#best chicken cookbook

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art. 

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

[mikrokcsmos]

That That (I Like That)

synopsis; in which your boyfriend’s loud moans and groans wake you up from your sleep at 4 in the morning and you’re about ready to throw hands — and so is he, but for completely different reasons.

pairing; vlive!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

genre; twinge of angst, mainly fluff and humor, Weverse live au

rating; PG-13

warnings; the word damn (x2) and suggestive dialogue/themes, just boyfriend koo in all his glory tbh

w/c; 1,283

a/n; don’t mind the poor excuse of a banner I tried to make on my own. shout out to @sftk0o for the perfect icons 💕

You tried to ignore it, you really did; believing the first loud moan you heard was a part of the not so innocent dream you found yourself in that involved your boyfriend only moments ago. Eyelids closing as you relaxed your body once more, head snuggling back into your pillow to begin the descent back into said racy dreamland — only for it to be interrupted by a loud distanced slam, your body tensing in fear, heart racing.

“DAMN.” He grunted, no – moaned out loud, you picturing his face instantly – brows pinched in concentration and nose scrunched cutely, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth. Can almost hear the low whine in your head that he always does just as he finishes—

Hands immediately searched the bed next to you for a warmth that was non-existent, all that greeted you being the cold fabric of the sheets that have been pulled back for quite some time it seemed. Another loud slam, accompanied by the same noticeable whine following not even a second later has you pushing yourself out of the bed, but this time not in fear, no.

This time it was because of pure and unadulterated anger.

Running on pure adrenaline, head in a fog and mind racing with worst case scenarios to what you’re about to witness has your bare feet bringing you closer and closer to where the noise continues to resonate from — the kitchen.

Just as you’re about to turn the corner, you freeze, hand on wall, a drawn out ‘damn’ piercing your ears that has your eyes welling with bitter tears on the verge of falling. Nails digging into the white of the wall, you push off, utilizing the momentum to push you the rest of the way into the kitchen and in full view of the sight in front of you.

Your voice dies in your throat, before it reaches your mouth, and you remain silent.

Jungkook has his head face down into the edge of the table, fists clenched on either side as his arms flex from the action. Quietly, you edge forward towards his hunched over form, eyes scanning the room around you for any other human other than yourself, and your body sags in relief as you start to piece together the cause of the grunts, moans, and curses.

Food. Fucking food. You should’ve known.

The aroma fills your nostrils, causing your own mouth to salivate and you weren’t even hungry. The smell of freshly sautéd chicken, scallions, and melted cheese wafts in the air along with the nutty flavors of sesame oil from the large skillet that still sits on the burner of the stove built into the table, most of its contents long gone. A bowl of microwaveable white rice sits next to a clenched fist, the other one now raised in the air as if preparing to strike someone, a spoon nestled in the last remnants.

Jungkook, still high off his food induced fever, pushes himself up to immediately unleash the finger guns of a choreo you know all too well at this point, his hips thrusting in time to the tune you have no doubt is engrained in his brain at this point as well as yours.

Despite your best efforts to remain as quiet as possible, you not missing the way his phone is suspiciously propped up against a stack of cookbooks neither of you have bothered opening yet that lets you know he’s currently live on Weverse, a puff of laughter from your lips causes him to pause mid hip thrust, wide doe eyes landing on your amused figure.

“The food was that good, hm?”

A sheepish, guilty grin is all you get in reply, his feet moving him towards you. When he’s close enough, his head dips down to brush a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Did I wake you?” He quietly questions, brows furrowed in worry when he notices the red that is prominent along your eye line. “Did you have a bad dream? Were you crying?”

The questions are in rapid succession, and you have to place the palms of your hands against his lightly stubbled chin, pressing his cheeks together and making his lips pucker at you like a fish to get him to stop talking long enough for you to explain.

“Your wanton moans are what woke me up, made me think that there was—,” you trail off, voice barely a whisper. “—other activities taking place in here that didn’t involve eating food.”

The sharp intake of breath he does let’s you know he understands the hidden meaning behind your words, his hands coming up to pull yours off of his face, and bring your body flush against his. A frown is now prominent on his usually smiling lips.

“Baby, I hope you know I would never cheat on you. Especially not in our house, and in our kitchen. This—,” his large hands trail down your sides, leaving nothing but warmth in their wake. “—is all I’ll ever want or need. You are it for me, jagi.”

A heat makes it’s way up your neck and to your cheeks, his words warming your heart and the inner guilt that festers within you unraveling.

As you stare into his brown eyes, you see nothing but truth and love, nothing but future and promise.

“I know. Im sorry for even allowing the thought to cross my mind. It was stupid of me to think. Besides, I don’t think I have to worry about any person stealing you away from me.” Your fingers interlock behind his neck, arms hanging loosely around his neck. “Food on the other hand? Now that’s what I should be concerned of. That chicken had you making noises I only ever heard you make in the bedroom.”

His head drops into the crook of your neck as he lets out an embarrassed whine, warm breath and lips that brush against your collarbone making goosebumps erupt on your skin and you shiver. His arms circle your waist in a vice grip as his upper body relaxes against your shorter one.

“Sleepy, baby?”

“Mhm. ‘m tired.” He mumbles into your skin sleepily, voice laced with a newfound exhaustion due to his full and satiated belly.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Yep, just gotta turn the live off first.”

“Jeon Jungkook, you and your random late night lives will literally be the death of you.”

He reluctantly straightens up, arms leaving your body to stretch up into the air above his head as he lets out a loud yawn.

“No, they won’t, baby.”

“Need I remind you of the candle incident?”

Eyes squinting at you, tongue in cheek, he remains silent and you know you’ve won this round.

“I’ll be waiting in bed, don’t take too long, okay?”

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, lips chasing yours for a quick, yet equally as lingering kiss that makes your breath catch in your lungs. Noses touching, he whispers so only you can hear.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, and your foodgasms.”

You snicker and turn to make a fast getaway, his fingertips only having enough time to graze the swole of your ass as you skip away from him and disappear around the corner until you’re out of sight.

It only takes five minutes for his sock clad feet to slide into the entrance of your room, and two seconds for his body to land on yours as you erupt into a fit of laughter on your shared bed that turns into soft sighs, grunts and moans that you know is because of you this time.

[farmerstarter]

Alex is my fave bachelor. Any random headcaons for him? Please and thank you! ☺

ʚ🏈ɞ ˚ · . Random Headcanons

tags: alex from sdv x gn! reader

Alex supremacy !! I love the personal headcanon of Alex being one of the best cooks in the town. Our favorite sports boy 🥰💞

𐙚⭑To your surprise, Alex is an amazing cook. When he moved onto the farm, he brought with him his grandmother’s many cookbooks. He promised to cook for you every day, and he made sure you had eaten enough before you started working. “Your body needs the fuel!” Alex would exclaim, sliding another pancake onto your plate. Without your knowledge, Alex contacted your parents to find out what your favorite foods were. Your mother did not waste any time and immediately sent her cookbook in the mail for Alex to skim through.

𐙚⭑He took it upon himself to help you on the farm, more specifically when it came to the chickens. After getting some tips from Shane, the brunette insisted he take care of the coop while you handled the crops. He was very adamant about it too. For his work, he only asked for an egg (which he slurped down his throat, much to your dismay).

𐙚⭑You, Alex, and your pets would always find the time to play catch on Saturdays. It’s Alex’s favorite day of the week.

𐙚⭑To make it easier for George and Evelyn to visit the farm, Alex fixed up the path towards it, laying down paths and shoveling away any roots and rocks his grandparents might trip over.

𐙚⭑Alex wanted to go with you whenever you went to the mines. It goes smoothly most of the time, save for that one time Alex’s jacket was absolutely ruined by a slime. He was so bummed out about it because Evelyn had sewed it for him. But his grandmother reassured him she could make another one for him. You were the one that actually sewed his new jacket under Evelyn and Emily’s guidance. You gave the garment to him on his birthday. He may, or may not, have cried buckets after the small birthday gathering. Both yours and Alex’s names are embroidered on the inside of the right sleeve.

𐙚⭑Alex gets REALLY into decorating the farm for each season and holiday. He loves putting up lights for Winter Star, setting up spooky decorations for Spirit’s Eve, and putting flowers all over the farm for the Flower Dance. You have the aching suspicion that he got this little quirk from Evelyn.

𐙚⭑Consider: Alex and Harvey being jogging buddies and Alex is the most aggressively supportive gym friend, ready to scream encouraging words whenever Harvey starts to slow down.

[1-800-local-slut]

rio getting to know shy reader but realizing she far from that now that’s she’s getting comfortable with him.

-🪡

He's Right

I hope you like this! I made it hella suggestive at the end. Please let me know what you think! I just started this show Rio is literally my baby daddy but I'm only like four episodes in so I'm if it's too out of character.

Likes and reblogs are very appreciated!

Pairing: Rio (good girls) x shy! black! reader

Warnings: cheating, mentions of traumatic past, cursing, suggestiveness at the end, reader has a boyfriend

I need him in a way that isn't natural, I need him in my draws NOW.

______________________________________________________________

"Can I help you with anything sir?" Rio glanced up, his sharp eyes leaving the book he was examining.  The Lord of the Flies or some shit. He was sure he read it in school. But that didn't matter. What mattered was the woman standing before him. His eyes flicked to her neckline, seeing the star shaped necklace around her chest. That right there was perfect, telling him everything he needed to know about her relation to his target.

The woman was the younger sister of King Jericho. Otherwise known as some lame ass pimp who made the mistake of stealing from Rio. And no one steals from him and gets aways with it.

He still remembers how he was sitting with Marcus in a McDonald's drive through. Marcus was eating chicken nuggets, getting barbecue sauce and shit all over his mouth. Rio was telling him to take it easy, then he heard chiming. His phone rang, and Mick told him that their man went ghost. And when they couldn't find him, that meant they couldn't find Rio's money. And THAT was a problem.

So to make a long story short, Rio had to go the long way and go to his family. Mom sent him and Mick packing, dads dead. Only person left was his sister. And that led him to the gorgeous brown skinned woman before him.

"Of course you can, mama. I need help, I'm looking for King." His eyes scanned over her entire body, looking for something, anything, that could get him some help. Her brown eyes, and long eyelashes blinked at him but they didn't show fear or recognition. Instead she stared patiently waiting for him to continue. Nothing, time to try something else.

