#turkey instructions said to leave it out to reach room temperature

[notquiteaghost]

if you really loved him you would let him back in the kitchen with the big dead bird. he almost got the box open

[multifandom--mess]

Sunkissed - Dad!Michael AU

A/N: I apologize in advance for this piece of crap. Literally wrote this in two hours while sleep deprived and had a random spark of inspiration.

Michael was awakened by someone determinedly trying to force his eyelids open. He finally gave in and opened his eyes to the excited face of his daughter. Once she saw that he was awake she bounced up and down on his bare torso, earning a few uncomfortable grunts in response.

“Wake up daddy! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” she persisted.

Michael sighed but he was soon all smiles. Nothing could brighten his mood like his little angel. He noticed she was wearing her swimsuit and sat up confused.

“Why are you wearing your bathing suit, angel?”

“Because it's hot outside and I wanna go to the beach!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.

Michael sighed, stretching, before standing and going out on the balcony. His little angel was right, it was a sunny, hot day in California and there wasn’t a cloud in sight; it was perfect for a day at the beach. But Michael was a busy man. He was always caught up with work and hardly ever had days off. But today would be an exception. He knew his little girl was often missing him when he would pick her up late at night after work from Ms. Mead and the woman would scold him for not spending enough time with her.

“Okay. We’ll go to the beach. It’s Saturday and I know daddy is always working. Today will be our day.” he says, smiling, picking her up and holding her against his hip.

“Yay! Thank you, daddy!” the child says, wrapping her small arms around her father’s neck and pressing her tiny cheek against his.

It only took about thirty minutes for Michael to pack all the necessary items they needed for the beach. He packed lunch for them to eat once they were all tired and hungry from being in the heat and a bunch of various beach toys for y/d/n to play with.

“Can we take the surfboard, daddy?” y/d/n asked.

She had somehow managed to dig it out of their ‘clutter closet’. Michael bought the surfboard as a souvenir years ago during his Hawthorne days when he tagged along with some classmates to downtown Los Angeles. He never put it to any use, it would sit in the corner of his room as a decoration and over the years it became nothing more than just something he tossed in the closet. Now his little girl could make memories with it.

“Sure, why not. It’s never been used.”

Y/d/n squealed in delight as Michael took the surfboard and tied it to the top of the car.

Once the car was packed with all their things, they were on the road. It was only a twenty minute drive to get to the beach. The parking lot was nearly full but luckily Michael found a spot after driving around aimlessly for five minutes.

It was a hassle carrying everything out to the sand but Michael managed. The second he set everything down and hunched over to catch his breath, y/d/n was running off to get in the water but Michael stopped her using his telekinesis discreetly.

“I want to get in the ocean!” y/d/n exclaimed as Michael led her by her hand back to their spot.

“I know but you need sunblock. Do you want to get sunburned?” Michael asked her as he began to lather the white substance on all exposed areas of her skin.

“No,” she said.

She stood still just long enough for Michael to finish and then proceeded to take the bottle from him and squeeze a large amount into her hand.

“Now it’s your turn, daddy.” the child said.

“Do you want to get sunburned?” she asked, repeating the same question he had asked her only minutes before.

Michael only smiled.

“No,”

He removed his black t-shirt so his persistent child could smear a more than necessary amount of sunblock all over his back. Personally, Michael was not a beach person. He hated wearing minimal clothing and staying out in the heat for long periods of time. Bad enough he already ran at an abnormal body temperature. But if being at the beach meant he could spend time with his daughter then he was all for it. As long as she was happy he was fine with pretty much anything.

After y/d/n was finished covering Michael’s body with sunblock she took him by the hand and started to lead him towards the water.

“Come on, daddy! It’s too hot and I wanna get in the water!”

“Okay okay, I’m coming.”

When they reached the water, y/d/n practically dived in, the water sloshing over her body and splashing her in the face. She laughed excitedly at the feeling and continued splashing around. Michael stood back just far enough so the water only barely touched his feet. Y/d/n had stopped splashing to look at him before running over to him.

“Why don’t you get in the water, daddy? It’s not that cold, see?” she hopped around to show him.

Michael shook his head,

“Nah, it’s okay. Don’t worry about me. You have fun,”

But she wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Are you scared of the water? Come on, I’ll hold your hand so you won’t be scared.”

Y/d/n grabbed her stubborn father by the hand and let him into the water. Michael knew there was no arguing with her now. She led him into the ocean as far as she could until the water grew too strong for her. Michael picked her up and sat her on his shoulders.

“I wanna go out there, daddy!” she pointed out to the deeper part of the ocean where some older children and adults were swimming and surfing.

“Can I we ride the surfboard now, daddy?”  

“Sure,”

They were so far out in the water that there was no way in hell Michael was walking all the way back to their area on the sand. So, he did what any normal dad would do. He used his powers to conjure the surfboard. He closed his eyes and willed the surfboard to appear. Once he heard a faint splash next to them he opened his eyes to see the white and blue surfboard sitting on the water.

“Wow, daddy, I wish I had magic like you,” y/d/n said in awe at the surfboard suddenly appearing out of thin air.

It was true, y/d/n didn’t have any powers. Either she would acquire them as she got older but for now she seemed to be normal. After all, her father was the Antichrist and her mother was a powerful witch, she would at least have some magic in her if not a great amount that she would obtain in her future.

Michael had absolutely no idea on how to surf.

He watched others around them surfing like professionals and some seemed just as lost as him. Not even magic could help him figure this out. If only he had an instruction manual of some sort to show him.

Y/d/n was growing impatient as she sat silently on the surfboard.

“I think we have to be on the sand first, daddy.” she said, watching as the woman ties the ankle piece around her ankle and walk into the water before laying on her board stomach first and wading out into the water.

“Maybe you’re right….” Michael agreed, but still very confused.

Back on the sand, Michael repeats the same process as the woman he took secret guidance from earlier and soon he and y/d/n were struggling to balance on the board. The waves were picking up and it only complicated things. Michael grew frustrated and resulted to using magic to steady the board. When they were steady, Michael tried to ride the small waves that rippled across them.

They continued this until y/d/n shouted,

“Daddy, look! A big wave is coming!”

Michael turned his head, and sure enough a massive wave was heading their way. A few surfers were riding it but Michael and y/d/n were only just learning to stand up without falling. Michael held y/d/n close to him as the wave crashed over them, causing them to get knocked underwater. Michael brought them both back up and y/d/n was crying.

“Wasn’t that fun? Hey hey, what’s the matter?”

“My eyes burn, daddy!” she cried, rubbing her eyes.

“Shh it's okay,”

Michael covered her eyes with his large hand, using his magic to stop them from burning. She stopped crying almost immediately and clung to him tightly.

“I wanna go back to our spot now,” she whimpered, still clearly not over the ocean hurting her.

“Okay. We can eat our lunch and you can play with your toys in the sand, okay?” she nodded and laid her head on his shoulder.

~

Sitting on the towel within the shade of their large umbrella, Michael and y/d/n ate their homemade turkey and cheese sandwiches and drank their Caprisuns in silence.

When they were done, y/d/n was ready to play some more. But poor Michael was so tired so he took out all of her beach toys and watched her play in the sand for a while. She found tons of seashells and filled her bucket to the brim with them. Then she attempted to build a sandcastle but became discouraged when the sand kept sinking back into the ground.

“Stupid sand!” she grunted angrily, kicking the sand with her little feet.

Michael found this so amusing for some reason and burst into laughter at the sight of his daughter getting angry with sand. When y/d/n saw him laughing at her, she only grew more angry and stood with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

Michael only laughed even harder.

After another hour, Michael noticed that many people were beginning to pack up and leave. The sun was starting to set slowly and it would be y/d/n’s bedtime soon. Michael began putting everything away while y/d/n stood in the tide. He called her over when he finished packing and told her it was time to go home.

She was not happy to leave, to say that much. But the second the car was packed and they were driving home, she was fast asleep in her carseat. Michael had to carry her inside and wake her up so she could have a bath and eat dinner. He fixed them both mac & cheese and they both ate while watching Moana, courtesy of Michael letting y/d/n pick the movie.

However, she fell asleep before the movie could finish and Michael carried her to bed and gently tucked her in. He placed a kiss on her forehead and whispered goodnight.

Michael called Ms.Mead right before he went to bed to tell her about their day. She was proud of Michael for doing the right thing and spending some much needed time with his daughter. Michael promised that from now on every Saturday would be daddy-daughter day for himself and y/d/n.

Michael went to bed that night feeling happier than ever.

A/N: Okay soooo this ended up being a lot longer than anticipated but I wrote this at 2am randomly and it just started pouring out of me. It probably has hella mistakes but whatever. I’m sleep deprived and wanted to write something so this was the result lmao

[xylianna]

Discretion, Chapter 2: Ignis! Instructions!

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13085040/chapters/30030330

NSFW

I know I'm not the only one to take Ignis giving instructions in a dirty manner.  I have faith in my FFXV fam.  <3

Also, chapter count changed, because I'm apparently too rebellious to follow the 5+1 format properly.  

