#crusty burnt toast man
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Jeet appreciation post. He’s the best Stronghold leader 10/10
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The Gumbo Recipe
@fearofahumanplanet
This recipe pretty much exactly serves four, with no leftovers. Perfect for two or three people (or one if you’re just gonna go on a gumbo binge for a few days. It gets even better sitting in the fridge!).
Recipe translated from my shitty handwriting (with additions I just... haven’t written down) below the cut. If pictures of the steps would be more helpful (especially on the roux), I’d be happy to oblige (gives me an excuse to make another pot of gumbo)!
The Recipe: Ingredients
1 cup-ish dark roux* (1/2 C oil, 1/2 C flour)
1/2 onion, chopped
1/2 pepper, chopped
1-2 celery, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
Tony Chacheres**
3-ish cups unsalted chicken stock/stock of choice
1 bay leaf
2 chicken thighs/meat of choice, cut small
1/2-1 sausage, cut into slices (or other meat/veg of choice)
1/2 cup dry red wine***
Rice
Other items needed: knife and cutting board, large pot, pan for roux, rice maker/small pot, roux scrape-y spatula thing, ladle, tasting spoons :)
Directions:
1. make the roux*
2. cook chicken and sausage (want a nice browned layer on sausage) and set aside
3. add roux to a large pot, add veggies to this pot, and cook veggies in the roux for approximately 5 minutes over medium heat (be sure to keep the roux moving--you don’t want it to get burnt)
4. add garlic to roux/veggies, cook approximately 5 minutes (keep the roux moving!)
6. add the meat, chicken stock, bay leaf, and some Chacheres (I’d start with a tablespoon or less and adjust upwards once the gumbo’s had time to think about its life choices). Blend together and bring to boil. (no need to worry about the roux anymore)
7. Once boiling, reduce to simmer, let cook (3-8 hours. 4 works nicely if you can wait that long).
(add in any other veggies you want in this thing somewhere in this range. In the past I’ve done zucchini, green beans, broccoli, carrots, more pepper, potatoes, and corn. Haven’t done okra yet because I like okra less than I like zucchini, which is saying something.)
8. If you remember, stir occasionally to avoid weird crusty bits and films. Scrape off excess oil as you go, but not a concern.
9. Within 30 min to 1 hr of time to consumption, if you’re adding wine, stir in wine. Not too much!! You want just enough wine to bring out the flavor.
10. make some rice
11. serve over rice
(if you can find them or have time to make them, toasted garlic slices are delicious on this. Similarly, a very quick shot of Worcestershire sauce actually works very nicely in this)
Asterisks and Notes
*dark roux = Worcestershire sauce range. Don’t stop at golden. Go till burnt. On a kind of shitty cheap apartment stove, it takes me an hour or more to get the roux this dark. Recommend using veggie/canola oil, or anything else you’ve got with a high smoke point ‘cause it’s about to get smokey. If y’all need roux directions happy to help. Also, the roux can be made well in advance and refrigerated/frozen. It’s literally oil and flour... Also, I tend to make my rouxs thick (can scrape along the bottom of the pan and not have the clear scrape fill in for about a second). This creates a thicker gumbo. If you prefer it thinner, make a thinner roux, or add more stock while cooking. Also also, if the roux is a little too much to prepare that day, I think stores carry pre-made roux, although I’m not sure how burnt it is. You want this thing considerably darker than peanut butter.
**(or Cajun seasoning of choice) This one you measure with your heart. You want enough to have it salted, but not enough to be spicy on the front of the mouth. Spicy on the back is good though. And for those who have never heard of Chachere’s, it’s pronounced shaa-sher-eez.
***this isn’t really a standard addition but man is it good. Feel free to ignore.
I normally do this gumbo with chicken and sausage because I am cheap. If you don’t want to get store stock-of-choice, 10/10 recommend just picking up a rotisserie, making a stock out of that, and using the meat for this (and whatever else you’ve got going on)(you’ll already have celery and bay on-hand for the stock, and honestly if you throw a carrot into the gumbo, the gumbo doesn’t mind). If you can get andouille for the sausage, fantastic. If not, generic beef sausage works pretty nicely.
Adjust the ratio of pepper-celery-onion as you see fit. Everyone’s got their own ratio and this is the one I like.
NO TOMATOES
#not? writing#hendo rambles#trust me if you have the time one day MAKE THIS#and make that roux DARK!!!!!!#if you google how to make a roux online most sources will say that making it this dark is burning it beyond comprehension and they are liars#the roux is key#once everything's in the pot just treat it like a stew
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I have synesthia, specifically olfactory hyperphantasia, so I can smell pictures. So..
What the ObeyMe!Dateables (excluding luke) smell like:
Diavalo: He probably smells exactly like how you would think he smells, like a woody cologne, it's kinda soft and not very strong, but it's definitely there. It's kinda sweet and actually smells really good. Every elegant, very expensive smelling.
Barabatos: This man smells exactly like the ocean, but very briny and more salty. A little bit like kelp. Also a little bit floral, it's very subtle and not like a rose, it's more like a lily or lilac sort of smells.
Lucifer: smells like charcoal and toast?? It's a weird combination, but very comforting, there is also hints of butter in there. I like it, not bad.
Mammon: why does he kinda smell like a curling iron, burnt hair and eletric, not souch like metal😭😭 but it's ok bc he also smells like cologne, it is cheap cologne, but still cologne, like adias cologne
Leviathan: he smells like freshly baked bread, the crusty baguettes specifically. He also kinda smells like blue cheese dressing, but we can ignore that part lmao
Satan: he smells like glue and kinda tangy, like lemonade. It's kinda sugary too
Asmodeus: back to craft, asmo smells like crayons, yogurt, and oatmeal. Specifically strawberry yogurt and oatmeal. The crayon is Crayola BTW.
Beelz 💕: he smells like a fermented juice, not wine or alcohol, just like a apple, strawberry juice with a little p-zaz.. it's the same as juice, just less sweet and more tangy. Smells good tho, refreshing, oh yeah, the drink had ice too.
Belphegor: blackberries and blackberry mush, not the juice, just the mush. And even the leaves, mushed up too
Simeon: really strong thyme, it's all thyme. He smells like if put thyme in a blender with thyme extract and thyme oil. It's almost too much thyme, but not quiet.
Solomon: he has a weird smell, not bad, just weird. He smells like.... kiwi fabric softener??? Idk, smells really good tho, I wish I smelt like that. It's sweet and kinda citrus-ee
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Blooming Panic hcs because I have literal brain rot but barely any of these are serious and you can tell who are my favs
Xyx
- has no idea what a grilled cheese sandwich is
- like you and Toasty were talking about having them for lunch or something and he goes “what the fuck is a grilled cheese sandwich. Do you,,,,do you grill two slices of cheese and eat it???? Is it just burnt cheese?????”
- you and Toasty are confused too but not with the same thing
- “YOU DONT KNOW WHAT A GRILLED CHEESE IS???????” “no?????” “ARENT YOU A GROWN MAN YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS”
- despite being a lawyer, he doesn’t actually know a lot of basic things
- “wdym I cant put white clothes and coloured clothes in the washer together, they’re both clothes” “…how are you almost 30”
- the eyeliner he’s wearing is actually the same eyeliner he applied 2 years ago
- you know how some ppl go for the crusty emo look?? Yeah, he perfected it
- has never been in the closet, he came out the second he knew so he could make even more jokes
- he wears a fairly large shoe size so he constantly says shit like “well u know what they say about men with big feet😏” “Xyx I’m in the middle of a raid SHUT THE FUCK UP”
- dislikes ham for no reason in particular, he just thinks it’s weird
- used to play the knife game a lot. Like a concerning amount
- hates hair gel cause it makes his hair Crunchy but he has to clean up nicely for work so he sits there and wants to wash his hair so bad but he can’t cause then he just has a weird mullet thing
- has a tongue piercing
- even though he uses “lawyer” words and makes lawyer puns constantly, no one knew his career until he outright told them
- “yeah so im a lawyer” “YOURE A WHAT?? HOW ?!??” “WHO THE FUCK USES THE WORDS PERJURY AND LIBEL IN NORMAL CONVERSATIONS???” “IDK ONION??” “okay fair u got me with that one”
- because only you and Toasty (started having voice calls after Xyx shared his face) have heard his voice, no one else in the server has any idea he’s Not American so they assume he’s American
- likes fairy bread. Like a lot. Maybe too much.
- no literally sometimes it’s all he eats for days. Every single meal it’s just. Fairy bread.
- he flusters so easy whenever someone is being genuine like you can say you want to peg him or smthin and he’ll flirt right back but if you tell him you want to cup his face oh so gently and kiss him slowly he breaks
- well actually if you say you wanna peg him he’ll probably get flustered too but ignore that
- he’s double jointed
- eats whipped cream right out of the can
- has extra teeth from when he was younger and his teeth are also Very Sharp
- makes fun of Toasty for having a peanut allergy
- “I thought u were fruity Toast, why can’t u handle nut?“ “for the love of god please stop” “…do u need to bring an epipen when u suck someone off” “STOP OMG WHAT IS WITH U TODAY” “wdym I’m like this everyday”
- always uses the perfect amount of cologne it’s terrifying, it’s never too much or too little
- got his appendix removed and needed his tonsils removed too but he wanted to keep them so they had to sedate him
- he was Not pleased
NakedToaster
- as implied earlier, they are allergic to peanuts
- he thinks they’re gross anyways so he doesn’t care really
- forgets that they’re really tall sometimes and smacks his head on shit constantly
- “hey, have you seen m- FUCKING SHIT. OW” “…u good???” “Yea sorry I threw my noggin’ into my doorframe again”
- references vines to an unhealthy extent. Even the rare ones that only he seems to know about
- they say the reference out loud and laugh but since no one else knows it they think they’ve just gone fucking crazy
- “ya know, like that one vine?” “No, no we don’t know”
- likes cheez-its but only after 1 am
- half Polish, 1/4 Estonian, 1/4 Russian
- why? Because they look so slavic it hurts and because I said so, fuck you
- likes cheese so fucking much it’s actually disgusting
- lactose intolerant
- only instrument he knows how to play is the fucking accordion but he doesn’t want to admit that so they just say they don’t know how to play any instruments
- avid reptile enjoyer, active amphibian hater
- stoner
- it just makes him feel weightless and warm and dizzy in such a good way so they smoke often but they prefer edibles, especially sweet ones
- gets super soft spoken and cuddly and sweet when high like the best way I can describe it is like subspace and it’s the cutest thing the World
- fairly good singer, often does little duets with Xyx when it’s late and they’re both inebriated in some way
- little spoon (I’m right about this)
- will wear the cat ears he bought as a joke for $20 or more
- probably plays League and mains Machine Herald
- “haha funny machine Russian man says the funny machine Russian man things that’s so silly of him”
- easiest person to fluster, you can say anything to them and he will turn bright red and stutter
- “your hair looks so cute today toasty :)” “hhhhhhhhthank u…”
- favourite drink is apple juice or warm apple cider
- actually has three monitors not two but the third one is only used to display a picture of big Marty at all times
- first time you saw it you broke down laughing and worried him because you looked like you weren’t properly breathing
- they probably have asthma
- got pneumonia once because he was too focused on final fantasy to take care of himself
- Toasty is actually autistic, this is true they told me himself
Quest
- can be worse than even Xyx when it comes to dirty jokes, but most of the time he doesn’t even realize he made such jokes
- puts someone random in the JAIL role every Tuesday depending on how badly behaved you are during the week in the server
- Xyx and Nightowl get this role the most
- likes to paint on skin like he really enjoys painting things like landscapes on someone’s forearm or back or stomach
- has accidentally drunk paint water several times
- whenever he gets a cut or he’s bleeding somewhere, he sucks all the blood off and thinks its a little bit tasty
- “no wonder I get so many mosquito bites, I taste delicious :^D” “what did u just type…”
- hates graham crackers for literally no reason
- takes gym mirror pics and sends them in general chat because everyone thinks he’s really hot
- even BIGLADY keysmashes over the pics
- Quest knows what he’s doing with those okay, but he likes to act completely oblivious
“[pic sent] finished my workout for today! :^) a bit sweaty but feeling pretty good” “ALSJSJSHSHS daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry.” “???? I know I’m like the server dad but what does that have to do with this??”
