#GIVE ME THIS QUALITY SLOW BURN MUSH

[starhoodies]

OK I DIDNT WANT TO CLOG UR ASK SO I MADE A POST instiqator. tumblr. com/post/160254293617/reverse-soriku-princeknight-au

YES.....YES....

[imhereforbvcky]

Watch Me Run - Part 14

Masterlist  -  Series Masterpage  -  Part 15

Summary: You inherit a family relic that gives you the gift of foresight but there are others who are interested for more nefarious reasons. You turn to the Avengers for help. (Bucky x reader) Chapter: Bucky makes you breakfast and you have a new dream. Meanwhile, Natasha gets some answers.

Word Count: 3557

A/N: I make up so much shit related to infinity stones in this chapter. I have no excuse other than that idga(nymore)f. The rest is just mushy mush mush! Enjoy!

The last warm rays stretched long golden fingers through the trees. A breathless chill seeped into the air on the claws of shadow that crawled over the cabin earlier and earlier with each passing day. Even the sun hid its face from winter’s harsh touch in this barren place.

Glimmering ice lingered in every shadow: a frosty warning of the coming storm. Even sheltered inside, your nose had grown cold to the touch on that first morning when you woke to the unmistakable crunch of fresh snow.

You’d dreamed of that sound your whole life, if such horrors could be considered dreams. That grinding, biting, crunch of snow and ice under heavy boots had been knit into your bones, burned in your blood. It was the sound of a world too cold and too sharp to yield to the will of any man in it.

As a child it had been the sound of rescue, of paramedics come to haul your small shivering body from the wreckage of your mother’s car. Lately, the sound of otherworldly golden boots wading through snow and blood hunted you across dream and daylight alike.

Hiding from the unwelcome sound, your eyes pinched tighter shut, and you burrowed deeper beneath the heavy Italian wool blanket. Waiting. It smelled of the raw cedar linen chest. Its rough weave scratched against your cheek as you waited for the sound of relief.

In the long hours here in this small quiet cabin, in this wide open and silent wood, every noise – even Bucky’s hushed ones – had become intimately comforting. First, the deadbolt gliding into place with a swish-thunk. Then, the swift zip of his jacket, and finally the heavy one-two of his boots stomping off the mud, or today… the snow.

You’d learned long ago that while sleep was a necessity, it was not the relief for Bucky, that it was for you. True rest came with great difficulty, and when it did finally claim him, he often woke early, shoving away that unknowable darkness in favor of controllable, definable protocol.

Today had been no different. Dry logs clattered in the fire, crumbling their bark on the stone floor of the hearth. The stiff crumple of newspapers came next, then the sharp fwick of a match. While you’d been hiding from the cold and the steady march of time, he’d already checked his snares and trips, scouted the area for unexpected tracks, and returned with a sled full of bright smelling pine for the fire.

You shuffled to the doorway, dragging the scratchy wool blanket over your shoulders and paused at the entry. Sleep might not bear rest for Bucky, but just now, he looked about as peaceful as you’d seen him. Confident in his sweep, warming by the fire he’d just built, muscles a little sore from the work and a little stiff from the chill in the air, he sat on his feet, kneeling before the bright flames.

Relaxed by his ease, by the very nature of his constancy, you watched for a moment. The warm glow brightened the dark brown of his hair, softened the steel blue of his eyes until he let them fall closed and his head fall back on his shoulders with a sigh. He rarely looked so at ease.

The smile crept across your face unbidden. A slow curl of your lips accompanied a contented tilt of your head. When had running for your life become so pleasant?

“Sleeping Beauty wakes,” he teased, smiling to himself, but otherwise unmoving as he soaked up the fire’s warmth.

“Does that make you my fairy godmother?” you tossed back as you stepped into the room, laughing away the heat rising in your cheeks. “You know, swooping me off to the forest to protect me.”

He laughed, turning to watch you arrange the blanket as you sat beside him in front of the fire. “Not how I’m usually cast, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Who would you rather be?”

Again, he laughed, this time shaking his head, with his eyes firmly on his feet.

“Hey, I’ve got something for you,” he changed the subject. Or tried.

“Fauna, did you make me a cake?! It’s not even my birthday!”

“What?” he frowned, clearly the cabin hadn’t been stocked with Disney movies. “No. Not a cake.”

Natasha stood on the sidewalk looking up at the lavish building with a scoff on her lips. Stately carved stone pillars stood in perfect lines, dividing the deep red brick. Row after row of delicately wrought iron balconets guarded lavishly shrouded windows. At the center of the steeply pitched copper roof, green with age and weather, stood the unmistakable round window. It was intricately latticed and appeared as an exact twin to the one she’d just left behind in Nepal.

She checked the paper in her hands one last time, the one the Sorcerer Supreme had given her.

“Flew half way across the world and I could’ve just taken a cab down 6th,” she grumbled, shoving the paper in her pocket before bounding up the stairs.

She froze when she raised a softly closed fist to knock and the cheery fall morning around her melted into a dim, musky hall filled with ancient looking relics, knick-knacks, books and museum-quality furniture. Immediately on edge, she tried to keep her stomach from flipping again.

“You don’t have the stone.” The voice echoed off the richly stained wood cases.

“Seemed unwise until we know why everyone wants it,” she answered coolly, eyeing the man who seemed to float down the wide staircase. He reminded her vaguely of Tony. Dark hair tinged with grey, carefully kept facial hair, a sharp intelligent eye, and an even sharper tongue. “Why you want it.”

“I need to see to the stone-keeper.”

“And I need answers.”

“There’s no time for mincing words, Ms. Romanoff,” he complained, sweeping past her and pointing a sharply angled hand at the door. “You brought a homicidal Asguardian fugitive to my doorstep  who is hunting infinity stones. That stone protects your reality. My job is to protect this realm, and that means the stone. It’s always been safest with The Seers, but if the chain has been broken…”

“The Seers?” Natasha interrupted. “Who are they? What makes them equipped to protect it over your order? Over us?”

Strange sighed. Irritation sagged in the frown of his lips and the roll of his eyes as he reached for a heavy tome. It flew to his waiting hand from a shelf across the room and when he dropped it on the table, thundered open to a page depicting a family tree in minute detail.

Natasha recognized it immediately as a perfect copy of the one she’d seen that day you first crashed into their lives with a story that seemed too crazy to be true. A story of visions and time-bending and stones. And yet, here she stood in the sanctum of a practitioner of the mystic arts, staring at the exact same family tree that had been scribbled into the back of the family album your grandfather had mailed to you. The one that had held the time stone itself.

“They’re a family,” he explained, pointing to the page. He studied Natasha as she worked to school her shock. “An ancient line of sorcerers. Gifted in our arts, they go as far back as we have written record.” He pointed to a name high on the list. “Suresh The Philosopher: authored many of our foundational texts and spells.” He indicated another name. “Mina The Guardian: appointed the first masters of the mystic arts to maintain the sanctums. Nobis The Wise created the Order of Seers. And so on and so on for generations. Decades.”

“She knows none of this,” Natasha breathed, drawing light fingers over the names on the page and recalling that day in Tony’s office. “She had no idea what that album meant. What she could be.”

“Who she is.” Strange corrected. “She must be told. I can’t allow the stone to remain unprotected. I can help, but you have to take me to the stone-keeper. Now. Loki is not the only one in the universe who seeks that power.”

Natasha sighed, finally in concession. “That’s impossible. I don’t know where she is.” And it was true. She had nothing. No stone, no stone-keeper. Just a word with a man who had a phone number.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

His word was curt and final. Before Natasha’s frown could dawn into an argument, he’d spun a gleaming orange rope, sparking and snapping as it opened a hole in the reality of space and they stepped into a conference room in Stark Tower.

“You might want to lock down the next room.” He calmly suggested before nodding through the glass to an empty office.

The sparking gold ring had just begun to fade as Loki stumbled into the vacant office as if out of thin air.

“Maybe you should let me do the cooking,” you grinned, sliding your elbows over the counter.

Bucky spared a quick glance for you from the overflowing pan. Over his shoulder, you could just see the corner of his mouth quirked up and that glint in his eye. It was like a lightning strike, sending a fresh heat zipping through your entire nervous system.

“You haven’t even tried it yet,” he argued.

“What is… it exactly?”

His smirk only grew as he reached for two plates.

“Garbage eggs,” he said with absolutely no further explanation.

Your excitement turned to a scowl while he scooped the concoction onto two plates and slid one to you.

Bucky had a very different definition of cooking than yours. You had argued about it once, early on. Well, argue isn’t the right word. It was playful prodding really and the conversation ended in a shrug when he offered one of those grins. The kind that invariably forced all the sensible words out of your head.

He was far more likely to heat up a can of beans over the stove – still in the can. Or take a fork straight into a rehydrated sleeve of rice and beef goo, made for camping and efficiency. It wasn’t that he didn’t like good cooking, only that he didn’t require it. Not on mission, anyway. He’d been trained by the US Military and then by HYDRA into the perfect soldier. Anything that tasted good was simply a waste of precious energy.

You, on the other hand, were certain your insides had turned to molten imitation cheese weeks ago from all the frozen or rehydrated food.

“You said you were sick of junk food,” he shrugged, strangely unwilling to meet your eye.

“So you made garbage instead?” you teased.

“Yup.” He shoveled a massive bite into into his mouth and grinned. Still, though he smiled, he wouldn’t look up. Instead he stirred the plate around. “It’s eggs and potatoes and whatever is almost ready for the garbage.”

“An empty-the-cupboard breakfast,” you surmised.

“Mhmm. Try it,” he stabbed a piece of potato.

You eyed him warily as you scooped up a bite. As you did,  he finally lifted his eyes. Not his head, though. He looked like a puppy waiting to be kicked. It wasn’t a five-star meal, but you’d take anything over a microwaved gas station breakfast sandwich. This, at least, was fresh-cooked and warm, and damn it all if it wasn’t alright.

“Not bad?” This time, he grinned a little. His brows lifted slightly, waiting and anxious.

It was then you realized he’d done this for you. When you’d complained about all the food-in-a-bag, when he’d denied you the chance at the hospital café and you’d griped, he’d heard. Not only had he heard you, here he sat offering what you asked for, or as best as he could manage given the circumstances.

“’S good,” you beamed up at him, warmed head to toe by this one small, intimate act. “Nice and salty.”

He nodded, pleased and relieved. He glanced back at the pan, still warm on the stove. “You um,” he stumbled, “You were tired of the instant meals, so.”

Your face burned at the memory of complaining about the food at the hospital, at the recollection of Bucky’s hand closed around yours. How comfortable, how easy it had been done, and how something from that instant had shifted. Something you couldn’t – wouldn’t – name. If you gave it a name it had a shape and that shape might not fit in this tiny cabin, on this dangerous assignment. Or worse, it might not fit in the shapeless world after the danger passed, when the boundaries were lifted.

“You know what this needs?” you asked. Taking another grateful bite and smiling wide, you swallowed the garbage eggs with the anxiety. “Hot sauce!”

You could see the wheels turning, as he eyed you, measuring your suggestion.

“It does,” he finally agreed, turning back to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” you laughed, knowing full well there was no hot sauce to be found in the efficient little cabin. Only dehydrated chicken and rice, canned beans and more potatoes.

Without a word, he reached deep into a cupboard and set a can on the counter with a loud clank. He peeled back the lid on a stew of hot chilies.

Your eyes lit up before you dove into the can with a spoon, drizzling the sauce all over your eggs and potatoes. Bucky did the same. When you both reached into the can simultaneously, you jumped back, a laugh on your lips at your own eagerness.

Bucky looked at you with an expression warm and gentle, like leaves falling quietly in golden afternoon sun. It quickly grew into a laugh of his own.

“You’ve uh,” he chuckled. “You’ve got something…” he motioned to your cheek. The brick red sauce had flung from your spoon when you’d withdrawn so quickly and now splattered your face.

Heat rose in your face again; you tried to laugh it off. You swiped at your cheek with the heel of your hand.

“Did I get it?”

Another chuckle as he shook his head. His lips rolled between his teeth for a fraction of a second.

“Now?”

“Here.” He reached a hand across the counter between you. Without even thinking, you leaned forward, pushing up on your toes to close the distance.

It wasn’t until his thumb swept high over your cheek that your heart began to race. As if, with that touch, that brush of skin, the unspoken shift had been not named, but marked. Without meaning to, he’d brought the feeling to life, shoved it into that golden light.

He’d swept the sauce away but lingered close, fingers hovering just barely over the span of your cheek. Frozen, mesmerized by this newness, you waited, drawn tight as a bow. He never broke eye contact, never pulled away. So finally, you leaned into his hand, just a small tilt of your head.

In an instant you were spinning. The copper relic at your neck burst into green radiance. A sharp intake of breath served as the only notice something was not right.

Bucky pulled away and watched as you stumbled back, completely lost to the power of the stone.

Somewhere in the blend of present and future before your eyes, you knew what you must look like. You knew your eyes had glazed over, had become distant and unseeing Your face had fallen slack with the force of the change, fingers dancing over the cool metal of the necklace. You mirrored your grandfather.

Without his control, however. The dreams took hold when they would, and you fell, powerless to their urging.

In the dream Bucky’s hand still lay on your cheek as it had in waking. His touch remained gentle and warm. He smiled at you with an ease you’d never seen before. It settled over you like a glowing fire. Familiarity, comfort, safety.

The coarse scratch of his growing beard made a pleasant swishing sound as it moved over the soft white fabric on his pillow.

“Do you know you smile when you’re dreaming?” he asked, voice rough and quiet. He must have just woken. You loved when his voice sounded this way. It meant he’d slept well, rested, safe and at home beside you.

Your own voice mumbled out an answer, heavy with contentment and sleep. “Only when I dream of you.”  

Your fingers curled around Bucky’s wrist, holding him close while you turned your head slightly to kiss his open palm.

He rolled his eyes, a silent joke, always teasing. But there was a smile there too, the soft content kind that let you know there would be no interruptions today. No missions. No fear. Just this. The cotton sheets ruffled quietly as he shifted closer and pressed the gentlest kiss to your forehead, then your nose.

“What was I doing?” he asked while the tips of your fingers traced the strong curve of his shoulder. “In the dream.”

“You know how when you’re mad, you clench your jaw?”

“I do not,” he argued.

