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thedisneychef · 1 year

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Beef Bourguignon: Rich and Complex French Classic Dish

As you take your first bite of Beef Bourguignon, you're immediately transported to the rolling hills of Burgundy, France. This classic French dish is known for its rich and complex flavors that are sure to satisfy any meat lover's craving. The tender beef, slowly braised in red wine and beef broth, is infused with the flavors of aromatic vegetables, herbs, and spices, resulting in a dish that is hearty, flavorful, and comforting. More Delicious Recipes You Will Love: - Spicy Beef Chili with Beans and Tomatoes - Sizzling Beef Fajitas: A Flavorful and Festive Tex-Mex Dish for Any Occasion - Indulge in Comforting and Flavorful Beef Stroganoff: A Classic Dish for Any Occasion Join me as we explore the origins and ingredients of Beef Bourguignon, and discover how to make this classic dish at home to impress your family and guests with its delicious French charm. Tips: - Use a good quality beef chuck roast that is well-marbled with fat. This will ensure that the meat is tender and flavorful after cooking. - Brown the beef cubes in batches to avoid overcrowding the pan, which can cause the meat to steam instead of brown. - Use a good quality red wine, preferably Burgundy, for the best flavor. If you prefer not to use alcohol, you can substitute the red wine with an equal amount of beef broth. - Cook the stew low and slow, either in the oven or on the stovetop, to allow the flavors to meld together and the meat to become tender and flavorful. - For a thicker sauce, you can mix 1 tablespoon of cornstarch with 1 tablespoon of water and add it to the stew during the last 30 minutes of cooking. - Leftovers can be refrigerated for up to 3 days or frozen for up to 3 months. Reheat the stew gently in a covered pot on the stovetop or in the microwave. - Serve Beef Bourguignon with crusty bread, mashed potatoes, or egg noodles to soak up the delicious sauce. What are some other dishes that use red wine as an ingredient? Red wine is a versatile ingredient that can be used in a variety of dishes to add depth and complexity of flavor. Here are a few examples of other dishes that use red wine: - Coq au Vin: This classic French dish features chicken braised in red wine with bacon, mushrooms, and onions. - Beef short ribs: Slow-cooked beef short ribs are often braised in red wine to create a rich and savory sauce. - Osso Buco: This Italian dish features veal shanks that are braised in red wine with vegetables and herbs. - Ratatouille: This vegetable stew from the Provence region of France often includes red wine in the sauce, along with tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini, and bell peppers. - Mushroom risotto: Red wine can be used to deglaze the pan when making mushroom risotto, adding a rich and earthy flavor to the dish. - Beef stew: Red wine is often used in the sauce for beef stew, along with beef broth, vegetables, and herbs. - Beef and mushroom pie: This classic British dish features beef and mushrooms simmered in a red wine sauce, topped with a pastry crust and baked until golden brown. By using red wine as an ingredient in your cooking, you can add a depth of flavor and complexity to your dishes that will impress your guests and elevate your cooking to the next level. What are some tips for selecting the right red wine to use in cooking? Choosing the right red wine for cooking is important to ensure that the dish has the intended flavor profile. Here are some tips to help you select the best red wine for your cooking: - Choose a wine that you would enjoy drinking: The flavor of the wine will be concentrated in the dish, so it's important to choose a wine that you like the taste of. - Use a wine that complements the dish: As a general rule, red wines with bold flavors, such as Cabernet Sauvignon or Syrah, pair well with rich meat dishes, while lighter red wines, such as Pinot Noir, pair well with lighter dishes. - Consider the acidity of the wine: Acidic wines, such as Chianti or Sangiovese, pair well with tomato-based sauces, while lower acidity wines, such as Merlot or Zinfandel, pair well with cream-based sauces. - Avoid using "cooking wine": Cooking wines are often low-quality wines that are heavily salted and flavored, and can give your dish an artificial taste. Instead, use a good quality wine that you would drink on its own. - Don't overspend on the wine: While it's important to use a good quality wine, you don't need to break the bank. A mid-range wine that you enjoy drinking should work well for cooking. - Consider the sweetness of the wine: Sweeter wines, such as Port or Madeira, can be used in dessertsor sweet sauces, while drier wines are better suited for savory dishes. - Adjust the amount of wine based on the recipe: Some recipes may call for a specific amount of wine, while others may leave it up to the cook's discretion. As a general guideline, use about 1 cup of wine for every 3-4 pounds of meat in a recipe. Conclusion: In conclusion, red wine is a versatile ingredient that can be used to add depth and complexity of flavor to a variety of dishes. When choosing a red wine for cooking, it is important to choose a wine that you enjoy drinking, and that complements the dish you are making. Consider the acidity and sweetness of the wine, and adjust the amount based on the recipe. By using a good quality wine and following these tips, you can elevate your cooking to the next level and create dishes that are rich in flavor and complexity. Whether you are making Beef Bourguignon, Coq au Vin, or any other red wine-based dish, a well-chosen wine can make all the difference. Read the full article

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priyadigi22 · 1 year

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This Analysis Can Be Used Not Only For Your Wedding Attire But For Any Clothing For Any Occasion. Last But Not Least, This Guide Is Not Designed To Completely Change Your Perspective On Fashion Or Wholesale Dress Material Online Or Your Favourite Colours, But Rather To Provide Some Guidance On Your Fashion Sense. For Example, If You Enjoy Red And Are A Winter Person, You Can Substitute Wine Or Burgundy For Traditional Blood Red. If You Are An Autumn Person Who Enjoys Yellow, You Can Wear Ochre Yellow Instead Of Lemon Yellow. You Will Rock Your Wedding If You Can Distinguish These Details.

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currinmorrison · 2 years

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Aquabear Swim Club Dominate Marina Swim Sports Activities News

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freedmandanielsen · 2 years

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Products Tagged "hough Barrie"

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whyspeakin · 2 years

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The History of Tea

The history of tea

A legendary origin

The first documents that mention tea date back to the period between the seventh and sixth centuries BC. The inhabitants of ancient China in this period sang of the excellence of Tu, the name given to the group of plants which we now know as tea. This is the official origin, although if we give credit to popular legend, tea has been around since approximately the year 2700 BC.

Between the years 206 BC and 221 AD, during the Han dynasty, improved methods of gathering and preparing tea leaves made tea a popular beverage of the royal family. Its prestige among the nobility grew, reaching its peak in the period of the Three Kingdoms (221–277 AD), when tea served as a substitute for wine at the court’s banquets.

Emperor Chen Nung

The French writer Maxence Fermine describes, in his novel Opium, the discovery of tea in China: “One day, more than four thousand years ago, the emperor Chen Nung was traveling with his guard through a distant region of his great country. As the journey was long and tiring, he ordered them to let him stop to rest in the shade of some trees to protect them from the sun.

The convoy stopped and the emperor sat cross-legged under an unknown bush. Immediately, he asked for a bowl of boiling water, as he was thirsty and it was the best remedy he knew to quench his thirst. His servants hurried to bring it to him. At that moment, a leaf fell into the emperor’s bowl. Chen Nung drank the water without notice, and when he did a sweet yet bitter aroma filled his throat. Intrigued, he looked into the bowl and found the leaf that gave this fascinating scent and flavor. And thus tea was born.”

Tea in China

The general population would wait another five centuries before experiencing the goodness of this virtuous plant, since it wasn’t until the Tang dynasty, from 618 to 907 AD, that tea became the national beverage of China. Proof of this is that a philosopher of the time, Lu Yu, wrote the first account of its history, cultivation, and preparation in 780 AD: the Cha-Ching.”

Tea’s reputation reached every corner of China, thanks to caravans of merchants that crisscrossed the country. In 705 AD, Camellia sinensis crossed borders for the first time and was introduced in Japan by a monk named Dengyo Daishi. During this same time period, tea arrived in Tibet and was a great success. There they boiled tablets of pressed tea and then mixed it with butter and salt. It wasn’t until the start of the twentieth century that tea in the form of infusion became popular there, although there are still many Tibetans that prefer the traditional preparation.

Tibetan style tea

In his memoir, Seven Years in Tibet, mountain climber Heinrich Harrer (played in the movie by Brad Pitt) describes the local custom of drinking tea mixed with yak lard, a combination that he found horrifying. The author commented that some Tibetans claimed to drink more than a hundred cups a day.

Beyond China

Tea had begun to cross borders at the beginning of the ninth century when the first shipments arrived by boat to Korea and Japan. There, a Buddhist monk called Yesai published the first Japanese book on tea in 1191. Both countries began to cultivate tea in the humid, mountainous regions, and their inhabitants soon learned of the therapeutic properties of the infusion. Zen monks incorporated tea in their routines in the temple, in combination with meditation that lasted all day.

Tea Collection -Black Green Burgundy white Tea

Regarding the union between Buddhism and tea, the legend tells that an Indian prince named Drama had decided to devote his life to prayer. Abandoning his home, he began a pilgrimage toward China and Japan. Exhausted from the hard days of journeying, he succumbed to a deep sleep along the banks of a river and slept for a long time.

Upon waking, he felt horrified by his laziness and meted himself a severe punishment so as not to succumb to sleep again: he cut off his eyelids and buried them in the place where he had slept. Many years later, returning to his home, he passed that same place and discovered that a strange bush was growing where he had buried the eyelids. The monk chewed a few leaves and realized that they helped keep the mind awake. Since then, the Zen monks have always cultivated tea in the monastery gardens.

From “cha” to “tea”

The names given for the word “tea” are very similar throughout Asia: in Japan, it’s called cha, in Russia caj, in India tschaj and in China, ch’a. Some linguists maintain that it’s possible all these names come from the word for “vitality” in Chinese, chi.

In the Fukien province of China, the Dutch learned the word tay, which means “tea” in the local dialect, and this sound was introduced to Europe. In fact, in Ireland and England, it was pronounced tay until the start of the eighteenth century, after which the word was derived to tee and then tea—as we know it today.

In many European languages, the same word is used as a generic term for herbal teas or an infusion of herbs.

Apart from making the most of tea’s curative properties, the Japanese nobles also began to include tea in their social meetings. Thus was born the Cha no yu, the tea ceremony, a delicate and demanding ritual lasting several hours, for which the hosts would have expensive and precious utensils.

English Tea Preparation

Tea arrives in the West

The first record of the existence of tea in the West dates to the year 851 AD. It was written by an Arab merchant named Suleiman in his book Relations in China and India, where he defined it as “an aromatic herb with a bitter taste that is drunk with boiled water in the East.”

Apparently, westerners did not hear about this infusion again until 1529, when the Venetian Giambattista Ramusio wrote in his book Navigazione e Viaggi about the existence of a plant in the East that “calms pain of gout and also guarantees good stomach function.” Jesuit missionaries that visited China and Japan in the sixteenth century also spoke of a plant with a sweet taste that the natives called chai.

An Indian Old Man Enjoys Tea

The East India Company

In the seventeenth century, the European powers competed to claim the new markets in Asia. During this process, the Dutch East India Company brought the first shipment of tea to Europe in 1606. Later, the ships of the English East India Company achieved a monopoly on tea and began to distribute it in France, Germany, and Portugal as well as England. In 1657, the first teahouse opened in London, and financial transactions involving the plant took place on its upper floors. But tea became popular in England a few years later, when King Charles II married Catalina de Berganza, a great fan of the beverage.

The Portuguese princess brought with her dowry the port of Bombay, one of the most important hubs of maritime commerce between Asia and Europe, which became key in the tea trade between the two continents. The infusion began to be served in the court and, during the following century, became the most popular beverage in England, winning over even beer and gin.

