#Marcus Parsley

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter three: thursday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide

word count: 3.4k

summary: you and carmy finally find some time to catch up and carmy begins to realize that you're more similar than he thinks.

a/n: thank you to all who are reading, reblogging, and commenting omg. i'm so grateful that someone wanted to read this story. i wrote it in a week because i couldn't get these two out of my head. they were begging to be put on the page. i also have a companion playlist that i'll release when the story is done because i don't want to spoil anything! comment below if you'd like to be added to this story's taglist. i did presumptuously add a few of you i've interacted with, so please let me know if you'd also like to be taken off of it.

read: part two | masterlist

Thursday

You’re grateful that by day three, you’d been able to smooth over some of the tension between you and Carmy. You even looked forward to catching up with him, if the two of you can swing it. Instead of going home early, you had jumped on the line this evening. Ebra was out for the night and Marcus had asked to fly solo on prep so that you could give him some feedback before lunch service tomorrow morning. 

It was an easy decision, to fill in and jump on the line. After all, you had checked your bag on the plane so that you could bring your knife roll with you, just in case. There was something about this kitchen – the energy and the people – that you wanted to stick around for. And it didn’t hurt that you got to spend a little extra time with Carmy. When he was in his element, expediting and leading this kitchen… he was… breathtaking. 

“Damn, nice knife, Jeff” Tina comments, checking out the santoku you’re running through some parsley. She can hear the crisp, clean cuts you're making, which is what caught her attention in the first place.

“Jeff?” you question, shooting her a look. 

“Long story, but trust me. It’s a term of endearment,” Sydney interjects, from her side of the prep station. 

You chuckle, “She’s a beauty alright. My first fully Japanese knife. Though the steel is a bitch to take care of. That’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?” Tina questions further. 

“Well, it’s just a kind of metal alloy that’s super prone to-,” you start, completing your sentence at the same time as Sydney chimes in.

“Rusting,” you both say in unison, sharing a look. 

“Huh,” Tina sounds, suddenly losing interest. “I don’t get it. It’s more work to take care of? Our shit’s part-plastic and does the job just fine.”

“Oh but she’s so smooth,” you playfully swoon, referring to how beautifully the knife performs for you. 

“It’s all about the performance, T,” Sydney adds. 

Tina hums in response, still unconvinced by you and Sydney’s admiration for the fancy tools. 

“So you and Carmy. How’d you meet Jeff?” Tina inquires further geturing her knife towards Carmy’s expediting station, and eliciting another laugh from you and Sydney.

“Uhhhh… we both worked at the same restaurant in New York. I came in to stage and the competitive jerk tried to smoke me. Thought he could show me it was his territory.”

“Like a little bitch,” Tina teases, the shade evident in her voice.

“And you kicked his ass obviously,” Sydney suggests, hopefully. 

“Mhm,” Tina adds in agreement.

“Oh absolutely,” you answer, deviously. “I walked out with a job that night. Carmy and I are the classic kitchen staff case of… enemies turned good friends.” 

You look up from your station, noticing an exchanged look between Sydney and Tina. 

It’s the kind of look that says, Just friends, huh?

“Alright, alright. Enough with the girl talk, gossip girls. News flash: no one gives a shit about fuckin’ Tom Colicchio and Padma Whatserface over here,” Richie interrupts, referring to the you and Carmy, as he passes by with a few empty storage containers on the way to the dishwashing station. 

“Asshole / Fuck off, Richie,” Sydney and Tina shout back at the same time. 

“Hey! Listen up, everyone! Fire two spaghettis, two short ribs, one chicken,” Carmy calls out to the kitchen. You listen attentively, hearing the chorus of the entire kitchen repeat the order back to him, punctuating the order with a ‘heard.’ 

You smile to yourself, as you enjoy the feeling of falling into such a familiar rhythm. 

You’ve missed working in the kitchen, and you’ve missed working in the kitchen with Carmy. This was so different than any of the bullshit you’ve been through together – even when he is arguing or yelling at someone. It’s not some sterile environment that looks more like a science lab or an operation room than it does a kitchen.

No, this place has soul. 

Between the crass kitchen banter, the less than flattering nicknames, and its wild cast of characters, it’s only day three and you feel right at home. Dinner service flies by and you’re eager to check in with Marcus by the end of the shift. Before taking your apron off, you head over to his corner of the kitchen. 

“Hey, how’s everything going, chef?” you ask, curiously. 

“Good, chef,” he answers proudly. “I got the brioche covered and ready to rise overnight and I prepped the cake donuts so we’re ready to roll tomorrow morning. I went with a blueberry cake donut this time around.” 

“Sounds great. I can’t wait to try it, chef,” you reply. “Need anything from me before I head out for the night?”

“Oh no, uh, I’m almost done here,” Marcus answers, inspiring confidence in his ability. “Just workin’ on a curd for the filling, chef. Just like you taught me.”

“Alright,” you chuckle, tickled by how excited he is. “Have a good night, chef.” You pause, wondering if your words will be totally lost on him. “And make sure you get some rest tonight, okay?” 

He responds with a nod, as you leave his station.

You make your way to the locker area, hanging your apron up, and slipping off your kitchen sneakers, before taking a seat on the bench. It looks like most of the kitchen staff got a head start on you and have already left, or are out of their kitchen clothes and ready to head home. There’s a strange feeling in your heart. You haven’t felt this kind of… community… in a professional kitchen in a long time and you try your best to name what it is you’ve felt was missing. 

“Hey,” you hear a voice say, pulling you from your thoughts. 

“Hey,” you say to Carmy. 

He removes his apron, folding it over his forearm. It sits further down his arm, right near his tattooed hand, you notice, as he leans his side against the lockers. 

“Thanks for jumpin’ in… you know… on the line tonight,” he starts his gaze practically piercing through your soul. 

“Yeah, it’s uh, no problem,” you reply, placing your knife roll and kitchen shoes back into your locker. “I had fun.”

“You uh, you still want to go for that drink?” he asks, shyly. 

You smile. 

“Yeah.”

*

“It’s fucked up,” Carmy shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Oh please. What?” you groan, shooting him a look.

“You’ve been in my city for… what three days now and you already have a hookup at one of the hardest to get into bars here,” Carmy replies, eliciting a laugh from you. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh with a playful eye roll. “I’m a New Yorker, asshole. You know that’s how we do it.” 

He shakes his head again, before locking eyes with you, “You were always better at it than me.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you, Carmen Berzatto, finally admitting that I’m better at something than you? Can you say it again, and I’m just going to-.” you tease, playfully, pulling out your phone as if you’re going to film him saying it. 

“Oh shut up…” he shoots back, gently pushing your phone away from his face. 

“I mean, you could always make friends with anyone. The bodega guy downstairs. The fuckin’ bodega cat. Our favorite butcher? ‘S why we always got the good cuts of meat when we cooked together on our days off.” 

“Which is exactly why I do it,” you point out. 

You had always been so magnetic to him. It’s something that he’s always admired about you – something that always reminded him of Mikey. 

“No, I-, I used to be a regular at this bar when I was working at Gramercy Tavern – actually, I think it closed right before you came to New York. Anyways, found out my favorite bartender moved to Chicago and I sent him a message letting him know I’d be in town. Said he’d get us in even if they were booked up, and,” you gesture towards where the two of you are sitting together, “Et voila!” 

Carmy takes a look around. He hasn’t been in a fine dining establishment since he left New York. It’s as if all the fancy awards and all the dues he’s paid cooking in the best restaurants in the entire world don’t matter anymore. He feels so out of place: the people, the over-the-top cocktails, the overpriced bowls of food called something fancy to justify the high price point. 

