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#it is not porridge weather but i wanted porridge
whywishesarehorses · 2 years
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Pensioner sets off on 600-mile pony trek with pet dog in saddlebag
Jane Dotchin, 80, has been making the unusual journey from Northumberland to the Highlands since 1972. (Story from STV News)
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An 80-year-old woman who wears an eyepatch is on an annual trek with her pony from England to the Highlands – on a seven-week adventure which began in 1972.
Jane Dotchin packs her saddlebags onto her trusty pony’s back every year, and heads to the hills from her home near Hexham, Northumberland, on an epic 600-mile trek to Inverness, covering between 15 and 20 miles a day.
She set off on August 31 with her steed, Diamond, aged 13, and her disabled Jack Russell named Dinky for company, from the off-grid smallholding where she lives.
She carries everything she needs including her tent, food and just a few belongings – and despite wearing an eyepatch is determined to continue as long as she can.
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Ms Dotchin said: “My mother would look after my other ponies but she wasn’t that keen on looking after my Halfinger stallion, so I rode him down to Somerset to see a friend, which is about 300 miles.
“It was a bit of a hard slog, but it was good.”
After that initial journey, she caught the taste for the open road and travelled to visit friends near Fort Augustus, near Loch Ness, every autumn since.
The journey takes around seven weeks depending on weather and Ms Dotchin tries to stop off to see people she has met over the years.
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She said: “I refuse to go slogging on through pouring wet rain.
“There are a few different routes I can take depending on the weather.
“I don’t want to go over hilltops in foul weather, but I work it out on the way.
“I don’t bother with maps, I just keep to the routes I know.
“It is nice to go and see [people] again – I ring them up in the morning to say I’m going to be there in the evening.
“I don’t warn them too far in advance, because if the weather suddenly changes or I decide to stop early then they can be left wondering where I’ve got to.”
Disabled Jack Russell Dinky, who has deformed front legs, travels in a saddle bag.
Ms Dotchin said: “She manages fine, when there is a nice grassy track she gets out and has a run, but she doesn’t like stoney ground but she is a nice hot water bottle for me in the tent.”
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She said: “I asked for something good and solid in my old age and he got me a cob from Ireland. I struggle to get on her half the time, but otherwise I manage fine.”
Her diet consists of porridge oats, oatcakes and cheese which is bought at local shops.
She prefers to make porridge with milk, but water will suffice.
Ms Dotchin added: “You can always boil it from a stream.”
Her bathroom habits are equally DIY, and she said: “I dig a hole.”
Ms Dotchin is devastated by the littering she has seen over the years and said Cumbernauld, North Lanarkshire, is somewhere she finds “shameful” due to the amount of rubbish.
She said: “It’s appalling, in particular single used barbecues which are left lying all over the place.
“Cumbernauld is the fly-tipping capital of Britain.
“There are some lovely people there who let me camp, but some of it is so disgusting and shameful.”
Campervans on single track roads have also become a more persistent problem.
She said: “Drivers just didn’t seem to know how wide they were, I was forever just about getting swept off the roads by them.”
The right to roam has helped with countryside access, but she said: “There are still some locked gates or little side gates that you can’t get a horse with packs on through.”
For emergencies she carries an old mobile phone as the battery lasts six weeks.
Ms Dotchin said: “I keep it switched off and just ring out to ring up landowners to get gates unlocked or to warn people when I’m coming but sometimes the trouble is getting a signal.”
During the foot and mouth crisis in 2001 she went on bicycle instead.
She said: “I covered many more miles with the dog in a pannier but it was not the same, I missed my horse.”
In recognition of her independent spirit, and many years of long distance trekking, she received The British Horse Society lifetime achievement award last year, which she said was “a bit of a surprise.”
During her travels she witnesses rutting deer and stags fighting in the autumn, and foxes.
She said: “There is always something interesting happening and there is never a dull moment.
“I will probably be stopped one of these days.”
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blueparadis · 6 months
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╰┈➤ ASTRID ✦ CHOSO KAMO. 
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⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ Your boyfriend comes over to take care of you but he asks if you would like to see a glimpse of heaven when you least expect it and you would let him, wouldn’t you?
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⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣fem!ex-girlfriend!reader x ex-boyfriend!choso, period + piv + unprotected,mention of creampie, service!top!choso,f!nger!ng, f!oral, aftercare; 1,6k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |
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The doorbell has already rang two times in a row. Your phone has been vibrating paused with short intervals in between declaring the arrival of multiple messages. You keep the half empty bottle on the kitchen counter and practically drag your feet to get the door. There is no rush. You already know who is behind that door, who is calling you and messaging you non-stop. Choso Kamo, your ex-boyfriend. Having the same workplace as your boyfriend was surely beneficial but now that he has become your ex it certainly made things more complicated than you had primarily imagined. 
“What took you so long? I was worried. Thought something—
“Choso” You call out sharply before he finishes that sentence in one breath. “I’m fine.” you say when his eyes gently land on you. He is still standing outside. He would not come in unless you ask him to. Such a gentleman he is. You do not know what came over you when you wanted to part ways with a guy like him, who is tactfully aware of boundaries. “Com—Choso pushed you aside and let himself in. He definitely picked up on your stern tone of disappointment when you called him by his name yet his serenity remains intact. Nothing fazes him much, not now, not ever. Never did before. 
“I brought some porridge for you and some medicines— he keeps them one by one, on the table as you stare at him confusingly.” You do not know why he is here nor know why he brought porridge and . . . and medicines.
“I’m fine, Choso. Why are you here?” You whine making him pause all his movements. Even though he looks at you, those same amethyst eyes that you once drowned in remind you of a thunderstorm now. 
“You called in sick. I was worried. So I thought to drop by— Choso connects the dots when he suddenly remembers that you are on your period. There are chances that might not be the case but that does not mean he can discard any possible probability and judging the weather you might have caught common cold but that still does not explain why you called in sick because you never did before actually. No matter how down you were, you would make it to the office. “ Yeah, yeah. I think I'm done. I should go. You should be resting.” He murmurs as he leans against the table keeping his hand on the edge for support. 
You bit your bottom lip. There is a twist of a knot forming near your chest as you realize how thoughtful of him it was to just drop by. Not only that, he brought porridges and medicines but you would be happier if he brought snacks and treats. Choso walks towards the exit of the apartment but you let your stupid feeling take over you and push you to grab his hand. “Actually, you can stay. At least, stay for a while then you can— you trail off because his eyes land on the hand that you are holding right now. He was right. You are on your period. It is just the first day so you are not using sanitary pads and since you broke up with him no one is there to scold you or take care of you when you throw tantrums like this. You are a free bird now.
“Like the old times' sake?” he says with a soft smile coating his face as you let go of his hand feeling embarrassed.
You chuckle at his words. Clicking your tongue you say, “Like a co-worker should. You came to see me because I called in sick. So,— He closes the gap between the two of you. He keeps his hand on the table just right beside yours. There is barely an inch of space between two index fingers. “So, uh-um- at least stay for tea or coffee” You rake your eyes from him to the pots hanging on the balcony.
“You know we are not just co-workers.” His words make you snap your gaze at him but he is looking where you were looking a moment ago. “And, I could stay if it’s morning tea,” He smirks. “or coffee,” he says, meeting your eyes. You feel his index finger move but it does not touch. “What do you say?” he asks. 
“Choso, please don’t—he places his palm over yours making you gasp. His other hand travels along your waistline bringing you closer to his body. 
“Yes, babe. what?” He asks with a rasp of breath fanning across the column of your neck as you tilt your head to avoid this sudden proximity.
“I—uhh— I just think—it's, you bit your bottom lip, unable to voice your jumbled thoughts roaming inside of your head. You place your other hand on his chest yet do not push him away while your other hand is captive under his and by now his fingers had taken refuge in between yours; you could feel the heat of his skin now. You take in a long breath before looking at him but by the time your eyes could land on his, they are already shut closed by the accumulation of heat pooling on the column of your neck as his tongue travels along your neck, his lips traces the wet path followed by a mouthful suck. You lean towards the table and finally sit as he continues to pepper kisses all over your chest. The spaghetti top you are wearing is adding fuel to the fire as he slips the bands down enough to kiss your shoulders yet not enough to let your boobs spill out.
“you were saying?” he says as one of his hands slips under your top. His index finger rests on your hard nipple.
“It's inappropriate,” you answer him reflexively and he pinches your nipple making you wince. “This.” You spread your legs. “This is,” Choso’s hand travels from your boobs into your underwear. “so inappropriate.” you finish as he inserts his finger inside you. He knows it is but you are not pushing him away nor saying that to his face. There is no resistance in your body when it comes to him. You take his face in your hands and kiss him while his fingers work along the folds of your vagina. 
“Fuck. it feels good” You say under your breath breaking the kiss. Choso sits on his knees as he holds your legs apart by the knees. His deft fingertips create crescent indecents on your skin. 
“Trust me it’ll feel a lot better now,” He exclaims.
“You won’t like it,” You protest.
“what? it's not like i haven't done it before.” He says naively even though he is more aware of your circumstances. He pushes aside the cloth to have a view of your pussy. He missed this. He missed you.
“No. nO. you won’t like it.” you try again but Choso wants to prove you wrong. Not only that, he wants you to like it too. He keeps up the eye contact before he dives his mouth onto your wet cunt. You arch a little, feeling his tongue in between your folds. Your hands at first rest over his head, caressing his hair but the moment he presses his mouth further into your hole while lapping his tongue you let out a loud moan running your hands over your nape as you arch your head simultaneously.