I originally had the "Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot" tag on this but guys, I just can't write a story that doesn't have at least a little plot. Generally an angsty one.  I'm sorry!   It won't be terribly angst-filled.  My goal here is fluffy Gladnis goodness!

Hand in hand, Gladio and Ignis walked through the streets of Lestallum. Ignis had prudently suggested they actually stop at the market and grab a few things, since he had much such a big deal out of it before they parted ways with their friends at the car. Gladio was feeling guilty at adding more time on to what was already a longer absence than prudent - hard to shield someone when you’re not at they’re side, yeah? - but he couldn’t argue with the sense behind the idea. 

The sun had fully set now, and Lestallum’s nightlife was buzzing. During the day, people moved languidly, leisurely moving from place to place in an effort not to become any more overheated than necessary. But at night, the temperature dropped and the peoples’ energy rose in counterpoint. The streets were packed, the market was thriving, and the mood was electric.

Gladio rubbed his thumb absently along Ignis’s wrist while they walked, enjoying the contrast as his digit swept between the leather of the other man’s glove, and the satin of his bare skin. “So, what’re we lookin’ for?” The Shield tried to think back to the monologue Ignis had given poor Prompto. “Curatives and cooking ingredients?”

“Primarily,” Ignis agreed, free hand raising to nudge his glasses fractionally higher on the bridge of his nose. “This shouldn’t take terribly long, if the market stalls are still laid out in the same pattern as the last time we were here.”

And indeed, the shopping was concluded in short order, then men hastening towards the Leville with their purchases. When Gladio saw Noct and Prompto sitting on a bench near the hotel entrance, he let go of Ignis’s hand, albeit reluctantly. While he kept his face smooth, his stomach churned a bit at the necessity.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Gladio could pinpoint the exact moment the younger men saw them by the way they surged to their feet, rushing towards them wearing nearly identical expressions of concern.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Noctis snapped, azure eyes flashing in a manner very reminiscent of Regis at his most regally commanding.

“And, uh�� why’re there leaves in your hair, Iggy?” Prompto asked, reaching out and plucking one from Ignis’s decidedly mussed tresses.

“I’m afraid the delay was my fault,” Ignis spoke in that calm, vaguely-apologetic tone he took when explaining something he perceived as a minor shortcoming. “I recalled wild onions grew not far from here, and I wanted to see if I could find some to add to our provisions.”

“And I wasn’t lettin’ anyone go outside on their own, that close to sunset,” Gladio added, crossing thick arms over his wide chest.

Prompto nodded, seeming to accept their explanation.

Noctis was not so easily appeased.

“Is that why there’s… claw marks on your arms?” Noct leaned forward to inspect Gladio’s forearms more closely, Prompto parroting the motion with interest.

“Looks like you got bit, too!” The blonde exclaimed, running a careful fingertip around the perimeter of a bite mark that was certainly not left by a monster. “Dude, daemons before the sun fully set?”

“Nothing so perilous as that,” Ignis said dryly, his cheekbones dusted with a slight flush. He adjusted his glasses again, and Gladio hoped he’d knock it off - hell, they all knew Iggy fiddling with his glasses was the closest the strategist came to having a nervous tic.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Gladio said with great bravado, their sentences blurring as he spoke over the latter half of Ignis’s explanation.

Noct sighed. “Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “You have all the money, Ignis. Can we get the rooms now?”

“Yeah!” Prompto agreed. “It’s tourney time!”

“Nap time,” Noct argued petulantly.

“Certainly,” Ignis said agreeably, turning to walk into the lobby, knowing the other three would follow him indoors. He spoke briefly with the desk attendant, then moved to where his friends waited, clustered together near the foyer.

In short order, rooms were arranged, food was ordered to be delivered via room service, and they were settled into their respective rooms. Noctis and Prompto wasted no time in firing up their phones, diving into electronic battle.

Gladio wasted no time getting Ignis into that soft, plush bed, sharing soft kisses as they cuddled back against the pillows. They took things no further, fatigue pulling them both into slumber with alacrity.

All too soon the morning came, and surprisingly, the younger men did not sleep half the day away. The group took in brunch at a local cafe, and the proprietor wasted no time in telling them about a swarm of oversized bees that had been spotted to the southwest of Lestallum, near Coernix Bypass.

“It’s dangerous,” the tipster warned them. “But, lucrative if you succeed.”

Ignis assented on behalf of the group. The bounty from his hunt alone would more than make up for the money spent on their stay at the Lestallum.

They finished their meal and headed out on the hunt. Prompto and Noctis chattered about all the sweet loot they’d acquired in their gaming the night before, but Gladio didn’t pay it much mind. He was very determinedly not staring at the back of Ignis’s perfectly coiffed head. Nope. He was reading his book, gods damn it, who cared if he hadn’t turned a page in an hour because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ignis’s voice has sounded as he’d come undone?

Several more hours passed in a similar, unremarkable fashion as they drove towards Coernix Bypass. Finally, the Regalia slowed, and Gladio didn’t have to ask why. He could see the swarm from where he sat in the car, the bees were that large.

“I don’t like this,” Prompto fretted.

“Watch yourself,” Ignis counseled as he climbed out of the car, summoning his paired daggers.

Gladio eyed the bees, and shrugged, calling his greatsword from the Armiger. Speedy and flying, might be a challenge. Definitely a distraction from his turbulent thoughts. He let his face stretch in a fierce grin as he shifted his full attention to the upcoming fight. “Let’s do this!” Gladio shouted as he charged into battle.

Noct warped to the other side of the swarm, and he and Gladio momentarily had some of the bees surrounded in a pincer attack. Prompto held back, sniping the insects from long range. Ignis spun through the monsters with a deadly grace, daggers flashing in his fists as he carved away at their opponents.

But they just kept coming. Astrals, there were so many. Gladio cracked a potion after one especially pernicious bee managed to get in some good hits.

Prompto seemed to be doing well enough, out of range as he was, but Noctis was starting to breathe hard as the battle raged on. He was running out of tricks, and wanted to end this fast.

“Ignis! Instructions!” the Prince shouted desperately as he parried away another attack.

“Kill them before they kill us,” Ignis suggested helpfully.

“Ignis!” Noctis didn’t sound terribly amused.

Gladio couldn’t help but chuckle at the Advisor’s poorly timed joke, though.

“Try a blizzard spell!” Ignis called out, nimbly back-flipping out of range.

Gladio made haste to move away as well, not wishing to get caught in the magic.

Noctis channeled a powerful blizzard spell which incapacitated most of the bees, while Prompto continued to shoot at them from his position. After the blizzard dissipated, Noctis began feverishly warp-striking from one target to the next.

Gladio yelled a wordless battle cry and charged back into the fray, pleased to note that the tide seemed to be turning in their favor.

And then, after frenetic minutes that felt like hours, the battle was done, the party had won, and the tired hunters piled into the car to head back to Lestallum and collect their bounty.

“So tired,” Noct muttered, leaning his head back against the seat. Magic was always a drain on his energy.

“What else is new?” Gladio teased, elbowing him lightly.

“Shut up.”

Prompto laughed at the exchange. “Big guy’s gotcha there, Noct.” The gunslinger’s eyes turned crafty as he swiveled to face Ignis. “Although…. hey Igs, since Noct is soooo tired, maybe we can crash at the Leville again?”

Gladio could see Ignis frown in profile as he mulled over Prompto’s words. “That is a splendid idea, however… I do not think we can make it back into town before dark. We’d best find a haven.”

The Shield felt his face burn, and he wondered how Ignis could even say the word ‘haven’ in such a calm, collected tone. Hell, he was half-hard just from hearing it.

How the mighty have fallen, turned on so abruptly and so intensely just from hearing the word ‘haven’.

Oh well. He did love camping.

“Sounds good to me!” Gladio said with perhaps too much enthusiasm.

After they arrived at the haven, Gladio got to work setting up camp. He uselessly wished they had an extra tent - as if thin canvas walls would give any true privacy - but was determined to make the best of a frustrating situation.

Astrals, it had almost been better just going cold turkey. Now that his body remembered how fucking fantastic it felt to be buried balls deep inside of Iggy, he didn’t want to go back to abstaining.

As Gladio finished setting up the tent, he wondered if there was some way he could get the younger men out of camp for a few hours. Hell, he’d take fifteen minutes. But he couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t incredibly foolhardy, and he wasn’t going to risk the Prince - or Prompto - just to get his dick wet.

Gladio’s mood turned introspective and foul as he started into the crackling campfire. Even the Cup Noodles Ignis surprised him with, layered with shrimp and chickatrice meat, couldn’t pull him out of this sudden funk.

He had understood the necessity of continuing to hide their relationship from the general public, back in Insomnia, when there was a general public. But he was starting to have trouble comprehending the reason to continue the facade with their closest friends in the wake of the ciy’s fall. Fuck, Noct wouldn’t care, as long as they didn’t start making out in front of him or anything. Prompto would probably be over the moon for them and insist on taking too many photos.

Nodding to himself with resolve, Gladio decided to bring it up with Ignis the next chance he got.

