#is no one here from eastern europe??????? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petermorwood · 1 month

Text

Food on St Patrick's Day (in the USA)...

...is usually Corned Beef & Cabbage, which is the Irish-American version of the original Irish boiled bacon & cabbage, but while the celebratory Irishness is still going strong, try something a bit more authentic.

A nice warm coddle. Not cuddle, coddle, though just as comforting in its own way. (Some sources suggest it's a hangover cure, not that such a thing would ever be necessary at this time of year, oh dear me no.)

Coddle is a stew using potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, stout-if-desired / stock-if-not, pepper, sage, thyme and Time.

You'll often see it called "Dublin Coddle", but my Mum made Lisburn Coddle lots of times, I've made West Wicklow Coddle more than once, and on one occasion in a Belgian holiday apartment I made Brugsekoddel, which is an OK spelling for something that doesn't exist in any cookbook.

*****

I do remember one amendment I made to Mum's recipe, which met with slight resistance at the time and great appreciation thereafter.

Her coddle was originally cooked on the stove-top, not in the oven, and nothing was pre-cooked. Potatoes were quartered, onions were sliced, bacon was cut into chunks and then everything went into the big iron casserole, then onto the slow back ring, and there it simmered Until Done.

However, the bacon was thick-cut back rashers, and the sausages were pork chipolatas.

Raw, they looked like this:

...and the bacon looked like this:

Cooked in the way Mum initially did, they looked pretty much the same afterwards. The sausages didn't change colour. Nor did the bacon.

While everything tasted fine, the meat parts always looked - to me, anyway - somewhat ... less than appealing. "Surgical appliance pink" is the kindest way to put it, and that's all I'm saying. This is apparently "white coddle" and Dubs can get quite defensive about This Is The Way It SHOULD Look.

I'm not a Dub, so I persuaded Mum to fry both the bacon and sausages first, just enough to get a bit of brown on, and wow! Improvement! I remember my Dad nodding in approval but - because he was Wise - not saying anything aloud until Mum gave it the green light as well.

Doing the coddle in the oven, first with lid on then with lid off, came later and met with equal approval. So did using only half of the onion raw and frying the other half lightly golden in the bacon fat.

Nobody quoted from a movie that wouldn't be made for another decade, but there was a definite feeling of...

*****

There are coddle recipes all over the Net: I've made sure that these are from Ireland to avoid the corned-beef-not-boiled-bacon "adjustment" versions which are definitely out there. I've already seen one with Bratwurst. Just wait, it'll be chorizo next.

Oh, hell's teeth, I was right. And from RTE...

Returning to relative normality, here's Donal Skehan's white coddle and his browned coddle with barley (I'm going to try that one).

Here's Dairina Allen's Frenchified with US measurements version. (I feel considerably less heretical now.)

And finally (OK, not Irish, but it references a couple of the previous ones and is a VERY comprehensive write-up, so gets a pass) Felicity Cloake's Perfect Dublin Coddle (perfect according to who, exactly...?) in The Guardian.

*****

Returning to the beginning, and how boiled bacon became corned beef (a question which prompted @dduane to start an entire website...!)

The traditional Irish meat animal for those who could afford it was the pig, but when Irish immigrants (even before the Great Famine) arrived in the USA, they often lived in the same urban districts as Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe.

For fairly obvious reasons pork, bacon and other piggy products were unavailable in those districts, but salt beef was right there and far cheaper than any meat Irish immigrants had ever seen before.

Insist on tradition or eat what was easy to find? There'd have been contest - and do I sometimes wonder a bit if sauerkraut ever came close to replacing cabbage for the same reason.

The pre-Famine Irish palate liked sour tastes: a German (?) visitor to Ireland in the mid-1600s wrote about about what were called "the best-favoured peasantry in Europe", and mentioned that they had "seventy-several sour milks and creams*, and the sourer they be, the better they like them."

* Yogurt? Kefir? Skyr? Gosh...

Corned beef and Kraut as the immigrants' celebratory "Irish" meal for St Patrick's Day? Maybe, maybe not.

Time for "Immigrant Song" (with kittens).

youtube

*****

Corned beef got its name from the size of the salt grains with which the beef was prepared. They were usually bigger than kosher salt, like pinhead oats or even as large as grains of wheat, and their name derived originally from "corned (gun)powder", the large coarse grains used in cannon.

BTW, "corn" has been a generic English term for "grain" for centuries, and "but Europe didn't have corn" is an American mistake assuming the word refers to sweetcorn / maize, which it doesn't.

Lindsey Davis, author of the "Falco" series, had a couple of rants about it and other US-requested "corrections". As she points out, mistakes need corrected but "corn" is not a mistake, just a difference in vocabulary.

*****

In Ancient and Medieval Ireland pig would have included wild boar, the hunting of which was a suitable pastime for warriors and heroes, because Mr Boar took a very dim view of the whole proceeding and wasn't shy about showing it (see "wild boar" in my tags and learn more).

Cattle were for milk, butter, cream and little cattle; also wealth, status, and heroic displays in their theft, defence or recovery. It's no accident that THE great Irish epic is "The Cattle-Raid of Cooley" / Táin Bó Cúailnge (tawn / toyn boh cool-nyah).

Killing a cow for meat was ostentation on a level of lighting cigars with 100-, or even 500-, currency-unit notes. Once it had been cooked and eaten there'd be no more milk, butter, cream or little cattle from that source, so eating beef was showing off And Then Some.

Also, loaning a prize bull to run with someone else's heifers was a sign of great friendship or alliance, while refusing it might be an excuse for enmity or even war. IMO that's what Maeve of Connaught intended all along, picking undiplomatic envoys who would get drunk and shoot their mouths off so the loan was refused and she, insulted, would have an excuse to...

But I digress, as usual. Or again. Or still... :->

*****

For the most part, "pig" mean "domestic porker", and in later periods right up to the Famine, these animals were seldom eaten.

Instead, known as "the gentleman who pays the rent", the family pig ate kitchen scraps and rooted about for other foods, none of which the tenant had to grow or buy for them. These fattened pigs would go to market twice a year, and the money from their sale would literally pay that half-year's rent.

For wealthier (less poor?) farmers, pigs had another advantage. Calves arrived singly, lambs might be a pair, but piglets popped out by the dozen. A sow with (some of) her farrow was even commemorated on the old ha'penny coin...

What with bulls, chickens, hares, horses, hounds, pigs, salmon and stags, the pre-decimal Irish coinage is a good inspiration for some sort of fantasy currency.

But that's another post, for another day.

#food and drink #St Patrick's Day #Irish cuisine #Dublin coddle #corned beef or boiled bacon #pigs and cattle in Ireland #The Cattle Raid of Cooley #Youtube

556 notes · View notes

writingpastmybedtime · 3 months

Text

Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Bucky and Reader have to pretend to be husband and wife on a mission, even though they do not get along at all. Your classic enemies-to-lovers trope.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none, although Bucky is hot as always.

A/N: Let me know, if you want a pt 2 to this ;)

You should have known better, really. Wearing a short black, curve-hugging, dress wasn’t going to go unnoticed by the Super Soldier whose gaze you wished to avoid.

Bucky and you had been tedious to each other for most of the time spent at the compound. It was common knowledge for the team that you two weren’t supposed to be on the same mission together. Unless they wished to witness your back-to-back nagging. Which, they did not.