- good at poker, absolute garbage at blackjack
- only one other than Xyx to beat Onion at chess
- likes celery because of how crunchy it is he just munches on it all day long practically
- the other sever members make fun of him for it because they do not particularly favour celery
- his glasses are always so dirty
- doesn’t drink all that often but when he does it’s almost guaranteed he’ll get blackout drunk. Why?
- he’s a fucking lightweight. And it’s kinda sad how little it takes for him to get absolutely fucking hammered
- thinks fish are very interesting
- likes frogs :)
- this has lead to arguments between him and Toasty, the resident amphibian hater
- “frogs are awesome!! Theyre so cute and little!!” “Are u prepared to die for those opinions? Because frogs are dogshit and I stand by that” “@NakedToaster has been timed out for 5 hours”
- will have quiet/silent calls with Nightowl with some quiet lofi music in the background where Quest does his work and Nightowl does him homework
- Quest loves lofi music and I will die on this hill
- throughly enjoys building 3D models of things
- probably the reason half the server has a praise kink and it’s completely by accident
- somehow always wins at Rock Paper Scissors??? No one knows how he does it
Nightowl
- has mild deuteranomaly (red green colourblindness type where they can usually see most shades of green)
- it’s not usually an issue though tbh and it doesn’t come up much for him in his day to day life
- hates apples and but loves apple slices
- uses kid toothpaste because he hates minty toothpaste
- used to have braces and would change the colour of the bands literally every appointment
- sucks at chess but dominates at checkers like he’s so fucking good at checkers
- has eaten a glass marble once and hasn’t seen it since
- has hundreds of tiktok drafts and most of them are thirst traps
- once super glued his hand to a wall and the fire department was in fact called
- has bpd but has never gotten treatment because he doesn’t know what it is and his mom talks shit about mental health stuff so he never even thought about going to therapy
- owns an Xbox 360 and plays it frequently
- has a massive scar on his thigh from attempting and failing at climbing a tree when he was younger
- is the reason why there is a “horny jail” role on the server
- listens to Kpop and tries to get the others into it the way Toasty tries to get ppl to play final fantasy
- tried sharpening his teeth with a nail file before and his dentist has been suspicious of him ever since
- “your teeth look sharper than they did the last time you were here” “haha that’s crazy…anyway-“ “🤨”
- has dyed his hair every colour of the rainbow but eventually got too tired of the upkeep and stopped
- his favourite snack are gushers
- has an Instagram account where he posts his art and has like 200K+ followers on it
- he wants an eyebrow piercing so bad but thinks it would look weird on him but the second that anyone would suggest it he would cave immediately and get one
- likes bang energy drinks, favourite is the cotton candy flavour
- has mixed bang with vodka once and lets just say he never did it again
- surprisingly steady hands
- really good with kids!!! He loves them so so much and they love him back!!! Used to babysit for family friends and family
- kind of a picky eater
- likes to dip his fingers in candle wax to make a little wax tower and then when it gets to be pretty tall he pops it off, lets it melt, and does it again
- he’s god at math but he’s kinda bad at reading because he’s severely dyslexic
- wears gold shimmer eyeshadow and puts on eyeliner everyday no matter what
- uses tone tags and has learned to ask for clarification when he’s confused about the tone of a sever message
#blooming panic xyx#blooming panic#bp xyx#blooming panic toasty#bp toasty#blooming panic nightowl#blooming panic quest#bp nightowl#bp quest#blooming panic hcs#bp hcs#xyx#toasty
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WIP SUNDAY / MY FIRST FICLET 😇
i was tagged by the scrumptious @gallavichismyjam to share something from one of my WIPS. the thing is... i haven't actually shared any of my fic writing yet.
so... here's a lazy morning ficlet i wrote that doesn't belong to anything except gallavich & me & now you?
☀️ ☀️ ☀️
The only good thing about their building’s ridiculous “whites only” curtain policy was the way the sun filtered softly through them, bathing the side of Mickey’s face in early morning light.
Glowing, Ian mused, admiring the man sleeping next to him. His husband.
In moments like these, soft and still, he still couldn’t believe that they got to have this.
A quiet apartment for just the two of them--fresh, white walls free of holes made by bullets or the dramatic whack of a sledgehammer, a garbage disposal, a working fireplace, and a small balcony for watching the neighbors while sharing a smoke.
There were some familiar things of course, like Debbie’s potato masher that Mickey had made good on his promise to steal, and the mattress that they’d lugged from the Gallagher house. It was stained, but warm—a real change of temperature for a relationship that was once confined to a walk-in fridge.
Intersections of their old and new lives, of what was and what could be for two Southside strays who’d survived, together.
It was hard for Ian to always stay in the present when looking at Mickey, all of their timelines collapsing, the many fucked up versions of them both playing in his mind like old, home movies.
As Mickey exhaled small puffs of air through his nose, burying one eye further into the pillow beneath him, Ian shuffled through bedrooms and prison bunks, buzzcuts and undercuts, oversized, winter coats and undersized, gold shorts, Mickey’s slight smirk behind glass, and his own reflection staring back at him—first freckled and fond, then pale and gaunt. Someone he no longer knew.
Spin the wheel long enough and it was sure to land on something that ached, due to circumstance or regret.
Ian made sure not to stay there for too long, lest he forget how to come back to the here and now. To Mickey’s U-UP hand resting gently on his bicep, which still ushered in more memories of penthouse parties and much needed confirmations, Together.
He knew that he didn’t have long now. Mickey would start to stir soon. A lifetime of hyper-vigilance had left him with an uncanny sense of when eyes were on him. Ian hoped that one day those reflexes would soften. Muscles atrophied by lack of use.
When the moment came, though, Mickey simply raised an eyebrow, catching his bearings before twisting his lips in a small, but contented smile. A long way from full body jerks and whatever used to catapult him into consciousness.
One bright blue eye met one glazed green.
Ian sighed, reaching over to caress the soft hairs of Mickey’s cheeks with his thumb.
Another memory. A quiet kitchen. The smell of burnt toast. Morning Mr. Milkovich. Morning Mr. Gallagher.
“Hey, where are ya?” Mickey whispered, his voice crusty with sleep and smoke.
Ian blinked himself back. He scooted closer to Mickey, his lips brushing gently against the other man’s forehead.
“Here. Everywhere. But always with you.”
“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey murmured, tucking into Ian’s neck. “If these curtains didn’t make you look so damn good in the mornin’, you can bet your sweet ass we’d be back on the Southside already.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. How’s anyone supposed to sleep in next to a fuckin’ ginger glow bug?”
Ian laughed, pulling him closer. He closed his eyes, settling in to clean sheets and bedside tables and sunlight, feeling Mickey’s breath stutter, then even out again. Felt his own breath match his husband’s--2 men, 4 lungs, together.
#eek!#baby's first ficlet#thank you for reading!#🥺🥺🥺#my writing#gallavich#shameless#gallavich fanfic#tumblr fic#ian x mickey
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pls i'm begging. one (1) hondo fic. i will suck your titties.
what r u gonna do?? kiss his dry, lying little lips?? his stinky, crusty lips?? the man doesnt even know about chapstick as a concept, and u want to make out with him?? he roofied obi wan and you want to give the conniving piece of burnt toast a kiss?? he probably has the textural consistency of a) a leather shoe, b) beef jerky, or c) something old enough it belongs behind glass at the smithsonian go on take your pick because either way no one wins
#also dw i know anon personally they’re allowed to harrass me#i.. will consider it.#to be fair i want to fuck mecha daddy long legs so :/#anon#yaej.asks
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(CHAPTER 1) ba’jurir STAR WARS
A03
If there was one thing that Cody had to choose that shocked him the most about bounty hunting, he would have to say it was the speed in which information spreads. As Kote Cerasi, one half of a mysterious bounty hunting pair, he’s become somewhat of a rising star among the Guild. As ruthless and efficient at his new occupation as he was as Marshal Commander of the Third System Army, his new position as one of the best in the Guild comes with a slew of priceless intelligence that he passes on to Organa and his budding Rebellion. He’s made a name for himself, and his code is already as synonymous with this rise in fame as his beskar’gam is; his preferred hunt is demogolke, those who dare lay a hand on children, and for those who had managed to catch a glimpse of the infants he and his partner toasted around at times, it wouldn’t have come as much of a surprise.
It’s his reputation that lets him hear the news first.
“Hey, Cerasi!” Cody barely tilts his helmet away from the bounty board as Karga approaches, a sly smile on his face. He’s considering a bounty on Bracca when he calls out for him, of a scrapper that had gotten too handsy with some well-off natborn’s daughter, so the other hunter doesn’t really hold his attention, even if he keeps himself aware of the man’s movements and location.
Karga’s useful for information gathering, but not much else in Cody’s opinion, though he had been slated for the position of a Contract out in the Outer Rim should a spot open up. Obi-Wan had decided that it would be beneficial for them to stay on his good side, to have their own in with the man for intelligence, but Cody didn’t trust the man as far as a cadet could throw him.
“Karga.” He greets with a gruff grunt, and the man watches him with greedy, intelligent eyes. “What can I do for you?”
Karga’s smirk widens, and he slides into the booth across from him, “Oh no. The question, my friend, is what can I do for you?”
Cody’s head tilts more, a sign of his attention, “A job then?”
“Something of the sorts.” Karga equivocates, and from under his buy’ce, Cody shoots the man a look that had once made his men fear the training coming their way if they didn’t get to the point immediately.
It had never worked on his riduur though, because Obi-Wan was an unrepentant chaotic bastard when he got into the mood, but enough of the gist of it gets through the visor to make Karga squirm. Though it could just be the gold-on-black jaig eyes staring him down.
“You’ve made a name for yourself, Mando.” Karga says, “And I know talent when I see it; you could be the best.” Cody hums non-committedly, tilting his head pointedly. He’s been the best before, but now he’s only interested in keeping his small family safe. “A little birdy told me that Bane’s been dethroned, and his successor is easy pickings.” Karga leans in close, voice hushing, “And I’d throw my weight behind you.”
“Oh?” Cody probes, uninterested, but it’s what the other bounty hunter wants to hear.
“It’s Boba Fett.”
Cody’s grip tightens on the datapad he holds, breath punching out of him and feeling like he had been gut shot. Boba, his brother, Jango’s only son while the rest of them were products and tools. Boba who had been proof that Jango could be a good father, a good person, that he could have loved them but chose not to.
Boba who was innocent of the blame for how they were treated, and who used to sneak into training with the CCs when they had all been the same size. Boba who had once traded spots with Cody, back when they were identical, who had once let Cody have a taste of his life, of a life being something other than a mindless copy. Boba who had seen his father killed in combat and fell into the wrong sort of crowd.
Boba who had helped kill Ponds. Boba who hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.
Manda - he was still a child, out there alone and picking fights with the likes of Cad Bane. He was still a brother, a free brother without family on his side.
Cody lowers the datapad slowly, his attention on the bounty hunter, and when he speaks, his voice is gravelly. “How much for a head start?”
