10000 Hours | liskook

37| sweet nothings

❝Sweet nothings you say, but I got you. And that matters the most.❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Suggestive genres/warnings: established relationship, life in the 1930s au, angst (but not really angst?), mostly hurt-comfort, themes of poverty and emotional fluff.

A lil caution beforehand, this one-shot might seem veryyy boring in the first read and it's prolly not into one of my best works. I had a recommendation and I thought of giving it a go so yeah ToT /// I've provided a brief backstory towards the end lmao.

Anon requested: a liskook wedded imagine where one of them has an emotional meltdown and the other cheers them up? I need some comfort and you're the best person I know who writes these beautifully!!!＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／

TYSM for the appreciation, anon! I saw your request long after I started drafting this scenario so I dunno if this is the best representation of what you requested yet I hope it can suffice your needs. 🧸💜

━━━━━━━━

Word Count: 5010

«NARRATION»

The crisp sounds of a small fire cracking resonated across the quiet kitchen area as soon as the casserole was placed on the stove. No matter the irrefutable attempts Lisa undertook in setting the stewpot in a balanced position, the metal was adamant and sat lopsided over the burner. She was yet to come in terms with cooking the awkwardly crooked way, especially since her vessel suffered an impactful damage and this one was borrowed from her sweet neighbour, Mrs Mayerson.

Cooking like that was considerably dangerous as there were chances of the pot to tumble over and possibly cause a burnout and damage the off white, beige flooring of their crapped rental unit adorably called 'home'. Lisa tiredly huffed, the sigh escaping in the form of fog. Picking up the spoon, she carefully tried to pry the lid off the bottle of canned meat, the deep saffron shining brighter than the original tin that contained them.

"Buy two, get one free" was the phrase she muttered under her breath, thanking heavens for the special sale offer before all stores closed down following the imposed winter curfew.

A gentle sizzle was heard when the meat hit the base of the vessel and subsequently the brown caramel colour of the broth had come to a boil whilst Lisa stared at its surface, the blandness reminding her of her own colourless life.

Needless to say, the practice of gratitude held a powerful meaning; time and again, it kept reminding Lisa of her status in the society and kept her grounded for everything the Lord had bestowed upon her, because it was the only string of hope she was holding onto, to support her family, because she was already too panicked for any more mishaps to strike by, some of which that would probably cost more than a fortune if they were to be paid back.

The rough times of 1930s or the years of Great Depression as the press liked to call them, were preferably absurd and comedic — only the past decade, everyone had predicted the good times were finally here; the 1920s were a roaring age of prosperity, with scopes of economic development for the working classes that were expected to grow richer by the future years to come. Insane changes and expected profit margins could've boomed, until 1929 struck and everything collapsed, dramatically transitioning into one of the darkest eras anybody could've ever anticipated.

The profound struggles were more like a period of uncertainty, a difficult battle of sustenance and frugality. Families of rich aristocracies and socialites kept cramming about the inconvenience to partly curb their extravagant lifestyles while the common folk as usual, were banished and sandwiched under the widened line of disparity in their terribly impoverished lifestyle. Lisa would get reminiscence of the time of her marriage when she was eighteen and ambitious, with skyrocketing dreams of chasing the American dream, the very reason why she had migrated to the States with her husband for a better way of living. And now at twenty five, Lisa was a failing mistress in managing her own home.