#the originals are way spicier than I intended

[saruin]

Is that for me?

#render #when I tell you these are heavily censored #the originals are way spicier than I intended #melts #happy valentine's day #sim spice #sim: ciel #sim: zimri

[imagines-by-cleo]

Helloo girliee ✨

Thank you so much for doing the works of the lordt and feeding us horny simps 🧎‍♀️🙇‍♀️

If it's ok with you can we have a steamy and cute smut where commander erwin is fucking y/n's brains out then she suddenly got cramps hahahahha

Hehehhehhe 👉👈

Ask and ye shall receive my child. Tbh this one took me a while cause like this is not what I expected to get when I started taking requests lol but I'm happy to write it for my lovely audience.

This request 👆 came in while I was struggling with the original so I figured I might as well just kill two birds with one stone and make this fic a bit longer and a lil spicier than I originally intended.

Also this is absolutely in character for Erwin since we know he doesn't flinch at the sight of blood lol.

CW: SMUT, body worship, nipple play, begging, dirty talk, blood, period sex, shower sex, daddy kink, slight breeding, spanking, aftercare

Turning to face the sound of the opening door you found Erwin had finally come home from work, by the way he sighed as he loosened his tie you could tell he hadn't had the best day. You watched him from your place in bed while he took off his outer layer of clothes leaving him in only boxers while he staggered over to you. His much larger body encased yours when he crawled on top of you, sighing at the warmth he found as he rested his weight onto you. You wiggled under the pressure to pry the blanket out from between you so you could cover him with it.

"I missed you." You mumbled before kissing him.

Erwin's mouth lingered on yours for a long while before he parted to reply. "I missed you too, have you been in bed all day?"

"Yeah, I wasn't feeling well this morning." You answered.

"Are you getting sick?" He asked, putting his hand on your forehead and feeling your temperature.

"I don't think so, I'm just a little tired." You told him.

"Hmmm, in that case I should do whatever I can to make you feel better." He proposed, peppering kisses along your jawline.

"I like the sound of that." You replied, as he trailed lower.

Inevitably working his way down past your collarbone he landed on your breasts, humming while taking them into his hands and deciding to dip his nose into your cleavage. An action that would have made you laugh if your chest wasn't feeling so tender.

"Ow! Easy, those are sore right now." You informed him.

Leaning back Erwin delicately lifted your shirt over up without completely removing it, exposing only what he needed. The warmth of his breath combated the cold air of the room as he gently touched the tip of his tongue to your swollen nipple. Shuddering at the contact you did your best to focus on the pleasure and not how one potential rough movement could cause you so immense pain. Enclosing his lips around your hardening bud while drawing circles with his finger over the other, covering one in saliva then switching to the next and giving it the same treatment. Eliciting shaking breaths from you, arching your back upward into the feeling of him sucking at your skin, teeth grazing your nipples sending shocks through your body and causing you to audibly gasp. He removed his mouth, leaving his hands to massage your breasts as he savored your reactions.

"That feels good doesn't it?" Erwin asked, wearing a satisfied smile.

You nodded, biting your lip as he pinched your nipples. "Touch me more." You whined.

On command his hands wandered down your sides, stopping at the waistband of your underwear to simply stroke the skin as they slid underneath. You raised your hips and wiggled them, signaling him to take your panties off. Which he did, savoring inch of your legs that he could possibly touch while lifting your them up to slide the fabric off, raising a trail goosebumps left under his delicate caress. You kept your legs in the air resting your ankles on his broad shoulders, feeling the taut muscles flex underneath.

Feeling more accessible now rather than exposed you moved your hand between your thighs spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, fully expecting Erwin to taunt how needy you were only to watch his mouth fall open at the sight. With eyes fixated on your body he hurriedly pulled himself out of his boxers, dripping cock springing free aching for it's destination. He leaned close, an acton that pressed your knees into your chest while the tip of his length teased your entrance. Hungrily kissing you while panting into your mouth like a wild animal, tongue dancing with yours as he tried to devour you whole.

Collective moans vibrating through your throats as he pushed in, without taking the time to prepare you properly the sting of being stretched blended bittersweetly with the relief of finally being filled. After stuffing you with every inch Erwin started to grind into you, the friction against your clit making you whine.

"All those noises you make." He breathed out, pressing his forehead to yours. "They're making it hard for me to be gentle with you."

"Don't be." You begged staring into his blue eyes filled with the same desperation. "Just use me, please."

You rolled your hips trying to match his movements as he started to thrust at a rapidly increasing rate, clenching around nothing while he pulled out almost completely before fully shoving back in. Repeating this movement enough times to make you grasp at the sheets, spiraling into a moaning mess under the power of his thrusts. Your tits started to jiggle in time, still feeling sensitive from his treatment and. catching Erwin's gaze when they bounced. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, only for you to realize too late when it released that it was for a far less pleasurable reason.

"Hey, wait stop." You groaned, clutching at your abdomen.

After an involuntary jerk of his hips he stilled, panting as he struggled to find the will to pull out. Sitting up to look between your bodies you were surprised to see that much blood, the urge to cover your face was overwhelming while both of you staring in silence processing what happened.

"I'm so sorry!" You gasped. "I had no idea, I thought-"

"Get up." He cut you off. "Before you bleed on my sheets."

Immediately you did as he told, while he tossed the covers off the bed. The expression on his face was hard to read as he stood and pushed you out of the room into the adjacent bath, between the cold silence and still hard cock drenched in red you weren't sure what to think. Opening the sliding glass door he turned on the shower filling the room with steam

"Get in." He ordered.

You didn't realize until you stepped in how much your knees were shaking, frozen under the running water you waited for his reaction fearing he would yell at you or worse just stay dismissive and quiet. When he finally joined he looked like he was about to say something until he pushed you up against the tile wall, without explanation he started to attack your neck with an array of licks and bites that it seemed he had been holding back for too long.

"You thought you could get out of this that easy?" He panted into your skin.

"You're not mad at me?" You asked.

"No." He looked at you confused for just a moment but ultimately too drunk on your body to care. "But I will be if you don't spread those legs for me."

You responded by wrapping a leg around his hips and pulling him in, once again feeling his immense length throbbing against your stomach while your lips collided. His tongue slid into your mouth at the same time his cock slid effortlessly inside your core, hooking his hands under your thighs he lifted you up to push in at a better angle. The way he was plunging deep into your raw insides like nothing was stopping him rendered you completely helpess as he began using you just like you had previously begged for, sending you barreling toward an orgasm. Coherent words wouldn't come out of your mouth, leaving you with no other way to warn him of your rapidly approaching climax other the rising pitch of your moans and the tightening grip on his body.

"That's it, cum all over me." He mumbled in your ear. "Make daddy feel good."

Those words would have been enough to make you cum on the spot if you weren't there already. With your whole weight rested in Erwin's stong arms while your legs shook and your grasp weakened you had to trust he could support you, only to be literally let down in the midst of riding out your orgasm. The moment your feet touched the ground he shoved you against the shower door, the only way you could remain standing was to lean into it while he positioned himself behind you. Earning new moans from you while letting out his own to match he pushed in from the back, forcing you harder against the door. In spite of the steam filling the room the glass felt cold to the touch, you sighed pressing your breasts against it and feeling the chill on your nipples. You discovered the louder you were the harder Erwin would fuck you which soon devolved into a pornographic sequence of you shouting his name while he plowed through you, you mind drifted to the down right lewd image that might have been seen from the other side of the glass with how slutty you must have looked getting railed while calling out for more.

"I should have bred you when I had the chance." He taunted, voice low. "But maybe you like it this way, all raw and dirty."

His grip on your hips was bruising, driving deep enough you could feel the tip of his cock on your cervix while his balls slapped your clit making an unmistakable sound. You had never heard him moan like he was now, switching between feral growls and breathless gasps.

"You're such a good little slut for me, letting me use you whenever I want. You even beg for it." God you loved it when he talked to you like that. "Go on. Beg some more."

Trying to find anything that resembled words in your muddled brain was damn near impossible, he was giving it to you just how you wanted and you were taking it like it was yours.

"Fuck, I can't." You confessed, tears forming in your eyes. "It already feels so good. You take such good care of me daddy."

He let out a laugh between deep breaths, luckily you were too lost in the feeling of him hammering into you to be embarrassed. The tightness in your stomach returned as he forced you onto the brink of a new climax.

"You're about to cum again, aren't you?" His thrusts became more targeted while he tried to find his commander voice. "Say my name when you cum."

"Erwin." You whined.

The unexpected smack from behind made you rethink as the air left your lungs.

"Commander?" You gasped.

Another smack demanded correction making you curve your back, the angle making his cock hit a spot that made you scream what he wanted to hear.

"Oh! Daddy!"

The final snap of his hips accompanied by a feral growl spelled the end, movements declined to a gentle grinding as he emptied inside. While you desperately wished you could feel his warmth dumping in your core through the tight cramps, the way he kissed your neck and shoulders while running his hands over your dripping body did well enough to fill the gap of intimacy. He held you tight against him, leaning over you with his arms wrapped around. You felt so close you could call yourself two parts of the same body, never wanting to separate or end the blissful moment.

The lack of hot water was becoming an obstacle, forcing you to pull apart and snap out of the after glow. In a race to finish your shower before the water got ice cold Erwin finished first and stepped out.

"Can you stand on your own? He asked, receiving a nod from you. "Okay finish up, I'll get you a towel."

Everything below your hips was numb, but it was much better than the cramping earlier. The pink toned water pooled at you feet as you scrubbed down, reminding you how glad you were to have moved to the shower as quickly as you did. Erwin returned as you shut the knobs off, leaving a towel, an old pair of underwear and one of his favorite shirts by the sink for you before leaving.

After getting dressed you stepped into the bedroom, finding him standing in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants while toweling his hair dry. You plopped back down into bed ready to drift off into sleep once again, only keeping your eyes open so you could stare at Erwin until he came to join you. His cold skin warmed when meeting yours, the two of you melting together as he pulled the covers.

"Feeling better now?" He inquired, kissing your forehead while you dozed off.

"Much better." You answered, returning the kiss on the underside of his jawline making him smile.

Resting your head on his chest the slow rise and fall with every breath lulled you to sleep. Entangling your arms around eachother, you searched for the oneness you had found earlier. Only resting once your bodies were as close as possible, and staying tightly intwined until the morning came and long after.

#erwin smith #erwin smith smut #erwin smith x reader #aot fanfiction #aot smut #aot imagines #erwin smith imagine #tw menstruation

[chipper-pessimist]

I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem., get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called "paprika hendl," and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.

--- Jonathan Harker’s journal, 3 May

As a literature teacher and someone who enjoys storytelling, I have really been enjoying Dracula Daily (and the various responses to it on Tumblr)... so I figured I’d get into the spirit of things with a little closet cosplay!  It’s incredibly historically inaccurate, but hopefully it still makes you smile.

Side note -- I ended up actually making chicken paprikash (paprika hendl) for dinner, and thought it would be fun to add a little hot paprika in addition to the regular Hungarian sweet paprika...which was a mistake.  It turned out much spicier than I intended.

For those who are curious, original color photos (and one bonus photo) are under the cut.

“ Meet Jonathan Harker, on a fun road trip for work, as he collects some new recipes.”  --- from the Dracula Daily site.

#dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #cosplay #chip cosplays #closet cosplay #chicken paprikash #food

[aerynwrites]

Could I request a fem reader confessing her interest in Silco? He notices her weird behavior and calls it out, prompting her to just spill the beans about her feelings? I would absolutely die if you wrote that.

absolutely LOVE this request and uhm...I may have gone a little spicier with this than originally intended so I hope you still enjoy! <3

Why Not Both?

Silco x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: Canon typical Silco behaviors (scary undercity overlord), he's a little harsh at first but it doesn't last i promise. Slight NSFW content, implied sexual content, make out sesh, confessed feelings.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You should have known people would notice. Should have known he would notice. But stupid you, thought you could get away with it, after all Silco loves productivity, so what better way to avoid him then to feign that?

The Drop was bustling with activity as usual. So it was the perfect time to pop in and pop out unnoticed. Just give your reports to Sevika to give to Silco and then you could be on your merry way. No need to go to his office where you’ll spend the whole time trying not to stare than actually listen to him. Or where you’ll daydream about running your fingers through his hair or think about him coming around the desk and-

“Long time no see,” Seivka’s familiar voice startles you from your thoughts as she stands from the card table to approach you.

You smile, “Sevika! Just the woman I wanted to see. Here are my reports from the latest job, Silco asked that-“

“Uh, uh,” she interrupts, shoving the papers back towards you that you were trying to hand her, “I’m done being your errand boy. Take the reports up there yourself. The boss wants to see you anyways.”

Nerves settle in your stomach like a bag of rocks and you send her a pleading look. She was the only one who knew of your predicament after a night of cards and too many drinks. “Please, Sev?” You’re practically begging, “I don’t want to go up there, and I have to go do this other thing-“

A silent raise of her brow is enough to shut you up, and you send her a glare of your own. “Ugh, fine!” You throw your hands up in surrender, “Whatever. I’ll just drop them off and leave.” You point an accusing finger towards her and narrow your eyes. “You’re evil.”

Sevika just laughs and returns to her table, fanning out her cards again. “You’ll thank me later. Now, hurry up and you might make it back in time to join the next round.”

You peek up at that. You haven’t had down time to play cards with your friend in a while. It also gives you an excuse to get in and out of Silco’s office quicker. You send her a smile and a quick nod before rushing off towards the stairs.

Now or never.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As usual, his office is much quieter compared to the bar downstairs. He also manages to keep it several degrees cooler, something you notice every time you walk in and goose-flesh rises on your arms. You try to hide the shudder as you shut the door behind you, clutching the papers tightly in hand as you approach the desk.

His chair faces away from you, the high back hiding the man that sits in it. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he wasn’t even here. But the delicate trails of smoke that curl through the air make his presence known.

You clear your throat once you’re a few feet away, eyes flitting from the chair that still faces away from you, down to the reports in your hand.

