#raisins market

[westergaartchive]

His name was Dexter He's a detective...

Anyways uhh Foodfight redesigns that nobody asked for yet I provide

[dhanrajenterprise]

https://dhanrajenterprise.in/dhanraj-enterprise-the-leading-indian-raisin-exporter/

[sports9885]

The major factors that are expected to boost the growth of the Asia-Pacific raisins market in the forecast period of 2023 to 2030, are the rising increased demand for raisins in the food and beverage industries and growing awareness regarding the health benefits of raisins among consumers. Furthermore, the adoption of innovative technologies and solutions and rising trend of on-the-go snacking are further propelling the Asia-Pacific raisins market. The demand for the raisins is increasing for which manufacturers are now more focused and they are involved in the new product launch, promotion, awards, certification, and event participation in the market. These decisions are ultimately enhancing the growth of the market.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Our second day was an Aunts day.

It was also jet lag day, sadly.

No idea why.

We went to bed coming up on midnight at the end of our first day, both mentally sluggish and sleepy. And yet...

And yet four-thirty in the morning of our second day we are fully, inexplicably, wide awake. Both of us at the same time.

So we streamed that movie, Enola Holmes 2, from my laptop to our room's large screen monitor. By the time credits rolled, it was just passed 630AM. We stayed up another forty-five minutes before setting an alarm for 830 and trying again.

Kimmer actually fell asleep while I lay there, eyes closed, waiting for sleep to come.

And then the alarm went off.

So that happened.

Fortunately, we enjoyed an easy, lazy morning after that, our only agenda item being to visit my aunt and uncle who live nearby. I did a bit of my own reading and writing while Kimmer worked on her current paper for her doctoral program studies.

Oh. And I had one of the marzipan rolls my one uncle gave me at the airport the day before. I think there are six total in the package. So I'm indulging one each morning until it's time to go home.

And yeah. Since you're thinking it I'm gonna say it out loud: it's AMAZING I have that kind of self-control.

😁

Around noon, we pivot toward readying ourselves for what will be a lovely, twenty minute walk to my aunt and uncle's home. Unfortunately, the morning's rain is persisting. Plus there's wind.

Kimmer had the foresight to pack a pair of small collapsible umbrellas that actually work on such a day... just barely. They keep our heads dry and manage to not blow out.

All we can ask for.

☺️

We're out the door quarter after one, walking a bit of cobblestone before reaching the main street that'll take us most of the way to my aunt 'n uncle's place. Ten minutes later we're at the local market trying to make sense of packaging labels, trying to figure out which ones declare nut allergens and which ones don't. There's a lot of dutch food here I remember growing up. We just need to make sure we identify the ones that'll kill Kimmer. ☹️

So yeah. Other than the possibility of random nuts baked into the food causing Kimmer to die on the spot... there really are a lot of fantastic food memories here: the traditional holiday raisin rolls, stollen, and oliebollen. And then everyday things like chocolate hail I used to spread as often as humanly possible on top of peanut butter that was spread on top of butter butter that was spread all over hot slices of toast.

Stuff like that.

There are a lot more goodies at this dutch market as opposed to what I would consider food staples. Which is just the best thing ever.

We're at the market about half an hour and by 2 we're walking the sidewalks again. Under a little harder rain. Into a little harder wind.

At one point I miss our turn and we go a block farther before turning back and landing at my aunt and uncle's place twenty minutes after leaving the market.

Approaching their front door, another of my aunts pops her head out. I manage to not embarrass myself identifying her after more than twenty years because I saw a photograph of her the previous night in a photo album from a recent family celebration.

Thank God.

Once inside, we settle down at the dining room table for the next coupla hours for a lunch featuring salad, meats, cheeses, teas, and breads both hot and room temp. At the table are Kimmer 'n I, my aunt 'n uncle, and my other aunt who's visiting.

Like the previous evening with family, the conversation ranges all over the place. And maybe what's fun about these conversations isn't just their eclectic nature but the general tone. Friendly. Light-hearted. Familiar. With an easy humor within reach at any given moment. Even as the topics broaden out beyond family.

Quarter after four, my aunt who's visiting whisks us away for the half hour drive to her home.

Now here's the thing about her home: it's a half block from where my grandmother, my mom's mom, used to live. It's in the same village in which my parents were married. I visited here as a child when my uncle, my mom's youngest brother, was alive, when this home was still home to he, his wife, and their two boys, my other cousins who are really super tall these days. 🤯

My uncle passed away nearly twenty years ago. He and his wife's two boys grew into men with their own homes, their own lives. This is now simply the home of my aunt who lives where she always lived, in this village of friends who've been here a long time as well, in this village in which she worked for decades.

We're here another couple hours and during those hours we explore memories going all the way back to how my aunt met my uncle when she was fifteen, how she left for Holland when she was eighteen.

The story she tells involves people I can't even imagine, by the way. My aunts and uncles as teenagers, as early twenty-somethings.

There are photographs my aunt shows us, over which we marvel because yeah. Teenagers and twenty-somethings.

It's hard to believe even as I examine the photographic evidence with my own eyes.

So we spend two hours and an insane number of decades and stories that span a wide range of emotional territory and narrative arcs. At one point my aunt wants to give my dad a call to thank him for the Christmas card he and mom sent her. Also to wish him a happy birthday in advance of today which is his birthday. I help her untangle a couple technical issues with the call and, the next thing I know, my dad's voice is on the line. We speak briefly and then I hand the phone back to my aunt.

And they talk for a while.

Later, my aunt hands the phone back to me and I fill my dad in on what's happened since our last call a day ago (ish).

One other theme of this day, by the way, is that we're relentlessly being offered goodies. As if we can't possibly have had enough.

That's not wrong, by the way. 😉

That definitely continued from one aunt to the next. Even before we got to my second aunt's home, she asked us if we like apple juice and pear juice. Soon as we both said yes, she stopped at a nearby shop in her village where they make the apple juice and the pear juice.

We've got a bottle of each, now. ☺️

Then at her home, she offered us a jar of pears that we gladly accepted. Then she offered us teas followed by an apple tart, two apple tarts, of which I ate one and brought the other with us. Then cheese(?) cookies. Then home-made cookies in a round tin that are simply delicious.

She even offered more substantial food like bapao, a steamed bun with a filling. We politely passed given the amount of eating we were already indulging. Which made me remember:

We always returned home heavier when I was a kid and we came to Holland for family visits.

Our family in Holland was always feeding us.

And that's a thing that hasn't changed from then to now. 🙂

In the end, we had an unexpected, deep, touching, and lovely visit. An absolute bonus to our experience.

My aunt drove us back to my aunt and uncle's place through a nighttime wind storm that threatened to push her car sideways off the road or into oncoming traffic.

Not the best way to end our day.

She was taking us back because Kimmer accidently left her phones there. After a quick hand-off of phones, she dropped us at our hotel, hugs all around.

We may get a chance to see her again before we leave. This was a pretty definitive visit, though. And I'm amazed by it.

Interestingly, we'll see her sons later tonight as, apparently, we continue this experience of my family's greatest hits.

☺️

[gardenstateofmind]

i just made some banging oatmeal, i am delighted

[bee-wg]

Year 1:

“I’m telling you, man. You just need to drink the protein shakes Dad and I have. Don’t worry about the taste, they’re banana chocolate flavoured. It’s actually quite delicious when you get used to the texture. Then you’ll just need to go to the gyms a few times a week to get these bad boys.” I said, flexing my 16-inch arms.

“Oh, and I can make protein pancakes!  Maybe I can add it to other pastries too. It’ll be healthy, useful and delicious. I bet your mom could never have thought of that.” He said smugly.

“Dude, focus. Why does everything have to be cooking with you?” 

“Sorry, I got too excited there. It’s just that I haven’t made breakfast you guys liked, it’s completely her territory. For now. Maybe If I make this, you guys will eat it.”

”You know we’ll have to finish whatever you both end up cooking anyway, right?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t count. I want you to eat it because you like it.” The man said, just when I thought he was sane.

”Well that’s irrelevant. Don’t you think it’s a great idea?” He asked.

Even though he’s a maniac, I have to admit.

“I guess it’s not bad, I don’t have to drink and eat at the same time. Just don’t make too much, you get easily full with those things.”

