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[arienic]

hii! may i request a mys!gene x fem!short! reader? :)

of course! so sorry for the delay, i got caught up in a bit of writer's block. i feel like this is a little ooc, still trying to get him down huhu. hope you enjoy though!

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gene blurts.

You don't even look at him, still perched on the kitchen counter, prying a cupboard open. "Getting chips," you tell him. "What else?"

"I didn't mean that, I meant —" When you lean up on your knees to reach for a pack, he blanches, immediately rushing over to steady you. "Shit, doll! Why're you on the counter?"

"Getting chips," you repeat, with emphasis this time, as if to say 'are you stupid?' "I was watching a show and I got hungry, so here I am, getting chips."

"We have a ladder — we have chairs!" He pinches your thigh. "You have me!"

You swat his hand away, then drop a bag of chips onto the counter. But it seems you're not done, not yet — you continue rummaging through the cupboard. "I was lazy," is what he gets as a reply.

Gene rests a resigned hand on the back of your calf. "You're insane."

"Innovative. Able to adapt. Get it right, baby," you hum. He sighs, and you laugh at that.

The chip bags crinkle loudly as you sort through them. It's a mess of reds and blues and yellows and greens — they're all pushed to the side, stacked on top of one another, in your search. Not that Gene's complaining — in all honesty, it doesn't look all that different from when he'd stocked it up last weekend.

And then finally — finally! — you pluck another bag of chips from the pile and sit back on your calves. Gene reaches over your head to shut the cupboard.

"Thanks," you say, your back still to him, hunching over to look at the chips you picked out. 

Gene pokes your hip, hand coming up to rest on your waist. "At least look at your savior when you're thanking him, sweetheart."

You laugh, lean back onto his chest. "Savior?"

"Yes, savior."

He gives your hip a little squeeze, and you roll your eyes. Resting a hand on his shoulder for support, you twist your body around, taking up your legs from under you and adjusting 'til you're seated comfortably on the counter. 

"Better now, savior?"

"Much." His hands come up to settle on the tops of your thighs, and you let him move forward to stand between them. "Now that you're all safe and sound — don't pull that shit again, sweetheart. I know you're short" — you roll your eyes — "but you don't need to go around climbing counters for some chips."

"It's so fun, though."

"Yeah?" Gene moves in closer, and delights in the flush of your cheeks when he keeps eye contact with you as he does so. "Bet it's like climbing Mount Everest."

A smile tries to tug up your lips, but you press them in a thin little line. "Fuck you," you tell him.

"I'd be honored, doll."

"Gene!" you laugh.

"But, you know, I guess you're probably raring to go and devour these chips of yours" — he reaches around your back and picks up the packs, holding them up to your face — "as you watch some movie, so." Gene places them gingerly on your lap. "I'll leave you to it."

You shake your pretty head, get down from the counter, and with your chips tucked under your arms, you disappear into your room.

You do give him a kiss as you go, though, so he'll let it slide.

[arienic]

hii! may i request a mys!gene x fem!short! reader? :)

of course! so sorry for the delay, i got caught up in a bit of writer's block. i feel like this is a little ooc, still trying to get him down huhu. hope you enjoy though!

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gene blurts.

You don't even look at him, still perched on the kitchen counter, prying a cupboard open. "Getting chips," you tell him. "What else?"

"I didn't mean that, I meant —" When you lean up on your knees to reach for a pack, he blanches, immediately rushing over to steady you. "Shit, doll! Why're you on the counter?"

"Getting chips," you repeat, with emphasis this time, as if to say 'are you stupid?' "I was watching a show and I got hungry, so here I am, getting chips."

"We have a ladder — we have chairs!" He pinches your thigh. "You have me!"

You swat his hand away, then drop a bag of chips onto the counter. But it seems you're not done, not yet — you continue rummaging through the cupboard. "I was lazy," is what he gets as a reply.

Gene rests a resigned hand on the back of your calf. "You're insane."

"Innovative. Able to adapt. Get it right, baby," you hum. He sighs, and you laugh at that.

The chip bags crinkle loudly as you sort through them. It's a mess of reds and blues and yellows and greens — they're all pushed to the side, stacked on top of one another, in your search. Not that Gene's complaining — in all honesty, it doesn't look all that different from when he'd stocked it up last weekend.

And then finally — finally! — you pluck another bag of chips from the pile and sit back on your calves. Gene reaches over your head to shut the cupboard.

