#mushroom blend mix

[mushendo]

The Health Benefits of Mushroom-Infused Beverages - Mushendo Farm

In a world where health-conscious consumers are continually seeking innovative ways to boost their well-being, mushroom-infused beverages have emerged as a captivating trend. These unique concoctions, whether in the form of matcha, coffee, or hot chocolate, are capturing the attention of a growing audience. Beyond their distinctive flavors and enticing aromas, mushroom-infused beverages are celebrated for their remarkable potential to promote health and vitality. https://mushendo.com/blogs/mushendo-farms-blog/the-health-benefits-of-mushroom-infused-beverages

[fairy-ganj-mother]

my body is in so much pain lately but I made a dirty mushroom chai turmeric iced oatmilk latte so hopefully that heals me lol

[bloomzone]

A PROGRAM OF A HEALTHY DIET

(with idea)

- inspired by Korean idols !

By: ★﹕byeolgιrᥣ﹒

"Take care of yourself, That's the priority, You can only recieve love if you love yourself, I hope you think of yourself as a priority, Then people around you will love you"

- Jang Wonyoung

Breakfast:

1. Overnight oats with almond milk, chia seeds, sliced banana, and a drizzle of honey.

2. Whole grain cereal with skim milk, topped with mixed berries and a sprinkle of flaxseeds.

3. Veggie omelette made with bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, served with whole grain toast.

4. Smoothie bowl with blended spinach, frozen mixed berries, Greek yogurt, and a handful of granola.

Mid-Morning Snack:

1. Sliced cucumber and cherry tomatoes with hummus.

2. Rice cakes with avocado mash and a sprinkle of black pepper.

3. Cottage cheese with sliced strawberries and a drizzle of balsamic glaze.

4. Whole grain crackers with tuna salad (made with Greek yogurt instead of mayo) and cucumber slices.

Lunch:

1. Quinoa salad with diced mango, black beans, diced bell peppers, and a lime vinaigrette dressing.

2. Whole wheat wrap filled with grilled chicken, lettuce, tomato, avocado, and mustard.

3. Lentil soup with a side of mixed greens salad and a whole grain roll.

4. Brown rice bowl with stir-fried tofu, broccoli, carrots, and a teriyaki sauce.

Afternoon Snack:

1. Sliced apple with a spread of almond butter and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

2. Edamame beans sprinkled with sea salt.

3. Greek yogurt parfait with layers of granola, mixed berries, and a drizzle of honey.

4. Air-popped popcorn seasoned with nutritional yeast and smoked paprika.

Dinner:

1. Grilled shrimp skewers with quinoa pilaf and roasted Brussels sprouts.

2. Baked cod fillet with roasted sweet potatoes and steamed green beans.

3. Turkey chili served over baked sweet potatoes and topped with diced avocado.

4. Whole wheat pasta with marinara sauce, lean ground turkey, and sautéed spinach.

Evening Snack (optional):

1. Sliced pear with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a few squares of dark chocolate.

2. Celery sticks filled with almond butter and topped with raisins.

3. A small handful of mixed nuts (such as almonds, cashews, and pistachios).

4. Herbal tea with a squeeze of lemon and a small piece of cheese.

These meal ideas offer a variety of nutrients while keeping the overall calorie intake in check for a healthy and balanced diet.

[forkfulofflavor]

Cozy White Bean Mushroom Stew Ingredients: 3 Tbsp vegan butter (or sub olive oil) 1 medium onion, diced (~2 cups) 1 lb mushrooms, sliced (shiitake and cremini recommended) 3/4 tsp dried thyme 3/4 tsp dried rosemary 3/4 tsp sea salt and pepper 4 cloves garlic, minced 2 Tbsp cornstarch (or all-purpose flour) 2 tsp tamari or soy sauce (gluten-free if needed) 1 Tbsp Dijon mustard 3 cups vegetable broth 1 lb baby potatoes, cubed (~3 cups) 2 (15 oz.) cans white beans, drained and rinsed 2 cups dairy-free milk (plain, unsweetened almond or oat) Fresh parsley, chopped (optional for serving) Directions: In a large pot or Dutch oven, melt the vegan butter over medium heat. Add the diced onion and sauté for 3-4 minutes until translucent. Add the mushrooms, thyme, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Cook for 7-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms release their moisture and begin to brown. Stir in the minced garlic and cook for 1 minute until fragrant. Sprinkle the cornstarch over the vegetables and stir to coat. Add the tamari and Dijon mustard, mixing well. Pour in the vegetable broth and add the cubed potatoes. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are tender. Stir in the white beans and dairy-free milk. Simmer for another 10-15 minutes, allowing the stew to thicken. Adjust seasoning with more salt, tamari, or mustard to taste. Serve warm with a sprinkle of parsley if desired. Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cooking Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 55 minutes Kcal: 310 kcal per serving | Servings: 6 This Cozy White Bean Mushroom Stew is the ultimate comfort food for cooler days. With tender baby potatoes, earthy mushrooms, and creamy white beans, it's both hearty and nourishing. The delicate blend of thyme and rosemary elevates the flavor, while the richness of the vegan butter and dairy-free milk ensures every spoonful is packed with warmth and comfort. Perfect for a weeknight meal or to impress guests, this stew is easy to prepare, and you can even customize it by adding your favorite seasonal veggies. Serve it with a sprinkle of fresh parsley for an extra burst of color and flavor!

[random-writer-23]

Logan with a reader who loves to cook for him?? I’m from the south and food is a love letter here!! 😤 deer steak, peach cobbler, biscuits and gravy!!!