That changed, however, when Natasha fell sick and you had to replace her on a mission pretending to be the wife of a Russian mobster, Ivan Sarkovich aka James Buchanan Barnes undercover.

Needless to say, you did not go on this mission without letting out a fight. Tony shut you up quite quickly, reminding you of the innocent lives that would be harmed if you did not fall through with this mission. There was no one else to take Natasha’s place, but you. You sighed, before begrudgingly agreeing.

So here you were, at a lavish Balkan hotel somewhere in Eastern Europe with the most exhausting and tiresome being to ever exist - Bucky Barnes. The bane of your existence. The man, with the most gorgeous blue eyes, the body of a Greek God on steroids, and hands you wish would do the dirtiest things to you.

No one knew you had these kinds of thoughts and feelings towards the ex-Winter Soldier, however, it wasn't hard to hide them whenever he acted like a total ass towards you. You had put up a façade to everyone, not letting out your true feelings. Not when he couldn’t even be in the same room as you without snickering a rude remark.

Had he ever not acted indifferent towards you, perhaps you would not be in this predicament you were in right now.

Fortunately enough, Bucky had already gone downstairs to play poker with the people who you were investigating.

Ruslan Nikolaevich was a Russian man, behind a drug cartel that had been shipping new kinds of supplements in New York, mainly appealing to teens and young adults. They sold it under the premise of protein, however, it was nothing similar of the sort, except for the look of it.

You and Bucky had to gain information about the next possible drop-off - the location, the recipient, and the lot. You were supposed to join your dear husband downstairs in five minutes, playing the ever-clingy happy, and satisfied wife.

Smoothing down your dress and taking a last-minute look in the mirror, you deemed yourself good to go. Perhaps your dress was a bit much, but without a second thought, you left the safety of your hotel room.

Walking towards the men sitting at the poker table, you held your chin high and only looked at Bucky. He was wearing an all-black suit, the one that you thought fit him the best. The one that you wished he would wear when he’d do the most dirty things to you.

Bucky looked up from the table, as if hearing your thoughts, and his eyes fell on yours. A smirk graced his lips as you neared and he patted his lap, an indication for you to take a seat.

It was totally normal and mostly expected of the Russian mobsters to have their wives and eye candies sitting on their lap - a way to show off. So, as expected of you, you took a seat. Right on Bucky’s deliciously firm thighs.

“I thought you wouldn’t come, with how long you took,” Bucky nuzzled into your neck, making a shiver go down your spine. You smirked, placing a seductive hand on his jaw, playing with the slight stubble there.

“What kind of a wife would I be, if I did not show up to support my perfect husband?” You raised an eyebrow and Bucky chuckled darkly, before placing his lips on your temple and focusing his gaze back on the game.

“I wish my Maria would still look at me the same way your девушка looks at you,” a man with a thick Russian accent said, looking over at you with a longing gaze that made Bucky place his vibranium arm over your waist as if to pull you closer to him and protect against the Russians that eyed you in a way that made his blood boil.

Bucky chuckled, to not let on, that he was disturbed by Maksim’s looks.

“If you’re willing, you could also share your сладостью with the others,” Maksim was eyeing you up and down, and you were now second-guessing your dress choice.

“Gentlemen,” Bucky chuckled darkly, before throwing his cards on the table. “I’m afraid this sweet thing is not for share, for I have intended her all for myself tonight.”

The men at the table groaned but still looked at you with lust-filled eyes, a certain jealousy towards Bucky Barnes, no, Ivan Sarkovich.

“I think it’s time we took our leave, my девушка seems to be getting tired of our manly chit-chat and boyish games.” With a nudge to your waist, you feigned a believable yawn and clung to Bucky, playing the ever-attaching wife. Bucky wished good night to the gentlemen at the table, before guiding you towards an elevator.

When the elevator doors closed and you could finally take a breath, letting go of the fake act, Bucky stepped in front of you with a hard look.

“Are you out of your mind to wear a dress like this in front of them?”

You looked down at your dress, picking invisible lint off of it.

“Do you have any idea, what kind of a position you put me in? The things they whispered,” he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, as if to calm himself. You did not understand the Russian language the way he did. Which also meant that you had no idea what kind of vulgar things they had said about you.

You saw his hands shake on the railing on the wall, that he’d gripped, his knuckles turning white on his right hand with how hard he was gripping it.

“Fuck, doll-” he looked at you then, his baby blue eyes a shade darker, before he suddenly gripped your jaw and made you look up at him. “You only belong to-” He was cut off by the elevator doors opening and he nonchalantly let go of you, walking off to your shared hotel suit.

You followed him, still ashamed and, confusingly enough, a little bit turned on by his demeanor. He’d never acted this way before. And what was he almost about to say?

As you shut the door of the suit, you immediately felt his breath on your neck. A gentle, but rough hand moved strands of your hair off your shoulder, before chuckling deeply.

Bucky placed his forehead in the crook of your neck, before letting out a deep breath. His hands then found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to himself.

“Y/N, do you have any idea, what you do to me?” You felt his lips move on your skin, which made you shudder and the most obscene thoughts filled your head. He whispered your name again.

“If I had known any better, I’d think you got jealous when poor old Maksim made that suggestive comment,” you finally whispered, your forehead resting on the door. Bucky pressed himself closer to you, leaving you sandwiched between him and the brown wooden suite.

“Only I can make comments like that about you. No one else.” He kissed the side of your neck, your head automatically falling on his shoulder. It was as if you had no control over your body; you only moved on his accord.

“You’re mine.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you

463 notes · View notes

fairuzfan · 4 months

Text

I've been listening a lot to Avi Shlaim the past few days and I really recommend these two interviews to learn about the.... homogenization (? for lack of a better word) of Jewish history with European Jewish history and Iraqi/Middle Eastern Jewish history.

He mentions at the 35 minute marker of this video (click) of how there is a narration of Jewish history as persecution culminating in the Holocaust, which he says, yes, that's true about Jewish history in Europe but it isn't necessarily true about Middle Eastern Jewish history throughout centuries and it would be inaccurate to say otherwise.

Here's another Avi Shlaim video that I learned a lot from (click), how the Israeli government played a part in the 50's in sowing seeds of discord among SWANA countries to try and get the governments to expel Jewish people, which unfortunately, was largely successful.

I'm sharing not to try and discount Jewish suffering regarding SWANA Jews, I think we should talk about it, but to pretend like antisemitism is uniformly manifested around the world denies that SWANA countries and regions.... had their own cultures and identities separate from European cultures and that's all erased in favor of portraying one singular narrative of Jewish peoples regardless of their interactions and contributions to their local communities.

Anyways, I haven't read Avi Shlaim's autobiography yet but he also talks about his experience growing up in Israel, his parent's expulsion from Iraq, and how Israel fundamentally played a part in this.

