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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

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Picking Flowers

@pricesugarwife left this amazing comment on one of my posts and i couldn't get it out of my head...

pricesugarwife: Nos complaces con un smut Hades!Price x Persefone!Reader??? *se arrodilla*

te amo griss!! espero que te guste esta historia que escribí para ti, nena. 🩷🩷

TW: rape/non-con/cnc elements, loss of virginity, corruption, very bad greek mythology knowledge (sorry, it's just make believe okay jeez)

In a grove in Hellas, long, long ago…

Before you opened your eyes, you already knew what you would see. Slowly, as sleep fell away from you, like the warmth of a blanket being pulled away from your body, a heavy darkness giving way to light, you could see a warm, egg yolk glow behind your eyelids. The sun had cut a path through your windowpane, and now it cast itself like a spell, masking its burn over your face. When you opened your eyes, you would squint through your lashes, looking up through the green mottled leaves, neon, blinding, of the twisted yew outside of your window. You could smell your mother’s bread baking in her old dutch oven, hints of oregano and pepper wafting through your room, bringing the warmth of the hearth with them. You could almost taste the crispy crust, roasted to perfection, protecting the soft, textured middle.

Finally, you peeked between your lashes, and before you, your self-made dream came true. The sun filtered in through your glass a little less bright than what you had imagined, but the greens were there, and they reminded you that today was your favorite day: the arrival of Spring.

“Sephie! Are you awake?”

Your mother’s sing-song voice fluttered down the hall and tucked itself through the crack of your bedroom door. She always knew when you woke up, and although you’d never questioned it, you had to admit it was uncanny. You chalked it up to the wonders of motherhood. She seemed to know every other thing about you, so why question it?

“Yes, Mom. Coming!” You called back, your own voice a little stronger, a little less like a delicate lark, a little more like a robin.

You were very much a late bloomer, still living with your mother at almost twenty years of age, especially when most of the girls in your village had suitors or proposals by sixteen. But, you didn’t let it bother you. As your mother was ready to remind you, the thread of your life was your own, and you would follow its path until the end, whether you wanted to or not. If Lachesis had measured your life out to be this way, then that was that. Why question it?

You pulled on your robes, woven on your family loom of the finest silk threads. You had begged your mom to add a tight spiral of cyclamen along the hem, the flowers so familiar, their pink heads watching you as you followed your daily path to the river. So, she had insisted that you try. You were well enough a woman now, and more than skilled enough to craft your own clothes. And you had; it had been easier than you thought, and you added a few glass beads in that same heart-shaped petal to the tips of the cord of your belt.

You owned no looking glass, but you never noticed its absence. There was so much more to do than to stare at something you couldn’t change. Focus on what you can do, your mother’s voice haunted your mind, not on what is already done. Besides, your mother insisted that you were beautiful, so why question it?

“Here, my darling,” your mom tapped you under your chin, handing you a cloth satchel full of bread, fruit, seeds, and dried meats, “Before you go to the river, please check on the well. It should have clear water for you to fill this skin. Fill it again on your way home. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

You were out of the door and heading down the hill to the well before you knew it, the feel of the soft grass comforting your heels, cold and damp from the morning dew. The village below you was coming alive, its people tending to their new lambs, planting seeds in the black, fertile soil, carrying buckets of water to and from the olive groves, pruning the dead branches away from the new growth on each branch. Their bustle and laughter as they worked together made you long to live in town. But, your mother had insisted that the town and its people would just be a distraction, and you’d never experienced such a thing; why question it?

When you approached the well, you were alone. You let your hands trace their way along the rough, grey stones, feeling the familiar edge, reaching for the thick rope to pull up the bucket. The worn hemp gave way, and the echo of the old wooden bucket hitting the sides of the well rang out like shrouded bells. You reached for the handle of the bucket, pulling it up to the rim, carefully filling your waterskin, making sure not to waste a drop. You used the rest to wash your face and hands, letting the cool water soak into your cheeks, adding moisture back to your body after a long sleep.

Suddenly, your eyes darted up to the treeline just beyond the well’s clearing. You thought you saw a shadow that stretched just a little too long, shaped just a little too wrong… but when you studied the dark spaces between the trunks, there was nothing but lush overgrowth. You packed your waterskin and tossed the bucket back into the water; you were eager to get down to the river. The light always played tricks on you in this glade, so why question it?

You walked quite a ways through the valley, using your fingers and the softness of your touch to coax the flowers to bloom and grow as you let your hand fondle its way through the tall grass. When you reached your river, you savored the sight. The way that it curved into a deep ox bow was your favorite thing. It was as if the river had carved out a small, circular stage just for you. In it, you worked on your crafts, practicing growing buds from seeds, trees from roots, ivy from the palm of your hand. Then, you sent it out, down the river towards town, making sure the village was well-shaded, well-fed, and well-protected from the elements.

It was hard work, and you always slept after a long afternoon of using your magic, but your mother always said that no one else would be able to do a better job than you, so you kept at it, and it was the one thing you never questioned.

This time, when you woke up from your nap, you knew you weren’t alone. As you sat up, you looked around, thinking that a striped kri-kri or a golden jackal would be nibbling at the food in your pack. But, sitting with his legs crossed, was a man dressed only in a dark blue chilton, the shoulder of which hung loosely around his waist as if he were a farmer who had been toiling in the field. He was no farmer. Not with those inhuman eyes of ice fire, pale and bright, glowing although the sun was at his back. His body was that of a giant, muscle-bound and heavy, full of power just rippling beneath the surface. He reminded you of the well. How deep did his strength flow? His beard and chest were furry but well-groomed, just like that of a nobleman.

You greeted him, apologizing for your slumber,

“Good day, sir. Forgive my sleeping. I was just tending to my flowers, and I must have dozed off.”

“No trouble,” his smile came to him easily, and you enjoyed it, basking in it, “I enjoy watching you work. It is a gift to see it up close.”

He reached out his hand and plucked one of your most vibrant hyacinths from its stem, cradling your art in his huge hands.

“Beautiful,” he purred, speaking of the flower but looking at you.

“Thank you, sir. Can I offer you some bread or fruit from my pack? I carried clean water from the well this morning.”

“How generous you are,” his smile showed his straight, large teeth this time, and he tucked your own flower behind your ear, letting the delicate petals tickle your sensitive flesh.

You prepared a small piece of bread for him, decorating it with nuts and juicy lobes of fruit that you had carefully peeled with your hands, tearing off a piece of dried meat for him to try as well. You ate with him in companionable silence, watching him as he chewed. Whereas the kri-kri would have greedily gobbled up the bread from your palm, this man seemed unsurprised by it. What was a delicacy for some of Gaia’s creatures was a mere appetizer for others. But, it may be that he had much finer fare at home, so why question it?

“Do you live near to this glade, sir?” You asked, hoping to learn more about your handsome stranger.

His hands peeled the delicate pith from the citrus lobe you had given him, expertly trimming it as if he had done it for a thousand mornings, knowing exactly how hard or easy he needed to pull the flesh for it to yield, feeding it into his mouth in a wet, juicy bite, letting the sweet nectar soak into his beard and become sticky.

He chewed slowly, eyeing you carefully as he did, seemingly in no rush to answer your question. So, you tacked on another one, impatiently,

“What should I call you?”

“I have been called many names,” he spoke, looking down at his hands, staring at his open palms as if to divine some sort of future before his eyes shot back to yours, pinning you where you sat.

“Hm,” you smiled, inching closer, pretending to get a better look at him, studying him like a statue at a temple, “You do not look like an Akakios, nor an Eirenaios…”

“No,” he chuckled, his laugh rolling like a volcanic crag inside of his throat, “I should think not.”

“I cannot imagine naming you Melanthios, though it fits your face,” you giggled.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that, little petal.”

His laugh was still jovial, so you pushed him further,

“Perhaps Kleisthenes. Your strength is apparent, as is your status. Surely, that must fit you.”

You leaned back, biting off another chunk of bread, saving the crust for last, satisfied with your naming ritual.

He shook his head,

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s very brief, or at least much less trouble than Kleisthenes.”

“Bion, then.”

“Mm,” he frowned a bit at the edges of his smile, “Quite the opposite in essence, I’m afraid.”

“Perhaps you are a foreigner. One of Troy, or Rome, even? Something brief, like John.”

“I am foreign enough to this land, so I suppose John is close enough,” he sighed, allowing you to finally take your win.

You hadn’t realized how close you had drawn yourself into him. You were now near enough to smell the oils on his skin: laurel, salt, and something akin to tarnished silver. His hand reached out to touch the curls of your hair, carefully braided by your mother, entwined with small flowers and ivy stems to keep it off of your neck. But, after your nap, one lock had escaped and was now being delicately twirled in this man’s immense fingers.

“And what should I call you, little flower? Marjoram is too serious for you. Iris, not serious enough.”

“Persephone,” you offered, unwilling to force him to endure the same naming torture you had just gone through.

“Ah!” He gasped, leaning toward your face as if seeing you for the first time, “Persephone.”

Then, before you could even know what was happening to you, your lips were tasting his. He was cradling you in his arms, holding your limp body against his bare chest, the gold of his necklaces and armbands warm from his body heat as they pressed into your skin. He was kissing you, moving his mouth against yours, forcing your jaw to yield to him, to take his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, to suck the citrus juice from it, the memory of his food still fresh on the muscle.

You had never been kissed before, even though you had practiced on two of your fingers held tightly together, watching lovers sneak up to the well on hot days of work to do to each other what you longed for someone to do to you. It was so much more satisfying to feel another’s lips move against your own, nothing like the static, chaste practice you’d tried to mimic.

Only now, after you were left gasping, feeling his hands wander along the edges of your chilton, his fingers beginning to dig into the loose gaps in the fabric, did you question whether you should be kissing this man or not. But, it felt too good to stop.

John, or whoever he was, pulled away for a moment, and his eyes seemed to study your mouth, inspecting your plump, swollen lips as if something was wrong. You wrapped your hands around his neck to steady yourself, and he lay you back, letting your head be supported by the plush grasses beneath you. He spoke to you in a hushed whisper, even though no one was around for miles,

“I have been watching you, Persephone. I see you growing your lush gardens, creating a world full of life, all for me to take. And I come back every autumn, when the sun is shy and the sky is dark, just to inspect all of the gifts you have given me,” he kissed you again, his hand finally snaking its way under the shoulder of your robes, peeling it down slowly to reveal your full breasts to the open air, “And I eat them up. All of them, and I take them home. I’ve been keeping them for you. All of your treasures from years past. They’re still there for you to see.��

Then, before you could ask him what he meant, his mouth latched onto the dark nipple of your breast, suckling at it like a babe. And then, very much not like a babe. Like something else. Like a wolf digging the marrow from a bone. Like an otter clawing at a clam, slurping up the tender meat inside.

And then, he stopped. He sat up, holding you by the shoulders and helping you sit up with him, fixing your top so that you were covered again, dizzy and reeling from his attention, the wet skin of your aching nipples sticking to the silk fabric of your gown.

“Sir, I…”

“Come with me, love,” he held out his hand, “Don’t you want to meet your old friends?”

You didn’t know what to say, but he seemed so friendly. There was a dark, twisted piece of wort inside of you, growing and twining itself around your belly that made you want to see if he might put his mouth on you again. It had been so lovely… Besides, you very much missed your old creations. You remembered hundreds and hundreds of seasons of creations you had made, trees and plants, fruits and flowers. It would be wonderful to be reminded of all of the things you had brought into the world. If he had kept them for you, it may even be rude to refuse his hospitality. He seemed so sure, so why question it?

So, you took his hand, and he led you through the earth, ripping at the dirt like a heavy veil, marching down into the darkness, leading you step after step down a winding, rocky staircase. Above your head, you saw the last bit of a ruby-colored sun, setting in the distance, illuminating the ceiling of roots and fungus that hung above you as you delved further into his depths.

