#freeze dried eggs

[curatedspacefiller]

A sort of serious but silly sounding question - I've seen that people sell dehydrated and freeze dried eggs on Etsy (and likely other places) so I've been wondering: are there any farmers who raise their chickens consistently around barn cats and are selling dehydrated egg yolks?

For context, I unexpectedly ended up with a cat this summer, it was a hard summer for rescuers where I live and I planned on just fostering him - fully aware that I was allergic and knowing that my symptoms were manageable with antihistamines - but we weren't able to find him a home and alas, poor little dude is stuck with me for the remainder of his nine lives.

When it was becoming obvious that he was going to stay with me for a while I started feeding him Purina LiveClear so that I could reduce my antihistamine intake and so far it's been working wonderfully for me (my bouts of allergy symptoms are few and far between without any medicine and it's been like that for a month now) but as he is officially My Cat now, I have to also think about his health in the long run and I would really like to be able to make more informed decisions about his diet without being so restricted (I'm feeling super guilty that he is sentenced to eating dry food with suboptimal nutritional value because it makes me not choke to death, basically). Long story short, I wanna try DIY-ing and figure out something that works for both of us, especially as I would really like to get him a sibling so that he can thrive.

(Another reason is that I try to avoid giving money to Nestle if not absolutely neccessary so an alternative would be swell)

[fullcravings]

Vegan Strawberry Crunch Cookies

[prep4tomoro]

Handling & Preserving Eggs Long-Term:

As a new chicken owner (since May 2023), I recently discovered that I cannot eat all of the eggs my chickens are laying, even after those I sell or give away. Hence this post on preserving eggs long term. Even if you're not a chicken owner, sometimes it's good to buy [anything] in bulk to delay paying increased food prices. So, here goes with some ideas to preserve eggs up to a year. I will update this posting as I find new resources:

Egg Safety Tips:

Always rinse eggs before use, under fresh/clear warm running water, to remove any potential bacteria.

Don't soak eggs except to hard boil.

Wash hands, with soap and warm water, after handling any eggs.

Washed (commercial) vs Unwashed Eggs: Chickens lay eggs with a nearly invisible natural coating, called the "bloom" or sometimes the "cuticle", on the shell that is applied as the last step in the laying process. This coating is the first line of defense in keeping air and bacteria out of the egg. Since eggshells are porous, that natural barrier is removed if the eggs are washed as soon as they are collected. The bloom helps to keep bacteria from entering into the egg white through the shell. It also helps to keep the egg fresher longer by restricting the movement of air through the pores in the eggshell. Generally, eggs should not be washed until they are ready to be used/eaten. Mildly "dirty" [unwashed] eggs can be wiped with a dry paper/cloth towel. Unwashed eggs last 7 times longer than washed/rinsed eggs.

Washed eggs should be refrigerated promptly. Store-bought eggs have been cleaned and the "bloom" has been removed, so they always need refrigeration after purchasing them.

Freeze Dried: My favorite breakfast always includes eggs but, in a camping (or bug-out) situation, they can be heavy, space-consuming and create a potentially messy situation. Several commercial freeze-dried options are available but are costly. While a bit time-consuming, DIY Freeze-Dried Eggs can be a cheaper alternative.

Freezing Raw: Eggs should not be frozen in the shell, but can be out of the shell. Crack a single raw egg into each slot of an ice cube (or muffin tin) tray. Pre-scramble it or leave as is depending on your future use. Freeze in the tray, then pop out and put each egg in a zip-lock bag to keep frozen and free up the ice cube tray for another purpose. OR, just break an egg (or eggs) directly into the zip-lock bag then freeze. To use, simply leave each frozen egg sitting at room temp in a bowl to defrost. Freeze for up to 3 months or as long as 1 year. Reference Link 1 Reference Link 2

Lime Water Raw: Raw eggs, stored in glass jars filled with Lime (calcium hydroxide) Water, can last up to 2 years, stored at room temperature. This method of preserving raw eggs has been used since the 1800s and was common even into the 1940s and 50s.

The ratio is one ounce (by weight) of lime to one quart of water. Calcium hydroxide is a completely natural, organic ingredient and harmless, although the powder is very fine and may irritate your lungs if you breathe it in. The lime water will also quickly dry out skin so hand lotion may be necessary to get skin back to normal. When you're ready to use the eggs, be sure to rinse them thoroughly before you crack them or they will taste like lime. A gallon size glass container will store about 40 eggs.

Freezing Cooked: Freezing cooked eggs can be more difficult. The texture and quality of eggs can suffer if you're not careful. The best way to freeze cooked eggs is by folding them into other ingredients (recipes) that will hold up well in cold temps; the moisture from the ice formed when freezing certain egg dishes can actually help the eggs taste better when they're reheated. Reference Link

Hard Boiled: Hard-boiled eggs, placed in vinegar/brine, can be preserved up to 3 months, if closed in an airtight "canning" jar, preferably made of glass or ceramic, not in metal. Refrigerated hard boiled eggs, still in the shell, will last about 1 week; unpeeled, about 3 days. Peeled or unpeeled, they will last only two hours at room temperature. [Reference 1] [Reference 2] Fresh/Raw: Straight from the chicken or other bird (not the store), fresh eggs, unwashed and in the shell, can be preserved much longer than any other preservation method. Fresh, unwashed eggs will have a room temperature shelf-life of about 2 to 4 weeks while refrigerated eggs will last 3 to 6 months. Eggs that are preserved with a mineral oil coating can last from 6 months to 1 year. Eggs preserved with the water glassing method (pickling lime water) can last 1 to 2 years. [Reference 4] [Reference 5] [Reference 6]

Related Links: Egg Float Test to Determine Freshness for Consumption Preserve Fresh Eggs Without Refrigeration Ways to Preserve Eggs (Safely) Methods to Preserve Washed and Unwashed Eggs Long Term Cook a Raw Egg in its Shell in Campfire Ashes About Eggs and Quiet Chickens Benefits and Tips for Raising Chickens: My Adventure Does Egg Shell Color Affect Taste or Nutritional Value?

Author's Reference Link

[11-Cs Basic Emergency Kit] [14-Point Emergency Preps Checklist] [Immediate Steps to Take When Disaster Strikes] [Learn to be More Self-Sufficient] [The Ultimate Preparation] [P4T Main Index]

NOTICE: Contents of this blog have been gathered from sources believed to be reliable but should not be considered authoritative. You are solely responsible for your own actions on how you use this information. Do your own research on topic(s) included.

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[nocturnal-halcyon]

Sometimes I wonder why I don't interact much with pet communities anymore. and then I remember incidents like. the time I said "hey maybe lets not shame people who can only afford to feed their cat kibble or cheap wet food brands, a cat in a home is better than a cat being a stray or stuck in a shelter" and someone basically responded with "have fun paying for dialysis when your cat dies of kidney failure"

very normal, very not unhinged things to say to someone about their pet

[outdoorovernights]

Mountain House Scrambled Eggs with Bacon Review

Have you ever found yourself in the great outdoors, hungering for a hearty breakfast, wishing you could enjoy something more than just your typical cereal or granola bar? There’s a certain charm in being surrounded by nature, where time seems to slow down and the beauty of your surroundings takes precedence over the modern hustle. Imagine, then, having a nourishing and delightful breakfast…

[foodfarrago]

blueberry almond meringues

[fieriframes]

[AND WHOSE RECIPE? THIS IS, UH, THIS IS ACTUALLY MY GRANDMOTHER'S RECIPE ALSO. GOT IT. HALF-AND-HALF IS NEXT, EGGS, POTATO PEARLS. POTATO PEARLS IS A FANCY WORD FOR FREEZE-DRIED POTATOES.]

[rhiannonsknife]

😭 Thank you so so so so so much for writing my request!! There's absolutely no rush with this I just wanted to ask another one, Because I'm kind of obsessed with your work-

Perhaps Jackie Taylor X Reader where they have been married for a long time. Like 10 plus years. She wakes up ready to go to work but their reading is standing in the kitchen, And it reminds Jackie of when they were so young and in love. It just makes her fall in love with the reader all over again and she decides she just has to take the reader and eat her out on the counter!

-🦜

── RUNNING HOME TO YOUR SWEET NOTHINGS

��� summary: slow mornings with jackie.