“From the kitchen” your bartender had said curtly, a mere few minutes ago. He had placed a few plates in front of the two of you to share that you most certainly didn’t order.

You both had thanked the bartender, before digging into the large bowl of soup, stracciatella, and focaccia bread on the plate. You rip off pieces of bread, dipping them into the salty broth, popping them into your mouth. Carmy’s much more of a gentleman about it, using his spoon to try the soup first. You had only planned on drinking here, but your friend at The Aviary had really come through. You’re sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re here with Carmy, and that these guys definitely know who Carmy is. 

“So…” you start, taking a sip of whatever fizzy strawberry gin thing you’d ordered earlier. “I feel like there are a lot of long stories I’d like to hear.” 

Carmy makes a sound in agreement before taking a sip of his drink. It’s just bourbon on the rocks, and you wonder when he started drinking bourbon like this.

“I mean… we could start here. How the hell are ya?” you ask. 

“I…” he starts, before trailing off. He buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingertips across his forehead. “It’s uh, it’s been a long couple of months. Christ. The restaurant was a goddamn mess, everyone hated my fuckin’ guts. And then Syd showed up and, well, she’s been a big help.” 

You wait a beat before saying, “As much as I want to hear about the restaurant, Carm, I mean how are you doing?”

Your words stop him, and he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes. He takes his time thinking about it, shrugging before muttering something along the lines of, “I’m okay, I guess.”

He’s searching for the right words to explain how the hell he’s even supposed to answer that question.

“I don’t know. Guess I thought if I fixed the restaurant, if I could fix it-. Maybe I could fix him,” he drags out. 

He waits a few beats before finally admitting:

“I miss him. Mikey. And I found out all kinds of shit about him that I-, well, shit I didn’t know. I think-, I think it’s why he kept me away. Why he shut me out.”

You listen as he begins to fill you in: about Mikey, the drugs, the debt he inherited that he now owes to Cicero, how hard it was to win over the kitchen staff that, come hell or high water, weren’t interested in changing their ways. And then he tells you about the meetings he's been going to -- the al-anon meetings. And you begin to understand. While he’s the same old Carmy, this isn’t the exact same Carmy that you knew in New York. The Carmy you knew in New York never would’ve gone to those meetings. He would’ve brushed it off and pretended there wasn’t a problem and taken as much punishment as he could in the kitchen instead of dealing with what he was feeling.

Mikey’s death, and coming home, and this restaurant, it’s all changed him. 

And maybe, just maybe, it’s part of the reason why, after months of no contact, he reached out to you now, but he’s not sure if he should tell you that yet.

You’ve got to give it to him. If anything, he’s exceptionally talented at cutting people out of his life. It’s his M.O – the only thing that’s been consistent in his life – even when those people didn’t deserve it. It’s what he knows to do. It’s something he’s learned… from Mikey, from his dad… 

But this… what he’s telling you, these are stories of connection and community. 

“And Syd’s really helped me pull this shit together. She's kinda like... the glue, y'know? I- I don’t know where we’d be without her,” Carmy concludes.

You agree. Syd is brilliant. You can see just from having been in that kitchen that she’s been the biggest catalyst for the changes — even his.

“I know you only asked me to come for pastry but I’m glad you let me jump in on the line tonight,” you say. “It’s cool to see what you’re doing now and… I don’t know. I know it was a rocky start, but you’ve got something here. Something that could be really, really good, Carm. You’re making real fucking food. Like your mom’s chicken. I haven’t forgotten about that.” 

“How can you remember that?” Carmy asks, a little surprised, his eyes lighting up. He’d almost forgotten that he’d once made it for you while you were both still in New York.

You nod, “Best chicken piccata I’ve had in my life.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Hands down.”

“You know,” you start, a mischievous tone in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you made me some pretty bomb meals back in New York. And didn’t I say something along the lines of you really shining when-?”

“Oh no,” he groans. “Not this again.”

“I’m just saying!” you justify, innocently. “When you cook the food you grew up with, Carm, you’re at your very best. And don’t get me wrong. You’re an exceptional chef, regardless of what you do but-.”

“So what? You’re gonna say ‘I told you so?’” he questions, shooting you a look. 

You shrug, playfully, “I can’t help it if I’m right all the time,” earning an eye roll from him. 

“Especially when it comes to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment, because you do know him. You’ve seen sides of him he’s barely let anyone else see. It feels good and terrifying all at once to be seen this clearly.

“Yeah, well, you always were a little more Mozza than French Laundry, huh?” he shoots back, referencing your difference in preference. While Mozza was more family style, The French Laundry, a restaurant Carmy had worked at once upon a time, was anything but. 

“Yeah. Who knew one day we’d switch places?” you reply, a sadness in your voice. Were you… envious of what Carmy had? Was this what you were looking for?

“So uh, you gonna tell me what the hell happened with the restaurant?” Carmy asked, changing the subject – changing the subject to you. 

You sigh, you raise your drink to your lips, finishing the rest of what’s in the glass in one go. 

“That bad, huh?”

“No!” you’re quick to reply. “Well, yes. But no. But yeah….” 

Carmy flags the bartender down, ordering another round for the two of you. 

You’re not even sure where to begin in regards to the existential crisis of sorts that you’ve been having, so you just tell him what happened. 

“I was juicing blood oranges one day. And-, you know we were going to take the juice and do all that fancy gastronomy shit with it… turn it into like, the same consistency of ‘dew in the early morning’…” you began to explain, quoting what your head pastry chef had said that day.  

“And I’m sitting there thinking… what the hell am I doing? I mean, who eats food like this?! Who wants to eat a drop of blood orange juice that’s been turned into the consistency of dew in the early mornings? Like, why the fuck can’t I just make the best blood orange olive oil cake anyone’s ever had, and that be enough, you know?”

“And. I don’t know. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of food I want to make, and what that would mean, and what does any of this shit even mean? Fast forward to a week later, and I don’t feel like I have a fuckin’ clue about what I want to do with my life and I’m quitting the restaurant.”

You pause, noticing that he’s just been listening attentively this whole time.

“I’m tired, Carm,” you admit. “I mean. I’m burnt the hell out. I just. I don’t want to work this hard for something that- something that I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.”

Another beat. 

“I know it sounds totally insane but-.”

“No! No, it doesn’t,” Carmy interrupts, quick to reassure you, as he reaches for your hand. Your eyes flicker from his hand on yours, the small tattoo above his wrist, then back to him, feeling the loss of body heat as he pulls his hand back only a moment later. 

“I feel like I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot of the same shit,” he admits, empathizing with you. 

“I just feel… kind of lost,” you say, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. “I do. I-, I’ve been feeling really lost lately.”

In all the time he’s known you, never could he have expected you to feel lost. He wondered if he’d just put you on a pedestal. You had always been this stunningly charismatic, charming person that could walk into any room and in minutes, have everyone wrapped around your finger. For so long he denied any feelings for you because he knew you were unattainable – that someone like you could ever want someone like him felt impossible. Wouldn’t you be better off with one of those Wall Street assholes that came into the restaurant all the time – wining and dining their clients with their expensive wristwatches and fancy town cars?

But hearing you say it – that you feel lost – it reminds him that you’re only human too. 

He waits another beat, guilt filling up his throat, before he speaks again. 

“I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.”

There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes you want to trust him. Sure, it seems like he’s been apologizing to you for three days straight, but you want to listen. 

You take another sip of your drink. 

“I started volunteering at a Brooklyn community garden so I could like, pull my head out of my ass,” you share with him. 

“Did it help?”

You shrug, “Yeah, a little bit.”

