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crying-wolves · 11 months

Text

𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 (𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛)

----𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

----𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝟓 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 '𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲' 𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

----𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 - 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫), 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

----𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝

——wc - 2.4k

----𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓! 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆

----𝐚/𝐧 - 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ‘𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫’ (𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐧) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐈'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 <𝟑 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭.

----𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐞 (𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐫) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐚!!(𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭)

Abby was in an exceptionally agitated mood for most of the evening, but she believed, in her shoddy wisdom, that nobody could really tell.

“I swear to God if there is even a single parsley flake out of line, none of you are gettin’ outta here alive tonight.”

“I need everything to be going 500% faster and, at least, 1000% more smoothly, assholes! Got it?!”

“Whoever the fuck keeps chopping the carrots medium dice style instead of brunoise is getting their fucking face ripped off before dessert’s been sent out. Pull it together!”

A shaky chorus of “Yes, Chef!’s” reverbed through the steely silver restaurant kitchen, bouncing on and off of the spotless appliances and shiny tiled walls, and meshing with the clangs!, shlicks!, and plops! that regularly sound in the back of Delicatesse.

Yeah, she was hiding it pretty well if she did say so herself.

No one could really blame her, though. Not with how badly she needed things to go exquisitely tonight.

And everyone knows how sorry she is for snapping and raising her voice and throwing things (they’re all confident that tomorrow she’ll shuffle in with her hands clasped behind her back, head hanging towards the floor, eyes flitting from place to place spilling with hundreds of apologies and a box of syrupy treats for them all to enjoy until they’ve thoroughly forgiven her), because everyone knows that she honestly can’t help herself when it comes to pleasing you.

So, when half a month ago she had broken the news that you, her absolute favorite person in the entire galaxy, was going to be eating at the restaurant in a couple of weeks for your fifth ‘Best Friendiversary’, they kind of knew exactly what to expect from Chef Abby.

She had even put together a small team of her most talented subordinates to carefully craft a separate menu to be used specifically for tonight. Days spent tasting and testing various combinations of sauces and vegetables, grains and flavorful meats to ensure that your taste buds could never find an equal competitor.

She knew you better than anybody else did, of course, so after finalizing each dish, she could only count down the seconds leading to your arrival.

It didn’t matter if its entirety was a nightmare to prepare, as long as you could sincerely feel the affection emanating from each serving.

She needed you to love every diminutive detail, or she wasn’t sure what she’d end up doing.

Chef Abby is much, much too busy clenching and unclenching her hands around the late afternoon air to even think about facing you right now.

Okay, she’s definitely thinking about it. She’s probably spending an unsettling amount of time trying not to if she’s being honest with herself.

She knew that you would search every inch of the kitchen for her once you finished your food, and she was beyond pissed at herself for hiding behind the building like a frightened kitten, but she just couldn’t take it.

You, amiable, kindly, lovely, you had arrived 10 minutes before dinner was set to begin. This wasn’t a problem considering that the team was completely prepared for your arrival hours ago, but it did mean that Abby’s already teetering blood pressure reached an all time high after spotting you through the tiny door window.

A flicker of regret panged in the back of her head.

If she knew you would be wearing that dress, a sparkly, strapless little number that you’d definitely been saving for this exact occasion, she would’ve begged you to curl up on your sofa with her and watch shitty horror movies until sunrise.

An incredibly devastating display, she found it. Watching you waltz out of line to your specially reserved table, in heels that made your calves look so damn pretty. And when you smiled up at the hostess after laughing at whatever sappy line she just fed you, Abby wanted to kick down the house entrance and hand feed you herself.

But, naturally, what she ended up doing instead was accidentally burning herself on a hot stove and going out for a smoke break immediately after.

She’d been pacing in the warm summer breeze for maybe half an hour now, and she didn’t see any end in sight.

Fuck, she needed a drink.

And you. She thinks that she very much needs to see you no matter how quickly her heart finds its way to her throat.

You think it’s supposed to be fish.

In fact, you’re pretty sure of it.