“I have the reports from the job in the Fringes.”

Silence is all that Greets you and you can’t help the way your palms turn sweaty and your heart race picks up.

“I uh…It was successful. No issues, everyone cooperated, I just thought-“

The chair swiveling around slowly causes your words to die in your throat. A duel colored gaze fixates on you once he faces forward once more.

“I was beginning to wonder if you still worked for me,” his voice was silky smooth as he spoke, sending an involuntary shudder down your spine.

“What?” You manage to breathe out, confusion lacing your tone.

Silco takes a drag from his cigar, letting it out in a cloud of smoke. He’s still looking at you. Analyzing you.

And you couldn’t decide whether to be scared, or excited.

“You’ve been…distant, lately. Distracted. Never showing your face here unless you have too.” His fingers thrum rhythmically against the desktop.

Your eyes dart around, the urge to dart out of the office overwhelming, but the silent desire to stay and just be in his presence even more so.

“I wasn’t aware that-“

He cuts you off again, snubbing his cigar pit in the ashtray before standing abruptly from his seat. “Are you working for me or against me?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut. You can feel the shock contort your features, your body unable to move as he steps out from behind the desk, danger behind his eyes.

“For you!” You manage to blurt out as he stalks closer, “How could you even think…?”

Silco hums low in his throat, as he finally comes within arms reach of you, footsteps slow and measured as he walks calculated circles around you. A predator hunting his prey.

“You’ve virtually disappeared,” he reasons, “Your reports are delivered by Sevika, your jobs are given to you through Sevika,  you slink around the drop like you’re hiding something…” his breath is warm against your cheek as he floats behind you, fingers sliding up your back to grip your shoulder in a firm hold.

Panic wells up inside you, sweat trickling down your temple as the reality of what is happening sets in. Silco thinks you’re betraying him. Turning on him. But he couldn’t be further from the truth.

With a harsh movement he has you turned to face him, your hips pressed up against the desk as he cages you in, hands landing on the edge of the wooden surface behind you.

You shake your head quickly, eyes frantic. “I’m not - I would never-“

You can hear the wood creak beneath his fingers and his lips tug down into a frown, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I don’t ask for much,” he says lowly, “but honesty is one of the things that I expect-“

“What do you want me to say?” You finally blurt out, voice much louder than you anticipated. “That I like you? That the reason I’ve been ‘slinking’ around and giving my reports to Sevika is because I can’t stand being around you knowing how I feel and that you could never feel the same?”

The words are tumbling from your lips faster than you can stop them and at this point you can’t find it in yourself to shut up.

“Do you want me to sit here and tell you that every time I’m in this damn office I barley listen to what you say because I’m too just trying to decide if I’d rather kiss you or have you fuck me-“

The words you wish you could take back are stopped mid-sentence as the man in front of you fulfills one of the fantasies that filled your head. Surprisingly warm lips crash against your own before you can do so much as take a breath. Teeth clack together in Silco’s rush to press against you, until finally you recover from your shock and respond to him. Your hands scrabble for purchase in the fabric of his vest, rough fingers meeting smooth silk, and you almost feel bad for wrinkling the delicate fabric. However, when Silco’s hands drop from the desk to wrap around your thighs and lift you onto the surface behind you, you can’t really find it in you to care.

He presses his hips into your own, and you can’t stop the gasp that slips past your lips at the feeling of him, hard and pressing against your inner thigh.

Silco finally pulls away then, a ghost of a smirk on his lips as he looks down at you, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Why not both?” He asks, slightly breathless as his hands slide up to toy with the hem of your shirt.

Your chest heaves as you try to gain your own breath back, and your mind scrambles to catch up with what the hell is going on. All you can manage to whisper out in your frazzled state is a weak, “What?”

Silco chuckles at that, eyes still gleaming with mischief, and you determine you like this much better than the deadly look he was giving you earlier.

“You said…” he begins, hands pushing your shirt up ever so slowly as he speaks, “You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss me, or if you wanted me to fuck you,” his hands stop as they reach the undersides of your breasts.

His eyes, one seafoam green and the other fiery orange flick up to meet your own gaze, and another teasing smile tugs at his lips. “So…why not both?”

Your mouth runs dry as you finally seem to take him in since he kissed the soul out of you. His hair, normally slicked back and well kept, falls in wild strands above his brow. His shirt is crumpled from where you had it in your hands, and his shoulders rise and fall with uneven breaths.

And you decided then to say fuck it to everything else. He was right. Why choose?

You can’t stop the smile that slips your lips as you reach out and tug him closer to you again. “Both sounds good.”

Silco laughs again, a little louder than the last and nods, tugging your shirt up and over your head before returning his lips to yours.

And as he continues to touch you much gentler than before , you can’t help but think that maybe he feels the same after all.

#arcane silco x reader #silco x reader #arcane silco #arcane #arcane x reader

[stardust-kenobi]

Hi can I request a wrecker smut Please? I keep thinking of wrecker guiding his s/o’s punches, showing her home to properly punch and duck. As in she asked him to teacher her self defense. Just back to his chest, and the closeness and what that would lead to? Thbks so much! Have a great day!!

I BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE

You got it bb ;)

I decided to write this as wrecker and reader being good friends instead of an established relationship bc the tension was so much spicier that way.

Show Me

Wrecker x F!Reader

Summary: Your good friend Wrecker tries to teach you self-defense, but the tension between the two of you rises, and neither of you can help yourself.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: smut!!, piv, soft wrecker fluff

A/N: I know nothing about fighting or training so take those details with a grain of salt. also there is a reference photo attached in the fic to show you what sex position is being referred bc I feel like I did a shit job of describing it. It is not super nsfw, its just a diagram

(gif is not mine, I can’t find original creator now)

Defending yourself was shamefully never a strength of yours. This left you with a crippling anxiousness of being alone, especially when you were constantly surrounded by men that could overpower you without ever breaking a sweat.

Wrecker would undoubtedly be the biggest physical threat in your environment if he wasn't your best friend and the kindest man you'd ever met. He agreed to teach you self-defense without an ounce of hesitation. Protective doesn't even begin to describe his innate nature toward you, so of course he jumped at this opportunity.

You two were just friends, nothing more. But sometimes you wished you could be something more. Your feelings toward him left you feeling conflicted. Whenever you would watch him walk in a room, your stomach would tingle and your heart fluttered. You often pushed these thoughts away, afraid to ruin your cherished friendship with him.

The training room that Wrecker led you to was vast and mostly bare. There were a variety of items resembling punching bags, and other complicated equipment that didn't look familiar to you at all.

You were dressed in your normal workout attire, tight black leggings, and a gray sports bra. You figured this was the best thing to practice in, but Wrecker had seemed significantly flustered at the sight of more of your exposed skin than he was used to seeing.

"Ready to get started, y/n?" He asked, pulling your attention away from scanning the room.

"Kinda nervous, but yeah, I'm ready" You smiled.

"Don't be nervous, I've got you. It's just you and me" He reassured you. He always knew how to calm your rigid nerves.

Wrecker started with the basics of being aware of your surroundings, showing you how to predict an opponent's next move before they even made it.

"Shouldn't I be learning how to throw a punch or something?" You pondered.

"We'll get there. You've got to know where you'll be throwing a punch before I actually show you how to swing your arm" He explained. Fair enough, you thought.

He introduced you to a variety of new skills and strategies, skimming the surface of everything he intended to teach you in time. He then showed the perfect stances to hold when faced with different fighting styles. You would've been lying if his hands gripping your waist to show you how to stand didn't make your heart skip a beat. He was gentle, but his finger tips emitted a lingering desire to dig deeper into your figure.

"Look at you! Already getting the hang of it. I knew you would" he praised you. You turned to him, your blushed face dripping with sweat, to see a mile wide smile painted on his face. You both exchanged glances for a few seconds.

"What?" You asked, getting a hint of something more than pride in his expression. He shook his head before resting his hand on the back of his neck nervously.

"Oh. uh...nothing. Let's finally show you how to throw those punches." He urgently changed the subject. Weird, you thought to yourself. "Stand here at this punching bag" He instructed you to come closer to where he stood.

"So, we're going to use what you've already learned, and combine it all into how to strike"

You nodded, readying yourself into the right stance, raising your fists in preparation.

"Okay, like this?" You asked.

"Kind of. Bring your elbow in tighter" He instructed. You tried to obey, but you were missing something. "it's more of like, tucking it in toward your body", He continued, so patient with you.

"Show me" You muttered. He paused, very aware of what you were asking, but unaware of whether he had the control. Your mind was wandering to thoughts of him pressed against you, overpowering you, and holding you tight. You knew it was wrong to tease him in this way, but you couldn't help yourself.

"Yeah...sure" He spoke sweetly, but hesitantly.

He came behind you, keeping distance between your backside and his front.

"Wrecker you can't guide my arms from there" You insisted.

"Right" He agreed.

He took a step forward, the front of his body meeting the back of you, pressing against the curve of your body. He felt how your ass stuck out just slightly more than the rest of you. Wrecker slowly wrapped his arms around your entire wingspan. He was so large.

His bare fingers brushed atop your balled fist. He wrapped his grip around both your wrists. The contact felt electric and soft all at the same time. The tension between you was so raw...so sweet. He cleared his throat and shifted his stance slightly.

"You'll want to hold your arms like this" He pulled your arms into your body, wrapping you in what felt more like a hug.

"Uh-huh" you affirmed.

"Then you'll just pull back like this" He continued, opening your chest. "And then push forward, using force from your abdomen"

You swung the punch together, slamming your fist into the defenseless bag.

"Wow! That felt like it had a lot of power in it!" He celebrated.

"That was mostly you, I'm sure" You said, feeling weak.

"No, that was all you. I didn't use any strength, just guided your arm"

You were shocked to hear this, surprised by your own strength.

"Thank you, Wrecker" you graciously mumbled to him, turning your head to look up at him still attached to you. He held your gaze for a moment before becoming shy and looking away.

"Oh its nothing, really"

"It's not nothing. You're teaching me to protect myself and that means a lot to me" You continued, detaching the connection of your bodies and turning around to face him.

"I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you and I wasn't there to keep you safe" He said, his tone so serious as he looked down at you. He mustered the courage to wrap his hands around your waist, and pulled you into him, missing the feeling of your body already.

You gasped as the tension grew deeper. He watched your expression for any hint of disapproval, but found none. Instead he found longing and desire written in your gaze. You couldn't resist it anymore. You needed him.

"Kiss me" You pleaded. His eyebrows raised suddenly. There was no time between your words and the crashing of his lips on yours for either of you to consider your actions.

It was fireworks and bursts of sparks connecting the two of you as the long awaited kiss finally took place. He kissed you deeply, with more passion than you'd ever felt in your entire life. The warmth his mouth provided poured through your veins, heating into the very core of your body, leaving an aching feeling between your thighs.

Wrecker's hands moved to cup your face. His movements indicated he had no intention to break away any time soon, and you wouldn't let him anyhow. Your mouths continued to dance together in rhythmic harmony.

As he finally did pull away from the kiss, it was slow. He knew he'd have to look at you, and he was afraid of what he'd see. His concern was dissolved when he caught glimpse of the grin stuck on your face.

"I've waited...a long time for that" He said softly.

"I should've told you to kiss me sooner" You admitted. He smiled, blushing in the process. Your eyes caught sight of a firmness growing in his tight black pants. He was visibly embarrassed, unaware of how much this turned you on.

"Touch me, Wrecker. Stars, I want you" You practically whimpered.

"Are you sure?" He requested your further consent, trying to hide his excitement.

"I have never been more sure of anything" You assured him, seductively eyeing every inch of him that you want on you and in you.

"I hope you don't mind doing this here, because I can't wait any longer" He growled. You nodded in approval. To see a man who is always so gentle toward you, get so worked up at the thought of having you, was deeply arousing.

Wrecker swept you up as if you were weightless. To him, you probably were. You wrapped your legs eagerly around his waist, returning to the passionate kiss you already missed. His free hand roamed your body, granting himself access to every part of you he dreamed of feeling.

He pushed his hand between your skin and the tight hem of your sports bra, he pulled back, looking to you for consent. You nodded, helping him pull it over your head.

The animalistic groan that inadvertently escaped his throat at the sight of your breasts covered in sweat was the hottest noise you'd ever heard. He gently squeezed your nipple before caressing your breast, wrapping his hand around it. You moaned at his touch.

"You are...so gorgeous" He managed to mutter while he admired you.

You blushed as you shifted your hips, grinding them against him slightly. Your aching heat pulsed around emptiness, so desperate to be filled by him.

"Wrecker, I-..I need you...to fuck me. Please" You breathed deep, the overwhelming need was relentless.

"Yes ma'am. Anything for you" He smirked.

He eagerly and swiftly placed your ankles on his shoulders, before pulling your leggings down to your mid thigh, allowing him plenty of access to where you needed him. Wrecker's arm remained wrapped around your back, holding you around him as he stood. You weren't surprised at his strength to hold you with one arm, but you were certainly surprised with his coordination. **(reference photo for this position in case it is not clear)**

The other hand trailed down to your pussy, fingers exploring your slit. You bucked your hips into his touch and he chuckled softly. He watched your face as he slipped a finger into you. You gasped, and he smirked in response.

"Oh yeah, you're ready for me baby" He rasped, feeling how you were practically dripping already. You whimpered in anticipation. Wrecker pumped his finger inside you only for a moment, circling it around to stretch you open.

He raced to free his cock from the tightness of his pants. It sprung out, slapping against your clit and you jolted from the sensitivity.

"Oh my gods, Wrecker" You were astounded by his size. He grabbed it in his hand, rubbing it back and forth gently across your bud, earning whimpers from your soft lips.

He pressed his cock into you slowly, making sure that he did not hurt you. You winced at first, feeling the initial sweet sting that quickly transformed to pleasure. You didn't believe he could push himself any deeper, but he was able to completely bury himself inside of you, creating a feeling of utter fullness that was unfamiliar to you.