“Do you need me to stop?” He asks but you fail to answer. It is all gibberish again so he takes his time eating you out eliciting illicit moans from you. You tug at his head and a moment later he stands up. He has not forgotten that when you do that, you want him to stop and you want more of him, all of him. Choso unbuckles his belt with one hand. You pull the belt out of his trousers to let them hit the floor. There is no going back now. You will deal with the consequences later. You notice his boner before he finally takes off his underwear and now it stands over his stomach, tall and proud.
“No, I don't.” You say. He pushes aside your panties before pushing his cock inside of you. You can not feel your period cramps anymore, only his cock filling you full. He takes you into his lap, hunches down a little to balance your body, and waits as his hands skillfully hold you by your inner thighs, tight and firm. 
“Hold onto me, baby.” He rasps before starting to make you bounce on his cock. You do not move much. You just let him take all the control. Your arms curl around his nape, fingers skim through his hair strands as he keeps pounding his cock inside you. His irregular breaths, mixed with hot breaths and your melodious moans make him pick up the pace. You feel a knot forming along your lower tummy declaring the approaching orgasm. There is a brief moment of eye contact with him. It is all hazy but it reeks of desperation and longing. You kiss his lips, fervently like a wave kisses the sandbanks during a full moon night while his hot fluid coats your insides. There is a pause for almost half a minute before he lets you stand on the floor. Both of you are panting and catching up on your breath. He grabs the half-empty bottle, totally emptying it before grabbing a towel and wrapping himself around him. You feel his cum drip along your legs and wet your panties.
“We both need a bath.” You say, half-worried, half-fearful of what just happened.
“We sure do,” He says as he kisses your cheeks softly.
@semisgroupie @kentoangel @orchid3a @chosoist
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dhampling · 23 days
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How about this for a prompt---Astarion trying to make breakfast for the growing brood while Tav/Reader is like, "My love, you wanted this lol"
Sending lots of love <3
Heavy rain. A brewing thunder. Astarion plots for a brief minute, reassuring the small child on his hip with soft babbles as his mind whirrs along. Surely in such seemingly inclement weather the girls can’t be expected to walk to school? In their little leather loafers - they’d be ruined in the puddles - and freshly tussed plaits?  He makes a note to write a letter to the council asking once again for the swift repair of the potholes worn into the cobble. A small click of his tongue. Your second-youngest half-heartedly smacks a slice of toast against his face between waning sobs. Somewhere on the rear of the stove the kettle whistles something horrid, while the bubbling pot of porridge spits small globs onto the counter. “Enough for me?” An angel as you descend the stairs with your smallest - merely a babe - soft in arm. A slow yawning step, shawl around shoulders and the shuffling grate of your house slippers against tile toward him.  “There’s plenty. Not sure on the calibre of the offerings, admittedly; but I did warn you.” The night shift with your youngest leaves Astarion reluctantly on breakfast duty. He protested as he always does that he has no tongue for taste; and yet your incredulous glare shuts him up just as swift.  “It’s porridge and toast. It’s not hard.’ Your head buries deep between his shoulder blades in a sleepy stoop. A drowsy grin.  ‘You wanted this.” A big kiss on the head of his hip-friend before you turn on your heel and head to the sitting room. He hasn’t eaten the stuff in well over two hundred years and yet there’s a generous smudge of butter - laden with burnt browny flecks - now shining high on his cheek. There’s a moment where he stills, mindlessly bouncing the young thing with the rhythm of the rain. Looking at the tile backsplash. A small smear of red, assumedly some splatter of the tomato sauce you’d made the evening before. Thick white grout. The young girl points to it with a nonsensical whirr as her tears stop and his face breaks into a smile. Life is good. Undeath is good. The girls have umbrellas; waxed raincoats. They’ll be okay.
thank you for the idea!!!! lub you!
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tooruhearts · 2 years
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they’re in love!! (with you)
→ feat. atsumu miya, oikawa tooru, hinata shoyo, sakusa kiyoomi || genres: fluff
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KIYOOMI is late to work. and it's not his fault. no, he didn't sleep in. he didn't forget to turn off the stove. he didn't forget his keys. in fact, he woke up at seven am like he always does. but kiyoomi is late to work and it's because of you.
"baby, one more kiss? the last one," you say, lips already chasing after his.
but kiyoomi puts a hand over your mouth. "you said that twenty kisses ago."
"last one, i promise, please?"
and now you're holding onto his necktie, eyes blinking at him, waiting for him to say yes. but kiyoomi is already ten minutes late to work and he knows that if he caves into you he will be even later. so he opens his mouth, about to say no, but then you kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.
"please?"
god. he can't say no to you.
kiyoomi kisses you, sighing into the kiss. he can feel your smile against his lips. what a little devil, he thinks. but that doesn't matter right now, because your lips feel like heaven and kiyoomi thinks this is paradise. and kiyoomi kisses you again and again and again until you're both breathless.
maybe he should call in sick today.
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ATSUMU sometimes gets this overwhelming warm feeling in his chest, a feeling that makes him want to almost cry. and it is times like these, as he’s laying in bed sick with a wet towel on his forehead, as you are holding his hand, that he realizes how grateful he is that you chose him. that you wanted to stay with him.
“babe, i love ya, will leave all my fortune to ya."
“tsumu, stop acting like you're dying. it’s just a cold.”
he snorts at your reply, but the warmth of your fingertips on his palms doesn't stop the tears from appearing in his eyes. he can feel his lips quivering, his face growing red (and not from the fever). so he pulls you closer to him, until your face is pressed into the crook of his neck.
“ya know i love ya, right? i love ya so much,” he whispers in your ear.
"i know tsumu, i love you too."
"even when you make me burnt porridge, i love ya a whole lot."
"yes, yes, you big baby," you giggle, lightly smacking his arm, "my big baby."
the night ends with you kissing atsumu's face over and over again until he stops crying (he stops when he falls asleep).
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TOORU knows all good things come to an end eventually. that forever is not a word that lasts, it's not a word that makes sense to him. that one day he will have to let go. but when his arms are tightly wrapped around you as you bask in the afternoon sun, your hair tickling his cheek, he thinks it might make sense after all.
forever is a word that tooru can finally picture and it takes shape in the form of you.
"you smell like me," he says, kissing the top of your head.
"you noticed? i used your shampoo."
"you're also wearing my jersey," he teases, "you like me that much?"
"tooru, you're literally my boyfriend."
he laughs. tooru can't help but tighten his arms around you, still laughing, your face pressed against his. you whine, saying he's crushing you. but tooru keeps you secure in his embrace, kissing your cheeks, your ears, your neck. kissing your lips. and yes, oikawa tooru is your boyfriend. he's yours, forever and more.
"you're soo clingy," you say.
"only for you," he replies.
tooru doesn't think forever is a word that lasts, but if it's with you, he will try. he will try to make it last until his last breath. only for you.
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SHOYO thinks you look stunningly beautiful. even now, as your clothes are soaked and you look terribly pissed off because the weather forecast didn't announce it would rain. even now, as your hair clings to your forehead and you're squeezing his hand a tad bit too hard.
"our picnic is ruined.”
"it's fine, we could always go tomorrow! and now we can go home and cuddle."
but that doesn't take away the look of disappointment on your face, or how your body slumps, or how smaller than usual you look. so shoyo pulls you towards him, making you drop the picnic basket, his face a mere inches away from yours.
"dance with me?"
and shoyo doesn't even wait for you to answer before he's twirling you around. hands around your waist, pulling your body each time closer to his, until all he can feel is your warmth instead of the rain soaking his clothes. until all he can feel is your heartbeat.
"shoyo, stop, this is embarrassing!" you say, but you're laughing and laughing with each twirl, with each step.
shoyo thinks you look stunningly beautiful. even now, as your hair clings to your forehead and your clothes are drenched. even now, as the rain pours over both of you and you two are dancing and laughing like mad.
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a/n: tooru’s is inspired by the song forever by lee junhyung!!
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Winterstorm
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For @turbulentscrawl
Rated Mature | Warnings: Age difference between Reader and Ithaqaua, Manipulation, Rumors
A/N: ngl i was playing stardew while writing this lolol
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It was a stormy winter night when his mother found him. It was a stormy winter night when you found him wounded after killing a group of hunters in the forest.
In the hazy of his hallucinating mind, he saw his mother calling out to him, for him to wake up. He reached out to that image not realizing he was reaching for his new savior.
When he woke up after the storm passed, he was under blankets that felt warm and in a room smelling of spice and wood. He jerked awake and got up, he touched his bare chest finding someone had patched him up. Cloth bandages and stitching for the deeper wounds. The Night Watch knows his body aches, his body protesting as he gets up carefully not to make too much noise. He wills himself to endure as he grabs his shirt and coat from the chair by the window, he swears to rest but not here—Not where he will be left further vulnerable!
He struggles to get his shirt on so ops for his coat only stop when the door opens. He grabs his weapon but stops as he hisses in pain.
You come in with a small bed tray of food, his stomach growls at the scent, “You're awake.” A bit surprised given his wounds, “Oh, if you want to leave I can help you dress.”
His eyes narrow as takes in the sight of you, his eyes sometimes glancing at the simple food you made. “Leave.” You move to go back out, “Food stays.” That made you happy though.
The boy, because to you he is a boy, was in bad shape when you found him. Malnourished, wounded, and you are surprised he did not succumb to hypothermia. You Luckily had your cart from gathering wood before the storm hit severely after you brought him home.
Listening with your ear against the door, you can hear him going to the bed and eating the simple porridge you made, shuffling after and you hear your bedroom window being opened then closed.
You do not expect to see him again, you did your good deed and that was that.
Until you see him again while you are foraging for some mushrooms and roots in the Icy Forest. There in the distance, he stands staring at you from a distance. Piercing blue irises watching your movements for who knows how long until you notice.