"Is that a series? Or an author? Do you know the genre?" Trying her best to do her job, he watched her reach into her side for her walkie talkie. So she didn't know about the King part, time to check if she knew about Jericho.

"Nah, it's none of that. I'm looking for Jericho." And there it was. The second the words left his voice in his usual charming manner her eyes filled with panic. Goosebumps appeared on her brown skin and one of her hands flew to her hair. He noticed for the first time that it must be a wig, black hair was in waves down her body and parted down her middle. For some reason her shiny hair was oddly enticing to him. Her teeth sunk into her plump, glossy lips and Rio's eyes flickered over them.

"Like...from the Bible?" Her soft voice was like music to his ears. If only that sentence wasn’t so stupid.

"...The Bible." He repeated while narrowing his eyes. Either he was being played for stupid,which was not a smart thing to do or she was stupid. He wanted to believe the woman he just found attractive even for a moment wasn’t an idiot. 

“Nah girl. I think you know what I’m talking about.” Placing the book that was still in his hands on the table behind him. Her chest was heaving quickly and she was clearly beginning to panic. Rio moved his eyes up to Mick, who was looking at a cookbook with Snoop Dogg on the cover. With a wave of his two fingers, Mick began to intercept her escape.

“I don't, I'm sorry. I don’t think I can help you, maybe you should check somewhere else.” Slowly turning on her heels, she walked head first into Mick. His solid chest stopped her, and nudged her glasses further up on her face. Stepping back she softly groaned and readjusted her lenses.

“Now, this looks like an interesting book. Can you tell me what it’s about?” Rio asked, sitting down and Mick led her to put her plump behind, that Rio noticed when he saw her through the shop's window. She nervously took a seat. While clenching and unclenching her hands on her skirt, Rio watched her with observant eyes. With a glance, he motioned to the book attempting to get her to tell him the truth. With a shaky breath one of her manicured hands reached for the book.

“It’s Lord of the Flies. It revolves around this group of British boys who are stranded on an uninhabited island and try to govern themselves. Things go bad really really fast.” Her brown eyes met him once more and he smirked. In response, she looked down at the table and snuck two looks at him.

“Oh nice nice, it got a nice ending n shit?” With a swift nod, he hummed. He kept his eyes trained on the golden star dangling from her chest, probably bought with Rio’s money.

“Alright, here’s the deal. Your brother’s a bitch. He stole from me and ran out, and I need to find him. And I need you to tell me where he is.” She swallowed thickly. 

“And who exactly would you be?” 

“My name ain’t important moma. Just know, I know you. I know your mom, I know your auntie and your grandma, I know your boyfriend too. You mom is vicious, she sent my ass packing and told me to try you next.” Her eyes got wider and wider with each sentence. He’d probably be shocked too if his own mom sold him out. Her brother had always been trouble for her. At least that’s what he gathered. She’s had to get him out of trouble more than once. Mostly out of trouble with men, going on dates and what not for his sake. No way they weren’t talking any more. 

“Look, I don’t know anything about my brother. I haven’t talked to him in like 3 years! I can’t help you. Whatever debt he’s got with you, I can’t settle it.” With a scoff and a sigh, Rio rolled his eyes lightly. Her eyes went wide at his laughter, her finger digging into her nails. She was afraid of him. He didn’t like that, but that brother of hers seems  to have gotten her involved with a lot over the past few years.

“Relax, ma I ain’t gonna hurt you. I just need you to tell me where he is.” Her head shook quickly, her hair flying around wildly. She was still denying contact.

“That’s a nice necklace. You enjoying 21?” Her face went stiff. Her mouth opened slightly to respond, her glossy lips parting. Then they shut quickly as he saw tears well up in her eyes. He was right. The necklace was sent to her apartment by her brother exactly one week ago for her 21st birthday.

“I can’t help you. I don’t know where he is, this didn’t have a return address. It came in an Amazon bag! I mean, if I could I’d help you but I can’t do anything for you gentlemen.” She was trembling in her seat, and two tears escaped her eyes. But if she could receive something from him, she could learn exactly where he was. And given he had no leads, he had to settle for asking her to find out for him. 

She was crying like he had threatened her, and he partially imagined what type of people she had been around to warrant a reaction like this.

“Look ma, I just need you to stop crying. Can you do that?” He asked and she nodded, wiping tears from her face.

“I can’t just let you go though. Your brother sent you something and I need you to find out where he sent it from. That’s it. Tell you what, put this book on hold for me. Imma be back tomorrow, with enough to pay for it. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I just need you to learn this for me.” He slid out of his seat, leaving the trembling woman there and she placed her face in her palms in dismay.

______________________________________________________________

“Shit! What the fuck Rio?! You just break into my fucking house, you couldn't give me a phone call?” Growled the woman in a  slightly drunken anger. She turned on the lights next to the door and kicked off her heeled shoes. His eyes looked up and down her curved figure and she glared at him. Rio let out a laugh and his head lolled back on his shoulders. He was sitting on the back of her couch, petting her black cat who purred gently. Rio already found out that her cat adored anyone who fed her. 

“Well yeah baby. We still haven’t found your punk ass brother.”  Her eyes rolled hard into her head, and she threw her purse down and came around to the couch. Plopping down on her couch, Rio looked over at her soft skin covered by her golden dress.

It had been about two months. Two months since Rio went into the bookstore she worked at. Two months after the third day he entered the shop and she informed him that she found him. Then when he got there and found Jericho skipped out once again. And from there, something about her kept Rio coming back to bother the shy woman. Except she wasn't what he thought at first.

The woman slouched on the couch right next to him was vulgar, loud and proud, abrasive and more. She cursed at him, cursed out the TV, cursed out her mother and grandmother and boyfriend. She cursed out Rio. She was perfect for him. She was nice to him, despite their off putting first meeting. She put him in his place when she felt he needed it. She wasn’t afraid to tell him to shut his goofy ass up in her exact words. But still, sometimes he’d look at her and she looked just about ready to fold for him. And Rio liked that shit.

Now in a golden mini dress that she wore, with body glitter all over her breast was enticing Rio. She smelt like a mix of vanilla and a bar. In truth, if she could find her brother for him he didn’t care anymore. He could find him on his own with the clues they found at his last known location. In fact, soon enough they’d get their final location. He just liked bothering her. And it wasn’t like she was even bothering to look for him anymore. Last he asked she told him to suck her dick, she wouldn’t be searching for shit. 

“What’s wrong baby, you have a shitty night?” He asked, taking one of his large hands and cupping her face. He noticed her thighs pressed together with intense pressure. A smirk came across his face, and ran a thumb over her stained lips. She leaned into his touch and he waited for his answer.

“My boyfriends being a cunt again.” She sighed and her cat jumped into her lap, patting his paws on her soft thighs. Rio wanted to do that too, boyfriend be damned.

“Oh yeah?” He asked his hand itching down to her neck and his pinky scraping over the chain of that star necklace. That same necklace that pushed them to meet. Her eyes stayed glued to his, as she glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“He’s going on about not trusting my friendship with you. Then he told me to get the fuck on, since I didnt want to dance at the club. He was like ‘oh you rather dance with that other nigga?’ and I was like  ‘he’s not a fucking pussy, he could probably dance better than you’ so he told me to fuck off and I left him and told him not to come home tonight. You’re the other nigga in question. The niggas trippin, he keep bitching about it. He says he knows you wanna fuck me. He’s being a bitch, it’s making me want to cheat on him.” Suddenly he smirked at her. She raised an eyebrow, still feeling the heat of his hand on her throat and rubbing her thighs together.

“And what if I told you he was right?” His hand was now lightly around her throat, and he brushed pieces of her curly afro out of her face with his free hand. Slowly she began to process his words. Then a wicked smile crossed her face and she licked her lips.

“You should do something about that then.” Her voice now low and seductive, as he saw sparks of mischief in her eyes. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her soft ones. They pulled away for a moment and he lightly squeezed her throat harder. Licking his lips, he tasted the liquor and her strawberry lipgloss.

“I’m about to show you what else I’m better than his ass at.”

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

02/19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast & Crew; Rhys Darby; Con O'Neil; Kristian Nairn; Samba Schutte; Wee John Wondays; LubeAsACrew; Stats/Trends; Fan Spotlight; Engagement Prompts; LoveNotes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

Hey All, today's been an off day for me, so please let me know if I've missed something. Hope you all had fun!

= Cast & Crew Sightings =

== Rhys Darby ==

Well, our goofball of a captain is back with more Red Dead Redemption II, check out Part 2 below:

Rhys also did comedy at Bourbon Room Hollywood last week, and = tmiddendorfphoto on IG captured quite a lot of photos of his set. Feel free to visit them:

== Con O ' Neill ==

Whoops! I had this prepped for yesterday then completely forgot, sorry Con! Con was out seeing BettyRules in NYC!

== Wee John Wonday ==

Kristian had Samba on WJW Today! Lots of cool stuff they chatted above! If you're unable to watch right now, there's a small breakdown of various high points below:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Kristian Nairn (@kristiannairn)

Highlights/Things We Learned:

Samba baby's name is Ocean

Samba was kind enough to stand in for WJW when someone else had to drop off for work.

Samba loves giving Kristian middle names: Kristian Victoria Nairn / Kristian Alexander Nairn / Kristian Valaria Nairn, Kristian Venereal Disease Nairn / Kristian Damien Nairn / Kristian Nicholas Nairn / Kristian Tabitha Nairn

There were live doves that would shit on you on set, and they shat on Samson

Kristian was a professional Chef

Samba wants to do Cryptic Factor w/Rhys

Samba is big into ufo's and cryptids

Kristian is also into paranormal stuff

Kristian - In New Zealand saw weird things on the lawn of his rental place (weird creatures focused on the balcony of his room)

David Fane - ate all the cheese in Calypso's Birthday

They really appreciate all the fans trying to save OFMD and would LOVE to get a season 3, even if only for 2 hours.

Samba would like ot do a bts/blooper combo but has to get permission first

For the wrap party, the cast members got each other gifts:

Samson got everyone crocs

EDIT: David Fane gave them Samoan necklaces (ty @denizbevan)!

Kristian said his "Gifts got stolen"

Samba gave them pictures / BTS videos

Q: Who was most elusive in regards to BTS?

