#boccoli

[amamiofacciouncasinoo]

Buongiorno con questi boccoli meravigliosi 🥹 e io felice

[weirdlookindog]

Manhattan Baby (1982)

AKA Eye of the Evil Dead, Possessed, Evil Eye

[innerduckgladiator]

Brigitta Boccoli

[dinogoofy]

Does anyone else have a character(s) they think of whie cooking?? I usually listen to true crime while cooking but for some reason lately I keep images Kombat characters lmao. Today it's cooking lunch for pre burn! Kabal on his day off, and yes, the true crime and cops n stuff did effect it.

[classystarfishdreamer]

L'Arte dell'incontro, di Maria Cuono

L’Arte dell’Incontro è il nuovo libro di Maria Cuono, giornalista, scrittrice e insegnante di lettere nelle scuole secondarie di secondo grado, in promozione per tutta l’estate a soli 9 euro, anziché 12. La passione per la scrittura me la trasmise mio padre che era un poeta. Fra l’altro ottenne numerosi premi per le sue opere. Ho iniziato a dedicarmi alla poesia sin da piccola grazie anche a…

[emilioalessioloiacono]

🔵 Benedicta Boccoli: la sua cagnolina adottata continuava ad odorarle il seno e lei non ne capiva il motivo. Poi l’incredibile scoperta. 👉 Leggi l’articolo: https://medicinaonline.co/2023/05/01/benedicta-boccoli-cane-tumore-seno/ ✅  #cane #BenedictaBoccoli #Verissimo #televisione #EmilioAlessioLoiacono #MedicinaOnLine

[blackcrowing]

Authentic Irish Foods for Samhain

🩸 Blood pudding (living cattle could be bled through the winter to provide the material as well as collecting blood when the cattle were slaughtered to keep the numbers down for winter)

🫓 Brambrack

🍲 Stew

Lamb

Beef

Wild boar

Domestic pig

Deer

Goose

Mallard

Hare

🐗 Salted wild boar and domestic pig (it is possible that other meats were salted for preservation but given that salt was an expensive commodity and no records indicate other meats we simply do not know. I will note here that we also don't seem to have records of smoked meats for preservation during this time)

🦌 From Samhain to Bealtaine it was considered inappropriate to hunt wild game, including boar. So while wild meats were likely eaten and preserved through this time, much like crop harvests for Lughnasadh, any game that wasn't taken before this festival was supposed to be left alone to breed. (Very unlike our modern hunting schedules)

🍺 Mead and Barely ale

🥣 Porridge

Oat

Barley

🥛 Dairy (this would likely become more limited as the season progressed, but butter has been found in bogs, presumed to be preserved but potentially given as offerings)

Cow's milk

Butter

Curds

mulchán 'hard cheese' (the exact nature of this cheese is unknown but it was described as being extremely hard and could be stored for long periods of time)

🦪 Sea food

Sloke

Clams

Muscles

Crab

Halibut

Sea Salmon

🌿Native Culinary Plants growing in Ireland at this time of year

Skirret

Apples

Purple sprouting boccoli

Wild cabbage

Blackberry

Raspberry

Rowan berries

Elder berries

Sloes

Rosehip

Acorn

Chestnuts

Hazelnuts

Hen of the woods

Pullball

Fairy Ring Champignon

Chanterelle

Porcini

Black Trumpet

Saffron Milk Caps

Cauliflower Mushroom

Wood Blewit

Penny bun

There would be an abundance of foods at this point in the year, but that food would become lesser as the season progressed do to lack of production in the environment and the fact that this point in the year was a time for traveling and feasting (likely to increase bonds amongs the Tuatha and because people would not be as occupied with farming and raiding).

