fried pastry

“Ooh! OOH! I found the next segment!”

Ted the Animator: “Phew. I was on the edge of my metaphorical seat.” 

Carl the Animator: “As it out, the whole ‘Scooby and Shaggy possibly dying’ thing made for a pretty darn good cliffhanger.”

Carl the Animator: “…what’s that stuff in her hand?”

Ted the Animator: “I’m calling it. It’s gonna be smelling salts. They’re a Scooby-Doo classic.”

Carl the Animator: “Hey, you’re right!”

Ted the Animator: “What can I say, I know my antiquated plot devices.”

Carl the Animator: “…they didn’t seem to revive Shag & Scoob, though?”

Ted the Animator: “Hmm. Maybe they are dead.”

Carl the Animator: “Wait, look, Fred reaches into the random bag he has, and pulls out…”

Ted the Animator: “A gun?”

Carl the Animator: “…a giant stick.”

Ted the Animator: “Wait, what?”

Carl the Animator: “A giant, sparkly stick?“

Ted the Animator: “I would peg it as one of those fried pastry things, but just look at the texture! That’s definitely wood with glitter on it.”

Carl the Animator: “Oh! Guess they weren’t dead after all, looks like the weird thing woke ‘em up.”

Ted the Animator: “Kids come runnin’ for the great taste of Kellogg’s Glittery Wooden Sticks.”

Carl the Animator: “They eat from each side, in their alleged sleep, and th–”

Carl the Animator: “…oh.”

Ted the Animator: “Oh.”

Carl the Animator: “Ah.”

Ted the Animator: “…I see.”

Carl the Animator: “I guess I, uh… wasn’t quite expecting that to happen.”

Ted the Animator: “Not as such, no.”

Carl the Animator: “Well, I mean, at least the scene can’t get any more awk–”

Carl the Animator: “…oh.”

Ted the Animator: “Oh.”

Carl the Animator: “I… um….”

Ted the Animator: “Well, that happened.”

Carl the Animator: “Yes.”

Ted the Animator: “…”

Carl the Animator: “…”

Ted the Animator: “…so, whaddya say, eye bleach and never speaking of this scene again?”

Carl the Animator: “Sold.”


Stephen groaned outwardly as he leaned back into his chair, distended stomach pushing forward into his lap. He raised his hands to place them on his undeniable gut and give the small swell a solid rub.  As he traced his hands across its outline, he inventoried the changes. He had put on at least twenty five pounds since starting college three months ago, and he knew more was ahead if he kept eating like this.

But, Texas was nothing he could have seen coming. Hailing from rural Maine, Mexican food was a rarity, and had always been a favorite. But, now, down in the south, in a border state no less, his options were as plentiful as the menus were cheap. For the last three months, he had taken himself from restaurant to restaurant, sampling seasoned meats, sharp cheeses, fine spices, flavorful rice dishes, and his absolute favorite:  desserts. Stephen had an especially soft heart for sopapillas–flaky pastries fried in oil and slathered with honey, sugar and cinnamon.

His curiosity had taken him to at least a dozen restaurants, but one, and only one, was running on the same 24/7 schedule he was:  Taco Cabana. Stephen knew it was one of the farthest things you could get from authentic Mexican and not the tastiest either, but, at night, when his stomach would growl and his resolve would crumble, he’d always manage to find his way to this glowing oasis of food, with its tacky decor and cheap, plentiful portions.

He groaned again at the tightness in his stomach, and reached down to unbutton his tight shorts; shorts that he knew were loose on him just before he came to college. The button struggled, but his hands were deft and the clasp was freed. He sighed in relief as his stomach fell gratefully into the extra space. How many nights had he spent like this, he idly wondered. How many times had he sauntered in, late at night, to stuff himself with rice, cheese, and greasy meats?

How many times, indeed, had he come in? He knew, fifteen pounds ago, that he was putting on weight, but, that didn’t seem to stop him. He knew when he started having to suck in his gut to button his pants; he knew when his underwear clung tightly around his thighs and backside; he knew when his favorite button down wouldn’t close around his gut; but none of that, absolutely none of it, had stopped him. Each time, Stephen always swore to himself, he’d start a diet.  He’d start a diet, skip out on Mexican food, and lose the weight–but for some reason, each time he was up late studying, or just hanging out with his friends, he would come back. And not just come back, but stuff himself until he was absurdly full. A task which, as his gut had grown, required steadily more and more food to accomplish. Stephen realized, if anything, he was coming around more and more often.