He finds Boba on Vanqor, hidden away in a small apartment and nursing his wounds. He’d left Obi-Wan and the ik’aade on the Jate’kara, docked in the hangar, and sent Threepio, Artoo, and Arfour to collect the supplies they’d need to look after a teenager while he hunts his brother down.
He finds Boba bedridden and feverish, surrounded by the smell of sick, and as weak as a Tooka kitten. The owner of the building, an elderly Rodian, hovers worriedly behind him; she had been trying to care for him, Cody knows, but didn’t know much about medical care for Humans, hadn’t had the money for the proper bacta for a Human either. She’d been glad that family had shown up to get him the help he needed.
“Thank you.” He mutters to the Rodian, passing her a pouch of credits, before stepping further into the room. He doesn’t need to turn to know the woman had given them privacy.
Cody grimaces with disgust as he pulls his buy’ce off, staring at the child absolutely swimming in ratty clothes too big for his body, and the pile of damaged beskar’gam piled in the corner. Boba’s pupils are dilated, his face so pale it’s unhealthy and gray, and limp curls are matted to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and puss, originating from the infected wound on his temple that the Rodian woman had tried to wrap.
The whole room stinks, and Cody wonders just how long his vod had been bedridden.
“Boba.” He calls, forcing delirious eyes to meet his own, and Cody winces at the heat rolling off of his skin, hot enough to feel even through his gloves when he places a hand on the teenager’s sunken cheek.
The kid blinks at him slowly, confused. “Buir?” Boba warbles thickly, tears rising in his eyes, and Cody isn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole. Instead, he turns his eyes to the crusty gauze wrapped around his head, gently peeling it away, and immediately hisses in sympathy. The bone had caved in slightly, the skin around it burnt, and at some point, the skin had been split open, ragged and painfully swollen, allowing old pus to crust over it.
“Dank ferrick, Boba, what did you do to yourself?” Cody hisses - he hadn’t brought the supplies he’d need to deal with this here. He’d have to carry Boba back to the ship. He curses again, replacing his buy’ce to bundle the boy up with his dirty sheets, noting absently that he’d have to burn everything Boba is wearing once he’d gotten him cleaned up, but for now, it’s not safe to leave Boba where he is and in this state. Karga wouldn’t be giving him much of a head start, and soon there would be bounty hunters out for his brother’s blood, looking to gain the fame of killing the one to defeat Cad Bane.
Boba leans into the touch when Cody lifts him, curling into his chest with a watery hiccup, the heat of his skin scalding through his kute. “I missed you Buir.” He rasps, head dropping against Cody’s shoulder. The kid is too light, too small, and Cody curses the Galaxy that had turned the happy boy he remembers from Kamino into this.
He had no lost love for Jango, no fond feelings for him, but Cody wishes he hadn’t made the choices he had, that had led to his death and to Boba being left alone in the Galaxy. He wishes Jango hadn’t died, if only for Boba.
He has a long road to recovery before him, but Cody would help him, would take care of him, because Boba is family.
Cody has very little family left.
Taglist: @a-mediocre-succulent @yellowisharo @spoofymcgee @roseofalderaan @everything-or-anything @bellablue42 @tumceteri-fratres @etainskirata @arkainea @phoenix1760
#cole writes#commander cody#obi wan kenobi#codywan#bounty hunter cody#boba fett#TBMOMAJ verse#in which obi wan and cody adopt children and fight fascist#bounty hunter obi wan kenobi#star wars#Post Order 66
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Player 2 Part 2
Warning:NSFW, Smut, Degradation, gore, bdsm, unhealthy relationship
Ever since that date with Shigaraki, you had joined the villain league officially and were Shigaraki's official girlfriend. Though PDA was never something Shigaraki indulged into, he never failed to show you off to others either. After all, the fact that his crusty ass scored someone as beautiful as you was a miracle. Then again, spending about 30 minutes with you proved why you loved that man so much. With your massive trust issues, insecurities, stalkerish tendencies and violent behavior, no one except Shigaraki could possibly keep you in control. Shigaraki never showed interest in others, he had his own insecurities that you could relate to and, ofcourse, he had both stalkerish and violent tendencies as well. The two of you understood eachother, made up for eachother's weaknesses and at the end, your duo was something top pro heroes were scared of. However, there were certain downsides to it. Whenever you fought him, things always got out of control. Ofcourse, you'd never try to kill him and nor would he but let's just say, angry sex always left you with injuries and him with depression. While he physically inflicted his anger on you, you always made sure to let him know that he messed up in the worst way possible. Guilt tripping was very common between the two of you and you were always the one initiating it. Then again, both of you knew that no matter how much things go wrong, you wouldn’t leave eachother. Which is why, you were currently tied up on Shigaraki's bed, gagged and blindfolded and yet thrashing around. You had a big fight with him over a mission where he risked his life to get supplies for the League. Ever since All for One got captured, the league had to go on such risky missions thanks to the shortage of money but Shigaraki never risked his life like that. You didn’t want him to die. You didn't know what you'd do without him. Which is why, the first thing you did after reaching home was threaten to leave him for Dabi if he keeps doing things like that. While it completely worked and he knew that he'd never risk his life again since losing you wasn’t an option for him, he also felt a crack at his ego at your statement and he wasn’t going to let you get away with it.
"You're gonna go to that fucking burnt toast huh? You think I'm just gonna sit here and let you do whatever the fuck you want? Well, guess what Princess? Not even that worthless garbage would take you when I'm done with you." Shigaraki told you in a sadistic tone as he carved the words 'Tomura's slut' on your tits with a knife. You were writhing in pain while being surprisingly turned on by his possessive gesture. "Look at you, does this turn you on? You really are a slut aren’t you?" Shigaraki muttered as one of his fingers ran along your quivering pussy. Once he was done working with his knife, he didn't go for any foreplay and immediately entered you. There was never much foreplay when it came to the two of you since both of you were horny almost all the time. Tears ran down your eyes in pleasure and pain as he stretched you out and started pounding into you without giving you a moment to get used to his length. Your moans were muffled by your gag as Shigaraki chased his own release, not thinking of you for even a moment. However, he still was good enough to bring you over to the edge. His length and width along with his deep thrusts which always hit your cervix were enough to make you cum all over his cock in a really short amount of time. The fluttering of your pussy brought him to his end as he filled you with his seed.
Guilt after sex was nothing new for Shigaraki since he always found himself hurting you after angry sex. Which is why, it didn't surprise you when he apologised to you multiple times after untying you as he tended the wounds he inflicted on you. This was something you were used to and honestly, deep down, you loved it. You loved the fact that he claimed you as his own. However, your pride was important to you as well. "You really don't deserve love, Tomura" you sniffled, still crying from the pain. "I know..." Shigaraki muttered, looking away from you. "I don't deserve love either" you smiled at him, feeling slightly bad about how his face screamed depression. Shigaraki looked at you with curiosity as he tried to figure out what you'd say next. "No wonder we love eachother so much... Cause we both don't deserve it. I'm sorry about making that comment about Dabi. You know why I did that right?" you asked Shigaraki calmly. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry about hurting you, (Y/N). I just don't want someone else to take you from me. You're mine." Shigaraki muttered in answer. "It's okay. As long as we love eachother, it's always gonna be okay." You muttered, hugging Shigaraki. Life was like an RPG game to Shigaraki. In life, you take what's yours, you eliminate the enemy players. However, no matter what happens, in this little game we call life, he knew that you'd always be his player two. And somehow, that was everything he had ever wanted.
#bnha shigaraki#shigaraki smut#shigaraki × reader#shigaraki tomura#boku no hero academia shigaraki#shigaraki fluff#yandere shigaraki
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⁂ In WAR✘ and LOVE ♥ (Tomura Shigaraki) Everything You Hate
📑 Table of Contents
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life
Word Count: 3,292
Pairing: Reader x Shigaraki
World: Boku no Hero Academia
Prompt: “I love everything you hate about yourself.”
☂ R a i n d r o p from [@kyokosasagawa] ➧➧ “Opps, sorry, didn’t notice that it had to be an open prompt! In that case can I request Shigaraki/Reader with “I love everything you hate about yourself”?”
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You glanced at Shigaraki as he sat at the bar in his black hoodie, fake hand covering his face. Since you had first met him, he seemed to have retreated farther into his shell, despite your attempts to break through his insecurities. Honestly, you wondered if your efforts only made things worse, but you genuinely cared about him and only wanted to help him love himself.
Somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with the league’s leader, even though you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t. This only fueled you more, though, but he wasn’t having it. He always waved off your attempts and, as of last week, he now took to avoiding you if possible, speaking to you only when he had to and with a clipped tone.
You wondered if you had stepped over the line, but it felt inappropriate to ask him that, especially since he was never alone. He made sure he was never alone with you and when you asked if you could speak to him in private, he flat out told you no, which only got the other members of the league interested in why you needed to speak to the leader and why you couldn’t say it in front of them.
Today was your chance, though.
All of the members were out of the hideout, some on missions and others just screwing around, and you wanted to use this chance while you had it, but Kurogiri was still there, standing behind the bar and polishing the glasses as he did everyday. All you had to do was find some excuse to get rid of him.
‘Sounds easy enough,’ you smiled as you approached the bar, taking a seat a couple stools down from your leader. “Ne, Kuro-chan. When are you planning to go shopping again? Dabi ate all of my cocoa puffs.”
Kurogiri sighed as he set the glass on the counter, sending you a scolding look. “I told you two to stop fighting over the cereal.”
“He had the option to choose a cereal and he chose not to get one, that’s his fault.” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. “But as soon as you returned home with them, he was more than happy to eat ours! He also ate Toga’s cinnamon toast crunch but she didn’t really care. When they were gone, she just ate Spinner’s lucky charms.”
For a moment, Kurogiri just stared at you as if waiting for you to tell him it was a joke, but your expression did not change. “If you wish, I will go and get some more later this afternoon.”
You chewed on your lip in frustration, glancing at the powder blue-haired male. His head was lowered, fingers resting against the glass of alcohol that he hadn’t even touched. His shoulders were slumped and you could see the deep frown set on his lips. He looked miserable.
Shaking your head, you turned back to the older male. “Would it be possible to go now? If Dabi finds out you got more, I won’t stand a chance. Pretty please~?”
He chuckled, putting his hand on his hip. “If you insist, but you must clean up the kitchen in my absence.”
Your eye twitched as you pictured the kitchen, pretty much destroyed after Toga tried to make pancakes based on a YouTube tutorial and Compress was supposed to be watching her, but he wasn’t and, well… the kitchen reflects that. “Uh… sure thing. It’ll be spotless!” ‘In like five years, maybe…’
Kurogiri opened a warp gate before pausing, his golden eyes shifting to the leader before back to you, lowering his voice. “Leave Shigaraki alone, Y/N.” And then he stepped through the gate, disappearing.
‘Sorry, Kuro-chan, but I just can’t do that.’ Taking a breath, you stood up and headed behind the bar to stand in front of Shigaraki. “Your drink is watery. Do you want me to get you a new one, boss?”
His shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of your voice so close to him, his fingers twitching around the glass. “No.”
You frowned, folding your arms on the bar top as you tried to see his face behind the hand. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Kurogiri gave you an order,” he muttered, turning his head away from you as he bit the inside of his cheek. Why did you keep trying to talk to him even though he clearly didn’t want to talk to you? It made no sense to him and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him, without an ounce of disgust within those beautiful eyes. You talked to him willingly, always kind and respectful to him. Always giving him a beautiful smile.
But that’s what you were to him – beautiful. You were like the sun, lighting up his bleak world whether he wanted you to or not. Always looking after him, making sure he was eating properly and not scratching himself too much. You also looked after the other league members, of course, but you always seemed to pay extra attention to him and his needs. It was like you knew when he was feeling stressed or upset, when he needed to be picked up or left alone.