"Thanks," you say, your back still to him, hunching over to look at the chips you picked out. 

Gene pokes your hip, hand coming up to rest on your waist. "At least look at your savior when you're thanking him, sweetheart."

You laugh, lean back onto his chest. "Savior?"

"Yes, savior."

He gives your hip a little squeeze, and you roll your eyes. Resting a hand on his shoulder for support, you twist your body around, taking up your legs from under you and adjusting 'til you're seated comfortably on the counter. 

"Better now, savior?"

"Much." His hands come up to settle on the tops of your thighs, and you let him move forward to stand between them. "Now that you're all safe and sound — don't pull that shit again, sweetheart. I know you're short" — you roll your eyes — "but you don't need to go around climbing counters for some chips."

"It's so fun, though."

"Yeah?" Gene moves in closer, and delights in the flush of your cheeks when he keeps eye contact with you as he does so. "Bet it's like climbing Mount Everest."

A smile tries to tug up your lips, but you press them in a thin little line. "Fuck you," you tell him.

"I'd be honored, doll."

"Gene!" you laugh.

"But, you know, I guess you're probably raring to go and devour these chips of yours" — he reaches around your back and picks up the packs, holding them up to your face — "as you watch some movie, so." Gene places them gingerly on your lap. "I'll leave you to it."

You shake your pretty head, get down from the counter, and with your chips tucked under your arms, you disappear into your room.

You do give him a kiss as you go, though, so he'll let it slide.

[arienic]

If you feel this way, here are some Gofundmes you can donate to

Abu Shammalah Family (€953/100,000)

Moment Alostaz family (€7,539/70,000)

Youssef family (€9,395/50,000)

Renad & Her Family (£9,696/25,000)

Alia's Family (€7,870/30,000)

Mohamed Hamad and his family (£3,872/50,000)

Safaa and her family (€9,757/20,000)

Maliha Family (€23,446/32,000)

Mahmoud Abu Hamam (CAD $5,348/10,000)

Eman Abuhayya Family (AUD $40,455/85,684)

Ezzideen & his Family (€26,314/75,000)

Ahmed's family (€4,658/70,000)

Let's do our part to help the people of Gaza!!!!

[arienic]

hii! may i request a mys!gene x fem!short! reader? :)

of course! so sorry for the delay, i got caught up in a bit of writer's block. i feel like this is a little ooc, still trying to get him down huhu. hope you enjoy though!

"What the fuck are you doing?" Gene blurts.

You don't even look at him, still perched on the kitchen counter, prying a cupboard open. "Getting chips," you tell him. "What else?"

"I didn't mean that, I meant —" When you lean up on your knees to reach for a pack, he blanches, immediately rushing over to steady you. "Shit, doll! Why're you on the counter?"

"Getting chips," you repeat, with emphasis this time, as if to say 'are you stupid?' "I was watching a show and I got hungry, so here I am, getting chips."

"We have a ladder — we have chairs!" He pinches your thigh. "You have me!"

You swat his hand away, then drop a bag of chips onto the counter. But it seems you're not done, not yet — you continue rummaging through the cupboard. "I was lazy," is what he gets as a reply.

Gene rests a resigned hand on the back of your calf. "You're insane."

"Innovative. Able to adapt. Get it right, baby," you hum. He sighs, and you laugh at that.

The chip bags crinkle loudly as you sort through them. It's a mess of reds and blues and yellows and greens — they're all pushed to the side, stacked on top of one another, in your search. Not that Gene's complaining — in all honesty, it doesn't look all that different from when he'd stocked it up last weekend.

And then finally — finally! — you pluck another bag of chips from the pile and sit back on your calves. Gene reaches over your head to shut the cupboard.

"Thanks," you say, your back still to him, hunching over to look at the chips you picked out. 

Gene pokes your hip, hand coming up to rest on your waist. "At least look at your savior when you're thanking him, sweetheart."

You laugh, lean back onto his chest. "Savior?"

"Yes, savior."

He gives your hip a little squeeze, and you roll your eyes. Resting a hand on his shoulder for support, you twist your body around, taking up your legs from under you and adjusting 'til you're seated comfortably on the counter. 

"Better now, savior?"

"Much." His hands come up to settle on the tops of your thighs, and you let him move forward to stand between them. "Now that you're all safe and sound — don't pull that shit again, sweetheart. I know you're short" — you roll your eyes — "but you don't need to go around climbing counters for some chips."

