już zaprowadziła mnie na chorwackie wyspy, do tamtejszych owianych dymnym aromatem tawern... mrrr...).

Tymczasem u mnie ośmiornica wylądowała na talerzu wraz z pomidorkami, oliwkami, kaparami, cebulą, rukolą i dzikim ryżem. Wyrazistości dodał jej czosnek z oliwą z oliwek i sokiem z cytryny.

Ciekawa jestem czy Wam to połączenie przypadnie do gustu?

Składniki:

2/3 szklanki dzikiego ryżu ok. 250 g macek ośmiornicy (gotowanych) duża garść rukoli garść pomidorków koktajlowych pół szklanki oliwek (zielonych lub czarnych) 2 łyżki kaparów 1/2 cebuli 2 ząbki czosnku kilka łyżek oliwy z oliwek e.v. 1-2 łyżki soku z cytryny łyżeczka suszonego oregano sól i czarny pieprz do smaku

Wykonanie:

Dziki ryż gotuje się długo, ok. 30-40 minut, więc zacząć od niego. W małym garnku zagotować wodę, osolić, wsypać ryż i zająć się resztą.

Cebulę i czosnek obrać. Cebulę pokroić w cienkie półplasterki. Czosnek zmiażdżyć płaską stroną noża i maksymalnie rozdrobnić.

Macki pokroić na kawałki ok. 2 cm. Pomidorki opłukać i przeciąć na połówki.

Ugotowany ryż odcedzić na sicie.

Do miski wlać oliwę, sok z cytryny, wsypać przyprawy i dodać ośmiornicę. Wymieszać i odczekać 5-7 minut. Dorzucić resztę składników i delikatnie wymieszać.

Wykładać na talerze. Podawać z cząstką cytryny i pieczywem. Konsumować w towarzystwie lub solo.

[paulpingminho]

[projectcatzo]

fucking flowers blooming in my week-old arugula box?? hello???

[meowmeowriley]

Bunny ghost anon again, with a slightly more normal but not really idea, where one of the things that tips Johnny off to Ghost’s species is the amount of greens he goes through. This is a man Johnny has found at 3am, shoveling arugula into his mouth from the bag. No salt, no oil, no dressing. And it’s happened more than once. You’d think a man as beefy as ghost would be an absolute carnivore, but Soap knows better than most that leaves can translate into the plumpest bunnies. So he goes on the ever-so-subtle mission of finding Ghost’s Favorite Leaf. Different lettuces, bok choy, spinach, watercress, parsley, cilantro, basil, blackberry, raspberry, mint, fennel. Ends up with a whole garden on base trying to keep his favorite rabbit well-fed.

-🐇👻

I love this so much, but I'm gonna approach it a bit differently.

Once Soap finds out Ghost is a bunny shifter he's initially shocked, and then appalled. He's seen Ghost eat. (How the hell he ignored the buck teeth, which should have been his first sign, he'll never know.) He's seen Ghost eat meat. That's not good for him. Wild rabbits have been known to eat meat when food is scarce, but that's when things are dire. No wonder the man was so lean.

That just wouldn't do. Soap made it his mission to correct Ghost's appalling diet. At the next meal, he found Ghost in the mess, a tray containing eggs and bacon in front of himself. He was about to dig in.

Soap swipes the tray away. Thump. Ghost is not pleased. "Sergeant. That's my breakfast."

"You're an herbivore."

"I'm hungry. Don't make me make it an order, give me back my food." Thump. Soap takes off running.

He runs into the kitchen, rips open the industrial fridge, and grabs a head of bok choy. He whips around to find Ghost bearing down on him, absolutely about to beat his ass, fist raised, and he thrusts the veg into Ghost's chest.

Ghost... examines the food... takes a bite... humms a bit... and backs down. Soap very nearly died, and damn was it worth it to see the softness overtake Ghosts features.

***

Soap gives a list to Price, of all the things rabbits can eat, who gives it to medical, who puts in a request for the kitchen staff to start offering vegetarian options at every meal.

There's a garden on base after that. Soap tends to it. Sometimes finds his Lieutenant stealing from it.

"Hey, get out of my fucking garden!"

"I'll shit in your fucking garden!"

Which wouldn't actually be a problem, rabbit excrement makes excellent fertilizer. It's the principle of the matter.

[weepingwidar]

Morgan Mandalay (American, 1985) - Seconds with Wild Sea Dahlias, Mexican Sage, Arugula Flowers, Flowered Broccolini, Cornflower and Rosemary in Victoria Marinara Jar (2023)

[ordonianhero]

Salads

Wild: have you tried to have a mouth full of arugula?

Twilight:

Wild: it’s not-it’s not good!