Stephen adjusted in his seat and stifled a belch, his small belly wobbling back and forth as his hips shifted. His stomach wasn’t aching as badly as it was earlier, he noted, and decided it was time to go. Stephen stood and, grabbing the tray which carried three empty plates of food, walked over to the trashcan to dispose of them. He took his empty drink to the soda fountain to top off before heading out, filling it back to the brim with a sugary soda and made his way to the exit. As he passed he register at the entrance, he gave a polite nod to the gentleman behind it–a usual night staff worker, Stephen had noticed. However, this time, a few feet from the door, he heard the cashier call out:

“Hey, gordito.”

Stephen didn’t speak a lick of Spanish, and he was some time from learning what the word meant, but, he knew it was for him. He turned around to face the cashier and asked as politely as he could, “Yes, sir?”

The cashier smiled to himself. “How about some dessert?”

Stephen’s stomach let out an audible gurgle, causing him to blush slightly and the cashier’s grin to spread a little wider.

“What do you say? How about dessert to go, on the house?”

Free food? Free dessert at that? Stephen grinned widely and gave a strong nod, unaware of the way his gut bobbled slightly along with his head.

“Here you go,” said the cashier. He reached down under the counter briefly, and produced a small to-go box. This was something he clearly anticipated. Stephen approached the counter and took the box, and gave the cashier a pleasant thank you as he walked out the door.

Returning to his dorm room, Stephen set the to-go box on his bed. He groaned quietly to himself and rubbed his gut, happy to have his roommate out for the week. As Stephen was standing up and preparing to undress, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His belly was visibly swollen with food and strained noticeably against his favorite tee-shirt. The shirt fit in an unflattering fashion. Stephen’s body had been swelling outward, pulling taught every formerly loose fold in its fit. To say it clung to him tightly was an understatement–It seemed to highlight the swelling of his torso, accentuating his protruding love handles. Stephen noticed this did the unfortunate work of pointing out exactly how much he had grown, as it left nothing to the imagination as to exactly how wide he was getting or by how much he was overflowing his shorts. It was glaringly obvious that his love handles had managed to not just rebel against the waist of his shorts, but to overtake it and swamp it in excess adipose. Bad as that was, worse still, Stephen thought, was at the apex of his belly. Each of his budding love handles swelled together toward the front of his gut, blossoming outward into a round, protruding gut which struggled so tightly against the shirt that an indentation was left where his navel was–an obvious place where fabric was not in direct contact with flesh.

Stephen groaned pitifully to himself, noticing now that his shorts were still unbuttoned. The shirt managed to cover his gut, but only as much, and it left exposed to the world the evidence of his recent gluttony. He had walked how many blocks like this? Had seen how many people like this?

He reached down under his gut and sucked in, tucking the button into its clasp before letting his stomach fall back out. It didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier, but, it seemed to hoist his gut higher and make it more pronounced. Stephen sighed, running his hands at the top of the largest curve. This was getting out of hand, Stephen thought to himself. It’s time to start that diet and get back into shape, his voice rang in his head confidently. Yes, Stephen was sure, the diet starts now.

As Stephen turned around, however, his attention was caught by the small, styrofoam to-go box on his bed. Stephen looked down at the soft curve of his gut, then again at the to-go box.

The diet would start tomorrow.

He grinned to himself, already thinking about the taste of the delicious treat on his palette.  But, rather than start immediately, Stephen decided he wanted to at least be a little more comfortable. Sucking in his stomach yet again, Stephen reached down and unfastened the button for his shorts and slid them down his legs. His chunky thighs and well-filled buttocks appreciatively relaxed into the extra space, and were made more obvious by the fit of his mid-thigh boxer briefs. Deciding to leave his shirt on, for now at least, Stephen grabbed a clean fork from the sink and walked over to his bed, tugging his shirt down over his belly before sitting down.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled again as he opened the to-go box, eyeing the fried morsel with a thick coating of sugar and honey. Sopapillas–his favorite. As Stephen cut off a corner with the side of his fork, he reminded himself that he wasn’t going against his diet, since he wouldn’t be starting that until tomorrow.

