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oleander-nin · 11 months

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Horrortober Day 28- Mistake(Yandere Rise Savage Raph x Reader)

A/N, not important: Sorry if cantaloupe man is OOC, I only used distant memories for his personality and what felt right. Also it's 2am again. I need to not be doing this. Uhhh, oops? Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Dale, off screen death, bones snapped, feral, Loss of mental consciousness, kidnapping(?), unwanted touch, panic, blood, death of animal(rat), sewage, dark themes, yandere themes.

Words: 2286

Summary: Savage Raph and sewer exploration don't mix.

“You want to explore the sewers?” You ask, looking at the bald teen standing in front of you in disgust. You shudder, trying not to imagine all the things down there. “What are you even planning on finding? Sewage?”

Dale scoffs, his high pitched voice nasally from the cold. “But we could find treasure!”

“Or feces. You know, the stuff that’s supposed to be down there.”

Dale frowns, clearly not amused by your attitude. He sighs, putting his hand on your shoulder and shaking you lightly. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Your curious spirit?”

“Literally anywhere but the sewers of New York.” You state plainly, your nose scrunching up in disgust. Nothing about this plan seemed like a good idea, let alone a fun way to spend your weekend. Your shoulders sag, looking at the manhole cover Dale led you to. “C’mon, can’t we just like, play video games or go to the movies like normal teens?”

Dale seems to ignore your statement, walking confidently over to the sewer plate. You stand back, watching him wrap his hands around the metal and try to lift it. It doesn’t even budge. You snort slightly, watching him struggle for a moment before walking over to help him. You felt guilty, especially after seeing how determined he was to lift it with his bare hands. Dale’s head whips around, his dark eyes narrowing as he spots a small bit of pipe sticking out of a nearby dumpster. He grabs it and brings it over, carefully hooking the end of the pipe onto the slots of the sewer cover.

“Sorry,” He mutters, both of you pushing your weight against the awkward angle of the pipe. “I forgot how heavy these things were.”

You feel confusion waft over you at the statement, especially at the implication this was something he had done or at least tried before. You shake it off, focusing on the task at hand instead. Best to let Dale be Dale.

It takes a while, but the both of you eventually get the manhole cover dislodged and move to the side, the rancid smell of human waste and dead rats wafting to the surface. You gag, staggering back while dry heaving. Dale looked equally sick, but determined.

“We go in.” He says, taking a deep, final breath of fresh air before slowly climbing down the ladder. You watch him descend into the tunnels, his sputtering breaths making you feel bad for the young adult despite it being fully his idea, and fully his fault. His head pops out of the hold for a moment, his beady eyes looking at you. “Aren’t you coming.”

You grimace, but slowly follow, trying to take as many gulps of the surface air before following him down, slowly dragging the cast iron plate back into its spot. Your stomach churns while the stench burns your nose, making your vision swim. The ladder is longer than you want it to be, each rung damp with something you weren’t sure you wanted to know the makeup of. Your feet finally hit solid ground, your hand going to your pocket and slipping your phone out so you could see. Dale does the same, two small lights shining through the dark tunnel. You can hear the skittering rats and bugs, and the smell isn’t getting any better despite what you try to force yourself to believe.

Dale shines his light down each tunnel, his voice a bit strained. “Well, do you want to go right or left?”

You roll your shoulders, still grimacing. “Back to the surface.”

“Not an option!” He says brightly, marching down the tunnel to your left. He lets out a nervous chuckle as he walks, looking back at you. “I uh… I’m not sure if we can even lift the grate back up anyways.”

You groan, following behind your friend, your flashlight glued to the ground in front of your feet to make sure you didn’t step in anything. Every slight squish your shoes made in the damp tunnels made you gag, your mind running wild on all the possibilities of what you were stepping in. You were majorly regretting following him down here, wishing you were back home cuddled into your bed with a movie playing on your phone. The trudge through the sewers gets slightly better as you slowly get somewhat used to the smell, the burning sensation in your nose dying down slightly.

“So,” You ask, stepping over a large dead rat, its body half floating in the river just next to your feet. You were slowly getting used to the noises down here. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, there’s an opening up ahead that has this really cool waterfall look from all the pipes going down.” Dale says, continuing on with the confidence of a cub at its first kill.

You pause, looking at him oddly. You shift your phone to your other hand, your palms sweaty from the walk despite the still chilly air. “When did you go down to the sewers before?”

“I saw April head down here once and tried to follow her.”

“Dale, that’s creepy.” You remark, staring sourly at the back of his head. Dale laughs nervously, his light flickering as he waves his phone around to check the walls.

“She was going into the sewers! I just wanted to see what she was doing.” He tries to argue, the shake in his voice proving even he knew it was a poor excuse.

“It’s called ‘talking to her’. You should try it sometime.”

“But she thinks I’m weird!” He protests, his high voice raising as he pouts. “Whenever I talk to her, she shoos me away.”

“You bring your lizard to school.”

“She brings green kids to school.”

Your jaw clicks shut as you sigh, nodding to his point. Everyone in school knew about the green kids that would show up every once in a while when April was in a bind. It was hard to miss them, considering their increasingly worse outfits in an attempt to hide the unnatural color. The conspiracy club had a whole board dedicated just to them.

“You’re both weird then.” You settle, chuckling at Dale’s defeated sigh. You both fall back into a comfortable silence, the water rushing and the rats scurry being the only accompanying sounds to your quiet steps. Despite still being uncomfortable, the sewers weren’t turning out as bad as you thought. It was disgusting and rank, but peaceful. Once you got used to wet rat fur rubbing against your ankles of course.

The tunnel slowly opens up, a maze of pipes and steel plating spreading out into a wide open space, most other tunnels gushing out sewage into the depths below. You watch it for a moment, slightly amazed but mostly confused.

“This is it.” Dale says proudly, spreading his arms out wide like he was showcasing for an art gallery. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“If beautiful is the sight of raw sewage being spit into a big hole, then sure.” You tease, but feeling some truth in your words. It was more impressive than beautiful, the sight of lumpy water ruining the image for you. Dale sighs dramatically, kicking the concrete of the path.

“You never appreciate anything I show you.” He mopes, his shoulders sagging exaggeratedly while he pouts. You roll your eyes and knock your shoulder against his, smiling at his goofy mood.

“C’mon, I’ve seen enough of the sewers now. I say we head back, yeah?” You ask, hoping he didn’t have more to show you. Dale sighs, then nods before taking a picture of the sewage falls. You snicker at him, already making plans to take him to real waterfalls soon. If he liked gunk being shot out of pipes, he was sure to appreciate the natural beauty of springs shot off cliffs.

You both turn to head back, but still when a loud whine can be heard to your right. Dale pauses and stares in the direction of the noise, whatever sense of adventure that dragged him down here hooking him once again. He waves you forward, his phone not set to a video as he peaks around the corner hiding you from whatever was babbling behind it. You peek your head over and gasp, your eyes widening at the large monster sitting in front of a fire atop a flat area that controls the valves. Your stomach knots as you stare at the large beast, a red bandana over its face and its eyes pure white. It wails over the fire, crying out for names you didn’t recognize. Dale snaps a few more photos before nodding to you, happy with whatever he collected.

You both slowly start to back away, keeping your eyes focused so you wouldn’t step into the gushing water and be swept into the pit. Dale seems to not pay as much attention, his foot slipping on a wet patch of ground as he falls towards the water, a loud scream coming from him as he grabs onto you for support. You yelp at the grip, latching onto a jutting pipe so you didn’t both get dragged into the rushing water just feet away. You help Dale stabilize himself, sighing in relief as you both press yourself against the brick wall. Your hands shake violently as you try to calm your nerves, barely noticing the absence of the loud wails heard just seconds before.

You pick up your head and squint into the darkness as you slowly calm, trying to ignore the growing paranoia from the loss of sound. Dale also stills, his eyes trained on the corner you were both peeking over just a few minutes before. The bald teen slowly inches his way over to the corner, signaling for you to be quiet as he peeks over the wall. His face contorts into confusion for a second before a large green hand grabs his entire face and yanks him over, screams erupting from the both of you.

You’re glued to the ground while Dale and the monster scream, the sound of crushed bones and Dale’s sobs ingraining themselves into your brain. Your mind screams at you to move, to run, to do anything, but you stay glued to your spot. You were shaking, your mind providing the images to the noises coming from the other side of the wall. Dale’s screams had stopped, the sound of bones snapping had not.

Your muscles only decide to move again when the monster emerges from the shadows, its nostrils flaring on its turtle-y beak. You spin on your heel and dash forward, not caring to watch your steps for once as you sprint away from the blood covered beast. You sob as you run, mourning your friend and scared out of your mind when you hear the thing give chase. Your heart pounds like a hammer in your chest and you were sure the muscle alone would break your ribs protecting it.