— warnings: established relationship/marriage. fem!reader. domestic fluff & nsfw content. mdni.

jackie stretches as she wakes, letting consciousness settle over her slowly. the sheets are warm, cocooning her in their familiar weight, too tempting to leave just yet. from the other room, the quiet sounds of morning drift in; the rustle of pages turning, the soft clink of a spoon against ceramic.

jackie’s muscles, untrained but prominent from years of soccer in highschool and college, uncoil as she turns her head toward your side of the bed. it’s empty but still holds the warmth of you, the shape of your body faintly imprinted on the freshly washed sheets. not gone long, then. she smiles to herself, fingertips tracing the dip where you had been.

a soft weight presses against her shin, pulling her from the last remnants of sleep. glancing down, jackie finds your cat curled at the foot of the bed, paws tucked neatly under its chin. she reaches out, running her fingers over its soft fur, scratching lightly between its ears. the cat barely stirs, only flicking its tail once before sinking deeper into sleep. even after all these years, it still favors you.

with another stretch, she swings her legs over the side of the bed, the morning air cool against her skin. reaching for the worn sweater draped over the chair, jackie tugs it on quickly. yours, technically, but she’s long since claimed it as her own in the mornings. the fabric is too large on her, with sleeves hanging way past her hands, but it smells like you and the lavender laundry detergent you always buy and feels more comforting than any of her own clothes.

once she pulls it over her head and untangles her limbs from the sheets, she moves from the bedroom. jackie already knows exactly where she’ll find you.

as she walks through the hallway, she passes all the little signs of your life together: the framed photo from your honeymoon hangs slightly crooked on the wall, something you always insist you’ll fix but never do. tucked into the frame is a worn polaroid from your first apartment, covering a small crack in the glass. in it, jackie is holding up a wine glass, while you’re caught mid-laugh, leaning into her the same way you always have, even in the wedding photos that follow further down the hall.

the entryway table holds a vase of dried flowers, a bouquet she had given you months ago, now preserved because you couldn’t throw them out. nearby, a small stack of mail she keeps meaning to sort through, books piled beside it, some hers, some yours, overlapping in the same way your lives always have. it’s a cozy kind of mess, one that makes her smile even in passing.

and then there’s you, the centerpiece of jackie’s existence now, standing in the kitchen, bathed in the light that spills through the curtains.

you’re still in your nightgown, its hem skimming the curve of your thighs, and your hair is a little mussed from sleep. one hand cradles a mug, while the other flips absently through a book on the counter, your lips quirking every so often at whatever you’re reading while you wait for the eggs to cook.

jackie freezes in the doorway to watch you for a bit.

it’s been over a decade. over ten years of this, of waking up and falling asleep to you, learning every single one of your habits, and still, she finds herself caught off guard by how much she loves you and how much she still wants you, in all the ways that matter.

she remembers mornings like this from the beginning, back when you were both in high school, and time alone was a rare thing. the only moments you had to yourselves then were tucked into the short window between her parents leaving for work and shauna pulling up to drive you both to school.

everything felt like new territory back then. your presence in her house had meant rushed breakfasts at the kitchen counter, stolen kisses between sips of coffee in the too-large home of the taylors, always cut short by the sound of an approaching car and the reality that you couldn’t stay.

now, here you are, still stealing her breath away.

you glance up as if sensing your wife, and your face softens into a smile. jackie swallows, her heart doing something embarrassingly teenage in her chest.

“you’re staring,” you tease, taking a sip of your tea. jackie hums, pushing off the doorframe and crossing the room. “can’t help it,”

you laugh. before you can say anything else, she’s there, warm hands finding your waist, pulling you into her. sighing into the touch, you instinctively set your mug down on the counter as she buries her face against your neck and breathes you in.

“mhm, good morning to you too mrs (y/l/n),” you murmur.

god, jackie never tires of hearing that: your name, now hers.

it had never even been a question. the moment it came up in a long conversation spent curled up bare under the sheets of the cottage where she’d proposed, jackie knew. you had tilted your head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against her shoulder, and asked, ‘so, what do we do about names?’ she had just shrugged, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world. ‘i’ll take yours’

and that was that. no hesitation or second thoughts, just certainty, like so many things when it came to you.

“you still like the sound of that, huh?” you tilt your head enough for her to kiss you properly.

“best decision i ever made,” jackie whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. she can feel your smile against her lips in response.

“aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for work?”

she lets her hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt. “i changed my mind…”

“oh?”

“yeah. i think i’d rather stay here,”

you hum, and your fingers move into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging just enough to make jackie sigh against your mouth.

she always knows where you need her before you do yourself, and her hands slide further up beneath the silky fabric, over warm skin, cupping all of your breasts in her palms. her teeth graze your bottom lip just enough to make you whine into her. she swallows the sound greedily, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, her fingers tightening like she wants to pull you even closer. like close will never be close enough.

just as smoothly as she works your lips apart to slip her tongue in, she hooks her hands under your thighs and lifts you onto the counter. with a startled laugh, you let her move you. jackie grins when she steps between your legs, roaming the expanse of your bare thighs.

“easy,” you tease.

jackie’s palms caress up your parted thighs, the heat of her touch leaving a trail in its wake until settling firm at your hips. she holds you there and you exhale against her, fingers slipping back into her hair, curling it in your fists.

your legs tighten around her waist, pulling her in closer until jackie swears under her breath, clearly feeling the warmth that radiates from your center. she breaks the kiss just long enough to press her forehead against yours, breathing heavy, lips agape.

“you,” she accuses with her index poking your sides. “are trying to kill me here!”

“i’m not doing anything!” you protest.

jackie scoffs, quick to steal another kiss. then another. and another, like she has all the time in the world. right when you’re sure she’s going to lose herself entirely, the kitchen timer beeps.

the eggs.

for half a second, jackie looks almost offended at the rude interruption, but then your head drops against her shoulder and your body shakes with laughter. she groans, but your laughter is contagious, and soon enough, she’s laughing too.

jackie doesn’t let go of you, blindly reaching behind herself to fumble for the stove dial until she manages to turn it off.

“you’re just going to leave them sitting there?”

she nods, lips trailing down your jaw again so her voice comes out muffled. “they’ll survive”

you wrap your arms around her shoulders whilst she kisses her way back to your mouth.

jackie’s fingers fumble with the tie of your nightgown, working it open without needing to break the kiss. years spent learning where to tug and pull to free you from your clothes are to blame, the different motions muscle memory by now.

no matter how familiar jackie is with your body, she will never not take her time savoring the sight of you: you’re not wearing anything underneath, save for a thin pair of panties, so with the way she’s pushed the gown open your chest is on full display.

“so pretty,” she purrs, already closing the distance again. her hands cup your breasts, rolling your nipples gently at the same time as she’s kissing you. jackie’s mouth wanders to the side of your throat, then further down.

there’s no longer need for claim, for desperate encounters that aim to prove something. jackie will occasionally enjoy ravishing you (sinking her teeth in your flesh until the skin between them bruises all while she’s really fucking you), but it has become this for the most part: gentle lovemaking whenever you have the chance, still unable to keep your hands off of each other.

her lips briefly graze over the valley between your breasts, then slide below your belly button as she lowers her weight to the ground in front of you. with a smile, you cup one side of her face, taking your own share of time to admire your wife.

jackie doesn’t let you have a lot of it, though: before you know it, her mouth is on the fabric of your underwear and your head falls back against the wall as she feels you up with her tongue and lips, pressing in the places she’s memorized by heart.

“is that okay?” she breathes against you, still fully clothed, but aching with want.

“mhm,” you tighten your grip and jackie, who sighs happily in response and reaches out to peel your panties off. she’s careful with it, making sure you won’t slide off the counter while she lifts one leg after the other, just to pocket the underwear once that is done.

an invitation would not be necessary, and still, you spread your legs wider, not out of urgency but trust, shame and self consciousness long outgrown.

she has seen you in every state, knows every scar, every curve, every place where time has left its mark and, still, jackie looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. her hands brush over skin she’s traced a thousand times before, never with any less reverence.

you look down just in time to find jackie pressing a first kiss to your mound, her ragged breath ghosting over your soaked sex that pulses impatiently lower.

with the index and middle finger of her right hand parted, she runs them through you, spreading your labia open in awe. a breathless sound tears from your throat, aware of how easily her digits slide through your wetness.

“come on,” you urge, lifting a leg over her shoulder. easier access.

jackie complies; her lips are parted when she presses them against you, applying just the right amount of pressure. the moan you let out at the first contact is loud and ragged, echoing through the kitchen.

