help in kitchen

Our Father

Day 3 - Darkest Moments, Brightest Lights

This is my Reyes origin story. It is… dark. It includes implied violence and character death, however, nothing graphic. Also, sorry (again, eternally) for my crap Spanish.


Reyes pushed open the door to their apartment, his brothers close on his heels as he entered the living room. The sudden, hushed silence between his mother and father told him that they’d been fighting again. There’d been a lot of that ever since the Alliance slapped Reyes Sr with a dishonorable discharge.

“Reyito,” he mother said. “Go help your abuela in the kitchen.”

His father rolled his eyes, but Reyes obeyed. Paulo and Octavio followed him out of habit; none of them wanted to witness the fight between their parents.

As he turned into the kitchen, Reyes smiled. His abuela stood over the stove, swaying her hips to the song playing from the family’s omnitool.

“Reyito!” She called to him over the music. “Come stir this.” She pointed to a steaming pot on one of the back burners, and he didn’t hesitate to do her bidding.

Paulo and Octavio slumped into chairs at the small table in their eat-in kitchen and dealt cards to play slapjack together. Reyes stirred the sauce simmering in the pot, humming along as his grandma sang and danced while she seasoned the pork they were having for dinner.

“No tiene nada que ver con el,” his mother shouted from the living room.

“El deberia trabajar,” his father countered, just as loud. “El tiene edad suficiente.”

Reyes kept his focus on the stove, but felt his brothers’ eyes on his back.

“Don’t listen to your idiot father, Reyes.”

He turned to look at his abuela. Her wrinkled face was creased from the force of her smile, her amber eyes warm with understanding. He smiled back at her, grateful for the comfort offered by his usually stern grandmother.

Reyes watched over the sauce and had just started the rice, Paulito and Octavtio giggling as they each rushed to slap the jack of clubs before the other. That sound was much better than the continued shouts from their parents. But, as he stirred the sauce, trying to let the music and his brothers’ laughter soothe him, a loud knock at the door ended his parents argument.

A chill ran down Reyes’ spine as his abuela turned off the music. The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a thickly accented voice that sounded like gravel dragged over sandpaper.

“C’mon, Vidal,” the man on the other side of the door called. “We know you’re in there. We could hear you shoutin’ halfway down the hall!”

His grandmother grabbed his shoulder and spun him to face her. “Take your brothers and go to my room,” she whispered.

“But,” he protested.

“Now,” she snapped and stuffed her rosary into his hand. “Pray, Reyito!”

“What’s happening?” Paulo asked as Reyes herded his brothers into their abuela’s small bedroom.

“Shh,” Octavio said. At ten, he was old enough to understand that something bad was happening.

“Both of you, shut it!” Reyes snapped as he pushed them down onto the floor. “Get under the bed.”

The boys complied, the fear in their oldest brother’s voice enough to convince them to listen without complaint. Reyes shut the rickety, makeshift door his father had grudgingly built for their abuela, but left it ajar enough that he could see the kitchen through the crack. And then he knelt, his back to the bed, and prayed.

“Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

The door to the apartment screeched open, like it was being pried back from the wall.

“Thy kingdom come,”

His father’s voice carried through the door. “No! Please,” he cried. “I just need more time!”

A wicked laugh filled the apartment. “More time? You were supposed to pay your debt two months ago!”

“I know,” his father said. “But-” There was a sickening crunch as armor met flesh and his father cried out.

“Thy will be done,” Reyes continued. “On Earth as it is in Heaven.”

“Grab him,” the accented voice growled, and the distinct sound of his father crying came closer. “Let’s all go to the kitchen, shall we?” The gravelly voice asked, brimming with false cheer.

“Please,” his mother’s voice rang through the apartment.

“Give us this day,” Reyes said, though his voice faltered at the sound of his mama crying. “Our daily bread.”

“Reyes,” Paulo mewled from under the bed.