You laughed and burrowed tightly against his chest, legs tangling as you scooted closer.

“And you sigh.”

He took a breath and paused, holding back the inevitable sigh, before letting out a small chuckle. “Well you got me there.”

“I brought home an elephant, and you were doing the jaw thing,” you traced the line of his jaw. “And then you sighed when I said I wanted to keep it.”

“I’d do a lot more than that if you brought home a 6-ton pet.”

“But I saved it from a circus, so you let me keep it anyway,” you continued.

He hummed, smoothing a hand over your hair and pressing his lips to the top of your head. “That big bleeding heart o’ yours,” he kissed you again. “Always gettin’ us into trouble.”

“No more than your stubborn streak,” you countered, tipping your head to kiss his neck, up, and up to the edge of his chin.

“Who’s stubborn?” He slid strong unrelenting arms around you, pinning your own to your sides. Your entire body locked immobile against his.

“Bucky!” You tried to sound outraged when you were anything but. Your giggles drifted on the breeze beside the gossamer curtains on out the open window. The soft rumble of his happiness tickled and scratched at your ear, it warmed your skin and rippled down to your belly until you stilled again in his arms.

Just as quickly as the dream had fallen upon you, taking hold of all your senses, it lifted. Worried grey eyes roved over you, glancing furtively at the ornament hanging over your chest, its green light dimming slowly.

You sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. That was unusual. Normally when the dreams struck, the force of it overtook you, left you in a heap on the floor. But this time, you hadn’t woken with so much as an ache. Not one bruise.

You noticed Bucky’s hands just then. One curled over your shoulder, the other cradled your head with fingers curling behind your neck. “I’ve got you,” he kept muttering quietly while looking you over again and again, worry pitched in every syllable. He must’ve caught you, guided you to safety, and stayed, watching helplessly as you’d slipped into another time.

“You okay?”

You only nodded, swallowing thickly and dodging his probing gaze.

“What was it?” he pressed. He was anxious and that was unusual. “What did you see?”

“I—Nothing,” you hedged. Your skin had begun to burn at the memory, at the way he was holding you now, so like the dream and yet so unlike. “It was nothing. We’re not in any danger.”

Except you were. You were in very real danger of leaning forward to kiss those almost-familiar lips that had whispered such sweet words in your dream.

“That thing has lit up every time you’ve had one of those dreams,” he urged. His fingers dug into your shoulder. “And every time it does, Loki has been close. Close enough to take it from you. You need to tell me what you saw.”

“It wasn’t Loki,” you managed. “It was you.”

His eyes flashed wide for a moment, before a frown deepened across his dark features. “Me? I did someth--”

“Not like that,” you stumbled. “You wouldn’t have hurt me. It was after, I think. After all of this. I wasn’t worried about Loki, or the stone, or any of this.”

Bucky stared at you, frown as firm as before. He was unsure and critical. Finally, his gaze tore away from you at the sound of a sharp repetitive beep. You watched the color drain from his face before he leapt to his feet, reaching for the pager on the table. The pager he’d bought for Tony Stark to call if anything came up between check-in calls.

He glanced at it, then stared at you for a long moment, trying to work out the puzzle. If you’d withheld anything from him.

Meanwhile, your heart was hammering like ocean waves in your ears. So loud you wondered if he could hear it too. The longer his silence stretched, the more you began to dread what he might say.

“We have to go.”

Part 15 >>

[chinatea]

Jikook Sexy Alien AU Part 1

Personas are a product of @satellite-jeon​ ‘s beautiful mind.

This is WIP and still pretty drafty, and I’ll be posting new parts to tumbler as I finish them. I’m planning 4-5 parts overall. 

For my best girl @kmheart​ <3333 Thank you for loving this mess. <333

Warnings: Coarse language.

Jungkook doesn’t know exactly when his life took a dive from awesome to downright shitty.

And even if he did, he wouldn’t be telling that story any time soon ‘cause no one gives a rat’s arse about good ol’ boy Jungkook who scrubs pools for a living. 

It didn’t start that way. In high school, he was a local superstar. The golden jock. The whole fucking trope, baby. With titties of all caliber following him everywhere. Boy did love him some pussy. Dicks, too. He loved everything to do with sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.

He believed himself invincible and it was only a matter of time before he mingled with the wrong crowd. Only back then, he thought of them as friends. His bros for life.

Well.

Now, he cleans pools - the only kind of gig he can scrounge up nowadays, what with a criminal record and whatnot - and trusts no bro. 

And when he’s not cleaning pools, he’s stuck at the garage being bossed around by a dirtbag who happens to be his uncle. His uncle, Sunmu, hates his guts - one of those stupid homophobic fucks who can’t mind their own fucking business. Needless to say, no love lost.

As much as Jungkook wants to punch his stupid teeth out - what’s left of them anyhow - he needs the money and it’s not like his uncle can do much more than run his smelly farthole of a mouth. Which he does. At lengths. The dude just never shuts up. Until one day, Jungkook made him shut up - even his golden-boy patience has its limits. And the dude blew up, called the police, the neighbors came a-running, the whole nine yards.

One hell of a shitshow, that night.

So now, Jungkook has taken to bringing guys to fuck in his garage instead. Totally intentional. He knows the geezer, like the sick fuck he is, had cameras installed all over for his own perverse pleasure. So Jungkook lets him enjoy it while he can.

‘Cause once the summer ends, Jungkook will burn down his fucking shack and hit the road, because he’s this close to being done with the shitfucks that are hell bent on ruining his life.

Another day. Another mindless grind.

Luckily for him, the client has vacated the house for the day, leaving their big pool in his capable hands. A much welcome break from those rich fucks being all smug and pissy and all up in his grill about every little nothing. 

Rich tits always think they know everything.

Not to mention their shitty kids running around, destroying his equipment and yapping his ear off. Or worse yet, their old haggy wives flashing their saggy tits at him - goodness gracious, does his face say he’s into wrinkled-ass pussy or something?

He thinks the fuck not.

Jungkook plops down on a deck chair and pops a can of coke open, taking a long chug. When he doesn’t have people looming over his ass, he prefers taking things slow. At his own pace. That’s what he’s all about. 

As much as he could wrap things up faster and call it a day, he’s not looking forward to trudging back to the garage. Sunmu the dipshit would be there, of course, nagging at him with this shit or that and he’d rather chill out here - the house is off-limits, locked tight, but the scenery is gorgeous. The house sits on a cliff, with the pool area overlooking the city below. 

It’s private and quiet and damn therapeutic. Like, he could just close his eyes and pretend it’s all his. That he’s not a broke-ass dude about to keel over any day now, but someone who is in control of his life. 

And he does just that. Closes his eyes and leans back, cradling the coke to his chest like one does a lover.

Mind blank of any thought.

The sky above crackles in warning, too close for comfort. And it wakes up goosebumps along his skin as he jostles awake from his little moment of inner peace. His hands flap around, knocking his coke over - it drips all over his tank top. 

Nice, Jungkook thinks. 

Of-fucking-course, it must rain today of all days. He scrambles up to his feet, ready to start hauling all the gear back into his truck when IT happens.

At first, he is not even sure what IT even is. One moment, he’s one grouchy mess, spewing dozens of profanities at no one in particular while tugging at his stained top in a retarded attempt to shake the mess off. And the next-

Something, fairly massive and spherical, materializes a few inches above the pool before plunging into water like a dead weight. Jungkook can only manage an undignified squawk before the impact wave sends him flying into the thorny shrubs framing the pool.

Mother-fucker.

When he drags his ass back from the shrubs, drenched from head to toe and covered in scratches, all he knows is that his stained shirt is the least of his problems now, because this…

What the fuck is this? he thinks, staring agog at the offender, hogging the pool now.

It looks like…something.

Maybe a futuristic car or a flying vessel of some sort. He has no clue, really. What it is or where it came from, but it’s here, right in his face, obstructing his work. Like a bastard.

He’ll have to call up a tow truck or something to pluck this sucker out, which will take forever and there go his plans for Friday night out.

Jungkook walks around the pool, inspecting the strange contraption from all sides. It’s slick and round and very, very chrome. Perhaps - a submarine. Some ultra-slick technology with masking abilities. Which apparently can fly, but not very well, otherwise, how the fuck it’d ended up stuck in his pool.

Those rich fucks and their stupid malfunctioning toys, eh. 

Jungkook sighs and kicks the empty coke can lying about. It flies off towards the pod, ricocheting right off its shiny cask with a sharp clank. And now he has even more trash to dredge up from the puddle bellow. What joy.

As he is about to roll over and wail in self-pity, the pod wakes up with a tremor, sending shallow ripples over the water. Jungkook freezes, frantically thinking over his choices - his gut reaction is to hightail the fuck out of here, because the thing is starting to show signs of life and it doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, not one bit.

He better scram and scram fast. Fuck the money and his uncle - especially his uncle - no one told him scrubbing pools involved close encounters of the third kind.

He makes to do just that but doesn’t make it too far as he bumps into someone, loosing his balance and sending them both to the ground. With a groan, he opens his eyes to stare at the unfortunate soul who had to bear the brunt of the fall on their- his. 

It’s definitely a he. A he so stunning Jungkook’s jaw goes slack and his brain radio-silent. Meanwhile, the he doesn’t waste any time making the most of their proximity as he slithers his hands around Jungkook’s neck and presses against him in a soft sweet kiss.

A supernova goes off at the back of his skull. 

It was awesome.

“Hello,” the other says, a quality to his voice that is out of this world. He must be out of this world, because how?

“I’m Jimin.”

“Hi,” Jungkook says.

A dumb grin takes over his face.

He’s tingly all over. He thinks he’s in love. 

“You’re gorgeous, Jimin-ah. Will you marry me?”

“Marry?” Jimin says tentatively as if testing the word on his tongue. His lips are pretty and full, forming a perpetual pout. It’s adorable. “I can’t marry. I need to mate.”

“Oh.” That throws Jungkook for a loop, as his heart swells with emotion. “Mate who?”

“You,” Jimin smiles. “Serendipity has chosen you as the most suitable candidate within this quadrant of our galaxy. We’re compatible.”

“Wow,” Jungkook whispers. He understands jack shit, but it does feel like serendipity, doesn't it. Just a moment ago, he was one miserable son of a bitch and now…he’s the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole fucking quadrant of their galaxy. 

“You do know I’m scrubbing pools for a living, right?”

He props himself up on his hands, hovering over the gorgeous Jimin and eyeing him like a candy on a stick. Jimin has pretty dainty hands. They are always in motion, feelings up Jungkook’s arm muscles, bulging all prettily just for him - this shameless little minx.

“I know everything about you,” Jimin says, his voice washing over Jungkook’s mind like a gentle summer tide.

Turns his brain all mush-mush. 

“Every second of your waking moment. Every dream, every thought you’ve had. Serendipity has shown me all of it.”

Whomever this Serendipity is, Jungkook hopes it didn’t show every single thought he had. After a certain age, they’d gotten rather repetitive and tended to fixate mostly on things below the belt - which is not the image of himself he wants to project into this world. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Jimin purrs, tapping his temple lightly.

His hands wind up in Jungkook’s hair, massaging the scalp and down his neck. His touches are flitting, almost shy and it kindles longing in Jungkook like never before. It tramples all of the questions budding in his head. Melting reason away. Before he knows they’re kissing again and it plays out like a dream. 

He’s doing something, but he’s not really in control. It feels good. Peaceful, he’s in a safe place. Jimin’s touches are weightless and tender as he maps out his body with the very tips of his fingers. 

Like he can reach everywhere - can touch anywhere.

The moment something prods his mind, gentle and soothing - akin to a light breeze caressing the leaves - Jungkook shivers. Falls under. A feeling like no other. Floating, like a little air bubble. 

It’s gone as sudden as it came and Jungkook finds himself yearning.

“We can’t do it here,” Jimin says as they both move upright in sync. He grabs Jungkook’s hand. “Let’s go. Serendipity will have to stay here for now.”

“Serendipity?” Jungkook asks, shaking off the drowsiness as his brain slowly kicks back into gear. “You mean that pod thing?”

“Don’t call her ‘a thing’,” Jimin chides. “She has feelings. Quite a temper, too.”

“Damn, a she-pod with feelings”.

They’re standing now with Jimin plastered against his chest and nuzzling his mighty pec. Not awkward at all. 

“She’s a ship. The most intelligent ship in the whole galaxy. Completely self-aware,” Jimin says, exploring the vastness of Jungkook’s chest with his curious palms now. Jungkook starts to notice a certain obsession here of a tactile nature, but can’t find it in himself to complain. “Be kind to her.”

“I am kind,” Jungkook says. “I’m like...wait, who are you?”

“I’m Jimin.”

“Okay,” Jungkook nods. “But what kind of Jimin are you? Where did you come from? You’re not with the Joneses here, are you?”

With the burden of rational thinking, Jungkook slumps into a realization that he has questions. And he must ask them. 

“No, I’m from space,” Jimin says like it’s not big deal. “We need to go,” he commands, taking charge and dragging Jungkook along.

“Space? Wow,” Jungkook says. “That’s, ah, nice, I guess. Never been myself, what with the radiation and minus fuck-ton degrees, you know. Transportation kinda sucks, too. I don’t know if you’re aware but we’re kinda still in the stone age or whatever, but, ehm...remember when I was lying on top of you, with our private parts perfectly aligned? That was nice too, wanna, ehm, do that again?”

“Here is not safe,” Jimin says and at least, it’s not a no. “Serendipity can hide herself well enough, but it’s a matter of time before he tracks me down. And if that happens, I don’t want him to track me down right next to her.”

“Who’s he?” 

“Just a man who never gives up what’s his.”

“You mean, like, ex-boyfriend?” Jungkook asks, swallowing down an annoying spike of jealousy. “Do you even have boyfriends in space?”

“I meant Serendipity, not me,” Jimin says. “And yes, we do have boyfriends up there in space. You don’t have to worry though, he’s been mated for the past five hundred years. He’s that boring.”

Jungkook lets out a low whistle.

