#heavy oil burners

[denovoburners]

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[distant--shadow]

motivation for drawing being 50% it's enjoyable and keeps my mind occupied and the other 50% being a chase for the 2% of drawings that you've made that you don't hate the sight of within 12 hours of finishing them

[zoomlineaasphaltplant]

The Burner of An Asphalt Mixing Plant Determines its Success.

If you are well versed with the machine you will know how important the burner. The asphalt plant burner is the component which determines the success or failure of the product.

The coal and Oil dual purpose burners is a multi-fuel burner, which can use fuel oil alone, or coal alone. It is composed of the main burner, fuel valve group, pulverized coal supply system, and control system. The entire system has a one-key switching centralized control system, and there is no need to replace, add or remove any subsystems when switching the fuel types.

The coal and oil dual purpose burners is a newly designed multi-purpose burner, which is widely used in asphalt mixing plants, drying, boilers and other industries.

Find More Video On:

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@ZOOMLINEAsphaltPlants

TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@zoomlineasphaltplants

[denovoindustrialburners]

Industrial Gas Burner Suppliers @De Novo

There are several manufacturers and brands that produce industrial heavy oil burners in India. Here are some of the top brands known for their high-quality heavy oil burners:

De novo India is a reputable burner manufacturer and provides a range of dual fuel burners suitable for heavy oil and gas applications. Their burners are known for their high combustion efficiency and low emissions.

It is important to consider factors such as specific requirements, budget, and after-sales service when selecting the best industrial heavy oil burner for your needs. It is recommended to contact these manufacturers directly or consult with local experts to determine the most suitable option for your specific industrial application.

De novo India is a renowned manufacturer of burners and offers a range of dual fuel burners designed for heavy oil and gas applications. They are known for their high-quality combustion systems and energy efficiency.

An industrial dual gas burner is a type of burner designed to operate on two different types of gaseous fuels. It offers the flexibility to switch between fuels based on availability, cost, or specific process requirements. The dual gas burner allows industrial facilities to optimize their fuel usage and adapt to changing fuel availability or pricing.

Installation and Maintenance: When considering a dual gas burner, it’s important to ensure that it can be properly installed and maintained by qualified professionals. Regular maintenance and servicing are crucial to ensure safe and efficient operation.

It’s recommended to consult with industrial burner manufacturers or industry experts to get detailed information about specific dual gas burner models, their features, performance, and suitability for your specific application.

When selecting a dual fuel burner supplier, consider factors such as the specific requirements of your application, the reputation and track record of the supplier, product quality and reliability, technical support, and after-sales service. It’s also recommended to reach out to multiple suppliers, discuss your needs, and compare their offerings before making a decision.

[thebearer]

the milestone menu: roasted red pepper and tomato soup for sad days

prompt: the death of mikey's anniversary is near. you make a comfort meal for carmen.

contains: mentions of death. angty with a side of fluff (at the end). anxious!carmen (i mean ofc).

INGREDIENTS

3 red bell peppers. 4 large tomatoes, peeled, seeded, chopped. An onion, chopped. 2 garlic cloves, minced

1 1/2 tsp thyme. 2 tsp paprika. A pinch of sugar. Salt & pepper. Cayenne

1/2 cup Chicken broth. 2 tbsp butter. 1 1/2 tbsp flour.

DIRECTIONS

Cover peppers in oil, broil until black, turn to get all sides. Put them in a paper bag to rest, the skin & seeds should come off easily. Chop. Heat oil on med heat in a large pot, cook garlic & onions until soft. Add tomatoes, peppers, thyme, paprika, and sugar. Cook on med-low, until most of the liquid has evaporated, about 20 minutes. Stir in 6 cups of chicken stock, salt & pepper. Bring to boil & simmer for 20 mins, until the vegetables are tender. Strain soup. Use a food processor or blender, and blend solids to your desired consistency. In your large pot, melt butter & add flour. Add soup/purée and stir, simmer for a few minutes.

“Hey, baby,” Carmen’s voice came to you before he did. A heavy sigh, tired and heavy from the day, from the looming anniversary approaching. 

Mikey’s death date was creeping closer and closer, the days darker and colder as did Carmen’s demeanor. Longer days at work, distant even when he was home with you. You worried about him, though everyone told you not to. 

“He just… he gets like this when it gets closer to the date, you know?” Richie muttered when you’d confided in him at family dinner. “We all get kinda fucked up, but Carm… That’s just how he is, y’know? Just give’im some time.” 

Anchovy purred, rubbing against Carmen’s leg. It was almost like he knew. Carmen would swear he did, that he could sense his owner’s upset, that he was trying to make it better. He’s like you, Carmen would say, giving you a half grin that always had you swooning. 

Carmen frowned when he didn’t see you lingering about. Not in the doorway smiling at them, leaning in for a kiss, wrapping him in a hug. “Babe?” Carmen called again, looking down the hall. The lights were on in the kitchen, a small clinking of bowls and silverware. 

Carmen found you in front of the stove, trying to keep quiet, stirring a pan on the burner gently. “Hey,” He frowned when you jumped, turning around with a wide eyed gaze, like you’d been caught. 

“Carm,” You chirped, body shimmying in front of the stove, too close to the flame in a too loose shirt. Carmen fought the urge to tell you to move or tuck your shirt in. 

“You’re-You weren’t supposed to be home early.” You turned to the clock blinking on the microwave. “I-I thought you weren’t going to be home for another hour.” 

“Richie told me to leave.” Carmen frowned, trying to peer around you. 

“Why?” You blocked his view with your body, a side step in front of him. 

“‘Cause he’s a fuckin’ jaggoff lately. What’re you doin’?” Carmen huffed lightly, grabbing your waist gently, holding you in place so he could see around you. A large pot on the stove, bubbling to life, steam clouding the clear lid that covered it. 

“I’m cooking.” You huffed, shoulders deflating lightly. “I-I was going to surprise you. I had this whole thing planned, and I got candles and I was going to change out of this.” You threw your hands down on your sweatshirt- Carmen’s sweatshirt. One from Copenhagen he’d picked up when it was especially cold. You’d stolen in, not that he minded, he liked you better in it anyways. 

“Was going to at least try to look a little nice.” You mutter, wiping off a small stain, a glob of tomato that had flung when the processor lid wouldn’t come off earlier. 

“You look beautiful, c’mon.” Carmen shook his head at you. “What’re you- Why’re you doin’ all this?” His heart skipped for a moment, looking at the calendar pinned on the fridge. “Did I- We didn’t have plans?” Fuck, he’d been so busy he’d forgotten. Head everywhere but where it needed to be. First he was fuckin’ up dishes left and right at work, and now he couldn’t even remember a fuckin’ date. 

“No,” You shook your head, stilling Carmen’s racing mind. “I just… I wanted to do something nice.” You looked up at him, hands grabbing him sweetly, holding them in your own. “For you.”

“For me?” Carmen whispered, swallowing around the tightness in his throat, in his chest. “What’re you talkin’ about for me? What-Why would you wanna-” 

“Because,” You shrugged lightly, hands swinging between the two of you gently. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.” 

Carmen saw the hesitation on your face, knew what was coming before you said it. He tensed in your hold. “I just… With everything-” 

“-Don’t.” Carmen shook his head, the burn in his throat strangling his voice. “You don’t have to, baby.” 

“I do.” Your eyes met his, rounding in his gaze. “I want to. I-I don’t really think it will help, but… I don’t know. Whenever I was sad my mom would make this for me.” You nod back towards the pot on the stove. “It always made me feel better.” 

