#dry fish recipe

[askwhatsforlunch]

Chilli, Pepper and Tomato Mussels

These Chilli, Pepper and Tomato Mussels, hot with home-grown chilli and fragrant with garden pepper, tomato and herbs, remind me of the delicious kūtai I ate when Ava took me to Gusto, one of her favorite restaurant (with a superb view!) in her hometown of Ngāmotu New Plymouth, back in March. Which mean, I shall definitely cook this dish for her next time we're together!

Ingredients (serves 1):

about 905 grams/2 pounds fresh mussels

120 grams/4 ounces unsalted butter

1 small onion

1 fluffy sprig fresh rosemary

half a dozen leaves Garden Sage 

2 bay leaves

1/2 tablespoon olive oil

1 garlic clove, minced

½ Garden Chilli Pepper 

¼ red Bell Pepper

1 heaped teaspoon tomato paste

1 large, ripe tomato, rinsed

4 sprigs Garden Chervil 

¾ cup dry white wine (such as Sauvignon Blanc, Chenin Blanc or Chardonnay)

Wash mussels thoroughly, gently scrubbing them with a clean sponge to remove any dirt and grit. Remove the stringy beards from the shells as well. Soak in clean water, a couple of minutes. Drain. Repeat, twice. Set aside.

In a large heavy-bottomed pot, melt half of the butter over a medium flame. Finely chop the onion, and add to the butter once it’s foaming. Sauté, a couple of minutes until softened.

Finely chop the soft top of the rosemary sprig, keeping the bottom whole and Garden Sage. Add the chopped herbs and both bay leaves to the pot. Cook, 1 minute more.

Increase heat to medium-high, and stir in mussels, coating in the butter and herbs. Cover with a lid, and steam, about 6 minutes, until the mussels start to open.

Using a slotted spoon, lift mussels out of the pot and into a large bowl.

Strain leftover liquid through a fine mesh sieve, into  a bowl.

In the mussels pot, melt remaining butter with olive oil. Add garlic. Cook, stirring over medium-high heat, until just softened, 1 minute.

Finely chop Garden Chilli and Bell Pepper, and stir into the pot. Cook, until softened, a couple of minutes. Add tomato paste. Cook, 1 minute more.

Dice tomato, and stir into the pot, along with its juice.

Finely chop Chervil, and had half of it to the pot.

Return mussels to the pot, stirring well, coating in chilli and tomato sauce. Stir in Sauvignon Blanc. Pour about 1/3 cup strained liquid back into the pot, making sure to discard any leftover sand. Cover with the lid, reduce heat to medium, and simmer, 4 minutes more.

Serve Chilli, Pepper and Tomato Mussels hot, topped with reserved Chervil, with toasted Sourdough and a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc. Bon appétit! 

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio has returned for all things Friday ... tells the tale of his impromptu stage taking and drumming ... slides with ease from Hakuna Matata to Swan Lake ... presses the button to introduce the traffic lady. More crazy car stuff in Dublin due to the musician whose name I will not mention.

The chef on the radio steams in laden with mackerel, sea bass and puy lentils. "I'm using Bay leaves with this recipe", he says ... "Did you just say Baileys?" asks the man on the radio ... "Did I say what? asks the chef ... "Baileys ... did you say Baileys? Cos that's an odd combination if you did". The chef giggles and says no, definitely Bay leaves but feel free to drink Baileys whilst you're cooking.

Today's groaner: a pessimist sees a dark tunnel ... an optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel ... a realist sees a freight train ... the train driver sees three idiots standing on the track ;-D badoom tish ... here all week!!

Survived yesterday's very rainy, umbrella filled shiny metropolis trip part deux. Phew! In and out in 2 hours, but life still feels slightly out of focus. Now back to hiding out and looking at the little things. I'll be keeping 'the umbrella' and water wings close to hand after yesterday's downpours ... ensuring my fingers are crossed that the lovely Fermata feels like eating today ... and rest assured the coffee will be flowing ...

[deshifoodchanneldfc]

আজ আমার কুড়ে ঘরে ক্ষেতের টাটকা লাল শাক তুলে শুটকি ভর্তা সাথে ডাল আলু ভাজ...

[yvesdecamps]

Recipe for Jamaican Jerk Dry Rub This Jamaican jerk dry rub is a seasoning I use mostly on grilled chicken, but you can use it on fish, steak, or just about anything else.

[littlegreenchilli]

Karawala: A Delicious Sri Lankan Delicacy You Need to Try

Alright guys, this is my absolute favourite Sri Lankan dish to have with rice. It's crispy, crunchy, and bursting with flavour.Plus, it's easy to make and can be stored for later enjoyment. Give it a try and impress your friends and family with new flavours!

[run-graph]

Jamaican Jerk Dry Rub - Sauces and Condiments

[reasonsforhope]

"In response to last year’s record-breaking heat due to El Niño and impacts from climate change, Indigenous Zenù farmers in Colombia are trying to revive the cultivation of traditional climate-resilient seeds and agroecology systems.

One traditional farming system combines farming with fishing: locals fish during the rainy season when water levels are high, and farm during the dry season on the fertile soils left by the receding water.

Locals and ecologists say conflicts over land with surrounding plantation owners, cattle ranchers and mines are also worsening the impacts of the climate crisis.

To protect their land, the Zenù reserve, which is today surrounded by monoculture plantations, was in 2005 declared the first Colombian territory free from GMOs.

...

In the Zenù reserve, issues with the weather, climate or soil are spread by word of mouth between farmers, or on La Positiva 103.0, a community agroecology radio station. And what’s been on every farmer’s mind is last year’s record-breaking heat and droughts. Both of these were charged by the twin impacts of climate change and a newly developing El Niño, a naturally occurring warmer period that last occurred here in 2016, say climate scientists.

Experts from Colombia’s Institute of Hydrology, Meteorology and Environmental Studies say the impacts of El Niño will be felt in Colombia until April 2024, adding to farmers’ concerns. Other scientists forecast June to August may be even hotter than 2023, and the next five years could be the hottest on record. On Jan. 24, President Gustavo Petro said he will declare wildfires a natural disaster, following an increase in forest fires that scientists attribute to the effects of El Niño.

In the face of these changes, Zenù farmers are trying to revive traditional agricultural practices like ancestral seed conservation and a unique agroecology system.

Pictured: Remberto Gil’s house is surrounded by an agroforestry system where turkeys and other animals graze under fruit trees such as maracuyá (Passiflora edulis), papaya (Carica papaya) and banana (Musa acuminata colla). Medicinal herbs like toronjil (Melissa officinalis) and tres bolas (Leonotis nepetifolia), and bushes like ají (Capsicum baccatum), yam and frijol diablito (beans) are part of the undergrowth. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

“Climate change is scary due to the possibility of food scarcity,” says Rodrigo Hernandez, a local authority with the Santa Isabel community. “Our ancestral seeds offer a solution as more resistant to climate change.”

Based on their experience, farmers say their ancestral seed varieties are more resistant to high temperatures compared to the imported varieties and cultivars they currently use. These ancestral varieties have adapted to the region’s ecosystem and require less water, they tell Mongabay. According to a report by local organization Grupo Semillas and development foundation SWISSAID, indigenous corn varieties like blaquito are more resistant to the heat, cariaco tolerates drought easily, and negrito is very resistant to high temperatures.