Wind: *wheezing*

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Seven on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town.

CW: alcohol consumption, heavy petting but no sex

The place John chooses is understated and casual, for which you're relieved. You don't mind being wined and dined but you'd dressed comfortably, with only skating in mind, so you're glad he hasn't brought you to some fancy touristy place downtown. He holds doors open for you and walks around like a peacock when his hand settles low on your back. He asks for a booth and at this point, you're not even surprised when he tucks in next to you instead of opposite, his big thigh resting warm and sturdy against your own; his elbow placed firmly on the table in front of you so you have to lean against his tricep to read the one menu he's apparently decided you'll share.

It's… nice.

You ask to see the salad section when he settles on some sloppy pile of meats, caramelized veggies, and eggs. He pulls a face at that but obliges and you decide to believe that's not somehow weight related.

"This one looks good," John comments a little too-blandly, pointing at a trough consisting of ninety percent steak and maybe a handful of arugula.

"Are you anemic? Should I be worried?"

John laughs, his arm shaking slightly against your chest. "It's actually your iron levels I'm worried about."

Ah. That's… maybe a little weird, but cute.

"I'm fine, John. Don't have much of an appetite, to be honest."

John looks a little miffed by this but doesn't comment when you ask the waitress for a simple Caesar. He gets his meat monstrosity and asks for it bloody in a voice that could charm the skin of a snake. He knows what he's doing, too, based on the entirely too innocent smile he gives the waitress as he moves onto his drink order, a strawberry shake. You can't help but laugh a little at him.

"I didn't expect you to have such a sweet tooth considering how skinny you are," you confide, a teasing smirk on your face which is immediately wiped straight off when John gives you a hurt, borderline panicked look.

"You think I'm skinny!?"

"Uh… no, like -. I mean, in shape. Fit. Sorry, no, you're definitely not skinny. That was poorly worded." You're floundering, trying desperately to fix whatever it is you'd fucked up. It had never occurred to you that someone wouldn't want to be called skinny, though it makes sense now that someone who clearly put as much work into maintaining his body would never want to be called scrawny. Christ, you'd fucked up. That's twice now. Oh god, he's never going to want to see you again. "I'm so sorry, I only meant -."

But John's peering back at you suspiciously now and it has your hands wringing. "It's okay, honey," he says after a moment, clears his throat. "I uh… lost a lot of weight over the winter. Suppose I'm a little sensitive about it, is all."

You're still a nervous wreck, doubly afraid now that you've upset him. Fucking hell, man's probably got some health issues he's getting over and you had to go and comment on his fucking body. "I'm so, so sorry, I should've thought -."

"Sweetheart, look at me. You're fine. I'm not mad."

Holy shit, he's not. He's -.

Right. This is John.

"Besides, you're right," he continues brightly, beaming at the waitress when she places the shake in front of him. "I am a little twiggy. Let's see if we can't fix that, eh?"

You're still mortified that you even commented on his body. After all the bullshit you've put up with in your life, you know better than to pull this shit. You hadn't meant it negatively, of course, but you know from first hand experience how little that matters. John looks happy enough now, but you won't soon forget how hurt he'd looked after your comment. You're still mulling over the best way to move on when he offers you a sip off his pink treat, dopey smile in place. You can't say no to that and he somehow manages to look even more pleased when you take a sip from his straw.

"So… weight loss… did you have any health scares?"

"Hm?" He jolts, eyes focused entirely on your lips. "Oh, no. Strong as a bear," he winks - weird. "Just lose my appetite under the Arizona sun. Always spend all summer trying to gain the weight back," he laughs, a little sad. "Good excuse to indulge, though."

"Well, indulge away. I do think you look good, by the way. Bet you'll look even better when you're comfortable and confident."

John smiles and kisses your forehead with slightly sticky lips. "Thanks, bunny. I think you look very good too, by the way."

He says it the same way he'd appraised the menu. "Thank you," you mutter, grateful that the waitress chooses that moment to return so he doesn't notice how much you blush from his attentions. It's still odd to you, someone as absurdly handsome as John Price being this sweet on you.

John eats like someone's coming to steal it off his plate. He remembers himself maybe midway through his burger and offers you a bite, but when you shake your head he shrugs and goes back to scarfing it like a stray dog. It's kind of impressive, honestly. More out of curiosity than any genuine hunger, you slowly and obviously grab a French fry from his plate which prompts him to grin goofily around a mouthful and spin the plate so the fries are closer to you. You'd been worried for a moment there that he may have some kind of feeder kink, but the voracity with which he's shoveling food into his own mouth combined with how he picks a singular cherry tomato off your dish has you thinking food might be more of a love language to him. That's okay. Cute. You can handle that.