A rat’s squeal and a crunch is heard under your foot, your face heading towards the ground while you try to brace yourself with your arms. You hit the ground hard, your chest heaving as your vision swims. Your body shakes, forgetting the danger for a moment to focus on the pain radiating from your left wrist. You don’t bother to look at it longer than needed, pushing yourself up and trying to stumble to your feet. The action quickly proves futile as large hands pick you up by the underside of your armpits, swinging you for a moment before tugging you close.

You don’t dare to breathe as the monster holds you tight to the hard shell on its chest, the slow realization bringing you to recognize the monster as some type of turtle, although you had never known any to grow this big. The monster falls back into a sitting position, it’s hand running over your head like it was petting a cat. Quick and sudden thwacks sound against the pavement, slightly shaking the ground and the monster holding you.

“You… Alone.” It says mournfully, continuing to roughly stroke your head. It reminded you of a two year old first meeting a puppy, grabby hands and rough play being the first instinct to the small children. Your gulp, shaking slightly as you wait for the hands to start to hurt, for the grip to squeeze you so hard your eyes popped from your skull. You wait. And you wait. You slowly take a big gulp of air, letting yourself breathe for a moment in its arms.

It wasn’t hurting you for now, instead petting you like you were a lost cat it found on the street. The difference between you and Dale, you were uncertain, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. As awful as it made you feel, you were just happy to still be alive and in one piece.

“Raph alone.” The beast remarks, squeezing you a bit more than gentle. You wheeze at the feeling, your bones creaking before it’s grip loosens once more. It wasn’t showing any sign of letting go, seeming to have bonded to you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to make sense of it all. The monster, Raph you assumed, was keeping you in its arms, for what reason you were unsure. You hoped it would let go, wanting to run and run until the world reset and you could offer Dale an escape room instead of a doomed sewer exploration. Tears run down your cheeks while the beast named Raph continues to pet you, his chest rumbling against your back. You doubted it would ever let you go.

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aesethewitch · 6 months

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Rosemary Drop Biscuits

Every year, I put together a spread for each of the equinoxes and solstices. This is the first recipe in a new series for this year's Spring Equinox. My focuses for the meal are growth, prosperity, peace, happiness, and celebration. You’ll see that reflected in all of these recipes.

I’m publishing this recipe first, because I’ll be making it first. Anytime I make a big meal, I like to do my baking ahead of time to save space and ensure it’s done at the same time as the meal. But also, I find it’s a great opportunity to prime the kitchen for cooking in quantity. The goal is to cleanse and prepare the area without scouring the energy, something I use rosemary for frequently in a variety of ways.

This recipe is ultra-simple and comes together within half an hour. I suggest making it right before you cook the rest of your meal, but you can make it earlier in the day or even the day before.

Ingredients:

2 c All-Purpose Flour

1 T Baking Powder

1 t Salt

1 T Dried Rosemary

1/2 c Butter, cold

3/4 to 1 c Milk

2 T Butter, melted (optional)

Instructions:

Preheat the over to 450 degrees F.

In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, salt, and rosemary.

Cut in the cold butter.

Add the milk slowly until just combined and the batter is thick and lumpy.

Drop about a quarter cup of batter at a time onto a prepared baking sheet.

Bake for 18 to 22 minutes or until golden.

Optionally, brush the warm biscuits with melted butter.

Recipe Notes:

There are a few methods to cut in the butter. You can grate it into the bowl, use a fork, or use a pastry cutter to do so. Be sure that the butter is very cold for this step. This is what gives the biscuits their flaky, buttery texture once baked.

These biscuits will keep for a few days in an air-tight container. They make excellent companions to leftover gravy!

Magic Notes:

Rosemary is one of those swiss army knife ingredients to me. It has a place in so many recipes and spells, and with good reason. Here, I’m leveraging the cleansing aspect for my Spring Equinox spread. I plan on making these biscuits first to prepare the kitchen for cooking the rest of the meal. This cleanses the air and oven of any lingering energy from other workings, leaving behind a relatively clean slate for me to work with.

I also like to make rosemary-based breads or rolls whenever my space needs a refresh. It’s a gentle cleanser that won’t scour away the cast-iron-like seasoning of the space. Rather, it sweeps away the excess and leaves the kitchen (and adjoining rooms) feeling light and fresh. Some cleansing rituals can be irritating to resident spirits; in my experience, this particular recipe is generally spirit-friendly…

…Especially if you plan on offering one to the spirits! These biscuits make excellent altar offerings. As mentioned above, I’ll be making these first for my spread. Part of that ritual is offering the first biscuit on my spirit work altar for my allies to enjoy. Invite them into the space to partake, and offer space in the kitchen while you cook the rest of the meal.

Consider the properties of the humble biscuit. Thick, flaky, absorbent. In a meal, they soak up rogue gravy and are slathered with butter and other rich deliciousness on the plate. I try to have a biscuit or roll in any large spread, because there’s always energy lost at the table. These biscuits serve the purpose of soaking up anything that escapes from other dishes so that the person enjoying the meal doesn’t miss out on any of the energy on offer.

After you make your biscuits, take time to clean your kitchen surfaces. Wipe away any rogue flour, sweep the floors, and give everything at least a quick once-over. Then, you’ll be ready to work on the rest of your meal — or go about your day, depending on when you make these.

If you enjoyed this recipe or like what I do, consider throwing a couple dollars in my tip jar, buying a recipe card, or commissioning me for a tarot reading or custom spell! All supporters will get exclusive access to all of my equinox recipes as they go up this week — plus access to my backlog of exclusive articles. Support helps me keep my bills paid, since this is currently my full-time gig.

All of these recipes will be sold as a recipe card bundle starting this Saturday (3/16), so stay tuned!

You can also check out this same post over on Ko-Fi:

#aese speaks #spring equinox #witchblr #witchcraft #recipes #food #food magic #kitchen witch #hearth witch #witch community #kitchen magic #biscuits #rosemary #spring equinox feast 2024 #my recipes #my spells

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blueiscoool · 2 days

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The Getty Museum Returns 2,500-Year-Old Bronze Kline to Turkey

The Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the J. Paul Getty Museum announced today that the bronze kline, dating back to approximately 530 BC, was returned to the Republic of Turkey.

The work was purchased by the Museum in 1982 from a Swiss art dealer who presented false evidence that it had been in European collections since the 1920s. Investigations conducted by the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the J. Paul Getty Museum revealed that this claim was false and that the work had been obtained from a tomb near Manisa in the early 1980s through illegal excavations and taken out of the country illegally.

As a result of scientific research, the pieces of linen stuck to the kline were matched with other pieces left in the tomb, including pieces of wood and bronze plates found by Turkish archaeologists during excavations at the site, and remains of marble and ceramic vessels, which helped date the tomb.

The piece called a divan or a kline was a piece of furniture that was used to rest and eat during the day. The returned piece is considered to be a very rare example of this type of furniture that has survived to the present day, as seen in the depictions on other pieces of art such as archaeological wall paintings and pots and pans with painted pictures. The metal divan, which consists of cast bronze legs and rails on an iron frame, perforated copper sheets riveted together and wrapped around iron rail cores, is understood to have been made by taking the example of divans commonly produced from wood at the time, with its lathed legs, protruding tenons at the corners and a latticed surface that once supported cushions.

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ineffabildaddy · 8 months

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favourite fic lines tag game

thank u @crowleyslvt for sharing this lovely idea and inviting me to do it!!! i’ve started doing it at work cause i’m bored lol. & i greatly enjoyed reading urs @captainblou and @ironriots so tysm for sharing!!!

For as many as you want of your published works, pick your favourite line/paragraph and post it up here. Let yourself feel proud of your creations.

as usual, explicit content incoming!!!

I Know

I know you want to interrupt me in the middle of a stammering sentence and lift your palm to my glowing cheek. I know you want to kiss me, gentle and fond as a fifteen year-old girl who silently watches the moon shimmer on the surface of a lake, shoulder to shoulder with the greatest friend she's ever known.

Flecks of Stardust

When I unmuzzle you

Moist, fertile earth spills out of your mouth

Preserved from the Eden days all these years

Nourished inside you like a measured promise

And when I unleash you

You remain beside the apple tree you were bound to

Beckoning me to bite once again

Strawberry Scripture

They came, in long rolling waves, at once, breaths squeezed out between yeses and fucks and darlings and angels, sweat trickling off skin and heat emanating off scales and fire casting two souls in iron, never again to be melted into separation. Aziraphale's spend leaked from Crowley's cunt and gushed down the plated finish of her thighs when he pulled out, and it was pure, it was good, it was right, it was just.

you’re so golden

For the first time, Crawley entered Aziraphale that night, chest fluttering and palms slick and dick flaring with ardent rhapsodies while Aziraphale rolled his hips again and again, seizing the flesh protecting Crawley's throat into his mouth each time Crawley's head fell back against the bark of the tree. By the time Crawley's dick twitched and streamed inside Aziraphale, every one of the freckles on his tanned shoulders was obscured by obscene purplish marks, which were not in view of either party, but were nevertheless making their presence known by way of pushing aching bursts all the way through to Crawley's bones. Drooling and hazy, Crawley allowed his eyes to buzz back into focus on the sheen of Aziraphale's stretch marks while he caressed Aziraphale's straining shaft, and oh, fuck, Aziraphale's spend was flecked with gold just as his skin was. In that moment, with Aziraphale squirming on Crawley's softening cock and showering his own belly with starlight, the words I love you sprung to Crawley's mind, although Crawley had very little concept of what those words meant.