Joel - also Ewan

Q: Favorite Soup?

Sambas favorite Soup - Chicken Noodle (chicken soup)

Kristian's favorite Soup - Cream of Tomato

Q: Did anything change with Roach in S2?

Yes, he became softer / trusting

Q: Lots of great energy and hanging out between crew members and family, (not something often seen) what do you think led to that?

Casting director Alison Jones - awesome at casting

Energy on set was positive and acceptance from the get go that helped

Sailing training, stunt training, sword fighting together helped bonding

Everyone on the cast was odd, and people moved out together so lots of small found family situations

Long hours together

Note: Stede's story time everyone is actually asleep, cause they've been up for like 18 hrs

Q: What's your favourite dessert, that you could live off forever?

Roach - Chocolate Mousse, really fluffy and airy

Kristian - Black Forest Cake

Q: What was best part of working in New Zealand?

8 hr days instead of 18 hrs days

Nature was gorgeous

Maori Elders did a land blessing

Q: Roach played a lot of roles, what do you think was his main role?

Cook, Doctor, therapist in that order.

Q: Would Aamba release a cookbook?

If enough interest, Yes - OFMD Cast Favorite Cookbook

And Mac and cheese recipe

Cakes and desserts

Q: What's it like being a new dad?

Amazing , no time to catch breath, feeling a lot of protectiveness and excitement and energy to step up and take care of the kiddo So fulfilling, Sambas a great dad.

Original Script / Deleted Scene Stuff:

In original script: Roach was going to end up with the crew of revenge, but then changed the script cause Samba would look like a kid who stole his dads jacket, so Frenchie was cap

Originally Zheng called the crew "beta" instead of "tender" but they changed it.

Innkeeper deleted scenes:

Everyone's eating soup on deck, roach was supposed to be serving people soup, and Fang says "Ah, Leroy, I'm so glad you're alive?" and Lucius goes "I'm sorry do you think my name is Leroy?"

Oluwande was crying, Jim asks if he was, he says no he gets that thing when he's around grass, and Jim says "A yeah lots of grass around here"

Other deleted scene:

Kristian saying "its sizest" doing big guy stuff

And roach says he's stuck doing tall skinnhy guy stuff

Pete asks if he's stuck doing bald guy stuff

More Deleted scenes:

Ewan zip lines over first and yells: "I was born to fly"

Roach zip line screams quietly cause they tell him to be quiet, and then he lands and says, "why its so sticky I wanna go back", and he tries to get back on the rope but Frenchie flys in and knocks him over.

Another Delete scene:

Wee John was going to dress up as cupid, would have encouraged Stede and Ed, who would have danced to "At Last" and then when and boned.

== Samba BTS ==

In honor of Wee John Wonday's, Samba added some more BTS starring Kristian, and shared the video he talked about in WJW regarding Kristian's birthday.

== Lube As A Crew ==

Astroglide sent @Seven_Sugars a carepackage for a lovely review!

== Stats Stats Stats / Trends ==

Thank you @meowzawowza_ as usual for the awesome insight!

Trends! Thank you @merryfinches and @debphotog for catching these!

== Fan Spotlight ==

For those of you not on twitter, you may not have seen @wndrngnomad's collage's she's been doing each day for the cast members! They go back quite a while so I'll add them all to the repo, but they kind enough to give me permission to share them with the everyone outside of twitter!

== Engagement Prompts ==

Over on Instagram @saveofmdcrewmates have some engagement prompts for tomorrow: #CrossoverCruesday. Time to switch it up! What is your fantasy crossover beween another show and OFMD? Crossover AU anyone?

== Articles ==

Special thanks to @heide79728 on Twitter for sharing all these international headlines!

HBO MAX "praised the loyal audience that engaged with the series and contributed to building an interactive community around it." - Article in Arabic

"14 Recommended Series-fans are already deeply engaged in a massive campaign to encourage another network to buy the rights and produce another season to give the story the ending it deserves" - Article in Hebrew

== Love Notes ==

Hey lovelies.

Have you had any water lately? Did you get to go outside and take a walk? Please remember that you need breaks sometimes, even if they're only a few minutes here or there.

You deserve rest-- and when things get rough, your brain needs a couple minutes to reset. Remember to take care of yourself and practice some self-care.

Self care means fun too!

Do something you enjoy that makes you smile. I'm not a fan of sticker/sticky things-- but I know a lot of people who love googly-eyes so I figured this was appropriate.

Anyway, gnight/gday crew, have a lovely one.

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

I think I've done this Darby one on these recaps before, but I needed to have a theme tonight, and the them is well, I think you know. Yes that is Taika in the stash, from "Boy".

[matamisin]

I am absolutely living for the Stardew art. I love that game so much and have over 600 hours of playtime in it. I did have a little bit of a request but feel free to ignore! Could you rate all of the potential spouses based on your personal interpretations?

Hiii!! Yes yes yes thank you for this ask- I planned to do quick portraits anyways! <3 <3

But let's start!!

[PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, reblogs welcome! >:3c)

Harvey: 10/10

Handsome yes yes

Very sweet and loyal like bro LETS GO that's all I need

Doctor?? AKA he fixes up love interest who regularly gets into trouble? Endless possibilities BRO this is my favorite trope to write/draw about

HOWEVER HARVEY DOESN'T ACCEPT ANY INSURANCE HE JUST CHARGES OUR ASSES bro I'm trying to have a tender moment of almost dying and him worrying and then BOOM hands me my bill like "see you at home honey ily"

Overall he would treat us right yes

Animals LOVE his ass but he's awkward with them LOL

He's often a tired man due the clinic but he'll pull through to do things with the farmer when they're dating (like outings)

In the beginning when farmer is frequently getting hurt in the mines and being brought in hurt, he buys them a walkie-talkie. He's said multiple times that he doesn't recommend going in those dangerous places but learns that farmer's determined to keep going so he'll do what he can to make sure they can relay when they need help

He'll chime in on the walkie when he sees farmer going towards the mines and has them check things off a mental list (hi, this is Harvery- going to the mines? Do you have your weapon? How about food? You have your first-aid kit on you too right?)

This man will be TENSE the whole day when he knows farmer is in the mines. He'll only ease up once he knows they're not in there anymore

Disclaimer: from here on most of what I write will be 100% from my head because I haven't married anyone else yet LMFAO

Sam: 10/10

I interpret him as the golden retriever type- very hyper and friendly

That just makes him 1000% more loveable

HE'D TREAT US RIGHT

Very good with kids cause of Vincent which is like YES

A little blunt sometimes but that's wassup

Doesn't eat the best (AKA I give him two pizzas every week. Hmm. So maybe that means I'M the problem lol)

Also doesn't really know a lot of cooking, but when he moves in farmer finds new-looking cookbooks tucked away in his spaces

I feel like he'd be the type to have a switch in attitude- he's v friendly UNTIL he has reason to distrust/not like someone and then he'll flip from bright to cold (especially if the person has bad intentions about somebody he cares about)

Doesn't realize farmer and him are dating he just thinks they’re hanging out a lot and just kissing as really good friends

When he does realize they’re dating he gets all flustered and red

Would let you win at Mario-Kart

Despite his goofiness, he knows how to be a gentleman. He's always keeping an eye on farmer and making sure they're okay. If they're out together, the moment the sun goes down his jacket is on farmer's shoulders. When it's raining and he wakes up late and sees that farmer has gone out of the house for the day, he'll get up quick and run around with an umbrella and a thermos of hot coffee until he finds farmer. He'll follow farmer around with the umbrella covering mostly farmer, so he gets pretty drenched.

Very vocal about his love

Shane: 10/10

Ah the chicken man himself

ALSO GREAT WITH KIDS but in a different light- he's way more protective about them whereas Sam is more the laid-back and playful parent-figure (he throws his children into the air)

Recovering from his alcoholism and the habits that came with it (messiness and cluttery) but he's trying his best aww

Will rub his stubble on your face when he comes in for a hug ouchie

Even though he is not a dad- he just comes with dad stuff (dad outfits, dad jokes, EVERYTHING)

His chickens are protective of him so you must prove yourself worthy

(In my headcanons, Joja is kinda twisted) Will start to distance himself from Joja after farmer tells him of how they're trying to hurt the Junimos. He may eventually quit to work elsewhere, even though he doesn’t really know what Junimos are but something about farmer telling him about them seems sincere

He's very cuddly after getting to know him and dating. His love language happens to be physical touch and every touch makes him fall harder

This also means he gets a little sad when it's summer and too hot to cuddle that farmer turns around in their sleep. He gets pouty in the morning after until he gets a kiss LMAO

He'll frequently realize how messy he leaves his spaces, and will clean up. He tries to upkeep the cleanliness and manages it for a few days before it starts to get messy again. Sometimes it lasts a while, but sometimes it just slips his mind due to bad habits

Farmer pops into mind every time he has an urge to drink, and he'll shake it off and go do something else for them. He's DETERMINED to be the best person he can be for farmer

Alex: 10/10

A little rough at first lol- his attitude is very icky in the beginning BUT he's cute 

Once you get through that exterior he practically does a 180- HE'S SO SWEET AND CARING and no longer uhhh icky

He would tackle things for you (can he help farmer out of the mines when they pass out in the game? If he does I'd like to think he just picks them up and BOOKS it for the exit knocking anything in his path down LMFAO)

Becomes pouty when he gets a little jealous

Again he's very sweet- he kisses Evelyn and George on the cheeks every morning before he leaves the house, he often thinks about his late mom and visits her grave with flowers from Pierre's and has a small picnic there

I feel he would be prone to dreams about his mom, waking up in a cold sweat and tears. After the 8-heart event he gets up and does something sweet like making a whole breakfast for Evelyn & George or giving Dusty some quality time with walks, playing, and a good treat

Will be extremely protective over farmer. Farmer gives him a heart attack every time they go to the mines or the skull cavern or even in the sewer like baby what are you doing WHY ARE YOU GOING INTO THE MANHOLE

The caves he can't follow farmer with because he knows he isn't trained to fight monsters like farmer is and might hold them back instead, but he'll wait outside or tell Harvey that farmer's in the mines instead

Doesn't come out with it but he needs a lot of reassurance due to abandonment issues. He gets a little clingy and touchy but a little shy. (reaching for farmer’s hand/just pinching onto a part of the farmer’s clothes and holding on)

Sebastian: 10/10

This one might be rough cause I've never really felt much for him IM SORRY

Once farmer asks him out he's very unsure how to proceed. He'll call them things like dude and bro *with love*

It's literally like pulling teeth for him to call farmer honey just cause he's never been the affectionate type till now hehehe he'll try to say it and then drop to his knees like OTL and curl up (He'll get it eventually tho- this is just like the first few months LMFAO)

He has frogs right? He'll show you his frogs 

Your void chickens will love this emo boy they just vibe y'know?