“Hello,” He stares silently, “Have you been taking care of yourself?” You step closer, “Do you need more food?”
A snap of twigs draws your attention from him to a deer roaming around. When you look back, the strangely dressed boy is dashing away.
“Wait!” But it is too late.
That will be the first of many interactions with the creature you have no clue is called the Night Watch.
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“Good morning, Ithaqua.” He hums at you as you start preparing breakfast, “Going out?”
“Yes.” His arms wrap around your waist as he rests his head on your back, “You should stay home today.”
“The weather is nice today, we should go see if the store in town has any fabric.”
“Or we can go see the lake instead.” His hold squeezing slightly, “You like the lake better than the store.”
You sigh, he does not like you going to town. You figure it because he lived in the forest for so long alone that interacting with others is stressful.
It took a lot to gain his trust, you figure there is a reason for the way he is but never push to talk about it. Everyone has their past.
“Ithaqua, we need things around the house.” Reminding him both of you cannot survive by using the vegetables in your garden. Other things are needed. You worry about him, worry about how he is quick to isolate rather than try to, at least, see the use of being around others. The little town is not so bad… Even if the rumors about you can be cruel.
No one sees the real dynamic between you and the boy— Because they all see him as a boy rather than a man— Who lives in the woods, but now he practically lives with you, hunting and gathering for you to earn his keep— Though you told him he does not need to do so.
They think you are manipulating him, using him as he is young and lacking social experience…
He finds that amusing how little they think of him, a poor little sheep none realize is a wolf under the wool.
“I can get them.”
“Are you sure? I do not want to bother—
“You are not bothering me. I want you safe and you say we need supplies, I will get them.”
You stand there unsure but nod in the end, maybe you can finish your plowing of the garden while he is away, “Okay…” He hums at your agreement, his hands rubbing the fabric of your apon as you go back to food prep, “I'll make us something warm to eat.”
Ithaqua is young, not a child, but young. You are older, much older, old enough to be a parent to him.
At first, you treated him as such. He seems receptive to it as he soon became a part of your life.
But something changed, you did not notice it until it was too late and you are sheep held down by the wolf's paw.
Only a handful of times has Ithaqua been to the town, if you could call it a town as it is a bit bigger than a village but smaller than an actual town. The few folks that did see him feared him, he looked strange with the mask and the stilts. They kept their distance, and you had to assure them he was just a mountain man, not a creature.
Something about a Night Watch but no one has ever seen that thing.
The town's people already are wary of you, you who live alone on the outskirts of town. You try to socialize but they turn you away until they need something. The irony, Ithaqua finds this ridiculous, you are often looked to in times of need because of your garden. You always plant things that do well in wintertime, planting and growing bundles to give away on Sundays after church service.
He swears they are all idiots, at least the pastor is sensible and grateful for you.
The new problem the town has with you— Rather than the ones who act like pompous dogs— Is you are using this poor boy. Funny, in reality, Ithaqua is not using you but he is slowly having you become more and more isolated from those fools.
This problem did not start until he was approached by one of the young women in the town. The mill's owner's daughter. The annoying thing, he saw in the Icy Forest once and would have killed her if he was not busy bringing meat to you.
It was the spring festival and you asked him to help you with the decorations and to hopefully get him to be social.
All you asked of him was to not wear the usual outfit he wears. Instead, you gifted him your father's spring festival attire. He looked handsome as he wore your father's clothes, tailored to fit his thin frame. You thought this would be a great step for him!
You told him at any time he is welcome to go join in the festivities, especially the flower dance. He knew what you were trying to do, he only humored you.
You stayed at the stall talking to the town mayor as he complements the decorations you have made this year.
People are fools, Ithaqua hates them but likes you, he did not talk while wandering around the festival. A few tried interacting with him, he permitted it for the moment at that time for your sake. How stupid of them to assume so much about him when all they know about him is as much as he allows them to know.
A young man named Ithaqua, a wild man who sticks to you like a boy to his mothers— They assumed the relationship from the beginning. You did too.
“I love (Name), I don't want you.”
Cold as ice water.
The woman was bitter and the rumors had added to many others about you.
Ithaqua could care less about what others think, they are the ones who beg you for help when someone is sick or needs extra food.
You are like a mother to them, yet they act ungrateful.
Winter is getting closer and closer, they will look to you for help and Ithaqua grins as soon they will find you gone by next spring.
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When he returns with the wagon of supplies, you greet him with a hug. The Night Watch knows you are trying to be affectionate to him but you hold back, you never kiss him or allow him to indulge in your flesh. Just hugs and kisses on the cheek, you poor thing thinking he changed his stance on wanting you.
You accepted this relationship, and he knows you did it out of maybe some misplaced sense of guilt, he has you in his grasp. All you need to do is stop caring about what others think about you.
A problem soon to be solved.
Once everything is put away, he has you cornered in the bedroom pinned down on the bed with him above you with nothing but pants on. You stare up at him then look away.
“You don't need them.” Leaning down to kiss your cheek then moving down.
“Ithaqua, we talked about this.” You try pulling your wrists out of his grasp but it holds firm. For such a small build man, he is surprisingly strong. “They are just nervous people.”
“Nervous people? They are hateful people, (Name), stop making excuses for them.” His eyes narrow and he bites at the top exposed part of your neck. “They rather burn you at the stake than admit they are wrong about you.”
“Ithaqua…” That is not true! People are people but not all of them are cruel.
“Think about it,” Licking the mark as you had flinched from the pain at first. “The mayor doesn't help you yet you do so much for the town. The pastor preaches but no one listens. The doctor's monthly checkups are just to see if you sprouted horns and a tail.”
“Please. Not tonight.” Begging him. Those words are painful, he knows these talks are causing doubts as you are becoming more aware of the bitterness these people have towards you. 
After the spring festival, you… You sat him down. Talk to Ithaqua as much as you could that evening. Your words twisted against you, you are too trusting with him. His metaphorical claws raked through your wool but never pierced the flesh of the sheep. You are trapped but loved.
Ithaqua enjoys this more than you ever will know.
It was too late to stop the rumors when those feelings were reciprocated, you… You are lonely and though Ithaqua is much younger than you… He is an adult, far more mature than the men at your age too.
Twenty-one winters, he told you, he should be married by now. He wants to marry you.
Guilt. A lot of guilt. You slip from under him when tries to grind his lower half against yours.
“How about I make your favorite tonight? I got some extra tomatoes–” Stand up beside the bed while Ithaqua sits there with his legs wide open.
“I'm not a child. We should leave before they hurt you, there is no need to put on a brave face for me.” He is going to devour you but you need to stop running from him! “We can leave. They are not grateful to you.” You shake your head at his words, he stands up and holds your face, “It will only be a matter of time before they hurt you.”
He smiles as you crumble, holding you as you fall to your knees and covering your face as you cry. This home your family built and lived in since you were born. The blood, sweat, and tears; the memories, the love within this home.
“Ithaqua.” He cradles you as you turn to cry into his bare chest.
A small crack, he chips away at you, the others were fools to think you were manipulating him.
Laughable given you had tried hard to get him to meet those of his age.
Why bother?
He likes you, older and experienced, you give him the care of a mother and the love of a partner. No one his age could give him that, they were all too free-spirited and reckless.
The Night Watch wants someone to greet him upon his return home, shower him with love, and if the mood strikes him— Lay with him as accustomed for partners to do.
“(Name),” Rubbing your back, “I love you.” You told him he is too young to understand the weight of those words. “I will take care of us.” Making promises of taking sole responsibility is not fair, you told him yet you do it all the time.
When winter came followed by another snowstorm and the people looked to you for your winter’s crop that Sunday, you were not there. Nor were there the many Sundays after that. The pastor with two other people went looking for you, only the pastor cared to check in on you.
The house was buried in the snow, the garden destroyed. There is no trace of you or the mysterious young man who came into your life. There are no bodies found, it is like you were there and are now suddenly gone.
Maybe you left, the pastor hopes you found a better place.
Or maybe the Night Watch claimed another victim.
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gwnwrites · 9 months
Text
Losing | Oliver Wood x GN!Reader
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Summary: Gryffindor loses the match against Hufflepuff.
Words: 1,8k
Warnings: None, just fluff. + Angst if you squint.
A/n: I rewatched Prisoner of Azkaban a few days ago, and suddenly became inspired to write. No use of y/n. Reader doesn’t have a specific gender. No specific Hogwarts House. Although, reader is supporting Gryffindor during the Quidditch match. Oliver and the reader are close friends. I might write a part two where they confess their feelings.
PS: I believe ‘Mo ghràdh’ means my love in Scottish Gaelic. Please correct me if I’m wrong!
This is based off the following conversation in the book:
“Where is Wood?” said Harry, suddenly realising he wasn’t there.
“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”
Oliver was nervous before the Quidditch match. He usually was. So after years of being friends with him, you knew all of his tells.
The first one was pacing.
The second one was running his hands through his hair.
The third one was rambling, which resulted in your extensive knowledge of Quidditch.
Oliver was usually consistent with his tells. However, today was different.
Oliver was oddly silent as the two of you sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He rarely looked up at you, and when he did, it was because you weren’t looking directly at him.
You weren’t the only one who noticed Oliver’s strange behaviour. Throughout breakfast, a few students sent worried looks toward Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain.
“Oliver,” you said. He looked up from his untouched porridge. He noticed that your bowl was empty.
“Are you okay? You seem awfully quiet today.” You paused, “Is it because I asked you last week to stop talking about Quidditch? I didn’t mean it. I was only trying to finish my Herbology essay.”
“It’s not that,” he sighed. His gaze traveled up to the ceiling, which mimicked the stormy weather outside. After a moment, he looked back at you.
