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najia-cooks · 6 months

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[ID: A plate of light brown bumpy flatbread with blackened spots, surrounded by za'tar and green olives. End ID]

خبز طابون / Khobz taboon (Palestinian flatbread)

Khobz taboon ("taboon bread") is a soft, chewy Palestinian flatbread. It may be eaten with olive oil and za'tar, but it is best known as the base of مسخن (musakhkhan), where it is topped with spiced aromatics and perhaps chicken.

Khobz taboon gets its name from the vessel it is traditionally cooked in—an outdoor, shallow conical oven with an opening at the top and a clay or metal cover to trap heat. Taboons may also have an opening at the side through which the fire can be stoked, especially in the east of Palestine. These ovens were historically made from a mixture of local clay and hay, but have more recently also been constructed from clay treated to be sturdier, or from metal.

A taboon is used by packing flammable material, such as hay, fabric, animal dung, wood, and charcoal, around the outside of the oven and letting it burn overnight; the fire transfers thermal energy to the clay, and to the river stones, sand, glass, or flint stones (صوان, "ṣawwān") that form the base of the oven. The ash is then brushed away, and the flattened dough is placed on the stones or stuck to the walls of the oven to cook. The clay and stones will continue to release thermal energy and cook things throughout the day. The clay and ash give a distinctive flavor to anything cooked inside the taboon, making this method a source of nostalgia for many people who have transitioned to cooking in indoor ovens.

Khobz taboon was traditionally made with whole wheat flour. Most people today use a blend of around two parts white flour to one part whole wheat, or else all white flour; they may even add milk or milk powder to ensure a very soft dough. This recipe uses a blend of flours to combine the nutty flavor of whole wheat dough with the pliancy of white dough. It also begins with an optional pre-ferment to mimic the traditional Palestinian method of including a piece of dough from the previous day's bread into each new batch (like a pâte fermentée) giving a rich and slightly sour flavor to the final bread. It calls for the use of rocks to imitate the bottom of a taboon; the rocks give the khobz its distinctive dimpled texture, and ensure that no interior pocket forms in the bread.

In the years following 2007, the siege Israel had imposed on Gaza caused a shortage of cooking gas that led to a resurgence in the use of taboons. The ovens were used to bake bread and to grill sweet potatoes during the time of their winter harvest. Meanwhile, in the West Bank, Israeli military forces repeatedly destroyed taboon ovens and assaulted villagers who tried to defend them, as Israeli settlers from nearby villages complained about the smoke that the ovens produced. Some of these ovens had been used to bake bread for entire families of 40 or more people. Palestinians continue to build, use, and defend these ovens, despite the fact that Israeli law de facto forbids Palestinians in the West Bank to build anything.

Today, Israel is deliberately targeting and destroying bakeries in refugee camps that had been supplying bread to tens of thousands of people in Gaza, continuing a long campaign of starvation of the Palestinian people.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System's (Israel's primary weapons manufacturer) landlord; and donating to Palestine Action's bail fund.

Equipment:

A large, shallow mixing bowl, like a Moroccan qus'a

A large (12"), shallow clay cooking vessel, such as the bottom of a Moroccan tajine (one that is rated for very high temperatures), or a large baking tray

Assorted smooth river rocks of varying sizes, from 1 to 3" in diameter.

Make sure that your rocks have been thoroughly cleaned, and that they do not contain any fissures, cracks, or veins that could contain water (this water, once heated in the oven, could cause the rocks to crack open). Instead of river rocks, I used lava rocks designed for use in a clay tanoor. You just need something to provide thermal mass and give a bumpy texture.

Ingredients:

Makes 3 large breads.

For the pre-ferment:

140g whole wheat flour

1/2 tsp active dry yeast

140g water

You may also use a pâte fermentée that you already have (just adjust the ratio of white to whole wheat flour added later accordingly), or a sourdough starter. The hydration of the starter doesn't matter, since you will be adding water by eye later.

For the bread:

330g bread flour or all-purpose flour

30g whole wheat flour

5g salt

Water

If you skipped the pâte fermentée step, add 170g (rather than 30g) of wheat flour at this stage, as well as 1/2 Tbsp of active dry yeast. I have not tested the recipe this way.

Instructions:

For the pâte fermentée:

1. Mix flour and yeast in a small mixing bowl. Add water and stir to combine. Cover and leave out at room temperature for a day, or in the refrigerator for up to three days. At the end of the rising time, it should be about one and a half times its original size.

For the bread:

This recipe makes a high hydration dough that will need techniques such as slapping and folding to knead effectively.

1. Mix flours and salt in a very large, shallow mixing bowl. Add your pâte fermentée and mix to combine.

2. Add water until the flour comes together into a soft, sticky dough and continue keading. Have a bowl of water on your workstation. Every time the dough starts to stick to your hands or the sides of the bowl, wet your hands and rinse down the side of the bowl with some water. This will gradually add water to the dough.

3. You will notice the dough growing smoother and laxer. At this point, start kneading by repeatedly folding the edges of the dough in towards the center. Do this by occasionally wetting your hands, then running a hand along the side of the bowl and under the edge of the dough to unstick it from the bowl; then fold. You will get stuck less often if you try to touch the dough as lightly and briefly as possible. Every few folds, dimple the surface of the dough all over with your fingertips. You will have been kneading for about 10 minutes at this point.

The dough should become more smooth and less bumpy—you will notice it holding its shape and becoming more stretchy as gluten forms. It should form into a ball when you fold the corners in and hold its shape for a minute, but then gradually expand to take the shape of the bowl. I added about 2 1/2 cups of water total (in dry conditions) during steps 2 and 3.

4. At this point, the dough is wet enough that the slap and fold method is the best way to knead. Wet your hands and again unstick the dough from the sides of the bowl. Hook your hands under the dough and quickly pull it all up into the air; fold the hanging bottom part of the dough under, and plop the dough back down, folding it on top of the part you plopped down earlier. Give the bowl a quarter turn and repeat. Do this continually for another few minutes.

5. When the dough is very smooth and lax, smear some olive oil on the sides of the bowl and under the dough, and pat some oil on top.

6. Cover the bowl and bulk ferment the dough at room temperature for 8 hours, or for 16-24 hours in the fridge. At the end of the rising time, you should see bubbles beginning to form on the surface of the dough.

To shape and bake:

1. Place a layer of rocks at the bottom of a clay cooking vessel or baking sheet. Put the sheet in the top third of the oven and preheat your oven to 550 °F (290 °C), or as hot as it will go.

2. Meanwhile, fold the edges of the risen dough over into the middle a few more times with damp hands. Pinch off a large piece of dough (about the size of two fists), and fold the sides over into the middle to make a neat packet.

3. Drop the packet of dough onto a heavily floured surface, and flip to flour both sides. Pat the dough flat, then throw it back and forth between your hands, catching the edge each time as you spin it through the air, like a pizza crust, to stretch it into a circle about 1/4" (1/2cm) thick with a diameter of about 10" (25cm).

You may also stretch and pat the dough out on a flat surface.

4. Remove the tray from the oven. Flip the dough circle over the back of your hand to transfer it and lay it down over the hot rocks. Re-stretch it into a circle, if necessary.

5. Place the tray back in the oven and cook for 5-7 minutes, until the top of the bread has golden brown spots. Repeat with each piece of dough, leaving the rocks in the oven for a few minutes between each one to allow them to come back up to temperature.

6. (Optional): Hold each flatbread directly over a gas flame for a minute or two to blacken a few spots and mimic the flavor that a wood-fired oven would give to your khobz.

You may also use a method similar to the dhungar technique to smoke your bread. Place each piece of bread one at a time into a large vessel with a closely fitting lid, alongside a small bowl. Light a piece of wood on fire and drop it into the bowl; then cover the vessel with the lid as you allow the wood to smoke for a minute or two.

#note that I do not recommend this recipe to anyone who is not experienced with making bread #I'll have another Palestinian flatbread recipe up soon which will be more beginner-friendly #Palestinian #bread #khobz #flatbread

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cthulhusstepmom · 10 months

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Evidence that Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish is not what he seems-Lt. SR:

Soap smells like rain, it took a while to put it together because it's not Soap himself that emits the odor, it just follows him. It's less potent inside and when it's sunny outdoors but if you concentrate it's always there.

He has never been observed touching a gun or grenades without gloves. Almost every other explosive he handles with no regard for his own safety gloves.

HE EATS WEIRD SHIT. While he doesn't eat much of the food on offer from the cafe, he does eat consistently when outdoors, usually plants or flowers. Things he has eaten: dandelions(edible), garlic(edible), thistle(edible but he ate it with the thorns), foxglove(toxic, showed no adverse reaction), Several unidentified flowers and berries, grass(technically edible?) Etc.

Will sometimes refuse to enter a place before abruptly going in. The data is not consistent between different buildings or locations. Further research is required.

Sharp teeth.