"It's so fun, though."

"Yeah?" Gene moves in closer, and delights in the flush of your cheeks when he keeps eye contact with you as he does so. "Bet it's like climbing Mount Everest."

A smile tries to tug up your lips, but you press them in a thin little line. "Fuck you," you tell him.

"I'd be honored, doll."

"Gene!" you laugh.

"But, you know, I guess you're probably raring to go and devour these chips of yours" — he reaches around your back and picks up the packs, holding them up to your face — "as you watch some movie, so." Gene places them gingerly on your lap. "I'll leave you to it."

You shake your pretty head, get down from the counter, and with your chips tucked under your arms, you disappear into your room.

You do give him a kiss as you go, though, so he'll let it slide.

[arienic]

hi, to people who sent in requests: im working on them i promise!!! it's just taking a while cos of this writer's block

ill get them out though! pinky promise

[arienic]

The moment a residential tower was targeted in the Bureij refugee camp in central Gaza City

Covering events is not an easy job. We are exposed to difficult situations while reporting the news to you

You can donate for my family

https://gofund.me/0f3edba2

[arienic]

Keep talking about Palestine!

[arienic]

OG: https://earthliberationstudio.com/shop/reclaim-revolutionary-queerness/ !!!!!

[arienic]

"I must feed the young ones!!!"

[arienic]

This is for the support of Gaza's Municipality Services - which help ensure clean drinking water, waste collection, debri removal and sanitation services - life saving services to run a state - reader I imagine wherever you are or how lacking the municipality services in your city is, it's not worse than Ghazza.

Currently it's only at 11% - please donate -

[arienic]

DONT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE! DONT STOP TAKING ABOUT GAZA!

DONT LET THEM MAKE YOU FORGET!!

[arienic]

TOO HOT TO HANDLE !

synopsis. the two times laurance finds you in the kitchen.

pairing. mystreet!laurance x gn!reader

content. FLUFF, pet names from laurance's end, spice intolerant!reader, i can't cook and it shows in this piece, laurance's perspective, honestly a silly little piece i cooked up (no pun intended)

word count. 1.2k

a/n. another request down >=) for this gem, i hope you like it <3

“i want to make dinner tonight.”

laurance looked up from the novel in his hands at the sound of your determined voice, brows furrowed. he had just been engrossed in a thrilling picture of a knight and his sweetest maiden, only to be torn away from the story at your declaration.

nervously he fumbled with the weighted book for a moment, awkwardly folding the corner of the page he had just been reading, “did you say something, my love?” he questioned, hoping he had misheard.

upon moving in together, you had assigned tasks to one another to keep your relationship happy and healthy. laurance was the one to do the laundry, mop the floors, and cook dinner every night, whilst you were delegated the tasks of washing the dishes, tidying your shared bedroom, and dusting the house.

you took turns taking out the trash.

“i want to make dinner tonight, laurance.” you stated again, and he resisted the urge to frown. it’s not that you were bad at cooking, since nobody could compare to the dishes laurance loved to create, but you tended to stick to bland foods and forced him to do the same.

his book was long since forgotten, left to rest of the corner of the armchair as he tilted his head at you, “. . . why?”

a pout, cute and out of place compared to the previous expression, took over your face. he could already sense what you were thinking, and he placated it immediately, “not that i don’t want you to, but isn’t cooking my chore?”

“it’s hardly a chore when you love it so much.” you scoffed under your breath, even though he heard it loud and clear.

he smiled softly in response, a reminder following, “i always help you with the dishes afterwards.”

you conceded reluctantly, “you do.” however, that doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on your hips and staring at your boyfriend from the doorway, “i’m cooking tonight.”

later that same night, laurance sat at the kitchen island, diligently watching your every movement as you move about the kitchen. he’d been perched like a hawk for the better part of twenty minutes, eyeing everything you did to the dish.

“are you finished yet?” you asked without even looking at him, plating up the steaming food into two bowls.

the brunette furrowed his brows, “huh?”