“It’s Gryffindor’s last chance to win the Quidditch cup while I’m still at Hogwarts. I’ll never have another chance.”
Oliver had always wanted to win the Quidditch cup. And ever since he became the captain in fourth year, he had been working harder than ever. Practices took place regularly during the school year, and during the summer, while everyone rested, Oliver spent his time devising Quidditch plays.
“Oliver,” you began, “you’re an amazing Quidditch player, and the best captain that Gryffindor has ever had. You’ve got an amazing team, and that’s because of your leadership.”
He smiled slightly. “Thanks.”
The rain. Of course, rain was not usually a problem during Quidditch matches. But with the fact that there were hundreds of Dementors roaming the school grounds, you knew ‘calm’ wouldn’t be the word to describe Oliver.
As you sat among other students in the Quidditch Stands, you hoped Oliver was ok. You wanted to stay in the Gryffindor team’s tent before the match began, but Madam Hooch said it was best not to distract the captain. Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought back. Why would you ‘distract’ him? You never-
“I’m sure he’s fine,” a voice beside you said. You jumped slightly, before realising it was Percy.
“You think?” You clung tightly to your jacket’s hood to prevent it from flapping around in the wind. You turned to the side to get a better look at Percy.
“He puts too much pressure on himself. And still, Gryffindor wins the matches. Harry’s great, he’ll get the snitch in no time.” His gaze remained on the field. He held onto the hood of his own jacket.
“I hope so. This weather is awful,” you said. You looked up at the sky. The dark clouds gave no indication of sunny weather any time soon. You looked at Percy. Despite the rain his glasses were dry. He must have used the Impervius charm, you thought.
“I thought you said you didn’t watch Quidditch matches,” you said.
“I don’t.”
The stands filled up with students as the minutes passed. You were beginning to wonder if the match was actually going to begin, but then you heard the commentator’s voice.
“Starting off the first Quidditch match of the season is Gryffindor against Hufflepuff,” Lee Jordan said into the microphone.
“I’m sure all of us are excited to see what happens today, especially after last year’s match was cancelled due to the Basilisk attacks. Although, I think- Oh, sorry, Professor. I’ll just stick to commenting on the current match.”
Specks of red walked onto the field. Six of them mounted their brooms and flew up. A few did tricks as they passed the stands. The crowd supporting Gryffindor began to cheer.
“Here they are!” Lee exclaimed. “Gryffindor flies onto the field. Gryffindor’s captain, Wood, must be feeling intense pressure, after all, this his last year at Hogwarts.”
“Someone really needs to take that microphone away from him,” Percy said.
The only remaining Gryffindor -who was Oliver- stood on the ground near the tent.
The other team emerged from the neighbouring tent. Like the Gryffindors, six of the Hufflepuff got onto their brooms. They flew toward their positions, while their captain walked toward Oliver.
“The opposing team, Hufflepuff, makes their way onto the field.” Lee said as the crowd supporting Hufflepuff burst into applause. “Their newest captain is Cedric Diggory.”
You watched closely as the cloaked Madam Hooch walked toward the captains. The box, containing the Quidditch balls, was already on the field. The captains quickly shook hands, and got onto their brooms. Oliver, being Gryffindor’s keeper, flew toward his goal post, and Cedric darted to the middle of the field. As the Hufflepuff seeker, his job was to look for the snitch.
Madam Hooch’s whistle was blown.
“The match begins!” Lee said. The crowd cheered louder.
As the match went on, the storm became worse, and eventually Lee’s commentary couldn’t be heard over the wind. You and Percy watched as the specks of red and yellow flew back and forth across the field, again and again.
The weather made it hard to tell who was who. When either of you thought you saw Oliver, the speck of red flew in the direction of the bludgers, meaning it was either Fred or George.
About 10 minutes into that game, you heard the whistle blow. The Gryffindor team huddled under an umbrella in one of the far corners of the field.
“Harry’s a good seeker, but I don’t think he’ll be able to see the snitch in this weather,” you said loudly so Percy would be able to hear.
Percy sighed, “I just hope he catches it soon, otherwise the match will continue all night.”
Soon after, Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, and the match resumed.
The crowd stood in the rain as they watched the match. A few lightning strikes were seen in the sky, causing some of the younger students to scream.
“I think Diggory’s spotted the snitch!” A Slytherin boy called out. He had been sitting a few seats to the right of you and Percy.
You looked for the Hufflepuff seeker, and eventually saw a yellow speck darting up into the sky. A red speck, who you suspected was Harry, followed him closely. They flew so high up that the crowd was unable to see them.
Chatter erupted among the crowd.
One of them became visible. Falling. Gryffindor’s seeker, Harry, had fallen off his broom and was plummeting toward the ground. You pushed past the people in the stands, and hurried to the stairs leading to the field. Percy followed close behind you. By the time you reached the bottom, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team were gone.
“They must have already gone to the Hospital Wing,” he stated. You nodded, and rushed off in the direction of Hogwarts.
The corridor outside the Hospital Wing was crowded. Everyone was worried about Harry. A Ravenclaw prefect stood in the doorway.
“Madam Pomfrey says no one is to enter the Hospital Wing until she says so,” he grumbled. He didnt seem in a good mood. A few surrounding students mumbled, and left.
“The Gryffindor team is in there, aren’t they?” You asked, standing in front of him, and trying to peak inside.
“They are, but you’re-” he was interrupted. George appeared next to the prefect in the doorway.
“There you are.” He said, “Thought you’d arrive soon.”
You ignored his comment. Whatever it meant. “Is Harry ok? That fall was pretty high.”
George’s face was pale, he nodded. You let out a sigh of relief.
“Hufflepuff-” He hesitated, “They won the match.”
“How? Harry fell off his broom. There should be a rematch.” You frowned slightly.
He sighed, “Diggory caught the snitch before Harry fell. Hufflepuff won fair and square. Even Oliver says so.”
Oliver. You tried to look over George’s shoulder. “Can I talk to him? Is he in there with the team?”
“Oliver isn’t here. You don’t know where he is?”
You shook your head, “No. Where is he?”
You knocked on the boy’s changeroom door. George had told you that it was only occupied by Oliver, but you didn’t want to barge in.
“Oliver, can I come in?”
There was no answer, the only noise was the running water in a shower.
“Oliver.” You stood outside for a moment before sighing. You pushed the door open.
The boy’s shower room appeared to be empty. Then you saw Oliver’s bag and Quidditch broom on one of the benches against the right wall.
“Oliver?” You said, looking toward the showers.
“Mo ghràdh?”
You looked toward where his voice came from. He sat with his legs to his chest in one of the shower cubes. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes. The shower tap was turned on, and the water caused his clothes to cling to him.
You approached him, and turned off the shower tap as you stepped inside the shower. You sat beside him.
“I’m sorry,” you said. You knew how much this match meant to him.
He lifted his head, “How’d you know where I was?”
“I went to the Hospital Wing first. I thought you were there since the team was. George told me you were here.”
He nodded. He still hadn’t looked at you.
“Oliver, I know this is about the Cup,” you said, looking at him. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly.
He sighed, “It’s just- I’ve always wanted to win the Quidditch Cup. It’s been *years* since we have, and not while I’ve been apart of the team.”
“But this wasn’t the Quidditch Cup final, Oliver. This was the first match. Gryffindor still has a shot to win the Cup,” you said.
You paused, “You put too much pressure on yourself. Even Percy says so, and he rarely leaves the library.”
Oliver looked at you, raising his eyebrows. “Percy said that? When?”
“Right before the match started. We were already seated.”
“Is Harry alright?”
“He’ll be alright. The team’s with him.”
Oliver was silent for a moment. “George told you I’m trying to drown myself, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
He shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Of course he did.”
“You’re not?” You said, “Trying to drown yourself, I mean.”
He laughed softly. “No, I’m not. If I wanted to, I think I would’ve gone to the Black Lake.”
“You had the shower on.”
“I was cold. The shower was warm,” he said. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Being a good friend. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
-
Thank you for reading! Let me know if you want a part 2.
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axlerica · 8 months
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SICK DAY~
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-The one where Pedri is sick and being such a baby and his gf takes care of him-
One chilly winter morning, Pedri woke up feeling unwell. He had caught a nasty cold and was feeling quite under the weather. Y/N, his loving partner, noticed his discomfort and decided to take care of him.
Y/N: "Pedri, are you feeling okay? You look a bit pale."
Pedri tried to smile but couldn't hide his fatigue. "I think I caught a cold. I'm just feeling a bit weak."
Y/N: "Oh no, I'm sorry to hear that. Don't worry; I'll take care of you."
Throughout the day, Y/N made sure Pedri was warm and comfortable. She brought him blankets, brewed some hot tea, and even put on his favorite football match to lift his spirits. But Pedri's appetite was nonexistent, and he didn't feel like eating anything.
Y/N: "You need to eat something to regain your strength. How about some warm porridge? It'll be easy on your throat."
Pedri: "I don't feel like eating babe. My throat hurts."
Y/N: "Come on, Pedri, I’ll make it for you, so that you will feel better."
Pedri pouted like a child, but Y/N wasn't one to give up easily.
Y/N: "Please, for me? You know I hate seeing you like this."
Pedri's expression softened at Y/N's words. "Okay, fine. But only because you make it."
Y/N: "Okay now you should stay in bed and rest. I'll take care of everything for you."
Pedri weakly protested, "But I don't want you to do everything alone. I can help."
Y/N smiled sweetly, placing a gentle hand on his forehead to check his temperature.
Y/N: "No no no, your temperature is too high baby, Don't worry about it. Your priority right now is to get better. I'll take care of you, my love."