Carmen thought he might cry. He willed himself, squeezing your hands, pulling you into his chest to hold you. He just needed to hold you, to feel you, pressing his nose to your scalp, inhaling your scent. 

All the emotions he’d repressed, swallowed down and tried to power through. Anytime he’d turn the corner, see Mikey’s smiling face on the fall and he’d feel like breaking down. Screaming, crying, punching the walls, pulling his hair out, ears ringing and heart hammering; instead, he’d go to the walk-in to breathe through collapsing lungs.

You felt Carmen’s shaky breath, rattle out of his chest and shake into yours. Your hand rubbed gently against his back, up his spine in a soothing way you hoped would calm him. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, cheeks pressed against his chest. His heart raced in your ear, a pounding thud that made your own heart squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Carm.” 

“It’s alright.” Carmen gritted, jaw clenching, willing his tears back. “It’s-it’s just a lot. I don’t even fuckin’ know why. Why-Why I even get like this when-when it’s been so long.” 

“Don’t do that.” You shook your head, frowning at him lightly. 

“No, no it’s true. I- fuck, I shouldn’t be-” 

“-Carmen,” You held his gaze firmly. His red rimmed blue eyes met yours, a little wary, vulnerable. You softened, fingers brushing through his hair. “It’s ok.” 

The finality in your voice, soft but certain, it made Carmen’s jaw shake, emotions bubbling over. He held you, rocking side by side in the kitchen, cries muffled into your shoulder. You held him back, just as tight, cooing shushes over the hums of the appliances, his tears wet on his sweatshirt- your sweatshirt. 

“Don’t expect a lot.” You gave a small, teasing smile over your shoulder. 

Carmen had settled into his usual seat at the small kitchen table. He’d sheepishly wiped his tears, letting you dote on him sweetly. Kiss his tears away, soft lips pressing to his wet cheeks, his nose, pulling him in so his lips were on yours, arms still tangled around the other. 

“It’s not, like, gourmet or anything.” You shook your head, ladling out the hot liquid into a bowl. “It is my Nana’s recipe though.” 

“Better than gourmet then?” Carmen’s voice was raspy with dried tears, though he smiled lightly. Bright enough to warm your heart, leave you smiling, plating the grilled cheese. 

“She’d love that you said that.” You grin, setting the steaming bowl and sandwich in front of him. You leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, a hand running down the back of his neck lovingly. 

He burned at the simplicity, the sweetness of it all. So loving and affectionate freely, without any strings attached. Mikey would’ve loved you, Carmen was so sure of it. 

“This is good.” Carmen nodded, swallowing his spoonful. 

“Yeah?” You grinned proudly, positively beaming. 

Of course it was good, the best fuckin’ thing he’s ever had. It came from you, so it only made sense it was. Carmen didn’t say that. Instead, he smiled, reaching over for your hand, squeezing it across the table. “Yeah. Amazing. Just what I needed.” He swallowed another wave of tears, happier this time. “Thank you for, uh, for doin’ this.” 

“I’m glad you like it.” You propped your head in your free hand, a lopsided, lovey smile that warmed Carmen from the inside out. He knew his cheeks were blushing, tingling pink under your affectionate gaze. 

“It’s really good.” Carmen took another spoonful, the warmth spilling down his throat, soothing his chest. “Sorry I came home early and didn’t call. I just… I’ve been out of my mind, y’know? I’m sorry about that too, it’s-it’s not fair to you, and-” 

“-Carm,” You squeezed his hand lightly, fingers intertwining with his. “I’m glad you like it.” You smile sweetly. 

Carmen nodded, leg still shaking under the table. He didn’t let go of your hand, held it in an iron grip like a lifeline and you let him, thumb sweeping over his inked knuckles calmly. 

If Mikey could see him now, he’d be howling in laughter, cackling at Carmen at how “whipped” he was. Mercilessly tease him for being “soft” in a way that only a big brother could. But he knew Mikey would be so proud, so fuckin’ happy that Carmen found you- that Carmen had someone like you.

[lustfulslxt]

Baby - Chris Sturniolo

summary : you and chris go live on instagram, cooking dinner in the kitchen, singing and dancing to music together while fans gush over how cute you are.

—

You were in the kitchen, pulling out all of the ingredients you needed to make dinner. Your playlist on shuffle, softly playing in the atmosphere. You had a clean house, a free weekend, you were making your favorite dinner, and spending the night with your boyfriend. You were content.

"Gorgeous?" Chris speaks in a sing song voice, trailing behind you.

You hum in acknowledgement, still laying everything out.

"Can I help you?" He asks, linking his arms around your waist, planting his head on your shoulder.

"Of course, so long as you don't mess anything up."

He places a soft kiss on your neck, pulling away from you with his hands in surrender, "I promise. I'll do whatever you need me to."

You give him a smile and nod in agreement, softly pecking his lips.

On the counter, laid a pot, a skillet, a plastic spoon, noodles, oil, seasonings, jars of sauce, chicken, and heavy whipping cream.

"Fill this pot up with water." You instruct him, "Once you're done with that, place it on the big burner, on high."

He gives you a salute, "Yes, ma'am."

You knew he had the gist of it, but you wanted to be extra and explain every little thing to him. He followed your instructions, very simply. Once the pot of water was on the stove, he turned to you, expectantly.

“We’ve got to wait for it to come close to a boil before we start the chicken, that way they’re done at the same time.” You tell him.

He nods, before going to your phone and turning the music up. “Want to go live?”

After pondering for a split second, you agree and he logs onto Instagram and starts the live. Soon enough, there were thousands of fans watching.

“Hi guys!” You exclaim, standing next to Chris.

He greeted them as well, tossing an arm around your waist. The fans went crazy over it, causing you to lightly blush. Your music had stopped for a second, changing to the next song, which was Baby - Justin Bieber.

“Aw shit!” Chris grins, propping his phone up and pulling you back into the middle of the kitchen “Oh woah, oh woah, oh woah.” He sings, twirling you around.

Your laughter fills the air as the two of you sing and dance, oblivious to the fans screen recording and blowing the comments up, gushing over your relationship.

“She make my heart pound, and skip a beat when I see her on the street. And at school on the playground, but I really wanna see her on the weekend. She knows she got me dazing, cause she was so amazing.”

Even though it was just a song, with the way he was staring into your eyes and singing every lyric to you, while shamelessly dancing around the kitchen, in front of thousands of people, you nearly melted. The smallest things had you falling harder every day.

He pulled you into a soft kiss, not having a care in the world about the live. He loved you and he was never afraid to express it. Once he let you go and continued dancing like a fool, you went back to get the chicken started, a deep blush coating your cheeks.

You cut the chicken up, seasoned it, and put it in the skillet with oil. Next, you started the noodles. As that was going to take some time, you went back to join Chris and his shenanigans.

“I must apologize for acting stank and treating you this way.” You sing with him, “Cause I’ve been acting like sour milk all on the floor, it’s your fault, you didn’t shut the refrigerator. Maybe that’s the reason I’ve been acting so cold.”

You both laugh again, enjoying everything about the night you’re having. Chris pulls you in the direction of his phone, so you guys could read some comments and interact with the viewers for a moment.

“You guys are the cutest.” Chris reads out loud, turning his head towards you with a proud smile on his face.

“True love.” You read another comment, nodding in agreement as you looked back at him, staring in pure adoration.