My Kofi

[ninfahell]

Ho lasciato i boccoli in posa per tutta la notte sembro una contessa ottocentesca con il pigiama

[nineteeneighty4]

Situazione attuale :

Il compagno di mia madre si vuole ammazzare , perché dice che da un anno ha smesso di vivere ed è caduto in depressione;

Mia zia O continua a dispensare consigli seduta sulla sedia di casa , rigirandosi i boccoli tra le dita e vantandosi del figlio magistrato che fa una vita da milionario ;

L’altra zia :G , ogni tanto lagga. Le prende una specie di raptus in cui si incazza e si scazza da sola per cose non sense , di cui mi frega zero;

Mio cugino C è follemente innamorato di mio padre. Vive col terrore di incontrarlo ed è convinto che si rechi qui apposta per spiarmi e vedere cosa faccio/come vivo;

Mia cugina A (Selvaggia) è talmente convinta delle sue idee che farle un discorso da quando è morta mamma è impossibile. Non le si può dire nulla che subito mi aggredisce , e attacca la telefonata senza avermi dato nemmeno il tempo di salutarla , ribadendo sempre che la madre (zia G) prima di pensare ai nipoti deve preoccuparsi dei figli;

Mio padre è sparito. L’ultima volta in cui abbiamo avuto un contatto risale al mio compleanno giorno in cui alla fatidica domanda “ Quando possiamo vederci?” ,mi rispose “ci sentiamo, ciao!”;

IO :

PROVO A SOPRAVVIVERE AL 2024.

[callsign-jinx]

Seeing Red | Ch. 34: Operation Seresin Honeymoon ✍️

Warnings: soft Seresin family moment and ANGST. LOTS OF ANGST. mentions of death, infidelity, depression, murder (well, it is murder so-), Jake shares more about his past... get ready babies.

A/N: WELL I'M SORRY FOR ANOTHER ROUND OF FEELS HERE-

Masterlist on pinned!

Waking up to an empty bed has become a rarity. Jake's always there with you. Sometimes Liam has nightmares, and Jake brings him to bed. There’s always someone sleeping with you. So when you turn around and your hand collides with the mattress rather than the pilot's chest, you frown. 

Then you hear giggles from the kitchen. 

"Bubs, you're gonna wake up mama." Jake says, loud enough for you to hear. 

You get out of bed, paddling softly to not disrupt the father-son moment. When Jake proposed all those years ago, you knew that growing old with him, having a family, and watching him raise your kids would be the most exciting adventure. But you never thought he would be this good. 

You lean over the door of the kitchen, watching your boys look at the pancake in front of Jake, heads tilted at the same angle.  

Literally, father and son. 

"Mama likes bancakes, right?" 

"Oh yeah, your mom has a sweet tooth." 

"Dada likes bancakes?" Liam asks, touching his dad’s arm. 

Jake sighs, bringing Liam's little hand to his lips. He told you a few days ago that he needs to smother him in kisses when Liam calls him 'dada'. "It's like an instant reaction," he said. You laughed, of course, and marveled at how Liam had Jake wrapped around his little finger. 

"Dada likes pancakes." Jake answers, giving the kid another kiss on the forehead. "Does Liam like pancakes?" 

"Yes!" 

"And do you like... broccoli? We can add broccoli." Jake jokes, watching how Liam's face turns into a frown. "Okay, no broccoli." 

"No boccoli," Liam says, shaking his head.

"And do you like Dada?" 

The question, innocent for the rest of the world, makes your heart ache. It comes from a place of doubt and fear. He's afraid of not living up to Liam's expectations, of not being the superhero you've always talked about. 

"I love Dada!" 

You cover your mouth, trying not to make any noise. It's the first time that Liam has said that to his dad. 

Jake turns off the stove, moves the pan away, and gets Liam out of his learning tower. 

"And Dada loves you, bubs. So, so much." 

Both heads turn around when they hear you sniffle. 

"Mama is up!" Liam makes grabby hands and heads in your direction, running to you when Jake pulls him down.

You hug him, kissing his head. "Morning baby." 

"Mama don't cry." He pouts, cleaning your wet cheeks. 

"These are happy tears, I swear."

Jake approaches you both, hugging you at the same time. "That's what happens when you go snooping around." He kisses your forehead. 

"It was such a beautiful moment." 

Jake chuckles; Liam is squirming in your arms, wanting to go play. You set him down, and he goes outside to play with Milo. These two have been inseparable since they saw each other. 

"That was…" Jake shakes his head, trying to find his words. "I don't know. I've never felt that before." 

"That's the purest love you'll ever experience. Unconditional love and affection." You mutter, your arms circling his naked torso. 

"I wish someone had loved me the way I love him." 