“If his mate looks anything like you, that’s understandable.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Blow Your Mind

; Hoseok x Reader, Fantasy Soyeon x Reader (G)-Idle

; Genre: Smut

; Word Count: 3.4k

; Warnings: Penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, very light spanking, fantasy fxf oral and fingering

; Synopsis: When you can’t stop gushing about a classmate you find talented and beautiful, your boyfriend decides to paint a fantasy for you involving her while he makes your night

; A/N: Hi, yes. Still struggling to write. Started writing this as just a way to get something done. Ended up with 3.4k. I love Hoseok. I love Soyeon. This happened lmao Please enjoy and I haven’t proof read

-

“Have you heard this song that Soyeon’s produced for her music production class? Oh my god, I’m dying it’s so damn good. What the actual fuck,” You whine to your boyfriend, rolling halfway onto his body as you flail with too much energy. “Maybe you should ask if she wants to collaborate on a song or something for your final project.”

Hoseok hums lightly to himself, looking down at his phone as he scrolls through aimless pages on some subreddit he’s got obsessed with lately. He’s looking particularly fine tonight, with his white shirt clinging to him delightfully as it twists on his slim figure, and you blame that for your sudden rise in hormones.

There’s been a lack of intimate contact over the last week due to busy commitments on both your sides. One of the down sides to you both working a part-time job to fund the little apartment you’d moved into for your last year of college was that it meant you actually had to work around your class schedule.

Which meant that Hoseok was often working when you were free and you were working when he was. Today however, was a rare night off for you both and you’d begged him to stay in and just spend quality time with each other instead of going to the giant rager his fraternity brothers were throwing.

They’d given him only a mild amount of teasing when he’d decided to leave the frat house to move in with you after three years of dating, and you knew that they all loved you. Well, they loved your cooking at least and there was that old saying about the way to a man’s heart…

Still, he’s obviously been working hard in his dance classes that are scheduled carefully around his music classes as you feel the firm muscles of his abdomen flex underneath your fingertips as you trail them gently along the expanse of his front. “Baby...are you listening?”

“Of course I am. You’re gushing about Soyeon again.” Hoseok says idly, bottom lip mushed underneath his top as his eyes go a little wide behind his large circular glasses. He’s got a weird fashion craving lately for wearing increasingly odd looking spectacles and though you tease him relentlessly...he manages to pull it off.

“That’s because she’s amazing. And I think you’re amazing, so I think you’d both make a great song together. You’ve heard her rapping right? Along with the voice of a demon in disguise as an angel. That would be a song for the ages.” You sigh and flop back onto your back, letting your head rest against his stomach as he chuckles and runs his fingers through your hair.

“You know, at this rate I’m half convinced that you want me to start dating her or marry her or something. Shouldn’t it be me you’re always getting excited about?” Twisting your head, you look up at him where his brow is quirked up, pink lips turned up into a smirk and your face scrunches automatically.

“I suck your dick, isn’t that enough to inflate your ego?” He sorts out loud before contorting himself until he can press a kiss to your lips, the position awkward and not romantic or sexy. Still, the way his hand trails along the bare skin of your chest between the straps of your top has you getting hot for him fast.

He never has to do much work because despite his teasing, you’d always be hot for one Jung Hoseok.

“Oh yeah? I bet you’d let her eat you out if she asked.” Humming to yourself, you work hard to control your breathing as his fingers run along the edge of your top and skim the sensitive skin of your stomach underneath. He’s playing with the elastic waistband of your pyjama shorts lazily and despite your best intentions, you can’t stop the way your hips wriggle in anticipation of his touch.

“Of course I would. Have you seen her? You’d let your dick get sucked by her too. And I’m half tempted to say I’d watch because it’d be hot as shit.” A tiny whimper leaves you as his hand slyly makes it way beneath your shorts and the band of your boy short style underwear, your senses going wild as he explores the area just above where you need him.

“I don’t know. I do like your pretty lips wrapped around me. And I think I’d get more enjoyment watching you lose yourself to her. Can you imagine it? She’d give you that narrow eyed look that just screams sex and you’d melt into a puddle at her feet, falling to your knees as you give her those needy eyes that just beg for you to be taken care of.” He shifts behind you, tugging at your body with his free hand until you’re firmly in between his legs with your back to his chest.

The position is familiar, as you’ve cuddled in it plenty of times before but this is the first time you’ve done anything sexual like this. Normally you’d be on top of him, but despite the prodding of his erection against your lower back, he seems pretty content in building a fantasy world for you that involves another woman.

A tut falls from his lips as the movement distracts you away from the image he’s building and with a quick move of his wrist he has his index finger pressing against the sensitive bud of your clit firmly. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as you close your eyes, pressing back into him while your hips try to lift and he presses a kiss to your neck.

“Get them wet for me baby, we’ve got a bit of work to do.” He says as he pulls his hand out and gestures for you to relieve yourself of your lower garments before pressing his fingers into your mouth, a quiet groan leaving his mouth as you let your tongue play with him as you get them plenty wet enough for his needs.

As his hand moves back down, you immediately spread your legs and gasp slightly as the cool air hits your vulnerable centre, shuddering slightly. The gasp soon turns sensual as his presses his fingers back against where you need him most, moving them in slow but steady circles just like you’d taught him all those years ago.

“Are you imagining it for me baby? Imagine we’re in this position on our bed, me at your back while she’s laying between your legs. Looking up at you now with those big eyes that are letting you know just how desperate she is to taste you here.” He gives a particularly hard swivel of his fingers then and the jolt of pleasure has you gasping out as your body shivers delightfully.

“I bet she’d lean forward slowly, so slowly that you feel the heat of her breath on your pussy and she can smell you long before she’s had that taste she wants so badly. You’d be glistening for her, so wet that you’re almost dripping with excitement as you whine against me, rutting your hips against nothing while I grind my cock against your back.” You let out a garbled noise for him as your hips lift up in response to his words, getting the pressure of his fingers just right against you as he takes some of the wetness that’s leaking from your desperate entrance now and rubbing it against the swollen flesh in the centre.

“Oh god Hoseok.” Breathes fall from you in pants, the hint of a moan laced in every one as you keep your eyes closed tightly to let the fantasy world he’s taking you to stay real. He’s always had a way with words, and you’ve never been more grateful until now.

“She’d press that pretty pink tongue of hers against this wet pussy, sliding it deep into you before slowing moving up and giving you tiny, little kitten licks against your clit. Just enough to make you moan but not enough to give you what you really need. All you’d see of that beautiful face would be her eyes focused on you while her nose presses against you, her mouth busy with eating you out with the sole intention of making you scream out her name.” His fingers slide down your pussy with ease, the slick wetness making his movements easier than ever and you groan out, skin hot and sticky with sweat.

A quick move of his wrist has his index and middle finger sliding into your soaked channel, your body so turned on and ready for him that there’s almost no resistance to his intrusion. He moves slowly, letting his fingers get reacquainted with the heat of your silken walls and you pant as he scissors them for a second, the stretch burning ever so slightly with a pain that’s more pleasure than anything else.

“You know she’d see the way you keep clenching around nothing, your pussy quivering for something and leaking all that wetness that she keeps lapping up so eagerly. She’d tell you that you taste so good, that she never wants to stop tasting you and she wonders if you’d feel as good as you taste.” They slide out of you once more to run tight circles around your clit till your thighs tremble before he’s stopping again, letting the high that had been building relax as his fingers slip back into the slick warmth of you.

Hoseok growls against your neck as you tighten around them, his mouth coming down on your skin to suck a bruise into it before he’s biting down hard enough to make it smart. Almost immediately you groan and let your head fall to the side before he lets go, licking along your neck before nosing at your ear and letting his tongue trail along it so slowly it sends shivers down your back.

“I bet she’d push her fingers into this tight little pussy then; two of them would slip into you so easily that she’d add a third just so that you get something to make you feel full. Sliding into you with no resistance because you’re so wet and ready for her; moaning out as she feels every ridge inside you while you clench around them. She’d know how to please you so well too, twisting those fingers around until she’s rubbing against that spot that makes you moan and whine so prettily, pressing down on that bundle of nerves insistently until you can’t feel your toes.” It’s almost fascinating how well he’s describing it, his own fingers curling and hitting your g-spot so exquisitely that your toes are indeed curling while your legs start to feel funny.

You’d described the experience to him often, and you’re almost surprised at how well he must have listened to you. It makes it all the better now.

“Fuck Hoseok, fuck-” You gasp out, writhing against his body desperately as you feel the edge of an orgasm coming quick at the insistent touch of him. His fingers drive into you relentlessly while the heel of his palm rubs at your clit with each movement, rising the pleasure in your body higher and higher until you feel like an elastic band ready to snap at any moment.

“Imagine it baby, she’d finger you so hard that you can hear how wet you are, so slick all for her while you rut against me pathetically. She’d laugh all husky and low like you love, give you that smirk that makes your knees weak before moving forward and sucking your clit into her mouth tightly.” You keen highly against him, one hand squeezing at your covered breast needily while the other grasps at his wrist. Whether it’s to stop him or keep him going, you don’t know but he ignores you anyway as he presses an open mouthed kiss to the tendon of your throat.

“Yeah, you’d make these same noises as she did that. Mewling and whining pathetically, wiggling as you try to reach that orgasm that she’s driving you towards. And she’d be so good at it too. Her tongue would be so hot and wet against you, firm and slick against your pussy while her fingers would fill you up and press against all the right spots. You’d be so wet for her, leaking everywhere and ruining the covers.” The sounds of your bedroom consist of your heavy breathing now, lust filled moans punctuating the air frequently while the slick sounds of flesh against flesh provide a sensual soundtrack that has you going even further.

“Cum for me baby, cum for her. Cum against her mouth and soak her face, tighten that pussy around her fingers till she can barely even move them inside you.” He whispers devilishly, biting down on your neck once more while his hand works furiously inside you.

The deep tone of his voice tickling your skin combines with his fingers in your pussy and the surreal fantasy he’s built in your head until you clench around him tightly, a hand clamping on his wrist firmly while your entire body seizes up before you’re convulsing as orgasmic bliss washes over you. A long moan leaves your throat, deep and filled with all the pleasure you’re feeling as your hips buck up to meet his hand as he continues to finger you almost furiously, curled up against your g-spot that feels so sensitive now.

It’s only when you’re whining against him, pressing your face into his that he finally relents and brings his hand up for you both to look at. Tiredly, you watch as he flexes his fingers before stretching them out and you both admire the wet juices that coat his hand so beautifully, thick enough to string together.

He lets out a happy sigh before popping them into his mouth, licking each one clean before shifting your face to his and pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. It’s one of possession and triumph, his tongue licking into your mouth to claim every part of you and you submit to it with happily, your post-orgasmic state making you content to let him do whatever he wants.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” Hoseok whispers against your lips when he pulls away, still close enough for your noses to brush and for you to see the way his pupils are blown out in sheer lust. The thick length pressed to your lower back lets you know that he probably won’t be too long, but you just nod happily with a smile before rolling over onto your front, lifting a leg up just enough that he can see the sticky mess that’s your pussy.

A quiet curse leaves him as he shifts onto his knees, pushing his sweatpants off him and throwing them somewhere into the depths of your room before yanking that delightful white shirt off. Letting your head rest on your arms, you look back at him with a smile as he takes his cock into his hand and gives himself a good stroke or two.

Hoseok’s eyes focus on you and a brow raises as he shuffles closer, using his free hand to stroke the exposed skin of your ass before he swats it lightly. “Do you want it bare or condom?”

“Bare. You’ve already made a mess of me, might as well make it really messy. Besides, that was a hot fantasy. Now I want you to fulfil my cum kink and let you get off on your fantasy.” You tease lightly and he lets out a soft chiding noise, another swat making the round of your ass jiggle slightly.

“Rude. I was so nice to you, giving you this hot lesbian fantasy with the girl you’re half in love with. Letting you imagine yourself getting eaten out and fingered by her when it was my fingers that made you cum.” He grumbles to himself quietly, running his fingers along your pussy to catch your wetness which he uses as a makeshift lube on his cock.

You’re so wet that you don’t even need lube now, and as he moves over you to stroke the tip of his erection against your entrance you sigh happily. The fantasy was nice, but there’s nothing as nice as your boyfriend’s dick inside you.

Hoseok pushes in, not bothering to move slowly as you welcome the slight stretch he gives you that two fingers just can’t accomplish. A strained moan leaves him as he bottoms out, his hips pressed firmly to your ass while he places his hands on either side of your shoulders to give him the best position to drill into you.

And drill he does, not even bothering to try to give you a second orgasm or anything. The sensation of his thick cock stroking all those sensitive parts inside you that he’d coaxed into the wonderful orgasm earlier was more than enough for you, and you play your part in encouraging him to come wonderfully.

Tensing your thighs, you lift your hips up in the awkward position till you’re meeting Hoseok’s own hips and the sound of skin slapping against skin plays out once more in the room. Only this time it’s more intense and the texture of the fabric of your covers rubbing against your clit provides even more sensations that overwhelm your senses.

“Oh god Hoseok, yes.” You gasp out quietly into your arms, closing your eyes once more to focus on the sensations as your body jerks forward with each insistent thrust of his hips. He grunts in response, breathing loud against your ear and you squeeze down tightly on your inner muscles to grasp at him in a silken grip he can never replicate.

The sensation has him gasping out himself, a slight whine making it higher pitched than usual as he fucks through the tightness you’ve created for him and you just know that the extra friction and pressure is doing it right for him. “Cum for me Hoseok, I know you want to. Come on, cum for me baby.”

You’ve never been on his level of dirty talk, but you know he likes the vocal encouragement from you anyway. The words fall from your lips repeatedly, begging him to cum inside you until you’re leaking him for hours afterwards as the tiny sounds of lustful need that fall from his lips are truly music to your ears.

It’s as his thrust become more forceful and insistent yet increasingly sloppy that you know he’s reaching his peak, the ball of tightness forming in his stomach before snapping cleanly as a sharp groan escapes his throat and he’s fucking into you in tiny, short thrusts as his orgasm takes over. Each thrust is accompanied with the twitching of his cock as he ejaculates inside you before he finally comes to a stop, his forehead resting against your shoulder while you feel the layer of sweat on his body as he rests it against your own for a moment.

The shift in position causes him to slip out of you and almost immediately you feel his cum begin to escape as well, but neither of you care much as he rolls onto his back at your side after pressing a soft kiss to the skin he can reach. It’s gentle, despite the intensity of what you’d just done.

Even if it wasn’t the kinkiest thing you’d ever done, it was definitely up there in your top 5 sex with Hoseok list.