He shows his love through acts of service and gifts, finding out the things you love and bringing them to you

As awkward as he is, his true intentions are very evident when he starts to really try to reconnect with Robin and asking her for advice on most anything he hasn't much a clue about.

He wants to be able to properly feel like part of his family, because farmer tells him that he deserves to feel loved there too. He’ll have a difficult heart-to-heart with Robin, Demetrius, and Maru and over time the family dynamic starts to heal. Sebastian is eternally grateful for farmer and tells them about the relationship and they’re all overjoyed to have farmer as part of the family too

He WILL stop smoking if farmer ever raises concern for his well-being

He starts to come out of his shell more (in general) as he and farmer progress their relationship. He tries his best to be a great partner, and everyone can sense that his demeanor is a little bit brighter than before. He starts to not be as shy about PDA too

He has many hoodies for farmer to steal HOWEVER they're all the exact same pair HAHAHA

Elliott: 10/10

I may also struggle with Elliott for similar reasons

Handsome right off the bat bro

But you'll never be able to be the one with the great hair in the relationship cause man he dominates in that

I see him as a gentle lover- very old-school romantic

He writes farmer love poems and songs often HE WILL SERENADE FARMER EVEN THOUGH HE'S ALREADY MOVED IN

Has pictures of farmer EVERYWHERE like his desk, in his books and notebooks, and has one of those accordion picture holders in his wallet of farmer and himself (and their child(ren) when time comes) He shows them off to the other villagers at the Saloon even tho they literally know farmer LMAOO

Has a very comforting vibe to him- he knows how to coddle farmer after they take a visit to the clinic

He'd let farmer use his favorite pen, trusting that it would return to him

Romantic gestures are EVERYWHERE. Songs, poems, so many pretty flowers in farmer's hair. 

I think he'd be the best cook out of everyone. Farmer wants to go out on a fancy date out of the village?? S'NOT GOOD ENOUGH- Elliott will change the whole decor of the kitchen and spend hours cooking and preparing for farmer to come home and then he plays all the roles (waiter, bus person, lover, etc) through the entire meal. But if farmer really actually wants to go out he'll go with it

Bachelorettes will be done in part 2 soon!

[proboblynotstriaght]

I put far too much effort into my shitposting and screenshot taking...

Oh well! you all seem to enjoy them! And I like having all my best screenshots in a place that doesn't take up a crazy amount of space in my computer!!

As usual past the cut there are spoilers for episode 40 but I try to keep it away from any major spoilers

(also psst, @raeemar this is for you! your reblog made my day!)

Let's get into Episode 40!!!! Rich : The bean footage is a DM thing I can't say it! ||| Mike : eeeeeehhhh we can change it?

Bro bonding moment, bullying lornings edition

Twig : *explaining fae deals and how to make better deals* |||| Gricko : *not paying attention*

Nikkie : *doing a fantastic Torbek impression!* ||| A++ Nikkie Torbeks voice is hard

"Twig we haven't run a successful business in all the 8 years-" "Woah now!" uh oh! the couple is Fiiiighting

"Think of the margins we'll have on the Displacer Beast piss"

Frost : So are we going to kill these fucker or what?

"I guess that makes sense... fucking nerd"

"I knew a guy who would make and sell this kinda stuff, 5 people died it was a whole thing in the news and everything" "Well how many people did he sell it to" "Like... 5"

"Well, I'm just going to say... shit that was funny"

"How long did it take those goblins to die?" "the last one lingered... for a good three months"

Twigsy, blacked out from all the alcohol, and flailing around as Gideon picks her up

His face haunts my dreams...

Derek : *a punny name for the drink* || Gricko : that's not very good

Frost and Kremy are drunk, Gricko and Gideon are trying to be the smart ones for once

"Frost you realize that you've been writing with a chicken leg, and what you thought was parchment, is now clearly human skin" "Well, I've completed page one of my cookbook, the Necro-Nom-Nom-Nom"

"He is continuing to do whatever Torbek does" "Pump his fists" "NO HE DOES NOT"

Grickos imitation of Gideon, I just need you to know that Mace is laughing so hard that it's not actually audible.

This man is laughing so hard he is completely silent and shaking, I'm genuinely concerned for this mans health

Derek : It doesn't even give Gricko a little wink? Like John Void at the end of Anaconda?

I love when Derek makes a joke because they are funny, but also he's almost laughing himself as he's telling the joke

Richie : I'm sorry I thought he was saying something else

guys it took me like four trays to get the screenshot of his face, IT'S SO FUNNY

MIke in Gricko's voise : Gimmie that Bussay

"The Stream Kill-inator" "beep beep beep"

Husband moments be like. FRosty really likes to irritate Kremy about his hat huh

SHUT THE STREAM DOWN

"BEEP BEEP BEEP"

I don't understand most of the references they make but I like how hard they all laugh at them

Derek telling a ridiculous story of how he had too watch the same movie twice in one day and he hated the movie both times

Nikkie : *Horrifying description of Torbek eating one of the Lornlings* Just kidding that doesn't happen!

Singing : It's Torbek It's Torbek, Everybody hates Torbek

Part 2 of this post is one the way! These posts keep getting longer and longer

Edit : Part 2 is here!!!

https://www.tumblr.com/proboblynotstriaght/760423614759714816/part-2-of-my-episode-40-screenshots-despite-andy?source=share

[wri0thesley]

cycle - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (4.3k)

it all comes back. again and again and again.

as before: if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!

cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con, physical violence against reader. reader is fem, referred to as 'good girl' and is implied to be chubby.

this was a commissioned work.

You have gotten good at pretending. 

It is far easier for everyone if you pretend you have always lived here; that Lucas’s cabin, and the woods surrounding it, the chickens outside and the old dining table and the cosy decor are all you have ever known. 

When you had first come here, in those first few weeks, you had tried desperately to hold onto all of the vestiges of your old life. You had squeezed your eyes shut in the shower and tried to recall the scents of your own shower gels and shampoos and not the mixture of half-empty bottles that sat on shelves in Lucas’s bathroom. You had crawled beneath blankets and pillows and hugged yourself and tried to remember the feel of your own mattress and your own threadbare teddy bear. You had been terrified that they would slip away, and you would find yourself forgetting all of the things that made you yourself--

Now, you think it would be easier if they had. 

If you had been granted a blank slate, you wouldn’t have to worry about the things you’ve been given and the things that adorn the cabin and their provenance. When you pulled a blanket over yourself on the sofa, or laid the table with a new embroidered tablecloth, or looked through the shelf of curling old paperbacks, you wouldn’t need to think about how many other hands that they have passed through. 

So you pretend that you have it instead. 

Things are just things, after all; merely objects, not people, not memories themselves. Who is to say that when Lucas goes into town, he doesn’t take an hour or two to wander into thrift stores? That he doesn’t have a weakness for things that have already passed through many hands before his own? Out here, in such a solitary existence, perhaps he even enjoys the reminder that there are other people in the world--

Well. From what you’ve seen of Lucas, and heard him mutter beneath his breath on days where his eyes go dark and angry and his face sets into a scowl . . . from what you remember in flashes of the night that you and he crossed paths. . . You don’t think that’s it.

But it’s still a comforting lie to whisper to yourself when you find a pair of initials stitched into the napkin you delicately wipe your mouth with. 

Lucas himself is more than happy to help you lie to yourself, even if he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. He’s a man of few words already, but even fewer of those words ever seem to concern anyone aside from the two of you. To listen to him sometimes, you would think this cabin was the last place standing on earth - that you and he were the only two human beings who lived. 

He mentions, once or twice and only off-handed, a childhood. He says something about milking cows on the farm growing up; he mentions his mother’s apple pie when you make an attempt to bake one after finding a recipe in an old cookbook. 

(You do not mention the careful handwriting that occasionally interrupts the recipe; the crossed-out ‘half a tablespoon’ of cinnamon into ‘a tablespoon and a half’. The note to the writer, for future reference, that the oven is finicky and to give the pie crust an extra ten minutes. You convince yourself that those, too, are simply the echo of some secondhand store that Lucas picked the recipe book up in). 

So you know at least that he did not spring into being fully-formed, though the thought of this huge hulking man as anything other than scarred and gruff seems almost laughable, when you see him going out in the middle of the night with an axe swung over his shoulder.

(“Go t’bed, angel,” Lucas had said, without even turning around to see your form silhouetted in the doorway. “It’s late. I’m just checkin’ on things.” He had said it like a man who had said the exact same thing a hundred times before, though as far as you could remember this is the first time that it had happened to you.

Waking up in the bed and not feeling the solid, warm form of Lucas himself beside you had made you nervous; made you felt as if there was something missing. And, of course, there was a horrible kind of sickness in that feeling too; that you have become so comfortable with your kidnapper that you are more perturbed to find him not there. 

No. Easier to forget that. To whisper over and over to yourself that Lucas is not your kidnapper, he is simply your . . . Your lover? Your boyfriend? Your husband? You don’t let the thought get that far. He is simply Lucas.)

He does not seem to think much of nostalgia. A practical man through and through - though he smiles, a few months in, as one of the little plants outside of the windows sprouts into bloom. 

“Daffodils,” he says. “Your dress had them on, that first night.” 

You amend the mental note. He has nostalgia only for things that concern you--

You try not to think of it, but the thought floats to your mind unbidden anyway like a blight on a field of flowers. If Lucas has had others who he has professed his love to . . . has he remembered those things, too? One day, will you fade into the rest of them and Lucas will not be able to remember if you were daffodils on a dress, or larkspur behind an ear, or a daisy chain around a neck? 

You turn away from the flowers and force yourself to smile at him; to let him wrap his arm around your waist and pull you against him and press his mouth against yours in a motion that you convince yourself is fine. 