You kiss his chest. "Your mom loved you, Jake. She sent you a letter every year. Don’t think I never saw that box you kept hidden in the back of the closet. There were lots of them."

“One for every year I was away. She told me the things she did during the year. How her life was. However, she never asked about me. She knew I couldn’t send an answer.” 

“She told you all the things you needed to know. She didn’t want you to worry about her, Jake.” 

He sighs, caressing your hair. "She wasn't allowed to be with me, you know." 

"What?" You take a step back, wanting to look into his eyes. 

"The first time I saw her, I was five. It was the first time I went to an event as the heir to the St. James empire."

"Wait, wait." You pinch the bridge of your nose, making a big effort to understand what is happening. "Where was your mom during those five years?" 

"She had postpartum depression and tried to kill me when I was a baby." He mumbles, looking down, ashamed of his own story.

You have to lean against the counter to not fall. 

"Jake… Oh my god, h-how do you know this?" 

"She told me when I was fourteen." He presses his back against the wall, facing you but still not looking at you. "She told me how they kept her away from me for five years. That's why my grandpa was always around."

"Someone had to take care of you.” You don’t know how the conversation has turned in such a dark direction, but you don’t want to make him have a hard time so early in the morning. “We don’t have to talk about this.” 

“I want to finish that story. I’ve never told anyone. Mav doesn’t know this.” He slides down the wall, sits down, and brings his knees up to his chest. “Can I?” 

“Oh, Jake. You don’t have to ask for permission.” You move closer to him, but slowly. It’s like his mind has traveled to a different place, as if the man in front of you wasn’t the Jake you know but an alternative one. “Can I sit here with you?” 

He nods, and you sit cross-legged on the ground. “Whenever you want, honey.”

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, and preparing himself to share another part of his life that’s not pleasant to hear. “So, yeah, my mom tried to hurt me when I was a baby. My father kept her away from me. She spent the next five years in a house in the middle of the mountains. And at that gala… that’s when I met her.” 

You nod, swallowing down the lump of sadness in your throat. “And after that? Did you have a close relationship with her?” 

He shakes his head. “She never forgave herself.” 

“She was depressed, it wasn’t her fault. Your mom needed help.”

“No, Red. She never forgave herself because she couldn’t end what she began. She didn’t want me to be another puppet in my father’s plans.” His teary-eyed face speaks volumes. What a horrible life it must be to try to murder your own child and not even regret it. Just the idea of something happening to Liam makes you nauseous. 

“Dear Lord, you’ve gone through so much on your own.” You try not to cry, but it's almost impossible. You can't stop imagining a kid about Liam's age, all alone in a big mansion. "Did the relationship improve after that?" 

“We talked sometimes, but we weren’t allowed to be together for long. And then... she got pregnant. Apparently she fell in love with her guard, the one that watched over her at the house in the mountains, and she became pregnant. She was really excited to have a kid that didn’t have St.James as a surname. ”

You grab his hand, noticing how the conversation is becoming more difficult with the shake of his hands. “You have a sibling?” 

“My father pushed her down the stairs. He didn’t make it.” You have to lean closer to him to hear his words properly. 

“He? You knew the gender of the baby?” He raises his head, looking at you, tears shimmering in his eyes. 

His breath, ragged and uneven, seems to stop when he answers your question. “My mom wanted to call him Liam.” 

He breaks down completely after that confession. That's why he wanted to name his first son Liam: he wanted to remember that poor kid who never got to see his parents' faces. Jake’s childhood would have been completely different if he had a brother, even if it was a half-brother. That kid would have been the only normal thing in Jake’s life. But, like everything else in his life, it was taken from him. You're glad your past self wasn't too upset with the husband who abandoned her and honored his wishes to name his first son Liam. 

You move Jake's arms, making room for your body, hugging him and rocking the both of you back and forth, as you do with Liam when he can’t stop crying. After all, what you have in front of him is not a grown man crying for what he once lost. 

These are the tears of a kid who never allowed himself to cry. 

“Ames and the kids are busy watching a movie, we are free of children for the next two hours.” Payback says, walking out of the house and sitting next to his wife. 

“We are not completely free.” Bob jokes, caressing her wife’s belly. 

“What movie?” You question, helping Jake with the drinks. 