Groups things in nonsensical ways. He will only fill a magazine with bullets that total a multiple of 7 or 3. The same for what weights he uses in the gym. When drawing or eating he sorts by 4s. He traded his room to get #13 (right next door, coincidence?).

Cameras will not focus on him, whether photo or video he is never in focus regardless of distance or conditions.

He has never once been in medical for more than half an hour, usually much less. Even though his hands have light burns on them almost constantly.

Dogs hate him. He seems ambivalent towards them and he's never been bit that Ive seen. Cats adore him as do birds.

John MacTavish does not blush. Not for lack of trying even when genuinely flustered or hot, his skin does not flush.

Ghost sets down the small notebook with a minute sound of frustration. The evidence is all there but looking at it, what does it really say? Other than that he's an obsessive creep. A series of quirks and coincidences compiled by a paranoid son of a bitch into a fucking stalker journal. But still, Simon can't help but feel like he's right and he'd be dead a million times over if he simply disregarded his intuition. Even if it is something batshit insane.

At this point however it seems that it'll drive him mad far before it yields any answers. After scouring what little resources were comprehensible on the internet he'd started growing out his hair, intent on tying it in knots to prevent charms. Leaving him with a problem he'd not encountered since he'd first donned the mask: unruly curls and balaclavas don't mix well at all. He'd also kept a piece of stale bread in his pocket for days as he'd read it was a repellent to- and he can't even believe he's considering it-fairies. It backfired, if anything Johnny had been more attached to him and even more touchy than usual. He'd left a small deli cup full of coffee creamer outside his door overnight and found it neatly placed upside down where he'd left it with not a drop left. Ghost chalked that up to some wise guy playing a joke or an exceptionally dextrous cat and firmly shut the door on any other possibilities in his mind. His next test had been a gift of clothing mixed with complements, he'd read that both were likely to drive away any Other. It hadn't been a very extravagant gift, a new pair of gloves and a gruff "well done Johnny" but at the time it had seemed to be the final nail in the coffin as Soap had gone white as a sheet(he can do that but he can't blush???) and scurried off. A quiet dread had filled his stomach the whole day until Soap turned up at dinner, a little quieter than usual but wearing his new gloves and eating more than usual(a scoop and a half of mashed potatoes with 4 packets of butter and 2 packets of sour cream as well as a cookie. The main course of spaghetti and meatballs went untouched though Gaz snapped it up before it could truly go to waste). Though when Ghost returned to his room late that night after trudging through hours of paperwork he found a pile of tiny, aromatic, pink flowers on the floor in front of his door and on top of them a shiny metal comb. Simon's tired brain hardly stopped to think of any of the dire warnings he'd found on forum posts and folklore sites alike, crouching and tenderly retrieving the piece from its bed of flora, careful not to crush any of the tiny blooms. Well... With all the knots in his hair-purposeful and otherwise-he's going to need a sturdy comb anyway.

#fae!soap #superstitious bastard!Ghost #little does Ghost know that Scottish fairies actually favor bread instead of being repelled by it #meanwhile the whole clothing trick would have totally worked if it weren't for the fact that Soap took as a courting gesture #also the idea of Ghost leaving out two ounces of hazelnut coffee creamer and Soap just feeling his heart beating out of his chest #but he doesnt want to be presumptuous so he waits until hes got absolute confirmation that Ghost wishes to court him #and he gives him gloves...so he can touch him and not be burned by the iron #Soap is simultaneously three steps ahead and six steps behind #cod mw2 #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #fae!au #and to think i wanted to upload this to ao3 😑

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augustinewrites · 1 year

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miya osamu is a busy man.

even on days that the shop is closed, there’s always something to do, whether it’s prepping for the next day, or going over inventory. he’s used to rising early and sleeping late.

miya osamu, however, is also a little weak when it comes to you.

so when you’d asked the day before if he wanted to bake bread with you, he’d immediately said yes.

and sure, he has a laundry list of things that need to be done today - a leaky sink that needs to be looked at, a batch of umeboshi he’s supposed to start - but he just couldn’t tell you no. couldn’t even fathom the idea.

did he know anything about baking bread? absolutely not, but how hard could it be, really? it’s bread. if you’d asked him to help you bake and decorate a five tier wedding cake, he would have said yes.

and, no, it’s not because he has a crush on you or anything like stupid tsumu who can’t mind his own business claims. stupid tsumu who keeps calling him things like whipped and a simp. stupid tsumu who has never felt the touch of a woman, he’s sure.

it’s just because he wants to be nice (to you, at least), because you’re his friend.

his friend, whose company he always sought after whether it’s walking around with you at the grocery or just stopping by to help you change a bulb. whose smile makes him weak in the knees and whose simple texts almost always make him blush.

okay, so maybe you’re a good friend.

that’s all.

“samu! come in, come in,” you greet, ushering him inside.

you’re wearing an apron when you open the door to let him inside your apartment. it’s stained with beige fingerprints, and when you turn around to lead him into the kitchen, he sees you’ve tied the strings into a cute bow, sitting right atop the curve of your—

he immediately averts his gaze when you glance over your shoulder to smile at him, his cheeks burning. baking is supposed to be a platonic activity.

“i already did the first few steps,” you explain, flicking on your kitchen light. after washing his hands, osamu rests his elbows on your island countertop, watching with interest as you pull a bowl from the fridge. “i had to refrigerate the dough for twelve hours and didn’t want to make you wait around that long, so i did it overnight. now all we have to do is shape it, let it rest, then bake!”

osamu will always be a restaurant owner first and foremost, so there’s nothing he values more than an efficient kitchen. but he is a little offended that you think he wouldn’t want to be around you for twelve hours straight.

he’s so stuck in his own head that he doesn’t notice you rounding the island until you’re next to him, shoulders brushing. that split second of contact is enough to make him wish he were brave enough to grab you by the hips and pull you in to kiss—

“okay,” you start, pulling him from his thoughts before he can spiral. “before we split the dough, we need to stretch and fold it.”

“that looks easy enough,” he says as he watches you demonstrate the procedure.

“okay big strong man,” you scoff, patting his bicep. if you notice him flexing, you don’t mention it. “don’t whine when your arms are tired after the third or fourth set.”

osamu proceeds to stretch and fold the dough, pretending not to notice the way you watch him. obviously you’re very intent on making sure he follows your instructions, pulling yourself to sit atop the counter, swinging your legs as you tell him,

“you look really good when you’re doing that.”

osamu’s just died. he’s dead, and atsumu’s finally going to be able to say he’s ma’s favourite.

“samu, are you flustered? you’re flustered, aren’t you?” you hop off the counter, poking at his cheek until he catches your hand.

because he’s tired of pretending the two of you are just friends. and if he’s going to be stuck here for 10 more hours, he has to do something about it.

“‘m not flustered,” he mumbles.

you gaze up at him, wide-eyed as he backs you away from the kitchen, finally on the offensive. “h-hey, what are you doing? what about the bread?”

“didn’t come for the bread,” he tells you quietly, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “i came here for you.”

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq drabbles

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lowkeyrobin · 2 months

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hello:))

been loving ur mcyt preferences, and was wondering if you would do one where reader has insomnia???

I take medication for it and i got took off it for a break UGHH. anyways luv ur writing and take ur time plz:))

ooooo okay!! ; and thank you thank you, I appreciate it 🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; insomniac/night owl

includes ; tommyinnit, tubbo, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, & quackity

warnings ; language, sleep paralysis, jokes about OD'ing (melatonin)

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

genuinley feels so bad bc the second he closes his eyes, he's passed the hell out

he'll try and stay awake with you though and wait for the melatonin or just sleep in general to kick in

"if you're too tired to work, then don't. go back to sleep, don't worry about it"

compares you to tubbo 24/7

will bring you cherries and some milk because natural melatonin ❗️❗️

sometimes he'll try and stay awake with you and turn a movie on and he'll just pass out on your shoulder

you'll walk into his stream after sleeping until like 5 in the evening and quietly wave with a groggy look on your face

he laughs (in a very lighthearted way dw)

"y/nnnnn I know you're tired but we gotta go before we miss it"

"I'm coming, I'm coming"

you're basically just a night owl, like his personal guard dog lmao

he'll joke about it a bit too, how you're protecting him in the dark from the monsters 😭

TUBBO

honestly same

you'll both be up all night and sleep all day

you can go a solid two days without sleep and start tweaking and he'll basically have to rock you to sleep like a baby

"shhh, it's okay. just relax, listen to the rain"

jokes about you overdosing on melatonin as well 💀

"Oh nah, the sleep paralysis demon is gonna get me if I sleep"

"so I have to sleep but you don't have too? mkay pal"

if he can't sleep while you finally are, he'll actually cook for once in his life

and he'll save the leftovers for whenever you wake up

he genuinley won't wake you up unless you're gonna be late for something LMFAO

he gets it tho

this dynamic you got with him, 🔛🔝

RANBOO

he can and will stay up all night with you

mostly plays video games with you in hopes you'll get tired that way

which works a bit

does insane amounts of research, gets you eating all sorts of natural melatonin before bed and even gets you like children's melatonin gummies 💀💀

"do you have a sleep paralysis demon? are you just scared to sleep?"

