#beautiful freshly-baked bread..... perfectly stacked.

[marclef]

really wanted to draw @eskariolis-con-salsa's Fake Peppino, it always makes me happy seeing him 🤗

so now he gets to hang out with my own Fake, being weird little noodles and bread loaves together~

beautiful beast with no thoughts in that head of his /pos

[doughadear]

Savoring the Perfect Morning Bite: Discovering Delectable Sourdough Breakfast Near Me

One of the hallmark characteristics of a great sourdough breakfast is, of course, the bread itself. Sourdough, with its crispy crust and chewy interior, provides the ideal canvas for a myriad of breakfast creations. From classic avocado toast to inventive variations like smoked salmon and cream cheese, the possibilities are as diverse as your taste buds.

For those early risers in search of a quaint and cozy spot to enjoy their sourdough-infused morning delights, there's a growing trend of artisanal bakeries and cafes that specialize in the craft of sourdough. These establishments take pride in using traditional sourdough fermentation methods, resulting in bread that is not only delicious but also easier to digest.

Imagine stepping into a warm and inviting bakery where the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked sourdough wafts through the air. The menu boasts an array of sourdough-based breakfast options, from the classic to the innovative. Picture yourself sipping a perfectly brewed coffee or a freshly squeezed juice as you await your order.

Beyond the traditional toppings, many establishments are pushing the Sourdough Breakfast Near Me. Picture a delectable stack of sourdough pancakes drizzled with maple syrup or a breakfast sandwich featuring a farm-fresh fried egg, crispy bacon, and a generous smear of tangy sourdough mayo. These creative twists on classic breakfast staples are enough to make any food enthusiast's heart skip a beat.

The beauty of sourdough breakfast lies not only in its taste but also in its versatility. Whether you're in the mood for something savory or sweet, there's a sourdough creation to satisfy every craving. The culinary world is abuzz with chefs experimenting with sourdough in unexpected ways, from incorporating it into breakfast burritos to crafting gourmet French toast.

As you embark on your quest for the perfect Sourdough Breakfast Sandwich keep an eye out for establishments that prioritize quality ingredients. Many artisanal bakeries pride themselves on sourcing local and organic produce, ensuring that every bite is a celebration of flavor and sustainability.

If you're a connoisseur of sourdough or simply looking to elevate your breakfast experience, take the time to explore the culinary gems in your vicinity. Social media platforms often serve as valuable resources for discovering hidden gems, with food bloggers and enthusiasts sharing their favorite sourdough breakfast spots.

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or nothing, chapter three.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: Mention of death, fluff, drinking.

Author note: Took me a while to write this one, I had a horrible writer’s block, and yesterday I managed to break it.

I hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know if you want to be tagged.

Requests are open.

Gifs are not mine.

Masterlist

Chapter two

Chapter three.

Why the hell did you have to wait until the last minute to start cleaning? You mentally slap yourself and sigh before getting back to scrub the floor; you wanted to give Spencer a good image and for what you have learned so far, he is a neat person and likes very clean spaces, which is why you were in the middle of an intensive cleaning session. 

You aren’t much of a messy person, but you are also in college, so there is unfolded laundry on the couch, empty food containers on the kitchen, dirty dishes in the sink, and shoes on the floor, and you have had a hell of a week, after meeting Spencer on Tuesday, you spent all night on the moon, then on Wednesday you had to spend all the afternoon doing homework, so now you had a lot of work to do, including packing to go back home after school on Friday. 

“Come one Y/N, stop procrastinating and get to it.” 

Three hours later the kitchen and the living room are spotless, your laundry is folded and stacked on your closet, there is nothing on the floor, your suitcases are ready and the lasagna is in the oven, and there is freshly baked garlic bread on the table. 

You admire your work as you rub your wet hair with a towel, trying to absorb as much water possible so you can blow dry it, then you go back to your room so you can find something decent to wear in your closet, you end up choosing the blue summer dress Sam gave you for your birthday last year, you had been saving it for a special occasion and this was definitely one.

When you are ready you finish setting the table and at 6 o’clock on the dot your doorbell rings. 

***

Spencer has changed a total of seven times in a lapse of fifteen minutes, he can’t remember the last time he felt this nervous.

He likes you, he really does, and it shouldn’t be possible to like someone this much in such a short span of time, but you are the most gorgeous girl he has ever been with, and you are also funny, and kind, and smart, and as hard as it seems you both share so many interests in common. 

But at the same time you are like him you are also quite the opposite, you take him out and far away from his comfort zone, and it is both exciting and terrifying, but it makes his mind wander and worry, will he be enough for you? And if he is, if you manage to get into a relationship, how will you make it work? With him living 576 miles away from you, and you both having such different lifestyles. 

He also has Maeve on mind, he couldn’t keep her safe, and he has seen the families and loved ones of his time getting in the crossfire, he saw it with Hotch, when Hayley got killed by Foyet, and he is terrified by the idea of something happening to you because of him. 

He stops himself and tries to shake the shiver from his spine, he shouldn’t be worrying so much at this point, he brings himself back to the hotel room and stares at the mirror and finally decides what to wear, the blue sweater with the matching tie will do, he tries to tame his hair with his fingers and then he leaves his hotel room, he is lucky enough to have both Morgan and Rossi out so he won’t be asked to explain something he hasn’t finished understanding. 

The address you gave him is quite close to the hotel he is staying in so he decides to walk, the city is nice and he can see why do you like it so much, sooner than he expected it he finds himself in front of the apartment complex that you indicated, he builds himself with courage and he rings the bell, the gate opens and he enters and calls the elevator on the fourth floor he gets down and knocks on your door.