“Don’t worry about it man. Don’t you have morning football practice to burn off the calories?”

“Alright, just don’t put raisins in there. I heard somewhere that they make you dehydrated.”

I shoo him out of the door and start undressing. Contemplating on a compression shirt or an oversized Tee, my head starts running. I am objectively muscular, but compared to the guys at the gym, I’m nothing. I don’t think I’m big enough yet. Oversized Tee it is then. 

Grabbing my duffle, I ran downstairs. Then, the scent of banana chocolate sweets blasted my face. 

“Morning Jay, come try it out. This is really good.” Dad called out with his mouth half full.

I picked up the buttered pancake. It smells nice, with some cherry scent in there too.

“Dang, this is not bad, Pumpkin,” I shouted to him in the kitchen.

“Right? And with more space in the stomach for drinks, you can try Chloe’s fruit smoothie.” Dad said.

“Don’t worry sweetie, the fruits are from the farmers market so it’s healthy.” Mom yelled from the kitchen.

Looking back at the breakfast, it’s a bit more bulky than usual, but I’m gonna work it off in the morning drill anyway.

Without more hesitation, I dug into the full plate of pancakes and blueberry whipped cream.

“Sweetie, you’re already done? I have more in the back.” Mom said

“She really stepped up her game, right?” Dad chimed in.

“It was awesome mom. Thank you, and help me thank Theo too. But I really need to go now. The practice starts in 30.”

“Alright sweetie, stay safe and don’t be late. I’ll have David finish off the rest.”

“Wait, me? But there’s so much!” Dad whined.

“Love you Mom, love you dad, gotta go.”

I rushed out of the house with the faint sound of their replies.

I felt bad for Dad, since school started, I’ve been leaving the leftovers to him because of school. More often than not, Theo and Mom would overcook and we would be left with more food than we know how to deal with. So Dad would take his usual time for morning runs to finish it before going to work. I need to make it up to him somehow. I guess I could offload his burden by eating more on the weekends.

The practice went as well as it could with my stomach full of pancakes; although Coach thought I had a lot of potential with all the fumbles. Probably because Dad was a star quarterback here back in his days.

“You just need to get used to the team dynamic here, then it will all be fine, Jacob. Don’t sweat it,” Coach said.

It was easier said than done. Someone literally asked me how long my dick was, then groped my pec. At least in high school, people had the decency of being embarrassed.

Maybe I do need to chill off. Go to the club like they said. I do have the biggest pecs out of everyone after all. And I heard people like big glutes, so maybe someone would want me.

It took me a month to search up a club. I was not stalling. Then, another month to put the address into Google Maps. I was busy. Homework has been rough, the professor hates me and Theo needs me to restock. Nonetheless, I finally have time now.

Yay.

Putting on Dad’s old Beige Polo, I look pretty good. The shirt hugs my muscles too much for comfort, but it’s the one day of the month I’m supposed to look like a slut. The light is going to be dimmed anyway.

Fishing for the keys, my hand found some candied fruit on the stand. The guy even knows how to make candies from leftover fruits, who even does that? I grabbed some to put it in my mouth. 

On my way out I caught a glimpse of my father in the kitchen. He’s been starting to brew homemade beers with steady progress.

“Oh, Jay! You’re going out? You got a date, yeah?”

He turned back, revealing the newly grown beer belly.

“What?! Of course not. It’s the shirt right? I look like a try hard.”

”Haha, be careful whose shirt you’re insulting. That was my lucky shirt.” 

He misunderstood, I just thought I would look half as in place as he looks if I wear this. I really shouldn’t go. 

”You’ll be alright son, you’re a charming young man. People will see that.”

My eardrums are fucking gushing blood.

The Club sound rattled through my bones as random guy number six and random chick number four came.

Dad was right. I was quite charming, TOO charming, even.

“Oh my gosh look at those arms,” running her hand, Random chick number four said.

“He probably has killer abs too. Wanna come home with me tonight, Jock boy?” Random guy number six said.

“Sorry man, I’m straight. I also have a friend waiting for me in the car.” I replied.

“Aww man, too bad. I wanted a dumb jock to rail me tonight.” He said while walking off. Seriously, what is up with people these days?

At least I still have my 16 dollar margarita with me in the corner.

Lost in my head, a potential random guy number seven approaches.

“Hey, what’s a hot guy like you doing in the corner?” Number seven asked.

“Sorry, I’m straight.”

“Ahh, my bad. Worth a shot,” He said.

“Man, why is every Dad bod fuck boys straight? Gay people are too obsessed with their bodies to have the look,” he added.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I have a thing for guys who look like you. Not really a jock anymore, but still attracts everyone.”

My 16 dollar margarita was spilt.

“Oh, Shit. Sorry I don’t know what to do.” I’m glad to not have a friend in my car waiting to see me embarrass myself.

“Don’t worry man, I’ll handle it.” Number seven said.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I have a Dad bod, is a fuck boy, or even gay. But the guy he described is the kind of masculine, wild man I aspire to be. Not a shit given to what people think. Maybe I can be that guy tonight. 

“Sorry I’m not the Dad bod fuck boy you thought I was.” 

I already butchered it. Why the hell did I say that? That’s not what a guy without a care in the world would say.

“What if you are.” He reached under my polo and grabbed my abs. Or softer abs, cause he’s clearly grabbing something.

“But I’ve never done this before,” Holy shit, I need to shut the fuck up.

“No worries, you just need to sit back and enjoy.”

I look back at the rotting toilet. Maybe not sit.

“We’re gonna make this quick, alright?” He said. Then gave my stomach a quick squeeze. 

I’m telling Mom and Theo to cut back on the food tonight.

He slid down the zipper and tugged on my dick.

“You’re not who I imagined to be, but I like pathetic boys like you too.” He said.

“Wait, what? I - fuuuck.”

He uses his thumb to twirl around my cock head; then the freak proceeds to lick my stomach pudge.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I involuntarily groaned. 

“Hahaha, seems like it would be quicker than I thought.”

He laughed. Fucking laughed at me. And my dick is harder than ever before.

Then, out of nowhere. He grabbed my ass and sucked half of my length in.

“Holy sh-“ I yelped 

He covered his left hand on my mouth and said hushly. “Jesus, fuck boy! Do you want everyone to hear? I mean it’s hot, but we’ll get kicked out.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just ohhhhhh.”

He sucked the entire length in as I got into his throat. It’s cold for a second with the air being sucked, then it warms up my dick as I get closer to the edge.  And, wait, did I just moan out loud?

Didn’t give me a chance to breathe, he repeated the motion again and again.

I’m really close.

“Not yet fuck boy.” He said as he guided my hand to my pec.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“Twist your nipples and do not stop until we’re done.” 

Strange request, but it seemed like there was a lot I didn’t know, so I complied.

“I thought only women like this?” I asked as I squeezed my nipples.

He immediately got back to work as if telling me to shut the fuck up.

Then, I feel it. 

It might be the cold air conditioning or the fact that I have my cock in someone’s fucking mouth, but my nipples perked up and got sensitive all of a sudden. 

He starts to squeeze and rub my stomach as my senses overload.

Once in a while, he would come up with a remark or two.

“I bet you’re the kind of guy that likes to sit around, munch all day, let other people take charge and fuck you,” He said.

”I bet your bubble butt will grow twice as big by the end of the year because you hate the gym deep down,” He said.

It all doesn’t make sense. I only have five, ten tops of weight added, but my dick gets even harder.

“Come on, fuck boy. Twist those fat tits for me,” he said as the sucking picks up the pace.

“Fuck yeah, my fat tits.” It’s all too much for me to form a thought.

“Fuck my fat ass too.”

“Yeah, faster!”

He gave my slight belly a final squeeze as I cummed harder than I’d ever experienced.

I can feel my dick still shooting out cum as I blacked out.

Someone is wiping me.

Oh, right.

“Great, you’re up.” Random man said.

”Huh?”

“It got real messy, eh?” He continues.

“Sorry, I got carried away earlier. You’re just so hot.”

It seems like he’s not going to stop talking.

“You’re obviously still a jock, but hey. A man can dream,” he said

“You’ve got some real potential, kid.” He patted my apparently now-existing belly and said.

I don’t get it. I’ve been eating more than usual lately, and Theo’s snacks don't help, but mom got the ingredients from the farmers market, so they were definitely healthy. Maybe I am missing something else.