Then, your heart skipped a beat. You saw your river again, her wine-dark waters now black, curling in that same ox bow pattern, cutting the land in half. On one bank, the souls of the living waited to be ferried across, and on the other, fields and fields of your own flowers, frozen in time, neither growing nor dead, shrouded in darkness in the grey soil of the Underworld.

He led you onward, towards his blue, gleaming castle, all of its walls made of shining glass, distorting the world outside, and concealing the one within. You marveled at the wide door, its ebon gate the only iron you could see, and all of the castle guards were the dead. Their lifeless eyes gray and cloudy, set inside of gaunt, bony faces, unseeing, unfeeling. You did not fear them, even though you were sure you were meant to. You knew them. You had made the food that fed them while they were alive. You had grown the trees and bushes that had sheltered them when they lay beneath your boughs, exhausted from their labor or their warfare. Who was afraid of an old friend?

Then, you watched your companion climb the long stair up to the throne of Hades, for that is who he was after all, and he sat on its plush seat, motioning for you to sit in an equally-crafted chair beside him. There was no difference between the two thrones. His was not higher, nor was it more elaborate. So, you sat, waiting to see what Hades wanted to show you.

A delightful processional began, and you spotted some of your first flowers being brought to you on pedestals and pillows, you ooh’d and ahh’d at them, sharing stories and listening to Hades tell you all of his tales of how he brought them here to keep. How he’d waited so long for you to come and join him here, to rule in the Underworld beside him as its queen.

“What do you think, love? My people are desperate for more of your creations. You are the only one who reminds them of home. They see your trees and your flowers, your fish and your fruits, and their souls finally know peace. Be my queen, rule beside me, help me put these souls to rest here in Elysium.”

“I am still a maid, sir,” you told him, “My mother is the one who would make that choice for me.”

He looked at you confused,

“You are a goddess most powerful. There is no one who can make choices for you. Even I am no match for your magic. I cannot bloom these fields.”

“When I return home, I will consult her wisdom, and she will help us marry.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “Perhaps you will at least allow me to show you the same hospitality as you have shown me. There is a feast that awaits you in my chambers. Will you join me, petal?”

You had no excuse. How could you refuse him the same thing you had provided. After dinner, you would return home and tell your mother about this handsome suitor.

You followed him from the throne room and entered his chambers, sitting on a wide lounge where platters of meat and fruit and honey in wide bowls waited for you to dig into them. You did not shy away now that you were in the comfort of his rooms, letting Hades sit beside you, as close as he could, feeding you berries and sweetmeats from his hands, dipping his fingers into your lips and letting you suck them clean, laughing and joking with you.

He had done a poor job of tying your robe back onto your shoulder, and it kept falling down. Finally, when you were about to adjust it again, he stopped you, pulling it down even further to hang with the cord of your belt, letting your breasts hang free upon your ribs, heavy and full, sensitive from his earlier ministrations.

“C’mere, love. Lay back and let me feed you. You must be so tired from your work today,” he murmured in your ear, allowing you to lay your back across his chest, his legs spread wide to allow you to sit between them.

You did as he bade, letting him feed you grapes dipped in honey, delicious fish and mussels, crab and octopus still cold and fresh. He ate, too, feeding you sometimes from his own mouth, bending to kiss you with sweet bites between his teeth.

Then, when you had both had your fill, he used his hands to rub your sore muscles, easing the tension in your neck, down your shoulders, and then finally, he stopped,

“Alright, love. We should bring you back to Demeter. I’m sure she is waiting.”

“No,” you protested, ignoring the fact that he knew your mother’s name, “I mean… I thought we could stay a bit longer. I’m so full; a journey would be too arduous right now.”

“Oh?” He returned to petting you, letting his hands trace just outside of your breasts, fingers skating through your underarms and then up along the thin skin of your neck, “How should we occupy our time, my love?”

“Just… like this,” you let your hands wander to his strong thighs, massaging down his knees and calves, admiring the muscles there.

“If that’s what you want, my love, then you shall have it. All that you want shall be yours,” his tone was dark in a way you had never heard from another person, but you felt so good, so why question it?

His hands were callused and warm as they covered your sensitive breasts, plucking at your nipples like the petals of one of your flowers, and you mewled from the pleasure, asking him for more and more and more.

Then, you felt his mouth on your neck, sucking and licking you, reminding you of how it felt when his mouth was on your tits, making your flesh tingle like the crackle of lighting, like the cold of the first swim of the season.

So, you turned towards him, spreading your legs on either side of his hips, sitting proudly in his lap, hoping he would return his mouth to where it was needed. And he did. It was as if he read your mind, knowing you wanted him to suck and suck and suck against the softness of your skin, to use his tongue to press into the nub of your nipple, over and over until you felt your legs begin to shake as if you were shivering from the cold.

“My pretty flower, it feels like you need something else, hm? What would you like? I will give you Olympus if you ask me for it.”

You weren’t sure what to ask for. When a flower asks to be picked, growing symmetrical and soft as it does, what does it know about the plucking? Only picked flowers know what they’re really asking for, don’t they?

“I don’t know… I just… I need…” You tried to make sense of your body’s wishes, and why you were rocking your hips back and forth, why you needed to feel something between your thighs.

Hades’ smile widened, that dark beard pressed out of the way of his full mouth as it turned up into a grin,

“How about this, hm?”

He fumbled with your robes and his, and then you felt yourself sigh with relief when he placed some part of him between your legs, giving you something to rub against through your softest petals, wet with excitement and desire. You both sighed, and you could feel the heat of him as you rocked back and forth. It felt like his wrist, but then again, it didn’t. It was wide enough, but at the end, instead of a hand, it was the fleshy edge of another tongue, perhaps. Something that was licking your hole every time you passed over it.

Eventually, everything was wet beneath you. His robes, your robes, his body, your body… it was a sticky, dripping mess. You had lost your breath, your heart beating out of your chest, your mind sparkling like a fire and then going blank like you had drank too much wine. Over and over, you felt everything and then nothing. It may have been hours, but you couldn’t tell. He didn’t seem like he was in a rush to be finished with your game, so you didn’t question it.

“More, still?” He finally asked, kissing you on the mouth sweetly, sucking on the tip of your lolling tongue, “My greedy little flower…”

You weren’t sure what more there was. But, he showed you. This time, when you rocked back, he used his hand to notch himself at your hole, and if you pushed forward, you would have to press yourself onto him, to take him inside of yourself somehow. It was the same way you had used your fingers inside yourself to play in your bed or in your glade by the river, just touching yourself for the comfort of it.

But, this was different. This was not comfort, it was magic. It felt like old magic, something from the world as it was before. And yet, he had promised you whatever you wanted, so you didn’t question it.

As you slipped yourself over his fleshy knob, you experimented with your movements, rolling your hips back and forth, seeing how it felt to push him deeper and deeper inside of you, stopping when you felt like you were being stretched open. Then, you tried circles, turning your hips around and around as you sat in his lap, feeling him slipping deeper and deeper inside of you as you found your rhythm.

He was busying himself with kissing you, or suckling from your nipples, but you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were. His grunting was that of a rutting deer, hoarse and loud. Finally, he reached some sort of limit, and he grabbed you, changing places, pressing you beneath him on the lounge, nearly ripping off your robes and his own, making you naked in front of him.

Then, you saw what you had been using for your pleasure. His phallus stood tall and strong against his belly, ruddy and throbbing, shining with your wet nectar. You had never seen one up close, and when you cradled it in your hands, it felt alive, like it was separate from him even though its thick root was buried deep inside his body.

Hades’ eyes glowed bright blue, his own magicks coursing within him, and he told you,

“Open your legs.”

So, you obeyed, entranced by his power and the feeling you were experiencing, weightless and floating in your own mind. He fed himself into you, as deep as you had gone and then deeper, not stopping when you hissed in a breath from the feeling of your muscles stretching beyond the point of comfort, delving far enough to cause pain.

“Ahh!” You cried out, but he shushed you with his mouth, kissing you again and again, distracting you from the discomfort of his invasion.

“That’s my good girl…” He praised you, just as your mother always did, for a job well-done or a chore checked off the list.

But, you didn’t feel like you were doing a chore. In fact, you felt like you were watching him do one for you. His thrusting was violent and repetitive, his huge rod pounding into you with every snap of his hips, grinding his tip inside of you deeper and deeper. As you moved past the pain and back into a throbbing sort of pleasure, he looked as if he was taking your pain away from you in this ritual. His face was set in a grimace, his eyes ferocious and snarling, his voice growling and letting out only deep, throaty whines.

So, you did what he had done for you. You kissed his furry chest and latched onto his soft nipple, listening to him cry out with a sudden shout.

“Love, I can’t… ”

You didn’t know how to help him, so you kept sucking and sucking, hoping you would bring him the pleasure that you felt, that you might ease his pain.

But, he grabbed your face in his huge hands, pulling you away from his chest, squeezing your cheeks to make your lips press into a helpless sort of pout.

He growled down at you like a wounded animal,

“So beautiful. My queen. My perfect little flower.”

Then, you felt your body tumble into another one of your hypnotic phases; your muscles clenching, your toes curling, your breath neither coming in nor rushing out, helpless to your own reaction.

“Unghff-fuck… that’s it. Persephone…” He looked at you with those eyes, the eyes of some unearthly being, the bright icy glow keeping you in that cyclone of pleasure, thrashing you with it over and over, making you feel a wet gush between your legs, warm and slick.

He released your face and leaned backwards, peering down at your body from his kneeling position, letting you watch how he was pistoning inside of you, pressing himself through you and filling you up. He watched himself for a moment, staring down at where you were joined, and then he sank himself all the way in and tossed back his head with a bellowing shout.

You felt his prick writhing inside of you, pulsing and throbbing. You waited, panting with him, watching him wipe the sweat from his brow. He pulled himself out slowly, and lay it on your belly, letting you see the last of his seed drooled from his tip. There was blood on your skin when he pulled away, and as much as you tried to wipe it away, it stained.

Hades carried you to his bed, wrapping you in his dark blue silk sheets, cradling you in his arms until you both drifted off to sleep.

You awoke to the sound of a woman crying. A voice calling your name. But, you were so tired, you must have been dreaming, so you didn’t question it.

AO3 Link -- Thank you for the bookmarks and kudos! <3

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price x you #captain price x reader #hades!price #persephone!reader #hades and persephone #greek mythology au #x female reader

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deamstellarus · 5 years ago

Text

In Viata Asta (1)

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Summary: It was possible you’d been on your own for too long. Maybe all you needed were two boys from Brooklyn to help you find yourself again.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Uhm...some violence, language I guess?

Series Masterlist

A/N: So I started this fic last summer and I just got around to editing it, but I hope you guys like it. It starts in 2018, and we’re gonna ignore the main MCU plots after Age of Ultron (also Clint does have a secret fam but they’re his sister and nieces/nephews because it literally makes so much more sense). Definitely some canon-divergence. And I’m trying for a slow burn. Anyways... enjoy.

__________

You struggled in the dark, kicking your legs as hard as you could, trying to get close to the light you saw at the surface of the water. Your legs were useless, your body felt like lead, dragging you deeper into the abyss. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t reach the top. Just a little more…

Then you saw his face, his eyes wild. And his hand reached out toward you. You stretched for it, your fingers grazing his. He tightens his grip around yours, sending you that nervous smile he reserved for when you were in desperate situations and he wanted to reassure you. Even when it was all going to hell. You felt a tug upward, your body being pulled toward the surface.

Then there was a bullet hole in his forehead.

His hold on you was gone. His eyes frozen wide open.

You opened your mouth to scream…

You gasped awake, jolting up in bed. Panting, your hand flew to your chest. Your eyes darted around the cabin, confirming it was another nightmare. You squeezed your eyes closed. Ten, nine, eight, seven... an attempt to slow your heart rate. You shouldn’t be surprised at this point. You had the dreams often enough, your subconscious morphing the memory, each time more disturbing than before.

