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najia-cooks · 14 days

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[ID: The first image is of four stuffed artichoke hearts on a plate with a mound of rice and fried vermicelli; the second is a close-up on one artichoke, showing fried ground 'beef' and golden pine nuts. End ID]

أرضي شوكي باللحم / Ardiyy-shawkiyy b-al-lahm (Stuffed artichoke hearts)

Artichoke hearts stuffed with spiced meat make a common dish throughout West Asia and North Africa, with variations on the recipe eaten in Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, Algeria, and Morocco. In Palestine, the dish is usually served on special occasions, either as an appetizer, or as a main course alongside rice. The artichokes are sometimes paired with cored potatoes, which are stuffed and cooked in the same manner. Stuffed artichokes do not appear in Medieval Arab cookbooks (though artichokes do), but the dish's distribution indicates that its origin may be Ottoman-era, as many other maḥshis (stuffed dishes) are.⁩

The creation of this dish is easy enough once the artichoke hearts have been excavated (or, as the case may be, purchased frozen and thawed): they are briefly deep-fried, stuffed with ground meat and perhaps pine nuts, then stewed in water, or water and tomato purée, or stock, until incredibly tender.

While simple, the dish is flavorful and well-rounded. A squeeze of lemon complements the bright, subtle earthiness of the artichoke and cuts through the richness of the meat; the fried pine nuts provide a play of textures, and pick up on the slight nutty taste that artichokes are known for.

Terminology and etymology

Artichokes prepared in this way may be called "ardiyy-shawkiyy b-al-lahm." "Ardiyy-shawkiyy" of course means "artichoke"; "ب" ("b") means "with"; "ال" ("al") is the determiner "the"; and "لَحْم" ("laḥm") is "meat" (via a process of semantic narrowing from Proto-Semitic *laḥm, "food"). Other Palestinian Arabic names for the same dish include "أرضي شوكي محشي" ("ardiyy-shawkiyy maḥshi," "stuffed artichokes"), and "أرضي شوكي على ادامه" ("ardiyy-shawkiyy 'ala adama," "artichokes cooked in their own juice").

The etymology of the Levantine dialectical phrase meaning "artichoke" is interestingly circular. The English "artichoke" is itself ultimately from Arabic "الخُرْشُوف" ("al-khurshūf"); it was borrowed into Spanish (as "alcarchofa") during the Islamic conquest of the Iberian peninsula, and thence into English via the northern Italian "articiocco." The English form was probably influenced by the word "choke" via a process of phono-semantic matching—a type of borrowing wherein native words are found that sound similar to the foreign word ("phonetics"), and communicate qualities associated with the object ("semantics").

"Artichoke" then returned to Levantine Arabic, undergoing another process of phono-semantic matching to become "ardiyy-shawkiyy": أَرْضِيّ ("ʔarḍiyy") "earthly," from أَرْض‎ ("ʔarḍ"), "Earth, land"; and شَوْكِيّ ("shawkiyy") "prickly," from شَوْك‎ ("shawk"), "thorn."

Artichokes in Palestine

Artichoke is considered to be very healthful by Palestinian cooks, and it is recommended to also consume the water it is boiled in (which becomes delightfully savory and earthy, suitable as a broth for soup). In addition to being stuffed, the hearts may be chopped and cooked with meat or potatoes into a rich soup. These soups are enjoyed especially during Ramadan, when hot soup is popular regardless of the season—but the best season for artichokes in the Levant is definitively spring. Stuffed artichokes are thus often served by Jewish people in North Africa and West Asia during Passover.

Artichokes grow wild in Palestine, sometimes in fields adjacent to cultivated crops such as cereals and olives. Swiss traveler Johann Ludwig Burckhardt, writing in 1822, referred to the abundant wild artichoke plants (presumably Cynara syriaca) near لُوبْيا ("lūbyā"), a large village of stone buildings on a hilly landscape just west of طبريا ("ṭabariyya," Tiberias):

About half an hour to the N. E. [of Kefer Sebt (كفر سبط)] is the spring Ain Dhamy (عين ظامي), in a deep valley, from hence a wide plain extends to the foot of Djebel Tor; in crossing it, we saw on our right, about three quarters of an hour from the road, the village Louby (لوبي), and a little further on, the village Shedjare (شجره). The plain was covered with the wild artichoke, called khob (خُب); it bears a thorny violet coloured flower, in the shape of an artichoke, upon a stem five feet in height.

(Despite resistance from local militia and the Arab Liberation Army, Zionist military groups ethnically cleansed Lubya of its nearly 3,000 Palestinian Arab inhabitants in July of 1948, before reducing its buildings and wells to rubble, The Jewish National Fund later planted the Lavi pine forest over the ruins.)

Artichokes are also cultivated and marketed. Elihu Grant, nearly a century after Burckhardt's writing, noted that Palestinian villages with sufficient irrigation "[went] into gardening extensively," and marketed their goods in crop-poor villages or in city markets:

Squash, pumpkin, cabbage, cauliflower, lettuce, turnip, beet, parsnip, bean, pea, chick-pea, onion, garlic, leek, radish, mallow and eggplant are common varieties [of vegetable]. The buds of the artichoke when boiled make a delicious dish. Potatoes are getting to be quite common now. Most of them are still imported, but probably more and more success will be met in raising a native crop.

Either wild artichokes (C. syriaca) or cardoons (C. cardunculus, later domesticated to yield modern commerical artichokes) were being harvested and eaten by Jewish Palestinians in the 1st to the 3rd centuries AD (the Meshnaic Hebrew is "עַכָּבִיּוֹת", sg. "עַכָּבִית", "'aqubit"; related to the Arabic "⁧عَكُوب⁩" "'akūb," which refers to a different plant). The Tosefta Shebiit discusses how farmers should treat the sprouting of artichokes ("קינרסי," "qinrasi") during the shmita year (when fields are allowed to lie fallow), indicating that Jews were also cultivating artichokes at this time.

Though artichokes were persistently associated with wealth and the feast table (perhaps, Susan Weingarten speculates, because of the time they took to prepare), trimming cardoons and artichokes during festivals, when other work was prohibited, was within the reach of common Jewish people. Those in the "upper echelons of Palestinian Jewish society," on the other hand, had access to artichokes year-round, including (through expensive marvels of preservation and transport) when they were out of season.

Jewish life and cuisine

Claudia Roden writes that stuffed artichoke, which she refers to as "Kharshouf Mahshi" (خرشوف محشي), is "famous as one of the grand old Jerusalem dishes" among Palestinian Jews. According to her, the stuffed artichokes used to be dipped in egg and then bread crumbs and deep-fried. This breading and frying is still referenced, though eschewed, in modern Sephardi recipes.

Prior to the beginning of the first Aliyah (עלייה, wave of immigration) in 1881, an estimated 3% of the overall population of Palestine, or 15,011 people, were Jewish. This Jewish presence was not the result of political Zionist settler-colonialism of the kind facilitated by Britain and Zionist organizations; rather, it consisted of ancestrally Palestinian Jewish groups, and of refugees and religious immigrants who had been naturalized over the preceding decades or centuries.

One such Jewish community were the Arabic-speaking Jews whom the Sephardim later came to call "מוּסְתערבים" or "مستعربين" ("Musta'ravim" or "Musta'ribīn"; from the Arabic "مُسْتَعْرِب⁩" "musta'rib," "Arabized"), because they seemed indifferentiable from their Muslim neighbors. A small number of them were descendants of Jews from Galilee, which had had a significant Jewish population in the mid-1st century BC; others were "מגרבים" ("Maghrebim"), or "مغربية" ("Mughariba"): descendents of Jews from Northwest Africa.

Another major Jewish community in pre-mandate Palestine were Ladino-speaking descendents of Sephardi Jews, who had migrated to Palestine in the decades following their expulsion from Spain and then Portugal in the late 15th century. Though initially seen as foreign by the 'indigenous' Mista'avim, this community became dominant in terms of population and political influence, coming to define themselves as Ottoman subjects and as the representatives of Jews in Palestine.

A third, Yiddish- and German-speaking, Askenazi Jewish population also existed in Palestine, the result of immigration over the preceding centuries (including a large wave in 1700).

These various groups of Jewish Palestinians lived as neighbors in urban centers, differentiating themselves from each other partly by the language they spoke and partly by their dress (though Sephardim and Ashkenazim quickly learned Arabic, and many Askenazim and Muslims learned Ladino). Ashkenazi women also learned from Sephardim how to prepare their dishes. These groups' interfamiliarity with each other's cuisine is further evidenced by the fact that Arabic words for Palestinian dishes entered Ladino and Yiddish (e.g. "كُفْتَة" / "kufta," rissole; "مَزَّة⁩" "mazza," appetizer); and words entered Arabic from Ladino (e.g. "דונסי" "donsi," sweet jams and fruit leather; "בוריק" "burek," meat and cheese pastries; "המים" "hamim," from "haminados," braised eggs) and Yiddish (e.g. "לעקעך‎" "lakach," honey cake).

In addition to these 'native' Jews were another two waves of Ashkenazi migration in the late 18th and early-to-mid 19th centuries (sometimes called the "היישוב הישן," "ha-yishuv ha-yashan," "old settlement," though the term is often used more broadly); and throughout the previous centuries there had also been a steady trickle of religious immigration, including elderly immigrants who wished to die in Jerusalem in order to be present at the appointed place on the day of Resurrection. Recent elderly women immigrants unable to receive help from charitable institutions would rely on the community for support, in exchange helping the young married women of the neighborhood with childcare and with the shaping of pastries ("מיני מאפה").

In the first few centuries AD, the Jewish population of Palestine were largely farmers and agricultural workers in rural areas. By the 16th century, however, most of the Jewish population resided in the Jewish Holy Cities of Jerusalem (القُدس / al-quds), Hebron (الخليل / al-khalil), Safed (صفد), and Tiberias (طبريا / ṭabariyya). In the 19th century, the Jewish population lived entirely in these four cities and in expanding urban centers Jaffa and Haifa, alongside Muslims and Christians. Jerusalem in particular was majority Jewish by 1880.

In the 19th century, Jewish women in Jerusalem, like their Christian and Muslim neighbors, used communal ovens to bake the bread, cakes, matzah, cholent, and challah which they prepared at home. One woman recalls that bread would be sent to the baker on Mondays and Thursdays—but bribes could be offered in exchange for fresh bread on Shabbat. Charges would be by the item, or else a fixed monthly payment.

Trips to the ovens became social events, as women of various ages—while watching the bakers, who might not put a dish in or take it out in time—sent up a "clatter" of talking. During religious feast days, with women busy in the kitchen, some families might send young boys in their stead.

Markets and bakeries in Jerusalem sold bread of different 'grades' based on the proportion of white and wheat flour they contained; as well as flatbread (خبز مفرود / חובז מפרוד / khobbiz mafroud), Moroccan מאווי' / ماوي / meloui, and semolina breads (כומאש / كماج / kmaj) which Maghrebim especially purchased for the Sabbath.

On the Sabbath, those who had brick ovens in their sculleries would keep food, and water for tea and coffee, warm from the day before (since religious law prohibits performing work, including lighting fires, on Shabbat); those who did not would bring their food to the oven of a neighbor who did.

Palestinian Jewish men worked in a variety of professions: they were goldsmiths, writers, doctors, merchants, scientists, linguists, carpenters, and religious scholars. Jewish women, ignoring prohibitions, engaged in business, bringing baked goods and extra dairy to markets in Jerusalem, grinding and selling flour, spinning yarn, and making clothing (usually from materials purchased from Muslims); they were also shopkeepers and sellers of souvenirs and wine. Muslims, Jews, and Christians shared residential courtyards, pastimes, commercial enterprises, and even holidays and other religious practices.

Zionism and Jewish Palestinians

Eastern European Zionists in the 1880s and 90s were ambivalent towards existing Jewish communities in Palestine, often viewing them as overly traditional and religious, backwards-thinking, and lacking initiative. Jewish Palestinians did not seem to conform with the land-based, agricultural, and productivist ideals of political Zionist thinkers; they were integrated into the Palestinian economy (rather than seeking to create their own, segregated one); they were not working to create a Jewish ethnostate in Palestine, and seemed largely uninterested in nationalist concerns. Thus they were identified with Diaspora Jewish culture, which was seen as a remnant of exile and oppression to be eschewed, reformed, or overthrown.

These attitudes were applied especially to Sephardim and Mista'arevim, who were frequently denigrated in early Zionist literature. In 1926, Revisionist Zionist leader Vladimir Jabotinsky wrote that the "Jews, thank God, have nothing in common with the East. We must put an end to any trace of the Oriental spirit in the Jews of Palestine." The governance of Jewish communities was, indeed, changed with the advent of the British Mandate (colonial rule which allowed the British to facilitate political Zionist settling), as European political and "socialist" Zionists promoted Ashkenazi over Sephardi leadership.

Under the Ottomans, the millet system had allowed a degree of Jewish and Christian autonomy in matters of religious study and leadership, cultural and legal affairs, and the minting of currency. The religious authority of all Jewish people in Palestine had been the Sephardi Rabbi of Jerusalem, and his authority on matters of Jewish law (like the authority of the Armenian Patriarchate on matters of Christian law) extended outside of Palestine.

But British and European funding allowed newer waves of Ashkenazi settlers (sometimes called "היישוב החדש," "ha-yishuv ha-khadash," "new settlement")—who, at least if they were to live out the ideals of their sponsors, were more secular and nationalist-minded than the prior waves of Ashkenazi immigration—to be de facto independent of Sephardi governance. Several factors lead to the drying up of halaka (donated funds intended to be used for communal works and the support of the poor in Sephardi communities), which harmed Sephardim economically.

Zionist ideas continued to dominate newly formed committees and programs, and Palestinian and Sephardi Jews reported experiences of racial discrimination, including job discrimination, leading to widespread poverty. The "Hebrew labor" movement, which promoted a boycott of Palestinian labor and produce, in fact marginalized all workers racialized as Arab, and promises of work in Jewish labor unions were divided in favor of Ashkenazim to the detriment of Sephardim and Mizrahim. This economic marginalization coincided with the "social elimination of shared indigenous [Palestinian] life" in the Zionist approach to indigenous Jews and Muslims.

Despite the adversarial, disdainful, and sometimes abusive relationship which the European Zionist movement had with "Oriental" Jews, their presence is frequently used in Zionist food and travel writing to present Israel as a multicultural and pluralist state. Dishes such as stuffed artichokes are claimed as "Israeli"—though they were eaten by Jews in Palestine prior to the existence of the modern state of Israel, and though Sephardi and Mizrahi diets were once the target of a civilizing, correcting mission by Zionist nutritionists. The deep-frying that stuffed artichokes call for brings to mind European Zionists' half-fascinated, half-disgusted attitudes towards falafel. The point is not to claim a dish for any one national or ethnic group—which is, more often than not, an exercise in futility and even absurdity—but to pay attention to how the rhetoric of food writing can obscure political realities and promote the colonizer's version of history. The sinking of Jewish Palestinian life prior to the advent of modern political Zionism, and the corresponding insistence that it was Israel that brought "Jewish cuisine" to Palestine, allow for such false dichotomies as "Jewish-Palestinian relations" or "Jewish-Arab relations"; these descriptors further Zionist rhetoric by making a clear situation of ethnic cleansing and settler-colonialism sound like a complex and delicate issue of inter-ethnic conflict. To boot, the presentation of these communities as having merely paved the way to Zionist nationalism ignores their existence as groups with their own political, social, and cultural lives and histories.