Despite Knowing Better…

He paused a breathy, open-mouthed pause, and then: "I wish you could see yourself like this. My dirty, gorgeous slut."

Crowley's hips fidgeted. She pushed her ass further upwards and outwards, grinding against the air, against nothing.

"The sight of you, it's... it's nothing short of obscene."

The demon's eyes flew open. They were flooded, inundated, overrun with amber; not a sliver of white could be seen framing her irises. Her lids drooped slightly as she stared up at him. She was drooling so heavily now that streaks of her spit oozed from her mouth even as Aziraphale fucked it. Aziraphale beheld these developments with a laboured, guttural exhalation.

"Come here."

I’m Beginning to See The Light

"'Course, angel. Just need you nice and open for me first." Crowley's lashes lowered and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip as Aziraphale squirmed on Crowley's fingers, grinding his dick against Crowley's thumb. "That's it. Good boy, fuck my fingers, just like that." Aziraphale smashed his face into the pillow as his hips stuttered and he felt his dick throbbing. "Yes, yes, come for me, sweetheart, you were so so hard for me, you must have been that way for hours, bet that must feel good." The sweeping motions of Crowley's hips came to a halt, but resumed when Aziraphale lifted his face again and begged Crowley not to stop, pleaded with him to carry on. Crowley swallowed thickly, meeting Aziraphale's sleep-bleared eyes with his glassy ones as he fulfilled Aziraphale's request. "Fuck, you like it when I do this? Gorgeous boy, darling boy, you're killing me."

no pressure tags: @raining-stars-somewhere-else @createserenity @robinwithay @foolishlovers

#good omens #fanfic #ineffabildaddy #tag game #<3 <3 <3

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pie4444 · 4 months

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i have an idea for living armor

when a dead body is in full plate the bones in the body dissolve and new muscle groups form to use the armor as a exoskeleton in medieval times they would most of the time be around surface iron deposits as they dont stop growing so when the armor gets too small they release a chemical that soften the metal and allows more metal to be added making layers like a tree you can even tell the their age this way since most surface deposits of metal have been mined by humans they now live mostly underground and have 2 casts now worker and hunter, hunters can be found raiding scrap yards and the like and hunting animals, workers mostly mine for metals and make barrows

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iibonniee · 11 months

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Sweetest Devil Chapter One

Pairing: MafiaBoss!Minhyuk x Fem!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: threatening, mentions of violence

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist | Tags: @scuzmunkie

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the partially closed bedroom curtains and creating a serene and contemplative atmosphere. A cool breeze whispered through the city’s narrow streets, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and anticipation that managed to make its way between the barely shut window and into the spacious bedroom. In this darkness, the clandestine world of organized crime thrived, hidden beneath the surface of law and order.

Closely intertwined with the planned economy, there existed a vast underground economy comprising a spectrum of semi-legal and simply illegal activities involving state enterprises and households.

At the heart of this underworld stood Lee Minhyuk, a man shrouded in mystery and power. His iron grip stretched far and wide, his influence penetrating every facet of the city’s affairs. His reach knew no bounds, from the black market to the political arena. With caution in the enforcement of the criminal code slackening and the severity of punishment meted out softening, members of the nomenclature became, in association with organized crime, more and more involved in the underground economy, tapping a source of extra income and wealth. Misuse of privileges and power for personal enrichment, bribery, corruption, and economic criminality became commonplace among the ruling elite.

Everything was always easy for Minhyuk. Everything was handed to him on a golden plate, feeding well into the world of privilege from a young age due to the stature and status of his father. His father, a prominent businessman, was the owner of a massive corporation, which served as a successful front for his actual operations within the mafia. The front of a well-known and highly respected company shadowed the illegal activities under its name.

Minhyuk grew up in a castle of denials. The days revolved around high-society engagements, elite schooling, and a future tied to a flourishing corporate legacy. Still, the flashes of raw power, the late-night secretive meetings, and the silenced whispers hinted at the reality hidden beneath their opulent lifestyle.

As Minhyuk matured and began to grasp the dual aspects of his father’s world, a sense of ambition and thirst for power started growing within him. However, it was not simply a handed-down legacy he desired but a footprint he yearned to create, his own legacy built on the foundation of power, fear, and respect.

And fear he created.

It was all too easy for Minhyuk. Everything was all planned and calculated the moment his father spoke to him while he was on his deathbed. Each plan was written in fine ink, ready to be put into play when given the proper chance.

His manipulation of the power dynamics within the city was masterful, and instilling fear within his enemies became an integral part of his strategy. With the resources of the massive corporation at his disposal and a network of loyal individuals bred in the dog-eat-dog ethos of the mafia, he devised viably sinister ways of marking his territory. Word soon spread about the consequences of crossing paths with the young corporation leader, chilling tales that were sure to make even the most seasoned criminals think twice.

He mastered the art of psychological warfare by using calculated and detailed plans. He would watch and study his enemies, understanding their habits, weaknesses, and fears. He was the proverbial hunter, lurking in the shadows, observing his prey before making a move.

His preferred methodology was not necessarily immediate physical harm. Instead, he found joy in the slow dance of fear, letting his enemies sleep with the constant dread of an impending strike. He would leave his signature marks on their daily lives in places they wouldn’t expect, indicating that he was close, watching, and waiting. This induced paranoia turned their lives into a continuous nightmare, always fearful of when and where Minhyuk would strike next.

However, he was confident when the right time came to take action. It was a combination of cruelty and precision. Strikes would occur when they were least expected, ensuring the maximum psychological impact. He chose methods that would not just physically impair but that were designed to break the spirit.

His rule was a chess game, with every piece moving according to his plan and every opponent dancing to his tune. The dominion of fear was his kingdom, and he commanded it with awe-inspiring ease. He would only accept a deal if he knew everything about the company involved—its ins and outs, strengths and weaknesses. His knowledge of the workings of other companies was extensive. Beyond their financial statements and market position, he found a way to learn their most guarded secrets and their most critical vulnerabilities.

He could easily take a company out if he cut off its lifelines, manipulated its networks, and turned its strengths into weaknesses. He could orchestrate the downfall of any entity he set in his sights. Whether it was a hostile takeover in the boardroom or a quietly executed maneuver in the market, he could crumble an empire with just a word or a pen stroke.

So he was ready when the call came from his rival, Taehyung. Taehyung might have been the head of a formidable empire. Still, Minhyuk saw only z chessboard, with his pieces primed for the checkmate. To Taehyung, it was a call for negotiation. Still, to Minhyuk, who had long since been studying Taehyung’s empire inside and out, it was an open invitation to initiate his detailed plan of destruction.

The phrase “making a deal with the devil” has a chilling resonance in the world that Minhyuk commanded. His peers were all too aware that entering a pact with him was a dangerous game. Minhyuk’s endgame was never in doubt: total dominance and the scent of fear lingering in the air. Whether it was in gleaming corporate boardrooms or murky underworld meetings, the name Minhyuk spelled a silent, impending doom.

He fostered relationships only to exploit them; he formed alliances only to break them when the odds turned in his favor. His uncanny talent to predict market trends, control financial ebbs, and anticipate his competitor’s moves underlined the fear he commanded. His rival firms understood the cost of crossing paths with him, for his punishments were legendary, as severe as they were swift, inducing a sense of living peril in those who dared to defy him.

No one dared to retaliate, for the rising tide of fear was overwhelming. This was Minhyuk’s world, his rules, and his game. When the word ‘deal’ was mentioned in association with Minhyuk, it signified not negotiation but surrender, not partnership but submission. Such was his reputation that even the audacious and resilient were wary, for they knew that those who danced with the devil eventually got burned. Every deal was a masterstroke in his favor, and each chess move brought him closer to absolute domination, upholding his reign of fear and power.

After all, everyone knew that their company was practically his once they made a deal with Minhyuk.

The transfer of power was subtle yet absolute. Their independent operations would gradually be infused with Minhyuk’s influence until his dominion became inevitable. They were, in effect, handing over the keys of their empire to him, subdued by his power dynamics and shaken by his ruthless strategies.

Over the span of a year, Minhyuk’s influence began to grow at a pace few could match. As each month passed, so did the transfer of yet another company under his rule. Companies, once rivals, turned to allies, then gradually turned into chess pieces in his grand game of corporate warfare.