For a few minutes afterwards, the two of you lay on the bed in near silence. Hoseok’s chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath while your entire body just rests in contentment, the fantastic sex leaving you feeling just plain good. Shifting your head over to look at him, uncaring that you’re dirtying up the covers as you feel more of his cum leaking out of you and falling to the bed, you give him a small smile before moving to rest a hand against his toned bicep.

“Hmm...yeah you can definitely marry her. As long as you’re married to me too and I’m the centre of attention.” You muse quietly, giving him a quick grin as he lets out a tired laugh before looking at you with amusement.

“I think I can do that,” He smiles back, letting his fingers trail along the exposed skin of your lower back in a decidedly non-sexual manner. “Especially if you’re going to react like that again. Sign me up.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“It’s fine. You’re my number one though.”

“Disgustingly cute.”

“Only for you.”

[jack-kellys]

it’s me, with another AU! this is based off this ask I got a little while ago.

——————

like him

words: 2000 whoops

warnings: cursing, weed, bit of a mental breakdown, mentions/implications of abuse

——————

Everyone had some sort of power.

Passed down through generations, it manifested in every child at the start of adolescence, a fifty percent chance on either parent passing theirs down, like it was simply a hair color gene.

Well. It seemed like everyone had a power.

For what seemed like years, all of Albert DaSilva’s friends have had their powers. Race could control electricity and move faster than the rest of them, Romeo could charm the pants off anyone, Mush could heal with just his hands, and Finch had perfect aim and could see farther and clearer than the norm. And Al was just….Al. Nothing inherited, no specific talents that were randomly bestowed to him. Nothing. No special qualities.

He’d tried, he could say that. He taught himself to fight over the years, he was quite flexible, able to do a bunch of parkour bullshit (half for compensating, and half to say “parkour!” whenever he jumped off of something and be able to mean it), anything he could to just prove himself that he was enough. He could compete with his friends, even if Race would always be faster than him, Davey always smarter, Spot always stronger. He was enough. He had to be enough.

As Albert entered his house that afternoon, the first thing he saw were all the leaves on the ground. His dad must not be there, or else those definitely wouldn’t have been there.

“Liam, you gotta clean these up,” Al sighed, bending down to scoop them into a cleaner pile. They were a perfect emerald green, and soft, too. “Damn, I think you’re gettin’ even better at this, kid.”

Al’s younger brother skidded into the room, grinning, vines trailing up his arms and legs like he was part tree.

Albert burst out laughing at the sight. “What the hell? How long’ve you been experimenting?”

“Hours,” Liam beamed, bobbing his head. “You think Ma’d be impressed if she could see ‘em?”

Al gave him a smile. Plants had been their mother’s specialty. She never got to see Liam inherit her powers, but Al thanked the stars every day that her botanical abilities hadn’t died with her. She was still with them, he liked to think.

“She’d be so proud, Tiger,” Al said, gesturing at the leaves. “These look beautiful. Much nicer than the gross yellowy crinkled ones you were makin’ last week.”

“Shush! No talking about that!” Liam huffed, finding a paper bag after rummaging through cabinets and shoving the leaves into it.

“Fine,” Al relented, smirking. “I just came by to check on you. I’m gonna head over to Racer’s, will you be alright?”

“Yep! All good here, Allie!” Liam chirped. “Go on with your friends, I gotta make some more vines.”

Al scoffed. “Alright, alright, but make sure you clean everything up before Papa comes home. Y’know how he gets about your powers.”

Liam nodded slowly, solemn even. “I’ll be okay,” the child reassured.

Albert ruffled his hair. “Good. I’ll see you soon, bud. Love ya.”

“Love yaaaah!” Liam called, dragging out the word as Al left the house.

• • •

“Heyyyyyy Albie!”

Al ducked into Race’s basement to see Mush, Jack, Crutchie, Race, and Romeo passing around a few blunts in the haphazard circle they were sitting in.

“You guys look like a cult who gave up halfway through the ritual,” Al said as he sat down next to Race, who whapped his arm lightly.

“We did out best, sir,” Crutchie whined with a smile. “What took you so long anyway?”

Albert shrugged. “I wanted to check in on Liam before our dad came home.”

“Dads,” Race mused. “Fuck ‘em.” And then he took a long drag.

Albert pulled the blunt with two fingers out of Race’s lips and put it to his own, holding the weed in his lungs before exhaling out in a short sigh. “Fuck ‘em,” he muttered.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that, bro,” Romeo mumbled, picking up a glasses filled with…with….

“Bro, is that apple juice?” Albert asked, lips quirked a smile. “What the fuck?”

“I swear to god he has the weirdest cravings,” Jack sighed, shaking his head. “He really is the baby of the group.” Romeo whined at that, making Jack let out a scoff of laughter and point at him, as if his whininess was evidence.

“Is apple juice really stranger than fruity pebbles?” Mush snickered, glancing at Al. Al frowned as he took another hit from the blunt, shoving Mush over from across Race. Mush shoved him back, the two boys hitting each other over Race’s lap.

“Boys,” Race rolled his eyes, gripping their wrists at lighting speed. “You’re both pretty, even if you’ll never be me.”

“This ain’t my argument, but shut your trap, Racer,” Jack grumbled. He started to trace his fingers in the air and the boys groaned.

Jack had the peculiar power of being able to conjure things by “drawing” them out first, and often used harmless bullshit on his friends to make them look stupid. Once he stopped tracing, he flicked the product in Race’s direction, who flinched in apprehension.

A dark mustache and giant black round glasses now framed Race’s face, as well as an L on his forehead. The boys burst out laughing, their giggles lasting longer than normal due to their high.

“You—stupid,” Crutchie managed before dissolving into wheezes, which only made everyone laugh harder as Race scowled.

“You want stupid?” Race threatened. Al shook his head no in unison with the boys’ nods of approval. “I’ll give ya stupid.”

He stood up from where he was sitting and moved to a more open part of the basement, gesturing for everyone to stand back. Once everyone did, he started running inn a circle.

It looked kind of ridiculous at first, the boys watching in confusion as Race slowly increased speed.

Al squinted. It was getting kind of hard to see Race clearly, he realized. He was blurring into one shape, one circular outline. Al could see little bolts of lighting crackling through the blur, and felt wind blowing his hair back.

“Race,” he called out, “we get it, you’re dumb and fast. You can stop.”

The blur got faster instead.

Mush made eye contact with Albert, his worried frown reflecting Al’s own. Hopefully they wouldn’t need Mush’s powers tonight for a stupid stunt.

“Racetrack,” Al said, sterner. “Just stop, alright? Don’t burn yourself out.”

“I can—n’t. Ca-n’t. I- sto—p. I can’t sto-top,” came the choppy, distorted reply, making Al’s heartbeat quicken. The blur was still speeding up.

“Fuck, what the fuck,” Al said, abruptly standing. But he was frozen. There wasn’t anything he could do.

“How the fuck do we stop him?” Crutchie said, a nervous waver in his voice and in how he forced himself into standing on his good leg alone. The rest of the boys stood too, Crutchie’s hand finding Jack’s shoulder to steady himself on.

“Well, I’m ready for whatever aftermath this’s gonna cause,” Mush sighed, wiggling his hands.

“He’s not gonna stop unless we force it,” Al said slowly, biting his lip. “So we force it, and Mush just has to heal ‘im up.”

“Race,” Romeo started, Al feeling the familiar compulsion to listen, which happened whenever Romeo used his power. “Please try and slow down a little, at least, if you can hear me?”

No reply from the blur came back.

“Alright, well, that didn't work,” Romeo huffed. “How the hell do we actually wanna force it?”

“He could slip and fall out of the...storm he created,” Al offered.

“Oh, shit, I can help with that!” Crutchie beamed, raising his hand. A bubble of water appeared out of it.

“Flood ‘im then,” Jack nodded.

Crutchie returned it, letting go of Jack’s shoulder. He raised his hands slightly, palms towards the ceiling, pausing a moment. Then he shoved his arms out towards Race. A wave surged from Crutchie’s hands, Al being able to smell the salt water.

It toppled Race off of his feet, thank god.

But he was going so fast that he tumbled….straight through one of the walls in his basement, creating a large hole.

“Race!” Al yelled, bolting to where he had landed, Mush hot on his heels. He knelt next to the blond boy, who was sprawled on his back. Every few seconds, Race’s body would give a slight jolt, the extra electricity still coursing through him. His eyes were actively scrunched closed, but he wasn’t conscious.

“Jesus Christ,” Al muttered, pressing his lips together and letting his hands curl into fists. He closed his eyes a moment.

That was so fucking stupid of Race, Al thought bitterly.

Yes, they were all at varying degrees of high, but Race shouldn’t just abuse his powers to such a dangerous extreme. What a useless thing to do. And harmful, too. Who knows what could have happened if he kept going, if he could have caught on fire even from the speed, or maybe even-

“Al. Al. Hellooo,” Mush tapped Albert’s shoulder, effectively startling him out of...whatever that was. He wasn’t quite sure. “Help me lift this idiot onto the couch.”

Albert nodded wordlessly, both boys bringing Race to the couch so Mush could heal him.

“Might take more than a minute this time,” Mush grimaced, placing his hands on Race’s stomach as Al begrudgingly nodded.

It took eleven minutes, actually. Al counted.

And then Race was sitting up like nothing had ever happened. Like it was nothing.

“We all good, fam,” Race laughed. Jack gave a distracted thumbs up as he, Crutchie, and Romeo continued to try and clean up the wall and the water.

“No, we’re not all good, asshole,” Al snapped, surprising himself slightly. He didn’t think he was that mad.

Race looked confused. “I broke my own wall, dude. I know I fucked up,” he shrugged.

“That’s not the problem,�� Al seethed, internally begging himself to calm down. He rubbed his hands over his arms. They felt colder. “The problem is that you could have fucking, like, combusted if you kept going. You realize that, right?”

Race faltered slightly. “Well, hey—“

Al shook his head violently, cutting Race off. He couldn’t stop himself. “You could have died, okay?! For a stupid-shit stunt! Jesus fucking Christ.” His voice was raised now.

“Albert,” Mush attempted, giving him the same concerned he had given Race earlier, “try to calm down.”

“I..I-I—“ Albert broke himself off, shoulder shooting up as he fought a shiver. Why was he so cold? And why couldn’t his breathing slow down? And why was he being so awful to Race? Questions shoved themselves through his head, wincing as he felt an anxious energy shoot through his palms, heart rate much faster than it should have been. Blood roared in his ears, his hands reaching up to cover them against the sudden noise. What was this? Frustration burned in his chest and he returned to hugging himself. Why the fuck was he so mad? Why couldn’t he just stop it? What was happening to him?! He screwed his eyes shut as the fear and anger engulfed him, a freezing feeling that both stopped and accelerated his heart. “Mush, I—can’t, I don’t know I just can’t calm-“

“Just take some deep breaths, okay?” Mush asked.

“I’m trying, okay?” Al growled suddenly, then froze. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s—I—“

“I get that you’re angry, but you—“

“I’M NOT ANGRY!” Al shouted, eyes flying open and hand slamming down on the armrest of the couch. He did his best to take a ragged breath in. “I was just really worried, that’s all. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening with...me…”

Albert trailed off as he noticed everyone had stopped looking at him, and looking at something next to him. His eyes flicked to his right, widening at the sight.

What looked like an eerie dead tree in the form of solid ice now sprouted from the armrest, sharp icicle shards piercing the ceiling at some points. One rather jagged point was even poking at Race.

Race let out a low whistle, breaking off the icicle closest to him. “That’s my fuckin’ armrest, Al,” he simply said.

Al wasn’t listening to whatever his friends continued to say. He was staring at the ice, the structure of his own doing transporting him to a different time.

Al’s mother was still alive, in another fight with his father. Young Albert watched from behind a door frame as they yelled insults, angry shouts of discontentment filling the kitchen. Albert watched as his father picked up one of his mother's small potted plants, holding it tightly in his hand. Frost erupted around the pot, then froze and wilted the flower inside. Then he threw it on the ground, not watching it shatter into ice as he shoved Albert’s mother into a different room as she screamed.

Ice had ruled his childhood. Ice had threatened him, his brothers, and his Ma. Ice had hurt them, too. It was a hateful, angry, cold and unfeeling thing.

And now he had it. He...inherited that. He was that.

Albert looked away from the gnarled tree of ice and back towards his friends, whose expressions of awe were slipping off their faces as they took in Al’s scared eyes. Only Race gave him a sad, knowing look.

“I-I needa leave,” Albert managed. “I’m so sorry.” Then he bolted out of the basement, footprints creating patches of ice, ignoring his friends’ protests.

• • •

Albert to Elmer: im coming to ur house rn just so you know

Elmer to Albert: ??? okay hun what's wrong it's like late

Albert to Elmer: show you when I get there

The moment Al walked into Elmer’s house, he nearly collapsed into his boyfriend’s arms. He squeezed El tightly, breathing in how he smelled to calm himself down.

“Oh, baby, you're so tense,” El murmured. “Let's go to my room; lemme ease that for you.”

Albert nodded into his shoulder as Elmer led them upstairs. He set them on his bed, Al flopping down onto his back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don't know how it happened,” Al started, voice devoid of much emotion. “Something...weird just kinda came over me, and I was so angry, El, it almost hurt.”

“Baby,” El said, shifting closer with his eyebrows furrowed. “What happened at Race’s, if you don't mind me asking?”

“This,” Al muttered darkly, raising his hand. The now-distinguishable angry feeling unfurled in his gut as frost materialized over his fingers, then reaching to his palm, covering his whole hand in icy white. “Just like him.”

Elmer stared open-mouthed at Albert’s hand, poking it with one of his fingers before recoiling from the cold of it. “That's incredible,” El breathed. “After all this time, you do have powers.”

“And it sucks,” Al hissed. “They’re—his powers. I inherited the shit that I was terrified of when I was little. How fucked up is that?”

“Shhhh…” Elmer soothed, placing his hand on Albert’s cheek. Al sighed at the contact, feeling some of the stress leave his body. He was lucky Elmer was an empath, able to feel, absorb, and release emotions as needed, as long as he held physical contact with him.

“You're not your dad, Al,” Elmer continued, rubbing his thumb affectionately over Albert’s cheek. “You’re too kind, and really funny, and too smart and passionate…” Elmer punctuated each word with a kiss on Al’s forehead. Al’s stress ebbed away with each one, almost finding himself smiling.