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Ingredients:

Serves 4 (as a main dish).

For the artichokes:

6 fresh, very large artichokes; or frozen (not canned) whole artichoke hearts

1 lemon, quartered (if using fresh artichokes)

250g (1 1/2 cups) vegetarian ground beef substitute; or 3/4 cup TVP hydrated with 3/4 cup vegetarian 'beef' stock from concentrate

1 yellow onion, minced

Scant 1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp ground black pepper

1 pinch ground cardamom (optional)

1/4 tsp ground allspice or seb'a baharat (optional)

1 Tbsp pine nuts (optional)

Water, to simmer

Oil, to fry

2 tsp vegetarian 'beef' stock concentrate, to simmer (optional)

Lemon, to serve

Larger artichokes are best, to yield hearts 3-4 inches in width once all leaves are removed. If you only have access to smaller artichokes, you may need to use 10-12 to use up all the filling; you might also consider leaving some of the edible internal leaves on.

The meat may be spiced to taste. Sometimes only salt and black pepper are used; some Palestinian cooks prefer to include seb'a baharat, white pepper, allspice, nutmeg, cardamom, and/or cinnamon.

Medieval Arab cookbooks sometimes call for vegetables to be deep-fried in olive oil (see Fiḍālat al-Khiwān fī Ṭayyibāt al-Ṭaʿām wa-l-Alwān, chapter 6, recipe no. 373, which instructs the reader to treat artichoke hearts this way). You may use olive oil, or a neutral oil such as canola or sunflower (as is more commonly done in Palestine today).

Elihu Grant noted in 1921 that lemon juice was often served with stuffed vegetable dishes; today stuffed artichokes are sometimes served with lemon.

For the rice:

200g Egyptian rice (or substitute any medium-grained white rice)

2 tsp broken semolina vermicelli (شعيريه) (optional)

1 tsp olive oil (optional)

Large pinch salt

520g water, or as needed

Broken semolina vermicelli (not rice vermicelli!) can be found in plastic bags at halal grocery stores.

Instructions:

For the stuffed artichokes:

1. Prepare the artichoke hearts. Cut off about 2/3 of the top of the artichoke (I find that leaving at least some of the stem on for now makes it easier to hollow out the base of the artichoke heart without puncturing it).

2. Pull or cut away the tough outer bracts ("leaves") of the artichoke until you get to the tender inner leaves, which will appear light yellow all the way through. As you work, rub a lemon quarter over the sides of the artichoke to prevent browning.

3. If you see a sharp indentation an inch or so above the base of the artichoke, use kitchen shears or a sharp knife to trim off the leaves above it and form the desired bowl shape. Set aside trimmings for a soup or stew.

4. Use a small spoon to remove the purple leaves and fibers from the center of the artichoke. Make sure to scrape the spoon all along the bottom and sides of the artichoke and get all of the fibrous material out.

5. Use a paring knife to remove any remaining tough bases of removed bracts and smooth out the base of the artichoke heart. Cut off the entire stem, so that the heart can sit flat, like a bowl.

6. Place the prepared artichoke heart in a large bowl of water with some lemon juice squeezed into it. Repeat with each artichoke.

7. Drain artichoke hearts and pat dry. Heat a few inches of oil in a pot or wok on medium and fry artichoke hearts, turning over occasionally, for a couple minutes until lightly browned. If you don't want to deep-fry, you can pan-fry in 1 cm or so of oil, flipping once. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain.

8. Prepare the filling. Heat 1 tsp of olive oil in a large skillet on medium-high and fry onions, agitating often, until translucent.

Tip: Some people add the pine nuts and brown them at this point, to save a step later. If you do this, they will of course be mixed throughout the filling rather than being a garnish on top.

9. Add spices, salt, and meat substitute and fry, stirring occasionally, until meat is browned. (If using TVP, brown it by allowing it to sit in a single layer undisturbed for 3-4 minutes, then stir and repeat.) Taste and adjust spices and salt.

10. Heat 1 Tbsp of olive oil or margarine in a small pan on medium-low. Add pine nuts and fry, stirring constantly, until they are a light golden brown, then remove with a slotted spoon. Note that, once they start taking on color, they will brown very quickly and must be carefully watched. They will continue to darken after they are removed from the oil, so remove them when they are a shade lighter than desired.

11. Stuff the artichoke hearts. Fill the bowl of each heart with meat filling, pressing into the bottom and sides to fill completely. Top with fried pine nuts.

12. Cook the artichoke hearts. Place the stuffed artichoke hearts in a single layer at the bottom of a large stock pot, along with any extra filling (or save extra filling to stuff peppers, eggplant, zucchini, or grape leaves).

13. Whisk stock concentrate into several cups of just-boiled water, if using—if not, whisk in about a half teaspoon of salt. Pour hot salted water or stock into the pot to cover just the bottoms of the stuffed artichokes.

14. Simmer, covered, for 15-20 minutes, until the artichokes are tender. Simmer uncovered for another 5-10 minutes to thicken the sauce.

For the rice:

1. Rinse your rice once by placing it in a sieve, putting the sieve in a closely fitting bowl, then filling the bowl with water; rub the rice between your fingers to wash, and remove the sieve from the bowl to strain.

2. Place a bowl on a kitchen scale and tare. Add the rice, then add water until the total weight is 520g. (This will account for the amount of water stuck to the rice from rinsing.)

3. (Optional.) In a small pot with a close-fitting lid, heat 1 tsp olive oil. Add broken vermicelli and fry, agitating often, until golden brown.

4. Add the rice and water to the pot and stir. Increase heat to high and allow water to come to a boil. Cover the pot and lower heat to a simmer. Cook the rice for 15 minutes. Remove from heat and steam for 10 minutes.

To serve:

1. Plate artichoke hearts on a serving plate alongside rice and lemon wedges; or, place artichoke hearts in a shallow serving dish, pour some of their cooking water in the base of the dish, and serve rice on a separate plate.

Tip: The white flesh at the base of the bracts (or "leaves") that you removed from the artichokes for this recipe is also edible. Try simmering removed leaves in water, salt, and a squeeze of lemon for 15 minutes, then scraping the bract between your teeth to eat the flesh.

#Palestinian #Levantine #vegan recipes #artichokes #Passover #Pesach #long post /

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not-another-leon-blog · 8 months

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Out Together

DI! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary- Your family spends some rare quality time together. Word Count: 2266 S/n- Son's name D/n- Daughter's name A/N: Part 3 of the Family Matters Series Family Matters / Aftermath

With the kids on suspension from school, Leon had decided that it was the perfect time to spend together. It was rare that all four of you went out to do something together– work tended to prevent it and oftentimes stole him away to far corners of the country or the world. So naturally, he wasn’t going to let this opportunity go to waste.

Of course, he gave them the standard lecture about not fighting in school (though he did praise them for standing up for and protecting each other), but otherwise assured them that they weren’t in too much trouble.

Leon woke up with S/n still curled up against him and your side of the bed empty. S/n had slept through the night between the two of you, and D/n seemed to have slept all night in her room, too. His kids were starting to heal just a little bit and the thought brought him peace.

The scent of bacon wafted through the house and just moments after Leon smelled it, S/n was pushing himself to sit up. His hair stuck up in all directions and he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Bacon?” he mumbled as he looked back at his father.

Leon chuckled and rubbed his boy’s head. “Better go get it before your sister does,” he said. Without another word, S/n jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room. D/n was notorious for eating almost all of the bacon you made. So much so that you started buying two packs just so the rest of the family could have some, too.

You had just pulled the second pan from the oven when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. The twins were already sitting at the table, quietly eating the bacon tacos you’d made for them. Leon gave you a squeeze and pressed a kiss to your temple, uttering a quiet ‘good morning’ against your skin.

Moments like these were his favorite. You in one of his shirts and a pair of your sleep shorts, the twins sitting at the table with messy hair and rumpled pajamas. If he could, he’d live in these moments forever. No bio-weapons, no being called away for work, just him and his family enjoying breakfast together.

You smiled and turned your head to give him a proper kiss before turning to plate the bacon. “Good morning, handsome. There’s eggs and potatoes over there, too.” You gestured to the table. “Go ahead and start eating, I’ve been nibbling while making all this.”

“You’re the best, you know that?” He kissed you again.

“I am, aren’t I?”

The four of you ate in a comfortable silence for the first time in a while. Since returning from San Francisco, tension had settled over the table. At least for the moment, that cloud had dissipated. It made you think that perhaps Leon was right. Getting the twins to be active seemed to be the best way for them to release their stress. You only wished it hadn’t been a school fight to make you realize that.

“Are we still going to the park today?” S/n asked between bites of his taco.

“We are,” Leon replied, “and don’t talk with your mouth full, bud.” He took a napkin and gently wiped crumbs from the corner of S/n’s mouth. “I’ll bring down your glove and we can throw a ball around.”

“Can I bring the soccer ball, too?” quipped D/n.

“Absolutely, baby,” you said. You ran a hand through her hair and gently undid large knots with your fingers. The twins finished eating and put their dishes away, leaving you and Leon alone while they went to get dressed.

You looked over at Leon. There was a sad, forlorn look in his eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

Leon gave you a sad smile. “When they were born. I promised them I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. Now look at us.”

You reached over and gave his hand a squeeze. Guilt over what had happened plagued the both of you. In the days following Alcatraz, Leon barely slept. He would get up and triple-check the locks on all the windows and doors. Nearly any creak would have him up and checking the house, especially when D/n had started sleeping in her own bed again.

“And you saved them,” you reminded. “They knew you would. We can’t change the past. But what we can do is give them a good day.” Helping them move on was the best you could do. You couldn’t let them wallow in those memories and drown in nightmares.

Leon pressed a kiss to the back of your hand and nodded. You had a habit of drawing him out of his darker thoughts, and when you did it made him love you even more. You were right. Your family came home in one piece. Neither of the kids were hurt (physically) and Rebecca had cured you. Your family was intact and that was all that mattered.

The two of you cleaned up the kitchen and went to get dressed. Then it was time to get to packing the car. It wasn’t much, just getting a small cooler filled with water and a few sandwiches while Leon went to hunt down S/n’s baseball bag in the garage.

“S/n, D/n,” he called as he came back inside with both of their gloves. There was an excited twinkle in his eye that you hadn’t seen in a while. The twins came running and he handed them the gloves. “Try them on, see if they still fit.” Leon had once had a dream of getting at least one of them into sports, but there simply wasn’t time. He never wanted to be the parent that didn't make it to practices or games. The twins put the gloves on and flexed their hands, opening and closing them. “Feel okay?”

“Good,” they replied unanimously. “A little stiff.”

“Just need to break them in. We ready to go, Mom?” You smiled at him and nodded.

This was the kind of life Leon dreamed of having when he was younger. A beautiful wife and two wonderful kids. If he didn’t have a dislike of dogs, he was certain that there would be one running around with you.

The park was almost empty. Being a weekday, the only ones around were the occasional joggers or new parents walking their toddlers in their strollers. The day itself was nearly perfect. Only a few clouds dotted an otherwise clear blue sky.

You watched from under a tree a little bit away on a blanket as Leon tossed baseballs for the twins. It was S/n’s turn to bat and D/n was scrambling to catch the fly balls he hit. Her jeans and shirt already had grass stains from diving after ground balls.

“Dad,” S/n said after he hit another, “I’m hungry.”

“Hey, Hungry, I’m Dad,” Leon replied with a cheeky grin. The twins groaned, resulting in a wider smile from Leon. The three of them made their way back to the tree you sat under. You lifted your camera as they came closer, wanting to preserve the moment. It was an old thing from years ago and though the lens was a little scratched, it still took fantastic pictures. “I didn’t think you still had that.”

You shrugged. The kids plopped themselves down and rummaged through the cooler. “Well, we don’t do stuff like this often. I figured we could use some more pictures together.”

“I wanna sit next to Mom,” S/n said, trying to scoot in between you and Leon.

“I had her first,” Leon wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his side.

But this didn’t deter S/n. “But I’m her first-born.”

“I’m her husband.” He loosened his hold on you just enough that S/n was able to wiggle in and try to push Leon away from you.

D/n settled herself on your other side, quietly watching her brother and father squabble as she ate her sandwich. She leaned up to your ear and whispered, “Are boys always this dumb?”

“Sometimes,” you replied, wrapping an arm around her.

“Is that why Daddy makes things explode?”

“No, Daddy tries to be careful about that.” No point in denying that Leon did, in fact, blow things up every now and then. She’d already seen him do it once, at least you could prevent her from worrying about him getting hurt while doing something so dangerous.

The four of you continued to eat and once the kids had their fill, they were up and chasing after each other. Leon threw the soccer ball between them and it quickly became a game of keep-away.

Leon took to clicking through the pictures you’d taken, a soft smile on his face. “You know, you deserve to be in a few of these, too.” Most of the pictures were of him and the kids, very rarely did he see you in any of them.

“My mom takes more than enough,” you replied. You made it a habit to take the kids to see their grandparents at least once a month, and your mother could never have enough pictures of you and her grandkids.

“Still, this is a family outing.” He gave you a gentle push, urging you to your feet. “Go, I’ll take a few for you.”

You groaned playfully and got up. He was right, afterall. The albums you’d put together over the years were filled with him and the kids growing up. In fact, you’d started making them because of how often he was gone; you wanted to keep some kind of record for him to look back on. And being so focused on keeping his memories with the kids, you often forgot about keeping some of your own.

Leon watched you jog out to the kids, laughing as you stole the soccer ball from S/n. You carefully and swiftly moved the ball between your feet. The twins charged at you, but flew past you as you turned to dodge them.

The twins shared a look and split up, D/n running to get himself behind you and S/n staying in front to distract you. Leon raised the camera, waiting just a few moments before pressing down on the button. He watched through the viewfinder as you tried to keep both of them in your sight. D/n sprinted up behind you, throwing her arms around your waist as S/n swooped in to take the ball from you.

God, he wished his vacation days would last forever.

He put the camera away and went to join you. He easily snatched D/n from you, picking her up and lightly tossing her in the air. She squealed with laughter, “That’s cheating, Daddy!”

“And what were you doing just now?” He caught her and tossed her up again. You’d taken off to chase after S/n. The next half hour continued like that: racing after the kids and eventually ending up in a pile in the grass trying to catch your breath.

The sky had gotten darker, gray clouds threatening to rain. “Alright,” Leon said, pushing himself to his feet, “time to go.” He helped you up and S/n followed. D/n continued to lay in the grass, her eyes closed. It was obvious she was only pretending to be asleep but he didn’t care. He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the car.