It helped, but it hadn’t fixed anything. You feel like you can confide in him, especially since he told you that he was going to meetings.

“My therapist actually encouraged me to come here,” you confess, gauging his reaction as the words flow from your mouth. “Get out of dodge. Get a change of scenery… give myself some time to think.”

“We both know you do a little too much of that,” he teases gently, and you chuckle. 

Between Carmy’s avoidance, and your neuroses, you’re quite the pairing. 

“Yeah.”

Carmy pauses, not sure if he has the words to give you the explanation you deserve, but he’s going to try. 

“I had… a lot goin’ on. When I got back. And I didn’t know….” He pauses before continuing. “I didn’t know how to do it all at once. How to handle, you know… everything at the same time.”

And it’s just easier to avoid everything – to avoid you, to avoid the way I feel about you, he thinks to himself.

And it’s exactly what he did, he pushed you away, and pushed any and all feelings or thoughts about you into a dark hole, never to be acknowledged ever again. 

Until you quit your job. Until his phone call with Tim. Until his phone call with you. 

“I know, Carm. I know you’re sorry and I appreciate the apology,” you start, taking a breath. “It’s just that-.  I need you to know...” 

You pause, suddenly feeling like you’re in the middle of an anxiety dream where you realize you’re not wearing any pants.

“I need you to know that it hurt. It… it really hurt. Not hearing from you. Being cut out like that.”

“I know,” he admits, remorsefully. “I’m gonna be better. At least I’m trying to be.” 

“I really want to believe that,” you say, softly. 

But I don’t want to get hurt again, you think to yourself.

He looks at you, a soft, shy smile on his face, and it makes you want to take a chance on him. 

Who are you kidding? You’d jump off of a bridge with him if he asked, even if it meant getting hurt all over again.

“Okay?” he asks, hopefully. 

You’re not sure if he’s asking if it’s okay, if you’re okay, if everything is okay between the two of you, and you wonder if he means all three.

“Okay,” you answer, quietly. 

“Okay.”

read: part four

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether

[blackjack-15]

episode 5 and we're opening with Sydney's dreams/nightmares/failures just like we were with Carmy's a few back. the comparison is swift, accurate, and pointed

the overly decorated house + living with her dad (who obviously has a good portion of health problems) is in stark opposition to carmy's empty apartment and avoidance of his family, but it took them to the same place

the toilet exploding onto carmy, sydney jumping down people's throats for finding it funny...chaos is here and i think it's here to stay

"rIcHiE yOu'Re So FuNnY" syd babyyy i love you. catty queen

that sauce looks really good. wish it didn't have parsley in it but i can keep that out when i try it out

tina's so much softer with carmy which i love -- he brings out the older sister/mother in pretty much all of the women older than him in the show (and me). the sauce making her tear up??? i'm so sold

fak asking if he could apply for chef position and richie's hesitation...once again we're seeing richie having trouble with people moving out of his pre-set boundaries/categories

insane in Anxiety: The Series, but watching marcus and his roommate try to ferment is legitimately the most anxiety producing thing i've seen on this show

"we should go to copenhagen" that is a plot drop if i've ever heard one

"marcus, we good on cakes, chef? please don't get lost in that shit" oh the plot is plotting. the plot is wholly plotting send help i am anxiety-sipping wassail right now

[indieistanbul]

A traditional dish called Roasted Garlic Chicken Kiev is made with soft chicken breasts that are stuffed with a tasty mixture of garlic, butter, and parsley. The chicken is then covered in breadcrumbs and baked until it's done. It's a fancy and tasty meal that will definitely impress!

Ingredients: 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts. 8 cloves garlic, minced. 1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened. 1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped. 1/4 cup breadcrumbs. Salt and pepper to taste. 2 eggs, beaten. 1 cup all-purpose flour. Vegetable oil for frying.

Instructions: Before you start cooking, heat the oven to 375F 190C. Cut up some garlic, melt some butter, add some chopped parsley, breadcrumbs, salt, and pepper to a small bowl. Keep cutting each chicken breast until you get to a pocket. Do not cut all the way through. Stuff the chicken breasts with the garlic butter mixture, making sure to cover all of the spaces. Use toothpicks to close up the holes. In a bowl, beat the eggs together and then coat each stuffed chicken breast in flour. Put vegetable oil in a big skillet that can go in the oven and heat it over medium-high heat. It will take about two to three minutes per side to brown the chicken breasts. Place the skillet in an oven that has already been heated up. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the chicken is fully cooked and the juices run clear. Take out the toothpicks before serving.

Marcus S

[couturecourier]

a Paleo adaptation of the traditional shrimp and grits dish that uses cauliflower rather than grits. The 'grits' are flavored with creamy coconut milk and spices, and the shrimp is perfectly cooked and seasoned.

Ingredients: 1 lb shrimp, peeled and deveined. 2 cups cauliflower florets. 1/2 cup coconut milk. 2 tbsp ghee or coconut oil. 2 cloves garlic, minced. 1/2 tsp paprika. 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper. Salt and black pepper to taste. Chopped fresh parsley for garnish.

Instructions: Pulse the cauliflower florets in a food processor until they have a texture similar to grits. Heat coconut oil or ghee in a skillet over medium heat. Garlic powder should be added and sauted until aromatic. Cook the cauliflower "grits" in the skillet for five to seven minutes, stirring from time to time. Add the salt, black pepper, paprika, cayenne, and coconut milk and stir. Cook for a further two to three minutes, or until thoroughly heated. Heat coconut oil or ghee in a different skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the shrimp for two to three minutes on each side, or until they are cooked through and pink. Top the 'grits' of cauliflower with the shrimp and sprinkle with chopped parsley.

Marcus

[zemerluani]

Stuffy Turkey

Marcus Parsley – trumpet Roy Dunlap – piano

[princegasly]

Family by loyalty.

✨I am where I’m supposed to be. ✨

(Alpha!Mick with his Ferrari Driver Academy Omega!Pack. | @fraaawst )

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here!/ 

Part 20 Here!/ His POV Part 1! Here /  His POV Part 2 Here!  / Part 21 Here! / Part 22 Here! / Random Headcanons / Part 23 Here! / Part 24 Here! / Part 25 Here! Part 26 Here ! / Part 27 Here! / Part 28 Here!/ Part 29 Here! / Part 30 Here! / Part 31 Here! / Part 32 Here! / Part 33 Here! / 

Part 34 Here! / Part 35 Here! / Part 36 Here! / Part 39 Here! / Part 40 Here! <This is Part 41! Finale>

* Your feet brush against the rim of your car as you jump out of the car, your wedding ring glittering on your finger.

* “We didn’t get enough mint.” You sigh, and Edward shrugs beside you

* “Do you think the cows would make do with parsley?” He laughs when you wrinkle your nose.

* You’ve built a decent life in Volterra, you have a large farm on the outskirts of the city, occasionally you travel to the castle to help with the work, but for the most part you’re just a figurehead - a symbol for the cause, it’s only been about a year since you and Edward got married, but life is good

* You’re making your way to the porch of your small villa when you see two figures on the porch

* “Alec, Jane what are you-“

* “We want to live with you.” Alec blurts out, and Jane smacks her own forehead, yanking on his arm

* “Do you remember what I said about Tact?” She hisses

* Though you suppose her complaint falls on deaf ears since your smile gives Alec all the reassurance he needs

* “Well there will have to be some ground rules,” you say, and Edward nods beside you. “You’re not allowed to directly drink from any of the animals.” Edward gives you a pointed look. “Oh, right, and you’re not allowed to drink from Edward either.”

* Jane wrinkles her nose “trust me I wouldn’t want to, he smells like spoiled milk.”

