#cut in half - scrape out seeds - eat

[darkdanc3r]

Allergic to a couple of those >_<

[mera-k1]

FOR THE SPOOKY EVENT CAN I GET KANATA WITH THE CARVING PUMPKINS PROMPT FOR OCTOBER 3RD PLS AND THANK YOU LOVE YOU MWAH BYE

OFC SIL!!! ENJOY KANATA!

Spooky Season - October 3rd

Kanata Yatonokami x gn!reader

-fluff

"what are you going to carve yours into, kanata?" you looked over at the boy, sitting in front of the pumpkin quietly. you were already sketching on a cute design with a pencil onto your already gutted pumpkin.

"...what's the point of this stuff?" he mumbled, looking over at the pumpkin 'guts' in the bowl on the table. "isn't it a waste to do all... that?" he gestured to the bowl.

"no? you can eat it if you want to!" you started to carve out the pumpkin now as kanata looked over at you, confusion evident on his face.

"what do you mean you can eat it??" he furrowed his brow, staring at the unappetizing bowl of pumpkin. "it doesn't look at good but i guess we can eat it."

"you've never had anything pumpkin flavored?? you have to prepared it first, of course! and you can cook the seeds and they make a good snack too!" that seemed to convince him because you heard him start cutting into the top of the pumpkin now. yanking the top of it off and taking a spoon to the inside to scrape out the pumpkin.

"what did you carve yours into?" he looked over at you concentrating on cutting into the pumpkins face as he scooped out more of the insides into the bowl.

"a cat! look! isn't it cute?" you turned the pumpkin towards him, a bright smile on your face. it was half cut out and he didn't really see the 'vision'. maybe because you weren't finished yet.

"that- ...i'm sure it looks cute." he mumbled, turning to his own pumpkin. staring at it for a long minute before reaching out to grab the pencil and draw on what he could remember from when you showed him what jack-o-lanterns were.

the cuts were jagged and uneven. it was way harder than it looked. you made it seem so easy when you were seemed to be perfectly carving out that cute cat shape in your own pumpkin... doesn't matter to him at least. he prefers how he gets to remember the day.

and what did you two end up with to remember the day by? a picture (taken by nayuta) of you two posing with your carved pumpkins. one cat and one lopsided, messily cut jack-o-lantern. and you know what? it has it's own sort of charm to it. both of them, that is.

[foxxxyana]

Hey you!

It’s fall and you’re probably thinking “damn I wanna make a hearty stew but I don’t have a recipe in mind maybe a cute girl could give me her recipe for beef stew and show hole while doing so?” Well I’m not showing hole for free but I do have a pretty damn good stew recipe that’ll make your holes quiver more than a chilly lot lizard at a truck stop Arby’s.

In some seriousness I made this a couple weeks ago, came a little eating it and I want to spread that seed of joy as much as I can this Mariah Carey season.

———

Alright so here is a list of ingredients in very rough measurements

1 pound stew beef (could also be any fairly lean and cheap cuts of beef) cubed

1 cup of carrots chopped or whole baby carrots

One medium onion chopped (any variety is fine but I used yellow onions)

1 pound of red potatoes quartered (you can add another half pound if you love potatoes a Samwise Gamgee amount)

2 32 oz cartons of unsalted or lightly salted beef stock (+ maybe one smaller carton or jar of beef bone broth to add a bit more flavor or top off the pot if the stock doesn’t cover the ingredients fully)

Some all purpose flour like maybe a quarter cup if that

Finally some red wine vinegar

That’s it for the bulk items, you can add or subtract anything you want with something more your taste like celery instead of carrots or russet potatoes instead of reds. The world is your stew so get wet and have fun with it.

The spices are the key to this dish since it brings out a lot of the subtle flavors of each component

2 tsp Thyme

2 tsp Rosemary

1 tsp Tarragon

1/2 tsp red chili flake

1 tsp parsley

2 bay leaves

2 tsp black pepper and salt

Garlic (if using fresh garlic 2 cloves to start and if you want add another clove if using pre minced Jarlic use about 2 heaping tsps)

And finally the crucial ingredient. 1 and 1/2 tbsps Garam Masala. I used a pre made mix and this what it looks like and what spices it has exactly

If you can’t find this then get as many of this spices as you can and mix them together using the ratio of 2 tsp coriander, cardamom, cinnamon, and cumin, 1 and 1/2 tsps of black pepper and celery seed, then 1/2 tsp anise, allspice, clove, and salt, you can leave out the salt and pepper and just add a little bit more later on.

———

Ok now that we have ingredients let’s slap this bitch together

On medium high heat with a tbsp of oil or butter brown the meat off in a large stock pot, you don’t want to cook it through just getting some color on all sides, if it starts to smell like burning turn the heat down a little and add more oil, if you add too much it could get watery and not brown the meat effectively. If that happens just drain as much of the liquid as you can into a separate container, just before you take it off the heat and it’s almost all browned then add a teaspoon and a half of garam masala and then keeping browning until it’s a good color then set aside

Next in the same pot add your chopped onions with a little butter or oil and cook til translucent and aromatic, then add another teaspoon and a half of garam masala along with the red chili flake and garlic to wake up those flavors in direct heat then turn the heat down to med low and add your flour, go slow with this little by little, we’re not making a roux or anything just trying to cook off the raw flour taste to help thicken the stew a little down the line, you don’t have to add all of the amount listed just enough until it start to thicken and coat the onions

Next add your beef back in and stir a little bit coating the beef in the onion and flour mixture and then add a couple splashes of red wine vinegar just enough to lift the flour off of the bottom of the pot, make sure to scrape all the onion and beef bits at the bottom of the pot off with a spoon or spatula before moving on from this step.

Next add your stock and other vegetables along with all the spices including the last 1 and 1/2 tsps of garam masala. The stock liquid should cover all the ingredients but if not, add in your reserved bone broth or rest of the beef stock if you used bone broth earlier.

Let it simmer on medium low heat for about 1 hour, though you can leave this on the stove for longer if you want the flavor a bit more concentrated but no more than 3 hours.

And there we go! Serve by itself or over mashed potatoes, and make sure to take out the bay leaves! You can’t eat them. Also if you want it a little thicker just add some cornstarch and water to a small measuring glass stir to combine then pour stirring it well into the stew though keep in mind once you add the cornstarch slurry you cannot keep it on the heat for more then 5 more minutes. Any longer and the cornstarch will turn more gummy and nobody wants that.

———

Anyways here’s the only picture I took of the stew it may or may not be that flattering depending on how hungry you are.

Pictured is also a pot of garlic and sage mashed potatoes, I don’t have the energy to write that recipe down but if I get enough requests for it I’ll add it here.

Most importantly just have fun with it, if you want more hot spice throw it in, if you want more salty umami flavors add mushrooms or dark soy sauce, do whatever you want this stew is yours to customize as you please.

Anywho I hope you all enjoy my slutty slutty stew >:3

[polite-pandemonium]

[LISTEN] -  always an angel, never a god - a Shoko Ieiri playlist that very much is meant to represent her post chapter 236. Sad tunes by female musicians. Also - female rage. Gege doesn't seem to want to show us her feelings, so I will do it through song! All songs are Shoko centric, but some definitely could be directed towards either Satoru or Suguru or both!!!!! I tried to have this sort of follow a narrative that takes place pre, during, and post the Shinjuku Showdown arc, while making sure the music still flowed. IDK, I took this very seriously lol. Tracklist: 1. I don't like my mind - mitski 2. in hell - japanese breakfast 3. final girl - chvrches 4. days of oblivion - metric 5. not strong enough - boy genius 6. doomsday - lizzie mcapline 7. both all the time - faye webster 8. you always get what you want - the japanese house 9. when was that? - angus and julia stone 10. only the strong - laura marling 11. girls against god - florence + the machine specific lyrics for each song under the cut!

I don't like my mind | mitski I blast music loud and I work myself to the bone and on an inconvenient Christmas, I eat a cake a whole cake all for me and then I get sick and throw up and there's another memory that gets stuck inside the walls of my skull waiting for its turn to talk and it may be a few years but you can bet it's there waiting still for me to be left alone in a room with the things that I've done a whole cake so please don't take take this job from me

in hell | japanese breakfast with my luck, you'll be dead within the year I've come to expect it there's nothing left to fear, at least there's that and under the fluorescence, another sterile room where no one ever tells you just how clinical death looks and I can't unsee it the two shots it took hell is finding someone to love and I can't have you hell is finding someone to love and I can't see you again

final girl | chvrches swallowing the seeds of sin we sewed into the ground keeping secrets until everything became a bit too loud I would wash it down, I could drown it out by filling up the silence with an organ sound and by writing sentences I used to think were quite profound and it feels like the weight is too much to carry I should quit maybe go get married only time will tell in the final cut in the final scene there's a final girl does she look like me?

days of oblivion | metric all the times that now and then appear as only dreams all the stuff from way back when that's coming up don't self destruct you don't have to call for the wrecking ball or burn the world to ashes all you have to do is ask me to I'll stop you where the descending stairs drop I've unlocked all the doors and I've lost all the keys and I live in a mansion made up from memories I know I need you don't ever leave me I'll never leave you behind I know you need me the way I need you I'll never leave you don't ever leave me behind not strong enough | boy genius do you see us getting scraped up off the pavement? I don't know why I am the way I am not strong enough to be your man I lied - I am just lowering your expectations half a mind that keeps the other second guessing close my eyes and count always an angel, never a god I don't know why I am the way I am there's something in the static I think I've been having revelations coming to in the front seat, nearly empty skip the exit to our old street and go home go home alone doomsday | lizzie mcalpine doomsday is close at hand I'll book the marching band to play as you speak I'll feel like throwing up you'll sit and stare like a goddamn machine I'd like to plan out my part in this but you're such a narcissist that you did it on Halloween I had no choice in the matter why would I? it's only the death of me both all the time | faye webster will I stop crying for once? it's hurting my eyes there's a difference between lonely and lonesome but I'm both all the time I'm loneliest at night after my shower beer and I'll go to sleep without turning out the lights pretend like somebody's here you always get what you want | the japanese house and you've left now but it's better that I know you're gone and I breathe out dizzy from the last hour of holding on and does he do right by you? and does he work so hard? I know you'll miss me, but you'll call me back you always get what you want when was that? | angus and julia stone I wonder if you can hear me wonder if you can feel my heart beating now I wonder if things will be okay wonder if things will keep changing will I fall down? take me back to when things were easier take me back to a place where I belong take me back to a place that feels like home when was that? only the strong | laura marling we've been here a thousand times wish I could go back and find letters I wrote you in my mind perhaps I could unknot us from this awful bind hope that you can change my mind had to leave this crying all behind I hope that you don't think that I'm unkind just somebody told me only and only only the strong can survive

girls against god | florence + the machine if they ever let me out, I'm really gonna let it out I listen to music from 2006 and feel kind of sick but, oh god, you're gonna get it you'll be sorry that you messed with this oh, tell me it's not over yet and in my darkest fantasies, I'm the picture of passivity waiting for you side of stage suppressing all my private rage oh, it's good to be alive crying into cereal at midnight and if they let me out, I'm really gonna let it out when I decided to wage holy war it very much looked like staring at my bedroom floor but, oh god, you're gonna get it you'll be sorry that you messed with me

[alex51324]

Fall Foraging: Pawpaw!