Need to fatten him up before the Canadian winter gets to him 🥺 come home Logan your dinners gettin cold

~~~Wonderful request gorgeous!!!! Had my stomach grumbling while I was writing it. I hope you enjoy it and that this is at least somewhere along the lines of what you were looking for!! This was the only photo of Logan I could find where he’s eating~~~

~~~On a separate note, I'm sorry I've been away for a bit y'all I've been having a rough time, my nana passed away recently so I've been struggling with that. I may be posting less frequently for a while, hope y'all understand. But I did wanna get back into writing and I feel this is the perfect request to write to make my return. My nana was always making that good Southern food for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Her collard greens had to be the best I've ever had in my life, her broccoli casserole, mac and cheese, biscuits the whole shebang. She always had me in the kitchen with her insisting I learn how to make everything so I could carry on her recipes so when I saw this request I knew I had to pull out her recipe book. I know she'd also want me to go back to writing cause she loved Wolverine. She never got to see Deadpool and Wolverine but I showed her the clip where Hugh's shirt explodes and she went WOWIE! and watched it at least 10 times so I feel this is a good way to honor her memory, she'd want me to be thinking about Hugh Jackman. Nana this one is for you I love you.~~~

~~~Mostly fluff, implied oral at the end but nothing is explicitly written, also mostly unedited cause it's just a quick little thing~~~

I focus on my Nana's broccoli casserole recipe in front of me, carefully mixing the blend of cream of mushroom soup, eggs, onions and mayonnaise in a bowl until it’s thick and creamy. I pull the bag of broccoli florets out of the freezer and add them to the mixture taking care to make sure they’re thoroughly coated. I take some of the cheddar cheese shreds and sprinkle it into the bowl stirring it in thoroughly before pouring the ingredients into a dish. I take extra care in sprinkling whatever shredded cheese I have left on the top of the casserole. I read from my Nana's recipe, crumbling up a few packets of Ritz crackers, and sprinkling the crumbs along the top of the casserole alongside the shredded cheese, just as she taught me when I was little. I grab my oven mitts opening the oven door, gripping the casserole dish tightly in my hands, slipping it into the oven. I set the oven timer to 45 minutes, pulling my oven mitts off. I turn my attention back to the pots on the stove, lifting up the lids to check on my collard greens and mashed potatoes. As soon as I lift the lids up the sweet aroma of a home-cooked meal fills the kitchen. A smile making its way onto my face. I begin clearing the table setting up the placemats and getting the plates and silverware ready. I jump slightly as the front door opens and closes, Logan's voice wafting through the air. “Darlin I’m home!” He calls out and I grin as I hear his voice, I poke my head out of the kitchen and I sight watch him kicking off his shoes at the front door. He looks up catching sight of me and I watch him take a deep breath inhaling the smell of my cooking. “Something smells delicious” He chuckles taking a few steps towards me, I step out of the kitchen, meeting him halfway and his eyes roam my figure hungrily taking in the sight of me in my apron. “And something else looks delicious” He chuckles wrapping his arms around me.

“Hi baby” I grin, giggling as he nuzzles his nose against the top of my head, “have a good day?” I ask softly, and he grunts running his hands through my hair and kissing the top of my head. 

“Better now I’m with you” He chuckles gruffly holding me tighter and I smile, “So whatcha got cooking for me” he pulls away slightly, his hand cupping my face, tucking my hair behind my ear, his other hand finding its place on my lower back.

“Hmm, some broccoli casserole, mashed potatoes, collard greens…” I grin looking up at him, fingers lightly tracing shapes on his chest. He groans, his lips falling down to mine in a passionate kiss. 

“Oh darlin you treat me so well” He chuckles, his lips falling from mine, ghosting along my jaw where he presses light kisses against it. His lips kiss down my neck and I let my head fall back slowly as he nips gently at the skin of my collarbone “Always cooking delicious meals f’me” he groans lightly, burying his nose in the crook of my neck inhaling deeply.

“Well you take such good care of me, only fair I take care of you too” I giggle.

“And you do it wonderfully” he grins, tightening his hold on me, I wrap my arms around his neck. “I appreciate everything you do for me" He kisses me, murmuring against my lips "lemme show you how much” He kisses me again, his hands leaving my lower back to palm at the fat of my thighs, massaging the skin rhythmically. I giggle leaning into his touch, closing my eyes only to have them spring open at the sound of the oven alarm going off I chuckle lightly as he groans loudly at the interruption. Keeping his forehead pressed against mine.

“Baby as much as I’d love that,  I gotta go check on the food… can’t let it burn” I say softly pushing lightly against his chest and he grumbles reluctantly letting me go. 

“Fine fine, just so all your hard work doesn’t go to waste” He grumbles and I smile patting his cheek lightly, weaseling out of his arms and walking back into the kitchen. He trails after me sniffing the air, humming quietly to himself. I grab a pair of oven mitts, opening the oven taking the food out putting the dish on the kitchen counter. I turn the stovetop off stirring the collard greens and mashed potatoes one last time before grabbing two plates gently scooping a large portion of food onto Logan's plate. Repeating the process and scooping a slightly smaller portion onto mine. I hand the plates over to Logan who sets them down on the table pulling my chair out for me. 

“Thanks honey” I grin and he pushes my chair in when I sit down, he grins at me slyly pouring me a glass of wine. Pouring another for himself before settling himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. I take a small bite of each food giving it a small taste test, while Logan across the table digs in like a man starved, practically scarfing down his food. I chuckle lightly sipping my glass of wine. 

“Oh baby you outdid yourself” He mumbles through a mouthful of food, making me laugh. “Absolutely delicious” He compliments and I smile. 

“Used Nana’s recipe” I grin, “same one she used for Thanksgiving dinner” I chuckle, scooping up another forkful of food and guiding it into my mouth. “well thank you, Nana” He chuckles raising his glass of wine, waiting till I tap mine against his, before he takes a sip. It doesn’t take too long for us to finish up our food and I start to stand up as soon as Logan's plate is cleared, reaching across the table to grab it from him, but he tsks shaking his head at me. “Oh no you don’t” he says making me pause my movements my hand hovering over his empty plate. He smiles walking behind me putting his hands on my shoulders massaging gently kissing the back of my neck, gently pushing me back down into my chair.