He slid the bite into his mouth, and sighed contently as the sugar and honey dissolved onto his tongue. The sweet and savory morsel rolled about his mouth, the tastes becoming more intermingled as his teeth greedily gnashed away. This, Stephen thought, was worth it. His fork went back and shoveled another, larger bite into his waiting maw.

Bite after bite, the pastry before him was turned into a gnash of fried bread and sugar, and swallowed into his waiting gut. Stephen eagerly scraped the remaining sugar and honey from the sides of the box, lifting as much of it as possible back to his mouth. Finally, after a euphoric few minutes, Stephen’s fork came up completely empty, and only filled his mouth with a trademark metallic taste. Stephen let out a sigh, half content, and half disappointed that his treat had been finished.

Stephen closed the box and set it down at his side. He let out a little belch, sighed again contently, and then lightly placed a hand on the top of his gut as it rested in his lap. Stephen looked back down at the box, a little disappointed. Tomorrow his diet would start, and that would mean no more sopapillas and no more nights of mexican food. Stephen looked down at the swell of his gut again, though, and was reminded of why that may not be such a bad thing. After all, Stephen didn’t want to get fat.

This was, Stephen knew, his last sopapilla for a long time. Resigned, Stephen sighed and stood up to walk the to-go box to the trash can. He reached down and picked up the box, only to discover that it was heavier than he remembered. Confused, Stephen opened the box again and to his surprise found not just one, but two sopapillas inside.

Stephen blinked.

“The fuck?” were the only words he could audibly muster. He could remember eating the last one just less than five minutes ago. Not only could he remember it, he could still make out the lingering taste of the sopapilla on his tastebuds. Despite Stephen’s confusion, his stomach came to one conclusion:  it growled audibly, and Stephen began to salivate.

Shrugging his shoulders, Stephen sat back down on his bed. “Must’ve been three in there and I missed them somehow.” Aware that this was a shitty explanation, Stephen didn’t really care. As the growl of his stomach and the smile creeping over his lips explained he already knew what he wanted:  more dessert.

Sitting back down on his bed and picking up his fork again, Stephen wet his lips in anticipation. Stephen brought down his fork on the flaky, gooey pastry, and smiled wider as the utensil crushed through it, forcing excess honey to ooze around it. As his stomach issued another quiet grumble, Stephen slopped the morsel in the excess sweet, sticky honey and brought it to his lips. Slipping the morsel into his mouth, Stephen again let out a content sigh. The gooey mixture of bread, honey, and sugar dissolved on his tongue, and he swallowed strongly, feeling the slop of sweetness plop into his waiting stomach.

Stephen reached for his fork and rapidly shoveled in another few bites until the first pastry was gone. Despite his earlier binge, Stephen was suddenly racked with a renewed sense of hunger. His primal urge turned on the remaining sopapilla, and Stephen, uninterested in wasting time, set the fork down on the nearby counter and reached in for the gooey treat with his hand. Stephen sopped the flaky pastry in the excess honey and sugar left in the container and, to his own surprise, brought the whole pastry to his mouth. Stephen wet his lips, then opened his maw wide as he stuffed in the pastry until his cheeks visibly puffed out around the food his mouth contained. Stephen bit down, his teeth tearing through the pastry as his lips became covered in sticky honey.

Stephen groaned happily as his jaw flexed, trying to subdue the pastry into a chewable mash. He swallowed a little bit at a time, feeling a slow trickle of honey, bread, and sugar down his gullet until finally, the last of it landed in his greedy stomach. Before he knew it, Stephen had shoveled what was left of the second sopapilla into his mouth and began to chew. Closing the lid on the box, Stephen set it at his side again, and placed both hands on either side of his gut. Stephen leaned back against the nearby wall and tilted his head up gently, swallowing, as his hands began to lightly massage his gut.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled audibly as he massaged it, trying to break down the pastries into usable calories. Stephen was content before, but now, as his stomach gurgled again, he wanted more. He wanted more, but, gently squeezing the side of his gut, Stephen reminded himself that what he needed was a diet. Especially now, Stephen thought, after three helpings of dessert.

“God,” he groaned, before stifling a belch, “I can’t keep doing this. I’ll turn into a fucking pig.”

Stephen’s stomach protested; it gurgled slightly, and Stephen caught himself struck with hunger again.