“right there,” you cry.

right there, not because jackie needs guidance but because you know she loves it when you’re open. loud. when you let her know that she’s making you feel good, whether it is by letting your moans slip or by praising her verbally.

the vibrations of the noise she makes in response go straight to your core, more arousal dripping for her mouth to drink up hungrily. it is coating her, slick and wet as she traces over your clit and swirls in clockwise circles.

for a while, jackie eats you out like this, getting lost in your taste just like you are in the sensations of her tongue flicking from side to side, licking broad strokes through you, then fucking into you deep.

her hair, a little longer now but still the same golden brown she’s been maintaining, clings to the thin film of sweat on her forehead in delicate strands, proof that she’s just as affected by what she’s doing to you, whilst her neatly manicured nails dig into your flesh. soft pastel pink almond shapes drag lines of red down the side of your thighs, goosebumps and shivers rising from the touch.

“you taste so good” she says softly once, then leans right back in to continuously flick your clit.

you can tell she’s toying with you, avoiding your most sensitive spots with purpose, only ever ghosting it briefly until you’re grinding yourself against her face in frustration you cannot contain. she knows exactly what you would need to get close to the edge, pretends to give it to you, then withdraws once pleasure starts building up.

“jackie,” you whine.

between your legs, she holds your gaze, reaches out and runs a hand through your folds. when she tilts her head, asking for permission silently, you immediately nod and jackie pushes forward, two fingers sinking into the heat of your cunt.

this draws the loudest moan from you yet, though you wouldn’t dare to try and stifle it.

that’s a habit you’ve long since left behind, discarded like the passed down furniture and mismatched dishes from your first apartment. then, everything had been hushed, kisses stolen behind locked doors, moans muffled into pillows. the walls were thin, the neighbors close, and the fear of being overheard turned every moment into a careful mix of restraint and want.

in the home you live in now, there are no walls to mind, no need to press a fist to your mouth to quiet yourself. here, you are free to gasp when jackie’s lips press against your clit, free to let her love you without reservation.

jackie has taken her mouth off of you to watch the way your face contorts in pleasure as she rubs the tips of her fingers against your g-spot, allowing you to see the arousal smeared across the lower half of her face, glistening beautifully in the light.

she’s moaning too, quieter and less desperate of course, but moaning all the same when she feels the way you flutter around her as though she could actually get off from this. your pleasure had always been jackie’s, too.

“good?” she rasps.

“mhm,” you lift your head from the wall behind you, watching in awe as jackie puts her tongue back to where you want it. you don’t even know what it is about jackie’s mouth but she could probably make you cum from nothing but gentle kisses if she tried, always knowing exactly where to move to coax the most pleasure from your body.

her hair curls up between your fingers when she starts sucking on your clit gently, drawing a contented hum from her mouth.

the words jackie is saying morph into muffled babbles against your cunt, her voice white noise to the pleasure that sets your nerve endings alight as she sucks, her eyes rolling back in their sockets at the taste of you.

“jackie” you gasp, your hips pushing further into her face. an unreleased tension starts building in your abdomen, making your whole body tremble wildly.

“are you close love?” jackie asks, her fingers thrusting into you at a faster pace. “it’s okay,” she sits back on her heels to look at you, her hand making up for the momentary loss of her mouth. “i got you. just let go”

your free hand reaches for hers, fingers lacing together so that she can give you one long squeeze. jackie’s mouth starts sucking your clit harsher, pushing into you deeper, making your walls clench around her fingers. the sensation is so much. it’s not nearly enough. it’s perfect, sending you over the edge in mere seconds.

with a strangled cry of jackie’s name, you cum against the feeling of her mouth on your clit and her fingers buried deep inside you. her voice feels distant as pleasure rushes through your veins.

“that’s it” jackie praises, holding you through your orgasm. “oh my god, that’s it. fuck, you’re so beautiful” she talks you through the entire height, her voice cracking whilst she watches you fall apart and come undone. she continues her licking and sucking too, until you comfortably move her head away, spent and on the verge of overstimulation.

with a wet pop, she releases your throbbing clit and presses a last kiss to your knee before rising to her feet. you’re still perched on the counter, catching your breath, warmth buzzing under your skin.

jackie reaches for the edges of your nightgown next, making quick work of pulling the fabric back together, tying it loosely at your waist. you watch her fuss over it with amusement, as if she hadn’t just spent the last several minutes undoing it in the first place. “very modest of you”

“someone’s gotta keep you decent,” she quips, a teasing smile on her lips as she slots herself back between your legs, hands settling at your waist. the kiss that follows is slow and sweet, her mouth still carrying the taste of you. jackie lingers until the soft scent of something cooking reminds you of the world beyond her touch.

your gaze flickers past her to the stove, where the eggs still sit, long forgotten. “so...you still want breakfast?”

jackie glances over her shoulder at the abandoned pan, then back at you, considering. “i mean, we did work up an appetite, huh?”

you roll your eyes, swatting at her arm playfully before slipping down from the counter. she doesn’t let you go far, her hands finding your waist again as she stands behind you, holding you close while you move around the kitchen.

[graylinesspam]

Things the cafeteria workers on the Resolute have done to accommodate Ahsoka's dietary needs.

learned how to make powdered eggs into hard boiled eggs

add protein paste to bread treats like sweet rolls or pancakes

absolutely mastered making eggdrop soup from powdered egg (they're very proud of this one)

Turned one of the coolers into a makeshift freeze dryer for the fresh kills Ahsoka manages to drag back to the Resolute (occasionally)

In the same vein as the last one, how to butcher various animals.

Requested dietary supplements from the jedi temple that they crush up and sprinkle into her food like seasoning.

Have an ongoing trade with the Corries where they bring back various contraband from the midrim and in exchange get a couple crates of dried meat sticks.

Tuck away a crate of her favorite ration bars every resupply.

Request for high protein dried plants and grains that store well.

Keep powdered milk.

Things Rex has done to satisfy her hunting instincts.

Started offering her meat sticks as a reward for successful spars.

Assigned specific troopers as targets for her to hunt across the ship. They have treats in their pockets.

Lets Ahsoka run the shinys through their drills.

Making time for her to actually hunt on deployments.

Willingly tasting her kills...even the more questionable looking ones.

Organizes what is essentially flag tag across the ships where troopers have to go about their jobs while also trying to avoid getting their "flags" snatched. If Ahsoka reaches a certain quota of flags without loosing hers she gets to pick the movie for movie night.

[cup1drul3z]

★ — All That's Left Between Us

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 3 : ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ

ꜰᴀʀᴍʜᴀɴᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | 6.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Southern sevika, childhood bestfriends, Ex's to lovers, homophobia mentioned, internal hatred, cowboy sevika, farm owners daughter reader, size difference, breeding kink

A/N : hes gone

Summary : Late at night on the farm, tension lingers between you and Sevika after an almost-kiss neither of you can stop thinking about. A wounded animal and a quiet storm bring the two of you closer, forcing old feelings to surface in the silence and space you share. But by morning, heartbreak hits from a different direction—leaving Sevika watching you fall apart, wishing she could be the one to catch you.

The house is dark and still, the kind of silence that only settles after everyone’s gone to bed and the world has stopped pretending it’s okay.

You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, tangled in sheets and thoughts that won’t settle. Every time you close your eyes, you see that guy’s face. The way Sevika hit him. The sound of her breathing after. The way her eyes locked on yours like it meant something.

And then—creak.

The front door opens.

You freeze.

But only for a second.

Because of course it’s her.

You sigh, roll out of bed, and pad quietly to the bathroom. You grab the Neosporin and a clean rag from under the sink, your hands already moving before your thoughts can catch up. You don’t even need to think about it. You just go.

When you step onto the porch, the air is thick and cool, the stars peeking through clouds that still linger from the storm the other day.

Sevika’s sitting on the porch steps, elbow on her knee, cigarette glowing between her fingers. She glances at you, just once, but doesn’t speak.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” you say softly, settling into the chair beside her.

“I started after you left,” she says, voice deep and quiet. She exhales, the smoke curling into the night.

Your heart pulls at that.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, setting the supplies down beside you.

“Give me your hand.”

She doesn’t move at first.

But then she grunts and shifts, holding it out—rough, bruised, still smeared faintly with dried blood.

It’s massive compared to yours.

You wet the rag and dab the Neosporin on gently. Her skin twitches under your touch. She winces once, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Baby,” you tease quietly, trying to soften the moment.

She huffs.

You keep working in silence.

Then you speak, without looking up.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I had it under control.”

Sevika bites the inside of her cheek. “No guy should touch a girl like that. Especially you.”

Your hand pauses.

You look up.

She’s already looking at you.

And just like that, the world narrows.