“What?” I laugh, letting him guide me back into my chair.

“You cooked, which means I do dishes” He insists, and I chuckle.

“Alright, alright” I smile watching as he clears the plates from the table, he puts all the leftovers in containers and stores them in the fridge. Carrying the pots to the sink pouring soap in the pots letting the hot water run and fill them up. I watch him from my seat at the table taking another sip of wine, watching the muscles in Logan's arms flex as he scrubs the pots and pans rinsing them of soap before putting them in the dish rack to dry. He grabs a tea towel using it to dry his hands, as he turns around leaning back against the kitchen counter, his gaze landing on my figure. 

“Well I’m stuffed” he smiles setting the tea towel aside, “but…” He grins standing behind my chair massaging my shoulders again. He takes my hand tugging me out of my chair, holding me close to him, kissing me softly hands gripping my thighs, lifting me up slightly to sit on the dining table. He pulls my body to the edge of the table, making me lay back leaning on my elbows. He pulls up the chair I was previously sitting on, perching himself on the edge of my chair. He pulls my shorts off, my panties following not far behind. He tosses them aside letting them land in a forgotten corner of the room, his lips trailing along my thighs kissing them gently groaning softly at the taste of my skin. He grips my thighs guiding my legs over his shoulders, biting softly at my upper thighs, “I think I’ve saved just enough room for dessert” He purrs, his head dipping down between my legs. 

[hellyeahsickaf]

Cooking While Disabled

One of the things I miss most about being less disabled is cooking. It was one of my favorite things to do and something I've always been good at.

On good days there are things I can do that make it easier. It's not the same as before, but I hope that sharing what makes it possible for me to cook helps others who struggle with it.

Tips for cooking while disabled:

You can incorporate precooked food in your meals. For example, stir fry with precooked rice with the ingredients of your choice, or taking frozen pasta (like the ones with maybe sauce and a couple other things) or plain microwave pasta (I prefer these, but heat it first) and putting it in a pan adding other ingredients like vegetables, cheese, garlic, etc

If it comes frozen or canned that can really help. Frozen rice you can just microwave, frozen cut veggies and garlic and onions are good as well

Buy a chopper with different shaped blades, spiralizer, electric slicer/grater, food processor, or any appliance that will save you energy. Ideally machine washable. Stand mixers are also better than manual ones. Especially helpful if you have joint/wrist issues

You can always prepare ingredients ahead of time. I find that sometimes it helps to prep (chopping or mixing ingredients, etc) earlier in the day or even a day before. Then you can put it in the fridge or freezer until you're ready to cook the full meal

Look up easy recipes or recipes for elderly/seniors. With the latter you may find more nutritionally balanced food but an unbalanced easy meal is better than none

You can sit while you prepare ingredients.

You're allowed to take breaks. You can turn the stove off, maybe put a lid on it to retain the heat, sit down, maybe take something for your symptoms. Some things you may not be able to stop in the middle of like making pancakes or deep frying something, but if you're making soup or curry or chili or something, often you can turn it off for a bit and take care of yourself.

If you need help and can get it, please ask for help. I know many of us need to work on asking for help including myself. Even if it's just washing the pots and pans or chopping something. You are not a burden you hear me?

Stretch before and after cooking just as one would before a workout. It will likely lessen any joint pain or stiffness as you are still exerting yourself

Listen to your body. Just as you're allowed to take a break, you are allowed to decide you won't be able to finish what you're doing. You may put away your food before it's done (if this won't ruin the meal). You are allowed to leave a dirty pot in the sink and come back to it later (just make sure you or someone else does before it gets gross). You can wash them in the dishwasher. I know this is bad for the seasoning on pots and pans but you can reseason them to be nonstick again and use nonstick spray

You can buy seasoning mixes rather than using individual seasoning. Instead of parsley, oregano, basil, etc you can buy Italian seasoning. Instead of paprika, pepper, cumin, oregano, salt, etc, you can just get taco seasoning. This may sound obvious but it can save a lot of time and energy

An issue I have is buying perishable ingredients thinking I can use them, having a bad week or two, and the ingredients have gone bad. Try to plan out your meals before shopping and ask yourself if there's an easier alternative for any ingredients. Maybe pre chopped fresh onion instead of a whole one, sliced mushrooms instead of whole, frozen vegetable blends instead of individual, powdered ginger instead of the root, bullion instead of stock that you may not be able to use all at once. I know this is like one of the other points but these are what I find most helpful

Use supercook.com! You input the ingredients you have on hand and you'll get a list of recipes you can make with what you have. Often there's a wide range of complexity and difficulty

Make enough food to freeze or refrigerate leftovers. It helps if you can portion it into single servings in Tupperware or freezer bags. You can prepare frozen burritos for your next few lunches or dinners, separate portion sizes of spaghetti, portion salads, etc

Feel free to add any additions!

[buffetlicious]

Home-cooked Spicy Red Snapper with Bamboo Shoots using our own blend of chilli and spices mix. The other dish is five-spice and dark soya sauce Braised Pork Belly with Shiitake Mushrooms to go with the mixture of steamed purple and white rice.

[hairupintheair]

Trolls Cookbook Text

Troll Slaw

Ingredients

-9 Trolls, shredded -2 pounds of green cabbage -1 Teaspoon Caraway seeds -3 cups of mayonnaise -2 tablespoons white vinegar -1 clove garlic, minced -1 teaspoon dijon mustard -2 carrots, grated (1 cup)

Directions

In a large bowl, toss Trolls with 1 tbsp salt. Cover with ice water, refrigerate for 1 hour. This will preserve their color.

Drain the chilled Trolls, then squeeze in a towel to absorb any excess moisture. While simple, this is the most important step. The dressing will coat much better to a dry Troll.

Return to the large bowl. Stir in carrots and toasted caraway seeds. Add dressing and stir well.

Filet of Troll

Ingredients

-1/2 lbs filet of Trolls, trimmed and tied -5 tablespoons unsalted butter -1 tbsp salt -1 tbsp pepper

Directions