Was he really such an open book to you? He didn’t like the way you made him feel, how vulnerable he was around you. It would be so much easier if you were just disgusted by his appearance, if you hated him for the monster that he was. And he truly believed that he was a monster in many different ways.
Shigaraki felt ugly, inside and out, his skin broken and cracked, like the dried ground in the desert. When he got overwhelmed, he scratched at his skin until it was raw and bloody. He believed that he was too skinny, his ribs standing out against his pale skin. He knew that he was emotionally inept, unable to offer what a normal human being could. He didn’t know how to act toward you and often found himself snapping at you, only to feel like a total ass afterward.
There wasn’t a single thing he could say that he liked about himself, but the list of things he hated was endless. But you didn’t share these sentiments. When you looked at Shigaraki, you saw his flaws, of course, but you found them to be beautiful. His flaws are what made him who he is, after all. Yes, he was full of flaws, but so were you, even if he didn’t believe so.
“I promise I’m going to get it done to his specifications, but I wanted to check on you first.” You smiled at him, but it was a bit sad. “Say… can I ask you something, boss?”
“What?”
“Am I… bothering you?” You wondered softly, using your nail to scratch at the black spot on the wooden bar top. “I don’t mean to, I just… I worry about you, you know? I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself to the best of your ability but I also don’t want to overstep or upset you.”
His lips parted, a shaky breath escaping him at your words. You worry about him? Why did that make his heart start to race within his chest? Why did he always experience this strange feeling whenever you were around? He hated it. “I don’t need your worry, just go do what you were told to do.”
You winced at his harsh tone, bowing your head. “Yes, sir. I apologize.” And then you scurried into away from him toward the kitchen, heaving a heavy sigh as you went. You had definitely overstepped and upset him, but how in the world would you fix it? Apologizing seemed to be the only thing you were capable of doing.
With your mood already dampened, you were unable to hold back the groan that bubbled up within your throat when you stepped through the door into the kitchen. Batter was slung everywhere, sticking to the walls and the ceiling like discolored slugs. It was burnt over the stove, blueberries mushed on the counter and fuzzy with the beginnings of mold. Glass was broken in the corner under the small round table, reflecting the dull yellow light above.
The sink was overflowing with dirty, crusty dishes and one of the chairs was missing its leg, which you found stuffed in the fridge behind the cartoon of lumpy milk. You didn’t even know where to begin and you were fairly certain that there was a rat lurking somewhere, its little squeaks breaking you from your thoughts at intermittent intervals.
After a small internal debate, you decided to start on the dishes, pulling them from the sink and onto the counter so you’d have room to wash them properly. With the small amount of soap available, you doubted you would be able to get through all of them before the soap ran out, so you sent a quick message to Kurogiri letting him know that you would need more.
As you got to work, you hummed a soft tune that you had learned by watching an anime called My Otome, a beautiful song known by the chosen three. Unbeknownst to you, Shigaraki had followed you to the kitchen, hiding in the shadows beyond the doorway, his red eyes trained on you, following your every movement.
There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he was unable to form the words and even if he were able to, he knew he would be unable to speak them aloud. He could could watch you from the shadows as he had since the day he met you, wishing that you could be his but knowing that someone so dark could never have someone so bright.
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You stifled a yawn as you stepped into the bar, your body sore and tired after a week-long mission. You were thankful to be back home and you couldn’t wait to crawl under your blanket and get some much needed sleep.
“It’s about damn time you got back,” Dabi drawled, turning his icy blue eyes to you when you entered. He was lounging on the dirty old sofa, his boots crossed on the coffee table.
You quirked a brow, offering him a smile. “Aw, did you miss me, Dabs?”
“Hell no,” he smirked. “But handy man clearly did.”
“Eh?”
“He locked himself in his room as soon as you left and hasn’t come out since.”
“He’s been in there a week?” You frowned, turning toward Kurogiri, whose golden eyes met yours. “Has he eaten anything?”
“I’m afraid not,” the villain responded with a shake of his head. “He has refused to eat.”
“Will you make him something? I’ll see if I can’t get him to eat it.” Rather than waiting for a response, you headed toward his bedroom with your heart hammering in your chest. There was no light coming from underneath his door and, when you pressed your ear to the door, there was no sound coming from within. Your knuckles rapped on the wood to get his attention. “Boss? I’ve returned from my mission… if you’ll let me in, I can give you my report on what happened.”
Silence.
Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, attempting to turn it, but it was locked. You rapped your knuckles on the door again, raising your voice. “Boss, please open the door.” You caught movement from the end of the hall and you noticed Kurogiri approaching with a plate of food. “You have to eat something. I have some food for you.”
Without a word, Kurogiri handed you the plate before slipping away silently.
“Boss~ Please?” You rested your forehead against the wood for a moment, hearing shuffling behind the door. Finally, you sighed and pulled away, turning away from the door, but you only made it a few steps before you heard the clicking of the lock, the door creaking as it opened enough for you to see him.
Shigaraki was paler than normal, dark bags beneath his tired eyes. His stomach was growling loudly, making him wince as his eyes fell on the plate of food, the smell wafting to his nose.
You offered him a warm smile, unable to keep the worry from your eyes as you handed him the plate. “Here, Kurogiri just made it. Can I get you anything?”
He said nothing as he took the plate from your hands, turning on his heel to go farther into the dark room, leaving the door open. You hesitated, wondering if it would be okay to follow him inside, but since he hadn’t closed the door, you assumed that he was okay with it. Stepping inside, you squinted against the darkness, closing the door behind you.
He flopped onto the small red couch, the springs squeaking under his weight as he did so. The small TV across from him was casting a soft white light onto him, making it seem like he was glowing in the darkness. He didn’t even look your way as you cautiously approached him, settling down onto the couch.
“Would it… be okay if I give you my report?” You wondered softly, glancing at the TV screen, where the pause screen of a fighting game sat, waiting for him to return to it. He nodded, keeping his eyes on the food, and you proceeded to tell him about your recon mission and the information that you had obtained.
Though he heard you speaking, the words didn’t really register with him. He was just happy that you were back home, safe and sound. He was happy that he could be near you again, hear your voice and feel the heat of your body. He felt so much lighter with you back at his side, as if you were meant to be there.
“…it almost got hairy, but I was able to stop him in the end. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the files that we were looking for, but we did find a new lead. I sent it to Kurogiri and he has Spinner out tracking it down now.”
He realized that you were looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction or orders, but he hadn’t heard a word that you had uttered to him, too focused on his own jumbled thoughts and feelings.
You frowned at his silence, reaching your hand out, only to hesitate. You knew he didn’t like being touched, but you needed him to know that you were there for him. With a sense of determination that might see you killed, you rested your hand over his, making his body tense up and freeze in place. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but… I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been locked in this room for a week and not eating,” you scowled. “That’s super unhealthy and -”
“Why?” He repeated, lips tugged downward as his red eyes met yours, clouded with confusion and annoyance and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Why do you care?”
“Because I -” you clamped your lips shut, feeling your cheeks heat up as you realized that you had almost confessed. Not only would he not accept your feelings, you figured he would be pretty upset at the confession, mostly because he wouldn’t know how to properly handle it. “You mean a lot to me, boss. I’d hate for anything to happen to you!”
Despite himself, he felt heat rush to his cheeks and he quickly moved his head so you couldn’t see, not that you could in the low light anyway.
You could feel his hand shaking beneath yours and you tightened your grip, sliding your hand into his but he jerked away, nearly jumping off of the couch. The plate clattered to the ground but didn’t break, thankfully.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” He growled, eyes wide and wild.
You winced at his harsh tone. “I’m sorry, boss.”
“Shut up!” He cried, his body shaking. “Who the hell do you think you are? Coming into my life and making me feel like this. Caring about me, looking after me. Do you pity me? Feel sorry for me? Tell me why!”
“It’s not like that at all!” You jumped up, meeting his gaze. “I don’t pity you, boss, I respect you! After everything you’ve been through, you keep moving forward. You have a goal and you chase that goal without stopping. Sure, you have setbacks and you sure, you get deterred sometimes, but you always get back on track. I care because I… I’m in love with you, Tomura.”
His brow furrowed, eyes shaking with disbelief and pain as he turned his gaze to the ground. “Love me? Don’t play with me! As if anyone could ever love me. As if someone like you could ever love me…” His hands shook as they reached for his neck, nails digging into his skin.
“Stop that,” you scolded, grabbing his hands and forcing them away.
“Don’t touch me, idiot! You know I can’t…” He pictured using his power on you by accident, watching the life leave your eyes as you crumbled before him and that made his heart squeeze tightly, painfully within his chest. If he hurt you, he would never be able to forgive himself.
“I trust you,” you stated calmly, resting your hands over his. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me, but I’m in love with you and I will tell you every single day until you do believe me. It’s okay if you don’t return my feelings, I never expected you to, but I will still be here by your side, taking care of you and watching over you.”
Shigaraki clamped down hard on his bottom lip as tears stung at his eyes, lowering his head so you wouldn’t be able to see. What was this warmth blooming in his chest? He hated it, but… he also didn’t want it to stop.
You smiled warmly, taking his face between your hands, using your thumbs to brush away his tears. “Look at me.”
He shook his head, trying to control the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he couldn’t seem to make them stop.
“Tomura.”
His eyes widened, snapping to yours. While he couldn’t identify the emotions lingering within your eyes, he could feel the warmth you were radiating and even if he didn’t fully believe them, he knew that you were being honest, genuine. You meant every single word you said to him.
Shigaraki did not deserve you. He wasn’t good enough for you, wasn’t good enough for the light and warmth you provided. That’s what he told himself, tried to convince himself, but…
“Tomura Shigaraki, I love everything you hate about yourself.”
He wasn’t sure what came over him, but he threw himself into your arms, nuzzling his face into your neck, his tears soaking into your shirt. You threaded your fingers through his matted hair, using your other hand to rub circles into his back. Your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered to him, telling him that everything would be okay. His hands clutched at your shirt as he tried to get a hold of his emotions, to understand them.
It would take a while before he could do so, but you would be there, patiently waiting for him to sort out his feelings and you would never stop loving him. And he would never stop craving your warmth and touch. Even if he never figured it out, as long as you were by his side, that’s all he cared about.
Tomura Shigaraki would literally destroy the world for you, and you’d do the same.
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Sorry to bother you. But can we get a story of Norman helping Sammy from the inks Control?
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Norman's curiosity got him deader than that one cat... No good deed goes unpunished.
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"Somethin' ain't right 'bout the studio." Is the one sentence that precedes a series of catastrophic events in Norman Polk's life. A combination of letters that form a very simple and inconsequential phrase that still held a lot of negative connotation. Easy to dismiss, especially over breakfast as he reads the paper with a bored expression on his face.
His wife sits in front of him, buttering their youngest child's toast while the eldest daughter fetches a glass of juice for herself, and her brother, the second oldest child, glances up to peer over and then around the paper.
"What do ya mean pa?" Aaron's inquisitive eyes catch his one good eye, and Norman finds himself setting the paper aside and picking up his mug. Out of his five children, Aaron is the one to inherit his father's curiosity.
"Just a thought." He takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs "Things been a little weird as of late."
"How do you mean?"
"Aaron don't go listenin' to your pa's nonsense or ya gonna get stuck with his ramblings. You gotta get ready for school, so eat breakfast and get going." Margarite rebuts, before glancing at their two daughters. "That goes for you both as well, you especially Louise, your teacher's been hasslin' me bout you doin' no work."
"Mrs. Wilson is nuts. She picks on me for no reason, the crusty egg!"
"Louise!"
Aaron pouted, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of a response, but thought better than to go against his mother's wishes. Wise kid. Norman was proud he was growing up smart.