When you open he is astonished, you look incredibly beautiful, you are wearing your hair down and curled, and the blue dress you are wearing hugs your body perfectly, and just like that he confirms one more time how much he likes you.

“Spencer! Hi, come on in.” He enters, closing the door behind him and you give him a smile.

“I-I got you these.” He gives you the bouquet of gerberas he bought in the way and he sees your eyes sparkle as you receive them.

“They are so pretty! Thank you.” You head to the sink, fill a vase with water and then you place the flowers on the kitchen bar. “Please take a seat, can I get you anything to drink?” 

“Water is fine.” He answers admiring your house, it’s small and cozy and all the pictures on the walls make it feel like a home. “It’s a nice place.” 

“Thank you, I owe it to Dean, like pretty much everything in my life.” The timer rings, giving you the cue to turn off the oven and take out the lasagna, you put on your gloves and take it, and then put it on the heat proof mat you had placed on the table. “I hope you are hungry.”  

“Starving.” He replies with a soft smile. 

You cut the lasagna and serve it on both of your plates, Spencer gives you a soft smile thanking you, you sit in front of him and raise your glass.

“To us.” He imitates your action and clinks his wine glass with yours. “Cheers.”

“Did you know that “Cheers” originated from the old French word chiere which meant “face” or “head.” By the 18th century, it meant “gladness,” and was used as a way of expressing encouragement.” He rambles. “And toasting is thought to come from sacrificial libations in which a sacred liquid was offered to the gods in exchange for a wish, or a prayer for health. It was Greek and Roman tradition to leave an offering to the gods, including alcoholic beverages, during celebrations and commonly after a death. In Greek mythology, the god of wine, Bacchus, was often toasted.”

“I did, and did you know that in Medieval times, glasses were clinked and people cheered loudly to ward off any demons or evil spirits? And that there are theories that say that it was done to avoid poisoning?” You reply, and he is fascinated to be able to talk with someone that is actually interested on this kind of facts and willing to talk about them with him. 

You take a sip of your wine and smile at him, and he could swear his heart jumps every time you do it.

“Bon appetit.” 

He takes the first bite and then looks at you with his eyes wide open.

“This is really good.”

“Thanks, it’s my mom’s recipe. She used to have a restaurant and people would make lines to try her food.”

“Are those your parents?” He asks pointing to the picture of your parent’s wedding, it was your favorite photograph of them, your mom looks beautiful in her white dress and she seems so happy and your dad is looking at her, and you can see the love in their eyes. 

“Yeah.” You reply, nostalgia running through your veins. 

“It’s a nice picture, do they live in Kansas as well?”

“No.” You take a deep breath and then continue. “They are gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it has been a long time.” You sigh and try to keep your emotions on the line. “They died in a car crash when I was eleven.”

“That’s why I owe Dean so much, when the accident happened Adam was already in college, but I was still little, and my aunt Sabine tried to take me back to Minnesota, but Dean wouldn’t have it, he filled to be my legal guardian and he went to trial against my aunt and he won, then he sold his bachelor’s apartment and bought a house for the both of us and he became both my mom and my dad.”

“He sounds like a great brother.”

“He is, I’m lucky to have him, and Sam and Adam, they are quite amazing.” You take the picture from your first competition and show it to him. “These are my brothers, Dean is carrying me, Sam is on the left and Adam is on the right.”

“You look really happy.”  He comments.

“Yeah, I was, it was probably one of the best days of my life.” You reply, filled with joy of reliving the memory, the moment when your team was announced champion, the proud looks on your brothers’ eyes, the screams of excitement coming from your teammates, and the intense feeling of joy running through your veins. “It was my first all star competition, man, you should've seen Dean, he bragged about it for months.”

“For how long have you been a cheerleader?”

“I started with ballet and gymnastics when I was 3 and I joined the squad at my elementary school as soon as I got in.”

“What do you like about it?”

“Well, I love dancing and I love sharing joy, cheerleading lets me do both.”

“Are you planning to do it professionally?” He asks.

“I don’t think so, to be honest I think I would rather develop my career as a psychologist, I would also like to have a dance academy, but I think that would be an extra.” You take a small pause to admire the soft color of his eyes and then ask. “What about you? Did you always know that you wanted to be an FBI agent?”

“Not really, I knew that I wanted to help people but I wasn’t sure how, then when I was 22 I decided to join the FBI.” 

“Have you ever considered doing anything else?”

“A part of me would like to teach, but I don’t think I do good in front of many people.” 

“Well being honest, I loved hearing you.” You see his cheeks blush and he looks away for a moment.

“Thank you.”

You finish eating while doing small talk, you ask him about his career, his team, you see how enthusiastic he gets when he talks about them, when he tells you how they became his family.

He also tells you about his mom, about how she slowly deteriorated and how much it scares him to get sick like her. When he is speaking you place your hand on top of his, he gives you a small smile and then changes the subject. 

“Tell me about your brothers.”

“Well, Dean’s the oldest, and he has always taken care of all of us, he is the most loving person I know. He taught me how to ride a bike and helped me to do my homework every day until highschool. 

He is a mechanic, he has his own workshop where he does restorations on vintage cars, he was also a soldier, he enlisted after 9/11, that’s where he met Castiel, he was an army doctor, he crushed on him but he was already married to Lisa, and she was expecting Ben, my nephew, then he came back home but he and Lisa didn’t work together as a couple anymore, they tried to stay together for Ben, but they weren’t happy, so they got divorced and stayed as friends, then like fifteen years later Dean got in a small car accident and the doctor that got his case was Castiel, they started dating very little after that, and they got married three years ago, this year they adopted a little boy, Leo, he is the love of their lives.” 