The lightly colored coating of orange and gold forming the crisp outer layer is familiar, inviting in the way it's positioned over a pile of cleanly-cut potato wedges, and flanked by three other pieces just like it.

But considering the last three courses that were served (each a more troubling, but certainly delicious fanciful “deconstruction” of a totally normal, totally acceptable, already amazing dish than the next), caution wasn’t entirely off of the table for now.

So, when you pick up your fork and knife, and slowly separate one crunchy hunk into two, the simple sight of pearly white cod meat almost makes you split your bottom lip in joy.

Abby was right. Fine dining really is its own ‘russian doll’ experience. Chocked full with at least a thousand “what the fuck am I looking at?!’s” before the main course has even been served.

You’re only a little embarrassed when, after placing a fish/potato/tar-tar sauce amalgamation onto your tongue and chewing it eagerly, a soft moan followed by a surprised exclamation of “holy fucking fuck” escapes from your lips.

You weren’t even aware that something so straightforward could be this good.

It was like biting through the most tender memories of childhood meals brimming with laughter and ease, and snacks quickly snatched from the kitchen cabinet when you were positive the churning hunger you felt from a 12-hour on call would have you nipping at your own arm for the smallest form of sustenance.

And yes, sure, maybe you’re venturing into overdramatics a little, but it truly tastes like the chef has transformed you into a malnourished zombie, cut their own frontal lobe out of their skull, and fried it in bread crumbs and cornstarch before gently setting it beside all of your favorite condiments and telling you to dig in.

You suppose, however, that even the act of lobotomizing herself for the sake of a happy customer wouldn’t be a farfetched task for Abby Anderson, who revealed to you that, in her earlier days as a chef garde manger, once spent 2 hours in the middle of January driving to the only Indian supermarket she knew would be open at 6 in the morning, and an additional 3 hours after that trying to get back before breakfast in spite of the insanely slippery ice covering the Seattle roads. All because some guest flying in from California had called the night before his reservation was set and let slip that he had always wanted to try jackfruit, and was disappointed to hear that they didn’t serve it.

He didn't even end up finishing his meal, telling the waiter that it was too chewy for his delicate teeth before sending it back and demanding a refund.

Abby had almost bit her tongue off when the waiter relayed the information to her,

but she was pretty certain she’d do it again if it meant she’d get just the slightest chance at helping to prepare something genuinely special.

And even though her station days are long behind her, and she can proudly call herself the Sous Chef of one of the most distinguished restaurants in all of Washington, Abby can’t get enough of the electric, tingling sensation in her fingers and cheeks when she’s told a customer is more than sincerely satisfied.

Which is, you think, precisely, unfortunately, why she hasn’t come to see you yet.

The kitchen is one of those places you’ve never been extraordinarily familiar with, so, when you’re led through the heavy double doors into what you’ve always thought of as ‘Abby’s domain’, you feel yourself freeze up a little.

It’s a lot of everything going on all at once, and while you’re definitely used to the chaos of a fast-paced workplace, something about these hastily moving bodies in white coats make you feel like an obstacle. Like one wrong step means toppling this delicate ecosystem.

You’re happy to see a familiar face in the form of Manny, who you’d met before at the dingy old bar Abby held her 23rd birthday at. He expertly ushers you around the surfaces and corners making up the room, and gives you a sympathetic look when you request the whereabouts of one Abby Anderson.

“Well, she kinda…went for a smoke and never came back? She was already a little—okay, a lot fired up, so we thought it was best to let her chill out for a moment.”

Ah, okay. That certainly explains it…

“Huh. Well, then. I’ll be right back. Down this hallway and through the back, you said?”

He gives you a nod and you’re promptly on your way, but not before thanking him and every other white hat in there for your unquestionably glorious dinner. Some of them smiled back at you and gave each other knowing glances, almost as if to say, “We told her so.”

The walk into the outdoors is a short one, and you catch sight of Abby, finally, after turning the corner and squinting your eyes a little, where she’s pressed up against the red brick of the restaurant, burning cigarette clutched between jittery fingers.