He didn't bring it up again until the kids were sorted and off to classes. His wife gives him a long-suffering sigh before crossing her arms and looking at him in the eye.
"Don't go lookin' for trouble Norman. I know ya got the guts to go findin' nothin' good." She pleads with him.
"I don't go lookin' for no trouble Maggie, just curious is all... And things have been weird. It's gettin' to the others..."
"Norman, you do know what them people say 'bout your sorta curiosity don't ya?"
"And what would that be?"
"Curiosity killed the cat. And ya sure are lookin' real cat-like to me..."
-
Joey Drew had plans, that much Norman knew. It all had to do with that weird machine of his, as well as all those brittle pipes that kept bursting and flooding areas with thick glossy and acrid smelling ink.
What plans, Norman couldn't tell (yet), but the consequences were visible. Structural integrity in the studio was a mess, something Thomas Connor often dreaded about due to his impeccable work ethics.
Things were constantly soiled with ink, and cleaning supply expenses had risen to the point Wally was having to lug in bleach and detergents from home to get stuff cleaned up. Everyone's dry-cleaning bills had likely also suffered with this.
Speaking of, everyone was going crazy.
"I tell ya, meltdown of the century." Wally winced on the rare occasion Norman took the time to sit with others to eat lunch. That day he was sitting with Wally, Buddy and Dot. "Thought Miss Campbell was gonna throttle the poor broad!"
"She has been acting very hostile." Dot winced in sympathy. "Miss Pendle has the patience of a saint if she can bare all that, but she's not the only person Susie has blown up on recently."
"Uh?" Buddy looked over at his friend in surprise. Norman too looked curious. Wally snapped his fingers as he realized what she was on about.
"Oh yeah! The other night right? She went and barged into Sammy's office and things got heated, and not in the good way if ya know what I mean."
"Wait really? Miss Campbell yelled him?" Buddy looked to be in disbelief. He couldn't imagine a petit little lady like Susie yelling at that overgrown peacock of a man. Not when Sammy tended to yell back at people with twice the amount of ferocity.
"Didn't just yell. She tore him a new one! Was so bad I got outta there as fast as I could. Didn't wanna witness no crime a' passion and all that." Wally glanced around, hoping neither Susie nor Sammy were around to hear. "Saw him come outta the office much later when I was about ta lock up for the night. He looked... Rough."
"He always looks rough." Buddy commented.
Norman found himself frowning at that.
Now that he mentioned it, Sammy had been looking a little green around the gills. Like he was sick, or at the very least extremely sleep deprived. With Drew's policy of time being money, and illnesses having to be serious for sick leave, it didn't surprise him that Sammy might have caught a bug and been unable to sleep it off at home.
"Speak a' the devil..." Wally ducked his head and quickly scarfed up the remains of his meal before getting back up and moving off. "Here he comes now."
Buddy and Dot followed his example, not feeling particularly keen on getting yelled at by Sammy. Norman let them go, eating his meal at a leisurely pace as he observed Sammy more carefully.
He didn't just look rough. He looked off.
How exactly, Norman couldn't explain, but it certainly must be something if the hairs on the back of his neck were so fast to raise.
He needed to look into it.
-
It's a particularly bad encounter in one of the men's bathrooms that tips Norman off to what might be wrong.
After that particularly bad scene involving Drew, Norman had been more cautious with his wandering and observing. His boss's behaviour raised questions, and his threats were definitely ringing alarm bells in his head. How it all involved that wretched machine Norman couldn't figure out.
Until, while putting his burnt hand under cold water (another projector went and caught fire because ink had gotten in it somehow), Sammy Lawrence suddenly barged in and practically kicked in a stall door to then double over a toilet bowl and violently vomit the contents of his stomach.
All this happened in very few seconds and Norman found himself with his unburnt hand clutching at his chest in fright.
"Jesus Christ, ya nearly went and scared the soul out of my body!" He closed the tap and pulled the first aid kit closer, setting to work on bandaging his injured hand. Bless the doc for giving him a kit in the first place, after so many incidents with projectors.
He waited for Sammy to bark out some sarcastic retort, but instead was met with more retching and coughs. Norman became concerned when it didn't stop.
"Sammy?"
He peered into the open stall and was met with a smell that shouldn't be coming from someone's insides. An acrid chemical smell that permeated the studio, due to its origin being pumped through pipes like blood in one's veins. The music director was puking ink.
"Sweet mercy..." That wasn't good. The boy needed that stuff out, which he was managing on his own from how much he was getting sick. The issue was, how much of the crap had he swallowed if it kept coming up? "Sammy what the fuck?!"
"G'way y'fu'kin' ..." He cut off as another wave came up to meet the rest, his nose dribbling with the black sheen of ink, and big fat tears barely clearing the gunk already covering his pale skin "H'hurts..."
The pathetic whimper was enough to break his heart. Sammy sounded scared for once, rather than angry, sarcastic or apathetic.
"How much did ya even get in ya? Did the music department go under again?" Once the music director didn't look like he was going to throw up again, the projectionist scooped him off the floor and noted with horror how unusually light and pointy the blond felt in his arms.
It was like holding a sack of bones... What in the blazes? Just a few days ago he looked healthy enough...
"M'gettin' ya to the infermary. The doc might have somethin' for intoxication... If not then Drew can't just keep ya here, this is a hospital thing."
"N-no... No doctors..." Sammy struggled weakly but gave up once he realized he couldn't squirm out of Norman's grasp. "M'fine..."
"Boy, I have half a mind ta call the doctor myself if ya go sayin' stupid shit like that. You ain't fine."
"J-just stomach ache... It'll go away..."
"Samuel Lawrence you are a dumbass."
How daft did the kid need to be to not see the issue here? Hopefully the resident doctor could convince Drew to let Sammy go to a hospital. Hard to fake getting a toxic liquid in your system after all...
-
After the encounter in the bathroom it's not long before Sammy goes missing. People start speculating about it, and some are rather mean-spirited about it.
Sure Sammy wasn't the kindest person, but going about saying he ran off with his tail between his legs because Susie dumped him was just plain disrespectful (especially considering he hadn't seen Susie around as of late either).
The stories about him drinking ink tho... Those peak his interest. They are also easy to confirm, as Norman looks in horror at the contents of the drawers in Sammy's office. Empty ink wells. Several of them. Some definitely licked clean.
It explains things Norman wished he hadn't overlooked. The machine, the pipes, the slow descent... The ink was what was wrong with the studio.
Norman realized then and there that he needed to warn the others to get out. Whomever would hear him at least.
Starting with Buddy and Dot. Those kids needed out.
Whatever Drew was planning with that hellish stuff, it couldn't be good for them.
-
Once the authorities' investigations are closed up and the studio opened back up again, Norman decides it's time to finally grab his light and go down and see what the groaning was. He eats breakfast with his family as quiet as a mouse, lost in thoughts, then goes to work after kissing his wife goodbye.
Once he reaches the door, he finds a card and keys on the entrance mat.
Wally had quit. Good, at least the kid had enough sense to bolt when told to.
Norman is the very first person the set foot back inside the studio.
As such, he's the very first target for one of two creatures still able to access the floors above.
His light catches onto an inky black figure in overalls and a grinning dancing devil mask, then catches the gleam of a blade.
Norman doesn't get the chance to scream as the axe buried itself in his chest, right through his heart. He wheezes out what little air remains in his lungs and it doesn't take long for him to slip away.
What makes it worse is how the figure cradles him gently and murmurs nonsense he can't understand. That voice... Why did it sound so familiar?
It all goes dark. It's too quiet.
-
The Projectionist screeches as it runs after the figure in overalls and grinning mask. It chases after the thief mercilessly, putting it's hands through the holes it crawls through in an attempt to flee from its burning gaze.
It gets cocky and ends up getting grabbed by the leg and pulled back with force.
The Projectionist may not be able to hear its screams, but it can feel the vibrations. It's terrified.
Good.
It roars in triumph as it plunges it's hand through the figure's chest, bursting it into a puddle and discarded clothing.
Never shall it try to steal it's hearts away, ever again.
The Projectionist carried on, unaware of the poetic justice behind its own actions.
An eye for an eye was just as popular a saying as curiosity killed the cat, after all.
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Sir Paul McCartney Loves Bringing His Family Together Over Food
May 31, 2008 -- Times Online
He and his daughter Mary fire up the barbecue and explain why family and food go hand in hand
"Oh most wonderful father," intones Sir Paul McCartney, his hands clasped in front of him like a Victorian patriarch delivering grace.
"Almost wonderful father," his daughter Mary sings back.
"Who we really revere…"
"Who we really fear…"
"Who really makes us tick…"
"Who really makes us sick…"
Thirty years on, it's a rare glimpse into the private world of Paul McCartney, a playful two-hander that he and his late wife Linda shared with the children before meals at their Peasmarsh estate in Sussex, or on the family farm in Scotland.
"Can you believe it, Dad," says Mary, "I've got my kids saying this now." So a family ritual passed down from one generation to another. But it also shows how Paul's legendary insistence on shielding his young family from his fame was a two-way street. He had capped his success with the Beatles and was performing with Wings, but he got no favours at home. "It was just our way of making Dad not feel too special," Mary remembers. "You can always rely on kids to bring you back down to reality."
At 38, professional photographer Mary is still doing a good job of keeping her father in check, setting him to work prepping vegetables for the first barbecue of the summer, and telling him where to stand as she clicks away with her camera. "I'm used to the kids directing me," smiles Sir Paul, as the most famous left hand in rock'n'roll picks up a paring knife, "and hopefully I do it with good grace."
They like to get together as much as they can. "It's not as often as it used to be, when all the kids were living together," says Paul, who at 66 looks a decade younger, "but Mary will cook for me if I'm in London." "At weekends we kind of hang out," adds Mary, who is expecting her third child at the end of July. "Like a lot of families we are kitchen-orientated. It's the room we hang out in a lot. And we try to get together for Christmas."
"This year, we were 17 around the table. I counted," says Paul, who by now has sliced his courgettes and chopped the ends off his asparagus, and turned his attention to the barbecue.
He's a charcoal man, through and through. "I married an American, you see. In England at that time we didn't barbecue – it was an American or Aussie thing. And I thought I should try it.
I said to Linda, `Would you like that?' So I got quite good."
He says fire-making is in his blood. "I was a Boy Scout. I was kind of not inner city, but Liverpool council estate, so it was nice to get away, experience nature. I've got a deep love for it. I do a lot of work in the woods, so over the years I've learnt to make a good fire. My dad was a fireman and sometimes I do music underground and use the pseudonym of The Fireman, so there's a lot of fire in my history.
"After I'd burnt a few things and realised how long it didn't take – things don't take as long as you think – yeah, I got to be quite a dab hand at it all. You've got to just keep turning and turning."
Being the first family of vegetarianism, today's feast is of course a meat-free affair. Mary has brought some veggie burgers and sausages from the Linda McCartney range of frozen foods, which she has marinated in her mother's home-made BBQ sauce. There's also cornbread and fresh salsa, chargrilled mushrooms with rosemary and garlic, and salads, all from Linda's Home Cooking, published in 1989 and still the fastest selling vegetarian cookbook of all time.
At the barbecue, Paul beats out a tune with the tongs and sings snatches from the Monkees theme tune as he turns burger flipper. "People say `Why have substitutes, why not just eat vegetables or just eat meat?' Well, it's so you can take part in the social traditions of a barbecue. You can have your mates round and by the time you've got the bun toasted, bit of mayo, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, pickles and burger, hardly anyone will even remotely know the difference.