Which could, admittedly, be a while, he concluded with a sigh, going back to stirring his noodles, occasionally taking a small bite. He knew he should eat, hell, Ignis had made his favorite, but he just couldn’t muster up an appetite.

Well. Not for noodles.

After setting the still mostly-full cup on the ground, Gladio pushed to his feet, looking anywhere but at Ignis. “Goin’ for a run,” he mumbled, before loping off away from camp.

Gladio wasn’t stupid. He didn’t go very far, just in a simple loop around the outer edges of the haven. Far enough away to feel like he had some space to think, but not so far that he’d be cut off from assistance if there was a daemon attack.

Gladio wondered if Ignis’s continued insistence on secrecy was a misguided attempt by the strategist to continue believing they had a home to go back to. Hell, they were on the run, taking on hunts and quests to try and make enough money to eat and fuel up the Regalia while they searched for the Royal Arms. Who the fuck cared if it was inappropriate or gauche or whatever for two of the Prince’s retainers to be involved?

They way Gladio saw it, they should find their happiness where they could.

And he had already found his with Ignis.

“Fuck this,” he muttered as he finished another lap. “No more hiding.” Decisively, Gladio turned to run back towards the camp.

When he crested the apex of the haven, he found only Ignis sitting around the embers left by the cook-fire. Muted talking from the direction of the tent confirmed that Noctis and Prompto had turned in, but not quite settled down.

“Gladio,” the tactician said in quiet invitation, gesturing towards the camp chair beside his.

Gladio lowered himself into the seat with a sigh, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees, staring into the flickering flames. He appreciated that Ignis didn’t push for him to talk right away, but gave him the moment to organize his thoughts.

Not that it helped him find the eloquence he was hoping for.

“Why can’t we tell ‘em, Iggy?” he asked bluntly. “Insomia’s fallen. There’s no royal court to judge us.” He raised eyes his eyes from the fire to bore into Ignis’s. “Six, they’re our friends. They’d be happy for us.”

Ignis appeared pensive, which wasn’t exactly unusual, but definitely was not the expression Gladio was hoping to see on his partner’s face in response to his impassioned inquiries.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis said carefully, almost over-enunciating the words. “I love you more than I imagined possible.”

Gladio sighed heavily. “But?”

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate for us to interact in such a manner around His Highness.”

“Why?” Gladio surged to his feet, his chair falling backwards. “Fucking why, Iggy? What the hell is inappropriate about being in love?”

As Gladio stood there, fists clenched at his sides, breathing as hard as if he was in the midst of intense combat, he realized that he had been shouting, and may have just rendered this entire conversation moot.

When neither of the younger men emerged from the tent, and Gladio realized he could hear what seemed to be authentic, discordant snores rising in a duet from behind him, he was momentarily relieved to realize his friends had slept through his outburst.

But then he looked at Iggy again, and felt his heart stutter uncomfortably in his chest.

Ignis’s stoic facade had cracked. There were tears welling up in his verdant eyes, and his posture had slumped in an uncharacteristic fashion. Fuck, it looked like he was trembling, Gladio noticed, as he watched Ignis just sort of… fold in on himself, arms wrapping around his midsection, fingers digging into his sides, his shoulders shaking with nearly inaudible sobs.

“Iggy…”

“You’re right.”

Gladio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t expected Ignis to say that. Six, he just wanted to lean down and gather the other man into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking.

But they needed to have this conversation. So Gladio waited patiently where he stood in front of the other man, keeping his posture relaxed and his facial expression open as he regarded Ignis, watching the gradual process of the Advisor pulling himself back together.

“You’re right,” Ignis said again, and this time his voice was steadier. “And I’m sorry.” When he lifted his eyes to meet Gladio’s again, they’re dry, but the trails drawn through the dust on his cheeks stand out starkly in the warm light shed by the campfire. “I should have never insisted on this charade.” He laughs softly, bitterly. “It seems such a silly thing to have worried over, now, after… everything.”

Gladio knelt in front of Ignis’s chair and gently cupped his hands on Ignis’s knees, since his arms are folded too tightly for Gladio to be able to hold his hands. “I love you, Iggy.” He reaches up to smooth back an errant lock of Ignis’s hair tenderly. “We tell ‘em tomorrow?”

“Indeed.” Ignis finally smiled, and he relaxed, unfolding his arms only to lean forward and wind them around Gladio’s shoulders, pressing his lips against the other man’s in a lingering kiss.

Gladio’s heart was soaring. On some level, he feels guilty at being so damn happy. His city has fallen. The King is dead. His father is dead. The world’s gone completely to shit.

But he had Ignis. He had Noctis, and Prompto.

He had hope.

As Ignis’s lips continued to move against his, Gladio pushed such maudlin thoughts aside. It wasn’t good to dwell in the dark. He needed to keep his mind sharp.

He needed the light.

Ignis was his light.

Gladio didn’t even care how cheesy that thought was. It was the fucking truth.

He stood, half lifting Ignis out of his chair just from the motion of standing, the other man’s arms were wrapped around him so tightly. It was a no-brainer for Gladio to cup Ignis’s tight ass in his strong hands, lifting him the rest of the way. When Ignis’s legs cinched around Gladio’s waist, they both moaned, their eyes meeting, smiles lighting up both their faces as they reached a silent accord.

Gladio carried Ignis to the far edge of the haven, to a spot that wouldn’t be in direct line of sight of anyone leaving the tent. He knew they’d have to be relatively quick, and they’d have to be quiet.

But he’d make the most of it.

They sat there on the grassy ground, unexpectedly still, as each seemed to be waiting for the other to take control, to move things forward.

Gladio leaned in close to Ignis with a wolfish grin as inspiration struck, and he whispered so closely to his partner’s ear that his lips tickled the delicate skin of Ignis’s earlobe with each syllable. His words were simple, teasing, and under the circumstances, ridiculously hot.

“Ignis… instructions?”

He heard the sharp way Ignis’s breath hissed out in surprise. Clearly his lover hadn’t expected to be unexpectedly thrust in control of the situation.

Gladio knew Iggy’d rise to the occasion, though.

And he wasn’t disappointed.

“Touch me,” Ignis’s tone faltered a bit at first, but grew in confidence as he continued to speak. “Unmake me, Gladiolus. Help me find peace.”

Gladio didn’t answer verbally. He didn’t need to. He did what Ignis had asked of him and began to touch him, taking his time, running his hands over his partner’s still-clothed body, outlining the musculature with his fingertips, smoothing back his hair. Piece by piece, he stripped the strategist of his layers of clothing, starting with his arm garters and ending with his stockings. Every inch of revealed skin, Gladio kissed, his tongue laving long stripes over Ignis’s arms, his chest.

The Shield reveled in the way Ignis was quivering beneath him, bowing up into every tender touch.

Last night at the haven, the two of them had been men possessed, driven by lust and lost to reason.

Tonight at this haven, they were guided by love, deliberate and gentle.

Gladio pecked Ignis’s cheek sweetly before retaking his lips in an ardent kiss. “Love you, Iggy.”

“Gladio,” Ignis said his name on a sigh. “Love just simply isn’t a strong enough word to encompass what I feel for you.” Ignis smiled at him after breaking their kiss, and began to carefully pull off Gladio’s clothing. In a near-perfect mirror of Gladio’s actions, Ignis lavished attention on every bit of newly-exposed flesh with his lips, painting the story of his devotion across the Shield’s body with each sensual stroke of his tongue.

They embraced, legs entwining, and just held each other a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

When Gladio wrapped his calloused hand around Ignis’s shaft, it wrenched a gasp from the tactician that descended into a throaty moan.

Ignis’s dexterous fingers found Gladio’s hard length and began to stroke him in the way he knew his lover enjoyed best, rubbing his thumb across the weeping tip of his cock on each upstroke, dragging a finger along the vein on the underside with each downstroke.

While their arousal was intensifying, neither felt inclined to rush, and they spent considerable time kissing and caressing each other, hands slick with pre-come, breaths growing louder and more rapid, almost staccato.

“I want you inside me,” Ignis murmured against Gladio’s lips. “Make love to me slowly, Gladiolus. Please.”

Gladio’s mouth went dry. He hadn’t thought he could get any harder, but Astrals take him, his cock was positively aching in the wake of his lover’s vehement pleas. Unwinding himself from around Ignis, he moved down his body with a trail of kisses, pausing to nibble at the skin stretched over his hip-bone before engulfing his cock with the wet heat of his mouth. Gladio slid one hand underneath Ignis’s ass, lifting him slightly for a better angle as he slowly drew his mouth off the other man’s shaft. He nuzzled at Ignis’s inner thighs, peppering them with light kisses, one hand taking up where his mouth left off, sliding over the hard length of him. Dipping his head lower, Gladio flicked his tongue out to delicately trace Ignis’s asshole, and he felt his partner momentarily tense.

“I’ve got you, Iggy.” Gladio raised his head to smile, before lowering back down to lick at the puckered skin of Ignis’s entrance in earnest until he heard the other man begin to whimper softly. Gladio knew Ignis only made that particular sound when he was overwhelmed by sensation. To Gladio, it meant he was doing something right.