Preheat the oven to 451 degrees F. Place the Trolls on a sheet pan and pat them down. Use your hands to spread the butter over them. If they laugh, don't be alarmed. Trolls are ticklish by nature. Sprinkle the sale and pepper, evenly.

Roast in the oven for exactly 24 minutes. Remove the trolls from the oven, cover them tightly with aluminum foil, and allow them to rest at room temperature for 20 minutes. Remove the strings and slice the filet of trolls thickly.

Beef Trollganoff

Directions

Slice trolls against the grain into 1 inch strips. Trolls may lose color when you begin slicing. This is normal.

Cook Trolls using same skillet until brown. Heat to boil; reduce heat. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes. Stir into Troll mixture. Serve over noodles. Enjoy!

Ingredients

-1 1/2 pounds Troll -8 ounces day-old mushrooms, sliced -2 medium onions, thinly sliced -1/4 cups margarine -1 1/2 cups Troll-flavored broth -1/4 teaspoon salt -1 teaspoon worcestershire sauce -1/2 cup all purpose flour -1 1/2 cups sour cream -3 cups cooked egg noodles

Spicy Tuna Troll

Ingredients -5 cups sushi rice -2 sheets dry seaweed -3 tbsp white sesame seeds -4 lbs sushi-grade Trolls -1 cup mayonnaise -1/4 tbsp of dry chili pepper

Directions

Chop trolls and mix with mayonnaise and chili-pepper. Put a sheet of seaweed on a mat. Spread a portion of rice on top of the sheet. Sprinkle sesame seeds on top of the sushi rice. Please a portion of troll mixture lengthwise on the rice. Roll the mat, pressing forward to shape the sushi into a cylinder. Firmly press the mat and remove it from the sushi.

Cut the rolls into bite size pieces. Enjoy!

Jellied Cassetroll

Ingredients

-1 box of gelatin mix -12-17 Trolls -16 oz of sour cream -8 oz whipped topping -2 cups boiling water

Directions

Dissolve gelatin mixture in boiling water for 2 minutes. Add Trolls, chopped. Blend mixture with a hand mixer until the Trolls and gelatin have adequately mixed. Place in the fridge for 2-3 hours or until the gelatin mixture sets half way.

Lightly fold in the sour cream and whipped topping. Pour the entire mixture into a mold of your choice. This is where you get creative! Troll Hair molds, Trollstice molds, a mold for every occasion!

Fruity Troll Roll

Directions

Mix all the ingredients except chocolate in a large bowl. Stir thoroughly and place on a foil covered tray. Refrigerate until needed.

Form into two logs, using greased hands. If Troll hair protrudes from log, don't worry. This is great for presentation and adds a bit of color to the dish!

Melt chocolate while logs chill. Once melted, pour over logs. You may notice a few shouts or screams when you begin pouring the chocolate. This lets you know the chocolate is the perfect temperature! Chill the logs in the fridge.

Slice with a serrated knife to serve.

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, Eddie coming to your rescue & Florence.

Masterlist Listen to Disarm Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled. 

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows. 

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you. 

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds. 

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long. 

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin. 

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote. 

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone. 

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first. 

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. 

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under. 

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink. 

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you. 

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world. 

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go. 

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car. 

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.” 

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance. 

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper. 

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding. 

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting. 

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right. 

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk. 

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears. 

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails. 

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come. 

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair. 

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call. 

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while. 

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio. 

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with." 

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line. 

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression. 

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl. 

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here." 

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat. 

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk. 

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks. 

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore. 

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation. 

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours. 

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen. 

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that? 

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side. 

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin. 

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket. 

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms. 

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma. 

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. 

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article. 

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite. 

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh. 

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person. 

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply. 

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do. 

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table. 

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing."  His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response. 

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?” 

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli. 

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye. 

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?” 

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.  

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background. 

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen. 

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering  little comfort.  Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion. 

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed. 

Until you read it. 

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you. 