#palestine

551 notes · View notes

fdelopera · 6 months

Text

Jewish joy is receiving a message through Ancestry.com from a distant cousin who has managed to trace a branch of your family tree.

they have old photos from the 1800s and everything!

and before this, your knowledge of the family began and ended with the great-grandparents, in America. you could never trace them across the sea.

and here they are, in 1880s black and white, in diaspora in Lithuania, near the border with Poland. just a decade or so before they escaped to England, and then America, because the antisemitism there wasn't as dangerous as what was growing in Eastern Europe.

and their surname ties them to a Jewish diaspora town in Germany.

in the 1300s, the Holy Roman Empire murdered nearly all the Jews in that town because Christians made up conspiracy theories about the Jews spreading the bubonic plague.

but a few Jews survived. including your ancestors.

their surname also ties them to Jews living in Italy in the early Middle Ages. and through genealogy and studying Jewish forced migrations, you can trace them to Jews who were brought as captives to Italy from Jerusalem. and it turns out there is a whole genetic genealogy project on that branch of your family tree.

you see, your ancestors were among the Jews who *gave* that town in Germany its name. your ancestors named that town.

and ... and that town in Germany, it still exists. the town that your Jewish ancestors gave their surname to. in the 1940s, the Nazis murdered the Jews who remained there.

only one single Jew in that town survived the Holocaust.

after WWII, the Germans wanted to pave over the old synagogue and put in a parking lot. (you can't make this shit up!!)

but now, there is a tiny community of Jews who have moved there. there is a new Synagogue. a new mikvah. they have restored the Jewish cemetery there.

and yet for how long? how long before all the Jews in that German town are murdered again? how long before the Jewish cemetery is desecrated again? how long before the synagogue is burned down?

Jewish joy is always mixed with Jewish sadness.

when we find our people, we also find tragedy.

and yet. we have to keep looking for the joy.

because we are Jewish. because we love who we are. because being Jewish means learning to laugh through tears.

because being Jewish brings us joy.

#jewish joy #judaism #jumblr #jewblr #jewish history

427 notes · View notes

ahaura · 6 months

Text

(Oct. 26) The White House is deliberately smearing the Gazan Ministry of Health's reports of the death toll in Gaza as means of genocidal denial, saying that the "'so-called' Ministry of Health is [...] not reliable." But the Biden Administration has cited the Ministry of Health as recently as last year.

This is not the first time the United States has engaged in genocide denial on behalf of an ally.

Highlighted on Twitter, from The Representation of the Holocaust in the Soviet Press, 1941–1945 by Corinne Ducey (pub. 2008) [Link] (Sci-Hub)

The American and British press also shared a widespread mistrust of Jewish eye- witnesses. Although the Anglophone press reported on stories released by the Soviets or smuggled reports from Jews trapped in Eastern Europe, these stories were ‘not worthy of complete trust because Jews were “interested parties”’. The press tended to believe non-Jewish sources over Jewish sources and ‘generally during these years, whenever the Pope or other leading Christian religious leaders spoke out on the Jews’ behalf [. . .] their comments garnered more attention than a similar story coming from a Jewish [. . .] source’. As late as January 1945 an official from the Refugee Department of the British Foreign Office wrote, ‘Sources of information are nearly always Jewish whose accounts are only sometimes reliable and not seldom highly coloured. One notable tendency in Jewish reports on this problem is to exaggerate the numbers of deportations and deaths’.

In November 1943, W. H. Lawrence of the New York Times travelled to Kiev for an inspection of Babi Yar after the Soviets had retaken the city, and filed a sceptical story about the massacre. The article includes phrases such as ‘it is the contention of the authorities’ and, when referring to eyewitnesses, ‘who said they participated’ or ‘the story was told by’. Lawrence visited the ravine personally, but still found it difficult to accept the Soviet version of events. He states that he saw only a bone or two, a handbag, some hair and ‘that there is little evidence in the ravine to prove or disprove the story’. He therefore concludes that ‘On the basis of what we saw, it is impossible for this correspondent to judge the truth or falsity of the story told to us’. Alexander Werth notes in his book about his experiences with the Red Army, Russia at War, that the BBC turned down his report on Majdanek because they could not believe that Nazi Germany had taken its racial policies so far. Werth also quotes the response of the New York Herald Tribune to the report on Majdanek: ‘Maybe we should wait for further corroboration of the horror story that comes from Lublin. Even on top of all we have been taught of maniacal Nazi ruthlessness, this example sounds inconceivable.’

The Ministry of Health has published the names of over 7,000 Palestinians, including almost 3,000 children, killed in Gaza. The full report can be found here.

#palestine #geopol #uspol #📁.zip

646 notes · View notes

becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 6 months

Text

I am currently in Vilnius! Lithuania is fantastic. You really can't beat old eastern European cities for having urban sections called Old Town that are the most stunning and picturesque places you've ever seen in your life, and Vilnius combines this with apparently about fifty trillion urban trees and parks. Fucking gorgeous place.

Eastern Europe is also incredible for food. Today we had a Lithuanian delicacy where they take rye bread and cut it into sticks and toast/fry it and then you have it with a sort of cheesy garlicky sauce and it is fucking incredible holy shit. Also a dish of finely grated potato over a layer of pork leg and topped with bacon bits and sour cream, sort of like a Lithuanian lasagne. Exquisite. Divine. Ambrosia of the gods.

Anyway my excellent Lithuanian friend Gabs has insisted on buying us a shit ton of Lithuanian snacks to try over the next few days, and I have promised him I shall keep a spreadsheet of my reactions to each. So! I'm recording them here:

Surelis: sweet curds covered in a chocolate layer, flavoured. So far we have tried the raspberry. It tasted like a bar of Petit Filou yoghurt and it was fucking gorgeous. 12/10.

Sula: a soft drink made from birch sap. We have tried one that is fruit flavoured, but Gabs didn't know the English word for said fruit. Super clear and refreshing tasting. 8/10

Grybukai: a mushroom shaped biscuit/cake flavoured with ginger and... something sharp. Citrus maybe? Super fun, super tasty. 10/10

Sakotis: cake made on a spit in a pleasing tree shape. A bit like a firmer dry pancake. Gabs recommended them with tea, I tried it with some chocolate butter. Very nice tea time treat, not too sweet, delicate flavour. 7/10

Having a whale of a time, Lithuania is gr8

#food #tedious personal details

392 notes · View notes

kivino · 8 months

Text

Platonic!Task Force 141 x Eastern European!Reader

Word Counter – ~1.9k

Summary – a compilation of headcanons about how reader’s Eastern European background would affect interactions with Task Force 141 during an undercover mission together.

Tags/Warnings – Gn!reader, Eastern European!reader (obviously), Platonic!TF141, fluff, mostly.

A/n – RUSSIANS DNI (this is a personal boundary, so I ask you to respect it, if you don’t like it just scroll past this post). Very self-indulgent. Just showing more love to my fellow Eastern European readers. Since it is mostly based on my own experience growing up as a Ukrainian, I’m sorry if certain things don’t resonate with you! This whole thing was made for fun and fun only.

So, let’s assume our beloved Task Force needs to go undercover to get some information on Makarov and his merry band of goons. Obviously, they can’t do it without at least one team member, who is familiar with the way of living in Eastern Europe. So, naturally, Laswell introduces you to them – born and raised there, ready to help them and stop your sworn enemy from escalating an already pretty shitty situation.

“So, allow me to introduce your new team member for the duration of this mission” Laswell nods to the door when you walk in, saying your name and callsign, already catching some looks full of curiosity from Task Force 141.

First thing they noticed about you? Resting bitch face for days. Who needs a mask when you have a death stare that will give the heebie-jeebies to most if not all of your teammates? However, they feel even more taken aback when you suddenly greet them with a warm, welcoming smile and a firm handshake, not a trace of that sour expression on your face.