"Kriff, Y/N" He moaned deeply, breathing out shakily. He didn't move, not for a few moments, letting you adjust to him and taking the opportunity to stare into your eyes while he was full encased by your slickness. "You feel so kriffin' good"

He began to slowly thrust his hips upward while also pulling you up and down onto his length, his hands supporting you under your ass. You cried out, overwhelmed with ecstasy. You cared very little about whether or not someone could hear you. As long as Wrecker heard how good he made you feel, that is all that mattered.

Wrecker was vocal, more vocal than you could've imagined.

"So tight around me" He panted "You take my cock even better than I thought you would"

You wondered if he fantasized about this moment as often you did. You were lost in your pleasure, and still somehow too shy to be as vocal as he was, only allowing sweet sounds to brush past your lips. Your noises were encouraging to him. You look at him as he fucked you, and felt a flutter in your heart, as you felt so connected to this man you already loved as a friend...now maybe even more than a friend.

"My favorite girl...letting me fuck you like this, yeah? I've thought about this for so long, sweetheart" He cooed, his face hovering close to yours.

"I love you, Wrecker" You spoke softly. His thrusts suddenly halted, letting himself keep warm inside you.

"You...you love me?" He smiled, his eyes grew so preciously excited.

"Yes, I do" You assured, placed your hand on his face.

"I love you too, Y/N" He almost seemed lost for words, so taken aback with happiness to hear that fall from your lips. Your mouths intertwined again, sinking deeper into each other's embrace.

"Keep going...please" you whimpered.

"Don't have to ask me twice"

He slammed in and out of you again, using even more passion with his motions now, holding you closer to him than before. He fucked you like he missed you, like he may never get to fuck you again, and stars, it was hot.

"Yes, right there" You commanded. The curve of his cock brushed your g-spot with every thrust now, causing a frantic frenzy of moans to fly into the air.

"Yeah? You like the way I fuck you, baby?" He spoke roughly into your ear.

"I-I love it...you fuck me so good Wrecker" You praised him, and he ate it up.

The sound of your skin slapping together echoed as he continued to work into you while bouncing you on him at the same time. Your gut tightened suddenly, a sign of your approaching orgasm. It tingled sweetly within you.

"Wrecker I am so close" You announced to him, and his face lit up, pleased with himself for helping you reach your climax.

"Yeah?" He breathed, not changing his pace to keep on your path to finishing.

Your walls spasmed around him, and the tightened coil burst open, washing over you. You crumbled in his hold, feeling as though you would seep through his hands with the way your body convulsed and melted. You cried out, eyes shut tight, whimpering Wreckers name as he fucked you harder through it.

"There you go, Y/N. You look so pretty falling apart for me" He coaxed you. "Fuck, you're gonna make me cum making noises like that, baby"

As you rode down gently from your own high, Wrecker's hips trembled subtly. He groaned deeper, his thrusts losing rhythm in you as he lost control.

"Fuck" He growled, flooding you with his release, shaking as he finished. You held his face in your hands, caressing him through his high. You both panted, breathless and silent, unsure of how you got here.

Wrecker was so delicate with your body as he pulled your legs off his shoulder. He lifted your leggings, placing it back where it belonged. You winced, sore from the position you were held in.

"Are you hurt?" Wrecker asked, his voice riddled with concern.

"No, I'm okay. My legs are just sore"

"Here" He began, "Let me". He held you bridal style, and lowered you slowly onto the mat beneath you. You grabbed your sports bra that was left on the floor and put it back on. Wrecker joined you after tucking himself back into his pants.

"I didn't say it back earlier, but I waited a long time for this too" You admitted, slicing through the silence that lingered.

“You did?” He said in disbelief.

“Yeah…but I never thought you felt the same way”

“This may sound weird, but I think about doing that to you nearly everyday” He concurred.

“We are just terrible at communicating, then” You chuckled.

"Seems like it" He smiled at you.

"Wrecker, I um...I'd like it if this wasn't a one time thing" You said suddenly, hoping he'd know what you were hinting at.

"I've waited too long to call you mine, I don't wanna wait another second" He progressed.

You hid a shy smile in response.

"I meant what I said...when I said I loved you" You started.

"And I meant it when I said it back" He said before wrapping you into his embrace and kissing your swollen lips again.

#wrecker #wrecker x reader #wrecker x reader smut #wrecker bad batch #wrecker smut #wrecker x f!reader #wrecker fanfiction #wrecker fluff #wrecker x reader fluff #the bad batch #crosshair #tech #echo #hunter #my work #wrecker bad batch smut #wrecker x you fluff #the clone wars #tcw smut #bad batch smut #bad batch headcanons #wrecker headcanon

[miniature-space-hamster]

Wrote a fic that was a byproduct of me trying to figure out how Kaidan and Karina Shepard had their first kiss. It got a little spicier than I originally intended. This takes place before the rest of my “Soft Place to Land” fics. Anyway, hope you enjoy.~

Shepard cursed to herself as her eyes darted from screen to screen on her omnitool, trying to find a solution. Nothing seemed to be physically wrong with Mako, but the vehicle had lost all communications. Even the sensors were failing her, and she was beginning to lose her patience. Kaidan laid outside the Mako, almost entirely under the vehicle, trying to look for any possible damage underneath. He’d never say it out loud, but with the way Shepard drove this thing, he was half expecting to find a large rock lodged in the vehicle, but there was nothing. He grumbled to himself before pulling himself up, and leaning against the Mako as he poked his head through the doorway, towards Shepard. “It’s all fine down here. I don’t know what happened.” He paused for a moment, kicking the dirt slightly as he watched the growing winds whisk away the dust cloud that formed at his feet. “Wish Tali was here. She’d probably know what to do.”

Shepard looked up at the ceiling of the Mako to stretch her aching neck, they’ve been at this for nearly an hour with no luck. “Same, but we couldn’t risk it with the suit rupture.” It was just a pin prick moments before departure, but Shepard sent her to the medbay immediately before she got a severe infection. Shepard considered asking another teammate to come, but it was such a minor task and she didn’t want to postpone scanning the planet for necessary resources any further. She knew the two of them would be fine. They were supposed to be fine. But now she definitely missed the Quarian’s expertise.

Shepard smacked the dashboard of the Mako in equal parts irritation and last ditch effort to try anything. Kaidan jumped slightly at the sudden sound. Shepard was always quiet, sometimes almost unnervingly so at times that he half expected the motion to not make a noise. But, to both of their surprise, the dashboard came to life, bathing her in its golden glow.

“Are you reading me, commander?” Joker's voice was nearly inaudible against the overwhelming amount of interference. It sounded like he's been trying to contact them for a while now. From what she could make out, his voice sounded strained with desperation. He needed a sign that they were okay.

“Barely, we’re having some trouble with the Mako.” Shepard grumbled into the microphone, trying to use her omnitool to sharpen the signal, but it didn’t help much.

“There’s a storm coming. A bad one. We won’t be able to pick you up in the middle of it. You’ll need to sit tight until it’s over.” The irritation was evident in Joker’s voice. If they had a window for rescue, it seemed that it had long since passed.

Shepard gave Kaidan a look, seeing the wind whipping the stray hairs that fell down to his brow. She tried to hide the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was near pitch black darkness on the horizon that blocked out the setting sun, and it was approaching at an alarming speed. Kaidan gave her a nod in understanding, they needed to move quickly. “There’s a cave not far from here. We can park the Mako there for shelter. “

Shepard nodded as Kaidan hopped into the passenger seat without hesitation, providing directions. She could feel the wind trying to rip control of the Mako from her grip. She found herself constantly having to overcorrect the wheel just to keep the vehicle moving straight. She kept her fingers off the boosters, for fear of flipping the vehicle. Her knuckles were white and her hands were shaking by the time they were in the cave.

The vehicle lurched in protest as she hit the brakes a bit too hard, too eager to take her hands off the wheel. Shepard craned her neck to get a look at the cave’s ceiling, wondering how much she trusted it’s stability. It felt weirdly claustrophobic having such a big machine nestled in a cavern this size. It was a tight squeeze. They'd have difficulty getting out on either side, but they were free from the wind and what sounded like hail.

Shepard looked to Kaidan with a somewhat sheepish grin, feeling somewhat responsible for their predicament. She found herself mentally going back through the calculations and reports in her mind, trying to find out where she went wrong. This wasn’t in her reports of the planet.

“Well, I guess we better get comfortable.” There was a sigh in her voice as she took off her helmet and untied her hair. She let her hair fall naturally with a slight shake of her head.

She met Kaidan’s eyes and she couldn’t tell over the darkness of the cave, but she could’ve sworn she saw him blush. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment before pulling up a box that rested by his feet onto his lap.

Shepard saw the shine of the dashboard against his teeth as he gave her a slight smile before reaching in and handing her something. She took the item, unsure of what was in her hands for a moment, before realizing it was a sandwich. “I, uh, noticed you didn’t get a chance to eat before we left..” he seemed unusually bashful as he placed a hand on his neck.

She looked at the sandwich, and again at Kaidan. She tried to figure out when he had the time to do all this. She completely forgot to eat today. She didn’t have the time to have more than a cup of instant coffee, and even then it went cold before she took her first sip. It felt like the work Hackett sent her was never ending.

She gave Kaidan a nervous smile as a silent thanks, finding herself at a loss of words as heat rose on her ears and neck. Kaidan continued to pull out two beer bottles before untwisting a top and passing one to her. “Before you say anything, technically our shift ended an hour ago.” He gave her a sly grin that she couldn’t help but match as she took a bottle.

“Well, we might be stuck here for the night...” Her voice was wary as she pressed the cold glass bottle to her lips. She was never one to lax on regulations, but after today she needed a drink. Despite nothing going right today, she couldn’t help but be thankful for the choice in company.

She took a bite of her sandwich, unable to remember the last time she had something that wasn’t prepackaged and in the form of an energy bar. With her hunger finally catching up to her, in this moment it was the best thing she’d ever eaten. She looked at Kaidan, seeing the golden light of the dashboard reflect the warm, bronze flecks in his eyes. “Thank you…” She looked away quickly afraid she’d get lost in the depths of his eyes.

Kaidan held back a smile, as he pulled out a sandwich for himself. He noticed how her features softened as she ate. She finally stopped clenching her jaw as she took a moment to accept their new situation. This was about as relaxed as he’s ever seen her, on or off duty. He felt like these were the moments when he got to see the real Shepard. She was so sure of herself on the battlefield, but in moments like this she let herself be vulnerable. It was a word he never would’ve normally associated with the great Commander Shepard before getting to know her.

Shepard expected to feel a nervous tension rising in her chest. It’s only been two days since they both admitted to maybe feeling something for one another, though neither were quite sure what it was yet. Kaidan suggested seeing where things would go if they went out during shore leave. Despite these mutual feelings, she still found Kaidan easy to be around. Shepard struggled to open up and connect with others at times, being as painfully introverted as she was, but Kaidan never forced herself to be someone she wasn’t. He was content to be near her, even if she didn’t have anything to say at the moment. She never felt pressured by his presence to put on her usual facade of commander.

After finishing her sandwich, her hunger sated. She felt her mind shift to other needs. Shepard shivered violently, feeling the storm’s chill enter her bones. The nights on this planet often dipped below freezing. She heard the rattle of her armor, feeling another violent wave fill her body. She noticed Kaidan was rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Cold?” She asked, already knowing the answer. She paused for a moment as she climbed into the back of the Mako. There was an emergency blanket, but only one. She held it up for him to see. It felt thin, but it was better than nothing. “We’ll have to share.”

Kaidan quietly followed her to the backseat, trying to hold back his grin. There was more leg room here, without any bulky tech to get in the way. They both stripped themselves of their outer armor, letting their chest plates and gauntlets litter the floor, leaving on the more comfortable inner layer.

Kaidan was the first to sit, finally feeling the strain of the day cause his muscles to ache. He stretched his legs as he slouched to get comfortable. He rested an arm on the back of the seat, inviting Shepard to sit next to him. She first took a cautious seat before curling up beside him, realizing that they’ve never touched like this before. Was he always this warm?

Besides the time she pulled him away from the beacon, she’s never touched him at all. But even in that moment she only thought about his safety, not how it felt to be curled up next to him. She found that her desire for warmth overcame her sense of modesty as Kaidan wrapped them both in the blanket.

She twisted herself closer as she felt her body shiver violently. She rested her legs on top of his as Kaidan wrapped his arms around her. His warmth quickly filled her body as she leaned in his direction, pressing their bodies flush. She tried to tell herself that this was solely for warmth, and it was, but she so desperately wanted to explore his body with her hands.

She tried to speak, about anything to pull her thoughts away from the body pressed against her own, but any and all words were trapped in her throat as a flush rose on her face. She tried to wash down the heat in her face with what remained on the beer. Kaidan was usually the one to speak, and Shepard would listen, but he too was silent in this moment as he watched her trying to gauge her reaction to their close contact.

Shepard met his eyes, nearly black in the darkness, but still warm nonetheless. Her eyes trailed down to his lips, wanting desperately to know what they felt like, before her eyes yet again met his. She didn't want to yearn for him like this, reminding herself that he was her staff lieutenant. Her pulse quickened as she reached for his face, nervous she was taking things too far. Her hand softly grazed his stubble and rested at his jaw. In the near pitch dark she caught herself focusing on the softness of his skin.

Kaidan’s eyes widened, but so did his smile. He let a hand gently trail up her neck, resting at the base of her skull. He applied the slightest gentle pressure as he stroked her scalp, without pulling her in, as he invited her to come closer if she wanted. He was fully prepared for rejection, they were after all in an emergency situation.

Before Kaidan even realized it, her lips locked with his own. There was a moment of tender uncertainty as they tried to find one another’s rhythm. They settled for a slow pace, as they gently explored the expanse of one another’s lips. Shepard liked the way Kaidan’s lips felt on her own, tasting the beer on his breath. He felt almost electric as she gently bit down on his lower lip. The smell of element zero filled her lungs and made her head feel fuzzy. It was unfamiliar to her, but pleasant nonetheless.