There’s only the porch. The soft creak of wood. The heat between your knees. The way her eyes are darker in the moonlight. And the unspoken thing you’ve been carrying since you got back.

You lean in.

So does she.

Closer.

Closer.

Your lips are just about to touch—when you stop.

“I—I shouldn’t…” you whisper, breath shaking.

You both freeze. Inches apart.

Then you pull back.

She turns her head, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“It’s just—Jared, you know?” you sputter, trying to fill the silence.

“Right,” Sevika says quickly, nodding. “Jared.”

You both look anywhere but at each other.

The air between you is still thick, charged, but neither of you moves to cross it again.

You stand awkwardly, wiping your hands on your thighs.

“Um—I'm exhausted. I’m gonna go to bed.” You nod to her hand. “Please bandage those.”

She nods, eyes still on her knuckles. “Yeah.”

You don’t look back as you walk inside.

And neither of you says what you're really thinking.

But both of you are flushed red, hearts beating way too loud for how quiet the night is.

The morning is already warm, sun high and golden as you duck into the chicken pen, basket in hand.

The hens cluck and scatter lazily, the smell of straw and feed thick in the air. You move slowly between them, scooping warm eggs into the basket, brushing feathers off your boots. The heat makes the lace of your camisole cling to your skin under your dark denim overall shorts, and the little red heart on your mother’s necklace rests just above your collarbone, catching the light each time you lean forward.

A soft breeze lifts the ribbon in your hair.

You hum under your breath, not thinking—just doing.

At least until you hear boots behind you.

Heavy.

Familiar.

You don’t look.

Not yet.

But your back straightens as the gate creaks and shuts again behind whoever just entered.

“Didn’t peg you for the farmhand type,” Sevika says, voice rough from sleep or smoke—you can’t tell.

You glance over your shoulder.

She’s in a faded black tank and old jeans slung low on her hips, hair pulled into a loose bun. There’s a cigarette tucked behind one ear. Her eyes—those sharp, dark eyes—flick over your outfit before she can stop herself.

“I grew up here, didn’t I?” you say, forcing a smile as you gently slide another egg into the basket.

“You left here,” she says, but there’s no bite in it.

Just that same rough edge she’s always had when she doesn’t know what to say.

You shrug. “Doesn’t mean I forgot how to get eggs.”

She leans against the side of the coop, arms crossed. “That necklace new?”

You glance down at the little red heart. Your fingers brush over it.

“It was my mom’s,” you say. “She gave it to me before—before everything.”

Sevika nods once. The silence stretches again.

Neither of you says what you really want to say.

About the porch.

About the almost.

She shifts, rubbing the back of her neck. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

“You?”

“Sure.”

Another beat.

You both know it’s bullshit.

You both remember how close you got. How your breath hitched. How you almost kissed her like no time had passed at all.

Her eyes flick to your lips for half a second.

Yours do the same.

And for a moment—it’s there again.

That unbearable, electric pull.

The air thickens. The hens seem to scatter. The sun presses hotter against your back.

She takes a slow step forward.

So do you.

And then you catch yourself—both of you do—like you remembered at the same exact time how bad of an idea it is.

You inhale sharply and take a step back, tucking the basket into your hip. “I should get these in before Betty starts wondering if I ran off with the rooster.”

Sevika clears her throat. “Yeah. Sure. Don’t drop any.”

You nod once, heart pounding.

She doesn’t move.

You don’t look back.

Not even when your boot scuffs on the edge of the step and you stumble a little.

Because if you do—you know.

You know you won’t leave that chicken coop without doing something you’ll regret.

You’re almost to the back steps of the farmhouse when something low and fast darts in front of your boots.

You stumble, clutching the egg basket to your chest, and let out a breathless laugh.

“Hey there,” you murmur.

One of the cattle dogs—scruffy, sun-drenched, and way too happy to see you—sits squarely in your path, tail thumping wildly against the dirt. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth as he drops something at your feet.

A sun-bleached chew toy. Half a rope. Probably older than you.

You blink.

“Oh my god, you still have this?”

You crouch down slowly, setting the basket of eggs safely in the grass beside you, and reach for the toy. The dog’s whole body wiggles with excitement.

“Alright, alright, one throw.”

You toss it across the yard.

He takes off like a shot, kicking up dry grass and dirt behind him. He comes back seconds later, triumphant, and drops it at your feet again with a happy bark.

You laugh.

“Okay, maybe two.”

You throw it again. Then again.

The third time, he drops it and looks at you with such bright, eager eyes it makes your chest ache a little. You don’t remember the last time you smiled like this—just for yourself.

But then—

He stops.

Ears perked.

His whole body stiffens as his head jerks toward the west pasture.

You pause, following his gaze.

You don’t hear anything.

Just birds. Wind. The faint creak of the barn door swinging.

But the dog lets out a sharp bark and bolts, tearing across the yard toward the lamb pen. You hear more barking as he reaches the fence, kicking up dust as he circles, nose to the ground, then up again, hackles raised.

“Hey!” you call, standing up quickly and grabbing the basket. “What is it?”

The dog’s still barking—loud, sharp, alert. His paws scrape the fence, body pressed close to the slats as he growls low in his throat, tail stiff behind him.

The sheep inside the pen shift nervously, bleating and clumping together at the opposite end.

You feel your heartbeat pick up.

The sun’s still shining. The sky’s still clear.

But something feels off.

Like maybe the dog heard something you weren’t supposed to.

You hesitate for only a second.

Then you're moving, basket in hand, boots crunching over the gravel path as you head toward the lamb pen. The eggs rattle gently against each other with every step, and you tighten your grip, holding them close against your side.

The dog’s barking gets sharper the closer you get.

The sheep are restless, crowded in one corner of the pen, some pacing, some bleating nervously. Their hooves kick up little clouds of dust as they shift in place, ears twitching.

The dog paces along the fence, body tense, barking toward the far tree line—nothing but golden grass and sun-bleached brush beyond it. You squint, shielding your eyes with your free hand.

Nothing.

But the hairs on your arms rise anyway.

“Hey,” you call softly to the dog, your voice low. “What is it, huh? You see somethin’?”

He stops barking, panting now, eyes still locked on the tree line. A low growl rumbles in his throat.

You glance at the brush again.

Still nothing.

But something in your gut twists.

Maybe it’s just a coyote. Or a fox. Something small. Something normal.

But the silence out here isn’t the usual kind. It’s still in a way that feels wrong.

You take a slow step toward the fence, clutching the basket tighter.

Your voice is a whisper now. “Okay. Let’s not get crazy.”

You scan the treeline one last time, then turn your eyes back to the dog.

His ears are still up. His body still rigid.

And suddenly, you wish you hadn’t come alone.

The closer you get to the pen, the more you notice it—one of the lambs isn’t moving like the others.

The little body is curled near the fence, shivering slightly. Its side is smeared with something dark. You blink hard, heart kicking up a beat as you carefully set the egg basket down near the fence and step closer.

The dog whines low, circling protectively but not getting too close.

“Shit,” you whisper, crouching down.

The lamb bleats weakly. Its back leg is slick with blood, matted and muddy, fur torn near the joint. The wound isn’t massive, but it’s raw and fresh—like something got in through the fence line and tried to drag it out before being scared off.

You stand quickly, eyes wide. “Sevika!”

Your voice cracks across the field.

She’s there in seconds.

Jogging up from behind the barn, boots thudding heavy, hat forgotten, tank damp with sweat from whatever chore she was mid-way through. She slows when she sees your face—then her eyes drop to the lamb.

“Shit,” she mutters, crouching down beside it.

You step back, heart still hammering.

“Go get Harold,” she says, already inspecting the wound with practiced hands. “Now.”

You nod. “Okay.”

You grab the basket, cradling it awkwardly in your arm as you half-jog back toward the house, trying not to spill a single egg as the sun pounds against your shoulders and your boots slam against the dry grass.

You push open the back door, rush into the kitchen, and set the basket on the island—eggs rattling in their straw bed as you call out—

“Dad!”

Nothing.

You move fast through the kitchen and out the front, catching sight of him and Betty near the drive, crouched beside a patch of disturbed earth. He’s squinting at something.

Small. Light. A trail.

“Dad!”

They both look up.

“There’s a lamb down by the pen,” you say, breathless. “It’s hurt. Sevika’s with it. She said to get you.”

Your dad’s already on his feet, nodding. “Ill go see whats going on,” he tells her, then takes off in the direction you came from without another word.

You turn to follow him—your legs moving before you can think better of it.