What started as fear turned into an uncontested rule of Minhyuk over most of the business empire in the city. And to those who thought they could weather the storm without repercussions, time soon revealed that none could evade the expanding shadow of Minhyuk’s influence. His strategic and relentless pursuit of dominance rendered him an irresistible force, and he rose quickly with an authority that was impossible to deny or defy. The trail left in his wake was one marked with the remnants of fallen empires and thriving ones that now bore his brand.

Accepting a deal with Minhyuk was a surrender to his rule and a testament to his strategy of control, a silent acknowledgment of the reality that had come to be: the reign of Minhyuk.

That was why when Minhyuk got the call from Taehyung, someone he had been studying for far too long, slowly watching in the darkness how his company slowly crumbled around him, he was far too thrilled to deny the chance at taking what should be his.

He remembered it as a meeting where Taehyung, once a fiery competitor, begged for help. His rival’s empire was teetering on the brink, collapsing under its own weight, and Taehyung was desperate to save it. He didn’t realize that by inviting Minhyuk in, he was unwittingly accelerating his own downfall.

At this meeting, he met Y/N, a sharp-witted, stern-faced individual who avoided hiding her disdain for him. From the first moment, Y/N’s eyes made it clear she was unimpressed and semi-aware of his reputation. But Minhyuk was enticed. For the first time in a long time, someone dared to challenge him and dared to look him in the eye without flinching. Y/N sparked a thrill within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time—an exciting prospect of a chase.

His fascination with Y/N, however, didn’t distract him. For him, this meeting was a clear indicator of the scope of his victory. It reinforced his belief in an inevitable future where Taehyung’s company wasn’t just allied with him but firmly within his grasp, yet another chess piece in his grand scheme.

He had plans for her. He knew all too well the type of relationship Taehyung had with her. He was there to break that, too.

The moment the large oak doors shut behind him was when Minhyuk’s dark eyes met Taehyungs for the first time. Minhyuk didn’t try to hide the wicked grin slowly inching his face. Taehyung had signed off on the rights to what he and his family had built when he called Minhyuk.

Minhyuk waited a second longer, letting the silence permeate the room, emphasizing his superiority, before he finally leaned back, steeping his fingers in front of him.

“Here’s what I propose,” he began, his tone taking on a deadly serious edge. “Your company has potential, but it is sinking fast. I can provide the necessary resources to keep it afloat. In return, 70% of the profits go into my corporation. You can keep the remaining 20%.”

Taehyung whitened at the figures, but before he could voice his protests, Minhyuk cut him off, his voice icy calm. “I understand it might sound extreme, but let’s be honest. 20% of something is better than 100% of nothing. Besides, it’s your only viable option unless you want to witness the final collapse of your empire.”

The room fell silent again, the hidden threat hanging heavy in the air. Minhyuk continued, “One last thing, Taehyung. You attempt to cross me even once; you try to stab me in the back, and you will soon grasp the reality of regret. This is not an alliance of equals. You came to me. Remember that.”

Faced with the stark reality of his situation, Taehyung nodded his understanding. The look in his eyes had shifted from desperation to resignation; the reality of his impending loss was settling in. His empire was on the brink of becoming another pawn in Minhyuk’s game. The reign of Minhyuk had crept closer, consuming his world.

“Do we have a deal, Taehyung?”

“Well, under the circumstances, it appears I have little choice but to say yes-” he started, trying to inject some confidence into his voice with a snide remark on the tip of his tongue. Taehyung swallowed uncertainly, his bravado fading fast under Minhyuk’s unwavering gaze.

But Minhyuk quickly cut him off, his icy stare boring holes into Taehyung. “This is not the time for your wit, Taehyung. Do we have a deal or not?” His tone was chillingly calm, a stark contrast to the underlying threat his words carried. “Or else I will just walk away and watch you fall with your terrible company. After all, it will make more room for me to grow.”

Humbled, Taehyung took a deep breath and sullenly responded. “Yes, we have a deal.”

The reins of his once-thriving empire were being handed over to his rival, Minhyuk, and the price this alliance would cost was not lost on him. His snarkiness was a luxury he could no longer afford. As the reality of his situation sank in, Taehyung could feel the walls of his world crumbling under the reign of Minhyuk.

But Minhyuk was never stupid. Minhyuk knew the second he walked out of the doors, Taehyung would stab him in the back when given the right time. It didn’t take long for it to happen. Taehyung had thought he was smart with his actions, believing that Minhyuk was unaware of the underhand dealings he was scheming. Taehyung underestimated Minhyuk once again.

Minhyuk’s network was vast and wide, and whispers of Taehyung’s treachery reached him quickly. Hidden sources and embedded spies in strategic positions were all orchestrated to monitor Taehyung’s every move. Such subterfuge was pitiful, child’s play to Minhyuk. Minhyuk was aware of every whispered agreement in shadowy corners, veiled threat, and secret alliance Taehyung attempted to forge.

Unbeknownst to Taehyung, his betrayal was not a surprise but an awaited step in Minhyuk’s grand design. As he continued weaving the illusion of getting away with his actions, Minhyuk watched. But just as Taehyung had a knife aimed at his back, Minhyuk was ready with an entire artillery. With each passing day, as Taehyung sunk deeper into his deception, Minhyuk meticulously laid out his countermeasures. The impending downfall of Taehyung’s empire was merely a matter of time.

The dawn broke through the horizon as the sun began its daily ascent, slowly but determinedly painting the sky with orange, red, and pink hues. The chilly morning breeze danced through the open windows, carrying the sweet, tantalizing scent of blooming flowers from the courtyard. In these quiet, tranquil moments of dawn, the world seemed still, almost at peace.

Minhyuk, already busy since the sun started to rise, took a moment to appreciate the scenic transition from moonlight to sunrise before his concentration was interrupted. Three harsh knocks on his room door echoed in the still morning air, an important sound not lost on him. He knew what those three harsh knocks meant.

Instinctively, he put down his work, knowing that the rhythm of those knocks signaled urgent matters. Changkyun entered, holding a tablet tightly in his hands. His face was tense, lips pressed into a thin line, and eyes filled with a seriousness that immediately erased any notions of tranquility Minhyuk enjoyed a moment ago.

“You need to see this,” Changkyun said gravely, nudging the tablet in front of Minhyuk.

Even before Changkyun uttered another word, Minhyuk could see that it was something serious. His heart pounding in his ears, he took the tablet into his hands and pressed play.

The video started playing—silently, in black and white. It was grainy and shaky but unmistakably Taehyung. He was darting his eyes left and right as though checking for any watchers, and then he slipped into a building with a man Minhyuk recognized as one of his own associates.

“There’s audio, too.” Changkyun hinted, and Minhyuk turned the volume up. The incriminating conversation left no room for misunderstandings or assumptions. Taehyung was plotting against him and trying to sway his loyal personnel.

Bitter fury surged through his veins as he processed the video. The tranquil morning was tainted now, replaced with the harsh reality of the day. Minhyuk looked up at Changkyun, anger in his eyes but determination etched into his features, “It’s time I paid Taehyung a visit.”

Minhyuk’s entrance was as authoritative as his presence. The oak doors echoed a resounding bang as he thrust them open, their magnificence untamed, mirroring his determination. The Study, bathed in a subdued morning light, seemed engulfed in an uncanny silence, a sharp contrast to the storm that was about to unleash.

The absence of Taehyung’s secretary was evident, a small element that didn’t escape Minhyuk’s notice. A smirk played at the edges of his lips. This was confirmation, confirmation that his visit was indeed causing a ripple.

His eyes, blazing with fury, slowly took in the details of the room, eventually resting on Taehyung. Seated at his sprawling desk, Taehyung looked up - the interruption unexpected.

Taehyung’s initial surprise flickered into recognition as he met Minhyuk’s dark gaze. The foreboding look - burning, intense, burdened with accusation - made Taehyung stiffen subtly.

The tension, thick and tangible, enveloped the room. Added to the deafening silence that filled the air, the atmosphere felt palpable and ominous. It was clear - peace wouldn’t be a guest here for long.

“You know, when I make a second visit, it usually leads to the other party with a bullet in their head and the full fall of their company,” Minhyuk began, slowly walking towards Taehyung’s desk. “You can explain yourself to me right now, and I may find it within myself to forgive you, or I can watch you make up some sort of shitty lie to try to excuse this.”

A tablet crashed onto the desk, causing the silence to scatter for a fleeting moment as Minhyuk sat across from him. The playback immediately shows Taehyung in a confidential conversation with one of Minhyuk’s employees. The voices were hushed, but the audio was crystal clear.

The sharp intake of breath from Taehyung gave away his surprise at being confronted with undeniable proof of his deceit. Minhyuk looked at him, his gaze piercing and full of scorn.