"I just cannot sleep, I just toss and turn all night, I swear to god"

one of those people to do endless amounts of research to try and help

"do you wanna go to the doctor and get a prescription or something? maybe it'll help"

tweeting/posting about dumb shit you do at night

"y/n made a whole loaf of bread overnight someone send help"

"tell me why I woke up this morning to my partner staring into my soul holy shit"

FREDDIE BADLINU

also feels rlly bad that he can't help you

also brings you cherries, bananas and milk for natural melatonin in hopes it'll help a bit

will genuinley take you to a doctor to get you a prescription or something

also tweets about the shit you do while he's asleep overnight

"guys y/n picked up crocheting overnight wth"

"love when my partner wakes me up at 5am for breakfast because it was going cold 🥰 (they started cooking at 3:30am)

he can't stay up too late most days, he's a busy man

he feels so bad if you're sleeping through the whole day, he barely ever wakes you up bc he knows you're tired

"love, go back to sleep, you were up all night, I'll call you in sick, don't worry about it"

he strays away from od jokes when you're taking melatonin gummies/pills but sometimes he just has to say it

if you have a sleep paralysis demon as well, yk damn well he'll find his way into your dreams and beat the bitch up

if you can't sleep but he can, he'll just hold you and hope that you'll sleep soon

you'll usually sit there and play with his hair and admire him til you gotta get up and do something

NIKI NIHACHU

like ranboo, she puts in endless research of just trying to find things that might help you

she feels so bad

especially when you're sleeping all through the day and feel groggy as hell 24/7

if you have a paralysis demon she always reassures you that she'll beat it up for you next time it comes around

anything to make you smile bro

she's so sweet about it, if you're sleeping she makes sure to keep it quiet because this is one of the rare chances when you're sleeping

if you go multiple days without sleep and start tweaking out, she'll comfort you to sleep, doesn't matter how long it'll take

"It's okay, honey. it's okay, just focus on the rain sounds outside"

dedicated a whole kinda calm music playlist to help you sleep/relax yourself

finds it so funny when you do shit during the night to try and entertain yourself and it's the most random shit

like you'll go out and feed stray cats, accidently steal a shopping cart, fight the air and record it, etc

sleepy on stream hugs >>>

"well good morning, sunshine. its seven pm"

ALEX QUACKITY

"bro how do you not sleep"

if you got a sleep paralysis demon.... oh it's over for that mf

tweets about the dumb exhausted shit you do

"how do I turn y/n off at bedtime? I'm tired of waking up to see them staring into my soul"

"I love waking up to breakfast (I've been woken up at 4am for the past 2 weeks help me rn)"

thinks it's funny and sad at the same time when you start tweaking after not sleeping

"bro, go to sleep, cmon, it's okay, you're fine" as he's trying not to laugh at you

literally stuffs you with melatonin around 7:30 to see if it'll help LMAO

even talks on stream about how he's gonna fight the demons and pretends whoever he's fighting w is one LMAO

loves when you walk into stream all groggy and tired because he can finally spend a little time w you

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #quackity x reader #ranboo x reader #badlinu x reader #tubbo x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader #alex quackity x reader #freddie badlinu x reader

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softguarnere · 4 months

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Memories Feel Like Weapons

Edmund Pevensie x gn!reader

Summary: “People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.” A/N: What's up, y'all?! It's been freezing these past few days and I hate it! 🥴 So this is for all you other lovelies who are currently being plagued by SAD 🫶🏽 Also, in case it's not clear in the fic, for the purposes of the story, we're just gonna assume that reader's parents also sent them off to the country during the war to stay with the professor, that they met the Pevensie's there, and went to Narnia with them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Warnings: Edmund has SAD but it's Narnia so it's never actually called that, the author is (once again) overusing commas

As interesting and as magical a place as Narnia is, you’re willing to admit that diplomatic negotiations are something that usually bore you to tears.

You try to take an interest, you really do, for Edmund’s sake. Political wheeling and dealing is his bread and butter. You’re not particularly adept at it yourself. Edmund has tried to explain the finer points to you many times, but it’s not something that you can wrap your head around. But maybe that’s just because you get too distracted thinking about how good looking your tutor is. Sometimes you raise a question or a particular point that you know he’ll jump to answer just to see how passionately he talks about his favorite subject. As far as you know, he hasn’t caught on yet.

Today proves to be different, though.

A chill in the air greets you when you awake. A crackling sound from the corner tells you that a servant has crept in at some point and started a fire in the hearth to stave off the cold. Blinking to adjust your eyes to the light, you’re greeted by the type of cold, white sunlight that announces a wintery morning and the season’s signature magical touch that often appears overnight – snow.

You leap out of bed, gasping when your feet kiss the cold floor. Hurrying to put on slippers, you wrap yourself in a fluffy robe and hurry to the door.

Edmund hates the winter. He hates the snow even more. No one can blame him for that. But you’re the only person he’s confessed this to.

Sure, his siblings might suspect as much. Those first few years in Narnia, no one dared suggest that they play in the snow whenever it arrived, for fear of what it might imply, and for fear of inadvertently upsetting the youngest Pevensie brother. After a few more years, he would find excuses to be tucked away in his library on snowy days, and no one would breathe a word of the fun they had without him while he was around. A delicate subject and a fine dance around it, to say the least.

It was only last winter that Edmund confided in you, and only because you had recently become a couple. He said the winter was hard enough on its own, but the snow brought back too many bad memories, ushered in nightmares so vivid that he sometimes woke up questioning what was real and what wasn’t.

This is going to be a rough day for him, to say the least. Which puts a damper on the mood, since ambassadors from a nearby kingdom are arriving to negotiate trade – something he was so looking forward to.

“Edmund?” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet library, and the echo makes you flinch slightly at the loudness of your own voice, at the desperate quality it holds.

Stepping further inside the room, you listen, and tune into the crackling of the fireplace along the far wall. You follow it until you can see the chairs in front of it, and in one of them, Edmund, slumped over a large tome, asleep.

He’ll have a crick in his neck from sleeping that way, you think. If you hadn’t known why he was here, finding him in his favorite place like this would be sweet. It still tugs on your heartstrings, yes, but in a different, heavier way.

“Edmund?” You gently shake his shoulder before stepping back.

The Just King startles awake, his book slipping out of his lap. His eyes are wide and wild as they flick across the room, struggling to make sense of his surroundings. Finally, they land on you and soften. “(Y/N)?”

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light, casual. “If you say that your neck doesn't hurt after sleeping like that, then you’re a liar.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The painful popping noises that echo from his spine say otherwise, but you let it go. Slowly, he rises, stretches, and then takes a step closer to you and plants a kiss on your forehead. He sighs through his nose. “Today is the day.”

You slip your hand into his, intwine your fingers. “How are you feeling?”

Edmund shrugs. His relationship with his siblings has improved leaps and bounds in all the years that they’ve spent in Narnia, but sometimes he still hesitates to show certain emotions around them, to express himself the way he should. Sometimes it’s easier when it’s just the two of you in a space like this where he’s comfortable.

“I’ll manage.”

“If you’re not feeling up to it – “

He squeezes your hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a day that I have to get through.”

“Spring will come again,” you assure him, using the mantra that you often whispered to comfort him through last year’s winter season.

“And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts,” he finishes. He attempts a smile, but it looks more strained than usual. “Don’t worry, darling. Everything will be fine.”

. . .

It is almost immediately not fine.

The ambassadors arrive in all their splendor. Fine fabrics and shimmering jewels assure that no one can take their eyes off them as they enter the hall and approach the five thrones. They bow to Peter in the center, to Susan and Lucy on his left, then to you and Edmund on his right. Servants carry golden trunks behind them. They have come to these diplomatic negotiations bearing gifts in the most literal sense.

Though you will all retire to a separate chamber for the actual negotiations, the gift giving is a public affair for the whole court to witness. And because it’s so formal, it’s rather slow.

Strong weapons forged of foreign metals are gifted, followed by clothes of their country’s latest fashions, and small samplings of food for each of you, a different dish for you each to try based on what the ambassadors have heard about you.

Thank goodness you’re a good actress, because the ambassadors seem to think that you really do seem excited to try the food in the bejeweled silver container that they gift to you. In reality, you’re trying your hardest not to grimace at the unfamiliar looking treats inside of it, and trying hard not to become preoccupied wondering if the taste will be as . . . unique as the smell that emits from them.

“And finally, for King Edmund,” one of the ambassadors says with a bow before presenting a silver container to Edmund with a flourish. “I have heard a rumor that you are quite fond of these.”

Thankful for a distraction from the gift in your own hands, you turn your attention to Edmund. Sitting beside him, you are in full view of the show that his siblings are not. You can see the rosy color, the powdered sugar. The Just King’s smile immediately falters. Strong hands clamp the container shut before anyone else has the chance to see what’s inside – Turkish Delight.