Pawpaw is a tree-growing fruit that is the largest edible fruit native to the United States! It's the most-northern-dwelling species of a tropical fruit family called the Annonaceae. If you are lucky enough to find some, you will definitely notice that they remind you of tropical fruit.

Check out the map below to see if you live in a pawpaw region:

(Image from Wikipedia)

I live near the edge of this fruit's range in Pennsylvania, so I was lucky to be able to find some! I heard about this fruit a couple of years ago, and early this summer I found some pawpaw trees in a nearby park. I've been keeping an eye on them ever since, and this week, they were finally ready to harvest!

Here is my haul of fruits, US quarter for scale:

Don't worry; there's plenty left for the wildlife! These trees grow about 30 feet high, so most of the fruit is out of human reach, but will be enjoyed by various species of birds and mammals when it falls to the ground. Here's a cluster of fruits just out of my reach, zoomed way in:

Here are some fruit clusters, non-zoomed:

You can recognize the trees because they have a slim trunk with smooth bark, and huge leaves. In early spring, they have purple-brown flowers:

(another Wikipedia photo).

The fruits start forming in late spring/early summer, and once the fruit is visible, there's really nothing else in this region that you could mistake for them. The immature fruits can be hard to spot among the leaves, but as they grow, they start to bend the branches down with their weight, and they become easier to see.

(Note: a tree that looks an awful lot like a pawpaw but doesn't have either fruits or nuts could well be pawpaw--in order to produce fruit, they need to be fertilized by a genetically distinct individual, so trees that are isolated or surrounded by their own clones may not produce fruit. The other common tree in the same range with similarly-sized leaves is the hickory, so if it has the big leaves but has small nuts growing on it, that's a hickory.)

Here's the park pawpaw patch from a little distance away:

The trees along the edge of the water, on the left-hand half of the picture, are pawpaws.

The fruits are ready when they start to feel a little soft, and easily break off the stem when pulled. Really ripe ones may fall of when you shake the branch. Here's how they look cut open:

Inside, there's a soft pulp and a lot of large, lima-bean-sized seeds. The pulp is the only edible part. Pick out the seeds, then scrape the pulp out with a spoon. It tastes sort of banana-y, and sort of like candy that's labeled "tropical fruit" with no further details. It's neat!

It's also a good reminder that most of the fruits we regularly eat have been modified by domestication to decrease the size of seeds and increase the edible part. There isn't a lot of "meat" on these guys--just a few big spoonsful from each palm-sized fruit. (You can get a little more by carefully sucking the pulp off the seeds, but I only did that with a couple of them, because they're very slippery and I'm not sure how bad it would be to accidentally swallow one. I decided to err on the safe side.)

You may have to be a bit lucky to find a fruiting pawpaw tree, but if you do, there isn't much chance of misidentifying it, so in that sense, it's a good species for beginner foragers.

If foraging on public land, be sure to check the laws and regulations--here in Pennsylvania, it's OK to forage "reasonable amounts for personal or family consumption" in our state parks, but it varies.

In terms of ethics-of-foraging, pawpaws are also pretty easy, because harvesting them does no harm to the plant, and there will probably be plenty of fruit that you/other foragers can't reach, and that by default is reserved for the wildlife.

(Additionally, the large seed size suggests that the pawpaw probably evolved a seed dispersal strategy based on extinct megafauna. It's likely that humans have been substituting for the original disperser species since the last ice age. All you have to do is put the seeds somewhere they have a chance of growing--i.e., not the garbage--and the tree has successfully gotten its seeds dispersed by a mammal, which was why it grew the fruit in the first place.)

(I found a lone, fruitless pawpaw tree in a different part of the park where I got these, so I thought I'd return the seeds there, because I am a conscientious mammal.)

[sauntervaguelydown]

easy home gardening suggestions

Are you bad at eating the vegetables you buy? Do you feel like everything goes bad before you can eat it? KEEP IT FRESH ON THE VINE. Or at least, pickle it yourself.

You will need: pots (plastic is fine, terra cotta is drier, glazed ceramic retains moisture best). Dirt (surprisingly cheap but very heavy). Sunshine (free).

(I live in a humid part of the USA, these tips are not meant for deserts)

Container options: all your containers NEED drainage holes, but if you're a freak like me, you can take any sturdy plastic thing with sides & a bottom and nail/drill/MELT holes into it. Storage tubs may be a cheap alternative. Don’t hold the tub upside down and melt the excess plastic with matches directly onto your human hand. Burn bandages are expensive. Or just steal old ceramic pots from your aging grandmother.

Container Gardening

BELL PEPPERS: if you get half a day at least of direct sun, you can grow bell peppers. They do want warm weather so either you have to put them inside your house in a very sunny window or wait until it's 70degrees F or more. Remember that flowers do need to be pollinated by SOMETHING. Note that if you're planting them in containers, deeper is better; bell pepper tap roots can go 3 feet down if you let them. Minimum of 12 inches. If you have time but no money, scrape the seeds from dinner and plant them. If you have money but no time, try to buy one sprouted from the local plant nursery. Outdoors you will get caterpillars, but in my experience they are very polite and do not attack the fruit, so they're fine. You can grow three pepper plants per foot diameter of dirt surface.

OTHER PEPPERS: generally all peppers have the same needs, although my hot peppers seem a bit less thirsty than my bell peppers. I bought some already-growing hot peppers from the local plant nursery and they have been EXTREMELY productive; some "hot" peppers like mine (a Holy Mole pepper) actually make great mild salad greens if you scrape the spicy seeds out & pick while still green. Minimum of a foot deep containers, deeper is better if you can manage it. Full sun.

SCALLIONS: with green onions/scallions, you know the big thick ones they sell in the store with the roots still on? buy a couple and plant them in a pot of dirt in the sun and you'll have infinite green onion leaves. They can stand freezing weather if you cover them. It got down to 20 F here and I still didn't lose them. No flowers involved, just juicy crunchy leaves. They only have to be in containers 6 inches deep minimum. DO THIS.

SALAD GREENS: container gardening works well for lettuce and mustard/mizuna. Lettuce needs regular watering, it has shallow roots. You just gotta plant Mizuna when it's cold enough for the seeds to germinate (40 F ~ish). Mizuna is a hardy little guy, tolerates heat AND cold. You gotta buy the seeds, but they're cheap. Follow directions on the seed pack. This can be done (theoretically) in a sunny window indoors since they do not need pollinators. It's all LEAVES baby.

LIMA BEANS. These have deep roots and they have long tall vines; if you have the space for the roots, and any thing LIKE a trellis for the vines, and sun, you can get so many goddamn lima beans for 0 effort. Forget about these suckers you can't STOP them from fruiting.

More below the cut bc this is getting long

TOMATOES are kind of an investment; they're easy to grow from seed but they need a lot of sun & a deep pot. If you want full size beefsteak tomatoes, try a tall, lightweight plastic pot with a lot of fertilizer & consistent watering. Don’t forget the tomato cages! Those beefy boys will pull your plant over sideways. The lightweight pot will allow you to move the pot inside if you have a sudden deluge of rain that will waterlog & split the fruit. You can try planting seed from harvested dinner, but you may end up with some much smaller tomatoes than what you harvested from. It’s something to do with commercial hybrids.

TBH i recommend growing a cherry tomato, you get more fruit and you're less likely to lose it to bugs/sudden rain/general bad luck. Buy some ripe in the store and harvest the seeds. Do not try to grow indoors, you need pollinators & sun. Sensitive to cold. Giant green caterpillars will try to consume your entire tomato plant. You must catch them before they succeed.

SPINACH is nutritious, but honestly don't bother with growing spinach past spring if you live south of the Mason-Dixon line, it likes the cold. I'm having bad lucky with it--it's either too hot or too wet or BOTH around here. My friend who gardened in the desert said they had good luck? It works in container gardens tho. Critters love to eat it. Maybe ask about it at the plant nursery.

ARUGALA: bought some already growing and it's a real champ, doesn't need much water. 6 inch depth minimum. NOTE: Once it flowers, you will not get enough leaves for a sandwich. Since then I've grown it from shed seed and it's very hardy--it actually put out a whole tap root through the bottom of my growpot and got down into the soil. Keep it watered when it's baby. The seed will sprout pretty much any time through the spring and summer.

CARROTS & BEETS:

Carrots are... more complicated. Unless you really like carrots or you really like gardening, idk if I'd recommend them for beginners. You start them from seed then thin them out so they're all at least 6 inches apart, and the seedlings wilt in the heat but they also don't like it when it's freezing so... I'm having a hard time with them. Maybe there's a breed that grows really well in your area? Ask at the local plant nursery. I did a "baby carrots" variety (sex seeds) and two survived infancy. One is still growing as of September. I'm hoping for more seeds.

Beets are less picky, and need a bit less water. But they do die off at the height of summer, so get them going while you can.

CELERY: basically the same, but less angry about the heat. Keep moist. Pick a bit & come back again for more. My seed packet said they should be ready to pick stalks in April but they definitely were not. July was really when they got big enough to eat.

ZUCCHINI: There's a lot of posts about how easy zucchini is to grow, but I think I'm in the wrong part of the country for it. Needs a lot of water, at least when it's hot outside. Definitely works for container gardening. Give it a 12 inch deep pot. TIP: put your old coffee ground in the dirt to increase the acidity. You will not get any fruit unless you have pollination, but pollinators also like to lay eggs on the leaves and eat them all to smithereens. Pickleworms have destroyed me two years in a row now. Cucumbers are the same way--and if you're gonna try cucumbers, buy a burpless variety to keep beetles away at least.

YAMS are pretty easy. They like the HEAT. They need 100% full sun. What you do is you buy a yam from the store, wait until it starts to put out growths, then (indoors) suspend it partly in some water until the green growths are at least 6 inches long. Then you can plant those growths in dirt. It's especially good if the growths have little white roots, but I've planted growths without any roots and they were fine. Healthy vines will put out runners. Suggestion: start in a deeper container but only fill it up with like 6 inches of dirt. When the yam vine gets long, add another few inches of dirt and bury some of the vine. Keep doing this until you run out of space and/or dirt. You get more yams this way. Harvest when the cold starts to make the leaves all sad and crinkly. Using fluffy light dirt makes harvest easier.