Shepard let her free hand dance on Kaidan’s torso, before resting behind a shoulder blade, trying to pull him in closer than their bodies allowed, as their kiss deepened as Kaidan’s tongue momentarily slipped into her mouth. Kaidan propped up his legs to pull Shepard closer. She readjusted herself so she could straddle his lap without breaking the kiss. He let his tongue explore her lips, memorizing their shape, while his hands gripped her waist. His tongue traced the scar that marked both lips and trailed upward.

Shepard pulled away to catch her breath, not realizing how long she was holding it. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder as she bit her lip, holding back a smile. Kaidan in turn let his head drop back against the seat as he also tried to steady himself, with Shepard still straddling his lap.

Shepard cursed to herself, quietly but against Kaidan’s ear. He turned to her direction, “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

Shepard held back a laugh, “No, that’s not it…” She paused as she groaned again in frustration. “I shouldn’t want this.” She poked his chest gingerly. “Ishouldn’t be taking advantage of you like this. I sh-“ her voice trailed off as she again tapped her forehead against Kaidan’s shoulder in frustration.

Kaidan took a deep breath, “You aren’t taking advantage of me if I also want this, Shepard.” She met his gaze as he ran a finger across her forehead, tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear.

They looked at one another for a long while before Shepard finally spoke up, “Karina.”

Kaidan gave her a raised eyebrow.

“Call me Karina.” She felt her pulse in her throat. He just kissed her senseless, why did this somehow feel more intimate? “Any fraternization rules are pretty much out the window now. At least when we’re alone.”

Karina could hear the smile in his tone. “Then you should call me Kaidan.”

“Alright, fair enough Kaidan.” She laughed, feeling another wave of blush rise in her face, but she didn’t make an effort to hide it this time.

Kaidan felt his stomach flip. Something about the way her accent made the syllables roll so softly from her tongue. He really liked hearing his name in her voice and couldn’t wait to hear it again.

Hope you liked it.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #commander shepard #shenko #fshenko #my fanfics #mass effect fanfiction

[little-moonbeam-666]

Update on Fatal Chemistry

Y’all, this Adam story is becoming way spicier than I originally intended it to be, so be prepared! Currently busting out a lot of it! Currently at 3500 words and I’m nowhere near done!

@memenerdlover @katrinakennedy1 @asexualaromosafezone @regulusgoesswiming

#Adam #Adam olla #only lovers left alive #tom hiddleston #adam smut #tom hiddleston smut #adam olla smut #smut #vampire #fatal chemistry

[imuybemovoko]

I die inside while dissecting Jesus music, part 2

Oh, did the pause in my posts lately make you think I was done with emotional self-harm?

Apparently we both have lessons to learn, because here we go again.

I have a shitload of this stuff squirreled away in a youtube playlist I haven’t deleted yet for essentially this exact reason. I felt like it might be a good thing for me to go through and deconstruct some of the songs. That or I’ve just gotten used to suffering. Can’t tell; don’t care.

Trigger warning, of course. If Jesus music is going to mess with your head too much, please for the love of all that you find holy find something more wholesome to read. 

Now that I’ve started down this dark path, I start to wonder, when was the last time I talked about my worldbuilding and other crazy hobbies? I’ve been yelling about my trauma a lot lately. Anyway...

Let’s do this. 

"Rhetoric is the art of ruling the minds of men." -Plato, apparently. 

If, like me, you like suffering enough to look at the song I’ll be analyzing, here it is. I’m looking at Matt Redman’s “Gracefully Broken” today. This song also features Tasha Cobbs Leonard. This felt weird as shit to listen back to. 

I’ll be using the transcription of the lyrics on Genius as my main source for the actual words in the song, though the video I’ve linked does have lyrics on screen as it plays. 

Without any further ado, let’s get into the structure of this fucker. There’s about 25 seconds of instrumental to start this studio recording out, then the first verse plays. The last line, “Set me on fire”, is sung twice, and then in this case the entire first verse plays again. (Holy shit contemporary Christian songwriters like repeating things. Did I say that enough last time?)

After this, the chorus plays through once and you basically smash cut right into the second verse. The second verse is half the length of the first one and the words are only said once. In this case, the repetition does that trick where it uses KJV-flavored language and then modern language to say a similar thing twice: “ You won't forsake me, You will be with me”. 

Then the chorus plays twice, each time followed by a random tag that reiterates something within the chorus and, in the case of the first one, isn’t found in the lyrics on Genius. I read it as a musical flourish coupled with the lyrical equivalent of yelling “AMEN” during a church service when the pastor says something you find cool. (Not all churches do this). 

Genius does something I find a touch unusual here, but I think it makes sense with the way the song plays. It lists two sections as “bridge 1″ and “bridge 2″. After this repeated chorus, bridge 1 plays, repeating the first line twice, the second original line twice, and the last line of the thing four times. After this, there’s another doubled chorus. This time, with even more amen flourishes. 

Then the instrumental goes really chill and the second bridge comes in. This is a stanza that they repeat six times (Genius lists it four times) while they slowly build the instrumentals back up and, since in this case there are two singers in Youtube’s edition of this, Redman drops out and Tasha, who he’s featuring on this, sings the first two repetitions of this while Redman does amen tags. On the third one, they switch roles. On the fourth one, they each sing the entire section but Redman leads and Cobbs follows like a round. Then, they have this entire chorus setup on the last two repetitions. 

This is the climax of the song. And then everything goes really chill again. They sing the chorus once and then everything fades out to one last piano chord, fade to black. That’s the structure in the youtube video. It’s not exactly uncommon for studio recordings of songs like this, though at live events, Jesus camps, and some church services people will repeat sections of this ad nauseam because of course. Even this structure works to cement ideas really strongly, as if every single fucking thing the song says is very important. I find that this doesn’t happen remotely as often in secular music to anything approaching this degree. They’ll repeat the chorus, sometimes you’ll have lines repeated, sometimes you get a bridge that’s four lines a few times over, but it’s not like this. 

Alright. On to the actual content of this thing. 

This is going to hurt a bit. :^) 

I’ll do the verses, then the chorus, then the bridges. This shit isn’t going chronologically. That would suck. 

Take all I have in these hands And multiply, God, all that I am And find my heart on the altar again Set me on fire, set me on fire Take all I have in these hands And multiply, God, all that I am And find my heart on the altar again Set me on fire, set me on fire

This repeats twice; I won’t go over it twice. 

Take all I have in these hands is basically saying “I surrender to you”. Which is a thing that’ll come back up a fuck of a lot in this song. It’s kind of the whole message... with a twist I’ll get to later that gets really cursed. This is a message that speaks of letting go of control of one’s life so God can do whatever with it. It’s like a surrendering of agency, at least the way it plays out in fundagelical circles like the one I left a year and a month ago. 

And multiply, God, all that I am is, aside from being a sentence that’s weirdified so it fits in a song better, is directly addressing God by name, making this entire thing addressed that way. This basically refers to the concept within at least some strains of Christianity where God is said to increase what people are and what they’re capable of when they’re “right with him”. This is, at least possibly, also a reference to Matthew 13:8 (Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown), which uses a metaphor that relates, as I was taught about it, the word of God to someone sowing seeds into a field, where sometimes you yeet the seeds and they land in rocks and screwy circumstances but other times they grow and give a good crop. I’m inclined to read this line as asking God to fulfill this in the singer’s life because of how heavy of a focus is placed on the concept it contains in many churches. Redman might not have intended it to refer to this necessarily here, but it’s the kind of metaphor and the kind of language that people very often use even if it’s not a conscious reference. 

And find my heart on the altar again implies some kind of re-dedication of the core of the singer’s being to God. There’s this strong tendency in your spicier churches towards thinking that believers continually need to re-commit themselves to God after having been distracted; this is at least one of the things that it refers to. I suppose Redman knows his audience. This can also be taken as a reference to Romans 12:1-2, since an altar implies sacrifice most of the time. My instinct is to say it plays both roles. 

After that you have this Set me on fire, set me on fire line, referring to a common concept whose origin I’m not that familiar with in which being “on fire for God” refers to having a passion for doing what whoever you hang around thinks he wants you to do. It might be a reference to that scene in Acts 2 where God’s power in the church is marked by tongues of fire that come and rest on people. Of course it’s like the fire from that burning bush Moses encounters because this is an instance of God burning people metaphorically rather than physically. 

Sarcasm and gallows humor aside, God has been known to yeet fire from heaven at things and sometimes even people. In both Acts 2 and this song, the reference is more or less metaphorical and refers to a driving force rather than to an attack. This line is basically a prayer for a passion for God. 

Verse 1 was sung just by Redman; for verse 2, both Redman and Cobbs are singing. 

My heart stands in awe of Your name Your mighty love stands strong to the end You will fulfill Your purpose for me You won't forsake me, You will be with me

I touched on this in the “on the altar again” line from 1, but I typically read “heart” as “core of being” in these contexts. So this first line, My heart stands in awe of Your name, refers to this deep sense of reverence towards God. 

Maybe someone ought to tell Redman about the hypocrites, because god damn does this seem like performative righteousness to my outsider’s mind. Maybe Paul’s “renewing of the mind” from Romans 12:2 works both ways lmao

Joking aside, the role of this line is to normalize this feeling of reverence and to try to instill it in the listener. It serves a purpose that isn’t hypocrisy and Redman would probably say the same thing if some cheeky heathen walked up to him and told him about the hypocrites as I joked about. 

The entire rest of this verse is essentially saying the same thing in different ways, framing it through God’s love, purposes, and presence in a believer’s life. The idea is that none of these three things are believed to ever fail, and this verse is meant to reinforce that perception and to give thanks to God for it. I don’t feel like saying what these lines are going for three times so I’ll treat them as one unit because functionally, they are. 

I’ll do the chorus last because that seems like a fun idea. Bridge 1 is:

All to Jesus now All to Jesus now Holding nothing back Holding nothing back I surrender I surrender I surrender I surrender

oh god oh fuck

so what can we get from this weird disaster where you say the same thing a bunch of times in a row? Basically, the singer surrenders everything to Jesus and holds nothing back. But it’s really really important, so they say it slowly and each piece is said several times. It feels pedantic as fuck looking at it from the outside, but on the inside it instills this mood that makes you, at least in that moment, want to do exactly that. Pretty wacky. 

Second bridge:

Your power and work in me I'm broken gracefully I'm strong when I am weak I will be free

It’s this, four times on Genius and six times in the Youtube upload. I’m not copy pasting that full length in here lmao

Basically the first line reads to me as an attribution related to the rest. Like, “what follows is because of God’s power and work in me”. Your spicier evangelical circles will attribute good things in themselves exclusively to the work of God. It gets super goddamn toxic depending on exactly how they handle it, but the general vibe I’m talking about is “I’m a piece of shit and therefore if anything good happens in me it’s God not me”. It’s really a sad thing, and it messed me up real good when I used to think that way. 

So that’s fun I suppose. 

As for the rest of this, uh... it’s not better. So. “I’m broken gracefully” is just about the most cursed sentence in this section here. To be “broken” in this case is ...more or less what it sounds like. Basically God breaks the believer down in the process of sanctification so that they release their own identity and replace it with one that’s more from God. This is then framed as a grace. I read “gracefully” here as both referring to the grace of God and to its other usage, like “they moved gracefully across the whatever the fuck” as a descriptive term suggesting beauty and elegance. In both senses, this broken state is considered a good and beautiful thing. Which ...is a bit cursed. 

“I’m strong when I am weak” is this weird reversal that alludes to several passages in the Bible including, the first one I can think of, John 3:30, which says “he must be greater, I must be less” (and specific wording will vary based on translation). The idea is that a person has more real “strength” when they’re weak in themselves and trusting in God for everything. So this sentence might be expanded to “I’m strong in God when I’m weak in myself”. Which is one of those gaslighty self-denying concepts that is the reason my time in these weird fundagelical circles fucked me up so much. Pretty fun. See why I say it’s emotional self-harm to come back and review this music? It’s not always that dark of a thing, I genuinely want to analyze this shit, but good grief can it get tricky to deal with. 

The last line here is “I will be free”, which cements the previous concepts by referring to freedom from “sin” and from the “old, fallen nature”, i.e. freedom to be a slave to God instead of “a slave to oneself”. Another spooky reversal. 

And that’s the bridges. 

I’ll grab a chorus that doesn’t have amen tags and only happens once: 

Here I am, God Arms wide open Pouring out my life Gracefully broken

These first lines speak to someone who accepts God’s calling with open arms. Pretty straightforward I think. It gets a bit funky from here because this “pouring out my life” line is a bit deeper. It could refer to the act of confessing things to God in kind of a spilling of energy and secrets, a breakdown of barriers that believers keep their issues contained within, that kind of thing, and it could be a reference to the Old Testament practice of pouring out blood or wine or both as an offering before God, in a metaphorical sense in this case because believers are called on to offer their lives as a “living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God” as Paul writes. The image of pouring something out is quite a common one within Christianity because of the Old Testament imagery and the degree to which New Testament writers allude to old practices. 

In compiling an overarching message for what I read out of this song, I’ll compare it to a sonnet written by John Donne, for a bit of fun hyperbole. 

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. I, like an usurped town, to another due, Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end. Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, But is captived, and proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, But am betrothed unto your enemy: Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, Take me to you, imprison me, for I, Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The whole message of this sonnet here is, in a phrase, “I’m having a hard time submitting to you, God, so break down my gates, steal me from Satan, and rearrange my guts”. 

Yes, ravish is sometimes a sexual term. In my medieval literature class last fall, the professor understood its sense as such in this context. I agree with that reading because the word immediately preceding the phrase that contains it is “chaste”, which is clearly establishing that kind of context. 

Basically, the reason I include this is, without the “fuck me God” part of it, the message of the song I’ve been dissecting is the same as this. It speaks of surrendering to God as something that’s desired, but frames it as a battle through the “heart on the altar again” bit and the “brokenness” part of this narrative that suggests it’s a desired, beautiful act of God. Donne accomplishes this message through much more violent terms, but the end result is very similar. 