For a moment there is nothing but silence, the labored sound of Edmund drawing a breath. It goes on just long enough that his siblings glance at him. Only then does Edmund seem capable of forcing himself to smile, to nod, to thank the ambassador for such a thoughtful gift. If his siblings sense that something might be wrong, they don’t even know the half of it.

Because what has just happened, really? Is this a slight on behalf of the other country’s rulers? Or do they genuinely have no clue the implications of their actions?

As the exchanging of the gifts comes to a close, Edmund coughs into his fist, clears his throat. Does it again. He thumps the flat of his palm against his chest.

Peter turns to him. “Are you alright?”

“I think I just require a bit of fresh air, if you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Edmund replies. He says it far too quickly, and he uses the excuse to dismiss himself from the hall. The silver container that holds the Turkish Delight has been abandoned, left behind on his throne.

It takes everything in you not to race after him, to follow him, to make sure that he’s okay. Instead, you’re stuck helplessly glancing between the doorway that he’s disappeared through and the ambassadors who won’t seem to shut up.

Finally, the niceties end. The other king and queens of Narnia begin to migrate into a separate chamber with the ambassadors to begin the negotiations.

Quickly, quietly, you catch Lucy by the sleeve of her dress and lean in close to her ear. “I’ve got to go find Edmund,” you whisper. “I’m worried about him.”

Lucy’s eyes go wide, but she holds her composure under the watchful eyes of the court and the visiting representatives. “I’ll cover for you,” she whispers back.

As one of the five Narnian monarchs, you don’t technically need anyone’s permission to leave – except maybe Peter’s, since he’s the High King. Still, you’re the only one who’s not a Pevensie sibling, which can sometimes be a little isolating. Knowing that Lucy has your back boosts your confidence as you slip away, heading for the nearest place that you think Edmund might have disappeared to.

A quick search reveals that he’s not in the library. Or the armory, or any of his usual haunts. As a last resort, you duck into his bedroom, and it’s there that you find him, standing before the hearth, staring into the flames. His hand holds the place on his side where the White Witch stabbed him on the battlefield, though the gesture seems absentminded.

“Ed?” You make your voice soft so as not to startle him.

He looks up, eyes wide, surprised anyway – and hurt.

You don’t waste time asking if he’s okay. Instead, you cross the room to meet him in front of the fire. “Oh, Edmund.”

He doesn’t bother lying and saying that he’s fine. That’s how you know it’s bad. When Edmund Pevensie goes quiet, retreats within himself, it means that he’s truly wounded. This is something deep inside of him that aches, that rots.

Not knowing what to do, you take a seat on the rug in front of the hearth. You’re careful not to touch him, trying to offer him the space if he needs it. But he follows your lead and takes a seat, too, which seems like a good sign.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You just sit near each other, staring into the fire. Edmund looks very numb when he finally says, “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I just . . . panicked.”

“No one blames you.”

“Seeing that stupid Turkish Delight – “ He shudders. “I can’t figure out if it was a poor choice given with good intentions, or if it was a slight on my honor, a reminder of what I did.” He frowns. “I suppose to some people I’ll never be Edmund the Just – I’ll only ever be just Edmund, The Traitor.”

“No,” you protest. Space be damned; you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it, like that gesture can also grab his attention, infuse the meaning of what you’re about to say to him so that he cannot ignore it. “Edmund, you’ve changed. You’re not a traitor.”

“Anymore.”

“People forget that I was there, too,” you remind him. “I tried to follow you to Jadis’ castle.”

“That was different. You were trying to stop me from betraying my family.” His brow furrows at the memory. “So I shoved you into a snowbank and ran off without you. And then you went back to Beaver’s the help the others. (Y/N) the Loyal,” he employs the epithet that Aslan gave you, but you can’t be sure why. Because of what you did then? Because you’re here with him now?

“People can be different. They can change. You’ve changed.” Gently, you use your pointer finger to hook his chin and turn his face towards you, making him look you in the eye. “You’re a good king, Edmund, and an even better man. A good brother. A good boyfriend. Everyone has forgiven you for what you did as a child.”

Edmund shakes his head. “But they haven’t forgotten. And I can’t, either, if I’m being honest.” He doesn’t meet your eye when he confesses, “It haunts me, the memories. Every winter.”

“No. But you can do something else.” You pause to make sure that you have his full attention when you make your suggestion. “You can forgive yourself.”

Edmund blinks. As smart as he is, it seems like the thought has never occurred to him before now.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” you assure him. “It’s not an instantaneous thing. Just . . . something to work on. A project. An ongoing one.”

Silence falls between you again as he turns back to the fire. It takes a few moments before he nods, the light shining off his dark hair and his crown.

“I’ll work on it,” he says, resolved. He turns back to you, and when he speaks again, his voice is so unsure, so timid, that you have the sudden urge to hold onto him with one arm and use your other to draw your sword and fend off anything or anyone in the world who might come near and cause him harm. “Can you help me do it?”

You nod. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m going to need more than my own forgiveness for being late to these negotiations.” He makes no move to get up. His gaze wanders across the room, as if seeing it for the first time, before landing on the window and studying the portal to the frozen, white world beyond it.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up to it.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, you bump your shoulder against his. “I’m sure Susan and Lucy ganging up on the ambassadors will give them a run for their money.”

Edmund chuckles, settles back on the rug. “Good, because I honestly don’t think I can look into the eye of a person who tried to give me Turkish Delight without hitting him over the head with my sword.”

Even though you’re in a relationship, it’s maybe the most vulnerable that Edmund has ever been with you. He places his head in your lap and stares into the hearth as you card your hands through his dark locks.

“Spring is coming soon,” he mutters, his voice heavy with the sleep that’s trying to catch up with him. “Maybe then I can start over . . . Would be nice to not have to worry about freaking out over a bad gift and embarrassing myself in front of the whole court.”

“Spring will come again,” you remind him, voice soft in case he’s already dropped off to sleep. “And we will greet it with open arms and grateful hearts.” Then, for good measure, you add a new line to aid you through your latest challenge. “And it will allow us to start over.”

#Edmund can have SAD - as a treat #edmund pevensie #narnia imagine #narnia fanfiction #narnia x reader #edmund pevensie x reader #my writing

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catscidr · 4 months

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YANDERE DOTTORE X READER JAHEKWHZBAKNA

happy to see most dottore enjoyers sharing the same braincell. even happier to provide that good good dottore content (〃ﾉωﾉ) answering two asks in the same post bc it would be too repetitive if i made them separate agshfjns- next post will feature either childe or al haitham (depending on which one i finish first) (giving everyone a break from dottore for a hot sec) ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: yandere dottore (obvs), not quite proofread, dottore is named zandik in the mini-fic includes: gn!reader, dottore, his clones are kinda there, pierro and the tsaritsa are also mentionned. a handful of headcanons + a mini-fic wc: 1,8k

-ˋˏ Despite what most people might think, Dottore isn’t a sadistic man. He only hurts people if it’s necessary- if it helps with his research- and even then, it’s not like he enjoys inflicting pain, he enjoys the knowledge he gathers as a result of such experiments

-ˋˏ ...That doesn't apply with you though. He likes to see you squirm, to do things that make you react, whether positively or negatively. He’s that desperate and needy

-ˋˏ He’s a man that doesn’t go out much because of his work. So how could you blame him for wanting your attention?

-ˋˏ I think he’d be the type of yandere to just be incredibly obsessed with you. Always having someone checking in on you (his segments, of course) to report back to him so he knows what you’re doing at all times, probably the type to have an entire folder with your personal information in it as if you were one of his test subjects

-ˋˏ Not to mention he would be extremely manipulative, too. Dottore is the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing; a handsome face with dubious intentions.

-ˋˏ He wants to have your attention 24/7, to never have you take your eyes off of him, but he can’t do that if he stays holed up in his lab. Unfortunately for him he's very clingy

-ˋˏ But Dottore is a patient man (he was able to create an artificial God y’know- that kind of thing doesn’t happen overnight), so he takes his time with you- getting to know you, having his segments stalk you (he’s not the one doing it, so it’s fine, right?)

-ˋˏ You’re just like a frog in a pot boiling water. If you put it in the pot immediately, it’ll jump out as soon as it makes contact with the hot water; but if you put it in room temperature water and boil it slowly…

-ˋˏ The Harbinger knows your “relationship” isn’t an experiment, but at the same time it’s hard to say that he isn’t studying you. Having a mask that obscures his wandering eyes is definitely an advantage

-ˋˏ It doesn’t matter who you are, he would bend his schedule just for you. He’s that thoughtful! Since he’s practically his own boss (aside from various deadlines and meetings) he can do whatever he wants. Who’s going to tell him off? Pierro and the Tsaritsa don’t care how he achieves results as long as he gets results. So, expect to “accidentally” run into him more times than a regular person would

-ˋˏ You’re a fatui agent? Suddenly one of his experiments requires him to watch how soldiers (you) fight and train. You’re just a normal civilian? He’ll figure out where you work and find excuses to come see you just to chat

-ˋˏ It’s even better if you work a customer service job. You work at a cute coffee shop? What a coincidence, he loves coffee! Now he’s a regular and you know his order by heart. (I like to think he actually hates coffee but powers through the bitter taste and energetic aftermath just because it gives him an excuse to bond with you)

-ˋˏ You work at a grocery store? That’s perfect, he’ll start doing his groceries at your store from now on (you don’t point out how every week his groceries- without fail- consist of mozzarella sticks, a whole rotisserie chicken, cheap red wine, a pack of cigarettes and a singular loaf of whole wheat bread.)