But not before you hear Betty mutter behind you, frowning at the dirt, “Reckon that might’ve been a fox…”

By the time you make it back to the pen, your chest is tight and your legs ache, but you slow your pace when you see them already there—both of them.

Your dad’s crouched beside the fence, talking low and steady, unwrapping something from his canvas first-aid pouch. Sevika’s right next to him, one knee in the dirt, her massive frame hunched over the small, trembling lamb.

You stop just a few feet away, fiddling your thumbs

And you watch.

Sevika’s movements are slow, precise, like she’s trying not to scare it further. One hand rests firm against the lamb’s side while the other dabs gently at the blood-soaked fur near its leg, guiding your dad’s hand when needed.

She murmurs something under her breath you can’t quite hear, her fingers trailing lightly between the lamb’s ears, and the sound that leaves its throat is soft, almost comforted.

You’ve never seen her like this.

Not in high school. Not last night. Not ever.

There’s no wall in her shoulders. No cocky smirk on her face. Just focus. Care. A kind of gentleness that doesn’t seem like it should fit a woman built like her—but does, somehow, perfectly.

“She’s stabilizing,” Harold mutters, voice low and relieved. “Gonna need stitches, but we’ll get her through it.”

Sevika nods, still petting the lamb. Her hands are stained with blood now, knuckles scraped from yesterday, sleeves pushed up, and sweat sticking loose strands of hair to her temples—but she looks calm.

Still.

She hasn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe she has and just hasn’t looked.

You stand there a few seconds longer, not wanting to break whatever fragile peace exists in this moment.

Then your dad glances over his shoulder and spots you. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything good?”

You nod slowly, voice caught somewhere behind your ribs. “Yeah. im fine- is he-”

Harold smiles faintly, distracted. “Hes gonna be okay”

You hesitate, eyes drifting back to Sevika—who finally looks up.

Your eyes meet.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk.

But something softens in her face.

And it’s enough to make your heart ache.

You give a small nod and step away.

The moment might be over.

But it’s not gone.

And you’re not sure you want it to be.

The sun’s lower now. Late afternoon light filters gold through the barn slats, catching dust in the air like glitter. It’s quieter than usual—most of the animals fed, chores done, your dad taking a well-earned break in the shade out back.

You find Sevika alone.

She’s in the tack room, oiling one of the saddles, a faded rag in one hand and a jar of something that smells like leather and lemon in the other. She doesn’t look up when you step inside, but her body stiffens just enough to let you know she hears you.

You hover by the door for a second, unsure. Then:

“Hey.”

Sevika grunts in acknowledgment. “Hey.”

You glance around. The place is exactly how you remember—organized in her weirdly meticulous way. Bridles hung by size. Saddle blankets folded into perfect squares. Her jacket from this morning slung over a hook, still damp with sweat.

You cross your arms loosely. “Dad says the lamb’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” she mutters, still wiping slow circles across the saddle leather. “I know.”

You nod. “I saw you. With her.”

At that, she does look up. Just a little. Just enough to glance at you through her lashes.

“You were good,” you say, voice soft. “Real good.”

She shrugs. “It’s just a lamb.”

“It’s not,” you say, almost before you mean to. “You don’t get it. You—”

You stop. Bite your lip. Shift your weight.

Sevika sets the saddle down gently and wipes her hands on the rag before tossing it aside. “Why are you here?”

The question hits you square.

Not why are you in this room. Not why are you talking to me. But why are you here.

Back on this farm.

Back in her orbit.

You swallow. “I don’t know.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, you do.”

You look down at the dirt-covered floor, at your boots, at your hands. “I just… I wanted to see home again. The real kind. Not palm trees and concrete. I thought maybe—”

“You thought what?” she cuts in, voice low but sharp. “That we’d play nice and forget the part where you left?”

Your chest tightens.

“I didn’t forget,” you whisper.

Sevika stands, towering over you now. Her brows knit together. “Then why does it feel like you did?”

The air between you crackles—thick with things you haven’t said and things she hasn’t let herself feel.

You don’t say anything.

She stares for a second longer before shaking her head like she’s mad at herself. She moves to step past you.

You catch her wrist.

It’s a stupid impulse. But it’s the first time you’ve touched her since—

She stops cold.

Your fingers wrap gently around her forearm, just above a dried scrape on her knuckles. You glance up.

“I didn’t forget,” you repeat. “I couldn’t.”

Sevika’s jaw clenches.

But she doesn’t pull away.

And she doesn’t say a word.

Sevika doesn’t move.

Doesn’t pull away.

And for a moment, there’s just silence—the kind that hums warm in your chest instead of cold.

Your hand stays on her arm, thumb brushing instinctively over the worn muscle there. Her skin is warm, a little tacky from the long day, but real. Steady.

You look up at her.

And she’s already looking at you.

Her expression isn’t angry anymore. Not exactly. It’s something else now. Something fragile.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” she mutters, almost too quietly to hear.

“Like what?”

“Like I didn’t break your heart.”

You swallow thickly. “Maybe you did. Maybe I broke yours too.”

Her jaw twitches.

But her hand shifts, just slightly—until her fingers ghost over your wrist, her touch featherlight, like she’s scared you’ll vanish if she presses too hard.

“You still wear that necklace,” she says, voice low and strange.

You blink. Then your fingers rise, brushing over the little red heart resting just below your collarbone.

“My mom’s,” you say softly.

“I know.” Her voice catches. “You wore it the first time you kissed me.”

You laugh—small and breathless. “You had straw in your hair.”

“You told me I smelled like a barn.”

“You did smell like a barn.”

A pause. Your smiles fade, not from discomfort, but because it’s sinking in—how long it’s been. How much was left behind.

Sevika takes a slow breath. “I don’t know what this is anymore.”

You nod. “Me either.”

And even though you’re not touching anymore, it feels like you are.

Like her heartbeat is echoing against yours.

Like if either of you moved a single inch closer, it would all come rushing back.

But instead of kissing you, instead of saying something cruel or clever, Sevika does the most unexpected thing of all—

She reaches up, tucks a strand of hair gently behind your ear, and says, “You should come by the barn later. I’ll show you how to wrap a wound.” eyes flicking down to a cut on your thigh you didnt even know you got 

Your breath catches.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I will.”

Then she steps back. Walks out. Leaving you in the tack room with your heart pounding and your mother’s necklace warm against your skin.

The sun’s dipped low by the time you make your way back out to the barn.

The heat’s softened into something easier, the sky painted with that dusky gold that always makes you ache a little. You pause outside the wide open doors, heart thudding harder than it should, and you’re not even sure why.

It’s just Sevika. Just the barn. Just a lesson.

But your hand still trembles a little as you push the door open and step inside.

She’s already there.

Leaning against one of the support beams, sleeves rolled up, an old first aid kit opened on a workbench nearby. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes flick to you the second you walk in.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” she says.

You shrug. “I said I would.”

She nods. Pushes off the beam and gestures toward the table.

“Come here,” she says. “Gonna show you with gauze and wrap first, then I’ll let you try.”

You step up beside her, keeping your distance. Kind of. Not really. It’s already closer than it should be. The bench is narrow, the air too thick.

She pulls out a roll of gauze and a bottle of antiseptic, setting them down with steady hands. “This is what we use for cuts and scrapes—not deep wounds, just surface stuff.”

Her voice is calm. Controlled.

But you feel the heat of her arm next to yours. The brush of her sleeve against your skin when she leans forward.

Your breath catches.

“So first you clean it—like this.” She demonstrates on a rolled-up towel. “Then you pat it dry.”

You nod, lips parted just slightly. Trying to focus.

But all you can think about is how good her hands look. How she smells faintly of hay and sweat and the lemon-saddle-oil from earlier. How this all feels a little too much like being taught how to kiss again—slow, step by step, her voice low and patient.

“Your turn,” she says.

You take the cloth from her, fingers brushing.

Her eyes don’t leave yours.

You try not to shake as you repeat her movements, clumsier than you mean to be.

“Gentler,” she murmurs.

You adjust. She watches.

“That’s better.”

Your throat’s dry. “You’re a good teacher.”

She smirks. “I’ve had practice.”

You don’t ask who with.

But your chest still aches.

You finish the wrap and step back. “Like that?”

She nods. “Close enough.”

The air stretches between you—taut. Shimmering. Fragile.

“I think I get it,” you whisper.

She looks at you for a second too long. Her jaw flexes, her brows twitch like she’s fighting a thought. Then she clears her throat and steps back.

“You should head in,” she says, voice a little rough. “Storm might roll in again.”

You nod. But neither of you move.