“Want me to drive?” you offered once the car was packed and the kids were buckled in. Rain had begun to fall and you knew how it could put him on edge.

“If you don’t mind.” He tossed you the keys. Truth be told, he was exhausted. But in a sense, it was satisfying. For once it was the kids who wore him out, not some bioterrorist trying to shoot him down or zombies chasing after him. It was the sort of tired he’d love to get used to.

By the time you returned home, rain was falling steadily and the twins had officially fallen asleep in the back seat. The two of you decided that everything in the trunk could wait to be taken in later and instead simply carried the twins inside.

You gently set them down on the couch and woke them up. They stretched and yawned, rubbing their eyes. “Go take your showers,” you instructed softly.

“Do we have to?” D/n whined.

As much as you wanted to give in to her, you nodded. “Don’t want to wake up all sticky tomorrow, do you?” She shook her head. Slowly, the two of them waddled down the hall to take their showers and get ready for bed.

Leon watched them until they were out of sight and then took their spot on the couch, pulling you down with him and tucking you against his side. You were happy to oblige, tossing your legs over his lap and nuzzling into him.

“Want me to get any of those pictures printed?” you asked tiredly.

“I have a few in mind,” he replied. You could print out all of them and he’d cherish each one. He sighed and leaned his head back against the cushion, closing his eyes.

The next time he opened them, he found the twins settled on either side of you, their hair still wet from their showers and sound asleep.

#leon kennedy #dad! leon kennedy x reader #di! leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fic #leon fluff #resident evil fluff

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sirenjose · 5 months

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Analysis of the Food/Diet of the Lower Class in the Victorian era

(It was a bit tricky for me to find sufficiently detailed answers about the time and group I was looking for, as I wanted a bit more than the basics. Apologies for any mistakes)

Bread was a staple of the lower-class diet, such as wholemeal, rye bread, unleavened bread (like oatcakes), etc.. For the poor, it was often made of cheap-quality flour and likely denser than modern bread.

These could be supplemented with whatever vegetables that were cheapest as well as locally available at that time of year. Onions were among the cheapest (half penny for a dozen, cheaper if they were bruised) and available all year. They were more expensive in late spring, at which point they could be substituted by leeks. Watercress was another cheap staple (halfpenny for 4 bunches from April to January/February) and were regularly eaten at breakfast. Cabbage was cheap and easily available, along with broccoli, with lettuce and radishes available in summer. Carrots and turnips were inexpensive staples, especially in winter, and they along with cabbage were often used in stews and soups.

As for fruit, apples were the cheapest and most commonly available (from August to May). Cherries were also fairly cheap (from May to July). Pears, blackberries, and plums were available throughout autumn. Then there were gooseberries, plums and greengages (in late September), raspberries, and strawberries. Not all fruits were affordable, like oranges, which were imported from Spain in winter but were expensive and often given as gifts, and pineapples, which were a sign of wealth.

Potatoes were another staple and were prepared in various ways, including boiled, mashed, roasted, or fried. They grew well in Britain’s mild weather, making them easy to produce and sell, meaning they were cheap and thus became a frequent meal.

In terms of meat, the lower class ate it infrequently, maybe once a week, with the worst off even less often. Pork was 1 of the most common types of meat, when it could be afforded.

As a result, the poor made the most of it (using and eating every part of it). For example, a cook would boil a piece of beef or mutton with vegetables one day (probably Sunday, the only day many people had off from work), then return to the boiling pot the next day and skim the fat off from the top to be used for frying or pie crusts. Then he or she could set the liquid back to boiling, adding a stingy amount of oatmeal (one recipe recommends a tablespoon of oatmeal for every pint of liquid) to produce another nourishing meal from the broth. Recipes call it a pot liquor soup; we’d more likely call it gruel.

Gruel, made by boiling grains, like oats, rice, or barley, in water or milk, was a common food option for the poor as it required minimal ingredients and was easy to prepare. It often served as a breakfast or basic meal.

Porridge refers to a thicker and more substantial version of cooked grains, usually oats, in water or milk. It was typically cooked for a longer amount of time, resulting in a creamier and heartier consistency. It was also a popular breakfast choice due to it being nutritious and filling.

They tended to buy cuts and trimmings of meat no one else wanted, which were referred to as “block ornaments”. Examples included sheep’s organs, shanks, gristly bits, and heads. Most of these cuts were tough or didn’t have much meat on them, but they could produce a filling broth. Tripe (lining of stomach of animals like cattle, sheep, and pig), liver, meat on the bone (shin or cheek), and offal (aka organ meats like brains, hearts, sweetbreads, liver, kidneys, lungs, and intestines) were also cheap.

Chicken was rare, as the birds were kept for eggs, and usually not eaten unless the bird stopped laying eggs.

Later in the Victorian era, bacon became a popular choice at breakfast (alongside kippers aka a type of fish made from herring, eggs, and porridge).

Drippings was another common part of the lower class diet. Drippings refer to the fat that is collected as a result of cooking meat. When meat, such as beef, pork, or poultry, is roasted or grilled, the fat present in the meat melts and drips down into the pan or tray. This fat is then collected and saved, typically in a container or jar, for later use. They add flavor and richness to dishes and are commonly used for making gravies, sauces, or to enhance the flavor of roasted vegetables, as a few examples.

Since meat was a luxury, the lower class tended to go for cheaper proteins, like eggs and legumes.

Many East End homes kept hens in their backyards, with a couple hens able to produce up to a dozen eggs per home per week. Hard cheeses like cheddar was produced countrywide and so available all year round, meaning it was able to enter the diet of the lower class. It was a good protein, kept well, and even stale it could be eaten toasted with bread.

Regarding legumes (ex: beans, peas, peanuts, lentils, etc…), they were a cost-effective source of protein, fiber, and nutrients. Dried legumes were more affordable and available all year round. Beans (good from July to September) were a staple for many lower class, often cooked in stews, soups, or baked dishes. Peas (affordable from June to July) and lentils were also commonly consumed.

In terms of drinks, tea was very common. It became more affordable with the help of increased trade, improved transportation, and advancements in production methods. The poor drank tea that tended to be weaker, as they reused the tea leaves several times before disposing of them. Black tea was common, the most popular being those imported from countries like China and India.

Milk was widely consumed but not usually in large quantities, due to cost and adulteration fears (aka fear of contamination). Beer was also common (made with low alcohol content so you didn’t get drunk), even for women and older children, as water wasn’t safe to drink back them (easily contaminated, but the brewing process killed off the germs). Coffee was another option, but it tended to be more expensive than tea, beer, or milk.

Sugar became cheaper at least after 1874, but still tended to be relatively expensive, especially for those on lower incomes. Thus it remained more of a luxury item and consumed in mostly smaller quantities or for special occasions.

Butter, like sugar, would’ve also been considered a relatively expensive item, and thus not as widely consumed. Instead, they used cheaper options of fat, like lard and dripping.

Nuts were another slightly more expensive item. But there were some options if a poorer individual could afford them. Chestnuts were the most common (favorite street snack in chestnut season, running from September to January). There were also filberts and hazelnuts (available from October to May) and walnuts (seasonal). Imported almonds and brazil nuts were more expensive, but commonly consumed around Christmas as a “treat”.

Even if they could afford things like sugar, butter, or nuts, the lower class likely would’ve typically used their income on more basic necessities and things they needed for their job or life.

Individuals were paid on Saturday, and that plus the absence of refrigeration affected the weekly menu. It’s possible the lower class at least may have possessed basic cooking utensils, like a skillet, pot, or kettle. The ‘best’ and relatively most expensive meals were taken on Saturday evening and Sunday, though the poorest would often buy food at the end of Saturday trading, at the cheapest possible prices. Menu choices became cheaper through the week: purchases of food would diminish in quantity as the food budget shrank, and meat would often only be purchased once a week, though vegetables and fruit were usually purchased and consumed on a daily basis.

The very poor might purchase cheaper older fruits, vegetables, and meat on the verge of edibility, though this didn’t really diminish the nutrients in them much.

The lack of refrigeration facilities meant that meats eaten hot on any one day were almost inevitably consumed (cold) on the second day. Any more leftovers were, due to incipient spoilage, curried or hashed on the third day. Spices and the higher heat involved in frying the hash would disguise any taint to the meat and lessen the chances of food poisoning.

Men worked on average 9–10 hours per day for 5.5-6 days a week, giving a range from 50–60 hours of physical activity per week. Factoring in the walk to and from work increases the range of total hours of work-related physical activity up to 55–70 hours per week. They likely required around 5000 calories a day.

The daily wage for poor miners back then may have been around 3-4 shillings, with the weekly wage then around 18-24 shillings. In dollars, 3-4 shillings was likely around $1. In today’s money, 3-4 shillings a day may be around £4 to £5 or $5 to $6.

#idv #identity v #norton campbell #prospector #fool's gold #fools gold #hunter norton #idv norton #identity v norton #idv prospector #identity v prospector #idv fool's gold #identity v fool's gold #idv fools gold #identity v fools gold #sirenjose analyses and theories

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manlicker69 · 9 months

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Sweet ₊　 ⁺　 ◌ ★

REQ :: How would you feel about doing some Noir or L headcanons with a police officer or private detective s/o? 😘 I super enjoy your writing!! It’s good that see that your account is progressing so much! Ignore if you feel like it, be sure to have a good day! || @sexy-sweet-potato

Tags :: L x male reader, Lawliet x male reader, Noir x male reader, Spider-verse, death note, reader is a detective, fluff, slightly suggestive, kissing, comfort, relationships

A/N :: Thank you for the support I've been receiving! I will be more busy as time goes by due to my personal life's activities, but I will still try to keep my writing up :3

You and L have been work partners since the dawn of time

You were friends in school and both had wished to investigate and solve mysteries, in time you two qualified to work together

Ever since Kira became active, the two of you have grown closer

You both loved working on the case, including interrogating each other to see if either of you were Kira

L loved sharing his ideas with you, wanting to compare yours to his to see if he can obtain extra puzzle pieces to finish the work

You tended to get bored a lot easier than L when it came to late nights

When you'd just quit for the night, you'd navigate to L's location to squirm in his presence

"Not now y/n, you know that I need to finish this work up"

He doesn't admit it, but he enjoys your annoying presence during such ungodly hours, oh how you fondle him with your gaze

attempting to distract him by planting kisses on his body, well pass success in your mission

You two have tried to keep your relationship on the low due to Kira, but oh is it so tiring

The small amount of alone time you two get is unbearable, but L only insists

L constantly worries that Kira will target you because of him, but he will never let that happen

"Y/n, why must you distract me with your handsome beauty? You know how intoxicating you are"

his love language is def quality time and touch, he just loves silently massaging your curves with his touch

noir loves giving you small trinkets to display his love to boost your morale

he usually lets you do most of the work in investigations, he loves watching your brain do it’s magic

always worried you’ll overwork yourself in the field, he enjoys working with you but would hate to see you stressed

when you two shared your first close moments together, it slightly changed the work atmosphere between you two

ever since you two became lovers, he became more flirty in investigations

cute notes on your desk, his same old trinkets, and maybe even a kiss on the cheek???

when you have to put a serious face on, he knows he needs to focus, because you always mean business 🫡

totally gives you massages at work and at home after really long and stressful days

“You know my sweet one, this case won’t run away right? Just focus on some rest so you can solve this battle easier.”

Peter/Noir might be a spider-man, but that doesn’t mean he’s invincible

he’s usually the one to take the fights with the main suspects, and occasionally returns a little beaten up

you fix him up with bandaids and praises, cuddling him to sleep until the next case approaches you both

“You’re the most beautiful man i’ve laid my eyes on, my little detective.”

Title based on the song | Sweet - Cigarettes After Sex

My requests are open!!!! >_<

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theoneiroveil · 7 months

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Did you wake up on October 1st, 2016 to a very strange channel in your subscription box on Youtube?

Well if not, here is a little bit that channel.

Soursalt is a series that began in 2016 with roughly 600 people waking up subscribed to it without knowing. That's a very real thing that happened, which is a great selling point of the story.

Over the next few days these weirdly edited potato-quality home videos get uploaded and nobody has any idea what's going on. Some descriptions keep changing, some are pieces of conversations, etc. People are immediately hooked because what the fuck is going on? Then Madman Re starts getting mentioned, is it a place, a God, Freddy Krueger, who knows. More cryptic and weird dream videos get uploaded and then suddenly there's a break. This is the end of the prologue of the story.

Suddenly, we started getting rapid fire uploads a few months later of these two idiots making a really shitty ghost hunter parody knock off sketch. This is basically meant to be like a needle in the haystack for viewers. There are moments in these videos that are completely filler and just dumb comedy or filler -- b u t there are teases that something is up sprinkled within these videos. You'll have one of them mention the path looks different (implying they scouted it out before hand), or they'll hear or see something the camera just straight up doesn't see of pick up. This continues on until it's obviously getting dark, but we don't see their journey home. Instead, a few days later, we're treated to another sketch. This time shit gets fucky.

The two do the Ghost Guy routine on a haunted road by the woods, but as the move past the housed area towards the side of the park, their patience with each other starts running thin, they start hearing strange things, and feeling off. After taking a break off the road in a nearby Gazebo, they find a mysterious grave site and a stuffed monkey. Here, we learn out of character that they were filming at locations posted on a strange forum ; the same one implied to have launched the Soursalt spread.

After getting covered in some shit, blood and rot the characters introduce the audience to the Madman of Re as Aidan "Ghost Guy" Calloway touches the Window of a spooky run down bus and a ghastly hand touches his back -- all separated thematically by … a Window.

And this is where Soursalt takes you, into the Window; a terrifying physical nightmare space that seperates the viewer from their body and traps them in their own mind, a mind that can be easily manipulated by the Madman of Re.

BUT WAIT

This is only the end's beginning.

Timeskip -- Seven Years Later:

The story returns with Eulacram on the eve of the Spread's seven year anniversary following Aidan as he struggles to live with the trauma of his past and present following the events he experienced in Soursalt. It's at this point where the shattering of Aidan's mind takes literal form and we're presented with various versions of him through a system that he calls the Crucible Channel.

Meanwhile, another entity has pursued the same goal as Madman Re and sought out those that were victims of various Spreads to put together what it calls the Eulacram Tribute, a tournament of survival that allows those touched by the Oneiroveil (the dream realm the Window is in) to compete for an evolution of their flesh. Aidan and the other Spread victims are unknowingly pulled into a shared dream where it seems reality is once again being manipulated as their lives are being toyed with. However, Aidan's access to the Crucible Channel may be prove useful in saving him and the other victims from this new nightmare.

Eulacram is designed both as an Epilogue to Soursalt and its own series. While Soursalt is to be seen as a more found-footage style story, Eulacram utilizes the idea posed by the prologue that the entity can create videos with dreams, to showcase a cinematic-like view of events within the story. Some episodes can transition between hand-held, cinematic handheld, and cinematic third person, to allow for a unique approach on telling the story.