There’s your girl, you think, and lift up a bottle of white wine ceremoniously (You’d shoved it in your bag right before leaving, thinking that it could work as a little treat for you and Abby for the walk back to her place. This, though. This works, too).

“Hey, stranger!”

Abby’s head shoots up. Her eyes are a little puffy and the skin above her neck is all rosy and flushed, but you’d say she’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. She shudders a little when she locks eyes with you. Takes a deep breath and stretches to her full height once you’re in front of her.

She can’t fight the watery smile that makes it to her features when you pluck the cigarette from her hand and place it to your own lips.

“So…you come here often, or–”

Abby erupts in laughter at that and pulls the wine from your grasp, unscrewing it and gulping down a mouthful of the stinging liquid.

“Jesus, fuck. That’s atrocious. Where’d you even get this?”

“It was like 90% off at the grocery store! It’s, like, totally organic and–”

“Fuckin awful, is what it is.”

“Pfft. Go fuck yourself.”

You breathe in, feeling the warm rush of nicotine move across your shoulders.

“So…” You start again, a little more hesitancy in your tone than before. It makes Abby’s stomach spin.

“...You’re out here and not in there with everyone else because of?”

You watch as she clears her throat and takes another hearty swig from the bottle.

When she turns to look at you, she thinks she might start crying.

You’ve got this look on your face that yells “You could never make me love you any less.” and suddenly, everything feels a whole lot smaller.

I’m being stupid so fuckin’ stupidstupidstupid–

“Manny said you’d been out here for a while, and I wasn’t sure what ‘a while’ meant? Like, 5 minutes or an hour or–”

Everything’s fine! Everything’s literally perfectly fine, it all turned out great, so what’s the problem?

“This place is, like, a maze within a maze, you know that? Just goes round and round and–oh!”

You’re cut off by the slump of Abby’s wide frame against your own. A comfortable, intimate happening, reminiscent of when the two of you would cuddle in your Queen bed after equally exhausting workdays. You adored when she held you close like this, but at the moment, it was just a tad concerning.

“You alright there, chef?”

A muffled “fuck off” is heard from against your shoulder and she holds you even tighter. The cold glass container is nudged into your lower back. You place a hand in her too-tight braid and let it unravel against the stroke of your fingertips. A few contented groans against your form later, and Abby feels strong enough to face you once more.

“Just…wanted you to like it. Always just want you to like it. Wanted to make it perfect for you.”

You let out a tiny laugh and she glares. Rather mildly, but it’s still a pointed stare.

“Oh, honey. You got yourself all worked up over me? How flattering!”

She rolled her eyes and turned away. Not that she didn’t love it when you teased her, but she was a little all over the place emotionally. You chased her with her hands, placing both arms around her waist and pulling her back into you.

“You know, everything was spectacular, right? Like, Hollywood spectacular. I felt like I was in fuckin’ Ratatouille–”

“You’re such a dick–”

“-which means that everything went so stupidly perfect. And I loved every little thing about it. So, really, the only thing you gotta worry about is how to top this next year, cause I have a few ideas.”

She tilts her head back towards you, and you know you’ve got her now.

“Like what?”

“Okay. How about…”

The wine bottle’s back in your hand, and, with a jerk of your head towards the open road, you spin around in front of her.

“...you and I go back to your place, we get wildly drunk, and I tell you everything that was going through my mind tonight?”

An almost shy gaze arises from the blonde and she looks down towards the kitchen entrance.

“Let me grab my things and then, it’s a date.”

Before she can leave, though, she presses a single, sugary sweet kiss to the middle of your forehead.

“Happy Anniversary, sweetheart.”

A grin from you.

“Happy Anniversary, honeybear.”

thank u for reading! and welcome to my new blog <3

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x reader #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #abby tlou2 #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x reader #chef!abby anderson #chef!abby #abby anderson the last of us #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson fic #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fluff #new blog!