“God damn it, why the fuck am I hungry again? I just ate,” he groaned, perplexed by the sudden insatiability of his appetite. It had never been like this before.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen again noticed the to-go box. As the hunger ebbed away at his sense of self-control, Stephen caught himself wondering. If last time, there was more, then, maybe…

No. Stephen stopped himself and shook his head–even if there was, for some godawful reason, it was no excuse. He was on a diet, and he was going to lose weight and that was that. Stephen looked down at his gut again with a renewed sense of embarrassment, and strengthened his resolve.

But, from within, his hunger whispered, “I did say the diet starts tomorrow… and it’s definitely not tomorrow.” He eyed the to-go container again, “Do you think?” the voice in his head asked. “Maybe,” came the same voice in reply. As his hunger rose again, so did the intensity of his desires. Stephen unconsciously smacked his tongue in his mouth, sopping up whatever microscopic leftovers of its sugary treat it could still find. “Maybe,” Stephen thought to himself, and his hunger firmly commanded, “Check again.”

Without lifting the box, Stephen flipped the top on the to-go box to find to his surprise, another two sopapillas just as decadent as the last ones.

“What is going on here,” Stephen spoke aloud to no one in particular. He removed both hands from his stomach and lifted the to-go box to his face, the scent of the pastries hit his nose hard, almost like they had been freshly baked. Stephen’s round stomach let out a loud gurgle, as the hunger pains returned to rack his body again.

Groaning, Stephen tried to control himself. “I don’t need to eat–I don’t want to get fat.”. Stephen whined, placing his hands on his abundant gut, trying to ground himself. Alas, from deep within, came the voice.


Stephen reached in with his hand and picked up one of the pastries and stuffed as much of it into his mouth until his cheeks visibly strained. They puffed out hard on either side, and Stephen struggled to keep his mouth closed as he chewed. He tilted his head back again, lips smacking as his jaws worked to turn the treat into something more manageable. Bit by bit, the sugary treat slid down the back of his throat and sloshed into his stomach.

Stephen’s stomach gurgled as he reached for the second sopapilla to repeat his gluttony. As he smooched the chewy pastry into his waiting mouth again, Stephen felt contentment spread across his body even as his stomach’s hunger seemed to deepen.

In what was going to be the last moment Stephen’s willpower held up, he closed the lid and swallowed hard as he wiped powdered sugar from his lips. Through shocked, heavy breaths, Stephen’s fear grew, even as his hunger creeped upon the fringes of his psyche.

“No–” Stephen groaned, “I can’t get fat.” Fear creeping up within him, both hands flew to his stomach as the hunger returned.

“Eat,” came a deep, resounding voice which he could not quite place. “You’re hungry,” it echoed again.

“No, I–ugh.” Stephen tried to calm himself, and his hunger, but to no avail.




“Fuck. Why am I so hungry?” Stephen eyed his gut, stuffed with food and rolling slightly into his lap. Hunger hit him again, and Stephen groaned along with his stomach.

All thoughts of the diet left Stephen’s head. With another loud growl from his gut, Stephen gave in. Whatever force had been within him since he started college, slowly nagging him to glut himself more and more often, finally won over. The unnamed whisper that had been in his ear when he noticed how his stomach was outgrowing even his roomiest shirts; the soothing voice that urged him after two full orders, to consume another; the voice that lulled him when he noticed the rising curve of his ass; at last, the monster that waited until its prey was ready before moving in for the kill had finally pounced.

Stephen grasped at the container, opened it, and crammed another sopapilla into his mouth as the process which had been transforming him the last few months suddenly accelerated six-fold. Stephen moaned at the release of finally answering his unforgiving hunger, almost thrilled to bloat himself up further. His body answered in the only way it could:  swelling–advancing; his body visibly bloated outward, inch by inch, pound by pound.

Stephen smacked his lips, stuffing in another pastry–closing the lid, and preparing to find more.  He lost himself in the flavors:  sweet honey, oil, and sugar flooding his mouth and falling into his gut.

Munch, much, smack, swallow.

Swell. His lovehandles rose, oozing out around him and fighting the thin, cotton shirt that stood between them and open air. As they grew, fat further pooled into his gut and the indentation of Stephen’s navel grew more prominent. Above, his chest began to pad even further, the softness behind his nipples forcing them to protrude visibly against the shirt.

Stephen opened the box, and gluttonously crammed another pastry into his maw; powdered sugar and honey covered his lips, which he sumptuously licked clean.

Much, much, smack, swallow.