One would think that you’d spend hours preparing four of them for the mission by teaching them language, helping to memorize names and faces of contacts, Makarov’s trusted allies, and potential targets. Naturally, you did your job, but those precious hours were also spent with you standing next to a whiteboard, ranting about the politics and societal issues of your country, explaining certain national jokes, and teaching them swear words or poetry you studied at school. But hey, they’re not complaining (maybe a little).

They were skeptical about this whole deal at first. However, there was a shared understanding between the four of them that they needed to do whatever it took to stop the spreading of Makarov’s influence and diminish his resources in other countries. With time, however, they’ve found things that made their life in a completely new environment a bit more enjoyable and interesting.

Soap would pick up on your native language the fastest out of the Task Force. Under all these jokes and goofiness Johnny’s a smart guy, inquisitive as hell too, which makes a pretty good mix. He’d try to write down how you pronounce things in his sketchbook, dedicating pages upon pages to making a small vocabulary of what you say, searching up the translations of words any chance he gets. Convinces himself that it just helps him to get more into his new way of life, and not at all because he likes seeing you all excited when he slips a word in your language somewhere in the conversation.

“So how do you say it?” he points to the sentence, messily scribbled on the page with the ballpoint pen he slipped from Gaz. There is a slight frown between your brows – the word looks unfamiliar, more like gibberish than something in your language. You can practically feel the gears in your head screech and come to a halt as you drill Soap’s handwriting with your eyes.

“Oh, wait. You made a mistake here. No wonder I have no idea what this is.” You quickly take the pen and scratch the right version of the word on the paper, while Johnny chuckles at your brutal honesty. He doesn’t say anything though. Some time passes and you’re already correcting other words he wrote down, explaining the right way to say them. And you can feel a pleasant warmth spread in your chest when you can see Soap’s utmost attention directed at you.

Johnny can’t help but feel that moments like these were somewhat of a way to bond for you two. He’d jokingly offer to give you some Scottish classes each time you playfully flick him on the forehead for a word he pronounced wrong. He never expected you to take him up on the offer until the five of you got stuck in a countryside safehouse and essentially had nothing to do while waiting.

On the topic of Eastern European countryside, Price is not an old man by any measure, man’s not even forty yet, but it would grow so massively on him that it’s concerning. When you finally got a good, reliable contact that gave you some useful information you had to lay low for some time in a safe house not far from one of many Makarov’s places where the next weapon deal would be held. And while you waited several days for his people to show up there, obviously almost all of you were bored out of your minds. Not Price though. The man went exploring. Of course, taking you with him (he only wanted company on his small journey through the cozy countryside, don’t blame him).

Soon enough, during your walk you two come across the abundance of berry bushes and fruit trees everywhere, and while you pick something to munch on from them constantly, Price only scolds you. You smirk in response, giving him a handful of ripe mulberries, your lips and fingers now a dark red color from the juice.

“It’s going to rot if nobody eats it. People who plant these trees would rather someone enjoy them instead of fruits just falling on the ground, getting squished, and going to waste.” And Price takes note of that with a small smile. Soon enough the two of you find a spring the whole village uses, a willow standing tall beside it, providing shade for you two to rest, chat a bit, and cool yourself off with fresh water. The fact that there are not many people around also doesn’t miss him. It’s quiet and peaceful, Price finally feels like he has room to breathe with his whole chest.

“You know, I could get used to a life like this.” Price finally mutters, enjoying your simple, comforting presence, walking along the river shore, and hearing the distant sounds of a train passing through the village. You look at him with understanding in your eyes, as you see the tension in his shoulders finally slipping away. Your captain relaxes, which is a pleasant change of pace from the frown on his face that you got used to.

All five of you had to live in the same apartment in an old panel building closer to the edge of town. Not the best place to live, but a good opportunity to blend in with the locals and find leads on Makarov’s criminal “friends”. More than once you’ve found yourself sitting together with Ghost on the balcony that creaked with each blow of the wind, in complete silence while he was smoking some cheap cigarettes that smelled more like burnt paper instead of tobacco.

“Can I join you?” Your voice is a quiet rasp, as you lean against the doorway, pushing the mosquito netting to the side. You couldn’t sleep. Not when the whole world will go down the drain if you fail your mission. Not when it’s been a month already and it felt like you were still right where you started.

“Knock yourself out” the man shrugs, patting the stool near him. You shuffle your bare feet on the newspapers that were laid out on the balcony floor, plopping down on the seat, your eyes immediately getting glued to the view, enjoying the breeze that seeped through the open window. You two sit in silence for so long, but it doesn’t feel awkward, quite on the contrary – weirdly calming and serene.

After that night these nightly smoke breaks became a sort of tradition for you two, a way to wind down after a long day. Ghost would nod towards the balcony, a silent invitation reserved only for you. Regardless of whether you’re a smoker or not, occasionally he would offer you a cigarette from his pack or a hit from the lit one. A gesture of camaraderie.

“Thought you’d be more talkative.” Ghost’s voice sounds gruff after the whole day working your asses off just to discover the lead that you had was absolute bullshit.

“And I thought you weren’t a type for small talk.” You grumble in return, just as annoyed about coming back to this dingy apartment with nothing.

“That I am” He lets out a low chuckle, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray in his hand, avoiding eye contact with you.

Kyle found himself liking your cooking above everything else. The way he would eat anything thrown together in a hurry by you was quite flattering. So soon enough you offered to teach him how to make some of your favorite national dishes, and he couldn’t say no to your offer. So, you decided to start easy – picking out the fresh ingredients. And where do you go to do that? Not a grocery store, no way in hell. The market filled with tons of people is the place you need. A lot cheaper than your usual supermarket too.

The number of times you got discounts for fruits and vegetables on the market from older women just for Gaz’s pretty eyes was insane. He would just blink at you with confusion written all over his face anytime you glanced at him with that smile and refused to explain why you spent a lot less money than expected on the fresh vegetables. At some point, Gaz even questioned his ability to count before you told him just not to worry about it since you got a “very special bargain”. And, obviously, Kyle was the one carrying the plastic bags filled to the brim with fresh produce.

“You know, your version of the dish is not half-bad,” You say, licking the spoon and giving Gaz a wide smile, which he immediately returns to you tenfold. Spending time like this with him was a pleasure. Each minute spent together made you loathe even thinking about the time when you’d have to part ways and you won’t be able to teach him your cultural cuisine like this anymore.

“Well, I have a great teacher to thank for that.” Gaz gives you a charming smile, so glad to finally have a distraction from the constant looming presence of Makarov in his thoughts. Right this moment he caught himself thinking that he was happy they had you here with them. It would be a lot harder if not for you supporting and guiding them through everything. He felt…thankful.

You’d bring the whole Task Force to different cafes that serve your country's most famous dishes, but Kyle would be the one to enjoy these outings the most, barely raising his eyes from the plate to participate in the conversation.

“Wow, are you in a hurry or something? The food won’t run away from you.” You chuckle, while Kyle ignores the odd saying coming from you and continues to eat with the huge appetite he had ever since this undercover mission started.

However, nothing lasts forever, so after finishing their business with you, getting all the information they needed, and “cleaning up the mess” Task Force 141 bids you farewell, returning to their usual duties. Saying goodbye is never easy, even if you knew each other just for several months you still got attached to them, just like they grew very fond of you (as much as some of them hated to admit that). But hey, they promised to visit you after they finish up with Makarov. They promised. And the four of them keep the promises they make.

taglist - @mockerycrow @stridersdiner

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request!