I know.

So, why did I start this shit with that Plato quote? 

Ultimately, because I think that an important part of the role that Christian music like this serves in the church is pretty much the same as Plato’s understanding of the role of rhetoric. If “rhetoric is the art of ruling the minds of men”, then contemporary Christian music is the result of using shit, repetitive lyrics and actually good instrumental tracks to convince the human mind to yeet itself deeper and deeper into Jesusland. 

Which is pretty cursed. I relate, vacuuming lady. I relate.

What was that I said about conlangs again?

#exchristian #christian music #i probably need therapy #john donne #oh god oh fuck

[for-peace-war]

art by @idrawbuffgirls​

This is likely the second to last piece I’ll be able to do before an in-game event moves the party forward, but it’s one that I think will place things in perspective to some degree.  Another hour and a half write, which means I need to get faster.  Still, was fun!

Also, Kelzack really came through on that art.  BOOM!

THE TEMPLE OF LONGING.

Follows: Prologue.

Follows Part I.

Part II

VITHIKA THE VENDHYAN’S veiled view of the valley from her vaunted vantage availed little value to her virtuous—verily, villainous—vanity.  Satrap Mostafa’s pleasure caravan, which to that point was far too much caravan and far too little pleasure, had moved but a gavyuti by the day and two more at night.  The sand was a sea that swam about them, with each step causing her palanquin to rise with the tide and settle back as the next was made.  In addition to the tedium that had settled over them, it was more than enough to encourage sleep—but what good was sleep, she could not but wonder, if there was not someone nearby to keep her company?

In that, she supposed, she could almost blame herself for her solitude.

The other palanquins had been forced to carry two women in addition to what valuables they could pack onto them, seeing a total of six that made their way in the caravan through the Zuagir Desert.  Vithika’s palanquin, at the head of the procession, held but herself, a few chests laden with jewels and gold, and the rapid hissing that came from Satrap Mostafa’s prized viper—an alabaster miscreant with bright red eyes and a mouth as black as the soul of the man that kept her.  That snake, which even in winter seemed to be hot blooded, proved more than a challenge to any that sought to handle it.  Any that was, save for she: it had come to her like an old friend, and she in turn had been given space to stretch out on the long, slow march that was before them.

If—and the if which qualified that was a contested one—but if the eunuchs that guarded her palanquin were to be believed—and once more, belief come of something which wanted for a scrotum was to her a foolish endeavor—then there were still several yojana between themselves and the comfort of a luxurious bath.  They had been given adequate means to bath themselves, of course, for when the satrap’s war games came to their end they would needs must be prepared to receive him, but there was something different between a swift cleansing and the glory that was relaxing within steaming water and expensive oils.  Oh, how she missed that delight—how she could not wait for the damned desert to be left behind.  

The heat was not something that bothered her.  She had suffered more—and worse—some time ago, before she had come to be within the satrap’s prized possessions, carted along with lesser beauties at the side of strapping, cockless takabara.  None were quite able to tell very much about her, and she in turn inclined little to sharing.  After all, who needed to know where she was from when where she was at present provided all the entertainment needed?  The rumors of her origin were many and at times, she had taken the ear of one of the guards to learn them at length.

They all seemed to agree that she was Vendhyan—perhaps from Peshkhauri, because the women of the northern regions were fair-skinned and proud, resultant from the colder climes and the spicier foods. Of course, there were claims by some—likely those that had never been to Peshkhauri—that she was one of Ayodhya or likely the Jhumda River’s small towns, and that in fact her father was a fishmonger that had sold her to a brothel when she was but a girl.  And then there was the nastiest rumor—that her nose, which had been derided as hooked to a point, marked her as decidedly Shemitish, so it was more like she had descended from—or perhaps been born the direct bastard of a Shemite trader that had settled in Gwandiakhan.

She did not need to tell them that she did not feel her nose was particularly hooked or that she had never been partial to the taste of fish, though.  So long as they were crafting rumors about what they believed they knew of her, they had precious little time to consider what they did not.

And that, in truth, was everything.

“How do you tolerate the heat, Shweta?” She asked the snake. Though few of its kind would have thought to slide along her arm, as she extended it the white creature rose and with due loyalty entwined itself upon her, so that when she held it to her veiled face their eyes were nearly on level with one another. “Does it not torment you to be trapped and yet full of life?”

Shweta the Snake’s tongue flicked once.  Against the black of its mouth, it was a dull red.

She thought to flick her tongue back.  So she did.

“This is all too slow.”  The sentiment carried more within it than she cared to share with any living creature—her silent serpentine sister, included.  Over the horizon she could see more sand that basked under a pale blue sky, and beyond it the faint hint of white clouds that rose like fading plumes of smoke from a fire that had long since been vanquished.  Her eyes, more green than blue, focused on those wisps with a certain longing—an undeniable, unmistakable eagerness. It was fortunate indeed that she was alone, for the first glimpse of her true nature might have been the end of the many falsehoods that surrounded her.

Shweta slithered off her arm and returned to a darkened pouch within the bottom of the palanquin, while she in turn lazed back and rested her head against the opened port nearest her.  Little air moved across the desert, but when the slaves carting them moved she was reminded of what it meant to be in motion, truly.  Already had perished of exhaustion in their limited movement, which made her consider just who it was that had been assigned to move them. Proper slaves would have seen it as a delightful exercise: a few fathoms a day, no more?  And soldiers, well—if Turanian soldiers could not move a few women reliably, then what chance did they stand against the Aquilonian host that swelled to the west?

No, these weakened slaves—these pathetic creatures were something else.

They were something more pathetic than all of that.  She could smell it—they were human.

It had been her impetus, albeit masked as the idle mewling of a kitten, that had seen the pleasure palace moved.  Satrap Mostafa’s supposedly poor showing at Aklat had been well staged: he had baited the Aquilonians into taking a city he cared little for, and they saw it invested with three legions that were then certainly preparing for some form of foolhardy gambit.  The Aquilonians would make their move and the Turanians would answer.  What followed was likely to be bloodshed that would stain the sands and make men do what they did best—kill each other for relatively little gain.

Yet, to see the satrap convinced to move them was no simple thing.  It required fear—fear, real and imagined—joined with the delicate sensuality that the notion aroused in men. Beneath the gruesome iron mask that he wore, Satrap Mostafa was not an ugly man: he had long features, draw over bones that made him seem longer yet, and held an almost lupine glare to his light brown eyes.  His face was clean-shave, revealing a mouth that was somewhat wide and his nose was tragically flat.  His ears were neither large nor small—his back, straight but his body not overtly muscled. Most beautiful about him, she felt, was his hair—long and a rich black, that he wore braided in battle and long when abed.  He could kill men, he had told her, but he disliked fighting—and he could fuck women, he reminded her, but he disliked games.

The seeing of the man did not make him seen, though.  Satrap Mostafa was not an easily read men, even if his lusts could be rolled off one’s tongue—or taken onto it, if the mood found him.  The mask he wore in battle was a finite and heavy thing, yet it seemed immaterial to those which he wore over his heart.  With cold eyes she had seen him dispassionately force two women to fight to the death for his own amusement; those same cold eyes had offered her of golden trinkets after she had slain her foe.  He was less crafty than cunning and less wise than weary.

But he was a man.

He was a man that possessed—she must admit—a rather nicely sized cock.

He was a man that liked to place that cock in things that did not have one.

And thus, he was hers.  In the end, they always were.

It was fear of being captured—fear of being taken away from him, that set things to motion.  She did not need overly much to convince him that her fear was genuine, for he had taken her from the hands of captors that had taken her from captors as well.  When the Zuagirs traded her away, it had been with the expectation they were seeing their lives spared.  To win her trust he had asked her what she wished of him—and so she said their heads.  That had seen his cold eyes fall upon her for the first time that night.

That night, they fucked in a brew made of Zuagir blood and the fine wines of Trabatis, off the coast of Argos. He had licked it from her; she had sucked it from him.  It was not an arrangement that had been unseemly in the slightest and yet, it had not been intended either.  That she had ever been captured—that she had been bartered, were but chains in a mistaken chain that she had not yet corrected.  But she was so very close to that correction then—she was so close that she could taste it, like the sweet flesh of a mango at long last ripened and bursting free its skin.

So they were send toward the Ibaris Mountains, where surely there would be no Aquilonians there to disturb them.  Mostafa would win his battle and return to them—to her, and know the worship that a conqueror deserved.  Through skill, guile, and her finesse had his amassed wealth worthy of a sultan, yet his close ties to Turanian royalty had prevented him from taking the next step that he needed to make.  She knew, in the bottom of his heart, he had believed she would be that step he required.

And she knew, with all of her heart, that she would not be there to take it with him.

But they were moving too slowly—it was all moving too slowly.

She stuck her head out of the palanquin and looked to the side.  They had been forbidden from revealing themselves to others, and the moment she did so a large-bodied Darfari savage whose cock had been removed but tongue yet worked, moved close to block her from view.

“Little One,” Wagih said to her in strained Turanian, “what do you think you are doing?”

She looked at him—looked into his bloodshot red eyes, and admired the strong musculature of the body beneath his light armor.  He carried an immense polearm at his side, with a bladed head that seemed likely to pierce the heavens if he lifted it at his master’s command.  The Darfari and their Yoggish kin had been bred to feast on the flesh of men.

With time, though, they could be taught to eat of a woman’s palm.

“These are miserable slaves, are they not?”

“Truly pathetic, yes.”

To some, perhaps, they were both of them slaves—and Vithika, honestly, would have felt no different—yet they had the appropriate designation of being called more than that: she a concubine, he a warden, and together they were above those which carried them about.  She did not lower her voice, but instead spoke to him in his native tongue—a sound that might have been harsh on the ears of another, but she knew that as she purred her words from behind her veil, it made the cock he wished he had stiffen in whatever black stomach it then occupied.

“Too pathetic.”

He eyed her with his eyes, flaked red from nature’s design. “You speak in riddles.”

“Why are they so weak? These slaves—these miserable creatures.”  She did not speak in Darfari to mollify the slaves, of course. In fact, she could have spit upon one and he would have gladly licked it up for the chance at moisture.  No, she spoke for one reason and one alone—a reason that the Wagih knew well.  It was because she was different.

It was because she cared about him.

Even without their cocks, it seemed, men were easily misled.

“They were not always slaves,” he said.  The grin he gave her was ugly and revealed teeth that had been capped gold to ward off rot.

“At least not collared ones,” she said.

The eunuch laughed a dry sound. “Yes, they are not collared ones.”

She looked past Wagih toward one of the men carrying her palanquin.  He had a slight build, with sweat that pooled off a body both somewhat skinny and fat at the same time.  His skin sagged; the sun had turned him a bright red, yet the nape of his neck was partially white where his hair had once been, and the baking of the sun had inflamed it to a point of bursting in small sores.

These were indeed no men that were meant for labor.

“The ministers.”  She said. Wagih’s bloody eyes twinkled in response.

“Conceal yourself, Little One.  I do not desire the whip this day.”

She pouted behind her ask, which made her eyes appear doe-like. “Did I do something wrong, then?”

“—Well, not the whip from the satrap, at least.”

A parting wink was all she offered him before she resumed her place and he took to walking at the side of her palanquin once more.  After a moment she heard the strap of leather at his side crack soundly and one of the men—likely the miserable old minister that had been walking—cry out before the palanquin swayed.

“Drop her and you die a thousand deaths, worm,” Wagih said, outside.

How lovely a man he was, even without his cock.

Shweta slithered free her hiding place and wound herself back her arm once more, then moved to brush against her cheek.  The snake was cool despite the head, and she lifted a hand to brush along its fine scales, petting it in a way that only she knew how.  The ministers had likely displeased the satrap by countermanding him and now they, the most expendable of his fallen court, were set to move away his most valuable possessions.  Often, she knew, they must have looked at others—herself included—and questioned how any could survive servitude when the blade was so close at hand.

Slit your throat.

Choose freedom!

An empty sentiment—an empty sentiment meant for those that did not know freedom was the lie masters told so that slaves would behave with more care. How free were those proud, bearded men when they were beaten by cockles Wagih or forced to cart about the women they had once derided and abused when time permitted them to do so?  No, slavery was not a choice—it was a reality, and they had lived a life free its samsaran reprimand long enough.  Let the crack of the whip find them; it was but torment that motivated their movement.

“Still too slow,” she said.  Far off in the distance, where the blue sky danced with white clouds, she recalled dreaming of a terrible storm that manifested where the blue fell, and invited a spanning darkness to stretch over all and cover it in the sands of times long since gone. She had awakened from that dream drenched in sweat and used a nearby girl to see her anxiety relaxed before returning to a light sleep—but the image had not faded from her, nor had the message it carried with it.

That dream had not been a warning—it was a mandate. Had she truly wished to be free of her captivity, then she might have found a dozen ways to escape from Satrap Mostafa.  He was no man greater than any other she had deceived, and certainly he was not one that could claim to have a greater depth of darkness in him than that which she had crawled free from.  The lessons she had learned as a child—dancing to the crack of the whip, or the sharp hiss of burning flesh, were lessons that had prepared for not merely this world, but the one that came before it and that which would follow.

No, she was slow—too slow, because she had become comfortable.  Lazy.  She had enjoyed being pampered and played with; knowing the pleasures of the palace and the depravity of the dungeon beneath it.  Just as the ministers that struggled about her had forgotten their place in the world, so too had she.  The promises she made—the vows she had taken, were not to be put off any longer. Life and death had been entwined about her for so long that she had at last luxuriated in the former and allowed the latter to become jealous.

And as any jealous lover would, Death had finally come to exact its vengeance.

She stopped her inspection of the snake as she felt a scale flick away.  Between two fingers she carefully picked it up and held it to her face.  Shweta flicked her tongue against her hand, but she minded that pale, translucent remnant of a life fading before her eyes. “You are not wrong,” she said. “It is near time this skin was shed as well.”