“Okay baby okayy,” Albert groaned. Then he bit his lip. “When I used them though, I just...I didn't feel like me. Like I was a different person, or some batshit nonsense like that.”

Elmer sighed, indicating for Albert to move up on the bed. He complied, and felt Elmer curl around his back, wrapping his arms over Albert’s stomach.

“Then we’re gonna have to learn how to deal with that, and then fix that,” Elmer instructed. “You're powers are what make you you, and I want you to be able to feel like you.”

“That was too many you’s in one sentence,” Albert mumbled, pulling out his phone to text Liam that he’d be staying at El’s.

Elmer whapped Al’s back with a scoff. “You know what I mean though. I love you, okay, and I want you to be able to express yourself, in every part of yourself.”

“I love you too,” Albert said, his voice slightly hollow despite curling further into Elmer and closing his eyes. He didn't want to admit these powers were a part of him now. It didn't feel like his, and even after all this time of never having powers, he didn't want them, either.

Everyone had some sort of power, sure, but not everyone's felt like a curse.

————

to be continued, not just this story in particular, but this au in general, because it’s fun as fuck lmao

TAG LIST

@suddenly-im-respecsable @alberts-cigar @bencookisagod @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @technically-whizzy @papesdontsellthemselves @fameworks-quicker @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @thomasbeingthomas @the-king-of-brooklyn @sunshine-e-cigarettes @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @iwontfallinlovewfalling @timehops @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @eveningpaper @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @ireallyloveiainyoungwow @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you u @bxnesof92 @backgroundnewsies @orollyitsracetrackhiggins @a-most-auspicious-erster @modern-race-owns-airpods @asphodelnerd

[easyfoodnetwork]

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Freezer

hutchyb for Getty Images/iStockphoto

There’s a technique — even a flair — to freezing food successfully

My mother is what you might call a culinary cryogenicist. Long before the crew at the Noma Food Lab grew their first flavor spore, my mom was experimenting with the effects of age and temperature on all kinds of foodstuffs: the last two bites of some mac and cheese. Four shrimp. One-third of a pork chop. Three matzo balls. Half a bag of green beans tied shut with a trash bag twist-tie. An old joint. Eight slices of rye bread. Raisins. So. Much. Ham. And that’s just the first shelf of the freezer.

It was a talent she inherited. Her own mother was a master of the freezer arts, best exemplified by the very same “tray of frozen shrimp” offered to us on every grandparent visit for more than two decades; it became a running family joke. As a member of the next generation, however, my family’s faith in the preservation power of cold turned me into a devoted freezer snob. For most of my adult life, my freezer has remained a sacred space reserved for only the most cold-hardy ingredients — ice cream, popsicles, those giant cocktail ice spheres, and maybe the occasional box of toaster waffles or bag of frozen peas. Meat? God no. Fish? Please, back away and leave quietly.

In my mind, freezing things ruined their precious molecular integrity by turning them into rock-hard cubes. Meat is normally prized for its “freshness.” In the fields, crops are carefully covered to prevent freezing, so why put them under such duress in your own home? Having kids a few years ago loosened me up a bit — show me one child-rearing American household a without a frozen bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken blobs lurking somewhere. But overall, for the better part of the last decade, my freezer has remained as sleek and food-free as an after-hours Apple Store.

But when COVID-19 hit I admittedly went into full hoarder mode. My diet, like my fashion, is dictated by my mood (it’s also why I’m a chronic over-packer). With annual memberships to Instacart, Amazon Fresh, and a handful of specialty grocers down the street, I’d become accustomed to getting all the ingredients to sate any craving within an hour of it hitting. Maintaining that level of spontaneity in the time of supermarket lines and impossible delivery queues meant stocking up in ways I’d never fathomed before.

Even with a family of four eating three-plus meals a day, the kind of inventory I was sporting needed to be able to hang out a while. And so, it was with deep reservations that I finally began freezing things — though the real miracle didn’t occur until I began un-freezing them.

First I tried a pork tenderloin, one of three I had purchased at Costco a few weeks earlier. Following the advice of the pros, I took it out of the freezer and put it in my fridge overnight, cooked it as usual, and it was… fine. Good, even. Next I tried salmon — I’ve had terrible experiences with frozen seafood in the past, so my hopes were low for the three rosy-pink portions I defrosted and broiled. But again, the resulting fish was surprisingly moist, fatty, firm, delicious.

After that I started throwing everything in the freezer just to see: ground turkey, chicken thighs. All were fine. Then I moved into pizza dough, shredded cheese, blanched vegetables; then on to chili, tortillas, pancakes, whole loaves of bread, coffee (while dry coffee beans won’t technically “go bad,” their flavor and aroma suffer over time). Pretty much every single thing I froze — and later unfroze — emerged as relatively unharmed and tasty as the day I bought it. (Notable exceptions included skim milk and some poorly wrapped steaks, and it took some serious trial and error with fresh greens.)

Now, as we go into week five… or six? of “safer at home” measures, my freezer has transformed from a sterile ice-storage facility to a clutch partner in culinary crime. Today the once-barren shelves are buckling beneath the weight of dated and labeled baggies and bins with enough perfectly preserved food to more than bridge the gap between bi-weekly produce box deliveries and masked-up grocery runs.

But as it turns out, my mom and grandmother were, in fact, artists — there is a technique, even a flair to freezing food successfully. Wrap something improperly or defrost incorrectly and you might not just risk the integrity of your ingredients, but also your health. So after a month or so of embracing my familial fate and becoming a frozen food convert, here are a few lessons I’ve learned:

The Container Matters

I know, plastic is the enemy, but those fancy glass containers can crack in the freezer. According to the experts, the best way to freeze food is in a vacuum-seal bag that you suction yourself with one of those fancy machines to minimize air (air is your enemy in the great freezer wars). I don’t have one of those — though I’ve been eyeing this one on Amazon — so I use regular old freezer-grade zipper bags and press out as much air as possible before sealing. There’s also a trick where you mimic a vacuum sealer with a drinking straw, slipping it in the corner of the bag and sucking out as much air as you can before pulling the straw out at the last minute, but I felt weird inhaling all those funky meat fumes. My Instagram feed has been full of ads for these pricey silicone bags that I hear work well but I’ve yet to give them a test run.

Either way, you’re going for minimal air exposure and some thickness barrier — a little cushion between your food and the freezer air will help prevent that dreaded freezer burn, a damaging mix of oxidation and dehydration.

Prep Is Key

For meat and fish, you generally want to remove them from their original packaging and re-wrap in individual portions before freezing. Wrapping each cut in an extra layer of plastic before putting them in the zipper bag adds another degree of protection. Timing is key here. Freeze cuts of meat immediately after you get them home, or better yet, buy them pre-frozen. There are entire industries built around freezing fish in a way that sacrifices the least in the way of flavor and texture, so trust the pros — they know what they’re doing.

Vegetables, for the most part, should be quickly blanched before freezing. The drag here is that in the process of blanching, they absorb too much water to get any sort of good roasty char later, but it’s a small price to pay for having quality seasonal produce year-round. Before you blanch, prep the ingredients the way you plan to eat them, meaning separating broccoli and cauliflower into florets, snapping the ends off green beans, and chopping greens. Then boil a big pot of water and dunk the vegetables in for about a minute before plunging immediately into a big bowl of icy water. This will keep them from continuing to cook and turning to mush. The next part is key: Dry everything as best you can. The more water, the thicker the tectonic ice coating you’ll get on every piece. Then put everything into baggies and freeze.

Fruit freezing techniques vary — it all depends what you want to use them for. No amount of freezer skill will recreate the experience of biting into a fresh peach after it’s been frozen. But for smoothies, pie fillings, baking, or juice, most fruit will freeze just fine. Bananas freeze great, peel and all. Berries you’ll want to rinse, dry, then let freeze on a large flat surface like a cookie sheet before transferring to bags. If you want to use citrus just for zest or juice, go ahead and freeze them whole. They say you can freeze citrus in wedges individually, but I found the texture suffers greatly after defrosting, and honestly I can’t imagine what you’d want to use floppy, deflated tangerine wedges for. Juice is no problem — just squeeze, put the juice into an ice cube mold and freeze. You can pop them out later and transfer to a plastic bag for easier storage.

The above ice-cube tray technique works well for all kinds of liquids and purees. I actually bought these cool molds to freeze baby food for my second kid, and I use them now for smaller portions of stocks, lemon juice, pesto, pizza sauce. For larger batches, I pour a couple of cups into a zipper bag, get out as much air as possible, and freeze them flat so I can stack them later.

Breads freeze fantastically, but as a rule pre-sliced is best. I started buying giant loaves of my favorite rye bread from the farmers market and keep them in the freezer full-time, toasting off individual slices as needed; my mom perfected a technique with bagels that involves slicing them as soon as you get them home, wrapping each half separately, and then toasting them direct from the freezer. Pre-cooked tortillas and pita you can just wrap, freeze, and cook off one by one, but my most exciting recent discovery has been in the realm of pre-baked goods. It turns out most doughs recover well after freezing, and I just made a batch of biscuits using this technique that has you freezing the raw, cut biscuits ahead of time and baking them off as needed. It’s opened up a whole new world of frozen pastry projects for me.

I’m sure there’s some technique to freezing cheese but honestly I just put whole hunks and bags of the pre-shredded stuff straight into the freezer. I don’t really freeze milk but the wisdom is that the more fat content, the better it freezes, so half-and-half freezes great, skim milk not so much. Coffee I found out you can freeze and brew straight from frozen, which is excellent considering it is an absolute nonnegotiable in my house.

*If you’re curious about any other ingredient, there are countless guides to freezing food online that will steer you in the right direction.

Don’t Rush the Defrost

(Even Though Sometimes I Do, But It’s Really Risky, Okay?)

The basic rule of thumb for pretty much everything is low and slow. Put whatever you want to defrost in the refrigerator the night before you want to cook it — sometimes longer for big cuts of meat — and let it come to temperature gradually. I do this... most times. But there is a reason your microwave has a “defrost” setting, and it will definitely speed things along if also putting you at risk of prematurely cooking the edges of your chicken breast. I’ve successfully defrosted smaller cuts of fish and shrimp by running the bags under cold water in the sink for a few minutes until soft enough to handle, but this is not officially endorsed by the pros. What you’re definitely not supposed to do is let your ingredients hang out at room temp until they defrost. I have done this too, though it is a surefire recipe for a bacterial infection and this is not the time you want to be running to the ER for dehydration.

The point is, the freezer might be cold and dark, but it is not at all a thing to fear. Utilizing it well has helped me maintain the kind of spur-of-the-moment cooking style that feels normal to me — a valuable thing when pretty much everything else about my life right now does not feel normal. Now all I need is a bigger freezer.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3ctLE4P https://ift.tt/3efkQXs

hutchyb for Getty Images/iStockphoto

There’s a technique — even a flair — to freezing food successfully

My mother is what you might call a culinary cryogenicist. Long before the crew at the Noma Food Lab grew their first flavor spore, my mom was experimenting with the effects of age and temperature on all kinds of foodstuffs: the last two bites of some mac and cheese. Four shrimp. One-third of a pork chop. Three matzo balls. Half a bag of green beans tied shut with a trash bag twist-tie. An old joint. Eight slices of rye bread. Raisins. So. Much. Ham. And that’s just the first shelf of the freezer.

It was a talent she inherited. Her own mother was a master of the freezer arts, best exemplified by the very same “tray of frozen shrimp” offered to us on every grandparent visit for more than two decades; it became a running family joke. As a member of the next generation, however, my family’s faith in the preservation power of cold turned me into a devoted freezer snob. For most of my adult life, my freezer has remained a sacred space reserved for only the most cold-hardy ingredients — ice cream, popsicles, those giant cocktail ice spheres, and maybe the occasional box of toaster waffles or bag of frozen peas. Meat? God no. Fish? Please, back away and leave quietly.

In my mind, freezing things ruined their precious molecular integrity by turning them into rock-hard cubes. Meat is normally prized for its “freshness.” In the fields, crops are carefully covered to prevent freezing, so why put them under such duress in your own home? Having kids a few years ago loosened me up a bit — show me one child-rearing American household a without a frozen bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken blobs lurking somewhere. But overall, for the better part of the last decade, my freezer has remained as sleek and food-free as an after-hours Apple Store.

But when COVID-19 hit I admittedly went into full hoarder mode. My diet, like my fashion, is dictated by my mood (it’s also why I’m a chronic over-packer). With annual memberships to Instacart, Amazon Fresh, and a handful of specialty grocers down the street, I’d become accustomed to getting all the ingredients to sate any craving within an hour of it hitting. Maintaining that level of spontaneity in the time of supermarket lines and impossible delivery queues meant stocking up in ways I’d never fathomed before.

Even with a family of four eating three-plus meals a day, the kind of inventory I was sporting needed to be able to hang out a while. And so, it was with deep reservations that I finally began freezing things — though the real miracle didn’t occur until I began un-freezing them.

First I tried a pork tenderloin, one of three I had purchased at Costco a few weeks earlier. Following the advice of the pros, I took it out of the freezer and put it in my fridge overnight, cooked it as usual, and it was… fine. Good, even. Next I tried salmon — I’ve had terrible experiences with frozen seafood in the past, so my hopes were low for the three rosy-pink portions I defrosted and broiled. But again, the resulting fish was surprisingly moist, fatty, firm, delicious.

After that I started throwing everything in the freezer just to see: ground turkey, chicken thighs. All were fine. Then I moved into pizza dough, shredded cheese, blanched vegetables; then on to chili, tortillas, pancakes, whole loaves of bread, coffee (while dry coffee beans won’t technically “go bad,” their flavor and aroma suffer over time). Pretty much every single thing I froze — and later unfroze — emerged as relatively unharmed and tasty as the day I bought it. (Notable exceptions included skim milk and some poorly wrapped steaks, and it took some serious trial and error with fresh greens.)

Now, as we go into week five… or six? of “safer at home” measures, my freezer has transformed from a sterile ice-storage facility to a clutch partner in culinary crime. Today the once-barren shelves are buckling beneath the weight of dated and labeled baggies and bins with enough perfectly preserved food to more than bridge the gap between bi-weekly produce box deliveries and masked-up grocery runs.