Time passes. Lucas trusts you more; lets you wander about the cabin at will. Lets you into the kitchen without him despite the sharp knives - and, in return, trusts you to give in to him whenever he wants you. You let him kiss you and hold you and murmur sweet nothings and take you to bed, as you continue to chant to yourself that this is right, this is fine, this is how it is supposed to be--

There are no ghosts hovering above your heads. 

As it turns out, the ghost is hovering in the spare room, inside the drawer of a desk with an old typewriter sitting on it. 

Lucas has gone into town for supplies; you’re running out of milk, and you had gone to him, flushed and awkward, and asked if maybe he could try and pick up some body wash in your favourite scent; you had said ‘please’ and looked at him hopefully and Lucas had barely even needed you to finish before he’d been smiling at you and kissing the top of your head and adoringly telling you that he’d get you anything you wanted, so take a think about it for ten minutes and bring him back a list.

(You hadn’t pushed your luck too far, but you’d made a modest little list anyway - a fantasy book, if he could, because so many of his books were crimes and thrillers. A bar of chocolate or two. The aforementioned shower gel. Lucas had even smiled at you and told you what a sweetheart you were, how he’d keep an eye out for a surprise--)

But you were allowed in here, now, so you hadn’t felt bad about looking for something to do. You can only bake so many pies and cakes; Lucas had mentioned that there was probably stuff in here for drawing, if you wanted, or even sewing or embroidery, a jigsaw puzzle or two . . . You’d picked up a few options and discarded them (neatly) before you’d even gone near the desk. If you hadn’t - if you’d decided, actually, you would sit and do this cross-stitch kit of ‘home sweet home’ instead - perhaps things would have turned out differently.

But you don’t. You open the first drawer and disregard safety pins and discarded post-it notes (one of them has ‘help’ scrawled over it in black ink, over and over and over - you definitely disregard that one). You rifle vaguely through stubs of pencils and a manual for a sewing machine before you open the second.

The second drawer contains only one medium sized sketchbook; the spiral-bound kind with a wooden kraft cover that people like to draw straight onto. This cover, though, is totally free of any stickers or drawings or even a name - so you assume that it’s empty and fish it out of the drawer, wondering if maybe taking up drawing to pass the time might help (you see plenty of wildlife and fauna through the windows, after all). You even sit down at the desk before you open it and get one of those stubby little pencils, just to draw some circles and exercise the wrist before you become unavoidably disillusioned by your inability to draw even the simplest blob of a bird or flower.

And then you open it, and you feel your heart plummet directly into your stomach. 

It is so much easier when the ghosts that haunt the cabin are faceless; when you can pretend. But whoever had this book before you and floated about this cabin before you and had your side of Lucas’s bed . . . they were using it like a scrapbook, and you’re faced with a Polaroid picture smiling directly up at you, the backdrop very obviously the sofa of the cabin. 

(Lucas holding the camera, then).

You shouldn’t look at her. You should close the book and forget this ever happened and go back to pretending - but some kind of roiling fear in your stomach means you cannot do that. You stare, instead, directly into her eyes - and you’re struck by how much she looks like you. How even her body language is similar to yours. She has the same shade hair, the same figure-with-a-little-too-much on it. 

(Lucas has a type, then). 

She has a name, written there plain as day. You read that too, and wish you hadn’t. 

Once you have opened the flood-gates, you can’t stop yourself. You flip to the next page - it’s some kind of scrapbook-come-diary, and the date (six years, three months earlier) is written neatly in the corner. A drawing of a robin, in a shaky but careful hand - a pressed flower that the note says Lucas picked for her, with a smiling face. You can’t breathe.

The next page details a day spent baking. The next one, excitement that Lucas had let her go with him to see if the chickens had laid. The days aren’t one after another, but they’re close together - and they’re sickeningly similar to the days you spend with him, trying to fill the stretches of time without going mad. There are even direct references to things that you’ve seen and touched and handled - the sewing machine was bought for her, it was her hand that embroidered the napkins, the half-empty bottle of the rose scent perfume that you hadn’t liked had once been hers. 

There’s a pause in days. A few empty pages, where she’s half-heartedly tried to draw a chicken pecking at her feed, a snowy landscape. 

The ninth of September. 

“It would have been my dad’s birthday today. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? I wonder if he’s looking for me. I tried to ask Lucas if I could at least send a card.”

She does not bother recording Lucas’s answer. 

The twenty first of September. 

“It’s like being a dog on a leash. I asked him if I could go for a walk into the woods; I promised him I’d come back, but he broke the glass he was holding and I didn’t ask again.” 

He’d have the same reaction to you asking, you know it. Your stomach writhes, bile rising in your throat. There are no more drawings on the pages now; weeks between entries, her handwriting getting looser and wider, like she’s writing in a rush afraid of being caught. 

There’s frustration and anger and sorrow bubbling in her words. She talks about being trapped. She mentions the blood on his clothes, the sharpness of his axe, that she knows exactly what it is she’s eating when he brings her meat from his freezer. 

The eighth of November. 

“I think he’s getting tired of me. I think I pushed him too far. I think I’ve been bad; I think I’m not what he wants. He still says he loves me but . . . maybe he loved the others too.”

She mentions the pyjamas in the drawers; the different sizes. She asks the notebook who else has lived in these walls and who else has wanted to run. It makes your heart ache. 

The twenty-seventh of November.

“i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home’

Here, you recognise the handwriting and you know that it was her hand that had scrawled ‘help’ so many times, and you can no longer disregard it like you wanted to. 

The eighteenth of December. 

“He’s going into town. Before he gets back . . . I’m going to do it. It’s snowing. It will cover my tracks. I’m going to do it. I’m going to go home.”

There are no other entries. 

It gets harder to pretend. 

Snippets from that scrapbook float to the front of your mind unbidden, at the most inopportune of times. Lucas notices you’re shivering and insists he’ll make you a steaming hot cup of tea, and as you raise it to your lips you can’t help wondering if she drank from this cup. How many other mouths have lingered on this rim, how many other hands have cradled this porcelain? 

Lucas tells you that he loves you, his eyes tender and the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you wonder how many others have heard the same three words; the same inflections, stood in the same place? 

He brings a present out, the week after his trip into town, that he tells you he was saving for you - another book. Ordinarily, you’d be thrilled to have something to fill the time - but instead, as he passes it to you and smiles and waits for you to thank him, you can’t stop thinking about all of the other things that he’s bought as presents for people who are not you, that still sit here unused in this graveyard of a home. 

He never even mentions them.

Maybe if he did, that would be better. 

But Lucas treats you like the two have you always coexisted; like neither of you had too much of a life before this. Oh, he doesn’t mind hearing about your far-off childhood - but you have the distinct impression that if you mentioned your job (the one you have not returned to for months), the man you were having the briefest flirtation with, the wedding of your cousin that you missed because you were kidnapped by a murderer in the woods . . . that would not go down so well. 

The thoughts won’t stop coming; the reminder that Lucas is, for all of his gentle kisses and low voice when he speaks to you and his careful touches so he doesn’t hurt you, more monster than he is man. That you are eating people, when you take a bite from the end of a fork that has surely been in other hands. 

(How long does human meat last, you wonder. The ones who did not make him happy . . . do they end up in the freezer? Are you eating someone who once laid their head upon your pillows?)

And if he has done it before . . .

Who is to say that he won’t grow tired of you, too? That one day you will say the wrong thing, and the cycle will begin anew? You have never thought of yourself as ‘special’ before - you have always been secure in the knowledge and comfort of your own ordinary existence. So what is it that Lucas sees in you, that makes you any better than the rest of them? 

(The thought of other people wearing the things Lucas has picked out for you, of someone else rifling through your fantasy paperbacks or lathering their hair up in your shampoo haunts you at night). 

You think about asking Lucas. 

He never misses a chance to compliment you; he tells you how beautiful you are, how much he adores you, how he would kill for you and protect you with his last breath. So perhaps, if you worded it well enough, he would explain to you why you have not yet found yourself sizzling in a frying pan or bleeding out in the woods--

No. You can’t.

You are walking a fragile tightrope already. Your spine stiffens whenever you say something to Lucas, in case you say the wrong thing - you lie awake in bed next to him, his arms wrapped around you as tight as a vice. You stumble over yourself to please him, just in case--

You feel the way that you’re running yourself ragged. The ache in your bones, in your head - the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your hair dulls as you begin to forget what any other setting other than ‘stressed’ feels like. You hope that Lucas doesn’t notice. 

Your hopes are dashed. 

It’s before bed, one night. Lucas has pulled you into his arms and peppered your face with kisses, has insisted that you let him brush your hair (the monogram on the brush shines in the light of the bedside lamp; it is not your initial). And he says to you, turning you to face him, his voice very soft and cajoling and just a little awkward;

“Darlin’? Y’mind if I ask you a question?”

Your heart races; hammers against your chest, tries to crawl into your throat.

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “Of course not.” 

“I ain’t trying to offend you,” he says to you, his voice still awkwardly gruff. “But . . . sweetheart, you ain’t been looking well recently.”

“I--”

You grasp wildly for a way to respond. 

“If you need anythin’ . . . You ain’t been sleepin very well, have you? You need a hot water bottle? Some . . . pillow mist, or somethin’? Onea those fancy drinks you have before bed to get you to sleep? You name it, sweetheart, I’ll get it from somewhere--” 

He sounds so concerned.

Had he sounded like that to all of the other people? Had he noticed that their nerves were fraying and tried to soothe them, like he actually cared? How much of the concern that leaks into that warm Southern grit is real; how much of it is an attempt to hide that he’s mad at you, that he’s getting sick of you, that he’s already wondering what you’d taste like? 

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it; a bitter little bite of a question. 

“How many others have there been?” 

You regret it before you’ve finished the last syllable.

The air changes between you; a charged fizz that tells you just how dangerous the ground you’re treading on is. Lucas’s eyes narrow; his mouth sets. 

“Others?” He asks you, and you know that you can’t get out of this now. Sometimes, when you’ve said something that has set his senses on high alert, you’ve managed to apologise and backtrack enough that he’s calmed. But now, his eyes are like keen green searchlights, and there is no way to avoid the question. 

You swallow. 

“How many other . . . people?” You say, lamely, not sure how to word it. “How many other people have lived here?”

His own voice is clipped, too. He doesn’t like this subject.