-ˋˏ If you’re not in the fatui, chances are you don’t know who he is (he doesn’t go out much, after all) so it’s easier for him to play up the “good guy” role (wolf in sheep’s clothing from before nudgenudge). He’s a very smooth talker

-ˋˏ Of course, you’ve heard rumors about “the Doctor”, one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers, a feared man all across Teyvat. So it’s a good thing that your new friend’s name is Zandik and he’s just a normal surgeon that works in a private hospital! Nothing suspicious, 'course not

-ˋˏ Both of you engage in small talk whenever you cross paths. He’ll ask questions about you (even though he already knows the answer to them), all so that you can feel seen and heard- who cares about him, about what he does? This is about you. He wants you to tell him everything

-ˋˏ The kind of person to use the excuse that he had a Ph.D. for a lot of things. You whine that your shoulders have been sore for longer than usual? He’ll get up from his seat and get behind you, sliding a hand just under the collar of your shirt to press and prod at your muscles to check if there’s anything wrong (good thing you can’t see his expression from behind you), saying he "knows best" whenever the (your) human body is brought up

-ˋˏ His patience isn’t endless, however. If he sees that this isn’t going anywhere, that you seem to be keeping him at arm’s length despite your “connection”, he’ll just take things into his own hands. And even though he doesn’t really get off from causing pain, he’s not afraid to make you squirm either

It wasn’t unusual for you to grab a bite to eat with the Doctor occasionally. Working at a local coffee shop had its perks; one of them being how you could make drinks for free and eat snacks at a discounted price. Though you never needed to worry about money since your friend would always tip you handsomely, basically paying you for the snacks you brought to the table.

Closing shop was easy enough when you had someone to keep you company while you swept the floor and wiped counters clean. He sat at one of the booths, cup of coffee in hand (you started making it decaf when you noticed his nose scrunch one time when he drank his usual order), watching you work idly.

“Rough day?” you ask with a gentle smile, looking over where Zandik sat. Being quite some distance away from him you couldn’t catch the twitch of the corner of his lips as he sighed, bringing one hand up to rub his face beneath his pointy mask.

“You could say that” he grumbles, laying his arms on the table, holding his cup of coffee with both hands. The man tilts his head to the side, focusing on you rather than his pesky thoughts. You put the broom away and saunter over to his booth, sitting across from him with a plate of various pastries in hand.

“What’s on your mind? Maybe I could give some advice and help! Or you’ll feel better if you just... talk about it,” you chuckle softly, taking a sip of your own drink. Zandik’s gaze never leaves your form, his gaze burning the sight of your lips into his mind.

If he told you even a smidge of what he was thinking you would, without fail, run and never look back. Even the tamest of things he’s thought about you would drive you away. From him fantasizing about how your skin would taste, to how your heart would look like in a jar on his desk when he worked... he shudders, swallowing down the urge to do something impulsive. Zandik takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering from your lips to your wide, innocent eyes.

“Thank you for offering,” he begins slowly, “but that’s alright. I wouldn’t want you to worry about it,” he says smoothly, losing the tension in his shoulders to seem more approachable. With the first two buttons of his shirt undone, hair lightly tousled, and overcoat thrown over the back of the booth chair, he looked nothing like the deadly Harbinger he was. Looked like an overworked businessman at most.

You puff your cheeks, disappointed that he wouldn’t open up to you. You’ve been doing it this whole time, and yet he won’t talk about what was bothering him to you? It made your heart flutter- he was so considerate- but at the same time you couldn’t shake the idea that maybe he was hiding something. Inhaling slowly, you calm your nerves, deciding that today would be the day you confront him. After all, a good friendship is built on trust, and you can’t stay good friends with someone that hides things from you.

Oh, how naïve you are.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” you say gently, placing one hand on his. The feel of his rough hand beneath yours made you shudder, almost instinctively- are surgeons’ hands supposed to be this rugged?

“I want to be there for you in the same way you’ve been here for me...” you add, voice trailing off as your cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I think you’re nice to be around. Don’t I owe you for the number of times I’ve complained about customers to you?” you say, chuckling lightly at the memory.

Zandik doesn’t react, not at first. His eyes fix your face with an underlying threat, gaze hidden by his mask. Although you can’t see his eyes, a shudder runs up your spine at the feeling of being watched so intently. Where have you felt this before...

“You’re right,” he responds quietly, voice hoarse. “You owe me.”

His words caught you off guard. Owe him? That was a joke! You were trying to lighten his spirits, to take his mind off whatever was troubling him for even just a second. How come you felt your nerves screaming at you to get up?

His free hand covers the hand you had laid on his, the grip on your skin becoming firmer the longer you two sat there. Your heart rammed against your ribcage, ears ringing from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing over you.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Zandik says in a sickly-sweet tone, leaning forward to stare at you, gaze unrelenting behind his mask. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you nod dumbly, staring back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He grins in response.

Did he always have teeth this sharp?

“Then you won’t make my life harder than it already is by resisting, right?” he adds. You could hear how heavy his breathing had become in just a few seconds, how his hands had a death grip on your own. His cup of coffee was long forgotten; how could he possibly focus on something as useless as that when you were giving yourself to him?

The snow pelleted the windows harshly, essentially trapping you inside the coffee shop with him. Even the weather outside couldn’t compare to how cold your blood ran in the face of the Doctor; maybe if you had listened to your gut earlier you wouldn’t currently be skewered in the jaws of the shark that had been circling you for months.

#୧ ‧₊˚orderup!#dottore x reader #dottore x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #dottore x gn reader #zandik x reader #zandik x you #yandere dottore #yandere dottore x reader #dottore headcanons

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cleolinda · 3 months

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I am so fucking pissed. We’re hearing forecasts that we might get FIVE FUCKING INCHES OF SNOW overnight from Monday to Tuesday. In ALABAMA, where we have no snow removal equipment. Like I think we got one bag of sand for the whole town. No snow tires, I don’t even know what those are. This isn’t cute “Haha it’s just barely below freezing! Snowball fight!!!” snow. This is 14° Fuck (-11° Come the Fuck On) snow. FIVE INCHES? We get flurries and the city descends into madness.

What if we lose POWER. Everything runs off USB cord stuck in the outlet charging nowadays. This is why everyone used to run out and buy Milk Bread Batteries. Listen. I have this memory of the power going out during this wild snowstorm when I was a kid--I want to say it was Winter Storm '93. Ask anyone who lived in Alabama at the time. Like we had Desert Storm '92 the military operation one year and Winter Storm '93 the next. It was that serious in our minds, and I'm not sure you can blame us:

The storm dumped several inches of snow each hour on Birmingham, which ended up with officially 13 inches of snow.

Due to the high winds some parts of Birmingham reported drifts 5 to 6 feet deep. One state trooper reported that the roads were in the worst shape he had ever seen. "People can't tell what's road and what's not."

Low temperatures during the storm were in the 5-to-10 degree range on that Sunday.

IN A TOWN WHERE WE DON'T KNOW WHAT A SNOW PLOW IS. I think we had one for the entire county. Like I'm only kind of joking here.

And our power went out.

The snow was so heavy that it pulled down power lines either by its own weight, or by the tree branches its weight broke off. Meanwhile, the power at my house already went off every time a squirrel sneezed. I don't how many days this lasted; it was probably like, 2-3 days, but in my head, I was 14 years old boxed up with my family with no heat and it lasted two weeks. Maybe three years. The four of us slept in sleeping bags layered with quilts, huddled on the floor around a wood burning fire. (In the haunted house, no less.) The carpet was really nice, at least. We had a--do people still call them boomboxes? A big portable cassette player--battery-powered--with AM/FM radio. We listened to whatever TV shows were broadcast from the ABC station at night. We did have hot water; I took a lot of hot baths. We cooked food over the outdoor grill (which we moved to the comfortably large area under the deck, to hold off the falling snow), sometimes using aluminum foil as a kind of thin impromptu frying pan, and kept perishables like milk and meat in a cooler. Oh, did we have a bag of ice for the cooler? No, we used snow. God knows there was enough of it. Of course, I'm sure the refrigerator was perfectly serviceable even without power, because it was TEN DEGREES FUCK ALL.