But as it turns out, my mom and grandmother were, in fact, artists — there is a technique, even a flair to freezing food successfully. Wrap something improperly or defrost incorrectly and you might not just risk the integrity of your ingredients, but also your health. So after a month or so of embracing my familial fate and becoming a frozen food convert, here are a few lessons I’ve learned:

The Container Matters

I know, plastic is the enemy, but those fancy glass containers can crack in the freezer. According to the experts, the best way to freeze food is in a vacuum-seal bag that you suction yourself with one of those fancy machines to minimize air (air is your enemy in the great freezer wars). I don’t have one of those — though I’ve been eyeing this one on Amazon — so I use regular old freezer-grade zipper bags and press out as much air as possible before sealing. There’s also a trick where you mimic a vacuum sealer with a drinking straw, slipping it in the corner of the bag and sucking out as much air as you can before pulling the straw out at the last minute, but I felt weird inhaling all those funky meat fumes. My Instagram feed has been full of ads for these pricey silicone bags that I hear work well but I’ve yet to give them a test run.

Either way, you’re going for minimal air exposure and some thickness barrier — a little cushion between your food and the freezer air will help prevent that dreaded freezer burn, a damaging mix of oxidation and dehydration.

Prep Is Key

For meat and fish, you generally want to remove them from their original packaging and re-wrap in individual portions before freezing. Wrapping each cut in an extra layer of plastic before putting them in the zipper bag adds another degree of protection. Timing is key here. Freeze cuts of meat immediately after you get them home, or better yet, buy them pre-frozen. There are entire industries built around freezing fish in a way that sacrifices the least in the way of flavor and texture, so trust the pros — they know what they’re doing.

Vegetables, for the most part, should be quickly blanched before freezing. The drag here is that in the process of blanching, they absorb too much water to get any sort of good roasty char later, but it’s a small price to pay for having quality seasonal produce year-round. Before you blanch, prep the ingredients the way you plan to eat them, meaning separating broccoli and cauliflower into florets, snapping the ends off green beans, and chopping greens. Then boil a big pot of water and dunk the vegetables in for about a minute before plunging immediately into a big bowl of icy water. This will keep them from continuing to cook and turning to mush. The next part is key: Dry everything as best you can. The more water, the thicker the tectonic ice coating you’ll get on every piece. Then put everything into baggies and freeze.

Fruit freezing techniques vary — it all depends what you want to use them for. No amount of freezer skill will recreate the experience of biting into a fresh peach after it’s been frozen. But for smoothies, pie fillings, baking, or juice, most fruit will freeze just fine. Bananas freeze great, peel and all. Berries you’ll want to rinse, dry, then let freeze on a large flat surface like a cookie sheet before transferring to bags. If you want to use citrus just for zest or juice, go ahead and freeze them whole. They say you can freeze citrus in wedges individually, but I found the texture suffers greatly after defrosting, and honestly I can’t imagine what you’d want to use floppy, deflated tangerine wedges for. Juice is no problem — just squeeze, put the juice into an ice cube mold and freeze. You can pop them out later and transfer to a plastic bag for easier storage.

The above ice-cube tray technique works well for all kinds of liquids and purees. I actually bought these cool molds to freeze baby food for my second kid, and I use them now for smaller portions of stocks, lemon juice, pesto, pizza sauce. For larger batches, I pour a couple of cups into a zipper bag, get out as much air as possible, and freeze them flat so I can stack them later.

Breads freeze fantastically, but as a rule pre-sliced is best. I started buying giant loaves of my favorite rye bread from the farmers market and keep them in the freezer full-time, toasting off individual slices as needed; my mom perfected a technique with bagels that involves slicing them as soon as you get them home, wrapping each half separately, and then toasting them direct from the freezer. Pre-cooked tortillas and pita you can just wrap, freeze, and cook off one by one, but my most exciting recent discovery has been in the realm of pre-baked goods. It turns out most doughs recover well after freezing, and I just made a batch of biscuits using this technique that has you freezing the raw, cut biscuits ahead of time and baking them off as needed. It’s opened up a whole new world of frozen pastry projects for me.

I’m sure there’s some technique to freezing cheese but honestly I just put whole hunks and bags of the pre-shredded stuff straight into the freezer. I don’t really freeze milk but the wisdom is that the more fat content, the better it freezes, so half-and-half freezes great, skim milk not so much. Coffee I found out you can freeze and brew straight from frozen, which is excellent considering it is an absolute nonnegotiable in my house.

*If you’re curious about any other ingredient, there are countless guides to freezing food online that will steer you in the right direction.

Don’t Rush the Defrost

(Even Though Sometimes I Do, But It’s Really Risky, Okay?)

The basic rule of thumb for pretty much everything is low and slow. Put whatever you want to defrost in the refrigerator the night before you want to cook it — sometimes longer for big cuts of meat — and let it come to temperature gradually. I do this... most times. But there is a reason your microwave has a “defrost” setting, and it will definitely speed things along if also putting you at risk of prematurely cooking the edges of your chicken breast. I’ve successfully defrosted smaller cuts of fish and shrimp by running the bags under cold water in the sink for a few minutes until soft enough to handle, but this is not officially endorsed by the pros. What you’re definitely not supposed to do is let your ingredients hang out at room temp until they defrost. I have done this too, though it is a surefire recipe for a bacterial infection and this is not the time you want to be running to the ER for dehydration.

The point is, the freezer might be cold and dark, but it is not at all a thing to fear. Utilizing it well has helped me maintain the kind of spur-of-the-moment cooking style that feels normal to me — a valuable thing when pretty much everything else about my life right now does not feel normal. Now all I need is a bigger freezer.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3ctLE4P via Blogger https://ift.tt/2REXkcN

[jessiewre]

Day 37

Mon 10th Feb 

Phil the crazy runner got up to his alarm ‪at 6:30am‬ and was out running by ‪7am leaving me with the double bed to myself instead of the‬ 10% of bed space I normally have.

He returned by ‪8:30am‬ with a half marathon under his belt and was feeling rather happy with himself. I was quite proud of myself too as I'd managed to press snooze on my alarm only twice.

We went to the little outdoor kitchen and actually felt all excited to be cooking our own food. Ok fine, we were literally boiling some eggs. It was good though. Eggs, avocado and sweet sweet toast 👌🏼

We got some worrying messages from Jimi though, so spoke to him on the phone. He told us he'd had some tragic news - a friend had been hit on their motorbike by a taxi and passed away from his head injuries. Really really sad. Jimi was upset but was able to get a lot of comfort from his belief in God which is something. A reminder of the fragility of life.

We sat down to do some research to work out our next move and decided on Lake Naivasha & Hells Gate national park as there was the option of cycling through it to spot the animals. No big carnivores there don't worry, more like giraffes and zebras and them chill animals that don’t eat humans 😝

It wasn't long before Phil got really hungry though and we agreed (I suggested) that he should pop out to the local market to get some food so we (he) could cook lunch and dinner. It would save us $50 if we avoided ordering from the hotel that day so it was a no brainer, especially for me, as I'd offered to keep an eye on things at the camp while Phil went off to do all the buying. 

Phil went to the market on a hotel boda and returned about an hour later (bit slow but what can I do, I was busy minding camp) with a loot:

2 red onions

10 rather green looking tomatoes 

Garlic clove

3 avocados

Spaghetti packet

8 carrots

We got to work cooking (I reluctantly agreed to get involved though I was sure the camp still needed my supervision) and to keep Phil's hunger under control, I cut a mango open and we attempted to bite at it. I'll tell you what, they are more hassle that they're worth. Phil looked at me with pure disgust and disdain as he bit into it, repeatedly getting mango strings stuck in his teeth. We gave up within 10 seconds and gave the half eaten mango to one of the staff guys to crack on with. Not sure anyone in the UK would have taken it, in fact they’d have been offended with the offer, but this guy was well happy with his new car crash of a mango 🥭

We made a pasta sauce with cubed carrots in (recipe available on demand) but made the mistake of cooking all the pasta in one go thinking we'd prep dinner at the same time. 

As soon as it was done I realised it was a very bad shout. That cooked pasta was not going to improve throughout the afternoon. It wasn’t like a tasty sauce, getting better as the time passes. It was pasta for gods sake.

But it was too late, the stuff was cooked now, so we bunged half of it in a bowl for the evening, crossed our fingers, and ate the rest of it. Wasn't too bad! It wasn't amazing, but it wasn’t bad. Totally edible...

By the time we ate lunch, it was nearly ‪4pm (as I said Phil should have been quicker on the buying really but I let it go)‬. 

Phil had made friends with his boda driver Edward, who also worked at our camp, and he sneakily arranged for us to visit Edward’s Masai village instead of doing the touristy one for $20. It wasn't just about the money but sometimes the touristy things are really contrived and feel like a performance. Walking round to Edwards village was totally impromptu so without expectation. 

On the way, we walked from the road to the grass through a muddy ditch and despite my best efforts trying to avoid the bad patches, my trainers were getting muddy. Then I stood on a particularly soft sticky patch and my trainer went quite deep. As I pulled my foot out, it got totally stuck and then my foot flew up and the trainer CAME OFF in the mud while I hopped around like an idiot. That’s me, providing top quality entertainment in all its forms.

We narrowly avoided the hidden barbed wire in the grass as we walked through shrub land and over little streams that Edward put big rocks in to build us a bridge and arrived.

Edward’s village was all about simplicity and necessity. He showed us where they kept the different animals (cows, goats, chickens), the separate buildings they had for kitchens and living spaces, and the fenced areas they grew vegetables in. I helped add a few more sticks to the fence on his vegetable patch as there was a pile that needed doing but after maybe 6 sticks, I thought I’d better stop incase he was being polite about my talent for it. There were 5 puppies wandering round doing cute yapping barks and we met Edwards mum & some of his young siblings as they went about her business.

He showed us the large pen they'd built for the cows to be in overnight and it was like a gladiator colosseum made of corrugated metal and wood, with churned up mud as the floor. I tried to walk over this mud to the other side of the doorway and what I didn't realise was this mud was actually PURE COW SHIT.

And obviously I stood in a giant pile of this shit that I thought was dry, and my foot broke the dry crust and went about 3 miles south into the pile of shit - did I mention it was shit? And for the second time in an hour, my trainer was fooked, but now it was covered in stinky cow dung. 

Edward looked a little awkward but Phil was wetting himself laughing.

Edward kindly found me a cleaning brush and got a bucket of water for me to clean my shoes while the shite was fresh. It’s important to get it when its fresh like (top Masai tip that). So there I was, in a Masia village, scrubbing my shit stained trainers while everyone watched on at the silly muzungu👌🏼

A young boy about 7 years old (I think it was his brother) in purple wellies was told to herd up the goats that had naughtily crawled under the fence to outside the village and he casually got them together, carrying some of the smaller ones into their little pen. Skills.  

Edward proudly showed us into his living room with his smart sofas he’d saved up for and after 25 mins of prep by his mother, he gave us hot chocolate powder with hot water to make. Phil poured it all out and definitely gave me the bigger one on purpose. I couldn’t quite hide my aversion to the 8 million flies in the room but tried to minimise my flapping around as much as I could. One of his little 2 year old relatives was hanging around staring at us which was so cute. She never smiled and never looked sad either. She was just staring at us, watching, working us out. She had about 10 flies round her face and mouth the whole time which definitely bothered me more than it bothered her.

One of the smallest puppies that looked on the verge of death was nearby and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t loving the hot chocolate, so without thinking I offered the puppy the remains of the drink. The lil pup enthusiastically drank away and I was so pleased to be able to give it some calories, but when I looked up at Phil his eyes were wide and he was giving me absolute daggers. He shook his head the tiniest amount as if to say JESS STOP FEEDING THE PUPPY EDWARD’S SPECIAL HOT CHOCOLATE and I suddenly became aware of my surroundings and tried to subtlety bring the chocolate back to me as if I was going to finish it. A few minutes later I went outside to see the sunset and lobbed the rest of the drink behind the hut.

After thanking his mum and waving goodbye to the people milking the cows and all kids who had gathered to say hi, we headed back to camp for dinner. Despite his reluctance, we gave Edward 500ksh to buy something to thank his mum for hosting us.

Unsurprisingly, our dinner of spaghetti-a-la-lunch-repeat was not amazing . Let’s call it Noodle Mush (recipe available on demand). Phil seemed more enthusiastic than me about the taste one again, I think buying the ingredients sometimes makes you like it more 😂

But the saving grace of the meal was my garlic bread. What a thing of beauty. Definitely worth burning my hand twice for. 

We chatted to the family who’d returned from their 2nd safari day and they’d had a brilliant time seeing tons of stuff like leopards & a little cat that looks like a house cat called a servat. Would have been cool to see it, but we knew we would safari in other countries and you can’t do them all or we’d run out of cash in about a week.

Booked our transport for the morning journey back to Narok and went to bed.

[kasiopeiae]

hiya hiya i have a v important q for you, water ur fav fics you've ever read, like they truly fucked u up for LIFE ps i love you

omg ok 10 years later, but here we go. under a cut because i can’t shut up. ps i love you too 💕

I have to start by mentioning the first thing I ever read on tumblr (and the first blog I ever followed) because @permanentcross truly inspired me and gave me the confidence to start writing on here. I don’t think there’s a piece of hers I haven’t read (and loved), but my absolute most favorite is the It’s About Balance series. It’s just so wonderful and so unique, and I love teenage dirt bag Harold. So thank you, E! I literally would not be here without you and your writing.  

As an English major and an overexcited Shakespeare fanatic, @hardliquorhaz‘s Shakespeare series literally tics every box for me–the writing quality is superb, it’s angsty angsty angsty, an extra layer has been added to typical Frat Harry, and wow oh wow I love it. Thank you for creating a story that I can fully lose myself in, Laney! 

There’s so much to pick from on @stylesunchained‘s masterlist, and if I have to pick just one, it’d definitely be Snowstorm. Snow is my favorite. Harry is my favorite. Of course I want to be stuck in a snow storm with him. Thank you, B, for somehow always knowing and exploiting every single kink I have. 

I used to say Ruin You was my favorite @aqua-harry fic (and it still holds a very special place in my…heart 😂), but Sarah truly, truly knocked it out of the park with Nine Months. That means a lot coming from me because I typically avoid pregnancy/dad!harold fics like the plague (because I, myself, am a baby and having a child frightens me), yet there I was after reading telling Sarah how she made me want to have a baby (and I think I kinda, really meant it which is terrifying). Thank you, Sarah, for writing a piece so beautiful (and fun!) that it actually made me reconsider and look at my own life differently. 