When you could take full breaths again, you flopped back onto your pillows, staring up at the stars that peaked between the leaves through the skylight. You wished they could stop making such a common appearance in your nightly routine. Your sleep schedule was shit, and if you were being honest, it had long since taken a toll on you.

Maybe your friends were right, a change of scenery might be just what you need.

__________

A creak sounded from the front porch. Your head snapped to the door. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for the local wildlife to make an appearance on your front steps, curious about the structure in the middle of their forest and sniffing for food. It was, however, unusual for creatures to come around in the middle of the night, they were more likely to come wandering through just before sunrise.

Your eyes slid to the digital clock on the small nightstand beside your bed. The time confirmed your theory, still a few hours until daybreak - far too early for anything other than trouble. Another groan from the wood boards of the porch and some shuffling had you leaping out of bed and reaching for the knife next to the clock -- one of several knives you kept around the cabin. Through the windows, you could vaguely make out a few shadowy figures in the obstructed moonlight.

With the smooth blade in your hand, you slowly crept down the stairs leading from the loft and toward the kitchen drawer that held a couple hand guns; your blade hand poised and ready to strike when the time called for it. Your eyes never left the door. Your fingertips had just brushed against the handle of the drawer when you heard the quiet snitch of the latch and the door creaked open.

You threw out of instinct.

A hand shot out, catching the knife by the handle. With the door wide open now, the silhouettes became more distinct. You counted three bodies, but you couldn’t be sure there weren’t more surrounding your cabin. You took a step forward with your gun now in hand, fully intending to strike, until a sliver of color caught your attention. You squinted. The dim light made it hard to see but you’d recognize that copper hair anywhere. In fuller light, you suspected you’d see her signature smirk.

“Is that any way to treat your friend, zvezdochka?” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Flicking on a light, you made your way to your old friend.

“Fuck Tash, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were coming by.” You pulled her into your arms for a much needed hug. She jerked beneath you upon contact. That wasn’t normal. You released her, searching her for injuries. She had a large gash in her abdomen, and while the bleeding had stopped for now, it would have to be fixed immediately.

“Yeah, it’s a long story, Blue. Sorry we didn’t give you a heads up.”

“I hate to be rude, but can we get out of the cold?” A voice said.

Just that quickly, you’d forgotten about the other two people in your company. A man with warm brown skin and a metal pack of some kind strapped to his back stood behind Natasha. Next to him was a man you’d seen on the news several times. The TV stations didn’t do the man justice. Captain America was in your cabin in the woods, and you were suddenly very aware just how little you were actually wearing at the moment. You tugged at the hem of the over-sized shirt you’d stolen from Clint months ago.

“Sorry! Please, come in.” You ushered them passed you and locked the door behind them.

“Guys, this is Blue. Blue, meet Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson,” Natasha said, setting your knife on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Sorry about intruding, ma'am.” Captain America was apologizing to you. That's sweet.

“Don't you worry your pretty little head about it.” That earned you a blush from the blonde. “And I'm far younger than you. 'Ma'am' is not necessary, Captain.”

“Steve. You can call me Steve.” The pink on his cheeks spread down his neck, and if he were to take his suit off, you were sure his chest would be sporting the same rosy hue.

“Fair enough. It’s nice to meet you both, and I would say it’s great to see you again, Tash, but it seems like it’s under… difficult circumstances.” Natasha waved you off.

“Minor shootout on a mountain. Nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Minor shootout, she says,” you scoffed. “You need to be more careful. Come on.” You grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her to the kitchen. “There’s a bathroom through the door on the right, if you guys want to clean up,” you pointed behind you.

You could hear the shuffling of their feet as they dispersed through your home for the past year. You made Natasha sit on a stool by the overhang counter, while you rummaged around in a cabinet for your first aid kit. You peeled the top of her suit down and pulled up the tank top she wore underneath. The large gash looked uglier exposed in the light but nothing you couldn't work with for now. You soaked a cotton ball with alcohol and wiped the area clean as gently as you could. She hissed upon contact but didn’t say anything. You slid a bottle of whiskey to her before you pushed the tip of some surgical thread through a needle. She took a swig and you started to sew up the wound. You could feel her eyes on you. When you were done, you smoothed on antiseptic ointment and covered it with a bandage. It would have to do for now. You turned to put the kit away and washed your hands. She still hadn’t said anything to you. You sighed.

“I can practically hear you thinking, you know.”

“I see your aim hasn’t changed, zvezdochka.” Here it comes. It was only a matter of time. “You could be putting your skills to good use.”

“Natasha, khvatit. We’ve been over this. I’m not going back.”

You slid a cutting board from its place along the wall before gathering ingredients at random. You quickly diced an onion and minced a couple cloves of garlic, sautéing them in a saucepan on the stove, before pouring in a couple cans of crushed tomatoes. A bit of tomato paste, along with oregano, salt, pepper, and a couple of bay leaves, and you had your go-to sauce mostly done. You gave it a stir and covered it, bringing down the heat to a simmer when it showed signs of boiling. You glanced behind you when you hadn’t heard anything from Natasha. She looked frustrated, her brows furrowed, but held her tongue. You pulled the cork on a bottle of sweet moscato and poured her a glass, replacing the whiskey bottle in front of her.

“Look, it has nothing to do with you. You know I love you and I miss you and Clint. I actually just texted him yesterday but he hasn’t responded yet.”

“Yeah, he’s on an op in East Asia right now.” She paused. “You should see his hair, he uses more product now than ever.” Her tone was light, the previous topic dropped for now. You chuckled, Clint had always used heavy amounts of hair gel. You’d teased him endlessly about it once upon a time.

“Hey, can you go tell your friends there are some of Clint’s old shirts and maybe a few pairs of sweats that might fit in my dresser, if they want to change. This’ll be ready soon.”

“Sure.” You flinched at her closeness, not expecting her to be so close to you. She pecked your cheek and threw her arms around you, squeezing you as she would have before, had she not been freshly injured. She released you and sauntered out of your kitchen, leaving you to your thoughts. In another pot, you filled it with water, then set it on the stove to start heating it up.

Your mind wandered as you waited for the water to boil. You didn’t miss that Natasha hadn’t told you where the three of them had been on their mission. Nor why they’d been on a mountain in the first place. In all fairness, she didn’t have to, couldn’t if she were following S.H.I.E.L.D. rules.

But it did make you nervous. You doubt anyone would have followed them to your location in the middle of the thick wilderness in northern Washington. But then again, they had been near enough your location that Natasha thought your safe haven of a cabin was the best option. That unsettled you, but she wouldn’t have given up this location if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. You were going to have to keep a look out if there were unsavory people in the area.

The water started to boil, so you threw in a few dashes of olive oil and some salt. You felt the presence of someone behind you as you dumped the linguine into the bubbling water.

“You know, it’s not polite to stare, Captain.”

You peeked over your shoulder. You’d only just met him but making America’s Golden Boy blush was becoming your new favorite hobby. His face had been cleaned of dirt and the few cuts on his face were already healing. Must be that super soldier serum you’d read about. He was wearing an old white t-shirt that was definitely a size or two too small, and a pair of sweatpants that you were certain would show off his ass nicely if he turned around. And yet, he looked far more relaxed than he’d been when he first stumbled through your door.

“I, uh... thank you, for letting us crash here,” he stuttered. You gestured to the bar stool Natasha previously occupied and he sat down.

“It’s not a problem, Steve. Anything for the friends of Natasha and Clint.” You took the lid off the sauce. Steam billowed into your face as your stirred.

“How do you know them anyway?”

“Ah ah, that’s a story for another time, Mr. Rogers. Now, do you want cheese on your pasta?” He smiled and nodded. You handed him a slicer and a block of parmesan after you showed him how to make cheese curls.

By the time Natasha and Sam stepped into the kitchen, the two of you had just finished filling the bowls around the table.

“Mmm, something smells amazing,” Sam said. He, too, looked more comfortable out of his combat mission-wear. He landed heavily into the chair next to Steve at the table, a strong contrast to Natasha's elegant descent next to you.

“It should be. It’s one of my go-to recipes. I hope you like it.” You pushed a bowl in front of him. He all but inhaled the first few forkfuls, switching between moaning and taking in sharp breaths from the heat of the food.

“Girl, this is amazing.” You nodded your appreciation. To Natasha and Steve, he said, “Can we keep her?” Your cheeks warmed. Natasha smirked.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Her eyes were playful. She seemed much better from the last time you’d seen her around Christmas. Natasha and Clint had been brief in their visit, having stopped over long enough to bring you a few gifts-- a fuzzy blanket, thick socks, and a beautiful new knife-- before leaving abruptly for another mission they couldn’t miss. She had been tense then, frown lines gracing her face. Observing her now, there was a certain slack visible in her shoulders, and the creases in her forehead had given way to smile lines around her mouth instead, faint as they were. She was still beautiful as always though, still your pseudo big sister.

“Maybe I’ll come visit New York soon, Bird Man.” You bit back a laugh at his outrage at the nickname.

“Has she been talking to Barnes? Geeze, can’t catch a break,” he grumbled.

“Sorry, I don’t have a great filter sometimes. But you are the Falcon, right? It’s fitting.” You shrugged. “Suppose I can think of something else if I’m not being original enough for you.” Sam just rolled his eyes.

“This really is great, ma’- ah… Blue?” Steve’s comment came out like a question.

“Yeah, Clint’s nickname for me. Blue Moon, like the ice cream? I had blue hair when we met. I kept it up for a while and the nickname stuck. Everyone used to call me that.” You shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

Steve nodded. You finished your pasta and rinsed the bowl in the sink. “Anyway, I’m sure you guys are exhausted. There’s not a ton of room here, but a couple of you can take the back room, the bed should be big enough for two. And my loft is available, if you don’t mind a little climb, just watch your head. There are extra blankets and a couple pillows in the linen closet. Please make yourselves at home.”

“What about you?” Steve asked.

“Don’t you worry about me, Captain.” You knew you weren’t getting sleep any time soon, the small couch in front of the fireplace calling your name. “I’ll be just fine.”

__________

They didn’t fight you on it. Two hours later, Natasha and Sam were cuddled together in the bed in the back room. You found that interesting and made a mental note to bring it up with her later. Steve on the other hand was curled into your bed in the loft. The low ceiling made him look like even more of a giant within the small space, especially with your favorite plush blanket draped over him. From your place on the couch, you could see half his face behind the slotted railing of the loft. Even asleep, it seemed like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. At least you could allow him this reprieve.

You tiptoed to the side door a few minutes later, a fresh mug of tea in your hand. You were careful not to wake Steve up as you slowly slid the door open, softly latching it behind you. You sat on one of the chairs on the deck, settling in for your morning routine. Clint had told you the reason he chose to build the cabin in its current location was for the view. He couldn’t have been more perfect in his choice. The cabin sat on the edge of a small lake in the middle of a thick forest that butted up against a range of mountains. You’d learned the best part of your nightly predicament was being awake to watch the sunrise over the water, the beams of light breaking through the gaps in the leaves of trees and the crevices of the mountains. The reflection of the morning sky colors in the ripples of the water were beautiful. It seemed this view was the only version of a body of water you appreciated, from a distance at least. You weren’t jumping in anytime soon.

You sipped your tea as the warm hues spilled over the horizon. The forest started to wake up, birds doing their morning calls and squirrels and rabbits scurrying over the forest floor. The breeze picked up a bit. It rustled the leaves and caused shallow waves in the water in front of you. Mornings were definitely your favorite, if only because they were always slow and peaceful here.

“That’s a gorgeous view.”

You whipped your head to the intruder. Steve leaned against the door frame. Orange and red tones lit up his face like a painting. He wore a small smile. He was beautiful in this light. You looked back to the lake.

“Yeah, it really is. Best part about this place. Sorry if I woke you up. I tried to be quiet.”