Swell. Beneath him, Stephen’s ass ripened and the twin globes rounded further against the underwear that stopped fitting him ten pounds ago. As his thighs thickened with fat and spread out to his sides, Stephen unconsciously shifted his legs so that they were farther apart as he aggressively crammed more sopapilla into his mouth.

Smack, chew, swallow.

Swell. The bloating belly grew by the minute, and with an almost cartoonish ‘fhwip’ forced his shirt to suddenly roll up to just below his growing moobs. His bloating gut rolled triumphantly into his lap as fat further pooled along his sides. The shirt could only cover Stephen’s growing breasts, and at the rate he was growing, not for very long. Both breasts filled and began to overfill, stretching both his sensitive nipples and the thin fabric.

Stephen’s ass and lovehandles aggressively bloated outward as he gorged, his fattening body fighting desperately against the waist of the boxerbriefs. There was a sound that caught Stephen’s ear–a slight pop. What? Stephen blinked briefly, suddenly aware of himself. He swallowed the bit of pastry left in his mouth, and as Stephen looked down at the fat gut advancing rapidly across his thighs, he was treated to the most unusual of choruses:

A rapid, successive ‘pupupopop’ as the stitches which held his body in gave way all at once. Stephen’s breasts fell, heavy and fat atop his swelling gut, and his thighs bulged outward and met in the middle, as two waves crash into one another. Stephen’s gut bulged outward, swamping his lap to mid-thigh.

“Holy shit,” Stephen said aloud, even as his stomach groaned. “Oh fuck, what is happening to me?” Even filled with fear, Stephen was unable to stop himself and he reached again for more dessert to cram into his waiting maw. Stephen’s heart throbbed and leapt into his throat, even as he stuffed more food into his mouth.

I can’t stop–the thought occurred to him as he chewed unwillingly, hunger dominating him. Oh God, I can’t stop. Stephen watched his body steadily inch outward as he continued to stuff himself, unable to rend himself from the force controlling him.

Stephen groaned as he swallowed again. Pound after pound pooled into his gut as it steadily inched along his lap, threatening to encroach on his knees. It sat atop his thighs like a heavy, sagging mass that swelled readily along its circumference, wrapping around Stephen in thick lovehandles. At its crest was Stephen’s navel, now puckered by the thick, soft fat pooling behind it.

“Oh fuck,”  was the only thought Stephen could muster between bites. Every time he could tear himself away from the treats long enough to touch his body it was  somehow softer, and always more of it.

Stephen’s thighs were easily the size of his former waist, and his ass billowed below him, swelling his frame wider even has his gut bloated him outward. Stephen was having a harder time adjusting himself on his bed as more and more fat fought to find its way into him. Stephen struggled to shift his legs farther apart, even as he unwittingly lifted more of the pastries to his mouth.

“Oh no no no no–”  he spread his thighs wider and inched farther back; he felt the weight of his body sway back and forth, as though he were swimming in a sea of himself. Stephen finally hit the back of the bed and opened his thighs as wide as he could,allowing his gargantuan belly to spill forth into the gap like an incoming tide.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,”  Stephen groaned, unable to stop himself from cramming more food into his mouth even as terror gripped him. Reaching with one hand, he struggled against the fat mound of his breast to try and reach the front of his stomach–just something to reassure himself that he hadn’t gotten that big yet–but found himself unable.

Just out of reach, his navel perched the crest of his gut and, almost teasingly, inched further from reach. Stephen fell back against himself, exasperated, terrified, and almost to the point of tears. Finally, Stephen’s fear was enough to rend him from the invisible grip of his hunger, and he dropped the box. It fell to the floor, now well out of reach at his size, and two fresh sopapillas rolled out of it.

Stephen’s stomach gave one last groan before the hunger finally faded, leaving Stephen and his massively overfed form to deal. Stephen began to sob quietly to himself as he began to explore his new body–below him, most of the twin fold-out bed was covered by his width and in front of him, his massive gut sagged heavily between his thickened thighs, topped by round breasts with stretched, sensitive nipples.

Stephen once again tried to reach both hands to his front, but found that his attempts to touch his hands only resulted in squeezing the fat of his gut further into his own body. The fat oozed against his arms, and they remained out of reach of one another.

“Hey, gordito–what did you think was going to happen?”

Stephen’s grief was briefly interrupted by panic, as the cashier suddenly appeared in front of him.