Vithika the Vendhyan, the voluptuous vixen of vaunted vivacity, let the scale fall from her finger and watched it catch upon the faint yawn of a distant wind, before it was lost in the sand. They were moving too slowly—too slowly, she knew. For that which she had escaped—that which they had all escaped, had not been left behind.

Across fathoms of lifeless sand, a terrible howl rose to protest its ire against the trembling sky.   Those that guarded the caravans began to seek shelter and a safer route, but she knew it would be to little avail.  That which approached would consume them all—as it had before, and as it would again.  

“It is here,” the Stygian said. “It has found me.”

#conan #writing exercise #vithika the vendhyan

[ourmrsreynolds]

Tyrion describes Tysha in AGoT as follows, “dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed… yet lovely.” Arya is dark haired, slender & a beauty. Though not lowborn she can pass off as one & is starved & unwashed owing to her circumstances... do you think it’s possible that Tyrion will fall for Arya should they meet like it was intended, a one sided thing from his end in the books?

i’ll answer this two ways: 1) would i read a fic in which this scenario plays out? 110% yes as i am an unapologetic angst junkie

2) do i think it’s probable/reasonable for such a scenario to occur in canon? nope. i’m no expert on tyrion, but this meta lays out pretty well why Tysha’s significance to Tyrion is not her physical attributes so much as her existence proves Tywin Lannister wrong: Tyrion IS worthy of love, and it’s not his disability that comes between Tyrion and Tysha, it’s his Lannisterness. i have to be honest i’ve not given much thought to how Arya would interact with the nexus of trauma and depression that is Tyrion’s brain right now; but i think her existence proves Tywin wrong in a different way— insofar as Tywin and Ned represent vastly differing philosophies of rulership, in the long term it is Ned’s way that wins out. i mean, the North is rising, as a body, to protect valiant Ned’s precious little girl. meanwhile House Lannister is a walking disaster zone and THAT RIGHT THERE is Tywin’s legacy. so Tyrion falling for Arya would be a repudiation of everything his father’s worked for, a giant middle finger to the idea (inculcated by Tywin) that Tyrion needs to use his Lannisterness as a shield (however imperfect) against the vulnerability of being a disabled person. cuz when it comes to Arya being a Lannister sure as shit is more of a liability than being a dwarf. im sorry this answer got rather long on thematic repercussions and short on character discussion; it’s just the Jon-Arya-Tyrion love triangle was not one of the parts of the Original Outline that i personally found that interesting!

3) but maybe you’re asking about the odds of Jon-Arya-Tyrion because you just want a really juicy love triangle to make things a little spicier for Arya and Jon? In which case may I suggest Aegon Connington, my favorite little nugget. go forth and be fruitful and write all the fic!!

#meta mine #anonymous #the ask and the answer

[wineanddinosaur]

Midwestern Red Beer Is a Regional Specialty for Bloody Mary Lovers

For a vast majority of beer drinkers, seeing “Red Beer” on a menu most likely conjures up images of an amber-tinted generic beer. But in the Midwestern United States, Red Beer is a regional specialty — one that’s enjoyed in Minneapolis restaurants, Nebraska tailgates, and Sunday brunches. It has more in common with a popular brunch cocktail than any amber ale or lager. That’s because there is no specialty malt involved at all, but rather one key ingredient: tomato juice.

Red Beer closely resembles a Michelada or a Bloody Mary. However, its key difference is its simple, two-ingredient recipe: light beer and tomato juice.

“Bloody Marys feature a spirit, Micheladas tend to use hot sauce and savory ingredients, and Red Beer is sans the spirits and the hot sauce,” Jeff Rogers, bar director for Jester Concepts, a Minneapolis-based hospitality company, says.

Rogers, who has spent 26 years in the hospitality industry, says the simple mix has been a fixture of dive bars and football tailgates for as long as he can remember. The tangy drink is so popular, it’s known by a variety of names throughout the Midwest, including “Red Rooster,” “Red Eye,” “Red Draw,” “Bloody Beer,” and “Montana Mary,” each celebrating its own regional twist or personal recipe, like the “Kicked-Up Red Beer” by Nebraska-based recipe blog An Affair from the Heart. One very specific riff, blogger Michaela writes, is tomato juice and Busch Light in a Solo cup at a Nebraska football game, also known as a Busch Latte. Her family recipe adds a Bloody Mary dry spice rub, and a pickle or olive garnish.

While some red beer fans foray into spicier mixes, Rogers notes that adding hot sauce to the traditional two-ingredient drink pretty much makes a Michelada. He prefers making his with lager, including his go-to Grain Belt Premium, and, sometimes, seasonings or Worcestershire sauce. That said, the possibilities are sort of endless. “These are like pizza — everyone has a vision of what they want,” Rogers says. “I have seen chocolate, fish sauce, endless amounts of hot sauce, raw eggs, [and] garlic cloves added [to Red Beer]. It is crazy to even try to define a traditional one because of this.”

Today, you can even find takes on Red Beer in Midwest breweries, like Short’s Brewing Co.’s Bloody Beer, which the brewery describes as “the reciprocal of a Bloody Mary that’s made with a little beer. In this case, the majority of the beverage is beer instead of tomato juice.” The concoction has a golden beer base, and is fermented with lager yeast and Roma tomato puree, horseradish, black peppercorns, dill, and celery seed.

Another Red Beer quirk? Don’t be surprised if you see buy-one-get-one-free offers, Rogers says. “We do something very interesting in the upper Midwest, especially in Minneapolis: When you get a [Red Beer or Bloody Mary], you get a ‘snit’ or ‘sidecar’ of beer. Most have always thought it was a nice sipper, but it was intended to be poured into the [drink] as you drank it … to help thin it out.”

Rogers and others who have tried to pinpoint the origins of the drink believe that it stems from Micheladas or Sangritas, made with the Midwestern palate in mind. “The upper Midwest just made them fairly plain. Ketchup being a spice up here, it needed manipulation to be palatable for the upper Midwest palates of the time,” he says, jokingly.

Though its origins may be unclear, Red Beer has a definitive purpose: to revive and refresh thirsty Midwesterners the way only a regional remedy can.

The article Midwestern Red Beer Is a Regional Specialty for Bloody Mary Lovers appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/red-beer-midwest/

[johnboothus]

Midwestern Red Beer Is a Regional Specialty for Bloody Mary Lovers

For a vast majority of beer drinkers, seeing “Red Beer” on a menu most likely conjures up images of an amber-tinted generic beer. But in the Midwestern United States, Red Beer is a regional specialty — one that’s enjoyed in Minneapolis restaurants, Nebraska tailgates, and Sunday brunches. It has more in common with a popular brunch cocktail than any amber ale or lager. That’s because there is no specialty malt involved at all, but rather one key ingredient: tomato juice.

Red Beer closely resembles a Michelada or a Bloody Mary. However, its key difference is its simple, two-ingredient recipe: light beer and tomato juice.

“Bloody Marys feature a spirit, Micheladas tend to use hot sauce and savory ingredients, and Red Beer is sans the spirits and the hot sauce,” Jeff Rogers, bar director for Jester Concepts, a Minneapolis-based hospitality company, says.

Rogers, who has spent 26 years in the hospitality industry, says the simple mix has been a fixture of dive bars and football tailgates for as long as he can remember. The tangy drink is so popular, it’s known by a variety of names throughout the Midwest, including “Red Rooster,” “Red Eye,” “Red Draw,” “Bloody Beer,” and “Montana Mary,” each celebrating its own regional twist or personal recipe, like the “Kicked-Up Red Beer” by Nebraska-based recipe blog An Affair from the Heart. One very specific riff, blogger Michaela writes, is tomato juice and Busch Light in a Solo cup at a Nebraska football game, also known as a Busch Latte. Her family recipe adds a Bloody Mary dry spice rub, and a pickle or olive garnish.

While some red beer fans foray into spicier mixes, Rogers notes that adding hot sauce to the traditional two-ingredient drink pretty much makes a Michelada. He prefers making his with lager, including his go-to Grain Belt Premium, and, sometimes, seasonings or Worcestershire sauce. That said, the possibilities are sort of endless. “These are like pizza — everyone has a vision of what they want,” Rogers says. “I have seen chocolate, fish sauce, endless amounts of hot sauce, raw eggs, [and] garlic cloves added [to Red Beer]. It is crazy to even try to define a traditional one because of this.”

Today, you can even find takes on Red Beer in Midwest breweries, like Short’s Brewing Co.’s Bloody Beer, which the brewery describes as “the reciprocal of a Bloody Mary that’s made with a little beer. In this case, the majority of the beverage is beer instead of tomato juice.” The concoction has a golden beer base, and is fermented with lager yeast and Roma tomato puree, horseradish, black peppercorns, dill, and celery seed.

Another Red Beer quirk? Don’t be surprised if you see buy-one-get-one-free offers, Rogers says. “We do something very interesting in the upper Midwest, especially in Minneapolis: When you get a [Red Beer or Bloody Mary], you get a ‘snit’ or ‘sidecar’ of beer. Most have always thought it was a nice sipper, but it was intended to be poured into the [drink] as you drank it … to help thin it out.”

Rogers and others who have tried to pinpoint the origins of the drink believe that it stems from Micheladas or Sangritas, made with the Midwestern palate in mind. “The upper Midwest just made them fairly plain. Ketchup being a spice up here, it needed manipulation to be palatable for the upper Midwest palates of the time,” he says, jokingly.

Though its origins may be unclear, Red Beer has a definitive purpose: to revive and refresh thirsty Midwesterners the way only a regional remedy can.

The article Midwestern Red Beer Is a Regional Specialty for Bloody Mary Lovers appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/red-beer-midwest/

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Types of A Wine Beverage Presents

Selecting a Sparkling Wine Gift - Red Versus White

It would most likely be rather easy to select a red or white wine present for a person if you are an alcohol fanatic yourself. However, if you aren't well-informed regarding a bottle of wine fundamentals, it can be extremely challenging for you to understand which kind of vintage liquor to acquire. This post will cover the standard facts regarding the distinctions between both fundamental mulled wine kinds beyond the truth of colour. Read more here

Red vinos have a tendency to be a lot more full-bodied as well as extra intricate than the majority of white bottle of wines. Merlot are typically made from black and also red grape varietals. The fermentation procedure is an essential element of why merlots are a lot more robust and savoury than white bottle of wines.

Throughout the fermentation of merlots, all parts of the grape are left in the squeezed juice including grape stems, skins and seeds. These solids present greater quantities of tannins and pigments. Like the stems, skins as well as seeds steep in the juice, they include colour and also intense flavour to the resulting drinks.

There are numerous selections of red bottle of wines readily available to select from. Several of one of the most popular merlots consist of Merlots, Cabernet Sauvignon as well as Pinot Noir. Any one of these alcohol types would certainly be a welcome present to alcohol fans.

White red or white wines, on the various other hand, are primarily made from environment-friendly grapes and also cause a lighter, crisper red or white wine. Throughout the fermentation procedure for white drinks, once the juice is removed from the grapes, the solids are carefully strained as well as gotten rid of. The mulled wine developed from eco-friendly grapes is not only lighter in colour, but it will likewise be less complicated in flavour than merlots.

Tannins act as a preventative to oxidation of the a drink during ageing. They are extremely essential in merlot production due to the long ageing procedure used. As the homemade wine ages, tannins add even more flavour to the red or white wine. This procedure produces an extra flavorful and durable sparkling wine. The presence of these tannins develops a sharpness to the alcohol that mellows with age as well as is subjugated by letting the vino take a breath prior to offering.

Gewurztraminer additionally come in a wide assortment of kinds. One of the most preferred gewurztraminer in the United States is Chardonnay. Other excellent options would certainly consist of white Zinfandels or Sauvignon Blanc. Gewurztraminer makes an outstanding present choice that will rate by most vino lovers.

When picking which a wine bottle to bring as a hostess gift, you will need to consider what gets on the menu. You will intend to combine the red wine to the food in a complimenting way. By enhancing, I suggest that it is normally accepted that you offer light bottle of wines with lighter foods and robust wine beverages with heavier or spicier foods.

Now that you recognize the basic distinctions in merlots versus white homemade wines, you have sufficient details to make a choice on which homemade wine to make use of for your wine gift. Both white as well as red vinos been available in a large range of rate points so it will certainly be easy to select a red or white wine present that fits both the recipient as well as your pocketbook.

French Vinos Are a Perfect Gift Option

Any kind of gift-giving occasion is appropriate for a present of a wine bottle. With the wide array of kinds and also flavours of homemade wines available, there is one suitable for almost everyone on your present checklist. It likewise can streamline your life and also conserve you a lot of time considering that most of your buying can be performed in one store. Many mulled wine shops will certainly also use a glass of wine present bags so you can provide your presents in a joyful method.

When selecting a vino present, think about offering a container of French vino. This is constantly popular as French red or white wines have actually long been regarded as the epitome of great sparkling wine. Also a lot of the common names for kinds of wine bottles come from France such as wine red and also sparkling wine so you can see that the French have a rich background in the vino world.

Centuries back, the peasants of France made mulled wine to consume as the water of the moment was not palatable. It wasn't until after the Middle Ages that a bottle of wine began to interest the upper courses. As the nobles started to appreciate liquors, even more study and experimentation was done with grape selections as well as fermentation processes. In France, winemaking has actually currently risen to an art type.

The rich, abundant dirt problems in numerous parts of France, along with environment variations, make the nation an excellent setting for red or white wine production. There are thirteen various regions that produce a nearly infinite array of great vinos. Dirt differences, distance to water as well as weather condition problems also play a part. in excellent a glass of wine development.

French homemade wines differ in top quality as well as rate, just like any various other red wines. They're prevail brand names of white, red and burgundy red wines to be discovered in any a glass of wine store. For an absolutely magnificent present, you might wish to take the time to look for a rarer vintage. There are numerous a glass of wine sellers available online. If you have an idea of what kind of a glass of wine you would love to purchase, you can simply do a search for that kind and see what turns up.