“Nah, it wasn’t you. Honestly, didn’t even hear a thing. It’s just my internal alarm clock. I’m used to getting up and running first thing with the sun, and believe it or not, I never get used to the different time zones.” You hummed and nodded.

“So when do you guys have to leave?”

“Tired of us already?” Steve teased.

“No.” Truthfully you weren’t. You were bracing yourself for when you’d be alone again. “Just trying to plan ahead. Maybe I’ll make something for you guys for the trip back.”

“Oh...” He was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. “You could come back with us, you know. If Clint’s half as happy to see you as Nat was, it seems like it’d be a great reunion. Plus, you could meet the team.”

He had a point. You did miss Clint, and you had wanted to go back and visit New York again. You supposed meeting the famous Avengers would be interesting. If not daunting. But that would mean putting yourself in range of Fury and you weren't ready for that yet. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fair enough.”

"Would you like a cup?" You raised your mug in his direction.

"I'm alright." His smile sparked made you feel the warmth you wished the sun would give off.

"Well have a seat at least. You're making me anxious."

He plopped into the chair beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His elbows propped on the arms of the wood lounger, his interlocked hands resting on his stomach. He flash you another small smile and looked out toward the water. You took a moment to really study him.

You weren't stupid- you were well-aware how much the media wanted Steve- no, Captain America- to be portrayed as flawless and perfect. And in every instance in which you'd seen him on a screen, he was. In person, the reality of what he must go through, not only as an Avenger, but as a national icon, is ever apparent. There’s a line in his forehead, as if it’s constantly creased, which is plausible. The fine lines around his eyes revealed his weariness, and at the rate you guessed he’s constantly in missions, it made sense.

"You know, it's rude to stare." Blue eyes flicked to yours.

"Yeah well, I don't have a lot of company." You took another sip of your tea, now definitely too cool for your liking. "But can you blame me? I'm in the presence of a celebrity."

A corner of his mouth tucked up.

"Yeah yeah."

"Still watching sunrises with blondes, I see?" Natasha's head poked out on the sliding door, Clint's old sweatshirt hanging off one shoulder.

"Still too nosy for your own good, I see?" You quipped back. She grinned at you, looking younger than you've seen her in a while.

"Of course, zvezdochka." She winked. You sighed, standing up.

"I better get some coffee started and then I'll head into town if you all will be staying for a while. Not exactly equipped to feed superheroes."

"I can go with you." Steve got his feet, stretching his arms over head, the action lifted his shirt just enough to give you a glimpse of his well-toned abs. He practically towered over you.

"Erm, are you sure? It's over a half hour drive into town."

"Well, it wouldn't be right to let a dame like you do all the work while we're crashing with you unannounced " He sounded so genuine. It must be some of that 40′s charm and etiquette Natasha had told you about.

"If you're sure then."

__________

That's how you ended up driving down the winding roads together with trees and steep drop-offs on either side. Steve flipped through station after station of static on the radio before you took pity on him and switched on an indie rock CD.

"There aren't many radio stations out this far so it's hit or miss when we're close enough to catch anything."

He hummed, nodding along to the music, and watching the trees rush by. He had a far off look in eye. You let him be, content with the silent company for now. Who knew how long it's been since he's had time to just think without being needed.

You pulled up to the general store in the closest town almost forty minutes later. There weren't many cars in the lot, but there hardly ever were. You bit your tongue when you saw Steve had donned a discarded cap from the back seat. If he thought that would disguise him, he would be sorely mistaken. Or maybe not. To be fair, there weren't a lot of people in this town, and even less were likely to recognize him at first glance.

A couple teenagers stood behind the registers near the entrance, popping gum and flirting most likely, from the blush on the girl's face at least. You grabbed a cart, Steve following closely behind you. You passed an older woman in the produce section, tossing items in as you went by.

"Is pick up soon or should I get stuff for dinner too?" When there wasn't a response, you turned around. Steve was helping the woman grab the parsley off the top shelf. He was so genuinely nice, it was so easy to see him as the national icon you assumed most people learned about in school. You shook your head and continued down the aisles. He could catch up; it's not like there was too much area to cover if you got separated. You nodded at a man in a black jacket nearby when you made accidental eye contact, and made a beeline to the cereal aisle. The decision to treat yourself to sugary cereal was too great, especially since you had no self-control and it was always the first to run out at home. You reached for your favorite brand, going up on your toes to grab it off the top shelf. Before you could though, a hand settled on your lower back and Steve pulled the box from the shelf effortlessly.

He smirked, dangling the box in front of you.

"Thanks." You rolled your eyes, snatching the box from his grip. He chuckled behind you as you shuffled down the aisle.

"You looked like you were going to climb the shelves."

"I would have. I usually have to-" You stopped abruptly. Steve stumbled into you. The man at the end of the aisle was watching you. No, blatantly staring at you.

"Blue?"

You ignored him in favor of the man. The staring wouldn't have bothered you on a normal day; you don't come to town often so people tend to be nosy and keep an eye on the outsider. But the hair on the back of your neck was standing on end and you had a sinking feeling in your stomach that your casual day with new friends had come to an abrupt end.

"Blue?"

"How many people are near the exit?" You said in a quiet voice. Steve tensed beside you. He finally looked to where your attention was drawn to at the end of the aisle. "None at the moment."

"The old lady?" You murmured, backing up slowly when a second man, the one in the black jacket you had just passed, rounded the corner to stand next to the first man.

"Two lanes over by the soup." You were thankful his height gave him the advantage to see over the shelves.

"We're going to have to make a run for it if we want to keep the civilians safe. Creep and Creepier are definitely packing." You let go of the cart, reaching into your hoodie pocket for your car keys.

"On three, we make a break for it," Steve said. "One-"

"Three!" You turned on your heel and took off toward the entrance, Steve serving as a human shield behind you when a gunshot sounded. How you wish he'd brought his official one with him. The glass of the door shattered in front of you but you barreled through, holding your arms over your head for cover. Dodging bullets, your raced to your Jeep. You jumped in and shoved the key in the ignition, taking off before Steve even had the door closed.

"How did they recognize me so quickly?" Steve gasped. He turned around in his seat, eyes on the road behind us. You rolled your eyes.

"Right, because a baseball cap is going to disguise your six-foot-plus frame in a town of less than a hundred people. Sure." You glanced in the side mirrors. A grey SUV followed you. Raindrops crashed against the windshield. "Fucking great," you muttered to yourself. You needed a plan. Well you had a plan, but it was going to be more difficult than necessary if the clouds were any indication of the water they held. "Steve, the glove box."

He gave you a quizzical look but did as you asked and pulled out the gun you kept stashed there. He rolled down the window, rain pelted his face as he leaned out the window. He took aim and shot at the SUV. They swerved on the road, attempting to avoid the bullets but Steve was able to hit a tire and the SUV made a hard turn into a large tree.

You let out the breath you’d been holding. That much fuckery without substantial food in your system was definitely bringing your mood down. But you couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline that coursed through your veins.

"Romanoff," Steve spoke into his watch. "I've been made. We're on our way back now."

"Fuck," you breathed. "Can’t catch a break, huh Cap? That was obnox-"

You didn’t even see it coming. The hit to the passenger's side caused the car to flip and roll several times, eventually rolling you over the edge of the road and down a steep incline. You closed your eyes and braced against the handle grips on the door and the steering wheel. Every impact of metal to pavement and forest floor jarred your body.

Then the airbag deployed and the world shut off.

[Part 2]

A/N: Gonna try to post every Thursday or Friday, so fingers crossed I can actually stick to that schedule. Let me know what you think so far!

#Stucky x reader #Steve Rogers x reader #Bucky Barnes x Reader #Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes #marvel fanfiction #In Viata Asta

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charlesmiith · 6 years ago

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@ All you Arthur’s

Ok seriously for all you Arthur RPer’s (and other writers/whatnot in the fandom) if you find this useful please by all means like/reblog !!

SOME NOTES ON TB // TREATMENT

Warning: any medical information found below comes from an unlicensed medical professional and shall be followed at the reader’s own risk

Tuberculosis is a bacterial infection of the lungs. So with that said, only specific antibiotics can kill TB. Your generic run of the mill penicillin won’t work, unfortunately. That’s why the first anti-TB antibiotic came about, Streptomycin, which comes from the bacteria Streptomyces (simple name) in the 1940-50′s. It’s obsolete now however due to the bacteria becoming resistant.

Quick note on antibiotics: they are found by antibiotic-producing bacteria in soil, along with other kinds of fungi that produce antibiotics. SO, yeah, the garden right outside your house may have antibiotics not even discovered by man yet. Cool, huh?

But in regards to 1899? Antibiotics were a few decades from being discovered still, so you can get away with treating common bacteria with weak antibiotics and it potentially being effective.

Around the 1850′s (1849 to be exact) the “sanatorium cure” came about by Hermann Brehmer, which is basically standing outside in cold dry air, which reportedly helped put symptoms of TB into remission. He came about with this conclusion after a healing adventure of traveling up into the Himalayan Mountains.

The cold will definitely help any inflammation, thus helping the patient breathe easier. The dry air will also make condition not that preferable for the bacteria to grow, thus causing symptoms to go into remission. So in a sense, Arthur could definitely have lived longer if he wasn’t exposed to the bayous and other areas where it was nothing but moist, warm air :( if he was to be in the mountains, he probably would have lived a lot longer, at least.

Going off of that, once again an actual “cure” for TB isn’t discovered until the 1950′s. BUT, there are home remedies that naturally produce antibiotics- of course nowhere near the strength of actual medicine, but combine it with being up in the mountains and you certainly have a potential, realistic cure for ya boy Arthur.

There are many herbs to help soothe the lungs and ward off bacteria but oregano is definitely number one that could be effective in warding off something as nasty as TB. FOLLOW THE FOLLOWING MEDICAL ADVICE AT YOUR OWN RISK: but yes you can even buy this stuff today and use it to treat common colds/sinus infections but trust me when I say this dilute it first holy shit (how do I know this? I’ll give you one guess RIP me)

But mainly inhaling a vapor of it/drinking the juice/chest rub can be effective methods at keeping the bacteria at bay. Other herbs like echinacea is a natural “antibiotic”, as it mainly raises white blood cell count and thus boosts the immune system. But this may or may not help depending on the situation. (In the situation of TB, hell yes it would help)

Garlic is another known effective natural “antibiotic”, along with Manuka Honey- but I highly doubt getting a specific kind of honey from New Zealand and ensuring it’s potency is highly unrealistic in the year 1899.

One more note: the earlier the infection is caught the better. There certainly would be a point that even with regular antibiotics that Arthur would be a goner, so if you plan to integrate this into a thread/story please take that into consideration!!

OK YEAH in conclusion these are highly potential cures for Arthur and TB in the 19th century and the doctor he saw was a S C A M i wanted to pull my hair out at him smoking in his face thank you for coming to my ted talk and have a nice day c:

#im not licensed YET #but im getting there #until then #here is my contribution to the fandom y a y #ooc #text post #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur Morgan #Charles Smith #rdr2 #rdr2 rp

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cloudwomensquarterly · 6 years ago

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Zoriada and Marisol from SanTana’s Fairy Tales Written By Sarah Raphael Garcia

The following story appears in SanTana's Fairy Tales and is reprinted with permission from Raspa Magazine.

Zoriada and Marisol

I am an enchanted woman named Zoraida.

But of course you already know my name. You knew me when I was alive.

In this life, I reign from far, far above the castles and queens. I travel by whispers, wishes upon the North Star and hushed weeps. Just like you called upon me in midst of bloody murmurs, wishing for death to ease the pain. Some call me death, others the Godmother of life.

In my last life I too thought it was my fate to die as a woman on a night like tonight. But death came just too soon, leaving me trapped between other’s lives and my own.