While you are talking Spencer looks at you with attention, and your hand never leaves his. 

“Sam’s the smart one, he studied law at Stanford and he is now a junior partner on one of the biggest firms on Kansas, he is married with Jess, they have two daughters, Marie and Elizabeth, and Adam studied Mechanical Engineering at KU, he works on the workshop with Dean, and he is expecting a baby with Jo, who is basically my sister, they used to hate each other they were always jumping at the other’s neck, so it was definitely a surprise.”

“Do you miss living in Kansas?”

“Yeah, I do, sometimes I get very lonely here, I have friends and all but, it’s not the same as having my family here, that’s why I love vacations so much, because I can go back home and see them.”

“Yeah, I get the feeling.”

Talking to him is easy, when you are with him you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up, you feel like you can trust him with anything, when you talk he listens with attention, he actually listens, not like other boys you have met, that only wait for you to stop talking so they can focus the conversation on them, and when he talks you are fascinated, he is insanely smart and well educated, you have the most interesting conversation you have had in your entire life , and time seems to fade away, when you notice it, it’s already past midnight.

He helps you to clean, after you finish you walk him to the door, you are standing under the threshold when you both start to speak at the same time, you chuckle softly and then let him start.

“Thank you for having me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Then you stay in silence, and you allow yourself to get lost in his eyes, slowly you get closer to him, so close you can feel his soft breath over your mouth, he hesitates for a minute but then he places his hand on your waist and then you close the distance between your lips and his. 

Kissing you has to be the most exhilarating feeling he has ever had, it is like his lips were meant to be in yours, you run your fingers through his hair and then he pulls you closer to him, making your chest rest on his, your lips move softly and in synchrony his his. 

He wonders if you can feel his heart beating, because it seems like it may abandon his chest at any moment.

Every shadow of doubt fades away, at that very moment he makes the decision that he is not willing to let you slip away from him, he will fight to keep you next to him, he will do whatever it takes.

“Good night Doctor Reid.”

Tags: @that-aesthetic-wannabe

[anon-luv]

I’ll Never Be Her (JiminXReader)[Part 3 Preview]

Author’s Note: Hey guys here is a little preview for the next chapter of the fic. I am sorry it had taken me a while, but I have been working overtime and studying for an exam. Remember good things come to those who wait ;)

Disclaimer things that are written in the following preview are subject to change. I sometimes scrap my work and rewrite if I am not happy with it.

It is unedited!! Grammar mistakes are more than likely probable. I love feedback, let me know what you think or what you think might happen. Are ya’ll excited for the finale??

TAKE CARE!! Finale will be posted more than likely, later on, this week.

The smell of freshly baked pancakes wafted through your room dragging you out of you sleeping state and onto the front of your door like a moth to a flame. The doorknob felt heavy in your hand, as you stood quietly behind the piece of wood that was serving as not just a divider but as a sort of shield between you and Jimin.  You feared the tension that was sure to be present due to the event that had taken place last night. The what ifs, mixed with regret and bitterness from having to reject the one you loved had kept you up through most of the night. You had pictured Jimin kneeling before you several times before throughout your relationship, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined saying no. Reality sucked, and as much as you had hoped for your happily ever after to include him as your knight in shining armor you knew he was anything but.

You forced yourself to head back to bed dragging your feet as if they weighed a ton each. An ache of hunger that had grown quickly in the pit of your stomach anchoring you to the ground as you pushed your way to move forward to the empty cold bed.

Emptiness. That was not only a horrible sight but a horrible feeling.

You laid back down on your assigned side of the bed out of habit. You closed your eyes tightly as the whirlwind of emotions triggered the morning sickness you had been battling now these days. Your hand extended tracing over the wrinkles of the bed sheet beside you, the spot that had once belonged to him. You could still picture his groggy looking expression as you kissed him over and over all over his face until you were blessed with a glimpse of his brown irises staring straight into yours full of love. Love that during those mornings you were more than sure belonged to only you. The chilly sunrises that were spent wrapped in each other's arms as he sang into your ear were the most cherished, and yet when you replayed them in your memory, were the ones that made you feel the loneliest. The fool within you begging you to pull Jimin into bed where he belonged cradling you every night.

The front door slamming closed woke you up from your delusions. You quickly stood from the bed, tippy-toeing your way to the door. A slight rush of adrenaline rushing through your body as you peaked your head out the door assuring the coast was indeed clear. You waited a few seconds and then you walked out your room examining the living room for any changes. Everything was just like it had been the night before, unlike you and Jimin. There was a point of no return and last night had been it for the both of you.

Placed at the center of the table was a plate full of fluffy pancakes stacked perfectly one on top of another. Yet your pride had you grabbing a box of Cereal, milk, and a bowl. The sogginess of the tasteless food had you cringing with every bite. You could perfectly picture your babies writhing in your stomach, scolding you for not devouring the delicious strawberry topped treat in front of you.

A knock on the door interrupted your meal, and for the first time since you found out you were pregnant, you were glad something got in the way of you and your meal.

“I am going,” you said as you wiped your mouth from the dripping milk. You scurried to the door and opened it excitedly, thinking it was Jin saving you with some delicious sweet bread of some sort.

The door opened wide as you awaited the person on the other side with a wide smile. The smile that faltered as soon as your eyes took in the visitor before you.

Her usual perfect hair was up in a messy bun, as her last night mascara surrounded her perfectly blue eyes making her look similar to a raccoon. Tears traveled down her cheeks creating trails all the way down to her jaw.