“Why does it matter, sweetheart?”

There’s a barb to the pet name that makes you feel sick, but now you’ve opened the floodgates of your own paranoia.

“How many others have you loved?”

There’s a barely perceptible twitch of his mouth. His words are infuriatingly even. Usually, his temper flares at the smallest things; you don’t understand how he isn’t hacking you into pieces. 

“None of ‘em who deserved it, except you.” 

Your breath begins to shorten; you can hear that you’re panting, when you next speak. Your chest is heaving. 

“A-and what if you decide I don’t deserve it any more? What are you going to do to me?”

“Angel--”

“I’m not - there’s nothing special about me! What if you decide that you’re sick of me and you . . . you killed them, didn’t you? What if one day you kill me? What if you--”

“Darlin’.”

This one is more forceful; it’s clearly intended to stop your panicking diatribe where it’s already going off the rails. But you are too far gone to be stopped now. Your voice just keeps going, the words like a flood, your entire vision blurring at the corners with the tears that you hadn’t even realised you were crying. 

“What if you kill me and eat me and you get someone else and they live here and wonder about me--”

If nothing else makes him kill you, it will be this; outright telling him that you know what the meat is, and what it is he’s doing when he goes out in the evenings with an axe glinting in both his hand and his eye. 

He reaches out for you and you try to slap his hand away, your movements erratic and awkward. You’re flailing and more nonsense is falling out of your mouth, the world around you a blur. Lucas is reaching out still, undeterred by the way you’re trying to push him away as you helplessly wriggle and struggle.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice. His brow pinches. “Poor baby, angel, you’re cryin’ - shit, you’re gonna make yourself ill carrying on like this--”

There’s that fake comfort. You are so far gone that you forget the thing that makes Lucas feel softest at all; you, helpless. You forget that he likes the crying and the sniffling, that he likes to protect and coddle and care - because all you can think about is what it would feel like for an axe to slam through your ribcage so your innards are strewn out on the floor. 

“Please, calm down-- breathe, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself--” He’s still talking to you all soft and sweet, and you’re still utterly lost in your own sleep-addled anxiety induced spiral as he tries to restrain you; he reaches for your arms, to pin you down so that your thrashing doesn’t impact you--

One of your flailing arms catches him, right across the face. 

There’s a sickening noise; the slap of flesh on flesh, the hard noise of a bone meeting another bone. You don’t think it’s hard enough to really hurt him, but it’s like a trigger has been pulled in Lucas’s mind and the air changes again. The fizz deadens where it was hovering; and instead, a heaviness settles over you.

You stop thrashing. You stop jabbering out nonsense. Lucas has you on the bed, pinned beneath him, and his face when he looks down at you is like thunder. You think it must be the same face that his victims see, before they die. 

You’re about to be added to their number, you think. You wish you’d left something as tangible as that scrapbook behind. A guide to survival, perhaps. Advice on how to try and break the cycle.

“Oh,” Lucas says, and that one syllable practically quakes. “Darlin’. You shouldn’t have done that.” 

Lucas tells you, afterwards, that you’re lucky he didn’t lose his temper.

He’d been infuriatingly calm, even though every movement blistered with unspoken anger, as he’d dragged you up and off the bed and you had trembled and quaked and waited for death. He’d been infuriatingly calm as his work-roughened, calloused palms had slid over your bare forearm, the soft inner flesh of your elbow, to grip your upper arm with both hands.

“You can scream,” he’d said, with that terrifying flat-and-angry-and-calm all at once tone again. “It’s goin’ to hurt. It’ll be clean. I know what I’m doin’. But it’s gonna hurt anyway.” 

And he’d twisted his wrists and he’d snapped.

Your humerus, he’d told you, afterwards. A break that won’t need surgery; that you’ll be able to recover from in the cabin. A sling and someone to take care of you is all that you’ll need, he’d said, and then he’d said;

“It’s for your own good, angel. It’s a warnin’.” 

He tells you that he’ll cut up your food for you, carry on brushing your hair, and help you in the shower. He lists off all of these things calmly - all of the things you’d once earned the ability to do for yourself, because you’d been so good and he’d loved you so much and wanted you to be happy.

You fucked that up, didn’t you? 

“It’ll hurt for the rest of your life,” he tells you. “It’ll remind you.” 

You wonder just how long ‘the rest of your life’ is. 

“Hey,” Lucas tells you, after you’ve stopped sobbing and whimpering and screaming. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.” 

Your eyes are puffed up and swollen; your nose is dripping, your throat feels raw. But Lucas still looks at you like you’re unbelievably beautiful. Like he’d kill for you. There’s a steel in his eye that hasn’t been there for some time, but . . . He gives you a small smile.

“Ain’t you beautiful.” He wipes an errant tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Be a good girl for me now, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t lose my temper.” 

It’s almost bizarre enough to frighten a laugh out of you.

You wonder how many others were given this kind of warning; broken ankles? Broken wrists? Broken fingers? Is it possible that you’re an echo of them down to Lucas’s violence? 

If this is him not losing his temper . . .

You dread to think what will happen - what has already happened - when he really loses control.

[starwarsanthropology]

Fuck Canon Tiingilar

i hate the canon tiingilar recipe with my whole heart. Look at this (original source Galaxy's Edge cookbook). This is supposed to be "blisteringly spicy Mandalorian stew or casserole"? This is a mild chicken curry.

It sounds good, but it's not the rich, spicy, flavor-packed mandalorian stew of my dreams.

Let's start by breaking down the etymology of tiingilar.

Tiingilar is broken into 3 parts: Tiin, gi, and lar.

Tiin is an underived form of tiin'la, or coarse.

Gi is the word for fish.

Lar is a bit up in the air; it could be related to laar, for sing (which anyone who's seen someone bite into something spicier than they can handle can understand), or galar, for spill/pour (makes sense for stew), or even olar for "here", which I suppouse could be extrapolated to mean "whatever is here" for a stew which has flexible ingredients.

But the really important bits are the "tiin" and the "gi"! The first chunk of tiingilar means "coarse/rough fish(y)".

The other food word we have with "gi" in it from canon mando'a is "gihaal", (which, hilariously, breaks down into fish-breath), a pungent fishmeal. It's long lasting and stable which means its probably a staple ration food. It sounds like it'd put most people off at first, but given mandalorian tastes prioritize strong flavors (draluram), possibly including pungent flavors, and "richly nourishing" foods (yaiyai) it's probably a pretty common ingredient.

Guess what fishmeal is! A very high protein (typically 50-60%, but up to 70% for some varieties!), nutritionally dense, and coarsely textured! It's used in any cuisines; some is processed for human consumption but I cannot find any sources that use it in food except in research aiming to combat malnutrition (shout out to researchers at the Abeokuta University of Agriculture for being the best resource about fishmeal in food!). Although we can't know that gihaal would be the same as our version of fishmeal (which is normally processed from whole fish), I think that we can assume that mando'ade woudn't be skimping on the inclusion of bone, which include a lot of valuable nutrients, and would make it coarse.

So, gihaal is a pungent, likely coarse fishmeal that is a staple nutritional supplement in, at minimum, field cookery. It would make nutritionally-dense, protein packed, and strongly flavored base for tiingilar. Makes sense linguistically and practically for mandalorians to build their cooking around nutritionally valuable and shelf-stable rations.

Which brings me to the mandalorian values in food! Draluram (bright mouth: intense, bold flavors), heturam (spicy as in heat burning in the mouth), hetikleyc (spicy as in sinus burn), and yai'yai (richly nourishing, which I personally take to mean both nutritionally dense and satiating) are the 4 canon words that express the priorities in mandalorian cuisine.

These values fit in with the inclusion of gihaal as a base for tiingilar, adding yai'yai if not draluram, but where's my spice? Where's my layers of spice, the sharp sinus burn that makes your eyes water and the creeping warmth that leaves you panting and the bright heat and the numbing and tingling sensation at your lips?

Definitely not in that yellow curry recipe.

The inclusion of ginger and cinnamon (from garam masala) are both nice, but think bigger and broader! Obviously, we don't have mandalorian herbs, but add spice with chilies, cayenne, ginger, horseradish, mustard seeds, sichuan pepper! Bring out warming spices like cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, star anise! Highlight the different elements of spice and warmth and flavor with enthusiasm and delight!

As for draluram, I think the pungent flavor of fish is a nice, bold addition to something for a unique flavor, but let's not forget other players. Aliums like garlic and onions are always lovely, but what about citrus? If mandalorians have behot, what's stopping you from adding in citrus juice or peel or some kaffir lime leaves? What about strong bitter flavors from vegetables you choose, like mustard greens or kale, or the rich savory taste of browned meats if you want more protein in your dish?

Yai'yai, we have a good base of protein and fat and nutritional content from the fishmeal, but why not build it out? Add sugar, both to balance flavors and because energy is energy and mandalorians certainly like their sweets. Fats and oils, other meats and proteins, vegetables and carbs. Add nuts, peanut butter, sesame for added bulk and another element of flavour. I want to see an end product that sticks to your ribs, that makes me skip seconds on not because I don't want more, but because I'm full on one serving.

Back to the etymology. Mild chicken curry is not tiin, nor does it have gi. It's fairly yai'yai, got decent draluram, negligible heturam, and no hetikleyc.

Tiingilar with a gihaal base (in irl cooking, any kind of fish base) and heavier seasoning to add multiple kinds of heat would fit all of those categories so much better.

So I guess in the end, I'm saying I don't have an idea of tiingilar as any one recipe, but tiingilar as a general dish that leans into mandalorian food culture and the literal meaning of the word. Maybe it's little gritty and somewhat fishy, but it's a rich and spicy and flavorful meal you can make with whatever on hand as long as you have a handful of staples.

Sources:

Adegoke, Bakare & Adeola, Abiodun & Otesile, Ibijoke & Adewale, Obadina & Afolabi, Wasiu & Adegunwa, Mojisola & Akerele, Rachael & Bamgbose, Olaoluwa & Alamu, Emmanuel. (2020). Nutritional, Texture, and Sensory Properties of composite biscuits produced from breadfruit and wheat flours enriched with edible fish meal. Food Science & Nutrition. 8. 1-21. 10.1002/fsn3.1919.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish_meal

https://mandocreator.com/tools/dictionary/index.html# for mando'a translations and definitions

https://www.reddit.com/r/Mandalorian/comments/mp1x7o/recipe_for_tiingilar_medium_heat_add_garlic/ for the recipe

[tianasimstreehouse]

Chicken Fajitas

If riding all day in the desert dust is working up an appetite, head over to Jack & Jill's Bar where locals say you can find the best fajitas in Chestnut Ridge.