I was an unfamiliar name in a city filled with dreamers. I was strong like the palm trees swaying in the Santa Ana winds and lyrical as the parrots living under the green, mama bird-like wings of the Pacific Coast palm trees. My legs, long and silky, danced to their own melody without any awkward stumbling or mispronounced schemes.

Fortunes—I had none.

My purse was of more value than the coins clinking in its deep corners and melancholy was my lover leading me into the bitter sea. Still, I lugged my stitched heart in weary arms— leaving it exposed to everyone I passed on the dark, twisted streets.

I was inspiring, so you kept saying when you spoke of me. But now, I appear in reflections, cupped hands and wishes.

For as long as I could remember, I wanted to twirl my long hair between china-red fingertips and blush when I cupped my breasts in front of the standing mirror. I wanted a man to caress my curves, from my hips to my puckered lips. But to most, my type of love was forbidden—cursed by society like the familiar tragedy of Romeo and Juliet.

Love—I thought I would find it.

But when my limp body was found, winded and pale as the ocean’s spume, it cast a shadow over those close to my heart, leaving only the jagged sounds of shattered dreams and a person by another name—the name I was given at birth, not the real me.

Before I tell you what is to become of you, please keep breathing. As painful as it might be, I plead for you to keep breathing—at the end I will ask for your wish, I promise you that.

When I was at my last breath, I regretted believing someone would actually love me and wished for death. You think you prefer not feeling anything but the truth is your despair has summoned my presence—because we are the same. Like you, I too was first called a boy at birth. A boy who stared at other boys and envied the red ribbons the girls wore in their long wavy hair. It was a girl who helped me see who I really was.

“I like your eyelashes. You would make a pretty girl.” She was ten like me, and wore an eyelet dress with matching socks.

“But I’m a boy.” I was dressed in jeans and plain t-shirt my mother picked out for me.

“Those boys are mean to you. Do you want to pretend to be a girl and play with me?” I still remember her, she was the first to accept me.

Before I could fully see beyond my own skin and feel the moths flutter wildly in my heart.

But really it could have been anyone thereafter: my mother, my only sister, my first lover—all paid me a compliment about my soft skin, perfect lips and almond shaped eyes. It wasn’t until many years later my hair became my true beauty.

Back then my name was Gabriel. My mother said she chose my name because I was her little angel. I wonder what all their birth names were before I helped them die. I learned to never ask. The names they give us do not affect who really are.

Here, let move your hair out of your eyes. Your curls are such a pretty shade of caramel, perfect with your brown skin. It saddens me to see it fading. Doesn’t the lavender oil feel good on your temples? I used to rub it on myself after a “bad” day. I should’ve taught you more when I was alive.

My mother taught me about the healing powers of the oils as a boy. I think my mother knew then it would be the only thing she could pass on to me to heal myself. Lavender is for balancing, soothing, normalizing, calming, relaxing, and healing. Ginger for warming, strengthening, anchoring. And oregano oil is invigorating, purifying and uplifting. But my favorite of all is jasmine—it induces calmness, relaxation, sensuality, and romance. My mother often reminded me of the healing pur- poses of all the oils, even when I jerked away angrily at fifteen because I told her she should’ve taught me to fight instead.

I added some jasmine on your wrists. You will be able to smell it later, should you choose to live.

I remember the first time I was beaten by the neighborhood boys. They never liked me. They called me names my mother would never approve of, “Joto,” “Faggot,” and “Maricón.” I never told my mother why they chased me down the alley. I just told her they were boys from another neighborhood. That’s when my mother started chanting all the remedies. Often, on the day after applying oils on my face and limbs, my mother gave me a cup of ginger and arnica tea with breakfast. She also gave me a lemon lightly covered with honey, in case the tea left a bad taste in my mouth. Lemon is uplifting, refreshing, cheering. I say honey is just as sweet as a rose at your nose tip and solely to indulge. My mother would say it was anti-inflammatory, to help with the bruises. Should you decide to get up, I left some honey and lemon on your table, all you have to do is boil water. I do hope you choose to get up but I will understand if you don’t.

At nineteen, I ran into my mother’s house blubbering tears. When she asked what happened. I spat the words out as if she had always known. I didn’t try to ease her into my real identity or even try to confront her with it. She saw me in pain and did what came natural to her.

“Mijo, who hurt you? Come here, come here, let your mama hold you.”

“Mama, it hurts so much.”

“Where mijo, show me where. I will get my oils.” “No, don’t go. Mama, he used me, he used me. He told me he loved me. And I just gave myself to him.” Instantly, my mother dropped her arms. I looked at her and called for her, “Mama?” She just stared at me without any words. I knew then it would be hard for her to understand. I knew then everything would be harder and I would have to learn to heal myself. And although my mother never asked me to leave her home, I felt it was necessary, out of respect. On my last day, she burnt sage around my body before I walked out the door. But I couldn’t continue with the silence, it was like sucking on a lemon with cracked lips.

I’m sure you have a similar story. We all do. I don’t ever assume mine is the worst. At the time I thought it was best we didn’t share our pasts, but now I wish I could’ve told you more when I was alive. We all feel pain differently, some of us know how to heal ourselves, others don’t know anything else but pain.

Look how they left you, how did you even make it into the apartment? And your beautiful dress, did they really have to rip it in three places? You are such a beautiful woman, skin softer than all I have ever felt.

I see the sewing machine in the corner, a new fabric hanging from the needle. You know, that’s how I managed to pay for my own change.

I see myself now reduced to a skeleton in a hand stitched cloak. I have shed all the layers of flesh, skin and gender. You’ll look like this when you’re dead too. How trivial our differences become, between lives. In my last life, I did succeed in becoming a woman, the only part of me you knew. We are a lot alike. We both hungered to be accepted, I succumbed to the death of it. You want to stop the pain; I now regret wishing it away.

But I didn’t know I was coming to heal you.

I only realized you were calling for death when I entered this apartment.

When I first moved out of my mother’s home I found myself wandering through days in no particular direction. I lived in this same small apartment, making the living room my stage, such as you did too. The man who took me in was not a lover. Sometimes he would say he found me in his own reflection, like a walking mirror reassuring his presence; other times, he’d say I found him, like an abandoned newborn fawn wobbles towards a horse for comfort. Once he claimed he saved me, without saying from what. But now I know, his guidance prolonged my life to be what I am now.

I remember very little of the first year out of my mother’s home. But I do recall the sun rising after I left the apartment, sometimes several hours later. I knew I was on a path, something better than before, and possibly a change, though I can’t remember ever contemplating these things on my way to the warehouse where I worked as a packmule. The man said there would be times when the sunrise would make me smile. Yet, since the day I met him I only showed him the face of an orphaned child. He was rarely home when I returned after night fell. But with time, things did change. My hair grew longer and longer. I kept it just passed my shoulders. On the days I remained home from work the man taught me to sew. While the man dressed himself before leaving for the night, he spent the time lecturing me about drag etiquette and giving a hands-on lesson on how to convert woman’s clothing to compliment our bodies.

“Remember, inhale while you zip-up. Exhale when you tousle your hair. Scream when you need to, because we all need to scream when we do.

“Pat your lips before walking out the door. And shower yourself in the scent you wish to perspire.

“If anyone, and I mean anyone honey—man or woman— even looks at you with disgust, just blow them a kiss as you pass them by. Be who you are, walk tall and mighty like a queen.”

He also gave me my first dress. He said he hoped it brought the same memories as it did him. I can’t say it ever did.

The only clothes I had from the time before my change were the threads my mother provided, the plain white t-shirts she afforded with the labors of her healing. Instead of throwing them out, I used them for lining, to keep the one who taught me to heal close to me. I knew in her own way she showed me love.

The man was my strength, as I hoped to be yours. The man told me he had to let me walk on my own. He gave me his room, with a closet full of beautiful dresses, and colorful accessories. Caddy corner from the sewing machine sat a vanity mirror covered with make-up tips and inspirational quotes— words I heard him tell me time and time again but I was too tired to make them my own.

About a month after the man left, I began to use his things, tailored each piece to cling to my waist. It was in his absence that he taught me how to be a woman. I hoped to pass on my things to someone one day too.

It is odd how you called to me when I first crossed your path. You were the first to compliment my hair, “I like your hair, reminds my of an onyx stone. Is it real?” I laughed, put my arms around you, teased you about your little boy clothes and brought you home the same night. You were my lost child of the night. But of course you probably do not remember your first year either. Or maybe you remember everything, and I’m just a foolish lost soul.

I bet you thought you would never know what happened to me or why I left. I didn’t mean to leave you like this. It was an honor to see you bloom. Unlike me, you listened to my words and teachings like a starving child licking your lips over breadcrumbs. I never gifted you a first dress because you made it when I was gone—in one day. You wore it before your hair grew out and your curves filled it in. You were the fawn born a doe. I never say I found you because I know you saved me from me. You gave me the courage to face my change and to own my new name.

Zoraida. Marisol. Like sisters. I was more like jasmine; you are more like ginger. We both healed each other. Yet, it was I who fell for the wolf disguised in sheep’s coat. My prince promised me an untold fairytale. I wanted to keep him all for myself. I never shared his name or the details of our prelude. I left before you came home. I left wearing a new dress, carrying my finest purse and wearing matching shoes. I hoped to be swept off my feet and carried away in his arms. He did just that.

My prince let me enjoy our shared meal and drink one glass of red wine. He offered me a ride home. The stars were out and my shoes were not made to walk the streets. How could I deny?

I prepared myself for the good night kiss. Pushed my hair behind each ear, dabbed my lips lightly on a tissue to avoid leaving him marked. I would thank my prince shyly while looking up to his eyes.

But before I could tell him where to turn, my prince drove in a different direction. When I joked about getting lost, he said he had been watching me from long ago.

“I saw you first at a bus stop. You applied red lipstick on your lips.” He said the words while his black eyes turned to see me.

“Oh, it must have been a day I was running late.” I responded and giggled while looking away.

“I watched how your hair grew, before it even passed your ears.” This time, he spoke in almost a whisper, staring straight ahead.

“Oh, what do you mean? It has been this length for months.” My voice cracked and my body tensed up.

“I’ve been watching you, pretending, pretending, that’s all you do!” His voice changed its tune, his brutish words echoed as if they bounced off each window in the car.

The car came to a stop and it wasn’t at my home. I immediately went for the door. When I moved away from him, I felt a roughness around my neck. My hands didn’t have the strength to reach the door or window. I tried to scream but the noose got tighter and tighter. My fingers burned from clasping the rope, trying to keep inhaling. I got very tired and let my eyes shut. When I awoke, I was tied at my ankles and wrists, laid in a small space. I was in the trunk of his car. I tasted metallic on the tip of my tongue and was undressed. Pain, pain, every- where—like ten beatings in one day. I could only close my eyes to dream of something better. I awoke to my prince opening the trunk to beat me more. He didn’t speak, nor could I with the gag in my mouth. I could only wish, wish I would have never believed another could love me. I never awoke again.

A young woman found my body, behind a dumpster. I watched her walk out from the nearby building as I floated above my naked self. My scars under my breasts were practically invisible and the ones between my legs were beginning to fade. I covered myself in lavender and tea tree oil every day—it was my daily ritual. The relief brought me happiness. I knew how to heal myself but I couldn’t undo what my prince had done.

I passed the first months after death watching you. I hovered over you when you walked alone at night. I rubbed oils on you during your sleep. I wanted to heal the pain my absence caused. But when I read over your shoulder that they excluded my name, the name I chose for the real me, I wished I could live again. They erased me, replaced me with the helpless boy my mother raised. They convicted my prince for killing a man, even though I grew up to be a woman. It was anger that forced me to listen. I heard the cries from others like me. Some cried to die, others prayed to live. I couldn’t allow for them be alone in such desperation. I left your side to be with them. I applied oils and spoke comforting words as they whispered their wishes. Each time I arrived at a newly bruised body, I feared it might be you.