“Play your game, Taehyung, and let’s see how far these lies carry you,” he said, his tone loaded with pure contempt. The threat, while implicit, was clear. This was not an idle visit. It was a reckoning. “If you think I wasn’t aware the second you tried going behind my back, you’re wrong. If you think I was stupid not to notice that I was only getting 65%, I can assure you, you’re wrong.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, a sound all the more sinister given the tense atmosphere. He met Minhyuk’s gaze squarely, not a sliver of fear in his eyes. “You always were a smart one, Minhyuk,” he mused, his voice steady as he leaned back in his chair.

“But here’s where you’re mistaken,” Taehyung continued, his grin striking a sharp contrast with his chilling words. “I never once thought you pointless. On the contrary, I counted on it.” His gaze held Minhyuk’s, his tone calm as he played with the edge of a silver pen. “Make no mistake, Minhyuk. I didn’t steal from you out of desperation. I did it because I knew I could.”

His defiant laughter echoed through the room, the sound as chilling as his cold, calculated gaze. His words held an audacious certainty, a cocky defiance that suggested he was not scared of his reveal. “So let’s continue this little game of ours, Minhyuk. After all, the grand finale is always the most thrilling part.”

Minhyuk’s expression turned cold, a silent warning to Taehyung. “Do consider this,” he began, every word laced with an ice-cold venom. “That grand finale of yours might not be as thrilling as you think if all you have left is a scorched empire.”

He leaned forward, giving Taehyung a piercing look that could cut through the hardest of stones. “Your bravado seems to have blinded you to the truth of your situation. Would I let something like that be brushed under a rug? My involvement in your company was the best thing that happened to it. And your games? They gave me the perfect reason to back away.”

Minhyuk straightened in his chair, his eyes never leaving Taehyung’s as he slowly smirked, playing his cards perfectly well. “I have enough information to expose every shady detail of your operations to the public. I could watch your empire crumble from up close or from afar. And you know I’m capable of both.”

The room fell ominously silent. The grin on Taehyung’s face vanished as he began to comprehend the gravity of his situation. His playful demeanor began to fade, replaced with a desperate realization. As the meaning of Minhyuk’s words settled, the audacious, fearless man was reduced to silence. A silence that spoke volumes.

“So I’m going to be generous just this once because I find it awfully amusing that you think you can get your way. I’ll continue to help your shitty company, but in return, I now get 95% of your earnings, and your secretary is mine.”

Minhyuk’s words seemed to echo in the room, reverberating off the sleek marble floors and the imposing bookshelves lined with countless achievements of Taehyung’s ill-gained empire. The silence followed was heavy, hanging in the air with a tangible presence, like the calm before a storm.

The sudden shift in the atmosphere was startling. Gone was the cocky playfulness that had so far characterized Taehyung’s demeanor. Instead, what followed was a quiet realization, dread seeping into his eyes that had once held defiant certainty. His proud posture slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to bear the weight of Minhyuk’s piercing gaze.

Minhyuk went to sit in the high-back leather chair, an arm casually draped over the armrest, his expression calm but his eyes displaying an evident victory. Not a word was uttered, but the message was clear. His proposition was not up for negotiation.

“Consider it as a small price to pay for the grand finale,” Minhyuk added after what felt like an eternity, breaking the silence. His gaze flickered to the grand chandelier hanging above, its crystal droplets reflecting the dim lighting of the room, then back to Taehyung. “Or, if you prefer, enjoying your last day in this office. I can picture-”

“Wait,” Taehyung’s voice hit the air sharply, like an arrow slicing through the tense atmosphere. The casual mention of Y/N had him now on high alert. His demeanor shifted, desperation tinging his voice. “Y/N has nothing to do with this!”

Minhyuk laughed, his low laughter echoing tauntingly in the room. “Oh, but she does,” he said, the glint in his eyes accentuating the chandelier’s dim light. “She’s your right hand, isn’t she? Someone, it seems you go to a lot. Losing her would hurt.”

Taehyung clenched his fists, his earlier cockiness replaced by a determined fierceness. “You can take my earnings, Minhyuk. Take 99% if you want, but keep Y/N out of this!”

But Minhyuk only shook his head, his entire demeanor radiating finality as he looked Taehyung directly in the eye. “Ninety-five percent of your earnings, and Y/N works for me. That’s not up for negotiation, Taehyung.” His words rang out, the final note of a song that signaled the beginning of the end for Taehyung’s reign. The end of his dialogue leaves the room held high in oppressive silence. “Either way, she’ll be working with me. It’s completely up to you where you find yourself in this spot.”

Taehyung sat there, forcibly trying to swallow back his anger as he processed Minhyuk’s final words. His defiance slowly gave way to a cold resignation. He knew he had no cards left to play. Minhyuk had trapped him in a corner, and all paths led to the same outcome.

With a defeated sigh, he managed a nod, the action almost imperceptible. “Fine,” he murmured, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. “Y/N... Y/N works for you.” His voice felt hoarse, threatening to crack. He could barely meet Minhyuk’s gaze as he admitted his defeat. “You win.”

Minhyuk’s face broke into a cruel smirk, a gleam of satisfaction twinkling in his eyes.

“Great!” he chimed, clapping his hands together. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” He leaned back in his chair, gazing at Taehyung with unwavering confidence. “Call her in, tell her it’s important. Then, fire her.” His voice was icy as he instructed Taehyung, devoid of any empathy or regret. “If you say anything about our little deal... I’ll fucking kill you.”

This was a game, and Minhyuk was savoring his victory.

Minhyuk’s words rang in the silence that hung heavily for a moment. Minhyuk was precisely where he needed to be. He could read Taehyung’s face so easily.

Straightening his suit, Minhyuk strode confidently out of the office, his neat footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. He slipped out into the cool embrace of the outdoors, the early evening air crisp and fresh. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, nimble digits typed in a number he knew by heart—a contact he rarely called but one that held significant importance to his plans.

“Everything’s in place,” his voice was assured, filled with the finality their agreement held, as he indulged in a brief conversation. His eyes flicked towards the grand building he had just exited, his lips twisting into a satisfied smirk. This brief respite, secretive in nature, only served to fuel his sense of anticipation. “Make sure you are always a step ahead. I can’t have you slacking on me.”

The call ended briskly, leaving only the faint hum of the city around him. His thumb scanned over the illuminated screen before submerging his device back into the safety of his pocket. The gears had been set in motion—all there was left was to savor the unraveling of his carefully woven plan.

Upon re-entering the building, Minhyuk noticed a fresh presence. Y/N, Taehyung’s secretary, had finally arrived at the office. Taehyung, upon her arrival, had promptly pulled her into his office, closing the door behind them.

With a dismissive shrug, Minhyuk moved to Y/N’s vacated desk, lowering himself into her seat. He glanced around briefly before his gaze landed on her personal phone, left unattended on the polished wooden surface. An unbidden smirk curled on his lips as he reached for it—snooping wasn’t usually his style, but the situation demanded a bit of dirty play from him. As he began to skim through her files and messages, his smirk only grew wider as he read her incoming messages.

Upon the distinct sound of the office door creaking open and resonating shut with an echoing thud, Minhyuk lifted his gaze. His eyes locked onto Y/N, who had just entered the room, her face etched with surprise upon detecting an unexpected presence. A slow, treacherous smirk crept its way onto Minhyuk’s face as he reclined leisurely in Y/N’s usually occupied seat, the creak of the leather chair blending seamlessly with the palpable tension.

Minhyuk gave a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with amusement as he tapped onto her phone. “Your phone has been going off like crazy. Your friend Joohyun wants to know where you went, and Kihyun... he wanted to know where you went too.” He narrated with a teasing grin, his voice carrying a deceptively smooth charm.

Her retort was instantaneous, the sharpness of her delivery slicing through the tension like an icy dagger. “Fuck you,” she spat out, enunciating each word with a venom that only heightened his amusement. Her face was hardened, and her teeth gritted together in a mix of defiance and infuriation.

As she marched over with hurried steps, Minhyuk met her with a smirk. She reached for her phone and kept it in his possession, but much to her surprise, he had other plans. His grip latched onto her wrist, a vice-like hold preventing her from pulling away. His eyes didn’t waver from her surprised expression.

“I think you should be nice to your new boss, Y/N. After all, I could be leaving you to fend for yourself. Business is an ugly thing.” He advised smoothly. His tone was cold, laced with a chilling sincerity.

The more she tugged, the tighter his grasp grew in response. It was a silent but potent display of his seriousness.

“You’re hurting me…” she murmured, her voice reduced to a mere whisper.

“And you hurt me when you don’t respect me.” he countered, his gaze boring into hers.

Releasing her abruptly, he watched the quick flicker of her eyes. He could see her check for any residue of his harsh grip - any bruise he might have left - with a mixture of fear and relief on her face when she found none.

“I’ll see you Monday at 8,” he spoke nonchalantly, shifting his focus back onto her. “Do not be late.”