“Shh, Paulito,” Octavio whispered, though he sounded just as frightened as their youngest brother. Both boys fell silent, but a hand clamped around each of Reyes’ ankles.

His father yelped and there was a thud as the kitchen floor shook. Reyes opened his eyes to see his father kneeling in the kitchen, his back facing the door to their abuela’s room. From this angle Reyes could see the blue and white striped armor of the mercenary, but not his face.

“Please,” his father sobbed, his voice thick and bubbling.

“Forgive us our trespasses,” Reyes whispered. “As we forgive those who trespass against us.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never be repaid,” his father hiccuped, begging for his life from his knees.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the merc said. The sneer on his face was plain in his voice as he pulled a pistol from his hip.

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Reyes’ grip on the rosary tightened, until he though the beads might burst in his fists.

“You’ve got a lovely family that I’m sure some Batarian shit-head will pay plenty for.”

“For thine is the kingdom,” Reyes breathed, afraid to be any louder than that. His mother and abuela joined into the chorus of his father’s sobbing pleas. “The power,” Reyes whispered, his voice thin as the pistol leveled its barrel at his father’s head. “And the glory, forever.”

“Please,” his father said, one last time. And then the merc fired his gun.

“Amen.”

2

New to witchcraft or want to expand your library? Here are two wonderful books.

The first book, The Book of Kitchen Witchery, is a very good book for anyone starting out and wanting to learn the basics. It gives you a step by step how to set up an altar, how to purify your sacred space, seasons/holidays of the year, how to make different potions, and brews with herbs you grow and cultivated.
You can buy this book here: https://www.amazon.com/Book-Kitchen-Witchery-recipes-enchanted/dp/1782493727


The second book, The Hearth Witch’s Compendium, is my personal favorite. You really can’t go wrong with adding this to the collection of books you have at home. Not only does it give the basics on witchcraft, but gives a complete guide on what herbs treat and heal certain illnesses. Many recipes on brews, tinctures, potions, and so much more! You won’t regret this book, I promise!
You can buy this book here: https://www.amazon.com/Hearth-Witchs-Compendium-Magical-Natural/dp/0738750468

Tinctures, tinctures, tinctures!

Many witches from all walks of life have been using tinctures for generations. Tinctures can be used for healing a whole variety of illnesses. Let’s be clear though, tinctures are more soluable in alcohol than in water. Alcohol will dissolve and extract natural resins, oils, alkaloids, sugars, starches, and hormones, though tinctures do not extract nutrients such as vitamins or minerals. Most often vodka or brandy is used to make tinctures. Unlike an infusion or decoction, tinctures are much stronger making it so you only need to use a few drops in water as a medicinal dose. You can also use a few drops in salves or baths.

Making a Simple Tincture

You will need:

• (4) ounces of dried herbs or (8) ounces of fresh herbs

• (1) clean jar for storing your tincture (something that can hold at least (20) ounces.)

• (1) pint of brandy or vodka

• (1) dark bottle (used to store the tincture when it’s finished)


Let’s get started!

To make a tincture, take (4) ounces of dried herbs or (8) ounces of fresh picked herbs in a clean jar. Make sure this jar can hold at least (20) ounces. Now pour the (1) pint of alcohol you have chosen slowly over your herbs. Simply seal your jar now and keep it in a warm place (no colder than 70°F/21°C) for 2 weeks, shaking it up a couple times a day. After the 2 weeks is over, strain out the herbs so all that is left is the liquid. Lastly, pour your tincture in a dark colored bottle and store away.

Have fun with this. There are endless opportunities when making tinctures. It’s a very easy way for any witch to cleanse and heal the body naturally. You don’t have to be a hearth witch to love making tinctures! ♡

The “I Can Do This!” Motivation bottle.

I made this little bottle for my wife at work, but I’ve decided to post it because I know finals are coming up and I think this could be helpful for those of you who are juggling your finals with the rest of your life! 