In 1834, the East India Company lost its monopoly on tea after the implementation of a British governmental resolution. With free competition between companies, the speed of the ships became more important, so large ships gave way to small, lightships called clippers. This produced true competition to be the first to arrive in port and be able to sell at the best price, resulting in all kinds of incidents and adventures on the high seas, as the typical passage took about a hundred days.

The custom of adding milk to tea—so deeply entrenched in England today—was introduced by the Dutch in the early seventeenth century and then spread to France and England. The Japanese and Chinese never add milk to tea because they believe it ruins the flavor, original color, and aroma of the infusion.

Until the beginning of the nineteenth century, tea was drunk at any time of day. The creation of the British afternoon tea—at five o’clock—is attributed to the Duchess of Bedford, who after drinking it in the afternoon with a snack found it so delicious she instituted the ritual with all her friends.

Mango Tea

The spread of tea

In 1810 the Chinese began to cultivate tea on the island of Formosa, in modern-day Taiwan. A decade later in Assam, in the northeastern region of India, Robert Bruce and his brother discovered vast thickets of tea growing naturally and established the tea industry in the then-British colony, including the Darjeeling region.

In other parts of the world, tea arrived under more difficult circumstances. In Ceylan, modern-day Sri Lanka, the cultivation of tea began in earnest after a plague affecting coffee trees devastated all the plantations on the island—at that time it was the second-largest producer of coffee in the world.

Collection of Tea Around the world

In each country, tea has been introduced differently, with many local variations. The Maghrebis, for example, inherited tea from the English and their national drink is mint tea. It is served in a glass with a lot of sugar and accompanied by honey cakes. Proper etiquette dictates that the host should drink at least three glasses of tea, with the last one being stronger than the previous.

In 1900, with the inauguration of the Trans-Siberian railroad, tea was no longer transported by camel from Peking to Russia. And four years later, Richard Blechyden presented a refreshing invention at the St. Louis World’s Fair: iced tea.

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

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A Wedding in Paris

Trigger Warning: Light mentions of setting appropriate homophobia, alcohol use

“What’s a marriage anyway? Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

Lucian and Stephen spend their first day in Paris, the first day of their new lives.

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Stephen had been nervous about Paris.

It was his first step outside of England, the first of a headlong sprint that was going to take him even further than he’d had the free time to read about in books. Paris was meant to be a gentle start, just a hop over the Channel, within three day’s reach of the country he’d grown up in all his life, but it had still frightened Stephen to imagine. A new city, a new soil, a new tongue. A new him, supposedly, a Stephen Day who wasn’t a justiciar and wasn’t alone but now had to find out where he fit into the world, starting with Paris.

It had taken him all of a day to decide he really, really liked it.

That day had consisted of waking up in a very expansive, comfortable bed, made all the more comfortable and slightly less expansive by the fact that he was sharing it with all six feet of his lover. Then he’d padded around the lavish hotel apartment he’d been too exhausted to take any notice of after yesterday’s boat ride, in a mix of wonderment and apprehension, until Lucien had woken and summoned him back to bed with a crook of a finger and a smile. Not all that different from his fonder mornings in London.

But then there had been bright sunlight, walks along boulevards familiar enough to Stephen that he could relax into the excitement of the chatter around him in unknown, lyrical languages, the smells of herbs he couldn’t name coming from the street stalls, the bright fabrics and colourful buildings. Then there was a park, open space and the smell of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, a museum with paintings from far away and long ago that Stephen felt he could fall forwards into, a patisserie with cakes that looked like perfect sculptures and tasted like heaven. Even the ether felt different, like rich velvet, less fettered by smog. There were smiles, laughter that made his jaw ache, a heart lighter than he could remember.

And through it all, more than anything else, there was Lucien. At Stephen’s side and smiling as he stared like the dumbstruck tourist he was, walking a few paces behind with a proud, patient chuckle while Stephen surged ahead to see something new, lounging beside him and explaining the ways in which French fashions differed to British fashions with each example that passed by. He indulged his little witch completely and for once Stephen didn’t argue or allow himself to become embarrassed by it, the cakes tasted too good for him to recoil at Lucien happily buying him as much as he could eat. It brought that smile of satisfaction to his lover’s sharp features, the warmth in his eyes that their troubles in London had made rarer than either would like.

And there were the touches.

The first time it happened, Lucien casually placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as they walked, he’d frozen in place. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, certain they were still in England and even a simple, friendly touch like that would get them spat at in the street. Lucien had taken his hand away quickly with an apologetic, understanding expression, endlessly patient with Stephen’s anxieties, willing to go slowly. Stephen appreciated it, his heart hammering in his chest until the next delight chased it away.

But then, sitting in the park, Lucien had made to reach for Stephen’s hand, stopping only at the last moment when he caught himself. His quick amber eyes had noticed and, for a moment, the fear jolted through him, a sour, metallic taste on his tongue. But only for a moment, the sugar and fresh air rushing back in and, with it, a sense of giddy courage. They were in the shade, dappled by the leaves overhead, and no one was looking their way.

And if they were, what of it? Lucien had promised Stephen a life of freedom. He’d told him they’d go places where everything about Stephen- his magic, the fact that he liked men- wasn’t something to be hidden and ashamed of. And every other impossible thing Lucien had promised was apparently true, so why not this?

So he’d joined their hands together, threading his fingers through Lucien’s larger ones until they knit together naturally. Not a manipulation of the ether, not a spell, just the honest scrape of rough, callused skin against his lover’s, scar brushing against scar, fingers slotting perfectly into the gaps between hair dusted knuckles. It had been Lucien’s turn to jolt in surprise but, God, the look he’d given Stephen put every wonder they’d seen into the shade.

Possibly that look, possibly the wild and welcome sense of freedom, possibly the fact that Merrick knew of a wine bar that didn’t close until one in the morning and served the most delicious ruby red burgundy and a very reasonable price, possibly a combination of all of these factors decided how Stephen’s first day in Paris ended.

Which is to say, piss drunk and dancing with his lover in an empty Parisian street at half past two in the morning. And happier than he could ever remember being.

“Lucien!” he cackled, clinging to him for dear life as he spun him around in what a waltz might look like through a haze of wine, “Lucien, I’m going to be sick!”

His lover laughed, finally letting them stop, moving into a slightly less disorientating four step that neither of them could really keep up with, “I thought you practitioners could hold your alcohol better than us mere mortals?”

“Not when it’s this much alcohol,” Stephen snorted, tilting his head back to watch the stars lurch drunkenly across the velvet blue sky, “God, Lucien, this place…”

“I know,” Lucien purred, catching him in the pool of gas light coming from a streetlamp, letting Stephen slump bonelessly against his chest as they swayed in a lazy circle, “This is what it should be like, my love. This is how you’ve deserved to live your entire life.”

Stephen giggled, loose limbed and loose lipped with the weight of the sweet wine on his tongue, “No one cares...I’m dancing with my lover in the street and no one cares…”

Luien’s cheeks were a little red too, his speech a little slack and grin overly wide, but he was a few glasses down on Stephen, “Well, we can still get arrested for disorderly behaviour and waking the neighbours.”

“I see,” Stephen hummed with exaggerated seriousness, face still pressed to Lucien’s chest so it came out a little muffled, “We should be inside then so we can be as disorderly as we wish.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucien chuckled, half dancing and half dragging Stephen to the door of their hotel which they’d been wonkily aiming for when they’d started their impromptu waltz.

Getting through the lobby with whatever wine soaked dignity they could muster took a few moments when Stephen stumbled on the steps and Lucien couldn’t remember his own name briefly when the front desk asked but eventually they staggered up the stairs to the apartments they were calling home until they could book passage further into Europe.

Fortunately they didn’t have to fumble with the key in the door, the French helpfully built their door knobs in brass and he sent it swinging inwards with a thought, unfortunately just as Lucien swept him up to kiss him against it. The two of them burst into helpless laughter, sprawled on the mat, giggling like children.

“Get off me,” Stephen managed to get the words out, through the laughter and the fact that shy of two hundred pounds of muscular lordship was resting on him, “I can’t breathe, you great lump…”

“Some poorly timed romance on my part, I apologise,” Lucien laughed, finding his feet and pulling himself up, snagging Stephen on the way up.

“Oh,” Stephen’s eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, the only thing keeping the apartment from complete darkness, “Well...don’t let this keep you from trying again.”

Lucien seemed to take that as a personal challenge, not letting his lover find his feet, just sweeping him into his arms and carrying him straight to the canopy bed. With a few assists from Stephen, bending the ether to shove an ottoman and curl the corner of a rug out of their path, they made it with no broken necks or barked shins.

“Did I tell you the ether feels different here?” he found himself murmuring, once they’d toppled into the pool of silk and down, his mouth doing that thing where the wine rather than his brain made it move.

“Hmm?” Lucien had collapsed next to him, looking like a scarecrow that had been dropped from a height. A scarecrow dressed in Hawkes and Cheney’s finest, “Don’t recall. Tell me anyway. I like when you talk about magic, your eyes light up.”

Stephen reddened until he was probably a similar colour to the wine they’d been drinking but he held his hands up above himself, backing them against the rich muslin of the canopy. He twitched his long fingers as he spoke, like he was stroking something.

“I work with my hands so it feels different to me. It feels richer, like I’m moving my hands through honey rather than water, like it is back home. It...drags on me, like it’s alive and it’s touching me as much as I’m touching it. Like the difference between velvet and cotton, you know? You just want to dig your fingers in and see how far it goes. I bet if Esther was here, she’d say it smelled different too and I’ll ask Saint if it sounds different…” he trailed off, glancing to the man lying beside him, realising that Lucien was gazing at him with an expression warmer and more adoring than anyone he’d ever given a magical lecture to.

“Did my eyes light up?” he asked shyly, mouth cocking into a smile.

“All of you does,” Lucien purred, looking at him the way Stephen had looked at the paintings and artefacts in the museum, like he was something precious and masterful, like the whole world around them and dimmed and Stephen was all that mattered, “This is just...this is everything I wanted for you, my love.”

“To eat my own body weight in cake twice over?” Stephen hummed,

The jesting tone was a little flat and shaky but he needed some way to blunt this. Because if Lucien kept talking like this and looking at him like that then he felt me might cry. Because they were alone in a beautiful place and everything was changing, because he loved this man so much and he loved him back and light could be as overwhelming as dark. You could drown in honey as easily as blood.

But, as ever, Lucien was the one who was unafraid. They lay practically nose to nose but it still wasn’t close enough apparently, he reached over to hold his cheek. His palm was cool from the chill night air and Stephen leaned into it instinctively.

“To be somewhere you can just be your incredible self,” Lucien murmured, keeping their voices low even though they were alone, just because the words were Stephen’s and no one elses, “Magical and powerful and mine.”

Stephen turned and pressed his lips to the centre of that slightly roughened palm, “Thank you. I know I’m going to be saying that a lot from now on and it’s never going to feel like enough but still. Thank you so much.”

Lucien kissed the bridge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheekbone, protective and comforting, “And I will always reply that you don’t need to thank me. You came with me, that’s more than enough.”

Stephen melted under the touch, sighing softly, finding a way to relax even beyond what the drink and dancing had already accomplished, “And it only gets better from here?”

“The further we get from England, the less anyone will care,” Lucien promised, fingers moving up to tease the tighter curls at the edge of his hairline, “In China I’ll be able to take you to dinners, kiss you in the street, introduce you as my partner to my fellow traders, brag shamelessly about my talented, handsome shaman…”

Stephen groaned, though he was betrayed by his lopsided grin of incredibly endearing goofiness, “Wonderful...though I like being called your partner.”

“Well,” Lucien patted his cheek and let him go, apparently too drunk and tired to engage his neck muscles, “I’d rather call you my husband but not even Shanghai allows me that.”