John doesn't throw in the towel until his plate is completely cleared and when you see him eyeing your half full bowl you laugh and slide it his way. He laughs too, and says he'll make you something at the bar later to make up for it. You're not sure you'll take him up on that, but you won't lie that the ease with which he guarantees your next meal means a lot to you, considering how often a spoonful of peanut butter counts as dinner for you these days.

The waitress asks if you want dessert and John eyes you hopefully.

"You go right ahead, big guy, but I'm out."

With a sigh, he admits he should probably go relieve Simon and the two of you pack up without any sweets.

You follow him to the bar and he guides your Jeep back past a little awning and behind the building. He opens your door for you once you put it in park and gives you a hand down. "You can park right here anytime you need, honey," he says and you can't deny that the privacy afforded by the two surrounding walls is pretty tempting.

John takes you in through the kitchen where you find the most intimidating man you've ever seen in your life. He's muscled like a bull and taller even than John. A shock of pale blond hair; scarred, furrowed brows over dark, blank eyes; a black surgical mask and a matching baby gap t-shirt pulled taut over biceps bigger than your head. Here is a man that could make even Phil flinch just by yawning a little too hard, surely, and when he greets John, his voice is low like an oncoming bulldozer and just as deadly.

"Where the fuck 'ave you been?"

John doesn't even flinch. "Got lunch."

The blond man turns his gaze upon you for exactly forty-three seconds. Technically, his expression is completely neutral, but you can't help feeling like he's brought a pumpkin gutter to your eye socket, taken your measure by literally weighing whatever he finds in there. (Metric, of course, for accuracy's sake.)

"'Hope you 'ad fun. I fuckin' quit."

"Sure, sure," John rolls his eyes. He nods toward the front of the shop, "How's he doing?"

"Can't speak English."

"You can barely speak English, you filthy manc. How'd he do with customers?"

"Gave out 'is number three times, if that's what you're looking for in a keep."

John shrugs, "If it keeps 'em coming back."

"Gaz would've never."

"No, Gaz would've gotten theirs. He good with the till?"

"'Ardly trusted him with it, did I?"

"Christ, Simon, did you train him on anything?"

"Too busy house breaking 'im."

John snorts. "How'd he do, honest?"

"Hmph," Simon grunts.

"Hmph?" John repeats, valley girl inflection.

"Mm."

John gives you a 'holy shit, you seeing this?' look. "That good?"

"Said what I said. This the bird?" Simon nods at you, but John is hardly deterred.

"Yes. Should I extend him a year round offer, then?"

The other man's turn to ignore John: "Hi, pet. Nice to meet you."

"You're Simon, I gather?" You grit down on your resolve and extend him a hand which he gracefully doesn't crush in his calloused palm. "I believe I have you to thank for a great coffee date?"

"That's right, so if you ever want to trade up, I know plenty of things -."

But whatever he knows, you never will because John chooses that moment to get adorably jealous. "Awrigh', 'nough of tha'." His accent is thick when his hand finds your shoulder and guides you through the swing door into the front area. You pop out behind the bar, where a roguishly handsome man with a short cropped mohawk and upsettingly blue eyes is already grinning at you, probably having heard every word from the kitchen.

Sure enough, you have enough time to hear Simon warn John he was going to regret that before the mohawked man is inching closer. "Hi, bonnie," he greets you in a thick Scottish accent and you don't even have a chance to respond before John is right there, crowding you just enough to put the Scot on his back foot.

"Soap," John greets the other man, and mohawk smiles warmly at his boss, devilish eyes glinting with easy charm and just a touch of mischief.

"Price. Who's the lass?"

"Your test subject tonight. Pretend she's just a regular customer who doesn't know what she wants -." John guides you around the end of the bar to the very last stool as he speaks. "What would you start her off with?"

"Tha's easy, bonnie lass like her. Sit tight, hen." Soap (Soap?) gets to work behind the bar as John ducks back into the kitchen area for a moment. Whatever Soap's making looks simple enough, maybe four ingredients, but he makes it into an art form, coating the glass with whatever sticky syrup he's using for flavor before pouring his mix in and adding garnish. John returns wielding a laptop just in time to see Soap putting back the ingredients he'd used. Soap misses the small, pleasantly surprised look that crosses John's face, but you don't, and you understand when you take a sip; the light, citrusy flavor not at all what you'd expected when you saw him break out the thick syrup. You can't help your hum of satisfaction and Soap beams. "Good, right? Not too heavy?"

"Nope, just right. Thank you."

"Good, means you'll be able to drink all night," he winks. He turns to John, motioning to the register. "Am I…?"

"No, but you know how much that would cost?" John asks as he settles next to you and powers on his laptop.