“Here,” he hands me a small piece of paper.

“Call me if you want to do this again.”

Then just like that, the strange man leaves.

I didn’t give a second glance at the piece of paper before throwing it in the trash can.

Against my better judgment, I put my hand back in the disgusting trash can.

No harm in keeping it.

The stranger’s words ring in my head as I put an undisclosed sum of money on margaritas.

Maybe I do like being taken care of.

***

My phone vibrated for the thousandth time today, almost causing an earthquake. 

“Aggggah, leave me aloneeee. Help me baby Jesus.”

The alcohol from last night, plus the vibration is enough to kill a bear.

Opening the over-lit phone, I see Theo’s happy ginger face.

Theo: Hey Jay, could you help me buy a cookbook I want at the mall, asap? 

Me: kys❤️

Mom: Jacob, could you explain the language? 

Shit, it's the family chat! 

Me: It means keeping yourself safe, mom. I'll go to the mall in a bit!

Theo, the little bastard, replied with a laughing emoji.

Brushing my teeth, I saw myself in the mirror. 

Definitely can’t unsee it now. I still have some abs definitions, it’s just pushing out now.

I hesitated, looking at the protein ice cream sandwich mom prepared for me. 

Well, I do need something to settle my stomach from the alcohol. Plus, protein is always healthy.

Grabbing a few more ice cream sandwiches, I made my way to the bus.

The mall is located in the middle of nowhere. Nobody comes here except for Costco. Apparently there’s a chain book store too.

Finding the book has been proven difficult. Half the store sells stationery, and the other half sells boring books nobody wants. There is no reason for the store to be this huge.

By the time Theo, the brat, had confirmed the book, it was already past two. 

“Hello, excuse me. Is there no restaurant here whatsoever?” I asked the book nerd from the counter.

“Ahhhhh, there’s ahh fast food down the lane, to um, the right?”

“Alright, thanks.” Looks like I’m going to starve myself until I get back.

Going to the bus station, I pass the fast food place. They must have had a rebranding these couple of years. They used to smell like kids puke. Now… it smells like some sweet apple pie, fries, or chicken nuggets? Yeah, definitely some chicken nuggets. Haven’t had them in years. 

No. I must not get carried away.

Dad said fast foods are not real food. Ever since he watched the Super Size Me documentary, he banned the whole family from eating fast food, and I thank him for it every day. 

Today will be an exception. This will be my reward for going through everything that happened this week.

“So, we have a discount for everyone who uses our app. You can also get points for a free meal in the app.” The fat ass cashier asked.

“Yeah, why not. I could save a few.” Not like I’m going to use it after this.

My hands end up with a combo of fries, burger, nuggets and a medium soda.

While enjoying the smell of garbage goods, I catch a glimpse of an obese guy sitting in the corner. 

He looks. Wait, it’s Avery Lancaster.

Holy shit it’s true. He did gain 70 pounds and some more. Looks like he’s in his 300s now.

The image of his fat ass hanging off the seat brought me back to reality.

I will not eat at this restaurant ever again after this meal, so I won’t end up like him. 

Except for the fries. The fries are too good to pass.

For The rest of the semester, things went as well as they could.

Homework has been piling up, the professor still hates me, so I have less time to hit the gym.

Sports are enough for me so stay fit anyway.  At least until next year’s spring season starts. 

Coach has been supportive of my decision to bulk up. He just gave me an ominous warning about off-season athletes bulking too much.

When the Thanksgiving holiday came, I was ready to go on a diet. 

After the holidays.

Because mom has seriously improved her skills, and, as much as I don’t wanna say it, Theo’s food is basically tailored made to my taste. They might just be.

I have a sneaking suspicion that they are using Dad and I as testing metrics for their little competitions. Just a suspicion. Because recently Theo started focusing on making food for me, Mom began to make food primarily for Dad.

The suspicious duo seem to have the belief that weight equals love. If that is the case, I am truly screwed. There is no one but dead people who can resist Theo’s cooking. I’ve even been brainwashed to think Theo’s food rants are interesting, that’s how powerful he is.

By the end of the Christmas dinner, I could tell that Theo had probably lost in their competition by the look on his face. I almost felt bad for not eating enough. 

It's not like the food wasn’t good; my opponent is Dad. His appetite is unmatched. At the beginning of the year, he barely eats anything for breakfast while keeping his plant-based diet. Now he’s an absolute beast, he can inhale 15 pancakes at the speed of sound. Whatever I’ve gained this year, Dad probably has gained twice as much.  He also grew out his beard and body hair which I struggle to do. There is literally no better definition of man than him.

After the Christmas dinner, I went up to assess the damage. 

Twenty-two pounds of flabby fat gained this year.

Why don’t I at least look like Dad with a firm, rounded gut? Instead, mine grows around the underbelly, looking like a soft fanny pack.

I need to stop thinking about this. I’m still muscular after all. 215 is nothing compared to the guys on the team.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I have a thing for guys who look like you. Not really a jock anymore, but still attracts everyone.” His voice echoed in my head.

Deleting the notifications from the fast food app, I opened the phone and dialled the number for Random Guy number 7.

Chapter 2 ->

[satdalinternational]

https://satdalinternational.com/

Satdal International is exporter and importer of food and chemicals products.

At Satdal International, we are a global sourcing and supply enterprise based in India. Our mission is to support the import and export of producer's products, helping them establish commercial ties with foreign markets.

[adinathindia]

Eliminate Your Doubts About Wholesaler Of Dry Fruits

It has become that much easy for one to buy bulk dried fruit from the comforts of their home. But it is not uncommon for potential shoppers to be a bit iffy about their purchase. Using the above tips, you can eliminate all your doubts and place your order without any worry.

[randomfingthings]

Look oatmeal raisin has a place in this world, no hate, really, it's nice at times don't get me wrong bbbuttttt....

....is it the only kind of oatmeal cookie or are we ready to branch out, maybe do an oatmeal chocolate cookie, oatmeal cookie alone, idk there are other oatmeal cookies that can and should be more mainstream.

[coneheads-deserved-a-noble-prize]

I AM SO TIRED OF PEOPLE ASSOCIATING ALASTOR WITH ONLY JAMBALAYA SO HERE ARE OTHER CREOLE DISHES YOU HEATHENS

Fanfiction and Comic creators, this is for you especially.

Crawfish Étouffée

This beautiful dish was invented in Breaux Bridge Louisiana, where our favourite radio star is from! Although it's invention is attributed the Herbet Hotel in the 1950s -after Alastors death- it is a classic.

Crawfish Étouffée has a sauce typically made from a blonde roux with that classic cajun seasoning. It contains the Holy Trinity of cajun cooking too: bell peppers, onions and celery. The main meat of this dish is crawfish tails and it is usually served with carbs like cornbread, cajun rice or vegetables such as green beans and potato salad.

It is chock full of flavour, and a filling inexpensive dish for low income families - which I believe Alastor is from.

Some alternatives to the crawfish are chicken and shrimp.

-----

The difference between Étouffée and Gumbo.

These two often get mixed up, and I understand, they're both classic Bayou dishes. Here's how to differentiate them.

Texture: Both dishes use shrimp, chicken, or crawfish tail broth. BUT Jumbo has a thicker consistency, it's made from a dark roux and it tends to use more liquid to remain stew-like.

Flavour: Gumbo and Étouffée both use Cajun seasoning, but due to Étouffées blonde roux, it has a lighter, sweeter taste than the darker, fullness of flavour in Gumbo.

Meat: Gumbo uses a variety of meats at the same time (often shrimp and sausage are key components), as mentioned in the alternatives above, Étouffée typically does not.

-----

2. Red Beans and Rice

We're on a roll guys! This is another dish from Louisiana! Although, it is specifically associated with New Orleans, where Alastor hosted his radio show. It has a fascinating history, partly due to it's African and French/Spanish routes - But it was also a struggle meal during the Great Depression. It was originally a Creole, not Cajun dish.

(Note: Red Beans and Kidney Beans are different legumes)

This dish also contains the Holy Trinity, as well as bay leaves, oregano, cayenne pepper, garlic powder and more. Its protein comes from Andouille sausages, but like Gumbo, a variety of meats are used. If you want Alastor to be traditional about it, he should make it on a Monday incorporating the left over ham bones from Sunday dinner. It is also complimented with long grain white rice and green beans, amongst many other things.