This certain kind of moment happens often between two people with more wine in their bloodstream than sense in their head, that one of them will casually blurt something without realising the magnitude of their words, their runaway mouths jumbling up the filing system in their head and confusing the one labelled ‘deeply personal thoughts’ with ‘casual conversation’. People said in vino veritas, Lucien recalled, though the more succinct phrase that snapped his eyes open and froze him in place when he realised what he’d said was ‘complete fucking stupidity’.

Stephen was watching him with wide, golden eyes, no expression but naked surprise, “You’d marry me? If we could?”

Lucien wasn’t often caught on the back foot, even around Stephen. His little witch could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him blush as he was now, the amount of times he’d seen his mouth twist into the shy, vulnerable smile of a much younger man who’d been through far less in his life.

“Well...of course. Honestly, if we lived in a different time, I’d have done it long before now. Pretty much as soon as I got the slightest inkling you’d actually have me,” the blush deepened as he spoke and, God, Stephen would have been lying if it wasn’t damn endearing to see his lover’s cold, angular features having to deal with embarrassment.

Lucien caught his expression, laughing exasperatedly and dragging Stephen closer, “Oh fuck off, is this really that much of a surprise?”

Stephen giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucien in turn, “That I could land one of the most eligible bachelors in England? Somewhat...oh heavens, would that make me Lady Crane?”

That set them both off again, gripped by helpless laughter, giddy on wine and fantasy.

“I think you’d be Lord as well?” Lucien snorted, the idea of his radical little witch having a title too funny for words, “Or Lord Consort which even you have to admit is an inherently fuckable title.”

“Well, you’ve got me there…” he snickered, rusty curls falling into his eyes, “Stephen Vaudrey….”

Thinking if he was in for a penny on emotional vulnerability, he may as well be in for a pound, Lucien shook his head, “Actually, if we’re indulging ourselves completely, I’d ask you to keep your name. And, if you’d be so kind, extend it to me?”

Stephen’s jaw dropped, “Pardon? Did I hear that right?”

Lucien shrugged lazily, managing to haul himself up into something more like a sitting position against the bolsters, “Come on now, darling, like I’m going to cling to the surname of my abusive father and brother when I could join a loving family of people with actual integrity and honour.”

Stephen scrambled after him, resting his head on Lucien’s chest, gazing up at him adoringly, “That’s...I don’t even know what to say, Lucien.”

Lucien pushed that wayward hair back, his heart thudding at putting that expression of bewilderment and love on Stephen’s face and wanting to admire every inch of it, “So you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with Lucien Day?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephen said emphatically, turning into his hand the way a cat being petted would, “And I will. No matter what the law says.”

Lucien seemed to consider that a moment, an amusement dawning in his grey eyes, the kind of idea that could only happen when one was a little bit drunk and madly in love clearly taking root. His mouth quirked upwards at the end.

“Fuck the law then,” he grinned, “Marry me. Right now.”

Stephen blinked, clearly missing a few pieces of the puzzle, “Excuse me?”

Lucien lurched to his feet so suddenly that Stephen was left to fall face down into the space he left behind with an ungainly yelp. He turned onto his back to see Lucien straightening his lapels, trying to shake out some of the rumpledness in his suit from their raucous evening. He deftly untied his cravat, somehow managing to force hands that had held several wine glasses over the last few hours to handle the knot expertly. Then he held out his hand to Stephen.

“Your leg please, sweet boy. This can be the something new, I only bought it today, and borrowed too as I’m lending it to you. I’d say your suit can be your something old, given the state of it, as I’ve pointed out many times. Don’t think you’re getting out of Paris without some new clothes by the way. And blue…”

“Our tattoos have blue in them,” Stephen grinned at him as he complied, shivering a little as Lucien pushed up the leg of his worn trousers, “You’ve lost your mind completely.”

“It's this or we become pirates and enter into matelotage, my love,” Lucien hummed, tying the lace around his thigh in a decent approximation of a garter, “And the journey across the Channel made it clear you get seasick far too easily for that.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, he’d had a near constant sour taste in his mouth for the entire trip, “Granted…”

“What’s a marriage anyway?” Lucien hummed, kissing Stephen’s knee before letting him go, “Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

“Spoken like a true smuggler,” Stephen gazed up at him, feeling like he could float.

Lucien flashed him the kind of grin that made shivers run up his spine, as he slid the magpie ring he’d had made to fit Stephen’s from his finger, “Now I know we already did this part but why not...take mine and I’ll have yours, if you don’t mind…”

His hand felt naked without the ring but Lucien’s larger one lying in his palm was a solid certainty, still warm from his lover’s skin. Stephen clutched it like a talisman, a delighted, bewildered laugh bursting from him as Lucien pulled him to his feet. The two of them stood facing each other like they were before an altar, framed in the enormous bay windows that lay the glittering entirety of Paris out before them. Neither man gave it a glance.

“Now, I’ll do my best to remember how it went at Leo’s though the wine might not be helping,” Lucien frowned as he thought, “Although, having said that, I was drunk for that wedding too.”

“Which one?” Stephen grinned teasingly, “The one years ago or the one last month?”

“Both,” Lucien hummed, taking Stephen’s hands in his own, enveloping them safely in his own, “Now…”

Stephen tilted his head upwards, taking a breath and focusing on Lucien’s face. Something inside him fought through the burgundy fog and the giddiness and the fear of those emotions that felt too big to hold, something whispered focus, this is important, you’ll want to remember every second.

Lucien slid Stephen’s ring back onto his finger, fitting it perfectly where it had sat since last December, “I, Lucien Vaudrey, take thee, Stephen Day, to be my completely unlawful but much devoted and adored husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, when you’re vomiting over the edge of an ocean liner or in health, so on and so forth and whatever…” he clearly abandoned the traditional vows and his eyes softened with sincerity, “You are the person who woke up my heart when I’d rather forgotten i even owned one. You’ve saved me, you’ve made me a better man and you’ve put so much trust in me. All I can do is swear to you that I am yours, completely and utterly. For whatever it's worth to you, my love.”

For a few moments, Stephen couldn’t speak or move or do anything but stand in place with his eyes fixed on Lucien’s and wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the place he stood in now. He only realised how long he’d been struck dumb when Lucien stifled a chuckle and pointedly cleared his throat, prompting Stephen to scramble for the ring and nearly drop it, managing to get it onto Lucien’s finger.

“Um, okay, ah…” he shook himself, “I, Stephen Day, take thee, Lucien Vaudrey or Crane or Fortunegate or Day or whoever the hell you want to be, I’ll take every single one of you as my unlawful husband and I’ll do it gladly. I’ll take you for better or worse, though God knows we’ve had plenty of the latter. For richer, hard to do in your case, or poorer, even harder to do in my case. In sickness and in health and whatever else the world wants to throw at us because I swear, you are the best thing in my life and nothing is taking you away from me now. Thank you for helping me see something worthwhile when I look in the mirror, thank you for being that little bit more stubborn than me, thank you for...everything. For the whole damned world. I don’t know what I can do to pay that back but I can promise you I’ll try.”

“You can start by kissing your husband?” Lucien’s voice was rough and thick and if Stephen didn’t know his lover better, he’d say there was wetness on his eyelashes.

Not that he had time to properly take note before he threw himself into Lucien’s arms, kissing him hard enough that he would have buckled if he was a shorter man. Instead they met and melted into each other, kissing hard enough to bruise, hard enough that there would be aching jaws to go along with aching heads the next morning.

And outside of the window, Paris still glittered, gaslamp stars in their cobblestone sea, the Seine the path to the rest of the world that lay beyond. All of Europe, all of Asia, wherever they wanted to go was waiting.

And it would have to wait. Because tonight all that mattered was each other.

#a charm of magpies #stephen day #lucien vaudrey #kj charles #some drunken shenanigans

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writinghannibal · 4 years

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Hannibal, what is your favorite recipe for stew?

Dear Anthony,

Boeuf bourguignon, though you can substitute another meat for the beef.

INGREDIENTS

1 tablespoon olive oil 8 ounces thick-cut bacon, preferably double smoked, cut into lardons 3 pounds of meat, such as shanks and/or blade chuck roast, cut into 2-inch chunks (if using bone-in meat, account for the bones in the weight) Salt and pepper 1 large onion, chopped 1 pound of carrots, peeled and chopped into 1-inch chunks 3 cloves of garlic, minced 1 tablespoon tomato paste 1 bottle Burgundy red wine (full-bodied, young Pinot Noir or Côtes du Rhône or Gamay) 2 cups good-quality beef stock Bouquet garni: a tied bundle of thyme, bay leaf, and parsley 2 tablespoons unsalted butter 2 pounds cremini mushrooms, cut in half or kept whole if small 1 pound pearl onions, peeled

For the beurre manié 2 tablespoons softened butter 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

For serving Chopped parsley Crusty toasted/grilled French bread, rubbed with a clove of garlic

DIRECTIONS

1. Preheat the oven to 250°F.

2. Heat the oil in a large pot or Dutch oven. Add the bacon and cook over medium-low heat until crispy. Remove the bacon with a slotted spoon and set aside.

3. Pat the meat dry. Season with salt and pepper. Increase the heat to medium-high and sear the meat in a single layer in the bacon fat (in batches—make sure not to crowd the pan), turning the meat until nicely browned on all sides, about 3 to 5 minutes per batch. Remove the meat and set aside. Repeat with the remaining meat.

4. Add the chopped onions and carrot to the pot and sauté until softened and aromatic, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic and sauté another minute.

5. Add the reserved bacon and meat (I also threw in the marrow bones from my bone-in shanks for extra flavor). Add the tomato paste, red wine, beef stock, and bouquet garni. Season with salt and pepper. Stir to combine. Bring to a simmer on the stovetop. When it comes to a simmer, cover and place the pot in the oven. Cook until the meat is very tender, about 2 hours.

6. Meanwhile, heat a large pan over medium heat. Add two tablespoons of butter. When hot, add the mushrooms, season with salt and pepper, and sauté (in batches) until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Remove from the pan and set aside. Repeat with the remaining mushrooms, adding more butter. Sauté the pearl onions until lightly browned.

7. When the meat is very tender, remove the pot from the oven. Remove the bouquet garni.

8. Make the beurre manié: Blend the butter and flour in a small bowl. Add to the pot in small amounts, stirring after each addition until it has all been incorporated.

9. Add the mushrooms and pearl onions to the stew.

10. Bring the pot to a simmer on the stovetop. Let simmer for 30 minutes to thicken. Taste and season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle with chopped parsley before serving.

---------------------

} ooc:

Recipe found here.

#recipes #I fucking love this #please make it you will not be disappointed #big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo #Ask Hannibal

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anosmi16 · 4 years

Text

a story

I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone.If you ask me I'll tell: I'm 19; I'm not national yet. I made a living making french fries at McDonald's for a while. I make breakfast with milk and biscuits. I say I drink tea without sugar, but I don't drink much. My grandfather said I didn't have as much intelligence as open yogurt. Maybe he's right; my grandfather was a yoghurt man.

Every fall he falls in love again, chasing after racy women; I'll finally sleep in the bosom of honest women. When the rain comes down on the city, the wet bridge bottoms, I think of hazy parks. Although I'm very sorry, I don't like to give money to a beggar.

My boyfriend and I had been separated for a week. I worked for the White Pages cleaning company on minimum wage. That's where we met the trust. We were sent to wipe the window of a skyscraper.

The trust called me home on a cloudy April day. I set off at sunrise in the morning. The bus was full of breath. I put my head against the glass, wandering among the colorful flowers of the Rising Sun, I watched him cover the horizon with curtains between wine liquid and gold dust. My uncle next to me drove the worst Cologne on the market. Suddenly it started raining. Why does the rain suddenly start in my stories?..