“Jimin was right, you look even more beautiful than before…...the pregnancy glow fits you. I am sorry to bother you….but can we talk….about Jimin….please (y/n)” Stephany said already taking a step inside your apartment, not even asking for permission. At this very moment, the soggy mess in the bowl looked as appetizing as a sirloin steak.

[pekkarolling]

Triwizard Tournament First Task: The Marauders

The first time Peter saw them he’d been nervous. His fingers had been twitching up and down the suitcase handle, his beady eyes scanning the train for something–someone–familiar. He settled for the next best thing: two first year boys in a cabin of mahogany and red velvet, where they were quickly joined by another boy that looked just as scared as he felt.

He wasn’t ready. But this was his shot, and he wasn’t going to go it alone. 

The first time Remus saw them, he’d been shy. He didn’t have any reason to be, he knew, because he looked perfectly normal, and that’s what mattered, right? But he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t pure wizard, wasn’t a pureblood, was a werewolf–but they didn’t know that. They being the roguish boy with hair that cascaded down to his shoulders, the hazel-eyed boy with hair that looked like it had been professionally tangled, and the short boy wearing gray, as though he could fade into the walls. Remus didn’t talk. He’d been scared to. But there was a certain daring in James’ tone that was attractive, a definitive nonchalance in Sirius’ posture that intrigued him, a quiet kindness in Peter’s face that felt like home. They seemed like a rebellion against who he was, a Remus who was too scared to revolt against the norm without anonymity at his side. He wasn’t innocent. But he wasn’t normal either. The first time Sirius saw them together, he’d been hoping. It hadn’t been in his nature to hope for much, but now was his chance to break free for the next seven years. To break free from dress robes and hatred and the cold and crippling feel of failure in his stomach. With Hogwarts came the promise of a new house and new friends. It came the chance to use a little magic to shake this cruel world up (and possibly shut his mother up in the process). Hogwarts was hope. Hogwarts was an escape.