Considering Alastor witnessed the Stock Market Crash of 1929 -which led to the Great Depression - There is no way he hasn't come across this dish before.

3. Creole Bread Pudding

The queen of Creole Dessert has arrived. Can you guess where she's from? DING-DING-DING! That's right! New Orleans Louisiana baby! Recipes of this treat have been recorded since 1885, so it suffices to say she's a classic.

Like most bread puddings, it is made by combining stale bread (preferably French), beaten eggs and milk. However, this variation often has an incredible amount of vanilla extract. What it will be complimented with varies from person to person. Some examples are: Whipped meringue and whisky, raisins and apple, or walnuts and butter.

Although not as popular in the modern day, I like to imagine this is something Mimzy, Rosie and Alastor might share together on a day out.

-----

There you go! I hope you enjoyed this - but more importantly I hope this helps people create a more diverse version of those cosy Alastor cooking scenes that I love.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

reading update: november 2024

*arrives halfway through december with a hot chocolate in hand* WHO WANTS TO KNOW WHAT I READ IN NOVEMBER

this is not going to be my best or most thoroughly written roundup but I want this shit posted so you get what you get

Sharks Don't Sink: Adventures of a Rogue Shark Scientist (Jasmin Graham with Makeba Raisin, 2024) - as a shark enjoyer who was too dumb to go into marine biology, I was really looking forward to Graham's book about her experiences as a Black woman working in this very white field. while the book's a bit dry it's also a fun, quick read, with an infinitely likeable narrator whose passion bursts out of every page and will delight anybody who also loves sharks. Graham's determination to forge her own path and make spaces for herself and other women of color makes for an inspiring story, and though this book isn't specifically targeted at younger readers, I'd happily recommend gifting it to any girls looking at getting into any kind of animal-related field so that they can find a worthy role model in Jasmin Graham.

Bite by Bite: Nourishments and Jamborees (Aimee Nezhukumatathil, 2024) - I feel bad, but I was disappointed! I was so smitten with poet Nezhukumatathill's previous collection of short essays, World of Wonder, in which she extolls the virtues of various animals and plants. while I always enjoy a lush description of a good food, and the illustrations were very charming (the shave ice in particular had me YEARNING to blow my savings on a trip to Hawaii), it Bite by Bite lacked the substance of its predecessor. the connections drawn in each essay felt a bit more contrived this time around, with many feeling like thinly veiled justifications for Nezhukumatathil to pontificate on her sons growing up rather than celebrating the foods she spotlights for their own merits. I ended up feeling as if I was rushing to get it over with, which is always sad.

Four Lost Cities: A Secret History of the Urban Age (Annalee Newtiz, 2021) - this was one of the most unexpect delights of the year. I know borderline nothing about archaeology and anthropology, but Newitz paints such vivid images of their subjects that I found myself getting genuinely emo about disaster relief efforts in Pompeii. idk what it was, man, but they took their right turns stupid just like we did! humans is the same after all this time! it's been a while since I picked up a book about something totally alien to me and got to settle in for the pure joy of learning from a talented writer, and this book hit the spot tremendously. if anyone is planning on doing my 2025 book bingo challenge and needs an idea for the nonfiction about a topic that's new to them, consider this a recommendation!

The Truth According to Ember (Danica Nava, 2024) - maaaaan. I wasn't, like, blown away by the synopsis of this romance novel, in which the titular Ember lies about being white rather than Chickasaw in order to land a job only to immediately find herself crushing hard on a Native coworker, Danuwoa, and getting increasingly wrapped up in a web of lies. while the plot's not exactly original, I was excited to check out a book by a Native author about Native characters getting a pretty big release, something I hadn't yet encountered in romancelandia. but honestly? the biggest disappointment in this book wasn't the unoriginal story or Disney Channel sitcom-levels of hijinks to maintain the various lies, but it's the fact that lying about being white isn't even really the crux of the plot. Ember doesn't get fired for that! that's not actually the thing anyone has an issue with! she gets in trouble for lying about having a degree that she doesn't have to get a job she's wildly underqualified for, which is a significantly bigger issue! but all of the marketing is based on her lying about being Native, which feels... idk, it feels misleading? also the romance takes, like, a loooong time to show up; Danuowa is very secondary for like the first third of the book while we learn about the ins and outs of Ember's life, family drama, and new job. I don't know if I've ever been begging for a romance heroine to interact with love interest more, but this book made it happen.

The MAGA Diaries: My Surreal Adventures Inside the Right-Wing (And How I Got Out) (Tina Nguyen, 2024) - on the one hand, I really fuckin' feel for Tina Nguyen. what started out as a college flirtation with libertarianism spiraled into a deep immersion in the burgeoning alt-right thanks to her then-boyfriend, including a brief stint working under Tucker Carlson himself. Nguyen ultimately comes to realize the extent of batshit insanity the republican party is descending into, jumping ship well before the 2016 election thanks to an increasing sense that something is deeply amiss among the right's journalism core. (one especially chilling anecdote involves Nguyen, the daughter of Vietnamese immigrants, discovering that her longtime mentor, a man she had trusted for years to help advise her career, had been caught discussing a desire to curb America's population of immigrants.) although she spins her firsthand knowledge and exhaustive list of contacts to start reporting on the right for liberal outlets, Nguyen remains skeptical of what she perceives a critical lack of organization among the Democrats, which I can certainly forgive her for. I have a bit more side eye for Nguyen's reluctance to fully condemn some of her old colleagues; in particular, she goes to lengths to emphasize that Carlson was a pretty chill boss. idk, maybe it's hard to cut ties that completely, even with people who turned out to be monsters. overall the memoir is lacking any especially artful prose but is a bitchin' gossip piece with some decent insights into how the right organizes.

Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning (Cathy Park Hong, 2020) - it's always so momentous when a book actually lives up to the hype. Hong blurs memoir and essay for a resonant and painful examination of all the ways Asian American identity gets tangled up in shame, including her own. this book is potent, and by far one of my favorite nonfiction reads of the year. I think @zaricats recommended it like 700 years ago so thank you for that!

Crazy Rich Asians (Kevin Kwan, 2013) - it's. fine. it's literally just fine.

The Nightmare Before Kissmas (Sara Raasch, 2024) - not fine, this one sucked shit so bad it gave me a headache multiple times. how do you squander a premise as silly as "the Christmas Prince and the Halloween Prince are in secret gay love"? how do you make that boring? why was this mostly just a book about workplace politics with a little tinsel on top? unfortunately I WILL be reading the sequel in March, but only to complain.

Doppelganger: A Trip Into the Mirror World (Naomi Klein, 2024) - a dizzying work that ties together an astonishing number of ideas, beginning with Klein's own frustrations with being mistaken for disgraced feminist writer turned vaccine conspiracy hack Naomi Wolf to the chaotic and reactionary political landscape that so many of us find ourselves struggling to make sense of. it's a heavy and heady book, dense with well considered observations and expertly articulated thoughts despite Klein's own acknowledgement that her "research" often veered into unreasonable levels of obsession. despite Klein's long career this was my first time reading her work, and now I am Listening to anything and everything she has to say.

Delicious in Dungeon Vol. 12 (Ryoko Kui, trans. Taylor Engel, 2023) - I truly genuinely can't say anything about Volume 12 without saying that, by the time I'm posting this, I have also read Volumes 13 and 14 and finished the series and man. man man man. this story is just so GOOD. genuinely I love Dungeon Meshi so much.

Buzz: A Stimulating History of the Sex Toy (Hallie Lieberman, 2017) - a very fun and interesting history of the sale of sex toys in the US, including some very appreciated love for unsung heroes of the sex toy field like Jewish ventriloquist Ted Marche, Black disability activist Gosnell Duncan, and all of the women who pioneered sex stores that prioritized woman as their clientele. granted, that last group of second wave feminists comes with all the accompanying second wave bioessentialism you'd expect, and I'd be remiss not to note that the book also takes a frustratingly cissexist approach in the way it talks about man = penis and woman = vagina. I don't think Lieberman sought out to be deliberately transphobic (there is, briefly, a mention of a trans woman taking over one of the sex toy companies the book follows, and she is recognized as a woman even if her transition is shoehorned in rather awkwardly) but simply out of her depth with knowing how to address trans people in the very binary historical narrative she constructs. it's grating, but also unsurprising for a book published in 2017. if you can handle the cis weirdness and you, like me, are interested in how sexuality and pleasure are litigated, I'd really recommend checking this one out; I've already added it to the official sex witch library. it's worth the read for the surprising history of Adam & Eve alone.