“Encanto”

“Can I go watch the movie with them?” Mickey says, earning a slap in the chest from Phoenix. “Hey, that movie is amazing! And ‘We don’t talk about Bruno’ is a fucking masterpiece.”

“That’s true!” Jake agrees, leaving beers on the table. “I love when Red sings Pepa’s lines for Liam.” 

Fanboy smirks. “You better record that the next time, I need blackmail material.” 

You scoff. “He didn’t tell you that he’s the one singing Félix’s lines.” 

“Traitor.” Jake whispers, glaring at you. You wink at him, get a beer, and sit next to him. 

"You said you wanted to tell us something, Jake." Javy recalls what he said before Payback went inside with the kids. 

Mav and Penny look at Jake, sharing worried expressions. You grab Jake's hand, giving him a quick squeeze. "Jake wants to tell you the reason behind the divorce. And who he really is."

Javy frowns. "I think I know who you are. You're my best friend. That's all that matters to me."

“Javy, you don’t even know my real surname.” 

Rooster leaves his beer on the table, taking off his glasses and narrowing his eyes. “Your name is not Seresin?” 

“My name is Jake St. James.” 

“Hold up, the Jake St. James that disappeared twenty years ago?” Nat says, looking at Javy. “You didn’t know?” 

“No, I didn’t. But I’m sure he had his reasons.” Javy mumbles, looking at his friend. “Are you sure you want to tell us?” 

“I know that this is a problem I’ll have to face eventually, and Mav, Penny, and Red made me realize that I don’t have to do it alone.” Jake announces, glancing at everyone sitting in the small backyard of your house. 

“Jazz, go inside with the kids, please.” Payback begs to her wife. 

“What? Why? I’m the cop here, Reuben, if anyone should stay here, it’s me.” Jazz complains, leaving her beer on the table. 

“Exactly. If somehow the police get involved in this, I want you to be able to deny everything without lying.” Payback insists, and then looks at Bob. The wizzo nods, understanding the message. 

“Angel, you should go inside, too.” Bob raises Doc’s hand to his lips, and she nods. 

“Can you help me, Jazz? We can go get some ice cream.” Doc offers, getting up from the chair and opening her hand for Jazz. 

Doc must be the sweetest woman on Earth, and probably nobody can say no to her, because Jazz leaves with her begrudgingly. Once both women are inside and the glass door is closed behind them, Jake starts telling his story. 

He doesn’t share every detail, though. His mom’s story is still a mystery to everyone, except you, and even when Rooster or Nat stop him to ask questions about her, he doesn’t answer any of them. Jake’s mom will remain a secret for everyone. 

By the time Jake finishes his story, all your friends have tears in their eyes. Javy is hugging Nat, who broke down after learning about Jake’s grandpa. Payback’s jaw is so clenched that it must hurt. You know he’s planning to murder Jake’s father in seven different ways. 

“Holy shit, man. And you’re still sane after that?” Fanboy asks while wiping his face with his t-shirt. 

“Miguel!” Bob scolds him, throwing one of Milo’s balls at his head. 

“Hey, that hurts!” 

“I’m glad it does!” 

“Hey guys, calm down. Red’s been joking about it for days now.” Jake says, pulling your chair closer to him. 

“Yeah, but I have privileges. You get abandoned once, and then you’ll be able to make all the jokes you want.” You claim, the comment makes Rooster bite his lips. “You can laugh, Rooster. It’s okay.” 

He chuckles while shaking his head. “The fact that you never had a real family and, once you found one, you left them behind to protect them... that says a lot about you, man.” 

“Thanks, Rooster.” Jake raises his beer in Bradley’s direction and drinks. 

“Well, after this overwhelming news, I think it’s time for some good ones.” Mav says, getting up from his chair and handing a white envelope to Jake. 

“What’s this?” Jake turns the envelope around, looking for something written on the white paper. But there’s absolutely nothing. 

“Open it, dingus!” Nat says, making Jake chuckle. He opens the envelope slowly, testing Nat’s patience. “I regret every dollar I put into that.” 

“Dollar?” That makes Jake open the envelope faster. “Plane tickets?” He looks at you with knitted eyebrows in surprise. 

“What’s the destination?” 

“Hawaii.” 