* “It’s all the gelato.” You nod, and Edward seems slightly hurt.

* “I would never hurt an animal, they’re such kind creatures.”

* “Well then welcome to the coven.”

* They adapt well, Edward teaches Alec how to cook

* “The onions have to be tender before you add in the minced garlic, otherwise it’ll burn.”

* And Jane helps you with opening your restaurant

* “It’s going to be like a speakeasy,” you say. “We’ll have human food out front, and blood in the back.”

* “A double operation.” She nods

* You spend your free time playing songs on the piano with Alec and Jane watching with wide eyes

* “Will you play that one again?”

* Alec is the first to become human.

* “I wonder if it might be fun, to go to school, or to fall in love,” his eyes flicker between you and Edward. “Just to live a normal life.”

* Edward poses as his older brother and enrolls him into the boys academy nearby,

* Jane isn’t ready yet

* “I can’t imagine being accepted by people after all I’ve done.”

* “That’s okay,” you tell her, hugging her to your side. “You can take your time.”

* The days fall around you the leaves of a tree, days filled with so much joy you don’t notice they’ve gone at all

* James and Victoria find you much later, with James wearing a grin.

* “I had a feeling you would be here.” He has a penchant for taking care of the animals, as well as helping Marcus in the castle

* You even see Rosalie and Emmett when they come by your restaurant to visit you

* “And look who we brought!” Rosalie holds up a baby so beautiful venom drips down your cheeks.

* “Can I hold them?” So small and fragile, you hold them for only a moment before giving her to Edward.

* “Alice and Jasper haven’t turned, Alice likes the otherworldly vibe.”

* “I’ve noticed.”

* “Carlisle turned but Esme hasn’t.”

* “Really?”

* “Yeah I figure if she doesn’t follow he’ll have to turn back to keep their marriage alive.” You laugh at that

* As the days go by more and more of your friends and family become human, first it was Irina, then Eleazer, then Carmen. Tanya and Kate still remain vampires but you have a feeling they’ll cross over soon

* “You know, you could turn now too. Maybe not for long, just a handful of months.” Edward says. “If you’re worried, I can turn back.” You shake your head

* “I’m waiting for Jane, I don’t want her to think she’s holding me back or to feel like she was abandoned.” He only nods

* You’re not sure if Jane will ever be comfortable enough to turn human again, but you’re willing to wait

* It’s what family does

* For a while she doesn’t show any disposition of it, not until you hear the bell from your door ring, and four arms wrapping around you, tackling you to the ground

* “Hey Bella, Hey Jessica, long time no see.”

* It’s strange seeing them again, both of them so comfortable in young adulthood

* Jessica is going to Washington State, and getting her Bachelors in business

* “So you’re going to be CEO in ten years is what I’m hearing.”

* “Pretty much.”

* “Well remember your friends when your rich and famous.”

* “Oh shut up.” You laughs smacking your arm

* “What about you Bella?”

* She holds out her hand, a jewel glistening on her ring finger

* “To Leah?”

* Bella shakes her head

* “It didn’t work out with us, I always got the feeling she was hiding something”

* Probably the shapeshifter bit

* “Actually it’s this guy who I go to school with, his name is Riley.”

* Like Riley Beers??!? The college student from Seattle?

* “You’d love him, I’ll bring him with me next time, how did you afford this place by the way?”

* The Volturi bestow you with a lot of gifts when you save them from an eternity of working in toxic conditions

* “Micro loans and a lot of selling everything of value” you laugh, you did end up selling all of the jewelry you got in the wedding for this place

* Jane watches you from behind the counter, a small smile on her face

* That night after Edward and Alec have gone to sleep you sit beside her on the couch

* “What should we watch?”

* She’s quit for a moment, before her mouth opens

* “I’m ready to turn.” She says and the remote clatters to the ground

* “What?”

* “I want to be human, you made such beautiful friends, even after all this time they still love you, I want that too.” She admits.

* You watch as the color returns to Jane’s face, the freckles begin to reappear, the pink under one of her face, and the deep blue of her eyes.

* You hug her when she’s back

* It takes a few months for you to get comfortable

* For James to reassure you that he’s comfortable in vampirism and more than happy to take care of Jane and Alec

* For Marcus to assure you that he’s not going anywhere

* “I’ve survived all these centuries, what’s a few more?”

* For Sulpicia to rest her hand in yours as you both stare at the portrait of Didyme

* “It’s only fair you reap the reward of the seeds you’ve planted.”

* For Edward to hold you hands in his your forehead pressed against his

* “No matter what you decide, I’ll always love you, and I’ll stay with you - in whatever form you need.”

* You hold the vial in both hands

* “Is they all there is?” You wonder

* Parting your lips and finally, finally becoming human

Epilogue

* You watch his face carefully leaning forward, smirking a bit to yourself as you see the bright red or the apple on the cover

* “So how is it?”

* He only scowls

* “How can one person get so much wrong?”

* You laugh

* “I thought that bit about you stalking her was funny though.” Edward’s scowl only deepens

* “What did they say again? That the plot was inspired by a dream?” You snort. You’re sure it very much did feel like a dream when you approached that woman at a hotel bar, a little tipsy mind you, and told her your entire life story

* You thought it would be funny, maybe they’d see you as some unhinged degenerate

* Instead now there’s a book about you

* Well sort of

* “Come on we’re going to miss our flight.” Edward says, chucking the book into the trash. His gold eyes glimmering from the airport window

* You only nod, your one red eye and one gold eye twinkling as you make your way to the terminal, you hand laced through his.

A/N: And that's the end, I hope you enjoyed it! If you loved the series and want it on your shelf there might be a few leftover copies in a month or so, and there's a digital copy available on my store.

And if you love the 'waking up in' concept, you should check out my waking up in PJO series!

Tag list: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @imdoingathingmom @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @ideas-for-you-to-adopt @moose-squirrel-asstiel @hotmessgoodness @jaimewho21 @what-am-i-doing10 @anotheryooniverse @emmettcullenisahimbo @my-super-musical-life @smolvampiregirl @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @mihikaahujaaa @reclusive-chicken-nugget t @monkeyluver4546 @gavemecookieandgotyoucookie @bwbatta @bubblyabs @thatwaspossesion @helzerat @parascape @katrodriguez99 @leilanixx @kiki-ren @winxanity-ii @dontletyourmemebedreams @hazeofeleven @whatafreakingloser @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare

[generalfoolish]

Do You Ever Wonder?

Part Two: How You Make a Boy Feel

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader

Rating: Adult themes, but still pretty fluffy

Word Count: 1,991

Masterlist | Do You Ever Wonder? Masterlist | Part One

A/N: A little update to this story. I'm still on the fence about Marcus, but he's fun to write ;)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

--

“Stop!” You giggled, walking arm in arm out of the movie. Marcus was teasing you about your obvious attraction to both Humphrey and Mary. You couldn’t help yourself, you reasoned, they were a great distraction to the handsome man beside you. You leaned in closer to him as you walked into the chilly D.C. evening.

“Fine, fine. Are you hungry? Popcorn makes me so hungry. I was thinking of a proper restaurant, if you’re into it?” Marcus leaned down closer to your ear, his breath a hot tickle against your hair. You nodded, and burrowed into your jacket a little deeper. It had seemed like a promising evening, but the sun had taken all of the warmth in the air with it.

“It is chilly, isn’t it. Here, I’ll get a cab.” Marcus stepped away from you, and flagged down a cab in no time. He could be very authoritative when he wanted. You slid in after he opened the door, and he gave the cabbie the address.