[stump-not-found]

A03 wrapped 2024

tagged by @tempusedax-rerum >:DDDDD

1.) Biggest surprise while writing this year?

how much people responded to bill cipher saying daddy . how people have interpreted ford's relationship to mabel in theseus' guide; i've really tried to write him as really caring for her so seeing that interpreted as him disliking her is so interesting haha

most of all tho i'm just surprised and very grateful that theseus has received any attention, it's been so so wonderful reading everyone's thoughts and seeing them engage with the fic . it really makes the entire process so gratifying, and i hope folks continue to enjoy where the story goes next :D

2.) How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

i've got my erotic billford rom com Can of Snakes that's over 20k right now . it has banger titles such as "sad handjob" and "penicular sounding", so someday i'll be posting that . i think they can make it work

i also just started Weirdmageddon 2: Electric Boogaloo: Lost In New York, an AU where ford gets stan to help him finish the portal after kicking fidd's to the curb . stan and bill become besties, ford hates it, and bill isn't allowed to destroy new york until he tries a slice of 'za .

this is not accounting for the mountain of comic WIP's i have but that shit aint goin on ao3

3.) Favourite character to write this year?

ford for sure . you give me a character who's autistic in a way that isn't cute and it just means the world to me . i get to give him evil autism . the autism where we acknowledge growing up autistic is traumatizing and makes you not a nice person all the time . fuck i love him . i get to dump so much of my own shit on him its so funnnnnnn yay lalalala

there was a whole paragraph i wrote that was just describing the perfect eye angle to maintain when walking through a farmers market to avoid social scenario's, which i had to remove because it was just me rambling about my own social survival strategies . farmers markets are dangerous places

i also love writing him in the context of bill . what a fucking mess they are i hope they never get better . but together <3

4.) The character that gave you the most trouble this year?

honestly stanley pines . i feel like i soften him too much, and lean in to his more positive traits than his more negative ones . it's hard because i feel like folks don't talk about the fact he was homeless for like 10 years & also had a breaking bad style adventure in columbia

the other problem is that he IS a big softy so idk . but he should be bitchier god damn it . he should be talking about his cataracts

6.) Did you receive any gifts this year?

I DID YOU INSANE PEOPLE thank you all it make a me smile:

@stemmmm @ancharan @kronehaze @sillyhyperfixator @ezrathean0n

7.) Did you do any collaborative works this year?

i feel like all my writing is collaborative!! i spend hours talking fic stuff with my wife & brother and my stuff is all the better for it . would love to do more of that w/ other folks i love it talking and thinking and playing is so fun

8.) What do you listen to while writing?

i don't like listening to music when i write lol ...... i sit in the cold silence and type in a frantic spiral .

i listen to a lotta different things while i think of things to write tho . atm all i want in the world is to make a theseus animation to this song it's very hammercore :

9.) Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

oogh that's hard to choose . i'm just gonna share a bunch that make me laugh

from theseus' guide step six:

Dipper, clearly, doesn’t get it, and Ford acknowledges he is too young to understand a professional working relationship.

also from step six:

“Oh, sure, I can move on,” Stan grins, “To the other items on my list. A, the shack’s toilets all suck, and the seats keep raisin’ automatically. B, your handwriting sucks. C–”

from theseus' guide step three:

“You think you’re coming back anytime soon?” “No, 8-Ball, I don’t think I’m ‘ coming back ’ anytime soon.” Ford snides, though 8-Ball either doesn’t register that, or doesn’t care; hard to tell with the guy, “I’m sure you’re aware, but your boss wants to kill my family. And destroy my universe. ” 8-Ball sniffs. “Cool. Mind if I eat your leftovers then? Teeth keeps eyeing them.” Ford frowns, “You couldn’t have just brought them with you?” “Nah, man, I want to eat them.”

lots of lines from step eight but we ain't there yet

uuuuhhghhg who to send this chain mail along to uuuhgghgh

@beccadrawsstuff if u wannaaaa . anyone else feel free to pick this up as well i'm bad at this lol

[nsomniacsdream]

I think there's a lot of things you don't like because you don't like the commercially available version. Like Raisins. You go to the store and buy some of those raisins in the little cardboard box, right? and they taste nasty. But if you ever get the chance to eat a fresh sundried raisin, from a real farm and not a factory full of dirt, and it's like 40 different flavors, with notes and waves of different flavor rolling across your tongue. You still will say you don't like raisins, because if someone gets you raisins, its gonna be those dried up bullshit raisins, but every now and again, you'll get a little bag of fresh raisins from a farm named "Sunshine Ranch" or something, and they'll be an experience you never forget. (I had some really good raisins from a farmers market)

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fourteen)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful, and all total bollocks.

Gif credit - @remembering-angels

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

TRIGGER WARNING for MENTIONS OF ABORTION.

We Got Issues

Part Fourteen: Y/N and Cillian's morning buys them more hours than expected before he has to leave for England again. They have a lovely morning and Y/N feels sated with the domesticity - then Cillian bites the bullet and instigates "the talk". [Soft domestic life followed by adult themes and mentions of abortion]

@remembering-angels @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @meadowshelby @strangeions @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @lavender-haze-01

References that might not be got by those outside of Ireland/those who don't visit/ and/or just to clarify -

Store Street and Busáras: Busáras is the central bus/coach station in Dublin city and it is located on Store Street.

Gaa - this is the GAA, Gaelic athletic association, which covers Gaelic football, hurling, that kind of thing. My referencing here and in my experience is using "the Gaa" to refer mostly to Gaelic football. In terms of the jersey being split - my half brother in Ireland has our Dad from from Cavan and his Mam is from Monaghan, and they got him a Gaa jersey that is literally like the 2 halves sewn together.

.....

You wake before Cillian, a single minute before seven am, with a day of work ahead of you. You fight the temptation to wake him, and just glance at him sleeping peacefully before you sit up on the edge of the bed, still exhausted despite a settled night. Having him beside you was lovely, even when you had turned your backs to one another to sleep. Knowing he was there, and hearing the sounds of his breathing, made you feel warm and safe all night. But tonight he would not be there; he'd be gone once again, and you were already preemptively dreading the prolonged time alone ahead. He didn't move a muscle as you climbed up off of the bed and pulled in your fleece quarter zip lounge top that was balled up on the floor by the nightstand. It was a little chilly, and despite the fact that you knew the heating would either be on or would kick in as needed, with the duvet and Cillian's radiator-like body heat now removed from you, it feels very cold. He's sprawled out on his front with his head facing your side of the bed and tipped back a little on the pillow that hides his arms beneath it; his lips are parted and his breaths, though not even close to being snores, are deep and audible. You take your phone from the nightstand and slip it into the pocket of your fleece, then push your feet into your slippers from beside the armchair, then creep out of the door with your steps as quiet as you can make them. You pull the door closed quietly behind you, not fully shut in the jamb but pulled right across, and then you make your way down the stairs slowly.

You make yourself a mug of the flavoured coffee you still had from the Food Festival in Monaghan that had been held the summer. Cillian had insisted on it after some review of the company he'd read, but he ended up hating it. You love it though - it’s a strangely flavoured ground coffee that's marketed as tasting like rum and raisin; while you can't taste either of those things, you do like the flavour. You know that if you don't wash out the coffee press, Cillian will bitch about the smell of it, so try to keep it in your mind to do so before you start work. Coffee in hand, you grab a vegan-friendly, but not absolutely awful tasting, caramel flapjack from Cillian's secret-but-not-really-secret stash at the back of the cupboard that houses cereals, teas and coffee options. You know for certain that Cillian will offer to cook a real breakfast when he gets up, especially with Malachy also here. You flop down onto the sofa to enjoy the slow hour you have to wake up - at around eight, you would force yourself up into the office space in the eves and work like a demon until after five - but this hour was yours. You flick through Amazon Prime for five minutes, then settle on the Kneecap movie. You know you won't get the chance to watch the lot, but you've been desperate to watch this since the first whispers. Silently hoping there are English subtitles, you turn it on and draw your legs up beside you on the sofa and take a careful sip of your steaming coffee. You are about halfway down your coffee and not even ten minutes into the film when you hear, then see, someone walking with slow, heavy steps down the stairs. It's a small surprise to you whomever of the two men it is, at this early hour, but you are particularly surprised that it is Cillian.