“The love of my life.” He whispers, only you being able to hear him.

That didn’t stop fans from dissecting what he said through the movement of his lips, and they went absolutely barnacles. The way Chris admired everything about you and was relentless with his affection, made them crazy. They truly loved your guys’ relationship.

He pulled you into him once again, just holding you in his embrace. His scent pleasantly engulfed you as you deeply inhaled, taking in every second of it all. He was warm and you felt safe and content, you felt home.

“Y’all, I’m gonna marry this girl one day.” Chris tells the live, causing your face to heat up as the biggest smile pulled to your lips.

“Stop, you’re making me blush.” You giggled in a whisper.

“Sorry, gorgeous, I can’t help it. You drive me mad, in the best way possible.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. You guys were perfectly in sync, merging together as one.

“I’m so in love with you.” You breathed into him lips.

“Let’s end the live.” He whispers, suggestively.

You let out a loud laugh, going to the phone, “Okay guys, we’re gonna call it a night. Gotta finish dinner. See you later!”

Chris threw up a peace sign with duck lips, bidding the fans goodbye.

You turned to him with a cheeky grin, “Maybe after dinner, you can show me how mad I drive you.”

“Don’t tempt me, baby.” He smirks.

You both laugh, going back to the cooking, happy to be with one another.

—

a /n : ok this was so shit, lowk feel like i rushed the ending.. still not proofread lolol. but like imagine chris dancing w you while y’all cook dinner and shit 😭 baby me now. send in requests pls pls

[kremlin]

(@cheekedupwhiteboy @ffoxer)

sure, here is the recipe i'm using. it's worth reading all the way through once since it's ordered a bit strangely, i'll share what i've learned that isn't already in the recipe here. it was written with the intention of re-creating restaurant/takeout fried rice at home for real e.g. not something that sounds half-right but will turn out tasting like white people fried rice, if that makes any sense

moisture is #1 what you want to avoid, but doing so isn't straightforward, you can't cheat by cooking the rice with less water, you really just have to let it dry overnight in the fridge or under a fan

using too much oil will also make it turn out soggy, and the oil's job is mostly to coat the wok. i double the recipe but don't double the amount of oil, and it works better than if you use twice as much oil

you really need everything prepped and ready to go, *everything*, before you start cooking. i go as far to have everything lined up in the order i need to add them; the cooking happens extremely fast and you don't want to break your focus by having to refer to the recipe or measure something out. i think its crucial you're 100% focused, not so much to avoid burning, but to properly be able to "feel it out" and know when you need to keep things moving and when to let it toast

to do this right you need lots of heat. i'm lucky enough to have stove burners that pump out a lot of gas, but if you don't, don't bother fucking with a stove, just get a very cheap propane burner and wok mount and do it outside. cook it fast and hot.

the recipe does indeed specify to pour the sauce/wine around the rim of the pan, but it loses a bit of nuance: the idea is that with the rice packed in the center, you're pouring the liquid directly on the screamingly hot work and spreading it out so it heats up extremely quickly. this is good, but i don't know exactly why

if you screw up and get some burnt rice at the bottom, it's weirdly not game over, it doesn't ruin it as much as you'd think.

i substitute carrots for green peas which add nothing to the flavor, but they make the end result much prettier

use a heavy hand when it comes to the soy sauce (only the light soy sauce, really, the dark just adds color) and a lighter hand with the MSG.

the marinade doesn't need to sit a full 24h, i don't see any benefit past 30m or so.

don't bother trying to time the chicken to be 90% done when you take it out initially, just cook it all the way, it's fine

avoid starting fires & trips to the burn ward which seem to be incredibly conducive to this kind of cooking

[scotianostra]

On December 1st 1787, the first modern lighthouse in Scotland was lit at Fraserburgh.

Made by Thomas Smith and Robert Stevenson at Kinnaird Head, the lighthouse was built on top of a 16th-century castle, and is now Scotland’s Lighthouse Museum.Kinnaird Head near Fraserburgh, built on an 16th Century castle, was the first lighthouse to be put into operation by the Commissioners of Northern Lights, and sustained the most powerful lamps of their time.

The lamps were 17 whale oil filled burners and were said to be visible from 14 miles away.The lighthouse was constructed by Thomas Smith and his son in law Robert Stevenson, grandfather of author Robert Louis Stevenson, with a lantern set at a 120 feet above the sea on a corner of Kinnaird Head Castle. Each oil-burning lamp was backed by a parabolic reflector and arranged in three horizontal lines to produce a powerful beam for seamen working some of the toughest waters in Europe.

Previously, coal fires had generally been used to guide sailors to safety. Mr James Park, a ship’s master, was appointed “Keeper of the light” at 1/- per night, The appointment was made on condition he had another person with him at the lighthouse every night, who he was to instruct in cleaning the lanterns and lighting the lamps. Whale oil was brought to Kinnaird Head by Smith, a tin smith of Broughty Ferry, which was a major whaling port of the day.

In 1824, a new lighthouse tower was built within the original castle tower with Robert Stevenson building a new lantern and reflector array.

In 1929, another first was recorded for Kinnaird Head when it took possession of a radio beacon. During WWI, enemy bombers struck the lighthouse only once despite repeated, heavy bombardments on the surrounding area due to Fraserburgh’s ammunition works. Records show that on 19 February 1941, two bombs from an aircraft exploded 50 yards from the Lighthouse Buildings. Damage included 41 panes of broken glass.

The Wine Tower at the lighthouse is the only surviving remnant of the old castle, and in fact is the oldest building in all Fraserburgh. Legend tells us that Isobel the daughter of Alexander Fraser, 8th laird of Philorth had fallen in love with a servant piper, and that the laird was not happy about this. So to separate the two the laird had the piper tied-up in the cave under the Wine Tower known as Selches Hole (Seals Hole). The laird then locked-up his daughter in the uppermost floor of the tower and retired to Kinnaird Castle.

Unfortunately for the servant there was an abnormally high tide due to a storm, and the poor man drowned. When Isobel the laird’s daughter was informed of her lover’s fate, she was distraught and committed suicide by jumping from the top of the tower onto the rocks below. The rock that she fell on is still painted red to this day. It is said that Isobel is seen prior to bad weather, and when the weather is bad it is said that you can hear the skirl of the pipes being played by the ghost of the piper for his lost love

The first pic is from 1850 and shows the Lighthouse and Wine Tower are still there,, but the third tower - the Doocot - was demolished soon after the scene was captured.

[texas-gothic]

Dracula Daily - May 3: Chicken Paprikash!

Welcome boils and ghouls to another year of Dracula Daily. It is the 3rd of May, and as our dear friend Jonathan treks his way across Central Europe, bound for ominous castle of Count Dracula, we encounter the first real star of this most foundational gothic novel: a spicy chicken dish fixed up with paprika. That's right, everyone! It's time for Chicken Paprikash!

Earlier this week, most of you (or at least I'm assuming most of you, because holy cow did a lot of y'all pile in after I posted it) will recall my guide to gathering the ingredients for this most essential of Dracula Daily Dinners. Tonight, we will discuss it's preparation, and whether or not the deviations I have made from the previous cycles rendition will pay off or not. So, if you've got those pots and pans ready, let's go!

Lets begin with the equipment you'll need for preparing Chicken Paprikash.

All the usual suspects are here. Knives, cutting board, some whisks and woodem spoons, a couple of bowls for ingredients. But the real stars of this show are going to be a large dutch oven, and a large building pot. Examples of these can be see in the photo above.