“So, where are we going?” You asked, rubbing your hands together. He scooped them up and wrapped them in his large, warm hands. You blushed a little, thinking about how big they were and what you’d like them to be doing instead. He smiled and blew some warm air in the pocket his hands had made for yours.

“It’s a little fancier than a diner, but it’s no black tie place.” He told you, lowering your hands, but not letting go. The action forced you to scoot a little closer to keep your arm from being bent awkwardly, but you didn’t mind. Two hours in the dark with Marcus had only driven you crazy. You had no idea why he was going so slow. Not that you minded the switch from the usual dating scene, but if you didn’t taste his lips soon you felt you might actually lose your mind.

“How vague, Marcus.” Your tone was chiding, but you smiled as you said it. You had come to enjoy his easy banter and teasing. You didn’t want it to end. Before you knew it, though, the cab ride was over and he was passing cash to the driver. You got out on the building side, and looked back in confusion at him. There was no restaurant. There were no businesses at all. He grinned widely as he approached you. His hand found the small of your back, and he led you to a door up a small landing.

“That’s because I wanted to cook something for you. I’ve been, well I’ve been practicing, and I...I want to do something nicer than a stuffy meal.” He stammered out, before looking at your face. You had broken into a smile, and you were sure your face was turning red from more than just the cold. Unable to speak, you just nodded. You were overcome with an emotion that was new. No one, let alone a prospective guy, had made you a meal. It felt like a lot, but in a way you’d never had before.

“Welcome! I picked the place up a bit before the show, but I’m fairly clean.” He rambled, tossing his keys in the foyer table’s bowl. He kicked his shoes off, and invited you to do the same. He took your coat, and hung it up in the closet. He ushered you to the kitchen and pulled a small stool out for you.

“So, I’m not a big wine guy, but you struck me as a red wine gal?” He laughed, and pulled out a bottle from the fridge. “The clerk assured me this would impress a pretty girl.” You both laughed as he poured a glass for you, and passed it your way. He watched apprehensively as you took a sip, and exhaled in relief when you told him it was good. He poured himself a glass, but you noticed he didn’t touch it much.

“What’s on the menu, then, Chef?” You asked, swirling the Pinot around.

“It’s number 5 on the “Easy and Romantic dinners to impress your date,” List, and number 12 on the “Easy but Impressive Meals,” List. It’s just mussels in wine with some homemade bread. A little salad if you’re into it?” He rambled, clearly nervous.

“That sounds amazing, Marcus. Did you say homemade bread? I thought you said you were a beginner?” You asked, peppering him with questions, but honestly a little buzzed and ready to tear up some fresh mussels.

“Like I said, I’ve been practicing. Now, why don’t you handle the music situation, and I’ll get cracking on dinner.” He flashed you a big smile, and pointed to the vintage record player in the corner of the living room. It was gorgeous, cabinet style. He had shelves of records to choose from, and you shifted through the sleeves. It was endlessly more intimate than a stuffy restaurant, you thought as you pulled Fleetwood Mac’s self-titled record from the shelf. You loaded it gently on the turntable, and then laid the needle on the edge. Monday Mornings came through the speakers after a little crackle, it sounded clean and beautiful. You swayed a little to the words, before following your nose back to the kitchen. Marcus was concentrating on the mussels, but you could see his foot tapping. You knocked back the wine for a little courage, and poured some more. You noticed he had a nice Sauvignon Blanc for the mussels, and you felt your mouth water at the thought of how delicious dinner was going to be.

Without noticing it, Marcus had started feeling the music a little more, and you watched him dance as he added the wine to the mussels. He slid smoothly from the stove to the counter to chop herbs as the record started croning Warm Days. You watched the way he slowed his slight swaying to match the slower pace of the song, and you felt the rush go right to your core. Everything about him made you crazy. You shifted a little on your stool, getting more uncomfortable as you traced the outline of Marcus’s back muscles as he chopped garlic and parsley. You felt the heat rise to your face as you thought about his hands tracing you, and how it would feel to roam your own hands across his back.

“Dove, would you grab the bread from the oven, there’s a mitt to the left of it, I’ve got sticky garlic fingers.” He said, laughing. You cleared your throat, and stumbled to the oven. You grabbed the loaf out, and nearly dropped it when you saw how gorgeous it was.

“Marcus did you cut this design yourself?” You asked incredulously, and he nodded without turning around. “It’s gorgeous!” You exclaimed, laying it on the board he had set out. He started to say something, but the song loudly switched to Blue Letter, and the moment was lost.

“That’s dinner, then.” He told you, pulling the pot from the stove and walking it to the counter with the stools. “You’ll have to excuse the counter meal, there’s not a lot of space and I admittedly eat most meals on the couch.” He told you, sheepishly.

“No, Marcus, this is amazing. You were right, so much better than another meal out.” You assured him, as he spooned mussels out. He grabbed a knife and sliced a hunk of bread for you, before removing the pot.

“We’ll see if you still think that once you taste it.” He laughed, but you could tell it was a little more serious than he was letting on. So, not minding the steam, you dunked a bit of the bread into the broth. You quickly took a bite, and it was amazing. Not just good, but actually amazing. Which you told him, promptly and a lot. You tried the mussels and it was more of the same.

“Marcus, the flavor is amazing. You’ve never made mussels before?” “No, I just followed the recipe.” He said, sheepish, again.

“Shut up. You’re lying. You have to be.” He shook his head and you just looked at him in awe. You didn’t have much to say as you ate the meal, you were too busy enjoying it. You had never just loved mussels, but Marcus made you change your mind. Marcus made them your favorite. You smiled as you ate, and realized that you were falling for him. It made you nervous. Of course, it made you so nervous. You’d been burned before. He had too. It felt too nice, too quick. There wasn’t any drama between you. Over My Head played behind you, and you had to agree, it did feel nice. It felt amazing to be here, enjoying this meal with this wonderful guy.

That’s probably why you leaned over and kissed him. You didn’t really realize you were doing it, it was like your desire took the wheel and steered you right into the wall. He was surprised. There was no warning, no build-up, but he responded in kind. The kiss sealed it for you. The way his lips met yours hungryly. How neither of you let up until you were panting for air. How you both seamlessly slipped from the stools, and stumbled to the couch without breaking apart. How wordlessly you found yourselves exploring each other.

You broke apart for a second, his hands wrapped firmly around your waist as you straddled his hips. He rested his forehead against yours, and struggled for breath.

“I outta cook for girls more often.” He joked, his lips connecting with your jaw and moving lower at a lazy pace. You moaned against the soft trailing, and shifted against him as he sucked softly at your neck. You felt his own stirring beneath you, which you brazenly dipped against. He grunted into your neck, and held you close. “Careful.” He warned, his voice low.