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck. 

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed.  But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t. 

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket. 

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers. 

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours. 

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground. 

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve. 

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs. 

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket. 

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing. 

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Read Song 4 Remix Here Follow @tornupdates for notifications

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

[flowery-laser-blasts]

DINE 'N CRIME: DUMPLING

This recipe is part of the menu of 'Chez Molerat vs Dine 'n Crime'.

HOW TO MAKE THE FILLING. Ingredients: - Fatty pork meat/porkbelly slices (preferably ground meat) - 2 hands full of big shrimp (deshelled and cleaned out). - Two gloves of finely chopped garlic - A piece of ginger (size of your pinky finger), also finely chopped - 2 Spring onions - 1 can of bamboo shoots (use only half of it) - 2 quick shakes of ground white pepper (or to your preferred taste) - 2 tbsp of water - 2 tsp of Soy sauce - 2 tsp of Shaoxing cooking wine - 1 tsp of Sesame oil - Samyang Buldak sauce to your liking (HOT!) Optional ingredients: - Finely chopped carrot - Finely chopped cabbage - Finely chopped shiitake mushrooms

Instructions: - If you have ground pork, great! If you don't; chop the pieces of fatty pork meat as big as your pinky fingers. After that, carefully start hammering down on it with two knives; ground it ye olde way! It's a bit time consuming but you'll feel like a professional chef when you start double wielding kitchen knives. Keep in mind that this causes a lot of noise though and PLEASE BE CAREFUL BECAUSE KNIVES ARE SHARP! Once you are done, put the ground pork into a bowl. - Wash and deshell the shrimps in cold water. Take out the guts, wash the shimps once more and finally chop the shrimps into 4 to 5 pieces. Add the shrimps to the pork. - Clean and finely chop 2 spring onions (depending on the size it can also be 1 or 3). Chop the bamboo shoots and lastly mince the ginger and garlic into tiny pieces (you can also grate the ginger and use a garlic press for the garlic). Add these ingredients to the pork shrimp mixture. - Add the water, ground pepper, soy sauce, Shaoxing cooking wine, sesame oil and Buldak sauce to the mixture. Stir well until everything is evenly divided. Once combined, cover the bowl and set the filling aside in the refrigerator. NOTE: If you do not have the Buldak sauce, that's no problem! You can easily replace this with a bit of Madam Jeanette or any other hot pepper to your liking. It's up to your spice level. Keep in mind that this recipe is made to my preferences and not everyone likes hot foods. So if you want to eat good dumplings without the spice; leave out the Buldak sauce (or use it seperately for dipping).

HOW TO MAKE THE DUMPLING SKIN (RECOMMENDED FOR MORE ADVANCED COOKS). Ingredients: - Water 120mL/4.2oz - 200g/0.85 cup of All purpose flour - A pinch of salt - 80g/half a cup of Spinach (preferably fresh baby spinach) for the green dough - Liquid Squid ink for the black dough

Instructions: - Add the flour and salt to the mixing bowl. - Boil the water, turn off the stove and add the baby spinach to soften it. Make sure to NOT overcook spinach as it contains 'prussic Acid' which means that your body can turn this stuff into Cyanide.Not enough to actually kill you, of course... I hope. I'm a Doctor, but not a health doctor or dietician, so don't take it as hard facts from me! Technically speaking, you're also not a 'doctor', you know... Since you're a drop out. ZIP IT, SHEGO! - Add the softened spinach and the water to a mixer and blend it until smooth. - Sieve the blended spinach juice until all the pulp is seperated from the warm green water (yummy). Make sure that the water is around 45°c/113°f - Carefully add the warm water to the flour as you mix it - Make a ball of dough and if it's too wet, add a little bit more flour but not too much! Keep on kneading and once the ball of dough is springy to touch (push it in with your finger and it should go back up) it's ready! - Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Wrap up one of them and to the other we will add a few drops of squid ink. Knead the ball (yes it will be a bit sticky again) until it changes color. We're aiming for a dark grey color, not to worry; this will turn black during the steaming process. HOW TO FOLD THE DUMPLINGS: For the life of me I cannot explain to you how to fold dumplings so here; have this amazing tutorial by China Sichuan Food. My auntie taught me how to fold crescent moon dumplings but well, I'm still not the best at it when it comes to folding home made dumpling skin. That's the reason why I adviced at the start that making this is for more advanced cooks. If you have never folded dumplings before, I recommend you start with store bought frozen gyoza skins. They are WAY easier to make dumplings with but sadly, I haven't found any black and green frozen gyoza skins in stores.

Once you're finished making all your dumplings, you can go right ahead and steam them for 7~8 minutes OR you can store them in the freezer (make sure to first seperately freeze them for up to 1 hour (or until slightly hardened) and then you can put all of them together in a bag, this way they won't stick together) If you want to heat them up after freezing; steam them for 15 minutes.

HOW TO MAKE THE DIPPING SAUCE. Ingredients: - 1 tbsp Chinese black vinegar - 1 to 2 tbsp Soy sauce - 1 tsp Sesame oil Mix these condiments together in a little bowl, for topping you can add: - Sesame seeds - Sliced chilli - Finely sliced ginger

Enjoy these dumplings while hot! Carefully bite the tip to create a little air hole so you won't burn your mouth because these dumplings are juicy!

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

when tommy thinks of logstedshire, it is the seagulls that come to mind.

not anything sensible. not miserable nights and even more miserable days. not pain and suffering and fear. not even the sickening sense of comfort dream brought him. those remained in mixed, confusing messes, minutes of events being stitched together and fears turning to memory and memory turning into unrealised fears. he does not think he could recall a full day of exile. he could count the days he remembered an uninterrupted hour on his fingers. the rest was blended together in some sickening trauma mush of confusion.

but he could remember the seagulls.