Category: Meals

Ingredients: Wrapped White Meat, Onion, Bell Pepper

Skill Level: 6 (Homestyle)

Available sizes: Party, Family, Single

Dietary: Lactose Free

*REQUIRES the latest version of my TianaSims Cookbook to work* Download this here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/tianasims-64612779

DOWNLOAD (Patreon): Chicken Fajitas Milk and Cookies: Now! Sugar Cookies: 5th September Public: 12th September

[petermorwood]

An old article, but amusing regardless.

First it was James Lileks and the Gallery of Regrettable Food. What were the photo editors on these cookbooks thinking?

I'm well aware the colour quality of old pictures degrades and yellows, to their detriment, but IMO the images on that website can't have looked very appetising even when new.

There are ways to assemble variegated foodstuffs on a plate that looks attractive, and then there are these.

Dimly-lit meals for one and Sad desk lunches are yet more shuddersome antidotes to lovingly-photographed food porn erotica (porn would be messy close-ups of eating it).

However, despite what the article suggests, food photography doesn't need "the highest-spec kit while dangling from light-fittings for just the right angle" to look good.

*****

Using a phonecam while out with your friends in a crowded pizzeria isn't going to give the best results, but then neither is a joyless packed lunch on a rainy Monday in February, even if shot with a $33,000 camera like this Hasselblad, and full studio lighting.

@dduane's hobby site European Cuisines (down for maintenance) did just fine for years with a Sony W17, a compact digicam with a superb Zeiss lens.

Here are Sony shots of an apple upside-down cake made with Beauty of Bath apples from our own tree (they really are pink all the way through) and a quiche Lorraine just out of the oven.

After a while I got a second-hand Nikon D40 DSLR; the money saved on second-hand let me afford an excellent lens, a top-of-the-line flashgun and that neat little flash which is so much better than the camera's built-in one.

Here's the Nikon's take on last year's roast-goose-and-all-the-trimmings Christmas Dinner, as well as bacon (corned beef is the Americanised version) and cabbage for St Patrick's Day.

Now we're mostly using HTC U11+ smartphones whose cameras are not only top-notch but have excellent low-light capability.

This is good, because our lighting has always been mostly natural daylight with occasional flash and reflector-screen assistance.

Here are U11+ images of soda bread done in a cast-iron casserole or Dutch oven, and Geflügelragout (a stew of roast chicken with red wine and lemon) with saffron-pumpkin noodles.

This has become Brightwood Vintner's Chicken in the Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms project, and why not? It's delicious! Here's DD and U11+ in action, and the noodle close-up she was shooting in that pic.

None of the food we shoot is "styled" for photography with varnish for glossiness, paint for cream, machine oil for honey, microwaved cotton-wool for steam and lots of other cunning but inedible trickery.

Our stuff is all for eating - so much so that getting "photograph the food" and "eat the food" in the proper order can sometimes be a struggle.

Like these crumpets, for instance.

You would, wouldn't you?

I nearly did, giving DD conniptions because she hadn't photographed them yet, and the Kerrygold butter was melting Just Right...

In a choice between shooting Have To Eat images and Want To Eat ones, we'll stay on the Want To side of the fence, and if people looking at those pix also Want To take a bite out of their screens, we're getting the job done.

And we're not hanging from the light-fittings to do it... :->

[mariacallous]

Nigella Lawson (aka the Domestic Goddess) is Jewish, and has a surprisingly extensive archive of traditional Jewish recipes across her 13 best-selling cookbooks — from chicken soup and “dumplings” (matzah balls) tolots and lots of chicken.

“That idea of chicken,” Nigella told The Australian Jewish News, “I think it is essentially a Jewish thing.” In her TV shows, she’s often shown whipping up a chicken dinner, throwing ingredients into a roasting tin, emphasizing how easy it is to do, while a jazzy riff plays in the background.

With a famous love of Italy dating back to her adolescence, Lawson also explores dishes from the Italian Jewish kitchen, including a recipe for Venetian haroset. We’ve rounded up Nigella’s seven best Jewish recipes for you to enjoy:

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 36: Forever & a day

The drive back to yours felt longer then usual you dozed off sometime during the drive only to be woken up by the car hitting an odd amount of bumps in the road. You don’t remember there being many potholes on the way home from previous drives around town. You slowly raise your head to look out the window & take in your surroundings noticing you’re nowhere near home with the amount of trees you see & the dirt road you’re currently cruising down. “Uh Gareth where the hell are we going?.. what happened you finally got sick of me now you’re gonna murder me or something ahaha” trying to make light of what’s happening because you’re extremely confused “No Jame I’m not gonna murder you ya nut hahahaha it’s a surprise though & I’m not allowed to say but I will tell you that you’re gonna love it & that’s all I’m saying & nothing more” you start to get excited but still have that nervous feeling twisting around in gut like a swarm of butterflies claimed shelter inside of you. Gareth makes a sharp right down a small dirt trail & you start to realize you’re near you & eddies special spot it’s in the woods near the school but also close enough to the lake & then you see it. The twinkling of fairy lights & the burning of several candles & there he stands next to the table your love dressed so handsomely. Hair done to perfection a maroon button up black slacks new black converse & two bouquets of flowers with a million dollar smile. Gareth turns his head to you & takes your hand for a moment “Jame we’ve been friends since we were literally in diapers & me & Eddie are best friends blood buddies hellfire for life, you’ve both had a hell of a ride so far in life & there’s no two other people I root for then you & Ed. You both deserve to be happy & I’m glad you both found that in each other now that being said go get your man & thanks for being the best sister figure I could ever ask for” your eyes fill with tears you peck him on the cheek “thank you for always being so sweet & supportive Gareth you have no idea how much me & Eddie appreciate you truly” one more peck & you hop out of the car & run into Eddie’s arms. You take in his cologne the smell invading your senses like a drug you just can’t get enough of “hey princess” Eddie whispers as he rubs small circle on your back “hello handsome” he leans back to take you in & hands you flowers “I know you love lily’s I just wasn’t sure what kind & I want this to be perfect & I wa-“ you cut him off in a kiss feeling him smile against your lips “Eddie they’re beautiful & I love all Lily’s this is perfect” you sway side to side holding them & smelling each of them & look up through your lashes at him as he gestures for you to sit at you & his special table all decorated & a picnic basket filled with foods that look like he made himself “Wayne helped with the food a bit I didn’t wanna burn the trailer down” he said chuckling putting everything on the table “Ed’s is all perfect thank you pretty boy” his cheeks a shade of red you’ve never seen before he takes out a bottle of wine “it’s a special occasion & I know you love your moscato” he pours you both a glass & you both sit & enjoy the chicken cacciatore that Wayne & Eddie made which is absolutely delicious not to mention Wayne made your favorite dessert peanut butter cake with chocolate buttercream after you made it for him once you gave him the recipe with promises not to share with a soul because it came from your mom’s cookbook she handmade you when you were 12. She was very family oriented & wanted me to have every family recipe for when she was no longer here. You still wonder what the special occasion is but don’t wanna push it you here funny noises coming through the trees it scares you at first until you notice Jeff Gareth & Freak come from the shadows with some of their band gear & then see Dustin Mike & Lucas. “Hey guys oh my I haven’t seen you boys in awhile you run up hugging the younger ones before heading back to Eddie. “love what’s going on?..” he smiles at you “you’ll see beautiful just you take a seat we got the rest”

The younger bunch came with wood pallets in hand making a mini makeshift stage for the boys to set up on Eddie sneaking glances at you shooting winks or blowing you kisses when you catch him. You sit patiently kicking your feet as you sit on the bench dustin comes & plops down next to you. “Uh yah know.. I know you haven’t been a part of our party very long but regardless you’ve been one of the best parts of it & we’re all so glad to have you, you’re like the sister we all so desperately wished for im an only child so all you’ve done for me.. for all of us I just wanted to say thanks & that we all love ya” you hug him tightly “what’s with today is this make Jamie cry day haha I love you guys too” he goes to leave but you grab his wrist & pull him towards you to whisper “just so you know you’re my favorite don’t tell anyone” you wink at him & he gives you that Henderson megawatt smile & heads off toward the guys. The guys are all set & Eddie grabs the wireless mic “Tonight is gonna be one for the books not just for corroded coffin but for me & this beautiful vixen right here I love you sweetheart & hope to spend the rest of my life showing just how much I truly do so this is for you” Eddie’s fingers start to glide across the strings as they begin playing “Heaven” by Warrant your heart clenches eyes filling with tears he doesn’t take his eyes off of you until he feels the lyrics closing his eyes pouring his soul into it like the most perfect work of Art 🎼”I don’t need to be the king of the world as long as I’m a hero of this little girl… Heaven isn’t too far away… Closer to it everyday…No matter what your friends might say… How I love the way you move.. & the sparkle in your eyes… There’s a color deep inside them like blue suburban sky.. When I come home late at night And you're in bed asleep I wrap my arms around you So I can feel you breathe… I don’t need to be a Superman.. As long as you will always be my biggest fan… Heaven isn’t too far away… Closer to it everyday!!.. No matter what your friends might say… We’ll find our way!!”🎼 totally captivated by him as he by you the song starts to dwindle down & Eddie clears his throat before stepping closer to where you’re sitting “Sweetheart I just want you to know that everyday with you is like heaven, you have no idea how much light you’ve shined on my dark & twisted life. Before you I never believed in love or soulmates or any of that shit but the moment I laid eyes on you it was electrifying I just can’t explain it it’s like the voice in my head was just telling me to look over where you were & I felt this pull a magnetic energy drawing me towards you & then the first time I got to kiss you I knew for sure my soul found so desperately what it was looking for I’ve been with girls before you & none of them have made me feel the way you do. I feel like we’re destined for each other like we had one another in another life or time or space. Being with you feels like home to me you are home & if I didn’t have you I just know I wouldn’t be able to survive it my heart is yours eternally & what I wanted to ask is if you’ll have me for the rest of our lives” you’re hysterical shaking & sobbing Eddie steps off the pallets & kneels down on one knee in front of you “Ed’s?” He takes your hand all the boys are standing behind Eddie dustin & Lucas are crying & you hear a sniffle from behind you only to see Steve,Robin, Nancy & Jonathan smiling at the both of you “You’re it for me there’s no where else I’d rather be then wrapped up in you grow old with you our souls finally intertwined in the way the universe intended… Jamie Antoinette Baker.. would you do me the honor of being my wife?” Your breath hitches & you nod like a mad woman “YES!!” He quickly slides the ring onto your finger & engulfs you into a hug spinning you around to the point you start feeling dizzy. Everyone around you yelling & whistling. Dustin is full on sobbing along with Robin being surrounded by all your favorite faces the people you now call family life is starting to become something you’ve never thought it’d be

[mourntheantagonist]

I think that Steve and Billy turn into this super domestic couple when the summer of ‘85 hits. It’s the first time Billy can remember ever having so much freedom. Of course it’s not total freedom, and Neil still remains a looming threat, but Billy’s out of the house more than he’s inside it, and Neil doesn’t question where he’s going when he grabs his keys from the ledge. Billy graduated and has a job. He’s doing exactly what his dad expects of him, and the simple fact of him being a true adult grants him a lot of extra time outside his responsibilities.