Minhyuk’s face transformed into a triumphant smirk as he watched her storm off, her swift strides punctuated with righteous anger. He continued to watch as she disappeared into the elevator, the soft ding of its arrival doing nothing to dissipate the stiff silence left in her wake. The swiftly closing doors served as a temporary barrier, obstructing their shared visual tête-à-tête. Yet the intensity of her piercing glare was etched vividly in his mind.

Once he was left alone in the gently humming silence of the now-empty office, he withdrew his phone from his pocket. His fingers danced swiftly over the keys, composing a succinct message to an anonymous recipient. ‘You better keep an eye on her,’ he typed, his smirk never leaving his lips as he dispatched the message into the digital ether. Minhyuk was content with the knowledge that his plan was smoothly unfolding, step by step, inevitably.

#kvanity #monsta x fanfic #monsta x series #monsta x mafia au #minhyuk x reader #minhyuk series #minhyuk mafia au #kihyun mafia au #taehyung x reader

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breserker · 9 months

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wow you found sirloin on sale. ez steak on stovetop

don't use a nonstick pan i'll kill you

trust in god of your choice with a metal or cast iron pan

this is for 2 sirloin steaks abt 8oz in size each

need: - 2tblsp of unsalted butter (have more ready if need be) - 2-3 sprigs thyme - 2 pinches rosemary - 2-3 cloves of garlick depending on size - salt and pepper

melt butter in pan. add aromatics. don't cook aromantics p sure thats illegal. while waiting for it to go up to medium high heat (abt 7 out of 9) salt and pepper both sides of steak. lay it in the butter baybee.

**FOR A 1 INCH THICC STEAK ON A STOVETOP ON MED-HIGH: medium rare: 4 mins each side medium: 5 mins each side medium well: 6 mins each side if you're new to cookin steak i wouldn't recommend going under 4mins per side. these are general guidelines and the heat of your stove, your pan, and the size of the steak will change these cooking times. adjust as necessary. remember overcooked is always better than undercooked. if you go for rare and have valleys in the steak that don't get a cooked/singed edge, don't eat that corner. i'm serious! you can eat red meat rare because bacteria cannot penetrate the fibers of the meat unlike the far more porous chicken. but the surface? that's playin dangerous baybee.**

be brave tip the pan a little bit so the butter collects in that side, take a spoon and spoon it over the steaks as they cook. be brave again and realize you didn't need nonstick because when one side cooks enough it will effectively not stick to the pan. (note: enough does not mean done.) flip the steaks. repeat the time on the other side. i use a timer. no shame in it.

ok. steaks done. turn off the heat, transfer the steaks to a plate don't fcking touch them this is called resting. while the steaks are resting like little babies prepare the rest of your meal; pour a drink, pull the potatoes out of the oven or someshit, set the table, etc. minor things! ok for real you're done enjoy.

can omit: rosemary. thyme is the more important aromatic here. if using salted butter salt your actual steaks a little bit less.

overall cooking/kitchen time: 15-20 mins. (i was able to cook both steaks in one pan so note that it may vary if you cook more or can only fit one) i'm srs. ofc i'm just referring to the cooking time of the steak and not any side dish but it is very quick and relatively easy. if ur budget affords it or you see nice steak on sale, the flavor's good i promise. granted that i already have all the other ingredients at home, i found a 2pack of sirloins today for ~$8.70 which is about 4.50 dollar a steak. will this always hold true? no! work with ur budget, u know yourself better than i do <3

oh and the quicker you wash your pan after dinner the easier the caked on stuff is to wash off <3 even if u just have energy to put dish soap and warm water in it, doing it sooner will save elbow grease later k love u

#cooking #steak #recipe

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heartbranches · 23 days

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Sopapillas

I went into the tag to look for more sopapillas and all I found was blasphemy. What is all of this cinnamon sugar nonsense?

NO.

THESE ARE SOPAPILLAS

Puffed pillows of love and fried dough. You bite the corner off to put honey in. Or if you're feeling frisky, you can stuff them with chicken or beef or beans and smother that sumbitch with green or red chile. Or put ice cream in there. Sky's the limit.

Here's the recipe for you, for I am a generous Katie.

Equipment

1 cast iron skillet or medium pot

1 spider or strainer to help remove the sopapillas from the oil

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

2 teaspoons kosher salt

1 tablespoon honey

3/4 cup whole milk

Canola oil, peanut oil or lard for frying

Instructions

To Make the Dough:

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, sugar and salt. Next, create a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in the honey and whole milk.

Using a spoon or your hands, mix the dough together until it forms a sticky mass. Cover the bowl with a clean kitchen towel and allow the dough to rest for about 20 minutes.

To Fry the Sopapillas:

I know frying this is a bit of a bummer but I’ll say that with these it’s needed and worth it.In a cast iron skillet (or medium pot), add enough oil so it reaches 3-inches up the sides of the skillet/pot. Heat up your oil to around 300 degrees. (Right before we fry them off, we’ll heat it up even further.)

Lightly flour your work surface and rolling pin. If the dough is at all sticky (it shouldn’t be after it rested) feel free to sprinkle it with a bit of flour so it doesn’t adhere to the surface.

Dump the dough onto the counter and roll the dough into a thin (1/8-inch thick) square. (It doesn’t have to be a perfect square either, just do your best.) Cut the sopapillas into 4 x 3-inch rectangles. Again, the measurements don’t have to be exact, you can definitely eyeball this.

Before you fry them up, be sure to get your honey ready. Line a baking sheet or plate with a few layers of paper towels or clean kitchen towel. Heat the oil up again to 375 degrees F.

Drop the sopapillas in the hot oil, frying two to three at a time, for about a minute, flipping them over at the halfway point. (If they don’t puff up, they’ll still be tasty! But it may mean the dough isn’t rolled thin enough.)

They should be lightly golden brown—not too crispy. Transfer them to the bed of paper towels to drain. Repeat with the remaining sopapillas.

These taste best straight from the fryer to a plate to being consumed but if you want, you can keep the sopapillas warm in an 200 degree pre-heated oven while you fry up the rest.

Serve them alongside some honey and apricot preserves.

Notes

Tips and Tricks:

Test a single sopapilla. I always do a test to make sure the oil is the right temperature. If the first one doesn't puff up, it means it's not rolled thin enough. A simple fix with the rest of them!

#sopapillas #the real deal #new mexican sopapillas #recipe

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toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae · 8 months

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Make sure the suppliers of bench vices follow all the rules regarding security and precision. Find out more by reading our article.

visit: https://medium.com/@toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae/maintaining-accuracy-and-security-a-checklist-to-follow-82976b8532e1

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notsocheezy · 1 month

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Brain Curd #157

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

The following is a continuation of Brain Curd #155.

Madison opened the refrigerator. Inside was an assortment of condiments, mostly: two identical jars of mayonnaise, five kinds of ketchup with various peppers added for spice, a dijon mustard, a yellow mustard, sriracha, sweet and dill pickle relish, barbecue sauce, steak sauce, soy sauce, fish sauce, hot sauce, worcestershire sauce, and Hidden Valley ranch.

There were also sticky puddles of indiscernible origin all along the floor of the fridge.

“Ew.” She said. “You have bad taste in ranch, Oren!”

“Grrraugh!”

Behind the mayo, Madison found a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk, both a day past their pull dates. She sniffed the milk and it seemed fine. She dropped one of the eggs in a cup of water and it floated about halfway up the glass. Still good, though probably not great for over-easy.

The cupboard was mostly empty, but it did have a can of corned beef hash. This would have to do. She spooned it out onto a hot oiled cast iron pan and pressed it to the surface, then cracked the eggs into a measuring cup and added a splash of milk, plus salt, pepper, and just a dab of hot sauce. She fork-whisked it and poured it into a nonstick pan with scratches on the bottom (she figured it was Oren’s problem if he wanted to keep using a damaged pan, not hers).

She piled the eggs and hash onto the plate in two pinkish hemispheres and served it to Oren, still sitting on the couch. He looked at it and drooled.

“Brraaaaiins?”

“Oh, duh!” Madison hit herself on the forehead with the base of her palm. “You’re right, I forgot to bring you a fork! Just a moment.”

She left to get a utensil, but only moments later when she returned with one, Oren had already demolished the whole plate. Bits of potato were strewn about his hands and grinning face.

“Uh… I’m glad you liked it?”

“Urraaaugh!”

“No, it was fully cooked! I guess I could have crisped up the hash a little more, but I can never get a good crust.”

A loud honk came from outside. Madison ran to the door to look and saw a bright yellow Hummer parked diagonally in the middle of the road. The driver honked again.

“I think that’s my mom,” She said as she collected her phone and charger from the wall. “Thank you so much, Oren!”

“Ourrelllllluuughhm.” Oren said before falling face first onto the coffee table.

Madison climbed up into the cabin of the Hummer and hugged her mom. “Why are you driving Dennis’ car?”

Mom shrugged. “He doesn’t need it anymore.”