He was desperate. And he was going to get what he wanted. The first time James saw them together, he’d been jumping out of seat. It was Hogwarts. He could imagine all of the years to come in vivid detail–practices on the quidditch pitch with him as Gryffindor team captain, pulling pranks on the famously strict Minerva McGonagall, sneaking in Fizzing Whizzbees and books that bit you when you tried to open them, and laughing and joking with the three boys beside him. They’d be a team of teams, the much-needed sidekicks to his hero. James was going to blow them all away. He was ready. He’d been waiting for this for as long as he could remember. In their first year, Peter learned that if potions smelled like smoke and they weren’t supposed to that it was best to back away, and that Professor Binns’ room had the oddest sleep-inducing smell. He learned that he was awkward, and a little bashful, but that didn’t matter when you had friends like Sirius and Remus and James. In their first year, Remus learned that some people were better friends than he should have expected, that maybe it was okay to let your guard down every once in a while to fill the hallway with Garroting Gas with a couple mischievous mates. He learned that a laugh might be the cost of a lie, but if a lie was protecting something beautiful and unfamiliar called friendship it was okay. He learned the pain of transforming alone, but when you weren’t alone the rest of the time, it felt worth it. In their first year, James learned that redheads were fierce and beautiful and impossible not to admire, and that they had horrible taste in greasy-haired friends. He learned that Sirius had a passion for muggle photographs, that Peter could identify the kind of cheese he was eating by just a nibble, that Remus must have a suspiciously crazy personal life to disappear as often as he did and still find a way to wear every single one of his (many) knit sweaters in a month. In their first year, Sirius learned what freedom felt like, what a life without his family screaming bigoted heritage into his ear felt like. It felt like a ride on James’ broom, like a shared laugh with Remus, like a hug from Peter. It felt like the Gryffindor common room in the winter, which smelled like cedar and wool and freshly baked bread. But altogether? They learned what it was like to feel the start of something as grand and important as themselves. They promised they’d think of a name for themselves, that it would bond them forever. Then they went home. One to a family he hated, one to a family he loved, and two to families that didn’t know them at all. Second year was made of impossible dares and secrets and inventing new spells that would write papers for them. It was made of a thrashing tree that hid Remus every month as he transformed into something he thought would scare his friends, but only united the four of them more. It was made of hope and quidditch and James racing on a broom as Sirius commentated and Remus and Peter cheered. It was made of hot chocolate in the Gryffindor common room and Professor McGonagall having to look twice over her shoulder every so often. But most of all, second year was what made them who they were: The Marauders. Third year was shaped by detention for doing impossible things, like climbing up the astronomy tower and confessing love for girls who had hair like sunset. It was shaped by the taste of chocolate frogs at one in the morning, by the snitch James carried around in his pocket. It was shaped by the time Remus spent writing everyone else’s papers and Sirius’ fascination with bikes and leather jackets and other Muggle things. It was shaped by the constant glow of three friends and the shadowing of another. But they were the Marauders, and even if one felt like he was made of darkness, it didn’t matter, because they were forever. Fourth year was haphazard, like a stack of Howlers that they had figured out a way to silence. It was as messy as James’ first kiss with a girl, and as sloppy as Sirius’ first kiss with a boy. It was as dangerous as the time Remus led the Giant Squid out of the lake and into the Great Hall, as thrilling as the hours Peter spent alone in a room that did his bidding. It was as bitter and hilarious as the mandrake leaves they tried to keep on their tongue for a month only to fail, as awful as the smell of burning ink when they tried to make an advanced map of Hogwarts. They were the Marauders. They were a mess, but they were a mess together, and that was what counted. Fifth year was the year of discoveries. It was the year James learned that scaling the astronomy tower was a bad way to impress beautiful green-eyed Muggleborns, that Remus discovered the awesome power of covering up for his friends as a prefect. It was the year Sirius realized the way to enchant a motorbike and hoped to do it on his own, the year Peter It was also the year that they finally got the chance to be there for their werewolf friend when he transformed. They became Animagi, each discovering the beauty of comforting Remus when he was more animal than human and the power of knowing who they really were inside. Stag, for bravery. Dog, for loyalty. Rat…for cheese? Or, as Peter was coming to suspect, for vermin. Something to be stepped on and over by those bigger and better than you. But it didn’t matter what he felt. They were the Marauders, and their bond was stronger than any single person’s feelings. Sixth year was the year the storm came into their dorm room and gloom pressed against their shoulders like the ever-utilized invisibility cloak. It was a year created from tears and kisses and pranks that went too far and rainy quidditch matches. It was a year of learning what it felt like to fall, what it felt like to crack and fall apart only to come back together again. They were torn, and arguing, and nearly hated each other with the burning feeling of snuck firewhiskey at two in the morning, but they were still the Marauders. They were the Marauders, and if there was one thing Marauders didn’t do, it was lose each other and the six years they had spent together. They immortalized themselves in a map of Hogwarts to commemorate their coming back together, and signed off with their new nicknames: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Seventh year was it. It was the year James became Head Boy and was still Quidditch captain, the year Sirius was burned out of his family tree. It was the year Peter made some new Slytherin friends with interesting tattoos, the year Remus starting going to protests to protect Muggleborns with his new Muggleborn friend, Lily Evans. Lily Evans, who had hair like sunset and a laugh like a cool, crisp September wind. Lily Evans, who was fierce and determined and had become Head Girl because she was clever and kind and could wield a wand better than most adults. Lily Evans, who could brew Amortentia in her sleep–not that she needed it. James Potter was already head over heels in love with her. It was in seventh year that she fell in love with him. It was two years later that he asked her to marry him. Sirius had cried. Remus had smiled. And Peter sat there, wondering when four heads had become five and they had inducted a new Marauder. Five heads might be better than four, especially when the fifth was brilliant and kindhearted and had been solemnly swearing she was up to no good longer than any of them. Even if any of them had hesitations, they were quickly lost to those sparkling green eyes. Lily was good. She may have fallen in love with James, but she fell in love with each of them for their own traits. Remus, for his honest intelligence and ability to talk and discuss until dawn flooded through the windows; Sirius, for his daring and flat, sarcastic humor that made her laugh until her stomach hurt; and Peter, for his kind heart and the way he could keep a secret. They were the Marauders, her Marauders, and they made her feel whole. And so when James named only one of them his best man, it didn’t matter. They were all valued, because of what they were: Marauders. They were forever, and a title bestowed to only one of them wasn’t supposed to change them. War wasn’t supposed to change them, either. But it did. Remus was a spy who slept even less at night than he had at Hogwarts. Sirius was addicted to the pain of tattoos and started drawing a design that had everyone who had been lost in the effort’s name blended in with swirls and vines and the words mischief managed. Peter learned to keep a blank expression, to become a liar  and to wear long sleeves so no one would notice his tattoo. James would nervously wash his hands every time he touched something, and wished he could take his broom outside and fly for a while. Lily became obsessed with flowers, gardening constantly so that one thing might live even when this world that she had grown to love, this magic that inhabited her soul, was at risk. But they were still the Marauders, just with a few secrets between them. The last time Peter saw James, he hadn’t thought of his body lying on the floor. The last time he saw Sirius, he hadn’t thought of his friend sobbing. The last time he saw Remus, he hadn’t thought of Moony going through his transformation alone. The last time he saw himself as a Marauder had been too long ago. He hadn’t been ready for his tears, his newfound power. But this was his shot, and he wasn’t going to throw it away.

The last time Remus saw all of them together he had waved a cheery goodbye, feeling grateful for the warm coffee Peter had brewed for everyone in their varying forms of likes and dislikes (Peter liked his with too much sugar and cream, James had a preference for a good dose of milk, Remus would put in one sugar cube, and Sirius, quite fittingly considering his last name, loved a good black coffee). For Remus, it was war, but that didn’t change that these were the three people who had stuck with him when he was odd and only wore knit sweaters and disappeared once each month. These were the people who had looked beyond “werewolf” and found “friend”. And so he didn’t expect that one was playing Judas this whole time, because they were the Marauders, and the Marauders were loyal until the end. The last time Sirius saw James, he thought everything would be okay. But his best friend was a corpse, a terrible breadcrumb leading to his dead wife. Lilies weren’t meant to die. James’ weren’t either. They were all supposed to stick together forever, even in war, even in pain and death and

Sirius found Harry afterwards. He took care of him for a day and wondered why Peter had done this, why the world was so cruel, when his once-friend had turned into such a rat.

They found each other later. One was a professor, one an escaped convict, one a traitor, and one a reincarnation of his parents. They held the traitor at wandpoint, and it was there that Peter felt the bond he had broken, the weight of the tattoo on his arm and the way it dragged him down. He noticed that Remus and Sirius had no tears glistening in their eyes and wondered why they weren’t crying when tears flowed hot down his cheeks for the things he felt.

They’d had thirteen years to cry.

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. A bond broken. A legendary friendship with a legendary ending.

They were the marauders once, but now no more.

Mischief Managed.