All of these things came from my kitchen spice cabinets, so nothing too crazy or difficult to find here!

I made this as something that embodied what is needed to get through the tough days. It isn’t a good luck charm, just something to bring out the best thing already in you.

Each layer is for a different piece of what makes up a good, productive day in my opinion, so here we go!


  • Sea salt - for protection
  • Cinnamon - for success & wisdom
  • Sage - for peace
  • Caraway seeds - for mental power
  • Basil - for confidence
  • Rosemary - for mental clarity
  • Red Pepper flakes - for energy


I find that saying my intent out loud really helps me to know that it is there, the more I say something out loud, the more I feel like it is true and real, so I focus on saying my intent for each layer out loud, over and over until I really do feel it there. I also find that saying these things out loud, and being sure of them, helps you to realize that there really IS power in your words. You have power to speak these words and really bring life to them because you are stating, whole-heartedly that this rosemary is going to bring mental clarity to your day. Don’t be afraid to spend as much time as you need to on each layer to feel like your intent is there. This helps me, personally. 

Once you’re filled up, put the cork back in, tightly. I would recommend packing these layers in tightly also, so if you care them around in your pocket, they don’t all mix together if you don’t want them to.

After, I sealed my bottle with wax (mine was vanilla scented because it is my wife’s favorite scent and it’s something that really makes her happy) - (also I will make a little post about how I seal up little bottles with wax later on!) and sat with it for quite a while, really focusing the intent into the whole bottle, and what you want for it as a whole. Like before, I sat repeating out loud until I really felt it and believed it with the knowing that my words have power!


I hope this was helpful! 

Dating Zach Dempsey Would Include...

Originally posted by joeck

Requested to do the ‘dating Zach Dempsey would include’ but with a booknerd fem!reader :)

 

- Getting to see how smart Zach is, everyone thought Zach was under average when it came to smarts but when you start to date him you find out just how smart he is, not in the stereotypical Asian guy can do any math way, he was terrible at math but he was an A+ bio student and knew more about marine life than anyone you’ve ever met.

- Hand holding lots of hand holding, Zach is big on holding hands whether it’s while you’re walking to class or under the table during lunch or even at the library while he stands patiently next to you as you take your time looking at all the books, you don’t mind all the hand holding since your hands are always cold and Zach’s much larger ones are always so warm and soft.

- Going on dates to the aquarium, your favourite place to go to on weekend dates is the aquarium, you like watching all the fish swim around therapeutically and you love watching Zach’s eyes light up as he sees the aquatic animals he’s usually reading and studying about in textbooks.

- Cuddling on cold rainy days, Zach is a massive teddy bear when it comes to cuddles, he loves to be cuddled and also loves to be the cuddler and when it’s a cold rainy day that’s the perfect time to sit on the couch and watch movies while cuddling each other.

Keep reading

nurseydex/zimbits fic prompt

someone should write this because I can’t get over how hilarious this would be. i basically just wrote the whole thing in bullet-point format, but if anyone with actual storytelling abilities wants to tackle this, i’d love you forever

  • okay so bitty’s senior year, the only friends left on smh that he hangs out with regularly are chowder, nursey and dex
  • chowder is obviously his favorite because bitty took chowder under his wing and now they’re best buds, but chowder has caitlin, so it’s not like he’s there to hang 24/7
  • he and nursey are friends, but they don’t really hang out by themselves a whole lot
  • we know that dex likes helping bitty cook and bake from tweets, sketches, and extras (remember hausgiving?)
  • so during bitty’s senior year, dex spends a lot of time in the kitchen helping him bake and hanging out with him
  • maybe also to talk about his crush on how much he can’t stand nursey
  • anyways, bitty is out of the closet so the newest frogs are probably aware that he’s gay, and also aware of samwell’s reputation (1 in 4 or maybe more)
  • they come by the haus a lot and see dex helping bitty bake, and bitty constantly calling dex “honey” or “sweetheart” (because that’s just how bitty is as a person)
  • what do they make of this?
  • obviously dex and bitty are dating

Keep reading

4

Merry Christmas!! The zine these drawings were originally meant for kind of fell through so I decided to post them today as a gift to you all instead. The theme was about giving kindness and helping out the community, what better time to share them than the holiday season!