Until finally—she turns.

Leaves you there in the barn with your hands still warm from her touch.

And that night?

You lie in bed with the window cracked open, the soft creak of the barn door drifting in from across the field.

Sevika’s in the guest room just down the hall.

And your hand slides under the waistband of your shorts like it always used to when you were seventeen and full of longing.

But it’s different now.

Because this time, she’s here.

And when you come, your hand muffling the sound against your own mouth, you whisper her name into the dark like it’s a sin.

And Sevika?

She’s wide awake in the next room, eyes open in the dark, fists clenched, trying not to imagine what that sound was.

Trying harder not to imagine what it would feel like to make you say her name out loud.

She can’t sleep.

Hasn’t even tried.

Just lying there on her back, one arm slung over her forehead, the ceiling fan above turning slow and useless in the humid air.

The sheets are kicked halfway off her legs. Her tank top is sticking to her chest. Her jaw’s locked so tight it aches.

And then—

That sound.

It’s faint. Barely audible above the crickets and creaking wood of the old house. But it cuts through her like a hot knife.

A breathy gasp. A soft whimper. Then silence.

Sevika’s eyes fly open.

At first, she tells herself it’s the wind. A dream. A memory crawling back into her ears.

But then it happens again.

A muffled moan—low and desperate—like someone trying not to be heard.

Her whole body tenses.

She knows that sound.

She knows your sound.

She’s memorized it. Every pitch and variation. Every little broken sob you used to make when her hand was between your thighs and you were trembling under her palm.

It’s different now. Softer. More restrained.

Lonelier.

She grits her teeth.

The walls are thin in this house. You’re just across the hall. Maybe twenty feet away.

She turns on her side, facing the wall. Covers her ears with the pillow like that’ll fix anything. Like that’ll erase the image forming in her mind.

You. Your legs spread. Your head tipped back. Your voice breaking as you whisper a name.

Her name.

Because she heard it.

Just barely.

But it was there.

That breathless, aching "Sevika…"

Her eyes squeeze shut.

And still—she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t get up. Doesn’t storm across the hall. Doesn’t press you into the mattress and ask why the fuck you’re pretending to be happy with someone else when your body is still singing for her.

She just lies there.

Fuming.

Burning.

Breathing too hard.

Jaw clenched so tight it might crack.

And in the silence that follows—when you’ve gone quiet again and the house settles back into its creaking stillness—she finally mutters one thing under her breath:

“…fuckin’ Jared.”

Then she flips over onto her stomach, face buried in the pillow, and tries not to imagine your hand between your thighs again.

Fails.

Miserably.

You wake to sunlight pouring in through your bedroom window, your body heavy and slow beneath the sheets. Your thighs are still sore—from sleep, from tension, from last night—and the memory of your own voice echoing back to you in the dark makes your face burn.

You groan into your pillow and roll over.

Down the hall, you hear the low thud of boots. The creak of the stairs. Sevika’s up. Already moving.

You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You force yourself out of bed, tugging on a tank top and slipping your arms through a soft flannel. No makeup. Hair in a clip. You look like someone who didn’t sleep well.

You didn’t.

You shuffle down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Betty is flipping pancakes and your dad is pouring coffee like nothing in the world is wrong.

“Morning, sugar,” Betty calls over her shoulder. “You want some?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice scratchy. “Please.”

You take your seat at the table, and seconds later, Sevika walks in.

Freshly showered.

White tank clinging to her frame. Flannel sleeves rolled up. Her face unreadable.

She doesn’t even look at you.

“Morning,” your dad says.

“Morning,” Sevika grunts, grabbing a mug and pouring herself some coffee.

She sits across from you like it’s just another day. Like she didn’t hear you say her name with your hand between your thighs. Like she didn’t lose her mind all night staring at the ceiling, jaw tight and fists clenched.

You try not to look.

But of course you do.

Her knuckles are still raw from the fight. Still unbandaged. You want to reach for her hand. You don’t.

“Sleep okay, hon?” Betty asks, setting a plate in front of you.

You hesitate. Glance up. Sevika finally glances back, just barely—her eyes flicking to yours before snapping away again.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Storms might roll back in tonight,” your dad mutters behind his mug. “Best get the big animals in early.”

Sevika nods. “I’ll handle it.”

“No, I’ll help,” you blurt out. “I—I want to.”

Everyone looks at you.

Sevika raises a brow, suspicious. “You sure?”

You nod, already too deep to back out.

“Alright then,” your dad says. “Y’all can handle the horses first. That old gelding spooks if he hears thunder.”

You and Sevika lock eyes for one second longer than necessary.

And that’s how your day starts:

Tension coiled under your skin.

A breakfast you can barely eat.

And the knowledge that you’ll be alone in the stables with the girl who still makes your chest ache every time she says nothing at all.

The first drops of rain started as a whisper on the barn roof.

By the time the last chicken was safely shut in and the tack room doors were latched, it had picked up—slow, steady, soaking everything in its path. You barely made it to the house before the downpour came in full, the kind of sudden, slanted rainfall that made the porchboards groan under your boots.

Inside now, the house glows soft with warm yellow light. The storm rumbles in the distance, but the power—mercifully—is still on. The living room smells like fresh coffee and hay. The old fan creaks softly above.

Harold and Betty had gone to bed hours ago. A miracle, honestly.

You’re standing in the kitchen, arms crossed loosely, your damp flannel hanging open over a faded tank. The window fogs slightly with the difference in temperature, and you press your finger against the glass, watching the droplets chase each other.

“How can they sleep through this?” you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as thunder rolls low across the fields.

“They’ve lived through worse,” Sevika says behind you.

You turn.

She’s stretched out on the couch, legs spread, one arm resting across the back, the other bent at the elbow as she finally wraps a fresh bandage around her bruised knuckles. The cut looks cleaner now. You can tell she’s taking your earlier advice seriously, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

You lean against the counter, just… watching her.

“You could’ve let me do that,” you say.

She shrugs. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’ve never cared about bothering me before.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes flick up to yours, sharp and unreadable.

“I’m trying,” she says simply. “To give you space.”

You blink. “Oh.”

A beat.

“I didn’t ask for space,” you say, softer now.

“Didn’t have to,” she mutters, tying the bandage off tight.

The thunder crashes louder this time. You flinch—not from fear, exactly, just from how close it feels.

Sevika leans back against the couch cushions, her head tilted up toward the ceiling. “You’ve been following me around all day.”

You freeze. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Your face heats. “I wasn’t— I was just trying to help.”

“You were tryin’ to pretend nothing’s changed.”

That hits you in the chest.

You push off the counter and move closer, arms crossed, your voice barely audible. “And what if I was?”

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. She just looks at you, eyes dragging over your face like she’s reading something only she knows how to translate.

“Then you’re not the only one pretending,” she finally says, voice rough.

The room falls quiet again.

Except for the storm.

And the way your heart’s thudding in your chest like it wants to say something you won’t.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around your arms. Her words echo in your head— Then you’re not the only one pretending.

You take a few slow steps closer, close enough now that you can hear the quiet breath she lets out through her nose, like she’s annoyed with herself. Or with you. Or both.

“Then why are we doing this?” you ask.

“Doing what?”

“This.” You gesture between you. “Acting like we’re just… strangers who happen to have a history. You’re sleeping down the hall, Sev. We’re playing house, and no one else even knows what we were—what we are.”

Her eyes flicker, and you see it—that flash of vulnerability she always hides beneath a bite or a glare.

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to remember,” she says. “Not with that boyfriend of yours always calling.”

You flinch.

Her voice turns colder. “What’s his name again? Jason? Jordan?”

“Jared,” you say quietly. “And he’s not—he’s not what you think.”

“No?” Sevika leans forward now, resting her elbows on her knees. “So you don’t say ‘I love you’ into the phone every night when you think I’m not listening?”

You freeze.

Her lip curls, not in a smile. Something more bitter. “You still say it the same way. The way you used to say it to me.”

Your voice cracks. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” she mutters. “It’s not.”

The silence that stretches between you is raw and ugly and real.

And then you break it.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you.”

She looks up at that. Her jaw tightens, her nostrils flaring like she’s holding something back. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob.

“You don’t get to say that,” she says lowly.

“Why not?”

“Because you left. You left and never looked back. You built a life without me and just… erased us.”

“I didn’t erase anything,” you shoot back. “I buried it, Sev. There’s a difference.”

She stands now, and you can’t help but take a step back at the sudden rise of her body.

“Feels the same from where I’m standing.”