The Zenù diet still incorporates the traditional diversity of seeds, plant varieties and animals they consume, though they too are threatened by climate change: from fish recipes made from bocachico (Prochilodus magdalenae), and reptiles like the babilla or spectacled caiman (Caiman crocodilus), to different corn varieties to prepare arepas (cornmeal cakes), liquor, cheeses and soups.

“The most important challenge we have now is to save ancient species and involve new generations in ancestral practice,” says Sonia Rocha Marquez, a professor of social sciences at Sinù University in the city of Montería.

...[Despite] land scarcity, Negrete says communities are developing important projects to protect their traditional food systems. Farmers and seed custodians, like Gil, are working with the Association of Organic Agriculture and Livestock Producers (ASPROAL) and their Communitarian Seed House (Casa Comunitaria de Semillas Criollas y Nativas)...

Pictured: Remberto Gil is a seed guardian and farmer who works at the Communitarian Seed House, where the ASPROL association stores 32 seeds of rare or almost extinct species. Image by Monica Pelliccia for Mongabay.

Located near Gil’s house, the seed bank hosts a rainbow of 12 corn varieties, from glistening black to blue to light pink to purple and even white. There are also jars of seeds for local varieties of beans, eggplants, pumpkins and aromatic herbs, some stored in refrigerators. All are ancient varieties shared between local families.

Outside the seed bank is a terrace where chickens and turkeys graze under an agroforestry system for farmers to emulate: local varieties of passion fruit, papaya and banana trees grow above bushes of ají peppers and beans. Traditional medicinal herbs like toronjil or lemon balm (Melissa officinalis) form part of the undergrowth.

Today, 25 families are involved in sharing, storing and commercializing the seeds of 32 rare or almost-extinct varieties.

“When I was a kid, my father brought me to the farm to participate in recovering the land,” says Nilvadys Arrieta, 56, a farmer member of ASPROAL. “Now, I still act with the same collective thinking that moves what we are doing.”

“Working together helps us to save, share more seeds, and sell at fair price [while] avoiding intermediaries and increasing families’ incomes,” Gil says. “Last year, we sold 8 million seeds to organic restaurants in Bogotà and Medellín.”

So far, the 80% of the farmers families living in the Zenù reserve participate in both the agroecology and seed revival projects, he adds."

-via Mongabay, February 6, 2024

[mydearlybeloathed]

── ᴘᴜᴘᴘʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you, asta's personal assistant, await the day the nameless return to herta's space station. or, you await dan heng's return to be exact. but the day he's meant to arrive, an attack on the space station sends everything into disarray--and sends you to the med bay.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: dan heng x gn!reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4k

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: descriptions of injuries, fluff, slIght hurt/comfort

𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 | 𝕙𝕤𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Sleep deprived, working on fumes, and leaned slightly onto Arlan’s shoulder—that’s how you spent the station’s morning debrief. Asta’s voice, while pretty and satisfying, went in one ear and out the other, your mind foggy from a restless night spent reading.

Arlan made mental notes of what to fill you in on, content with being your standing pillow. The pair of you stood near the front of the crowded staff members. Asta’s twinkling, amused gaze found you more than once, a tiny smile tugging at her face. She knew precisely how to wake you up.

“What else… Ah! Our friends from the Astral Express are stopping by for a supply run. Himeko says it should be a quick stop before they’re back to trailblazing.”

Arlan choked on a laugh as your head jerked upright, eyes blinking widely. All it took were those two words—Astral Express—and your full attention was captured. Your face got all hot, realizing you’d fallen asleep as you met eyes with Asta.

Her eyes bore into yours teasingly as she said, “I’m sure we’re all excited to see them.”

You made a choice hand gesture back at her. Though you were her assistant and your main role on the station was to provide her help, you’d grown to call Asta your best friend—and accordingly, she was the first to know about your festering attraction to one of the Nameless aboard the Express. 

It started months ago when you were swamped with complaints from researchers. You hardly remembered the issue at hand, something to do with a change in the caf’s recipe for coffee. What you did recall was the sweat beading your brow as yet another choice message popped into your inbox. You hit your head on the table repeatedly.

“Are you all right?” You startled at the soft timber of a voice. You lifted your head as the stranger approached a vacant spot along the long desk of computers. He set down a book before turning his attention to the computer.

“Hum?” You looked back to your own computer as another ding alerted you to yet another complaint. “Define all right…”

Maybe it was the way he huffed a laugh, like he understood the weight in your exhausted tone firsthand. Maybe it was his scant smile or how his eyes met yours before anxiously darting away. Whatever it was, you wasted no time in spilling your guts to him. And to your great surprise, he listened.

He did more than listen. Dan Heng, lips pursed and brows met, moved over two seats and offered to help draft some replies. “Dealing with the task alone will be taxing after a while.” Another email appeared, this one about the temperature of the Master Control Zone. “Plus, it’s getting excessive.”

Dan Heng proved to be more snide than he looked. You laughed more that evening than you had in a long time, his dry and often unmeant humor a breath of fresh air. Soon, the conversion shifted to his many adventures out in the world.

“At times I wish I could be out there, like you,” you mused. “But this is my place. I’m happy.”

Dan Heng hummed understandingly before fishing around in the bag at his feet. “Here, it’s from a planet covered in interesting flora. It has it all documented, and there are some fascinating observations about carnivorous plants…” He paused, blinking away the glint in his eyes. “If you’re interested.”

That book now rested in the bag on your shoulder, and the prospect that you’d soon be able to return it and discuss it with him was more than thrilling. 

Asta nearly rolled her eyes at the dreamy look in your eye, when the whole of the space station shuddered. Alarms blared instantly. Asta’s shock lasted all of two seconds and she rushed into action, barking out orders left and right. 

Someone bumped your shoulder in their flight and knocked you into Arlan. The boy had become a rockhard pillar, his hand closing around your wrist tightly. His stiffness, how he barely reacted, it frightened you. “Arlan?” 

An explosion rocked the whole station shooting vibrations through the steel floors and up your ankles. A bone-chilling roar erupted all around and you watched paralyzed as three large creatures invaded the area from below. They were ugly, crude, and terrifying. Stuff you’d only seen in data logs. Stuff you’d like to stay in data logs.

“Antimatter Legion?!” you shrieked. More monsters flooded the area and researchers darted for safety left and right. Arlan switched gears instantly, pointing to his guards all while keeping you in a vice. 

“Everyone, head for the—” He dodged falling equipment, dragging you behind him “—Head for the lockdown zone!” He whirled on you, catching both your wrists and muttering your name to capture your fleeting gaze. “Follow everyone down. Don’t turn back.”

For one terrifying moment, everything seemed to stand still. The screams grew dim and your heartbeat slowed. The shrieks of the monsters grew foggy and you stared right into Arlan’s steely eyes. Then you snapped back, shoving him down as the body of a fallen Voidranger was thrown overhead. 

It hit you like a train, gasping as you pressed Arlan’s back to the floor. “Peppy!” 

You scrambled to your feet, all fear gone in an instant. Arlan rolled to the side to avoid being trampled by another beast, retrieving his sword and rushing to the offense. 

“No! Get out of here!” He struck down a Voidranger before whirling around desperately. “Asta! Asta!”