"Sixteen ninety nine," Soap answers confidently and you nearly spit the drink back out.

But John is unaffected, sliding you the remote as he pulls up some scheduling app. "Good lad," he tells Soap and the man nods once, before getting lost on the other side of the bar, cleaning glasses.

John waits until the audience has left to sneak a sip from your drink. You raise a brow at him and he nods his approval before returning it to you. You settle on some old Quantum Leap reruns and John conveniently makes it clear exactly then that you need only say if you get bored.

You can't help but grin at him. "Unlikely. My buddy made up a hell of a drinking game for this show. Been a while since I've played it so I'll have to check the rules, but I think I can keep myself entertained for as long as this block goes."

"Drinking game for a show?" John asks, apprehensive.

"'Course, boss," Soap calls from the other end, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. "When they, then you…" To you he adds, "Drink whenever Scott Bakula looks in a mirror?"

"That's what? One to start? We can do better." And just like that, you text a friend you hadn't been allowed to speak to in years.

You don't, so you send him the new one and within moments you're settling in to intentionally get tipsy, something you haven't done since the first time Phil laid a hand on you. There's a part of you that can't help feeling this is a bad idea, but another, much larger part of you is determined to put these fears in the past. So you share the rules with Soap and John nods approvingly when he pours himself a water to drink along with you. It's silly, and you feel a little weird drinking by yourself, but John's left hand stays rooted to your thigh, and Soap is eager to make sure you drink every time you're queued. He keeps your glass full, each drink slightly different. You comment exactly once that you don't want to mix your liquors and after that, Soap keeps you plied with the same honeyed whiskey he'd started you off with. They're all delicious, and John seems to agree if his tiny nods after each sample is any indication.

Eventually, real customers start bellying up and John sneaks back behind the bar with a kiss to your temple. By now you've switched the entertainment to the game seven you've been dreading, and the quiet old man next to you seems invested so you shoot the shit with him for a bit. Soap does well, from what you can tell. At least well enough that John feels comfortable spending much of the night in the kitchen. He pops out occasionally to offer you scraps, and check the score, says he's 'starting to get invested in these muppets.' John gloms on pretty quickly to the fact that melty cheese is your weak point, and you end up eating nearly a full dinner despite your general queasiness. The small crowd that gathers around the bar is mostly older, but they're all friendly, and the atmosphere is quiet enough that personal conversations eventually grow to include the whole group and you can't help the smile that slowly grows to overtake your face. The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town. It's exactly what you said you wouldn't do, but when John subtly shakes a bottle of Advil at you from behind the kitchen saloon door, you can't bring yourself to regret it. You nod and he brings you out two along with a bottle of water. Soap switches you to ciders after that without being prompted. You're wary at first because of the sweetness, but he assures you the cider is light and crisp - that it comes from New York so you know it's good. You laugh, wondering if he knows, and take your first sip of home in years.

***

The good thing about living out of your car is you're never unprepared for anything. Before ascending to John's apartment, you stop by the Jeep to grab toiletries and pajamas. John grumbles about putting you in his clothes but you'd be mortified if you leaked on them so you make up some (not wholly untruthful) excuse about sensory issues and clothes needing to fit just right which you can see John filing away with the same seriousness he'd been using to prepare his schedule earlier. There's a nondescript door just in front of John's Suburban which he holds open for you. You lead the way up the stairs and laugh when you hear him hum appreciatively at the view it leaves him with. It turns to a squeak when he pinches just below the crease where your ass meets your thigh and then it's John's turn to laugh when the hand you reach back to stop him doesn't shove him away, simply keeps him in place. By now you've reached the landing and as John draws level with you, his heavy palm slides out and over your hip, coming to rest just a hair too low on your waistline to be decent. The landing is narrow, barely enough to fit a man as big as John, let alone your wide frame, but John doesn't seem in a hurry to open the door into his place. The only light source in the stairway is a small night light back behind John's calves and the ambient light coming through his curtained door panel. Backlit and bowed forward, John's presence is overwhelming. His scent - pine, petrichor, something personal - is inescapable and you almost wish he'd get the kiss you know is coming done and over with so you can get to finally (finally) sticking your face in his chest and just breathing.

Of course, then he does kiss you and you don't want it to end.

John's movements as he bridges the gap between you are slow and impending when he steps closer, boots heavy as one wedges its way in between your shoes. You're already impossibly close when he reels you that final inch by the grip he still has on your waist, meeting your lips with a measured duck of his head that leaves your own tilted back, neck exposed to the wide breadth of his hand which he places on the side there, cradling your jaw in such a way it keeps your head tilted exactly the way he wants you.