My companion wiped the misted glass with his hand and created a space the size of a turtle. We were just watching it together. The rain descended into the city like a wall of water. Rainwater that fills the hole in the concrete, he ran Mother Nature, who made coffee with milk, like a “barista.” The same waters, in the soil, were a visual feast of chocolate pudding. Water gushed from both sides of the bus, which went like a knife. So to speak, his city was flooding; and so to speak, … I got off in Hatay and walked home. The rain stopped, and a silvery rainbow appeared. The last silver drops were creating Mercury-colored balls where it fell. The water dripping from the eaves to the tin roofs kept the rhythm. It was the oldest building in the area, with cracks in the wall in places.Trust Fish-stamp blue eyes, Auburn blunt hair, he was a boy with angular facial features, bright skin, a bird of prey look. The trust had interesting moves: He would turn his eyelids upside down, showing off his bloody skin. We went out on the balcony and watched the boys play ball. The ball was drawing muddy pictures on T-shirts, with the natural palette the street offered. At that moment, I loved those children more than he did.A sweet sun opened, caressing the hair of my arms. As the Rays descend in a yellow wave, a lemon butterfly flying upside down hit a clothesline and took off again. It was like I started life today. A happy baby giggled inside me. I hung from the balcony and looked down. On the lower balcony was an aunt who sang songs to the lovebirds. A grey cat was rubbing its nose against melted house slippers. As if at that moment, there was a softness of cat hair all over the city.

The floor was full of bait, and birds were placed on our balcony. His mother used to feed birds. The balcony was a dump. I got an idea! I collected all the bait and poured it all the way to the Hall. He came in eating about ten pigeons. We jumped them ... but one of them was caught. He fluttered his tail like a dying fish. We cut off his head and plucked his feathers and cooked and ate them.

Two hours later, his mother came home. She was one of the old Istanbul women. Her hair was Golden like a wet kadayif sucking sorbet. He wore glasses with a pink frame that were appropriate for this Color. He had an aquarium on his lap. A coral-colored goldfish was swimming in it. His mother looked at us with her blurred face after the cambered glass. His face was bigger than it was; or so it seemed to me. He didn't like slang, blasphemy, he was an obsessive type. When he saw me, he showed sweet kindness, which is trust.; - A few people from the apartment when we caught the pigeon. he was rude and swearing, but don't worry, we fucked them, too. quoth. 🙂

I showed the trust the fish; it raised one eyebrow and said, " Never Mind.” he made a sign like a der. Her mother told me when she went to her room: - Since the fish died last month. I think he thinks he'll die if he doesn't.

I was ashamed to see loyalty to the covenant that I had not seen in anyone in this woman… "Didn't you see the prayer necklace around his neck?, ” my mother is extremely distressed at the moment, " he said. 🙂 Substitute dementia drug Dozyl Easy she said she often took birth control pills. She lamented that she still couldn't forget her husband, who died of cancer. He made an arrow and showed me the photo on the wall. It was a picture of a man with a mustache in a striped short-sleeved shirt. He was a member of the Butchers ' Association. A meaningless expression sat on the trust's face.

I noticed that until that moment, he never mentioned his father.; I didn't know what to say. Did he expect me to laugh or be upset? It annoyed me that he determined my actions. I'm not sure I left the house and locked the door, I was in that moment of ambivalence between leaving and coming back. Fortunately, he dropped his eyes on the ground and moved on to another topic. I sucked my lips so I wouldn't laugh.

It was like our classic mothers.… Clicking on the icons in”quick launch " many times before opening… Bank passwords are 1234… He doesn't know the email passwords and gets a new one every month… Who never throws away yogurt containers… "Eat stale bread today, eat fresh tomorrow” what he said, entered the endless cycle of bread at home… Even for fresh bread to come in line, or guests to come or a few weeks had to pass…

They can't focus on anything but what they think! It doesn't matter what you ask, it matters what you think. That's why the answer you get with your question is completely irrelevant.

He said his mother locked the bathroom even when he was at home. - What, I said, Everybody does that. - He said I wouldn't. - But you love her, right? I said. - It doesn't matter to me! quoth. - How can it not matter, I thought it meant so much to you? I said. - He's important to me, not his thoughts! To see your dreams more clearly, do you know he's been sleeping with his glasses on for three days? quoth.

Suddenly his mother called out from the kitchen: - Guys, come on, I made tea!

I was so surprised when I walked into the kitchen. His mother filled the glasses with hot water and looked at us with candy in her hand. When I saw the empty water in the bottom and top teapot, I knew you didn't put the tea in. But he kept asking how many sugars we were going to throw in the water, as if nothing had happened. Confidence began to scream: - Mom, are you hard to tell, or is the signal late?

Apparently, until this age, he lived like a plant in a pot… If I'd stayed in that house a little longer, I'd have lost my mind!

2 Months Later… The fact that we rarely saw each other prevented our friendship from deteriorating. On a hot June night, my phone rang at three in the morning.

Güven: Brother, we're coming for you! “Yihuuuuu” sounds and shouts from behind… Girls with cracked, detonated voices mixed with road noise…

I'm wearing my best clothes; I think maybe I am. An hour later a grey Audi braked bitterly in front of me. There was confidence at the wheel. Because of two girls dancing in the back, Foundation, sweat, underarm, crushed lipstick scents wrapped the car like black tulle. Inside the car was so dark, their faces were mice, his eyes looked like a pinhead. A Midsummer Night's car that gives me goosebumps, he was moving forward, knocking down the trees he had dismantled on the windshield. The dark blue cool of the morning gave me the creeps, licking my face. He was driving full of confidence. He just turned and; – I have good news and bad news to you. Which one would you like to hear first? quoth. - The bad one, said one of the girls. - We're almost out of gas! - So, what's the good news? he shouted, another one. - But it's not over. When we arrived in the rich district of Hatay, Nokta, we got out of the car. The building was like a bright star rising stubbornly to the houses next to it. There was another bug-black Audi outside the door. Handan, - It's dad's spare car, they're in the summer, he said.Girls by word of mouth: "He left the key at home!"they shouted. The apartment was on the fifth floor. The balcony door was closed. - Is the balcony locked? I asked. - No, it's open, they always said it.The famous " free dynamite, let the ass explode!"I remembered our proverb. It was a marriage to climb that apartment for free. I hugged the ground floor irons running. I crossed the first floors like a spider. As I rose, an invisible, malignant hand hung down my shoulders. The month of June, the depth of the apartment… In that purple night that moves inside me… Rusty balcony irons soaked in moisture in the air…I wanted to go to the inside of the balcony on the last floor. I hung so hard on the iron that I watched tiny dust flow from the wall. I jumped in and looked proud from high to low. They raised their arms and applauded me. I was a rock star greeting fans on the concert platform. And they are poor "groupie"… Why didn't I fly at them? Only the shadow of that thought passed through my head!..I was afraid the balcony was locked. Fortunately, it opened and I barged in. The house smelled of fried apple peel. Completely different feelings in this rich house… Would I feel the same way if I went into a slum? Or would I feel patetic? I greeted them like the flirtatious Prince of the rich house.Trust my ear, when you see me climb Handan - Oh, I am doing sex with this guy, and he said he curtsy. I felt neither good nor bad… A giant television on a metallic coffee table in the Hall Leopard print seats Wallpapers decorated with white roses Buffet full of colorful drinks A giant black air conditioner Wall mounted antique turntable setWe tied up on a handmade rug with a burgundy pattern. Stars were falling on us from the bright stones of the chandelier above us. For the first time in the light, I had the opportunity to examine everyone. Handan He was medium-sized, fat, sparse red hair, with tiny eye sockets. His eyes looked like cigarette ash. He pulled a tight pair of shorts under a lion-patterned T-shirt. He had a Band-Aid on his heel. Her lips were purple and superimposed. His voice was”contralto". There was a” Hasbian " side. It was as if it had been cut from an old village photo and glued to this world. You know the story of the Red Chief's ransom: Guys kidnap a rich banker's kid. But the boy is such a pain in the ass that in the end, bandits, they pay the banker to get the boy back.That's what this girl had. He was the kind to love with gloves if he was a son…

Dilan She was a medium-sized brunette beauty. His shiny temples were dislocated. Her dark hair was falling out like a black stick of pasta. From him I smelled a clean aselbent. When you said his name, his black velvet eyes were wide open and greased. Her pink lips were healthy. The lip pit extending to his nose was as deep as a plain. She was a smart chick with a stupid look. His nose was upturned and bony. It was possible to see the bone from the skin of the nose. She wore a red dress that showed off her waist thin and spilled over her hips. Her well-groomed nails were transparent nail polish.

If you looked at him hard, a maddening smile would settle on his face. Maybe he was laughing to suppress his stress. His vervain-white teeth were as bright as candlelight. His voice was”soprano, " and his harrowing vibrations were sweet. You were afraid to touch the baby through the window because it would break. It was ringing like a crystal in the sun. Immediately after crying so as not to upset you, he looked like a woman laughing and wiping her eyes. It was a sharp and biting beauty. He noticed it when I took a picture of it with my eye and recorded it in hidden places in my memory. But he laughed again… It was locked in my eyes for ten seconds. All night long, I went crazy for him to do the same thing again.