Taking the chance now that his attention was occupied, you bolted around the Control Zone, calling the little dog’s name whilst jumping over debris and dodging attacks from monsters. You barely missed being slashed by a Voidranger’s sword, spinning around it with a barely contained scream. Where could that damn dog be?

“Peppy!” you cried, stopping to catch a breath. You hardly heard a thing over the crashing and screaming and buzzing all around, but Peppy heard you, and he used all his might in crying Yip! Yip!

You beelined in his direction, veering around a crowd of researchers and vaulting over a man who’d tripped. Later, you’d marvel at your newfound agility, wishing it could remain outside of life-or-death scenarios.

“Peppy! Here boy!” Gasping for air, you rounded a glass wall and staggered to a halt. Peppy, dear Peppy,  was curled in the corner of a row of desks, a runty Voidranger stalking towards him, nasty claws scratching across the floor. A feral growl slipped past your lips as you reached for the spatha Arlan had forced upon you some years ago. 

One step, two steps—you planted one foot down, leaped into the air, and struck your blade through a gap in the beast’s armor. It cried viciously and it dissolved into dust, leaving you to fall unceremoniously to your knees. Peppy barked and bounded up to you, licking at your cheek. The smile had barely graced your face when three Voidrangers crept to answer their brother’s call. 

Chest seized with fright, you jumped to your feet and snapped your fingers at the quivering puppy. “Go, Peppy. Now!” 

Peppy’s claws clacked against the floor as he scurried off, leaving you to face the creeping danger. You wiped your brow, set your stance, and raised your weapon just as Arlan had taught you. The Voidrangers closed in, something morbidly human in their audible breathing.

As the first one lunged out, you saw your life flash before your eyes, and you found you weren’t quite ready to give it up just yet.

✧ ˖ * ° ࿐

All this trouble he and his friends had to clean up, and Dan Heng still couldn’t find the one reason he was even mildly looking forward to visiting the station. You, of course. You had his book. That’s the reason he told March at least, and it felt less and less true the longer you remained missing.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he grunted to Arlan. The pair of them were carrying the strange girl he and March had found in Herta’s office between them, carefully walking her to the medical bay to be looked over. He hadn’t yet processed what had transpired moments ago, how powerful this sleeping girl had looked facing off against the Doomsday Beast. Processing could wait till he was back in the archives. Now, all he could think was of where you’d been during the fray.

Arlan blinked, almost choking on nothing, and stopped altogether. None of that was reassuring in the slightest. “I… I don’t know. I lost them during the fight…” Arlan dropped the girl’s legs suddenly and bolted back down the hall, disappearing round a corner. Dan Heng nearly dropped everything and went after him, but everything happened to be a human girl, and that didn’t seem to be the right thing to do.

So he thought and worried and mulled as he swooped the girl into his arms and rushed to the medical bay, just in case you happened to be there. 

You hardly know them, a sharp, guarded place in him thought. True, he replied. But I’d like my book back.

A foolish explanation, he admitted, but the alternative was a rather terrifying truth: he enjoyed your presence that day in the Control Zone. You laughed at his jokes, and you laughed when he wasn’t trying to be funny too, which puzzled him to no end—surely, he wasn’t that amusing. In truth, he’d just purchased the book an hour before meeting you, and in the wake of the harrowing thought that he wished to speak to you again, he offered it to you so he’d have an excuse to do so. 

Every time he thought back on it he grimaced and hid his burning face. Dan Heng should have known better, really, but the deed was done. He’d have to speak to you if only to get his book back (with an increased pace your absence and Arlan’s exit struck him violently; that really had been a destructive attack).

The doors to the med bay slid open and he glided inside, calling for a doctor to assist him. The girl—Stelle, right?—was placed on an exam table with a thin blanket draped over her. “She’ll recover quickly,” said the doctor wiping at Stelle’s brow with a towel. 

Dan Heng nodded absently, taking a sweep of the room. Numerous uniformed researchers nursed injuries around the room, but you weren’t one of them. That could either mean one of two things, and his mind immediately went toward the less favorable option. He settled down next to Stelle with a sigh, mulling over what to do with himself. He had things to do, probably, but he couldn’t bring one to mind. 

The doors slid open as yet another injured pair rushed through—Dan Heng did a double take. It was Arlan, and in his arms he carried you, alive and awake and pissed. You shoved at Arlan’s chest weakly and attempted to cover his mouth to cease his panicked shouts of, “They’re bleeding! They’re—!”

“It’s fine!” you growled, dropping your head back with a groan. “Asta saved me before I could get myself killed.”

“Killed?”

Blinking, you raised your head and laid eyes on none other than Dan Heng, the Nameless. Your face grew warm as two assistants scooped you from Arlan’s arms and carried you to an empty bed, and all the while Dan Heng held your gaze. You swatted away the medics, planting a hand on each of their shoulders and setting your feet on the ground. You somehow withheld a wince despite the clear bloodstain on your left calf.

“I can walk, thank you,” you murmured, allowing a medic to take your arm as she helped you sit down.

Arlan was at your side again before you got a breath, and though you loved him dearly, you wanted dearly to sock him in the jaw. “What were you thinking? You don’t know how to fight, Y/N!”

“Hush!” You glanced around nervously, not a fan of the attention his fussing gathered. “I’m okay, Arlan. See?” You lifted your hands to take his own, shaking them around with a smirk. Arlan’s shoulders lost a bit of their tension. 

“I just…” He dipped his head and dropped your twined hands onto the bed. “You disappeared like that. You could have… could’ve…”

You flicked his forehead gently. “But I didn’t. Asta kept me safe. Now, c’mon. Don’t you have work to do?” 

“You—”

“I’m fine here. Go do your job. People need you.” Arlan’s eyes scanned you one last time before he squeezed your hand and rushed off to his various duties. Your soft smile dropped as the man standing behind him came into view. The ever-stoic Dan Heng shifted awkwardly, his eyes flickering across the floor. Finally, he met your wide gaze. 

Your hands clutched the blanket underneath you and you took the moment to assess him for injuries. As you expected, there wasn’t a scratch on him. Dan Heng must be an incredible fighter. Still, it felt off not to ask. “You’re not hurt?”

He shook his head, went still, and stepped closer. “No. Not like you.”

“Heh, yeah.” Your cheeks warmed. “We sure know how to welcome guests, huh.”

A grin ghosted his face. “Bringing the Legion to greet us was a bit much, but the thought was there.”

“We wanted you guys to feel useful,” you said as he inched even closer, his arm grazing the side of the bed until he settled for leaning against it with a half smile.

“I’m sure.” The silence to follow was almost gentle. You took a moment to really take him in and quickly got lost in his fluffy hair and softly averted eyes that turned sharp the instant they darted up to meet yours. You had a sudden thought; what exactly was he doing here, with you of all people?

Now was about when the anxiety kicked in— all the words in the world fell short on your tongue as Dan Heng seemingly had the same issue. So, neither of you bothered. Dan Heng took the suggestion of your nodding head and sat at your feet, allowing the tension to dissolve into quiet until the pair of you simply observed the busy workings of the med bay. 

“You know what I was thinking,” you spoke up after a while. “When I was about to die?”

His head whipped around on a swivel. “I’m sure I don’t. Continue before I focus too much on the last bit.”