STRAWBERRIES: You'll get them one at a time, and they won't be very flavorful in many cases. They need pollinators, but squirrels steal them as soon as they're ripe. Keep under a net. They're also VERY hard to grow from seed. I have managed it, but the germination time is like... three months. Perfect container plants though. And in the summer they start putting out runners, and then you can MULTIPLY your strawberry content. Set them somewhere just out of the rain, so that the fruit won't swell up and split during a deluge, but remember to keep them moist.

BLUEBERRIES: fine for containers, although they need to be deep. Get at least two blueberry bushes so they can cross pollinate. Make sure that both varieties bloom at about the same time of year. Partial sun is fine. In winter it may go dormant but it comes back.

BLACKBERRIES and RASBERRIES are insanely low maintenance but bad for container gardening. They want a lot of space. You'd need a big container. Maybe a costco storage tub. Better off putting them in the ground, if you have a garden. But watch out, they spread.

A note about PUMPKINS: you can get a pumpkin seed to sprout basically spitting on it. I threw some dirt on a rotten halloween pumpkin and now I have a legion of leaves. However, getting them to fruit requires pollinators, and the vines take up space. I wouldn't try to grow them unless you have an actual garden with flowers (weeds are fine) or you just.... want a pretty vine to look at. Also they don't like the heat very much, even though they grow over the summer.

LEMONS: you can actually grow lemon seedlings from the seeds of regular ass grocery store lemons. They're supposed to be pretty easy to do but I haven't had much luck. Now that it's warmer out I'm gonna try again; basically just put them in some dirt and keep the dirt moist until a sprig comes up. you won't get fruit for like 5 years but the leaves smell nice. Tangerines are the same way.

I've put a couple over-ripe onions in the ground, but I don't think I'm going to get much out of it. There's a wikihow article on it. Basically you cut the bottom off an onion from the store, eat the top, and then treat the bottom like a yam. But you might as well just plant the whole thing if it's already started putting out green tendrils. Maybe you'll get flowers.

Herbs

hard Rosemary is actually difficult in most places bc it needs Mediterranean conditions ie. FULL sun, not a lot of water, warm weather. It starts to grow mold if it's not blazed 8 hours a day. Rosemary can get up to the size of a full ass bush if you give it the space. Needs 12 inches of pot depth. If you haven't got full sun, don't bother. I don't recommend growing these from seed--if you have a plant nursery anywhere near your home, just buy one there that is already established with roots. Cold hardy when large enough.

medium Basil has about the same sun needs as Rosemary, but it doesn't mildew. Basil will do the hydra thing and put out new heads of leaves if you snip them off. I'm growing it from seed and it's doing pretty good! Do not eat the flowers. Not cold hardy.

medium Ginger is a tropical shade plant, so you can grow it with no direct sunlight (it does need to get at least indirect sun). It needs really rich soil so you gotta go buy some bagged potting soil with compost, but literally you can get a healthy ginger from the store and sprinkle dirt on top and it ought to start growing. Especially if it already has little white or green fingers growing out of it. Give it a deep pot, 10 inches if possible. not cold hardy. If the soil freezes, it dies.

easy Mint: we all know it's insanely prolific. However I have managed to kill all my mint twice. I think I didn't give it a large enough container to spread out in. Aim for something at least 10 inches deep and at least a foot diameter. I know, it's a big commitment for an herb. Partial shade is fine. do NOT put it directly in the ground or it will take over. Cold hardy perennial (survives at 0 F and lower). It may go dormant but it comes back. Keep moist.

easy Oregano. Good boy. Precious child. More sun is better, and not a lot of watering. Pot only has to be 6 inches deep, though more never hurts. I've heard that cilantro and tarragon and thyme have the same root depth, but I've never tried growing them so that's all I know. If you're planting from seed, make sure it's hot outside and do Not bury the seed. It goes right on the surface of the dirt in the sunshine. 3 months from sowing to adulthood. Cold tolerant perennial; it may go dormant but it comes back.

easy Garlic: you might not be up for growing garlic from seed, but if you want to harvest the green stalks that grow up from the bulbs in spring, they are kind of like a cross between chives and garlic in flavor, and very safe to eat. Good in soup. Just buy some regular garlic and then forget it in your kitchen until the individual bulbs start poking up green shoots inside that papery wrapping stuff. Then plant them in some dirt with the green shoot pointing up. These bulbs survive VERY cold winters and thrive. It may go dormant but it comes back. If you let it go through a cold winter, you may get harvestable additional bulbs.

List of Flowers You Can Eat:

Nasturtium, violet, viola, coneflower, chrysanthemum, citrus blossoms, daisies (who knew), marigold, clover flowers (clover is good because it nitrogenates the soil). When in doubt, eat the petals only. Except for Nasturtium, i know you can eat those leaves and stems and all. They're kind of peppery.

There's actually a LOT of edible flowers I haven't begun to list. If you're curious, look into it.

Things you simply cannot grow at home: Vanilla. Cinnamon. Soy beans. Apples. Do not try. (Vanilla is an orchid. Orchids are Hard.) (Cinnamon is growable in Mexico if you keep it well watered.)

straight up, if you're gonna grow any of these, just google "how often water [x]" and then do that forever. Set a recurring calendar alarm. If they look wilty, increase how often you do it. Personally I water everything when the dirt looks dry, but that's because I'm an obsessive.

Anything sold in the store uncooked/undried that is either 1. a seed itself or 2. contains a seed (or 3. has roots attached) can PROBABLY be pirated. Nothing ventured nothing gained. Google is your friend.

Other Notes:

you CAN pollinate a lot of things by hand, if you're willing to put the effort in

"well draining" soil usually has compost material content mixed in. Sand is also well draining, but maybe a little TOO well draining. Basically, avoid clay if it needs to drain.

Most things do not need fertilizer all the time if you buy potting soil (it's pre-fertilized). However, growth costs nutrients. Keep that in mind.

You can steal dirt out of the ground for your pots but remember that it may be contaminated depending on where you get it (roadside? BAD idea). Also it's heavy as fuck. Plan accordingly.

Coffee & tea grounds are acidic and nutritious. (for plants) (don't eat them)

it's not actually a great idea to bury a moldy piece of fruit in a pot. You will get flies. I know it seems like a composting hack but don't do it.

You can put old wood cuttings & logs at the bottom of a container for plants that need a lot of nitrogen, like ginger. Make sure there's still an appropriate amount of soil between the wood and the surface.

potting SOIL contains dirt (sand/silt/clay), potting MIX is just organic matter (peat usually). Mix is fluffy, soil is denser. You can combine to get the advantages of both. Potting mix is usually a good bet for fruiting plants, but I've tried using plain ground soil for almost everything and the main problem is it just dries out faster. If you're putting things directly in the ground, just get some "gardening soil" to fill in around the roots a little bit.

pots are weirdly expensive. Scavenge and recycle what you can. I've used costco cranberry juice jugs for things, but the ridges in the plastic do retain water. Make SURE your pots are deep enough. And make sure they have a fair bit of surface diameter.

depression meal: boil one package of maruchan ramen, as many lima beans as your little hands can grab, chunk of scallion (chop if you have the energy, shred it with your fingers if not). celery? if you've got it. pour flavoring packet. add lemon juice. survive another day without scurvy.

A note on TREES

Citrus trees are easier to manage than some other kinds, but they do still need management. Citrus is very cold sensitive so if you can bring them inside as soon as it hits freezing at night, that is best. The trouble is they also need deep enough pots for their tap roots, which makes them hard to MOVE. Even with frost covering, I lost a lemon tree to a hard winter this year RIP. The good news is that after they've been in the ground about 5 years, you do not have to cover them as carefully anymore. I've got a 30 year old tangerine tree that went dormant this winter and then came back kicking, and I didn't cover it a single inch.

Peach trees are also fairly cold sensitive, but they need a minimum number of cold nights (40 F or lower) to produce fruit. So uh. Either cover them with a frost cloth as soon as it gets freezing out, or bring them inside in a big pot but leave them outside as long as you can. I wouldn't try to grow one from seed personally, but I've bought a couple saplings. Look for a variety that does well in your climate. Your local university might have made a hybrid.

You can grow and make your own tea leaves; the tree is a specific variety of Camellia. Grows well in the southern USA.

"pawpaw" trees are a fruit tree native to north-east america, cultivated by american indians. They're pretty cool. They grow well on the sides of hills. You can buy dormant saplings in the winter/late spring online. You need at least one male and one female. Deep tap roots.

You can GROW a banana tree, but you can't make it fruit unless you're in a tropical climate. I wouldn't bother. Even subtropical doesn't cut it.

Figs are cool but keep in mind that lots of people are allergic to their leaves.

In the case of most trees, long term, a pot is not a good idea, but for the first few years it's fine. Remember that every year the roots get bigger.

If you have a commercially sold tree seedling, the chances are it's been grafted at some point. If there's a knot or a notable bend in the lower part of the trunk, that's the graft point. Stuff that grows below that knot is going to be Not Delicious. Pick off growths below the graft point.

A note on COMPOST:

composting is a great way to enrich your shit, but watch out, because it also produces mildew, mold, flies, and scavengers.

The lowest effort version of composting is simply to take your tea leaves/coffee grounds out of the pot when you're done with them and let them dry out somewhere--a bowl or a tupperware, idk--then save them to mix into your potting soil later. Minimum amount of fungus, no bugs. You can do this in your house. Unbleached paper also works, and basically any "dry" organic material.

The more intense version includes things like egg shells, banana skins, things that will attract pests and grow mold. You don't want this in your house. Also the shells of beans, discarded lettuce greens, tops of strawberries--etc. Most of this stuff is of too little caloric value to attract rats, so it's okay to keep near your house.

But the more "food" stuff you start to add, like rotten vegetables and table scraps, the more rat appealing it becomes. Don't get over ambitious. That stuff needs to be 50 ft away from your house minimum.

[auntiepasto]

It’s Winter Squash Time!

Now is a great time of year to stock up on pumpkins and winter squash. They’re everywhere, they’re inexpensive, and did I mention that they’re absolutely beautiful? Who could ask for more?

There’s more!

Winter squash — Cinderella and pie pumpkins, kuri, delicata, butternut, buttercup, acorn, kabocha, turban — are all edible, and excellent keepers. You can store them at room temperature, and use them for pretty decorations all through the fall and winter season, choosing one or two to eat as the mood strikes.

This bounty of squash should carry myself and my husband through most of fall and winter, even eating it weekly.

Be absolutely thorough about checking your squash before you buy it for any bumps, bruises, scratches, nicks, or dings. Dirt is fine, it washes off, and sealed scratches are okay. Fresh scratches may or may not heal up and your squash may rot. If you're planning to cook it within a week, a scratch or two is probably okay, but not if you're planning to use them over the course of several months.