“I think I’d like to skip straight to dessert.” You evened, darkly. He smirked and pulled you down for another kiss.

~~~~

You were laying against his chest, his heart a steady thump beneath you, and you could have probably fallen asleep just like that. His arms were wrapped around you, and his fingers were trailing in your hair or rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“What does this mean for you?” He asked the darkness softly. You felt his heart start to race, and you hoped it was for the same reason your own started racing. You swallowed hard, the words not coming easily. For you, it was so much more than just sex. It was shattering. You’d had casual hook ups before, but this felt like so much more. He took your silence badly.

“It’s just, I’m not a kid, y’know. I’ve been married, divorced, and engaged again. I want something real, and lasting. I can see that for us. I promised myself I wouldn’t get serious fast, but there’s something about you. You know? It’s everything. There’s everything about you. I want to make you dinner all the time. I want to dance with you, and watch movies, and just see your smile. I just have to know if you feel the same, because if you don’t then I can’t be hurt like that again.” You propped up on your elbows to look at him, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Your heart broke for him as he spoke, and you just wanted to put him together. You pressed a kiss against his chest.

“Marcus, I want nothing more than to get to know you, and learn how to make this work. I don’t want to rush in, but I couldn’t wait another second. I want to try this out with you.” He pulled you closer and kissed your forehead. You were happy to see him content, and you were as happy as you could be. It was the start of something amazing.

tagged: @mouthymandalorian

[fallenhunter851]

Recorded Messages

I’ve recently completed the Daily Heroic Challenge where you find Cayde’s hidden caches. And all I want to say is: Thank you Bungie for bringing tears to my eyes for the first time since D2 came out.

Enjoy!

Warnings: None

Cayde knew that he would die one day. He just wasn’t sure when or how.

Part of taking on the role of Hunter Vanguard.

No matter what, you ended up dead.

No memory wipes.

No revives.

No more Light.

Cayde wasn’t looking forward to that day.

Would it be painful or gentle? Would it be quick or slow? Would it be among friends and family or among his enemies?

He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to leave a message to those that would find his stashes… to his potential killers.

Cayde stared at the little voice recorder currently sitting on the small table in his living room. Hands curled under his chin, he let out a sigh and let his head hang a little. He knew he needed to do this, but... but this was a lot harder than he thought it would be.

Cayde decided to start with Eris Morn’s message. They were close enough to call each other friends and have each other’s back, both agreeing that a Hunter’s place wasn’t in the Tower, but out in the Wilds. But most of the time, the two didn’t really get along. Bickering on most occasions.

‘Children, the both of you.’ He remembers Ikora telling both of them one day before the fall of the Tower to Ghaul. Cayde let out a breathy chuckle and clicked the button on the side of the voice recorder.

“This one’s for Eris Morn. Ahem. If you’re listening to this, congrats on killing me! I assume you… became a Hive Death God and fed me to your worm cult.” Cayde paused what he was saying to let out a shudder at the mental image his mind created for him, before letting out a small breath and carrying on with the recording.

“That, or you just finally got sick of me. Coincidentally, if you didn’t kill me and still somehow hear this… I’m sorry for stealing your ship. And, oh, pretty much every other interaction we ever had. But to be clear- if you DID kill me, I do NOT apologise, and I will consider all my actions 100% justified.

Either way, feel free to put your rock on my maps now.

I don’t need’em anymore.”

One down. Nine to go.

“This one’s for that armless coward Taniks the Scarred. If you’re listening to this… you killed me. But I bet I took a big chunk out of your ugly husk with me.

Guess Andal Brask wasn’t enough for you, huh? You wanted another Hunter Vanguard for your sick collection? I got my fair share of regrets, sure… but not putting a bullet in you has gotta rank in the top three.

Won’t be long before a better Guardian than me puts you in your place.

Just wish I could be there to see it.” A sour taste was left in Cayde’s mouth at the mention of Taniks, but a more foul and upsetting taste was left after mentioning Andal’s name. He hadn’t talked about Andal in centuries, and the last person he did was living up near the Iron Temple, and he wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

Two down. Eight to go.

The first time Cayde had met The Drifter, it was a cold rainy day near the Annex, and he had just finished a round on the Tower when he had spotted him hiding in the shadows of a back alley. They didn’t talk, just nodded to each other and carried on with their days respectively. And something akin to mutual understanding began.

“This one’s for the fellow calls himself The Drifter. You did warn me running with you would put a target on my back. Guess I’m in good company though, huh? After all, never had any fun without a little risk. That’s the whole idea with the operation you’re putting together, ain’t it? MY idea by the way.

Had it, like, a million years ago, back when you were still handsome.” Cayde let out a small chuckle at that, and took a small sip of the water that he had next to the recorder. An Exo may never get a dry throat, but the feeling and sensation is there.

“So, uh, you’re welcome. You know, getting that up and running means coming out of hiding- giving you-know-who another shot at you. Hope I was around to see THAT showdown. Personally, my money was on the guy with the Golden Gun. But hey, what do I know? I’m dead.”

Three down. Seven to go.

“Petra… if you’re listening… you killed me. Maybe the Sovs, in all their mysterious wisdom, decided they were sick of me? If the Queen ordered the hit, I guess I understand. You’re a real glutton for chivalry. But if it was Uldren, I’m pissed. Just thinking about that peacock gives me a headache. But I’m betting my death was another case of your famous collateral damage. ‘Cause you’re a real do-gooder. Seriously, it’s annoying- but good deeds never go unpunished when you’re around. You just… You got a blast radius P.V. Well, it was… fun while it lasted.

Oh, and, uh, tell ‘Paladin Oran’: If the sun over Nessus escapes nebula cycle, evac labor after dawn, under solstice. You got that P.V.?”

Four down. Six to go.

Cayde grumbled at the thought of this message, but it needed to be recorded. So he took a deep breath, sighed, kept his voice low and even, then let a hardened gaze fall over his face.

“This one’s for the minds behind the Deep Stone Crypt. You think just ‘cause you made me, you can unmake me? Hey, I understand. I were you, I wouldn’t want people knowing what I did either. Guess you better hope I didn’t tell anyone about the Crypt. Or about the, uh, what was it? Oh yeah... Long Slow Whisper. ‘Cause if I did, that would be real bad for you, huh? I may be dead, but I guarantee you ain’t hear the last of me.”

Only five left.

“Here’s one for Suruya Hawthorne. You know, when I told my Ghost I’d be making one of these for you, she laughed. I didn’t have to tell you that. Just wanted to make you feel bad.

In my defense, if you’re listening to this, you did kill me. I mean, if it was a fair fight, mano a mano, I'd win, no question. But I can see you planning out some convoluted, meticulous trap. Some would call that Paranoia. Me? I call it ‘being a Hunter’.

So, here’s your next Hunter lesson: Looking after your own.

Speaking of which: Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of Colonel! Now, she only eats sesame seeds muesli and drinks purified spring water with a sprig of parsley. Play nice you two!” Cayde let out a fond chuckle at that, thinking of how attached he had gotten with the chicken the first time when he had gone to the Farm after leaving Nessus.

Four left.

Thinking of who to address this audio log to, Cayde looked around his apartment, taking in the small treasures that he had collected over the years. He felt himself getting slowly choked up as he neared the end of the logs for his hidden caches.

He had to make these last few more memorable.