You managed a tiny grin, a confused, hidden part of you relishing in the fact that he was worried about you. “I was thinking that I never got to see the stars like I wanted to.”

Dan Heng’s brows furrowed. “You see the stars from the windows…”

“Not like I want to,” you shake your head, eyes going misty. “When I was a kid I knew I would be here, among the stars, but back then I imagined myself in a more… adventurous position.” You met his thoughtful eye. “Like you and March 7th.”

“I guess I just have a few regrets, that's all. Would’ve hated to die here of all places,” you finished with a sigh, not expecting much of an answer. He was practically a stranger after all, someone you liked to think of as a friend yet hardly knew anything about. Still, he was here, so obviously something was there.

“I understand, I think.” He mulled everything over, really contemplating his reply. “So I guess this,” he gestured to your leg, “wasn’t enough action for you?”

He was teasing, dammit. Even with his flawlessly null expression that glint in his eye gave it all away. You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Not even close. I adore the rush of nearly being Voidranger chow, but I’m thinking the Doomsday Beast is a little more my speed.”

“About that…” Dan Heng suddenly got very serious, a genuine sense of curiosity swimming in his eyes. “Arlan said you disappeared in the middle of battle.” Again, concern flooded his tone. “Which was… a choice.”

His tone and the insinuation had you narrowing your eyes. “I’m not stupid, Dan Heng,” you snapped. He blanked, taken aback. “I wouldn’t do something like that just because. I was going back for Peppy.”

He tilted his head in a way certainly more distracting than intended. “Peppy?” 

“A-Asta’s dog,” you said. “I’m responsible for him when Asta is busy. And… he’s my friend.” You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes stuck to the sheets. “I wasn’t gonna leave him behind.”

Your hand ghosted your calf. The bleeding had stopped an hour ago, you think. The stain on your pant leg hadn’t grown any bigger at least. Still, the pain was biting. Dan Heng caught the movement, eyes suddenly blinking fast. 

He stood and his hand brushed your leg absently, jolting you slightly as his gaze swept the floor. “Someone see to their injury. Hey—” 

You’d never heard someone yell so gently, and you hoped never to again. Swiftly, you latched onto the sleeve of his jacket and pulled, knocking him back onto the bed. “I’m–I’m fine, really,” you said with little conviction. Dan Heng swore you even squeaked. 

He watched you carefully as he removed your hand from his sleeve, his hold unintentionally lingering on your skin as he became lost in thought. He glanced at your leg and sighed, nearly frustrated, and proceeded to flag over a doctor.

The situation settled itself—within a minute the woman was preparing to cauterize the wound with what looked like a pocket blow torch. 

“I don’t think I need all that,” you forced out. 

She only offered you a smile and stood by. “You’ll be okay, Mx. Y/N. No need to be afraid.”

You shot the solemn Dan Heng a fretful look. “I’m not afraid. I just—don’t think it’s that serious.”

The doctor’s brows furrowed gently, knowing glint in her eyes as she tilted her head to catch the Nameless in her peripheral. “Okay. But I insist that this is necessary for your health and comfort. May I roll up your pant leg?”

Steeling yourself, stiffening all your muscles, you nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

The sensation of cool air hitting your wound sparked up that sting again, and the sight of just how bad the injury looked had you turning your head away. You remained that way all while she cleaned the large cut with cotton and disinfectant, eyes wide in the face of the inevitable.

“All right,” she sighed, lifting the device in preparation. “It’ll feel like it’s burning, but really it’s only that cold. No heat at all. Over before you know it.”

As if that was reassuring. You chanced a flicker of your eyes, nodding silently as she braced a hand on the underside of your calf and waited for you to meet her eyes. You nodded again before you whipped your face to the side, eyes screwed together as your whole upper body spasmed at the feel of it. Fingers curling into the bed, breathing stopped, it seemed to go on forever.

Just as the pain grew blinding, a hand settled around your wrist and pried your grip off the sheets. That hand’s wrist took the bed’s place instantly, your grip a vice you hadn’t known you were capable of. You might have heard his slight grunt if your ears weren’t blocked by a static ringing.

And then, it stopped. All at once the heat faded and a cold ache replaced it. Not quite as harsh as the gaping wound had been before, but not at all comfortable. Your face was all screwed up for the longest time, your breathing getting back to its regular pace as the doctor stood to her full height and assessed the situation. She wore a miniscule grin as she packed up her things and asked of Dan Heng, “Make sure they’re fine, I have to attend to the others.”

So that’s how Dan Heng winded up holding your hand with this awkwardly wide look on his face. He cast you a sidelong glance, a bit relieved to see the tension leaving your shoulders. Testing the waters, he gave your hand a squeeze in an attempt to bring you back to life, so to speak. 

Gently, softly, you peeked an eye open, the sound of the med bay hitting you suddenly. Your heart still raced out of your chest, but at least the heat-gun crazed doctor was gone. Plus, your wound was closed, albeit very likely to leave a nasty scar. Maybe you could hold it over Arlan’s head the next time he chastised you for being reckless because he didn’t get his scar by being safe blah blah blah.

Another sensation washed over your then; it was sharp and gave you a quick shiver, but something warm gripped tightly in your hand and it felt oddly hand shaped itself. Your eyes darted to the right and low and behold—Dan Heng met your gaze. 

“Ack!” You ripped your hand from his own like he’d burned you, your face a horrible hot as you babbled. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—didn’t mean to—”

“You’re… fine…” Were you hallucinating or was Dan Heng blushing. Probablly hallucinating… “Are you all right now?”

“Mhmm,” you murmured. “Yeah, sorry again… Did I hurt you?”

The smallest of smiles graced his face at you bashfulness. “No. Not really.”

With a grunt you grabbed his wrist and pulled it toward you, not hearing his slight inhale as you assessed his palm for the crescent indents of your nails. Sure enough, there they were, little craters of testimony to your squealiness. You dropped his hand and took to rubbing your eyes. “I’m sorry. I just really hate it here~”

“The med bay?”

“Yeah. It makes me nervous. That’s why Arlan says I should stop getting myself hurt so I don’t have to come back.” 

You grinned and shook your head, catching his eye again. Dan Heng pursed his lips and leaned back slightly, eyes averted. “Uh, you and Arlan…” He nearly rolled his eyes at himself for this. “Are you…?”

“What?” you sqwacked, eyes bright as stars as laughter peeled out of you. “No. He’s like a really annoying brother that just showed up one day!”

Dan Heng managed to chuckle away his embarassment, if only because he discovered he liked the sound of your laugh, filing that information away for later and not bothering to cover it up with some mental gymnastics. He simply liked the sound, and with a stumbling heart he swallowed that mental pill. 

“Dan Heng!” Your heads whipped around in tandem as the pink haired March 7th bounded into the med bay. Her eyes lit up at the sight before her. “There you are!”

“I told you I was taking Stelle here…” 

“Eh, I forgot.” She would ask after Stelle like she’d planned momentarily—after she invesitaged whatever this was. Her eyes zeroed in on you like a vulture. “What—Oh, Aeons.”

Her hands covered you mouth when she caught sight of your leg, eyes flickering between it and your face. You gave her a little shrug. “Just a scratch.” Dan Heng choked into his sleeve, fighting a grin.