Your throat tightens. “You think it was easy for me?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she growls. “Except that I’m still here. And you’re still pretending like I don’t matter.”

“You matter,” you whisper, eyes stinging. “God, Sev… you matter more than anything.”

She’s breathing hard now. Hands clenched at her sides. You can feel the heat radiating off of her.

And then—her voice cracks.

“Then why do I feel like I’m still not enough?”

That does it.

You reach for her before you can stop yourself—grabbing her wrist, pulling her in, your forehead nearly against her chest.

She doesn’t touch you at first.

But she doesn’t pull away, either.

You breathe out shakily, tears finally slipping down your cheek. “I don’t want Jared. I don’t want California. I don’t want anything that isn’t you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it for years.

Slowly, gently, she brings a hand up to your hair. “You don’t get to say that unless you mean it.”

“I do,” you say. “I always have.”

You look up at her.

Her hand cups your cheek now, fingers warm against your skin.

And for a moment—just one—you both let the mask drop.

It would be so easy to kiss her.

But instead…

Sevika sighs and presses her forehead to yours.

“We’re not ready,” she says quietly.

You nod.

Your chest aches, but you nod anyway.

“I know.”

And for now, that’s enough.

You can’t sleep.

Again.

The fan buzzes overhead, casting slow-turning shadows across the ceiling. Your body’s too warm under the sheets, your brain too loud to let you drift off. So you reach for your phone.

Your thumb scrolls absently through TikTok—goats in pajamas, a trending dance you’ll never learn, a girl talking about heartbreak like she invented it.

Then your phone buzzes.

A text.

Liv 🤎: “Are you up?”

You blink at the screen, brows pulling together.

You: “Yeah, what’s up?”

No reply. Not right away.

Then—

Liv 🤎 sent an image

You sit up slowly in bed, heart doing that cold, confused skip.

It’s a photo.

Jared.

Grinning in some bar. His arm draped around a girl with straight blonde hair and a crop top you don’t recognize.

They're laughing. He’s kissing her cheek.

The timestamp is from last weekend.

You freeze. Stare.

Your mouth parts like you’re about to say something—but there’s no one to hear it.

Another photo comes in.

Different girl. Different day. Still him.

Then another.

And another.

Your screen lights up in a blur of betrayal.

Liv 🤎: “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought maybe it was just a one-time thing, but… he’s been doing it for months.” “I’m so sorry.”

You blink hard, but the tears come anyway.

Silent.

Hot.

Your breath stutters. Your chest tightens.

You try to type something back—anything—but the letters blur beneath your thumbs.

Then the sob hits.

Quiet, at first. More like a gasp.

You slap a hand over your mouth as the second one rises up.

It hurts more than you thought it would.

Not because you loved him. But because you were trying so hard to be normal. To be safe. To pretend you weren’t still haunted by someone else’s hands. Someone else’s name.

And even that—you couldn’t get right.

The screen goes black as your phone times out.

And all you can do is sit there in the dark.

Shaking.

Alone.

The hallway was already filled with noise when Sevika cracked her door open early morning rays from the windows spilling out onto the hardwood floors—muffled sobs, shuffling feet, the sharp edge of panic riding through the old farmhouse.

She rubbed a hand down her face, her knuckles still tender from days ago, and followed the sound barefoot down the hallway.

Harold was standing stiff just outside your room, arms crossed, face creased with helplessness.

Inside, Betty sat beside you on the bed, one hand rubbing slow circles on your trembling shoulder as you curled in on yourself like a child.

“How could he do this to me?!” you cried, voice raw, words tripping over each other. “How— how could he just—like I meant nothing?”

Sevika’s chest tightened. She hadn’t heard you cry like that since you were sixteen.

Betty hushed you gently, brushing your hair back with that practiced, motherly touch of hers. “He’s just a stupid, selfish boy, honey,” she murmured. “Come on now. Let’s go run you a warm bath, alright? You don’t need to sit in this like it’s your fault.”

You sniffled, eyes red and swollen. “Okay,” you whispered, voice barely a thread of sound.

Sevika stood there frozen as Betty helped you stand, her arm around your waist, guiding you toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

You passed Sevika slowly, your gaze flicking up and locking with hers for just a second—tear-streaked, shattered.

She didn’t even have time to say anything before you were gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind you.

Sevika turned to Harold, jaw clenched. “What happened?”

Harold sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I’m not entirely sure. Betty was already in there when I got up. Girl was sobbing like her heart’d been ripped out. Only thing I caught was something about Jared. And a blonde.”

Sevika’s stomach dropped.

Her mouth went dry. “Oh no.”

Harold looked at her, confused. “You know something?”

But Sevika didn’t answer.

She just stared at the bathroom door, hands curling into fists at her sides, heart hammering loud and guilty in her ears.

Because she knew.

She knew this would happen eventually. That some mask would slip. That some crack would finally show.

She just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

Like she was watching you break all over again—and couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

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[fullcravings]

Vegan Baked Strawberry Frosted Donuts

[mariacallous]

These bourekas are a mix of New York Jewish and Middle Eastern Israeli food cultures. It sounds a little crazy, but it’s incredibly good: the flavorful seasoning blend, slightly sweet from the dried onion and garlic, balances out the salty, briny feta interior, and the cream and cottage cheese in the filling. A little bit of spinach (a personal must for me in cheese bourekas) adds color and flavor. Best part? These bourekas, made with store-bought puff pastry, are relatively quick to throw together.

I plan on serving these for the holiday of Shavuot when it’s common to eat dairy foods, but they are really perfect for anytime: a Middle Eastern brunch spread with shakshuka and dips, or served at a cocktail party or as an appetizer for a dinner party. No matter when you choose to serve them, I know you’ll have people clamoring for seconds and thirds, as well as the recipe, so be prepared to make lots and keep this recipe on hand.

Note: These bourekas freeze beautifully unbaked. Simply freeze them filled and shaped but without the egg wash and bagel spice topping, and apply the egg wash and spice when you’re ready to bake them, adding 5-10 minutes to the baking time.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Mushrooms

The edible parts of fungi are the fruiting bodies that are produced very dramatically by huge spreading masses of mycelia, which draw their nutrients as parasites from roots and decaying vegetation.

BAY BOLETUS (Boletus badius)

Usually found in woodlands, this fungus is pale to brown in colour.

Has light yellow pores on the underside and these stain blue if damaged.

The flesh also stains a bluish colour when cut and smells very mushroomy.

The stalk has no frills but is smooth from base to cap.

Can be stored by slicing and drying or flash freezing.

They taste fine raw when sliced and make great soup.

SHAGGY INK CAP (Coprinus comatus)

Very common but distinctive mushroom.

Easy to identify with its egg-shaped shaggy cap.

Often grows on newly disturbed ground in large clusters.

The cap is covered with beautiful white scales and there is no veil on the stem when the cap opens to a bell shape with a dark black underside.

Need to be young and fresh to make good eating.

Shaggy ink caps make a wonderful mushroom soup.

These mushrooms do not store well, so they are best used fresh.

GIANT PUFFBALL (Langermannia gigantea)

Can grow to 80 cm diameter.

The huge white ball of a giant puffball is not hard to identify.

Must be used young before the spores have time to develop and the insects have time to take their share.

Slice them up like rump steak to cook them.

By themselves they have little flavour, but fried quickly with a little bacon they are delicious.

HORSE MUSHROOM (Agaricus arvensis)

Can be found on old pastures that has been grazed by horses or cattle.

Has a slight aniseed smell and does not shrivel up when cooked.

Just beware you don’t over-indulge if you are lucky enough in these times of chemical farming to find a crop of these.

The cap of the horse mushroom may be yellowy in colour, but be careful not to confuse it with the “yellow stainer” fungus, which will make you ill.

CHANTERELLE (Cantharellus cibarius)

May be found in woodland clearings.

Seasoned mushroom hunters will keep their locations a close secret as they tend to grow in the same places each year.

Are fairly small – up to 4 inches (10 cm) across but usually smaller – with a distinctive yellow colour and a slight smell of apricots.

The caps become like small, fluted trumpets as they age and the gills are heavy, irregular and run down the stems.

Best stored in good olive oil or in spiced alcohol.

PARASOL (Macrolepiota procera)

Usually found in open fields and has large brown scales in a symmetrical pattern around a pronounced central bump.

The cap can grow up to 10 inches (25 cm) across and the gills are white.

The stem is long and tough with a large ring around it.

Will dry well for storage.

Make a delicious dish by dipping pieces of the parasol in batter and deep frying.