“Hey,” you say softly as you pause the movie. “What're you doing up so early? Get your sleep in while you can.” By the look of him, you know he's been awake mere moments - his hair is insane, his pale face has little red lines from the pillowcase creasing up, his eyes are barely open and blinking slowly with the threat to close as he stands on his feet, and the erection that tents out his pyjama bottoms is appealing to look at, but clearly not based in arousal. Together, it all gives his sudden and reluctant wakefulness away at a sweeping glance. “What woke you?”

“Malachy,” he says, huskily. He reaches his arms up, hands around the back of his head, and groans as he stretches his back. “He just, umm, flew in the door, there,” he says, as he drops his arms back down. You smirk to yourself as he pulls out the waistbands of his pyjamas and boxers shorts in an attempt to adjust for comfort. “Doesn't have the study day he thought he did,” he shakes his head. He stands with an adorably unmasked, miserable pout, then yawns with a tightly pulling jaw and doesn't cover his wide open mouth at all. “I've to throw him into college for half nine.” he says after his yawn abates. He's so petulant and grumpy in his sleepiness that it's funny to watch and listen to him.

“I could do that.” You say, drawing down your mouth to give him a sympathetically sad look. “I can take him, Cill. I don't mind, I'll use my flexi hours and just work later into the evening. Go back up to bed, tell him I'll drop him to college.”

He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, “No, you're grand.” He says and yawns a second time. “Sure I'm up now anyway."

You smirk and shoot your childish shot at humour. “Oh, I can see that.” The look of derision he throws you is hilarious, though you're sure there's a faint dimple formed into his left cheek with the threat of smile, and you throw your head back on the sofa as you laugh.

He groans and rubs both hands across his face then drops his arms down to his sides. “Aran’s right, we need a bathroom down here." He mumbles as he turns back to the stairs. “Get me a coffee, will ya? I'll be back in a sec.” He calls as he jogs back up the stairs out of view. You get up from the sofa with your mug and oblige his request, and decide you'll make yourself a fresh coffee as you do so. You rinse the coffee press out as the kettle boils and fill it with plain ground coffee. True to his word, he returns just as you push down the plunger on the newly brewed coffee. He walks slowly over and wraps his arms around you from behind, placing his chin on your right shoulder, and squeezes his arms around your waist gently as you pour out your coffees. “Have you much on for work today?" He asks. His voice is still full of sleep, gumbling and strained, and it makes those frequent butterflies awaken in your belly.

“Transcribing mostly. It's a bad case - I imagine there'll be news coverage at some point.” You say sadly and he hums sympathetically in your ear as he kisses your cheek before letting you go. He takes his coffee cup before stepping away just enough to give some personal space. You know that he appreciates that this is one of the more difficult aspects of your job - listening to interview and statement tapes of children detailing the crimes and abuse against them - and he has always been understanding of how the things you hear can sit in your mind. You give no details; not only can't you, but you wouldn't want to, either, but he seems to truly understand that you hear some harrowing tales of true darkness.

You stand in the kitchen facing one another - him leaning back on the counter along the wal,l and you with your back pressed against the island - with your coffees gripped in your hands and a soft silence between you. Cillian yawns again, another deep one that pulls his jaw tightly down, and you smile as he shakes his head as it eases off. “Fuck,” he mutters. It hadn't been too late when you had broken apart from your loving hug and silenced your ‘close if the day’ conversation in bed to settle to sleep last night, and in fact Cillian had been out of it before you had, and you're fairly certain that it was before midnight, too. Clearly it still hadn't been enough for him - perhaps the lack of sleep and abundance of alcohol the night before had had more of an effect than just giving him a thick head and mild nausea yesterday. “Will I make us a late breakfast after I've dropped Malachy off?” He suggests, smiling a little. “Pick something up on the way home?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Subway.” You say with an excited smile, “They make breakfast subs.”

He rolls his eyes at you as he sips his coffee. “Ah, go away,” he tuts. “I meant I could fly into like SuperValu or something.” He shakes his head at your eagerness for fast food. "Here, will I make us those bagels, remember the ones from that hotel in Monaghan.” He looks animated at the suggestion and you're immediately as delighted by the prospect.

You smile brightly, “Oh yeah, with the eggs, and the sausage-thing and the sauce.” You lick your lips comically. Cillian's dedication to vegetarianism could be flexible in its staunchness at times; while he chose to lean towards plant based or vegan options on occasion now, too, he was just as inclined to make the odd step back into meat-eater life, and the delicious egg and chorizo bagels you both were salivating over the thought of now was one of those examples.

“I'll run into the supermarket after I leave him in Tallaght then, so.” He says, and lifts his mug again. For whatever reason, you feel like this is the first time he's actually told you where Malachy is studying. You can't think at all if he's ever said anything before, and hate to sound as though you hadn't listened or aren't interested in asking him for clarification or details.

“What has he got on today?” You ask, wondering if he'll give you enough to work it out without asking him directly.

Cillian turns down the corners of his mouth and shrugs. “I haven't a clue,” he says, “But the business courses there go on the whole way, like Bachelor's and all.” He answers and you feel your anxiety subside a little. Malachy studies business at the Tallaght Campus of TUD - and you're more sure than ever he's never given you details before. “This little shit,” he shakes his head in amusement and places his mug down beside you on the island. “Hs fucking drags me out of the scratcher, and he's not even materialised down here yet.” You laugh lightly as he walks to the bottom of the stairs. “Malachy? Hey, Malachy? Are you up?” He shouts up, then gives a shrill whistle when he doesn't get an answer. “Hoi, Malachy, get up or I'll drag y’up!” He shakes his head as he walks back towards you. “Hes a fucker.”

You can't help finding the amusement in it all. And you can see he's happy to be doing day to day Dad things, too, despite his clear fatigue. “He wasn't expecting to be up, he'll be tired.” You say with a smile, then glance around at the clock above the cooker hood. “I have to go up and start work,” you say and move a step closer to him. You plant your mouth against his for a gentle kiss, and love the warmth of his arms as he wraps them around you.

“That sweatshirt is like a blanket.” He smirks as you pull away.

“I know, I love it. Especially up there, it's nice to be cosy while I'm working. I'm at the office tomorrow so I'm savouring the freedom to work in my pyjamas today.” You chuckle.

“You could work naked if you wanted, it's not like they're watching.” He laughs. You shake your head in amusement. But he continues with more ridiculous ideas. “Sure, we could be riding on the chair, and you in the middle of a string of emails….”

“Stop!” You laugh, and swat against his arm with an open palm. “You're an idiot.” you shake your head, but he's grinning at you and it's beautiful. “God! Do you think of anything other than sex when you're at home?”

He nods his head and you widen your eyes, waiting for another smartarsed comment. “Cheese,” he says, then laughs at himself as you turn and walk away, chuckling brightly.

You didn't hear him leave with Malachy, nor did you hear him get back home, but you can certainly hear him clattering about in the kitchen now, even two floors up. There's music blaring through Spotify on the TV and he's singing loudly to every track. You can hear it as clearly as if you were sitting down there, and that's with you having a single earbud in for your transcription tape. You pause the tape and save your document, then reach for your phone. It's a little before ten thirty and you know Cillian will be rattling around the house for a few more hours yet. Just knowing he's here is enough to make you feel comforted. You consider slipping down the stairs for a coffee, then you remember that Cillian has promised you breakfast bagels. Suddenly his banging around makes more sense. You reposition yourself in the chair and replace your earbud before continuing with your work.