March couldn’t decide who to stare at and settled for just bouncing on her toes with a mildly suspicious smile. “I came to check on Stelle, where is she?”

As if on cue, a medical attendant passed by with a short, “Your friend is waking up.”

You took that as a cue of your own, moving to slide off the bed. “I should go check on Peppy.”

Dan Heng grabbed your elbow instantly, lips parted. “But—”

“See?” You forced your way to the floor and gently set your feet down, putting pressure on each and only feeling a dull pain. Smiling reassuringly, you took off his hand. “All better.” The moment held the both fo you captive, like March wasn’t two feet away having a ball, when you lurched back and hurried to collect yourself. “Oh! I–I have your book.”

“R-right.” Dan Heng watched you bustle about with some kind of star in his eye.

“Not with me—I’ll go get it!” You turned tail and sped walked out the door, if only because running felt a bit too much at the moment. You whipped around with a pointed finger and called out, “Don’t move!”

March nudged his side as she went to the waking Stelle’s side, teasing with a sly glance as he came up beside her. “So~”

“Not a word, March.” Dan Heng didn’t feel he could properly process his emotions at this time, and he most certainly didn’t want to assess them with March 7th. 

She giggle anyway and grabbed at his sleeve, shaking him excitedly. “Dan Heng! When I said shoot your shot, I didn’t think you’d actually—”

With a final roll of his eyes and a swat of his hand, Dan Heng beelined for Stelle while grumbling over his shoulder. “Not. A. Word.”

[nhlclover]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 | 𝐋𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: you convince luke to bake with you despite his ineptitude in the kitchen.

warnings: sweet fluff! mentions of food + baking, also a joke about a diet

word count: 0.96k

notes: fic number two in cozytober! love my sweet boy luke, so i hope you guys enjoy this as well

The kitchen was filled with the warm scent of spices, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves all blending together as you gathered the ingredients for your latest baking project: chai pumpkin spice cupcakes. The golden afternoon light streamed through the window, casting a cozy glow over the countertops. Luke stood beside you, his brow furrowed as he eyed the stand mixer with a wary expression.

“Alright, babe, this is gonna be easy,” you said, splitting the ingredients into the wet and dry. “You’ll be handling the wet stuff—eggs, milk, oil. I’ll take care of the dry ingredients.”

Luke let out a small laugh, running a hand through his hair in that endearing, slightly self-conscious way you loved. “I still don’t know why you trust me near anything that requires precise measurements.”

You laughed. “Because everyone can learn, and besides, you’ve got me here to make sure nothing catches on fire.”

You handed him the recipe card, nudging him towards the eggs. Luke cracked an egg into a bowl, watching it slide down with a satisfying plop. But as he went for the second, you saw his eyes widen in panic. “Uh, I think I got some shell in there.”

Sure enough, tiny shards floated in the mixture. Luke fumbled to fish them out, his fingers hovering over the bowl with intense concentration. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him so focused.

“You’ve got this,” you encouraged, watching as he managed to extract the last piece. He breathed out in relief, grinning at his victory.

“Crisis averted,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

“Good job, babe,” you said, giving him a playful nudge. “Now just measure the milk and oil, and we’re good to go.”

Luke nodded, his expression serious as he measured with the precision of someone about to perform surgery. Meanwhile, you whisked together the dry ingredients — flour, sugar, baking powder, and spices. The excitement bubbled inside you as you worked; there was something magical about baking in the fall, and sharing it with Luke, even with his shaky kitchen skills, made it even better.

Once Luke had his wet ingredients ready, he looked over at you, a proud gleam in his eye. “What’s next?”

“Just pour the wet stuff into the stand mixer and then add the dry ingredients,” you said, moving to line the cupcake tins. “Oh, and make sure to turn the mixer off before—”

Before you could finish, Luke, with a little too much enthusiasm, dumped the dry ingredients into the running mixer. A cloud of flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg exploded into the air, enveloping everything like a powdery storm. You gasped as the flour coated the countertops, the floor — and, of course, Luke.

Luke scrambled to shut off the mixer, the cloud of flour settling around him. Luke slowly turned to you, his face a comical mix of shock and regret. “Fuck…”

For a split second, you stood there in stunned silence, and then a laugh bubbled up, uncontrollable. Luke’s startled face, combined with the mess, was just too much. He started to laugh too, shaking his head as he wiped flour off his nose.

“Babe, I’m so sorry. I-I’m hopeless,” he groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “You should just take over before I somehow set off the smoke alarm.”

“No way,” you said, still giggling as you grabbed a spatula. “We’ll scoop up what we can, and it’ll be fine. Besides, you’re not getting out of this that easily.” Luke sighed dramatically, but the playful spark in his eyes told you he wasn’t really defeated. Together, you salvaged what you could from the countertop, adding the flour back to the mixer with no further disasters.

“See? Easy fix,” you said, brushing off your hands.

“Easy for you,” he mumbled, though there was something soft in his expression—an unspoken warmth that made your heart skip. Moments like this, the small messes and shared laughs, were what you loved most.

You handed Luke the cupcake tin, insisting that he scoop the batter into the liners. “This part is foolproof,” you said, “Just fill each one halfway.”

Luke took the task with the utmost seriousness, carefully spooning batter into each tin. To his credit, not a drop was wasted, and soon the cupcakes were in the oven, the kitchen returning to a peaceful calm as the scent of spiced cake filled the air. When the timer dinged, you both glanced into the over, and Luke grinned as the perfect golden cupcakes came into view.

"Not bad, huh?" you said, proud of the teamwork.

Luke nodded, partially surprised that something he had made turned out so good. “They look amazing.”

With the cupcakes cooling, you worked on the icing — cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar, and more spices, blending together in a sweet, velvety mixture. Together, you spread the spiced cream cheese frosting over each cupcake, the final touch to your masterpiece. Once the cupcakes were frosted, you both sat down to taste your handiwork.

You took a bite, closing your eyes as the flavors hit. “Oh wow,” you mumbled, “These are so good.”

Luke took a bite, and for a moment, you saw his eyes light up, the deliciousness taking him by surprise. But then he frowned, feigning seriousness. “Oh man, these are so sweet…I think just destroyed my diet with one bite.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Please, like one cupcake is going to ruin you.”

He grinned, licking some frosting off his thumb. “Yeah, but I blame you if I can't skate as fast tomorrow.”

You reached over, brushing a bit of flour from his cheek. “Well, if cupcakes are your downfall, I’ll gladly take the blame.”

Luke laughed, his hand finding yours by your side. “As long as you're there to bake more.”

[askwhatsforlunch]

Lemon and Dill Monkfish

The delicate flesh of this beautiful Lemon and Dill Monkfish is beautifully fragrant with fresh herb and citrus, and generously coated in a Hollandaise blanket, making it a tasty lunch! Happy Friday!

Ingredients (serves 3):

half a large lemon

4 fluffy sprigs Garden Dill + more for garnish

2 litres/8 cups water

1 1/2 teaspoon coarse sea salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1/2 cup dry white wine (like Sauvignon Blanc)

a beautiful (about 395-gram/14-ounce) fresh monkfish tail

Dill and Schnapps Hollandaise, warmed, to serve

Cut lemon into slices, and add lemon slices to a large, deep skillet, wide enough to fit the fish. Add Dill sprigs and cover with the water.