Out of all of them, the Marinette and Alya one is my favorite. Which do you guys like best? :)

A History of Golems [wip]

It’s 1944. My grandmother is a short women with dark hair and a big nose. She works as a cook in an inn somewhere deep in the Third Reich. She tells the innkeeper the little girl who helps in the kitchen is her daughter. In the dining room men with red armbands drink to the war, calling the little girl to bring them more beer. 

Its 2004. I read a storybook about the Golem of Prague in the public library. I wonder what words could have the power to make clay come alive, to make a shield that can move on its own. That week I notice for the first time the security guards outside my synagogue. 

its 1961. My father is thirteen years old, an adult of the community now, so when they come down the Jewish street again with bricks and torches he helps my grandfather sweep up the broken glass. 

It’s 1941. Two boys from an immigrant neighborhood get their art published and spread to the whole country. It shows a man wearing red white and blue, punching the leader of a country we were not at war with in the face. They get threats. The Golem they’ve made isn’t enough to protect their families, dying across the sea. Captain America is only made out of words.

It’s 2016. I am drinking with people I suppose are my friends. One draws a swastika on my arm. He apologizes almost immediately but my head is full of the sound of breaking glass. There is no holy word in my skull to give me strength. 

It’s 1944. My grandmother and the girl are arrested. The officer who turned them in asks that they be sent to a labour camp together, not to the death camps. Every Nazi had one good Jew. 

Its 2011 and my english class is reading ‘A Diary of Anne Frank’. A classmate tells me America saved the Jews. I tell him my grandfather fought in the war, I tell him about the Warsaw Uprising, the resistance in Vichy France, I tell him that the United States sent children back to Germany to die. He shrugs. “Jews can’t protect themselves.” I think about Golems again.

It’s 1945. My aunt is dead. My aunt was not the little girl with my grandmother. The little girl lived to her nineties. My aunt was four. My grandmother could not protect her daughter but she could try to protect this one life. But my grandmother was not a golem. Any holy words in her head were wiped away by the time the camp gates opened. 

It’s 2016 and Captain America has been declared a Nazi by the company founded on an image of Adolf Hitler being punched in the face. I think about the Golem of Prague. In the stories after the worst of the pogroms ended the rabbis wiped the holy words off his forehead, took the scroll out of his mouth and put him to sleep wrapped in knowledge and the words of G-d. I wonder if after having the power inside of him, that clay vessel can ever again just be clay. 

Scared

Jughead x Reader

Request: Jughead has a major crush on the reader, but the reader keeps talking about her crush to the squad and it’s always so cute happy positive impressive things so Jughead thinks it’s Archie. He gets really mad at the reader and asks out Betty, and the reader sees it, but Betty tries to tell him he’s getting it all mixed up and it’s one giant confusion.

I really want a really angst jughead one shot but I don’t know what to request, can you just work your magic? Please?

Warnings: None I don’t think

Word count: 3,327

A/N: Based loosely on the emotions faced in episode 10. Also yikes on the word count but I worked super hard on this one and it’s worth the read I promise.


‘As she sits across the cold stone table on a brisk Friday evening, the boy can’t help but notice the way the moonlight bounces off her hair on the left side of her face. The fluorescent bulbs from up above cast a shadow down her face, making her eyes glow. Those same piercing eyes look up from her romance novel, almost like a prediction of his future, and she can’t tell but the boy’s heartbeat quickens, as in this moment their souls have gotten one inch closer than they were before.’ Jughead writes as he sits across from (Y/N) in Pop’s, working on his novel.

Keep reading