Gladio carefully began working a finger inside of Ignis, tongue still flickering against his skin, other hand still pumping. He added another finger, then another, slowly and carefully stretching him, preparing him, wanting this time to be gentle and pain free, with no need for hastily consumed potions the next morning.

“G-Gladio,” he heard Ignis’s voice, breathy but earnest. “Gladio, please.”

Gladio liked how Ignis forgot most words when they were making love, except for his name.

After one final, slow lick across Ignis’s hole, Gladio rose up, climbing over the lithe man. “Say it.”

Ignis wasn’t too far gone, and knew what his lover meant. “Gladiolus,” he sighed, the polysyllabic name sounding almost musical, shaped with his cultured accent.

Gladio needed no further encouragement. He slid inside easier than the night before, since they’d taken more time to prep, and the feel of Ignis’s body so tightly clenched around his cock nearly did him in right then and there. He paused a moment once fully within, giving them each a chance to adjust to the heady feeling of being connected in such an intimate manner.

Then he began to move.

Last night, he’d been fast. They bit and they scratched. They teased and they screamed.

Tonight, he was slow. He brushed delicate kisses over Ignis’s forehead, his cheeks, supporting his weight on one hand, using the other to pet Ignis’s hair, to cup his cheek, to stroke his cock.

Ignis didn’t last terribly long, the commingled sensations of Gladio moving within him and touching him with such love in his hands and lips more than enough to render him completely undone. When he came, his lips soundlessly formed the shape of Gladio’s name, and he clutched at Gladio tightly.

Feeling the way Ignis pressed so closely against him as he orgasmed pushed Gladio over the edge a moment later, breathing words of love against the side of Ignis’s neck as they clung to each other, catching their breath.

The moment felt almost sacred. It felt so wonderful, so right.

Gladio wished it could last forever, even as he knew it could not. They needed sleep. He knew Iggy would insist on rising early, on fixing breakfast, on doing the hundred little things he did every day to take care of everybody except himself.

That was okay, though. Gladio would take care of Iggy.

“We should get some sleep, babe,” Gladio said softly, not entirely sure if Ignis was still awake.

A sleepy voice answered him, the words half yawned and half spoken, “Indeed, love.”

After a final languorous kiss, they unwound themselves from each other, partially re-dressing and gathering up the rest of their clothing, before making their way back to the campsite proper. Too responsible to just head straight to bed, Gladio took care of banking the fire for the night while Ignis tidied up the debris of the evening meal.

They managed to slip into the tent without waking either of the younger men, and settled down to catch a few hours of sleep before the new day began.

Gladio knew he’d sleep better than he had since before they left on this ill-fated road trip.

Tomorrow they would tell their friends, and the sneaking around could stop.

With that thought, the Shield drifted off into dreams.

Well, this chapter did not go as expected. At all.  Hopefully it still turned out okay, even if it took our boys a while to get there. <3

So, to be honest with you all, the main reason I'm writing this fic is to get better at writing smut, because as much as I love to read it, I feel like I am dreadful at writing it!   Your comments and kudos on chapter one made me smile so freakin' hard because I realized I must not be nearly as bad as I thought. So, yay!  And thanks!  <3

Please continue to drop kudos and comments if you're enjoying!  It encourages me to keep writing, and just generally makes my day!  I'm also totally open to constructive criticism, because my goal is to get better at this.

[sickficsbypyroyoshi]

Pyro’s archived fics #2: Riley’s food poisoning

Here’s the second old story. This is a scenario I used to fantasize about A LOT.

As Riley walked into his 1pm college English class, all he could think about was the two main reasons why it was going to suck.

The first was that he disliked his professor, Mrs.Pugmire.

Mrs. Lenore Pugmire was roughly 60 years old, and usually wore outdated dresses. She had greying hair that was pulled into a tight bun, always donned spherical glasses, and always smelled like cigarette smoke. She was incredibly stern, hardassed and seemingly obsessed with the concepts of discipline. If anyone even so much as glanced at their phone during class, she’d call them out on it, read the conversation out loud, then require that student to write a 10,000 word essay on why classroom rules can’t be broken.

However, the oddest thing about her was her refusal to let her students use the bathroom after class started. If anyone asked, she’d deny them by stating, “Absolutely not! We’re all adults here, you can hold it until after class!”

It was almost as if she got off on seeing her students desperate and took some kind of twisted pleasure from it. One girl had completely wet herself last semester, and Mrs. Pugmire had been totally unsympathetic.

The second reason why class was going to be abnormally hellish for Riley was because he hadn’t felt well all day. What had started as a stomachache several hours ago had eventually elevated into full blown nausea.

On any other day, he would have gone home early, but since he had an English test today, he had to endure Mrs. Pugmire’s class while feeling like reheated crap.

Since it was a two hour class, he knew he’d never make it through the whole thing. He was twenty years old, and today he was going to puke in the classroom just like a little kid, he could feel it.

To make things even worse, his crush Amanda was in this class.

Amanda was the head cheerleader type, pretty, blonde and fashionable. Thankfully, she wasn’t snotty and aloof. Instead, she was a very sweet, intelligent girl.

For the past couple of weeks, Riley had been debating as to weather or not to ask Amanda out. The worst thing she could say was no, and she wasn’t the gossipy type who would spread the rejection across the entire campus.

On the other hand, he knew he wasn’t Amanda’s type. She probably wanted the captain of the football team or perhaps the sensitive poetry writing kind of guy.

Riley was neither of those things. He was a nice guy, but wasn’t sensitive. He figured his appearance probably turned her off, as he had long purple hair and more piercings than the kids in the art program. Plus, he usually wore things like buckle up boots with three inch platforms that made him tower over a lot of the other students, despite already being on the tall side. Last time he checked, none of those were things that drove the ladies wild.

Once the bell rang, Mrs. Pugmire got up and closed the classroom door.

“Good afternoon, class. I hope you all studied for this test. You have until the end of class to have it on my desk. As I’m sure you’re well aware, nobody is to leave this classroom until the bell rings.” she instructed firmly.

As soon as she stated that, Riley’s nausea went up a notch. It wasn’t barf worthy nausea quite yet, but he felt sick enough that he wanted to go home and lay down. Heat waves washed over him and he felt like he was on fire, despite the classroom being room temperature.

The person in front of him passed him the stack of tests, and he took one before passing the rest behind him. The test was made up of two main components, and essay section followed by a multiple choice section.

Wanting to get the test done as soon as possible, Riley went strait to work on those essay questions. Focusing was hard due to the sick feeling in his gut slowly increasing. The change was subtle, but noticeable, and he only had two essay questions done before the churning in his stomach became too intense to suppress. Panic began to spread through him, so he worked faster and put less thought into his answers.

It was entirely his own fault that he was sick, so he had no one to blame but himself. He just had to have eaten that turkey sandwich this morning, without even inspecting it. He had found it on top of the microwave, and while it looked fine, it had likely been sitting out all night. It only took a few hours for things like sliced meat to go bad if left unrefrigerated, but of course he hadn’t thought about that. Instead, he’d had no self control and devoured the whole thing, and now he was intensely regretting it.

Thinking about that sandwich only made him feel worse, and he was 100% certain it, along with the sub par cafeteria food he’d eaten for lunch, was going to come back out sooner rather than later.

A sharp spike of intense nausea took him by surprise, and he stifled a moan. When he looked at the clock, he was devastated to see that only fifteen minutes had passed. There was simply no way he was going to make it. He nervously glanced at Mrs. Pugmire, who was reading a cheesy romance novel at her desk. He had no choice but to ask her to go to the bathroom. Since he had never asked her before, maybe she’d be a bit more sympathetic. But then again, the tyrannical teacher might take extra pleasure in denying him a pass.

From across the room, Amanda had her eyes fixed on him. She had always liked Riley, but never acted upon those feelings, as she was incredibly shy around guys she liked. Plus, she had convinced herself that he wouldn’t want to date a preppy girl like her. Despite her bleached blonde Barbie girl appearance, there was something about Goth guys like him that really turned her on. She had a fetish for piercings, and Riley had plenty of those. Lip, septum, tongue, both eyebrows and maybe a few she didn’t know about.

She smiled to herself as she imagined that pierced tongue of his buried deep in her pussy. If only she could gather the courage to ask him out, that fantasy might become a reality.

Piercings weren’t the only fetish she had. She was fairly open about that one and even had a few kinky piercings of her own, but her biggest fetish was the one she kept secret.

She was an emetophile, and there was nothing that turned her on more than seeing an attractive guy puke. It was mainly the sight and sounds that did it for her, and the more he puked, the better it was. Taking care of people when they were sick also greatly aroused her.

Regular porn was fine on occasion, but whenever Amanda busted out her vibrator, it was either to get off while watching youtube videos of guys puking, or to get off reading graphic sick fics. Sometimes she didn’t even need visual or written stimuli, as her imagination was enough.

Hence why she was watching Riley extra carefully today. She had always been good on picking up on body language, and she had been studying him from the corner of her eye since class began. The way he was gripping his abdomen with his left hand and looking at the clock every couple minutes told her that he was feeling sick.