Bring to the boil over medium-high heat, and cover with a lid. Allow to boil, for about 10 to 15 minutes, so the broth is fragrant. Season with coarse sea salt and black pepper.

Then, stir in Sauvignon Blanc, and lower the monkfish tail into the fragrant bath. Poach, about 10 to 12 minutes until cooked through.

Lift monkfish tail out of its court-bouillon, and drain before sitting onto serving tray. Drizzle generously with warm Dill and Schnapps Hollandaise, and garnish with reserved Dill sprigs.

Serve Lemon and Dill Monkfish immediately, with more Dill and Schnapps Hollandaise, steamed broccoli and a glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc or other crisp white wine.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The drive into town, or the few shops that cluster together at the midpoint of the backroads, is quiet. As you lazily steer around the long bends. As you come in sight of the beer store banner, you squint into the rear view. Bucky’s been so silent, you’re half certain he’s asleep. 

He sits with his arms crossed as he stares out the window. His eyes could be closed. As you roll into the gravel lot, he clears his throat. 

“Not much to this place,” he comments. 

You give a start and shift into park, “nope.” 

He nods as he unbuckles his seat belt and sits up, “quiet.” 

“Very,” you agree. 

He makes no other comment as he gets out. You really can’t tell how he meant it. Does he like the quiet? Hate it? Does he long for the New York rush? 

You push yourself out of the car and head for the front door. He steps ahead to get the door and you thank him. It’s not too unusual. A lot of the men in their plaid fleeces insist on doing the same. You enter and greet Dustin behind the counter. 

“Foster sending you ‘round again?” He asks. 

“Mr. Foster’s drying out. At least his wife says so. And I told her I wouldn’t bring him anymore gin.” You explain.  

“Ah, you got company,” Dustin comes to the end of the counter, “Dustin, and you?” 

He holds out his hand. Bucky shakes it with his gloved one and introduces himself. 

“Ha, boy, fingers’ cold already? Must not be from around here.” 

Bucky sniffs and drops his hand. He has both covered. It’s probably best he not draw attention. 

“Yeah, came up from the States,” he says. “Not a fan of the Canadian beer though.” 

“Ah, you like piss water. Well, head to the back, you’ll find that yankie river water.” 

You chuckle and shake your head. You go down the middle aisle and Bucky catches up to you with a grumble. You notice his glower as he peruses the cases. 

“Don’t take it to hear. That’s just Dusty. If you’re a hockey fan, don’t mention it unless you wanna hear about the Leafs for an hour.” 

“Right,” he nods and grabs a green case. “More of a baseball fan.” 

“Don’t mention that either. He’s a Jays fan.” You head down the far aisle and peruse the smaller bottles. That should be enough. 

“Thought you don’t drink,” he comments as you pick out the brown bottle. 

“Rumcake. I’m gonna check in on the neighbours later this week. Make sure they’re okay. Plus, you add a bit to some fried bananas. It’s great.” You explain. 

He drones again and clicks his tongue. He probably doesn’t care much about the neighbours or your mother’s rumcake recipe. You go to the counter and put the bottle down. As you reach into your pocket, Bucky leans the case on the edge. 

“Charge hers with mine,” he takes out his wallet and slips out some bills. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Least I can do,” he insists and hands over the money, “Sir, you keep the change.” 

“Boy, this is a beer store, we don’t take tips,” Dustin scoffs. 

“Then put it in that charity box,” Bucky shrugs and hauls up the case. “Got somewhere else to go?” 

You take the bottle and say goodbye to Dustin before you follow. 

“Groceries,” you say as you follow him out. 

You fish around for your keys. What pocket did you put them in? You stop beside the driver’s side and search for them. Of course, you locked the car. 

Frustrated, you set the bottle on the car roof. You look down as you continue to pat your jacket. You finally find them and then you hear it. The subtle friction of the bottle slips down the curve of the roof.  

You panic and try to catch it. As you do, you press against the wall that appears behind you. Bucky reaches over your shoulder as he saves the bottle. You get your keys free and teeter between him and the car. He backs up. 

“Got it,” he says. 

“Uh, thanks,” you hid your discomfort. You weren’t expecting him to be so close. 

He easily carries the case under one arm and takes the rum with him around the passengers side. You unlock the doors and he opens the back to put the alcohol in front of the seat. You swing into the driver’s and get yourself situated. 

You’re overthinking. He probably didn’t even realise how awkward that was. You put your keys in the ignition as he drops in through the opposite door. 

“Real friendly around here,” he remarks as check the rear view. 

You reach over to grip the passenger seat as you crane to see behind you. By accident, you grab his shoulder. He grunts and you release him quickly, grabbing the seat instead. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“It’s fine,” he shrugs and you slowly reverse, hooking around to put your car straight.  

You rescind your hand and turn forward, steering out of the lot and down to the next street. There, the grocery store is a bit more lively with the early risers. You draw up and park again. You get out and he follows suit.  

He grabs a cart before you can. You’re not sure if he’s being overly helpful or what. You walk beside him toward the front doors. As you do, Cathy comes out with a paper bag in her arms. Before you can hide, she shrilly calls your name. Great. 

“Oh, haven’t seen you lately,” she smiles beneath her fuschia lipstick. “Oh my,” her heavily lined eyes flick to Bucky, “and who is this? Don’t see a lot of new faces in Caribou.” 

You glance over at your escort as he stops the cart. 

“This is Bucky. He’s visiting Canada.” You say. 

“Visiting? Oh, how wonderful,” she walks up the side of the cart, squinting at him. She never wears her glasses. “Ah, look at him. Strapping.” She grabs his square jaw. 

“Um, Bucky, this is Cathy.” 

“Look at those eyes,” she squeezes him so her acrylics sink into his cheeks. He looks stunned by her latch on him. She is one of a kind, especially around there. 

“Uh, nice to meet you,” he speaks stiffly as she stands on her toes to inspect him. 

“About time you found yourself a handsome young man,” she lets go and he brings his hand to his cheek. 

“Cath, it’s not like that,” you chuckle. “It’s nice seeing you but we gotta grab some stuff.” 

“Oh, don’t let me stop you. Oh, the pharmacy got some of those new ones. You know... the ones with the ribbing,” she winks. 

You take a moment to catch her meaning. Your lips part but you don’t have much of a response. Bucky shifts beside you. 

“Gotta be safe,” she smirks, “anywho, if I was you, I’d be in a hurry too.” 

You set your chin and grab the side of the cart. You pull it along and Bucky goes with it. The silence is stifling. 

“She was nice,” Bucky says as you enter the store. 

“She’s... Cathy. Don’t mind her,” you say as you stop at the shelf of pears. 

“Been a while since anyone called me young,” he snorts as he lingers with the cart. 

“Well, around here, you might just meet a few of your peers. Or close to,” you mutter, paying overly much attention to the pear. You’re too embarrassed to look anywhere else. As usual, Cathy has to make her little comments. “You mind grabbing some maple syrup? I uh... I’m almost out?” 

He doesn’t respond right away. He wheels the cart up in front of you and backs up, “think I can manage that.” 

As he turns, you almost feel bad. You don’t want to treat him like an errand boy. You just need some space. You’re still getting used to someone else being around. All the time. 