New viewers of the series can pick up with Act 1 or Act 2 Eulacram (on 10/1/23) without having fully watched Soursalt or Eulacram's prologue ; which will allow for an easier transition into the new content while everything you need to know will be given to you through the story. Viewers of the past content, and even those part of the first 600 subscribers will get the full experience though, as they will have seen the journey of some of these characters from the beginning, understanding the trauma that led them to becoming who they are today.

Soursalt // Eulacram is unlike any other web series you have seen, or dreamed. It's dark, gritty, there's a talking lizard, it's sharp and brutal at times ; but comedic, light hearted and emotional at others. The characters feel real, their pain feels real. If you're looking for web series horror that breaks the mould, takes risks, and isn't afraid to pop out an eye or two… or three… or ---

Then on October 1st, 2023, you should wake up to a very strange channel in your subscription box on Youtube.

This is that channel.

youtube

#soursalt #arg #creepypasta #webseries #horror #meatburger #slenderverse #everymanhybrid #eulacram #unfiction #tmc #the mandela catalogue #welcome home #nightmind #sour salt #marble hornets #indie horror #found footage #Youtube

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

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Teeth

Part 11

Masterlist

Warnings: Canon typical themes, Billy mentioning his past, voyeurism/exhibitionism, masturbation, *slow nod* dumbasses.

A/N: Apologies if you're vegan/vegetarian/don't eat beef, I usually try to make these things neutral, but in this case, panthers are carnivores and that had a factor in the meal I chose.

Special dedication to @blanchedelioncourt for those two cute checkmarks you see beside my name. Thank you so much my love 💖

He liked meat.

He'd confessed to you on the drive home that he could never pass up an opportunity to indulge on a nice piece of steak, or even fish.

You liked the idea of preparing a filet mignon for him, but with no cuts at home, you'd quickly ordered from the nearest meat supplier, thankful that with today's technology, same day delivery was possible.

You'd agreed on a plan, he had to go to his place to get cleaned up, and he'd be at your door around seven.

Since he wasn't a fan of green beans or broccoli, you decided to do sautéed potatoes, and maybe a few glazed vegetables.

It was exciting, preparing a meal for him, you found enjoyment in the planning process.

The meat arrives at your place at the same time you do, and you examine it, making sure it's high quality, desperate to impress your boss, coming over to your home.

My friend, you correct with a smile, pulling out ingredients and beginning prep work as you close the door behind you.

You spot him, moving around in his place while you work, and you're happy that you decided to have your curtains open, even if to just catch tiny glimpses of him on occasion. Seeing more of him could never be a downfall.

Your mind jumps to the panther, and you let out a blissful sigh, feeling so unbelivably safe for the first time in a long while.

You've just finished with the potatoes and vegetables when there's a knock on your door.

Calm down, you tell yourself, when you realise your hands are clammy with anxiety.

"Hey." You say to him easily, letting him in. He's dressed down in a long sleeve burgundy sweater and jeans, and you definitely try your hardest not to devour him with your eyes.

You'd been able to shower too, tugging on one of your more casual dresses, the comfort and length of it managing to emphasize how much this was not a date. If it were a date, you'd be more inclined to wear something shorter, maybe tighter, but your loose dress hopefully showcased just enough without advertising too much.

"You look nice." He follows up, after saying hello, and you smile and return the compliment...casually... like friends would.

"I'm almost finished. How would you like your steak done?" You ask him, while busy fussing over your potatoes.

"Rare, but, you know you don't have to, right? I would have been fine with pasta."

You have to look away from him, bite your tongue so that you don't say something snarky or flirtatious.

"I wanted to." You respond easily, heating up your cast iron pan.

"Where did you learn to cook?" He asks, coming up next to you to study the little layout beside your stovetop, the garlic and rosemary prepped and ready to go.

"Online," You admit, looking up at him with a little smile, "It wasn't too hard to pick up, I really like eating."

"Good," He murmurs, reaching for a rosemary stem, breaking it in half and bringing it up to his nose to take a deep inhale. Your insides curling tight at how close he is, you want to lean in and press your head to his chest.

"You're so good at so many things." He murmurs absentmindedly, and it's not the heat of the pan that warms your face this time.

The steaks smell delicious as they cook, and Billy hovers over your shoulder, asking questions that you're very happy to answer. You even explain to him the steak finger test, explaining by touching his hands, how you'd know the meat is at the desired readiness.

He takes in information easily, doesn't get defensive, or act as if he already knows. If he has a question, he isn't afraid to ask you.

You might love that about him the most, how easy it is to be around him. There's no condescention or ego in the way, there's just him, and you, and conversation enough to fill the room.

When everything is plated, you reach for the cast iron pan to place it in the sink.

You grab a cloth, wrapping in around the handle, picking up the pan easily.

On the way into the sink, the hot handle grazes your fingers.

You hiss before your body even registers the pain, your fingertips screaming in brutal betrayal at being scorched.

He's beside you instantly, opening the tap to pull your hand under the cool stream.

"Ow, oh f-" You stop yourself, humming in pain.

One of his broad hands is against your back, rubbing in an attempt to soothe as he tries to care for your hand.

You try hard to resist swearing, and eventually he notices.

"You can say 'fuck' if you want, I don't mind."

You look up with him, a pained smile of resistance plasterd onto your face.

"Come on, say 'fuck' for me."

"Fuuuucccckkk." You draw out, letting the frustration of your pain out in one breath.

He laughs, you find yourself smiling along.

"See? We're friends, you can swear in front of me, I'll even go first so that you don't feel shy about it."

After a moment of baited anticipation, he opens his mouth.

"Shit." He says.

"Bitch." You respond, making a game out of the crude words.

"Asshole." He follows up.

You giggle, speaking without too much thought.

"Cock."

The air seems to freeze, holding still, ever patient to pass judgement on whether you've gone too far.

He leans in a little, till your noses are near touching, you can feel your body coiled tight at his proximity.

"Pussy." He whispers, and you feel the ascension of your soul to high heaven.

He doesn't allow the atmosphere to grow awkward with your stunned silence, he pulls your fingers from under the cool water to examine them. There's no pain anymore, and definitely no real damage done.

"Do they still hurt?" he asks.

"N-no," you answer, "It was nothing serious."

Billy nods in understanding.

"We should eat." You utter, doing your very best not to stutter and succeeding.

You offer him a glass of zinfandel, and you take one for yourself before sitting across from him. The wine is ruby red, and though it's advertised as a sweet wine, you don't find it very sweet at all.

You cut your meat slowly, waiting patiently for him to cut into his.

You sigh happily when you see the inside of his steak is an almost perfect rare, appreciating that you came very near the desired colour.

You try not to stare at him, or make him uncomfortable as he brings the first piece up to his mouth.

You're vibrating with worry as he takes his first bite, looking politely down at your own plate and waiting for a response.

A low groan spills from him.

You look up in surprise at his face as your toes curl at the rough sound. It goes right down to your cunt, pulsing with desire since he looked into your eyes and whispered that filthy word earlier.

His eyes are closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around the fork as he chews. Your heart pounds as you realise that his current state of bliss has been caused by you.

He opens his eyes, fixes them right on you.

"That is fucking delicious." He says, his voice low and gravelly as he picks up a piece of potato this time.

You sigh in relief, cutting into your piece next, excited to taste what he does.

It is good, you hum in appreciation as you eat it, relieved, that you managed not to mess this up.

It's only been one meal, and yet somehow, Billy has found himself captivated by you.

No other relationship had ever blossomed so quickly, or made him feel this safe in his vulnerabilities.

Being around you was as easy as breathing, he could laugh, and say the first thing that came to mind and not have to second guess himself because you were so welcoming.

He wonders if all of you would be welcoming to him.

The panther takes the opportunity to insert vivid thoughts of your parted thighs, images of your slick cunt ready for him to take.

He could scent it, between the savoury notes of the meal, was the sweet call of your arousal.

You wanted him, he knew it, and he wanted you too.

He holds himself back from acting on it, doesn't want to destroy the little pieces of friendship he's managed to gather with you. He doesn't want you to think that any of this was motivated by just sex.

"Will you tell me more about growing up?" You ask, three-quarter way into the meal.

He almost chokes on a carrot.

"It's.... not the best story." He responds.

"Oh, it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I didn't mean to pry."

But he wants to. He wants to tell you about it.

"My mother dropped me off at a fire station when I was born. I have no idea who my father is."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head.

"Don't be, she was an addict from what I understand, might have been worse for me if she kept me."

You smile sadly at him, reaching across and covering his hand. He looks down at the touch, before turning his hand upwards so that your hands are clasped together.

"The group home wasn't all bad, just lacking you know? A decent family, but with all the important parts missing."

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

"I ran away when I was fifteen, kind of just jumped from place to place, living off scraps, sleeping wherever was safest, and then I met Frank a couple of years later."

Billy grins.

"Frank saved my life, and then we joined the military together. Gave me a rough brotherhood I didn't know I needed. Served for ten years and here I am."

"Wow, that's quite a story," you murmur, looking deep in thought.

"Why did you run away?"

He swallows, looks away from your inquisitive eyes.

"You know, I just got tired of them."

"Oh."

He shrugs.

"Yeah, well I hope your childhood was better."

You smile.

"Maybe so, I mean, comparatively, but not without its own problems."

He nods in understanding, eager to hear more.

You're almost done with the story of your childhood when there's an odd knock on your door.

Nine taps, with a short pause each third tap.

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"I hope you don't mind, I ordered dessert." He says, standing up, and walking to your door.

He opens it, and you watch him accept a little cloth parcel from the person on the other side of the door with a nod of his head.

Curiously, you slip off your seat and approach him as he closes your door. When he turns, he finds you right before him, examining the item in his hands.

"You ordered dessert?" You ask, confused beyond measure.

"I wanted to surprise you, and I couldn't pick it up before coming here, so I had it delivered downstairs and brought up. I hope that's okay?"

Surprise me? You think, an odd feeling of delight swimming inside of you.

You smile, reaching for the box that he gives easily, and you place it onto your counter, taking care to unwrap it gently.

Your mouth parts when you catch sight of it. It's a lemon meringue, with a strawberry layer beneath the toasted marshmallow fluff, and a beautiful strawberry topping all of it off.

There's only one pie, but it's about the size of your hand, definitely large enough for the two of you to share.

"It looks amazing." You comment, tilting your head to examine the toasted brown waves of the marshmallow fluff.

"It is, I got it from one of my favourite dessert places. The chef's ex-marine, like me."

You smile up at him, grabbing two spoons from your kitchenette and taking the pie into one hand.

"Couch?" You offer, no room for arguement, you ease yourself onto the soft seat, trying your best not to topple the dessert.

He sits beside you, and you turn to face him, offering a spoon in his direction.

"I've never had a meringue before, but I always wanted to try it."

"Is that what you call it?" He responds, "I usually just ask for the lemon pie."

A sound of humour mixed with pain leaves the back of your throat.

"You're lucky they get your order right," you say with a laugh, "One day, you might just get an actual lemon pie."

He hums, taking a small spoonful of the meringue and tapping it against your spoonful.

"Well, here's to getting what you want."

It's an odd toast, but you follow his lead and put the spoonful of dessert into your mouth.

The first flavour you get is the delicious sweetness of the marshmallow and strawberry, the sweet citrus tang of the lemon follows next and the crust rounds all the flavours up into a delicious and fruity finish.

"Fuck." You sigh, closing your eyes for a long moment and simply basking in the flavours that melt right into your mouth.

You don't look up at him, taking another hasty spoonful before sinking right back into your circle of bliss.

You hum at the flavour, the tangy strawberry slices below the marshmallow fluff adds a very interesting taste.

"Sorry." You murmur, absentmindedly to Billy, lost in the flavour.

"For what now?" He asks and you smile.

"For being weird."

He hums.

"Honestly, I'd say the dessert had the desired effect."

"Yeah, if making me fall in love with a pie was the goal."

"So you admit it's a pie, then?"

You let out a little chuckle, looking up at him. He raises his eyebrows at you as he takes another spoonful into his mouth.

"I never said it wasn't a pie!" You shoot at him, "I'm just saying, there's a difference between what you ask for and what this is."

He leans in, teasingly, your heart stutters as he gets closer.

"And yet somehow, I always get what I want." He comments, and you gulp.

Up close, he notices that a few strands of your hair a clinging to your face and are almost in your mouth.

The raises a hand, it hovers over your cheek and you try to keep breathing and not drool while you're at it.

"May I?" He asks, and you nod your head quickly, before he even has a chance to decide against it.

His fingertips are gentle on your cheek, brushing away the strands in small swipes. You sigh at the relief of subtle irritation, giving him a small smile.

Your breath finally stops when he cups your face in his hand, and you feel your eyelids droop. His hand is warm, against your feverish cheek and he's so close that your noses brush.

You mind is screaming at him, with urgency, the words kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me, are chanted inside your head.

He does not kiss you.

Instead, he pulls back, rough palm slipping from your cheek leaving a coolness that wasn't there before.

He checks his watch.

"It's getting late, I should go."

You try to curb the disappointment inside of you by eating the last spoonful of tart.

"Yeah, sure." you say after, standing and piling the spoons onto the few dishes in your sink before washing your hands.

You open the door of your aparment for him.

"I'll see you in the morning?" He asks.

"Mhmm," You hum the affirmative, "Take care." You add in after a moment.

He gives you a nod, and then he's gone.

You wait, back pressed to the door till you hear the elevator outside ding as it reaches your floor. You're patient for a few more moments before you move, grabbing a throw pillow from your couch and screaming into it out of frustration.

Panting, you give the pillow a little punch for good measure.

What an infuriating man he was, tormenting you this way.

You lie there, with the pillow over your face for a few minutes after the frustration has left your body in a fatigued mess.

The lights clicking on in his home catches your attention.

You hated him.

He made your blood boil, he made your body ache, he made you wet and he took no acknowledgement of his actions.

You reach up, under your dress, tugging your panties off in one swift move, kicking it away to be worried about later.

You groan when your fingers meet the soft edges of your dripping cunt, ready and eager for the pleasure it so deserves.

You suck in a deep breath, arching your back and reaching up to unclasp your bra with sticky fingers, pulling it from below your dress before tugging the straps of your dress down.

You sigh happily, breasts exposed to the open air as your fingers meet your cunt once more, sliding up to brush against your clit, you gasp in surprise, truly unaware of how aroused you really were until now.

You wished he would have kissed you, you think about the filthy way he'd dip his tongue into your mouth and explore. His mouth would taste like the lemon meringue you were sharing, he'd groan into your mouth hopefully, like he was tasting something worthwhile, the way he groaned over your cooking earlier.

You sigh, one hand worrying your swollen bud, while you raise the other to pinch at an unsuspecting nipple. Your breath hitches, losing sight of your surroundings as a sharp wave of bliss overtakes for a moment.

The pillow near your face slips off the couch in your shaking frenzy, and it opens up your line of sight to the windows of his apartment.

You groan, imagines him looking at you while you play with yourself, imagining the filthy words he'd say if he could see you.