“watching me.” your clarification brought forth an embarrassed blush to his face, and he coughed into his hand. turning around with a bowl of spaghetti in hand, you placed it on the counter in front of him and set your own meal down.

instead of reply, laurance twisted some spaghetti around his fork, silently inspecting the bite, before shoving it into his mouth. he chewed, pleasantly surprised by the flavour — no, not flavour, spice. it was hot, not to the point of burning his mouth, but it was spicy nonetheless.

he took a peek at you, where you were awkwardly twirling the pasta on your fork and staring at it, “you okay, babe?”

you hummed out a very unconvincing, “yeah, fine.” before deciding to get it over with and pushing the utensil past your lips. you grimaced, swallowing (without chewing? laurance was mildly impressed and slightly concerned) not even five seconds later. your hand reached for your glass of water, attempting to take controlled sips.

it was no hidden fact that when it came to spicy food, you were a total wimp. laurance was actually surprised you had even cooked up something like this in the first place, but he had expected things to go south after eyeing the large glass of water sitting off to your left — you had planned for this outcome.

in the end, laurance ended up eating his bowl of pasta, and yours.

for a little while, the incident was forgotten, and laurance was back in the kitchen doing his favourite activity. he simply chalked it up to a weird heat of the moment thing, pushing the slightly spicy bowl of pasta to the back of his mind.

yet, after he got a home from a gruelling day of work one evening, he was surprised to find you already in the kitchen. there was an apron tied around your waist, a pot of something boiling on the stove whilst you slathered butter across some buns.

“hm, what’s this?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. his eyes watched how you focused on getting an even spread across the bread.

nearly jumping out of your skin, you spared a glance to your boyfriend, “laurance! welcome home.” your greeting was accompanied by a soft kiss to his cheek, “i’m making dinner again, tonight. so, go relax, okay?”

now, this was suspicious.

“again?” he echoed.

you nodded, a glint of something fierce in your eyes, “mhm, again.” you repeated with a small snark, “it’s soup.”

“yum.” his eyes flitted to the bubbling dish, watching as you reached over to dial the heat down, before continuing to ignore it. laurance made a face, his nose scrunching in confusion, “it looks ready to be served, cutie.”

“not yet.”

“not . . . yet?”

your disinterred in his culinary expertise sets off an alarm in laurance’s head, and he stands up just a little straighter, despite still being draped over you like some sort of blanket.

usually, you cared about his opinion!

cooking was, arguably, the thing he was best at. he knew that! you knew that! everyone in their sound mind knew that!

“i haven’t seasoned it yet.” he paused. you continued to butter slices of bread.

laurance feared to see the line up you had prepared to dump into the soup, noticing a few spices placed to the side of the stove. a mixture of things he, personally, would not put together.

his eyes narrowed, a common theme popping up that all of these little powders had one thing in common. they were hot — spicy, even.

he frowned at your back, deciding to voice his concerns out loud, “you won’t eat the soup if you put all these things in it.”

you paused, looking at laurance from over your shoulder with a puzzled look, “yes, i will.”

“sweetheart, you’ll make it too spicy, and then you won’t eat it.” he picked up one of the spices, “these are literally red chilli flakes.”

“i can handle a bit of spice, laurance.”

without thinking, laurance let out a chuckle, shaking his head in disagreement, “i’ve seen you cry over korma.” he put the spice back down in the little line up you had made, tilting his head at you as you moved to face him entirely, “what’s up with the sudden change?”

accepting defeat as his hand trailed up your arm, along your shoulder until he was ever so gently cupping your face, you confessed. it hadn’t even taken two meals before laurance had you figured out, “i want to be able to eat all your favourite foods, too.” he could of audibly cooed at you, had you not given him a dirty look.

you already knew what he was thinking.

“how am i supposed to enjoy all of your favourite things if i can’t handle them?”

you looked so sad, crestfallen at the mere thought, and laurance couldn’t have that. with a sigh, he looked back to the spice rack, “let’s start with something milder, yeah?”

[arienic]

On April 30th while reporting on the Students Revolution at Columbia University, CNN anchor Kasie Hunt made reference to Hind Rajab as 'A Woman Who Was Killed in Gaza." Hind Rajab was six years old.

[arienic]

watch for this as you scroll social media this evening:

israel today dropped a bomb on a refugee camp located in rafah, which, as a reminder, had been sold as a safe zone.

remember that this camp is made of tents, not buildings. this strike was dropped directly on families in the dead of night, with no shelter to protect them. many people have become trapped by the burning tents. we don't have a death toll yet, but it's likely more than 50.

the images coming out from this attack are among the most graphic we have seen out of gaza. do not look them up unprepared.

[arienic]

Art by: Henry James Garrett

[arienic]

[arienic]