The easiest way to prep most winter squash (excepting the gigantic pumpkins) is to cut off the stem and the base if necessary so that the squash will sit flat, then split it in half from top to bottom. Scrape out the seeds with a large metal spoon or ice-cream scoop, and scrape out as much of the stringy goop as you can manage. Typically, at this point, I will oil the squash’s interior with olive oil (use whatever oil you like, roasted walnut or pecan oil is terrific) and sprinkle with seasonings (pie spices are great, but chipotle can be fun, as can sage or poultry seasonings), and roast at 350°F / 175°C until a paring knife will penetrate the skin and flesh easily. That’ll take about 45 minutes for most squashes.

You can roast the seeds of any winter squash as an additional snack, once you clean them up. More about that in another post.

Some notes:

Delicata: Capsule-shaped, yellow striped with green, sometimes blushed orange. It has a unique and delightful squash-sweet corn flavor. The skin is thin and can be left on. In my experience, delicata is the shortest-lasting of the bunch. Eat them first.

Kuri: Top-shaped and a gorgeous burnt-orange color. Kuri squash has a sweet, rich flavor. Again, one of the squashes that has good skin for eating.

Butternut: Columnar neck, with a bulb on the bottom, tan skin with orange flesh. One of the most accessible squashes — widely available and inexpensive, as well as delicious. Many of the so-called “pumpkin pie” canned fillings are actually made of butternut squash. It keeps very well and for a long time — four to five months — as long as you’re meticulous about choosing squash with undamaged skin. It’s also one of the easiest to peel. For dishes where you want peeled squash, choose butternut and use only the neck, and cook the bulb another time. Butternut skin tends to be tough, so you'll probably want to avoid eating it.

Buttercup: Deep green with a small, light green "cup" on the bottom. Delicious. Doesn't seem to hold as well as some of the others -- use it sooner rather than later. The skin on these is soft and fine for eating.

Acorn: Acorn-shaped, heavily ridged. Colors can range from green to orange. They do come in white, but white squash are usually pretty bland. Thin-skinned, so you can eat the whole thing comfortably. Great for soups and stews -- just clean it out and chop it into bits to throw into your soup. More of a savory squash than a sweet one. Conventional wisdom is that they're shorter keepers, but I've found that they keep very well for me, and have held them successfully for up to four months.

Kabocha: A deep-green flattened sphere. Sometimes they've got a smattering of orange. It's fine to leave the skin on these, and you've probably seen it left on in your tempura. Kabocha is more floury, less squishy when cooked, and reminds me a bit of sweet potato. Also one of the shorter keepers; try to get to it within a couple months of purchase.

Turban: Festively multi-colored in splattered white, orange, yellow, and green. Turban squash has a large "cap" on a smaller, three- or four-lobed base. It has notes of chestnut; it's not as sweet as some of the others but it's definitely distinctive. I'm also of the opinion that turban squash makes the best roasted squash seeds, even better than pumpkin. They are large and wonderfully crunchy when roasted. Turban skin tends to be tougher.

Cinderella pumpkin: Yes, those huge and heavy ribbed pumpkins are edible and quite tasty. They come in all kinds of colors. I find that the traditional peach-to-orange ones usually taste the best. Because they are so large and dense, you may want to roast them whole, then cut them open and scrape out the seeds and strings afterwards. They will take a while. They can also be quite watery, so after you roast them, you may want to drain the liquid out of them, if you're doing pies or custards or other things that want a drier texture. You can use the liquid in soups or in your oatmeal. Pumpkin skin is generally too tough to be pleasant to eat.

Pie pumpkin: Typically a lighter orange than your traditional jack o' lantern pumpkin. A pie pumpkin should be fairly small but not tiny, and heavy for its size. Any pumpkin that is light for its size is mostly cavity and not meat. Pie pumpkins are sweet for pumpkins, but I find they're generally not quite as sweet as butternut squash or kuri.

Speaking of sweet:

Not pictured here, because they are gigantic and typically sold in pieces, if you can find them at all these days, are banana squash. If you have the opportunity to purchase a piece of banana squash, treat it just like any other squash -- season it up and roast it. Banana squash is delicious.

[witchtipsarewhich]

ANXIETY GO AWAY SORBET

For my Americans, it's summer! I understand that summer break is a time to get out and have fun, but anxiety can make that hard, which is why this Sorbet recipe is here to help!

You will need:

1 cup granulated sugar

2 cups water

1 tablespoon food-grade lavender flowers

1/2 vanilla bean

1/2 bunch of lemon balm

3/4 cup wine

saucepan

stovetop

cutting board

knife

Cut the vanilla bean in half lengthwise and scrape out the seeds. Rinse lemon balm and pat dry with a paper towel.

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine sugar and water until sugar dissolves. Then add lavender, vanilla bean, and vanilla bean seeds and allow to simmer for 10 minutes.

Then allow cooling for 10-15 minutes, adding the lemon balm so it can steep.

Strain the liquid and add wine. Red or white works depending on personal preference.

Pour into container and place in freezer. When it reaches a semi-solid state, mix with a fork. Then when reaching a frozen-like state (it will not fully freeze due to the alcohol) put it in a food processor and refreeze it until it's time to serve. It should be frozen for at least six hours before serving.

Before taking the first bite say, "Anxiety frozen in sorbet, I eat my anxiety so it can't eat me!"

Enjoy and stay witchy! xx

[ala-kira]

White People Talko Night lite

find and wash: lettuce tomato cucumber abogado radishes lime yellow pepper onion(s)

cut the lil bell peppers in half, pull out the big seed cluster + stem w yr hands. carefully using a small knife scrape the white bits off the inside. slice into thin strips. slice an equal amount of onion roughly the same thickness. break up the layers and get cookin.

heat up the big skillet just like on spaghetti night. dollup a spoonfull of veg oil in the pan and add your peppers and onion do not stir them u want them to get some sear on them so just drop them in and wait until they've got some color on the first side. toss and do the same on the next side until theyre brown and look cooked. remove from skillet. in the same skillet drop in 1/3 of the ground beef tube and a pinch of salt and keep smacking it w the spoon until it's crumbles and like half cooked. splash of salsa, tomato bouillon, and paprika. finish cooking stirring every so often.

get a couple cups of the Beans throw them in a pan with a splash of water, a spoonful of tomato bouillon, and a can of chili peppers cook down and smoosh w a spoon until they're mashed. top with cotija and serve.

thinly slice lettuce, pat dry. plate

cut tomatoes in half scoop out the goo, dice, sprinkle with tomato+chicken bouillon. plate.

cut avocado in half, pop the seed out then use a spoon to scoop out the flesh from the rind, slice. plate.

slice radishes and cucumber thinly. plate.

slice lime into wedges. plate.

find a can of corn open drain mix a scoop of mayo, some cotija, a squeeze of lime, and enough tajin. plate. if if johnny the homicidal picky eater wants to have some w/o mayo make a separate no mayo portion but know i am judging you.

if you love your family you will get a second skillet heat it on 8 until it's toasty then warm the tortillas on both sides individually. if you like your family you can remove them from the bag wrap in a damp towel and microwave until they're warm. if your family routinely leaves you to do all the dishes and never helps you can serve them cold. (:

Gather your supplies: onion and peppers, meat lettuce, tomatos, an avocado (thaaaanks), cucumber, tortillas, sour cream, salsa, beans, corn, yellow cheese, cotija cheese, tajin, lime, anything else u know we have on taco night but i forgot to list here because i am very, as the kids say, eepy. serve and eat.

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Lovecraft's 190th

“They were clever bastards, those Mahayana monks. Either that, or really damn stupid.”

Joe absently scratched his elderly head, disturbing his floppy white fringe, and replaced his cap. He continued his little monologue when I didn’t reply immediately. We trudged lazily on.

“You see, it’s the bacteria in your gut that decay you when you croak. They just spread and feast away. If you can get rid of the buggers, though, and keep away the worms and flies as well, you’ll stay in pretty good condition. You won’t win any beauty contests, sure, but you’ll be better than just a skeleton.”

We reached the door to the museum basement, and Joe pulled out his keys, eventually selecting the right one and opening the door. Most of the storage was taken up with shelves sparsely populated with no doubt priceless relics. The remaining space, about one third of the giant room, housed the larger exhibits. All of them were boxed or covered in plastic, making it difficult to tell them apart. Only the complicated tags on each of them made them identifiable.

“Are you saying the monks killed their own gut flora?” I asked, slightly incredulous.

“Yup. But it weren’t easy. It took months of starvation, eating roots and seeds and stuff with the nutrition of dirt.” Joe paused to check one of the tags before continuing. “They also had this meditation technique that’d slow down their breathing, so oxygen consumption was down by half. Some of them would tie a belt around their neck to help things along. Ah, here we are.”

We stopped at one unremarkable looking crate, the tag of which proclaimed it as ‘TD 1/1495 – Tibetan monk, mummified’. Of more concern was the red lettering across the lid, which simply read ‘DO NOT OPEN’.

“So they choked and starved themselves to death?” I asked.

“Kind of. They believed that the closer they got to bodily death, the freer their minds became. Like, the whole universe became clear, or something. So, when they were ready, the other monks would dig a pit. The crazy bastard would then sit inside while it was filled with salt. In a couple of days they died, and a few days after that they would be dug and decorated.”

“Decorated?”

“Yeah, covered in gold and flowers and whatnot. This guy was different though. He was still in the pit when we found him. Been there about 500 years or so. Worst thing is, looks like the poor sod didn’t want to die. He weren’t in the lotus position, he was clawing for his life. Must’ve seen something he didn’t like.”

“Joe,” I say softly, “What bearing has this on the case?”

“Well, Phil had only been with us a week or so but I can tell you that ain’t him upstairs.”

“He was pretty cut up, Joe. It would be difficult to-“

“You didn’t see it walking around, Detective. There were – there were bits of Phil on it. His skin, definitely, and a few organs, but the majority of it just puffed up into dust when I whacked it. Did you find any bones with the rest of it?”

I’ll admit I was pretty rattled by this point, even more so than when I first saw the butchery in the main crime scene.

“No, we didn’t,” I said, “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that something else was trying to disguise itself as Phil, and did a piss-poor job of it.”

“What, you think the mummy here killed him?”

He shook his head sadly.

“So what happened to Phil then?”

Joe said nothing, just looked nervously at the crate. In the sudden silence, I heard the soft scraping sound of nails on wood.

Based on the 190th entry in Lovecraft's commonplace book. Check out Tower's post to see the list: http://www.creepypasta.com/forums/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=13828

Credit to: lord_kevin

[theproductgiggler]

This has become one of my new favorite EASY snacks! These savory flavors together are amazingly good.