You turn your head from your exposed window, facing the couch instead so that you can imagine more clearly that he's watching you.

You tug your dress higher, the wetness between your thighs threatening to spill over and stain your couch.

You think about the way he'd hold you to his body, tight, without any room to breathe or pull away.

What would it feel like to sink down onto his cock? Your breath hitches at the thought. Of having him rock you slowly on his lap, his teeth in your shoulder, your dress undone and barely hanging onto you.

You want to cry from how badly you need him.

You turn your head back to your open window.

There he is.

You shudder out a sigh, working your hand faster between your legs.

You can't see much, the lights behind him casting a shadow over his frame so that you can't see much more than his silhouette.

You know he can see you clearly though, your lights are still on, and you're sure every inch of your body is illuminated for him.

You gasp, tilting your head back, the hand on your breast moving to fist the soft couch tightly as you slowly reach your peak.

Your back arches, and your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs tremble, your entire body shaking, all you can focus on is your clit, circling it just right to prolong the orgasm.

Your nipples tighten further, and you only hesitate for a second before you push two fingers into yourself.

You almost scream, automatically clapping your hand over your mouth as you rock two fingers inside of you.

You remember the way he'd said the word 'pussy' not too long ago.

You turn your head, he's still there.

Enjoying the show? You think in his direction, and when you focus a bit more on his shadow, you notice very subtle movements of his arm. You raise your head to focus on him.

Oh god, is he-

Fuck, he is.

He's touching himself while he looks at you.

You hiss, the very thought of him encourages your hand to move faster, with more force between your legs.

Fuck me, you beg in his direction, I don't want to be your friend anymore.

You let out a long sigh, your fingertips just grazing that blissful spot inside of you.

You lose focus of everything the next time you cum, gasping, trembling, struggling to do anything more than feel the absolute bliss flooding your system, so much pent up frustration caused by being around him being released from you on each breath you take.

You sigh, pulling your fingers out of your dripping center, turning in his direction to look over at him.

One hand pressed to his window, you watch his head drop, his open palm fold into a tight fist, the fast movement of his arm slowing into soft strokes.

He must have orgasmed too.

You smile, tugging your dress up to hide your breasts from his view. You know you should move to clean up soon, the wetness of your arousal growing uncomfortable between your thighs, but your eyelids droop instead, looking at him as he looks at you as you drift off to sleep right there on your couch.

You wake up maybe an hour later, sitting up, and yawning, glancing at his dark window for a second before ambling your way to your bathroom.

You go to bed naked, sheets wrapped around you, too drowsy to worry about your modesty.

A/N: Happy Friday! Here is a photo reference for the dessert.

#werepanther!billy russo #monster!billy #monster!billyrusso #monster!billy russo #billy russo #billy russo x reader #ben barnes #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut

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sofasoap · 1 year

Text

Just like you

Pairing: Simon “Ghost ” Riley x f!Reader ( OC aka Mini MacTavish ) + Children. Summary: Simon is always scared to interact with his son. Part of Simon Route in Mini MacTavish verse

A/N :Character from @saltofmercury ’s “The Favorite MacTavish” , where the reader/OC is Soap’s little sister.Thank you for lending me your character. For @floral-force. I am sorry it turned from semi crack fic idea into Semi melancholy + sad fic. *sigh* “masterlist” for more stories to this Mini MacTavish expanded verse.

Tiny is sitting at the dining table, peeling potatoes, his sister chopping it up into cubes while his father is standing by the stove, making dinner.

“ Your Ma is going to be home a little bit later today. Let’s make some dinner together?”.

He loves spending time with his Da. He loves his father.

He is always sad he doesn’t get to spend or see him much at home.

“I’m sorry son.” His Da always has this sad smile on his face, while patting his head before he heads out and disappears for weeks. Your Da and uncles are busy protecting us, fighting bad guys. His Ma told him once.

Watching his father’s broad back, towering over the kitchen area, stirring the pan slowly. He always admired his Da and uncle’s strong muscles. Protector of the family. He wants to be just like him. To protect his Ma and sister.

“Da?”

“Yes Tiny?”

“How do I become more like you?”

Simon stopped. Turning the heat down and set aside the spatula and slowly turn around to face his son.

Tiny shrunk a little when he saw his father’s expression. Frowning, confusion, disappointment. And something else.

That sad expression again. Tiny thought. Is he mad at me? That’s why he looks so disappointed and sad? Just as Simon was about to reply, he heard your voice from the front door, announcing your return. Aileen jumped off the chair and ran straight out of the kitchen, while Simon patted Tiny on the head as he sighed. “ Come on. Let’s go say hi to your Ma.” Before he turned away and followed his daughter out. It turned out to be a very awkward night.

“Something on your mind,mo ghràdh? You've been very quiet tonight.” Simon isn’t a man of many words. But even when he is in his mood, you can still get a few grunts out of him. You knew something was on his mind when the only sound he made to you was greeting you at the door when you came home. The tension at the dining table was unbearable. Near silence apart from sounds of cutlery and whiteware clanking against each other. Poor Aileen was stuck in the middle, eyeing her father, and brother, and a pleading look to you, to be excused from the table as soon as possible to get away from the awkwardness.

You crawl into bed, shuffled towards him. Resting your head against the nape of his neck, while attempting to wrap your one arm around his broad muscular torso, and the leg around his waist. His hand immediately grabs yours, clutching it like it’s his only lifeline. “Am I a good father?”

“What brought this on?”

“Tiny asked me this afternoon, what he can do be more like me.” “ You know our son looks up to you. A lot.” Kissing his neck lightly, “He wants to spend more quality time with you, but he doesn’t know how to approach you.”

Simon feels guilty. He doesn’t want his son, his precious son to grow up like him. A man with a chip on his shoulder. The trauma he went through. Turning into a Ghost. He is too scared that history will repeat itself.

He doesn’t want to push his son away, yet, he is doing exactly the thing he vow not to.

Ironically, when Simon first met the twins, it was Tiny that warmed up to his father the quickest, while Aileen took a while to even let her father be close to her. Now the situation has flipped.

You have noticed a few times when Simon is holding Aileen, having father and daughter bonding time, Tiny always stands on the side, watching on with envy in his eyes. “Go talk to him. Approach him first. Tell him your story.” you feel him tensing up. “It will be alright. We told them how we met, right? And the turmoil. They understood the situation.” Thinking back to how two of you sat the children down, told them why they have taken on the MacTavish surname instead of Riley. Nuzzling your cheek against his back and neck. “Children are smart. They understand more than you expect.” Adjusting your hold slightly, “Now, do you want me to stay as a big spoon?”

“You mean a koala?” You smiled. There’s your playful husband back to you.

“If your cousin Joseph is still around, he would love to play football with you.”

Tiny stopped kicking the ball, he turned, looking at his father, who has been sitting on the bench for the last half an hour, watching him practising.

Sensing his father had more to say, he picks the ball up, and proceeds to sit beside him.

“ I often played passing the ball with him when he was your age.” “What happened to him?”

Simon paused. Should he really be telling his young boy about the gruesome event?

Thinking back to your words They understand more than you expect.

Simon slowly recounts events from his childhood. What his father did to him. The pain and trauma he caused. How he ran away from all of this at one stage, came back, and the tragedy.

Looking down at his son, who is trying to hold in his tears. “I’m sorry Da.”

“I am the one who should be saying sorry.” ruffling his hair. “I don’t want you to grow up like me Tiny, I want you to have a happy childhood. One that is better than mine. And choose your own path.”

“But I don’t want you to be disappointed in me…” Tiny look down, tears starting to drop.

“ I will never be disappointed with you ok? I love you son.” Pulling him into a hug, he whispered in his ears. Nodding his head, Tiny tries to wipe his tears away. “ I am sorry I am not always here to be with you and your sis. But you know you can come to me for anything, right?” Nodding his head again, he pulled from his father’s embrace a little bit before asking,

“ Can you help me with my football practice Da? I need someone to sharpen up my defence skills.”

Simon smiled.

Sitting there at the dining table, waiting for the tea to be brewed, you saw your two boys walking through the backdoor, discussing something. You can see they have talked through their problems and are slowly bonding.

“It takes a lot of time and training.It’s not easy.”

“ But…. Uncle Soap said he achieved it by eating a lot of haggis???”

… well the conversation has certainly taken a weird turn. Simon turned to look at you in a deadpan manner. See what your brother has been teaching our kids?

“Uncle Soap said you can achieve anything by eating haggis.” your daughter piped up.

You burst out laughing. “Well. That is what your Pop told him. He went through a stage where he begged your Nan to make it for him everyday.” “Don’t give them any ideas MINI.” NOT YOU TOO. Simon warned. Grabbing a jug of water from the fridge, pouring it for both Tiny and himself a glass, sitting down beside you. “ I swear you MacTavishes are a bunch of cheeky bastards.”

“Languages Simon.” Elbowing him, “ Regretting marrying me yet?” “Never.” “So Ma, Can I please have haggis for dinner?”

“No need, just have more tea like your Da and that will do the trick.”

“MINI.”

Taglist

@kaplerrr

@pascallllllll1

#simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader

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lynetianya · 8 months

Text

Feast of Love [ Karina X Reader ]

Y/N had a plan to surprise Karina and the other members by preparing their favorite dishes at the AESPA dorm.

👨‍🍳 Warning! Maybe you will be hungry after reading this story. 👩‍🍳

[ I like cooking, so I made this story after finding out what the aespa members' favorite foods are ]

GENRE : Fluff

TYPE : One Shot

Karina, the leader of the famous girl group AESPA under SM Entertainment, had a secret. She had a loving relationship with Y/N, who was not an idol but her biggest supporter. Only the members of AESPA and a few trusted people at SM Entertainment knew about their relationship. Today was a rare day off for the group, and Y/N had a plan to surprise Karina and the other members by preparing their favorite dishes at the AESPA dorm.

Before heading to the dorm, Y/N had cooked some of the dishes at home to save time and ensure the surprise remained intact. First on the menu was lasagna, Winter's all-time favorite. Y/N gathered all the necessary ingredients: lasagna noodles, tomato sauce with minced meat, ricotta cheese, mozzarella cheese, and Parmesan cheese.

Y/N started by sautéing onions and garlic in a large pan, filling the kitchen with a delightful aroma. Next, Y/N added the minced meat and cooked it until it changed color. Then came the tomato sauce, salt, pepper, and her favorite spices, all going into the pot. Y/N let the sauce simmer while tasting it to ensure it had the perfect flavor.

While the tomato sauce was simmering, Y/N boiled the lasagna noodles and allowed them to cool. Then began assembling the lasagna. Y/N started by spreading a little tomato sauce on the bottom of a baking dish, followed by a layer of lasagna noodles. Then layered it with the smooth ricotta cheese mixture and a generous sprinkle of mozzarella cheese.

Y/N repeated this process several times until the dish was filled with tempting layers of lasagna, covered it with aluminum foil and placed it in the preheated oven. After 30-40 minutes, the mouthwatering aroma of lasagna filled the entire house.

The final process of lasagna will be carried out in the AESPA dorm.

Next on the list were salad and seaweed soup for Giselle. Y/N carefully washed fresh vegetables, including lettuce, spinach, and carrots. Then chopped the vegetables into small pieces and placed them in a large bowl. Y/N also prepared some cherry tomatoes, washed and halved them.

Y/N checked the dried seaweed Y/N had purchased earlier and soaked it in warm water for a few minutes until it became soft and expanded. Afterward, Y/N drained the seaweed and cut it into small, bite-sized pieces for the soup.

To start making the seaweed soup, Y/N brought vegetable broth into a large pot and heated it. Once the broth began to boil, y/n added the chopped seaweed and let it simmer for a few more minutes. Y/N also added finely chopped garlic, green onions, and a few drops of soy sauce to give the soup a savory flavor. The final touch is to add the baby clams to the soup After simmering for a while, the seaweed soup was ready to be served.

While the seaweed soup continued to simmer, Y/N returned to the salad. Added the chopped vegetables to the large bowl, then continued by adding the fresh cherry tomato halves. Y/N also added the prepared seaweed pieces to the salad, providing a unique texture and a fresh, oceanic taste.

For the dressing, Y/N created a simple mixture by combining olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, and a pinch of sugar in a small bowl. Mixed the ingredients until they were well combined and then poured the dressing over the salad. Y/N gently tossed the salad in the dressing, ensuring that every vegetable was coated with the refreshing flavors.

The next dish on Y/N's menu was Gamjatang, Ningning's absolute favorite. Y/N had purchased high-quality pork ribs and a variety of colorful vegetables, including potatoes, scallions, and kimchi. All the ingredients were fresh and vibrant on her kitchen table.

Y/N began by filling a pot with water and placing it on the stove. Once the water was boiling, she added the pork ribs, briefly blanching them to remove any unwanted blood and odor. Afterward, Y/N changed the water and added the sliced potatoes, scallions, and kimchi to the pot.

While everything simmered to perfection in the pot, Y/N prepared the Gamjatang seasoning. Y/N mixed gochugaru (Korean red pepper powder), soy sauce, finely minced garlic, ginger, and other spices in a small bowl. This mixture would give the Gamjatang its signature spicy and savory flavor.

When the ingredients in the pot had softened and released their fragrant aroma, Y/N added the prepared seasoning. carefully stirred everything, ensuring the seasoning was evenly distributed among the ingredients. After a few moments, the Gamjatang was ready to be served.

The final dish Y/N prepared was Karina's all-time favorite, Tonkatsu. Y/N visited local Asian store and bought thin slices of quality pork cutlets. Y/N also gathered breadcrumbs, eggs, and a few pieces of cabbage to accompany the Tonkatsu. All the ingredients were fresh and of high quality.

Back at home, Y/N began by soaking the pork cutlets in salted water for a few minutes to remove some of the odor and enhance their texture. While waiting, Y/N sliced the cabbage into thin layers and set up a bowl with breadcrumbs on one side and a bowl of beaten eggs on the other.

After patting the pork cutlets dry carefully, Y/N coated them in breadcrumbs, making sure every side was evenly covered, then dipped them into the beaten eggs before giving them a second coating of breadcrumbs. The Tonkatsu was now ready for frying. Y/N planned to fry the Tonkatsu in the AESPA dorm so that Karina could enjoy it while it was still hot and crispy.

With all the dishes prepared, Y/N placed them in food containers and loaded them into her car. Y/N was ready to head to the AESPA dorm.

Upon arriving at the dorm, Y/N quietly slipped inside with the dishes to avoid waking the members. Y/N had previously informed the AESPA manager and obtained permission and a key to the dorm.

Y/N placed all the dishes in the kitchen and prepared to reheat the food and fry the Tonkatsu, luckily, AESPA dorm had a spacious kitchen for her to work in. Y/N retrieved the lasagna, removed the aluminum foil, and let it bake for another 10-15 minutes in the oven.

Next, Y/N reheated the Gamjatang and seaweed soup that had prepared earlier.