"One pivotal moment was when we had Steve Martin, the American comedian, round, and I opened up the barbecue, which I'd closed to smoke the burgers a bit, and he said, ''I'm sorry, I can't have any of that. I'm a vegetarian.' And I said, ``Well, I've got good news for you, mate. Everything on here is veggie.' He had about three."
Paul can't remember who first suggested they give up meat in the early Seventies. "I always assumed it was Linda, and she thought it was me. We were sitting down eating a leg of lamb on a Sunday in Scotland and newborn lambs were gambolling outside the window, and we went, `Whoah, we're eating one of their legs.'"
It is ten years since Linda died of cancer, and Paul and Mary agree it was an unwritten promise they would keep her food brand going. "It's really personal to us because it is carrying on Mum's message," says Mary. "We know what she would and wouldn't have wanted." They go to all the tastings, just as they did when Linda was alive. "Nothing goes through without the McCartney say-so," explains Paul. "It has to, because it's our name on the packet."
Necessity has made Paul more interested in food these days. "When I first met Linda, I was living in St John's Wood, a real bachelor existence – a musician, even worse – and she used to joke she'd looked in my fridge and there was just a half bottle of sour milk and some crusty stale Cheddar, and she said, `Not very encouraging. Right, we'll be changing that.'
"But when I was with Linda I didn't cook much, because she was so good. She and the kids would do all the meals. So I took a secondary role. But more recently I've been having to cook for myself and I love it. Just the other day I made a lasagne for the first time in my life and used Linda's book. The only panic was when my lasagne sheets got stuck together. I thought, `Oh my God, this is a housewife moment.' It said to put them in boiling water and I should have done it one by one, but I put them in all at once. I must say it came out brilliant, though. I was very proud of myself."
www.lindamccartneyfoods.co.uk
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A Matter of Taste
Pairing: Tom Holland x Black Reader
Summary: You’re at Tom’s place for the first time and there’s only one thing on your mind.
Warnings: Again, a little suggestive but mostly fluff.
Word Count: 1521
A/N: Just a little extra something to thank and welcome everybody following me. I’m already close to my next one hundred. Shocked. I appreciate all the kindness and encouragement I have received on this blog.
I was "inspired" by that plate of food Tom posted. I was like I'm sure it tastes good, but that is the driest looking food I've seen in a while. Then Tuwaine commented what I was really thinking.
You and Tom hadn’t been seeing each other for long and it was the first time you had been alone together at his place. You appreciated how lived in the place looked; it was neat but not too perfect. Despite the amount of time that Tom spent travelling, he and Harrison had still managed to make it seem like a home. Pillows and blankets were strewn across the sofa which made it look like a comfortable place to settle in and watch tv or take a cozy nap. The shelves were loaded down with knick knacks, toys and family photos.
You picked up a picture of a young red headed woman with a dark-haired little boy sat on her lap. “Is this your mom?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. She’s really pretty. And I suppose this is you?” You squinted your eyes and brought the old photo closer to your face. “Of course it’s you, look at those ears.”
“Hey.” Tom exclaimed while looking mildly insulted.
“Aww.” You put the picture back on the shelf and rubbed Tom’s shoulders. “Don’t take it the wrong way. You and your ears were adorable.”
“I’m still adorable.”
“And so modest about it too.”
Tom laughed as he grabbed your hand. “So, since this is your first time here, would you like the grand tour?”
You’d been offered tours by guys before. “This isn’t one of those tours that’s going to begin and end in your bedroom is it? Cause we’re not there yet.”
Tom dropped your hand. “In that case I don’t have anything to show you.” He managed to remain straight faced for about three seconds before a grin split his face. “I’m kidding. Where would you like to start?”
You didn’t even need a second to think about what you wanted to see first. “The kitchen.”
“Alright.”
“So,” you began while starting to look around. “You got a spice rack around here somewhere?”
“No.”
“We’re not off to a good start here, Thomas.”
“I don’t have a spice rack, but I keep things in here,” he said while opening the cabinet above his head.
You came closer and looked inside. “Hmm. You’ve got some good stuff in here; better than I was expecting, honestly.”
Tom stood behind you, hovering over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it. Tabasco, chili powder, cumin, paprika, garlic powder, rosemary, sage. This isn’t too bad.”
“I feel like I’m being tested somehow and I’m not sure I’m passing.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“So, this is a test then?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Is this what you normally do when you’re in someone’s home for the first time? You just march into the kitchen and start rummaging through the cupboards? Is this some sort of strange American courtship ritual?”
“I’m just trying to see what the spice situation is like. A preview of what to expect when I come over for dinner.”
“Is that a fact? Because I don’t recall ever inviting you over for dinner.”
“But you will.”
“A little presumptuous but I do admire the confidence.”
You smoothed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead and let your fingertips trail down the side of his face before lightly tapping his cheek. “So, you have absolutely no plans to get me over here, light up a bunch of candles, cue up your slow jams playlist and make me dinner?”
Tom blew out a stream of air and dropped his eyes from yours. “Nope. Not at all. Thought had not crossed my mind.”
“You’re so good at so many things. It’s almost endearing what a terrible liar you are.” You raised up onto your tiptoes to take a better look at what was in the back of the cabinet.
“Do you need a boost?” Tom offered. “Can I get you a stepladder?”
You glared at him out the side of your eye. “I know you’re not trying to make short jokes.” Tom was a whopping five inches taller than you and determined not to let you forget it.
He held his hands up defensively. “I just want to make sure you don’t miss anything.”
“I’m doing fine.”
“Besides, if I don’t make my short jokes with you who else am I gonna make them with?”
“You must know some toddlers.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Seriously though. Suppose you were conducting your little kitchen inspection and I had nothing but salt, maybe some pepper and a crusty old jar of mayonnaise. Then what?”
“Oof,” you said while shaking your head. “That’s a rough one.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s like my granny used to say. Sometimes you just gotta throw the whole man away and start over.”
“Are you actually saying you’d never see me again if you don’t like the way I season my food?”
“I don’t know what to tell you.” You shrugged your shoulders. “No man, no matter how gorgeous, is worth putting up with a mouth full of bland food.”
A cocky grin spread out over Tom’s face as he rested his hands against your hips and started walking you backwards.
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said echoing your statement from earlier. He continued advancing on you until he had you backed up against the refrigerator.
The stark contrast of the cold steel against your back and Tom’s solid warmth against your chest was enough to make you a little light headed. You still hadn’t gotten used to being so close to him and to say that you were more than a little affected by the proximity was the understatement of the century.
“First of all, you’re ridiculous.”
“Now wait a minute–”
“But luckily for you I find a little ridiculousness to be wildly attractive in a woman.”
“Oh yeah. Lucky me.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve got me pressed up against your refrigerator.”
“I was getting to that.” Tom’s hand slowly slid around your hip and settled firmly on the curve of your ass. “So, you think I’m gorgeous?”
You could feel your face grow warm as you recalled what you had said. “That’s not really what I said.”
“That is actually exactly what you just said.”
“I was speaking in generalizations.”
“Right,” Tom said, clearly not believing a word that was leaving your mouth.
“Or you know, I didn’t mean you specifically. I was speaking of some hypothetical gorgeous man.”
“I see.” Tom picked you up and spun around with you his arms before depositing you on the countertop. “So, you don’t think I’m gorgeous?”
Looking at the delicate splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose and the playful light in his big brown eyes and gorgeous didn’t even begin to describe what you thought about him. “I mean, you’re alright.”
“Alright?” He put his hands on either side of your hips and leaned in close. He nuzzled against the side of your face, placing a line of soft kisses down your neck and across your exposed collar bone. “Is that the best you can give me?”
You snaked your hands around his neck and threaded your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You drew him closer to you, your lips slowly descending upon his.
The kiss was soft and tender to start but didn’t take long to turn into something more.
There was a hint of desperation in the way he gripped your hips; a hunger in the way he licked his way into your mouth. As you nearly devoured each other a tiny itching in the back of your mind reminded you that this was the first time the two of you had really kissed. There had been chaste, hellos and goodbyes; tentative, gentle, barely there.
But this was a kiss.
Tom didn’t just kiss with his mouth; he kissed with his entire body. The hand on your jaw, the arm around your waist. The way his whole being unabashedly crowded into every inch of your personal space. By the time he finally let you go, you felt, breathless; overtaken and almost dizzy but in the best way possible.
Tom rested his forehead against yours for a moment while he tried to catch his own breath. “So, I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should skip dinner altogether and the first meal I cook for you should be breakfast.”
“You make a pretty good breakfast?”
Tom shook his head. “Not really.”
“Your bacon?”
“Kind of chewy.”
“Toast?”
“Quite often burnt.”
“Eggs?”
“Not very well seasoned and usually runny; and not runny in a good way.”
“Well how is cooking breakfast for me going to be any better than cooking dinner?”
“I just think if I’ve gotten far enough to be cooking you breakfast, you’re not really gonna care what it tastes like. You’re probably gonna be preoccupied with something else.”
The truth of the matter was that Tom could serve up boiled chicken and dry unrinsed rice and he would still have you wrapped around his finger.
“Well, there’s always takeout.”
#tom holland#tom holland x black reader#tom holland x reader#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfiction
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Blues In The Night 18. Edith and The Kingpin
Previous Chapter | Chapter Song
In the wee hours of the morning, a tall lanky man walked the empty streets of Tokyo’s red-light district. No one else was out at this time of night besides drunks and prostitutes so he could roam freely. Lighting up a menthol cigarette, his face illuminated to show is dark purple scars and bright blue eyes.
Dabi had been keeping a fairly low profile, distancing himself from the League of Villains. The older he got, the more he couldn't be bothered with villain work, especially Shigaraki. That crusty bastard was so full of himself. He only joined because he thought he held Stain’s philosophy, but that proved to be all talk. All that said, he couldn’t exactly just go straight. He’s still a wanted villain and prison stripes didn’t fit his aesthetic.
What should I do for dinner? I guess I can dine and dash that Hot Pot place. Tossing his cigarette butt on the ground, he sauntered into an alley hoping to cut across to the next street. Before he reached the other side, suddenly his wrist was captured in a grey scarf. Reflexively, he activated his quirk to burn the cloth, only his flames didn’t emerge. Huh? His brows furrowed as he tugged against the cloth, a strange voice coming from the darkness.
“Damn, you look like burnt toast.”
“What the--”
Dabi’s mind went blank, his body growing stiff as another grey scarf wrapped around him, effectively pinning his arms down. A low chuckle could be heard before two men appeared from the darkness. The purple-haired hero pulled his mask from his face to reveal a shit-eating grin.
“Gotcha. Now tell me where we can find Lafayette Dubois.”
“I don’t know who that is…” Dabi said in a dazed voice without hesitation.
Eraserhead let out an annoyed sigh, as he pulled out his eye drops, putting some in each eye. “You have to ask him the right questions, Shinsou.”
“The shady dude that’s been kidnapping people with powerful or useful quirks, where is he?” Shinsou asked again.
“I don’t know where that ghetto son of a bitch is,” Dabi said, still under his control. “Besides he’s just the muscle.”
“The muscle?” Aizawa quirked a brow before they were interrupted by a few rocks hitting them in the back of the head. Turning around, they saw a clearly drunk elderly man, tossing more rocks and trash toward them.
“Hey! Leave that guy alone you crooks!”
“What the hell! We’re Heroes, he’s the bad guy here!” Shinsou yelled back, still dodging the objects being thrown at them.
“How unfortunate.” Dabi sneered from behind the heroes.
Turning back around, the pair found that Dabi no longer had the dazed look of Shinsou’s brain control. He must have been justled awake from the rocks being thrown. A bright smirk pulled at Dabi’s lips as Eraserhead pulled Shinsou back and away from the villain, “Look out!”