It's slow, sweet. Hot. John's mustache tickles but not unpleasantly - too neat and well groomed to be prickly. His lips are soft, addictive, and when he deepens the kiss, his tongue scorches across your own. He groans contentedly and somehow you know this ridiculous man is pleased with the taste of you: honeyed whiskey and sweet cider, the bits of greasy cheese he himself made for you.

He breaks off but doesn't go far, burrows his nose right under your ear and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You drive me fucking crazy, bunny. 'S this alrigh'? I can kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe and he's immediately back on you, both hands framing your jaw now. At some point your own have found the unzipped edges of his Carhart and you try pulling him closer. You only succeed in moving yourself, however, because you'd forgotten John is built like a brick shithouse, even if he thinks he's scrawny.

He obliges you anyway, backs you up enough that you gently bump into the wall, and then your skull is cupped in a protective hand as you're pushed more insistently against it. John is a solid, burning wall at your front. Even through the layers of thermals and jackets you can feel the heat of his skin and you're torn between the desire to be naked under him, sweaty, slick, panting; and to simply see if he'd humor you by holding still long enough to be used like a heating pad.

You pant when John moves to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there until he draws a breath from you that sounds suspiciously like his name. Like this, you can see where his beanie has ridden up just slightly, exposing a bit of hair above his temple and you feel like some repressed Victorian man catching a glimpse of ankle. You're on him in a moment, sniffing his scalp like a fucking dog and you'd maybe feel a little bad about it if not for the way he groans - if not for the way his overwhelming presence makes you feel a little crazy.

"Want you," John tells the bit of décolletage he's uncovered, 'T' enunciated with teeth framing collar bone. Some harefooted intrusive thought has you wishing he'd bite down, wanting to hear it crunch under his jaw. You can feel him now, hard against your hip. He doesn't do anything with it - doesn't grind it into your flesh or bully your hands down to feel the weight of it - but it's enough to know it's there, has your grip moving under his jacket, spanning his ribs.

"John," you gasp again - pleading maybe. Perhaps a warning.

"I know, honey. I know." He sounds miserable. "Won't touch, I promise. But this is okay, right? I can -. We can -."

"Yes."

You're not sure how or when John gets the door open. There's a clatter and a lighting change you barely register from behind your closed eyes and your lifted onto a counter and that's about the hottest thing anyone's ever been able to do for you so you spread your thighs wide on instinct and John takes his reward by slotting himself in as if he bought the fucking deed. "Won't touch, sweetheart, I promise," he repeats as he shoves your coat off your shoulders and admires his handiwork. "Just want to feel you. I want -. Want to…"

Instead of running his intentions by you verbally, John drops to his knees and buries his face in the crotch of your leggings. You yip in embarrassment and try to scramble further onto the counter to get away from him but his grip on your thighs may as well be made of iron. "John, that's… I'm -."

You're interrupted by the heavy sound of his breathing as he takes a fucking whiff of your cunt.

"John!"

"Christ, bunny, I could eat your right up," John murmurs, lips still pressed against your pussy. You gape at him but the look he gives you from under his heavy brow isn't chastised at all.

He looks rabid.

You gulp and John chuckles, deep and dark. "Not gonna," he assures you yet again, but the hot streak he licks up the seam of your leggings almost has you wishing he would. "Not gonna," he says again, and you realize he's saying it for his own benefit when he stands and places a quick peck on your mons. You're briefly embarrassed by the hair he can probably feel through your thin layers, but you catch him taking another quick sniff which -.

Well, it's odd but at least it completely eliminates every ounce of self-consciousness you've ever felt about your pussy.

John groans, works his teeth against the texture he's found.

"Not gonna?" you tease him, not really at all surprised by how breathless you sound.

John huffs, hot and humid where it gets trapped in the fabric beneath his mouth. "Not tonight," he agrees.

"C'mere." You try to help his weak morals by hauling him up by the shoulder. It's a laughable attempt at best, but John doesn't laugh as he obliges.

"Shouldn't have gotten you drunk," he pouts against your lips.

"Still would've been on my period," you remind him, embarrassed as if the word shouldn't even be spoken at a time like this.

"Always did like my lamb bloody."

"John!" he laughs and you tap him lightly on the pec, which only seems to please him more.

"You won't let me play with my food, bunny?" He's looming over you now, hand resting on the counter behind you. You try to imagine him with blood - your blood - all over his face and find -,

"It's not gross?"

John's smile is wolfish and you're caught in his jaws. "No, sweetheart. One of my favorite treats."

"Oh." That's -.

Why doesn't that gross you out?

"We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah? For now, let's get you comfy and ready for bed."