As Y/N went into the kitchen to prepare a warm bowl of porridge for Pedri, he tried to follow her, wanting to help. However, his legs felt wobbly, and he stumbled a little, earning a worried glance from Y/N.
Y/N: "Pedri, you really need to stay in bed. I don't want you to get more exhausted."
Pedri sighed, reluctantly returning to the bed.
Pedri: "Alright, I'll stay in bed, but you have to promise to let me help you when I feel better."
Y/N chuckled, "Of course my love. Now, rest while I make you some comforting porridge."
In the kitchen, Y/N carefully cooked the porridge, adding some extra love and care. She knew how much Pedri loved her cooking, and she hoped it would lift his spirits.
When the porridge was ready, Y/N brought it to Pedri, who was now lying down with a slight frown on his face.
Y/N: "Here you go, baby. Eat this, it'll make you feel better."
Pedri sighed dramatically, "I'm not really hungry right now.."
Y/N's eyes sparkled mischievously, and she decided to use a tactic she knew would work.
Y/N: "Oh, come on, schmoopie boo, just one spoon for me?"
Pedri's eyes widened at the playful nickname Y/N used only on special occasions.
Pedri: "Schmoopie boo? Really?"
Y/N laughed, "Yes, seriously. It's a special name for my special baby, and I think it suits you perfectly."
Pedri couldn't help but smile at Y/N's charm and affectionate teasing. He then finally took a small spoonful, but his frown didn't go away.
Pedri: "It's bland… I can’t taste anything, can you add some more salt or something? "
Y/N chuckled, seeing through his attempt to get out of eating the porridge.
Y/N: "Nice try, but no. You need to eat it as it is baby."
Pedri grumbled but reluctantly continued to eat. However, the porridge seemed to taste better with each bite, not because of any added salt, but because it was made by the one he loved.
Y/N: "That's it my schmoopie boo. Keep going, it'll make you feel better."
Pedri rolled his eyes playfully, but he couldn't help but smile at Y/N's determination to take care of him.
Pedri: "Fine, but only because you called me schmoopie boo."
Y/N laughed heartily, using the nickname she knew Pedri secretly loved.
Y/N: "You know you're my adorable schmoopie boo, and I'll always take care of you."
Y/N: "You know what would make you feel even better, schmoopie?"
Pedri chuckled, knowing exactly where this was going.
Pedri: "A kiss on the lips, right?"
Y/N grinned mischievously, "Oh, you wish! But you're still recovering, remember? I don't want to risk catching your cold."
Pedri pouted, but he understood Y/N's concern. He didn't want to get her sick either.
Pedri: "Fair enough. How about a kiss on the forehead then?"
Y/N's eyes softened with affection.
Y/N: "Of course, schmoopie."
Pedri leaned in, and Y/N placed a tender kiss on his forehead, sending a wave of warmth and care through him.
Pedri: " Aww, thank you, my sweet schmoopie."
Y/N: "You're welcome baby. Now, finish your porridge, and I'll go get you some more tea and medicine."
Pedri nodded.
Y/N: "Alright now, you need to take this medicine. It will help you recover faster, okay?”
Pedri: "But it tastes terrible, and I hate taking medicine."
Y/N: "I understand, but it's for your own good. Please, just one spoonful, and I promise I'll make it up to you."
Pedri crossed his arms, looking like a stubborn child.
Pedri: "I don't know... Can't you give me a kiss on the lips instead?"
Y/N laughed, trying to hide the amusement in her voice.
Y/N: "Nice try, but you know that's not a fair trade. Medicine is essential for your health."
Pedri continued to pout, but Y/N knew just how to handle him.
Y/N: "Alright, here's the deal. You take the medicine, and I'll give you three forehead kisses."
Pedri raised an eyebrow, considering the offer.
Pedri: "Three? That's it?"
Y/N: "Three, and they'll be extra sweet, I promise."
Pedri hesitated for a moment before finally relenting.
Pedri: "Okay, fine, but only because I can't resist your forehead kisses."
Y/N smiled, handing Pedri the medicine.
Y/N: "Good choice, schmoopie. Now, open wide and take it like a champ."
Pedri reluctantly swallowed the medicine, making a face as he did so.
Pedri: "Ugh, that was awful."
Y/N grinned, leaning in to deliver on her promise.
Y/N: "You did great! Now, here come your forehead kisses."
Y/N placed three tender kisses on Pedri's forehead, and he couldn't help but smile, feeling a little better already.
Pedri: "You're a sneaky one. But thanks for taking care of me."
Y/N hugged him tightly, knowing that even with a bit of teasing, taking care of Pedri was a labor of love.
Y/N: "Always, schmoopie. Now rest, and let the medicine work its magic."
After taking the medicine, Pedri settled back into bed, and Y/N placed a damp cloth on his forehead to reduce his fever.
Y/N: "There, the damp cloth should help bring down your fever and make you feel more comfortable."
Pedri closed his eyes, feeling the soothing sensation of the damp cloth on his forehead.
Pedri: "Thank you amor, you always know how to take care of me."
Y/N smiled, leaning down to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
Y/N: "My pleasure love. Now rest, okay? Get some sleep."
As Pedri closed his eyes, he felt grateful for Y/N's love and care. With Y/N by his side, he knew he would recover in no time.
In the quiet moments that followed, Y/N continued to sit by his side, occasionally brushing her fingers through his hair and whispering sweet words of comfort as he drifted off to sleep..
As the day went on, Y/N continued to take care of Pedri, making sure he had everything he needed to recover fully. She would occasionally sneak in playful forehead kisses, knowing it brought a smile to Pedri's face.
Two days later, Pedri's cold had subsided significantly, thanks to Y/N's love and care. As they snuggled up together on the couch, Pedri couldn't help but express his gratitude.
Pedri: "You know, I couldn't have asked for a better partner. You make everything better, my sweet schmoopie. Te quiero mucho mi amor. “
Y/N blushed, feeling adored and cherished.
Y/N: "And I couldn't have asked for a better schmoopie boo. You bring so much joy into my life and I love you more baby."
Pedri couldn't help but feel grateful for Y/N's presence in his life. Being sick might not have been ideal, but having Y/N by his side made it a little more bearable.
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sirenjose · 4 months
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Analysis of the Food/Diet of the Lower Class in the Victorian era
(It was a bit tricky for me to find sufficiently detailed answers about the time and group I was looking for, as I wanted a bit more than the basics. Apologies for any mistakes)
Bread was a staple of the lower-class diet, such as wholemeal, rye bread, unleavened bread (like oatcakes), etc.. For the poor, it was often made of cheap-quality flour and likely denser than modern bread.
These could be supplemented with whatever vegetables that were cheapest as well as locally available at that time of year. Onions were among the cheapest (half penny for a dozen, cheaper if they were bruised) and available all year. They were more expensive in late spring, at which point they could be substituted by leeks. Watercress was another cheap staple (halfpenny for 4 bunches from April to January/February) and were regularly eaten at breakfast. Cabbage was cheap and easily available, along with broccoli, with lettuce and radishes available in summer. Carrots and turnips were inexpensive staples, especially in winter, and they along with cabbage were often used in stews and soups.
As for fruit, apples were the cheapest and most commonly available (from August to May). Cherries were also fairly cheap (from May to July). Pears, blackberries, and plums were available throughout autumn. Then there were gooseberries, plums and greengages (in late September), raspberries, and strawberries. Not all fruits were affordable, like oranges, which were imported from Spain in winter but were expensive and often given as gifts, and pineapples, which were a sign of wealth.
Potatoes were another staple and were prepared in various ways, including boiled, mashed, roasted, or fried. They grew well in Britain’s mild weather, making them easy to produce and sell, meaning they were cheap and thus became a frequent meal.
In terms of meat, the lower class ate it infrequently, maybe once a week, with the worst off even less often. Pork was 1 of the most common types of meat, when it could be afforded.
As a result, the poor made the most of it (using and eating every part of it). For example, a cook would boil a piece of beef or mutton with vegetables one day (probably Sunday, the only day many people had off from work), then return to the boiling pot the next day and skim the fat off from the top to be used for frying or pie crusts. Then he or she could set the liquid back to boiling, adding a stingy amount of oatmeal (one recipe recommends a tablespoon of oatmeal for every pint of liquid) to produce another nourishing meal from the broth. Recipes call it a pot liquor soup; we’d more likely call it gruel.
Gruel, made by boiling grains, like oats, rice, or barley, in water or milk, was a common food option for the poor as it required minimal ingredients and was easy to prepare. It often served as a breakfast or basic meal.
Porridge refers to a thicker and more substantial version of cooked grains, usually oats, in water or milk. It was typically cooked for a longer amount of time, resulting in a creamier and heartier consistency. It was also a popular breakfast choice due to it being nutritious and filling.
They tended to buy cuts and trimmings of meat no one else wanted, which were referred to as “block ornaments”. Examples included sheep’s organs, shanks, gristly bits, and heads. Most of these cuts were tough or didn’t have much meat on them, but they could produce a filling broth. Tripe (lining of stomach of animals like cattle, sheep, and pig), liver, meat on the bone (shin or cheek), and offal (aka organ meats like brains, hearts, sweetbreads, liver, kidneys, lungs, and intestines) were also cheap.
Chicken was rare, as the birds were kept for eggs, and usually not eaten unless the bird stopped laying eggs.
Later in the Victorian era, bacon became a popular choice at breakfast (alongside kippers aka a type of fish made from herring, eggs, and porridge).
Drippings was another common part of the lower class diet. Drippings refer to the fat that is collected as a result of cooking meat. When meat, such as beef, pork, or poultry, is roasted or grilled, the fat present in the meat melts and drips down into the pan or tray. This fat is then collected and saved, typically in a container or jar, for later use. They add flavor and richness to dishes and are commonly used for making gravies, sauces, or to enhance the flavor of roasted vegetables, as a few examples.