One of the girls was sent by angels, the other was the devil's seventh daughter who ran away from home. I don't want to talk too bad, but, a homeless man who drank three bottles of wine could have slept with him when he was in an alcohol coma. I don't want to break your heart, but if you were left with him on a deserted island you'd jump in front of the Sharks and swim away. I don't want to overtax you, but, anyone who had sex with him would be sexually angry and asexual. If he slept with his math teacher, he'd be out of numbers. If he was a bodyguard, the teacher would be crippled. If he slept with a doctor, he'd quit the profession, if he slept with a cop, he'd shoot himself., if he'd stayed with the guard, he'd have agreed to life in prison. I don't want to exaggerate, but if he slept with a gorilla, he'd cool it off., if it had entered the zoo, it could have caused the shelter to move. If he fled the country to another continent, they would bomb the continent so that he would never be discovered again. If he went to Mars ... … They poured dry grass into a cloth and wrapped it in white paper. Handan burned the cylinder he made a cigar and handed it to me. When I pulled it out, I got red needles stuck in my throat. It was as bitter as a hard stove smoke. Handan Was Next. He drew a huge breath and blew a cloud of blue smoke. He was always shouting. His voice was so loud and he wanted everyone to hear him. Tropical fruits were on the table. He stopped drinking and spat the cherry core on the floor like a bloody tooth. I wasn't really interested in what he said. I was drinking cool drinks in colored glasses. I wasn't even interested in fruit. I Had My Eye On Dilan. His eyes were marijuana. He pulled his tongue out of the edge of his lip and drew half a moon in the air and pulled it back. With his sharp facial features, he was a real Amazon. Handan explained that he started a new book and solved telekinesis. He said he could influence people far away with his power of thought. It didn't even affect those nearby. With red lettering on the black cover, It said” techniques for developing spiritual powers." I felt like laughing when I saw the book come out of cross-border publications. 🙂At one point, he decked out and ran and hung out the window half to his waist! Only his butt in shorts could be seen “I am in love with love, as Zeki Moren said: I love it!.."he shouted.I was thinking about where it came from to Zeki Müren!…"Where is the strong man who will take this noble woman! HAAA, TELL ME! WHERE'S MY WHITE HORSE RICE?"he blared. "He's definitely not here!” I said to myself. 🙂 Returned to us. He was sweating like an appendage. He was the type to be a goalpost when he played ball in the street.He looked deep into my eyes: He had a side that humiliated people. It was as if he was looking from the opposite side of the binoculars to see them as small. I looked like a solid object.And then he started complaining about the hairdresser who cut his hair wrong. Filhakika's hair was cut like crazy girls in the neighborhood. Trust and I made eye contact. “You're getting the evil eye, girl, the evil eye!"he faded. He was comforted by taking refuge in this secluded port. I put a drink in Dilan's empty glass. He raised his head slowly and pinched his eyelashes. The heat wave in his eyes melted a grain of ice in my mouth. From the crease on the back of her dress, pink lacy underwear was visible. He had a provocative sexuality…*Handan suddenly turned on the TV. He changed channels so fast., one jumped to the other before it opened. He wanted everyone to see his satellite TV with hundreds of channels.So we like Güven ... "he has expensive TV"? We didn't have a TV in our house when we were kids. We were so poor that the word “poverty” came into the country after us. As he sleeps, he looks out the window and likens the rain to movie frames. I'd dream and just sleep…*I didn't see a clock on the wall; we didn't have the concept of time. In one canal, guests were like dogs barking into the opposite garden. The end of the argument bothered me that they hugged and came home. And at home, it was chaotic. I was in a good mood; I was singing a song I changed in a hoarse voice: When I say I want to tell a joke; Guven made a phone call with his little finger and scratched his ear hard. Dilan spoke little, listened with extreme interest. He was sensitive, like putting cream on a child's scrawny shoulder. Handan was playing with his phone. It was about shopping, jewelry, luxury cars, sex, and football. No one talked about poverty. Maybe this was the last place he would talk. I wish I'd been born fifty years ago and not seen today! Because that night, my head was like Ashura, and a Dostoevsky book flew out of my brain!*Everyone began to retreat to the rooms…We're alone with the trust; in a whisper; - I said I want Dilan. - He said My son Dilan had his period, or I'd have arranged it anyway. - Then we don't have to do it with Handan, even if we stick it in him, he won't feel it, chubby. He said If you don't sleep with Handan, you'll close our door in this house, you have all my hope. - Son, am I an English Kemal, what hope, what mission? Everything's gone, and I have to stick it in Handan? I said. And why aren't you going to bed?- My son is very close friends with my girlfriend. Then we'll break the plan. Brother, lay the pipe, please!I found the bedroom. My hand turned slowly on the knob of the door. As the Gladiators entering the arena said to the Great Emperor: “The man who will soon die greets you!” Every unwanted sex meant a little dying… He lay in his bed like a consul's dog. In the room, the Red Night Light was burning to death. The closed curtains were bindall red. The golden satin cover of the round bed was on the floor. ” You know how unworn underwear smells, and you smell like it, " he said. It turned and stuck to my lips. His mouth smelled of rotten straw. It got harder and harder; there were teeth marks all over me. He was eating me alive. His tongue went in and out of my mouth like a little snake. Enthusiasm is ecstatic and makes a person insensitive to the outside world. I patted his ass, like he was growing all the time.Her breasts and vagina were slowly bubbling like Well-fermented dough. I sucked your chest and wanted to split it. He was one of the infinite; he could not be cut off. Then it could be razor-sharp!For him, life was to go to bed, change men, and suffer. His excitement rose from his toes to his alarmed lips. Everything he touched seemed to warm up; he was obviously impressed with me.He took my dick in his mouth, and after a while he came out on top of me. It was narrower than I thought; I was rubbing it with sandpaper. It was an irritation of inverted hair. I just started sliding in. Fortunately, he came right away. Then I came too. I've always counted your reflex: 1-2-3… 19-20-21… The curtains of the room from the wind are like a cinema decor, he disappeared into the Red night and came back.Then I got up and washed. He was looking at me when I came in.I sat on the bed and I said,” Are we going to do it again?" “How is that a word, shame?" said. Right, it was a shame if he was asked, but it was good if he fucked up… I went quietly to the balcony; My Shadow did the same: Suffocating air approaching dawn Neighbor's noisy running air conditioner Television that no one watches Moneyed partisans with dung brains arguing on screen Baby crying from next door Primate who listened to arabesques in the park and broke bottles Spiritual fatigue collapsing on my shoulders Longing for my old blanketI put my back against the wall and fell to the floor. On the balcony, air conditioning water dripped where I was sitting. Listening to these life-shortening noises, I began to wait for the morning. I left the house this morning while everyone was asleep. I got on an empty bus and went to the back. My soul was crippled, I was humiliated. But I had a strange pleasure in pain.He was always going to live in that luxury house. The time will come, he will move into a skyscraper. And I was just a fingerprint on the window of that Skyscraper. I was a minimum-wage Nefer for a cleaning company.He had never suffered from misery; he did not know what absence was. He read books, but it was just licking pages with his eyes. Some think it's a fight book without reading Fight Club; others read the back of gum paper and discover the secrets of the universe.I was a baby rabbit that escaped from a snake. But the poison needed time to take over my body. Faced with this fact, the bodies of orphaned children cut me off. I could feel it, even my fingertips were aching with pain. And this action was against my team.*Flower dust from the garden The smell of food covering the apartment Ashy garbage barrel A gray cloud of flies resembling dust Dedicated to making you happy, more precious than first love That dirty stray animal that loves you more than your mother, waiting for you every day Feveran eden puberty cravings Here I was back in my friendly neighborhood, where I belonged. Actually, I didn't miss them, I missed myself in those years!.. A week later… Looking for trust: - Why haven't you called for how many days? - I'm the one who doesn't call when the phone doesn't ring. - One more word and I'll kill you!!! Don't even sneeze! - Why? - I know you slept with her! 3 if you entered the Oro*pu kids competition. I said You will. He walked away from the handset to avoid laughing. - Why 1. not? quoth. - Because Charlie Chaplin Is In Monte Carlo., He entered the Charlie Chaplin-like contest and finished 3rd. It has happened. I said. And I added: Trust ... I wish I hadn't returned your calls. I said, Maybe you'd come to see me, and I unplugged the phone.Human beings have beautiful periods of suckiness. All of us we tried. First barbecue with the Dragon, and then say, “my hair is on fire”! I chased a rich girl for one night!.. And it was my fault!So, which one tells me better: “If you can't figure out who the sucker is at the gambling table for the first half hour, that means you're the sucker!"the Rounders movie?He drove the royalties from his unwritten novel to the gambling table; and to himself, “When are you going to write a novel?"said the casino owner, “Here I am writing!” Dostoevsky, who can?“A woman presents herself as an idol to the powerless, an object to the strong.” he said and burned all his notes in his hotel room in Turin, Pavese, who committed suicide with 21 sleeping pills?Virginia Woolf, the mermaid who entered the River Ouse with stones in her pockets?Cut off the earlobe and put it in a napkin, Van Gogh who sent it to a fah thing in blood?“I was told I should be afraid of whites, but here all the crimes are committed by my race."the black artist who said" 2Pac? Tell me which one?..We're mad at them, but... aren't my brothers responsible? Doctrine: "when you're young, you think you can connect with anyone. And then you realize it's only gonna happen once in a lifetime.” – Before Sunset

#story #my story #author #funny #long reads #writers

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jeanstoppable · 4 years

Text

20th & 21st OF OCTOBER

~change the channel~ (substitute)

~island in the sun~

(A/N: I cannot, for the life of me, make these prompts shorter. But anyways, here’s some more of my Cyberpunk oc and a bit of world building)

WARNING: Mentions of Drug Use/Dark themes

The door shut with a soft click, the metal barrier cancelling out the harsh and turbulent noise of the downpour outside, as a clear ping pierced the silence of the room, signalling the automatic lock being completed.

I tossed the drenched sling bag somewhere on the floor, hearing it land but not bothering to check where, and started peeling the equally wet jacket off my torso, leaving me in a sleeveless black top.

I should take a shower first. I thought. But my legs didn’t move towards the bathroom to my far right, instead my eyes were fixated on the desk beside my bed, and then gradually brought them up on the old painting displayed right above it.

Later. This can’t wait. Heart and mind decided, I shuffled over to the desk in a sense of urgency, grabbed the painting by its sides and then plucked it from the hook. Flipping the frame around, a black plate covered the back of the canvas. With familiar ease, I slid my fingers across the upper corner edges and found the latch, successfully unfastening the plate to unveil a couple of worn-out journals hidden inside. Untouched.

A breath of relief escaped me, my fear of the notebooks being discovered momentarily disappearing.

I picked out the one I’ve been using as of late—the tenth one if I recall correctly, since I’ve already used up every bit of space from the others—and opened the journal where it had a bookmark.

The yellowed blank pages were a frequent sight as I ran a hand across the smooth surface while my other hand pulled a pen from a cup that was also holding a heap of markers and then started writing my thoughts—

It was a common enough phrase.

“CHANGE THE CHANNEL”

It doesn’t pique interest, at least to...someone like me, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicions, right?

I hovered the nib of the pen slightly above the paper, thinking if I should continue to write about the news we’ve received today. It was shocking enough that I even had to pinch myself a couple of times to see if I was dreaming or not because the news wasn’t just good nor great---it was the best fucking thing I’ve heard in years and it also just happens to be the one we’ve all been waiting for.

Setting down the pen, I reached for the hidden compartment again, took the very first journal I owned and then absently flipped through the filled pages, the crisp, crinkling sounds tenderly jogging my memory.

I stopped at the beginning of the notebook, a reminiscing smile graced my lips as I traced the old ink with the tip of a finger.

Don’t let anyone steal this.

I snorted, of course, this was written on the day I got my ass beat and left without so much of a coin in my pocket—thus, I was forced to resort to stealing. Strangely enough, this journal was the first thing I stole and to this day, I can’t seem to remember the reason why but I do remember how awful the act made me feel, the feeling lasted for days.

Nonetheless, those feelings subsided after getting accustomed to this lifestyle. Crime practically lived and breathed under my skin, these hands and feet of mine becoming my very own accomplices.

I closed my eyes as the usual barrage of emotions washed over me: disappointment, disgust, anger, hate—so much hate and all of it was directed at the only person I can blame at the moment.

Well to be fair, not once did I deny the indisputable fact that I hated how my life turned out, how everything turned out considering that there’s no one even left to impress, no one to see me pretend as if I wasn’t so horribly broken-down on the inside.

I hated how I was still here, anchored by some self-righteous bullshit I’d placed like a burden on my shoulders that one miserable night, a burden that still stubbornly carries the promise of changing the lives of so many other people.

My gaze landed on the scribbled date at the top of the page.

It’s been 6 years since the incident.

I breathed out my nose unevenly and closed the book with a snap, pushing it aside as I returned to the previous journal and picked up the pen to finish today’s log.

It’s happening.. It’s finally happening.

Today marks the fucking day of something revolutionary as we received reports, genuine physical reports, of a planned coup in all of five districts. And I know there had been a lot of them in the past and those who participated lost their lives after being executed on the spot… However, this time around, my gut tells me otherwise.

I think I mentioned this in my previous logs; it’s about the power balance shifting. It began to tip since last year and it hasn’t stopped till now. I fiercely believe that the power will eventually find its way back to us, as it rightfully should.

This was a long time coming after all. Years and years of effort had been put in just to dethrone those who forcefully robbed us of our lives and not just that---Our identities.. Our Family and friends. The voice itself of the public.

Letting out a tortured laugh, I wrote the end of the log:

CHANGE THE CHANNEL

Simple, dismissive and yet it holds the power of treason. It speaks the word of rebellion. I’m not afraid anymore because this phrase will take us one step closer to freedom.

. . .

“...Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Positive.”

I cast my partner a skeptical glance.