PENNY BUN (Boletus edulis)

Also known as the “cep” mushroom and is a great prize for the mushroom hunter, as it has an unusual nutty flavour.

Found in woodland or sometimes in heather with dwarf willows, the “cep” can grow quite large – over 2 pounds (1 kg) in weight.

When picking, cut the cap in half to check for maggots. These work their way up through the stems.

Its cap looks just like freshly baked bread.

The colour darkens as the mushroom ages.

The underside will have yellow pores, not gills.

The stem is bulbous and solid white with brown stripey flecks.

Stores well if dried in thin slices.

HONEY FUNGUS (Armillaria mellea)

This yellowy-brown fungus is a tree-killer – but highly edible for humans.

The active part of the fungus is a black cord-like rhizomorph that covers huge areas under the soil and seeks out trees, which it destroys.

Normally grows straight out from trees and stumps, usually in large clumps.

The flesh is white and smells strong and sweet.

The gills vary from off-white to brown and the stalks are tough, often fused together at the base and with a white, cotton-like ring below the cap.

The caps become tough if you dry them so it’s best to freeze.

ORANGE PEEL (Aleuria aurantia)

An extraordinary, brightly coloured and very striking fungus.

Found commonly in large clumps in grassland on bare earth from autumn to early winter. The caps soon become wavy and are of fairly robust texture.

Quite small – up to 2 inches (5 cm) across – the fungus is bright orange on top and a lighter shade on the velvety underside.

These store well if dried.

WOOD MUSHROOM (Agaricus silvicola)

Only found in woodland.

A more delicate version of its close relative, the horse mushroom.

Does not grow out of a volval bag like the death cap and its gills are pink to brown in colour, not white.

The flesh does not discolour when cut and the smell is of a slight aniseed.

The cap is a creamy-yellow colour that darkens as it ages and is smaller than the horse mushroom, growing to only 4 inches (10 cm).

THE PRINCE (Agaricus augustus)

Resembles a stocky version of the parasol.

Grows up to 10 inches (25 cm) wide and is found in woodland.

The top is flecked with brownish scales.

The gills are off-white when young, turning dark brown with age.

The flesh is strong white and smells of mushroom.

The stem is very strong and often scaly with a large floppy ring under the cap – it is too tough to make good eating unless cooked in stews.

It has a strong flavour and can be frozen or dried for excellent winter meals.

FIELD MUSHROOM (Agaricus campestris)

Undoubtedly the best known of all mushrooms, before the days of chemical farming whole fields would be covered by the prolific field mushroom.

Get up early after a hot summer spell has been followed by rain to pick.

The silky white caps grow up to 4–5 inches (10–12 cm), the gills are pink, and the smell mushroomy.

The ring around the stems is very fragile and often missing.

Maggots can be a problem – check older specimens by cutting through the stems.

Can be stored by flash freezing or drying.

WHERE TO LOOK

You will always harvest your best specimens early in the morning. Fungi grow in a wide variety of places, but they will not tolerate chemical fertilizers or sprays.

They say it will take 20 years for the horse mushroom to appear in grassland after the use of chemicals has been stopped.

In fact, the majority of edible fungi grow in the proximity of woodland and many have close symbiotic relationships with particular tree roots.

But wild grassland does always produce an excellent crop of fungi every autumn and you will find each season’s crop in similar places to the previous year’s.

WHAT TO AVOID

There is probably no need to warn you of the fly agaric, as this bright red and white spotted fungus is so well known.

The most dangerous of all fungi is the death cap (Amanita phalloides).

A single death cap contains enough toxins to kill several people:

Usually it grows in woodland, particularly with oak trees. It can vary in colour, being similar in size to a field mushroom, but its characteristic features are white gills on the underside and a “volval” bag at the base. Any fungi growing from a “volval” bag are best left well alone for many are poisonous.

A death cap has white spores, not brown like most edible mushrooms.

Another mushroom to avoid is the “yellow stainer”, easily confused with field or horse mushrooms:

It has the distinctive feature of turning bright yellow when bruised or cut. It also smells rather like disinfectant.

NOTE. There is no easy way to determine whether a fungus is toxic just by looking at it. You should never ingest any unknown fungi. Fungal fruiting bodies can be picked out of the planter pot and thrown in the trash if there is a concern that pets or young children could ingest them.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ Writing Notes & References ⚜ Food History

[nataliliv]

Easter Pavlova 😝🐰 Recipe 👇

Ingredients: Meringue ▫️6 medium egg whites ▫️300g caster sugar ▫️1 tsp white wine vinegar ▫️1 tsp cornflour ▫️1 tsp vanilla extract Filling ▫️450ml double cream ▫️2 tbsp icing sugar ▫️fruit - strawberries, raspberries, blueberries etc ▫️freeze dried raspberries ▫️easter chocolates Method: ▫️Preheat oven to 130ºc and line a large baking tray ▫️Whisk the egg whites to stiff peaks ▫️Add the sugar 1 tsp at a time whilst whisking ▫️Add the vinegar, cornflour and vanilla and whisk ▫️Draw 2 circles onto the parchment, 1 large and 1 smaller inside ▫️Pipe the meringue using the circles as a guide ▫️Bake for 1 hour, then cool in the oven with the door closed

[gala-xyzz]

see what happened is there's this lady who has lung cancer that we used to clean for sometimes. she also had some animals and we'd take care of them for her overnight if she had to go somewhere

well the last time we took care of the animals, there was this floor lamp that mona couldn't figure out how to turn on. i knew how to turn it on but i was in the bathroom so i couldn't help her turn it on and um. she accidentally broke it

we left an apology note and some cash to pay for the damages, she forgave us, we're good. right?

well now she's moving in with one of her sons and has to get rid of a bunch of her stuff. mom went to see her today and came home with the floor lamp we broke, saying that she "hopes we will learn a lot of lessons from it"

ik it was done in good faith and kindness but i'm sorry that's just a little bit passive-aggressive ma'am

holy shit i didn't know old ladies could be so passive aggresive

[boyfiejay]

Enhypen : Telling them a story but it doesnt make sense

PAIRING : OT7 x gn! Reader

GENRE : established relationship, fluff, crack

Warning : curse words

Author's note : this is requested, why do i get the motivation to write in library? Of all the places, the place where im supposed to study...

Heeseung

●'Babe you know the other day i went to walk my fish but the baby started to bark and i realised that it was the wrong day!'

●Looks you dead in the eye

●Just stares at you even after you finish talking

●'I cant tell if im sleep deprived or you arent making any sense'

●Would take him him 1 2 3 4000 business days to understand it was a prank

●You woukd just tell him to go sleep lmao

Jay

●'So I was planting the book and the turtle drowned so i put the heater in the frigde.'

●Bro just freezes trying to understand what you're saying

●'Excuse me?'

●Just confusion on his face and youre laughing your ass off

●Also would not understand how that prank works but it worked on him so...

●Would make fun of you 100% 😭

Jake

●'So tell me why when the cat was barking and my ears went blind so i put the curtains in the dishwasher.'

●Baby is so confused, like he has imaginary question marks floating around his head

●'What do you mean baby?'

●Trying so hard to not seem rude incase hes the one who doesnt understand you :(((

●Breaths out a sigh of relief when he realises it was a prank

●But then lowk gets mad that he was tricked lol 😭

Sunghoon

●'Hey, remember when me and my grandma went to mop the ocean and the cat had puppies so i blow dried the air?'

●Already knows its some kind of prank but hes still confused

●'What the fuck?'

●Cue your hysteric laughing because why does he look cute with that confused expression???

●Impressed by your randomness lowk but will not say it

●Will get back at you for this💯

Sunoo

●'You remember when i couldnt hear in my nose and i woke up and the dog laid eggs?'

●Is concerned for you more than hes confused

●'Are you okay, baby?'

●You cant even laugh at him he genuinely looks worried

●You tell him its a joke and he gives you the nastiest side eye

●But then laughs at how random that sentence was

Jungwon

●'Tell me why, when i was walking my penguin and i lost my toes so i watered the fish.'

●He is the most confused by far but also judging you at the same time

●'Baby, what the heck? What penguin?'

●Hes concerned about penguins more than your mental state and toes😐

●Starts laughing when you tell him its a prank

●'Stop watching those tiktoks.'

Ni-ki

●'Remember when the snail barked and my leg cut off because i had a headache so i preheat the ice.'

●Just stares at you with 🤨 face

●Is judging you so hard it makes you want to take back your words

●'Whats that supposed to mean, baby?'

●Can NAWT understand why people make pranks like this