Excitement began to spread through her, and she hoped it was true. She felt a little guilty about it as she didn’t want him to be sick, but if he was going to throw up she was dying to see it. If so, would he make it to the bathroom or lose it right in front of her?

She got lost in thought and fantasized about Riley puking his guts out right on Mrs. Pugmire’s desk and the floor, then running out of the room and leaving a trail all down the hallway. It didn’t stop there, as she also fantasized about forcing Mrs. Pugmire to kneel down in the puke and lick it up.

She tried to shake those thoughts from her mind and focus on the test, but the fantasies where threatening to take over again.

Stop it, Amanda. Focus on the test.

After a brief internal struggle, Amanda pushed those thoughts out and refocused on her test. She was a fast test taker, so she was almost done, and within two minutes, she had conquered the last question. Since her desk was right next to Mrs. Pugmire’s, she leaned over and placed the test on it.

Now she was free to zone out. Just as she was about to go back into her daydream, she detected movement to her left.

Riley approached Mrs. Pugmire, and he was visibly distraught. “Can I go to the nurse? I feel really sick.” he said.

Amanda felt a pang of arousal course through her upon hearing those words. So he was feeling sick. If things tipped in her favor, she just might get lucky.

Mrs. Pugmire glanced up at Riley and raised a greying brow. “Have you finished your test?”

“No.” he admitted.

“Then you may not. Go back to your desk and finish your test.”

“Please, I feel like I’m going to puke. Can’t I just go to the bathroom and come back?”

“Absolutely not. You can control these things. Trust me, I know. I haven’t been sick in almost forty years. Return to your seat.”

At this statement, Amanda couldn’t help but interrupt. “Mrs. Pugmire, I think you’re wrong about that. I’m finished with my test, I can take Riley to the nurse’s office, and he can finish the test on Monday.”

“You will do no such thing, Amanda. Riley, once you’ve finished your test, I’ll consider letting you go if you really are that ill. Keep in mind that I said consider. If you leave before finishing your test, you’ll get a zero.” Mrs. Pugmire said sternly.

Dejected, Riley returned to his desk. A lump formed in his throat, the nausea spikes had peaked at critical, and he felt a hot, burning sensation spread through his stomach. He didn’t have much time, only a couple of minutes tops.

Acid began to slowly creep up as he filled in the blanks as quickly as he could. He wasn’t even reading the questions, he was randomly choosing A,B,C or D without caring if the answers were right or not.

He felt a little dizzy as he got up to turn in his test, and he couldn’t help but notice that Amanda was staring at him. Great. She was probably disgusted.

It seemed to take forever to reach Mrs. Pugmire’s desk, and saliva flooded his mouth right as he dropped his test onto it.

When he turned to leave and bolt out the door, Mrs. Pugmire lunged out and seized him by the wrist. “Hold it! You aren’t going anywhere without a pass!” she barked at him.

She slowly rummaged around in her desk for the pink nurse passes, almost like she knew exactly where they were and was just toying with him. However, when Riley leaned against her desk and gagged, she seemed mildly alarmed and actually searched a bit faster, especially when his gagging turned into retching.

Amanda’s heart began to race as she watched the scene, and she gripped the edges of her desk so hard her knuckles turned white. Holy shit, I can’t believe this is actually going to happen! she thought to herself.

Trying to hide her excitement, she stated in as calm a voice as she could, “Just let him go. I’ll take the pass and go with him.”

Riley didn’t wait for Mrs. Pugmire’s response. He was leaving, pass or no pass. As he made a run for the door, he retched again and a mouthful of puke came up. He firmly clasped a hand over his mouth, but it was no use, the dam was broken. He only made it three steps out of the classroom before exploding.

A putrid combination of turkey, chicken, bread, fries and Coke forcefully gushed through his fingers, and he stopped in his tracks, bent over, and threw up on the floor. It splashed onto his boots, and a bit even got on the wall. Since he was still in the view of some of his classmates, he wanted to move but his knees locked up and it dawned on him that he was going to finish right where he started.

With the next heave, he really started to lose it, and there was no way he’d be able to stop. Retches and splashes could be heard all throughout the hallway as Riley continued to profusely puke right outside Mrs. Pugmire’s classroom, as several voluminous waves came up back to back.

In between heaves, he heard Mrs. Pugmire say, “No laughing! Anyone who so much as snickers will be assigned a punishment essay!”

He brought up one final load before getting a break. When he seemed to be done, he propped himself against the wall to recuperate and spat out the few bits that hadn’t left his mouth. Much to his dismay, he didn’t feel any better.

“Are you alright?” Amanda asked him in a concerned way.

“No, not really.” Riley admitted, not really wanting to look her in the eye. “I don’t feel any better.”

“Oh, that’s not good. Do you want me to take you to the bathroom?” Amanda inquired, giving him the pink pass.

Riley nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Okay then, come with me.” Amanda motioned for him to follow her. Once she began walking towards the nearest stairwell, she became blatantly aware of the dampness in her panties, and hoped he wouldn’t notice her arousal.

“Let’s go downstairs.” she started descending the stairs, and Riley wordlessly followed her.

She took him to the school’s only unisex bathroom, which was mostly used by the special ed students, and led him inside.

Riley was a little puzzled as to why she was intent on coming in with him, but didn’t ask questions. Practically overwhelmed with relentless nausea, he sat down in front of the toilet to wait. In his mind, the waiting was always the most agonizing part.

He began heavily salivating again and inhaled deeply, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

He wasn’t paying too much attention to what Amanda was doing, but she stood over him and took the binder out of her own hair to tie his back.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she said, putting both hands on his shoulders. “You’ll feel a lot better after you throw up. If it helps, think about Mrs. Pugmire naked. That would make anyone feel sick.”

Taking her advice, Riley pictured his English professor naked. If she was braless, her sagging, lopsided breasts would most likely hang to her waist. Plus, she probably had excessive cellulite and an overgrown bush that hadn’t been trimmed since Reagan was president.

Less than a second later, his stomach contracted and brown liquid erupted from his mouth. A violent second heave immediately followed. It was darker than the first, more repugnant tasting and more liquified. Riley figured it must be the remains of the Lo Mein he’d had last night. He moaned and took a second to catch his breath before the third wave came out, which sent some drops splashing up onto the toilet seat. A few slightly smaller waves came up after that, each one making his stomach clench painfully, followed by a few unproductive dry heaves. Some excess puke was dripping off his lip ring, and he wiped off the lingering string when he was sure he was done.

“Do you feel better now?” Amanda asked, still massaging his back.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better. For now, anyway.” Riley flushed the toilet and reclined against the wall. The nausea was quickly dissipating, but the pains in his gut remained and he felt like he had chugged battery acid.

“Thanks Amanda. You didn’t have to come with me, but I’m glad you did. Puking alone always sucks.” he said.

“It’s no big deal. I just enjoy taking care of people. And you’re right, puking alone does suck.” Amanda replied. At this point, she was having a hard time focusing on anything besides what had just transpired. She was becoming desperate for the bathroom was well, but for a different reason, as she was now soaking wet and needed to take care of her libido. She stood with her legs clamped together as she watched Riley get up and rinse his mouth out in the sink.

“If you want, I can walk down to the nurse’s office with you.” she offered.

“Sure,” Riley couldn’t help but smile at her. “Are you going to go back to class then?”

“I guess. I don’t really have much of a choice. Mrs. Pugmire probably thinks I’m skipping or something. Whatever. Fuck her, if I have to write an essay as punishment, so be it.”

“You really think being assigned one of those essays would be worth it just so you could take care of me?”

“Well, uh, yeah....” Amanda stammered nervously, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “I mean....I’ll tell you later, okay?”

“Okay.” Riley shrugged, looking rather perplexed by her sudden change in behavior. As unlikely as it was, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had the hots for him.

They left the bathroom a minute later and walked to the nurses’s office together. Once they reached their destination, he thanked her again before going inside to speak with the nurse.

The second the door shut, Amanda’s nervousness faded and the arousal hit her again, full force. It was 1:45, so there was almost an hour and a half of class left. Instead of heading back to class, she ran right back to the bathroom she had just been in with Riley.

She devised a plan that was both naughty and very thrilling to her. First, she was going to finger herself, wipe her hands all over the toilet in the hope that there was still some puke on it, and forgo washing her hands. Then she’d return to Mrs. Pugmire’s classroom and purposely touch every single surface, tainting them.

Smiling sadistically to herself, Amanda slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

[kristablogs]

Basturma, baby! Make your own Armenian charcuterie.

If this is the first time you've ever heard of basturma, boy, you are in for a treat. (Kat Craddock/)

This story was originally featured on Saveur.

Basturma is to Armenia what bresaola is to Italy and cecina is to Spain—a ruddy hunk of air-dried beef with more umami punch per mouthful than the fanciest dry-aged steak—except it’s far more exciting. Unlike its simply-salted European brethren, basturma is garlicky and piquant and spiced with industrial quantities of paprika and fenugreek. It’s the type of cheese board item that draws instant oohs and aahs thanks to its crimson core and out-in-left-field flavor profile.