“...I’m 80% sure.” He nervously admitted, purposely avoiding my prodding eyes.

A huff of disbelief slipped past my lips as I demanded from him, “What did the message say anyway?”

“It was a recorded message programmed inside a toy, it only said the time and the address before self-destructing. But like I said, I don’t think I got any of the information wrong.”

“Maybe you misheard or missed something because this—”

I swallowed the sentence and did another scan of the building in front of us, our position from an empty terrace across the street granting us to overlook the supposed meeting place, the rendezvous as it turns out was a grand and luxurious night club.

It seemed that access was only given to those in the upper class but since it was fairly new and as far as rumors go, I heard it has an eccentricity to it, so the club wasn’t bustling like the other similar establishments scattered in the district. Still, entry to the venue remains as a privilege only to those who can afford to waste money, in this economy.

I eyed the flashy neon sign just above the main doors with slight distaste and a growing curiosity.

Island in the Sun

The name certainly snatches attention.

After seeing a bunch of people dressed in stylish clothes walk out, I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling a tiny bit insecure about what I’m wearing.

Hell, nothing about my attire was fancy by any means so I shot my partner another worried glance, “Do we really have no further means of communication with them? Do we really have to enter through the front? Can’t we just, you know, sneak inside a window? I mean, we don’t—we’re not—”

I gestured to his clothes and then mine, “We’ll stick out like sore fucking thumbs.”

“You do make a sound point.” He murmured and then lowered his goggles to finally address me, his grey orbs illuminated by the numerous bright neon signs, “I never expected our sponsor to be this...shameless? They’re practically waving their wealth in our faces, makes me wanna take a swipe at them.”

“Arman,” I quietly sighed, “What are we getting ourselves into?”

Is this what having cold feet feels like?

My partner surveyed me for a instant before having the nerve to roll his eyes, “Just treat this as one of our regular heists, Sonya. Aren’t you the least excited to experience what it’s like partying with the upper class?”

I stayed silent, not bothering to tell him that I did have prior experience, and just rubbed my temples, a headache forming at the prospect of how tonight will go.

“Time for a channel change.” My partner winked, his wise words partnered with the small gesture cracked my lips into a smile.

He then put a hand under his chin, thinking carefully as he relayed more of his thoughts, “And maybe get laid by the end of the night.” This time, I was the one to roll my eyes and got a glower from him in exchange.

“You could use it as well… When’s the last time you—”

“Shut the fuck up, Arman.” I tried snapping back but it turned into a laugh instead.

He only grinned toothily, looking guilty but proud, “Less nervous?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“Wait.” He said all of a sudden.

I raised a brow in question, my hands already gripping onto the rails, poised to scale down at any moment.

“Clothes.” Arman waved a hand and I grimaced.

“Ah yeah, right.”

A terse silence passed before we both launched smirks at each other, the same heinous idea forming in our minds as he pointed towards a closed clothing shop a few blocks away.

“What say you for one more heist this evening? It won’t be as grandiose as the previous ones, I’m afraid.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

. . .

Your ass looks nice in that.

Yeah? I’m taking this one then.

...Well?

Your ass always looks great, Arman.

So you’re saying mine looks better? Thanks.

Wear a skirt and then we’ll talk.

Oh, Sonya, just watch and learn.

. . .

I leaned against a street light, scrutinising our target club while waiting for my partner to finish finding the ‘perfect outfit’ as he called it, his words not mine. In the end, I settled for a wine coloured fitted dress with a criss-cross pattern exposing my back, a black corset on top, a semi transparent blazer for my shoulders, and then I picked out simple knee length combat boots—in case the deal goes awry and we had to flee.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I peeked over and my jaw dropped as soon as I laid eyes on Arman.

He was wearing a skin tight turtleneck black dress, showing off his lean but toned figure, a beautiful velvet burgundy blazer that looked amazing on his broad shoulders and then his shoes were thick polished combat boots, almost same as mine, the only difference was his heels were an inch higher, making him look taller than he normally is.

I whistled in pure awe, “Damn, Island in the Sun is about to get a whole lot hotter.”

A smug expression graced his handsome features when he walked past me, swaying his ass deliberately, “Told you so,”

I huffed at his haughty but rightfully placed attitude and caught up to him, looping an arm around his, “Well, won’t you tell me—am I your designated arm candy or are you mine?”

“Why can’t we just be both?”

We toned down the volume of our conversation when we neared the establishment, Arman breaking off as he walked up to the main entrance. It was as we expected, one of the large bouncers blocked him immediately and then pointed to the side towards the long line of people waiting for their own turn.

Arman straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms, “We have an appointment with your employer.”

The bouncer examined my partner from head to toe, not looking the least convinced although the second after, he pressed a button on his collar, “Can you direct me to the boss’ line?”

“Hey!” A voice shouted off to the side where the line was, “Wait in line like the rest of—”

I whirled on whoever was speaking and gave them my most vicious glare, that person stopped in the middle of their sentence and then promptly averted their eyes. I scoffed at them.

“Boss, there’s two individuals here that say they have an appointment with you.” The bouncer said, nodding while listening to his receiver and then finally turned back to Arman, “I apologise but the boss doesn’t have any more appointments for tonight.”

Arman took this information calmly and then leaned in, a hand covering his lips as he whispered something to the bouncer, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.

The bouncer’s eyes widened, stared at Arnan and me before ultimately stepping aside, handing us two glowing yellow bracelets, “I’m sorry for the delay, the boss is expecting you.”

My partner brightened and accepted the bracelets, holding me by my wrist as he ushered us past the main entrance. Still confused about the whole ordeal, I reluctantly put on the accessory without saying a word, the bracelet giving a weird sting when it made contact with my skin, and then followed Arman inside.

“What was that?” I asked the moment we’re left alone.

“Did you forget why we’re here?” He quipped back cheerfully and the realisation struck me later than I would have liked.

“...What do you think this is for?” I changed the subject to both our glowing bracelets, raising mine to my eye level just to get a good look at it.

“I don’t know. Gimmicks?” Arman absently rubbed his, faintly knotting his eyebrows and then started inspecting the empty hallway we were walking through, “For a club named Island in the Sun, it doesn’t seem very hot.”

We reached the end of the hallway and the doors opened upon sensing us, revealing another set of corridors, three to be exact that split into different directions: There was muffled music coming from our right, while there’s really faint sounds of people chattering to the left, and then nothing from the one ahead of us.

I took a step towards the middle corridor, figuring it was where we needed to go but Arman blocked an arm in my way, “Don’t you want to check out the other rooms? We might as well explore before we get kicked out after our appointment.”

My expression definitely disapproved of the idea and he could see that, although I think I might’ve surprised him when I agreed to his request, “No more than five minutes.”

His grey orbs gleamed with excitement, “I’ll go this way,” he pointed to the right, “Take the left.” With that said, Arman pivoted and headed for the direction with the music, and I walked towards the left corridor.

The doors were glass so I’d seen what was inside while waiting for them to open.

I scrunched my brows in bewilderment at what awaited me. The room was massive so to say and furthermore, it has a second floor filled with—What were those? There were these weird opaque bubbles that had a hatch on the front with a keypad beside it and almost all of them were lit, vague silhouettes of people moving to and fro inside but nothing more than that.

My eyes landed on the pit with a glass dome in the centre, a couple of people were lounging on long circular couches whilst socialising with each other. I was so focused on the bizarre scene that I didn’t notice the doors sliding open and the cyborg standing off to the side, making me almost jump when it had announced itself.

WELCOME. WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

“I---uh, what...does that mean exactly?” I awkwardly rubbed my nape, feeling the need to occupy my shaking hands as I peered up at the cyborg.

WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DEMONSTRATE HOW OUR ISLANDS WORK?

I simply nodded and the cyborg’s eyes immediately flashed bright, projecting a hologram into the empty space between us, leaving me to watch in wonder as a 3D model of one of the bubbles appeared.

ESSENTIALLY, OUR SPHERICAL ISLANDS ARE DESIGNED TO SERVE AS ADVANCED PRIVATE SUITS FOR SPECIAL CUSTOMERS. ITS CURVED WALLS ARE BUILT-IN WITH HIGH POWERED LED SCREENS THAT LETS YOU PROJECT ANY KIND OF SCENERY YOU’D PREFER AND IT’S ALSO COMPLETE WITH FURNITURE THAT CAN SATISFY TO EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOUR NEEDS.

The holograms changed and now it showed one of those glowing bracelets.

WHILE YOU’RE INSIDE THE CLUB, WE WILL ALSO EXCLUSIVELY PROVIDE YOU WITH OUR CLUB’S HOTTEST PRODUCT TO MAKE YOUR NIGHT BETTER AND MORE ENJOYABLE.

I frowned, asking warily, “Product?”

I’M PROHIBITED TO EXPLAIN ANY FURTHER DETAILS OF THE PRODUCT. HOWEVER, YOU CAN FIND OUT FOR YOURSELF THROUGH ONE OF OUR ISLANDS, THE PIT, OR IN THE PARTY ROOM.

Something cold settled in my stomach, “The party room...it’s the room opposite this one , right?”

CORRECT. NOW, THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF OUR CLUB’S COMMODITIES, WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCURE AN ISLAND?

I shook my head, about to refuse the offer when a question crossed my mind, “...How much is one island?”

The cyborg turned off the projection and turned its gaze downwards, scanning my bracelet through its lens.

NO PAYMENT NEEDED FOR VIP CUSTOMERS.

“VIP...?” My throat dried up as I covered the bracelet on my wrist with a hand, “I...won’t be taking an island, thank you.” The cyborg merely bowed and then went back to its corner, waiting for someone new to serve.

“Shit, I have a bad feeling about this.” I said to myself, returning to the intersection from before and making my way towards the party room.

The moment the doors slid open, the music hit me and my eardrums in full blast. I winced at the intensity of it and more so at the large crowd dancing and grooving to the loud beat. It was difficult to even hear my own voice. I internally groaned, how am I supposed to find him at this rate?

Keeping my eyes sharp despite it being extremely dark and the occasional blinding strobe lights, I moved through the mob of people pressed against one another, awkwardly bumping into some people dancing and then sometimes getting pushed back. I bit my lip, refraining from picking a fight as I held on to my rapidly waning patience.

All of a sudden, someone slapped a hand to my ass and the leash briefly snapped—I quickly rounded on that person, a fist almost flying out when I saw that the hand belonged to a man a couple of inches shorter than me with a greasy sneer on his face.

“Do that again...” I fisted his shirt and followed with a violent promise, “And you’ll go home left-handed.” I threatened, my voice brimming with spite.

Once I saw the frightened understanding in his eyes, I released him and turned away. “Arman, you better show yourself right now.” I growled.

Finally, I spotted a familiar burgundy jacket behind a pillar and I set my sights on it, carelessly pushing my way through, ignoring the curses and rude remarks of the people I shoved because I have had enough of this.

I shouldn’t have to search for him.

As I got closer to the pillar, I only noticed then that he was making out with someone. Oh you’re dead. My fingers shot out to grab the shoulder of the man I’ve been searching for, ready to cuss at him till his ears fall off.

“Oi! What the fuck happened to five minutes?!”

I halted as I met face to face with a stranger, and not at all my partner, “A-ah, I’m sorry I thought you were—“ My eyes flicked towards the person standing beside them.

“Arman!” I shouted, obviously relieved to see him alright but then remembered I was still pissed off, “What the hell? I was looking all over for you!”

His eyebrows creased for a moment before a loopy smile graced his lips, “Sonya! I’m sorry, I got a bit distracted…” Arman’s gaze trailed off to the side but at the same time, he gripped the waist of the man he kissed earlier closer to his body.