Searing hot blue flames shot from the villain as they released their capture weapons just in time, narrowly avoiding the flames. “You still don’t look the part of a hero, Shinsou,” Dabi taunted from behind his fire. By the time the flames had died down, he was gone, vanished into the night once more.
“Let’s get him!” Shinsou growled only to have his collar pulled back by Aizawa. He turned to his mentor, a quizzical look on his face.
“Let him go. We got all we can from him. We’re better off looking for someone else. Intel is our main mission,” Aizawa mumbled as he put his goggles over his tired eyes.
“Fine,” the purple-haired hero sighed, adjusting his mask. I still feel like he knows more though.”
______________________________________________________________________
Earlier that night, on the other side of town, Todoroki parked his Tesla behind a building before stepping out of the car. Under the protection of nightfall, he silently made his way toward the building. He was dressed in disguise, his peppermint hair covered by a baseball cap, his trademark scar concealed with large sunglasses.
Shifting his eyes towards some movement, he noticed another burly man awkwardly shifting his weight by the building entrance. Even though the popped collar of his jacket hid the man’s face, his fluffy green hair let Shoto know it was his long-time friend Midoriya. Walking up to him, Shoto gave his friend a nod as he pulled Aimee’s gifted scarf over his nose, shielding himself further.
After looking over their shoulders, making sure they weren’t followed, the pair quietly entered the building. They stalked quietly in the dark, making their way to the front before Izuku tapped his friend’s shoulder, whispering, “Are you sure they know we’re coming?”
Shoto nodded, “Yes, I arranged the meeting myself--”
“What took you so long?”
The two heroes jumped, both falling into a fighting stance before they registered who was in front of them. It was no other than Todoroki’s sister Fuyumi. She stood before them with her hands on her hips as she quirked a white brow. “And why do you look like you’re gonna rob the place?”
Shoto let out a sigh of relief before removing his sunglasses. “I couldn’t risk getting seen by paparazzi. The last thing I need is this in the news before I get a chance to ask her.” The three walked to the front of a building, a jewelry store. All sorts of glittering jewels were in the glass cases of the showroom as they walked around, browsing.
Coming out of the back office, the owner of the shop walked into the showroom before stepping behind the counter. “Welcome! I hope using the back entrance worked out for you. No one is usually back there except for deliveries.”
Todoroki nodded, approaching the man. “Yes and thank you for agreeing to see us after closing.”
“It’s no problem at all. I owe you after you caught that jewel thief last summer,” the owner smiled. “What are you shopping for today?”
“An engagement ring,” Shoto said with a warm smile.
“Oh, congratulations! Our most popular engagement rings are over here.”
Shoto followed the owner to a glass case filled with dazzling diamond rings of all shapes and sizes, Fuyumi and Izuku walking close behind. They all browsed the rings for a moment until Midoriya broke the silence, “Wow, look at that big one there!”
The owner of the store nodded, opening the glass to take out a 10-carat emerald cut diamond ring in a platinum setting. Fuyumi whistled at the sheer size of the massive ring, earning a chuckle from the owner. He smiled as he handed the extravagant ring to the duel quirked hero, “This one does make a statement.”
Shoto studied the ring for a moment before shaking his head, handing it back to the owner. “It’s too big. Although Aimee deserves every carat, she has small dainty hands. That ring would look gaudy on her. Plus she would never wear it. Having that much money on her finger would give her anxiety.”
“I agree it’s a bit much,” Fuyumi nodded. “How about this one here? Simple with a healthy amount of bling,” she suggested, pointing to a different ring in the glass display.
Putting away the 10-carat ring, the owner then pulled out Fuyumi’s conservative pick, handing it to Shoto. It was a simple 1-carat diamond ring in a gold setting. “This style is a classic.”
Shoto looked over his sister’s pick, shaking his head once again. “Hmm… it feels too generic,” he hummed, giving it back to the owner. “It’s not Aimee.”
A gentle knowing smile pulled on the owner’s lips as he put the ring back in the glass display. “Mr. Todoroki,” he paused, resting his hands on top of the display. “Why don’t you tell me what would be the perfect ring for her? What would best suit the future Mrs. Todoroki?”
A pink blush warmed Shoto’s cheeks as he took in the thought. What would Mrs. Aimee Todoroki wear? He held his chin, deep in thought before a soft smile grew across his face, a loving look in his eyes. “Something timeless, but unique. Lots of sparkle but delicate. If it’s too big, she’d be too nervous to wear it. Something with color perhaps?”
The owner nodded thoughtfully before stepping out from behind the counter. “I think you would be interested in our collection of vintage and estate rings.” The man walked over to another glass display case on the other side of the room, the heroes and Fuyumi following close behind. “All of these pieces are one of a kind.”
Shoto looked over the glittering display of vintage jewelry. Any of these pieces would be very Aimee. That’s when he saw it. The ring.
“May I see this one here?” Shoto asked, pointing at the ring over the glass.
“Of course.”
Reaching into the glass display, the owner handed him his pick. The exquisite ring featured a 2-carat pear shaped sapphire. It also had shimmering pavé diamonds that lined a white gold chevron-shaped band. “A great choice. This piece is from the Art Nouveau era and is dated around 1914.”
Shoto held the ring up to the light, watching it sparkle and shine. “The design reminds me of the Fleur-de-lis.”
“What’s that?” His green haired friend questioned.
“It’s a French stylized lily. It’s used a lot in New Orleans.” Shoto hummed, still studying the ring.
“Oh, well It sure is pretty.” Izuku gushed.
“It’s beautiful Shoto,” Fuyumi sighed with a smile as she laid her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “I can totally see Aimee sporting that rock around town as well as her classroom.”
“Do you really think she’ll like it?” Shoto almost whispered. This was probably the single most important gift he would ever give the life of his life. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Aimee is so sweet, she’d love it if you gave her a ring out of a cereal box,” his sister giggled.
“I’d agree with that too,” Midoriya shrugged, a bright smile on his face. “But it is a great pick.”
After pausing a moment, he imagined Aimee’s expressive eyes, taking in the ring for the first time, her dazzling smile. It wasn’t long before his own warm smile formed on his lips, nodding his head. “I’ll take it.”
“Excellent choice,” the owner smiled as he took back the ring to place in a small velvet box.
______________________________________________________________________
Later that night, Shoto silently unlocked the door to Aimee’s small apartment. Walking inside he saw Aimee curled up on the couch with Mochi, half asleep.
“You should be in bed. It’s a school night.” Shoto said softly, walking over to her.
“You were out so late with no call, I was starting to get worried,” Aimee yawned. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“My apologies, my love,” Shoto hummed. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Pulling her into his arms, Shoto gently lifted Aimee bridal style, carrying her to her bedroom. Aimee snuggled her face into the crock of his neck, taking in his scent of cedarwood and peppermint. She sighed softly as she gripped his shirt in her hand, happy to finally have him home, “I love you so much. You know that right?”
Shoto smiled, holding her tighter in his arms before gently laying her down on her bed. She looked so beautiful laying there, fighting sleep. The small velvet box he acquired was now burning a hole in his pocket. Taking a deep breath, Shoto leaned over to place a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling the blankets up to cover her body. “I do. I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
_______________________________________________________________________
The next morning, Shoto pulled into the Yoyogi Middle School parking lot, falling in line behind cars of students being dropped off for school. Turning his head, he smiled at Aimee sitting in the passenger’s seat, giving her hand a squeeze. “Have a good day at work. Don’t be too tough on the kids.”
“Too bad, they’re getting a pop quiz,” Aimee wiggled her eyebrows menacingly.
“Oh, lookout. Miss Faurie is out for blood,” he smirked.
Aimee giggled, giving her beau a playful shove on the shoulder. “I’m not actually going to record the grades, I just need to scare a few into paying attention.”
“Ah, a logical ruse.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Shoto chuckled, thinking of this every first day of high school. “UA was not for the faint of heart.”
As they continued to inch their way closer to the school entrance, Shoto looked over to Aimee. The diamond necklace he gave her for Christmas was still around her neck. She hadn’t taken it off since he placed it on her Christmas morning. It glittered and gleamed as the sunlight caught it just right, Shoto reaching out to touch it. “Your gift really suits you.”
“Thank you, mon cher,” Aimee smiled back at him. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled as she lightly tugged on Shoto’s scarf around his neck.
“Anyway, I better get going. We’re holding up the drop off line,” She said as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I packed you a bento for lunch in your satchel. I love you.” Leaning over she placed a chaste kiss to Shoto’s lips which he happily returned.
“Thank you, I love you too,” he said as Aimee turned to exit his Tesla, only to have Shoto reach out to grab her hand. “Wait, one more.”
“Last one,” Aimee sighed with a smile before leaning in again to press her lips to his. Shoto then gently placed his hand to the back of her head, effectively holding her in place so he could take his time, molding his lips to hers. She giggled against his lips before giving his chest a light slap. “Shoto! I’m at work, Casanova.”
He smirked as he finally released her, watching her exit the car. “See you tonight, my love.”
Aimee waved at Shoto as he pulled away before walking into the school building. Walking up the stairs she reached her classroom, room 204. She set up as usual, preparing her lessons as her students started to trickle in. She smiled as they greeted her, still typing away at her laptop until the school bell rang, marking the start of the first period. Standing from her seat, she made her way to the front of the classroom addressing her students, “Okay my lovelies, clear your desks of just a sheet of paper and a pencil. Pop quiz time.”
She was only met with a chorus of whines and complaints, to which she chuckled lightly. “Oh yes, children’s tears to flavor my coffee! Muahaha.” She smiled, shaking her head. “But for real kids, this should be easy if you were paying attention yesterday. Which all of you were right?” She eyed her class suspiciously.
“Yes, Miss Faurie!” the class responded in unison.
“Excellent, first question: What is the figurative meaning of the English idiom ‘It’s raining cats and dogs’?” Just as they began the quiz, the power went out in the classroom, leaving them in the dark, a few students screaming in surprise. “Calm down. I’m sure it will be back on soon.”
Looking out of the small window of her classroom door, she could see that the hallway outside had also grown dark. So it’s not just my classroom. Walking back over to her desk, Aimee then dialed the extension of the front desk, hoping to get an explanation. Bringing the phone to her ear, her plump lips pressed into a thin line. The phone line was dead. Remembering news story after story of school attacks in America, Aimee’s heart began to race in her chest. Fearing the worst, she sprung into action.
“Okay friends, I need your attention. We are going to quietly and calmly assume our lockdown positions until the power comes back on or I receive contact from the front desk.”
“Is everything ok Miss Faurie?” One of her students asked, fear beginning to cloud her eyes.
“I’m sure it’s fine but it’s better safe than sorry. Everyone in the corner of the room.”
As the students began to quietly move to the corner of the room away from the door, Aimee made sure the door was locked and all the window blinds where drawn closed. She then returned to the children’s side as they waited in silence.
Not long later, they watched in horror as the classroom door handle began to rattle. A few of the children gasped as they huddled together in the dark. Aimee could only hold her finger to her lips in an attempt to keep them silent, praying that the mystery person would simply move on.
The ravenette’s eyes grew wide as she saw a black shadow form under the door, slowly seeping its way inside the classroom. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the shadow then grew upwards, forming into the shape of a man. He gave her a wicked smile as she threw her arms out wide in an effort to shield her students.
“There you are, Cher,” Lafayette said in a gravelly voice. “It took me a minute to find you.”
“Kids get behind me,” Aimee commanded, her voice wavering as she never look her eyes off of the man in front of her. “Take whatever you want but leave the kids alone. My purse is behind the desk and there are nice laptops in that cart over there.”
“But my dear, it’s you that I want.”