Which means Billy spends a lot of time at Steve’s. Like. A lot.

He can only vaguely remember the last meal he ate at his house. It was just a week and a half after he graduated when he had an early shift and made himself some toast before heading out the door. He hadn’t had family dinner as he was normally working during that time. And when he wasn’t, well, he might’ve bent the truth about his work schedule those days.

He and Steve both got off work at similar times, clocking out just as the sun was beginning to set. Usually the person who was getting off last would pick up food from a local restaurant or fast food joint. They never really cared to have anything fancy. Steve practically lived off fast food since his parents started traveling more. Billy was the opposite. They never ate out. Not when he was a kid, and especially not after his mom left the picture. It was always the most bland home cooked meals or TV dinners.

Sometimes they’d cook for themselves, but it was rare. But those were some of the best nights. The two of them struggling to follow their way through Steve’s mom’s cookbook recipe, Steve not being able to tell apart the teaspoon and the tablespoon to save his life. Billy burning whatever was put in front of him without fail. Steve would insist Billy could burn a chicken breast without even having the stove turned on. Those nights were always spent giggling and frantically fanning the smoke detector as it went off every twenty seconds. Those nights they’d sit together in front of the TV trying their damndest to chew through overdone steak before admitting defeat and calling in an order for pizza.

He can’t remember the last time he did a chore at his house. He used to always have to help Susan with the dishes after dinner, but he was never there and eventually that task fell to Max. And speaking of Max, he didn’t have the responsibility of babysitting anymore, as she was going to be entering high school in the fall and everyone agreed she was old enough to look after herself. Billy still was expected to look out for her, but Billy never had to be told to protect her. He did that on his own.

With him having a job, Neil didn’t expect him to do things around the house. He was simply happy enough to be getting a third of Billy’s paycheck every month.

But Billy was sure he’d be happy if he knew Billy was still busying himself with chores anyway.

He always helped Steve out. They would take turns taking the trash out to the curb every week, they would do dishes together, they’d sit together on the floor in a pile of clean laundry and fold it together while something played on the TV—

Hell, he can’t remember the last time he did laundry at his house. Practically two-thirds of his clothes have wound up at Steve’s house. He even had his own set of drawers and a space in Steve’s closet.

Billy can’t even remember the last time he took a shower in his own house, because since summer hit he has only ever showered at the pool after work, or in Steve’s bathroom, where he’s never alone.

It was one thing he never knew he was missing until he had it—Steve standing with his arms wrapped around him, letting the hot water soak the both of them. Washing each other’s backs and just getting clean in each other’s presence. Billy used to see showering as his few moments of peace throughout his day, but he definitely didn’t mind having Steve there with him. Especially when they made the decision to rack up the water bill and stay in there a little while longer…

Billy still slept at his house sometimes, but that was only on nights when he had to. Usually when Steve’s parents were back in town or when a considerable amount of time had passed that may have deemed suspicious. Neil would believe the idea that Billy was spending the night at a girls house. However, he wouldn’t believe he was spending night after night at the same girls house, and there were only so many girls in Hawkins to keep up his charade.

So there were still days he’d come home at night and sleep in his own bed, that was notably no where near as comfortable as Steve’s. Billy wasn’t sure if it had to do with the mattress or just the warmth that came with having Steve there next to him. But on those nights spent without Steve, he didn’t stay for long. He come home early enough to make his presence known, but never too early he had to spend any more time not in bed than he had to. When he slept at home that was all he did. He slept. The only time he did anything more was when he’d stop by Max’s room on his way in and out, just to check in.

He was glad he didn’t do that often, because sleeping at Steve’s was the best. With Steve he wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore. He didn’t jump at every creak in the house. Steve made him feel safe. Billy never imagined that he’d enjoy sleeping with Steve in the most literal sense more than sleeping with Steve in the figurative.

Of course he enjoyed that too. God he enjoyed that. But it wasn’t everything that they did together. When they were still in highschool, that was all it started out with. They never hung out without sex as a promise. They were nothing short of the horny teenagers all the movies warn you about.

But now, with the showers and the chores and the meals and the shared bed and shared closet and giggling in the kitchen…they aren’t that anymore.

They are proper boyfriends. They’re a couple, a pair, a duo.

They turned into this and summer isn’t even halfway over. It’s only the end of June.

Who knows what the rest of the summer has to offer…

[hindahoney]

Do you have any specific tips on learning to keep kosher? Advice like what dairy substitutes work best or a reliable place to get recipes would be great. I grew up in a house that mixes dairy and meat for most meals so any help would be greatly appreciated. If you've already answered this, could you give a link to the post? I couldn't find one, but that might be because tumblr's search function doesn't work.

Sure! Here is a post I made about keeping kosher. Substitutes are your best friend. If a recipe calls for butter, using vegetable oil instead could be better if you're eating it with a meat meal. Margarine is also a great substitute when making baked goods. Mixing lemon juice with a nut milk gives you buttermilk.

In brownies, using orange juice instead of milk makes the flavor really pop. I love doing this on shabbat so I can have a dessert after a meat meal. You could also just use any other nut milk, or oat milk (just make sure it has a pareve symbol on it, I've seen some oat milks that are still OU D because it's sometimes manufactured in dairy machines or factories). Pareve chocolate is a miracle to be appreciated. Using egg noodles or zucchini noodles are great when you want to have a meat-based dish, and pareve bread for meat-based sandwiches.

I love using vegan or vegetarian plant-based meats in my dishes.* For example, I use vegan ground beef in my lasagna, so I can still use regular noodles and cheese. Plant-based chicken is also great for skillets or pasta. You could also just use fish instead, as it's considered pareve. I don't like the taste of vegan cheese, so I'd much rather use real cheese and vegan meat, but it's always an option. If you don't have meat but still want a filling meal, using grains such as quinoa, or starches like potatoes, can help with that.

As for finding recipes, there are a few kosher cooking blogs online. To find things I usually just search whatever food I want followed by "kosher" and it's usually there. If I can't find a recipe for it, I use a regular recipe with the above substitutes to make it kosher. Buying kosher cookbooks is also a good idea. I don't recommend just searching for "jewish cookbooks" because sometimes those include non-kosher dishes, so search specifically for kosher cookbooks.

*Some Jews have customs that don't allow them to eat vegan meats due to abiding by the spirit of the law, and the fact that the appearance of eating something not kosher could mislead others. It is best to discuss this with your rabbi if you think this may be an issue.

[heedra]

There's been a recent stirring on here about and twitter on the topic of cooking skills, where a lot of screenshots have gone round of people talking about how hard the idea of cooking even basic things is to them, often due to a lot of anxiety about recipe amounts or a sense of discouragement about the time involved to do all the steps. I myself am someone who really didn't start cooking for myself until I was an adult, and who had to build up literally all my cooking skills from ground zero while doing so. A lot of the comments going round in those tweets and screenshots are extremely relatable to me; I was in exactly the same sort of mindset for a long time and a lot of these thoughts being shared, especially related to time allocation, are still challenges that hold me up in the kitchen (severe ADHD does NOT help things). I have been the person to whom ' a single quesadilla' felt like an impossible ask, and I was that person probably like, a couple years ago at most. I'm still way closer to being that person than I am to being a confident cook. So I'm speaking from a place of real sympathy to folks in these screenshots when I say; if you're reading this and this is where you're at right now, the best thing you can possibly do is to try your hand at cooking anyway.

Learning to cook is a lot like learning to ride a bike or play an instrument; it is a skill that can only be learned with actual hands-on practice. But like riding a bike especially, it's a blessedly hard skill to lose once you have it, and it's a skill you'll pick up faster than you might anticipate.

Pick something very straightforwards, something you like, know you could make multiple times in a row and not get bored of, and make it those multiple times in a row. Throw in new recipes as you get confident. Keep at it, even if you fuck up. And you WILL probably fuck things up at first, and that's ok; but for every thing you learn not to fuck up, there are a dozen things you will learn that it's ok to fuck up. A lot of those initial fears about using the right amount of water or the wrong pot to boil an egg will fall away within two or three times of trying it! The first time I steamed mussels (my favorite thing to make) I was terrified of what would happen if I didn't follow the directions exactly to the letter, and now that I've successfully steamed them multiple times I have a lot better sense of what's actually worth being scared about (not the amount of garlic i put in not matching the recipe amount, for starters). The first time I made chicken adobo it took like 3 times longer than the recipe said it would, but I was able to identify the parts that took me extra long, think about what was making that happen, and streamline my prep the next time. It's since been SO much easier. The amount of positive growth I've noticed in cooking skills just from trying my hand at these recipes a couple times is amazing. All of the little adaptations I've made that have improved my skill and confidence in the kitchen could not have happened without actually getting into the kitchen and fucking around, but I will also say that a good cookbook can be as indispensable for someone new to cooking as a good textbook would be for any other subject. I really recommend this cookbook (which is free in pdf form but also has a great section on equipping your kitchen in the print version!) for its advice on how to grocery shop and pantry build alone, recipes aside.