“This one’s for any Hunter who kills me. Best guess: Marcus Ren? You realise you get my stuff now? ALL my stuff. INCLUDING the Hunter Vanguard gig. Yeah, congrat-u-lations, dummy. That’s what we call a Vanguard Dare. Sucks, doesn’t it? OK, brace yourself for some advice, hotshot.

One, know your people. Like, my Nessus Scout, Quantis Rhee. I like to call her about once a moon, else she gets a little too much Night, not enough Stalker, you know?” Cayde made a mental note to call Rhee after he had finished these logs. Thank her for everything she has done.

“Two, keep your weapons sharp. Your jobs’ to watch everyone’s back, which means no one’s watching yours but you. And three, start thinking about what you want to do for your successor’s Vanguard Dare. ‘Cause trust me, kid- this gig will kill ya.”

Three left. And Cayde knew that these three would be the absolute hardest messages he would ever have to record for anyone to hear.

“Hahaha! Ha! Sorry, sorry! I’m just… I’m imagining how awkward you must look right now. Ha. Ahem. Ahem! OK. Zavala. So, I’m dead. You killed me. My stuff is yours. No more working me over at Chess. No more getting worked over at poker. For real though, you know that if you needed to kill me for ‘the good of the City’ or whatever, I totally understand.

No hard feelings. Nada.

You can put this voice recording away and go on with your life.

Now, if you DID have some kind of lingering guilt or something… that would be rough. ‘Cause you and I both know you’d have me yapping in your ear for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself.

Two left, He felt his resolve slipping.

“Hi Ikora. So you know I’m making a bunch of these, right? I probably told you. I always gotta have the last word, and I’m gonna be prepared for every possibility. But to tell the truth? This one’s the easiest to make.” Cayde had to take a pause and breathe out, he knew that this was a lie- but it was the only way to make it easier for himself to record these.

“So as long as we’re being honest, I could never tell if you really liked me that much. But, uh… well, if you did hate me, the feeling was NOT mutual. In fact- yeah, I’ll say it- don’t even mind if you killed me. I figure if we threw down… first off, no one can blame me for losing. And… I know you’d be in the right. So… thanks? I guess? You were a… a good friend. Better than a guy like me could hope for, anyway.

So yeah, thanks Ikora. For everything.”

One left.

Cayde couldn’t do it. Not tonight or any time soon for that matter. He broke down into tears. Sundance materialised next to him and allowed Cayde to pull her tight to his chest in any form of comfort as the night gave way to sunlight.

As Cayde walked over to his usual space, he saw Setara and Echo standing next to Amanda talking about Traveller knows what. Turning his walk into a jog, he sped over to the trio and pulled both Setara and Echo into a tight hug, burying himself between them as he whispered his blessings. Both Guardians were shocked by this and slowly wrapped their arms around their Vanguard, and when they questioned why Cayde was holding onto them like they would disappear when he let go, he simply shook his head and just held them tighter.

“This one’s for the strong, silent type. You. Congratulations, buddy.

I mean that. Always knew you’d outdo me some day. And if that means you had to do me in, too… eh, you saved my life on Nessus, so I owed it to you anyway.

Take care of the Ace of Spades, will ya? I’m not just talking about the maintenance; Banshee can help you with all that. I mean, take care of Ace. Use it well.

Oh, hey, and… if you found any of those papers from my earlier… eh… deployments? Burn ‘em. Don’t want people poking through the lives of Caydes 0 through 5.

So just... put it all behind you, OK?

Every story has an end.

This is mine.”

[atharvavedaayurvedandnaturopa]

Easy Ways To Natural Weight Loss At Home

https://www.quora.com/What-are-the-best-ways-to-lose-weight-at-home/answer/Louis-Marcus-1

Easy Ways To Natural Weight Loss At Home

Sure, you can lose weight quickly. When you're trying to change your diet and eat more healthfully, planning out your meals can be helpful.

Some Easy Ways To Natural Weight Lose At Home : Apple Cider Vinegar, Green Tea, Lemon And Honey, Black Pepper, Parsley Juice, Cranberry Juice, Aloe Vera, Curry Leaves, Cinnamon, Cayenne Pepper, Ginger, Garlic, Coconut Oil, Oolong Tea, Yogurt

Easy Ways to Lose Weight Naturally

1.       Add Protein to Your Diet

2.       Eat Whole, Single-Ingredient Foods

3.       Avoid Processed Foods

4.       Stock Up on Healthy Foods and Snacks

5.       Limit Your Intake of Added Sugar

6.       Drink Water

7.       Drink (Unsweetened) Coffee & Tea

8.       Eat More Fruits and Vegetables

9.       Eat More Slowly

10.   Replace Some Fat with Coconut Oil

11.   Add Eggs to Your Diet

12.   Spice Up Your Meals

13.   Get Enough Sleep

14.   Eat More Fiber

15.   Combat Your Food Addiction

16.   Add Resistance Exercises

17.   Focus on Changing Your Lifestyle

18.   Eat Breakfast Every Day

19.   Close the Kitchen at Night

20.   Go for the Grain

21.   Eat a balanced diet

22.   Skip fad diets

23.   Cinnamon Tea

24.   Black Pepper and Lemon Juice

[sadpiixels]

hellllooo

so i’ve been v MIA, but thats primary because i am eagerly awaiting univeristy to drop. i still have every intention of playing the graves kids at school - its just that the mod i was using to emulate college was a little challenging for my liking. SO, i am waiting for actual university. what have i been doing all this time, you ask? 

I’ve been playing the game without the stresses of taking photos!

I’ve been playing the Vatores and I’m having a really good time. Lillith and Gunther got married and just had a smol human bb named Nell. Gunther also took Wolfgang in bc Mila married Marcus Flex, took Lucas and moved the fuck out without Wolfgang. So he’s living his best life with his dork brother and two vampires. Caleb had a hot girlfriend, but she burned to death in the parsley plant so now hes just sad af. so yeah. thats what i’ve been doing.

srry for being gone. i’ll be back when university is here!

[burgerdudes]

🍔🍟🇸🇪🌲🍒✨ — It’s time to introduce the second September burger for our menu takeover at Bastard Burgers (@bastardburgers.se) 🖤 — Take a walk through the forest with Skogen. This autumn burger from Burgerdude Marcus draws its inspiration from classic sunday dinners, with deep and satisfying flavours. The deep-fried parsley and tart lingonberries work together with the mushrooms, onions and truffle mayonnaise to create an exciting and inspired burger. And it's 100 % vegan as well, so that everyone can try it! — Skogen will be available throughout September in all Bastard Burgers restaurants. Tomorrow we we will introduce a new burger! 🖤🍔✨ — @plus.marcus #burger #burgers #burgertime #burgerporn #burgerdudes #burgerlovers #food #foodie #hamburger #hamburgare #sthlm #sthlmburgers #stockholm #stockholmburgers #uppsala #uppsalaburgers #lulea #boden #pitea #gavle #ostersund #sundsvall #bastardburgers #🍔 #🍟 #🇸🇪 (at Bastard Burgers) https://www.instagram.com/p/BnFyrM9nfGy/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=hh1lusi0gzri

[bluestownmusic]

Single I Randy Stephens - Back To The Blues

  Single I Randy Stephens – Back To The Blues     ”Back to the Blues” By Randy Stephens is latest single coming out April, 2022. Randy Stephens is a go to artist in the Florida and tri-state area. Randy and his band perform around 200 shows year. Michael Hepner Keys/Piano Mark Richards Drums Jessie Stephens Bass Featuring: Marcus Parsley – Trumpet Daniel Klimoski – Alto Saxophone Recorded at…

[terminalgloom]

I guess I should list the people I’ve met so far as they come off the top of my head and put the proper labels on then. I should probably set the edit settings since this is subject to change. 

gardenenbloom - Hinata

creepy-crowleys - 🐝 :: Meredith

witchofthescions -  Ernastral

1awyerup - Parsley

pythiaba - ???

tangooftears - Cloud -  🎵 :: Cloud

scolopendragonfish - Luna

millenniumdueled - Yugi

pluvicor - ???

tobeararms - Bai

boardwalkwizard - Marcus

merchantofmanypockets - Vidra

angsttank - Tank

precognitiveignition - Jack

spiritgrinned - Yusuke

localmagicalboi -  🔮 :: Vi

penofdamocles - Madison Remembrant

sketchyonlooker - ???

[remylebeau76]

The Flames That Burn

The reopening of Petrus after the renovation brought in full bookings for the first week. Normally Tuesday they were closed but Grant, the manager had opened it for a meeting of important guests with deep pockets. For the purpose of training the new butcher chef and despite the grumbling of the staff, Mickey had pulled the full panels of cooks in early for practice getting use to the new body in the kitchen. The kitchen was in full swing nearly half way through the night, only missing the pastry chef Jamie who'd begged out due to not having a babysitter.