Cucumber Bacon Boats 😋 (I needed something more filling, celery wasn't cutting it!)

Ingredients:

✅ Cucumbers (get however many you think you'll eat. I get the long English cucumber trio from Costco)

✅ Philadelphia Onion and Chive Cream Cheese (Or cream cheese of choice)

✅ Everything But The Bagel seasoning (or seasoning of your choice. Ranch packets are great too!)

✅ Sugar Free Bacon (can get pre-cooked if sugar free... I haven't found one personally)

🥒 Clean and peel cucumber skin off. Cut cucumber in half and scrape out the seeds in the center to make a boat.

🥓 Bake bacon to a crisp in airfryer, or bake in oven. However, you make it! When done break/squeeze into bits.

🧀 Take cream cheese and spread in the center of the boat

🧂 Sprinkle the Everything But The Bagel seasoning over the cream cheese... Or seasoning of your choice!

🥓 Top with Crispy bacon and enjoy 😋

#ketorecipes #ketodiet

[thesamemethewholetime]

SUNDAY BREAKFASTS IN THIS HOUSEHOLD

(1) You make breakfast.

(2) You make breakfast this morning. You take a breadknife and you push it past the resistance of your chest. They say that the ribcage is meant to protect it – your heart – you find that it doesn’t. If someone is willing to try, if they want it enough, if they are willing to prise it open, they will find a way.

(3) You take the garlic press from the cupboard. You push a clove into that space between the metal and you crush it, scrape it into the pan, mix with a little oil, let it mature, let it blossom. The garlic press is discarded. You take one of the kitchen knives – not the breadknife, do not touch the breadknife – you take one of the big, sharp kitchen knives and slice onions into perfect half-moons. It slices sweetly through the soft flesh of the mushroom, crisply through the skin of the bell peppers. With the very tip, you run it down the centre of a chili, scrape the seeds out. You take the breadknife and you push it against the resistance of your chest until it gives.

You make breakfast. It hurts.

(4) No one notices you eating your heart at breakfast, not even when it has been dissected in front of them. Not even when they watched you cook it. But someone does notice the stain on your shirt. Red blooms on your chest in a misshapen fist and underneath lies a hole.

You ate your heart for breakfast this morning. You took a breadknife and you cut it out, levered it out of a gap in between the ribs and nobody tried to stop you.

(5) Your best friend will not forget about the idea of eating her heart for breakfast. She wants it diced and stewed in coconut milk and thirteen spices, just how her mother used to make it. She takes the breadknife (your breadknife) and the frying pan (your frying pan) and the spatula (your spatula) and she cooks it, smothered in coconut milk, hot orange spices, sharp green herbs. It tastes better than your heart, you know this because she lets you try a bit.

(6) You make breakfast. Your best friend makes breakfast.

You both feel hollow afterwards; you are both waiting for someone to stop you.

(7) You take the breadknife from her clammy hand, wipe the blood away with your sleeve. Let’s buy us a new one of these, you say, I think we deserve to own things that have not hurt us, you say, and the three of you gather up everything else in the kitchen that have done so: the meat cleaver, the carving fork, the dented kettle, the toaster, the garlic press.

(8) You make breakfast – pancakes. You pour out milk, fold in the flour, crack the eggs open on the worktop, scoop the shards of shell from the mix. A tablespoon of oil, a drizzling of vanilla extract.                                                                                                                                        (you would use fresh vanilla, scraped straight from the pod with the tip of a blade but you have all agreed – no more sharp objects).

[kiernankit]

🦋 Energy Go To's towards Awakening Full Functionality 😊 👑🌙💞🧬🙏💖😋🔜🦋🌹

Protein Taco Seasoned Mac n' cheese 🧀 ... Plenty of Vegan Protein Powder & Cocoa Powder, sweetened with Pyure liquid Stevia, all organic for smoothies paid for by the Governments new Organic United Health Care $180 monthly credit, for food or utility bills 💸. Hallelujah Amen Much as gracias!!!

Spaghetti Squash cooked cut in half long ways and then after 60 min in 375 degrees f with 🌻 sunflower seed oil & seasonings on top, scrape out like pasta on plate and serve a la presto. Add a cooked garlic and spinach dressing. Will post! Muah! 💋

Replenishment before only doing broth and juice for 30 days after full organ detoxes like Epsom salt liver cleanse (half the amount that livestrong.com says, would be way to potent and harmful, shall You figure the correct amounts actually) & Florescence Kidney Cleanse. After 30 days of replenishment, will post different recipes of my diet plan framed around being an A+ Blood Type. Some similarities for any of You but your diet plan is completely different, and within 30 days You will lose all Your extra weight before broth or juicing EVEN.

For ex: O blood types are good with eating Steak, and yet, a client of mine who I was doing live in cooking for lost all his extra weight and easily was doing 3 days a week of 1 hour workouts, however was not obese, so that could take 60-90 or more days with 3 days of workout a week.

This is the diet plan that is also the cure to chrons disease which is what Walt Disney died of.

This "Eat Right For Your Blood Type" diet plan was curated by a real Doctor.MD named D'adamo. The app is only $3.49 and are valiantly different instructions on the free apps which I have used.

Blender ground coffee in simple strainer 😁💜💓🌆

Juicer to Juice Blood Type Diet fruits & veggies carrot 🥕

Pot for brothings veggies that can't be juiced like broccoli 🥦, 🍆 eggplant, kale 🥬, celery , cauliflower , etc.

[ourrecipebook]

Dirty Chai Latte Cake

Serving: 12-16

Ingredients

For the chai spice mix

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

¾ teaspoon ground cardamom

¼ teaspoon ground allspice

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground cloves

small pinch (with your fingers) freshly ground black pepper

For the chai latte cake

1 cup (240g) whole milk, room temperature

1 teaspoon (3g) good quality instant espresso or instant coffee*

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons (289g) flour, spooned then leveled and sifted

2 teaspoons (8g) baking powder, sifted

chai spice mix (from above)

½ teaspoon (3g) sea salt

¾ cup (170g) unsalted European style butter, softened**

1 cup (213g) packed light brown sugar

½ cup (100g) granulated sugar

3 large eggs, room temperature

1 tablespoon (13g) avocado oil (or grape seed, vegetable, or canola)

1 tablespoon (13g) pure vanilla extract

For the frosting

one batch vanilla bean buttercream

Directions

When you take the milk and eggs out to warm up (which takes 30-60 minutes), whisk the milk and espresso powder together and set aside. It will be clumpy at first, so whisk it a few times as it warms up. The espresso should be dissolved by the time you’re ready to bake.

When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 325F/165C. Grease and flour two 8” or 9” or three 6” cake pans (or use baking spray) and line with parchment paper (or use silicone liners).

Make the chai spice by whisking together all spice ingredients in a small bowl. Using a fine mesh sieve, sift and whisk together the flour, baking powder, chai mix, and salt. Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or a large mixing bowl or with a hand mixer), beat the butter on high until light and fluffy, about 1 minute. Add the sugars and beat on high until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes, scraping the bowl halfway then at the end.

Add in the eggs one at a time, beating on medium until well-blended, about 30 seconds to 1 minute, after each egg. Scrape the bowl and add the oil and vanilla, beating on medium until combined.

Add half of the flour to the bowl and mix on low, just until combined with a few flour streaks left. Add the milk and mix again on low, just until combined. It will seem a little chunky. Add the rest of the flour and mix on low, just until combined and with a few flour streaks on the edge. Scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl and fold that in as you go. Try to do this in 2-3 large, sweeping strokes and just fold the flour/batter from the sides/bottom back in as you go. It will still have some lumps of flour, but don’t worry, those will bake out.

Divide batter between prepared pans and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out with a few moist crumbs. Check early, as oven times vary based on climate, elevation, and even the season. Also, this cake finishes faster than you’d think--you might get raw batter on a toothpick then 3 minutes later it’s done!

Let cakes cool in pans for 5-10 minutes, then remove to a wire rack until completely cooled.

While the cakes cool, make the vanilla bean buttercream. Try not to eat it all with spoon while you wait for the cakes to be fully cooled.

Fill and frost the cake as desired (you can also cut each layer of cake in half to get more frosting in there!).

Notes

If not eating right away, a frosted cake can be kept on the counter for 1-2 days, in the fridge up to 1 week (chill it then cover it well), or frozen up to 1 month (freeze for an hour then cover well with plastic wrap). Keep a cut cake fresh by placing a piece of plastic wrap right against the cut sides then covering the entire cake well with more plastic wrap or in an airtight cake holder.

If you do not have instant coffee or espresso (or cannot find a high quality one), you can replace ¼ to ⅓ cup of the milk with very strong coffee or espresso. Let it cool slightly before mixing it with the milk and proceeding with the recipe as written.

Butter should be matte in appearance and should be soft but have some resistance if you press your finger into it. If it is shiny, put in the fridge for 5-10 minutes to firm it up some. Also, European butter is ideal for cakes because it has less water and makes a better texture.

(Source)

[concerningwolves]

important update:

Big fucking bowl of couscous

Roughly 150g of couscous

About 400 ml of vegetable stock (stock pot in 400ml boiling water)

8 cherry tomatoes, roasted

4 bits of pepper from a jar, roasted

3 cloves garlic, roasted [note: could probably have used more, or bigger cloves.]

2 spring onions

1/2 teaspoon Lebanese 7 spice [this one is a mix of pepper, cinnamon, pimento, cloves, cumin, fenugreek, caraway, cardamom, ginger, nutmeg, coriander, tumeric, fennel and bay leaves, so it's really a 14 spice mix *shrug*]

1/2 a Chinese facing heaven chilli pepper, de-seeded [could be substituted with whatever you like for a bit of heat; these peppers are fairly mild with a fruity + smoky aftertaste].

Pink salt (bc that's all we had in the cupboard; any salt would do ig)

Black pepper

Oven at 200°C fan.

Roasted the tomatoes & peppers & garlic on a flat roasting tray, drizzled in olive oil + sprinkled with a bit of salt, for about 20 minutes. (Leave garlic in skin, and wrap up in a twist of oiled foil).

Diced up the whole of the spring onion. Cut the facing heaven pepper in half lengthways, scraped out the seeds, then very finely diced the remaining outer pod.

When the roasting stuff was done, took out of the oven and left to cool a bit. Put vegetable stock pot, spice mix and diced chilli in a jug, topped up with boiling water, stirred. Let sit (to rehydrate the chilli) while I scraped the garlic from the skin and then chopped it and the other roasted stuff up.

Measured out couscous into a heatproof bowl, covered with the stock mixture (I measure it by sticking my finger in; the depth of the water above the couscous should be just below the first knuckle joint) and then let it soak for five minutes. Mixed in all the veg and spring onions, tasted it, realised it needed a little more water, stirred again, left for a while (maybe ten minutes?)