The two of them drove off, barely noticing as they ran over a Prius and a cat.

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raisindave · 4 months

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[Chapter 45] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

He must think he has you wrapped around his fingers. While I'm a literal sense, that may be true, you still retain every ounce of control over this controlled combat. He's only continuing to pump his fingers inside you by the grace of your own mercy towards him. He retracted his vice on your hip with his free hand to lean in closer. Instead, an elbow planted beside your temple, letting him hover over you like Thanatos himself. His fingers dig deeper, faster, and your neck strained from arching. Idle hands explored his armoured back. Fingertips identified smooth fabric from his slick jacket and crossed onto his armour vest's raised gruff surface. You could feel each individual plate of steel-plated ceramic, which is the recipe for stopping speeding bullets.

His pace quickened suddenly, thunderously. It set every nerve you had on fire. You could hear the sound of your wetness slapping every time his palm reconnected with your entrance. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as you held your breath to drink in the onslaught of pleasure.

"You like this, don't you?" He growled in your ear, entertained by your writhing.

"Fuck you," you sighed back, planting your hand on the back of his helmet, dragging him closer to ensure he heard you clearly.

Fingers retracted entirely. The world ground to a halt. Singing nerves continued ringing, calling out for the rhythm to resume. A palm laid flat on your thighs left memories of dampness on the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. Plying your legs apart, he shifted on his knees to settle impossibly closer. You gulped dryly. Resting back on his haunches gave you a brief respite to drink in your circumstances.

Your thighs were pried open to invite your lieutenant to ravage you. By all means, this is an offence that could get you discharged- both of you. At any second, the iron doors that vacuum sealed you in this chamber could come undone, and Price, Soap, or whoever could stumble upon the mess that’s about to be made. It made your blood chill, but a cold palm on your jaw suddenly began dragging your gaze away from the vault door back to the current threat.

The angle of the light source had moved, glowing brightly in his palm, illuminating the sight before you in a dim red glow. His grip on your jaw was like a vice, commanding you to meet his gaze. You could do nothing else but comply, even as he set the glowstick down beside you, casting long shadows across the walls. It clicked, becoming clear that the light wasn't for your enjoyment- it was so he could drink in your contorting face as he wrought his plans through your body.

That's when you felt the bulbous head of his cock press against your entrance, and your voice croaked. In a small panic, you pawed below yourself to identify the object. By all means, it was massive. Thick and veiny and straight and hot, it was easy the length of three or your palms stacked over one another as you explored his member. He seemed amused by your grading, watching you with darkening eyes. It made your blood run cold, filling you with dread. You can't take all that, it won't fit. There's no way in hell you're going to suffer internal hemorrhaging for his satisfaction. If you think about it, it's really just closer to average size if you take his height into account. He's really not that spectacular at all. He's probably smirking under that mask, fucker. Your mind grapples for strategies to demean him in your conscience, but a new sensation commands your attention.

His head slipped past your entrance, and you gasped loudly. His hand is planted beside your temple. Slowly, he pushed himself farther, and your vision darkened as your eyes slammed shut. Craning your back, he only took the initiative to grip the exposed small of your spine, dragging you closer onto his cock. Another huff of air from him suggested he's amused by this. It stretched you hard, making you feel your muscles and nerves bend and bow to accept this intrusion.

He temporarily halted his installment, recanting his insertion, only to push back in with more resolve. He continued this for a short while, gradually working more and more of himself like Jacob's ladder. The friction was delightful, like an itch that hadn't been scratched in years. But his size made pinprickling pain surge through you with every deepening thrust.

"It's too much," you cried in a whisper, legs shaking.

He withdrew slightly, pausing. After a short moment, he continued cautiously as if he were thoroughly considering the logistics of your words. Frankly, his pleasure came secondary, and all you wanted was the physical relief his end of the puzzle piece offered. Whether or not he got his rocks off was entirely inconsequential. You'd reached a steady rhythm by now, and he was even managing to elicit guttural whimpers from you as he worked you further. The pace furthered, and he dropped from a planted palm to rest his forearm on the springy mattress right beside your head. Every nerve felt like a lit firework, hot and sparking, sharing heaving and gasping breaths while you hovered over one another. Whenever eyelids fluttered open, you were met with that grim mask locked over your vision.

"Come on, you can take a little more, hm?" His voice was almost trembling in that gravelly accent.

His voice was eerily sweet though laced with burning desperation. He sounded like he was almost out of breath. There goes that practiced control he'd built. No longer the expertly controlled sniper that crashes through locked doors and sweeps rifles over dim rooms. He was trembling over you like a dog. You gave a shaky nod and he continued, cautiously, carefully. Maybe the warmup made things easier, or maybe your own excitement overruled the creeping pain. Now that he was going, the whole world around you became irrelevant.

Your enjoyment of one another's bodies was chaotic and passionate, gasping and brutal. You were each fighting for control of the other, clawing arms and pinning shoulders. Your legs quivered when he pressed himself, nearly to the hilt, but the pain subsided. Brutal pacing made the knot in your core tighten, and you felt your organs shift with every plunge. It felt like heaven, and you couldn't get enough, wrapping your thighs around his waist with crushing intensity.

Gasps turned into pants, steady—until they weren't. Right when his breath started to grow ragged in your ear, opportunity struck. His time hunched over you had given you perfect access to the zip ties housed on the side of his kit.

His thrusts grew more erratic, and you could tell he was getting close. Unable to glance at your work in order to avoid him catching on, you blindly worked your shaky fingers to fasten one end of the tie around his wrist. Whenever you felt like he was coming close to identifying your scheme, you let out a breathy groan that latched his attention back onto your open mouth. It was working perfectly. With one hand attached, it's time for the other- though that will take a prime opportunity.

Nails dig into his jacketed bicep, sinking with cloth-splitting wrath as your blood boils at the fact that he has this effect on you. He left sparks on your skin every time calloused fingertips traced up and down your spine. It made you want to slam that can opener on the shelf into his prefrontal cortex. But that would mean you'd have to forfeit the breath-halting friction that his guided stroke offered. It's unfortunate that you'd taken kissing off the table, because by now you'd likely have bit his tongue clean off and made him mute for life.

When you lifted your hips up, arching as he walked closer to his climax, he inadvertently knit his fingertips together under your tailbone in an attempt to lift you to meet him. You stupid dog. With lightning speed, your hands snapped to clasp the other end of the zip tie. He recoiled, but it was too late. One last tug and the zip tie fastened with a series of clicks, locking his wrists together.

"Wh- what are you-"

It took all your strength and more to roll his weight over with shaky knees, unfortunately landing his back flat on the concrete rather than the plush mattress. Slipping out from under his arms, a second tie fastened his plastic shackles to the metal foot of the bed frame. The pliability of his confusion and clouded lust left him easy to manipulate, but sweeping realization left you without seconds to spare as he began to buck against his restraints.

"What the fuck is this?" He spat, staring up at his wrists fastened above his head.

"Did you honestly think I'd let you off the hook that easy?" You cooed, stepping to kneel beside him. "You underestimate me."

He was a vision. Long legs and clunky boots stretched out before him, and a shadow of his cock standing tall. It breached a lowered zipper in his dark pants, alert and twitching, probably agonizingly chilled now that it's out of the comfort of your warmth. His eyes were the best part though, dark and scathing as he wrenched pathetically to escape the tight cuffs. Even the bed frame heaved under his strain, making the 400-pound ironwork bed heave on the concrete with every yank.

"I want to talk to you now that I have your attention," you reached your hand over to touch the length of his member before you. It twitched under your touch, and his hips flexed slightly. "I want you to apologise for all the times you've hurt me."

"Bloody hell, we already talked about this," he barked.

"You talked about it, but I didn't get to say my piece," you grinned, working the pliable skin on his length with your thumb and index finger, watching him with eagle eyes.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He swallowed dryly.

"That time you left me on my birthday, do you know how much I cried?" Your voice was hard and stern, commanding his attention. "I was so miserable, I'd lost all hope in myself. You sapped me of my self-worth. I was vulnerable, seeking agency, and you crushed me."

You saw his gaze darken in a different fashion from before. This was your chance, and you snatched those bone-patterned gloves from where he'd left them in the knot of sheets.

"How the fuck was I supposed to know you'd throw a fit after that?" His gravelly accent made you smirk; it unsettled him.

"You might not have predicted that, but your eagerness to make me miserable since day one is finally catching up to you." Scratching Velcro heaved free, and you slipped your hands into one of his gloves, loosely slipping it over your dominant hand. They were clearly too big, but you pulled the knuckles tight enough that they wouldn't be too baggy.

"And it didn't help that I was left idle for all those months afterwards, left entertaining the idea that you'd snitched and lost me my career," you continued. "I'd worked myself into a bitter depression, thanks to you."

"Do you think I have control over when you're deployed?" He yanked at his zip ties again, "-and snitching on you would've cost me my career as well."