[khalithewanderer]

The Wanderer

Clunk. The sound of the staff stopping at the wooden porch just outside the door is enough to silence the entire bar. Heads turn to the door, eyes narrowing in suspicion. It is not unlikely for visitors to appear this late at such a well-known tavern. However, the hollow sound that echoes through the brightly lit room is enough to catch anyone’s attention. Slowly, with a creaking sound that reverberates throughout the old floorboards and into the very souls of all guests, the brass knob on the door turns, and the wooden door is pushed open. Instantly, murmurs rise, splitting through the chilling air that had been caused by the sudden appearance of the unfamiliar sounds. With a steady intake of breath, the Wanderer steps inside. 

Now fully immersed in the light of the room, the whole bar is able to see the entire detail of which the Wanderer contains. A long cloak is draped over their body, its hood pulled over their face. With a braid and a bead hanging from the front, it’s as if their face were the only thing they were trying to keep a secret; the cloak itself is quite revealing, open and dangling down the Wanderer’s front, where it stops just below their knees. On each side, a small golden orb hangs by a small golden braid. But the cloak is split at the arms, it seems, where the hem recedes up near the elbows, and dips down again in the back. As the Wanderer moves forward, the cloak trails behind them, another orb and another braid bobbing along in it’s wake. The cloak is mesmerizing, tiny golden stars and moons decorating its navy blue fabric, which seems to be as dark as the night sky, swirling with tones of purples and blues that belong to galaxies rather than fabric. A symbol is sewn into the back, portraying a crescent moon that is placed around a star, unifying the two separate beings into one.  The cloak, however, is not the only enchanting possession that the Wanderer carries. Two swords, both katanas, are placed securely on their left hip, both of which are quite contrasting. The bottom one, black with silver bearings strongly placed across the sheath, as if to hold the leather together, is slightly longer, and appears strangely warmer that it’s partner. The top katana, covered in a sheath of white that is decorated expertly and exquisitely with tiny patterns of gold, gives off an aura of cold, dark times, as though it were merciless. And of course, there’s the staff - the source of the tension now resonating through the tavern. Pure white and smoothly crafted, it is simply beautiful. There are no decorations, or protectors, or moons, or stars. The ends are plain, just long shafts of white that come to an abrupt stop about a half a meter from the center. And it is the center that is drawing much of the attention. It looks as though four pieces of the smooth wood have been pulled away from the shaft, and twisted so that they coil together perfectly. Placed in between each coil are three gems, of which colour the spectators are having a hard time deciding. They appear red, blue, green, purple, amber, onyx… Despite what the Wanderer is carrying, they themselves are not as spectacular as all are expecting. They move further into the room, headed towards the bar, plain black shoes scuffling along as the steady clunk, clunk, clunk of the staff accompanies them. The Wanderer’s canvas pants that are wrapped on with strings and ropes and yarns seem to have been torn off below the knees. A thin waistline with strange markings about the hips shows a lack of food. The bandages that they wear around their breast are dusty and dirty, stained with mud, food, and what could possibly even be blood. A small woven pouch hangs off of the hip opposite the swords, sagging in odd places, showing a lack of money, which further explains the Wanderer’s small, frail appearance. Four bronze bands are worn on the Wanderer’s right forearm, which moves back and forth in motion with the staff. The hand which firmly grasps the white wood is a dark, patchy brown, which is fairly uncommon in a place such as this one. The Wanderer takes a seat at the bar, passing the staff into their left hand and leaning it against the wooden counter as they flip open and dig through their pouch.  Thin, dirty fingers pull out a small golden coin and place it on the table. “How much will this get me?” Their voice is quiet and unreadable, though a slight accent is carried with it. The bartender picks up the coin with meaty hands and examines it carefully. Tucking it into his pocket, he says gruffly, “Bread and soup. I’ll be back.” By now, the heads of the guests throughout the bar are craning to see the Wanderer more, swivelling back and forth between friends and neighbours, trying to make conclusions about the stranger amongst them. The bartender returns with a freshly baked stack of bread and a bowl filled to the brim with steaming liquid, and places it in front of the Wanderer. Without sudden warning, the hood is flung off, and the crowd gasps. The Wanderer clasps their hands in front of them, letting out a hoot and a howl and bellowing with extreme glee, “WOWEE, THANK GODS, I’M STARVING!!” Immediately tucking into the soup, scooping it up with the slices of bread and chomping down messily, the Wanderer begins to eat. The whole bar stares in shock, surprised by what is underneath the hood. There’s a moment of silence until someone mutters: “It’s a girl.” Stopping abruptly, the Wanderer raises their head, soup dribbling down their chin, and a piece of bread in each hand. Slowly, eerily, they turn around in their seat to face the room, revealing that, yes, in fact, they appear to be a girl. Their face and hair are the same as their hands. So dark that they appear to be covered in soil. Their hair is pulled back as far it can go, tied tightly into a bun behind their head, leaving only a few pieces to hang in their face, which is young and seems kind, though it scares nearly everyone in the room. Softly, they wipe their mouth and place their pieces of bread behind them, and then they from the seat. “Who said that?” they say gently and quietly. No one in the room moves. They asks again. “Please, I would like to know who just said that.” Slowly, a hand raises in front of her. Quivering slightly, a short, skinny man with tufts of hair sticking out from underneath a straw hat says, “I-I did M-Miss.” With a whipping motion, the Wanderer grabs their staff from against the bar and rushes forward to stand face to face with this man. They bend down to meet him, their height being much larger than his, and gets so close to him that their noses are nearly touching. Their face is pulled together in concentration, deep brown eyes filling with so much magic and intensity that the man nearly shakes out of his clothes. They continues to stare on as the entire bar seems to hold its breath…. “BWAHAHAHAHA!!” they erupt, straightening up with their hands on their hips. The remainder of the people around them slowly start to laugh uncomfortably along, more out of fear than entertainment. “I’m no girl! I’m just a human! And one of the strongest and best ones out there at that! Whether I’m a boy or girl makes no difference to me” They spin around and retake their seat, continuing to munch away at their meal. The laughter dies away and the silence resumes, apart from the jumbled talking that the Wanderer is now attempting. “Wow, dish is really good shtuff! I haven�� had shtuff dish good shince Mama wuz in town! Wow!” they continue on, food miraculously staying in their mouth as they so. The bartender leans over the bar at them and narrows his eyes, as they, oblivious to the glare on his face, shoves another piece of sopping bread into their mouth. “What are you doing here kid…?” the bartender growls, though they waits until they’ve finished their soup to answer, tipping to bowl back as they swallow the last couple of drops. “Well,” they say boisterously, “that’s not really a whole bunch of your business, is it Mr. Grumpyface?” The bartender is taken back by their comment, and they laughs loudly again. “Look mister, I’m a Wanderer. I don’t have a whole lot of purpose. I’m just here to feel the world.” The bartender leans back, grunting in reluctant agreement. He still examines them carefully, as though someone like them could never be trusted. “Your skin is dark. That’s not something you ever see around these parts. Where’s your home Wanderer?” The Wanderer is rummaging around in their pouch when he asks this, and freezes, turning slowly back towards him with a wide, innocent look on their face. “I don’t think you understand sir. I have no home. I don’t even know where I started. All I know is that I just keep going. I want to experience everything; the same stuff, the different stuff, the good stuff and the bad stuff, the new stuff and especially the old stuff. That’s what I do. “I don’t have a home because the world is my home. I live where I wish, I do as I wish, and I am as I wish. That’s all there is to know about me.”  They raise off of the seat and lean over the bar, peering closely into the face of the barkeep. “Now let me ask you a question, sir…” The next words that come out of their mouth are filled with magic and mystery, enchanting every single person in the room with whimsical dream-like thoughts and spreading wonder into the hearts of everyone near. They were light, with music and magic and fun, but also heavy and deep, dragging thoughts and minds into the dark. These words seemed so simple yet so powerful, and the world seemed to carry so much sense and nonsense ravelled into one. “Why do you think they call me a Wanderer?”