I remember going outside a good bit and playing, as much as a teenager plays, in the snow with my seven-year-old sister. I remember that all the neighborhood kids got big rubber trashcan lids and used them as toboggans, going up to the top of the hill on our street and pretty successfully sledding down. Maybe it was "lmao snowball fight!!" snow when I was 14. I'm 45 now, and the cold makes me hurt. It makes me hurt all over. Maybe Winter Storm '24 will be a fun core memory for my nephew. I am pissed. And also charging all my electronics.

(ETA: It’s ‘24 now, isn’t it. My brain hasn’t clicked the date over yet. What is time.)

#me for some reason #long post

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possessionisamyth · 9 months

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exactly one person asked for a men's list when it came to my cooking headcanons list for the ladies so here ya go!

Chris Redfield- Actually a decent home cook because he was old enough to want to give Claire some of their mom's cooking when he could. Unfortunately, any time he tries a new recipe for the first time he burns it. The second or third time things come out fine, but the first time he does something new he's opening windows to let out the pan smoke or returning to coals in the oven.

Barry Burton- His wife does all the cooking as he's hopeless in the kitchen, but since they got married she's never had to wash a single dish. He always made sure there's a working dishwasher in their house for when he's away too long to do his usual chore.

Albert Wesker- Can make the fanciest looking food in the world. We're talking Michelin star $100 a plate in appearance only. His dishes have zero flavor. They taste. No one understands how this happens.

Leon Kennedy- Breakfast King. I know the line in damnation is too overused, but breakfast is actually the easiest way to start learning how to cook. Box mix pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs, all require him to put something in a pan on low to medium heat with some oil and poke it around until it's done. There's little effort exerted in monitoring since that's half his real job anyway. Of course it translates to cooking. He's perfected the timing. Everything else is take-out though.

Carlos Oliveira- He had no idea how to cook until he got out of Raccoon City and went home to his family. He tried learning from his mama, but she'd always take the knife or pan from him, so he learned from a sibling and is pretty good at it. He makes a lot of marinades, so the blender is his friend.

Luis Serra Navarro- Absolutely under no circumstances does this man belong in a kitchen. He will concoct the most wretched smelling health food that's full of vitamins, minerals, and "a healthy dash of vinegar for flavor". He's wonderful to have at the dinner table, but never at the stove. Makes a real tasty cup of coffee though.

Jack Krauser- For some ungodly reason, this man can take someone's most hated foods and make them taste good. No idea what the hell he does to it as he will kick everyone out of the kitchen until he's done, but he's just like that. Barely cooks not because he hates it, but because he has to be in the mood.

Piers Nivans- He's the king of the grill. Will lecture anyone in earshot about the important difference between gas, charcoal, or wood when it comes to maintaining the flavor of the meat. He also believes salt and pepper are all you need for a great burger which must be cooked to medium at the hottest lest it lose it's tenderness.

Jake Muller- Salads, smoothies, and overnight oats, he's the one making meals that are able to be eaten fast or on the go. Fruit counts as a dessert to him. He does enjoy experimenting by eating the "weird" or most unfriendly tourist foods while he travels so he has something to brag about, even though he could never figure out how to cook any of it himself.

Ethan Winters- He tries his best. He'll help Mia in the kitchen with food prep or clean up. He makes good dips for chips, has a delicious cookie recipe, and researched how to make baby food for when Rosemary stopped being breastfed. This somehow translated into him figuring out how to make very good custards and parfaits. Although, he got super frustrated trying to figure out how to make bread and has given up the fight.

i will happily do this again for any characters not on either of my lists since i love cooking and baking, and this is fun to think about

#resident evil #chris redfield #barry burton #albert wesker #leon kennedy #carlos oliveira #luis serra #jack krauser #piers nivans #jake muller #ethan winters #headcanons

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lionsongfr · 8 months

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Warrior's Way Snacks

Now this year is the lore it was mentioned that “We’d especially like to thank Arvelle for her generous donation towards our food budget”, and in the pamphlet for Warrior’s Way itself it mentions that “Food is available to participating warriors at all times throughout the course of the event.” So that got me thinking, what kind of food would dragons and beastclans eat during such an event?

Unfortunately, Warrior’s Way is during the summer and the heat can stifle anyone’s appetite- leading to warrior’s struggling to have the energy and hydration necessary to fight. Larger meals most likely would be served in the early morning and after sunset, and battles probably would be held off during the hottest middle of the day. But warriors would also need small meals and snacks to sustain them throughout the day. So, what kind of snacks could they expect?

Live Hornworms- a staple insect for insectivores, this import from the Mire is high in water and can be gut-loaded with either Fire Flower (for magic boost), Redblood Sapper (iron for blood), or Greenpod Bloom (calcium for bones and muscles). They are contained in large barrels with a cooling charm upon them, keeping the insects less active and from perishing in the heat.

Pickle Platter- while our most of our dragons do not sweat (I think maybe Light, Earth, and Ice dragons do), there are beastclans who definitely sweat. And with sweat comes the craving for salt. Pickled foods are high in salt, curb sugar spikes, help blood clot, and can provide the necessary electrolytes to relieve muscle cramps. The most common pickled foods are Basilisk eggs, Dubious Cucumbers, Wild Onions, Zeeba/Rambra sausages, Noxious/Leopard Caterpillar, and Kelp Beds Mackerel. Occasionally, Blacktongue Pepper is added for a spicy kick!

Cold Lume Daffodil and Spearmint Tea- every Fire Flight forge has a pot of tea cooling nearby in a large clay pot for refreshment. While Fire dragons typically prefer Cindermint, the cooling and refreshing combo of Spearmint and Lume Daffodil is a blessing on a hot summer day. Peppermint tea may also be used for creatures having nervous stomachs for their upcoming battles.

Blood Red Smoothie- to many a Wildclaw’s sorrow this does not actually have blood. This smoothie combines Spinach, Blood Acorn, Strawberries, Blood Spath, Goat milk, and ice into a frothy, highly caloric, and nutritious drink. Sometimes it is easier to drink all of one’s calories than eat them, especially when it is hot outside. (Plus the Spirals brought these cute curly straws to drink them with!)

Cold Cut Wraps-unlike bread, flat breads can be quickly made and can be easily sized per creature. Creating a wrap with cold cuts of meat, vegetables, and condiments makes for an easy to carry and customizable snack for busy warriors. Some favored cuts are: honeyed Featherback ham, smoked teriyaki Rainbow Trout, roasted lemon pepper Woodland Turkey, and spicy Flameleg Millipede.

Energy bites- the Longnecks are known for their Berry and Nut trail bars and the Centaurs for their Ration Pouches, and dragons have their own Elk pemmican tins and Cricket protein bars. Energy bites are a variant on this idea, mixing granola with a fat (Goat yogurt, Sunflower butter, Elk fat, ground Mealworm), Sugarbee honey, and dried fruit (Blueberries, Raspberries, Mushrooms, Butcher’s Fig) into round balls. The bites are then cooled overnight and put into bags made from Sweet Potato Vine (which is also edible), which can be carried about the event.

Shrimp and Potash Gazpacho- served by the cup or by the gallon (Imperial sized), this is a chilled soup for the seafood lovers. The base of the soup is the tangy and sour Miniature Potash Peach along with Cucumbers, Golden Peppers, and Wild Onions. And then anything seafood can be added to it! Most common is sweet Jumbo Shrimp, Pastel Scallops, and feisty Blue Swimmer Crab.

#Flight rising #fr headcanon #lore #long post #food #Warrior's Way #feel free to add your own food concepts for the event!#my headcanon

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scorpioandthefrog · 9 months

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My husband was unceremoniously let go from his managerial job at Panera Bread at the start of covid because he had the absolute audacity to advocate for the employees he was managing. I can’t exaggerate how much he bent over backwards for this company, dropped everything to go in overnight because they needed someone, etc

ANYWAY we ended up moving two states away to a much smaller town, and three years later these CORPORATE GHOULS decide to open a location here. These absolute bedbugs in human form decided to take their slimey greens and full menu devoid of even but one crumb of a spice or a flavor

And wow do I have half a mind to do a crime about it

BUT INSTEAD here’s some tips to make better sandos/ salads/ smoothies better by yourself

- The best honey mustard is literally equal parts dijon, honey, and mayo plus a little salt. Adjust to taste depending on how you like it

- The formula to make great vinaigrette is 3 parts oil to one part acid. I do 2:1 because I like it more acidic. The acid can be any kind of vinegar, citrus juice, mustard, etc. my go to that will get you compliments every time is 3tbs oil, about 1.5 tbs balsamic, and about 2tsp each of honey and dijon. Salt and pepper to taste and minced shallots if I’m trying to impress someone. You can shake them together in a jar or tupperware to emulsify, I usually whisk it together in the bottom of the bigass salad bowl so it’s one less dish

- The best smoothie in the world is frozen peaches, frozen strawberries, orange juice, and silken tofu. It’s also a very pleasant shade of tropical pink

Eat well and stick it to the fucking man ✌️

#fuck corporate greed #fuck corporations #panera bread #recipes #stick it to the man #anti work #anti capitalism

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marikosenwrites · 3 months

Note

I NEED SOME RANPO FLUFF PLEASEEEEE

cuddling with Ranpo?? Mornings with Ranpo?? Helping him get ready for work???