when he closes his eyes, it’s the sound of seagulls crowing overhead that haunt his brain. it's the feeling of saltwater and blood mixing on his skin. it’s the days so hot his skin would burn and the nights so cold his skin turned blue. it’s the smell of floral perfume, the one dream wore so much of being close to him made eyes water. it’s the coarse feeling of shirt-turned-bandage against his skin. it’s the static noise of the waves. it’s the pollen of flowers in the plains that makes him sneeze. it’s grass under his feet. it's the taste of mushroom stew. it’s dirt and seawater and worse in his hair. it’s the beauty of the nights, the way the reflections of stars above danced and shifted as the tides swayed. it’s tinsel and baubles and christmas gift wrapping.

it’s all the things that make no sense. it’s snippets of conversations about nothing in particular, it's silly songs he sung to himself while in the mines. it's all the little things between the big, it’s all the stuff you were meant to forget. that’s all he could be sure of, all that remained crystal-clear in his memories. those stupid, boring moments in between the torture, in between the manipulation, in between the times he thought maybe things were okay. that’s all that remained of exile.

birdsong leaving him having a panic attack and scars he couldn’t remember getting.

[mycenalucentipes]

Rekindle My Flames || Diluc x gn!reader

HI SO I also write Genshin :'D, figured I might post it here too. This is crossposted from ao3. Except thered, I'm for some reason mycenaLucentipes. So I'll probably change my name here to reflect that beceauseee mushrooms, anywayS =============================================

Summary: You’re depressed, but up until this one night, you had been amazing at masking and hiding it away. Diluc stumbles in on your dying flame and wants to help relight it.

All the passion for life is gone, minus your love for Diluc? The depression just…its a cloud of sadness that’s hard to escape

Just a short venting one-shot :’)

TW: Angst, depression, low will to live / implied suicidal thoughts, crying, cursing, generally sad depressing theme, but there is comfort ending : )

Word count: 1,966

a/n: I think I made it entirely gn this time. I hope so. I'm sorry if I messed up somewhere or if Diluc is ooc. But i feel like if he really loved someone romantically, I think he would be sweet and bashful and caring towards them.

Diluc was mad. 

Diluc was mad at himself.

How had he not noticed earlier? He could he not notice the love of his life suffering silently with so much pain?

His love shouldn’t need to bear that much pain in their heart. They didn’t deserve that, no. 

They deserved the shining stars, the flowing rivers, the ripest of all fruits, the whole universe. They deserved it all.

You were his star that guided him through the lonely world he created for himself. You were his everything. He swore his love for yet set his flames to blaze even brighter and more powerful than before. 

You are his everything. 

So how could he not notice?

Just a couple days ago, you casually strolled in Angel’s Share at 20:00 with the traveler and Paimon, humming your favorite song. No more than 15 minutes later came Kaeya and Venti stumbling towards the bar where you and travel sat. The atmosphere was a lively one that night. 

Upon your arrival, Diluc’s gaze followed you with gentle, tender eyes for his love. He began mixing your favorite drink before you even had to open your mouth. Once he finished yours and carefully slid it in front of you, he began mixing a cocktail up for the traveler. Although a bit wary of serving them alcohol, you assured him more than a dozen times that they were well over the age to start drinking. 

Your eyes lit up as you felt the cool drink glide down your throat. “Diluc, sweetflower! This is amazing! Whatever you’ve mixed into here, is really hitting the spot,” you cheered, holding your glass up with a large grin adorning your face. It was fruity, with a hint of mint among the blend. Diluc knew just how you liked it. He offered a soft small back as he tried not to blush at the compliment and the nickname. Oftentimes, you would give him random, sweet nicknames. 

As the night went on, he carefully observed you, happily singing and cheering along to whatever the drunken bard was playing. You, Kaeya, and Traveler had wrapped an arm around each other, swaying back and forth with a drink in hand. 

Looks can be deceiving. Didn’t anyone ever tell him that?

Every once in a while, he noticed your features go blank. Void of all emotion. Stuck in between a drunk Kaeya and tipsy traveler, your movements were lifeless, but your body still swayed with the other companions’ arms wrapped around your shoulders, and yours on theirs. 

“Dearest, are you alright? You look like a puppet hanging from our arms,” Kaeya would slur out when he noticed the weight on his shoulder increase. You would always snap back into reality with a smile and nod your head. It was enough to fool him. Surely if he wasn’t drunk, he might have noticed how your smile never met your eyes. 

Every once in a while, he noticed your entire demeanor go quiet. Spaced out and dissociated from reality. He wondered if you were okay, but didn’t know how to ask or he would be swept away by another customer.

From other previous times, he would notice a far off look in your features, empty eyes void of life. You always brushed it off as just being “tired”. He didn’t want to pry. 

Diluc was always a stoic man and didn’t appreciate others prying into his mind, so he was hesitant to prod you for more.  He was still learning to accept the help and comfort you so warmingly gave. For not being a pyro wielder, he swore that your soul was warmer than his would ever be. 

Until that one night. That one night where he found you. He’s thankful it wasn’t life threatening. But archons, his mind raced with all of the worst scenarios that could come. 

Diluc stirred in his sleep, wearily reaching out for your warmth that was no longer beside him. It was about 3 in the morning by now. Not finding you next him, Diluc was more alert now. He quickly sat up, breathing turning short as he frantically looked around the bedroom. There was no trace of you.

It was 00:00 when Diluc finally came to bed. Then it was 01:00 when you carefully slipped out from his embrace and softly headed for the door, heading for the city. 

Where had you gone? Diluc was sure that you were in bed when he climbed in next to you, pulling your body close to his. He remembered as he mumbled weary apologies and sweet nothings as he drifted off to sleep, feeling safe with you by his side. 

Diluc quickly changed out of his sleepwear and rushed out the door and down the stairs of the mansion. He called your name out, worry laced into his voice. When you were nowhere to be found within the confines of the mansion, Diluc grabbed his coat, deciding to head into the walls of Mondstadt. He knew you had an art studio there with a small shop on the main level. 

As he neared your shop, he could see a faint light flickering from the second floor. There you were. Why were you here at this hour? Diluc timidly wrapped his fingers around the door knob, testing if it would turn. Finding it to be unlocked, he gently opened the door and stepped in. Once he closed the door, he froze.

It was eerily quiet.