He gives you one final, lingering kiss. You're not sure when he managed to pry your bag off you, but he retrieves it from the kitchen floor and guides you to his en suite. When he runs the shower, you ask if he plans on joining and the look he gives you is that of an owl spotting a field mouse.

A stupid, drunken voice in your head is starting to believe this man actually wants to eat you.

"Won't touch."

When he leaves, he doesn't close the door so neither do you.

John's body wash doesn't smell like him. It's some citrusy bergamot number, at which you are entirely pissed. Still, the water is hot and the pressure is good so you luxuriate a bit, trying to angle yourself right so that the stream can massage some of your back ache away. You had a blast today, but you'll definitely be happy just to lay down soon. You hope John's not too proper to share a bed with you as you kinda really want to be snuggled. When you exit the shower to find him sitting on his bed, staring at you unabashedly as you towel off, you're pretty sure you have your answer. You give him a little show, giggling when he grunts at the way you bend to reach your bag. Eventually you do have to shut the door on him so you can take care of some more private concerns. He's in flannel trousers and not much else when you finally emerge from the bathroom, still just sitting on the edge of the bed. You stare at him for a moment, a little timid after your show. John is solid: thick muscles cording under a thin layer of fat. You think maybe his skin looks slightly baggy on him, but it's hard to tell through the thick hair that coats him. He lets you look your fill for a moment before motioning you closer with a quick curl of his fingers. You stand between his legs and his big palm skates up over your thigh, hooking his fingers into the band of the men's boxer briefs you wear to bed from where it's visible above your sweats and snapping it lightly.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine?"

"Mm. Coulda given you a pair of mine, if you wanted."

"I can wear my own underwear, thank you," you laugh. "Wait, are you jealous?"

"Yes," John admits easily, fingers pulling at the band as if threatening to take them off.

"Of what? I bought these myself," you laugh again.

"Ah." John has the decency to look sheepish as he gently lays the band back where he found it, double rolled to keep from indenting your skin.

"You're ridiculous, you know?" His jealousy rings a tiny little alarm in the back of your mind but you choose to ignore it until you're sober and can be more reasonable.

"No argument there. Are you ready for bed now or do you want to watch something?" He looks so sweet again, big puppy dog eyes as he looks up at you. This is the man who takes you on dates and kisses your temple in public. It's hard to reconcile him with the starved animal he'd been when he'd had you laid out on his counter, but you find you definitely don't mind the duality.

"Are you up for a movie?"

He nods, "Whatever you want, honey."

"Well, what I want is a stupid kids movie, but that'll probably ruin the mood so, like… you pick."

John just smiles up at you dopily. "That sounds perfect. Anything to help me keep it PG," he winks. It's not a good joke, but he's so proud of it it's hard not to laugh. You decide on Who Framed Roger Rabbit because it's a good goddamn movie and because you don't want to subject him to anything egregiously childish. John laughs at the title and too late you realize your mistake.

"Oh, bunny, you don't think this one will be too scary for you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, fluffing a pillow a little too aggressively in his direction. He pulls it from you easily and uses it to prop himself up against the headboard a bit. The position turns his belly into a perfect pillow of your own and you dive in, kissing the ticklish hairs under your cheek just to watch his abs twitch.

"Brave rabbit. Keep testing me and Judge Doom won't be the scariest thing you see tonight."

"Why do you call me a rabbit, anyway? That a Britishism?"

"Sure."

With John's fingers in your hair and the low buzz of whiskey still in your veins, you only make it to the patty cake bit before you're dozing off.

John notices. "Am I sleeping in here tonight, bunny?" His voice is low, an earthquake at the edge of your hearing.

"God I hope so," you mumble into his belly, mortified to find a bit of drool sticking to his hair. If he notices, he doesn't say anything and you fall back asleep for a while. When the movie ends, his shifting wakes you again. You wouldn't mind except it seems the Advil from earlier has finally worn off and you're starting to get crampy. You shift, restless, but John slots himself against your back, his skin like a furnace on your achy back.

"Shh, I got you sweetheart. Go back to bed." You do, right after pulling at his arm until his broad, warm palm places a good amount of pressure right over your sensitive belly, too content to feel self conscious.

Next>>

[angelmush]

5 year anniversary picnic meal made by meeee ! appetizer was whipped butter, radish, + anchovies on crispy focaccia. then salad (though not pictured) was arugula, balls of the most perfectly ripe cantaloupe, oven crisped prosciutto, + mozz. then i had made focaccia sandwiches w pan seared chicken thighs, homemade spinach basil pesto, peaches, balsamic, burratta, and arugula. and 4 dessert i made a cornmeal olive oil cake w a wild blueberry lavender sauce.