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #mw2 x reader #call of duty x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader

618 notes · View notes

yuri-for-businesswomen · 4 months

Note

What do you think about gay porn? Without women involved and the balance of power restored do you still want it banned? Just curious.

from what ive gathered about gay porn the suicide rate among gay men in porn is quite high, and some men are not even gay but only „gay for pay“. that must take a mental toll. and in gay porn its still often that one man (or several) is dominating the other. „bottoms“ get huge health issues from that. and i think young and impoverished men for example in eastern europe are groomed into it. i would assume that the racist motifs and gross and dehumanising kinks can also be found in gay porn. and weirdly, homophobia. like men in gay porn being called f-got, for example. as one does i stumbled upon some gay porn here and there on tumblr and it looks just as degrading. there might be less of a power imbalance between men because there is no misogyny but there can still be a power imbalance due to experience, age, race, class, etc. and obviously gay porn has the same issues as any porn, did the people in it consent to filming and upload, do they still consent? men are being abused and beaten and get stds and health complications from penetration, some are even drugged, especially if they bottom this can happen.

to make it short: yes im against any prostitution or porn, no matter if the prostituted people are male or female. nobody deserves that, and its damaging to people off all sexualities.

#ask

318 notes · View notes

n0cturna1-m3 · 1 year

Text

Sometimes We Say Things We Don't Mean | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Male Reader | Angst with Comfort

Minors/Fem DNI

Warnings; Alcohol consumption, verbal fighting, decent apologies, hangover, hurt/comfort, this is kinda shite, randomly named character that doesn't matter but they needed a name so 🤷🏻

Request; "reader gets super fucking drunk cuz them and ghost had an argument earlier and they dont know what to do and ghost finds them about to pass out and goes wa wa wa and then they wake up and they hug because ghost thought he was gonna lose them"

A/N; I'm sorry this took so long but for the better part of a month i was like "wtf am i supposed to write for the fight" and then went "ohhh, i can search why couples fight". so work it is!

2.0k words

Y/N leaned against Ghost as he cooked dinner, a comfortable silence between them. He had come home from a long mission, not more than a week ago, and Y/N had missed him the entire time. Now that he was home, they could have gentle moments like this. Ghost could enjoy simplicity in domestic life for a change.

“I like it when you’re home,” Y/N murmured, watching Ghost cook from behind him. His arms were wrapped around his torso as he worked on a soup. “You should stay home more often.”

Ghost’s stirring faltered and he stiffened under Y/N’s embrace.

“I…” He started, grabbing a bowl of mixed spices from beside the stove, “Price informed me about something going on in Eastern Europe… They leave on Tuesday.”

Y/N moved to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, side-eyeing him. “What do you mean by that?”

He didn’t respond, simply swallowing down the uncomfortable feeling in his throat when Y/N pulled away from him to lean on the counter and face him.

“No, don’t ignore me,” Y/N demanded, staring at Ghost, who avoided eye contact at all costs.

“He asked me to go with him and the Task Force to-”

“No,” Y/N cut him off, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean ‘no’, you aren’t going.”

“What makes you think you have the right to tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“I don’t, it’s just,” Y/N stared at his socks as he grew aggravated. “You’ve been home for 5 days. You would leave in, what day is it… Sunday? In one day?” He asked, glancing at Ghost. He had turned off the burner and pushed the pot onto the back burner to settle, turning to face Y/N.

“Yeah,” He responded curtly.

“You think that’s okay? Just, being gone all the time?”

“It’s my job.”

“Well, yeah, I get that, but you can turn this one down. You can spend some more time with me. Price didn’t give you an order or anything, right?”

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

“I know…” He sounded dejected, embarrassed even. “I just… I miss having you here…”

“I know, but I have to do this.”

“Why?!” Y/N shouted, startling Ghost, who jumped at the sudden noise. It wasn’t often that Y/N would yell. He was rather soft-spoken and understanding, so it was almost scary to see him so upset. “Why can’t you be here?! Just for a few more days, that’s all I want!”

“I-” Ghost choked, eyes scanning Y/N’s face.

“I’m sick of it! I hate you leaving me for weeks on end, months, even, and once you come home it’s- it’s all you talk about! Work! I hate it!” Tears beaded in his eyes as he screamed. “I just- I want you, Simon!”

Ghost stared at him speechless. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to articulate a sentence, for the right words to say that would soothe the ache in Y/N’s heart. Nothing could come to mind.

“You said it was okay when we started dating,” He said, eyes dark. Y/N scowled, hot tears falling from his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“This wasn’t what I signed up for. Being neglected.”

“Neglected? Are you kidding?”

Y/N huffed. “It’s not my fault that I feel like y- you love your job more than me.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s mine. It always is, isn’t it?”

“S- Stop it! That’s not wuh- what I meant-”

“No, but it’s what you thought. Listen, I like what I do. You can suck it up and deal with it.”

“I- I know you do, I just-”

“Stop stuttering, for fucks sake!”

Y/N choked out a sob and felt his knees wobble. He puffed out his bottom lip slightly and stared at Ghost with a hurt look. When Y/N was anxious, he would stutter. Ghost knew that he was insecure about that.

“I-” He paused so that he could sound out every word without stumbling over them. “I hate you.”

Ghost twitched, hands flexing around nothing.

“Then leave,” He said without thinking. Y/N whimpered and shoved past Ghost before he could process the words that spilt past his lips.

By the time he did figure out what he said, the front door had slammed shut and Y/N’s coat was gone, his house key still on the hook. He took a shaky breath and walked to their shared bedroom to lie down and cool his head. Maybe a walk would help Y/N regain his thoughts.

“And then- he- he made fun of me,” Y/N sobbed, choking on tears while he drank a beer. “Then he told me to leave.”

“Oh, my god…” The bartender murmured. She was one of Y/N’s close friends, and he always took the bus to get to her bar when he was upset. “What a cunt!” She exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’re dating that bastard!”

“Ally, gimme a scotch,” He said before finishing his beer. “And another beer.”

That went on for some time. Drinking and sobbing and ranting, Ally listened to every word with a comforting presence.

“Do you think…” Ally turned her head from where she was fixing someone a pint of Guinness, “that it’s my fault?” Ally turned back to the glass, placing it down so it could settle, before walking over to Y/N again.

“Maybe a little,” She said, reaching out to wipe his cheeks with a towel that was in her apron. His face was burning hot, and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Y/N cried harder at her words, and she continued to wipe them off his face. “But you came from a good place. You should talk to him with a level head.”

Y/N looked at her with snot running down his nose. “He hates me.”

“No, I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, darling.” She walked back to the Guinness to fill it the rest of the way before handing it to an older gentleman who took it with a smile. Y/N watched her as he felt the beginning of a migraine seep through the back of his skull, creeping into his brow bone and making the back of his eyes ache. Beer doesn’t substitute water well, especially when you’re expelling all of it through your face for hours on end. His eyes drooped and his head felt heavy, so he went limp and let his forehead smack against the bar.

“BloodyJesus!” Ally jumped, glaring at Y/N. Her gaze softened at his pitiful figure: an odd bloke, drunk off his arse, sobbing in the furthest corner of the bar. It was a miracle he hadn’t thrown up yet. “Christ, don’t you dare blackout in my bar, Y/N.”