Now I’ve only just started Bloom by @roseonhissleeve but I am not afraid to add it to this list because I am H O O K E D. I’m not quite sure how this one slipped pass me for so long, but I’m so glad I can binge it all now. I’ve always wanted to work in a flower shop (even if I’m dreadful at keeping plants alive), so thank you, Yeli, for writing something that allows me to indulge myself in that fantasy! 

I don’t always navigate toward fluff, but every once and a while there’s a fluffy piece that sneaks up on me that turns me into cuddly mush, and that would be the Meet Me series by @bribe-the-door. It’s just so sweet and Harry totally would be that kind of roommate–I can feel it in my bones. Thank you, Hannah, for melting my heart with roommate Harry. 

You guys probably noticed a couple of weeks ago when I practically lit myself on fire after reading @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy‘s Fixer Upper and oh my god, I’m STILL not over it! I want to get an oil change from Mechanic Harry, fuck I’ll crash my car if it means he’ll work on it! So thanks a lot, Andrea, my car lives in perpetual fear since you’ve filled my mind with those thoughts!

There are a lot of reasons why I love Harry’s a Pilates Teacher and He Likes Bambi. A lot. by @cuddlemusclestyles. I mean, it’s a bit of a slow burn, conjures images of Harry working out, got some killer smut, and y/n is getting a Masters in Astrophysics–sign me the fuck UP. Thank you, Emma, for sprinkling in extra tidbits that give your characters such life. 

Again, another one I’ve just started, but I enjoyed @oh-styles‘s Something About A Feeling so incredibly much and it’s still with me. I’m a sucker for structure, and absolutely loved the counting aspect–it reeled me in and I’m so ready to continue reading. Thank you, Nic, for writing a side of Harry that’s not often explored. 

I think I’ve gushed about @inwhichitrytowritesomething‘s The trick is not to ask too many questions but I’m not lying when I say I read it at least once a week. It’s so well-written, I love the fact that we’re dropped in the middle of their relationship and leave in the middle. One of my favorite things about writing and reading is getting a glimpse into characters’ lives and nothing more. It’s also really fucking hot, so thank you, Romy, for scorching me with it (and on a daily basis, really). 

If you can’t tell, I also love a good series. Snog Me Senseless by @whoopsharrystyles is impossibly cute (and pretty hot). It’s incredibly sweet, I love how caring Harry is, and how much character development occurs. Thank you so much for giving me a series that lets me rewrite some of my own college experiences. 

Walk of Shame by @berrynarrybanana is the best meet cute I’ve ever read, seen, heard about, it’s FANTASTIC. I want to know more about the diner, what happens with her and Harry, what their world is like. It’s just so much fun, so thank you, Kacie. 

I never thought I’d be into the twin thing, but @johnlennon-harrystyles The Styles Twins has got me burning up. I’m caught between Marcel and his stoic nature, and Harry and his cheeky ways. Thank you for sharing such creativity, Van! 

It’s only just started, but I already love @islareeveswriting‘s new mini fic White Houses. Who doesn’t love summer romance, especially with Harry? It’s reminiscent of all the fun, sexy summer books I used to read, so thank you, Isla, for sharing such wonderful characters in a beautiful setting. 

As I’ve said, fluff isn’t always my thing, but @stylishmuser has always, always succeeded in turning me into mush. She has something for everything, and it’s hard to choose a favorite, but I think it’s Caught. I love protective Harry and his sixth sense, so thank you for writing him so well, Palak. 

[mondeskinder]

The Choice - A Min Yoongi Fanfiction

Chapter 5

PD-nim: ‘I want you in my office in 5’ - 6:24 p.m.

A worried frown formed on my face as my gaze let go of the bright phone screen, wandering upwars to meet a pair of warm, chocolate brown eyes that widened when recognizing my unusually serious expression. “What’s going on?”, her voice was just as tense as her body sitting on the cranky stool next to me, a soft hand creating comforting warmth on my knee. “I don’t know, my manager wants me to come to his office..” Her fingers began to dig deeper into my leg. “That’s not neccessarily something bad, right?” The positive words leaving her mouth were spoken in a doubtful manner. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry about it.” I forced a weak smile, reassuringly taking her hand, doing my best to let my outer appearance remain calm as a storm of anxiety built up inside my head, already starting to twirl my helpless thoughts. “I-I think you should go now..” Not understanding the hidden protection behind my harsh request, hurt glistened gloomily in her glance that slowly sank onto the old tiles beneath her white vans. “Okay.” She got up too quickly, let go of my hand too easily; despite my wish to do so I couldn’t tell myself that she didn’t take it personally. A quick “I’ll text you later” was all I got out before the door shut behind her delicate figure. As the sound of falling in it’s lock still echoed through my mind, I buried my shaking hands in my hair, trying to focus on my breathing and somehow keep the panic attack from rising and taking control over my body. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Namjoon had told me counting would be good to fight a panic attack, that it’d help guiding your concentration away from the anxiety. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17- Fuck this, this only makes it worse. Okay, calm down, slow and long breaths. In. And out. In. And out. A hasty look at the white digits on my computer were enought to force me onto my shaky legs and out of the imprisoning mindset. 6:28 p.m. One hand searching support on the rigid white walls while the other was pressed on my forehead, begging to give me back my balance, I stumbled along the hallway in a rush, reaching PD-nim’s office with a still rapidly beating heart but not wasting any thought on breaking down. I was able to hear him talking, but the barrier swallowed his words, only spitting out a dull mush of sounds. Debating on whether I should knock or not, I ultimately decided for the latter, carefully opening the door and peaking into the office. PD-nim noticed my head sticking through the small gap and allowed me to enter with a small nod while continuing his phone call. “Alright then, Mr. Park Jimin, I hope you have a good trip and arrive safely at the dorm tomorrow. The boys will welcome you and explain most of it, for further questions you may call me any time. See you soon. Goodbye.” Ending the conversation, his thumb pressed the button to cut off the connection and let out a sigh as he obvservingly looked at me, who was silently standing in front of the shut door. “There’s another one who’ll most likely join the group.. How many are at the dorm now?” “Six, PD-nim.” “Seven boys.” Another sigh escaped his mouth. “What did I get myself into..” His pondering allowed me to calm down further, getting my shaky hands under control and recover my balance, at least a part of it, so that when he finally told me to sit down I was able to do so in a serious and disciplined manner. “Do you know why I called you here?” Sensing a lecturing speech coming, I lowered my head and voice. “No, PD-nim.” Even though my gaze was fixed on my shoes, I knew he was raising his eyebrows, his pungent eyes piercing through me for seconds that felt like hours before explaining his demand that brought me here. “You’re a producer, right?” “Yes, PD-nim.” “Then why aren’t you producing?” I couldn’t help but look up in surprise, a frown cautiously forming on my forehead. “You’ve been slacking lately, Min Yoongi. I can see that you aren’t working as hard as you used to. What happened? Are you doubtful? Have you grown sick of your dream? Do you want to leave Bangtan?” I surpressed my urge to throw the words and sentences forming in my head at him, held back my anger. How dare you say such a ridiculous thing when knowing how much I gave up on this, when being so aware of the fact that I stood against my whole family for this, that I go days without food or sleep for this, that I would die for this. How dare you, who knows about me and how much I have fought for this. How dare you assume such weakness in me when you know this is my life. “No, PD-nim.” “So explain to me why else both your quality and quantity are decreasing.” I had already opened my mouth to answer but faltered, knowing it would only make it worse if I told him about Y/N, thus I closed it again, remaining silent. “Whatever it is that keeps you from working, you should get rid of it. Both you and I can not use any kind of distraction while seriously preparing for a debut here. You need to pull yourself together, Yoongi.” “Yes, PD-nim. I will work harder.” “Good. I suggest you start now to even out the times you’ve been falling behind. You may leave now.” “Yes, PD-nim.” I quickly stood up, bowing 90° before leaving the constricting air of the office and walking back to my own studio. Letting myself fall in the worn-out chair, placing a few fresh sheets of paper in front of me, reaching for a pencil and manifesting the overwhelming wave of anger, disbelief and despair into words, restlessly spilling my torn thoughts onto the pages. After two messages destroyed my concentration I decided to turn it off without even reading them before endulging myself in the rhymes again. As the sun disappeared, my computer screen began to replace the fading light. The cursor of the mouse rushing between different samples, aligning them, checking their sound, reorganizing them, leaving some out while inserting new ones until the bridges sounded fluent and the track worked as one coherent unity. Finally being satisfied with it’s outcome, I saved the file with eyes burning from the aggressive screenlight as the first light of dawn got reflected by the 5 empty red bull cans that stood in a line on one edge of my desk. A small smile grew on my face. I’d missed this, the completely drowning in music-making, the non-existence of time while doing so, the absence of any priorities other than creating, being free of any other needs than existing, thinking, the silence in my head after everything had been poured out of it. I had already turned off my computer so, not having the priviledge of possessing a watch, I decided turn on my phone again, only to be hit with 7 unread messages and 4 missed calls.

Y/N: ‘Yoongi~’ - 8:13 p.m.

‘How did your talk with the manager go?’ - 8:14 p.m.

'Yoongi?’ - 9:37 p.m.

'Did something happen?’ - 10:09 p.m.

'Are you okay?’ - 11:41 p.m.

'I’m really worried right now..’ - 12:25 a.m.

'Yoongi please message me as soon as you get these.’ - 02:01 a.m.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, my fingers hastily typed a short answer before leaving the building to show my new compositions to Joon and the rest of the guys.

Yoongi: 'I can’t talk right now.’ - 5:49 a.m.

CONTINUE READING..

[popmusicandtea-blog]

Madonna Albums Ranked

Madonna Albums Ranked:

Madonna, who has been in the game since the 1980s, has given us every genre one can imagine. From disco, to pure pop, to alternative to R&B, there is a reason she has stayed in the game so long. This list looks at all her official studio albums. This excludes I’m Breathless, Something to Remember and the Evita soundtrack.  I also took into consideration the overall legacy and how the album holds up, especially for her earlier work. Another thing I will mention that has a little value in rankings is the “era” itself. This includes; promotion, tour, how it was received, and impact and legacy. With that being said, let’s begin!

13. American Life

Wow this album is not good. Many people rank this album as either last or second to last in their ranking, and I am no different. The overall concept would be good, if it were executed in a decent way. This album, however, does not execute it in a good way. There are a few standouts. “Hollywood” and “Nobody Knows Me” are good songs, but they don’t make up for this disgrace of an album. The one good thing this album gave s was the ICONIC 2003 VMA’s performance with Madonna, Britney Spears, and Christina Aguilera, in which Madonna kissed both women. Oh, and let’s not forget I’m Going to Tell You a Secret, an attempt to relieve her Truth or Dare days.

Standout Tracks: Hollywood, Nobody Knows Me, (Maybe) Die Another Day

Bad: The rest of the album.

12. MDNA

This may have been the worst mismanaged era of Madonna’s career. When one watches the Super Bowl Halftime Show, you get excited for a new Madonna album. From this performance, you think she is going to go back to her dance/club roots and give us an album that makes us wish we lived in the 80s New York club scene. But this album leaves a lot to be desired. The first song, “Girl Gone Wild” is amazing, however, the album only goes downhill from there. There are occasional spikes, such as “Give Me All Your Lovin’” and “I’m Addicted” but other than those three songs, this album is a bunch of mush thrown together. On top of that, the obvious 2012 beats and guests’ appearances by Nicki Minaj and M.I.A. really date this album. The MDNA tour, while successful, proved that the album was not that good, as only a handful of songs made the setlist. The opening number, however, stands up there as one of Madonna’s greatest choreographed moments.

Standout Tracks: Girl Gone Wild, I’m Addicted, (Maybe) Give Me All Your Lovin’, Turn Up the Radio

Bad: The rest of the album, however, there are a few “saving graces”

11. Rebel Heart

I wanted for this album to do so good, I really did! This album gave Madonna the most difficulty, and she ended up releasing a handful of tracks early, and I wonder if this rushed production led to a decline in quality. The one thing this album did better than its predecessor, was constancy. Madonna stuck with few producers, and they produced most of the songs. However, there were very few standout tracks on the album, and the entirety was just a bland showing form the Queen of Pop. Also, the campaign of the album, which included photoshopped images of famous world leaders and figure heads, was a mess from the beginning, and she mismanaged he backlash. Could this be the end of the Queen of Pop’s reign? Only time, and new albums will tell.

Standout Tracks: Living for Love, Ghosttown, Hold Tight, (Maybe) Bitch I’m Madonna, Unapologetic Bitch

Bad: S.E.X., Body Shop to the end

10. Erotica

I don’t understand this album. It was Madonna trying to be edgy, that ended up being not good. There are a few good songs, such as “Deeper and Deeper” and the title track, but beyond that there is nothing. I think this was Madonna’s first true “flop” and it took her so long to recover (or at least in the GP’s eyes). While the entirety of the album is not bad, it left a lot to be desired, especially considering the best songs. Also, the Girlie Show proved Madonna could turn it out even with a subpar album.

Standout Tracks: Deeper and Deeper, Erotica, Fever, (Maybe) Bye Bye Baby

Bad: In This Life, Did You Do It?

9. Like a Virgin

Before you get out the pitch forks, let me explain. Back in the day, or at least until 1998, many people considered this to be one of Madonna’s best albums. However, as of 2018, it does not hold up. When it’s good, it’s good, but when it’s not it’s just average. Granted, Madonna wanted to produce this album by herself, but her label would not allow it, so we don’t know what direction she wanted to go in. “Like a Virgin” and “Love Don’t Live Here Anymore” are good, and “Materiel Girl” is ok, but the rest is subpar. Being Madonna’s second album, it’s easy to understand why it’s in the middle of this list.

Standout Tracks: Like a Virgin, Love Don’t Live Here Anymore, Materiel Girl, (Maybe) Angel

Bad: Nothing else is bad, but it’s not good.

