#Cooking Island

[toyastales]

Grilled Thai Coconut Chicken Skewers

[shiny-eyed-corvid]

Coney Island beach day finds 8.10.24

[autiwara]

In limbo rn so heres some random Kim doodles

[oldphotosnobodycaresabout]

[vintagecamping]

Camfrie cooking on St. Helens Island

Montreal, Quebec

1955

[copeeum]

she ale on my eel till i noah

[dream-world-universe]

Cook Islands Dancers, Cook Islands: The culture of the Cook Islands reflects the traditions of its fifteen islands as a Polynesian island country, spread over 1,800,000 square kilometres in the South Pacific Ocean. It is in free association with New Zealand. Its traditions are based on the influences of those who settled the islands over several centuries. Polynesian people from Tahiti settled in the Cook Islands in the 6th century. Most Cook Islanders are also citizens of New Zealand. Wikipedia

[tropic-havens]

Rarotonga, Cook Islands

[leitranada]

🌞Manifesting a golden summer this year 🤞🏽

[lanadelreis]

drake: haha i’m gonna diss kendrick

kendrick lamar’s honest to god reaction:

[arctic-bookclub]

oh also one thing that i realized just now: qbagi’s initial suspicion over what’s happening to qphil being tied to the federation is technically not wrong

you know what drew qphil’s deities’ interest to him and quesadilla island? the birdcage. rose said in her earliest message ”I could sense the bleeding heart of the one I once knew, far, far away”. the deities noticed qphil had disappeared, and maybe they were curious to know what had happened, but the thing that drove them to find him was rose’s want to help him. and if she really was the one that freed him from the cage (and it’s heavily hinted she was), that birdcage undeniably was the thing that launched all of this into action.

how the enderking figured out that qphil had been weakened? we don’t know, maybe he sensed it, maybe he had already been observing him, maybe he noticed rose leaving to look for qphil, it doesn’t really matter. what does matter is that the trauma qphil got from being locked in that cage is what gave the enderking the perfect opportunity to strike. and is what led us to where we are now in the story. so even thought the federation isn’t ultimately the one tormenting qphil right now, it can still all be traced back to them and their continual abuses of power :)

[mixu2]

when your fandom is so dead, that you can only see a small amount of fanart's and edit from a years ago..

[randomationality]

i goofed up EVERYTHING

this is my pre-war AU btw of Orion Pax and D-16/Meg (humanformers ig)

headcanon that Dee draws tivaivai patterns on his vest

(also if you're wondering what Dee's doing, it's called a manuwave, something in NZ yeah where you throw your hand or whole arm and flick your hand open)

also speaking of tivaivai,

ITS COOK ISLAND LANGUAGE WEEK EVERYONE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY COOK ISLAND LANGUAGE WEEK EVERYONE

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[quenepacrossing]

Roswell’s pad

[hades-in-bloom]

Al Dente

Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

summary: he might be of Italian descent, but he still can’t nail cooking pasta.

warnings & contents: assumed older Leon, but could be of any period; assumed age gap, but could be none; reader could be of any gender; fluff with attitude and smth that could be considered a prelude with grabbing and kisses; mentions of drinking; no pasta recipes, really, just stupid banter; a little bit of manhandling

a/n: am not Italian, so please let me know if I’ve committed any blasphemy. Also, this is one silly piece of writing because I’m de-stressing and can’t write anything serious, but am also obsessed with Leon tapping into his Italian descent. As always, proceed with caution and at your own risk; minors DNI! Masterlist

***

‘Oh, I swear…’ Leon mumbled, taking a look into the deep cylindrical pot that was cooking on the stove; the water boiling merrily. Kennedy sighed; he got distracted for a few minutes while taking a call from D.S.O.—which seemed enough for a batch of pasta to turn into goo.

Again.