While waiting for everything to be ready, Y/N readied herself to fry the Tonkatsu. Y/N heated the oil in a pan to the perfect temperature and carefully added the pieces of Tonkatsu. They sizzled as they met the hot oil. Y/N cooked them until they turned a beautiful golden color, ensuring the pork was cooked to perfection inside.

Once the Tonkatsu was done, Y/N lifted them from the pan and placed them on paper towels to remove excess oil. At the same time, Y/N thinly sliced the cabbage, which would accompany the dish.

Y/N finally arranged the cooked Tonkatsu on a plate, placing the cabbage slices around them as a garnish. Y/N also provided a delicious Tonkatsu sauce for dipping. The Tonkatsu looked perfect, with a crispy outer layer and tender pork inside.

The increasingly irresistible aroma wafted through the house and began to reach the bedrooms of the members. It was then that Karina woke up from her morning slumber.

Karina rubbed her sleepy eyes, but then her senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the enticing smell of food. She sat up in bed, her eyes widening, and her drowsy expression turning into one of excitement.

With swift steps, Karina rushed to the kitchen, where Y/N was busy preparing the feast. "Y/N, what are you cooking?" Karina asked in amazement, her face lighting up with a wide smile. She embraced Y/N's broad shoulders and planted affectionate kisses on Y/N's cheeks and lips. Karina was taken aback by Y/N's surprise visit.

Y/N smiled and replied, "I'm making your favorite dishes."

Karina could only shake her head in disbelief, asking, "You made all of this? Doesn't this take a long time? Aren't you tired?" Karina couldn't believe her eyes. There was so much food prepared by Y/N, and it must have taken a considerable amount of time and effort.

"Not at all, it's your day off, so I decided to surprise you all with my cooking," Y/N said affectionately.

Karina, hearing Y/N's words, was overjoyed and touched by Y/N's love for them. She kissed Y/N once more, deeply appreciating Y/N.

Y/N then instructed Karina to wake up the other members. Karina, with a smile on her face, kissed Y/N again and hurriedly went to wake the other members.

Y/N efficiently arranged all the dishes on the dining table. Y/N took the lasagna out of the oven, allowing it to rest for a moment before cutting it into slices and placing them on the table.

The same went for the Gamjatang, salad, and seaweed soup. Everything was neatly laid out.

All the members who had awakened were in for a surprise when they saw the spread. Winter, with joy, started to jump around as she spotted her favorite lasagna ready on the table. Giselle's eyes widened in astonishment as she saw the seaweed soup, and Ningning let out a joyful cheer at the sight of Gamjatang.

"Winter, this is your favorite lasagna," Y/N said with a warm smile.

Winter's face lit up, and she couldn't contain her excitement. "Y/N, you made lasagna for me? I love you!" Winter exclaimed, hugging Y/N tightly.

Giselle, with a gleam of appreciation in her eyes, looked at Y/N and said, "Wow, seaweed soup! You remembered! Thank you, Y/N!"

Ningning was practically dancing with joy as she stared at the Gamjatang. "I can't believe it! Gamjatang! You're amazing, Y/N!" she exclaimed.

Karina returned with the other members in tow, and they were equally surprised by the feast that awaited them. They all gathered around the table, and Y/N couldn't help but smile as watched their expressions of delight and gratitude.

With laughter and chatter filling the room, they all dug into the delicious meal Y/N had prepared. Each dish had been made with love, and it showed in the taste. They couldn't stop praising Y/N for Y/N culinary skills, and they knew that this morning's breakfast would be one of the most special meals they'd ever shared together.

As they ate, they shared stories, laughter, and tender moments. Karina couldn't have been happier to have Y/N as partner, someone who cared so deeply for her and her fellow members.

END

🤭Are you hungry yet?🤭

My Masterlist

#karina x reader #karina oneshot #karina imagines #karina fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #aespa fanfic #oneshot #aespa oneshot #karina aespa #aespa karina #karina #aespa imagines #kpop fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop gg

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lorrainmorgan · 3 months

Text

Serpent's Scars

[ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ]

Previous Part 8 Next

It was as if they were bound together by a mysterious force, but despite the warm embrace of being with him, she couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more of this seemingly comforting connection.

With only 5 days left until Christmas, the excited chatter and bustle of students preparing to leave for the holiday break filled the halls of Hogwarts. Some eager to return home to their families, others looking forward to exploring new adventures in far off lands. But not Gaunt and Morgana.

They had found solace and comfort in each other's company, choosing to stay at Hogwarts during the break. For Gaunt, he had convinced his family that he needed to stay at Hogwarts during the break to focus on his “studies”. And for Morgana, who had no one else to turn to or visit during the holidays, there was no better way to spend her time than with him by her side.

As they walked through the castle together, hand in hand, the warmth of their love radiated like a beacon amidst the chilly winter air.

Sebastian was preparing to depart as well, due to some difficulties with his demanding uncle Solomon. The looming presence of his family obligations had become too much for him, and he needed quality time with them.

On the eve of his departure from the castle, the trio gathered for a grand dinner at their secret hidden place. They feasted, grateful from recent troubles that had brought them even closer together, with dishes of succulent meats, savory vegetables, different types of gravy and mashed potatoes laid out on humbled wooden plates just for them. Soft candlelight flickered around them, casting a warm glow over the intimate gathering until it came to an end.

Lorra, thanks to Sebastian's secret passage, began to sneak out of her dorm room and spend nights with Ominis. As she curled up beside him in bed, she couldn't help but admire how peaceful he looked in his deep slumber. His features softened by sleep and his worries temporarily forgotten as the silver green lights of his room topped some parts of his pale skin.

One night, her eyes snapped open as she heard Ominis thrashing and whimpering beside her. The same nightmare that had haunted him for days was back, tormenting his subconscious once again. She could see the sweat beading on his forehead and the dampness of the sheets beneath him. He was murmuring incoherently, his wand forgotten somewhere in the midst of his turmoil.

Lorra reached out and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers tightly. She pulled him close, wrapping herself around him protectively as he curled into a fetal position. She pressed soft kisses to his back, tracing the contours of his body, hoping to soothe his troubled mind and chase away the demons that plagued him that night.

He shifted to face her, revealing a vulnerable side that very few had the privilege to see.

"What's on your mind Oms?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Oms. That nickname always made him melt inside. He wanted to call her something just as sweet, but words were failing him. So he remained silent.

Lorra's voice quivered as she insisted "Please… tell me..." She clung tightly to him, her fingers digging into his shirt. But then again, just silence. He was lost in the grip of a haunting memory that threatened to consume him.

Yet, as time ticked by and her pleading continued, he finally relented. His throat felt raw and constricted, like if pieces of jagged rock were stuck inside. It pained him to even try to explain, his mouth refusing to cooperate with his thoughts. And though he longed to let Lorra in, it seemed impossible for him to do so.

"Is it the same one you had before? Where Sebastian and I-" The question hung heavy in the air, unfinished. The nightmare where Sebastian and herself were both cruel and merciless towards Ominis, mocking and humiliating him in ways that made her stomach churn even in wakefulness.

He didn't need to say it out loud - she could already see it in his body language. Yes, it was that nightmare, not as vivid and lucid as the first time, but still…

“I apologize for the trails of the nightmare that still haunts me. I know it's not fair to burden others with my fears and trauma. It's a constant inner battle between wanting comfort and not wanting to trouble anyone else…”He whispered softly to her. The moonlight danced across their intertwined fingers, casting a gentle glow on their faces.

"Gaunt…" Her voice softened with tenderness as she looked at him, waiting for him to open up.

"I know my brother Marvolo too well, he’ll not hesitate to tell my family everything that happened that night... after the Yule Ball…" His words felt heavy as he continued "My family only cares for blood status and will stop at nothing to uphold their twisted beliefs. They might even see my decision as an act of treachery and will take matters into their own hands, using any means to -" He bit his tongue.

" If it means to do what, Ominis? Kill me?" Lorra said the words he wasn't brave enough to say.

Ominis's grip on her became almost suffocating, his protective instincts morphing into a primal need to shield her from any harm. The memories of his own childhood in a similar environment flooded back.

"Lorra," he managed to choke out, concerned and fear crushing him with each syllable. "I...I can't bear the thought of losing you."

With gentle hands, she cupped his face, feeling the roughness of his jawline and the softness of his skin. Her thumb traced a path along his cheekbones “Collapse into me Ominis” she pleaded, guiding his head to rest against her chest where he could feel the steady beat of her heart “Just this once. I promise you’ll never have to fall again”.

He closed his eyes and let himself surrender to her love, but his words were too dark, too gruesome to ever be uttered. It was a dangerous line they were walking, one wrong step could shatter everything they had built together. Ominis knew that his own secrets were eating away at him, causing him to feel guilty and unworthy of Lorra's love.

"Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

That was it for him.

With a heavy heart, he proceeded to tell her the dark past of the Gaunt Family in full detail, including how he had been forced to cast the Torturing Curse on a muggle, bound by his family's twisted sense of heritage and devotion to the Dark Arts. The weight of his past sins lifted slightly as he shared it with Lorra, but he couldn't help but wonder if she would still love him after hearing all of it.

Lorra's lungs seized up, unable to process what she had just learned. She had always known Ominis was against the Dark Arts, but didn't know the full reason behind it. The fact that he had been forced to cast one of the unforgivable curses as a child shook her to her core, and couldn't fathom the depths of depravity his family must have sunk to in order to torture their own child in the process.

Ominis was ashamed of revealing his secret, only Sebastian and Anne knew about it.

"You had no choice, Ominis," Her voice was soft, her words like a soothing balm on his wounded heart. Her fingers gently tracing patterns over his shoulders, sliding her hands under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. She imagined the torture and pain his body went thru, at the hands of his own family, so she made sure to leave traces of love and comfort behind.

"I-I know, but..." It felt so wrong, like a betrayal of everything he believed in, yet the pain was still there, haunting him after all those years.

…"I can't let you suffer because of me," he finally managed say while his mind raced with intrusive thoughts "My family...my past... I won't let it crush you too. I don’t want you near it…If that means - “

"It's not your decision to make, Gaunt," she spat out.

He tried to explain himself further, but she wouldn't hear it.

“Don’t even phrase it. Don’t think about it and materialize it into words. In loving me you hold a knife against my throat. In loving you I tell you exactly where to cut, Ominis”.

After that the tension between them reached its boiling point. Their emotions were too much to contain any longer.

Their lips collided in a frenzy of desperation and love. The fury in her heart for him even considering letting her go, for wanting to stop and become mere strangers...it consumed her. The sadness in his heart for accepting that he wasn't hard to love, for knowing that she would go through hell and back for him...it drowned him. They were two halves of a whole, struggling to find balance.

A flood of familiarity surged through Lorra's body as her gaze met Ominis' piercing blue eyes. It was as if they were bound together by a mysterious force, but despite the warm embrace of being with him, she couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more of this seemingly comforting connection.

As Lorra's fingers traced a path under his shirt, she felt the raised scars on his back and her touch slowed with tenderness. She traced each mark slowly, pouring all of her love and adoration she had for that boy. Ominis paused and pressed his forehead against hers, taking deep breaths as he felt her fingertips carefully tracing over his old wounds.

“I don’t remember much of it…” his voice quivered as he began, eyes distant and haunted. "But I do remember Marvolo's twisted smile as he pushed me from a balcony...and the sensation of shattered glass tearing through my skin."

A shudder ran through him. Lorra's heart clenched at the thought of someone so cruel being Ominis's own brother. Had his family truly mistreated him to such a degree?But then again, she knew firsthand the darkness that ran in their family. It was no surprise that Ominis bore the physical and emotional scars of their abuse.

"I am sorry you had to endure such pain," Lorra whispered in his ear, her fingers gently stroking his blonde hair.

After a few moments, Lorra sat on the bed, and pulled Ominis to do the same. She crawled behind, and with careful tenderness, she lifted up his silk shirt, revealing the map of scars that criss crossed his skin. Ominis shuddered at the sudden exposure, but was quickly soothed by the soft touch of her lips tracing each mark.

His voice was laced with both fear and wonder as he managed to stutter out "W-What are you doing?" His breath caught in his throat as she continued her ritual, leaving a trail of soft kisses behind over every inch of his damaged flesh.

"Let me admire you for a moment, Gaunt," she whispered against his skin.

Ominis' lips parted as he surrendered to her ministrations, his hands gripping his own knees as he allowed himself to feel love and acceptance in a way he never thought possible.

“Love doesn't even seem like the right word to explain how I feel about you, Ominis Gaunt. The word seems too small, too used, too simple..” She declared as she hugged him from behind.

"I would choose you again and again in whatever life comes next." His mind fought to stay composed, to resist the overwhelming urge to surrender completely to her embrace. But in the end, he gave in, resting on her chest as she held him tight.

Random Notes:

👉 Your girl here has been reading some poetry y'all yess-sss.

👉 Maybe I should upload the story on Wattpad? Idk still thinking about it :S The first two chapters are not even up here... I'm a mess sorrrriiii.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis smut #ominis gaunt fanart #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy #slytherin #hogwarts legacy smut #Looking thru my eyes

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malcontent7 · 1 year

Text

Do the Jedi know more than they’re letting on?

I’d like to talk about a theory I’ve been working on, regarding Jedi secrets.

I’m sure you all remember Qui-Gon Jinn getting attacked by a clearly lightsaber trained assassin, identified to the audience by that point as Darth Maul.

And presenting his (correct) theory to the Jedi High Council, upon returning to the temple on Coruscant.

At first they dismiss it, because the Sith, as noted by Ki-Adi-Mundi, AKA Jedi Master Potato-Head, the Sith were supposedly wiped out during a war a thousand years earlier. Sadly, they are forced to conclude that Jinn’s theory was correct, after his death.

Now here’s where things get sus. During the funeral, Yoda notes that there are always two Sith. Now at the time, this likely just meant that at their height, the Sith operated in master and apprentice pairs, same as the Jedi. But then, as the Sith were fleshed out in expanded materials, we learn that Yoda was referring to the Rule of Two.

Darth Bane, the last surviving Sith, established the Rule of Two moving forward, in order to prevent the in-fighting that hampered the Sith’s efforts against the Jedi, as well as take advantage of it, with a focus on quality over quantity.

The Rule of Two states that there shall only ever be two Sith at a time. A master and a single apprentice, who will only become a master themselves when they’re able to kill their predecessor, and then take on an apprentice of their own.

Admittedly, a few Sith Masters (most notably Palpatine/Darth Sidious) have bent this rule by training Sith Assassins, Acolytes, and Inquisitors to serve as manpower and as candidates for the next apprentice, but the Rule of Two has served as doctrine for the Sith for the last millennium.

Now the problem here is that Bane was a survivor of the aforementioned war, and therefore established the Rule of Two after the point where the Jedi believe that the Sith were driven to extinction.

So, how the hell do they know about it?!

To return to the council meeting, you’ll note that Jedi Master Potato-Head is the only one who outright dismisses the possibility. Mace Windu is skeptical, not of their survival, but of them returning (or becoming active again) without the Jedi noticing, while Yoda initially stays silent, before countering that the dark side might be easier to miss than Windu believes.