Today, my worst fear came true. But now I can truly be the wiser woman you need me to be. You have a choice Marisol, you can choose to die today or to live past tomorrow, live to speak aloud our names. Give them a reason to speak yours in the present, let mine be a legend. You must choose between life and death. Only you can choose.

Tell me my dear sister, tell me what you desire, I will help with the pain. Inhale the sage I burn for you now, it will cleanse you of any doubts and give you strength to speak. Is it life or death you seek?

I will make whichever wish you choose come true.

Sarah Rafael García is a writer, arts educator and conceptual artist. Since publishing Las Niñas (Floricanto Press 2008), she founded Barrio Writers, LibroMobile and Crear Studio. In 2015, she completed a M.F.A. in Creative Writing with an emphasis in Fiction and cognate in Media Studies. In 2016, Sarah Rafael was awarded in part by The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts, through an Artist-in-Residence initiative at CSUF Grand Central Art Center, to develop the multi-media project titled SanTana’s Fairy Tales (Raspa Magazine 2017). In 2018, she held an artist residency at The Guesthouse, Cork, Ireland and was honored as an Emerging Artist at the 19th Annual Orange County Arts Awards. Most recently, Sarah Rafael García was selected as a 2019 University of Houston Kathrine G. McGovern College of the Arts and Project Row Houses Fellow. She currently splits her time between stacking books at her tiny bookstore in Santa Ana, California and developing her forthcoming sci-fi literary project in Houston, Texas. To read more about the SanTana Fairy Tale collection, see this excellent review at De Colores: The Raza Experience in Books for Children and please look for the book and purchase it online.

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chickenthingsandmore · 2 years ago

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Healthy Grilled Chicken Recipes

Grilled Chicken Thighs:

This recipe is best for summer grilling. They are always tender and juicy and have the greatest seasoning based on what cut of chicken you have on hand.

Follow this simple 4-step procedure to grill to perfection every time! 1. This may not appear to be a significant step, but before you do anything else, make sure to dab your chicken with a paper towel. The exterior will get beautiful and crispy as the moisture is removed, while the insides will become delicate and juicy. 2. Dry rub the meat with any of your favorite rubs. Allow at least 30 minutes for the chicken to rest before grilling. This will give them a good amount of flavor! 3. Once your chicken is fully rubbed, the next step is to grill and sauce it: • Prepare your grill to 420 degrees Fahrenheit. • Grill chicken thighs skin-side down for 4-5 minutes over direct heat. This will give you that lovely, crispy skin! • Then flip the chicken and cook for another 4 minutes over direct heat. • Last but not least, flip the chicken and place them over indirect heat. Cook for an additional 4 minutes. • Your thighs should be virtually finished at this point! To caramelize the sauce, rub on some of your favorite BBQ sauce and simmer for a few more minutes. When your thighs reach an internal temperature of 165°F, you know they're done. Tip: How do you tell when the chicken is done? Grill chicken thighs for 15 minutes or until they reach a temperature of 165°F on the inside. Please remember that the thickness of your chicken thighs affects the cooking time, so thicker thighs will take longer. Use a thermometer for meat to check the internal temperature of it. 4. Remove the chicken from the grill, and place them on a plate to rest for 10 minutes. This healthy recipe works on both gas and charcoal barbecues. We chose a gas grill since it allows us to control the temperature more precisely, but a charcoal grill would produce equally delicious results by giving the recipe a smoky flavor.

Grilled chicken breast: This healthy recipe is suitable for both outdoor and indoor cooking. Before being skewered with a variety of grilled vegetables, chunks of chicken breast are bathed in lemon, garlic, oregano, and olive oil. Everything is soft, juicy, and ridiculously wonderful when it comes off the grill.

Ingredients: 1. Cut the chicken into 12-inch chunks so they cook rapidly. 2. Fresh vegetables like bell peppers, zucchini, and red onion are ideal for grilling. You can add the vegetables of your choice. 3. Lime juice 4. Olive oil to get a Greek blend. 5. Red Wine Vinegar: Adds a rich, zesty flavor to the meat while also tenderizing it. 6. Garlic: The best garlic is freshly minced garlic cloves, but garlic powder will suffice. 7. Dried oregano to give the marinade a hint of Greek taste. 8. Dijon mustard for a depth of taste. Procedure: 1. Place the breasts in a large mixing basin and cut them into bite-sized pieces. 2. Combine the marinade ingredients in a bowl and toss with the cubed chicken. 3. Then cover it and put it in the fridge for approximately an hour to marinate. 4. All of the veggies should be cut into the same size pieces as the chicken. 5. Alternate threading the marinated chicken and veggies on metal or bamboo skewers. 6. Turn the skewers over and baste with the leftover marinade until the chicken is fully cooked and the veggies are lightly browned. 7. Serve these Grilled Chicken Breasts with grilled veggies, pasta salad, and chimichurri sauce

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deardungeon · 8 years ago

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This time on Dungeons, Dragons, and Dives, we cooked up some offerings from Simon’s Snakey Snacks, a food stand serving only the best in monstrous cuisine. For Simon’s full story, check out episode 4.

Let’s get cooking!

Ingredients:

~ 1 pack of Beer Brats. I use store brand. I use store brand everything. Just get that out of the way. ~ 8-10 mini peppers. I used orange, yellow, and red! Just like a salamander! ~ Spaghetti Squash ~ Olive oil ~ cumin, salt, pepper, garlic, oregano, basil, rosemary, sage

Directions:

Naga Entrails

Thread those brats back and forth on skewers, and slather them in delicious steak sauce. Grill on medium heat until the outsides crisp and char a bit.

Salamander Frills

Cut the tops of mini-peppers. Rub the insides with a mixture of salt, ground black pepper, ground red pepper, cumin, and garlic. Skewer and grill on low heat until they soften and char.

Medusa Sheddings

Cut in half a spaghetti squash, scoop out the guts, and drizzle with olive oil. Salt and pepper those bitches. Back for 50 minutes @ 400 degrees Farenheit.

Pull out the squash with a fork, shredding it, and toss with basil, oregano, rosemary, sage, and garlic. generous amounts of all, to really give that green color with the flakes to emulate old snake skin! :)

With all of that spiciness, you’ll need something sweet to complement it! This electric drink packs just enough punch.

Behir’s Blood

Ingredients:

Squirt (or similar grapejuice soda)

pineapple juice

cranberry juice

lemon juice

Vodka or coconut rum (optional)

Directions:

Put some ice in a glass. Fill your glass about a third of the way with Squirt and a second third of the way with pineapple juice. Add a splash of lemon juice (two if you prefer your drinks more sour), and a splash of cranberry juice for just a little pinkish orange color. Add a shot of your preferred liquor if it suits your fancy. Bottoms up!

As always, we’d love to hear your questions, comments, and recipe suggestions! Please follow us at @deardungeon.

#dungeons dragons and dives #Dungeons and Dragons #dear dungeon #podcast #food #cooking #recipe #naga #medusa #dnd #tabletop gaming

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ynsespoir · 4 years ago

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Greek Chicken Kabobs with Tzatziki Sauce

This is a sponsored post written by me on behalf of Safeway. All opinions are 100% mine.

Super flavorful Greek Chicken Kabobs marinated with zesty lemon juice, garlic and fresh herbs and served with the most delicious homemade tzatziki dipping sauce!

Summer is just meant for grilling and you guys these Greek chicken kabobs make the perfect summer recipe! This whole dish is light, fresh and packed with Greek flavors, and it really is a MUST for your menu this season. Tender, juicy chicken marinated in a lemony, garlicky dressing loaded with fresh herbs, and paired alongside fresh veggies with a creamy tzatziki dipping sauce makes this a complete healthy meal. Perfect for those weeknights when you need something easy and they’re also great for entertaining guests!

I love making kabobs, especially when entertaining in our home, because it’s such an effortless meal that comes together so easily and the chicken and veggies can cook together all at the same time. Not only can these be made ahead of time, but the skewers look beautiful served on a platter and clean-up is always a breeze!

INGREDIENTS FOR THE CHICKEN KABOBS

Chicken breasts

Olive oil

Fresh lemon juice + zest

Garlic

Fresh herbs (I used oregano and parsley – dried oregano works great too!)

Red wine vinegar

Honey (I love the hint of sweetness!)

INGREDIENTS FOR THE TZATZIKI SAUCE

Plain Greek yogurt

Cucumber

Olive oil

Fresh lemon juice

Garlic

Fresh herbs (I used dill and parsley)

As you can see, these Greek chicken kabobs and creamy tzatziki sauce are made with so many fresh, delicious ingredients from some of my favorite products found at my local Safeway. These exclusive products include O Organics®, Open Nature® Signature brands such as Signature Farms®, Signature SELCT Signature Cafe®, Signature RESERVE, along with Primo Taglio®, Lucerne®, Waterfront BISTRO®, and debi lilly design.

Safeway also offers convenient Grocery Delivery and Drive Up & Go. This has made it really easy for me to shop for everything I need without having to actually go in to the store, which has been super beneficial these past few months.

MAJOR SAVINGS WITH THE SAFEWAY APP!

Safeway offers a wide variety of exclusive products and shopping with their app has helped me save SO much through their just for U® Rewards program! With this app at your fingertips, you can easily earn points as you shop which not only goes towards grocery savings, but you can save money on gas as well! Safeway has partnered with Exxon to bring you even more savings as you travel this summer. Here’s how the points work: you earn 2 points for every dollar you spend and 100 points gives you 1 reward. You can then easily redeem your rewards at checkout using your phone number which gets you FREE groceries, cash discounts and 10 cents off per gallon of gas for every 1 reward. SO many savings by just getting your weekly groceries!

You can also use the Safeway app and just for U® Rewards program for weekly coupons, personalized deals, and FREE items exclusive to members. The app is also super convenient when making your grocery list because not only can you make your entire list right on the app, but it will tell you which aisle to find each item AND if there are any savings on any of the items you need! I personally shopped at Safeway, but you can also find these exclusive products and just for U® rewards at all the Albertsons Companies family of stores, including Albertsons, ACME Markets, Jewel-Osco, Vons, Randalls, Shaw’s Supermarket, Star Market and Tom Thumb.

HOW TO MAKE GREEK CHICKEN KABOBS

Make your sauce. To make this flavorful marinade, just whisk together all your ingredients in a bowl and toss with the chicken. I like to pre-cut my chicken that way I can just easily thread it right onto my skewers with the veggies after it’s done marinating.

Marinate the chicken. This marinade is seriously the BEST! Let the chicken marinate for at least 30 minutes, but no more than 4 hours as the acidity in the lemon juice will start to breakdown the chicken if left too long. I also like to reserve a bit of the sauce to brush over the chicken once it’s cooked and this sauce works great as a salad dressing too!

Thread your skewers. While the chicken marinates, this is a good time to chop all your veggies. To make the kabobs, first layer on an onion slice, followed by some chicken, a zucchini slice, then a cherry tomato. Then just repeat these layers until you get to the end of the skewer, simple as that! This recipe makes about 8 to 9 large skewers. If using wooden skewers, make sure to soak them for at least 30 minutes to prevent them from burning on the grill. I use these skewers and they work great!

Grill the kabobs. Pre-heat the grill on medium-high heat and place the skewers on the grill, cooking about 5 to 6 minutes per side. Feel free to brush the reserved marinade over top as they cook for even more flavor!

Make the tzatziki sauce. While the chicken is on the grill you can make the dipping sauce! To make this, just mix together the yogurt, grated cucumber (make sure to squeeze out all the water so that the dip doesn’t get watery!), lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and fresh herbs. I also like to season with salt/pepper and top with fresh dill.

Ready to eat! You can serve these kabobs over rice or quinoa along with some warm pita bread slices. Don’t forget the creamy tzatziki sauce!

CAN I BAKE THESE KABOBS?