As far as charcuterie goes, basturma is shockingly easy to make, as we learned in this month’s installment of Saveur Cookbook Club featuring Lavash, by Kate Leahy, Ara Zada, and John Lee. You don’t need a meat grinder, sausage casings, or any other gourmet gewgaws to make basturma; the hardest part of this recipe is probably clearing a shelf in the fridge, or finding a two-week stretch when you’ll be home to occasionally drain, flip, spice, and hang the meat. (That said, even the curing times are forgiving.) But before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s delve a little deeper into this iconic Armenian snack.

Basturma’s beginnings: saddle salami?

Basturma has two origin stories, one romantic and one...well, more likely. The former posits that the dish was invented by Central Asian horsemen. Before heading to battle, they would wedge fresh beefsteaks beneath their saddles. As they rode, the animal’s sweat—whew, stay with us—would salt the meat, while the constant pounding would tenderize it, yielding a protein-packed snack fit for quick consumption. (To our mind, the jury’s still out on what’s more hazardous: going to war or eating horsehair-covered carrion.)

Though saddle salami makes for a colorful tale, it’s more probable that basturma hails from the Byzantine city of Caesaria Mazaca (now called Kayseri) in present-day Turkey, where the ancient technique of pastron (salt-curing) is said to have been perfected by Armenians in Late Antiquity. In fact, basturma-making was such a popular vocation among medieval Armenians that Basturmajian (“basturma maker”) became a family name that’s still in use today.

Today: Armenia’s signature charcuterie

Basturma is beloved to Armenians. In the country’s capital, Yerevan, the best place to enjoy this lean, air-dried beef flavored with garlic and chemen (the mix of pungent spices that’s heavy on fenugreek and paprika) is while sitting at the outdoor cafe named in its honor. Basturma, located on Abovyan Street in the city’s center, is owned by Jirair Avanian, also the proprietor of nearby Dolmama, one of Yerevan’s first, and still-venerated, fine-dining restaurants. Avanian had the idea right with this tiny location, as it is always packed with people leisurely enjoying a glass of wine while they snack on basturma and people-watch.

How to: a DIY primer

So, what defines a perfect basturma? Experts will tell you that the meat’s center must be deep red, a sign of freshness and expert curing. On the exterior, the spice coating, or chemen (sometimes chaman), should be fresh and fragrant on the nose and packed on generously. Most importantly, the meat must be stiff all the way through with a low moisture content, which translates to a long shelf life. Here are a few important tips from the authors on making basturma at home.

Traditionally, basturma is aged in a cool, dark place at room temperature, but an uncluttered fridge gets the job done in warmer climates. (Kat Craddock/)

Choose the right cut. Leahy et al. recommend using eye of round—a lean, dense cut from the the upper hind leg of the cow. Fattier cuts don’t have the right fibrous texture and won’t dry out properly. (They’ll also spoil faster.) Other Armenian cookbooks recommend beef tenderloin; when in doubt, ask your butcher for a lean yet tender cut, and opt for the best-quality beef available.

Find a cool corner. To prevent spoilage and ensure the right consistency, hang the basturma someplace dry that doesn’t exceed 70 degrees Fahrenheit. A cold basement or wine fridge is ideally suited to curing, though a standard refrigerator will work in a pinch—just plan ahead, since at cooler temperatures, the meat will take longer to cure.

A pungent mix of spices called chemen is the key to this meat’s flavorful cure. (Kat Craddock/)

Check the expiration date on your spices. This recipe is all about the bold, floral flavors of Caucasian spices, but the most prominent one, fenugreek—ideally the Caucasian blue variety, available here—loses its tang more quickly than most. Source your spices from a trustworthy source, and make sure they’re less than a year old.

Don’t be alarmed if the meat darkens at the edges. Unlike most charcuterie products, which are made with nitrates, basturma will oxidize and change color slightly as it makes contact with the air. (Kat Craddock/)

Shave paper-thin slices. Basturma’s soft, melt-on-your-tongue texture is half its allure, so clumsy chunks won’t do. Gearheads with meat slicers (like this beauty from Chefschoice) will have no problem churning out paper-thin ribbons, but for those of us doing the job by hand, Leahy et al. recommend throwing the basturma into the freezer twenty minutes before slicing and then reaching for the sharpest knife you own.

Think outside the board. Yes, fanned-out slices of carpaccio-esque basturma look fabulous on a charcuterie board, but basturma is equally delectable sandwiched between fluffy slices of Armenian matnakash or your favorite bread—just add pickled veggies and perhaps a scraggle of chechil (Armenian string cheese). Chopped into tiny bits, basturma also adds a pleasant funk to tossed salads and a meaty depth to omelets (wrap the egg up in lavash for the Armenian version of the breakfast burrito), garlicky mashed potatoes, and even mac ‘n cheese.

Basturma recipe

Yield: makes 3.5 pounds

Time: 11-18 days, depending on the temperature

For the meat:

4 pounds of eye of round beef roast

1 pound of kosher salt

For the seasoning:

1⁄2 cup of ground fenugreek (preferably blue fenugreek)

1⁄2 cup of sweet paprika

1 tablespoon of ground allspice

1 tablespoon of freshly ground black pepper

2 teaspoon of cayenne pepper

2 teaspoon of ground cumin

1 teaspoon of kosher salt

8 large garlic cloves

Instructions

Part 1: cure the meat (3 days)

Cut the eye of round roast in half crosswise (against the grain) so that it is easier to handle. Each piece should be about 2 inches thick. Using a skewer, poke the pieces all over so that the salt can penetrate the meat. Spread a thick layer of salt in a 9-by-13-inch roasting pan and place the meat on top. Coat all sides of both pieces with more salt so that the meat is barely visible. Cover and refrigerate for two days. (After two days, the salt will have drawn out a lot of liquid from the meat.)

Fill a large bowl with cold water. Drain the meat and rinse off the salt. Submerge the meat in the cold water for at least one hour or up to three hours. (This will draw out any excess salt.)

Remove the meat from the water and thoroughly dry each piece with paper towels, pressing down to remove as much moisture as possible. Wrap the meat completely in dry paper towels and place on a large, rimmed baking sheet. Place a second large baking sheet on top of the meat, then weigh down the top pan with a few 28-ounce cans of tomatoes or something similar in weight. Refrigerate at least eight hours or overnight.

Part 2: hang the meat (5-10 days)

Find a place to hang the meat as it cures, preferably in a clean room that never exceeds 70 degrees Fahrenheit, with some airflow. Next, uncover the meat and remove and discard the paper towels. The beef should be flat and slightly firm to the touch. With a skewer, pierce each piece about 1 inch from one end. Tie a piece of butcher’s twine in a knot on one end of the skewer and, leaving the other end of the twine long enough to hang the meat from the desired spot, thread it through the hole in the first piece of beef. Repeat with a second length of twine and the other piece of beef. Hang the meat up by the string and allow it to air-dry for 5–10 days, or until the pieces of beef feel as firm as a nearly-ripe avocado. (Alternatively, hang the meat in the refrigerator for 8-14 days. You may place a rimmed baking sheet underneath, though the meat should be dry from the cure and no longer dripping.)

Part 3: add the chemen seasoning mix (3-5 days)

Take the meat down, leaving the string in place, and transfer it to a large, clean baking sheet. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together the fenugreek, paprika, allspice, black pepper, cayenne, cumin, and salt. In a small food processor, puree the garlic with ½ cup cold water. Add the garlic puree to the bowl of spices and mix thoroughly. Pour in an additional ½ cup cold water, or more as needed, until the mixture resembles thick pancake batter. Smear the spice mixture all over the meat in a thin (about ⅛ of an inch), even layer. Rehang the meat for 2–3 more days (3–5 days in the fridge), or until the spice mixture is firm and dry to the touch. At this point, the basturma is ready to eat. To serve, slice as thinly as possible against the grain with a sharp knife. Store the basturma wrapped tightly in plastic wrap in the refrigerator for up to three months.

[scootoaster]

Basturma, baby! Make your own Armenian charcuterie.

If this is the first time you've ever heard of basturma, boy, you are in for a treat. (Kat Craddock/)

This story was originally featured on Saveur.

Basturma is to Armenia what bresaola is to Italy and cecina is to Spain—a ruddy hunk of air-dried beef with more umami punch per mouthful than the fanciest dry-aged steak—except it’s far more exciting. Unlike its simply-salted European brethren, basturma is garlicky and piquant and spiced with industrial quantities of paprika and fenugreek. It’s the type of cheese board item that draws instant oohs and aahs thanks to its crimson core and out-in-left-field flavor profile.

As far as charcuterie goes, basturma is shockingly easy to make, as we learned in this month’s installment of Saveur Cookbook Club featuring Lavash, by Kate Leahy, Ara Zada, and John Lee. You don’t need a meat grinder, sausage casings, or any other gourmet gewgaws to make basturma; the hardest part of this recipe is probably clearing a shelf in the fridge, or finding a two-week stretch when you’ll be home to occasionally drain, flip, spice, and hang the meat. (That said, even the curing times are forgiving.) But before we get ahead of ourselves, let’s delve a little deeper into this iconic Armenian snack.