Since meat was a luxury, the lower class tended to go for cheaper proteins, like eggs and legumes.
Many East End homes kept hens in their backyards, with a couple hens able to produce up to a dozen eggs per home per week. Hard cheeses like cheddar was produced countrywide and so available all year round, meaning it was able to enter the diet of the lower class. It was a good protein, kept well, and even stale it could be eaten toasted with bread.
Regarding legumes (ex: beans, peas, peanuts, lentils, etc…), they were a cost-effective source of protein, fiber, and nutrients. Dried legumes were more affordable and available all year round. Beans (good from July to September) were a staple for many lower class, often cooked in stews, soups, or baked dishes. Peas (affordable from June to July) and lentils were also commonly consumed.
In terms of drinks, tea was very common. It became more affordable with the help of increased trade, improved transportation, and advancements in production methods. The poor drank tea that tended to be weaker, as they reused the tea leaves several times before disposing of them. Black tea was common, the most popular being those imported from countries like China and India.
Milk was widely consumed but not usually in large quantities, due to cost and adulteration fears (aka fear of contamination). Beer was also common (made with low alcohol content so you didn’t get drunk), even for women and older children, as water wasn’t safe to drink back them (easily contaminated, but the brewing process killed off the germs). Coffee was another option, but it tended to be more expensive than tea, beer, or milk.
Sugar became cheaper at least after 1874, but still tended to be relatively expensive, especially for those on lower incomes. Thus it remained more of a luxury item and consumed in mostly smaller quantities or for special occasions.
Butter, like sugar, would’ve also been considered a relatively expensive item, and thus not as widely consumed. Instead, they used cheaper options of fat, like lard and dripping.
Nuts were another slightly more expensive item. But there were some options if a poorer individual could afford them. Chestnuts were the most common (favorite street snack in chestnut season, running from September to January). There were also filberts and hazelnuts (available from October to May) and walnuts (seasonal). Imported almonds and brazil nuts were more expensive, but commonly consumed around Christmas as a “treat”.
Even if they could afford things like sugar, butter, or nuts, the lower class likely would’ve typically used their income on more basic necessities and things they needed for their job or life.
Individuals were paid on Saturday, and that plus the absence of refrigeration affected the weekly menu. It’s possible the lower class at least may have possessed basic cooking utensils, like a skillet, pot, or kettle. The ‘best’ and relatively most expensive meals were taken on Saturday evening and Sunday, though the poorest would often buy food at the end of Saturday trading, at the cheapest possible prices. Menu choices became cheaper through the week: purchases of food would diminish in quantity as the food budget shrank, and meat would often only be purchased once a week, though vegetables and fruit were usually purchased and consumed on a daily basis.
The very poor might purchase cheaper older fruits, vegetables, and meat on the verge of edibility, though this didn’t really diminish the nutrients in them much.
The lack of refrigeration facilities meant that meats eaten hot on any one day were almost inevitably consumed (cold) on the second day. Any more leftovers were, due to incipient spoilage, curried or hashed on the third day. Spices and the higher heat involved in frying the hash would disguise any taint to the meat and lessen the chances of food poisoning.
Men worked on average 9–10 hours per day for 5.5-6 days a week, giving a range from 50–60 hours of physical activity per week. Factoring in the walk to and from work increases the range of total hours of work-related physical activity up to 55–70 hours per week. They likely required around 5000 calories a day.
The daily wage for poor miners back then may have been around 3-4 shillings, with the weekly wage then around 18-24 shillings. In dollars, 3-4 shillings was likely around $1. In today’s money, 3-4 shillings a day may be around £4 to £5 or $5 to $6.
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OMG HI!
Ok so in one of your Pietro headcanons things you said Pietro was a morning person and let me tell you I am most certainly not so can I request Pietro x non morning person reader headcanons 💕💕 I can just imagine him running super fast around her in circles and her just looking at him like 🤨-😐-😞-😴
hiii!! neither am I!! im just a grumpy miserable bitch in the morning😭 that’s very cute! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌
NOT A MORNING PERSON HC’S
pietro maximoff x female reader
— I def think he's the annoying kind of early bird, one that's like, "you woke up at 9? ive been awake since.." one of those that sorta shames you for sleeping 'late', but he's not mean about it!! just cocky and irritating (but in a kinda cute way (I put that lightly))
— talking of which, he wakes up at 6 am (or 5) naturally. 7 is him being naughty and lazy 
— in the morning, he religiously goes for a run. doesn't matter the weather, he's out the door by 6:30 
— after the run, he comes back, showers and gets some work done around the house/ flat. maybe does the dishes from last night's dinner like a good little boy (im kidding)
— maybe he makes himself some breakfast, def something VERY healthy with lots of (idek!!? im not a health nut, but like pulses, wholegrains????) maybe eggs, sourdough and a big bowl of porridge with berries and nuts on the side. he's a freak, so he has no butter on the toast and no chocolate in the porridge. he def has a mid-morning lunch too, just bc he's constantly burning so much 
— by 9, he's done everything he needs to do for the day, so he'd go and check on you, seeing you sleeping soundly - probs wanting to wake you up
— he'd whisper your name loudly, maybe prodding you awake. you'd open one eye, giving him a death glare. you'd huff and roll over, sleepily telling him to get lost
— he'd try again, maybe stroking over your back (as you’re now facing away ) you'd grumble, covering your face with a pillow or your arm
— he'd whiz around the other side of the bed, trying to coax you out to start the day he planned. he'd see how tired you are, so he drops it, kissing your forehead and saying how he'll be back in 10 to wake you
— he'd return and see you flat-out asleep, giving you another 20
— when he returns the second time, you're awake, yawning and rubbing sleep from your eyes. he'd say good morning, and tell you look pretty. also calling you a sleepy head or something
— when you're finally up and about, he'd be kinda hyper (not like a kid) but VERY awake whereas you'd be the complete opposite. yawning, grumbling, rubbing eyes all that stuff
—also, he's always telling you that you should wake up earlier bc it's good for you (blah blah I don't wanna hear it) and you tell him the same - how he should wake up later bc it's better for his health. it causes some lighthearted conflict
— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —
no taglist as don’t want to spam
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i wanna hear more about Goldilocks reader and her two dads and big sister
Buckle up Anons and Accounts, things are gonna get depressing.
Unlike Mythical Forest! Reader and Red riding hood! Reader, Goldilocks Reader has a very depressing life before she meets the trio.
You lived in a rundown village who was often the target for bad weather and just terrible stuff all around. Since Reader was an affair baby, everyone put the blame on her.
After years of mistreatment and neglect, a terrible famine hit and the village’s solution was to abandon you in the woods! Maybe those bears who have a penchant for eating humans will take you off their hands!
You wandered around for a bit till you found their house and decided to make yourself at home. In typical Goldilocks fashion, you eat the porridge, sit in their chairs and then go to sleep.
Once the villain trio comes back and get pissy, cause their food was eaten and other stuff. Shigaraki wants to wack a bitch, Toga is pissed that her food was eaten and Dabi just wants to nap. (Me too buddy.)
They go confront Reader and she just breaks down, mostly due to the fear and anxiety. Shigaraki then just says fuck it, we’re adopting you
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inkformyblood · 3 months
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every colour i see reminds me of you (CWFKB #8)
Fill for lipstick kiss for @codywanfirstkissbingo Canon Universe, Order 66 Didn't Happen
“So,” Quinlan slides onto the bench next to Obi-Wan, knocking his tray against Obi-Wan’s already cluttered offerings. “Your Commander is trying out a new lip colour then?”
Obi-Wan straightens, something close to fear twisting through the pit of his stomach. His spine feels drawn too tight, a puppet with ill-fitting strings as he forces himself to glance over at the other man, ensuring that his brow doesn’t rise past the notch of mild disapproval. He pokes at the porridge with his free hand, the pale lilac surface giving way before it reforms over the intrusion. “He is though I fail to see how that is any of your business.”
“Purple?”
Obi-Wan considers punching Quinlan. It would be undeniably childish of him and he could already hear the disapproving words of Master Windu echo in the back of his thoughts, some reactions never got easier to weather despite the fact that Obi-Wan hasn’t been a Knight for nearly two decades now and a Padawan for even longer. But Quinlan’s grin is just the right shade of sharp, honed and cultivated to imply the exact amount of knowing something that his target doesn’t that would make someone hesitate to punch him. Even if he more than deserves it. “Now, why should that matter?”
Quinlan leans forward, propping his chin onto Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His dreadlocks swing free, and Obi-Wan catches them, abandoning his absent-minded prodding of his food to do so. There’s a faint scent of lavender that comes with the motion, a poor attempt at hiding the tang of engine oil and industrial work. He pulls the locks away as he turns to look down at Quinlan, the pair of them now nearly nose-to-nose. 
His eyes dark and his grin only widening, drawing and redrawing the line in the sand that he is determined to toe, Quinlan asks, “So, I am right?”
Obi-Wan licks Quinlan’s nose, still childish but less overtly so. Quinlan recalls, tugging against Obi-Wan’s hold on his locks, and swipes at his shoulder with a laugh. He looks younger when he’s laughing, the harsh lines of grief and suffering the war had drawn over his countenance. Scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm, Quinlan rocks forward, tapping his knuckles against Obi-Wan’s tray. “Don’t need you to answer, Obi. I know I’m right just by this.”