“Hawaii? Javy, this is your doing.” You point your finger at him. The pilot is smiling and nodding in Mav’s direction. 

“It was his idea. You’re going on a one-week trip.” 

“Woah, we have to work.” 

“No, you don’t.” Payback declares, taking off his glasses. “The three of you are leaving tomorrow.” 

“Oh my god, this is… Hawaii with Liam? Jake, we’re going to Hawaii!” You squeal, hugging all your friends, but especially Mav. “Thank you. He needs this.” You whisper to him. 

He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “You both need it. Have fun with your child. Create memories as a family. And send us a lot of photos and videos.” 

“Mav.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re the best dad Jake could have asked for.” 

His eyes sparkle with joy before he pulls you in for another hug. “Thank you, Red. And thank you for making Jake happy. I met your dad, you know.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You met him?” 

“Yeah. And I see so much of you in him. He’d be extremely proud of you. ” 

Now is your turn to cry, it seems. 

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[amamiofacciouncasinoo]

Boccoli in corso 💗

[nichet-crochet]

mmm mm m m mmmm mm mmmmm m mmmm mmm mm mmmm m mmmmm i love boccoli

[chouncazzodicasino]

Incredibile come una giornata in cui i capelli mi vengono bene (riccissimi, definiti, gonfi e con i giusti boccoli) mi riesca a far sentire figa. Mi so messa pure il rosseto va'.

[moss-ridden-owl-creature]

Acini di pepe Agnolotti Al dente Alfabeto Al forno Alphabet pasta Anelli Anellini Anelloni Barbina Barilla Group Bavette Bavettine Biciclette Bigoli Boccoli Bucatini Buitoni Busiate Cacavelle Calamarata Calamaretti Campanelle Cannelloni Capelli d’angelo Capellini Cappelletti Cappelli del prete Capunti Caramelle Casarecce Casoncelli casonsèi Castellane Casunziei Cavatappi Cavatelli Cencioni Chifferi Ciriole Conchiglie Conchigliette Conchiglioni Corallini Corzetti Creste di galli Croxetti De Cecco Ditali Ditalini Divella Egg barley Elicoidali, Tortiglioni Fagioloni Fagottini Farfalle Farfalline Farfalloni Fedelini Fettucce Fettuccine Fettucelle Fideos Filini Fiorentine Fiori Foglie d’ulivo Fregula Funghini Fusi Fusilli Fusilli Avellinesi Fusilli bucati Garganelli Gemelli Gigli Girandole Gnocchi Gramigna Grattini Grattoni Lagane La Molisana Lanterne Lasagne Lasagne (Gravagna) Lasagnette Lasagnotte Linguettine Linguine Lumache Lumaconi Macaroni Maccheroncelli Maccheroni alla molinara Maccheroni al pèttine Mafalde Mafaldine Malloreddus Maltagliati Mandala Manicotti Marille Marziani Matriciani Maultasche Mezzani pasta Mezzelune Mezze penne Mezzi bombardoni Midolline Occhi di lupo Occhi di Lupo Occhi di pernice Orecchiette Orzo Orzo (also risoni) Paccheri Pappardelle Passatelli Pasta al ceppo Pastina Pearl pasta, piombi Pelmeni Penne Pennoni Perciatelli Pici Pillus Pipe rigate Pizzoccheri Puntine Quadrefiore Quadrettini Radiatori Rana Ravioli Ricciolini Ricciutelle Rigatoncini Rigatoni Risi Rombi Rotelle Rotini Sacchetti Sacchettini Sacchettoni Sagnarelli Sagne ‘ncannulate Sagnette Scialatelli Scialatelli or scialatielli Seme di melone Sorprese Sorprese Lisce Spaghetti Spaghetti alla chitarra Spaghettini Spaghettoni Spirali Spiralini (Scharfalini) Spätzle Stelle Stelline Stortini Stringozzi Strozzapreti Tagliatelle Taglierini Testaroli Torchio Tortelli Tortellini Tortelloni Trenette Trenne Tripoline Tripolini Troccoli Trofie Tuffoli Tufoli Vermicelli Vermicelloni Voiello Ziti Zitoni

That is an outrageous amount of pasta, my friend.