-=-=-=-=-

- Jamie Homeniuk 

[lenakrruger]

Recipes for Realtors: Polenta mille-feuille

The following content may have been republished here without the author's permission. The original post can be found at the following URL: Recipes for Realtors: Polenta mille-feuille. Please visit REMonline.com for more content like this, and contact web@remonline.com to inform us of any unauthorized reproduction.

Here’s a special gourmet plate that has an unspeakable visual quality as well as being a marriage of delicious flavours.

On occasion when you are holiday entertaining out-of-town guests, or just any visitors any time, think about going the extra mile and prepare this fabulous food as a special welcome. It’s not difficult, but perhaps best doable by someone a little experienced in the kitchen and able to multitask.

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Make your favourite cheese polenta ahead of time. Let it rest to set firm and measure three equal portions sliced so when assembled they resemble a small pound cake. I prefer slices about 4×6, but you could cut smaller but equal slices such as 2×4.

Each mille-feuille is an individual serving, but a rather large serving. Present with a side serving of crispy bacon rashers and a tiny container (perhaps a glass or crystal salt-cellar) of one of my aioli dipping sauces, along with a few deep-fried whole garlic cloves, for an additional wow factor surprise. (See my recipe below.)

Top a medium thick base slice of the cheese polenta with barely wilted, hot, very well-drained (press the spinach in a colander and put a heavy pot on the spinach for a few minutes) steamed regular spinach, that you have buttered (perhaps use one of your frozen compound herbed butter coins from your freezer log). Be generous. A whole head of spinach only provides a cup of finished product. Again, you can prepare the spinach ahead of time, but don’t refrigerate unless absolutely necessary.

I keep containers of my goat cheese spinach grilled sandwich filling in the freezer to use with my omelettes, and this would save on time if you thaw and choose to use it in this mille-feuille assembly.

Position another equal measured slice of set polenta on top. Dust with grated mixed wonderful dry cheeses as a bed for fresh very firm, seared on high heat in just a smear of unsalted butter, thick slices of white button mushrooms dusted with thyme, nutmeg and lots of fresh ground pepper. A few grains of salt. Careful. You don’t want the mushrooms to weep.

Spoon just a little of my (made earlier) caramelized onions on top of the mushrooms, and top with a matching size third polenta layer.

Top with pre-cooked, then pan-fried in sweet butter, crushed cooked chestnuts (you can buy beautiful readymade chestnuts in specialty packages, or purchase most top-grade chestnut purée and spread generously. Drizzle with just a tiny bit of noisette. Or deglaze the mushroom sauté pan using Offley Royal Ruby port or Asbach Uralt cognac, and drizzle over the top layer just when ready to serve.

Serve with a long blade sharp steak knife and a long tined fork and a generous size spoon, so not a drop of this delicious treat will be missed.

A rather rustic presentation, it will look its finest served in the centre of an oversized dinner plate, perhaps a heavier weight high-grade ceramic plate, warmed with very hot water, rather than on a delicate fine china.

For a full-sized meal, a side serving of medium rare roast duck, venison or lamb could be a nice addition for a very filling dinner meal.