Red or white wine from France has actually long been regarded as being a cut above other alcohols. A wine bottle aficionados will certainly usually state that France makes the best in fine red or white wines which no other mulled wines come close. Whether the distinction is in the growing or the production is hotly questioned yet experts agree that there is a difference in great French red or white wines versus other wine bottles.

One noticeable difference between French wine beverages which of various other countries remains in the tag. Many other mulled wines have labels that inform you what the components are of the liquor. France, however, has actually left their tags the same for generations. French liquors are still identified with the location of the vineyard which includes a touch of love for many.

For a distinctive alcohol gift, you can not fail with a container of French wine. Even if you stick to a budget plan and locate a low-cost a wine bottle, numerous will certainly think it is a lot more beneficial because it is from France. Any type of a wine bottle fan will certainly appreciate the consideration of such a gift.

Chardonnay is Easy Red Or White Wine Gift

If you don't recognize the individual's tastes, picking a sparkling wine to give as a gift can be challenging to do. A good choice, in this situation, would be Chardonnay liquor. Chardonnay is a preferred kind of gewurztraminer that is inexpensive while still being an excellent homemade wine. It is widely offered and also goes with many recipes so it makes a really great red or white wine gift for nearly any individual.

Chardonnay grapes, which are utilised to make white Chardonnay red wine, originated in France. A thin-skinned light eco-friendly grape, Chardonnay grapes were produced by crossing the Pinot and Croatian Blanc grapes, both which have actually because come to be extinct. Chardonnay grapes may have begun in the Champagne as well as Burgundy areas but they have adapted well to conditions all around the globe. The convenience of expanding this selection has aided it spread out throughout Europe, Australia, South Africa as well as also the USA.

The grape juice from the Chardonnay grapes is fermented in oak barrels to bring out the gewurztraminer's trademark vanilla flavour. It is called a non-aromatic sort of alcohol which is why oak is so reliable during the fermentation. The chemical communication between the wine and the wood is what highlights the hint of vanilla that Chardonnay is renowned for.

The finest Chardonnay liquors are created in the United States as well as France. The white wines created in these two areas have a credibility for being one of the most extreme and complex of Chardonnays. Most American Chardonnays are generated in The golden state, which has gained a distinguished reputation for creating great homemade wines.

Given that Chardonnay is the most typical kind of gewurztraminer, you will locate it available in all components of the globe. There are variations in taste and also fragrance relying on where as well as just how it was created. This will certainly affect the rate you pay, together with how much was created of each vintage. Nevertheless, you must be able to find a really excellent Chardonnay at an inexpensive.

Chardonnay sets well with a variety of meals. This is a big reason it has achieved high appeal. This liquor should be served chilled and also it goes completely with any kind of dishes that have butter or cheese as major components. Considering that it likewise has a low level of acidity level, Chardonnays go extremely well with seafood meals or various other salty foods.

The light flavours and also ease of serving with such a wide variety of meals make Chardonnay a demand in any white wine lover's profile. Your regional white wine store must stock a great assortment of Chardonnay, both residential as well as imported. Costs are really reasonable for the majority of varieties, however, you should expect to pay even more for a great French Chardonnay. Many individuals promise that the unique high qualities of great French red or white wine make any rate worth it, yet this will certainly depend on your budget.

As you can see, Chardonnay would certainly be a fantastic a bottle of wine gift for any occasion. The inexpensive of this a wine bottle makes it easy on virtually any type of budget plan. The simplicity of pairing Chardonnay with foods make this easy on the recipient as well as will certainly be a valued wine present.

#Chardonnay #French wine #Red vinos

[geoffreywalton]

How To Fix Early Ejaculation Problems Miraculous Cool Tips

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Premature Ejaculation Medicine Walgreens

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Homemade Premature Ejaculation Treatment

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#How To Fix Early Ejaculation Problems Miraculous Cool Tips #How Can I Help Premature Ejaculation

[kansascityhappenings]

The history behind Kansas City-style barbecue and its star burnt ends

KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Several regions throughout the United States have fanatics devoted to their local brand of barbecue, and Missouri is no exception. Kansas City is the birthplace of dry-rubbed barbecue drizzled in tomato-molasses sauce. Kansas City is also known for adding the sticky, finger-licking condiment onto a range of meats, veggies, and fruits.

Origins of barbecuing in Kansas City

Globally, people know Kansas City for its barbecue. Jazz, the Chiefs, the Royals, fountains, speakeasies, and President Harry S. Truman also top the list for what puts the metro in the international limelight. Even still, barbecue is often the first item tourists ask about when they hear about our city.

Smack-dab in the center of the first edition of The Kansas City Star (then called The Kansas City Evening Star), published on Sept. 18, 1880, appeared a story with the prophetic headline “The Grand Barbecue.”

On that day, Kansas Citians held a parade following the completion of a long-delayed railroad connection. The parade ended with an old fashioned barbecue attended by more than 3,000 hungry locals.

On July 3, 1869, Kansas Citians celebrated the historic opening of the Hannibal Bridge — the first permanent railroad bridge to cross the Missouri River. It also followed with a celebration parade and a large barbecue party. Before widespread modernization and cooking gadgets became mainstream, barbecuing food was one of the easiest ways to feed a large group of people.

It’s not surprising that barbecue took off in late 19th century Kansas City. Meat was relatively cheap and plentiful thanks to the city’s stockyards. After the Civil War, many freed slaves left the deep south for new destinations: Kansas City was often picked as a new home for its thriving river and rail hub and dominate meatpacking industry. These jobs promised a new life. The new residents brought with them their culinary traditions, and the city’s love of barbecue created a demand bound for profit.

Barbecuing in the modern times

Henry Perry is considered the Barbecue King and credited with starting and spreading the Kansas City barbecue trend on a wide-scale. Today the Kansas City metro has more than 100 barbecue dining options with a variety of sauces and dishes.

Kansas City-style barbecue makes use of different types of meat including: pulled pork, pork ribs, burnt ends, smoked sausage, beef brisket, beef ribs, smoked or grilled chicken, smoked turkey, lamb ribs, and sometimes fish. Occasionally, Kansas City-style barbecue includes vegetables or fruits.

The barbecue is often rubbed with spices, slow-smoked over a variety of woods and served with a thick tomato-based sauce. There are several different takes on the sauce, but the staple flavor people are familiar with blends both sweet and spicy.

Burnt ends are the crusty, fatty, and flavorful pieces of meat cut from the ends of a smoked beef or pork brisket — these are popular in several different restaurants in Kansas City from Q39, Char Bar, and sometimes Chicken N Pickle. Burnt ends used to be seen as the throwaway part of a brisket, but not anymore. It’s now a shining star of Kansas City-style barbecue.

Staple side dishes include: baked beans, fries, coleslaw, potato salad, cornbread, and vegetables.

Henry Perry brings a new style of barbecue to Kansas City

Henry Perry, the Barbecue King

Henry Perry famously cooked and sold his meats out of an old trolley barn at 19th & Highland in the historic African-American neighborhood around 18th & Vine. He served slow-cooked ribs on newspaper pages for 25 cents a slab. Perry came to the Kansas City area from Shelby County, Tennessee near Memphis. He started serving barbecue in 1908.

Before moving here, Perry spent the past 15 years earning his way in the world as a cook on riverboats tugging along the Mississippi River. He began cooking for Kansas Citians in an alley at the corner of 8th and Banks in the Garment District. He sold the meat from a stand. He also operated Perry’s Barbecue at 17th and Lydia Avenue before moving to his most well known site. 

Compared to Memphis-stye barbecue, the Kansas City kind tends to use more sauce and more meats. Customers said Perry’s sauce was somewhat harsh with a noticeable peppery flavor. His sauce had more  vinegar and was spicier than what people are familiar with today. He pit-smoked his meats, which included pork ribs and beef along with wild game — like opossum, woodchuck, and raccoon.

Perry preferred tradition over creative nuances or innovation. He was quoted in an article in The Call as saying, “There is only one way to cook barbecue, and that is the way I am doing it, over a wood fire, with a properly constructed oven and pit.”

The Call reported in Perry’s heyday that there were more than a thousand barbecue stands in operation throughout the city.

Perry’s restaurant became an icon during the city’s Jazz renaissance and during the “wide-open” days of the Pendergast Era in the 1920s and 1930s. Jazz pianists Count Basie and Mary Lou Williams along with saxophonist Charlie Parker all loved the smoked meats Perry served at his eatery.  Kansas City was known then as the Paris of the Plains.

Charlie Bryant worked for the Barbecue King. He brought his brother Arthur Bryant into the business. Charlie took over the Perry restaurant in 1940 after the legend died.

Arthur then took over the business in 1946, renaming the restaurant Arthur Bryant’s.

The Arthur Bryant’s Barbeque Era

Arthur Bryant’s BBQ | Wikipedia

Arthur Bryant’s moved to 1727 Brooklyn Avenue. In the new neighborhood, it became the rendezvous for baseball fans and players in the 1950s and 1960s — it was close to the Municipal Stadium, where the Kansas City A’s played their home games. The team moved to Oakland, California in 1968.

In 1972, journalist, food writer, and author Calvin Trillin wrote an article for Playboy designating Arthur Bryant’s Barbeque as the best restaurant in the world.

The restaurant today serves smoked meets with Wonder bread and fries in plain self-service digs. Some of its top items are smoked ribs, brisket, and burnt ends.

Presidents Harry S. Truman, Jimmy Carter, and Ronald Reagan all stopped by to eat some grub there. Count Basie reportedly spat on his ribs to keep his bandmates from eating his food while he performed. Actors Jack Nicholson and Robert Redford also have stopped by for a meal.

In Trillin’s widely read Playboy essay, he wrote about Bryant’s legendary burnt ends, the crispy caramelized edges of smoked brisket:

“The main course at Bryant’s, as far as I’m concerned, is something that is given away free — the burned edges of the brisket. The counter-man just pushes them over to the side, and anyone who wants them helps himself. I dream of those burned edges. Sometimes, when I’m in some awful, overpriced restaurant in some strange town, trying to choke down some three-dollar hamburger that tastes like a burned sponge, a blank look comes over me: I have just realized that at that very moment, someone in Kansas City is being given those burned edges… for free.”

Shortly after Christmas in 1982, Bryant died of a heart attack in a bed that he kept at the restaurant.

His niece, Doretha Bryant, sold the restaurant to Bill Rauschelbach and Gary Berbiglia.

Gates & Sons

Gates BBQ Headquarters on Brush Creek in Kansas City | Wikipedia

In 1946, Arthur Pinkard, who also worked for the legendary Perry, joined with George Gates to form Gates and Sons Bar-B-Q. The first restaurant was in the same neighborhood as Perry’s famous eatery. When visiting baseball teams and sportscasters came to Kansas City, they fell in love with the barbecue scene, and they would go home to preach about the food they devoured. They had a huge hand in spreading the word about Kansas City cuisine to the rest of the country.

George Gates initially bought the restaurant for its liquor license, intending to turn it into a pub. His wife didn’t agree with this — she was a devout Methodist and disapproved of whiskey, so barbecue became the venue’s main focus.

Ollie Gates was in high school when his father bought the restaurant. He grew up working alongside his father. After college and a stint in the U.S. Army, Ollie actively worked at the restaurant. He now owns it. Three of his five children now preside over the small empire.

Gates barbecue sauce doesn’t contain molasses. The ingredients include tomatoes, vinegar, salt, sugar, celery, garlic, spices, and pepper. 1/10th of 1% potassium sorbate preservative is added into the mix. The additive is a white salt that is highly soluble in water. The sauce is available in several different varieties.

Gates expanded in the metro with restaurants all displaying certain trademarks — the red roofed buildings and a recognizable logo — a strutting man donning a tuxedo and a top hat.

The chain consists of six area Gates Bar-B-Q restaurants: four in Missouri and two in Kansas.

The American Royal

Kansas City is home to the American Royal, a nonprofit that debuted in 1899. It featured 541 registered head of Hereford cattle, the event was held in Kansas City’s flourishing stockyards. Around 55,000 people visited the show tent that year. The annual event grew to include goats, hogs, horses, and sheep. The annual event inspired the name for the Major League Baseball team the Kansas City Royals.

The American Royal in the present helps create scholarships, educational programs, and community outreach programs. It is the world’s largest barbecue competition.

Joe’s Kansas City

Joe’s Kansas City Bar-B-Que traces back to barbecue competitions in the 1990s and the Kansas City Barbecue Society.

Jeff Steheny accompanied some friends to the American Royal and The Great BBQ Battle and this inspired him to start cooking his own meats. The first smoker he purchased was an Oklahoma Joe’s 24” smoker, christened in April 1991.

By 1993, Jeff, his wife and business partner Joy, and Jim “Thurston” Howell had made noticeable traction in the KCBS competition circuit. Their competition team, Slaughterhouse Five, ended up winning eight Grand Championships, including the prestigious American Royal BBQ, three Reserve Grand Championships, and the KCBS’s Grand Champion “Team of the Year.”

Jeff and Joy opened Oklahoma Joe’s Bar-B-Que in a gas station in Kansas City, Kansas in 1996. It was later renamed to Joe’s Kansas City Bar-B-Que. There are also locations in Olathe and Leawood.

Celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain listed Joe’s original Kansas City, Kansas location as one of “13 Places You Must Eat Before You Die.”

It’s probably the best gas station barbecue one could ever hope to find. Slaughterhouse Five continues to compete at the American Royal. They continue to take home awards too.

KC Masterpiece

In 1977, Rich Davis capitalized on the growing reputation of Kansas City-style barbecue sauce. He created the KC Masterpiece, which evolved from his “K.C. Soul Style Barbecue Sauce.”

He sold KC Masterpiece to the Kingsford division of Clorox in 1986. It now claims to be the number one premium barbecue brand in the United States. The KC Masterpiece brand tastes sweeter than the classic Bryant’s or Gates sauces.