He could only hear the blood rushing through his ears and his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Not wasting another second, Diluc ran up the stairs, skipping one in a panic to reach you. As he neared your studio door, he froze once again in hesitation to open the door. What would he find on the other side? Why did he hesitate to open the door? 

In his moment of hesitancy, he heard small whimpers and light sniffles. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. You were still alive. Diluc swung the door open, gaze darting directly to you. 

His heart shattered when his eyes landed on you. You looked so small and broken, huddled into yourself, tears streaming down your face. Diluc slowly made his way over to you, nearly tripping over debris. Wait, debris? 

He carefully scanned over the room as he continued his walk towards you. Those few steps it took to get to you felt like he was in a nightmare and couldn’t reach what he was looking for in time. He felt as if he was trudging through slimes. 

Paint cans were discarded around the floor with color pooling out from them, vibrant hues of paint coated the floor, shards of canvas framing were split and splintered into piles. Some of your unfinished works were cruelly sliced through the center while others were haphazardly slashed. 

Once he finally made it over to you, Diluc sank down to the floor beside you, enveloping you into his strong arms. In his embrace, it felt as though the fiery essence of his pyro vision wrapped you in a cocoon of warmth and protection. 

“My love,” Diluc’s deep voice pierced the heavy silence, a gentle murmur barely above a whisper, “if you would like, you are free to share your troubles with me, I’m here for you.” His tender words only seemed to unravel you further. You choked back a sob, trying to form words. It’s been a long time since you’ve been met with such sincerity and caring from someone. Asyou struggled, Diluc soothingly rubbed circles into your back. 

“You don’t have to tell me right away, love, I’m not going anywhere,” He whispered sweetly with his low voice. This only made you cry harder, except there were no more tears, just broken sobs and heaving breaths. Diluc’s other hand gently moved to gently stroke the back of your head, gently urging it closer into his chest. 

“D-Diluc,” your voice was soft, yet rough from the hours of screams and sobs, “c-can we just go…go h-home?” Your words were whispered in a plea, exhaustion prominent in your gaze as you looked in Diluc’s crystal, red eyes. 

His heart ached as he met your gaze. He noticed how tired, red, and glassy your eyes looked. 

Really, how could he not notice how tired your eyes were? 

“Of course, my love,” he murmured softly, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead before gently helping you to your feet. “Are you alright to walk? Or…,” Diluc’s cheeks reddened with bashfulness as he tried to voice the option of carrying you. Of course, if you needed, he would have you off your feet in a heartbeat. As you pondered an answer, he shrugged his coat off, tenderly draping it around your shoulders. 

“I-I’m alright to walk,” you stuttered out. Despite this, you clung to his side as he guided you out into the cool air of the night with care. The whole walk home, he held you close with an arm tightly wrapped around your shoulders. 

As you reached the familiar sight of the Dawn Winery, you felt a small spark of endearment within your broken soul. Diluc led you into your shared bedroom, helping you remove his coat and draping it over the chair. He then picked you up, gently setting you on the bed, pulling the covers over you. You tugged the covers closer to your chest as your gaze followed his form, changing into his sleepwear and finally crawling in bed next to you. 

He shuffled closer to you, pulling you into his embrace once again with one hand stroking the back of your head. 

“Diluc?” You softly whispered, head still buried in his chest.

“Mm?” He tiredly hummed out.

“C-can I– Can we talk…uhm, I-I want to–,” you fumbled for words, not knowing how to articulate your thoughts into actual words.

“Of course, love, of course we can,” Diluc gave a small nod as he replied, squeezing you in reassurance. You loved how well he understood you, even when you were at a loss for words. A few stray tears slipped out with a couple of sniffles to follow. He only tightened his embrace again, still soothingly stroking the back of your head. 

“For now, let’s try to get some sleep. You must be exhausted,” Diluc suggested gently, voice tender with care. He felt you snuggle closer into his warm embrace. He hoped this could ease the pains of your inner storm, if only slightly. 

Nodding in agreement, you allowed yourself to surrender to the embrace of sleep. You listened to his steady heartbeat, a rhythmic lullaby, that slowly lulled you into a deep slumber. 

Once Diluc heard you slowed but steady breathing, he felt his whole body relax. He could feel his throat tighten as his own tears threatened to escape from the corners of his eyes. Oh how he wanted to take away all of your pain so you wouldn’t have to suffer any longer. He knew you would most likely struggle to accept any help or comfort on your own. But he wanted more than anything to reassure you over and over that you could come to him any time. You were his top priority and he would never let you forget that.

He was determined to learn to read you better as well as help you feel confident in confiding in him. Working on feelings and emotions with someone else was foreign land to him as well, but if it was for you, he would go to the moon and back in his efforts to help you.

Diluc was so head over heels for you. You were the brightest star in his galaxy and the kindest, fiercest flame that he had ever encountered. 

[foodshowxyz]

Homemade Mushroom Paste There's something undeniably satisfying about crafting your own condiments, transforming humble ingredients into flavor powerhouses that elevate everyday dishes. This homemade mushroom paste is a testament to that culinary alchemy. It's deeply savory, earthy, and versatile, ready to lend its umami magic to everything from toast and sandwiches to grilled meats and pasta sauces.

Ingredients:

1 pound mixed mushrooms (cremini, shiitake, portobello, etc.), cleaned and sliced

1/4 cup olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

1/4 cup shallots, minced

1/4 cup dry white wine

2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves

1 tablespoon butter

Salt and pepper to taste

Equipment

Large skillet

Food processor or blender

Instructions:

Sauté the Mushrooms: Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms and cook, stirring occasionally, until they are golden brown and any released liquid has evaporated, about 10-12 minutes.

Add Aromatics: Stir in the garlic and shallots and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds.

Deglaze and Simmer: Pour in the white wine and bring to a simmer. Cook until the wine has reduced by half, about 2-3 minutes.