Once you have all your equipment ready, it's time to move on to the most annoying part of every dinner. It's time for...

Part One: Mise En Place

Cooking can be hard, or cooking can be easy. It all depends on how well prepared you are. If you have everything you need ready beforehand, actually cooking the meal can be a breeze. Sadly, this process will usually take up most of the time you spend making dinner. Is it worth the peace of mind later on? Probably, but I've never passed up a chance to gripe.

So, what all must we prepare for our Chicken Paprikash. Let's make a list:

Roughly 2 Pounds of Chicken Thights (salted preferably 1-4 hours beforehand)

2 Cups of Chicken Broth (or Stock)

2 Medium Yellow Onions (Chopped or Diced, to your preference)

2 Roma Tomatoes (Diced this time, with their seeds removed)

2 Hungarian Wax Peppers (Diced as well, be sure to remove those seeds unless you want to go for a ride like dear Jonathan)

2 Cloves of Garlic (Minced) (Don't let your desire to protect yourself from the undead lead you to add more, garlic is one of those flavors that can radically alter a dish in only small quantities)

About half a stick of butter (Though for this task you could substitute with some kind of oil or lard. Lard will make this dish even more rich, but butter is the easier option.)

3/4 Cup of Full Fat Sour Cream

1/4 Cup of Heavy Whipping Cream (make sure to shake your carton beforehand, this stuff gets clumpy if it's left undisturbed)

3 Tablespoons of All Purpose Flour

4 Tablespoons of Sweet Hungarian Paprika + 1 Tablespoon of Hot Hungarian Paprika (Stirred together for ease later on)

Salt + Pepper (To your liking)

1 Bag of Spaetzle

With all this completed, it's time to get started in earnest

Part Two - Get Cooking

Alright, with all our ingredients in hand, its finally time to start cooking.

The very first thing we're going to do is brown our chicken thighs. Set your dutch oven over a large burner, and get the heat up high. When ready, turn the heat down to medium or medium-high. This change is important, unless you want to smoke out your kitchen. Remember, smoky paprika is great, but nobody likes smoky dry wall.

Once you've prepared your pot, and lightly brushed your thighs with a high heat cooking oil (I prefer avocado) begin to brown them. Lay your thighs skin-side down for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Any longer than this risks burning the skin. Repeat in batches until all your chicken thighs have a nice crispy exterior.

(Sadly, this is where the demonstration photos stop. Turns out, a breezier cooking schedule doesn't leave much time for snappy pictures.)

Once you've brown your thighs, remove them and set them aside. Now, it's time for the real corner stones of this dish. Take that half a stick of butter you have sitting around, and give it a good swirl around the bottom of the Dutch oven. As the butter melts (this will be very quick, so you must act accordingly) do everything you can to scrape up the delicious fond left over from browning your chicken. This residue will add flavor to our dish.

The moment your butter has fully liquified, and coated the whole bottom of your dutch oven, add in your onions. These we will stur around and fry until they are a nice golden brown. You can use this time as well to keep scraping up that fond on the bottom of the pot. Make sure to keep the heat on medium throughout.

Once your onions are nice golden brown, add your tomatoes and hungarian wax peppers. Stir these around with the onions and allow to cook for 2-3 minutes. When you begin to approach the last 45-30 seconds, add in your garlic, and cook until fragrant, but not a moment longer.

This next step is crucial. Remove your dutch oven from the heated burner, and allow to cool for roughly 3 minutes. Paprika is something of a tender spice, and it scorches very easily when heat is applied to it. Once the pot is no longer smoking hot, stir in the combined Paprika, and give it a good mix around all the ingredients in the pot. When you have finished, return the dutch oven to the heated burner.

Return your chicken thighs to the pot, and pour in the 2 cups of chicken broth. The thighs should not be entirely covered, but mostly. Bring the pot to a boil, and once boiling, cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and allow to simmer for a little under an hour, about 40 minutes.

Now, while this is happening, we will prepare our dairy thickener. In a bowl, mix the sour cream, heavy whipping cream, and flower. I prefer to use a tiny whisk for this task, as it does a very good job of moving through every part of the mixture, and combating any clumps from forming. A normal whisk should still work.

While you wait, you're going to pour about a quart of water into that steel pot, and bring to a boil. About 28 minutes from the completion of the paprikash, stir in your spaetzle to the boiling water. Allow to sit, undisturbed for roughly half an hour.

Once the 40 minutes are up, once again remove your chicken from the pot, and remove the dutch oven from the heat. Allow to cool once more, which will prevent your dairy mixture from curdling. Once cool, mix in the cream. Return the chicken to the Dutch oven, place the cover back on, and allow to heat through. About another 5-10 minutes.

And just like that, we're done! Now, let's find out how we did, shall we?

Part Three - Paprikash

This is how mine turned out. And I'm happy to report that my experimentation payed off! The heat really comes through this time, creating that good warming feeling you should get from chicken paprikash. The paprika is warm and smoky, and the chicken is tender and delicious. I'd never had spaetzel before, but I really liked it. It's still not as spicy as our good friend Jonathan described, but I think it's time that I stop differing to the opinions of a 22 year-old English orphan when it comes to any kind of cuisine.

The August Kessler Spatburgunder (Pinot Noir) proved to be an excellent pairing. The wine possesses a splendid earthiness, and it makes a beautiful partner for that smoky paprika flavor.

Well, that about does it for this year's Chicken Paprikash. Did you make Paprikash this year? How did it turn out? Anyway, I'll be making a dedicated effort to make more conversational posts with the program this year, and I cannot wait to discover what rocks we'll turn over this time around.

Join me on Sunday when we'll be diving into Tokaji, the Hungarian desert wine Dracula serves to Jonathan Harker at the end of his, if I may, strange journey.

Happy Dracula Daily, Everyone!

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[al-the-remix]

14, bucktommy!

This was a really good first roll... Good Hurt by Chappell Roan, this is definitely a Tommy coded song. Tommy Kinard all fucked up after the breakup because no one fucked him quick like Buck did, no one ever had his number in quite the same way, prodded Tommy into showing him what he wanted despite hesitation. Made him roll over and show all the messy vulnerable parts of himself that he's sure would disgust Buck but only proved to make him curious and enthusiastic instead. Who took him apart, figured out what made Tommy tick and applied himself liberally. And he definitely didn't think it would be as hard to go back to the way things were before, when he didn't have some one who not only knew how to satisfy him sexually but also cared so so much, who Tommy loved-- 😌

I haven't written a second person pov fic for this ship yet which I really enjoy doing from time to time, especially ones that focus heavy on internal reflection/character studies etc. Lol, this would probably turn into more tommy kinard pain kink of one flavour or another because that is my favourite thing...

///

(cw for breath play and dubious consent)

Most of all it was the scent that lingered with you. 

The acridity of lighter fluid burning as you sat on the sidewalk, heat bathing your face, the glowing eyes of your childhood home staring back. somewhere inside is your father.

Beside you your mother moaned. An animal sound hucked up between sobs. 

The smell of smoke clung to everything afterwards; your hair, the pyjamas you’d been wearing, the inside of the cherry red ford pinto you were now living in. It wouldn’t come out until a week later when you’d finally reached your aunt’s house and even then when you woke with a start in the middle of the night with the rest of your senses dulled you still thought you could taste it on the night air. 