Leon huffed out a bad word, lifted the pot from the heat, and dropped it straight into the sink without any attempt to retrieve its doughy contents. The man cracked open another beer bottle and took a sip, visibly consumed with heavy thoughts; the number of beers had perfectly correlated with the number of unsuccessfully cooked batches of pasta. Although Leon has never encouraged food waste, this time the big and scary D.S.O. agent refused to give up, steadily losing his sobriety with each try.

You watched him suffer for quite a while, half through the bottle of wine yourself—because grabbing popcorn would be too obvious and undoubtedly rude, although the show was getting more entertaining by the minute; Leon’s frustration was evident.

‘How’s it going?’ you hummed from behind his back. You did your best to hide your smirk.

Leon groaned. He knew you were having a laugh; who wouldn't in that situation, anyway.

‘I’d rather shoot a horde of zombies,’ Kennedy mumbled. He took another sip of his beer and hummed, assessing the situation. ‘Also, I'm running out of pasta.’

You were convinced he deserved the roast; however, his genuinely concerned facial expression made you chuckle.

‘Should we take a break?’ you tilted your head slightly, watching his reaction.

‘We?’ Leon raised his eyebrow, giving you a side-eye. ‘I am getting tortured. What exactly are you doing?’

You thought about it briefly; took a sip from your wine glass.

‘I guess I should be qualified as moral support?’ you assumed.

Leon scoffed, then couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He turned around, facing you; his eyes trained on your features then.

‘I bet you don’t know how to cook a proper al dente either.’

‘You bet?’ wine was your liquid courage, so you might have been too venturesome at that moment. Neither of you complained, though. The man of the hour was intrigued. ‘What if I were to cook you the nicest al dente pasta you’ve ever eaten, Kennedy?’

Scott snorted in a friendly manner and folded his arms over his chest.

‘Ever eaten is a bold claim, sweetheart,’ he teased, his smile growing wider. ‘My family were immigrants from Italy, you know that, right?’

You shrugged his comment off light-heartedly.

‘If I lose, I lose, right? And you could claim your prize,’ you smirked. Oh, you had no doubts he was interested.

His gaze bore into yours for a second; then his features relaxed, although you still could see his shoulders tense—you let it slip.

‘Alright, go forth and forward,’ he smirked; his stare spoke volumes. ‘I will start thinking of what you owe me in return when you screw it up.’

You quickly cleaned up the kitchen countertop, allowing clean water to boil one more in the cooking pot while you measured two portions of store-bought pasta.

Leon watched your actions over your shoulder before you felt his large palms on your hips.

‘Nicely done,’ he murmured from under your earlobe.

You knew he wouldn't be able to play fair; he wasn't big on losing, whether major or minor—and you cooking pasta al dente better than him, taking into account his heritage, was a below-the-belt insult to him. Thus, he didn't mind deploying desperate measures.

‘That’s cheating, Kennedy,’ you muttered, putting the batch of pasta into the pot.

‘I don't remember me touching you being against whatever rules,’ he hummed, placing his lips on your neck. Your heartbeat fastened. ‘Fairly, I don't remember us discussing any rules.’

‘You’ll regret it when I win,’ you claimed. Leon glanced into your pot once again. ‘A couple of minutes more…’ You hummed.

���How do you know the perfect timing?’ he moaned into your ear. You smirked.

‘Who knows, maybe it would be awful…’ you teased, and he shook his head.

‘No, it won’t,’ Leon concluded quickly and, by lifting you up, grabbed you onto his shoulder. You squealed, losing the ground from under your feet, and clung onto his t-shirt from the back in an attempt to keep your balance.

‘Oh, you fiend!’ you watched him turn off the stove before dragging you into the bedroom. ‘That was our dinner!’

‘I think you're right—we should take a break; maybe, we could order pizza…’ he hummed. You groaned in response, helplessly hanging from his height, his hand holding you tight right under your asscheeks.

Leon let you slide from his shoulder onto the mattress in the bedroom, hovering over you in the next second. His lips barely touched yours when he smirked and watched you blush then.

‘…after I finish with the appetizer.’