[sottileincanto]

Come quasi tutti i mesi, anche il mese scorso sono andata dalle mie parrucchiere (orgogliosamente sempre le stesse da quando avevo 14 anni) per il taglio, perché la maledizione dei capelli corti è che devi necessariamente starci dietro, per quanto poi la mattina quando li asciughi ci metti cinque minuti e non mezz'ora. MA la volta scorsa Manuela ha un po' esagerato col taglio (cosa che non mi sposta più di tanto eh, ricrescono...) solo che per resettare un po' la situazione adesso mi tocca farli crescere un po' prima di tagliare di nuovo. Avendo io quel simpatico tipo di capelli folto come la giungla amazzonica in pieno rigoglio, spesso come il tronco di una sequoia, non abbastanza mosso da creare soffici ed armoniosi boccoli quando sono lunghi, ma abbastanza da gonfiarsi come il miglior panettone artigianale dopo tre lievitazioni... adesso praticamente sembro il funghetto di Super Mario.

[susieporta]

Il mio cane ha fatto amicizia con Molly, un pastore tedesco che è quasi il doppio di lui e che, incredibilmente, ha il doppio delle sue paure. Tra timorati di Dio, si sono intesi.

Il padrone di Molly è tedesco a sua volta, ha boccoli lunghi e biondi, un viso glabro da ventenne; quando l’ho incontrato, indossava bermuda e maniche corte, mentre io ero coperta con sciarpa e cappello. È venuto a piedi dalla Svizzera, dove ha abitato per un certo periodo e dove si è imbattuto in Molly, e dice che vuole restare qui. Bryan, il mio cane, è andato incontro al suo, e pian piano ne ha scalfito la timidezza. Giorno dopo giorno Molly si è sciolta, ora salta addosso a Bryan, lo lecca e lo morde, si arrotolano l’uno sull’altra con agilità coreografica, noi li osserviamo incantati. Il tedesco dice che Molly si è innamorata. Che sono uguali, loro tre: calmi, e sempre affamati. Forse pensa che io non sia calma – ed è vero – o che abbia meno appetito. Lui mangia alla Caritas e trova il cibo ottimo, dorme in un bosco nei dintorni di Villa Pamphilj; non sapevo sorgesse un bosco nel bel mezzo di Roma, ma forse al tedesco piace romanzare, così non ho indagato.

L’altro giorno, mentre chiacchieravamo, si è avvicinata una signora con un cucciolo in preda all’euforia, che ha interrotto l’idillio dei nostri cani. Mi ha chiesto di tradurre per lei: aveva conosciuto il ragazzo assieme al marito, che parla inglese, ma lei no. Voleva sapere se aveva mangiato, e dove caspita si trova questo bosco in cui dorme; mi ha pregato di avvertirlo che avrebbe piovuto e la temperatura si sarebbe abbassata, doveva procurarsi una giacca, ne aveva una?

Ero stupita da tanta premura, ma il ruolo d’interprete mi piaceva. «È bello, vero?» mi ha detto la signora guardando il ragazzo. Non sapevo se tradurre. Lui era distratto dall’interazione fra i cani – Molly è sensibile, ripete spesso, perciò la protegge. «È alto», ha continuato la signora, «e non patisce manco il freddo». Ho riso dietro la mascherina. «Pure mio figlio era alto così». La risata mi si è spenta in gola. La signora si è girata verso di me, mi ha fissata. «L’ho perso», ha detto, «era l’unico figlio e non ce l’ho più».

Non ho tradotto nulla. Ho sentito tutto il peso di essere in quel momento la sola destinataria di una simile notizia.

Tornando a casa, ho pensato che Bryan non è mica calmo, e che ero stata io a convincere il suo padrone a liberare Molly dal guinzaglio, a provare a fidarsi di lei: non le sarebbe accaduto niente di male, non l’avrebbe perduta. Ho pensato alla signora: non poteva immaginare che il bacio di suo figlio sulla guancia fosse un addio, che sarebbe salito al decimo piano. Ho pensato che, se passi molti anni a prenderti cura di un altro essere vivente, dopo non puoi più smettere. Adotti un cucciolo. O ti preoccupi per la salute di un ragazzo sconosciuto che dorme nel bosco, anche se quel bosco nemmeno sai dov’è.

(Ricordo del 2021)

Rosella Pastorino