You weren't exaggerating when you had told Cillian it was a big case. The details you'd read before were meek and mild in comparison to the testimony of the two children themselves. Not even over the age of ten and they'd seen and experienced horrors that would drive adults to insanity. You didn't know how anyone could treat children in these ways, and you didn't know how they'd survived at all. What you took from this aspect of your job, though, was that these children's voices were being heard - sometimes directly off the tapes, sometimes just metaphorically - and that meant those who had caused them harm were being exposed and more often than not, thankfully, being brought to their knees by the judicial system. For that reason, harrowing though it was, you knew there was likely never another role you'd want to take up. You felt, even in your small way, that you were a part of an instrumental band of people who helped these little ones out. Even so, it broke your heart and after a further twenty minutes, you pause the tape again and sit back in your chair with a sigh, drying the tears on your cheeks with the sleeve of your jumper. In all the cases you'd been part of up until now, this one was really hitting you hard. You sniff, determined not to fall too deeply into the darkness, and you're thankful of the disturbance when Cillian opens the door into the office and appears with a tray carrying not only your bagel and a coffee, but his too.

“Ah Y/N,” he says empathetically as he sets the tray onto the small table behind your chair. Your spin slowly, facing him fully. You're always amazed at his ability to read your emotions at a glance - not always to know your exact experiences but to always seem know when you're not your ‘default’ self. “Is it that bad?” He asks.

“Fuck, Cill, it's awful.” You tell him and sigh, shaking your head. You sniff and breathe out deeply. “The poor kids.”

He stands looking at you for a moment with such a gentle expression that you swear you can feel every feeling associated with your work here stepping back, even just a little. “How you can hurt your kids, I'll never fucking understand.” He shakes his head. “But here, c’mon and get this into ya.” He gestures at the table and sits down onto the sofa bed. You scoot the chair closer to the table and smile as he hands you your plate. The bagels - with toppings of smoothly sauced scrambled eggs, chopped chorizo, and spring onions - look simple, but it smells delicious, and you gratefully begin to tuck in with the knife and fork he's provided as Cillian sits back into the sofa with his own plate.

“Malachy get off okay?” You ask, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you talk over a bite of your food.

His own mouth stuffed, Cillian nods with his eyebrows raised as he chews. When he clears his mouthful, he swipes his tongue around his lips before he speaks. “When he finally appeared, yeah.” There's an edge to his tone, a minor irritation, but he's not angry in all sincerity. “He came in and woke me there for the lift out, and only went and got back into his own fucking bed.”

You shake your head with a light laugh, “Oh, he didn't?!”

“He's a messer, and he thought it was deadly craic once we were in the car!” Cillian smirks, and takes another bite from his bagel. “I thought about a nap but, sure, fuck it.”

You turn to your laptop for a moment, refreshing your emails, and reply to one from Amanda, the barrister you're assigned to. You leave your plate on the desk beside you - your bagel half attacked - and focus on your words to respond to her appropriately. Once sent, you snatch your plate back up and turn around to Cillian again. “Have you got plans for the next few hours? Last minute jobs or anything?”

He gives a single nod as he swallows the last mouthful of his food. Leaning forwards, he places the plate back onto the tray and brings his mug of herbal tea with him as he sits back again. “Sitting here with you.” He says.

“You'll be bored, Cill; I've got so much to do.” you say softly, but you're very endeared by his suggestion.

“Ah no, but sure, I can get a book,” he says and sips his tea, then his tone changes a little bit. “Or we can talk.”

You sense it immediately that he means ‘the talk’, and you look at him with a gentle frown, “Cill, now's not…”

“Now is the perfect time,” he says. “I'm going to be gone, bar the odd day here or there, until mid December. I can't carry it all for that long, Y/N, and neither can you. Sure, we shouldn't have to. The wondering or questions, or the guilt and concerns for each other. We're not angry here, not to the point we're hating one another I hope, at least.” He smirks and you can see he's nervous. “But you deserve answers to questions I know you have, and rightly so. I owe you those. And I want to explain myself, my choices and reasons, and without sounding like a cock, you owe me that.” He sits forwards and puts down his mug. “Contact Amanda, ask her for the afternoon off - annual leave, sickness, whatever you want to say. But I've from now ‘til around three-,” he says, “And I want to go to the airport later knowing we understand one another properly. And knowing that when I call ya, or when I come home, we're not gonna be arguing,”

You look back at him with a panicked feeling in the centre of your chest. He's right about needing to do this, you know he is, and he's right too about it being better now than later. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth and blink slowly as you breathe in deeply though your nose. You release your lip, sigh out your held breath noisily, and nod your head. “I'll email Amanda now, I'll say I have a migraine and I'll see her tomorrow.” You say and nervously turn back to your laptop. You tap out a brief but sufficient email and send it across. You sigh once again as you turn back around to him and then raise up your eyebrows. “Okay, so…” you shrug your shoulders. “Where do we start?”

You watch Cillian's expression change, like he's just realised the gravity of this, and he sits back on the sofa again. He raises his eyebrows back at you and absentmindedly runs his tongue over his lips. “I'm sorry I put it before you to be ready for a baby when you weren't. I know that maybe you wouldn't even have come to the decision you did want a baby if I hadn't pushed it. I'm sorry I changed my mind - and I'm going to be sorry for the rest of my fucking life for the way it eventually got told told to you that I had changed my mind.” He speaks with a measured and calm voice, and you know he's thinking about the words he says carefully. “But I changed my mind because of Mal, and Aran, and you, and me, and because of work and because of things that happened before now. I'm away so much, more now than ever, and being away from the boys in not living there, I feel like I'm putting extra distance there, like I don't give them enough. I changed my mind because if we had a baby, I'd be away from you and them too, more than I was for the boys, and that baby being here, with me, would look to the boys like I just moved on and started another life, and left them behind. Like, I can't be there for them all the time but I'd be living with this new child and it wouldn't be fair. And here, maybe they wouldn't think that way, but maybe they would - and I don't want to hurt them like that. I've hurt them enough. And I don't want to up and leave you and a wee one constantly with work; that's not fair on a child, and it's not fair on you. Y/N, I didn't change my mind because I don't want a baby with you - a baby with you would be amazing - but it wouldn't be worth all the sacrifices and...upset we would all be faced with. I just realised I couldn't do it, not to any of us.”

You'd suspected almost exactly this reason, and it was because of that you'd been able to so easily reconcile yourself with his change of mind for the most part, though his mention of past things had made your heart flutter. But the issue wasn't there, it was his choices surrounding that decision that were harder for you to accept or understand. “It's almost exactly what I expected. That's why I kept saying that I could deal with you changing your mind. What I can't understand is why you told her you weren't sure, and that you'd changed your mind once you'd come to that. I can't understand why you could call her up, or meet her, or go in for coffee when you were driving the boys, but you couldn't tell me when I've been right beside you.”

He sighs and it's loud, heavy, and you don't know if he's looking for reasons he hasn't got, or gearing up to tell you something you won't like. You're not sure which is worse - he turned to her because he had always turned to her in the past, which stings, or he turned to her because he had changed his mind about you, too. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest as you wait for his answer. “I never found the moment here but that's not your fault at all, it's mine. I was waiting for the perfect moment, but sure there wouldn't have been one, would there? I'd no fucking sense and put it off. I only talked to Yvonne because she caught me on the phone in bad humour one day, and I just let it all out at her. And I'd talked to her again about the kids that Friday day time before we went out. She was saying that Malachy wasn't coming, but Aran was, and she'd asked if I'd talked to you yet. Obviously I didn't know that you'd made your mind up and were going to tell me then, so when I got thick with you in the restaurant, it was because she'd reminded me of needing to sew me bollocks on and talk to you. But you got there first and I felt like a fucking eejit.”

*Did she change your mind for you?” You ask him and suddenly you feel like your anxiety is asking the questions now. There's an edge to your voice and you know he hears it by the way his brows twitch in together at the bridge of his nose. “In you, um, having concerns, did she give you a few more, and guilt you with Malachy and Aran?”