Ally’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out to check the caller ID. ‘Simon’. She huffed and picked up, pressing it to her ear and being met with a very frantic Ghost.

“Have- Have you seen Y/N? We had a fight, he left and I- He hasn’t come home yet. I’m worried,” He said. He sounded close to tears if they weren’t already falling. A thick frog in his throat was making him choke on his words.

Ally sighed and looked at Y/N, who had managed to lift his head and reach for his unfinished beer. She smacked his hand away and grabbed the glass. “I’ve got ‘im.”

“Fuck, thank god. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

“What? It’s a 20-minute drive, how the hell are you… He’s hung up on me,” Ally groaned, pocketing her phone and dumping the beer in the sink. Y/N whined at the sight but didn’t audibly complain. Not in English at least.

“Gimme another,” He slurred, leaning on one of his arms. Ally shook her head and tended to another customer, fixing him a glass of whiskey and setting it in front of them.

She glanced at the front door when it burst open not 10 minutes later, slightly peeved at the sudden loud intrusion, and more so at the fact that it wasn’t a regular. Her eyes softened, however, as she saw that it was Simon. He was frantically scanning the room, noticing Ally and rushing over to her before seeing Y/N, utterly ossified and nearly asleep.

“You get this drunk out of my pub,” She said. He nodded and wordlessly helped Y/N up, wrapping an arm around him before deciding that he would fare better at bringing him home by lifting him up. Ally watched as Ghost lifted Y/N up onto his back with ease, piggybacking him.

“Thank you,” He said quietly. Ally shook her hand and shooed him, desperate to get this show out of her pub and back onto the streets where it belonged. As the door closed behind Ghost, one of the men sat at the bar looked at Ally with a confused face.

“What the feck was that holy show?” He asked, leaning forward as if it were a secret.

“Two very sad man-children.”

Y/N woke up in bed with a hangover feeling entirely shattered. He groaned and shrank back under the blankets, burying his face in his pillow to avoid the blinding morning sun.

“Oh my god…” He whimpered, rubbing his eyebrows with his fingers and groaning again. He heard the bedroom door open, but couldn’t will himself to look over to see who it was.

“Good morning,” Ghost said, walking beside the bed and setting a cold glass of water on the nightstand with 3 Dexibuprofen and a Lucozade Sport. “For your hangover.”

Y/N poked his head out of his little cocoon to look at Ghost, who was now crouched down to be eye level with him, his eyes welling up with tears at the stupid, sorry look on his face. Y/N reached out his hand and cupped his face, rubbing his stubbly cheek with his thumb. Simon leaned into his touch, eyes glossy as he looked at Y/N.

“ ‘M sorry…” Y/N whispered. His head was throbbing, but Simon was here in front of him and that was good enough for him. “I don’t hate you…”

“I know,” He responded, cupping Y/N’s hand and moving it to press a kiss to his palm. “You worried me.”

He blinked away his tears and leaned in to kiss Y/N softly, who welcomed it tenderly, holding the back of Simon’s neck. He pulled back and rested their foreheads against each other, gazing into each other's eyes carefully.

“Could you,” Simon whispered, “say that you love me?” His voice cracked at the end, his face reddening slightly with embarrassment as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“I love you, Simon,” Y/N said, leaning in to kiss him again. “I love you.”

“Take your pain killers,” He said, pulling away from Y/N so he could sit up enough to drink the pills down.

A wave of relief washed over his face when he swallowed a mouthful of cold water. It felt as though it went straight to his migraine, cooling his brain that was aching. His eyes finally felt like they weren't going to pop out of their sockets.

Simon watched as Y/N began to relax. He drank so quickly that water dripped down his chin and onto his chest. Simon smiled at Y/N with a certain fondness that was reserved just for him. A smile that only he had seen, or one that maybe Soap or Price would see a glimpse of when thinking of him.

Y/N finished the glass and set it on the side table, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and looking at Simon.

“Will you lay with me?” He asked. He looked tired again, and Simon felt tired, too.

“Yeah,” He said, crawling into bed with Y/N and laying with his head on his chest. “I love you.”

#cod x male reader #x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley x male reader #ghost x reader #ghost x male reader #cod x reader #modern warefare 2 x reader #mw2 x male reader #mw2 x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

1K notes · View notes

thunderboltfire · 2 months

Text

I have a lot of complicated feelings when it comes to what Neflix has done with the Witcher, but my probably least favourite is the line of argumentation that originated during shitstorms related to the first and second season that I was unlucky to witness.

It boils down to "Netflix's reinterpretation and vision is valid, because the Witcher books are not written to be slavic. The overwhelming Slavic aestetic is CDPR's interpretation, and the setting in the original books is universally European, as there are references to Arthurian mythos and celtic languages" And I'm not sure where this argument originated and whether it's parroting Sapkowski's own words or a common stance of people who haven't considered the underlying themes of the books series. Because while it's true that there are a lot of western european influences in the Witcher, it's still Central/Eastern European to the bone, and at its core, the lack of understanding of this topic is what makes the Netflix series inauthentic in my eyes.

The slavicness of the Witcher goes deeper than the aestetics, mannerisms, vodka and sour cucumbers. Deeper than Zoltan wrapping his sword with leopard pelt, like he was a hussar. Deeper than the Redanian queen Hedvig and her white eagle on the red field.

What Witcher is actually about? It's a story about destiny, sure. It's a sword-and-sorcery style, antiheroic deconstruction of a fairy tale, too, and it's a weird mix of many culture's influences.

But it's also a story about mundane evil and mundane good. If You think about most dark, gritty problems the world of Witcher faces, it's xenophobia and discrimination, insularism and superstition. Deep-seated fear of the unknown, the powerlessness of common people in the face of danger, war, poverty and hunger. It's what makes people spit over their left shoulder when they see a witcher, it's what makes them distrust their neighbor, clinging to anything they deem safe and known. It's their misfortune and pent-up anger that make them seek scapegoats and be mindlessly, mundanely cruel to the ones weaker than themselves.

There are of course evil wizards, complicated conspiracies and crowned heads, yes. But much of the destruction and depravity is rooted in everyday mundane cycle of violence and misery. The worst monsters in the series are not those killed with a silver sword, but with steel. it's hard to explain but it's the same sort of motiveless, mundane evil that still persist in our poorer regions, born out of generations-long poverty and misery. The behaviour of peasants in Witcher, and the distrust towards authority including kings and monarchs didn't come from nowhere.

On the other hand, among those same, desperately poor people, there is always someone who will share their meal with a traveller, who will risk their safety pulling a wounded stranger off the road into safety. Inconditional kindness among inconditional hate. Most of Geralt's friends try to be decent people in the horrible world. This sort of contrasting mentalities in the recently war-ridden world is intimately familiar to Eastern and Cetral Europe.

But it doesn't end here. Nilfgaard is also a uniquely Central/Eastern European threat. It's a combination of the Third Reich in its aestetics and its sense of superiority and the Stalinist USSR with its personality cult, vast territory and huge army, and as such it's instantly recognisable by anybody whose country was unlucky enough to be caught in-between those two forces. Nilfgaard implements total war and looks upon the northerners with contempt, conscripts the conquered people forcibly, denying them the right of their own identity. It may seem familiar and relevant to many opressed people, but it's in its essence the processing of the trauma of the WW2 and subsequent occupation.