Of course! To bake these, simply place them on baking sheet covered with foil or nonstick spray and bake in the oven at 400 degrees F for about 20 to 25 minutes, turning the kabobs halfway through. You’ll know the chicken is done with the juices run clear and the internal temp of the chicken reads 165 degrees F.

I mean it just doesn’t get any better than tender, juicy chicken breasts marinated in the most delicious zesty lemon dressing with fresh grilled veggies and a tangy tzatziki sauce, am I right?? Serve these kabobs with warm pita bread and a side salad (this marinade makes a delicious salad dressing too!) and you’ve got yourself a winning dinner!

MORE GRILLING RECIPES YOU’LL LOVE

Hawaiian Chicken Kabobs

Mango Sriracha Chicken Skewers

Chili Lime Grilled Chicken

Chili Rubbed Salmon with Summer Corn Salad

Hawaiian Turkey Burgers with Grilled Pineapple

Hope you all enjoy these delicious Greek Chicken Kabobs and if you love them as much as we do, please leave me a five-star rating below and don’t forget to tag me on Instagram using the hashtag #eatyourselfskinny! I love seeing all your delicious recreations!

RECIPE

Greek Chicken Kabobs with Tzatziki Sauce

Super flavorful Greek Chicken Kabobs marinated with zesty lemon juice, garlic and fresh herbs and served with the most delicious homemade tzatziki dipping sauce!

Yield: 4 Servings

Prep Time: 10 mins

Cook Time: 10 mins

Total Time: 20 mins

Print Recipe

Ingredients

For the marinade:

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup lemon juice

Zest of 1 lemon

1 Tbsp red wine vinegar

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 tsp honey

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper

2 Tbsp fresh oregano (or 2 tsp dried)

1 Tbsp fresh parsley

For the skewers:

1 1/4 lb boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes

1 medium zucchini, cut into 1/2 inch slices

1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes

1 white onion, cut into large chunks

For the tzatziki sauce:

1/2 cup plain Greek yogurt

1/2 cup grated cucumber, water squeezed out

1 Tbsp lemon juice

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 Tbsp fresh dill, chopped

2 tsp fresh parsley, chopped

1/4 tsp salt + pinch of pepper

Instructions

Place chicken in a large bowl or ziplock bag.

To make the marinade, whisk together all the ingredients until combined. Reserve a couple tablespoons of the marinade and pour the rest over top of chicken until completely coated. Seal the bag or cover and marinate chicken in the fridge for at least 30 minutes or up to 4 hours.

Pre-heat grill on medium-high heat, making sure to lightly spray with oil to avoid sticking. If using wooden skewers, make sure to soak them in cold water for 15 to 20 minutes to prevent them from burning on the grill.

To assemble the kabobs, first layer on an onion slice, followed by some chicken, a zucchini slice, then a cherry tomato. Then just repeat these layers until you get to the end of the skewer and discard the marinade used for the chicken. Place the skewers on the grill and cook them about 5 to 6 minutes on each side, brushing with the reserved marinade until the chicken is cooked through. The internal temp should read 165 degrees F.

To make the tzatziki sauce, mix together the yogurt, grated cucumber (make sure to squeeze out all the water so the dip doesn’t get watery), lemon juice, olive oil, garlic and fresh herbs. I also like to season with salt/pepper and top with fresh dill.

Serve the kabobs with tzatziki sauce and enjoy!

Nutrition Facts:

Serving Size: 2 kabobs + sauce

Calories: 337

Sugar: 6.4 g

Sodium: 764.1 g

Fat: 15.5 g

Saturated Fat: 1.8 g

Carbohydrates: 13.2 g

Fiber: 1.7 g

Protein: 32.9 g

* Please note that all nutrition information are just estimates. Values will vary among brands, so we encourage you to calculate these on your own for most accurate results.

If you make this recipe, share a photo on Instagram and tag it #EatYourselfSkinny . I love seeing what you made!

The post Greek Chicken Kabobs with Tzatziki Sauce appeared first on Eat Yourself Skinny.

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saltandsilverstories · 4 years ago

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Memento Mori

The sun was somewhere outside. It didn’t seem like it wanted to be seen. Its light was filtered through coffee grounds, dulling down the cream walls into something closer to the grease stain near the bottom of my apron. The pale grey hand towels became storm clouds, the sheer sandstone curtains matched the deep brown of the hardwood in the living room. The world had lost its luster behind a thick belt of clouds the same colour as the snow.

A tray of breaded chicken thighs rested at the centre of the table, a smaller dish of baked sweet potato wedges next to it. Caramelized sugar, roasted garlic, and warm cilantro perfumed the air.

The oven timer interrupted the words of the radio DJ. My hands slipped into the oven mits, the insides damp with dishwater and sweat, as I turned to the oven.

“Hank!” The macaroni dish fit between the chicken thighs and sweet potatoes. The oregano had charred in the broiler, overpowering the scent of the rest of the meal.

“Yeah?” A stifled cough followed his reply.

The oven mits dropped onto the counter by the salad bowls. “Dinner’s all done.” The apron came undone and draped itself next to the mits. I flicked the radio off.

“Coming.” His voice bounced down the stairs. “Give me a second.”

Hank’s footsteps thudded across the ceiling, the beads of the chandelier tinkling. The sound traveled, making its way down the stairs.

A cigarette was in his hand when he emerged from the hallway, his socks smothering his footsteps. Smoke unfurled out and up, forming a writhing screen of curls between me and him. The garlic and herbs dissipated within his cloud.

“Do you want any salad?” I handed him a plate. He dropped the cigarette into the ashtray on the counter, shaking his head. “Well, take some potatoes then.”

“What kind are these?” He peered over the dishes as he lowered himself into his chair. The wood creaked as it assumed his weight.

I placed my plate on the table, cherry tomatoes rolling around the perimeter. “Sweet. They’ve got less starch.”

“And that’s good?”

I pointed to the chicken with a pair of tongs. “Better for your sugar.” Hank held out his plate, and two thighs joined his four cubes of sweet potato.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” He bit into a piece anyway.

I poured wine into both of our glasses, taking a sip from mine. The chair wobbled as I sat down. “You’ve got to go out to Rona soon.” I wiggled my hips, rocking the chair on its uneven legs. It created a drumbeat against the tiles. “This thing is unsafe.”

“This Friday.” His words were full of chicken. “I need to pick up a few things.”

I nodded, taking a small scoop of macaroni to my plate.

The potatoes vanished from his plate, as did the salad from mine. With the radio off, the scrapings of our forks against our plates, muffled chewing, and gulps of wine became our music. It was a private, coordinated performance that I didn’t want to rush.

Hank set his wine glass back down. “Let me help you with the dishes.”

My brows rose beneath my bangs. “Sure. Please.” I splayed my hands on either side of my plate.

He began with those, coming back after to empty the leftovers into Tupperware. I packed away the mits and apron before starting to wipe down the counters.

My fingernail scraped a splash of dried cheese sauce through the rag. A sharp exhale fled through my nose.

“Marge?” The chair legs scraped along the tile.

“Yeah?” I went to soak the rag once more. The sauce was quite insistent on bonding with the granite.

“I think we should clean out the room.”

The tap continued to spill hot water onto the rag laying at the bottom of the sink. It went from red to maroon as it filled with moisture, the sound morphing from a senseless drone to a scream.

“What?” The tap shut off. My palms pressed against the edge of the counter, my elbows locking, turning my arms into stilts. A place between my shoulders and my neck pinched. I glared at the rag, unmoving in its puddle, my hair falling out from behind my ears, into my eyes.

“The room. It’s just been sitting there.”

My hands gripped the slick granite, the tiles beneath my feet rearranging themselves into new patterns.

“Marge.”

“What?”

“Are you listening?” A thin ribbon of smoke drifted in front of me.

“I’m listening.” I turned to face him. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His shoulders drooped, a twin jets of grey puffing out of his nostrils. “It’s been months.”

I felt my head nodding, my feet stepping closer to the table. “Yes, Hank, months. Just months, not even a year yet.”

He sucked on the filter, the smoke accompanied by a wet cough on the way out. “So you want to wait a year to clean it.”

“No.” You’re missing the point.

“Two years? Three years?” His hand with the cigarette traced circles in the air. “How many more years do I need to let that room go to waste?” I couldn’t tell if he was getting louder, or if I was coming closer.

“It’s not a waste. Listen to--”

“No.”

“Listen to yourse--”

“No, you listen.” He was standing now. The chair had replaced his shadow. “That’s enough. That room is full of garbage. I’m not saying get rid of all of it, but we should at least go through it and figure out what to keep.”

“It hasn’t even been six months and you want to empty it all out.” I wished for a way to steady the tremble in my voice the way I could with my hands.

“How many times do I have to say it?” The filter joined the others in the ashtray. “I want to go through it--”

“No.”

“--Figure out what to keep and what to get rid of.”

“No, no!”

“Why not?”

Beyond Hank’s shoulder, in the living room, a thin rope dangled from the ceiling. It swung, pulled taught. I blinked, and the image was gone. The scent of rotting roses wafted by my nose.

“I am not disturbing anything in that room.” My voice was buried beneath six layers of soil.

“Alright.” Hank made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Alright.” His expression might’ve matched, but I remained fixed on the living room. “I’m going to empty that thing tomorrow morning. You can either help me, or watch as I put the boxes out on the driveway.” He swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Up to you.”

He took his glass with him when he left. The voice of the news anchor sent shivers up through the floor from the basement. The living room stayed empty.

---

My fingertips lingered on the door, feeling the bumps beneath the paint. My heartbeat pulsed out of my hands and into the wood. I could almost make out the vibrations along its surface.

The door pulled away, and Hank’s head appeared in its space. “Are you coming in?”

“Yes.” I stepped around him and the trash bag in his fist.

He went towards the desk at the back of the room, beneath the window with blinds instead of curtains.

The bed remained pushed up against the left wall, unmade. Posters of Valkyrie and Deadpool clung to the ceiling by their corners, at risk of coming loose. Beside me was the dresser. Its surface lay full of half-used deodorant tubes, tubs of pomade, and a few of my old eyeshadow palettes. My lips twitched, something playing with the muscles around my mouth.

On the right was the closet, the door ajar. An arm, greying and threaded with navy blue veins, spilled out of the gap. My eyes blinked, and the arm disappeared, replaced by the smell of decaying roses, and a single grey sneaker peeking out from the bottom of the doorway.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Hank emptied a trash can into his bag.

I began with the bedsheets, folding the comforter, the sheet, the throw blanket with Thor on it. A stuffed rabbit, pug and astronaut lined up beside one another in a box. When the top of the bed was bare, I knelt down, reaching into the space between the bed frame and the floor.

My hand met the side of a shoebox, and I hooked my fingers under its lid, dragging it out. I sat on the bed, box in my lap as I lifted the lid off.

Jeremy greeted me, grinning like he had no more secrets. He was contained in five by seven photographs, their glossy surfaces smudged with fingerprints. My face mirrored his, shuffling through the pile. Him, in the rain at a park I didn’t recognize. Him, his arm around a boy with eyes big and round, staring at me while Jeremy pressed a kiss to his cheek.

A drop of water splashed onto the boy’s face. A second one came soon after. My hands wiped my cheeks, feeling the smile I had on with my fingers.

The lid returned to the box, and it rested on the bed while I turned to the dresser.

“Was that to keep or get rid of?” He was looking out the window.

“Keep.” I pulled open the top drawer of the dresser.

He grunted somewhere behind me.

I dug around in the drawer, piling underwear, socks and undershirts into separate piles. A pair of rainbow striped crew socks emerged from below the rest. My lips creased into something that was almost a smile. I folded the socks, putting them inside the shoebox on the bed.

I glanced into the mirror, my chest folding in on itself. My breath refused to move within my lungs, latched onto the inside of my throat.

Jeremy stood behind me, his face half in shadow. His head lolled to one side, the ashen tone of his flesh was almost white against the red of his room.