8. Like a Prayer

I may be the only one with this opinion, but I did not like this album. I didn’t hate it, but it did not live up the hype that everyone gives it. The rose-colored glasses of youth and nostalgia often cloud people’s judgement of this album. While the titular track, “Express Yourself” and “Oh Father” give standout performances, the rest is just eh. I know I have said that in my other explanation, but this album truly personifies the word. Many people associate this with the height of Madonna’s popularity, her popularity truly peaked later, and with better records.

Standout Tracks: Like a Prayer, Express Yourself, Oh Father

Bad: Nothing is bad, but it’s not good

7. Hard Candy 

This album is seen by many as one of Madonna’s low points. I, however, do not view it in such a way. I think this album is good. It has a consistent sound, good beats, and songs that make you want to dance. This album came at a point in Madonna’s career that needed to see her excel, which she did somewhat. The Sticky and Sweet Tour is the highest grossing tour by a female artist, and the success of this tour proved Madonna is still relevant. With songs like “Heartbeat”, “She’s Not Me” and “Miles Away” showed how vulnerable Madonna was in making this album.

Standout Track: Heartbeat, She’s Not Me, Miles Away

Bad: There are no bad tracks per say, but there are some mediocre ones, such as Spanish Lessons and Voices.

 6. Music

I do not understand the hate that this album gets. It is a solid addition to Madonna’s discography. Is it because it came right after Ray of Light? Is it because there was only one “successful” single? Who knows, but I think this is a solid addition by M. “Music” is great, but “Impressive Instant” and “Don’t Tell Me” rank up there as some of Madonna’s most underrated bops. Yes, there are a few “boring” moments, but there are none like the previous entries.

Standout Tracks: Music, Impressive Instant, Don’t Tell Me, Paradise (Not for Me), Amazing

Bad: This is where I retire the bad tracks, because from here on out, there are no bad tracks, as they all have good aspects, but there are “lulls” in the album

Lull: I Deserve It, Gone

 5. Madonna

Here is a perfect example of a debut album. This album is the perfect 80s dance album. From “Holiday” to “Everybody” to “Lucky Star” the dance beats on this track are amazing. And let us not forget “Borderline”. This album has few slow moments, and little to no lulls in the album. Overall, a good album for Madonna in the 80s.

Standout Tracks: Holiday, Lucky Star, Borderline, Everybody, Burning Up

Lull: I Know It, Physical Attraction

 4. Bedtime Stories

This is where we get into the great Madonna albums. Fromm here on out, these are true bops that have stood the test of time. Bedtime Stories is often forgot among the public. Could it be because she didn’t tour with the album, or could it be that it came out when she tried to break into acting? We will never know what this album would have sounded like live, but somehow it is better that way. The titular track, “Human Nature”, “Take a Bow” and “Secret” are all amazing songs that deserve live performances to go along with it. Also, Madonna teamed up with Babyface and Bjork! What more could you ask for in an album, a sample from ABBA? (we will get there)

Standout Tracks: Bedtime Stories, Take a Bow, Human Nature, Secrets, Survival

Lull: If I had to pick one, “Don’t Stop” and “Inside of Me”

 3.True Blue

This is Madonna’s best 80s album, don’t @ me. “Papa Don’t Preach”, “Open Your Heart”, “Live to Tell”, “La Isla Bonita” and “True Blue” are amazing! This album has no low points, it keeps up the tempo of the story, and provides s into a glimpse at a happy Madonna. Also, the amount of fun it seems like she’s having makes this album the best of her early career. As the second-best album of the 80s (Purple Rain is first, sorry I don’t make the rules) it signifies an era that Madonna was born out of. Yes, it may sound too 80s, but does that have to be a bad thing?

Standout Tracks: Open Your Heart, Papa Don’t Preach, Live to Tell, True Blue, La Isla Bonita, White Heat

Lull: Where’s the Party (even that is iffy)

 2. Ray of Light

In high school, I listened to Madonna regularly, however, it was mostly her hits. I downloaded the compilation album Celebration, and was obsessed with the MDNA Tour, so I knew of a few songs off Ray of Light. I like both “Frozen” and “Ray of Light”, I just didn’t know how the entire album would be. Then, I finally got my hands on a copy of the vinyl album, and from the first listen I was blown away! This album is almost perfect in every way. The aforementioned tracks, “Swim”, “Skin” “Sky Fits Heaven” and the rest of the album is amazing, and it creates one of the best dance albums. The only complaints I have is that it sounds dated, like it was a product of the early 2000s and it gave birth to Madonna’s “worst” tour, the Drowned World Tour. Other than that, it’s a perfect album.

Standout Tracks: Ray of Light, Frozen, Swim, Skin, Sky Fits Heaven

Lull: Maybe Shanti/Ashtangi

 1.Confessions on a Dancefloor

This is the best pop record of all time, hands down, no questions asked. From the opening ticks of the clock in “Hung Up” to the closing beats of “Like it or Not” this album is perfect in every single way. The use of samples, disco beats, and the infection of the dance floor anthems make this Madonna’s best album ever. She will never top this, nor do I think anyone will, though few have come close. Couple this with the visual spectacle that was the Confessions Tour, and you have the prefect album, tour, era combo ever. It’s no coincidence that this has two of my top three Madonna songs (“Hung up” and “Get Together”). Nothing is wrong with this album, and pop album truly peaked (I would say pop music but 2009 and 2011-12 are the best years in pop music)

Standout Tracks: Hung Up. Get Together, Sorry, Jump, Push, Forbidden Love

[easyfoodnetwork]

hutchyb for Getty Images/iStockphoto There’s a technique — even a flair — to freezing food successfully My mother is what you might call a culinary cryogenicist. Long before the crew at the Noma Food Lab grew their first flavor spore, my mom was experimenting with the effects of age and temperature on all kinds of foodstuffs: the last two bites of some mac and cheese. Four shrimp. One-third of a pork chop. Three matzo balls. Half a bag of green beans tied shut with a trash bag twist-tie. An old joint. Eight slices of rye bread. Raisins. So. Much. Ham. And that’s just the first shelf of the freezer. It was a talent she inherited. Her own mother was a master of the freezer arts, best exemplified by the very same “tray of frozen shrimp” offered to us on every grandparent visit for more than two decades; it became a running family joke. As a member of the next generation, however, my family’s faith in the preservation power of cold turned me into a devoted freezer snob. For most of my adult life, my freezer has remained a sacred space reserved for only the most cold-hardy ingredients — ice cream, popsicles, those giant cocktail ice spheres, and maybe the occasional box of toaster waffles or bag of frozen peas. Meat? God no. Fish? Please, back away and leave quietly. In my mind, freezing things ruined their precious molecular integrity by turning them into rock-hard cubes. Meat is normally prized for its “freshness.” In the fields, crops are carefully covered to prevent freezing, so why put them under such duress in your own home? Having kids a few years ago loosened me up a bit — show me one child-rearing American household a without a frozen bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken blobs lurking somewhere. But overall, for the better part of the last decade, my freezer has remained as sleek and food-free as an after-hours Apple Store. But when COVID-19 hit I admittedly went into full hoarder mode. My diet, like my fashion, is dictated by my mood (it’s also why I’m a chronic over-packer). With annual memberships to Instacart, Amazon Fresh, and a handful of specialty grocers down the street, I’d become accustomed to getting all the ingredients to sate any craving within an hour of it hitting. Maintaining that level of spontaneity in the time of supermarket lines and impossible delivery queues meant stocking up in ways I’d never fathomed before. Even with a family of four eating three-plus meals a day, the kind of inventory I was sporting needed to be able to hang out a while. And so, it was with deep reservations that I finally began freezing things — though the real miracle didn’t occur until I began un-freezing them. First I tried a pork tenderloin, one of three I had purchased at Costco a few weeks earlier. Following the advice of the pros, I took it out of the freezer and put it in my fridge overnight, cooked it as usual, and it was… fine. Good, even. Next I tried salmon — I’ve had terrible experiences with frozen seafood in the past, so my hopes were low for the three rosy-pink portions I defrosted and broiled. But again, the resulting fish was surprisingly moist, fatty, firm, delicious. After that I started throwing everything in the freezer just to see: ground turkey, chicken thighs. All were fine. Then I moved into pizza dough, shredded cheese, blanched vegetables; then on to chili, tortillas, pancakes, whole loaves of bread, coffee (while dry coffee beans won’t technically “go bad,” their flavor and aroma suffer over time). Pretty much every single thing I froze — and later unfroze — emerged as relatively unharmed and tasty as the day I bought it. (Notable exceptions included skim milk and some poorly wrapped steaks, and it took some serious trial and error with fresh greens.) Now, as we go into week five… or six? of “safer at home” measures, my freezer has transformed from a sterile ice-storage facility to a clutch partner in culinary crime. Today the once-barren shelves are buckling beneath the weight of dated and labeled baggies and bins with enough perfectly preserved food to more than bridge the gap between bi-weekly produce box deliveries and masked-up grocery runs. But as it turns out, my mom and grandmother were, in fact, artists — there is a technique, even a flair to freezing food successfully. Wrap something improperly or defrost incorrectly and you might not just risk the integrity of your ingredients, but also your health. So after a month or so of embracing my familial fate and becoming a frozen food convert, here are a few lessons I’ve learned: The Container Matters I know, plastic is the enemy, but those fancy glass containers can crack in the freezer. According to the experts, the best way to freeze food is in a vacuum-seal bag that you suction yourself with one of those fancy machines to minimize air (air is your enemy in the great freezer wars). I don’t have one of those — though I’ve been eyeing this one on Amazon — so I use regular old freezer-grade zipper bags and press out as much air as possible before sealing. There’s also a trick where you mimic a vacuum sealer with a drinking straw, slipping it in the corner of the bag and sucking out as much air as you can before pulling the straw out at the last minute, but I felt weird inhaling all those funky meat fumes. My Instagram feed has been full of ads for these pricey silicone bags that I hear work well but I’ve yet to give them a test run. Either way, you’re going for minimal air exposure and some thickness barrier — a little cushion between your food and the freezer air will help prevent that dreaded freezer burn, a damaging mix of oxidation and dehydration. Prep Is Key For meat and fish, you generally want to remove them from their original packaging and re-wrap in individual portions before freezing. Wrapping each cut in an extra layer of plastic before putting them in the zipper bag adds another degree of protection. Timing is key here. Freeze cuts of meat immediately after you get them home, or better yet, buy them pre-frozen. There are entire industries built around freezing fish in a way that sacrifices the least in the way of flavor and texture, so trust the pros — they know what they’re doing. Vegetables, for the most part, should be quickly blanched before freezing. The drag here is that in the process of blanching, they absorb too much water to get any sort of good roasty char later, but it’s a small price to pay for having quality seasonal produce year-round. Before you blanch, prep the ingredients the way you plan to eat them, meaning separating broccoli and cauliflower into florets, snapping the ends off green beans, and chopping greens. Then boil a big pot of water and dunk the vegetables in for about a minute before plunging immediately into a big bowl of icy water. This will keep them from continuing to cook and turning to mush. The next part is key: Dry everything as best you can. The more water, the thicker the tectonic ice coating you’ll get on every piece. Then put everything into baggies and freeze. Fruit freezing techniques vary — it all depends what you want to use them for. No amount of freezer skill will recreate the experience of biting into a fresh peach after it’s been frozen. But for smoothies, pie fillings, baking, or juice, most fruit will freeze just fine. Bananas freeze great, peel and all. Berries you’ll want to rinse, dry, then let freeze on a large flat surface like a cookie sheet before transferring to bags. If you want to use citrus just for zest or juice, go ahead and freeze them whole. They say you can freeze citrus in wedges individually, but I found the texture suffers greatly after defrosting, and honestly I can’t imagine what you’d want to use floppy, deflated tangerine wedges for. Juice is no problem — just squeeze, put the juice into an ice cube mold and freeze. You can pop them out later and transfer to a plastic bag for easier storage. The above ice-cube tray technique works well for all kinds of liquids and purees. I actually bought these cool molds to freeze baby food for my second kid, and I use them now for smaller portions of stocks, lemon juice, pesto, pizza sauce. For larger batches, I pour a couple of cups into a zipper bag, get out as much air as possible, and freeze them flat so I can stack them later. Breads freeze fantastically, but as a rule pre-sliced is best. I started buying giant loaves of my favorite rye bread from the farmers market and keep them in the freezer full-time, toasting off individual slices as needed; my mom perfected a technique with bagels that involves slicing them as soon as you get them home, wrapping each half separately, and then toasting them direct from the freezer. Pre-cooked tortillas and pita you can just wrap, freeze, and cook off one by one, but my most exciting recent discovery has been in the realm of pre-baked goods. It turns out most doughs recover well after freezing, and I just made a batch of biscuits using this technique that has you freezing the raw, cut biscuits ahead of time and baking them off as needed. It’s opened up a whole new world of frozen pastry projects for me. I’m sure there’s some technique to freezing cheese but honestly I just put whole hunks and bags of the pre-shredded stuff straight into the freezer. I don’t really freeze milk but the wisdom is that the more fat content, the better it freezes, so half-and-half freezes great, skim milk not so much. Coffee I found out you can freeze and brew straight from frozen, which is excellent considering it is an absolute nonnegotiable in my house. *If you’re curious about any other ingredient, there are countless guides to freezing food online that will steer you in the right direction. Don’t Rush the Defrost (Even Though Sometimes I Do, But It’s Really Risky, Okay?) The basic rule of thumb for pretty much everything is low and slow. Put whatever you want to defrost in the refrigerator the night before you want to cook it — sometimes longer for big cuts of meat — and let it come to temperature gradually. I do this... most times. But there is a reason your microwave has a “defrost” setting, and it will definitely speed things along if also putting you at risk of prematurely cooking the edges of your chicken breast. I’ve successfully defrosted smaller cuts of fish and shrimp by running the bags under cold water in the sink for a few minutes until soft enough to handle, but this is not officially endorsed by the pros. What you’re definitely not supposed to do is let your ingredients hang out at room temp until they defrost. I have done this too, though it is a surefire recipe for a bacterial infection and this is not the time you want to be running to the ER for dehydration. The point is, the freezer might be cold and dark, but it is not at all a thing to fear. Utilizing it well has helped me maintain the kind of spur-of-the-moment cooking style that feels normal to me — a valuable thing when pretty much everything else about my life right now does not feel normal. Now all I need is a bigger freezer. from Eater - All https://ift.tt/3ctLE4P

http://easyfoodnetwork.blogspot.com/2020/04/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love.html