My favourite case are the nonhumans, because their treatment is in a sense a reminder of our worst traits and the worst sins in our history - the regional antisemitism and/or xenophobia, violence, local pogroms. But at the very same time, the dilemma of Scoia'Tael, their impossible choice between maintaining their identity, a small semblance of freedom and their survival, them hiding in the forests, even the fact that they are generally deemed bandits, it all touches the very traumatic parts of specifically Polish history, such as January Uprising, Warsaw Uprising, Ghetto Uprising, the underground resistance in WW2 and the subsequent complicated problem of the Cursed Soldiers all at once. They are the 'other' to the general population, but their underlying struggle is also intimately known to us.

The slavic monsters are an aestetic choice, yes, but I think they are also a reflection of our local, private sins. These are our own, insular boogeymen, fears made flesh. They reproduce due to horrors of the war or they are an unprovoked misfortune that descends from nowhere and whose appearance amplifies the local injustices.

I'm not talking about many, many tiny references that exist in the books, these are just the most blatant examples that come to mind. Anyway, the thing is, whether Sapkowski has intended it or not, Witcher is slavic and it's Polish because it contains social commentary. Many aspects of its worldbuilding reflect our traumas and our national sins. It's not exclusively Polish in its influences and philosophical motifs of course, but it's obvious it doesn't exist in a vacuum.

And it seems to me that the inherently Eastern European aspects of Witcher are what was immediately rewritten in the series. It seems to me that the subtler underlying conflicts were reshaped to be centered around servitude, class and gender disparity, and Nilfgaard is more of a fanatic terrorist state than an imposing, totalitarian empire. A lot of complexity seems to be abandoned in lieu of usual high-fantasy wordbuilding. It's especially weird to me because it was completely unnecessary. The Witcher books didn't need to be adjusted to speak about relevant problems - they already did it! The problem of acceptance and discrimination is a very prevalent theme throughout the story! They are many strong female characters too, and they are well written. Honestly I don't know if I should find it insulting towards their viewers that they thought it won't be understood as it was and has to be somehow reshaped to fit the american perpective, because the current problems are very much discussed in there and Sapkowski is not subtle in showing that genocide and discrimination is evil. Heck, anyone who has read the ending knows how tragic it makes the whole story.

It also seems quite disrespectful, because they've basically taken a well-established piece of our domestic literature and popular culture and decided that the social commentary in it is not relevant. It is as if all it referenced was just not important enough and they decided to use it as an opportunity to talk about the problems they consider important. And don't get me wrong, I'm not forcing anyone to write about Central European problems and traumas, I'm just confused that they've taken the piece of art already containing such a perspective on the popular and relevant problem and they just... disregarded it, because it wasn't their exact perspective on said problem.

And I think this homogenisation, maybe even from a certain point of view you could say it's worldview sanitisation is a problem, because it's really ironic, isn't it? To talk about inclusivity in a story which among other problems is about being different, and in the same time to get rid of motifs, themes and references because they are foreign? Because if something presents a different perspective it suddenly is less desirable?

There was a lot of talking about the showrunners travelling to Poland to understand the Witcher's slavic spirit and how to convey it. I don't think they really meant it beyond the most superficial, paper-thin facade.

#The witcher #Sorry if its convoluted I just got reminded of something and it made me a little angry #and as I had this conversation a lot of times I've decided to put it into written text #sorry about being bitter #but these are some of my favourite books and I'm still upset when I get reminded how badly they were treated in the recent adaptation #I'm not saying you should never change anything #But it's good to have enough background to understand why some things are the way they are in the original #and to understand what the source material is about #we don't talk about particular character's looks or something (altough I feel they could care more about it too)#but central themes tropes and motifs #long post #it may seem like I'm talking from a high horse here #people are welcome to interpret literature however they want #Nobody has a monopol on themes #I just think that in this particular case the cultural context influences the worldbuilding #and if changed it doesn't have the same impact anymore #meta

154 notes · View notes

cissyenthusiast010155 · 24 days

Text

Take Me Back to Shore ~Broken!Wifey!Larissa Weems xComforting!Wifey!Alcina Dimitrescu(AlrissaAU)

Summary— AU where Larissa and Alcina are wives, in a long distance relationship where Larissa works to run Nevermore in Vermont and Alcina runs Castle Dimitrescu in Eastern Europe. They see each other as much as possible, but the distance starts to really take a toll on Larissa… Luckily, Alcina is there to comfort her wife.

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: little angst, happy ending fluff, implied panic attack, anxiety, self-conscious, insecurity, crying, burn out, long distance relationships, comforting, loving wives, happy ending, etc.

Enjoy (;

Larissa sighed deeply as her bright screen strained her eyes to the point of incompetence. With a groan she shut her laptop, looking out her office window, she realized how late it was. The woman felt a pang of guilt as she pulled out her phone and hit the first contact on the screen. The phone dialed. The blonde hadn’t talked to her wife all week and it was Friday.

She had just been so busy, this time of year her workload tripled, the end of the school year coming near, or at least it felt like it. Running a school was not a feat for the weak. Plus, Larissa didn’t want to bug her partner too much, she knew that Alcina led a life of her own, and had her own responsibilities as well. The woman was pulled out of her thoughts by a familiar voice on speaker.

“My love?”

“Darling, Hello…!”

She heard Alcina expel a sigh across the phone.

“It is lovely to hear your voice, Draga Mea. I’ve had the longest day. How was your week?”

Larissa couldn’t help but wonder if she had interrupted the woman while doing something if she was so busy. Her mind nagged her, wondering if Alcina had even thought about her, missed her this past week. The two women only saw each other on the weekends or on breaks, due to the nature of their jobs.

The two of them had met each other while vacationing in Geneva. They had immediately hit it off, spending all of their time together by the end of the week. When the heavenly vacation eventually came to an end, Larissa and Alcina had to part ways, each going back home. But they vowed to keep in contact. Over the years, they chatted over the phone and would visit one another as much as they could. Five years later, they were married. But this long distance was starting to chip away at Larissa. Larissa groaned.

“Long. What about yours? I do hope I’m not interrupting anything…” The blonde breathed out.

“Oh Draga, I am sorry. And nonsense, you never interrupt. I am sure my day was nothing compared to yours. How close are you to being done? Will you be coming home tonight?” Alcina insisted.

That wasn’t true, Larissa interrupted all the time. She had called Alcina five times last week, that’s why she hadn’t called once before today this week. She felt like a burden. Alcina kept such a busy life, running her castle and village, Larissa never wanted to interfere with that. She felt that every call or text she made was a price to pay, a toll taken on her soul. Nevertheless, Alcina insisted that Larissa was a priority. It hadn’t always felt this way. Maybe it had just been a long week…

Spending extended time away from the love of her life never did Larissa any good. It was easy for the blonde to get inside her head and let her thoughts spiral her into a slippery slope of depression and anxiety. Larissa dragged her mind from the depths of the sea back to the shore, back to Alcina. She let out a pitiful sigh.

“Not done, no. Not even close… There is simply too much to do. Might have to stay the weekend to get it all done…” The blonde mumbled, bringing her hands to cover her face in shame of the words coming out of her mouth

“Oh ‘Rissa Mea… Please come home. Work from here if you must. You’ve been all on your own for so long, I can hear it in your voice.” Her raven haired wife cooed lovingly.