I gawked at him. Honestly speechless. But then I lashed out a hand to circle around his wrist, the one with that damned bracelet, and discovered that the yellow glow was at half now.

This was their exclusive product.

I fumed as I took out a spare light from the pocket of my blazer and yanked his head down to my level, “Let me see your fucking eyes.”

I shined the light on them and noticed how bloodshot they were, his pupils were unusually blown wide. I cursed again, letting out my frustrations, “Arman, you’re blazed!”

“What?! No, no, no. I-I haven’t taken any.” He stumbled over his words, making me doubt him even more.

“Excuse me.” A new voice piped in.

I flipped my attention to Arman’s...date? Lover? Who the hell cares, I completely forgot he was even there, “Aren’t you being a bit rude? Who are you anyways?” The man asked snobbishly while squinting at me.

I glared back, a dangerous smile framing my painted lips, “I’m his girlfriend. Who are you?”

“Sonya!” Arman yelled in disbelief.

The man mouth hung open and then tried explaining himself, “I-I’m—“

I held up a finger, “You know what, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” Locking an arm around Arman’s, I pulled him away from the man and roughly dragged him across the dance floor and towards the exit.

Once we got back to the main hallway, I let him go and stared him down with my arms placed on my hips, “What was that, Arman?” I gritted out, trying to be as calm as I can without blowing a fuse.

“Give me a minute.” He panted, “It’s so damn hot, ugh.”

“What are you saying, you’ve only been in there for less than twenty minutes.” I looked at him confused but then clearly saw the heavy perspiration forming on his skin, “Hey...you’re sweating really bad.”

“I’m sorry, Sonya.” He apologised, breathing large gulps of air while leaning on the wall, “I’m sorry you had to cover for me back there.”

My gaze softened as I stood beside him, “It’s nothing…”

“I know I really screwed up for not being careful, but I swear—Sonya, I swear I didn’t take any drugs.” Arman gripped my arms, looking me wildly in the eyes.

“Don’t worry..I believe you.” I assured him, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “It might’ve been that stuck-up date of yours, did you notice him touch your bracelet while you were together?”

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, a deeply disturbed expression slowly contorted his features, “Yeah...Yeah, he did.”

I let out a rough exhale, controlling the rage that sweeped me off, now twice as strong, “If I ever see that fucker—“

A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention back as I faced Arman, letting him see the murderous expression on my features.

“The appointment.” He reminded me softly.

“...Right…right. Are you sure you’re okay now?”

He pushed off the wall and gave me a tiny smile that broke my heart.

“...You know, you’re giving Tilly a run for her money—I mean, showing up to a sponsor’s meeting high? Not even she has the balls to do that.”

Arman chuckled, a dark look passing his expression as he bitterly said, “I bet that they’re expecting us to attend already intoxicated.”

I hummed in agreement, “So, our first sponsor’s a drug enthusiast, huh?”

“Ready?”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

TBC

(A/N: I WAS SUPPOSED TO INCLUDE MEETING THE BOSS BUT ITS TOO LONG wowowow, these prompts are now integrated into my story, I swear I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this—but ANYWAYS. I’m kinda living for this unhinged oc of mine, and this duo?? I had so much fun writing about theit dynamic. However sad to say, this will be the last of them for now... as it goes, i must move on to other ignored ocs PEACEEE)

#alkinktober #inktober prompt #myoc #mywriting #cyberpunk oc #cyberpunk #cyberpunk fic #THIS WAS #SO MUCH FUN??#I am also loving this duo

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fracturedmotivationwriting · 4 years

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girls night

Datura threw her door open wide at the sound of knocking. With the new addition of Fiona to their little coven, Datura decided it was time for a girls' night. It was the perfect way for the ladies to all get to know each other a little better. Plus, Datura loved hosting people.

"Good evening, my children," Datura greeted Prometheus and Fiona dramatically. She stepped aside, sweeping her arm behind her as she beckoned them in.

"Welcome to my little slice of heaven... Or hell?" Datura paused, furrowing her eyebrows. "I suppose my home should belong to the same realm as I do."

Prom rolled her eyes at Datura's antics, quickly sitting in her usual spot of the armchair near Datura's window. The first time Datura had ever invited the girl over, she had immediately claimed the chair as her place. It was a large, burgundy wingback armchair that Datura had found at a thrift store. It seemed perfectly fitting for Prom.

Fiona stepped into the witch's apartment a little more carefully, eying the decor curiously. She had never stepped into Datura's apartment. She had only snuck glances inside as Datura rushed in and out. It was a lot like she had expected. The walls were adorned with artwork, presumably some Datura-originals and some purchased, but all dark and twisty. Plants were scattered about on every surface, some hung from the ceiling, and even what appeared to ivy crawling up the walls (although, Fiona had never seen ivy that looked quite like that). There were also candles everywhere, all aflame and somehow not catching the plants or other decor on fire. Datura had probably charmed them so as not to cause a fire. And of course, Fiona caught sight of what she supposed were witch essentials: a basket full of crystals, tarot cards, voodoo dolls (and some spare fabrics and string) off to the side, a few knives of different metals sitting atop velvet in some sort of case, what looked like little cauldrons, some chalices... Anything you could think of that a witch might use: Datura had it.

Datura watched Fiona carefully as the human stepped further into the apartment, her hand raising to touch one of the more unique plants in the room.

"I wouldn't do that," Datura piped up, a small smile pulling at her lips. There was trouble in her eyes, however, betraying her calm tone. "That there is a highly volatile plant. It was bred specifically to kill people in perhaps the most agonizing way possible."

Fiona drew her hand back, giving Datura a slightly alarmed look. The witch simply shrugged.

"My parents gave it to me when I was sixteen. I've nurtured it ever since," she explained, plopping herself down onto one of the pillows surrounding her coffee table. She motioned for Fiona to take a seat. The girl opted to perch herself on the couch across from her, sitting closer to Prom.

"What are those," Fiona asked curiously, pointing to the small wooden box Datura was closing up. Inside it was a few "joints," but Fiona hadn't caught the scent of marijuana when she came inside. Datura's smiled grew to her usual cheery one.

"Think of them as smokable potions," Datura grinned, clearly excited about the notion. "It's something I've been working on for a long time. Some of them are very successful, like this one. It's a mixture of lavender, kava kava, and crocodile heart. It's meant to calm you and reduce anxieties, but in high doses can put someone right to sleep."

Fiona looked both impressed and intrigued. She leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the joint Datura was holding, but Datura dropped it back in the box.

"Some of them, however, have not proven very successful," she sighed, closing the box and placing it on a shelf behind her. "It's not exactly easy trying to turn very liquid potions into solid joints meant to be smoked."

"Datura showed Pollux these shortly after we met her," Prom interjected, turning her head to Fiona. "At the time the only successful one she had was the calming one. All the others were failing miserably. There was even one that was meant to help you see to the other side, but all it successful did was give you a killer headache and the hiccups. But Pol was so impressed by the idea and the work she'd done, that he started helping her."

Datura laughed at the memory, nodding her head. Pollux had been a big help in refining her potion-joints. There were still many that needed fixing, many that they needed to find substitute ingredients for, but they were making progress.

Datura was about to share another funny anecdote about a failed potion-joint when there was knocking at the door. Furrowing her eyebrows, Datura got up to answer. She wasn't expecting anyone else -- this was girls only and she didn't have any real friends outside the coven.

Cautiously opening the door, she was greeted with the smug grin of one very handsome demon. Ambrose was standing there, leaning against her doorframe looking all too sexy, with a bottle of wine in his hand.

"I heard there was a slumber party, and I just had to crash it," he teased, winking down at the witch. "Please tell me you haven't started the pillow fights without me."

The demon tried to step past Datura, ready to greet the other two witches with more flirtatious words, but the small witch gripped the doorframe. Blocking his path with her arm, she glared up at him. Ambrose easily could have overpowered her, but the look in her eyes was a bit intimidating and that intrigued him.

"It's girls only, Ambrose," Datura informed him, her voice making it clear that this was not up for debate. Behind her, Datura could hear Prom chuckling at the sight of the small witch staring down the demon.

Ambrose sighed heavily. With a little extra drama than necessary, he rolled his eyes and started grumbling before changing his appearance. Maybe this was something the demon shouldn't have done out in the hallway, but Datura wasn't giving him a choice.

A second later, a very female, very attractive demon stood before Datura. She looked a lot like Ambrose: still blonde hair, perfect skin, great body, and a devilish smirk. She was also still a good foot taller than the little witch.

"Better?" Amber drawled, batting her eyelashes for extra measure. Datura's lips quirked into a small smile as she stepped aside and ushered the demon in.

"All the same to me, if I'm Ambrose or Amber, darlings," the demon continued, flashing cheeky smiles to Fiona and Prom. "I'm still just as willing to have a bit of... fun with you ladies."

Datura rolled her eyes as she took her seat again. Shaking her head, she went back to rearranging the crystals on the coffee table.

"No funny business tonight, Amber," she sassed, smirking at the demon's pout as she sat next to Fiona. Datura eyed the way Amber draped an arm carefully over the human's shoulders and the human seemed to melt into her. Apparently, those two were now a 'thing,' given the body language. Datura vaguely wondered if Fiona preferred Amber or Ambrose. And if Grisha knew what was going on.

"Well, if there's not going to be any 'funny business,' then what is the plan, Tura?" Prom asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow at the setup the witch had made on the coffee table.

In the center of the table laid an old paintbrush, the hair practically falling out and the wooden handle well-worn. Around it sat various purple and blue candles, Prom knew these were especially useful in enhancing psychic powers and communication. Small crystals laid between each candle, and some incense laid just above the circ;e Datura had created. Judging by the smell, it was likely frankincense.

Prom sat up a little straighter, looking a bit scared -- or as scared as Prom ever looked, which wasn't very. Really, her features looked as calm as ever but there was a slight difference in her eyes. Less chaos in them than usual. Datura thought that meant Prom was worried or scared, but honestly she wasn't sure.

"Are we... Is this a seance?" Prom asked carefully, meeting Datura's eye.

The other witch grinned with a nod of her head, motioning for everyone to join her on the floor.

"Indeed it is, oh fearless leader," she laughed. She may have thought that Prom looked frightened, but she wasn't about to encourage that. Besides, she was probably wrong in her judgment.

"Now that Amber is training our lovely, little Fiona to be a witch, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to hold a seance," she admitted as the duo on the couch joined her on the floor. Prom was still in her chair.

"Why now?" Fiona asked, furrowing her eyebrows. "Why start with this?"

"Well, it's relatively easy magic when you're in a group," Datura explained. "It's not the easiest thing we could teach you, but I figured it would be a little more fun than reading tea leaves or tarot cards. But I do plan on teaching those some other day. I'll leave the big stuff to Amber and Prom to teach you. I call dibs on my favorite little things."

Amber chuckled, shaking her head. Of course, the witches were going to leave all the heavy lifting to her. Although... It did make sense since she was the one giving Fiona her abilities... Actually, pretty sound logic. Amber didn't have the patience to teach the small stuff.

"Now, Prom, get down here before I have Amber physically pull you down here," Datura instructed, holding a hand out to the witch.

Prom reluctantly lowered herself to the floor, accepting Datura's hand. She held Fiona's in her other, and Amber sat across from her holding the human and the other witch's hands. Amber caught Prom's eye and noticed the same lack of usual chaos that Datura had. Amber, however, was a bit more adept at reading people. Came with the whole being a demon thing. And she could clearly see that Prom was definitely worried, perhaps even frightened, to do this. It didn't make sense to Amber. This was the witch that summoned her, a demon, on a whim, and yet she was stressing over a little seance? Something else was going on.