Lighter fluid gets replaced with the scent of fry oil and burnt coffee, slow cooking on their burners behind the counter at the diner. You do most of your homework sitting there, when you bother to do it at all. 

There’s a lot you don’t remember: your first beer, your first kiss, or your first time, but you remember the scent of sweat and the close press of bodies in the locker room before practice and the color of the grout between the tiles in the shower, damp and a little moldy the way it tickles at the back of your throat. Football doesn’t lead to college–it leads to the army–but it prepares you just the same.  

He touches you like he hates you. Like it’s your fault he wants you the way he does. In close quarters of the broken down shower stall on the outskirts of the base, the air is hot and dry, it tastes like metal and you can barely breathe.

The emulsified night blankets you as you swallow him down. You think if you’re going to die anyway you might as well do it with a cock down your throat. You hate yourself a little bit too, for loving it as much as you do. Even when his fingernails scrap sharply against your scalp and his cockhead presses rudely up against your soft pallet.

You bury your nose in his pubic hair, wild and musky. The scent of the pair of you is pungent, you can practically taste it. Spit and come drips molten down your chin and you’re not sure if you’re ever been this hard. 

You leave not long after that and the scent of the crisp night air makes everything feel sharp and real in ways that you don’t want to acknowledge. 

You go back again the next night. It's someone different this time, you can tell by the grope of his hands and the sounds he makes as he ruts against you. His body molds to the contours of your side, pressed up all along your bare skin and hot, hotter than the fire at his feet which had burned down to ruby embers; a pulsing glow that penetrated the darkness not unlike the combustion of the burn pits that bleed heat in thick waves, dotting the border of base camp. The smoke that stung your eyes and the back of your throat and lit the bellies of the wheeling birds above like they were burning from the inside out.

The air is already so hot it burns and when he wraps a callused hand around your throat you think this time, this time you might actually die.

You don't, instead you paint the rusting corrugated wall with your release. It's going to be a while before you can feel heat on your face and smell mildew and not get a little bit hard about it.

It's a bad recipe for a first responder, but at this point you're running out of options and couches to sleep on. When you're not facing a wall of blistering heat, it's a mess of body fluids and dark, cramped spaces. All things that would put you on edge if you were wired properly.

Sal slaps what is probably supposed to be a commiserating hand on your shoulder after your first loss, a woman who the fire got to before you could. The sweet scent is familiar, comforting in a way you wont be mentioning to anyone any time soon. It makes you think of your father in your house, your friends you left in Iraq.

You skip the offer of a round with the team at the ladder bar after a rough shift in favour of a place you scoped out a week after moved here. Half an our later your face in pressed into a pillow and there's a large hand keeping it there, fingers webbed out against the back of your skull like impact fractures. You wonder if it would be weird to ask since he was already inside you rearranging your bowels he could to the same for your brain too, sink his fingers inside and pluck out the important stuff.

White starbursts break against the curtain of your eyelids as your breathing becomes laboured. You barely feel more than a prickle across your skin when you come, head filled with cotton balls and fingers clenching weakly at the bead spread.

You don't realize you've blacked out till cold water is being poured on your face and you're sputtering back into consciousness. A guilty looking man with a spent dick is apologizing because he didn't know what else to do.

After that you stop for a while because what haunts you more than the feeling of heat on your face and a hand around your throat is the thought of your colleagues finding your body, still hard, and your bulging tongue a telling purple.

///

When you first meet even he smells like soot and sweat. His fingers are long and tapered when he peels his gloves off to shake your hand.

(I'm stopping here because I'm literally falling asleep while writing this but I'll try and add a part 2 with Buck this weekend)

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[adelaidedrubman]

[ CLEANSE ]  our muses have sex in the bathtub from this prompt list + faith/jenna

notes: *scrambles in on the literal last day of pride month with the faithjen fic i swore i would post before its end* omg hiiiiiiiii hi hii. requested so long ago i won’t leave anyone on the hook for it even by my timeliness standards but. it’s here  wordcount: 4k (almost) even  warnings: NSFW, naturally. soapy boobs and thigh riding and all. bliss and cult stuff mentioned in passing. undertones of passive aggressiveness, less than healthy relationship dynamics, and emotional repression. local woman won’t just tell her girlfriend she smells like shit and she misses her but needs her alone time after work. faith smells like shit trutherism implied. (maybe to the point of unsanitary warning, but not really.) probably chemistry inaccuracies even with the intentional vagueness. prose over dialogue heavy. editing is not my strong suit, nor is conciseness

Jenna didn’t mind the smell of bliss, really. 

At any stage in the production process. 

A floral perfume heavied by its own decay, as the leaves dried. Fruit rotting and baking beneath unforgiving sunlight. 

Antiseptic saturated air that stung Jenna’s nostrils with its chemical burn on the most gentle, tentative inhale as plant matter dissolved. A bite deepened by the dry, earthy crackle of burning leaves, the heavy stench of gas coughed and spit from bunsen burners ignited by unsure, newly trained hands. 

A subtle brine beneath it all as the product was poured and stirred into vats of preservatives to be stowed away, like sea air that had soured. 

She didn’t mind the smell. She really didn’t. If anything she liked it. 

It meant things were rolling along successfully, after all. She particularly liked when she could pick up a note of each individual scent at once. Smoothly blending together, yet as distinct upon inspection as the stages of the process itself. A sign her lab was becoming a well oiled machine. 

No, she didn’t mind the smell of bliss. 

She did, just a bit, mind that it clung. 

That it settled heavy into every fiber of her hair and clothing to follow her. That it managed to find her nose no matter how tightly sealed her mask, the creeping knowledge lurking in the back of her mind that it surely seeped into the soft pink tissue of her lungs as well. 

She sighed at the thought, peeling off the last of her clothing and dropping it into the hamper — one built just for her, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a biohazard container, with its plastic lining and sealed lid. 

And it might as well be, she thought, soles of her feet adjusting to the lightly glossed grain of the hardwood as she slipped out of her shoes and stepped towards the bathtub. 

Not that she minded that either. 

The mere fact that she had a proper, safety proofed bin to dump her potentially contaminated clothing in was a stark improvement from her former research lab days. As was the fact her laundry would ultimately be left to someone else at the conclusion of her long work day, taken care of by one of the Project members assigned to do their part by washing and returning her clothes. (And far be it for her as a neutral observer to question the group’s organization of labor.) 

Jenna rolled and cracked her neck as she tugged at elastic band and allowed her hair to fall freely, trailing fingers along ends dried and frayed from exposure to the harsh chemical smoke. Another reminder of the unavoidable damage Bliss production did to her body. (But what kind of scientist would she be, if she wasn’t willing to put her own body on the line as readily as anyone else’s?) 

She brushed a hand through her curls, then brought the fingers to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of latex and disinfectant. She glanced down at her palm, tracing eyes along the powdery residue settled in its creases. 

Very much like her old research lab days, in the way it wore on her body. 

But better in every other sense, really. 

Better in that she was making real progress with her work, not jammed up with red tape. In that her journey from work to home was a short stroll down the hall of the Conversatory’s manor rather than just shy of an hour’s worth of bumper to bumper traffic to creep along all of ten miles. That her home had a deep clawfoot tub to soak the day away in, as opposed to the tiny shower stall of her old studio apartment. 

Yes, superior by every measure she could conceive, she assured herself as she turned the knob of the faucet, mixing a blend of bath oils into the water as steam rose. 