Larissa squeezed her head. She felt so conflicted, so overwhelmed. Should she go home? She had heard her wife’s plea for her to return, and part of her believed it. But another part of her mind was screaming at her that she didn’t deserve it, that Alcina was saying these things out of pity. Alcina didn’t want her. She could only stand to spend as little time with her as possible. She was a mere impediment, a nuisance in her wife’s life.

Larissa suddenly smacked herself in the head. She had to get these thoughts out, she couldn’t think properly. It was too overwhelming. She cringed to herself, gnawing at her teeth as she curled into a ball in her chair at her desk in her office. Alone, as always. She had remained quiet for too long. She had given herself away and now it was Alcina’s problem to deal with.

“ ‘Rissa? Draga? My love, please talk to me.” Alcina pleaded, concern and care lacing her entire tone of voice.

Larissa couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. I’m not wanted. I’m worthless. I’m useless. No one wants me. Her mind broadcasted those phrases over and over again, on a merciless loop. She was hyperventilating, shaking in her chair. Tears began to stream down her face. Her nails clawed at her skin, just wanting to feel something, anything rather than the pain radiating throughout her entire being. She was going to drown, she was being dragged back to the depths of the sea. But Alcina was her anchor.

“Take deep breaths for me, Draga Mea. Deep breaths. Find some peppermint and some water. Let us talk through it.” Alcina calmly instructed her wife.

Larissa nodded shakily, slowly untangling herself and doing as she was told. Once she popped a peppermint in her mouth, had a few sips of water, and did some deep breathing with Alcina, she sat back down with some sniffles. Alcina then proceeded to talk Larissa through it, debunking all of the blonde’s anxious thoughts with loving ease, until the blonde was calm and reassured that she was indeed loved, wanted, and worthy.

“I… I’m sorry” the blonde stammered after a period of silence.

“Nonsense, my love. Now, please come home. This week has obviously affected you more than you know or care to admit, and you have no one to take care of you over there. Come home and be with me.”

Larissa nodded and stifled a little, as a little tear of love escaped her right eye.

“I will, Alci, I promise. Thank you, I love you so much” the blonde breathed out.

“I love you too, Draga Mea. See you soon.” her raven haired wife hummed

All Larissa had to do was reach out; Alcina would always be there for her.

~~~

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist

Larissa Weems Masterlist

122 notes · View notes

incognitopolls · 4 months

Note

most active time of day on tumblr since it's after work or school for the majority of people in the US and catches the night owls in most of Europe as well. // And not one thought for the rest of the world, it's mostly third world countries, anyway 💀

My earlier response wasn't about "blah blah I only think the US and UK use the internet," but I am sorry if that's how it came across.

My response was about social media and maximizing engagement numbers. One oversight on my part was that Africa has many of the same time zones as Europe, and should have been included in my statement. However, It's generally understood that tumblr is most heavily used by Americans and Europeans; I did some searching and although it's hard to find very much concrete numerical data, people generally agree that the most active time on tumblr is between 5pm and 1am Eastern Standard Time (UTC-5). This information is frequently given to writers and artists on tumblr as advice to help increase the visibility of their work.

Taking a look back through past polls on this blog, here's one about what you call your parents and what area of the world you're from. Out of 8,600 responses, the Americas (North and South) account for 60.6%, and Europe accounts for 28.3%. All other surveyed regions combined (Asia, Africa, and Oceania) make up 11.1% of responses.

Here's a graph of this blog's activity for the last month.

It's hard to see– I wish tumblr made it easier to collect data– but each of those peaks is between 8pm and 11pm EST (UTC-5). Some of that is from the polls posted on each of those nights, but most of the polls on this blog tend to steadily gain notes over the course of the week, not all at once as soon as they're posted– those peaks in activity are mostly from people interacting with polls posted on previous days.

My decision to target Western time zones with the timing of these polls is based solely on the fact that this is what results in the most responses and widest spread of any given post. Again, if I have been dismissive of any area of the world, I apologize.

Just for you, here's a geography poll.

#not polls

212 notes · View notes

esotericpluto · 1 year

Text

where is your future spouse from

from left to right; intuitively choose the pile you feel more connected to. To make it easier, you can take a deep breathe, close your eyes and ask for guidance to your deities or guides. These are all general messages, so just take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This reading is timeless. If it resonates, feedback is always appreciated and motivates to keep doing pick a card readings. You can donate here.

dividers: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

pile 1

I feel like for most of you who picked this pile this person is of Asian descent. Keep in mind that Asia is a big country with many countries and ethnic groups, so I will try to break it down more.

I do feel like for some of you who chose this pile, your future spouse might be of korean origin, but I feel like they will be half white and/or live in the west, like Europe or North America. This message seems to be more true for those of you who have strong scorpio, aquarius and possibly aries influences in your chart. If your name starts with C, E or P or has a more vintage vibe to it, it can still be for you.

For another group who chose this pile, I'm sensing someone of indian origin, I'm getting they could be kashmir and, for some of you, even telugu as well. This feels especially true for those of you that have a strong sagittarius or leo influence in your charts or if your name starts by A, L or U.

I am getting for a minority of people who chose this pile, your fs might be of levantine origin, mainly lebanese and/or palestinian, living most likely in Lebanon, for some of you, or in Southern Europe as of now. I feel like this message is especially true for those of you with strong scorpio, taurus or libra placements. Especially those who get M, S or V as first names.

pile 2

For this pile, I'm specifically getting southeast asian, most likely indonesian and/or malay. I feel like they might be living in Singapore right now. If you are a capricorn, a virgo or a cancer or have strong influences from these signs, this might be the ethnicity of your fs.

I'm getting potentially someone is of sub-saharian african descent mixed with european for some people who picked this pile. I'm getting this person might have ancestors from different parts of Africa and Europe and I'm getting difficulty pinpointing some exact places. I feel like for some of you, they might be west african and partially british. For others, this person could be afrolatino from the caribbean. Signs for this one I'm only getting scorpio and pisces, but I'm also gettingthe initials C, M and D.

There is a smaller group of you that could have a fs from a eastern african country too, potentially Ethiopia or Somalia. I'm getting this is likely true for you especially if you always enjoyed cultures and foods from different african countries, if you like the color red or if your name starts by J, F or E. Potentially if you like orange or are a capricorn rising/sun/moon.

pile 3

I'm getting a strong european influence here. I feel like this person might be italian and, for some of you, of a similar background like iberian, balkan or greek. You will meet them while on a trip to their country or city, if you are from the same country. This might resonate the most with those of you who like the color green, to wear t-shirts or whose name starts with B. If you are a cancer, leo, libra or taurus, this might also be true for you.

For others of you, I'm getting this person might be mexican, likely of a mestizo background. I feel like they might be in the US living right now, although for some it could even be Canada. This might resonate more with you if you like green vegetables like spinach or broccoli, if you like coke, if you like the colors red and pink, if you like mermaids or are of strong aquarius, aries or gemini.

For some of you, although a larger minority, your fs might also be argentinian or brazillian. This can be true especially if you like soccer (I think this one are my guides joking), cinema, romance movies/books, the color white and pink, lana del rey. Alternatively, if your name starts by N, A or Z and your signs are leo, virgo or cancer.

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #fs pac #fs pac reading #fs pick a card #future spouse readings #future spouse pac #future spouse pick a card #free readings #intuitive readings #tarot readings #love readings #love pac readings #free intuitive readings #free tarot readings

804 notes · View notes