[youronlydarlin]

warning: kinda sad ANGST, Simon losses you :( , ooc kinda?? But he's soft for you only, trust me bro

This was kinda inspired by that one part in the comics where our poor, Si holds his mums skull, n he jus'... Kinda nuzzles into it. I dunno it just bought on some sad feeling, mkay...

Simon who slightly raises the cup of tea he's drinking each time he has one, just to let you know he's relaxing. Or trying his best too, at least. Doesn't know what he'll do if he worried you from beyond the grave. Sometimes he looks at all the belongings you left behind. Saying how they probably miss you, but not nearly as much as he does.

Unlike some, Simon uses your things. He doesn't want the house to go through the pain of loosing you too. So he drinks from your mug, and sits on your chair. Reads your favorite books, but never takes out the book marks in case you want to continue reading them. He also completes your bucket list for you, and even though he's the one doing them he always whispers 'good job, to the wind, hoping they'll carry the messenge to you.

Simon who speaks to your framed pictures. He remembers each, and every memory behind them. "Bet your happy... Now it'll always be my turn to grab the 'bloody groceries.." he jests. He hopes that one made you laugh. Knowing you, you would've. It's a mystery how you always laughed at his lame jokes. Though your laugh's always been better than the awful punchlines.

Simon who passes by that cafe you bugged him to go with you to, and he feels his throat go dry. He never got to take you there because of a sudden call from Price, telling him about an urgent, albeit sudden, mission. He definitely regrets not taking you out on dates more often. There's so many shops opening that he knows you would've loved to see.

Simon who's heart breaks at how quickly the world turns without you. Everything's moving so quickly, leaving him behind like it's already moved on, and he hates it. He hates how there's less clothes to fold now. Food is served, but only for one. The taste of it is flavorless, and dry. It's times like these, that he wishes he should have took the time and learn your recipes.

But what's worse, is that your side of the bed is cold. And it'll remain that way forever. At times he'll reach for you absentmindedly. Nightmares about war traded for dreams about you, but during those dreamless nights where sleep doesn't visit he'll stroke your pillow the same way he'd do to keep your hair out of your face, and pull the covers over the empty space you once occupied. He wonders if it's cold where you are right now. But just know that he's always willing to warm you up if ever you come back.

Simon who...

Stands at the doorway. Bag slinged over his shoulder, full of everything he needs and more for deployment. He knows he can't leave without properly saying goodbye, so he fishes out his wallet, and digs out a picture of you. He holds it up to his face, and it's funny. How you're not even staring at the camera when the photo was taken. No, you were staring at him. This one's always been his favorite. So he clears his throat, and wishes you don't hear the slight shake in his tone.

"..By now you would've told me to be careful.. And I will, by the way. But, m' sorry for all the times I didn't...'

....

" I have to go now. Don't need them gettin' on my ass for 'being late.. so.."

....

"..You just rest now, ok, love? There's nothing else for you to worry about' anymore. I love you, always. Wish me, and the boys luck, yeah?.."

He gives a light kiss to your photo, and it's as if you're with him when he steps outside the door..

a/n: This was a challenge to write, and I don't know what to feel about the results. I'm just polishing my english, I guess. M'not good at writing angst, you can probably tell, also my grammar feels off on this one, again. English isn't my first language, sorry. So please correct me on any mistakes I've made! But putting all that aside, I hope you like this more than I do! And, always remember that you are loved, and cared for! Have an amazing day, my darlings!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[followthebluebell]

Hello!

Last year you posted a recipe for fishsicles for kitties; I followed and all was good with the world

I couldn't find it this year and *attempted* to recreate it from memory

You might have gathered from the word attempted that this did not go well (I never knew frozen fish could end up so dry!!!)

Could you post the recipe again?🙏🏻🙏🏻 I promise I'll save it this time!

you might feel a little bit silly, but here goes:

It's literally a can of water-packed tuna and a dash of water in a blender until it's all blended up SUPER smooth. It's ok if there are a few chunks but, as you've experienced, it tends to freeze super dry somehow. So it's better to just have it nice and smooth.

Then you freeze it in little silicone trays. Gummi bear shapes tend to work well because they're small enough that cats can just chomp them up.

Other kinds of fish CAN work, but sometimes they're too oily to freeze well. That's why the tuna needs to be water-packed.

[deshifoodchanneldfc]

Village Food মুলা দিয়ে লইট্টা শুটকি রান্না রেসিপি Loitta Shutki Mola Ra...

[lanafofana]

lana, may i humbly request a teeny bit of rookanis please? with or without spite, up to you

Anything for you Doe! ‘In the hands of a master the simplest of weapons was transformed into an artist’s tool. When he moved, the blade acted as an extension of his very will. Light flickered off the edge like a dance echoed in the perfect choreography of an a—

“Rook.”

The quill made a wet inky smear across the page as it slipped from between Bellara’s startled fingers. Below her perch, the thunk of blade against cutting board seemed a tad more menacing when one realized Spite was on the other end of it.

“Spite. Hello.” Rook’s voice was warm and friendly as always. Privately Bellara marveled that her protagonist boss was so unflappable in the weirdest of situations. “Does Lucanis know that you’re…um. What are you doing?”

“Preparing. Food. Feed the.” Spite growled, low and guttural, as if slipping out of the range of his vocabulary and displeased by it.

“Are you making dinner for everyone?” Rook supplied, her voice slowly approaching as she drew closer to see what Spite had wrought of their provisions.

“Yes,” confirmed Spite.

“I see. That’s, well,” faltered Rook. “I think that’s potentially very nice. Well done trying to help Lucanis with meals. I do have one question though, just a thought. Feel free to not answer.”

“Ask. Question!”

“Do you have any idea what to feed, um, people?”

Spite was silent for a long moment. The sounds of a knife slicing through something and hitting the cutting board started up again, slowly at first and then gaining more speed. And then, finally, Spite said: “Cut into pieces, collect into pot, fire!”

“I see you’ve been paying attention to Lucanis’ cooking,” Rook’s voice noted, amused. “Perhaps I can answer any questions you might have on what types of things you should be cutting into pieces.”

“Types,” grunted Spite.

“Types of food,” said Rook. “Cheese. Bread. Fresh things, you know like, uh, fruits and vegetables. Fish, venison, pork…that mystery jerkey Solas left behind in the back.”

“Mystery…” Spite’s knife paused on the cutting board. “This? Not. Food?”

“No,” said Rook, sounding relieved their impromptu lesson on digestible ingredients had taken root. “No. That’s not food.”

“Start. Over?” Spite demanded, sounding torn between anger and, just detectable in the lilt of his pout, frustration.

“That’s alright. You learned a new thing anyway,” said Rook. “Tell you what, I’ll take care of dinner tonight and next time I’ll teach you something easy you can make everyone. All by yourself if you really want.”

Spite growled.

“Or we can make it a group effort. See if Manfred wants to learn a new recipe besides tea and those little sandwiches.”

“Curiosity doesn’t? Know recipe?”

“I haven’t taught them anything in the kitchen so I don’t really know. Probably not.”

“Rook teach Spite,” declared Spite suddenly. “Not Curiosity!”

“How will Curiosity, I mean Manfred, learn something new then?”

Spite nearly shouted in his excitement. “Spite! Teach! Curiosity!” Spite laughed, a hoarse dry cackle that raised the hairs on the back of Bellara’s neck.