Basturma’s beginnings: saddle salami?

Basturma has two origin stories, one romantic and one...well, more likely. The former posits that the dish was invented by Central Asian horsemen. Before heading to battle, they would wedge fresh beefsteaks beneath their saddles. As they rode, the animal’s sweat—whew, stay with us—would salt the meat, while the constant pounding would tenderize it, yielding a protein-packed snack fit for quick consumption. (To our mind, the jury’s still out on what’s more hazardous: going to war or eating horsehair-covered carrion.)

Though saddle salami makes for a colorful tale, it’s more probable that basturma hails from the Byzantine city of Caesaria Mazaca (now called Kayseri) in present-day Turkey, where the ancient technique of pastron (salt-curing) is said to have been perfected by Armenians in Late Antiquity. In fact, basturma-making was such a popular vocation among medieval Armenians that Basturmajian (“basturma maker”) became a family name that’s still in use today.

Today: Armenia’s signature charcuterie

Basturma is beloved to Armenians. In the country’s capital, Yerevan, the best place to enjoy this lean, air-dried beef flavored with garlic and chemen (the mix of pungent spices that’s heavy on fenugreek and paprika) is while sitting at the outdoor cafe named in its honor. Basturma, located on Abovyan Street in the city’s center, is owned by Jirair Avanian, also the proprietor of nearby Dolmama, one of Yerevan’s first, and still-venerated, fine-dining restaurants. Avanian had the idea right with this tiny location, as it is always packed with people leisurely enjoying a glass of wine while they snack on basturma and people-watch.

How to: a DIY primer

So, what defines a perfect basturma? Experts will tell you that the meat’s center must be deep red, a sign of freshness and expert curing. On the exterior, the spice coating, or chemen (sometimes chaman), should be fresh and fragrant on the nose and packed on generously. Most importantly, the meat must be stiff all the way through with a low moisture content, which translates to a long shelf life. Here are a few important tips from the authors on making basturma at home.

Traditionally, basturma is aged in a cool, dark place at room temperature, but an uncluttered fridge gets the job done in warmer climates. (Kat Craddock/)

Choose the right cut. Leahy et al. recommend using eye of round—a lean, dense cut from the the upper hind leg of the cow. Fattier cuts don’t have the right fibrous texture and won’t dry out properly. (They’ll also spoil faster.) Other Armenian cookbooks recommend beef tenderloin; when in doubt, ask your butcher for a lean yet tender cut, and opt for the best-quality beef available.

Find a cool corner. To prevent spoilage and ensure the right consistency, hang the basturma someplace dry that doesn’t exceed 70 degrees Fahrenheit. A cold basement or wine fridge is ideally suited to curing, though a standard refrigerator will work in a pinch—just plan ahead, since at cooler temperatures, the meat will take longer to cure.

A pungent mix of spices called chemen is the key to this meat’s flavorful cure. (Kat Craddock/)

Check the expiration date on your spices. This recipe is all about the bold, floral flavors of Caucasian spices, but the most prominent one, fenugreek—ideally the Caucasian blue variety, available here—loses its tang more quickly than most. Source your spices from a trustworthy source, and make sure they’re less than a year old.

Don’t be alarmed if the meat darkens at the edges. Unlike most charcuterie products, which are made with nitrates, basturma will oxidize and change color slightly as it makes contact with the air. (Kat Craddock/)

Shave paper-thin slices. Basturma’s soft, melt-on-your-tongue texture is half its allure, so clumsy chunks won’t do. Gearheads with meat slicers (like this beauty from Chefschoice) will have no problem churning out paper-thin ribbons, but for those of us doing the job by hand, Leahy et al. recommend throwing the basturma into the freezer twenty minutes before slicing and then reaching for the sharpest knife you own.

Think outside the board. Yes, fanned-out slices of carpaccio-esque basturma look fabulous on a charcuterie board, but basturma is equally delectable sandwiched between fluffy slices of Armenian matnakash or your favorite bread—just add pickled veggies and perhaps a scraggle of chechil (Armenian string cheese). Chopped into tiny bits, basturma also adds a pleasant funk to tossed salads and a meaty depth to omelets (wrap the egg up in lavash for the Armenian version of the breakfast burrito), garlicky mashed potatoes, and even mac ‘n cheese.

Basturma recipe

Yield: makes 3.5 pounds

Time: 11-18 days, depending on the temperature

For the meat:

4 pounds of eye of round beef roast

1 pound of kosher salt

For the seasoning:

1⁄2 cup of ground fenugreek (preferably blue fenugreek)

1⁄2 cup of sweet paprika

1 tablespoon of ground allspice

1 tablespoon of freshly ground black pepper

2 teaspoon of cayenne pepper

2 teaspoon of ground cumin

1 teaspoon of kosher salt

8 large garlic cloves

Instructions

Part 1: cure the meat (3 days)

Cut the eye of round roast in half crosswise (against the grain) so that it is easier to handle. Each piece should be about 2 inches thick. Using a skewer, poke the pieces all over so that the salt can penetrate the meat. Spread a thick layer of salt in a 9-by-13-inch roasting pan and place the meat on top. Coat all sides of both pieces with more salt so that the meat is barely visible. Cover and refrigerate for two days. (After two days, the salt will have drawn out a lot of liquid from the meat.)

Fill a large bowl with cold water. Drain the meat and rinse off the salt. Submerge the meat in the cold water for at least one hour or up to three hours. (This will draw out any excess salt.)

Remove the meat from the water and thoroughly dry each piece with paper towels, pressing down to remove as much moisture as possible. Wrap the meat completely in dry paper towels and place on a large, rimmed baking sheet. Place a second large baking sheet on top of the meat, then weigh down the top pan with a few 28-ounce cans of tomatoes or something similar in weight. Refrigerate at least eight hours or overnight.

Part 2: hang the meat (5-10 days)

Find a place to hang the meat as it cures, preferably in a clean room that never exceeds 70 degrees Fahrenheit, with some airflow. Next, uncover the meat and remove and discard the paper towels. The beef should be flat and slightly firm to the touch. With a skewer, pierce each piece about 1 inch from one end. Tie a piece of butcher’s twine in a knot on one end of the skewer and, leaving the other end of the twine long enough to hang the meat from the desired spot, thread it through the hole in the first piece of beef. Repeat with a second length of twine and the other piece of beef. Hang the meat up by the string and allow it to air-dry for 5–10 days, or until the pieces of beef feel as firm as a nearly-ripe avocado. (Alternatively, hang the meat in the refrigerator for 8-14 days. You may place a rimmed baking sheet underneath, though the meat should be dry from the cure and no longer dripping.)

Part 3: add the chemen seasoning mix (3-5 days)

Take the meat down, leaving the string in place, and transfer it to a large, clean baking sheet. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, mix together the fenugreek, paprika, allspice, black pepper, cayenne, cumin, and salt. In a small food processor, puree the garlic with ½ cup cold water. Add the garlic puree to the bowl of spices and mix thoroughly. Pour in an additional ½ cup cold water, or more as needed, until the mixture resembles thick pancake batter. Smear the spice mixture all over the meat in a thin (about ⅛ of an inch), even layer. Rehang the meat for 2–3 more days (3–5 days in the fridge), or until the spice mixture is firm and dry to the touch. At this point, the basturma is ready to eat. To serve, slice as thinly as possible against the grain with a sharp knife. Store the basturma wrapped tightly in plastic wrap in the refrigerator for up to three months.

[cooking112-blog]

How to Cook a Turkey - Without Poisoning Your Guests

Why temperature is so important

NB. F = Degrees Fahrenheit and C = Degrees Centigrade

Temperature is critical in determining how long to cook a turkey, for the simple fact that the bird must have reached a uniform temperature of at least 165 F throughout in order to destroy harmful bacteria. You do not want to give your guests food poisoning!

The turkey is a weird shaped food source! - Large body covered with thick flesh around the breast area, large legs made up of dense muscle and a large internal cavity. Because of this, it is not so easy as cooking a single joint of meet for example. The breast meat tends to cook much faster that the dense muscular leg meat, so there is a risk of over-cooking the breast meat whilst waiting for the leg meat to cook thoroughly.

Deciding how long to cook a turkey is not an easy question to answer as there are so many variable factors to consider.

The type of oven

With conventional gas or electric ovens (not Microwave, Convection, Rotisserie) the top of the oven is the hottest zone. The middle part of the oven is usually the coolest zone. The bottom part of the oven is usually also a cool zone in a gas oven, but in an electric oven this area can be a hot zone. As the turkey will remain in the same position throughout the cooking cycle, this will influence the length of time and how evenly the turkey cooks.

Microwave ovens work on an entirely different principle but due to the larger size of turkey compared to chicken, may not be large enough to cook turkey.

Convection ovens are more efficient than conventional ovens because an internal fan circulates hot air all around the food. Turkey cooked in a convection oven should be more evenly cooked with maybe a 50% saving in time.