The polenta mille-feuille on its own is a terrific breakfast/brunch. But you might consider topping with two poached runny yolk eggs with freshly made hollandaise, along with a side dish of my grated coarse tomato pulp. For something attractive for the brunch/breakfast presentation, maybe a grouping of yellow tomato, white tomato, red and green tomato pulp, each in its own little serving dish.

ALTERNATE: If you choose to buy ready made store-bought polenta, it often comes packaged in a large log shape (ideally bought from a high reputation Italian shop). Simply cut large coins perhaps a half-inch-thick and proceed to stack and fill as above and serve, layered, in the round.

You could offer a fabulous seafood version by insetting in the middle layer, chunks of fresh warmed lobster claw meat, or crab or shrimp, drizzled with your melted frozen lobster compound butter coins from your frozen log and/or a drizzle of your homemade lobster oil.

My aioli two ways – special aioli sauce uses – and a surprise or two (poached and deep-fried garlic, too…)

Use my homemade mayonnaise as a base. Quick and easy to prepare, this mayo will keep in a sterilized screw top glass jar, refrigerated, for six months, so if you live alone or have a small family, there is no need to buy mayonnaise when you can make your own that lasts, with no preservatives of any kind.

In a baked enamel cast-iron pot, measure about a third full of Mazola Corn Oil and heat. Add a dozen individual generous-sized peeled garlic cloves. Increase heat. Poach in the simmering oil until the garlic is mashable; remove the garlic cloves from the oil with a slotted spoon, allow to cool just briefly, and coarsely chop the garlic and add to two cups of mayo. Add herbs or spices if you like, but it’s not necessary. This aioli can be used as is, or mash blue cheese into the mix. An amazing sauce with beef, pork, chicken or seafood,

If you have made crab cakes or mixed seafood cakes, a dollop of either sauce on top is wonderful.

Check out my faux blini and serve with this sauce on a bed of Boston Bibb hydroponically grown lettuce. A little dish of lemon quarters might add to the flavour when squeezed just before indulging.

Serve the cakes on lettuce mounded on a thick slice of my beautiful Boston brown bread baked in a tin such as a large tomato tin. I used to use coffee tins when coffee was packed in real cans, back in the 1960s. Yes, that’s 60 years ago.

Here’s another way to use the aioli: marinate a boneless, skinless chicken breast, or boneless, skinless chicken thighs, in seasoned buttermilk overnight. Seasoning can be paprika, pepper, a sprinkle of thyme and a pinch of nutmeg. I prefer not to salt marinade. Salt the meat when ready to cook.

Pat the chicken dry and dredge the marinated chicken breast in seasoned flour. Deep-fry in the leftover garlic oil pot, at about 350 F. The chicken should cook perfectly in 5-7 minutes, depending on thickness. Salt immediately again when finished deep frying. This is a great, quick way to make dinner when you come home from work, having started the chicken the day before.

Carve the deep-fried chicken breast on the diagonal and drizzle with either aioli and serve on the Boston brown bread or on a grilled brioche, with a handful of fresh watercress.

For a side dish, soak half-inch onion rings in fresh (unused) buttermilk for a couple of hours. Dredge in seasoned semolina flour and deep fry quickly. The onion rings will be cooked when they turn crisp and golden.

You can use the same oil you used for the garlic and the chicken, if you are making onion rings simultaneously. But otherwise, start with fresh oil. At the end of the cooking session, toss the oil. Do not plan to use it another day.

Drain the onion rings on a cookie rack lined with white paper towel. Salt as soon as you remove from the oil. Perhaps sprinkle some of the onion rings with a little cayenne (definitely not if serving to children). Cayenne can actually burn your throat tissue, so if you are not familiar with using it, tread gently at first. It’s simply hot peppers.

Drizzle with just a little of the aioli when ready to serve, or use the aioli as a dipping sauce.

You might want to offer either sauce as an accompaniment with sautéed seared or breaded sea scallops. Serve on a bed of shredded mixed lettuce greens. Chop a bit of fresh parsley and/or watercress and add to the aioli.

Or: shred in fine strips on the diagonal, using a very sharp knife, perfectly cooked medium rare prime rib steak, and use the shredded steak to fill a freshly made Yorkshire pudding that you baked using the beef drippings. Deflate and fill the hole with the thinly sliced beef, and serve immediately, topping with a drizzle of the garlic blue cheese aioli.

Now, for those who can never get enough garlic, a special treat.

Having prepared the poached in oil garlic cloves (make as many as you like), immediately when they are barely tender to the point of a sharp knife prick, using a slotted spoon, remove the garlic from the simmering oil pot and place on a white absorbent paper towel on a cake cooling rack.

Quickly whisk together your favourite light batter, even one made with beer. Toss in the whole garlic cloves. Retrieve with a small slotted spoon to let the excess batter drip off, and slide the garlic cloves into 350 F oil in the pot you just poached them in. When the batter is crisp and golden (in just a couple of minutes) remove with the large slotted spoon and place onto a fresh paper towel.

Sprinkle with salt, a few herbs and or spices, and serve at once, alongside any favourite dish. You will find the garlic is medium mild and not at all overpowering. Simply delicious as a nibble treat or with any meat, seafood or poultry dish (a great balance with game), perhaps with a pasta dish, or even as a special salad topper.

© “From Lady Ralston’s Kitchen: A Canadian Contessa Cooks” Turning everyday meal making into a Gourmet Experience 

The above content may have been republished here without the author's permission. The original post can be found at the following URL: Recipes for Realtors: Polenta mille-feuille. Please visit REMonline.com for more content like this, and contact web@remonline.com to inform us of any unauthorized reproduction.

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