[tendercherie]

dinner: arugula, spinach, feta, strawberries, blackberries, candied pecans and dried wild blueberries with a lemon + shallot dressing

[polkadotmotmot]

Morgan Mandalay - Seconds with Wild Sea Dahlias, Mexican Sage, Arugula Flowers, Flowered Broccolini, Cornflower and Rosemary in Victoria Marinara Jar, 2023

[morethansalad]

Summer Dinner Salad with Wild Rice (Vegan)

[theantonian]

What kinds of foods do you think Antony, Cleo and their loved ones enjoyed?

Bearing in mind Cleo was raised Greek, Antony Roman. They were Egypt based but went across Syria, Turkey, Greece.

Antony as a Roman would generally eat various meats mostly pork, poultry, and lamb. Porridge, or puls, made from spelt or barley, was a fairly common meal for the lower classes and Roman soldiers and he would have eaten these while serving in the army. Vegetables and fruits played a role in the Roman diet, however. Legumes such as lentils, beans, and peas were crucial sources of protein too. Cheese made from the milk of cows, sheep, or goats. Simple boiled eggs to more elaborate recipes like omelets or egg-based sauces. Fresh and dried fruits like apples, pears, and grapes were also widely popular. Exotic meats such as peacock, flamingo, dormice, or ostrich were featured at banquets. Here is an article on Roman food:

What Did the Romans Eat and Drink? Learn About Ancient Dining & Diets (mymodernmet.com)

Cleopatra and her relatives would have enjoyed typical Greek dishes. barley bread dipped in wine, sometimes complemented by figs, dates or olives. They also ate a sort of pancake which were made with wheat flour, olive oil, honey and curdled milk, and were served for breakfast. Vegetables that were consumed included radishes, turnips, and carrots. Leafy and salad vegetables were cos lettuce (romaine), cress, arugula, and cabbage. Common bulb and stem vegetables were asparagus, cardoons (artichoke thistle), celery, fennel, garlic, and leeks. Fruit-like vegetables were cucumbers and squash (marrows). Artichokes (the flower part of the plant) and artichoke thistle (cardoons) also were popular at the time. Consumption of pheasant, wild hares, boar, and deer with chickens, geese, and their eggs were common. Here are some articles you should look into:

Ancient Greek cuisine - Wikipedia

Ancient Greek Food: Bread, Seafood, Fruits, and More! | History Cooperative

[dirtyriver]

What Researchers Learned From the World’s Oldest Cookbook

A set of four cuneiform clay tablets unearthed in what was once Mesopotamia contain the etched ingredient lists for dozens of aromatic stews, pies, and soups. Three of the tablets date back as far as 4,000 years.

Part of the problem with reproducing these ancient recipes is that the tablets are mostly ingredient lists, typically sans further instructions. Presumably, the person writing them assumed that the reader would have sufficient culinary know-how to parse the shorthand. For a modern-day scientist, filling in the blanks requires some serious guesswork.

A vegetarian stew—inexplicably titled on a tablet as “Unwinding”—and a braised lamb stew with beets both turned out surprisingly well. The latter recipe incorporates both sour beer and tallow, both of which were commonly used ingredients at the time. “There’s blanks to fill in about how you would prepare and cook these things,” Skelly says. “But the mutton stew stood out as one that seemed more interpretable or familiar.”

Babylonian Lamb Stew recipe under the cut

Adapted from the Yale Peabody Museum

Prep time: 30 minutes

Cook time: 90 minutes

Total time: 120 minutes

4 servings

Ingredients

1/2 cup of chopped leek

2 cloves of garlic

1 pound of diced leg of mutton or lamb

1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste

1 small onion, diced

1 teaspoon of ground cumin

1 cup of Persian shallots or spring onions, finely chopped

1 pound of fresh red beets, peeled and diced

1 cup of chopped arugula

1/2 cup of chopped fresh cilantro

1 cup of beer

1/2 cup of water

2 teaspoons of dry coriander seed

1/2 cup of finely chopped cilantro

1/2 cup of finely chopped kurrat (Egyptian leek), ramps, or wild leek

Instructions

Crush chopped leek and garlic together in a mortar to form a coarse paste. Set aside.

Heat the fat in a Dutch oven wide enough for the diced lamb to sit in one layer. Season the lamb all over with salt and sear on high heat until all moisture evaporates.

Add in the onion and sauté until translucent, but not yet brown. Add the Persian shallots and cumin.

Fold in red beet, arugula, and cilantro. Continue sautéing over medium-high heat until the greens are wilted and the mixture emits a pleasant aroma.

Pour in the beer and the water. Give the pot a light stir and bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and add in the crushed leek and garlic.

Let the stew simmer for about an hour, or until the sauce thickens and the lamb is tender.