Rotisserie ovens are also more efficient than conventional ovens because the food is continually turned allowing heat to penetrate evenly.

Size and weight of the turkey

No surprises here, but the larger and heavier the turkey, the longer the time period for cooking! If the turkey is so large that it only just fits into the oven, seriously consider using a bigger oven or buying a smaller turkey. The reason for this is that to cook the turkey thoroughly, there must be a good air space all around the turkey to enable hot air to circulate. If this is not the case then it will be difficult to gauge cooking times and ensure even cooking throughout.

Fresh or frozen turkey?

Many people prefer to cook a fresh turkey as the taste is said to be superior to frozen. Fresh turkey should be purchased 1 to 2 days prior to cooking and stored in a refrigerator. When ready to cook take out of the refrigerator and allow to come up towards room temperature.

Frozen turkey is more convenient for many people however and provided the correct thawing out procedure is followed, should be safe and tasty. Care must taken to follow the suppliers thawing out instructions correctly, including that applying to stuffing. A general guide to thawing frozen turkey stored in a refrigerator is to allow 24 hours for every 4-5 pounds weight (e.g. a 14 pounds turkey would take 3 to 4 days to thaw out).

Deciding how long to cook your turkey

Professional chefs cook their turkey at an oven temperature range 325 F to 350 F (170 C to 180 C).

As a guide, if you are cooking a 12 pounds weight fresh or thawed frozen turkey without stuffing using a conventional oven operating at a temperature of 325 F, the likely cooking time would be 3 Hours. When stuffing is placed within the turkey it will take a little longer to cook through so the cooking time must be increased. Refer to a good turkey cook book for full instructions.

Testing temperature when cooking your turkey

The old school method for testing when your turkey is cooked is to use a clean metal skewer. When the approximate cooking time is up, you take the turkey out of the oven and carefully pierce the thickest part of the leg with the skewer. Remove the skewer and press against the leg to see if the juices run out clear without any trace of pink - if the juices are clear then the turkey should be cooked.

There are more accurate methods available using modern technology, more suited to the amateur or newbie chef:

Use a temperature probe food thermometer designed to be inserted directly into the turkey during the cooking process, as directed by manufacturers instructions. This continuously monitors the internal cooking temperature so you can be certain that the correct minimum temperature is achieved.

Use a thermometer (designed for the specific purpose) to register the internal temperature of your oven so as to check the accuracy of your ovens temperature controls.

When the turkey has cooked and has been removed from the oven, use an "instant read" probe food thermometer to check the internal temperature of various parts of the turkey e.g. legs, inner thigh, breast, internal cavity stuffing. The turkey should be allowed to rest for approximately 30 minutes after cooking and the internal temperature must be at least 165 F to ensure that the meat is cooked sufficiently well and safe to eat.

Turkey cooking tips

Some professional chefs suggest pre heating your oven to a much hotter initial temperature of 425 F ( 220 C ). Place your turkey in the oven and leave for approximately 15 minutes. Then reduce the temperature down to the correct range selected e.g. 325 F for the remaining time. The idea here is to give the turkey a good blast of heat which penetrates right into the meat and any stuffing.

Consider cooking stuffing outside the turkey in a casserole.

To protect the turkey breast from over-cooking and drying out, consider placing stuffing under the breast skin. You should carefully peel back the skin and work your fingers and then your hand under the skin to free it from the meat. Spoon the stuffing into the cavity and then replace the skin and secure down to avoid anything leaking out.

Enjoy your turkey dinner celebration!

[hogwartslessons-blog]

POTIONS | September 18th | Lesson #7 | Forgetfulness Potion

I hope you brought your cauldrons and got them cleaned and ready because today we’re brewing again! we will be brewing the Forgetfulness Potion. You shouldn’t use this potion on yourself – or on someone else during your school year. Claiming you took it by a mistake will not excuse you from your exams.

The specific history of the Forgetfulness Potion is, unfortunately, somewhat a mystery to us, as its discoverer, a 16th century Spanish Witch by the name of Federica Quimía, had the notion of testing the Potion on herself as she experimented. Luckily we do have her final recipe in note form, but she did not record the process that brought her to correctly brewing the Forgetfulness Potion and, as one may imagine, once she was successful forgot everything of the process that led to her discovery. Ms. Quimia discovered a variation far more potent than what we currently call the Forgetfulness Potion, and the concoction we will be brewing today only causes mild carelessness and difficulty remembering minor details for its duration. It is important to note that Ms. Quimía's unfortunate loss of mental capability may have also derived from so many unsuccessful attempts at brewing it.

The Forgetfulness Potion is often used during pranks to cause the unsuspecting victim to become scatterbrained for a brief time, but Wizard Psychiatrists also use the Potion to treat extreme anxiety disorders or those suffering from trauma.

You can find the instructions next to your cauldron as well as on the board in front. For this Potion, you also have the option of adding a mundane ingredient for taste and smell.

Forgetfulness Potion*

Estimated Brewing Time: Pewter Cauldron: 60 minutes Brass Cauldron: 51 minutes Copper Cauldron: 45 minutes

Ingredients: 2 drops of Lethe River Water

2 Valerian sprigs

4 mistletoe berries

Standard ingredient

Part 1

Add 2 drops of Lethe River Water to your cauldron

Gently heat for 20 seconds

Add 2 Valerian sprigs to your cauldron

Stir 3 times, clockwise

Wave your wand

Leave to brew and return in 45-60 minutes

Part 2

Add 2 measures of Standard Ingredient to the mortar

Add 4 mistletoe berries to the mortar

Crush into a medium-fine powder using the pestle

Add 2 pinches of the crushed mixture to your cauldron

Stir 5 times, anti-clockwise

Wave your wand to complete the potion

  Usage Notes: Forgetfulness Potion's effects will usually last 6-8 hours. It is important NOT to take Forgetfulness Potion the same day as engaging in any important life decisions or changing any passwords or security measures. Those with neurological problems or any history of brain injury should not take this Potion, as it can sometimes result in permanent loss of memory. Always consult with a Healer or Psychiatrist before taking this Potion for psychological reasons. It should not be given to children under 5 or when pregnant, as this can impact brain development.

Storage: The Forgetfulness Potion should be left to mature at room temperature for 2 days. It should be stored in adark, cool place, and can be kept up to 6 months before requiring safe disposal.

The Rain Then Sends Dripping (Lethe River Water)

Lethe River Water is an interesting and rather unique ingredient. It is named after the Muggle Greek mythological location known as the Lethe River, one of the five rivers of Hades. In the myth, those who had departed drank from the river in order to lose memory of their lives before passing on into the afterlife. Lethe River Water, of course, does not truly come from Hades, but rather from the Kaybetti River, a small river in Turkey near the town of Ören. It has been enchanted by Wizards to escape Muggle detection for nearly a thousand years now, but prior to that, it’s no wonder Muggles thought it to be a thing of the Underworld. In fact, Lethe River Water does exactly what the mythological river was said to have done: it acts as a powerful memory suppressant, and Magical and Non-Magical alike are prone to its effects. Even in small doses, it can lead to serious memory loss or forgetfulness. However, when consumed in a high dosage, it has been known to cause the body’s systems to forget how to function properly, and can lead to coma or death, so it’s vital to be careful not to overdose your Potion when using this ingredient.

An interesting aspect of Lethe River Water is the fact that molecularly, it appears exactly like any other water molecule. We have not been able to find any difference structurally between Lethe River Water and regular, mundane water that can explain why it has this powerful magical component. The water is also lacking any fungus or bacteria that may explain this phenomenon, and in fact, it is among the cleanest water on the planet, likely owing to its strong magical effect making it difficult for life to survive under its surface.

There are currently two popular theories as to how Lethe River Water got this mysterious magical quality. The first theory is the older of the two: many scholars believe that at one point, a very powerful early Witch or Wizard enchanted the very source of the river for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was done for defensive or offensive reasons during a war: remember that at that time, Muggles and Wizards still often worked side by side. This Magical being may have been operating on behalf of an army or governing body to either protect his or her home from invasion or to use the water as a means of overthrowing a competitor in his or her own land.

If this is the case, then it would be interesting to study the particular enchantment that was used to create such an enduring spell, for the Witch or Wizard who cast it would certainly be long dead at this point. It would be likely that it involved some sort of permanent Charm or restructuring of particles at the river’s source, rather than creating a spell to permanently impact every particle of water that flowed through its banks for eternity.

Another theory that involves the source of the river is the notion that there is some sort of magical plant or fungusthat lives at the river’s source, and that as the water passes through or over that particular life form, some of the forgetful magic is imbued into the water molecules. This does not change their structure, but is simply a magical “residue” that is carried down the Kaybetti. Any particles of the plant or fungus itself may be filtered out of the water by the time it reaches the portions of the river where Witches and Wizards can bottle it to use or sell. In addition, it is important to note that no Witch or Wizard - that we know - has ever reached the source of the river. Although technically it is possible that some beings may have reached the source, but whatever forgetful magic was there was powerful enough to wipe their memory of the experience, keeping the source of Lethe River Water a silent mystery.