Came back. Very tasty couscous. Deployed all my self-restraint so I wouldn't eat it all and leave myself with nothing for lunch.

Food ❤️

i'm in the weird numb pre (early?) burnout funk and I felt like i needed to Do Something that didn't involve staring at a screen but also wasn't too labour intensive so im. Roasting tomatoes, garlic and peppers with no real idea what to do with them

[tropes-and-tales]

See Me

CW:  Light angst (kind of, I guess); fluff; smut (PiV, protected), 18+ only.

Word Count:  6707

Other Pieces:  This is a sequel to this.

AN:  For the lovely @nuvoleincielo​!  🌻

When Frankie wakes the next morning, some of his bravado around breaking up with Amelia is gone.  It’s like it bled away in the night, and now, in the cold light of morning, he second-guesses himself.

He knows he sounds like a sad asshole when he says it out loud to anyone, but he really does think that Amelia is the best he can do.  He doesn’t think he’s got much to offer any woman.  The negatives in his column are significant:  no money, but plenty of demons from his time in the military.  An ex-wife, a daughter he sees every other weekend.  

He’s broken-down, used-up.  Who could possibly want him?

After his morning coffee, he dresses and goes outside.  He has to run some errands in town, so he starts his truck and sets to scraping off the ice that accumulated on the windshield overnight.  Halfway through the effort, he hears your front door open and then shut, and he catches sight of you.  You have your arms around a big bag of birdseed, and he watches as you go from feeder to feeder, refilling them for the birds.  

Pope made a joke about it once, how you’re like Snow White with all your woodland creature friends.  You feed the birds and the squirrels, and when the rabbits get into your garden every summer, you just shrug and say that rabbits need to eat too.

Frankie knows that if his truck wasn’t running, he could probably hear your commentary.  A lot of the birds are half-tame around you, sitting in nearby branches as they watch you lay out more food for them.  You talk to them, he’s noticed before—sometimes you pretend to be a master chef on a cooking competition, explaining what you’ve brought them.

“Today we have a seasonal blend of various seeds,” he heard you tell them once.  “Locally-sourced and organically harvested.  I especially am proud of the thistle, which offsets the safflower nicely.”

He peers closer at you now, and yes….he can just make out your lips moving as you walk from feeder to feeder.  He smiles to see it, and something about the everyday moment bolsters his resolve from last night.  

Who could possibly want him?  Well, he thinks you might, and if Frankie Morales is honest with himself, he wants you too.

-----

He breaks up with Amelia a few days later.  He tries to be gentlemanly about it—offers to meet her somewhere, wants to do it in person—but she’s busy and abrupt when he tries to make plans.  They end up breaking up over the phone, which isn’t ideal…but something about Amelia’s tone leads him to believe that she’s not that upset about it.  

-----

He tells you a few days later when he stops over at your house in the afternoon.  He layers it into the conversation as naturally as he can, tries to say it casually.

“Amelia and I broke up,” he says, and you stop what you’re doing—chopping vegetables for the stew you are making—and look at him.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Frankie.”

He chuckles.  “No you aren’t.  You didn’t like her.”

You give an embarrassed shrug before turning back to the potatoes you are cutting up.  “Yeah, but I know you liked her, and that’s all that matters, in the end.  I hate to see you sad.”

“No one said I was sad about it, hermosa,” he says, and he smiles to see the way you pause and then duck your head at his words, at his term of affection for you.

-----

He doesn’t ask you out right away.  He doesn’t want you to think that you’re a rebound and anyway, he wants to find a meaningful way to do it.  He spends a week agonizing over it until Pope calls him and tells him to stop dragging his feet.

“You like her, don’t you?  She likes you.  Why are you taking so long?” Pope asked.

“I do like her.”  Frankie shrugs, even if Pope can’t see it.  “I just want it to be special.”

He can hear his friend scoffing over the line.  “Screw special, Fish.  You gotta get on that before someone else scoops her up.”

“I know.”

“She’s a catch.”

“I know.”

“I think I might actually ask her—”

“Fine!”  Frankie sighs and runs his hand through his hair, mussing the messy curls even messier.  “Fine, I’ll do it now.”

-----

He does.  Well, he tries to.  He lets Pope get him hyped up, then he tries to march next door to ask you while his courage is still with him.

You aren’t in your house.  Your studio is behind your house, a small outbuilding where you do all of your studio sessions for your photography business.  He can hear music faintly from the studio, so he walks around to the backyard.  

When you work, you usually leave the door unlocked.  Since Frankie didn’t see a second car in your driveway, he assumes that you’re alone….and you are.  But the door is locked, and when he knocks, it takes a moment before you answer.

You don’t let him in, which feels weird.  You stand between him and the inside of your studio, only peeking out at him through the few inches you’ve cracked the door.

“Frankie!  What’s up?”

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly nervous.  “Can I come in?”

You glance over your shoulder, then turn back to him.  “I’m prepping for a studio session.”

“It won’t take long.”

Instead of letting him in, you reach back and snag your coat, and then you come outside to join him in the snow.  It’s weird, and he cranes his neck to see what you are doing in your studio.  You’re being secretive when you’re usually so open with your work.

“What are you up to?” he asks, almost forgetting to be nervous for a moment.

You give him a sheepish grin.  “Boudoir session.  Don’t want to invite any unwanted dude energy into the space.”

Frankie has traveled the world for his work in the military, but in some ways he’s a sheltered innocent. “Boudoir session?” he asks, the words spilling out a split-second before his mind starts to understand what you might mean.

“Tasteful nudes,” you clarify.  A beat, and you look at him closer.  You smile and ask, “are you blushing, Frankie?”

“What kind of prep do you do for that?” he asks, stammering just a bit.

Your smile widens.  “Oh, you know.  Light some candles, play some music.  Put silk sheets on the bed and artfully rumple them.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, and you laugh.  

“You are blushing,” you add.

He’s a little embarrassed, and he can feel the heat in his face.  He knows you’re the photographer, not the subject, but the thought still makes ungentlemanly imaginings float to the top of his head, and he can feel his blood heating up.

“So what’s up, Frankie?” you ask, gently bringing him back into the moment.

He’s so stupefied by the idea of you setting up a sensual environment—the image of rumpled silk sheets does something to him, especially when he imagines you tangled in them—he forgets to be nervous about his question.

“Wanted to see if you’d go out with me.”  The words spill out without much thought.

He shouldn’t have been nervous.  Pope was right:  you like him, he likes you.  There was nothing to be afraid of.

“I’d like that, Frankie,” you reply with no hesitation.  “What did you have in mind?”

-----

Since his divorce, Frankie has struggled with dating.  There’s a lot of reasons why—being a single dad, for one.  The PTSD, for another.

He also doesn’t have a lot of money.  With his military pension and the money he makes as a handyman, he is comfortable enough…but not wealthy.  He doesn’t have the disposable income to woo a certain type of woman.  He can’t afford endless expensive dinners, or concerts, or vacations.  He can’t buy a lot of jewelry or clothing or anything a woman may want as a gift.

If he knows one thing about you, though, it’s that you prefer experiences to things.  Meaningful moments with people to material goods.

Your first date isn’t fancy, but it’s you.  It’s both of you, and it goes so well that Frankie silently curses himself for wasting all of that time with Amelia when you’ve been waiting so patiently next door.

There’s not a single awkward moment.  You come over to his place one evening, and he makes you dinner.  He’s not a master chef, but he has some skills in the kitchen.  He bakes some chicken, makes linguini.  You bring a bottle of wine that you split, and it’s so easy, the way the two of you chat over dinner.  

It would feel just like your occasional dinners together before, but this is more.  Before, the two of you might share a meal—usually you inviting him over, claiming that you made too much and framing it as needing his help.  

Tonight, the air is thick with a tension that Frankie hasn’t felt in a long time.  The tension of possibilities.  He showered before he started dinner.  Took the effort to put on a shirt without wrinkles and the jeans that fit him better.  Trimmed up his beard, tried to tame his out-of-reg curls.  In a bit of mad confidence, he put on the expensive cologne he’d bought back when he was still married, hoping that you like the musky, smoky scent.

He thinks you’re gorgeous in anything—from the jeans and t-shirts you wear around your house, to the sequined dress with the short skirt he saw you in once before you drove off to a party—but you’ve clearly put in similar effort as him.  You’re in jeans tonight, but you’ve paired them with a soft-looking sweater that brings out your eyes.  You’re wearing perfume too; you smell like something sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla.  He thinks you might taste just as sweet, and he has to swallow hard against the thought.

For dessert, he serves you hot chocolate laced with brandy.  The wind is howling outside, throwing icy pellets of snow against his windows.  When you shiver at the atmosphere, he lights a fire in his fireplace, and the two of you sit together on the couch and just talk.

It’s cozy.  Frankie’s not sure if he can remember feeling this way on a date before—he had married his wife after a pregnancy scare, and his dating life post-divorce has been bleak.  He can’t remember a date where he felt so completely at ease.  In fact, he can’t remember the last time he felt so much like himself.  With the guys, maybe, with Pope and the Miller brothers, who have seen him at his worst.  Never with a woman though.

Until now.  A recovering addict, he keenly remembers the lure of the coke that he was hooked on.  He knows the cliché of cocaine:  the jitters, the too-fast talking, the nervous tics.  For Frankie, the coke made him feel powerful.  The moment that white powder went up his nose, every little doubt left him.  The coke burned away his fears, his self-doubt, his anxiety.  

He won’t tell you, but you make him feel similarly.  Not the sped-up version of coke, but a calming version of it.  Sitting beside you, sipping his own hot chocolate, he feels all of his anxiety shed off of him.  He’s not Frankie Morales, the divorced single dad and veteran in recovery with nothing to offer anyone.

With you, he’s Frankie Morales.  Passable cook.  Engaging date.  Good conversationalist.  You laugh at his jokes and listen attentively when he talks, and it hits him like a drug in his bloodstream, makes him feel light when he usually only feels bent under all of his baggage.

The conversation turns to your photography.  It fascinates him, the way you look at the world.  You have a way of revealing the magic of mundane moments, a true artist, and he tells you so.

You laugh and shrug at his praise.  “I’m hardly Ansel Adams,” you say.

It’s because of you that he knows who Ansel Adams even is.  So he jokes, replies, “yeah, Ansel Adams didn’t shoot tasteful nudes.”

You laugh again, harder.  “You were so scandalized, Frankie.  You honestly didn’t know I did boudoir shoots?”

He shakes his head with a smile.  “Why would I know that?  I’ve checked out your website and it’s all weddings and nature photography.”

“I keep the sensual photography in a separate portfolio.”

“Like Hustler, only classier.”

Another laugh from you, so strong that you clap a hand over your mouth until it subsides.  He loves this.  He’s loved this since he met you:  making you laugh.  Better than any drug, really, the sound of your laughter.