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ohcaptains · 1 year

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I never thought i would see the bear and tlou mixing up but you know what im not complaining🤷‍♀️ need more of chef!abby in my life now

SHSHSHSJSNS chef!abby would always make sure you’re well fed and goes to all the fancy markets really early and knows all the vendors by name !!!! she gets up early to start the prep so there’s always quick kisses and snuggles before she’s off to work !!! when she comes back she showers the day off of her, but when she gets into bed there’s still the unmistakable scent of salt in her hair

#abby anderson #chef!abby #abby anderson blurb #ask

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sweetercalypso · 5 months

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Never not thinking about post pt. II Abby and how she was probably running around Santa Barbara with a tan and this haircut 🤩🫶🏻

#the last of us #abby anderson #nothing will ever top mullet Abby in my mind but this pic is just *chefs kiss*#it’s giving surfer!abby tbh

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

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Mini Chef

happy belated birthday Abby @elentiyawhitethorn!!!!! whipped up a little something featuring Chef Rowan for you, hope you enjoy 😊😊

Word count: 871

Warnings: literally none

Enjoy!!

Chef Rowan masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aelin had to admit, she was utterly exhausted.

Her hair was a mess, her shirt was a mess, she'd been wearing the same shorts for five days in a row, she hadn't gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for weeks, and she desperately needed a shower.

But it all faded away when she looked into Lana's big green eyes.

Her daughter--her and Rowan's daughter--was only three months old, but she'd completely taken over her parents' lives. And neither Aelin nor her gorgeous chef fiancé would have it any other way.

Aelin took a long pull of her water and sighed, feeling like she hadn't had water in weeks, when really it had probably only been fifteen minutes. She glanced at her phone, the screen lighting up with a text from her mom, and was on the verge of responding when Lana's cries sounded through the baby monitor.

Text forgotten, she headed into Lana's bedroom, finding her daughter wide awake and fussy, moving her little limbs inside her sleep sack.

"Hi, Lana lovey," Aelin beamed, scooping the baby into her arms. "You slept so well, little love!" Her nose wrinkled. "Guess I know what woke you up, though."

Lana's cries softened into murmurs, and she blinked up at her mother, an adorably toothless baby grin spreading across her chubby little cheeks. As Aelin unzipped her sleep sack, she flailed one arm, managing to catch a handful of Aelin's shirt, which made her babble with joy.

"Clever girl," Aelin chuckled, kissing her daughter's forehead. "Okay Lana love, let's get you into a fresh diaper, hmm?"

With Lana freshly changed and fed--wearing a onesie Aelin just knew would make Rowan cry--Aelin carried her out into the living room, settling her comfortably in her rocker with a few toys. "Here, how about you keep mama company while she tries to get a handle on this mess, yeah?"

Lana babbled, apparently happy to have playtime while her mother was busy.

Aelin laughed and gave the rocker a little nudge, setting it in motion. She rolled her neck, considering the living room, then turned on a playlist and picked things up, restoring the room to some kind of normalcy. Satisfaction coursed through her when she surveyed the room about half an hour later, pleased to see it so much more organized and tidy.

Then, of course, she spread a blanket over the freshly vacuumed floor and brought Lana onto the blanket. Lana beamed and giggled, overjoyed to be able to lay down and squirm, already trying to figure out how to move her little baby body.

"Stop growing so fast," Aelin teased, smacking a raspberry against her daughter's stomach. Lana shrieked with laughter, tiny fingers clutching Aelin's hair. "Okay, okay lovey, let's let go of Mama's hair, yeah?" She passed Lana her favorite stuffed animal in return, a well-loved teddy bear that had once been Aelin's own.

That was how Rowan found them when he came home--Lana playing with the teddy bear, Aelin sitting next to her, both mother and daughter grinning and laughing.

"How are my girls?" he asked, an impossibly soft grin curling his lips.

"Look, lovey, it's Dada!" Aelin lifted Lana up so she could see Rowan. Her little face lit up with glee, and she dropped the teddy bear, babbling unintelligible syllables that sounded suspiciously like "Dada."