“No.” His reply is blunt, immediate, and with a single shake of his head. “I feel how I feel because it's - it's how I feel, it's what's I'm fucking afraid of. It isn't because of Yvonne, not in the way you think it is anyway. She didn't tell me it was a bad idea, not to do it. The only thing she encouraged or insisted on was that I shut up fecking moaning at her and tell you.” He sighs and shakes his head, and while he is staying so calm you can hear that accent creeping in and know the passion is behind his words. “When you said it yesterday, that if she was the reason for my decision then we'd need to talk about our relationship - fuck, Y/N, you floored me. That you'd think I’d be going behind your back, that you'd think I'd go back to her and be miserable like I was for months or more before we met. Or that I'd let her dictate anything that goes on here, with us. Jesus fuck, Y/N! Sure, I wish you'd let go of your own fucking guilt there, so that you'd stop expecting me to be fucking about because we did jt. You didn't break us up, you didn't cause an issue, you didn't…lure me off. I didn't fuck about on Yvonne then because I'm an arsehole, seduced like, by a young one! I didn't then, and I'm not now - not with anyone, and definitely not with Yvonne. I'm not talking with her outside of that there, and the kids, and pleasantries. You and I got talking that day in Busáras, and we'd a good chat. I didn't expect to be bumping into you again, but there you were a week later and you got me right after the worst week Yvonne and me had had in months. You didn't ruin us, you didn't break us, but by fuck, boy, did you make all the difference for me straight off. Since I made up my mind with where I was, all that’s been important to me is you and the lads. It's why I make half the decisions I do. My own stupidity would be the reason for the rest of my fucking choices.” There's a smirk and a shake of his head that you know means he's trying so hard to keep this a conversation, to not cause a row at all. “I'm gonna be forty nine next year; I've two grown sons, a failed fucking marriage, …but I have you.” He smiles softly as he looks at you. Your eyes haven't left him, you're scanning his face and taking mental notes on his words and his accent and pitch changes. You read it all, remember it all, because it gives everything away about him. So far, it's working. “I never want to be in a position again where something I've done comes back negatively on you again, or the boys. I know you think I don't care, but I do keep the perceptions of me in the back of me head. And of you. I don't want you slagged on th’internet, nor the kids to suffer.”

You take a deep breath as he falls quiet for a moment and watch him bring his right hand to his face. His fingers move back and forth over his lips, his tongue flicks around in his mouth and you can see it through his parted lips as it assaults the single, set-back lower tooth with side to side swishes. “All I could think about, after we'd had sex and not used anything, was about going back to that place in England by myself.” You watch his eyes close slowly at your words and you know he feels something there, the same as you. He'd reminded you of this, now, when he said that past things had helped him change his mind. Your mind flies straight back... You didn't blame him for the need to go, nor that you were alone - he wasn't able to do anything about that at all, and you were not punishing him for it - but you hated the thought of it ever being repeated like that. “Because you'd changed your mind, and we still fucked like that, and all I could think about was sorting it sooner this time, knowing sooner this time, so that we didn't have to do that - so that I didn't have to feel that again. I don't regret the termination, but I think I resented the possibility of having to feel those feelings again and feeling like you would just expect me to, because you'd changed your mind.” You take a deep breath and it shakes hard in your chest. “I'm not saying you would, I'm saying that's what I was scared of, what I was worried about. That and the feeling like I'd had my head whipped around because I'd finally wanted what I thought you wanted now, too.”

He's listens to you talking with his eyes closed and you know he is feeling it hard. He swallows hard, audible across the quiet room, and he drops his hand as he opens his eyes. “It kills me all the time that you'd to get the termination at all. I know we decided and it was the right thing - it was, I'll never change my mind on that; Yvonne and me weren't even separated at the time, but it was coming and if…" he takes a deep breath in, and his tongue swipes out over his lips in an anxious stim. “Y/N, it kills me that you'd to go through it, and alone, and that all I could do was fucking ring ya - and not see ya til, what? Four days later? Maybe it's half the reason I thought about a baby together being a good idea at the start, so you knew I'd never let you go through that again if it could be avoided. I dunno…” he sighs, and his breath shakes too. “I was an arsehole to have sex with no precautions around your birthday, because we were only after talking that little bit. It fucked with your head, and it put us in a position where we might have had to have had that fucking conversation again and I am so fucking sorry.”

You puff out your cheeks as you breathe out at his words, his declarations, and you nod your head slowly. “Yeah, but you were right that night in London. I didn't mention a fucking condom either.” You push your hands onto the armrests of the chair and get to your feet. His eyes stay on you as you round the table and drop down to the balls of your feet, crouching before his knees. “The termination before you were separated was the right choice. And it being some of the reason you're sure now, among other things, that kids aren't on the cards is understandable. And I am okay with that. You're a good man. You're not perfect, at all, but you're not intentionally cruel. I know my anxiety is a bone of contention, and so is my guilt, and I am sure it'll never go away completely. But I want you to know, please, that in this exact moment, I don't think you're sneaking around, or going back to her, and I completely understand why you changed your feelings. And I need you to know that I'm okay with those feelings, and that it's going to take me time to get back there, but I will be fine with us remaining just us.” Your palms rest on his knees - to steady yourself as much as to touch him - and you sits forwards more and places his hands over yours. “And I am forever thankful for my delayed coach, and Malachy's late trip return, on that day on Store Street. I never thought that Busáras would be a landmark for me in Dublin, but it is!” You smile and you can feel your eyes slowly welling with tears. You close your eyes and let them fall as he leans even closer, moving his face close to yours, and pushes his lips against yours.

He wraps his fingers around yours and takes your hands, pulling you up, “Sit down here,” he says, and insists you join him on the sofa. When you do, he wraps his arm around at his side and pulls you in. “You know I can even remember the top you had on.” He says after a moment of quiet. His cheek is resting on top of your head and your right hand is toying with the fingers of his right hand where they sit together on his thigh. You flick at his fingers and smooth your thumb back and forth, and you smile as he speaks about your first meeting. “A fucking Gaa jersey that was, eh, half Dublin and half fucking Galway. You said you hadn't a clue about Gaelic football but your friends were getting married and it was their respective counties, so you were meeting up for the hen do, and all the girls were wearing these jerseys!”

You laugh lightly, “That's right!”

“And me there hanging around like a knob for Malachy to come in from the school trip. You moved your bag off the chair there and let me sit down, and you'd not a fucking notion who I was, and it was so fucking cool.” He smiles and you can feel the movement of his cheek in your hair.

“You talked my ear off about Lennon, your boys, and a book about some journalist who fucks off to Europe.” You laugh a little. “Who'd have known we'd be here now?” He lifts his head from yours and, when he does, you look up at him. “I'd never have imagined but there's very little I'd change, or do differently, if we had a do-over.” You say softly, and a smile slowly pushes into his cheeks. “I really think that I do regret nothing with you.”

He fights his hand out of your fiddling fingers and brings his palm up against your cheek, then draws your face to his for a passionate kiss. His thumb smooths over your cheek as you move your head back slightly a moment later. “I love you.” He whispers, desperately quiet.

You haven't magically become fine, but his words are so important and affirming that you know that it will be okay. You can get through the future because you're dealing with the past, you tell yourself, and you've got him by your side as a rock or strength. You move until you can place your head on his shoulder and it's warm and loving when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close and tight. You're safe, you're reassured, and you can handle it all.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

if the animorphs were ice cream flavors which ice cream flavors would they be

Marco: Rum raisin. It's edgy, it's odd, it's either serving alcohol to children or not and no one can agree on this point. The name is strange and off-putting, but under that shell it's soft and sweet inside.

Rachel: Birthday cake. This ice cream is secretly vanilla, but the kind of rainbow-colored vanilla that reminds you just how precious and high-end vanilla extract actually is. It's all about the aesthetic, but the aesthetic is actually there to enhance the flavor.

Tobias: Superman. What is Superman ice cream? It's ice cream that's also Superman. It's Superman flavored. What's in it? Superman ice cream. If you want to understand your ice cream or put it into clearly defined categories, you're looking in the wrong place.

Jake: Sea salt caramel. It's a little rough, a little bitter, a weirdly savory take on dessert. It has also launched a thousand legal battles, because no one can agree who (if anyone) owns the phrase "sea salt caramel." It's the ice cream flavor for all your salty and battle-ready needs.

Cassie: Strawberry. The oft-forgotten much-overlooked third of Neapolitan ice cream. Neither chocolate nor vanilla but their hardworking cousin, there to balance them out with a rich burst of unapologetic sweetness.

Ax: Old Bay. Despite the strangeness of putting a Cajun-style seafood seasoning in ice cream, there's a strange allure to Old Bay ice cream. It's so strange, especially when marketed just as "crab flavor", that everyone's drawn to it for its oddness. Plus, it's the kind of thing that no mere human could eat an entire bowl of without a stomachache.