While the stew simmers, pound the coriander seeds, kurrat, and cilantro together into a mortar to make a flavorful paste.

Ladle the stew into plates and sprinkle it with the kurrat paste. The dish can be served with steamed bulgur or flatbread.

[greypetrel]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @daggerbean for the tag! And welcome back, consider yourself tagged back if you have something else! <3 Another slow week, a last-minute project took me away... Next I'll have something more, hopefully.

Some Cullavellan, it's been a while. Cullen tried again at challenging her to a drinking game. She was raised Dalish with home-brewed spirits and can't be beaten, just brought to sing.

Whale AU shenanigans, the original one: bed-ridden raccoons are a delight to have around when you're writing the essay of your life, absolutely. (traditional from my sketchbook!)

Some writing under the cut, I'm slow these days but I'm working on some silly thing.

Tagging: @salsedinepicta @ndostairlyrium @dungeons-and-dragon-age @melisusthewee @dreadfutures @pinayelf @whimsyswastry @sapphireangelbunny @flotttemotte @underneathestars

It was all going well, and she was chatting with Josephine and her sister Yvette about Antiva and vernissages, when the weird dish appeared.

A waiter stopped by the trio, perfectly still with a silver tray balanced on his gloved hand. He cleared his throat, once and twice, and when Aisling finally turned and asked him with a smile what she could do for him, the waiter lowered the tray with grace.

And presented her with a small china bowl, richly decorated in blue hunting scenes with gold details… Full of salad.

Aisling took the bowl with one end, the offered tiny fork with the other and thanked the waiter. She didn’t miss how both Montilyet sisters gasped, ad viewing the content of the bowl. Josephine with worry, Yvette with excitement.

Aisling looked at them and found the same emotions on their faces.

She had no idea about why such a gesture could elicit such a reaction from them. Looking down at the content of the bowl, it was just filled with arugula leaves, so freshly green they must have been just picked, and neatly washed before being served.

It was a little weird that there seemed to be no other ingredient to the dish, and no dressing whatsoever, but it also was true that Aisling wasn’t the best judge over how Orlais preferred to serve its rocket salad.

It was definitely weird how the whole of the west side of the upper corridor in the ballroom had stopped to look at her. Which explained why Josephine wasn’t telling anything about how she should behave right now, with a bowl of arugula in her hand.

She looked around, felt the expectation radiating in waves and directing at her.

Months ago, she would have been spooked by all the eyes on her.

Months ago, she hadn’t been the Inquisitor for months.

Without any clue about what the Game expected her to do with some salad, she just shrugged and did what it felt a good logical solution.

She dipped the tiny fork in the leaves, picked up a dainty little morsel -little and graceful, just as Josie had taught her- and brought it to her lips, taking a mouthful.

Other people gasped, Aisling just chewed. Spitting now was not an option, she could see it too.

Beside, she quite liked arugula, the bitterness mildened by the spiciness.

It wasn’t the best, unseasoned and alone, and this one came clearly from a greenhouse, for in the wild it would have been too soon, but it was fresh enough and tasty.

And under the scrutiny of half the ballroom, not knowing why exactly everyone had stopped to look at her and now apparently also called their friends and their grandmothers, she ate it all to the last leaf.

“Well, that was refreshing.” She smiled at the crowd when she was finished. “Can I know who sent it? I would really like to thank them for the lovely treat.”

It was, apparently, a good thing to say: some ladies started to giggle, and she could glimpse both the Dowager and Madame De Fer smiling under their masks, brief flashes before they turned away.

Something good must have happened, but she still didn’t understand the start from the end.

[bakersgrief]

Vacation photo time!!!

Eating Dutch food at the Van Gogh Eaterie

They're open face crepe style pancakes! Mine had chunky tomato sauce, carrots, bacon, and sunflower pesto! And then my gran had one with arugula and some mint tea. My drink was golden melk which was okay... it mainly tasted like turmeric tho. (And I burnt my tongue bc I can never tell how hot a drink with foam on top is)

Pictures of Toaster my mom sent while I was visiting my dad.

Showing off my birthday dress once I FINALLY figured out how to style it (it's a wrap dress)

Holding my aunt's new baby!! In yet another birthday dress lol.

VERY poor attempt at taking a picture of the doe on the side of the road. My grandparents have a cabin near a safe haven for some wild dear. We saw two bucks and three does, two of which had fawns. It looked like one had two! We saw them every time we came and went 😊

And lastly some refrigerator magnets I got from a museum I went to! Both are pictures of paintings or photographs. Pro tip: if you ever visit a museum in the midwest, look up! Chances are there will be an installation by Dale Chihuly.

@sh0jun