"Hi, little love," Rowan laughed, taking Lana from Aelin's arms and lifting her into the air. "Dada missed you!" Lana squealed and squirmed, calming when Rowan tucked her close to his chest, pressing a kiss to her soft blonde hair. He blinked, taking another look at her outfit, and then groaned, his head tipping back with laughter. "Again, Fireheart?"

"Love you too, Chef," Aelin laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He snorted a laugh and kissed her. "Please tell me you didn't find this in a store."

"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I had Ells make it, I just sent her the design."

"Wicked woman," he teased.

She snickered. "What, you don't like it?"

Lana was wearing a soft gray onesie with Daddy's Best Recipe lettered onto the front, the words adorned with a chef's hat on top and a spoon along the side.

"Gods, no...I love it," he admitted, a little sheepishly. "If you show my parents, though, I'll crawl into the floor and die, I swear."

Aelin giggled. "So dramatic, Chef." She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I did send a photo to Lys and Aeds, though."

Rowan's whole face went scarlet. "No," he gasped, dramatically. "Please, Fireheart, tell me you didn't!" Despite his theatrics, though, his eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter.

"Aeds still wants to kick your ass," Aelin snickered.

Rowan broke into laughter. "Blondie can try."

Lana wriggled, babbling again, and grabbed Rowan's shirt, tugging with a surprising amount of strength for an infant. He lifted her up, kissed her little nose, and raised her so she was face to face with him, both of them beaming at each other.