Thank you I love your writing so much 😭🥰

Have a good day/night!!!

sen's notes: OKAY ANON IM GOING TO DO THIS FOR YOU I LOVE RANPO AHHHHHHHHHHHHH also thanks for the support!! imma just do morning cuddles and helping him getting ready for work which is basically everything and YEAH LETS GO (also its short)

(im getting over being lazy with writing (not really) but the fact that schools starting again and i'm too tired to do anything productive except writing on tumblr bc i love yall) also its finally not a head canon

warnings: PURE FLUFF NO ANGST (i cant 😭)

gn!reader (forsure)

ranpo edogawa

sunlight broke through the curtains attacked ranpo's eye lids, prying his eyes open. once he opened his eyes, he yelped from the brightness. "sugar, sugar, i'm blind!" ranpo cried out to your peaceful sleeping figure.

"what...ranpo, you can't become blind with nothing getting into our dorm overnight," you rub your eyes and squint them to see better. "must be the sunlight."

you stand up to walk to the curtains and close them until the light wasn't in your room anymore and only the light from the lamp remains.

"oh, much better!" he opens his eyes, finally. "sugar, can we sleep a bit more? it's only eight am, after all."

"no, ranpo, you should say, 'it's already 8,' because it's time for work." you sigh as you sit on the bedside, beside your boyfriend who was shifting back into the covers.

"pleaseee~? only 15 minutes?" ranpo pleas, his emerald eyes opening.

"fine, fine, no more than that," you said, as you went back into the covers with open arms for ranpo to cuddle into.

fifteen minutes could pass quickly, for all you know, but these minutes with ranpo seem to pass slowly. quickly, you press the 15-minute button on your phone, mentally preparing yourself in time for the shrilling alarm sound after 15 minutes.

but for this occasion, time doesn't seem to go your way. in what seemed like 5 minutes, the alarm rang and woke you and ranpo up from your peaceful sleep. "ugh...already 15 minutes?" ranpo whines, his arms and legs flailing.

"it's already 15 minutes. c'mon, your work's waiting for you to tend to it. at the very least, i'll help you get ready." ranpo's ears perked up at the idea of that.

"ooh, yay! let's do that, then," immediately, the man took his partner's hand and led them to the bathroom, where he peeled off his clothes, leaving his boxers visible.

"you said you were going to help me get ready," the raven complained.

"right, right." you grab his white dress shirt from the closet and put it on him, leaving it to him to button it up. "you're wearing your pants by yourself, though."

"aw, that was disappointing!" he says, pouting as you hand him his overcoat.

"in return, i'll shower you with kisses on your face."

"yaaaaaaaaay!"

you grab your own hoodie and sweatpants to wear, changing into them quietly as ranpo stares at you. "...what?"

"nothing," he whistles, "just looking at how...good you look. but you look good in every outfit, i know it!"

"ranpo!" your face turns red.

"where are my kisses? you promised. i even put on my own tie." ranpo angrily puts his hands on his hips, although you could tell by his tone that he was only joking to be mad.

"coming, coming~" you sigh happily as you go over to cup his cheeks and kiss him all over his face.

a kiss on the bridge of his nose, the tip, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, and last but not least, his lips. the tender feeling stays on your lips and his for a few seconds, although you know that time is ticking, so you part.

"okay, i'm satisfied! but you gotta give me more when we get to the agency!" ranpo smiles as bright as the sun.

"alright, you big baby," you laugh and put on your shoes at the door, with ranpo trailing behind you and copying your actions.

"we're dropping off the bakery to get some bread, right? i haven't eaten breakfast just yet." ranpo opens the door.

"yeah, we are," you exit quickly before he can close the door on you, locking the door too.

"okay, to the bakery!"

ending notes: heyy so it's a bit short, i know, i tried my best. anyhow, i hoped you enjoyed reading!

©all banners, dividers, and stories are made by marikosenwrites and the pictures in it are from pinterest. i own none of the BUNGO STRAY DOGS/BUNGOU STRAY DOGS/文豪ストレイドッグス characters mentioned here.

#ranpo edogawa #ranpo's a big baby #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #cuddles #fluff #pure fluff #ranpo #ranpo x reader #ranpo x you #living together #original post #sen's works #anon's req #req #reqs open #asks also open

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atinylittlepain · 10 months

Text

June - Part Two

joel miller x f!OC

series masterlist

warnings | 18+ dark themes surrounding suicidal ideation and attempt, smut, angst

a/n | hi, folks, welcome back. i'm quite excited and also quite nervous to start sharing more of June with you. This is work touches on very heavy topics, so please take care in reading it, and know that my DMs are always open if you'd like to talk about it. Thank you for reading.

..........................................

Little red flower on your wrist

Maybe the angel fired and missed

Blue and red horses on the run

I think the angel is jumping the gun

"Blue and Red Horses" by Adrianne Lenker

.............................................

A slip. That’s what the doctor calls it. She had a slip, slip, slip.

He had been waiting for her on the porch, same as always. And when the sun turned to syrup and she still wasn’t home, he went inside to get his jacket. Two steps at a time, skidding to a halt in the sliver of light coming from her room.

Head lolled back, the most peaceful he’d ever seen her, except when she’s sleeping. Somewhere between that, and something much deeper. He’ll grow a beard if it keeps her from getting her hands on a razor again. Dripping down her finger tips, onto the thigh of his jeans. So much of it, his hands started shaking. Drip, drip, drip.

They keep her overnight at the clinic. White clothes, white sheets, white bandages, and the blossom of red they hide. She sleeps, mercifully. And he sits, his head propped on his palm, trying to figure out what went wrong.

Had something changed? He doesn’t think so, at least not for the worse. She had been eating, talking, working. They had found a rhythm, hadn’t they?

She sleeps, and he sits. Vigil, guard, whatever it’s called. Only letting one eye slip closed at a time, afraid that if he looks away, she’ll disappear. And when she wakes up in the morning, turning her head toward him, a sheepish smile curling her lips, Joel finds something that feels like anger resting heavy on his chest.

Keep an eye on–

Make sure she doesn’t have access to–

Bring her in if she says anything about–

He nods numbly at the doctor’s orders, his eyes darting over to her. Chin tucked down, picking at the edges of the gauze around her forearm. He has to swallow down a scream because why is everyone around him treating this like the most normal thing in the world? Why is no one else freaking out as much as he is? But he nods and he guides her out of the clinic, his palm hovering between her shoulder blades, unsure what will happen if he closes that gap, makes contact. She’s silent, chastened, like a child leaving the principal’s office. It makes him feel sick.

“Aren’t you going to be late for your shift?”

“Are you serious?”

“I was just asking.”

“Well I’m not. Not going anywhere.”

“You’re upset.” It’s a statement that makes him scoff, frustration rising hot and jittery up his neck, steadying himself with a palm pressed flat against the kitchen counter as he looks at her.

“A little bit. What made you do that?” He has to take a deep breath when she shrugs, knuckles tensing into a fist, open, close, open, close.

“Nothing made me do anything. I was just ready.”

“For what?”

“Just ready, Joel.” Back and forth, back and forth, his jaw slides in a hard grind as they stare at each other, unblinking, a yawning space between them.

“You need to eat. Sit down.” He’s a bit surprised when she listens, but then he sees it. The way her shoulders fold around herself like frail wings, fingers steepled in a light press on the table, her lashes brushing her cheeks with the droop of her gaze, a frown that folds like wet silk. And suddenly, he can swallow his anger, a bitter pill that leaves an urgency in its wake.

He toasts the bread in the pan, a thick slice smeared with butter on both sides. Something solid, affirming. And jam, but not the red kind, no, no, no. Blueberry, she likes blueberries. And they have blueberry. She traded for it two days ago. Before, before, before.

Sweet, sweet, sweet. A prayer in the pass of the knife. Stay, stay, stay.

And he sighs, long and low in his chest, when he sets the plate down in front of her. For you, for you, for you. She picks the piece of toast up, carefully, fingertips only, tilting it this way and that.

“Eat it, please.” He sits across from her at the table, his arms folded in front of him, steady eyes, something in his chest unfurling when she finally takes a bite. It’s slow, methodical, a languid roll to her jaw as she chews, her eyes holding his as she swallows. He watches every bite until the plate is empty.

“I want to lay down.”

“Okay.”

She looks displeased when he pulls a chair into her room, sitting down right next to her bed with his knife and a scrap of wood. She turns her back to him, a long sigh making the covers rise and fall. Silence, save for the light scratching of his work, shavings floating down around his boots, worry holding his throat in a tight fist.