Davis held KC Masterpiece barbecues on the White House lawn for President George H.W. Bush and George W. Bush.

The History Channel stated Dr. Davis bucked the trend of KC BBQ restaurants by developing his sauce first, then creating a restaurant. The History Channel also found that KC is the crossroads of the BBQ community, in part due to the influence of the early railroad system.

When Davis sold the rights to his sauce, he announced plans to build a barbecue franchise. New restaurants popped up around the country, but all KC Masterpiece restaurants have closed. The Overland Park location was the last to close in 2009.

Jones Bar-B-Q

Jones Bar-B-Q is an independent barbecue joint on Kaw Drive in Kansas City, Kansas owned by sisters Deborah and Mary Jones. 

In 2001, Doug Worgul featured Jones Bar-B-Q in the afterword of his book The Grand Barbecue: A Celebration of the History, Places, Personalities and Techniques of Kansas City Barbecue.

The sister pitmasters do not participate in the barbecue competition circuit. 

In 2018, they appeared on an episode of Steve Harvey’s Steve in a segment titled “The Queens of Barbecue.”

In March 2019, the sisters and their famed barbecue appeared on the third season of American television series Queer Eye. The television celebrities gave the restaurant a makeover, and the sisters started bottling their famous sauce. They had to put in a second barbecue pit to handle the new demand.

Innovations in the present

Competition over who serves the best barbecue is fierce in the present. Even President Barack Obama, when visiting Kansas City in 2014, refused to comment on which restaurant served the best grub.

Recently, restaurants have gotten really creative with barbecue. Q39 is known for its salivate-inducing sauce. The restaurant is owned and operated by Rob Magee, a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America. Magee captained Munchin’ Hogs, one of the most successful competitive barbecue teams in history. They’ve won more than 50 Grand Champion titles at dozens of contests across the United States.

Magee and his team elevated barbecue as a cuisine with unique sides and genius flavor combinations like jalapeño-cilantro slaw, bacon-onion marmalade, Béarnaise butter, to drop donuts with chocolate and raspberry sauce.

At the restaurant Rye, they have created a burnt ends hash. For those that want a meatless option, Char Bar has an option worth trying. The JackKnife sandwich contains smoked jackfruit with a taste and texture close to pulled pork.

Kansas City Barbecue Society

The Kansas City Barbecue Society has more than 10,000 members worldwide. It is the largest organization of barbecue and grilling enthusiasts around the globe. KCBS is a nonprofit organization dedicated to “promoting barbecue as America’s cuisine and having fun while doing so.”

KCBS sanctions nearly 300 barbecue contests across the country each year. It offers assistance to civic and charitable groups through the contests.

KCBS also offers educational programs, consultation services, and civic organization presentations to help spread the word about tasty and perfected barbecue.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/11/23/the-history-behind-kansas-city-style-barbecue-and-its-star-burnt-ends/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/11/23/the-history-behind-kansas-city-style-barbecue-and-its-star-burnt-ends/

[beardyallen]

Days 4 thru part-of-Day-6-because-this-takes-forever-and-I-have-to-go-teach-soon

Yikes. Turns out keeping up with this is going to take some serious time-management voodoo on my part. I’ll figure that out eventually, I guess.

Alright, so where did I leave off? *scrolling thru Day 3...* *still scrolling...* *still scrolling........* Ah! There we go. The bank.

There wasn’t a whole lot that happened on Day 4, other than my first meal in one of the main cafeterias. From what I recall, their standard chicken wing (which looked like something you would get from KFC) had a breading that probably puts it somewhere in the top 30% of the spicier wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. Not too spicy, but for sure spicier than I expected from just a lone piece of chicken in a buffet-style dining hall with no labels. I also grabbed semi-gelatinous purple thing that turned out to be lotus and honey. Not really my favorite consistency, but it was pretty yummy nonetheless. But the cucumber. Man, let me tell you about the cucumber!!!!

It tasted like a normal cucumber but with a nice vinaigrette. Nothing crazy special, but it was still my favorite part of the meal. *shrug*

If memory serves, which it might not, I think I spent the rest of the night reading Dan Brown’s Origin. The handbook for the Guest House (where I live) only has one line in it about alcohol consumption in the apartments. It is strictly forbidden to engage in alcohol abuse. That’s pretty much it. Not real specific. So I texted ML if it was okay to have beer in the apartments, she assured me that it was totally fine, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I took another sip from my second beer.

Day 5 (Friday, if you’re keeping track) was slightly more interesting. ML, her boyfriend (S), R (now NR) and I were going on an adventure the next day, so ML, S, and I had to go shopping to get snacks for the trip. Turns out one of the banks (one that doesn’t allow people staying for less than 6 months to open an account) pretty much monopolized relations with Chase. We stopped there to get some cash to deposit into our Chinese bank accounts at our actual bank, then went to our ATMs. I was first in line in our group, dropped some cash into the slot/box that counts your money, and I was only then informed that I can only deposit 100 yuan notes at the ATM. It spit out my 20′s and 50′s, and I added an extra 100 when prompted. Then things went downhill.

Unbeknownst to us, this machine was malfunctioning that day, and I had just tried to do something that it didn’t like as I deposited around $60 into my account. I checked my receipt, it didn’t indicate that any money had been deposited, so we hailed an assistant. Fortunately, S has a much better grasp on the language than ML and myself, so he communicated the issue, and (30 minutes later) we were face-to-face with a banker. ML, as she hadn’t deposited any money yet, had a seamless transaction with him. *phew*

Me, on the other hand...well, I would have to come back on Monday to see if the money made it into my account. I didn’t have a good understand of what transpired during the conversation. It may be the case that the machine worked it out, or maybe the employees had to do some stuff on their end, but as it stood, I just had to wait. *shrug* Oh well. C’est la vie.

We still went shopping, and we set up plans to get sushi that night (to see if it’s what we wanted for lunch the next day as well!), and then our plans changed abruptly. ML was invited over to a colleague’s house for drinks that night, and I was welcome to join. So naturally, I brought a bottle of wine and tried to pretend like I could socialize well with strangers.

All in all, we had a good time. I kept my mouth shut for the most part as the conversations tended to be about things necessitating multiple years of residency in China. Or any country other than the US, really. Eventually the conversation drifted over to topics about which I felt I could contribute (education, books, television shows), and I finally opened my mouth. I’m fairly certain I didn’t embarrass myself. I was, actually, invited to join their book club! (Which mostly just involves getting together to drink wine/beer and eat cheese while we haphazardly dissect the book.)

Day 6 required that I wake up at 6am, which actually had been my routine already. So it wasn’t too bad. While I was out getting the wine the previous night, I had managed to scrounge up enough food and drink to get me through what I was imagining would be a long day. The idea is that we would take a train to a bus stop, then busses to the entrance of some underground cave that has a river in it. After walking for about a mile underground, we would then climb a mountain, and then visit an ancient village that still has some residents who get by as subsistence farmers.

Now an official veteran of the subway station and bus routes, I was completely at ease. Or I would have been, if any of the three of us would have had the foresight to look up exactly where we were meeting the rest of the group! Fortunately, plans had changed with the group, which put them a bit behind schedule as well! We somehow ended up at the bus stop with 5 minutes to spare, met our guide(s), and a couple of other tourists.

I kind of had to cram myself into my seat on the bus, but eventually got comfortable and pulled out my book. I would finish on the bus ride. For Dan Brown, it was alright. I sort of predicted most of it well in advance, but I have to admit I didn’t see the twist with the Spanish King and the Bishop coming! That made me happy.

Anyway, the bus stopped once before the cave to pick up the rest of the crew (which included two more tourists I didn’t know, another tour guide, and last but certainly not least, NR). 

The bus ride was almost completely uneventful, although the other passengers might say that his driving left much to be desired. In fact, at one point, the second tour guide, while drinking some water, may have tossed her cookies... Fortunately, we were only 5 minutes from the cave, though none of us knew that except the bus driver.

Once off the bus, we were in what looked like an open square or pavilion sort of thing in small, mostly vacant village. In the distance, you could just make out what sounded like a radio. From where we stood, the mountains on our left were a stone’s throw away, and the ones on our right were not much further. Centuries ago, the sides of the mountains on our right were carved in tiers to make room for ample farmland. This was quite common in this region, apparently.

As for the cave, we had to wait 30 minutes before it opened. I distracted myself by wandering over to what looked like a series of 12 (turns out there were 12 more on the other side!) images depicting life long ago. One of them had a tiger mauling an older gentleman. Curious, I asked NR for help translating as the top right corner held three characters, two of which I knew said “24.” These were, to the best of our understanding, 24 ways to be respectful. The one with the tiger was apparently supposed to represent protecting your elders from wild animal attacks. Seemed a bit specific, but...*shrug*

I stuck pretty close to NR’s side for the rest of the day as ML and S were enjoying each others’ company, and everyone else in our group seemed to be in some sort of non-platonic pairing. This worked out as I could ask her question after question about the characters we saw, about the language, and I got to find out that, while I likened the long trek into the cave and our merry band of travelers to the 7 Dwarves heading off to work, she had apparently immediately thought of Indiana Jones.

The cave itself was fascinating, although no description I give will really convey much that you can’t glean from an American cave. Turns out rocks over here are pretty similar to rocks in the States. Who’da thought? *insert sarcastic look here* What was so interesting to me was how prominent the influence of their culture was on how they named the formations. They would describe something as looking like a dragon or a Buddha, but those were the furthest from my mind when I looked at them. I’ll post the pictures we got from the cave here later, so stay tuned for those!

As I mentioned before, there was a freshwater river in the cave, and we got to take a boat ride down and back! None of us could really articulate how strange this experience was better than, “I can’t believe I’m in a boat on a river about 1 km below the surface! How neat!” There are just some things that words fail to express.

And now that you’re away of just how far below the surface we were, you may be able to appreciate how arduous the walk back was! On the way in, we had the anticipation of impending coolness to keep us occupied around every turn. On the way out, it was more a drudge. And stairs. So many stairs. Just when you think you’re done with the stairs, you go through a doorway and there’s just as many more staring you in the face. *wordplay partially intended* After what felt roughly like the same amount of time I spent waiting patiently in the bank on Day 3, we were finally back on the surface and could enjoy our dried crab(?), crackers, dried plums, and cookies.

And there were dogs. Dogs with no collars. Dogs that just begged and begged for food. (Don’t worry, Mom, I didn’t pet them. At least not after the first one bit me...) I’m not really sure what breed they were, but I’ve definitely never seen any quite like these. They seem rather common up in the mountain villages, though. *shrug*

After our snack, we started our hike. Which had more stairs. Because of course it did! Why wouldn’t there be more stairs? A sloped path would have been one thing, but actual stairs?! The audacity!!

In actuality, it was quite nice. The fresh air was...refreshing. We didn’t have a weird sense of being slightly damp and mildly cold but also warm anymore as we were hiking in the sun. And judging by the small huts (I would learn later that they are called, or at least one is, a Phoenix Nest), we would have several opportunities for breaks!

I was somewhat mistaken. When we got the first one, everyone grabbed a spot on the benches, conversation picked up, and we munched on our snacks again. By this point, it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes since we had last been relaxing. The view itself was outstanding, and I think everyone in the group really learned to appreciate what was almost certainly not a radio after all, but a local singing karaoke into a loudspeaker. And she only seemed to know one song. But she sang it nonstop for the entirety of the hike...

But I mentioned that I was mistaken. We could see more of the Phoenix Nests on higher and higher peaks around us, and the valley was nicely sprawled out below us. After 5 minutes of sitting there, I began to suspect that things were not what they seemed. Nobody seemed anxious to keep going. At all. In fact, everyone got rather comfortable. We probably sat up there for another 30 minutes chatting about whatever came up before the guide finally called us back to our feet. (Yes, one of the Europeans asked who I voted for in 2016; he approved of my response, and a long conversation about modern politics ensued amongst the 8 travelers, representing at least 6 different nations. It was quite fascinating. And I was the resident expert on America! Go figure!!)

Anyway, once we got our feet beneath us again, we made our way back to the trail.........and started going back down the mountain. That was it! That was the entire hike! But that was quite alright; I didn’t bring very good shoes for long walks or hikes, and I’d already been on my feet for 3+ hours.

After the uneventful descent, we got back in the van and made our way (uneventfully) to the ancient village. This village looked...very much like the one we came from. It was here that we had lunch (way more food breaks than I expected on this trip!), and we entertained ourselves with more conversation and bigger dogs. I’m guessing the tour guide wasn’t sure how to graciously convey to us that we should probably get going, because after sitting for waaaaaay too long with some of our food still unpacked, one of us had the bright idea to put it away, as a means to convey that we were maybe ready to see the village. Within seconds, our guide had us back on our feet and moving along.

The ancient village itself was something to behold. Very few of the buildings were still occupied, but there was a small restaurant in one of them with stone tablets of Chinese writing laid about. Probably 15 or 20 of them, each one giving me the impression of a Chinese-10-Commandments-Tablet.

The last stop in the village was the old farmlands, with the tiered bits of land making their way up the mountainside. We were primarily relegated into just one of these, but S managed to climb around, up onto the next one above us without the tour guide noticing. I felt his route was a bit too circuitous, so I just pulled myself straight up the wall, bracing myself with the lone tree in the area. I’m pretty sure ML and NR were concerned that I would get hurt. #lol

Eventually the guide called us to come back, to not venture too far, so S and I skulked back to the edge with our tails between our legs. Before the girls knew what I intended to do, I had already jumped the 10-or-so feet back down. S wasn’t quick enough, and he was preemptively admonished for considering it. Classic. I told him he needed to be quicker about it, and that there was a reason I jumped down when they weren’t looking.

After meandering about for a little while longer, we made our way back to the vans and began the long drive back to Beijing.

I alluded to this above, but it’s getting to be about that time that I have to go teach, and this is a somewhat-natural-stopping-point for the story. When I get back to this tomorrow morning (because I’m grabbing beers with colleagues after I teach), I’ll upload pictures into this post and finish the story!

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen