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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 9 months ago

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A Cat in the Kitchen

Part 1 (ft. Riddle and Silver) I Part 2 (ft. Trey and Kalim) I Part 3 (ft. Jade and Lilia) I Part 4 (ft. Deuce and Jamil) I Part 5 (ft. Malleus and Ruggie) | Part 6 (ft. Cater and Rook) | Part 7 (ft. Sebek and Floyd) | Part 8 (ft. Ace and Idia) | Part 9 (ft. Leona and Epel) | Part 10 (ft. Jack and Vil)

In which Gordon Ramsay-kun is isekai’d into Twisted Wonderland. Part Food Wars, part Hell’s Kitchen, all Master Chef—Night Raven College isn’t ready to take on this Michelin Star celebrity!!

Ready for a short supplementary cooking class?🌟 A day in the life of Prefect Gordon and his familiar Grim, told in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After all, food is tastier when it's shared with friends and family~

Imagine this…

Gordon Ramsay stirred before the rats and the ghosts of Ramshackle dorm did. He was up by 5 am most days, first exercising and then rustling around in the kitchen fighting the gas stove to light (and stay that way!) and taking inventory of the dwindling ingredients in the pantry. At 7 am, the delicious smells would start up, rousing his housemates from their slumber.

This was the magic of a human incapable of spellcasting or sorcery.

"Mm... You're up super early again," Grim muttered from the doorway as he rubbed at his eyes. He yawned, still struggling to shake off the last remnants of sleep that clung to him. "I dunno how you do it."

"Not so hard once you've got the hang of it," he grunted in response. Gordon wiped his hands off on a dish towel before sliding a plate toward Grim. "Eat up now, we don't have much time before classes start."

"I dunno, I'm not too hungry."

"You? Not hungry?" Gordon's brows raised. "That's new. You feeling under the weather?"

Grim leapt, looking as though he had been caught with his entire body stuffed into a cookie jar. "N-No, I'm not! Yup, there's my hunger comin' back to me!"

He hurriedly yoinked a tuna sandwich and chowed down.

"See?! Ah'm jus' fine," Grim insisted, cheeks stuffed.

"Hmm, alright." Gordon tucked into a small bowl of oatmeal--prepared with baked bananas, almond milk, and dried cranberries.

"You got class today too or what?"

"Yup. Ashengrotto and the smaller Shroud this time."

“Think they’ll drive ya mad like the rest of them did?”

“I’ll hold my tongue until I’ve seen how they are in the kitchen for myself.”

“Keh, you’re no fun.”

The beast’s ears flattened. The blue fire that burned so brightly seemed to dim. Something weighed on his mind—of that, Gordon was certain.

“That means you'll abandon me before lunchtime again..." Between chews, Grim complained, "How come I gotta be just a student and you get to be a teacher too? The great Grim-sama oughta be showin' these newbies a thing or two!"

"I only teach what I know. I'm still a student in some ways, learning new things about food every day." Gordon shrugged, giving his friend a rough ruffle on the head. "You can be a teacher when you've mastered everything there is to master--neither of us is quite there yet."

"Why can't it be? I wanna fast forward to the part where I become an archmage already!!"

"Don't be impatient about making progress. I’ve made hundreds of dumplings in a day and still came nowhere near the level of perfection of a dim sum master.“

“Tsk, that sucks. Didja at least get to eat the bad dumplings?”

“It was all I had that day. They weren’t fit to serve to customers.” Gordon shook his head. “My point is, you’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He spooned up the remainder of his oatmeal, then deposited his dirty bowl and spoon in the sink. Gordon plucked up Grim, who still had a mouth full of tuna, and tucked him under one arm.

“M-Myah?!“

“Right then, let’s head out. Brisk morning jog to wake up the senses—it’s a brand new day!”

“Lemme finish my breakfast first, sheesh!!”

Three classes before lunch, and they all went about as well as Gordon had expected them to. (That was to say, not well at all.)

During first period Alchemy, Grim had earned the ire of Crewel by disregarding the potion recipe. In spite of Gordon's reminders and warnings, Grim had taken one too many missteps. The wrong ingredient, the incorrect amount, the temperature too low or too high, the stirring too much or not enough.

He was then caught catnapping during Magic History and extensively told off by both Trein and Lucius. (The meowing had gotten very intense.) Gordon had apologized profusely in Grim's place.

Flying had not fared any better--Grim struggled to concentrate, his unsteady magic causing his broom to wildly buck, attempting to chuck him off. Gordon had to stop his rep of 100 push-ups to fetch his friend out from a shrub. Twigs poked at him, leaves caught in his fur.

By the time they were dismissed back to the locker rooms, Grim had melted into a furry puddle on Gordon's shoulder. "Maaan, I'm beat!! That was rough!"

"Rougher than usual." Gordon crunched on an apple. He had taken to the habit of eating small platters or snacks throughout the day over whole meals—it was more efficient for his lifestyle. “Something you want to tell me, or…?”

“N-Nothing’s up!” Grim snapped. "Quit worryin' about me. It's the boss's job to do that for their minion."

The chef rolled his eyes as he set Grim down on the floor beside him. He handed off a boxed lunch wrapped in a checkered cloth. "I'm off to teach. You'll be fine on your own, right? Find Trappola and Spade, settle down with your food, and don't cause trouble."

"I got it already!" Grim huffed. "Catch ya after...?"

"Always." His smile was strained, a bit tired but true. "Maybe I'll bring back some disastrous stories to share with you over dinner."

One last pat on the head, and then he was gone. Hustling down the hall, the white of his pristine chef’s jacket vanishing behind a corner.

Grim managed the rest of the hike to the cafeteria, balancing his lunch in his paws. He squeezed past the legs of various mob students, emerging safely on the other side. They rushed to line up for trays of food.

Suckers, Grim thought, paying in cash for food. Luckily for me, I’ve got something way better than whatever they’re serving.

“Oiiii, Grim! Over here!!” someone called to him. He looked—and there they were, the duo of troublemakers, marked by a heart and a spade upon their faces.

“Ace! Deuce!”

He scampered over to the two Heartslabyul freshmen. They had already secured their lunches, as well as an open seat for him.

“Hard night? Looks like you didn't get much sleep," Deuce commented. A fluffy omelet wobbled atop a mountain of ketchup fried rice on his plate.

“He's right, you really do look awful," Ace added cheerily--blunt as ever. He had opted for a slice of some savory pie, vegetables and meat oozing out from a buttery crust.

"Sh-Shuddap! The great Grim-sama was up all night cookin' up something big!" He slammed a paw down on the table. "Just look at your sorry lunches. They can't compare to what I have!"

"Did Prefect make your meal again? You should try to not trouble him too much.”

"’S not like I tell’m to! He does it on his own!” Grim snickered to himself. "He takes all these cheap ingredients and throws'm together to make these tasty dishes."

"Well, don't keep us waiting in suspense," Ace groaned. "Show us what you have already."

“Let’s see, let’s see!”

Grim undid the fabric knot that held his lunch in a swathe. The checkered pattern peeled back and the lid, once removed, yielded a creamy, cheesy bed of tuna bake.

Gordon had taken his beloved canned tuna and fried it down into flakes. It was then combined with a special mixture of seasonings, pasta shells, melted cheeses, onions and broccoli, and topped with bread crumbs. After a generous bake in their ancient oven, the dish had come out golden brown and bubbling.

“Whoooa, smells delish!!” all three of them drooled.

“Lucky bastard,” Ace muttered. He quickly put on a cheeky grin, his spoon prepared. “Ne, ne~ Lemme try some, Grim!“

“D-Don’t be cheeky, Ace! You can’t demand to mooch off of someone else’s lunch,” Deuce scolded his peer. “… Even if it does look really good.”

“Paws off!!” Grim shielded the box with his body. “My minion made this for me and me only!”

“Tch.” Ace’s expression dropped. “You get to eat like a king for free while the rest of us have to shell out and make do with whatever’s on the school’s menu.”

“It’s not that bad,” Deuce pointed out. “It’d be nice to be able to eat for free but I’m happy with the quality of food we get for the price.”

“This comin’ from the guy who was running low on pocket money for a snack the other day?” he smirked.

“H-Hey, I need to budget, okay?!”

While the duo bickered, Grim had started to shove his face into the box (silverware was too difficult to maneuver) and wolf down his meal. Cheese sauce painted his fur, bits of broccoli and tuna dotting his jaw.

It was heaven—or as close to heaven as he could get on the earth.

He licked his lips appreciatively, mopping up what was left on his face. Not even a little could go to waste. Grim was determined.

As he went back in for another mouthful, he felt a phantom hand cascade across his head, his back. Advice from that morning filled his mind.

“You’ll get there one day. Nose to the grindstone, Grim. You've got to work hard to earn it."

He shut his eyes, making a silent vow.

I’ll definitely… definitely pay ya back for all the hard work you’ve been puttin’ in too, partner.

Gordon bid farewell to the ghost chefs on his way out of the kitchen. The day’s leftovers and unused ingredients overflowed from his arms—a perk of the teaching gig, which helped to feed him and his feline roommate. He mentally parsed through what was available, dreaming up new dishes for the days to come.

There was a nice chunk of fresh tuna (Grim would love it) in his brown paper bag. Perhaps he’d sear it with a sesame crust, then drizzle the seafood in a yuzu-lime dressing to brighten it. He’s plate it with a microgreens salad. Chives, arugula, celery, radish, and ruby sorrel to encourage Grim to eat a variety of vegetables.

He made his way out of the school building and down the long, winding path to Ramshackle dorm. The sun was still out, warming the worn Prefect.

On the front porch, he rustled around in his pants for the keys. When he finally fished it out and inserted the teeth into the lock, Gordon swore he heard a series of suppressed giggles from beyond the door.

Odd.

The door swung open, and he was immediately accosted.

"Welcome baaack," the Ramshackle Ghosts chirped. One ushered him in from behind, another too his groceries off of his hands, and a third tugged him along by the arm.

"Come this way! Grimmy's got a treat for ya!"

"He's been working hard on it the second he got back from his last class."

"Oooh, you're gonna LOVE it!"

"What about dinner?" Gordon protested, watching his beloved ingredients sail off.

He was thrusted into their dingy kitchen--which doubled as the dining room, thanks to the table and chairs set up in one cobwebbed corner. The same old Ramshackle he woke up to every day. Rusty knobs and hinges, chipped cupboards, electricity and running water that blinked in and out.

But there, set on a table with uneven legs and splintered wood, was something extraordinary.

It was a stout cake, iced in light blue with a layer of dripping white and several lit candles stuck into the top. Black frosting formed the vague shape of a fish, TUNA piped over it in white. A single lollipop--pale blue, and in the shape of a paw--casually rested against the cake, as if it had been tossed on top for an extra flair.

A furry mass tackled and hugged Gordon's leg.

"Grim?!"

He was suited up in his own little chef's uniform. It was deep gray, verging on black, his apron tied with a striped-purple ribbon. A tiny toque--a chef's hat-- sat between his ears, a bandage over the bridge of his nose. A smear of white icing decorated his left cheek, and he carried with him a telltale piping bag squeezed thin.

Gordon blinked. "You did this?"

"Nyahahah! Were you surprised?"

"You told me you couldn't cook to save your life."

"He can't," a ghost piped up as he deposited the groceries onto a counter. "He's worse than I was when I was alive!"

"That's why Grimmy's been getting up in the dead of night lately. Been, what? Gotta be a few weeks now."

"He's been practicing his baking and then cleaning up the traces of his crime before you get up."

"What..."

"I wanted to pay ya back, yanno! For all the cookin' and cleanin' and whatever," Grim mumbled shyly, kicking at the ground. "So I figured I'd treat ya for once! I was thinking of a sticky toffee pudding at first since that's your favorite, but... it gets so sticky, it was hard to work with!"

He patted his stomach. "I couldn't put my stuff in the trash can or else you'd notice, so I had to eat up all my mistakes too! It was a lotta effort and way harder than it looked, so you'd better be grateful!!”

Grim looked away, rubbing at his bandage.

“… It helped me better understand and appreciate all the things you do on the daily.”

It clicked.

Everything suddenly made sense. Grim's tiredness, lack of focus, decreased appetite, defensiveness—it was all for this very moment.

"... I see." Gordon bent down, a smile taking shape on his mouth. A steady kindling in his chest. “This is your way of saying ‘thank you’.”

“M-Maybe! An archmage has gotta take good care of his minion,” Grim muttered.

The prefect laughed softly. “And you’re doing a great job at it. Hang tight, I'll get the stove going and whip us up some seared tuna to go with the cake."

“Myah?! Y-You’ve got tuna? Like, the real stuff?!” Grim’s eyes were wide and sparkling. A line of drool ran down his chin. "Fancy tuna...!!"

"Yeah. We can plate some for the ghosts too--so they can join us for a meal in spirit." Gordon nodded at their other roommates. Their pale faces brightened with excitement.

"Can we really?"

"It's been so long since I was last invited to a celebration like this!!"

"Oh, but we can't eat... Ghosts don't have digestive systems. The tune would pass right through us."

"... Grim, you have eat their shares. More importantly, it's being together for the occasion that matters, right?"

"Whoo-hoo!! You're the best minion an archmage could ask for!!" Grim cheered, leaping into the air, furry fist pumping.

“Let's get this dinner party started…!”

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pilot-boi · 7 months ago

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What are everyone’s favourite cereals in RRAYENNBOW? And you can include Qrow and mercury if you want to

And I SHALL include them

Ruby: Special K. She doesn’t actually have that much of a sweet tooth, and she’s gotta stay fit. Plus it has strawberries and turns the milk pink

Weiss: Doesn’t really eat cereal (coffee or death) but if she has to choose, probably Chex. She just thinks they’re neat

Blake: Gonna go with Honey Bunches of Oats. First of all, bees. Second of all, they remind her of the good times on the road with granola bars and what not

Yang: Kix. I know she’s the punch girl, but come on. Tell me she wouldn’t love Kix. Wish I had more to say about this one, but I just feel it in my bones

Jaune: Used to be Pumpkin Pete’s, but then ya know. Also he never really liked it that much, he just wanted the hoodie really badly. So i don’t know why but i really see him liking Cinnamon Toast Crunch

Pyrrha: Life (jkjk) Health nut that she is, it’s not one of the super sugary ones. But it’s also not like… bran flakes. Unironically think she’d really love Honey Nut Cheerios

Nora: Fucking Sugar Blast Supremes or something, let’s be real. She hoards the cereals from Halloween time, Count Chocula, and Boo Berry, and Frankenberry. Just the most synthetic shit you’ve ever seen

Ren: Raisin Bran. Because he’s a monster. He actually really likes it, but he hates the texture of the raisins in the milk, so he painstakingly removes every raisin, eats all the cereal, and then eats all the raisins

Oscar: He didn’t get a lot of cereal brands out on the farm, lots of morning oatmeal and eggs and whatnot. But once he made it to the big city, he absolutely fell in love with Froot Loops. And yes, he gets teased relentlessly for liking the most kiddy cereal ever

Emerald: Think she’d really like Apple Cinnamon Cheerios. Or just normal Cheerios. In milk, or just plain, she loves those things. They were cheap to buy (or steal) so they were one of the few cereals she actually had

Mercury: Reese’s Puffs. With his dad, it was only healthy food, or nothing at all. But he’d see the commercials on TV. So after killing Marcus, I kid you not, Mercury ate nothing but Reese’s Puffs for like a week. And then he was sick. But it was worth it. And yes, he knows the entire rap

Qrow: Again, like Weiss, coffee or death. But I feel like he’d also like Honey Nut Cheerios. I really don’t know why, they’re so un-Qrow. But maybe that’s exactly why he’d like them

#rwby #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #jaune arc #nora valkyrie #lie ren #oscar pine #emerald sustrai #mercury black #qrow branwen #mine #asks #Remy steel official

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storiesbyjes2g · 2 months ago

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3.185 Serendipity

Sophia made a great suggestion as I prepared breakfast. She said we should take Desi to the splash park while it's still warm enough to enjoy it. I'm pretty sure her time in the pool yesterday planted the idea. I've never known anyone who loves the water as much as she does. She takes every opportunity to be submersed in it and even bathes more than she showers. I've been enjoying all this family time we've had lately, so of course I was down for it. I thought about calling up Dub and Maia to bring Tami but quickly decided against it because I want my girls all to myself even though I thoroughly enjoyed our families hanging out together. We definitely need to do that more, but not today.

Sophia asked about the milk I added to the oatmeal. One thing led to another, and before you know it, we're laughing and joking about bubble guts. It was the most bizarre and inappropriate conversation, but it reminded me of how we were in the beginning, before I started wearing robes, before I had so many worries, and before I knew exactly how much I adore this woman. Life is different now—in a good way—but I hope, in time, we'll be able to find our way back to that silly, carefree couple.

Evening came, and that meant the sun would take the warmth with it, so we dried ourselves and bid the splash park goodnight. But the night was very young, if you could even call it night, so we walked around the lake. Desiree isn't old enough to appreciate the beauty that is Gibbs Gardens, but I wanted to share it with her, anyway. One never knows what these young children pick up and remember.

I had walked this same path many times and thought I knew it well. But that night, I noticed a house I'd never seen before. It's probably been there this entire time, but I felt like it had just popped up seconds before I saw it. I likely overlooked it because I'd never been interested in a duplex before, but it's precisely what I'm looking for.

I stopped and stared at the house with my mouth gaped.

"Sophia-"

"I know!"

She felt it too. How perfect would it be to live right across the street from all of our favorite attractions in this city?

"If this house is for sale, buy it," she said. "I don't care what it looks like inside.

Ha! She was dead-set against moving at first, and now she's telling me to buy this house sight unseen. The Watcher works in mysterious ways.

As soon as we got home, I grabbed my laptop and searched for the house. Both of us were too excited to get the address, so I had to do a few searches to find the right house. Oddly enough, Dub's house kept popping up. I'll have to ask him if he finally got rid of those pesky tenants. Actually, that reminds me I should put Dad's house up for rent since Less doesn't seem interested in doing anything with it. I make a mental note to go there tomorrow and switch it up a little bit.

Back to the search, we finally get the right combinations of search terms and find our house. Yes, we're claiming it! Both units have three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms. The kitchen and dining areas are pretty large, and there's a nice space upstairs too, so even though I'd lose the office, it probably won't be that big of a deal, not that I use it much, anyway. The bedrooms are really tiny, but that's nothing we haven't dealt with before. Each house has its own fenced-in yard, but there's land behind the houses we can use as a common area. One thing I looked forward to in this house was building the treehouse with Dad. I won't get to do it with him, but maybe Desi can still get her treehouse. The best thing about the house is...it's for sale! We're moving to Gibbs Gardens!

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #sophia aguilar #desiree amari murillo #rosie #kooper

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i99zhuo · 1 year ago

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Nini's diet ୧ ‧₊˚ 𓐐⋅ eat like blackpink jennie!

this is a guide on jennie's diet plan with multiple meal + a little workout routine!

content list:

1. diet specifications

2. breakfast

3. lunch

4. dinner

5. extras!

(_ _ ) . . z Z⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨ :★: ୧ ∗ ˖࣪ ໒꒱ ˚₊·

✸ ꒰ diet specifications + workout ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

👒 important: I'm only sharing Jennie's diet, always consult a doctor before doing any diet, stay healthy people >.<

INFO: Jennie's diet plan is simple with meals that consist of good proteins, organic vegetables, fruits, and whole grains. In this guide I will provide 2 meal examples for breakfast, lunch and dinner that I have researched and are part of Jennie's diet.

The calories you will consume doing this diet are around 472 to 1119 depending on what options you choose to eat! [TRY AND ALWAYS STAY IN 800 cal TO 1119 cal DON'T STARVE YOURSELF!!!]

Diet duration: 3days - 7days

WORKOUT: Here is the actual workout Jennie does!

wunda twists (30s per side)

side kick kneeling (30s per side)

break (15s)

downward dog leg lift (30s per side)

downward dog ab cruch (30s per side)

break (15s)

jack knife (30s)

one legged wheel (30s per side)

bow pose (30s)

dancer pose (30s per side)

video ver. -> click me!

you can also do any of the workouts i mentioned on my previous blog!

RULES: try and make these changes in your diet in order to make it more effective!

> drink 8 glasses of water! (example -> 2 while having breakfast, 2 while working out, 2 while having lunch and 2 while eating dinner)

> reduce salt intake!

> reduce sugar intake! (use another sweetener instead, example -> stevia, honey, coconut sugar, etc.)

> have your last meal at around 6pm to 8pm

✸ ꒰ breakfast ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

🦎 meal a: simple and light fruit breakfast 202cal

-> 1 banana (~~130g)

-> a glass of soy milk (~~200ml)

🌿 meal b: whole grain toast with boiled egg 138cal

-> 1 egg (~~55g)

-> 1 slice of wholegrain bread (~~25g)

✸ ꒰ lunch ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

🥑 meal a: avocado salad 266cal

-> 1/2 avocado (~~120g)

-> 1 cup of cherry tomato (~~150g)

-> 4 pieces of lettuce (~~10g)

-> 1 garlic clove (~~3g)

-> a pinch of salt

-> a pinch of pepper

-> 1tbs of olive oil

🎾 meal b: salmon salad 216cal

-> 1 cup of lettuce mix (~~35g)

-> 1 palm of salmon (~~80g)

-> a handful of blueberries (~~35g)

-> 1/2 boiled egg (~~28g)

-> oriental sauce to your taste!

✸ ꒰ dinner ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

🛣 meal a: detox juice 118cal

-> 1 apple (~~160g)

-> 1/4 cup of pineapple (~~43g)

->1 lemmon (juice) (~~15g)

-> 1 and a 1/2 cups of spinach (~~45g)

💶 meal b: porridge 280cal

-> 2 spoons of black beans (~~30g)

-> 30g of mung beans

-> 2 spoons of red beans (~~30g)

-> 1/2 cup of rice (~~100g)

-> 4 cups of water

✸ ꒰ others ꒱⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

✳️ these are some extras you can eat if you're still hungry or craving snacks!

option 1: detox tea (2cal)

option 2: fat free yoghurt (66cal)

option 3: oatmeal cookies (217cal)

option 4: latte (86cal)

(_ _ ) . . z Z⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨ :★: ୧ ∗ ˖࣪ ໒꒱ ˚₊·

Hey ty for reading AND waiting for this one 😭😭😭😭 I'm so sorry but I'm so unsure about this one, it's my first time trying this format sooo idk if its fine or not??? I feel like it's all over the place...

well anyways i don't really have much to say 🫡

toodlezzzzzzz

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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My father was a short-order cook, a strictly stovetop kind of guy. Israeli salads and scrambled eggs. I never saw him approach the lower half of the oven, except to clean it within an inch of its life. It would take me until my 30s to realize that he did not grow up with anything like the ovens we had in Canada, and that there wasn’t much in his childhood home to place in a stove.

He was born in Mandatory Palestine in 1936 to Yemenite parents, who themselves were born in Ottoman Palestine. All four of his grandparents left Yemen in 1881 in what was known as the First Yishuv.

For my father, an oven was a primus — a portable camping stove that uses kerosene or paraffin oil. As a 12-year-old boy during the 1948 War of Independence, he ate grass and weeds (mostly mallow, known as kubezeh) that he had to forage for himself. So, on balance, his short-order cooking made sense.

When I grew up and moved to Israel and other new immigrants asked me about my background, my father’s lack of culinary skills became a source of repeated disappointment.

You must have had tons of jachnun and zhug?

More like zero.

I thought you said he was Yemenite.

My father did put an awful lot of Mexican salsa on everything from spaghetti to chicken, and ate onions like apples for breakfast, but Jewish food for me was Ashkenazi all the way. Well, you can’t go back.

Recently, I introduced a new dialogue project with my EFL (English as a Foreign Language) college students (anything to get them talking). Each student had to film herself discussing her favorite family recipe. I teach in Jerusalem and my students come from a range of backgrounds that include Morocco, Algeria, Syria, Ethiopia, Russia and France.

Occasionally I have a student with a Yemenite background. This particular student, we’ll call her Shira, introduced her recipe by stressing how often she eats it at home, and how delicious and nutritious it was, particularly for keeping on weight. This made sense as Yemen was (and still is) a very poor country, and many of their recipes are inexpensive and calorie dense, something important in an undernourished population.

Then, to my amazement, Shira described my father’s “hot cereal” recipe, as I had always called it. He used to mention that his mother made it for him year-round, including on Passover, but I took that to mean it was a family recipe, not a Yemenite Jewish one.

My father made this for me on the rare winter mornings when he was not off to work before I woke up. I remember the satisfied look on his face as he stirred and stirred groats, tossing out tidbits about his mother and his life in pre-state Israel like rare coins while he watched butter melt into the milk. He wasn’t much of a talker when it came to his past, but perhaps the familiar smell loosened his tongue.

For a few minutes, I would be drawn into his world of a mother who sold her own saluf (Yemenite flatbread) and zhug to passersby for extra money and chatted in both Arabic and Yiddish, rather than my usual stance, which was “Why can’t he be like all of the other fathers in my Jewish school and pull out the AlphaBits and Fruit Loops?” Nowadays, this recipe is a family favorite, particularly on Passover and if we are having sleepover guests on Shabbat.

I remember Shira’s surprise when I told her I was familiar with this recipe and thanked her for choosing it as her assignment. Turns out my birthright wasn’t entirely lost to me, it just took me longer than most to realize it. Better late than never.

Cooking notes

This recipe is endlessly adaptable:

My kids prefer it with half a cup less water and half a cup more milk. Some people omit the milk, just as they would for oatmeal.

I’ve seen recipes that add a teaspoon of sugar and margarine instead of butter, though I’ve never tried it.

On Passover, we substitute crushed matzah for groats or wheat.

On Shabbat, we bake this mix in a jachnun pot on a low heat (225°F or 100°C) overnight in the oven for cold Saturday mornings, which yields a very soft mixture.

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salem-starlight · 10 months ago

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Good Morning My Little One [by Salem-Starlight]

Good morning, my sweet little one. I know you're feeling sleepy and cozy in your bed, but it's time to wake up and start the day. I have a lot of fun things planned for us, and I want you to be happy and energetic.

I'm going to gently lift the covers and give you a soft kiss on your forehead. You look so adorable with your sleepy eyes and your messy hair. I love you so much, my precious baby. I'm going to help you sit up and wrap you in your favorite warm blankets. You can cuddle with me while I stroke your hair and tell you how proud I am of you!

You're such an amazing little, and you make me so happy. You listen and follow the rules, and you're always so sweet and polite. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'm so lucky to be your Caregiver.

Now, let's get you ready for the day. I'm going to pick out a cute outfit for you, something comfy and colorful. Maybe a onesie or a dress, or a T-shirt and shorts. Whatever you like, my little one. I can help you change your clothes, or you can do it yourself if you're big enough, and make sure you're all ready and clean. I can brush your hair and tie it in a cute bow or a ponytail if you'd like, baby. I'm going to give you a hug and a kiss on your head and tell you how nice and cute you look!

Then, I'm going to take you to the kitchen and make you a yummy breakfast. Maybe some pancakes or waffles, or some cereal or oatmeal. Whatever you want, my little one. I'm going to cut up some fruit for you and pour you some juice or milk. If you want me to feed you with a spoon and wipe your mouth for you, absolutely!I'm going to praise you for eating well and being a good eater!

After breakfast, we're going to brush your teeth and wash your face. I'm going to give you your favorite toy/pacifier/stuffie to keep you company. I'm going to tell you what we're going to do today and how much fun we're going to have. Maybe we'll go to the park or the zoo, or watch a movie or play a game. Whatever you like, my little one. I'm going to hold your hand and guide you to the door. I'm going to help you put on your shoes and your coat. I'm going to tell you how excited I am to spend the day with you.

You're my sleepy little one, and I'm going to take care of you and make you happy. I'm going to protect you and comfort you. I'm going to love you and cherish you. You're my everything, my little one. And I'm yours, too.

[I got inspired last night to write for the first time in month's.]

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kyliesnaked · 1 month ago

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The Mommy Protocol

Chapter 3

Breakfast was oatmeal. If I had to be grateful for anything that morning, it was that the oats were at least cooked the way I liked them. Some people boil the water, add the oats and turn off the heat expecting the boiling water to be enough to properly soften the grain. It isn’t. I also don’t add milk to mine. A tablespoon of brown sugar and the congealing mass of soft oatmeal is all I need. It never made sense to me why people would add cold things to something that is meant to be hot. Like iced coffee. It’s an oxymoron enjoyed by actual morons.

I was lifted from the floor to the high chair in another display of humiliation. I was perfectly capable of sitting at the table but no, I had to be strapped in and a serving table had to be locked in place across my lap so I couldn’t get up. And that was before the rubber bib with a pocket in the front to catch anything that came off the spoon or my chin, because it’s not like spoon feeding another human being is a neat and tidy affair, right?

Eating was something I struggled with since the incident. I can feed myself, just as I can use a bathroom, bathe, or dress. And I know what sized portion fits in my mouth. Unfortunately, I don’t have a say in the matter so it’s either small bites in rapid succession that make me gag, or large bites that I struggle to swallow and end up having half the spoonful run down my face, hence the bib. My hair was pulled back into a pony and a bowl of gray mush sat on my tray. My hands were free and the spoon was right there. I didn’t reach for it. I knew better. Reaching for it meant I’d lose my hands and nothing is more mind numbing than laying on a floor with no way of entertaining myself.

The first spoonful wasn’t bad, nor the ones that followed but I knew by the size of the bowl that I was going to fill up quickly. I felt a sense of dread in my stomach. I knew from first hand experience what was to come. I’d be stuffed full until I couldn’t eat anymore then be laid on my stomach for…tummy time. A term reserved for the foulest of deeds. If I couldn’t eat all of my breakfast, it was only interpreted one way. That I had to go…number two. I shuddered at the thought. I couldn’t fight the inevitable, but that didn’t mean I was looking forward to it.

“How is my baby girl this morning?”

Breakfast was when the conversation usually started. But like all things, I had to navigate it very carefully.

“I’m good, Alyssa. How are you?”

“I am well. Thank you for asking.”

I opened for another bite, waiting for the invitation to continue talking. I ended up taking several more bites before I could speak again.

“I detected unusual levels of neuropeptides during your morning ritual. And additional water based optical lubricants.”

“Tears,” I said, “those were tears from crying.”

“Why were you crying? I didn’t apply sufficient pressure to cause you pain.”

“Crying doesn’t just come from physical pain.”

Alyssa paused for a moment, serving me another spoonful. I was nearing my limit but there was a decent amount left in the bowl.

“You are…sad.” Her voice stated it as a fact, but it was her way of asking a question.

“Yes. I am sad. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to be like this. Wearing these…things…using them…it’s not right!”

“All the data I have suggests otherwise. You are wearing the expected attire of a baby. I am caring for you as such.”

“But I’m not a baby! I’m twenty two years old!”

“That information is incorrect. My records state that you are two years old. With all available data given, I can only conclude that you are, in fact, a baby. My protocols are clear in this regard.”

“Your data is incorrect! Look at me! I’m clearly not two years old.”

“I have fed you, changed you, dressed you, and bathed you. These are protocols needed for the proper care of a baby. You have presented little conclusive evidence to the contrary, and therefore, all information dictates that you are a baby.”

“You make me do these things! You make me sit here. You make me wear these! You bathe me!” I shout, “But what baby have you ever heard of that can talk? Has breasts? A menstrual cycle? Babies don’t have those things. They are weak and helpless and mphghh!” She shoved another spoonful into my mouth and most of it ran down my face.

“These are variables that don’t factor into my protocols.” I started crying again. It was like arguing with a wall. “You are emotional. Is your stomach upset? I will get you down for some tummy time.”

She wiped my face as I sobbed. She removed the tray and unbuckled the straps before lifting me out of the chair and carrying me to the living room. She laid me on my stomach in front of my dolls and patted my butt before returning to the kitchen. I buried my head in the crook of my arm and bawled. It was hopeless. Totally hopeless. As I felt the increased pressure in my abdomen, I knew it was only a matter of time before I soiled myself.

Will this nightmare ever end?!

#ab/dl diaper #diaper regression #diaper training #ab dl diaper #diaper dependent

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boyswanna-be-her · 10 months ago

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I wish i could've camped for a couple days longer. We brought such good food and had everything we needed, if we'd only been able to afford to book the camp site for two more nights. (My friends bought the first nights for us all, but I didn't have the $70 + fees for more reservations.)

I made a shitload of food from scratch including tomato sauce, refried beans, sloppy joe lentils, a loaf of white sandwich bread, a loaf of seasoned Italian bread. Bfr made us corn and potato chowder and big oatmeal raisin cookies, both of which were phenomenal, as well as a batch of homemade cashew milk to bring along. On site we cooked scrambled eggs and leftover baked beans and corn grits, toasted pitas and tortillas, we shredded a big block of mild cheese and chopped the last of our cherry tomatoes from home to make burritos. I used my ancient aeropress to make us hot coffee each morning from a jar of fresh grounds from home. Everything we brought was so goddamn good, and everything we made on site was surprisingly good, except the grits which were undercooked.

We lounged around in hammocks and I read my trashy true crime paperback from the 90s, and the Junji Ito cat diary manga I got from an inter-library loan. None of us got drunk or trashed or felt like we needed to be on psychedelics in order to appreciate being outdoors. My friend asked me to be the best man in his November wedding and I was super surprised and said yes of course. I felt cherished by my friends and adored by my partner. Things were just so quiet and easy and pressure-free. Bfr and I had plenty of camping gear between us and didn't need to buy anything new. We were able to make most of what we brought to eat from what we already had on hand, and spent under $50 for the 3-day trip in terms of gasoline, firewood, and specially-bought food/entertainment/supplies.

It takes SO much planning to do things on an extreme budget, but it's also much easier to share the planning load between two people. I've been alone for long enough that I'd forgotten how much easier it is to set up a tent with help, how much easier it is to maintain a clean campsite, and break it down at the end without stress.

I'm trying to appreciate everything now that I think might be impossible later (due to climate change, my employment situation, my age and physical health etc). Idk what else my overall takeaway is--or if I even need to have a conclusion from this experience. It's all a part of the balance that is currently working for me and keeping me well, I guess.

#doomjazz #bfr #my only cure for nihilism is gratitude

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seventh-district · 6 months ago

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I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought. “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand, reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

#Jimち ASMR #Malenkee Saga #fanfic #horror #blood play #needle play #blood drinking #my writing #🧷 Matt 🔨#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #gun mention #blood mention #cw sh #implied sa #cw implied sa #cw blood #cw injury #cw body horror #cw needles #i didn't mean for this to get quite so long but. listen.#sometimes you sit down to write a needle play fic and end up spending the first 2k words writing about soup #it's alright we got there in the end. as uh. tame as it may have been #listen it's their first time they're not gonna do a full back piece or smthn #anyways this is the first thing i've written in a few months and i'm pretty content with it. felt like a good warmup #it also feels good to finally have written the sequel that i mentioned wanting to make after writing the first Matt fic last year #this feels like i finally reached the point i was aiming for when writing the first one. it feels like a more comfy/satisfying ending #i don't rlly mind that it took two fics to get there though. dunno if i'll ever write a 3rd it just depends on if inspiration strikes #i had fun revisiting this old blorbo of mine though! he's always there with the rest living in the back of my mind <3

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lumine-no-hikari · 7 months ago

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Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #152

I went to the good place today with the nice leader! I was thrilled about being able to give him a jar of lilac syrup! But then I immediately felt very silly, because I didn't think to bring a jar for the piano player. That's okay though; I am hoping that sometime this week, I'll be able to invite him and his partner to Eggcellent; I can give them a jar of lilac syrup then!

I was delighted to see that the leader, so enamored with the syrup and how it tasted, started showing it off to the others in the congregation, imploring them to try some on a spoon! The folks seemed surprised both at the fact that lilac syrup is a thing that exists, and at how good it tastes!

…I really wish I could share some with you. You could put it in tea. Or in yogurt. Or in oatmeal. Or stir it into milk. Or bake it into cookies. It's so versatile! And it tastes exactly like how lilacs smell!

There were lots of good snacks at the place today. I took a picture of the ones I got:

One of the ladies there, knowing how much J likes fruit, prepared a giant bowl of fruit salad. People took what they wanted, and J promptly ate all the rest, as he do, ahahaha! They also give him a fresh loaf of bread; one of the folks at the place is a STELLAR baker, and their bread is some of the best I've ever had the privilege of tasting. J is almost as fond of bread as he is of fruit, and so, because the folks love him so much, if there are extra loaves, they give one to him!

…It's a very loving and delightful group of people!! I feel very lucky!

It was Br's birthday recently, and so today I made gluten-free baked mac-and-cheese for her, because she'll get sick if she eats wheat! I used brown rice pasta and gluten-free crackers! The recipe to make this is very simple…

First, you boil a pound of elbow macaroni. Brown rice pasta works really well for this. When the consistency is good, you strain it and put it in a big baking dish. Then you open a 28oz can of diced tomatoes and toss it in with the pasta. And then you add 8oz of cheddar cheese (extra sharp, this time) and 8oz of a different kind of cheddar cheese (seriously sharp, this time). The result should look like this:

And then you mix it up!! And the result of that should look like this!

Then you just layer the top with crushed crackers. Easy peasy. Bake it in the oven at 350F until it's gooey-looking and slightly toasted on the top, and you've got yourself a mighty tasty snack:

Br cut up and sauteed some pork chops to go with it, too!

…And here is the bowl I assembled!

…I wish, more than anything, that I could share all of the things I love with you, so that you can see that life is not wholly full of pain and despair. I mean… it is full of pain and despair much of the time; there's no doubt about that. But that's why you have to keep your boundary skills robust and be selective of the spaces in which you put yourself. The sparkles of joy are everywhere if you know where to look, what to avoid along the way, and who to call upon for help when you inevitably can't avoid all the things that hurt. There are plenty of folks in this world who will lend you empathy and grace. And I know this because I am such a one, and I am very cognizant of the fact that I am not special.

Hey, Sephiroth? Are you taking care of yourself at the Edge of Creation? Are you safe and warm? Are you eating enough? Are you hydrating? Do you get enough sleep? I know I ask these things a lot; sorry about that. But it's not as though you can answer me, so I guess I get worried.

…I guess I'm worried about you pretty much all the time. I know you've made mistakes, but I still don't want you to be suffering alone somewhere. No one deserves that. None of my biological or step family deserves that. Everyone deserves a chance to heal, to change, and to turn themselves around, no matter the mistakes they've made before.

I know some people will think differently, and probably call me stupid and naive or even a bad person because I think this way. But… if the application of more pain to people who cause pain was gonna cause world peace, it would have happened by now, ya know? It's as you say - the cycle of pain, hate, and violence can only be undone by grace and compassion. It can only be undone by teaching people a better way of expressing themselves, and teaching them to judge themselves and others less. It can only be undone by teaching them to stop associating their self-worth with arbitrary and destructive things. It can only be undone by teaching mercy in combination with robust boundaries.

Well. I hope you're okay over where you are. But all the same… please be safe over there, okay? Please.

I'm gonna stop writing before I start rambling. But I'll write again tomorrow. I love you. Please don't disappear.

Your friend, Lumine

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vintagelacerosette · 1 year ago

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Tag game Tuesday/picrew catch up!

Oh how I've missed doing these! Thank you so much to these sweetpeas who tagged me to do these tag games/picrew. Lyle @milkovetti Michelle @michellemisfit Bri @y0itsbri Evie @energievie Julia @juliakayyy Georgia @iansw0rld Kat @mybrainismelted Nosho @creepkinginc Cross @crossmydna Willow @ian-galagher Lyds @ardent-fox Vey @look-i-love-u Molly @deathclassic Jay @surviving-maybe 💕

💟Name: Myn/Shermyn

#️⃣Age: 27

🗺️Location: Sydney

🧥Do you own a robe? Describe it. Yeah a pink silky with lace trim one my older sister gifted me as my maid of honour gift 🥰

☕️Do you have a favorite mug? Describe it. Why yes! It's one of my prized possessions! My Gallacrafts mug I made art with the darling & talented Ling @lingy910y

🧣Do you have a favorite blanket? Describe it. You know I don't think I do & that's tragic 😔

🍵Coffee or Tea? Tea

↳🔥🧊Hot or Cold? Cold it's been so damn humid & dry in Sydney rn 😓

🧦Fuzzy socks or Wool socks? Wool

🧤Gloves or Mittens? Gloves but the fingerless kind so I can scroll/read fics on my phone lol

🔥Fireplace or Campfire? Fireplace

🌞🌜Sun or Moon? Both baby! They work in tandem to give us life ☀️🌙

🍬Chocolate candy or Sugar candy? Sugar 🍭

🥐Sweet Pastry or Savory Pastry? Sweet

🎃Peppermint or Pumpkin Spice? Peppermint. I haven't had pumpkin spice before

🛏️Go to bed early or Wake up early? Wake up early but i don't sleep early to make the happen 🥲

🥣Cold cereal in milk or Hot oatmeal? Cold cereal in milk I especially love the sweet ones. American cereal certainly hit the spot with their cinnamon toast crunch or lucky charms 🤤

🍞Potatoes or Bread? 🥔

And Finally…

🚬 Gallagher or Milkovich? It'll have to be MIlkovich even tho objectively the are more terrible ones than good. But to be fair the great stole my fucking heart 💖

Picrew

Which character from any media would you like to have as a father?

I think Johnny Rose from Schitt's Creek would be a funny dad plus loaded 🤣

If money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?

I'd love an otter omfg they're so damn cute 😭

What is your Chinese takeout order?

Sweet & sour pork & spinch noodle with wild mushrooms.

What's your favorite emoji?

🥹 I'm particularly fond of this one bc it's the marvelling of beauty for me

Would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?

I think greenhouse. I think would be so soothing & I feel like I need more plants in my life hahaha

What childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?

Cardcaptor Sakura 🌸

What was your tumblr like when you first joined?

I joined 2012 it was so aesthetic & I wished be one of those vintage aesthetic blogs hence my tumblr name lmao. I kinda got confused & scared how to use it so i stopped for 2 years. So i missed out all the fun drama i guess lol. Then I started using it as like a scrapbook of things I liked hahah

What clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?

50s but I feel that would be such an effort to pull off

If you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?

Pokemon but like in the switch games. I've been playing too much instead of sleeping lmao

What is your favourite piece of art?

Idk if I have a favourite but one that impacted me in high school was a piece called 'Atomic: full of love, full of wonder' by Nike Savvas. Funny thing is that I got to see it in person may 2 or 3 years after seeing it in a high school text book & having to do essays on it. It was by complete accident & I had no idea see was displaying her work in our national art gallery. It was magic to see a piece irl after studying it 🥰

Do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?

My bestie jusr got me this steel pink hello kitty tumblr that was a collab with a bubble tea shop! I love it I take it to work 💖

What fanfic trope is a quiet fave?

I think time travel with younger selves meeting their older selve & seeing how they fot their happy ending 🥰

Do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?

Yeah a carry bag for work. It's this tote bag another bestie got me for my last birthday. It's really cute. It's pink & mint green with a cluster of cute things like teddy bear.

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?

Respectfully no ❤️

What is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?

I'd say mafia au especially bc of the amazing fic by Kay/Shamelessquestions, The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Ian Gallagher.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?

He sure could! He's our swol lil man

Look at them guns!!

Who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?

I kind have this tie between Fiona getting it or it being passed to Liam & Franny to keep the legacy going

Not tagging any bc I'm late but if you see this & you want to go ahead starlight 🩷

#tag game #picrew

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bakingtherapy · 3 months ago

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Briella’s Pantry Baking - #4- Oatmeal Pomegranate Muffins

Sul Sul, Gerbits. Since my dad sent me the mini loaf pan, I have been obsessed with them. I love that I can make mini bread. For some reason, whenever I looked at a normal-sized loaf pan I would always kind of hyperventilate. Worrying if I would ruin the bread that I spent hours on. But with the mini loaf pans, I don’t feel this way. I feel more confident.

So today, we will be making oatmeal pomegranate mini loaves, using a muffin recipe. This recipe is one of two that my mom has made in the past. Granted they both come from the same person, it is just a newer version that she usually uses. But, today I decided to use the older version of the Betty Crocker Muffin Recipe.

You are going to need:

an egg

milk

vegetable oil

flour

sugar

baking powder

salt

oatmeal

Pomegranates.

The recipe with all the measurements is going to be in the description below.

First things first, preheat your oven to 400°. You are going to grease the bottoms of your muffin tins, or your mini loaf pan.

The recipe says to just grease the bottoms, however, I personally find it easier to grease the whole muffin area, that way it is easier to take out of the muffin tin, and you have less muffin crumbs on the sides of the tin. It is easier to clean, that way.

You are going to combine your wet ingredients first, place a beaten egg, your milk and oil. You are also going to add your fruit to this part of the muffins.

I used pomegranates, the recipe I used says raisins. If you want oatmeal plus fruit muffins, then you would just add your fruit with your wet ingredients.

Next, add the dry ingredients all at once. This includes your flour, and oats. sugar, baking powder, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

You are going to stir the two mixtures together until the flour is moistened. The butter is going to be lumpy.

Fill the muffin tins or whatever you are using ¾ cup full or I used two cookie scoops full.

The trick with muffins is you want to take the time the recipe says and half it, and then move them around, and do the other half. So what I mean by this is I knew that with the mini loaf pans it was only going to take 10 minutes to cook the muffins fully.

I put the timer on for 5 minutes, and once the timer was done, I moved the two loaf pans around in the oven. Moved the bottom one to the top and vice versa. And then I cooked the mini loafs for the remaining 5 minutes.

I hope you gerbits liked this recipe. Make sure to like and subscribe for my recipes in the future. I honestly had no idea what I was going to do after Briella’s Winterfest Baking was done. Because I loved hanging with you guys.

And having you learn more about who I am as a sim. I hope that you gerbits like this Pantry Baking as much as I do, hope to see you next time. Vadish, Dag Dag!

Show the original author some 💖💖💖 Betty Crocker Cookbook

Printable version of this recipe: on the blog

Feel free to support me on:

🐥Patreon 🐥 Kofi 🐥 Facebook 🐥 Pinterest 🐥

#baking #baking therapy #recipe sharing #sweets #dessert #breakfast #muffins #oatmeal #pomegranate #baking adventures #baking recipes #baking blog #recipe #baker #baked goods #bakeblr #Betty Crocker

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lawliet-ryuzaki-ryuga · 2 years ago

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Chapter 3

Captain (Levi Ackerman X reader)

WC: 2713

tw: nothing really.. maybe some hostility...

Two comrades; humanity’s Strongest and humanity’s Bravest. A bond between Two warriors who have nothing to lose.

A/N: i LOVE BABY LEVI AND Y/N

MASTERLIST

Chapter 2 --- Chapter 4

First person (pov)

Before the morning came I was up and out of bed, although I was still exhausted from the journey of the days before,I had to get a head start. With that i grab my regular clothing and head to go change and freshen up for the day. While walking to the washroom I pass by Levi’s bed and see that he’s fast a sleep, yet some how still looked like he was lost in his thoughts, with his eyebrows slightly scrunched and lips pulled to a line.

Once I’m all ready for the day, i head outside to go on my little hunt for some berries. Today you felt like making some lemon berry loaf of bread, with the apple cinnamon oatmeal. If there was one thing about you, it was that you loved cooking, well mostly baking. I would always remember my time in the underground where we didn’t have food, and it was tough to survive. To have your meal for the day, you would work at a small bakery like shop, in exchange for a meal for the day. That was where I learned most of everything that I know. As it is, food was already tasteless given the budget that we needed to follow, but I knew I could make something more of it. With that i find a berry bush a few miles into the woods and pick them out and have them in my small basket. Once I knew I had enough I headed back to base just in time for cooking to start. There were a total of 270 of us, and breakfast needed to be ready by 7 sharp. The sun had not risen yet, which makes me know that it’s still 5 am.

I noticed the other 2 on shift pull up with sleep still in their eyes, but nonetheless, simple ‘ good morning’s’ are exchanged. You tell them your plan for the meal to which they both nod and begin washing the apples and peeling them. I pull out the berries and have them washed along with the few lemons. I prepare the bread dough, making sure you have enough to make 7 loaves and having the dough rest while the yeast activates. I prepare the oatmeal by heating up the large pot with enough milk before adding the oats. Apples are being cut into small cubes and then placed into a large pot to cook. That is when I remembered I had gone and plucked some jasmine flowers, I rushed back to my bag and pulled them out, and laid them onto a towel and had them dry up on the windowsill. I had wanted to make some jasmine tea again, since we ran out, and I had come to learn that Levi also preferred Jasmine Tea. In the meantime I stir the oatmeal to make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom and sides. Then I went to get the oranges we needed to squeeze for juice.

By the time we were done we had an hour left before breakfast. The kitchen itself smelled amazing with the loaves coming along nicely. There wasn’t much to clean, so I began cleaning what i could to help make the job easier for the cleaning shift.

“ Hey y/n, we don’t need to clean.” One of the other soldiers whom I’ve come to learn is Jennie. With no change in expression I turn back to wiping down the counters and tables. I never understood why other cant just do something else without being told. Both Jennie and the other person complain for the 4th time about having to clean. I slam the rag and look at both of them before pointing at the door, they give me this look of confusion, like they haven't done anything wrong. They question me by asking the stupidest questions like “ what’s wrong?” “ Did we do something?” Like no shit, even a dog knows when it’s done something wrong.

I point to the door again and turn back to cleaning, they eventually get the message and leave. Surprisingly i got everything done with still 30 minutes to spare. I walk to the windowsill and see that the flowers have indeed withered due to the scorching hot sun. I grind the small petals just to where they’re smaller pieces before adding them to a jar and some to a tea pot to boil.

I prep the bowls in the meantime and pour all the cups of juice, making sure as much is ready.

The last batch of loaf is out and cooling down, and slowly the people begin to trickle in. I pass each one a bowel of their oatmeal and small slice of lemon berry loaf.

Eventually Levi does pop in wearing his infamous stone faced look he gets in line waiting for his turn. When his turn comes he thanks me for his meal but I stop him before he could walk away. I grab the small tea cup and pour him some tea that I just made, and add 1 ¼ of sugar to his tea and stir it. I walk back with the tea in hand and offer it to him, with a low whisper of “ don’t forget your tea.” He looks at the cup in his hand now and if i weren't paying attention, i would have missed the small flash of shock that covered his face. He tilts his head up to look at me, his expression not changing much besides his eyes softening.

Levi always had the dark and hard eyes that held so much emotion. They say that the eyes are the window to your soul, but when it came to levi, his eyes were a window to the darkness that he has come to know and live with. With that i give a small smile in return and go back to get the line moving again. He walks away and heads towards the table where the majority of our ‘friends’ sat.

No one’s (pov)

Levi had sat down setting his plate and cup down, sitting between Matthew and Petra. Petra alone was having a mini heart attack, just at the thought of her crush sitting besides her. She though that this could be her moment, where she could interact with Levi. She would try to ask him small questions about anything, but Levi was too preoccupied by the food that he was eating. When he had taken the first spoon of oatmeal, a memory that he had long forgot came to mind.

Levi was only 13 at the time, a small frail boy, with bags under his eyes. Skin covered in dirt, clothing that had holes and were far too small for his frame. He sat on the floor in a dark alleyway, knees to his chest and head in between his folded arms over his knee. Life in the underground was difficult, almost near impossible to live in, yet here he was, a young boy with nothing else to offer. He could not remember the last time he cleaned himself let alone the last time that he ate. But all of that didn’t matter because it never did, he didn’t matter. That was until a young girl came out of the building with heaps of what looked like trash. He heard the small grunts from the young girl and jumped to his feet to help her carry the heavy load, not that he was in any shape, but he couldn't let her struggle. He remembers the small girl look at Levi in shock before backing away out of fear, not knowing what he would do. But with that reaction, Levi couldn’t help but feel hurt, not even a small girl would want to be near him. She continues to look at the older boy as he places the trash down and walks away, not wanting to scare the poor girl any long. But she runs up to him to grab his hand in a way to stop him.

He turns back to see her look at him and signs him what looks like to be the word ‘food’, Levi not sure what she means, only assuming that she too was asking for food.

“ food? Sorry i don’t have anything to give you.” Levi sighs before turning around again to walk away. But the young girl pulls at his hand again stopping him once again in his tracks. He turns back to see her shake her head and points at him before signing again towards her mouth. Not understanding she pulls him back to his original spot before signing ‘ wait’ and ‘ be quiet.’

The little girl runs inside before coming out a few moments later with what looks like a bowel. With slow steady steps she offers the warm bowel to the boy before her. Oh how he remembers the joy and shock that filled him. With shaking hands he grabs the bowel before grabbing the small spoon to take his first sip. The flavor of apple and cinnamon tingle his taste buds, as he cant recall the last time he had anything fresh and hot. The little girl watches him consume the bowel in an ungodly rate before he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. That is when she notices his chapped lips. She grabs the bowel from him and signals him to wait once again before running back into the building again. He wonders what she could possibly bring back after a meal that was sent from heaven.

With that she runs out with a cup and something wrapped in paper. She hands him the cup to which he sees the clear liquid.. water. Within seconds he chugs the water before handing her the cup back, and in exchange she hands him the wrapped item. Levi takes from her hand the wrapped item and opens to see that she had given him a loaf of bread. Levi could not understand this act of kindness. He looks at her with tears brimming his eyes, about to pour down. But before she could see the tears, a voice in the back screams.

“ WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE RAT!” with that the girl runs back before she could be caught, not saying or waving a goodbye to the boy. He watches her close the door before disappearing from his sight, wondering if he would ever see that young girl again. That is when he decided he would wait for her to see if she would come out, so that he could thank her.

The sun had set and the young girl had yet to come out again. The young frail boy would hear on occasion a a man scream obscure things. Internally the boy would panic, worried that something was happening to the girl, but he felt helpless, unable to see and protect the little girl. Eventually hours passed , the night turned cold. The streets were no longer filled with as many people, but now it was swarmed with older women trying to make business and men who would go to these women. With a sigh Levi gives up, not expecting to see the young girl anytime soon, that is until the creeping of a door is heard and a small body is pushed forward.

“ you come back tomorrow you hear! I’m not going to be feeding you for free!” The man speaks in a stern voice as he pushes her out in one motion. The little girl catches herself before she falls and turns to nod at the man, before slamming the door a mumble of “ can’t she bloody talk?” Is heard before the door is slammed shut. The little girl looks to her left and right to scout the area, and she sees the young boy in the corner. With gradual and soft steps the little girl walks up to the boy and places her hands on his stomach, as if to see if he had a full stomach. But to her disappointment she felt her hand sink a bit.

Under her arm she holds a small loaf of bread and hands it to the young boy.

“ oh no, I’m okay! That’s for you, did you even eat today?” He asks in a hushed tone.

With the shake of her head she pushed the bread towards him again. But the boy refuses to take up her offer. “ I’m okay, I wanted to thank you for the food today… I haven’t had food in a while and… just thanks.”

The little girl looks at him with a tilted head to the side and a small smile on her face. She gives a nod before she begins walking away to lead the way to the destination. But she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her. The young girl looks back to see the boy still in the same place she left him, she walks over to grab his wrist and walks out of the alley way with him.

The two walked down the street avoiding eye contact of every person. The two eventually reach an abandoned torn down house. She goes through a small opening and disappears into the darkness of the house.

Levi had never been one to follow anyone, but for some reason he felt called to follow this young girl. With a deep breath in, he goes in in hopes to find her. “Hey.. um where are you?” He calls out, squinting in the dark to adjust. That is when the sound of a match striking the match box is heard and a small lantern is lit. The area is illuminated and he looks around to take in his surroundings. That’s when his eyes catch the Small drawings on the wall, small flowers, a sun, stick like figures. All over, that is until he catches a small drawing in the corner of the room of what resembles a small girl crying.

“ Did you draw all of these?” He asks the girl, to which she nods proudly. She walks over towards a small lay out of wooden crates and some hay with a small blanket on top and bottom. Before she get’s on she walks over to a bucket of what looks like water and pulls out a small rag. That is when she begins to wipe her face, neck, arms and legs. That is when she jumps onto the makeshift bed and pats the small side beside her, as he walks over she throws her hands up in a motion that says “stop” and points to the water and rag, instructing him he needs to clean first. Understanding he goes over and wipes himself off before going over to where she was.

“ Is this where you sleep?”

The young girl nods again and pulls out her little piece of bread, but cuts it in half and offers the other half to the boy. “No you have it, I had enough food today.” The girl refusing to take no for an answer, she shoves the bread into his hands and turns back to her piece before munching away. When the both are done eating the little girl gets comfortable and lays down getting ready for bed. The boy takes it as his time to go and attempts to leave until she pulls at his sleeve.

“ you’re going to bed, so i need to leave?”

She shakes her head in disagreement and points outside and rubs her arms up and down, as if to say “ it’s cold.”

“ Yeah, but I’ll be okay. This is your place.”

She pats the bed again, points at the boy then outside and shakes her head again, in complete protest of him going outside. The girl could not understand why he would want to be outside all alone in the cold! She hated the cold but above all she hated being alone because when you’re alone that is when bad people hurt you.

“ You want me to stay here?” he asks in disbelief.

She nods her head, of course she wants him to stay, he could get hurt outside!

The young boy contemplates his choices wondering if he could trust her, or if he should leave. But he decides to stay with her.

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