“Well, I don’t have outlandish letters to the editor,” you tease as you swipe that the errant tear that crept out of the corner of one eye.  “You know, ‘dear editor, you’re not gonna believe the encounter I just had with these twin cheerleaders...’”

He arches an eyebrow at you, gives a playful frown.  “How do you know the formatting of Hustler?”

You only take a sip of your hot chocolate, grinning around the rim of the mug.

“I think you’re bullshitting me anyway,” he says.  “Because it’s Penthouse that had the letters to the editor.  Hustler had…uh, other things.”  

He pulls himself short at the last minute, realizes that he almost just said “Hustler had the Beaver Hunt” to you, which feels like an easy way to cut a date short, being vulgar.  He can feel the blood flood to his face, his cheeks warm at the near-blunder.

“If you’re such a connoisseur of pornography, why were you so scandalized by the boudoir shoot the other day?” you ask, noting his aborted sentence but not commenting on it.

He can’t tell you the truth:  that even though you are the photographer and not the subject, he still pictured it.  His mind still went right there, right to picturing you in lingerie or even naked, tangled up in silk sheets, hair tousled and lips kiss-swollen.  Maybe eye makeup, a little smeared, dark-rimmed around your eyes from—

The blood in his face reverses course, heads southward.  He takes a sip of his drink.  Takes a steadying breath.

“I didn’t really know it was a thing,” he says.

And he loves this too, the way your face lights up when you talk about your work.  You tell him all about the boudoir shoots, how they are empowering more than titillating.  How it gives people their confidence back—or gives it to them for the first time ever.  Pregnant women, women whose bodies changed after pregnancy.  Older women who are struggling with a society that worships youth.  Curvy girls who think they are too fat to be beautiful.  Thin girls who think they are ugly because they have small breasts and narrow hips.

“I’ve even had some men,” you tell Frankie.  “One guy, he had an eating disorder most of his life.  It nearly killed him, but he was in recovery.  He still struggled with the dysmorphia, and we did a private shoot to help him see that he was wonderfully made, just as he was.”

“Wonderfully made,” Frankie says, his tone thoughtful.  “That’s a really nice thing to say.”

You reach across the couch and flick him playfully on his arm.  “You’re wonderfully made too, you know.  You’re always talking down on yourself.  I hate it.”

He hates that he does something that you hate, but you’ve always been too generous with him, and he says so.

“You’re just repeating other people’s words for you,” you scoff.  

“Maybe.”  

You tilt your head and study him.  “Want to do a photo shoot with me?”

The thought horrifies him.  He hates having his picture taken—usually slouches behind one of the Miller brothers, if it’s a guys’ night out, pulls the brim of his hat low to hide his face—and he hates the thought of you studying him with the benefit of a lens.  Committing him to film.  

“Absolutely not.  Nope.”  He shakes his head so hard that you laugh at him and reach across to flick his arm again.

“You could keep your clothes on, Frankie.  Come on.  It would be fun!”

“Fun for you,” he grumbles with a rueful smile.

“I promise it would be fun for you too,” and now you have the chaotic energy of a Golden Retriever puppy, all shining eyes and bouncing from excitement at the prospect of turning your camera on him.

And he loves this too, being the object of your excitement.  So he lets you wheedle him a bit more, then heaves a giant sigh when he agrees to it.  

It earns him his first kiss with you, right then and there:  a playful smack that you deliver on his cheek, and when he turns his head to face you, a second, gentler kiss on his mouth.

-----

This is his second date with you.  A damned photo shoot in your studio.  

Frankie has never been so nervous.  He showers in the morning but sweats clean through the first shirt he chooses.  He has to change, and he forgoes his usual second cup of coffee.  The last thing he needs is more jitters.

He’s nervous when he turns up at your studio, but it bleeds off a little the moment he sees you—your softly smiling face, happy to see him.  The general warmth and calm you always seem to exude washes over him, and he finds his heart hammering against his ribs for a different reason altogether.

“Thought you might chicken out on me, Frankie,” you tell him.  “You’re braver than I thought.”

“Well, if I can survive the military….” He jokes, trailing off.  Implying that the prospect of a photo session is more daunting than being shot at by enemy fire.

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”  You tap his arm as you walk past him to lock the door behind him.  “Want something to drink?”

-----

Frankie has joined you on plenty of nature walks with your camera, so he knows that you’re good.  But you’re good.

You put him right at ease.  You and not the beer he half-nurses and then forgets about, the bottle going flat as the two of you work.  You joke around a lot right away and get him to laugh.  You put on a playlist that is purely ridiculous—disco and one-hit wonders from the ‘80’s that make him laugh too.  

“I thought I’d at least get Marvin Gaye,” he teases, and you arch an eyebrow at him, tell him that Marvin Gaye is reserved for tasteful nudes only.

Halfway through, you pop the memory card from your camera and pull up the photos on your laptop. Frankie can barely look, he’s so embarrassed to see an entire roll of his own dumb face, but you coo over some of them.  Click around on your laptop, play around with them.  

“Look,” you tell him, and you pull up one shot that you had tweaked the coloring on.  He doesn’t know the technical term, but you bled out some of the color, made him look like he’d been rendered in watercolors.  It softened the blue in the plaid shirt he wore, made the brown in his eyes look warmer by comparison.

“You’re too good at this,” he says, grudgingly admitting that he doesn’t look half-bad.

Another series of clicks, then another photo that you show him.  This one—he didn’t even realize you caught it.  It’s him mid-laugh.  To Frankie, it’s an awful photo.  It lacks his best feature (his eyes, because they are squeezed shut in laughter), and highlights his nose.

“Okay, maybe you’re not so good at this,” he teases, and he’s rewarded by your scoff of outrage and a playful smack with the back of your hand to his arm.

“It’s good!”

“That’s a terrible picture.”

“Frankie, come on.”  You cluck your tongue in disappointment.  “You’re a handsome guy.”

He flushes at your words.  Scoffs at you.

You scoff back at him, louder.  You stand up and stride over to a bookshelf that holds all of your portfolios.  He’s paged through a few before—you have them divided by subjects.  Examples from weddings, maternity shoots.  Family portraits.  Your nature photography, books full of landscapes and sunrises and wildlife.

You pull one of the thick black binders down and stride back over to him.  Instead of sitting in the chair at your desk, though, you sit beside him on the sofa.

“Here,” you say, and you open the portfolio between the two of you, half in your lap and half in his.  You’re pressed close to him, your shoulder against his, and he catches that warm, sweet scent of you again.  He swallows down the Pavlovian response he has, how he wants to lay a trail of open-mouth kisses against your skin to taste you.

“What’s this?” he asks, but he can already see.  It’s a portfolio of friends.  Candid shots, staged shots.  He’s in a lot of them.

His Fourth of July party.  The day at the beach where you’d joined him and the guys.  Pope’s birthday party.  His daughter Eva’s birthday party, last year when his custody schedule aligned perfectly on her fifth birthday.

You’ve captured so many moments in his life.  Small moments, like the picture of him and Will laughing at something, Will’s hand on Frankie’s shoulder, the two of them laughing so hard that they almost look like they’re crying.  The picture of him and Pope talking, both faces serious.

The picture of him at the beach, shirtless and speckled with sand, curls damp with salt water.  He should be embarrassed—you caught the softness around his belly—but he looks….not bad in the bright summer sunlight.

Then the pictures of him and his daughter at her birthday party.  A whole series of them:  her blowing out her candles, her with a smear of icing around her mouth.  

“Oh,” he breathes out.  What else can he say?  You’ve seen him.  You’ve always seen him.  

“I suppose it’s a good time to give you your Christmas gift,” you say, softly.  You stand up again and reach into your desk drawer, and you pull out a narrow box wrapped in silver paper.  “Merry Christmas early, Frankie.”

He gapes at you for a moment until you jostle it at him, and he takes it from you.  You sit back down beside him.  He unwraps the gift slowly, and he mutters that he didn’t get you anything.  You wave him off, say that you don’t need anything, and that his company is gift enough, and he rolls his eyes at how undeservedly kind you are to him.

It’s a framed photograph.  The frame is a simple wood one, polished black cherry, from the looks of it.  The matting is a rich cream-color, and the picture is in black and white.

It’s him and his daughter at her birthday party.  Him in an unassuming plaid shirt, Eva in her princess dress.  He doesn’t even remember the moment.  It had to be before the cake because Eva’s face was frosting-free.

It’s just the two of them.  You’ve done something to the photo, blurred away the background so that he and his daughter are the focus of the image.  Neither of them looking at the camera, both of them looking at each other.  Him smiling in profile, her grinning her gap-toothed grin at him.  

He can’t say anything at all now.  His throat is so tight that it feels like he’s breathing through a pinhole.  Unshed tears burn behind his eyes.

You seem to sense it.  You lay your head gently on his shoulder and point at the picture.  At the magical moment you captured between him and his daughter.

“See?” you say softly.  “You’re wonderfully made.”

For the first time, Frankie believes you.

-----

There’s the issue of a Christmas gift now.  Frankie is tortured trying to come up with an amazing idea for you.

He doesn’t have a lot of money, but even if he did…he’s not sure what you’d like.  Your home is decorated exactly as you like it.  You have a million camera accessories, and anyway, he wouldn’t know a filter from a lens.  You don’t really wear jewelry other than a watch.  

He texts Will, asks what he got his girl for Christmas.  Will responds with an oblique, “some coat she wanted.”

Unhelpful.  

He texts Pope next.  Pope is single, but he was in a relationship last year.  He responds with an even less helpful, “don’t remember.”

Frankie sighs, scrubs his hand down his face.  Tosses his phone aside, but it chimes a second later.

Pope:  Why you asking?

Frankie sighs again.  Types out his reply.  Says he’s fishing for ideas because he’s stumped….and he’s starting to panic.

Pope:  You’re overthinking it.

Pope:  You always overthink it.

Pope:  You know her.  Don’t overthink it.

Simple advice, but good advice.  

-----

Frankie, not overthinking it, comes up with a plan.  There’s a dead week between Christmas and New Year’s when you are both free.  His daughter is with her mother in Florida, visiting her grandparents and extended family.  You take the last few weeks of December off from photo sessions.

“I have a surprise for you for Christmas,” he tells you.  “But it’s a few hours away, and it would be an overnight trip.”

You grin at him.  “You taking me to a secondary location?  I don’t know, Frankie.  I watch a lot of true crime.  Seems risky.”

But you agree to go with him.  He only gives you some parameters—to pack warm clothes and comfortable clothes.  He doesn’t need to tell you to bring your camera.  You bring that everywhere.

Last minute, he panics, tries to tell you not to get your expectations up.  He has the sudden worry that you’re expecting something exotic and glamorous, and it’s definitely not that.