…

“I’m not going to stab myself.” Her crassness is a slap in the face, enough for him to relent and pass her the kitchen knife, letting her get to work on the vegetables for dinner. She slept for most of the day, something the doctor had told him to expect after she lost so much–

“Shit.” His body slips into motion before his mind, palm circling her wrist to draw her finger into the warmth of his mouth to stop the–

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t, June.” He lets go of her wrist, a reluctant release. She curls her hand against her chest, something small and wounded. And then they snap back into the task, the crease of time smoothed out.

…

“Why do you want to leave?” He left out one word in his question. Me, me, me.

“I just do. Same as you.” But he doesn’t, not anymore, a secret he’s been keeping tucked between two of his ribs, an aching truth. He turns his head on his pillow, studying the slope of her nose, the stillness of her eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling of his bedroom, her hands clasped together over her stomach. The moon casts slants of light across the bed, across her face, her scar turned silver along her temple. For a moment, there is no sound except the dull croak of crickets, one last symphony before the end of the season.

“I won’t if you won’t.” She tips her chin toward him, owlish and unblinking in her wide stare.

“Okay.”

…

“People say she’s crazy, you know.”

“There’s plenty of reasons to be crazy in this world, kid.” This is new. Good, clear hope fluttering in his chest, though he tries to school any excitement out of his expression should Ellie detect it and flee. Neutral ground, the dining hall for lunch.

“Yeah, but people say she’s crazy crazy.”

“Ellie.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m happy for you that you found someone.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“Sure, Joel.”

“How’s Dina?”

“We’re not doing that.”

“Not doing what?”

“I’m not gonna tell you how my girlfriend is doing.”

“Well I just told you about mine, didn’t I?”

“So she is?”

“Is what?”

“Your girlfriend, you just said–”

“Wait– no– I didn’t– that just came out.”

“Sure, Joel.”

…

They go to movie night. Sitting in the back of the hall. Some film from the nineties, all the actors with British accents, all the women in the crowd letting out a sea of sighs. He studies her face, awash in pale blue light, eyes steady and tracking. An imperceptible drag of his chair, an inch closer, and a leap. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t recoil, when he drapes his arm over the back of her chair, his fingers barely brushing the outside of her bicep. Up, down, up, down. Her eyes don’t leave the screen.

“Do you like this movie?” Only the faintest warble of his voice breaks his whisper, and she finally glances at him.

“Yes. You should be watching.” I am, I am, I am. Watching so closely.

He fills his lungs with cool, clean air when they step out of the darkness of the town hall and into the darkness of the night. His arm feels boneless, electric, from the way he had kept it framing her shoulders. And then he sees the little drops of light running down her cheeks and his heart curls up into a tight clench.

“Why are you crying?” He’d like to tuck those words back in his throat, instant regret at the way she swipes away any evidence, sniffing hard to stop herself back up.

“That movie always makes me cry.” He realizes all at once that he hasn’t seen her cry since that night in that field. Her hand in his, relief stretching like a taut muscle when her fingers curl around his, staying like that the whole walk home.

“Are you hungry?” “Not really.” He slices two plums, purple soaked flesh that dribbles and bleeds down their wrists when they sink teeth into tartness, hip pressed against hip where they’re leaning against the kitchen counter. It’s impulse, obscene instinct, coaxing her hand to his mouth so he can lap at the juice that drips between her fingers. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

This time, she takes. Turning toward him, closing that space with a tentative lean, her head jerking away once before she finally presses her lips against his, drinking the sigh that washes through his chest. Her fingers twine behind his neck, a perfect weight pulling him down into her. And something snarls, a touch of impatience in the way her tongue slides against his, teeth a sharp graze. His hands curl around her hips, a careful press that she preens into, her chest brushing against his. He has to slow her down when her movements flare frantic, something he knows will eventually spook her right out of his hands. Forehead to forehead, his nose running the arc of hers as she catches her breath, tiny pants that wash over his mouth.

“Will you tell me what you want, June?”

“This.” This, this, this. He takes her hand, a quiet tug upstairs and into his room and then his fingers start to turn desperate. And hers do too. Undoing buttons, swiping through zippers, pulling and pushing, seeking new skin. A patient unraveling, slowness he struggles to abide by. A careful allowance of wandering, palms sweeping over the bare softness of her stomach, up along the crook of her collarbone, dipping down to trace the swell of her breasts, the quick catch of her breath when the pad of his thumb slips over a peaked nipple. She steps out of his hold, his heart sinking, buoyed when she lays out on the bed, slinking down onto her elbows, warm in the light of the lamp he had half a mind to flick on.

Thin, frayed cotton, his fingers catching on the fabric, hooking, sweeping down the line of her legs and then she’s bare before him, something better than perfect. A soft hinge of her hips, an invitation for him to rest there. And he does, palm skating from the crook of her knee up and up, jumping from the swell of her hip to circle her wrist. He wants it to hurt, just a little, the kiss he presses into the gauze wrapped around her forearm, a cry breaking in her throat when he holds his mouth there, a hot stamp, a silent plea. But he wants to soothe as soon as it stings, so, so soft, lips smoothing over her pulse, the fine tendons jumping beneath his mouth.

“Please.” Oh, he likes the way that sounds. Warmth rising up and up, lips curling up and up, a curved press to her stomach, dragging lower, the hook of her hip bone, the soft crease of her thigh. And he breathes her in, coaxing the sloping backs of her thighs over his shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles into the tensing muscles, slow, slow, slow. Swollen, the glistening middle of a plum, dark and slick and dripping down his chin. He goes greedy with it, insistent in the way he drinks from her, lapping up everything she has to give, tongue a hot, demanding press that makes her hips jolt. Easy, June. Easy, easy, easy. His eyes drag up the heaving plains of her stomach, the gentle shake of her breasts, neck long and taut, lips parted, a portrait of the pleasure he’s pulling from her.

“Joel.” Joel, Joel, Joel. Like a wave crashing in his ears, her whole body furling up around him before slackening, smooth and soft and sighing, her hands in his hair tugging up, up, up. He hopes that she tastes herself on his lips, and he thinks she does when she groans, low and mewling into his mouth. A fire flushes up his neck, his cheeks, when she takes him into her hand, soft, soft, soft, her eyes not leaving his. And he’s already so close to too much, the way her wrist flicks between their hips. No one’s ever been so gentle with him. It makes him ache.

“Please.” It’s his turn to say it, and her turn to permit, her legs slipping open even more, long lines of muscle and ligaments, a silent affirmation of want. Warm and soft and wanting, pooling thick in his spine, seeping, bursting, until he’s full of the feeling, his hips pressed so close, so snug to hers. She seizes around him, a long exhale that breaks high in her throat, and he stills, pressing his face right over her heart, willing ease into the pumping of blood, the coil of muscle. She hooks the swell of her calf around his hip, a soft press, a silent command that makes him huff out a quiet laugh against her sternum, the sound fizzling out in his throat when he meets her watery gaze. Wide eyes, blown out dark, dark, dark, swallowing him up.

His arm is a frame, a protection, curled around the top of her head, keeping her steady and safe as each press of his hips sends them shucking further up the bed. And she holds on, little half-moons of her fingerprints pressing into his shoulders, the arch of her heel slipping along his low back.

“June.” Over and over again. June, June, June. A cry, a prayer, a demand, a steadying sound that he breathes out against her lips. And he’s not being patient anymore, desperation driving his hips to a heavy rhythm, little sighs slipping from her throat with each beat.

Need, need, need. He needs to feel her like this, his fingers a plea, a mess against that place that makes her preen around him. Her back curves, tight and hot, the taut peaks of her breasts pressing, dragging against his chest. She unfurls for him, his name a high, clipped sound in her mouth. And he shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t, pain in his sigh when he pulls away from her warmth, smearing himself against her stomach, pale, pearling, pleasure.

It’s broken and ugly, like she can’t take a deep enough breath, her chest catching, shivering with the sob. All he can think to do is lay the weight of himself over her, solid, insistent, sweat and spend cooling sticky against skin. His palms find her ribs, steady pressure to smooth the shake.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” She needs this. He knows she needs this. Something finally tearing open inside her, spilling out, his hands waiting and willing to hold it.

“You just cry, June. It’s okay.” He whispers it to her, words stamped into her skin, just beneath her collarbone. She cries and cries and cries. And he holds her through it, until her breaths start to turn smoother, slight hiccups of salt. Her eyes are heavy, swollen, slipping down her cheeks. He presses his lips over one, the other, her lashes flickering, quick winged reaction.

Clean, warm water, long sweeping palms. Soap that smells like honey passed between open hands. They’re close and quiet in the steam of the shower.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. I don’t like the way the stitches feel.” He wraps fresh gauze around her forearm, hiding the jagged, dark lines, smoothing his thumb down the trail of her destruction.

Socked feet that slip against his ankles. Her palm an anchor against his stomach, her cheek pressed warm and soft over his heart, clockwork setting back into time.

“Goodnight, Joel.” “Goodnight, June.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x oc #joel miller story #june

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