“If you like,” said Rook gamely. “For now, if you grab me some onions from the back I can show you a couple other ways to cut up vegetables.”

The sound of the knife clattering to the table was followed by the retreat of footsteps as Spite retrieved the onions. Bellara leaned out of her hiding spot and could just barely see Rook’s profile as she cleared whatever Spite had been diligently dicing into the garbage bin.

“Rook?” Lucanis, having just emerged from the pantry, blinked sleepily as he looked from the onions in his hands to Rook, confusion bleeding into dismay.

“Spite thought you could use a break from cooking,” Rook said, taking the onions from him and returning to the kitchen. “Might have a point too, you look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Lucanis.”

The assassin set his jaw. “I’m fine.”

Rook’s grip on the onions tightened before her shoulders drooped and she sighed. “None of us are fine, Lucanis.” The sound of a knife slicing through onion started up and the crinkle of paper onion skin being discarded followed. “It’s alright to depend on us as much as we depend on you.”

“Are you giving me one of your famous pep talks?”

“Only if it’s working.”

“Hmm,” Lucanis joined Rook in the kitchen. His arms folded while he watched her knife work. “You should take your own advice some time.”

Rook looked at him from the corner of her eye. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t always have to be the one to pick up the slack. Let someone else cook, you’ve been going at full speed ever since—”

“I’m fine.”

“Ah,” said the assassin with a smile Bellara didn’t have to see to know was gracing the curve of his lips. “Of course.”

Rook’s hands stilled and she shot Lucanis an annoyed look. “Point taken, Dellamorte.” She hesitated, head dipping down, and then sighed as if very gently releasing a hidden pressure valve in her chest. “Sometimes I think if I stand in one place too long, my secret will be out.”

Lucanis tilted his head to one side, “And what secret is that?”

A hollow, self deprecating laugh shook loose in the silence. “What an utter fraud I am.”

“Nobody who has seen you do the things you have could think you’re a fraud.”

Rooks hair moved as she shook her head. “I wasn’t meant for this. Leadership? Me? I don’t know what I’m doing and any minute it feels like someone’s going to call my bluff.”

“Nobody questions your leadership,” said Lucanis, still staring at Rook’s face as if waiting for it to crack open and reveal the secrets hidden within.

“Maybe they should,” she retorted.

“Rook.”

“Lucanis,” she parroted.

“Are all Lords of Fortune as insufferable as you are?”

“No,” Rook laughed. “I’m one of a kind.”

“I was already aware of that.” Bellara felt her heart swell to burst and clamped her mouth shut on a squeal before it could escape.

Rook sucked in a breath and finally tilted her head to meet the assassin’s eyes. “Now who’s giving the pep talk?”

“I told you, did I not?” Lucanis closed the distance between them and nuzzled his face into her hair, hands on her hips. “When you doubted yourself, I would be here to remind you how magnificent you are.”

“Magnificent is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Lucanis was adamant. “Magnificent,” he murmured into her hair. “Magnificent,” he said against the warm freckled skin of her neck. With a deft touch he removed the knife from her hand and placed it with the onions. Tugging on her hands Lucanis drew her away from the kitchen and into a soft embrace. “Magnificent,” he promised.

“Sap,” Rook scoffed through a smile. “What are we going to do about dinner?”

Lucanis grinned. “Bellara volunteered.”

From her perch Bellara’s heart stuttered.

“She did?” Rook asked as Lucanis led her away towards the main door.

“She did,” confirmed Lucanis.

From her corner Bellara peered around the edge of her hiding spot and locked eyes with the crow. He winked before ushering Rook out of the building.

[later, in another part of the lighthouse] Emmrich: where the devil are my gloves Manfred: *innocent hiss*

[audible-smiles]

eating salmon: an explanation

lox: thin cuts of salmon (traditionally the fatty belly meat) dry cured with salt, but not smoked. this results in a delicate texture and a very salty taste. lox originated in Scandinavia as a method of preserving fish prior to refrigeration, but the American English word is derived from Yiddish because Jewish delis in New York first popularized it as a bagel topping. since lox is a type of uncooked fish, it is not recommended for pregnant people, immunocompromised people, or seniors, due to the risk of contamination with listeria.

cold-smoked salmon: thin cuts of salmon brined (with less salt than lox) and then smoked below 90 degrees Fahrenheit. results in the same silky texture but a milder, more palatable taste. often called "Nova lox", referring to Nova Scotia but denoting a method of preparation rather than the fish's origin. this is usually what modern Americans are referring to when they use the term "lox". cold-smoking reduces but does not eliminate the risk of listeria.

hot-smoked salmon: salmon brined quickly and then smoked above 120 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a flaky, jerky-liked texture, a hard shiny surface, and a smoky flavor. (as a West-coaster, this is my preferred style!) hot-smoking eliminates listeria during the cooking process, but salmon can be recontaminated during the processing/packaging process if the facility is not sanitary. (really, this is true of all foods- vegetables, dairy products, etc).

salmon candy: a traditional Pacific Northwest hot-smoked salmon recipe where the brine is sweetened with brown sugar, and the smoked fish is glazed with a sauce containing birch or maple syrup.

salmon jerky: cured salmon hot-smoked for longer than usual or processed in a dehydrator until it is tough and chewy.

gravlax: a traditional Scandinavian raw salmon recipe where the brine contains sugar and dill. historically buried in the ground and lightly fermented. sometimes it is still pressed to give it a dense texture.

kippered salmon: thicker cuts of brined salmon hot-smoked above 150 degrees Fahrenheit. results in a texture similar to baked salmon.

salmon sushi/sashimi: completely raw fresh salmon. this didn't exist in traditional Japanese cuisine, where salmon was always cooked, possibly because the local wild salmon had a high burden of parasitic worms (anasakis nematodes). Norwegian fish sellers convinced them to try farmed Atlantic salmon raw in the 80s, and it really took off.

poached salmon: salmon cooked on the stove while submerged in liquid (often white wine with lemon). results in a moist, soft, cooked fish with a pale color. can be bland without sauce.

baked salmon: salmon cooked in an oven, often wrapped in aluminum foil with seasonings to retain moisture and flavor. can result in perfect, flaky fish (as long as you don't overcook it).

dishwasher salmon: look, sometimes white people wrap salmon in aluminum foil like they're going to bake it and then poach it in their dishwasher instead. this can work but is stupid because the temperature dishwashers run at isn't standardized, so you have no control over the process and it's easy to over or undercook.

pan-fried salmon: salmon cooked in oil on a stovetop. I've never done this and frankly it sounds wrong, but I bet it makes the skin crunchy.

broiled salmon: salmon cooked under a broiler. as with all broiled foods, you will have to stare at it the whole time or it will burn to a crisp while your back is turned. results in a caramelized exterior.

grilled salmon: to grill salmon people often put it on a Western redcedar plank pre-soaked in water, which supposedly infuses the salmon with a smoky, aromatic flavor while it cooks. I've seen the technique variously credited to the Haida, the Salish, and the Chinook. it seems to be a modern variation of the traditional "salmon on a stick" style of slow-cooking salmon by spearing it on branches and leaning it over the coals of an above-ground pit fire.

deep-fried salmon: this sounds absolutely awful but I simply cannot stop thinking about it