Aelin felt the tears before she could stop them, and she didn't even try to control the ridiculously huge smile that spread over her face. Gods above, how did she get so lucky?

~~~

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#my writing #chef rowan #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #and babies #happy brithday abby!!!!#love you abby

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miserym · 1 year

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-Hey, um, if you were to have kids all over again, what would you do?

-Oh, honey, I wouldn't have 'em.

-Alright.

-You know, Nat, I'd, um… What would I do? I would… I… I’d want them to be not so fuckin' afraid of things, you know? I'd protect them less. Yeah. I'd want 'em to have more fun. Make more mistakes. Get into more fuckin' trouble, you know? I don't know how to do it, but… but that, that's what I'd do. Ma-make sense?

-Yeah.

The Bear - 2x08

#the bear #tv serie #tv-series #tv series #tv-serie #quote #season 2 #2x08 #chef #food #chicago #jeremy allen white #abby elliott #oliver platt #the bear fx #children #mistakes

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thegirlwhowatchedeverything · 2 years

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What's more intimate and found family than nicknames?

Natalie "Nat" "Sugar" "Sug"

Carmen "Carmine" "Carmy" "Carm" "Bear"

Michael "Mikey" "Mike"

Richard "Richie" "Rich" "Rick"

Sydney "Syd"

Tina "T"

Gary "Sweeps"

Ebraheim "Ebra"

Neil "Fak"

---

Honorable mention "Jeff"

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ohcaptains · 1 year

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you know that one scene in the bear where Sidney is cooking dinner and she hast to prepare that first bite so it’s perfect? chef!abby cooking dinner at two in the morning for a sobering reader, even plating the fucking food as if reader will remember in the morning, her hand ))))))))): cupping the air underneath her chin while she spoon, feed her that first bite, and explains why the bourguignon complement the mash and balances out all the umami flavors

d u gotta be quiet cause i’ll explode!!!!!!!! head chef abby oh my fuck — the cupping of the spoon. head chef! abby who protects waitress! reader from mean customers 🤧🤧🤧

#ellsbclls #ask #abby anderson #abby anderson blurb #food is the way to my heart #chef!abby

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novelconcepts · 1 year

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So happy you're spamming my dash with Santa Clarita Diet, its the best! The scene that lives rent free in my head is near the end of season two, they're gonna leave Abby at an aunt's house while they go on the run.. "Aunt Cathy called" with more menace in her tone than occured in all 3 seasons of that zombie show combined.

"..make that time you didn't take me to the one direction concert seem like a walk in the park" what a threat! What a subtle way to remind the audience exactly how old Abby the character is!

"I've had my go bag ready since you killed Gary" of course you have! You absolutel royal.

Gawd I've gotta watch it again. Thank you

Abby is like the character of all time. She’s a sixteen year old dumbass! She’s a criminal mastermind! She loves her parents, but every time she says so out loud, they think she’s fucking with them! She’ll turn any object into a weapon in the blink of an eye! She’ll pass out at the sight of her mother’s dislocated bits! She’s literally the only reason these people have survived so long, and also has come perilously close to blowing herself to Neptune in the name of ecoterrorism! Truly. What did we do to deserve Abby Hammond, and how do we keep it up?

#ask #abby hammond #would I love her this much if she wasn’t played by Liv ‘please put them in everything’ Hewson?#probably but it sure as fuck doesn’t hurt #the duality of ‘will stab an undead dude in the head and then fuck up my dad’s cast iron pan’#chef’s kiss. just an absolute legend.

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theeviltwinduh · 7 months

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I JUST SAW THE FNAF MOVIE AND I FUCKING LOVED IT!!!!!!

#better than i expected #every scene with Abby was *chef’s kiss*#fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's

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aberooski · 9 months

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The fact that the Awakening is the opening track of Southern Air is a huge part of the reason it is my favorite Yellowcard album.

#they really come straight out of the gate with one of the best songs in their discography #and it's only bangers from there #honestly they nail every opener but awakening man it's just *chefs kiss*#abby's just rambling don't mind her #abby after dark

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depressedwetnapkin · 1 year

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Gallagher Girls and Their Food Crimes

Cammie: Eats popcorn without salt or butter

Bex: Made a steak out of A1 sauce and then made the actual steak into the sauce

Liz: Texas Pete's on eggs

Macey: Salad with no dressing if any sort

Tina: Ate a banana. Sideways. With the peel.

Eva: Eats cupcakes by licking off all the frosting and then eating the cake

Courtney: Worships Chick-fil-A sauce

Mick: Pickels. On pizza.

Kim Lee: Bites string cheese instead of tearing it

Anna: Melts cheese in a bowl and eats it with a spoon when she's too lazy to make actual food

Zach: Eats the weird bread with the seeds in it

Grant: Will and has eaten anything available (to be fair, the grilled cheese had been under the bed for only a few days)

Jonas: Eats the dark dark chocolate (the type that's probably used in interrogations)

Rachel: Self explanatory

Abby: Ate an entire baguette sideways

Matt: Dips his pizza in honey mustard

Joe: Dips his pizza in barbecue sauce

Townsend: Has no taste buds whatsoever

Catherine: Has an obsession with sour apple flavored candy

#gallagher girls #bex baxter #cameron morgan #macey mchenry #liz sutton #zachary goode #grant newman #catherine goode #joe solomon #Abby Cameron #edward townsend #jonas anderson #eva alvarez #kim lee #tina walters #courtney bauer #mick morrison #God help the chef

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sweetsmellosuccess · 2 years

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I have a good friend in Arizona who used to be a chef. He spent his whole life in kitchens, first with his mom, and by his early teens, thrown into the tumult and madness of the restaurant variety. By the time I met him, in the early '90s, he was spending his time flipping between Tucson, where we worked at the same gourmet cafe, to Bisbee, where he had grown up, working his own catering company on the side.

On slow nights, when the blistering blast furnace heat of the day had settled into a comforting, breezy warmth, we'd sit on plastic chairs in the parking lot just outside the cafe, which was situated in the heart of a downtown that hadn't quite caught on yet, and he'd smoke, and we'd bust on each other and talk about food. Eventually, he let me cook with him a bit, and the owner, a fabulously outfitted blueblood from the horse farms of Virginia, felt confident in my abilities enough to situate me in the kitchen for small cooking assignments, making scones, putting together wild rice salad, and the like.

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