Stephen gasped as, almost affectionately–or was it sadistically?–that the cashier stepped forward and placed his hand on the crest of Stephen’s belly. Stephen knew exactly how to react.


The cashier continued to only grin.

“Gordito, I didn’t do this–I just gave you desert. You–you did this. And I’m willing to bet…”

Stephen’s anger overflowed within him, but, suddenly, a familiar feeling returned to him.

Stephen’s massive gut unleashed another groan, and Stephen felt the pangs of hunger again begin to ebb his consciousness.

“You’ve got… to be… kidding me…,” Stephen groaned between breaths, exasperated, as he surveyed the cashier.

Grin spread wide, the cashier bent over and picked up the pastries and the box which had fallen to the floor.

“See, Gordito? This is what you are.” The cashier reached forward and gave Stephen’s gut a smack, watching the wave ripple throughout his overfed form. As if to answer, the gut unleashed another growl. “A lard-ass. A genuine, overfed fat-ass.”

“Now,” the cashier stepped forward and Stephen tried to pull away, only to find himself pinned by his belly and the wall. Stephen began to panic again as the hunger got stronger, and the cashier got closer. Before him stood a graceful predator, and he was the fattened gazelle.

“I bet someone’s hungry.”        


anonymous asked:

Hello! I just read all of your stories and I love them!! You write so well! Anyways, I was wondering if you could possibly write a fic where Jack is watching one of the Samwell games (after he graduated) and Bitty gets checked really badly and he freaks out?

Okay so this is a liiiittle different than what you requested, but I couldn’t not write it when I thought of it.  Warning for some unfriendly chirping, but nothing too extreme.

Bitty was having a great game.  He was dodging check left and right, and had even managed to dole out a couple of nudges back.  He’d scored the goal that put Samwell on the board late in the first period off a sweet pass from Ransom and kicked the third off with an assist on Tango’s backhand goal.  Shitty had hardly sat down in his seat the entire game, cheering and waving his new favorite sign “GIMME THE 4-11 TONIGHT” and getting a dusting of glitter all over the hair and fries of the guy in front of them.  Jack, for his part, was bouncing on the balls of his feet, hands twitching at his sides when he wasn’t using them to gesticulate wildly as he cheered on his boyfriend and their friends.  

Meanwhile, down on the ice, Bitty was pissed.  One of the d-men on the other team had been chirping them in an especially unfriendly way all night, and it was getting on his last nerve.  Usually, Bitty had a pretty thick skin when it came to that though.  Years of torment at the hands of bullies in Georgia and being probably the smallest guy in the NCAA made him good at shaking it off.  He’d close his eyes, take a deep breath, and remember the day he’d finally told his MooMaw what had really been giving him such a tough time at school.  She’d set down her cup of tea and leaned over the table to pinch Eric’s chin between her weathered fingers, and told him, “You’ve just gotta turn the other cheek baby,” and then her eyes took on a wicked gleam as she added, “and let ‘em kiss your ass.”

Keep reading

Tropea, Calabria. The 780 km of coastline make Calabria a popular tourist destination in summer. Low industrial development and the lack of large cities mean that there’s only minimal marine pollution. The region is considered by many a natural paradise, which attracts tourists from all over Italy. Foreign tourism is still low, but it’s a growing market. The most popular seaside destinations are Tropea, Capo Vaticano, Pizzo, Scilla, Diamante, Amantea, and Soverato. The interior of Calabria is rich in history, traditions, art, and culture. Fortresses, castles, churches, historic centers, and cemeteries are common elements. Some mountain locations attract tourists even in winter. Sila and Aspromonte are 2 national parks that offer facilities for winter sports, especially in the towns of Camigliatello, Lorica, and Gambarie. 

The cuisine is a typical southern Italian Mediterranean cuisine with a balance between meat dishes (pork, lamb, goat), vegetables (esp eggplant), and fish. Pasta is also important. In contrast to most other Italian regions, Calabrians have traditionally placed an emphasis on the preservation of food, in part due to the climate and potential crop failures. As a result, there is a tradition of packing vegetables and meats in olive oil, making sausages and cold cuts (Sopressata, ‘Nduja), and curing fish, esp. swordfish, sardines and cod. Desserts are typically fried, honey-sweetened pastries or baked biscotti-type treats. Local specialties include Caciocavallo cheese, Cipolla rossa (red onion), Frìttuli and Curcùci (fried pork), Liquorice (liquirizia), Lagane e Cicciari (pasta with chickpeas), Pecorino Crotonese (sheep’s cheese), and Pignolata. Some vineyards have origins dating back to the ancient Greek colonists. Important grape varieties are red Gaglioppo and white Greco. Producers are resurrecting ancient grape varieties which have been around for as long as 3000 years.