My theory, this isn’t the first time the Jedi have encountered the Sith in the last thousand years. Even if we assume that the Rule of Two cycle was carried out two to three times a century, that’s still between twenty and thirty Sith masters, and who knows how many failed apprentices like Maul. What are the odds that none of them had a run in with the Jedi, in all that time, that didn’t leave a Jedi survivor? What are the odds that no masters tried to corrupt a Jedi into becoming their apprentice and failed, alerting the Jedi?

Windu and Yoda are the Master of the Order and Grandmaster, respectively, which are basically the two highest positions it’s possible to reach in the Order. If anyone’s going to have access to the secrets that the Jedi Order has chosen to suppress, even from the other council members, it’s them, especially given Yoda’s long lifespan, he likely had a few firsthand experiences.

There’s been a greater examination of the Jedi’s failings and poor decisions in recent years, so their making an active effort to suppress knowledge of Sith survivors could be a prime example of a long standing example.

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cas-kingdom · 11 months

Text

Instinct

A/N: My exams finished and what did I do first as a free woman? Write.

My first 9-1-1: Lonestar fic, a small one (with questionable quality), but a subject that hits pretty deep right now. It’s for that reason that this fic isn’t reader-centric. Hopefully “ya’ll” love Connie Strand anyway. Enjoy, and bear with me as I return to writing now that summer’s here!

(Connie’s about 19).

Title: Instinct

Summary: Owen and his daughter discuss the possible return of his cancer.

Words: 2108

The nerves came when the coughing did.

It was instinct at this point. The moment the familiar, guttural sounds reached her, they immediately broke down doors in her mind and wrenched free the memories she’d locked away.

It was instinct also that had her putting her laptop to the side and staring at her bedroom wall for a moment. Heart revving into that familiar gear, hands growing familiarly clammy, breath stopping in that familiar place just at the top of her throat. A sick sort of feeling climbed from her stomach and crawled its way up to her chest, settling there when the coughing stopped and broke down into small croaky things. Barely-audible things. Nothing-to-worry-about things.

She stepped out of bed and hugged her arms to her chest, walking quietly on bare feet towards the halfway-open door. Her room was closest to the kitchen, so she saw him when she stepped out, hunched over the island, head bowed, hands in fists on the marble. For a scene that had moments ago been overwhelmed by a coughing fit, it was scarily silent now.

A time when something like this would not dare cross her mind had passed the window of impossible with her father’s initial cancer diagnosis. Almost a year ago now, he’d been in remission for most of that year, but every cough, every hoarse throat…hell, every stubbed toe had Connie Strand’s nerves skyrocketing. That was normal, she’d been told. That was instinct.

Instinct was a bitch.

Owen saw Connie before he could automatically situate himself into a position that looked the picture of health. Still, he tried, straightening the moment his eyes caught sight of her padding down the hallway. He cleared his throat and picked up a knife, pointing it at the half-cut banana in front of him.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he said, throwing a smile in her direction for good measure. His voice was crackly. “I’m making a protein smoothie. Want some?”

It was in the fire captain’s nature to act oblivious, but Connie didn’t think there was much point in it now. He’d had cancer, he’d had chemo, he’d beaten cancer, he’d beaten chemo. He hadn’t told his kids, then he’d told his kids. It wasn’t as though Connie could no longer tell when he was feeling off. She’d known the difference before the tumours, and she would continue to know it long after. T.K. called that a superpower. Owen called it a pain in his ass.

“I’m allergic to protein powder.” Her answer every time, it was the second reason she wished T.K. still lived with them. When he did, the two were able to sneak a packet of potato chips in through the front door, or even a chocolate bar if they were lucky. But Owen controlled the grocery shopping now, and when Owen controlled the grocery shopping, not a morsel of candy made it in the cart. The first reason lay in the possibility of these exact moments. When she needed her big brother, it wasn’t often he was around.

Still. Connie was and always had been more like her father than her mother, and smoothies, minus the protein, were still a favourite. Owen was extremely proud of that small achievement.

“In that case, My Sunshine Lady Princess—” He turned to grab another glass as she sat in a swivel chair— “One protein smoothie, minus the protein, coming up.” Connie breathed a laugh and he sighed exaggeratedly. “Let me believe it, Con, please.”

He returned to chopping the banana, but Connie could see his face fall. He wasn’t stupid, and neither was she. He knew she hadn’t come into the kitchen at seven am to escape her homework or procure one of his morning smoothies.

“Dad?” She glanced down at the table, following the lines of marble with her finger.

Owen stuck a handful of bananas in the blender and reached for an apple. “Yep.”

“You’re alright, right?”

There weren’t many people who could answer that question truthfully, and once upon a time, Owen Strand would have been at the top of that list. Recently, though, he’d learnt to be a bit more open. He’d had to be. After T.K. had figured out what he’d been keeping from his kids, scepticism followed them both around like the plague.

So, it was with this that the fire captain put down his knife and placed the palms of his hands on the counter, bracing himself against it. He looked up at Connie, her upper lip unknowingly caught between her teeth. He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat. “Banana went down the wrong tube,” he tried.

Connie dropped her head and rose her brows in a very Owen Strand way that had her dad cringing and pulling back.

“Okay, okay. I might have a little tickle in the back of my throat that’s been there a few weeks. And that’s a might, so you take a chill pill right now, Miss, ‘cause I won’t have you worrying about nothing ‘til it’s something.” He had one hand aimed at her, a finger pointing forwards. The Owen Strand look settled quickly on his own face and Connie had a difficult time keeping the smile from her lips. Her dad was her dad, after all. Her hero and entertainer.

At her smile, Owen let one of his own slip onto his face, knowing he’d got her. Just to make sure, he lifted his eyebrows higher and sent a teasing: “You hear me?” to which she just about refrained from rolling her eyes at. Swivelling in her chair, she mumbled an answer, averting her gaze.

“Hey, don’t make me come over there and fix up a smile.” Owen had a habit of turning negative situations on their heads when it concerned Connie and T.K.. Even before the cancer, they hadn’t had the most perfect of lives, switching between mom and dad’s house and suffering the odd babysitter when representing clients and fighting fires overlapped a bit too much. He guessed T.K. had had it worse—he was older and remembered the choppy months after the divorce. Connie had been born in choppy month eight, the most surprising of surprises, but their new way of living had always been her norm. Still, life had had its downs, and a Connie frown broke his damn heart every time.

“Alright—” He dusted his hands together and threw his arms up, resigned— “I’m coming.”

Connie jumped to attention immediately, not quite having expected the change in mood. Though it was certainly like him. “I didn’t say anything!”

Owen clicked his fingers as he made his way intently around the counter. “That’s exactly why I’m coming.”

He wasn’t even hiding the mischievous intonation of his voice. That teasing lilt made its familiar way in, dutifully pushing all negative thoughts from Connie’s mind as she spun in her chair and stretched her arms out. “Hey, hey, okay!” Owen stopped a foot from her chair, eyes narrowed, hands poised suspiciously like they were seconds from launching a tickle attack Connie had told her dad a hundred times she was way too old for. He’d never taken that to heart, nor had T.K., and somewhere deep, deep down she appreciated that. Still, she could pretend not to enjoy it, and probably would until the day Owen himself deemed her too old, if that day ever came.

“Okay,” she said, “not worried. I’m not worried! See?” She pointed at her face, forcing the widest of toothy grins possible. “Look at my smile.”

Owen couldn’t help but snort, amusement at the situation overriding his brief venture to remain serious. “I see it,” he said, letting his arms hang limp by his sides and walking towards her. Connie spun around again to face the counter and he stopped behind her, lifting his arms to drape over her shoulders. Quiet, Connie let her dad pull her back against his chest, feeling his chin come to rest on her shoulder. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound for a moment, father and daughter acting completely on instinct in their need to hold each other for a moment. Worrying about nothing ‘til it was something was Connie’s forte, after all.

“It was just a cough, Sunshine,” Owen reassured her.

“And a tickle in your throat.”

“Mm, I’m pretty sure that was the banana.” Connie smiled and he hailed that a silent victory with a kiss to her cheek, hugging her closer. “My next check-up’s not for another month but I’ll book in with the doc tomorrow. Just to be sure.”

Connie nodded and placed her hand over his. “Just to be sure.”

She could hear him hesitate beside him. “Con, kiddo…I know you’ve got reason enough to be worried, and I’m not gonna take that right away from you. It’s okay to be worried, reminds us all we’re human. But…”

“I worry too much?”

He hummed. “Not that. Sometimes—you just don’t need to worry. And I know you can’t help it, neither can I, I guess we just gotta batten down the hatches a bit, huh? If we worry about anything and everything that could be tumour-related, there’ll never be a time we’re not shaking in our boots.”

He was right, of course, always was, but Connie didn’t know how to answer him. The mood might have continued to plummet, probably would have continued to plummet, if her phone hadn’t pinged at that moment. Connie couldn’t have reached for it quicker, feeling her dad press another kiss to her head before moving back to his side of the island. In the blink of an eye, the dismal air of the kitchen seemed to shatter as Owen opened the blinds and called for Alexa to quietly play his breakfast playlist. They’d talked about what they’d needed to talk about, defeated the elephant in the room. The C word was buried for now.

“T.K. wants to meet for breakfast,” Connie said, her brother’s u me & pancakes b4 shift? shining at her from her bright screen and waking up any residual exhaustion her eyes had been harbouring.

Owen sighed dramatically and visibly deflated. “After I slaved away at the counter cutting fruit for your smoothie?” Connie smiled as she typed a response. “Does he want me to drop you off?”

“He’ll pick me up. You wanna come?”

Another dramatic sigh and the knife clattered to the marble top. Connie rose an eyebrow at his spectacle, knowing deep down he was attempting to shake off any gloominess floating around the kitchen but letting herself enjoy his puckishness all the same. When a theatrical: “After I slaved away at the counter cutting fruit for my smoothie?” came from him, she finally laughed and shook her head.

“Come on, Dad. Pancakes over smoothies every time.”

Hand on his heart, Owen frowned. “Don’t, Connie. Just don’t.” And with that, the Captain of Firehouse 126 promptly turned on the blender. When Connie made half-hearted attempts to shout something over the noise, he put a hand to his ear and leant forward, yelling back: “What’s that? I can’t hear you over this blender! Can you say that again?” Perfectly dad like, perfectly Owen, perfectly instinctual. Still, Connie rolled her eyes and jumped from her chair, marching around to his side and holding up her phone as proof she was ringing T.K. and needed him to turn it off.

Owen peered at the screen but shook his head. “I’m making a smoothie!”

Connie put her phone to her ear and blocked her other ear with a finger. “T.K.? Huh?” Barely audible over the sound of the screaming blender, it apparently did not occur to Connie that she could leave the room. “T.K.!” A chuckling Owen heard her all but yell down the line. “Dad’s not coming! He’s gonna stay at home and sulk over a glass of protein smoothie!”

Owen stopped the blender and made a grab at Connie’s phone. “Uh, that is so not what I said!”

“It so is—” Connie just about leapt away from him— “Yeah, he’s not feeling so hot. Says he has a tickle in his throat.”

Not many could best Owen in a battle of wits, but he was damn glad that the one who could was his kid.

With a deep, insanely proud chuckle, he clapped his hands together before wiggling his fingers towards her. “I’ll show you a tickle in the throat.”

Instinct. Total instinct.

And, even as her shrieking resounded throughout the kitchen that Sunday morning before the clock had even struck seven am, Connie Strand loved every bit of it.

Lone Star Masterpost

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iambilliejeanok · 2 years

Note

hello jean.. how are you? hope you're doing great..

Can I request any Kakashi fluff or angst. Either that u feel like writing now.. Sankyuu 😘

I’m doing okay baby hope you’re well too💗🌸

Warnings: angst,🥺

Normally, your husband does enjoy some quality time with you but, with the business of villages and continuous Kage events, there has been no quality time between the two of you, so much so that he wouldn’t even let you snuggle on his lap during work hours and after work as he initially did to compensate for the lack of attention, he’s exhausted, wanting nothing but to rest, falling asleep the minute he lays under the covers and waking up at the earliest hour, while you’re still sound asleep. It almost seems as though he’s pushing you away, prioritizing work over you. You couldn’t handle the fire burning in your chest, the heavy lump in your throat being difficult to swallow, and you’re suddenly warm, heating up with every passing moment as different emotions tug at your heart all at once. Anger, sadness, loneliness, greed. Would work be the reason your love story comes to an end? Your palms were so sweaty you could barely grip on the door handle, wiping your hands on your skirt before trying again, the difference barely noticeable so you just had to resort to your elbow to push the door handle down.

Crying out loud, the door shut right behind you, your personal space encouraging you to finally shed those tears your eyes spent all day fighting back. Pushing through taking off your shoes, you paused, contemplating whether to place your shoes neatly on the rack, like Kakashi preferred, or to just leave them there, since you were technically no longer in a relationship with him, the thought of hearing his voice again, but to scold you, made you quietly wince as you bent over to place your shoes on the rack. The emotional or physical desire to even be in his presence still stung your chest like a scolding hot brand and to train your heart to hurt less, you hoped he’d stay at work all night like he usually did, putting your cell phone on flight mode to shut out the noise of the world and human relations. Heading straight for your bedroom, a shower was out of the question, your emotions draining you enough to save that for another day. Taking off your heavy clothing, you crumbled it all up and shoved it in a hiding place so he wouldn’t complain about that either. Slipping on your comfort pajama dress, you pull down the cover and blanket, organizing all your stuffies to surround you, crawling into the cozy snug space you created, your favorite soft pakuun stuffy held tightly against your chest. Slumber quickly crept up on you, sparing you from any further thoughts about your “husband”.

By the time Kakashi returned home he felt rather exhausted, disappointed but not surprised, to find the house dark and cold, not even a feint whiff off food in the air. His mouth watered and his tummy grumbled at thought of some creamy mash potatoes and the savory oxtail you always perfected. “Shit”, he mumbled to himself, dropping his face into his hands. He forgot about you again. “Y/N…”. Ignoring the loud cries of his empty stomach, he now had the mission to check on you, softly calling your name as he moved through the house. Finally reaching the bedroom, he gently opened the door. Kakashi froze, surrounded and cuddling your stuffies, you were fast asleep, an offensively large amount of space left for him to sleep. The scene felt so uninviting, no room at all for him to hold you. Suddenly, it hit him like an avalanche, his chest tightening as he lost his breathe, his lungs forcing him to take a deep breathe before he’d suffocate. Work has just been too busy. A sudden urge to throw up forced him to bend over, his hands resting on his knees as he focused on taking deep breaths. He had been turning you away every single time you asked for his company. “No baby…”, mindful of your sleep, he whispered, guilt tugging at his heart as he slowly straightened up. He didn’t feel like a shower either, neither did he the day before, but what would one more day do?