Season and Thicken: Stir in the thyme leaves and butter. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cook until the butter has melted and the mixture has thickened slightly.

Blend: Transfer the mushroom mixture to a food processor or blender and pulse until smooth, scraping down the sides as needed. You can leave it slightly chunky for more texture if desired.

Cool and Store: Let the mushroom paste cool completely before transferring it to an airtight container. Store in the refrigerator for up to 5 days or freeze for longer storage.

Tips & Variations:

Mushroom Selection: Use a variety of mushrooms for a more complex flavor. Dried mushrooms can also be used, just rehydrate them in hot water before using.

Flavor Enhancers: Add a pinch of dried chili flakes for a touch of heat, or a squeeze of lemon juice for brightness.

Serving Suggestions: Spread the mushroom paste on toast, crackers, or sandwiches. Use it as a base for sauces or dips. Top grilled meats or vegetables with it.

[forkfulofflavor]

Creamy Mushroom Delight This creamy mushroom delight is a warm and comforting soup that combines rich flavors and textures, perfect for a cozy day. Ingredients: 2 tablespoons unsalted butter 1 tablespoon olive oil 1 small onion, finely chopped 2 cloves garlic, minced 1 lb fresh mushrooms button, cremini, or a mix, sliced 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour 4 cups vegetable or chicken broth 1 cup heavy cream or half-and-half 1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves or 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme Salt and pepper, to taste Optional: fresh parsley, chopped, for garnish Instructions: Sauté the Vegetables: In a large pot, melt the butter and olive oil over medium heat. Add the finely chopped onion and minced garlic. Cook for about 3-4 minutes until the onion is softened and translucent. Cook the Mushrooms: Add the sliced mushrooms to the pot and cook for about 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms are golden brown and have released their moisture. Add Flour and Cook: Sprinkle the flour over the mushroom mixture, stirring well to coat. Cook for another 1-2 minutes to remove the raw flour taste. Add Broth and Simmer: Gradually pour in the vegetable or chicken broth, stirring to combine. Add the thyme and bring the soup to a gentle simmer. Let it cook for about 10-15 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld. Add Cream and Season: Stir in the heavy cream or half-and-half and simmer for an additional 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Blend Optional: For a smoother soup, use an immersion blender to blend until smooth, or leave it chunky for a more rustic texture. Serve: Ladle the soup into bowls and garnish with fresh parsley if desired. Prep Time: 10 minutes Cook Time: 30 minutes Enjoy this creamy, comforting mushroom delight perfect for a cozy meal!

[pumperpup]

In the heart of a lush, verdant forest, a young, bearded hipster named Felix embarked on a solo hike. With his flannel shirt and well-worn boots, he blended seamlessly into the natural tapestry around him. Felix was not only an avid hiker but also an amateur mycologist, always eager to identify and learn about the various fungi he encountered on his treks.

As he meandered through the dense underbrush, Felix's keen eyes spotted a cluster of wild mushrooms nestled under a canopy of ferns. Their caps were a vibrant shade of amber, speckled with flecks of brown. Excitement bubbled within him as he recognized them to be a species he had read about – edible and non-toxic. Without hesitation, Felix carefully harvested a few and consumed them, savoring their earthy flavor.

But as he continued his hike, something unusual began to happen. The forest around him seemed to pulse with vibrant colors, and the sounds of nature became a symphony of surreal melodies. Felix soon realized his mistake – these were not ordinary mushrooms but magic mushrooms, known for their hallucinogenic properties.

As the mushrooms' effects took hold, Felix's hike transformed into a surreal journey. The first change he noticed was in his belly. It began to swell, gradually at first, then faster, ballooning outwards in a bizarre and unnerving manner.

A moan escaped Felix's lips as the sensation was overwhelming – a mix of astonishment and a strange, tingling warmth that spread through his abdomen. He touched his rapidly expanding belly, feeling it stretch and grow under his fingertips.

But the transformation didn't stop there. Felix's belly deflated back to normal, but his muscles began to swell, inflating with incredible speed and force. His biceps, triceps, and chest muscles burgeoned, each fiber growing thicker and more defined.

He felt a surge of power coursing through these expanding muscles, a sensation both exhilarating and terrifying. His clothes strained against his enlarging physique, seams tearing and fabric stretching to its limits. Felix couldn't resist to flex his new muscles, as the euphoric, pulsing growth consumed him.

As Felix stood there, a giant among the trees, his mind raced with wonder and confusion. The forest around him was a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, enhancing the surrealness of his experience. But as the enormity of his transformation truly hit him, a wave of dizziness swept over Felix. The world spun, and he felt himself falling, losing consciousness amidst the towering trees.

When Felix awoke, he was lying on a bed of soft moss, the forest serene around him. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream. But the reality of what had happened was evident in his torn and tattered clothes, which lay in shreds around him, clear evidence of his extraordinary growth. With a sense of awe and disbelief, Felix gathered his torn garments and made his way back through the forest, his mind buzzing with the incredible, unbelievable adventure he had just experienced.

[lowlevelkoboldadventures]

HAPPY DRAGON APPRECIATION DAY!!!

Today I'm busting out the big-dragon tea cups and am making everyone their choice out of my tea cupboard! We have...

Blazing Dragon (makes you feel very warm! dilute with milk to make the heat more gentle)

Mel Dew (mel is latin for honey!)

Liquid Hearth (robust spices mixed with volcanic ash)

Cranked Kobold (high caffeine content. yips are a possible side-effect)

Lumina Lie-Down (gentle sleeping effects, works in bright spaces or during daylight too!)

Whole Blue (made from blue glowing cave mushrooms. the drink itself glows, and you'll find your tongue does too! kind of smooth sappy texture)

Candle-Sight Delight (boosts positive emotions thru its gentle blend of flavors, also makes your eyes shimmer like candles!)

Sifted Soul (each tea bag contains a bit of soul dust and a very sweet flavoring to counteract it. the souls are ethically sourced, at least I'm pretty sure)

And if you have any requests, I can pop out of the archives and see what else I can find!

If the large-dragon sized cups are not enough, there's also a hot springs nearby that might work!

Alright that's it! I hope all the dragons out there are having a really wonderful day!!! 💖🙏😊💖