His breakfast tray. It is full but Obi-Wan is intending on carrying the rest back to his rooms, their rooms now that Cody has moved in with the war resolving in a mostly settled ceasefire. Obi-Wan’s gaze skips over the small bowl of porridge, the normal cream shade tinted lilac by the addition of some fruit, then to the plate of potato. It is a new variant from a planet that has only recently opened up the trade routes and the flesh is a dark purple. He has a salad for some variety, dark leaves and curls of a paler purple carrot scattered amongst it and— Oh. Oh .
“How long have I been doing this?”
“What?” Quinlan reaches over and selects a piece of fruit from Obi-Wan’s tray, purple like all the rest of it. “Matching your meal and nearly every other choice on that day to the colour of your Commander’s lipstick?”
“Yes. Quin. That.”
“Practically since he started wearing it.”
Obi-Wan bites back a curse and stands, drawing his tray close to his chest. He’d thought that he was being careful with his crush on the other man, keeping it close to his chest and obfuscated behind several very plausible reasons for his level of attention, of care. Had Cody noticed? Obi-Wan’s crush, as it was, is his own problem to cope with. He doesn’t want to inflict it upon Cody if it isn’t returned. “Thank you for your insights, Quin.”
Quinlan waves him away, the self-shame grin plastered over his face once more, and Obi-Wan takes his leave, his tray clasped in front of him. Cody is sprawled across the sofa as Obi-Wan enteres, much the same position he had been earlier that morning, with the addition of a holopad clutched in one hand. He pauses the video as Obi-Wan enters sitting up with a grin. “Short queue?”
“Something like that.” Obi-Wan joins him, sliding the tray onto the table. Purple food, purple lipstick carefully painted over Cody’s mouth. “Can I kiss you?”
Cody blinks, smiling gently up at him. “Thought you were never going to ask.”
He leans forward and Obi-Wan learns that his lipstick tastes as sweet as it looks. 
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imaginethezeldaverse · 8 months
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🥺🥺🥺 Of course, Anon. Oh gosh, the big lug would be so worried about you too. Okay, okay, I got you. Daruk taking care of sick reader (and getting some help from his friends along the way!):
A large hand descended gently on your forehead. He always ran warm, but the way you shivered and shook under those pelts he thought was normally reserved for cold weather responses - and yet here you were, burning up even on his skin. Daruk's long, white eyebrows turned up in concern. His biology being so different from yours, he didn't understand what exactly what was wrong at first. Thankfully some travelling Hylians managed to clarify once Daruk explained to them how you were feeling. You were dealing with a really bad cold - which would make sense to you having just come from the Hebra mountainside two days ago and running out of spicy elixirs about halfway through your trip. The temperature swap from bone-chilling cold to sweltering heat within that timeframe had caused you to get pretty sick. So much so that you were reduced to a weak mess, groaning from the febrile chills and body aches that plagued you. A message had been sent out to Princess Mipha, directly from Daruk, asking for a healing potion that would hopefully fix you right up; having seen her heal people constantly, Daruk figured she was the best person to ask. Upon feeling his hand on your forehead, you stirred at the contact, a pained wince escaping you. Daruk didn't mean to wake you, but seeing as you were now, he carefully rummaged through your pack. Pouring some water into a small bowl, he kneeled next to you, "Up you go, sweetheart," as his hand came behind your head to prop you up. Your whole body felt akin to lead and ice, but you did your best to lift your head regardless. Daruk touched the bowl to your lips, gently leaning it back as you drank. When you'd had enough, you settled back under the pelts, shivers wracking your entire body in horrid waves. The Goron champion made his way to your kitchen, pulling a rag from your pack on the way; he doused it with water, remembering the words of those Hylian travelers who explicitly mentioned that cool cloths would help bring your temperature down. Before long you felt the touch of a cool, damp cloth lay across your forehead. An involuntary whine escaped you, "Shhh, I know, I know, I'm sorry," Daruk cooed, gingerly dragging his thumb down to carefully caress your warmed cheek. The soft strokes on your skin were comforting, and even though you couldn't see him because your eyes refused to open, you knew his touch meant 'I'm here'. The stoney stalwart was admittedly terrified to see you in a such a state. Gorons weren't prone to getting sick like this, and with his knowledge being next to nothing on Hylian illness, he felt almost helpless. Knowing what he does now, he was determined to stay by your side until you were completely better. He'd learned to make some porridges as an easy meal to help you build your strength back up. At one point he'd heard your weakened voice call for him, "Daruk..." you croaked through your shivering, eyes barely half open. His worried expression carried over in his voice, "What's wrong? Are you in pain?" Try as you might, you couldn't find the words to ask him what it was you wanted, so instead you used the very little strength you had to push yourself into his arms - which in actuality ended up with you barely being able to drape your arms over his crossed legs. However, Daruk had caught onto what you wanted, picking you up as gently as he could, and holding your tired frame close in his arms. You snuggled into his chest, relishing the heat his body gave off. He pressed his lips to your temple, frowning at how warm your body still was - but he understood that what you wanted was comfort. Daruk held you that way for a while, rubbing your back as you shook in his hold and kissing away any of your pained whines and moans. When he finally got you back to your bed so you could rest some more, he'd heard a gentle knock at the door. The airy woosh of wings sounded outside of your bedroom before Daruk had finally made his way to answer the commotion. A blue scarf, much like his own, had caught Daruk’s eye. "I assume this little bottle isn't for you, is it?" came the smooth voice of Revali, his Rito champion companion. "’Fraid not," answered Daruk, who quickly looked back at your bedroom door, just as you groaned from your aching. Revali held out his wing, “You’re lucky, I happened to be at Zora’s Domain picking up some fish - Mipha had asked me to drop this off,” he dropped the bottle into Daruk’s hand, “She said to add some of the hot spring water you have here in the mountains.” Daruk slowly curled his fist around the glass, a grateful smile gracing his face, the spring water would be perfect to help you feel better, that he was sure of!  Turning on his talons, Revali gave a short ‘hmph’, “Normally I wouldn’t waste my time to go out of my way to Eldin,” he turned halfway toward his comrade, a small smile barely peeking through his beak, “...But I suppose it’s different when it’s your friends that are in need.”  His Goron cohort chuckled, “Yer alright, Revali,” Daruk swiped at his nose, “And ya have my thanks.” Wordlessly the Rito champion took off with Daruk shortly making his way to the nearest hot spring to gather a bit of it into the bottle and shake up the concoction. It turned an earthy red, a familiar color he’d seen on the battlefield before when training with his fellow champions not too long ago. He wasted no time waking you once more to sip the potion, your face screwing up in disgust from the aftertaste. But as soon as you did, you felt your shivering start to diminish, the pelts covering you comfortably now instead of barely keeping in the warmth you constantly sought.  Large fingers held to your forehead once more, a rumbly sigh of solace sounding just above you. Your eyes fluttered open, “Daruk...?”  His smile was warm, dark blue eyes filled with relief and contentment. A hand cradled your back as he helped you sit upright, “Ya almost had me in a panic there, sweetheart...never seen ya that sick before.” You eased yourself into his big arms, “I’m sorry, hunny, I didn’t mean to make you worry so much.”  Kisses were pressed into your cheek and forehead as he held you tight against him, “I’m just glad you’re feelin’ better.” It was your turn to give him a kiss, though yours was one of gratitude.  “Knowing I’ve got the great Daruk to take care of me, I was bound to be better in no time.” Daruk couldn’t stop the wide grin that stretched across his face, happy as ever to see you feeling like yourself already. He’d have to remember to thank his friends for the timely assistance. 
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fe-fictions · 10 months
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do you have any Lon'qu to repost or new prompts to fill? my crops are dying :C
(I have Lon'qu being the BEST papa to toddler Morgan ever!!!)
There was something about your little Morgan that was very different from his future self. It wasn’t that he loved you any less. It was clear your little boy adored you.
But you realized that...it almost seemed like he loved his father even more than his future self, did. For one thing, he refused to leave his father’s side.
He was practically latched onto Lon’qu from the second he learned how to walk. Crawling after Lon’qu had become quite a struggle, seeing how he wasn’t able to keep up with his dad (who would quickly return and pick him up).  
With access to the magic that is walking, though, Morgan had nowhere else to be but following along at his father’s side. And Lon’qu found it absolutely adorable.
“Papa!”
The man had barely gotten out of bed that morning when he found a handsome mop of dark hair smushed into his leg.
Lon’qu’s hand fell on Morgan’s little head, giving him a proper tousle. “Good morning, son.”
“What we doin’ today?”
“Training.” He replied, before looking over his shoulder. “But first, breakfast.”
“Mama still sleepin’?”
“Yeah.” He took Morgan’s hand and the pair quietly left the bedroom, headed straight for the kitchen. 
Lon’qu’s little shadow followed him around while he prepared a proper breakfast meal, rice porridge and eggs quickly whipped up. Strips of bacon sizzled in the pan while the rest of the ingredients were cooking. 
Morgan dutifully retrieved the wooden bowls for his parents’ meals. And was promptly rewarded with a proud “thank you” from his father and an apple slice.
“Papa?”
“Yes, son.”
“I wanna train.” 
“You always do.” Lon’qu reminded him, smiling to himself at the thought of Morgan swinging around a stick haphazardly. He was much too young for Lon’qu to teach him proper fighting form, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t tempted to, from time to time.
“No, I wanna train like Papa!!” He insisted behind another apple slice, which Lon’qu promptly handed him. “I wanna big sword!”
“You’re too  little to handle a blade, Morgan. I didn’t get to use my first sword until I was five.”
“But I wanna train like you, right now.” Morgan’s reasoning was perfectly sound. But Lon’qu knew it wouldn’t do either of them any good if he tried to teach Morgan how to fight with an actual sword.
If you didn’t put a stop to it, Khan Flavia would have his head. “He’s a kid in peacetime, Lon’qu! If you let that boy swing a sword before he’s at least ten, I’ll skewer you with mine!”