“Y/N, I’m so sorry baby”, he whispered, blinking away the tears stinging his eyes. “I should go take a shower”, he mumbled, overwhelmed with what steps he should take next. Maybe a shower would help him deal with the mess in his head. As the water ran down his sore body, he thought he felt a warm hand touch his back, whipping his head around with so much hope in his heart, but once again, it was just his imagination. “Why should she come in here?”, he huffed to himself, yearning for your touch now. He fucked up. He knew it, and he hated himself for it.

Carefully slipping under the covers, Kakashi began gently removing a few of your stuffies, attempting to make some space for him to hold you. “Cmon Melody, hey Squishy move, you too Dumbo”, he quietly spoke to himself as he successfully threw them into plushy basket. Swallowing, he nervously placed his arm around you, your knees against your chest making it too tight, but he forcefully moved your knees, refusing to sleep another night without you in his arms. The movements woke you, and all of a sudden the warmth of his body against your back was all too much to bear. At first, you thought you felt your stuffies pressing against you just right, but when they began moving your eyes shot wide open. Gently, you tugged at the arm wrapped around you, attempting to remove it when you felt a warm kiss pressing against your neck, and you felt so uncomfortable, your mind having trained itself to not deserve such warm and gentle gestures. Trying to cover the very intense discomfort you felt, you gently turned, Kakashi finally getting the message when you began to push at his chest. “Oh, you’re okay?” The urge to scream had never hit you this hard. But you resisted. “I don’t think you actually care”, you said, your throat quickly tightening up. “I don’t feel like you care about me anymore. Please don’t touch me”. You had never felt so relieved to be under the dim light, your faces barely recognizable to one another. It made it easier for you to turn around and scoot closer to the edge. “Baby, what’s going on?”, Kakashi asked, mentally slapping himself for asking such an ignorant question. That’s not what he meant. “Leave me alone”, you squeaked, your shaky voice barely audible as tears began falling down your chubby cheeks, every atom in your being begging you to see rage yourself from him. You could no longer stand to sleep beside him. It was too painful of a reminder of the soft, warm and inviting love you once had.

“Y/n, baby, I’m sorry”, Kakashi started, but was only met with silence. The silence was a little harsher than a harsh answer would’ve actually been, he felt, an intense sensation building up in chest, forcing him to take another breath. He new what this feeling was, it’s just that he hadn’t felt this way in a long time. And to be honest with himself, he stopped feeling that way after he had committed himself to you. Your love was so gentle, caring, considerate and the list could go on as he reflected on his feelings, the ceiling growing darker and darker as he stared straight at it, limply laying on his back. Is it really worth it?

Kakashi was alone. Again. In his room, blood all over his hands up to his elbows, dripping down to the bedspread. He had never felt this kind of fear, emptiness and loneliness in a hot minute. The feeling was awfully nostalgic, but not in the fond and happy way. His stomach dropped, when he felt the weight on his lap, he felt so cold and empty, as though every drop of blood in his body had been drained right out him, too afraid to acknowledge the weight on his lap. He could smell her. Rin. And he shot up, the room still dark. “Fuck!”, he sighed, Another fucking nightmare. He looked down at his hands, before looking over to your side, where were you to hold him in your arms, and gently wipe his hands for him with those lightly scented wipes of yours, and kiss them, and rub your cheek against his open palmed, to tell him how much you loved them. To reassure him that you’d never abandon him, and that he didn’t actually kill his best friend. You weren’t there, let alone in the bed beside him.

He looked over at the time. 7:28 a.m. Work was so tough, he slept hard. As steam from the boiling hot water running out the bathroom tap filled the air, he began washing his hands, he knew this was bad, you’re the one that helped him break the habit, he was relapsing, slowly becoming the broken hearted, lonely, hopeless Kakashi he has been before meeting you. He hated it. Every last feeling, so much so that he wanted to scream and break everything in the room, but he had to get the blood off of his hands first. The imaginary blood that haunted him for so long. It hurt so much, his hands burning, turning hot red as he scrubbed them as bed as he could, a whimper leaving his chest, followed by a tear. What was the point of all of this? The village, being a Hokage, protecting people, status. What was the point of all that shit if he lost you. Was work really worth it? Was being the Hokage worth losing his light and love. His everything, his baby…you.

“NO!”, he screamed, “NO! NO! NO!”. Quickly , he shut off the water, oblivious to the skin on his hands and arms slowly swelling and blistering as he dashed out of the bedroom. Maybe you were still home. Even he didn’t know why he froze, when he dashed into the living room to see you putting on your leg warmers. You weren’t gone. You were still here, he still had the chance to fix things, it was now or never. Without a care, you continued to fix your leg warmers, leaning forward to reach for your beanie on the coffee table, ignoring his presence despite his sudden entrance. “I’m resigning as Hokage. Tsunade will probably be forced to take position again with Shikamaru by her side. She will hate me for it, the entire village might hate me for it, but I can take that. That’s fine. I just can’t handle having you hate me”, his voice breaking as he could no longer fight the lump in his throat, tears running down his face again. Now you were frozen, finally paying him mind, your dark brown eyes looking up into his black ones for the first time in months. You’re so beautiful , he thought. Kakashi on the other end, looked a damn mess. His eyes puffy and a little red, tears running down his cheeks, feint whimpering and hiccuping as he tried to calm himself down from crying. You didn’t know he was crying until you looked at him. The angry red blotches on his arms and hands forced you to stand up. “Kakashi!”, you panicked, rushing to stand in front of him, but he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around your waist, crying into your tummy. You didn’t even realize the tears freely streaming down your cheeks as you cried too, just as messy as Kakashi was, trying to process exactly what he said. He’s resigning? He can’t just do that.

The two of you now sat on the couch, Kakashi’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his face buried into your neck as you gently rubbed some aloe Vera you’d been saving on his hands, the sensation cold and very relieving. “You always make things right”, Kakashi managed to say, still coming down from the violent crying. Confused, you remained silent, still trying to process exactly what the actual fuck was happening. After 6 difficult months of training and beating your mind and body into accepting the death of your marriage, your husband was suddenly telling you he would quite to be with you forever. You weren’t sure if that’s what you needed to hear or not, you just knew he spoke the words you’d always longed to hear, but you thought he valued his title so much that giving it up to be with you was out of the question. The same man who made you feel like nothing, was now making you feel like you were more important than something like being a Hokage. And for some reason, you were angry. You still freshly hurt. Now this. You remained silent.

“I took you for granted Y/N”, Kakashi spoke, his voice shaky from the overwhelming emotions he was experiencing. “I took you for granted, but you’re so special. You’re too p-precious. Being the Hokage is not worth losing you. That w-would be like like trading gold for dirt, I’ve been so blind and stupid. You’re the real treasure. Frankly, I don’t care what the consequences are. The whole world can burn down for all I care, you’re the real treasure here. Only a f-fool would dare risk losing you. Ple—please, pretty p-please, please find it in your heart to forgive this fool. This fool certainly doesn’t deserve you, but I’ll be damned if i ever let you slip out of my hands. I’m so s-sorry baby. I love you more than anything, you’re more important , please, don’t walk away”.

His arms wrapped around you so tight, your neck and cheek wet with his tears and yours, as you both cried together, and turning around, you needed to throw your arms around him too. “Kakashi”…

#naruto imagines #kakashi x reader #kakashi imagines #kakashi fluff #fem reader #kakashi angst

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confessmau · 14 days

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im here to shit on mystreet zane sue me

okay 1: he has little to no connection to mcd zane. if they ARE reincarnations like s6 suggests, wtf happened to him? and if yhey arent, why make him Like That? because every other character had at least SOME similarities to their mcd counterparts, but zane is just "grr im emo and jealous of my brother woe is me boo hoo" SHUT UP ‼️ YOU ARE LIKE 27. and like yeah okay he gets better in what s4 to s6 but those seasons are DOGWATER they are AWFUL. any character growth there i dont believe in because in my heart that stupid fucking lodge doesnt exist.

2: his obession with ponies. listen. listen. i literally collect meemeows irl. i get it. ehat i dont get is why it was zane of all people to be given this. "he has multiple sides to his character!!" but he literally doesnt. hes moody and broody and he likes ponies. that is ALL HE IS. WHY DO YOU LIKE HIM. "he breaks gender roles" garroth. end of story. i know thats the whole thing "zane is jealous of garroth" yeah because garroth is Better. i LIKE mean men, hello hi i am obsessed with the better zane (gene), but zane is executed poorly. he feels inconsistent and didnt he have the qhole arc of "i dont need a girlfriend im enough for myself" and then IMMEDIATELY get with nana? dont get my started on zana bro it has no chemistry. none. nada. zero. cute pair, i think they could work, but they are written So Badly that its like mixing oil and water bro it AINT WORKING.

anyways guys i dont like zane 😘 absolute dogwater of a character. he CAN be good, i WANT to like him, but he is written with so little redeeming qualities. like did we forget he broke in the guys house and stole their shit? for NO REASON? BECAUSE HIS STUPID ASS DOESNT CHECK HIS MAIL BOX?? he returned it whatever fine okay but he still broke in. i dont remember if he had the key but regardless he was Not invited, Not welcome, and he stole their fucking christmas tree.

anyways zane lovers ily you are the most stubborn mfs i have ever seen are and you know what you are based for that keep loving this potato sack of a man

#aphmau #aphblr #confessions #mystreet #aphverse #aphmau zane #zane ro'meave

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zodiactalks · 1 month

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How Each Zodiac Sign Deals with SADNESS

Sadness is one of those emotions we'd rather not feel.

No matter how honest we are about our feelings, or how self-aware we are, sadness has a way of surprising us and enveloping us when we least expect it.

While a perfectly normal part of the human experience, sadness has a way of bringing out our worst qualities, and we all react to it differently.

There are a few commonalities in how we tackle this unpleasant emotion, though, which is why today we'll be talking about the signs and sadness.

Let's get started!

Aries

It all depends on whether Aries has an appropriate conduit for their emotions or not.

When they lack an outlet, Aries's sadness transforms into anger, which they use against everyone around them at the slightest provocation.

When they have an outlet –be it in the form of exercise or a craft– then they'll pour all their negative emotions into it, transforming them into something productive.

Regardless of what they do, though, one thing remains constant: Arians refuse to acknowledge their sadness and will avoid it at all costs.

To cope with sadness in a healthy way, Arians need to conquer their fear of vulnerability and explore their negative emotions.

Taurus

Tauruses tend to be couch potatoes who enjoy outside activities only on their terms, so when they're experiencing sadness, it's not surprising that they double down on this.

A sad Taurus is a Taurus that will indulge in creature comforts while isolating themselves from others; They'll binge eat while binge-watching Netflix, and will reject social activities that they might've loved to participate in at any other point.

While they're not opposed to acknowledging their sadness, they can easily be consumed by the things they do to feel better, so they should be careful about that.

The best way of doing this is attempting to stick to a routine, no matter how unpleasant the idea may be, as this will provide the kind of stability a sad Taurus needs.

Gemini

Because they're always eager to please others and are often the ones making other people laugh, they're not particularly good at feeling sad.

In fact, they take it very hard.

A sad Gemini will become even more of an overthinker, focusing on the thoughts that made them sad, and feeling worse and worse in return.

Luckily, this approach to sadness comes with its solution: It's okay to overthink things, as long as you let those emotions out.

Writing, filming a vlog, even just chatting with a friend. As long as Gemini shares their feelings, they'll be able to get over their funk.

Cancer

Cancer's sadness is obvious and difficult to ignore, particularly when you're not a Cancer yourself.

Sad cancers become clingier and needier than usual, requiring constant reassurance and emotional support.

When they feel sad, it's not uncommon for Cancers to feel like they're not good enough, which makes them cling to their friends, which can be annoying to them, which in turn makes Cancer feel guilty and even sadder.

While the urge to be close to those they love is understandable, the best way for Cancer to deal with sadness is to distract themselves from the feelings of inadequacy by doing something that keeps their minds off things.

Arts and crafts serve the double purpose of distracting Cancer and leaving them with a little token they can gift to people supporting them through their sadness.

Leo

While Leo's don't make a conscious effort to mask their sadness, it tends to morph into stress.

A sad Leo is a theatrical Leo, someone who'll blow small things out of proportion and will react to even the slightest inconvenience as if it was the worst thing in the world.

They're unafraid of facing and acknowledging their sadness, but unless they have someone to confide in, they'll struggle to get through the negative feelings without feeling overwhelmed.

For Leo, the best course of action is to surrender their pride and allow themselves to be vulnerable with others for however long it takes to feel better.

Virgo

Virgos deal with sadness by multiplying every aspect of their personality in a way that rarely makes them look good in the eyes of others.

They'll become self-absorbed and blunt, will overthink even more than usual, and will simply stop considering other people's feelings while dealing with their own.

While these compulsive behaviors will scare away people, even those who want to stick around to lend a hand. Virgo is lucky in the sense that to improve, they need to tackle their sadness head-on and reflect on that rather than distracting themselves with other thoughts.

Apologizing to others after lashing out and hurting them is also the way to go, as it's harder to deal with guilt on top of sadness.

Libra

Always wishing to maintain a semblance of balance, sad Libras will attempt to put on a happy face for others, even if they're dying on the inside.

When alone, they'll be moody and lethargic, and once the effort to appear happy and unbothered becomes too much, they might shun social interactions altogether.

The healthiest thing Libra can do, thus, is to stop pretending to be okay for the comfort of others and lean into friends and loved ones for comfort and reassurance.

Scorpio

Though they might wish for support and understanding, a sad Scorpio will lash out and attack those who attempt to comfort them.

Scorpios always try to portray themselves as strong and capable, so when they feel weak and vulnerable, they prefer to hide and lick their wounds in peace.

Forcing themselves to socialize with others is counterproductive, so Scorpio should focus on spending time with only those they want to see.

Sagittarius

Sagittarians look for sources of escapism, be they positive or negative.

When sad, they run the risk of abusing substances to stop thinking about that sadness, and they become even more withdrawn and intolerant than usual.

They have everything they need to get over their sadness on their own, but to do so they need to actively work on it rather than escape.

Capricorn

Sad Capricorns fall into what can only be described as a robotic mindset.

They'll go through the motions of their day-to-day life, but will be disinterested and detached from the whole experience.

While the loss of inspiration will be challenging, continuing to do passion projects is a sure way of getting Capricorn out of their funk.

Aquarius

Aquarians, take sadness very harshly because they hate the feeling.

They'll attempt to appear happy in the hopes of feeling happy, but the truth is that, when they're sad, they can only feel numb and disinterested.

This numbness is often an attempt to protect themselves from negative feelings, so daring to tackle them head-on is the best way of improving.

Pisces

Pisces are sensitive signs by nature and they become even more sensitive when they're sad.

A sad Pisces will obsess over whatever is making them sad, which will unleash a spiral of sadness they won't be able to get out without conscious effort.

In order to improve, Pisces will have to work on getting out of the spiral or, better yet, not falling into it, to begin with.

#Zodiac #Zodiac Signs #Zodiacs #zodiac facts #zodiacsign #astrology #astrology signs #Aries #Aquarius #Cancer #Capricorn #leo #libra #Gemini #virgo #Pisces #Sagittarius #taurus #scorpio

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