My eyes squeezed shut, as I coughed to clear my throat. When they opened, he was gone. Hank was there instead, his back to me as he shoved a box aside, pulling open the bottom-most drawer of the armoire.

He made a sound like he was clearing his throat, preparing to spit. Like a half-completed gag.

My hands folded another pair of socks. “What?”

In the mirror, the back of Hank’s head shook. “God, nothing.”

“What is it?” I put the socks down, turning so I no longer faced his reflection.

“Nothing.”

From over his shoulder, the Wal-Mart bag was mostly obscured by his fingers, but the colours of the rainbow broke through in patches where the plastic had been stretched too thin.

“Open it.” My hand settled on his upper arm.

He shrugged me off, shoving the bag into my arms. “No, we don’t need this.”

My back was to him again. He didn’t see my mouth bend, my upper lip tremble.

The pride flag inside the bag was a protective wrap for all that was inside. A crop top, hot pants, and a long, rainbow wig were all cocooned inside the cloth.

An image of Jeremy in the outfit flashed in front of me. The top was too tight, the bottoms a bit baggy around his thighs.

My face was a distant mask I had limited control over. It asked to smile, and I allowed it.

My eyes met the shoebox on the bed.

Where did you get these? I rewrapped the items, tying up the ends of the bag. You should’ve told me sooner. I would’ve taken you to get something that fit a bit better. You looked fabulous, anyway.

The bag joined the shoebox on the bed. I turned back to Hank, first noticing his fists at his side, then the grimace on his face.

“What is it now?” My back straightened, creating a barrier between me and the items on the bed.

“Do we really need that stuff?” His voice slapped me across the face.

I licked my lips. “It was important to him.”

My legs crossed the room, bringing me back in front of the mirror. It was easier to look at Hank’s reflection, at the beaming image of him in the photo stuck at the top right corner of the mirror. Jeremy had an arm around each of us. The sensation seemed to manifest along my shoulders. “Even now. Even now you can’t love him.”

“Jesus, Marge.” His reflection rubbed his forehead. “That’s not true.

The space where the letter had sat on his desk was covered by a box. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

A laugh slipped past my lips. “It didn’t happen for no reason.”

“You’re right.” His head was dipped down, towards where his feet would be. “It happened because he was a coward.”

My tongue threaded itself between my teeth. “No.”

“He was!” His reflection was trying to meet my eyes, but I refused to gaze anywhere but the window. “Only cowards do that.”

“No, Hank.” My hands clutched the dresser as if it would turn to dust without my support. “He was a child. Our child, and I loved him.” My head swayed side to side. “I didn’t understand him fully either, but I never got the chance to try.” In the mirror, his head was angled towards the bed. “And now I never will because you took that from me.”

His head whipped around as if my words had yanked on his shirt. “I didn’t do shit.”

My eyes didn’t leave his. “You did. You did do this.”

His finger was pointed at me, at where I was looking at him. “He made that choice himself.”

“He just wanted to know his daddy loved him, and you couldn’t even give him that.” I bit the inside of my cheek, my chin adopting a tremor.

“That’s not what this is about.” He kept raising his hands as if trying to pull his meaning from the air.

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about you, and your crackhead beliefs that touching any of this,” his arms flailed in a wide arc around him, “is going to bring bad juju to our family, or whatever nonsense.”

“This is about you.” My body had turned, and I no longer confronted his reflection. “This was always about you. You couldn’t handle him being anything other than your American dream poster boy, and so you broke him.” My hands slapped my thighs.

He was pointing again. “Shut up.”

“You broke our son, my son, and you so badly want to pretend it didn’t happen.” I could feel the sneer splitting my face in half.

My heart was slow, as if resting. My gut had folded itself into a square that chose to sleep somewhere deep in my core.

“Shut the fuck up!” He took a step forward, his hands forming into fists once more.

“You did that to him, Hank!” I pointed at the closet, gulping down saliva. My voice scraped my throat on the way out. Boiling water carved my cheeks.

“I didn’t do anything.” He wouldn’t look at the closet.

“I know, and you should have. You should have done more.”

“God, just shut up.”

I was no longer in control of my body. It functioned independently from my thoughts, my commands. “You took him from me! You took what could have been and I will not stand here and let you pack up what remains of him and throw it out because you refuse to admit that for once in your fucking life you made a mistake.” My chest heaved, my hands curling into claws as I pulled at the hem of my shirt.

“I’m not you, okay?” He stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to do.”

I shook my head. “What does that mean? He’s your son. You’re supposed to say ‘I love you’ no matter what. If you don’t mean it, whatever. He’s yours and he’s always going to want to please you.”

“He should’ve kept that to himself.” He appeared to be speaking to the rug.

My body had elected to return to the mirror. My mouth hung open, my face glistening as if coated with oil. The reflection of the man in the mirror did not belong to my husband. I did not marry a man that would prefer the suffering of his child over providing them with support.

I directed my words to the closet. “Even at the end, all he thought of was you.” An image of an envelope fluttered in between the words trying to organize themselves in my head. “You refuse to even acknowledge it.”

“Would you just drop it?”

“Would you just admit that you never loved him?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His reflection was staring at something through the window.

I shrugged, my fingers splayed. “Because that’s the only reason I can think of why you’d do this, why you’d act like this.”

“You’re insane.” He made sure to look at me when he said that.

“And you’re an ignorant, piece of shit excuse for a father.” I returned the favour.

Hank sank into the desk chair, sideways so his knees wouldn’t hit the top of the desk. His head fell into his hands, his elbows on his knees. His breaths made his back heave.

In the space between the end of the bed and the beginning of the desk, Jeremy stood, unmoving. His lips came together in a soft, almost smile before he turned away, his hands sliding into his pockets.

I blinked, and Jeremy remained, his shadow leaving a patch of darkness on his father’s back.

I tried again, rubbing my eyes, and Jeremy remained.

Once more, looking at him without the help of the mirror.

Jeremy remained.

#this one is from 2018 #but this draft is from 2019 #it was a portfolio piece for the next prose workshop after the intro course #mywriting #i like putting supernatural elements in stories where they dont belong so youll see lots of that

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cookingawe · 5 years ago

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Grilled Marinated Vegetable Kabobs - Spend With Pe...

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Marinated Vegetable Kabobs are delicious, and a great way to prepare vegetables. Veggie shish kabobs make any barbecue feel a little bit more like a celebration. Especially when marinated in a citrusy sauce giving the veggies just the right amount of flavor and zing!

Delight your dinner guests by serving grilled vegetable kabobs with grilled chicken or grilled pork chops. Try adding a delicious side of Caesar pasta salad for a meal they won’t soon forget!

Best Veggies to Grill

Most vegetables, aside from leafy greens, can be skewered and served as vegetable kabobs. We find these ones hold their shape best and do well on the grill!

Tender: zucchini, yellow squash, mushrooms, eggplant

Flavor Packed: Quartered red onions, whole shallots, tomatoes

Crunchy: bell peppers, whole baby potatoes or carrot chunks (par-boiled)

How to Make Kabobs

Making kabobs is rather simple, just pick your veggies, marinade them, and thread on a skewer.

Roll up those sleeves and start with a little prep work:

Whisk together all the ingredients for the marinade.

Slice vegetables into chunks, roughly the same size at the slices. Keep mushrooms, tomatoes and baby potatoes whole and unpeeled.

If using, parboil potatoes and carrots until just soft enough for a fork to penetrate, then cool.

Combine all the vegetables with the marinade and set aside for at least an hour, stirring to recoat the vegetables several times.

Now for the easypart:

While the vegetables are marinating, soak wooden skewers in water.

When ready to grill, alternate veggies on skewers and grill on medium heat until softened and slightly charred.

The prettiest veggie skewers combine a variety of colors and flavors on one stick. The trick is to get everything on a single skewer to cook at a similar rate. You can overcome this problem by putting similar items on the same stick or remaining vigilant and ready to shift the kabobs around!

It will help if everything is brought to room temperature or even heated slightly before skewering.

How Long to Soak Skewers

If using metal skewers don’t need to worry about this step. Wooden or bamboo skewers do need to be soaked for a minimum of 30 minutes, or even overnight to prevent them from burning up and the kabobs getting lost to the flames.

More Grilled Veggie Side Dishes

Marinated Grilled Vegetables Kabobs

Cook Time 10 minutes

Marinating Time 15 minutes

Total Time 30 minutes

Tender grilled veggies in an easy and flavorful marinade.

8 cups vegetables including onions, mushrooms, peppers, zucchini, potatoes*, cauliflower*, cherry tomatoes

Marinade

1/3 cup olive oil

1/4 cup fresh lemon juice

1/4 cup water

3 tablespoons Dijon mustard

2 tablespoons honey

2 cloves garlic minced

1 teaspoon basil, parsley & oregano (each)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Follow Spend with Pennies on Pinterest

If using wooden skewers, soak them in water for at least 30 minutes.

Wash and chop all veggies into bite sized pieces.

Combine all marinade ingredients in a large Ziplock bag. Add in veggies and allow to marinate 4 hours or as long as overnight, turning occasionally. (If you are pressed for time, you can just toss and let sit 15 minutes but longer is better).

Thread the veggies onto skewers.

Preheat grill to medium and grill skewers 10 minutes or until done.

*NOTE: If using veggies that take longer to cook such as potatoes or cauliflower, you can partially cook them and then cool them prior to marinating.

Nutrition Information

Calories: 133, Fat: 10g, Saturated Fat: 1g, Sodium: 240mg, Potassium: 303mg, Carbohydrates: 12g, Fiber: 3g, Sugar: 6g, Protein: 3g, Vitamin A: 567%, Vitamin C: 84%, Calcium: 47%, Iron: 1%

(Nutrition information provided is an estimate and will vary based on cooking methods and brands of ingredients used.)

Keyword Marinated Grilled Vegetables, vegetable kabobs, vegetable skewers

© SpendWithPennies.com. Content and photographs are copyright protected. Sharing of this recipe is both encouraged and appreciated. Copying and/or pasting full recipes to any social media is strictly prohibited. Please view my photo use policy here.

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anjelinabrodas-blog · 7 years ago

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Essential oils effect on skin

Some of the suggested oils are photosentizers. Angelica, and cold pressed citrus oils should not be used on the skin within 12 hours of exposure to sunlight or ultraviolet light. If you choose to use one of these oils on your face, please use it only at night.

See our Methods page for suggested methods of using the oils in skincare. Also see our descriptive Carrier Oils page to help select appropriate carriers for your skin type.

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Jasmine, Helichrysum, Lavender, Peppermint, Roman Chamomile, Lavender Hydrosol, Witch Hazel Hydrosol

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Myrtle, Lemongrass, Rose, Cedarwood

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Carrot Seed, Elemi, Cistus, Frankincense, Galbanum, Fennel, Geranium, Myrrh, Patchouli, Rose, Clary Sage, Rosewood, Sages, Cypress, Fennel, Lavender, Neroli, Sea Buckthorn Berry Extract, Rose Hip Extract. Also consider our CO2 Combo or our Mature Skin Elixir. See our Mature Skin Carrier Oil Sampler to gently nurture and rejuvenate mature skin. Best yet, see our Cleopatra's Secret line of skin care products, Creme Cleanser, Serum, Toner, and luxurious bath products, all designed to nurture mature skin and give the user a youthful glow.

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Bergamot, Helichrysum, Cajeput, Carrot Seed, German or Roman Chamomile, Lavender, Juniper, Sandalwood, Tea Tree, Calendula Infused Oil, Cranberry Seed Oil. We have had fantastic results from people applying our Pomegranate Seed CO2 to areas with psoriasis. See also our Eczema and Psoriasis Carrier Oil Sampler designed to help alleviate symptoms.

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Calendula Infused Carrier Oil (for dry skin), Lemongrass, Chamomiles, Lavender, Neroli, Orange, Rose, Frankincense, Petitgrain, Lemon, and all Hydrosols

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