It wasn’t his fault Morgan wanted to fight like his father. If anything it was something he was very happy about. There were few things in this world that brought him greater joy than mastery over the blade. 
It was only behind being married to you, the woman of his dreams, and Morgan, the most precious, chubby-cheeked baby boy on the face of this planet.
Not...not that he’d ever admit that.
“I’ll let you train with a big sword when you’re ready. You’ve still got a lot of training to do before you can handle a blade. But the sooner you learn,” Lon’qu handed him your breakfast, “The sooner you get to use one.”
“R-really?” Morgan’s eyes sparkled with joy. Lon’qu smiled.
“Of course. Now go give that to your mother. We need to eat quickly so we can get a head start, today.”
Morgan scampered off, Lon’qu trailing after once he finished up Morgan’s bowl (with a few extra apple slices). That would be just about the only moment Morgan wasn’t right beside him.
When everyone finished eating (and you gave him a proper number of thank-you kisses), Lon’qu helped his son dress and the pair of them headed out for the day.
The training out in the field was peaceful and warm, a pleasant change in Ferox’s usual weather. Morgan’s stick waved frantically as usual, poorly mocking Lon’qu’s disciplined swings and his determined focus. 
Once training was done, it was on to the next thing. Visiting the market was, naturally, a very important errand you wanted to run.
But Lon’qu wanted you to rest (for once). Why else would bring you breakfast in bed? You had a day off, let the boys handle things for the day.
You weren’t worried about them heading into town. If only because Morgan would never dare stray from his father. He knew there was no better place to be than beside his father!
So you remained at home and relaxed, waiting until they returned before you even thought about lifting a finger. 
In fact, you were about a third through your new novel when the door opened, followed by the happy cheering from Morgan and the scrambling of paper bags.
“Morgan, be careful! You’ll trip-”
“I won’t! I got all the bags, Papa! I’m-” 
Thud
“-That’s why you listen to me.”
“I’m okay!” 
You rose from your seat, stifling a giggle as you watched your poor baby recover slowly from the faceplant. He retained his cheeriness, starting to put things back in the bag that had torn.
Lon’qu sighed, setting everything on the table before going to his son’s aid.
“You would’ve been more okay if you did as you were told.” He crouched beside Morgan, picking him up and setting him on his leg while he scooped up the fallen fruits and vegetables.
Morgan rubbed at the mark on his forehead, offering a humbled, “Sorry, Papa.”
“It’s all right.” He gave Morgan the bundle of carrots, “You won’t be doing it again, will you?”
“No, sir.”
“You’ll do as I say the first time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Lon’qu pecked his forehead, “Take those into the kitchen, put them on the table and then go wash your face.”
He stood to find you watching over him with nothing but a smile on your lips, doing a terrible job of hiding how thrilled you were with your husband.
Suddenly self-conscious, he looked aside, shifting the produce in his hands. “W-what?”
“Nothing,” You mused, walking up to him. “I just love you.”
“I-I…!” He stammered, face flushed, “What brought that on, all of a sudden??”
“It’s just so cute how you take care of Morgan. He’s always following you around like that, and you dote on him so sweetly. I thought for sure you’d be annoyed with him, by now.”
“Tch. If he were someone else’s brat, maybe.” He muttered, letting you take some of the food from his arms. “But he’s my responsibility, isn’t he?”
“That’s a funny way of saying you love your boy.”
“Of course I- t-that was implied!” He huffed, “I care about both of you. He’s just the one who doesn’t leave me alone.”
“It doesn’t seem like that’s such a bad thing.”
“It’s not.” He agreed, reluctantly. You helped him sort the groceries, putting them away while he struggled to get his blush back under control.
“He really does look up to you, doesn’t he? It makes me jealous.”
“Please. We both know he’ll grow up to be just like you.”
“But with a lot less magic and plenty more swordsmanship.”
“Even so...he’ll stick by your side more often than not when he’s older. I just want to enjoy it for a while until I’m not the favorite, anymore.”
“Oh, you think you’re the favorite?”
“He follows me around like a duckling; I don’t see him doing the same with you.” He pointed out, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being smug.
You fought to keep the poker face, quirking an eyebrow at him. “That’s quite a hefty claim.”
“I stand by it.”
“Papa, Mama! All clean!!” Morgan scampered back into the room, collapsing into Lon’qu’s legs. He looked to you, his face remaining stoic, but his eyes were narrowed at you.
‘Told you so.’ They said.
You had to bite your lip to fend off your laughter. “Morgan, sweetheart.”
“Yes, Mama?” He peeked at you beyond Lon’qu’s hug. 
“Who’s your favorite- Mama or Papa?”
“H-hey now, you can’t just ask a kid that-”
“Mama!!” He exclaimed, beaming brightly at you. Lon’qu stiffened, and you were certain you just heard his heart break.
“What?”
“Mama my favorite.” He repeated, squeezing Lon’qu’s legs. You could see the poor man turning to stone.
“Impossible...my own son...has betrayed me…” His voice cracked, hoarse with the crippling realization that his baby was no longer his baby. “All that following me around...all those words...they were meaningless…?”
“Looks that way,” You shrugged, taking Morgan into your arms and balancing him on your hip to start dinner. “Maybe you ought to sit down for a little while, dear. You look pale.”
Lon’qu numbly trudged into the living area, collapsing onto the hearth beside his scabbard.
You had yet to tell him that Morgan didn’t know what the word “favorite” meant. But he did know that, according to you, that’s what Mama was. 
You’d tell him later, of course...after he marinated in his humbling a little longer.
It was your turn for a little duckling time, anyways.
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I've been reading my baby Annie M.G. Schmidt's nursery rhymes at bedtime, and I do suspect that this particular one left more of an impression on me as a kid than I realised... (excuse my translation):
The Count of I-Know-Not (De graaf van Weet-ik-veel)
In Umperadot, in a miserable plot, stood the fort of the count of I-Know-Not, an evil count, a fearsome count, a count with calves of steel. And every night that a lady or knight had to pass by his castle in terrible fright, then that terrible count of I-Know-Not sicced his fiery drake on their heels.
Oh horror, and when the moon shone bright, then the tattered curtains swished in the night, then all kinds or creatures crept in the dark, bloodthirsty creatures with more bite than bark, and vipers and owls and serpents and snails, and creatures with all of seventeen tails. And once you had gone there at terrible cost, it was all but certain your life would be lost. Chills! Chills! Chills! Chills! Chills!
And near Umperadot and the castle and moat, there lived the lady Golden-Throat, who sang so sweetly cooking porridge every day. And goodness me, that evil man, that evil count dreamt up a plan. Oh just imagine, if you can: He wanted to steal her away!
When that night the moon was shining there, he went to fetch the lady fair. With a garter he had her bound, and then he lifted her off the ground, he carried her off in the dead of the night, And there was the dragon with fire bright! There came the vipers and serpents and owls. Chills! Chills! Chills! Chills! Chills!
What did the fair lady Golden-Throat do? Did she start screaming? Oh no, not true. She started singing falalala, fiddle-de-dee and fiddle-de-daa! And then the vipers and serpents and owls, All began weeping with pitiful howls. And the dragon went docile, and that’s quite the claim, that’s the rarest of things, a dragon that’s tame!
So now in the castle of Umperadot, Still lives that count of I-Know-Not. All the curtains were mended, every spot. Now they both live there together. Now they drink tea, as content as can be, and their drake spends the day watching the weather.
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alicethenobody · 2 months
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Ok headcanons about Min taking care of a sick Ryan because I did one about the other way around.
-Ryan will be very stubborn and insist he’s not sick at first but it’s impossible to hide the fact that he’s under the weather.
-When they were kids Min would always bring rice porridge to the Akagi house for Ryan to help him feel better. But he wouldn’t stay for very long because he was scared of getting sick. Ryan would be sad because he couldn’t see Min very much but he always felt a little better seeing his face. It did more for his spirits than anything.
-Ryan would insist on not taking the porridge out of guilt and telling Min he and his family should eat it instead because they made it but Min wouldn’t take no for an answer and he’d leave it in the fridge or something.
-Post train though Min stays by Ryan’s bedside and holds his hand for the most part. Ryan feels guilty and insists that Min doesn’t stay so close because he could get sick but Min insists on not leaving him alone and “The only place I want to be right now is with you.” And stuff. He does take precautions though, making sure to wear a mask and stuff. He knows if he gets sick he can’t take care of Ryan.
-He’ll often sing Ryan’s favorite songs to him as a way of comfort. He’s not as confident about his voice as Ryan but he goes for it.
-If Ryan tries to lift a finger Min will (light heartedly and he’s not mean about it) scold him and say “Let me do it.” And Ryan kinda feels like a burden especially because they’re missing potential gigs due to his sickness but he does everything to reassure him that he’s not and that he feels happy to take care of him.
-When Ryan gets better Min is extra cuddly and gives him lots of kisses to make up for lost time.
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Michael. Take this time to find a quiet spot in your house, cover yourself in tons of blankets and treat it as some sort of sick day. If anyone asks, just said you are sick or just under the weather. Use this opportunity to slowly get used to your body to being alive. Eat soft chewable food like porridge and put reminder on yourself to drink some water.
For now, you try to focus on getting yourself up. Don't care about fixing your mistake or what not. You are not in the right condition to do so.
(OOC: Sorry for the late and shitty reply, I've been really busy and I woke up 5 minutes ago)
Yeah, okay, I- thank you
...
I'm really scared, Evan's birthday is in a week! I have to be ready to stop his death, it can't be that hard, right? I mean, I'm the one who killed him!
I don't want to be here.
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