It was its own small bit of chemistry: mixing a concoction that would soothe and moisturize without settling into greasy film, building a sweet and potent perfume that didn’t too closely resemble the honeysuckle nectar of Bliss flowers. 

And a particularly pleasant application of the science, warmth of the water melting the tension from her muscles as she slipped into the tub. 

She sank down, dipped her head back to submerge, splashed water over her face before rising to sit again, droplets trickling down her back. 

She rinsed, repeated the motion. 

A creak of rusted hinges crying out in complaint cut through the soft sloshing of bath water to draw Jenna’s attention towards the opening door, joined by a gentle hum in a slow searching rise and fall, as if attempting to find harmony with the metallic screech. 

Jenna tilted her head to better view her intruder, identity well known to her before her cheek ever pressed against cool porcelain. 

Faith continued humming under her breath, smoothing out the tune with the settling of the door back into its frame at the gentle press of her fingertips, padding footsteps weaving left and right in something of a half dance on her path towards the tub. 

It was Faith’s own way of slowly washing off the day, Jenna thought with an amused smile, the gradual easing out of the public persona into something more organic and relaxed — and no less captivating. 

Faith’s song bubbled into a laugh (muted, not rising with the pitch it did around others) as she bent at the waist to hover over the tub. Jenna met her with a low, flat hum of her own and a wordless nod of acknowledgement. 

Faith held the silence, reaching a hand out to drop dried flower petals to float atop the water. Not Bliss flowers — a collection from their private gardens. A smattering of primroses and poppies. She was well aware of Jenna’s stance on compartmentalizing. That Bliss, however pleasant, was business, the very business she was washing herself of at the end of her shift. 

Basket emptied and set aside, Faith smoothed her skirt to prop herself seated at the edge of the tub. She leaned down to skim her fingers along the water — crowding Jenna’s senses with the syrupy perfume of Bliss that clung to her as she did. A more natural, softer version of the scent, lacking the sharp chemical notes, but familiar enough to wind the tension of work back into Jenna’s muscles nonetheless. 

“You shouldn’t,” Jenna said plainly, gesturing with her eyes to the fingertips cutting ripples through bathwater. “Touch the water directly,” she clarified. “Because of the chemical residue, that is. Miniscule risk of harm, but not absent.” 

Faith pulled back, blinked slowly. Then dropped her head with eyes closed, corners of her mouth stretching outward to allow a full and bright ringing laugh to spill from rosy lips.  

A bit of residue, Jenna thought. 

“From the Bliss, Jenna?”

A nod. “And every ingredient that goes into its production,” she answered, stretching her arms to rest along the sides of the tub. “It’s less dangerous than the sum of its parts, in ways.” 

“There’s nothing I could possibly fear,” Faith dismissed, propping herself on her hands and lifting to spin on the porcelain ledge, draping her legs over the width of the tub with heels propped on the opposite side. “Not from the Bliss. Not from being near you.” 

Jenna sighed, lifting her hand to trail damp, quickly pruning fingertips along the length of the woman’s leg in subtle acquiescence, feeling the small scrapes and caked dirt texturing the skin, signs she’d spent the day hard at work herself. 

It was its own form of exposure risk Faith faced. Working with the end product. Being in the public eye. One Jenna couldn’t as easily mitigate with rigid safety protocol. 

“It’s not about feeling fear or not,” Jenna countered, straightening her spine to sit more upright. Closer, she could smell past the perfume of Bliss to the subtle musk of sunbaked sweat. “It’s a… practical risk analysis. Strict probability.” 

Faith giggled, softening again, but with a practiced dismissiveness all the same. 

“Is that really all you can think about?” Faith questioned, now dipping a foot into the bathwater, flakes of dirt dissolving from the calloused skin to float alongside the petals as she rolled her ankle to stir. “Let’s be more practical by saving time and bathing together, then.” 

“Practical doesn’t always mean efficient,” she answered plainly. “Again, the risk of —” 

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash from Faith dropping her feet to the base of the tub, pulling her dress over her head in the same fluid motion.

Ah. So it was that kind of soft prodding suggestion, the kind Faith gave to signal a foregone conclusion — a particularly unavoidable one, it seemed, given she apparently hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath her dress.

Jenna sighed. 

“I don’t anticipate it will actually make things faster, either,” Jenna offered, affectionately placing hands at the backs of Faith’s legs to steady her nonetheless. “I think if anything it will lengthen the time we spend —”

“I hope it does,” Faith interrupted, settling atop Jenna’s lap. “I wish this moment could stretch on for eternity,” she said, wrapping arms around Jenna’s neck. “I wish it could last long enough to make up for every second that I’ve missed you.”

With that Faith leaned forward to close the remaining distance — a firm, steady pressure until she was seemingly satisfied Jenna’s lips would remain still, then melting into something more fluid and delicate. 

“I have missed you, Jenna,” Faith parted ever so slightly to whisper against her lips. “I miss you, when we have to spend so much time apart.” 

Well. As far as Jenna was concerned that was as good a qualitative factor for consideration as any, enough for her to stop bothering with explanations in favor of brushing aside the lightly misted curtain of blonde hair to kiss along Faith’s neck, subtle saltiness of dried and rewetted sweat clinging to her tongue. 

But her nose nudging against golden locks also jostled loose a fresh perfume of honeysuckle, thickened by dewdrops of bathwater splashed onto her hair. 

A pleasant smell, but not conducive to the head space Jenna sought — one temporarily, clinically insulated from the Bliss. 

Jenna reached past Faith to lift the handheld showerhead from its brass mount, raking fingers along Faith’s scalp and her head to tilt back with a dreamily defeated sigh, “Well, we should at least be productive about it then, shouldn’t we?”

Faith’s fingers did not seem particularly set on productivity as they stirred to trace the curves of Jenna’s body, brushing featherlight along the dip of her collarbone and down to caress her chest, then seeming to disappear and reappear to tease along her thighs. 

It would be better, to not have to rush it, Jenna thought to herself as she willed her own hands to work lathering shampoo into blonde hair rather than reach towards the places she truly longed to touch. 

She didn’t like to rush anything with Faith. 

She liked to sit with the sensations, savor each unique ache and dizzying jolt of pleasure she stirred inside her. She wished she could do so then and there, forget anything else to spend the rest of the evening basking in her. 

But with the lurking nuisance of a rigid schedule tugging demandingly at her attention, Jenna reluctantly kept her attention focused on bundling a bar of soap into a washcloth to methodically slide along Faith’s body, despite the shiver fingers brushing far too lightly along her inner thigh brought in turn.

Until delicate phantom touch congealed into a more solid pressure, fingers involuntarily squeezing down on the nipple they’d been teasing as Faith tensed and shuddered with Jenna bringing the showerhead’s stream evenly between her legs. 

“Mm,” Jenna intoned in something between an observant hum and an aroused moan. “Enjoying that, are we?” 

Jenna paused just a single heartbeat longer to savor Faith’s shaky sigh of affirmation before angling the showerhead away to rinse the suds clinging to splayed legs instead, then shift upward to continue washing away sticky sweet Bliss to dilute in pooling water. 

Faith shot her an indignant look that in turn quickly faded into pleading, slant of her brow rising to soften its furrow. 

“I was enjoying it,” she answered, an extra breathy huff accompanying the soft ring of her words that Jenna knew meant angry warning no matter how sweetly it was dressed up, the sharp chemical bite beneath the perfume. 