But it was too late to stop it, Datura was quickly explaining to Fiona the steps of a proper seance. They were apparently trying to connect with some dead painter -- Amber wasn't really listening but she caught something about how Datura had to use some charms to convince a museum to give her this paintbrush. Then Datura was muttering Latin, her eyes closed and head bowed. And suddenly the room had dropped ten degrees. The candles flickered but stayed lit. A strong wind seemed to pass through the room, though, causing the hanging plants to sway back and forth.

Prom looked like she was going to puke. Amber knew it wasn't because the magic was draining her, she was far too strong for that, but this was something emotional. She snuck a glance to her left at Fiona. The redhead looked shocked, but the awe-inspired kind of shocked. She was enjoying this. Amber turned her eyes to Datura. The witch was still muttering under her breath, but her eyes were scrunched tight. Her grip was tightening around Amber's hand. She looked almost distressed and confused. Like she was being blocked in her path towards the right spirit.

Suddenly, Datura's eyes flew open with a gasp. Amber almost made a joke about the girl being overdramatic -- who really gasps at a seance anymore? Certainly not a witch as strong as Datura. But then Amber caught sight of the spirit that had arrived.

Sometimes in seances, the spirits simply speak through the host. It takes a lot of power on both ends -- the witches and the spirits -- for a spirit to corporealize. Had Amber not been there, it would have been unlikely the three witches could have pulled a spirit into this realm. Even with witches as strong as Prom and Datura. Doing so was near necromancy. But with a demon, it was more than easy enough to pull the spirit through to the other real.

But Amber hadn't been trying to do that for the girls. At least, she wasn't consciously making an effort to do so. She supposed that maybe she hadn't needed to. Surely, that was the explanation as to why there was a flickering male spirit standing just beyond Prom's shoulder.

Never mind the fact that the spirit looked an awful lot like Prometheus.

Everybody but Prom was staring at the spirit, seemingly speechless. Of course, Datura broke the chilly silence.

"You aren't Vincent," she mused, addressing the spirit. "You... You tried to tell me something while you were traveling here. What was it?"

Datura used the term 'traveling' lightly. When she had started the seance, she'd immediately run into a roadblock of sorts. That roadblock was a spirit, this spirit. She suspected that he didn't have to travel very far. He had been here before, he just needed some assistance breaking through to this side of the realm.

"My name," the spirit spoke up, bowing his head to look down at Prom. The witch still hadn't acknowledged his presence.

"Prometheus the first. Although, when I was alive it was merely Prometheus."

All eyes turned to Prom. This was going to be an interesting explanation.

#witches and ghosts and demons oh my

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thedisneychef · 1 year

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Beef Bourguignon: Rich and Complex French Classic Dish

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innajam · 5 years

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I've gotten many requests for rhubarb jam over the years. I never was able to find a local grower, so this year I reached a bit further - all the way up to Oregon! We got some gorgeous fresh and lusciously red rhubarb from an organic farm up near Portland and made it into pure rhubarb jam!⁣ ⁣ This jam isn't punch-you-in-the-face sour - I would consider more on the tart end of the spectrum, with notes of plum and mulled wine and that very specific rhubarb flavor and a lingering tartness. Texture-wise, we chopped up the rhubarb nice and small, so it's smooth and spreadable (and not fibrous). ⁣ ⁣ If you miss our no-longer-in-production japanese burgundy plum jam (the farmers retired so we can't get this fruit anymore), this might be a good substitute. This first batch was pretty small, so it's super limited edition. Available from our website and our Emeryville Kitchen shop. Enjoy! #innajam (at INNA pickle INNA jam) https://www.instagram.com/p/ByLUqGEpMSs/?igshid=18jz8cfco9k7p

#innajam

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writinggeisha · 5 years

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Your first mental image when thinking about lips or mouths might be a passionate kiss. Percy Bysshe Shelley said “Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.” However, lips and mouths are more than kissing (or eating) machines. This post provides hundreds of ways to describe them in creative writing and poetry.

Emotion Beats

The way people move their lips and mouths reflects overt or hidden emotions.

Pouting might indicate agitation, aggravation, confusion, contemplation, disapproval, disbelief, dislike, exasperation, flirtatiousness, impatience, irritability, nervousness, pessimism, resentment, sadness, skepticism, suspicion, wariness, worry, et al.

In fact, pouting can imply so many emotions that it’s probably best to consider alternative body language.

A few more emotions mirrored by lips and mouths include:

Adulation, arousal, flirtatiousness Parted lips Running tongue over the lips

Anticipation of a delicious snack or entrée Smacking the lips Watering/salivating mouth

Determination Pressing lips into a thin line

Dislike Pressing lips into a thin line

Fear Bad taste in the mouth Chewing on lips Clenched mouth Dry mouth Gaping mouth Gulping huge mouthfuls of air Licking the lips Trembling lips

Impatience Pinched lips

Repressed hatred Pressing lips into a thin line

Shyness Pinched lips

Skepticism Biting the lips

Stubbornness Tight lips or mouth

Uncertainty Forceful exhalation through pursed lips

Adjectives (1)

Adjectives such as haughty save words by telling about a character’s motives or personality. Use sparingly. They function well in flash fiction or third-person omniscient point of view, and when you want to speed the pace.

Several adjectives, when describing lips, may suggest something different when describing mouths.

Provocative lips might indicate a seductive tone, but a provocative mouth might be aggravating.

Demanding lips evoke a sexual image, whereas a demanding mouth implies an overbearing character.

Generous lips might be large, or they might be yielding and responsive. Provide context if necessary.

Rather than modify lips or mouth, a number of the following words could refer to faces, expressions, or motivations.

Many skin attributes also perform well as lips and mouth descriptors.

A Active, adulterous, adventurous, affectionate, aflame, aggressive, alluring, amorous, amorphous, ample, appealing, ardent, audacious, avid, awkward

B Barbarous, belligerent, bewitching, bitchy, bitter, bloody, bone-dry, bony, Botoxed, boyish, brash, brutal, busy

C Cadaverous, callous, capable, capacious, careworn, carnivorous, caustic, cautious, cavernous, chaste, cheerful, cheery, childlike, clumsy, coarse, coherent, cold, complacent, conspicuous, contemptuous, corrugated, critical, crooked, cruel, crumpled, cynical

D Dainty, dead, delectable, delicate, delicious, demanding, demure, desirous, desiccated, determined, devilish, disdainful, dispirited, disrespectful, dissatisfied, doll-like, dour, downcast, droll, dry

E Eager, effeminate, elastic, electric, eloquent, energetic, enigmatic, enthusiastic, evil, expectant, experienced, expressionless, expressive, exquisite

F Fascinating, fevered, feverish, fine, firm, flaccid, flat, flawless, fleshy, flexible, flirtatious, foolish, forceful, formless, foul, fragile, fragrant, frigid, frothy, full, furrowed, furtive

G Generous, gentle, girlie, girlish, glassy, glib, glossy, gnomish, goofy, grave, greasy, greedy, grim, grotesque

H Hard, haughty, heartless, heavy, helpless, heretical, hesitant, honeyed, hungry

I Icy, impassioned, impassive, impatient, imperious, impertinent, impetuous, implacable, impudent, incoherent, inflamed, inflexible, innocent, insatiable, inscrutable, insubstantial, intractable, inviolate, irreverent

J Juicy

K Kissable

L Lax, leathery, lecherous, lewd, libelous, libidinous, licentious, lifeless, loathsome, loose, lopsided, lovable, luscious, lush, lustful

M Malicious, manly, masculine, masterful, meager, meaty, merciless, merry, mischievous, misshapen, moist, motionless, mute, mutinous

N Narrow, nasty, naughty, nervous, numb

O Obstinate, oily, oversized

P Passionate, pathetic, pebbly, perfect, perfumed, petulant, pinched, piquant, playful, pliable, pliant, plump, practiced, prim, prodigious, profane, proficient, prominent, proud, provocative, puffy, pugnacious

Q Querulous

R Randy, rapacious, ravenous, raw, relentless, reluctant, repulsive, resolute, responsive, restless, reticent, reverent, rigid, ripe, rough, rubbery, ruthless

S Sacrilegious, sad, sarcastic, sardonic, sassy, satirical, saucy, savage, scabrous, scaly, scornful, scurrilous, seductive, sensitive, sensuous, serious, sexy, shapeless, shrunken, silent, silky, sinful, skillful, slack, slick, slippery, sloppy, smooth, soft, sore, sour, spicy, stained, starving, stern, sticky, stiff, stony, strong, stubborn, submissive, succulent, sulky, sullen, sultry, sunken, sweet, swollen

T Talented, tense, tentative, thick, thin, thirsty, tight, timid, toothless, tough, traitorous, tremulous, truculent

U Uncertain, uncooperative, unrelenting, unresponsive, unsatisfied, unsmiling, unwilling, unyielding, upturned

V Vacuous, virgin, voluble, voluptuous, voracious, vulgar

W Wanton, warm, waspish, waxen, well-cut, wet, wide, willing, winsome, wistful, withered, witty, wormy, worshipful, wrinkled, wry

Y Yielding, youthful

Adjectives (2): Upper Lip

Although some of these adjectives might suit lips or mouth, they excel for describing the upper lip:

A to Z Bifurcated, bushy, clean-shaven, furry, hairless, hairy, long, mustachioed, naked, perspiring, short, stubbly, sweaty, whiskered

Adjectives (3): Lower Lip

Likewise for the lower lip:

A to Z Droopy, exaggerated, floppy, generous, missing, non-existent, pendulous, sagging, soul-patched, split, square-cut

Adjectives (Misc.)

Besides describing lips and mouths, writers can:

Describe the teeth, or mention missing teeth

Describe a person’s smile.

Similes and Metaphors

When creating comparisons, familiar animals are a good place to start. Readers know what they look like and will conjure an immediate image of the lips so compared.

Some of the following act as adjectives, while others function best in as or like similes. For example:

Fred had horse lips.

Fred had lips that looked like they belonged on a horse.

A to Z Angel fish, apish, baboon, baboon’s butt, bestial, bovine, camel, Cheshire cat, chimpanzee, chipmunk, dead fish, duck, frog, giraffe, goldfish, horse, largemouth bass, leeches, lizard, porcupine’s back, raw oysters, reptilian, serpentine, simian, squirrel, toad, twin slugs, zebra

Other comparisons could include:

A to Z Ancient prunes, angel’s cheek, blow-up doll’s maw, bread dough, cherries, embers, glue, lily petals, overstuffed sausages, pincushion, pinecone, plum, pomegranate blossoms, raspberries, raw liver, rose petals, rosebuds, rubies, sandpaper, satin, suction cups, twin cacti, velvet, vise grips

And here are a few more thought starters:

Awkward as a newborn trying to find his mama’s nipple

Bigger than his ego

Deader than a slab of cement

Dry as the Sahara

Foul as an overflowing cesspit

Fragile as butterfly wings

Large as Texas

Like a cow chewing its cud

Moist like morning dew

More brutal than a pounding sledgehammer

Smelly as an old sock

Colors

Foods excel as color substitutes. Words such as cherry, bubble-gum, and tangerine capture color, scent, and taste.

In a modern novel, lipstick and stage makeup allow lips to be almost any color. Not so much in a Victorian-era piece.

A to F Anemone-pink, ashen, bloodless, bubble-gum, burgundy, carnelian, cherry, colorless, coral, coralline-red, cotton-candy, crimson, flamingo, florid, freckled

G to Z Golden, grey/gray, licorice-twist, pale, pallid, pasty, peach, pink, purple, red, rosy, ruddy, seashell-pink, sunburnt, sunset-scarlet, swarthy, tangerine, vermillion, wan, wine-red