His outrage threatened to make him go soft, and that's something you couldn't stand for. Extending your gloved hand, you wrapped the scratchy fabric around his cock. He twitched again, and you pumped your hand agonizingly slow, taking your time to work him rigid.

"No, but your actions have consequences, lieutenant. You scorned me. You cut me so deep that I returned to my hometown, a place I swore I'd never visit, so I could try to find myself again."

You met his gaze, though his eyes were fixated on your steady working below his unfastened belt. His hardness came back almost instantly, feverishly eager and throbbing. The rhythmic drawing must be blissful, but his chafing gloves must be delivering the exact level of subtle anguish you were aiming for. He was lacking an answer for you, but that's alright. It's not his time to speak.

"You made me feel hopeless, lieutenant," your free hand shot to grip his jaw, just as he'd gripped yours, and brought his gaze to meet yours. "I felt empty and directionless, like how I felt when my family died."

He was unquestionably listening, though his half-lidded eyes ensured his attention. Slow and steady, you eased your pace slightly to ensure this session lasted as long as you'd planned.

"I think it's safe to say I don't handle rejection well, wouldn't you say?" You pressed.

No response, just gently moving hips under your steady grip. That's not good enough.

"Wouldn't you say, lieutenant?" You slapped your palm, hard, across his attentive cock, and he gasped.

"Yes, yes…" he trailed.

"Do you think that's fair, lieutenant?" You cooed, pouting your lower lip mockingly. "That you got to be cruel to me, using similar familial trauma we both share as an excuse?"

His half-lidded ecstacy halted as he considered your words. There's that anger, there's that outrage. Doesn't it sting, Simon?

"Fuck you," he spat, wrenching at his restraints harder than ever.

You pressed the issue, pumping your hand harder and faster, combating with his attention to wrestle him back into submission. His hips heaved and bucked as he kicked his feet for leverage, but you held on to him like a mechanical bull. You blessed the name of whatever Western weapons manufacturer created such ironclad zip ties to be able to restrain such a beast. They should seriously up their prices.

"Even after that, you didn't have the intelligence to see how much you'd scorned me." You turned to spit on his slick head, providing extra lubricant, spotting a pale bead on his tip. "And all those times afterwards. I had to press you to admit your vandetta, isn't that pathetic?"

His head slumped backwards, gently rocking his hips with your rhythm as you brutalized him with his own gloves. Such a poor, weak man. Come undone by you so easily, so readily.

"Oh, and don't get me started on all the times you were mean for no reason in particular."

He was approaching climax, evident by his shallowed breaths. Withdrawing your hand, he paused in his motions entirely, cock twitching and flinching.

"Let's see, there's that time you chided me for making small talk when you were in the hospital," you exaggeratedly counted on the fingers of his glove, teasingly looking up at the ceiling in thought. "There's the time you made me feel like shit when I was chatting with you in Mexico, remember that dress?" His eyes fluttered as you recalled that memory, solidifying in your mind that he only feigned apathy towards your skimpy outfit. "You were rude to me when we first met in Chita, and you were cold when I was nothing but kind to you in Verdansk. Ah~ you were also disagreeable with me only minutes ago, before... this. Along with so many instances where you were mean without cause, and staring daggers for no reason at all. Does this all sound familiar?"

When your vision lowered, his eyes were locked on you—dark, intense, and full of spite. If his hands weren't fastened with those same zip ties he'd used on gunmen and criminals hundreds of times before, he'd likely be thrashing you right this minute.

"You pick on people below you and flex your rank if they start to make sense." You cooed, leaning over him.

His eyes locked on your breasts that hung before him, but your fist around him once again commanded his attention. He snapped back to meet your eyes hesitantly, and his brown puppy eyes gleamed in the red light.

"What do you want me to do about it? You know what my intentions were now. I just didn't want- I-" he stammered as you started to wrap your fist around his rock-hard cock once again.

"I want you to apologize," you rolled your jaw in agitation as you spoke.

"Fuck you," the soldier trembled.

You hummed in satisfaction. Not satisfaction in his answer, but satisfaction that it meant you got to punish him more. It was exciting to work him to the edge and never let him find peace in the peaking conclusion. You couldn't help but feel your own ache coming on, watching him writhe and buck under your touch. Every muscle in your wrist had more sway over his fate than him, and his steady panting made it clear that you were on the right track.

His breath started to hitch, and you halted. Retracting your skilled touch, though not without the cost of slipping your own bare fingers into your dripping entrance. He noticed, almost immediately, craning his neck to watch you fuck yourself with your own two fingers. His eyes were forlorn and pleading. Again, you used your gloved hand to touch his eager length, but he sprung into that tipping point faster than you were expecting. He'll have to suffer this rising and falling tide until he learns to apologise, and like Pavlov's whistle, you'll grant him completion- if he's lucky.

Your slippery thumb slid over your clit, sending lightning bolts of ecstasy through your body. Fingers worked too, coming out glistening and gleaming from your depths, all under his watchful eye. You didn't even have to touch him right now. His lifting hips did enough to communicate his proximity. Still, no dice.

Giving it another shot, you waited until his contracting cock ceased and pursued your grip once again. Except you didn't. Your hand hovered over him, and he silently pleaded for more, craning to reach the comfort of his scratchy, gruff glove.

"Do you want to apologise to me, lieutenant?" You purred, low and sultry.

He gasped again, resting his head back down on the cold concrete, hearing the low thunk from his helmet connecting to the floor. Unsatisfied, you let your bare fingers slip back into your folds, and the soft squelching of your self-indulgence made his attention snap back to you. You couldn't help but chuckle lowly. The second your hand connected with his cock, it felt electric with anticipation. A little too close for your liking. He'll have to cool off. You're close to cracking him, and this time, you'll find peace.

Both hands fell to your side. He'll have to take a few paces away from that ledge before you can continue, and you watched him swallow hard as he caught his breath. A short time was spent waiting for him to unwind, watching his chest rise and fall. In your boredom, you took the initiative to unbuckle the clasps on the side of his vest, to his protest, hoisting it over his head and tossing it aside with a hearty thump. One less layer, he still had his dark jacket and long pants to protect him. But you continued, taking it upon yourself to unclasp the buckle of his helmet across his chin, calmly placing it to the side while he watched you like an eagle. He'd sufficiently cooled off, enough for you to move in for your most brutal punishment.

Lifting your knees, you planted yourself to straddle on his lap, midway over his muscular thighs. He bucked against your seating and muttered a series of 'fuck you'’s and other similar jaunts under his breath. You could deem his words as inconsequential, but that wouldn't be strictly true. With renewed outrage, you gripped his attentive and eager cock with brutal force. A groan caught in his throat, and you began to slide your fist along his length. Suddenly and barbarously, you pumped his cock with vicious speed, watching his mouth warp and open through the black fabric over his mouth.

"Apologise, lieutenant," you chanted, feeling his muscles writhe under your flank. "Apologise for making me feel small. For making me feel hollow. For hurting me because you're not man enough to face your own emotions," in your fury, you'd worked yourself into a shout.

No response, won't he learn that that's not good enough? A glob of saliva from your tongue re-administered the slickness his glove had absorbed. His head shot up to observe. Your pace was punishing, and his fingers bound above his head flexed and strained into fists as you worked. For someone so obsessed with rank, it's pleasing to see him come undone before you, all while reminding him what relentlessly spewing about his status gets him.

"Apologise," you spat.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he pleaded, husky and desperate, "I'm sorry for hurting you. I shouldn't have been so mean to you. I'm sorry, I'm-"

His eyes were foggy, glazed over and unfocused. You'd worked him into a snivelling mess. Weak and hopeless, only a fraction of the desperation he'd inflicted upon you. Hopefully, this will be a lesson, lest you have to outfox him once again. He's not as all-seeing as he thinks he is.

"Good pup," you cooed, his whimpering sounded like music to your ears.

Ghost's muscles trembled under you, and your steady heartbeat began to blare in your ears. His pleas sound genuine as if he's come to understand the anguish he'd inflicted. Your bicep almost started to strain with your crushing force and thunderous pace, and you could see his mouth form a perfect O through the cloth of his mask. A rare glimpse, interesting. Hips flexed and bucked under you, feeling like you were riding the mechanical bull rather than wrangling it. His breath hitched and shallowed, and this time, you didn't relent.

A roaring groan tore through his chest, feeling like a drug in your system. Spasming and rising to bury himself deeper into your gloved fist, he spilled shooting white seed in pale ropes over his jacket. His breath caught and hitched as you worked the last dribble from his tip, wiping excess residue from his enormous spillage over his slick pants. Muscles slumped, and he looked like a vision of victory. You'd conquered this man, left him heaving and spent. Wrists fell limp, still securely fastened in his prison. Shaky breaths made his chest before you rise and fall, and you considered this a job well done. Now you just have to figure out how to free him without him thrashing you to death. You hadn't thought that far ahead.

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