Yes, she recognized it just as easily as she recognized the punishing intent buried in the teasing slide of her fingers, staying spaced at such distance so as to avoid pressing against the places she ached most. 

It was what first attracted Jenna to Faith, that too gentle conniving, as candied as it was calculated. It would be ungrateful, hypocritical to allow herself to feel frustration — to feel anything but admiration — for it now. 

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to keep you from enjoying yourself,” Jenna replied calmly, bending forward to just barely grind herself against Faith’s teasing hand as she set aside the showerhead and squeezed a glob of shampoo into her palm. “But unfortunately I can’t be of much assistance at the moment.”

“But don’t you want to make me feel good?” Faith questioned, pressing a line of kisses to the ridge of Jenna’s jaw, threading the fingers of her free hand into Jenna’s hair. “Don’t you want to —”

“If I only had the time,” Jenna answered, briefly intertwining their fingers in the tangle of her curls as she worked in shampoo. “But I certainly won’t be offended if you use the opportunity to take care of yourself, while we’re together. I’d quite welcome it.” 

“I want you to make me feel good,” Faith amended in sing-song, finding something between arguing with Jenna and expanding on her own statement as she worked her fingers faster, still without allowing them to make proper contact. “I want —”

“A compromise, then?” Jenna replied, sliding her right leg beneath Faith’s so that she straddled the left. “Go ahead,” she said with a flex of her hips to grind upward, coaxing Faith to meet the pace. “Use me as you’d like.”

Faith gave a pouty humph of complaint, breaking into a sharp intake of breath as Jenna placed the hand not busied with working in conditioner at Faith’s hip to guide her along the length of her thigh, angling her knee upward so that the blonde slid down her leg. 

“J-Jenna,” she gasped, loosening the hand in Jenna’s hair to grasp the ledge of the tub, other hand flexing to curl just barely inside Jenna with the same tense of her body. 

Jenna answered with no more than a vague hum, leaning back against cool porcelain to sturdy herself as Faith rocked against her, admiring how drawn out, soft strides slowly exploring the friction offered by Jenna’s thigh gradually grew shorter, more forceful and snappy. 

The rate of the heavy breaths falling against the crook of Jenna’s neck followed a similar pattern, and she indulged herself a moment to slide a thumb along the gentle dip beneath Faith’s lips to feel the heat as she lifted the washcloth to her neck. 

And blessedly, the strokes of Faith’s hand kept pace, giving Jenna just enough stimulation for pleasure to crest in the backdrop as she dutifully continued the task of washing herself. 

A task that was no longer completely unassisted — Faith’s spare hand reached to join Jenna’s as she dragged her washcloth down to her chest, idly caressing and rolling a nipple beneath the now deeply shriveled pads of her fingers, just enough teasing pressure to make warmth flush along Jenna’s skin, mirrored in the hot pitch of Faith’s cheek pressed against hers. 

The water itself felt set to boil — logically, it should have long past grown tepid during their luxuriating soak, but as it sloshed and licked its way up Jenna’s ribs from the force of Faith’s movement it brought nothing but delicious heat she so desperately wanted to sink down into. 

“How much — mm, how much longer, Jenna?” Faith panted out in a plea as melodic as it was breathless, as impatient as it was gentle. “Before you can pay attention to me?” 

“There’s never a moment you don’t hold my attention,” Jenna cooed with a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “I promise it will be undivided very soon.”

She punctuated the statement by submerging her washcloth to brush between her thighs, taking the opportunity to cover Faith’s hand with her own, guiding it to quicken, increase force. 

Jenna allowed herself one more impractical indulgence — turning and craning her neck to brush her lips against Faith’s as she hiked her free leg to prop atop the tub’s ledge. 

And she admittedly drew out the task of running the washcloth along the length of her leg for longer than was strictly necessary, savoring the gentle vibration of Faith’s eager moans against her mouth, the way the angle drew her tighter around lithe fingers, made her cling to the pleasure from their strokes. 

And the warmth of the water soothed away any tension threatening to settle into her muscles as they clenched harder, the delicate, fluid movement of Faith’s fingers quickly conducting the symphony towards an inevitable crescendo. 

Still, it took more effort than it should have to lower her leg back into the water, pull away from their kiss. 

“I only have one part left to wash, love,” Jenna whispered, ragged and low. “Do you need me to finish things up for you, so I can have my leg back?” 

There was an ‘mmhm’ hummed against Jenna’s jaw as lips kissed up towards the apples of her cheeks. 

“Go on and say it, then. Tell me, in that lovely voice of yours,” Jenna used her last bit of calm patience to press, pulling back to admire the sight of her lover — face flushed to match the primroses petals floating in the water and clinging to her skin, bare chest heaving. “Tell me what you’d like from me.” 

“I want you to touch me,” she said in layers of dreamy sighs like spun sugar melting in the water. She angled her hips towards Jenna as if to direct her attention, gentle suggestion finally sharpening itself into a proper demand. “I want you to make me cum. Now.” 

It was all Jenna needed to appease, bringing her thumb to Faith’s clit without delay and brush aside damp, wispy blonde curls to stroke. 

The perfectly calculated angle at perfectly calculated pressure, the familiar contours of swollen flesh she used to gauge just how near she was to the edge, the expected burn in the expected places of her flexing arm as muscle memory did its work. 

Down to a science.  

Pink flush painting itself in brighter blotches on Faith’s face before crawling down to spread along the slight curve of her chest, the damp glisten of her brow that was fresh beading of sweat rather than bathwater, the telltale ripple of muscles at her middle in racing buildup as the jerks of her hips grew more erratic, the increase of the subtle drumming of her pulse in the the wrists resting atop Jenna’s collarbones as nails dug into her shoulder. 

And there it was — a last gentle coaxing of Jenna’s exacting touch, all it took for her lover to find that long sought release with a surrendering toss back of her head and drawn out gasp, faint twitches of her finish barely detectable reverberating against Jenna’s leg as she rode it out. 

And with the rush of the accomplishment, Jenna felt the need she’d allowed to fall to the backdrop quickly reassert itself, snatching the reins of her rational senses to drive her to grind determinedly against the hand between her legs, the fingers inside her slowly returning to life to resume a light, unsteady stroke, climax weakened tremble only increasing the thrill.

A thrill so strong that pushing herself to her own finish was just as easily done — a well-timed snap forward and downward drag of her hips, the last spark she needed to saturate every hungry nerve ending into overload. 

Her ears burned and whooshed with the sudden rush of blood, so full with pressure it felt as if she’d dipped her head back to submerge in water. It faded, slowly, the heat in her chest flaring to a cool rush of relief as she came down. 

As Jenna began grounding herself back into her body, she found the tightness had eased from her muscles entirely, tension worked away more thoroughly than the longest and most relaxing of soaks in a hot tub could ever grant her. 

Which was quite fortuitous, because with no more internal heat to dominate her senses, she could feel just how much the bathwater had chilled since they had abandoned the pretense of cleaning up. 

A final pleased sigh fell past Jenna’s lips as she shifted the leg Faith straddled to slide beneath her so that she rested between them, giving her final unwashed limb a quick, lazy wipe with the washcloth tightly wadded in her fist, followed by a hurried splash to rinse before she stretched the leg forward and used a toe to pull the plug from the drain. 

Then one last strain of her limbs to reach for the towel hung to the side, pulling Faith in closer as she wrapped it around them. 