“No!” One of Aimee’s students, the same spunky blonde boy who had tried to woo her months before, jumped in front of his teacher. He had tears in his eyes, but his hands were raised, a weak purple mist growing around them. “You can’t have Miss Faurie!”
Lafayette chuckled darkly at the scene before him. “Can’t I?”
“Get behind me!” Aimee pulled the boy back, her own hand darting for her throat as she activated her quirk.
“Oh and don’t think of using that little quirk of yours,” the villain hummed, watching her carefully. “We wouldn’t want you scaring the kiddos right? Also, I’ll kill them if you try.”
Aimee’s hand hovered over her throat as she rattled her brain. How could this stranger know about her quirk? No one knows she even has a quirk, not even the school. Did he look her up? Was he really targeting just her? “How do you know about that?”
The man before her scoffed, activating his quirk as long black shadow tendrils emerged from his body. “Because I’ve seen it in action.”
“You…” Aimee whispered breathless, instantly recognizing the tendrils that attacked her beau months ago.
“Come willingly like a good girl, and I won’t hurt the rugrats.”
Aimee bit her bottom lip as she stared at the man, weighing her options. She couldn’t risk calling his bluff. She was responsible for the 25 young lives in the room. She couldn’t jeopardize their safety, no matter how scared she was. Slowly, she touched the necklace around her neck with shaky fingers, saying a silent prayer as she took a deep breath. I’m sorry, Shoto.
“Fine,” Aimee whispered as she slowly stepped towards the villain.
“Don’t do it, Miss Faurie!” The blonde boy cried, grabbing her hand.
Aimee stopped to look at the boy, her own tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “Hey now. My job is to keep you safe. Let me do my job.”
After she pried the boys hand from hers, she made her slow approach to the villain. Once she was within arm’s reach, he snached her arm, pulling her forward. With her back to his chest, he wrapped his hand tightly around her throat. Aimee winced in pain but she tried her hardest to put on a brave face for her students. She wouldn’t frighten them further.
With a wicked crooked smile, Lafayette crudely smelled Aimee’s curls, making her shudder. He laughed at her reaction before turning to face the students. “Stay in school kids.”
With his last faint at a positive message, he activated his quirk. Both he and Aimee then began to turn into a black shadow, their silhouettes melting into the floor before slipping out the other side of the classroom door.
The students remained inside the dark classroom in a silent shock. After a few moments, the blonde boy rushed to the door, throwing it open. Through streams of tears, he looked up and down the hallway, searching for any sign of his beloved teacher to no avail.
Miss Faurie was gone.
Chapter 19
#blues in the night#chapter 18#ch 18#edith and the kingpin#todoroki#todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto#todoroki shouto#dabi#dabi todoroki#shinsou#eraserhead#fuyumi todoroki#midoriya#shoto todoroki#shoto x aimee#todoroki shoto x reader#shoto todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki#todoroki shouto x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#black reader#poc reader#bnha fanfiction#bnha fanfic#bnha writing#bnha imagines#bnha scenerio#bnha original character#todoroki x oc
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FFXIVWrite2021 Prompt #9 - Friable
Meol, meol, meol, meol, so sweetly delectable, yet hearty and filling! Though some found the combination meat and bread to be abhorrent on first taste, it was just a matter of preconceived expectations! Meat ought not to break and feel so crumbly to the mouth upon a bite, and bread ought not to taste, well, fleshy. But after a first bite, most people would not resist a second. Especially if they were starving. Then after that, they couldn't resist a third or fourth bite. They just couldn't.
It was served toasted with jam and fruit as garnish, it paired well with all soups, it held together well enough to place vegetables and meats between slices, it was tossed into oil and chopped into strips for a handy snack on the go. It was dolled out to the masses who simply needed more to still their hunger with.
And their hunger was stilled.
Bread and circuses, it was once said, that was what the masses required, that was what the masses craved. A clever ruler used both to his advantage, and that was Vauthry was. He made sure that everyone knew.
Perfect ruler, benevolent philanthropist, aficionado of the arts, general of armies, peacemaker, job creator, these were all things that Vauthry made it abundantly clear that he was. All should know of his glory and his charity. Though the world be ending, he was a clear sign that the divine right to rule still existed, and it was his. Meol was his bread and Eulmore was his circus.
There was one thing he was proud of being that he did not wish people to know of.
Culinarian.
Meol was not something that could just be willed into existence, no it required expertise. It had to be baked after all, and Eulmore's ovens churned out loafs and loafs daily. But who operated those ovens? Vauthry had expert culinarians that only made meol daily, at all hours, without rest. Well, they were rested, Vauthry made sure of that, they marched to bed to instantly fall asleep and woke up six hours later, sharp. They were the only ones that Vauthry entrusted with the secret ingredient. The one that wasn't Love. He trusted them because they were like an extension of himself.
Because well, they were.
As a young boy, Vauthry's unique physiology and abilities brought peace to Kholusia, but people railed against the idea that the boy, deformed and growing exceedingly large in every way, would ever rule the fair city of Eulmore. He was a pleasure-seeking playboy who knew only good things and nothing of the careful realpolitik and diplomatic maneuvering his grieving father and his men did so much of. With a little bit of expert advice from a tall man who he met one day, he set his mind to the oven with the ingredients he had on hand.
Kholusia's population decline had stopped once the sin eaters were no longer attacking in droves, but those spared mouths were still mouths, the sin eaters were still there, and Vauthry's father wasn't getting any younger. Being perfect and a paragon of humanity wasn't enough to get those around him to follow him after all.
So many birds, one stone.
Meol.
He had cleared out the kitchen completely, all of it, despite the banquet that had to be prepared, before bringing in his esteemed guest. He banged up everything and burnt his hands in the process, but the stranger was right, his logic sound, this was the best way about it.
The first loaf was miserable. He should have started with a larger cut of meat, not the fingers. They crunched horribly in his mouth. No one would be able to choke that down, at least, no one would be able to choke it down without also knowing exactly what they were eating. He took up his cleaver again at the awaiting sin eater.
The second loaf was better, but it was also unmistakable for what it was. He started up the grinder for the third loaf. Less crunch, but still primarily unappetizing. For the fifth loaf, he abandoned using the limbs and carved a deep chunk from the torso of the sin eater. This bit lacked all the crunch, but also fell apart in the oven, probably due to the lack of bone and cartilage. Ah, there were so many factors, so many variables to consider!
After a few more frustrating attempts, he disposed of what remained of the sin-eater and cried all the way back to his mother's embrace. Cooking was so hard!
She comforted him with her delicate white hands like always and sang to him as he desired. Her baby boy was growing up. Struggling! Failure was but a small obstacle, one that her beautiful and perfect child would have no trouble overcoming with due time. He stroked her immaculate gold hair. Her form was comforting as it had been when he was a babe. As unchanged as it was when he was a babe.
He would have it eventually!
And he would make it the heart of Eulmore's peace and safety. In a way, all of Eulmore, his Eulmore, was meol. A crusty outside, sturdy enough to avoid deformation when stacked and stored. A fleshy, mealy, crumbly inside that comforted and brought the soul peace and into Vauthry's open arms.
On such bedrock, his ascension was guaranteed.
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Food
I'm having to shift my relationship with food. Never easy, but necessary. Pain in the last few weeks. Maybe gallbladder or liver. Not surprising in some respects. I'm a fat man. I've always enjoyed eating, and have rarely had much admiration for self-denial.
Eating has been a pleasure and a comfort. Early memories. Sherbet fountains from bracchis. Bread roll from the bakers, the smell, the heat. Queues and flour. Whitewashed bakehouse off the street. The whistling butcher. Cake in the pushchair, shopping with my mother. A block with shiny icing. Stick of barley sugar in paper, given to pacify complaint. Marmite soldiers.
My grandmother's house, every day from school. Brown chips and beans. My grandfather eating burnt onions on a plate of melted cheese. My uncle, anaemic chips, drinking the vinegar off his plate. Cutting Welsh cakes with an orange beaker, tealeaves in a red plastic strainer. Turning the handle on the grinder as she fed it with onion and offcuts of fatty beef. Broth from bone. Hot jam and crisp pastry; sticky caramel crust. Biscuit tin. Custard cream, bourbon, pink wafer. Sat next to me she'd hit me with the tin, feeding. Lots of tea.
Saturday at Nans. Salad and soup. Four random tins mixed together. She would salt hers like snow, and butter her toast on both sides.
Sunday morning, crusty white toast and Marmite with the rugby papers. My mam, sharpening her knife on the wall by the back door. Cutting mint, chopped with sugar and vinegar. Making batter for Yorkshire pudding.
In Bath, food was a beer buffer. Late night comfort in Chelsea buns and butter. Hobnobs and black tea. Schwartz brothers mustard burger. Mr. D's. Steaks with Mark. First kebab. First time I'd seen pesto or Earl grey. A long way from the valleys. The beer, the beer. Brand oak in the tree. Hobgoblin, Pig and Bell. Dr. Thirsty, The Dog's Bollocks. Orange day-glo cider in the beehive, restricted to four pints. Cake and Steve, cheese and Dinos.
Comfort and refuge. Love and the silence of complaint. Could I eat myself to death? If I weren't painting, could I be cooking? Paths not travelled. Could I paint food? The strangeness and extremity of the culture, reflected in food. I look back and see the extraordinary privilege of my circumstances, even though, for Britain, my upbringing was far from wealthy. So many easy calories. All that fat and sugar. Post war fattening of Britain and America, built on colonial foundations. Both starting to dwindle, in part from their excesses. How can it continue. Will food continue past the rising of the sea, the drying up of oil and water? I think of the still life of a working class table from my childhood, stocked with Corona pop and wagon wheels. The cheap foods in the supermarket are not essentials, but the liver busting junk-manna, swollen with the rarefied sugar from the subsidised corn excesses of American farming. What might food painting look like now?
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Happy Mother's Day, Tiffany. Do anything with the twins?
The look of PURE unadulterated elation upon Tiffany’s face is equal to an excited child’s on Christmas morning. Today is her FAVORITE day-- even before she had the twins, it was STILL her favorite holiday. But since becoming a mother, it’s been a lot more fun and her expression conveys that. The corners of her lips meet her eyes in a wide smile and her painted finger tips press to her lips ecstatically as she gives an enthusiastic HOP.
Man, does she LOVE being a mom.
❛ WELL-- ❜ She starts, chipper enough, taking a deep exhale as if she were about to recite a list. ❛ I wasn’t expecting anything much, you know. To be honest, I’d just be happy with whatever the kids brought home from school. A drawing, a crappy card-- Whatever. That would have made me the happiest mom alive. ❜ And she HAD received the aforementioned things. Glen had drawn his mother a rather lovely depiction of their family out of crayon and Glenda had done something similar. Though Glenda’s art piece appeared to be stained with something crusty and reddish brown at its edges. IT’S WATER COLOR, MOMMA, she had said. Yeah. She was SURE it was water color...-- Still, both masterpieces went proudly upon the fridge, sitting next to all the other drawings her kids have made over the years.
❛ But Glen, bless his heart, made me some breakfast. Toast, eggs. And, you know what? Weren’t even burnt! He’s amazing. ❜ Tiffany can not help but to expel a happy giggle. A blush even dusts her cheeks from the joy she felt towards her two ANGELS.
❛ – AAAAAAND,❜ she holds up a finger and points to the other’s chest, ready to make a proposition. ❛ I bet I can even get Glenda to go shopping with me tomorrow. ❜ Somehow her grin grows wider as the blonde gives a firm nod of her head in affirmation.
❛ But I think we’re gonna finish it off with a family movie and we’ll call it for now. My mother always said to not take too much of a good thing or it’ll make you sick. Now, I don’t think I could get sick of the kids. But, you know, too much time with mom can be.... STIFLING.❜
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