Beignet is the French term for a deep-fried choux pastry. They’re a common breakfast and Mardi Gras food in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA, served with powdered sugar on top and are traditionally prepared right before consumption to be eaten fresh and hot. Variations of fried dough can be found worldwide - the origin of the term Beignet is French. In the USA, they have been popular within New Orleans Creole cuisine. They were brought to New Orleans in the 18th century by French colonists, and became a part of home-style Creole cooking. Variations include banana or plantain. Café du Monde is a popular New Orleans destination specializing in Beignets with powdered sugar, coffee with chicory, and café au lait. The tradition of deep-frying fruits dates to the time of Ancient Rome, while the tradition of Beignets in Europe is speculated to have originated with a heavy influence of Islamic culinary tradition. Beignets can also be made with yeast, they’re called Boules de Berlin in French, referring to German Berliner donuts filled with fruit jam. On the French island of Corsica, Beignets made with chestnut flour are known as Fritelli.

Börek are Turkish filled pastries made of a thin flaky dough called phyllo or yufka and stuffed with savory things like, meat, cheese, and vegetables. They can also be found in the cuisines of the Balkans, the Levant, the Mediterranean, and parts of Eastern Europe and Western Asia. A börek may be prepared in a large pan and cut into portions after baking, or as individual pastries. The top is sometimes sprinkled with sesame seeds.

anonymous asked:

How about some first date with the boyband headcanons? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

This is a good ask THIS IS A GREAT ASK


  • Awkward. So awkward. He’s never been on a first date before this
  • “Do you… Wanna… Go… Watch a movie?”
  • Ngl you have to plan the whole thing because this kid is #clueless
  • The two of you decide to go out later in the day, right before sunset, and you definitely know that he’s planning to sleep right up until an hour before he’s supposed to meet you
  • He’s also way more nervous than you, though he doesn’t really show it. You think he might be feeling a little shy by the way that he doesn’t look at you when he hands you a small bouquet of flowers
  • You invite him in while you put them in water and he asks what you had planned for the night, trying so hard to make conversation but just being so awkward that it’s cute
  • You grin at him. “I was kind of planning to just wander around and see what happens.”
  • He likes that. He likes that this piece of his day doesn’t have every minute planned out, and it makes him feel kind of normal for once
  • It’s getting dark out and the two of you still haven’t decided what you want to do. You’re just walking around the city, looking at things, stopping at the street vendors, talking about anything but the fact that Noctis is the prince
  • The streets are also getting more crowded and Noctis suddenly finds himself kind of scared to lose you, so he grabs your hand with the reddest flush ever
  • Eventually you decide on a little bistro for dinner. He refuses to let you pay almost as hard as he refuses to eat his vegetables
  • When he’s walking you home, he stops at that one street vendor to buy you that one piece of artwork you liked. It’s a small and inexpensive thing, but you’re pretty touched
  • He kind of just stands in front of your door for a minute before he decides to kiss you and mumble a nervous “goodnight I had a nice time I’ll text you when I get home”


  • Everything this man does is classic and effortless. Expect to be swept off your feet and never put down
  • I see Ignis as a pretty private person, and while he loves classy things, he also wouldn’t want to pressure you or himself
  • So he’ll just invite you over to his apartment like it’s no big deal
  • He’d ask you to dress up a bit, and he’d have a button down on and everything. Not white, because that’s what he wears to work. I could see him in a nice lavender or something
  • So he’d invite you in and there’s a movie playing in the background, something classic, again, like Mr. and Mrs. Smith or something h/c that Iggy definitely loves spies
  • Oh, and he’s cooking. Nothing too over the top, but maybe he’s trying his hand at Italian. Chicken and pasta is a pretty good first date food, he thinks
  • He sits you down and just chats with you while he finishes dinner, chats with you through dinner, and chats with you well past the end of the movie
  • He even goes as far as to brush his fingers over the back of your hand when you rest it on the table. It’s quick and light and he does it while he’s smiling from the eyes and your heart kind of stops
  • Neither of you can remember anything you talked about, or why you both feel so connected, but, wow
  • You’ve never felt someone be so interested in you before. He wants to know about your dreams and your passions, asking all kinds of why and how questions that have you talking for hours
  • Needless to say, there’s a second date talked about before you even go home
  • He’ll walk you to his door, help you with your coat, and kiss you on the cheek. Nothing more, nothing less