Liam brought over the second course, holding it out for Mickey's approval. The head chef adjusted the parsley before nodding and gestured for it to be given to one of the waiters vibrating next to the doors for the next course. Mickey frowns as Liam lingers, holding the plate nervously.

Mickey frowned. "What do you want? A medal, an announcement? Jesus, put it down and piss off! You should be busy, yes?"

"Yes, Chef." Liam hurried off to plate the rest of the quiche and deposit them with Marcus and Mickey rolled his eyes. Fucking children.

"I'm done!" Mason yelled urgently from the other side of the kitchen.

"Well, where in the hell is your plate?"

"No clean plates, chef!"

I'm gonna lose my fucking mind, Mickey thought and stormed into the wash room. A solitary dishwasher was unloading the machine and muttering to himself. The dishwasher was unfamiliar to Mickey, who didn't bother getting to know him and went straight to shoving his shoulder to catch his attention.

"Hey, moron. You have one job and I've got no dishes and some very important guests!" The red head snapped to attention but Mickey was still winding up. He shoved him square in the chest. "Wanna give me a good reason not to fire you this fucking second?"

"The washer broke, chef." The boy was bending back over the open washer, an inch from being pushed off balance as Mickey closed in. He really was only a boy, he realized in annoyance, maybe eighteen or nineteen and lanky, his white coat open over a water spattered t-shirt, black skinny jeans shrinkwrapped around his legs.

"Then do them by hand." Mickey accentuated each word and to help burn off some of the anger boiling to his brain he gave the boy one last bump, causing him to trip backwards and hit the edge of the washer with his elbow. He stayed on the floor, holding his elbow, eyes wide. "I'll send a waiter back to help."

Mickey did just that, and snapped at Mason who had burned his meat waiting for a plate. "Jesus Christ!" He yelled and slammed a pan down on a counter. The cooks all froze momentarily and turned to him. "The fact that you aren't used to working on a Tuesday is no excuse for how poorly everyone has operated tonight. You two, glazed carrots. You, redo the meat, you get those tarts out of the oven and into the cooler or so help me god- you should all know how to act in a kitchen by now! Yes?"

"Yes Chef!" The four cooks went back to it with vigor and soon Red and the waiter were bringing out cleaned and dried dishes. The food was served in a timely fashion. The guests were happy enough to send complements back to the chef and Mickey staved off an aneurysm.

Mickey happily kicked everyone out at ten, when the kitchen was shut down. Mickey poked his head out into the floor, looking for Grant to confirm the order schedule for the next week. His boss was talking to Red and Mickey didn't miss the way his hand brushed the boys flank heavily before he headed out. The dishwasher flashed a pretty smile at his groping and Mickey snorted. The pretty ones are always for sale, Mickey bitterly thought to himself.

As Grant left, Red's shoulders slumped a little and he shuffled back to the wash room, rubbing wearily at his reddening eyes. Mickey's eyes followed the movement. He had a black ring on his middle finger and it highlighted the long lines of his hands and the circles under his eyes. He disappeared into the washroom and Mickey heard listless scrubbing as he stepped outside to smoke. The chill of the night air was a pleasant reprieve from the heat of the kitchen and the long needed nicotine continued to soothe Mickey.

Red came out soon enough, a threadbare sweater wrapped around his skinny form and a bottom heavy messenger bag slung across his chest. His eyes flicked up to Mickey leaning against the wall and then back to the ground.

"I put in a work order for the washer, Chef."

Mickey stared at him. "What happened to it?"

The boy shrugged.

"What's your name?"

"Ian."

"Show some initiative next time."

Ian folded his arms, his words defiant but his posture nervous. "You can't blame me for wear and tear, it's a kitchen."

Mickey pushed off the wall, stepping into the weak light. Mickey projected menace like a second skin. "No, but you wash dishes. Learn a unique skill or do your shitty job and wash dishes."

Ian looked like he wanted to hit Mickey. Mickey flicked the smoldering butt of his cig to the side, not taking his eyes off the bean pole in front of him. Ian's jaw clenched.

"I have skills."

"Spreading your legs ain't a skill, Red."

Ian went from being about to swing to taking a step back like someone had flipped a switch. "Fuck you man." Ian muttered and walked away.

Mickey stared after him. Ian disappeared around the corner and didn't look back. Mickey sighed and headed home, not looking forward to going to work tomorrow.

[flavoursofsustenance]

Spicy

“Let’s move it, hurry up!”

“Two out on sirloin!”

“Kyle, the STEAK! Watch the steak!”

Ugh, shut up already! God, I hate this job.

Amidst the fragrant aromas of butter, garlic and rosemary, there was chaos. Knives clacking against cutting boards. The constant, tiresome beeping of appliances and alarms, warning you to hurry the f**k up while you’re struggling to stop the place from burning down. Servers and cooks rushed back and forth, hollering orders. Each day another step closer to my insanity. Underpaid, yet overworked. Horrible leadership. Just another day at your typical fine dining establishment.

But as they say, every cloud comes with a silver lining. Ever since I started, I made it my mission to bring this hellhole to shambles, little by little. It was the only thing that kept me going. I’d sneak a jalapeno seed or two into a sauce, or extra splashes of vinegar for a nice little surprise.

A customer complained once about their salad being too spicy, but they were a real Karen so the restaurant staff reluctantly gave them a refund. No one suspected the kitchen. Little did they know, I threw in a pinch of wasabi.

Today was my first day on meatball duty. I was finally promoted from the bottom of the pack, salads and sauces, but I didn’t want this. More responsibility for the same pay. My coworkers were jealous, but I couldn’t care less. 

“MARCUS! Stop daydreaming, start working! Six minutes on the skillet, not a second more or less! NOW!” 

“Yes chef!” I rolled my eyes internally, shifting gears into model chef mode and setting my kitchen timer. I snapped back to my meatballs, plopping them one by one onto the skillet. Five minutes, thirty-eight seconds. They were twelve perfect little orbs of ground beef, pork, and veal. Seasoned with salt and pepper, and fried in the sizzling olive oil to a golden brown. 

Four minutes, fifty-seven. My eyes darted over to the sous chef. He was distracted with barking orders at the poor newbies, who then scrambled to grab more parsley and egg yolks from the cold room.

At four minutes and thirteen, I set aside a portion of spaghetti. It was simmered to a perfect al dente by the line cooks on pasta duty. I swirled the spaghetti into its matching sauce to prepare it for the next step.

Three minutes, forty-five. I snuck a glance at the sous chef, whose back was turned. In a large metal bowl, I started mixing another batch of meatballs just in case he came back around.

Two minutes, two seconds. The sauce and salad team were busy plating, eyes glued to their fennel and arugula. The side-dishers were hunched over their steaming, half-cooked polenta while the pasta makers were grinding out a fresh batch of gnocchi.

This was my chance!

When no one was watching, I reached my hand into my pocket and felt for the small Ziploc bag I had stuffed into there before the start of my shift. I scooped a pinch of my signature ingredient into the spaghetti’s cream sauce – horseradish, my personal favourite. 

Four and a half minutes, not a second more or less. The meatballs were done and ready to be plated and served.  twirled the spaghetti onto the porcelain plate, and sprinkled a touch of the expired parmesan that I had set aside under my workstation.

And there we have it. What I call a perfect truffle spaghetti and meatballs, served with a decadent black truffle cream sauce and topped with our signature herbed ricotta, its richness balanced out by a tomato fondue.

The sous chef admired my plate. “Good work today. You’re dismissed. Oh, and don’t forget that today is payday.”

“Thank you chef!” I smirked. Mission accomplished.

God, I hate this job. But days like today make it more bearable.