“Consider me thoroughly corrected,” Jenna broke the comfortable silence to muse as she pulled slightly back, pressing her forehead against Faith’s. “You proved your point about the value of bathing together.” 

She trailed her gaze down to the subtle, satisfied smile curving along Faith’s lips as she brought the towel to drape over the blonde’s head. 

“Oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine,” Jenna recited as she rubbed terry cloth against blonde locks. “And a steady stream of serotonin in the comedown,” she mused, sitting back to blot gently at her own curls. “All chemicals released in the body from orgasm. And that greatly benefit the human brain — improving mood, cognition, and productivity. An efficient use of time, in the end, all things considered.” 

“And is that all?” Faith pressed, the furrow of her brow in would-be hurt betrayed by the delighted twinkle in green eyes. “What about the closeness it brings us? The human connection?” she offered. “Don’t you think there’s something more, something deeper to it than just chemicals?” 

“I failed to state a crucial axiom,” Jenna replied apologetically, lifting Faith’s hand from atop her shoulder and holding it between them. “There’s nothing deeper in the world to me.” 

She brought the hand to her lips, pressing a kiss just above the knuckles. 

“And I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to raise my oxytocin levels as effectively as you.” 

Faith shook her head as if in tired resignation, but Jenna caught the soft upward curve at the corners of her mouth in understanding, vanishing from her field of vision in the same heartbeat as she pulled Jenna back into her, tangling their limbs together and reclining. 

Such a brilliant woman, so perceptive. Such a privilege, to catch those glimpses of incisive, profound understanding she would carefully dress up as she moved through the day with eyes on her, pretense slowly washed away as the world faded to nothing but they two. 

Enough of a marvel that she felt justified in allowing herself to linger, to let the minutes tick away lazing with Faith snuggled at her side. 

Because there really was no one who raised her oxytocin levels quite as effectively. 

No one she’d rather have her brain rewired to facilitate enduring social bonding with, no one she’d rather anoint with every indication of adoring commitment in present sociocultural practice. 

“I love you too, Jenna.” 

More than anything, there was no one she’d rather wash the day off with.

[themirokai]

I did my at-least-annual tradition of making my family’s chicken soup recipe on Sunday, and I took process photos, so I thought I’d share. Here’s what I have written down but for all its vagueness it’s still not accurate.

I think every generation has modified some stuff about the process and tweaked it for their particular tastes.

Instead of using a whole chicken, I use a split chicken breast (2 halves) plus a pack of chicken thighs (4). I like this better because the ratio of meat to fiddly bits is better and Surfski likes CHICKEN soup (lots of chicken per bowl). You could easily use half a breast or one or two fewer thighs, but I think the mix of white and dark meat is important for flavor.

Next is something I added to the recipe after reading Salt Fat Acid Heat. I salt my raw chicken and let it sit out for at least half an hour before I put it in the water. I think this helps the chicken hold flavor through the cooking.

While the chicken is sitting (so a change from the order of the recipe) I chop a large sweet onion plus the carrots, celery, and parsnips. I think I used 5 skinny stalks of celery, 4 carrots and 5 parsnips, but especially given the size variability you’ve got to judge this based on vibes. How much of each vegetable does your heart tell you that you need in your soup? The one exception to this is if you are not familiar with parsnips and you are considering skimping on them or leaving them out. That is not your heart. That is the devil and you must resist. Trust me on this and use about as many parsnips as carrots.

The next step was added by my great aunt who was a genius in the kitchen (also very good at refurbishing antiques but that’s less relevant). You heat up some butter and olive oil and sautee your vegetables in it. Yes it makes another pan to clean but it’s completely worth it. You don’t cook it for long! Just until the carrots and celery get bright and the onion is just starting to get translucent and everything is a tiny bit soft.

Ok, set the veg aside but I highly recommend snacking on some of the parsnips at this point. Every time I make chicken soup it always makes me want to make roast parsnips and I always forget when I’m meal planning.

Next it’s chicken time! Load your chicken into a big heavy pot and cover it with water. I just barely cover it because I’m going to need room for lots of veg.

Put that on your biggest burner and boil it. It will take a while to come up to a good boil. Once it’s boiling it will start to foam. This stuff.

Ick. Skim that off and throw it away.

Now, when the foaming is done, turn down the heat and dump in your veg. Mix it all in there then put your bunch of dill on top. Make sure you take off the twist tie or anything else holding the dill together.

My mom added this next step which she got from a friend of hers. It’s this shit called Better Than Bouillon.

You can use the plain chicken variety. Roast chicken is just what my grocery store had. I’m not 100% sure what it is but it really does add gorgeous flavor to the soup. I put one big spoonful in a big pot. This is what it looks like out of the jar.

Now you let everything cook together until the chicken is cooked. How long will that take? 🤷🏻‍♀️ Depends on the size of your chicken pieces and how high you have the heat, etc. When you think it might be done, pull out your biggest piece of chicken and poke it. It should be white and firm. If it is, pull the rest of the chicken out too and turn the heat way down but leave the veg and the dill in to simmer.

Now you walk away. Go scroll tumblr. Read a chapter of a book. Draw something. But you gotta let the chicken cool down.

Why? Because you’re going to shred that with your fingers and you don’t want to burn your fingerprints off. Or maybe you do. I don’t know your life.

Anyway, this is a good spot for me to stop and hit post because I’m on mobile and I’ll run up against the 10 image limit.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this so far! The rest of the recipe and the end product will be in a reblog.

[crewman-penelope]

MARYLAND FRIED CHICKEN

FOR THE CHICKEN

4 lbs (1.8 kg) bone-in, skin-on chicken

1 tbsp dry mustard

1 tbsp garlic powder

1 tsp salt

2 cups (240g) unbleached white flour

1 tsp baking powder

3 cups (720 ml) peanut oil or Crisco

Old Bay seasoning

FOR THE GRAVY

¼ cup (60 ml) pan drippings (from frying chicken)

¼ cup (30g) unbleached white flour

2 cups (480 ml) low-sodium chicken broth

1 cup (240 ml) heavy cream

1 tsp ground black pepper

salt

PREPARATION

Separate the chicken pieces at the joint and dry them using paper towels. For instructions on how to disjoint a chicken, check out the cooking tips" section of the website.

Mix mustard, salt, and garlic powder in a small bowl, then sprinkle the mixture over the chicken.

Combine the flour and the baking powder in a shallow dish. Dredge the chicken pieces in the flour mixture, one at a time, and shake off any excess flour. Put the meat on a platter and refrigerate for 30 minutes to 2 hours.

After preheating the oven to 200°F/93°C, heat the oil to 375°F/190°C in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Place the chicken into the pot, skin side down, and cook covered until well browned, about 5 minutes per side. Next, lower the temperature to medium, adjusting the burner to maintain oil temperature between 300 and 325°F (150 to 160°C). Cook the chicken uncovered for about 5 minutes or until cooked through, turning as necessary (internal temperature should register 160°F/70°C for white meat and 175°F/80° for dark meat).

Fit a wire rack into a rimmed baking sheet, place the chicken on it, and season with some Old Bay, then put the chicken in the oven.

Bring the oil back to 375°F/190°C, and repeat steps 4 and 5 with the rest of the meat.

For the gravy, pour out all but ¼ cup (60 ml) of oil from the pot. Blend in flour and cook about 2 minutes on medium heat, until golden. Mix in broth, cream, and pepper. Simmer until thickened, for about 5 minutes, over medium-low heat. Season with some salt to taste and serve with the chicken.