  • This guy suggests that you go on a run for your first date and like… You can’t really disagree, can you?
  • Though you’re definitely cursing him out when you’re putting on that athletic clothes you never use at the crack of dawn
  • By never use, I mean the pants still have a tag on them that you have to cut off
  • He totally comes to pick you up, and drives the two of you out to some scenic nature path that you didn’t even know existed
  • It’s still dark out, and you can tell he’s not trying simply by the fact that he’s running next to you and not ahead of you (also because he’s not at all out of breath while he tells all these jokes and funny stories)
  • You’re starting to realize that this guy is just so chill. He’s a lot smarter than his reputation suggests, and you kind of like the way he talks
  • Gladio here isn’t all muscle and #fitspo, kids
  • He’s also not even flirting with you? You’re just conversing and suddenly you’re watching the sun rise through the trees?
  • By the time you get back to his car, you know you’re sweaty and red and blotchy, but neither of you care. You’ve never felt better in your life
  • Neither of you really want to part ways yet, so he offers to take you to breakfast–at which point you sit in a diner at some outpost for hours, laughing so loud that the other customers give you dirty stares, but you can’t even be bothered to feel self conscious about it
  • He looks like he wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t. Just grins and winks and says he’ll see you the next morning
  • Sounds like you’ll have to start adjusting your sleep schedule!


  • He literally has so many date ideas, that he doesn’t know which one to pick. He does linger on chocobo riding for a very long while, but eventually he decides that you two are going to go on a food-adventure of Insomnia
  • You decide to go half-and-half and just pay for yourselves as soon as he suggests the idea
  • Prompto goes desserts first and gets some fried pastry thing covered in powdered sugar that, on one hand, makes you want to gag, and, on the other, kind of looks really good
  • He breaks off a piece of it and makes you try it. This becomes the pattern for the night: you two buy different things and split them
  • You can’t really tell if he’s talking so much because that’s him or because he’s nervous, but the more he breaks up his own stories by laughing, the less nervous you are
  • So, you start telling him stories too: the funny one about your coworker, the epic one about some prank someone pulled in high school, stuff like that
  • And he is practically howling with laughter. You’re pretty sure that you’re not that funny, but wow what a confidence boost
  • Your face hurts because you’re smiling so much
  • This eventually leads to a lot of banter, food fighting, and even a bit of play wresting in the streets. Every other crown citizen out that night probably hates the mushy disgusting couple that is you and Prompto
  • It’s been hours and you’re both calming down because you’re out of breath from laughing, and you can’t eat any more, so you two lapse into this really comfortable silence as you walk around a little more
  • Eventually you’re sitting on a bench together and his arm is kind of around your shoulders, you’re kind of leaning on him, and both of you are kind of grinning ear to ear
  • “This was… Cool,” he decides to say, “and, um, I’d like to do it again?”

CN’s Super Continental arriving as seen from under train shed at old Ottawa Ontario Union Station, June 18, 1956. by Jon Archibald
Via Flickr:
From under train shed at old Ottawa Ontario CN CP Union Station, John McIntosh blue-border Kodak Ektachrome of CNR Canadian National Railways railway railroad Super Continental passenger train diesel locomotive GMD EMD F-unit FP-9 Rideau canal. These tracks into the shed are now replaced by Colonel By Drive, and the station since 1966 has been used as a government conference centre with much of its waiting area and concourse intact. It is however closed to the general public, hence a good place I suppose for behind-closed-doors, back-room political shenanigans :) The Rideau Canal is some say the world’s longest skating rink in winter, and a focal point of the annual “Winterlude”, where “beavertails” (sugar-coated fried pastries) can be had in quantity. President Obama had one on his first international visit (traditionally to Canada for recently-inaugurated Presidents as a kind of warm-up visit to other more major world centres) in 2009. This slide was almost completely washed out in a pink cast, but the Epson V750 software saved what it could with one or two clicks.