“It’s not fancy,” he warns you, but you only kiss him on his cheek and tell him you aren’t a fancy person and that you can’t wait.

-----

It’s the Miller boys’ cabin.  Set in the woods with a view of the mountain ridge to the east, it seems like a perfect place to take you.  It reminds Frankie of all the nature walks he’s accompanied you on.

Frankie asks Will and Benny for a few days in the cabin, and they happily grant it.  It’s the dead of winter anyway, so no one else has a claim on it.  Pope is the one who steps in to help set it up—goes up a day before to air out the cabin, put clean sheets on the bed, stock the icebox and bring in the firewood for the massive sandstone fireplace.

Of course, Pope being Pope, he’s also a meddlesome shit:  when Frankie opens the door to the cabin and ushers you inside, he sees that Pope has also left a cheerful poinsettia on the kitchen table…and a box of unopened condoms, right in clear view where you can see it.

You duck your head and smile, embarrassed, but you know his friends better than he realizes.

“Did Santi stock the place for you or something?” you ask, and Frankie laughs, scrubs the back of his neck in mortification.  Makes a promise to himself to pay Pope back the next time he’s courting a woman.

-----

Still, it’s a good surprise.  A good Christmas gift.  You wrap your arms around his neck, hug him tight, and you brush a sweet kiss to his mouth but then pull away.  Already you are going for your camera and your winter boots, and Frankie finds himself in a familiar position:  walking a few steps behind you, watching you work.

It’s so damned peaceful.  Like that day he drove you to the state forest, when you were chasing golden hour and he was feeling low and anxious about another date with his then-girlfriend.  Only now he’s even more peaceful:  no anxiety at all.  No meddlesome thoughts.  Just you and him crunching through the snow, and the sound of your clicking camera.

Then back to the cabin.  You peel out of your damp clothes, and Frankie builds a roaring fire in the fireplace.  He makes you sit there to thaw your frozen feet, and then he makes dinner.  The two of you eat, split a bottle of wine.  After dinner, he cleans up and then settles beside you on the worn couch, and you heave a content sigh.  Curl up against him like a cat, your head on his shoulder.

“This is perfect,” you say.  “Thank you.”

He turns and kisses the top of your head.  “I know it’s not fancy—”

You cut him off.  “Hush.  Don’t do that thing you do.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you try to convince me that you or something you’ve done for me isn’t as good as it is.”

He grins at that.  Kisses the top of your head again.  “You know me too well.”

You hum and don’t respond.  You only adjust, curl against him more firmly.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence.  The only sounds are the cracking of the fire, and the occasional whine of the wind in the chimney.  Frankie doesn’t want to break the spell, but there’s an unspoken issue between you.

“I didn’t come here with any ideas,” he says, halting.  “I can sleep on the couch, no problem.  And Pope…I didn’t tell him to stock…”  He trails off, too embarrassed to say the word condoms, mortified to the depths of his soul that Pope dragged the unspoken tension between you and Frankie out into the open so crudely.

“You don’t need to sleep on the couch,” you say.

“Hermosa, I can—”

You cut him off again.  “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch, Frankie.”

-----

It’s no coordinated dance, no making out on the couch that leads to the bedroom.  The two of you get ready for bed.  Get changed into sleepwear, brush your teeth.  Frankie lets you go first, so you’re already waiting for him in bed while he stares at his reflection in the mirror of the tiny bathroom.  As he psyches himself up, repeats Pope’s mantra to not overthink it.

As if it’s that easy.  As if you aren’t you, the woman who sees him for who he is and still wants him.  Who thinks him better than he is.

But you’ve been getting to him.  It’s your voice he hears in his head, gently chiding him to not think so poorly of himself.  Reminding that he’s wonderfully made.

-----

The bedroom is chilly, so there’s no suave way to climb into bed with you.  Instead he dives under the covers, bumps his head into your shoulder.  The motion makes you laugh, and Frankie opens his mouth to say something, but you rise up and cut him off with a kiss.  

The two of you have kissed plenty, but this is different.  There’s an obvious hunger in the way you kiss him, the way it lingers.  The moment stretches, expands, until the rest of the world falls away and all Frankie can focus on is the feeling of your mouth on his, your tongue sliding against his.  Then the feeling of your hands, gentle, touching him.  One cupping the back of his head, then pushing into his curls, gripping them lightly.  The other skating lightly down his front, ghosting over the soft cotton of his t-shirt, finally settling on his chest, right over his heart.

He lets you lead the moment.  Frankie rarely cedes control, but you’re so sweetly dominant:  kissing him, touching him.  Pushing his shirt up and off of him, then pushing him back against the bed.  He can’t remember when he’s been so gently touched, but there’s an urgency to you too.  It makes him feel drunk:  his head has that light, buzzy feeling, like he drank too much champagne, all sweet and bubbly.  But it’s not champagne.  It’s only you.

Your hands, your mouth.  You shed your clothes and get him out of his.  Then you’re on him.  Skating your fingertips over every part of him—his shoulders and arms, his chest.  The little swell of his belly, and he squirms in discomfort but you reassure him.  Whisper that he’s perfect.  That you wanted him from the moment he moved in next door.

And your mouth, kissing a careful trail across the planes of his body.  You linger in certain places—the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he can feel your smile curving against his skin when an involuntary moan slips out of him.  You linger at the scars he has, as if the soft press of your lips can heal any lingering pain there.

Frankie tries to touch you back, smooths his palms over as much of you as he can reach, but you’re too focused on him.  Almost worshipful in the attention you lavish on him, and it’s the strangest feeling ever:  a sense of safety, of calm, shot through with hot-blooded lust and the sharp ache of desire.

You only part when he can’t handle it anymore, when he mutters a warning that he’s not going to last much longer if you keep torturing him so sweetly.  You apologize with a light laugh and release him, and he reaches for the condoms that he had moved to the bedroom earlier.  Peels open the box, tears one off of the strip.  Opens the foil and rolls the latex onto himself with hands that tremble, and then he lies back down.  Holds his arms open in invitation for you.

He’d be happy to let you keep control, but when you climb onto him and mount him, Frankie’s own control snaps.  He takes a single moment to relish the sight in front of him:  you settled against his thighs, the straining length of him buried in the clenching grip of your pussy.  The sight of you above him, your lovely breasts bouncing just a bit as you ride him in a slow, languid tempo.

His control snaps.  Frankie grips your hips, and he sits up underneath you.  Pulls you closer to him until your breasts are pressed against his chest.  He wraps his arms around your back, holds you close, and he can feel your heartbeat against his.  The pulse turning irregular until he swears that your hearts sync up and beat the same tattoo, and the saccharine thought makes him surge up to capture your mouth.

It shifts the angle, you in his lap like this.  It’s hard for you to ride him properly, so you mostly grind against him, and he presses his hips upward for the fraction he can.  It’s far more intimate than he’s ever had as a first time with a woman.  With anyone else, Frankie would flee from such tenderness.  Sex has always just been a release for him, but this feels like release and a connection.

The change in angle, the hot sweep of his mouth against yours—it does something for you.  You grind harder against him, clutch at his shoulders as you rock in his lap.  You slip one hand to the back of his head again, tangle your fingers in his curls and steer his head.  Pull his mouth from where he’s sucking a mark against the side of your neck so that you can kiss him again.

You’re so quiet when you come.  There’s no overblown theatrics, no yowling.  No screaming out his name.  It’s just your breath quickening, then a quiet moan against his mouth that he swallows down.  Then a sigh, heavy and heartfelt, and he feels you still against him.  Feels you shudder in his arms, feels the way you clench and ripple along the length of him, gripping him tight as a fist.

But it’s the way you whisper his name, the harsh, punched-out hiss of his name, your forehead pressed against his.  The heartfelt oh, Frankie that pushes him over the edge.  He only manages a handful of thrusts before he comes too.  He turns his head and presses his mouth against your shoulder, lets your soft skin absorb the groan slips out as his orgasm rockets through him.

-----

The bedroom is chilly, which is a convenient excuse to stay in bed with you.  You’re like a snake, slithering under the covers, seeking the heat of his body.  Pressing the length of your own against him, which ratchets up his unending desire for you.  What started as a Christmas gift with the thought of you taking pictures of the winter landscape ends as three days in bed, with occasional breaks for food and drink, until the food and drink and condoms run out.

When the two of you finally leave—you cast a glance over your shoulder as you climb into his truck, full of longing—and return to where there’s cell service, Frankie’s phone chimes with a million texts.  Most of them are from the guys, speculating about where Frankie is.

Early in the string of texts, Pope wrote, “Fish is probably making good use of the present I left him.”  Which of course led to an entire exchange of filthy innuendos that he only sees now.

“Everything okay?” you ask when you catch him frowning at his phone.  The two of you stopped for gas and drinks, halfway home.

Frankie locks his phone and slides it into you pocket.  He smiles at you and hooks an arm around your shoulders.  “Everything’s perfect.  Just catching up on texts.  The guys are being…well, the guys.”

You laugh and wind your own arm around his waist, and Frankie kisses the side of your head.  Takes a subtle whiff of you, that faintly sweet, warm scent.  But now he doesn’t need to guess:  you taste just the same.

“Will and Benny are throwing a party for New Year’s Eve,” he tells you.  “Thought you might like to go with me.”

You squeeze him a little.  “That would be nice.”

The two of you standing like this—in each other’s arms, your face tucked against him—Frankie has the courage to ask the question.  He’s felt his anxiety rising each mile that separated him from the cabin, and he worries that it was just a fluke, just a few days of magic that will dissipate when you both return to being next door neighbors.

“Hey,” he says, and his mouth feels dry from nerves.  He tries to channel the bravery he had in the military, and he pushes through.  Swallows down his anxiety.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Thought…”  He hesitates, then forces the words out.  “Thought we could make it official.  If you want to, though.”

He can’t see your face, but he can hear the smile in your voice.  “You asking me to go steady, Frankie?  Be boyfriend, girlfriend?”

He smiles to hear your smile.  “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay.  I’d like that.”

He pushes you out of his arms so he can see your face.  You tilt your head up to him, a soft smile curving your lips.  Lips that are a little chapped after three days in bed with him.  

“Yeah?” he asks, smiling wider.  His heart thumps painfully in his chest, barely able to believe his luck.

“Absolutely, Frankie.”

He dips his own head and kisses you gently.  He can’t believe his luck, actually:  he moved in next door over a year ago, fresh off of his divorce.  Broke.  Broken down.  Struggling with his addiction, feeling like a failure to his daughter.

And you saw all of that.  Saw the mess he’d made of his life, but you saw so much more.  You saw the potential of him, saw how he wanted to be a better man.  Saw the goodness of his heart, the way he tried to be a better father.

You saw him.  You see him.  You always have.

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