#how badly can you fuck up a vegetable soup?
Text
Caretaking
Devi's skillset doesn't lend itself well to domesticity in Waterdeep. And Tara isn't as helpful as she thinks she is.
AO3 link
---
Devi awoke to the sound of a mighty sneeze, one that startled her out of a perfectly nice dream. She startled, her eyes flying open as she looked around her and Gale’s bedroom in his tower, trying to get her heart rate to settle back down. She could just feel the baby in her womb squirm, as though equally disturbed by the loud noise that had awoken its mother.
“Apologies,” she heard Gale’s hoarse voice beside her as the wizard sniffled, sitting up. He immediately flopped back down on his pillow with a little groan, a hand draped across his eyes. “Ugh.”
Her eyes narrowing, Devi rolled over in bed and brushed her fingers over Gale’s bearded cheek. “You sound like shit,” she pronounced. “And you feel warm.”
“I love you too,” Gale wryly croaked out, a moment before he curled in on himself in a coughing fit that made Devi’s chest ache in sympathy. When he regained his breath, he groaned again, seemingly trying to muster up the willpower to sit up again and actually make the effort to get out of bed. “How are you feeling?” he mumbled.
“Surprisingly good, for someone whose husband was snoring all night and keeping her up, even more than his child is,” Devi commented, touching her swollen belly as the baby settled down again. She sat up, frowning as she shifted to stroke her fingers through Gale’s mussed hair, feeling a feverish heat radiating from his brow. “But don’t worry about me, love. You are staying in bed today.”
Gale shook his head and frowned. “That’s not an option,” he protested. “I have lectures to give, and research to do…”
“Do I need to sit on you to make you stay in bed?”
The hand over Gale’s eyes moved, enough for the wizard to give his wife a little glare. “I am an adult, and perfectly capable of making decisions for myself–”
“And I’m your wife, who will yell for Tara to come back me up if you don’t cooperate,” Devi retorted.
Gale’s eyes narrowed. “... You wouldn’t,” he weakly protested.
Devi raised an eyebrow. “Watch me,” she answered.
She knew she won that round when Gale groaned in defeat and sank back into the pillow. “It truly isn’t that bad,” he tried to argue. “I think it’s just the sniffles, love. Hardly the thing to defeat a fully-trained wizard.”
“You’re feverish, coughing up a storm, and congested as all hells,” Devi responded, running her fingers through Gale’s hair again. She felt a little gratified when the wizard closed his eyes and sighed at the gentle motions. “Taking a day or two to rest won’t be the end of the world, darling.”
Gale harrumphed, but couldn’t argue Devi’s point – half because he’d broken into another coughing fit. He finally caught his breath and cracked his eyes open again, giving her the kicked-puppy expression that usually worked so well to weaken Devi’s resolve. “My students will be missing me,” he hoarsely protested. “There’s supposed to be an exam today…”
Devi shook her head in fond exasperation. “Tell you what – if you can cast a spell, with its intended effect happening, I won’t argue if you decide to go to the Academy today, even if I think it’s one of the dumber ideas you’ve had.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Gale croaked. He eyed Devi for a moment, then raised his hand. “ Non movere .”
A handful of pitiful-looking indigo sparks was all that emerged as a result of the spell’s invocation. Devi raised her eyebrow. “Isn’t that supposed to be the Hold Person spell? Because I can still move perfectly freely, love.” She lifted her hand and waggled her fingers at Gale to demonstrate.
“ Non movere, ” Gale tried again. This time, he didn’t even get the sparks from his hand. He groaned in defeat and sagged into the pillow. “I give up. You win, darling.”
Devi offered her ill husband a little smile and leaned down to kiss his hot forehead. “Go back to sleep,” she murmured. “I’ll send a message to the Academy to say that you’re too ill to come in today.” She hesitated, still petting Gale’s hair and feeling him all but melt under her touches. “Do you want me to stay until you’re asleep again?”
Gale nodded and flailed out with his hand to find Devi’s on the bed, clinging to her fingers.
“Okay,” Devi murmured with a little smile, kissing his brow again. “I’ll wait.” She suspected that, with how ill Gale was, she wouldn’t have to wait very long. Indeed, his eyes closed again, his facial muscles relaxing as sleep crept back over him. In less than three minutes, he was snoring, dead to the world.
Shaking her head and wondering why every man she’d ever met had no self-preservation instincts pertaining to illness, Devi kissed Gale’s brow one more time, then carefully slid out of bed, making sure to not wake him up again. The message to the Academy wouldn’t send itself, after all.
---
An hour later saw Devi in the kitchen, frowning at an old recipe book of Gale’s that she had found. This had to be a favourite volume of his, from how many annotations he’d made in the margins of the book over the years and how stained the pages were. Unfortunately, while she knew Gale could translate his own handwriting easily, she had yet to master that particular skill – and these notes were faded with time and use, making them still harder to read.
Tara jumped up on the counter beside Devi, sniffing at the book. “Ahh, yes. One of Mr. Dekarios’ favourites,” she said – if Devi hadn’t known better, she would have thought the tressym sounded approving. “And vegetable soup is a good remedy for human – or half-human – illnesses.”
“He always makes it for me when I don’t feel good – that, or the pumpkin soup,” Devi confirmed. “And it makes me feel better. It can’t hurt to make some for him this time.” She eyed the book for a moment, then stepped into the pantry, fishing onions and carrots and celery out of the baskets Gale kept there. Washing and chopping the vegetables, and putting them in a pot with water, was easy enough to do. Thankful that Gale didn’t have a kitchen that required magic to use anything, like she heard that some wizards had, she set the pot over the flame to simmer. “What else is good in soup?”
Tara’s tail swished as she thought. “In the cool storage, there’s a whole chicken that you could add to the soup,” she said after a moment. “The meat will be good for him.”
Devi wrinkled her nose – chicken was one of those foods that the child in her womb had apparently decided she wouldn’t be eating much of during her pregnancy. Just the thought of the poultry made her stomach churn. But, her ill husband did need the nutrients from the meat; she nodded and turned to the cupboard that Gale had enchanted to be cooler than the rest of the tower, fetching the chicken. “Do I cook the chicken first, or add it raw to the soup?” she asked Tara.
In response, Tara looked at the cookbook, muttering curses about Gale’s handwriting under her breath. “I would think to cook it first,” she finally said. “Humans react poorly to raw poultry, and Mr. Dekarios is already ill enough.”
“Of all the days for Shadowheart to be away,” Devi sighed as she started preparing the chicken, trying to not gag at the feeling of raw meat on her hands. “Gale, it’s a damned good thing I love you,” she muttered.
“If I had thumbs, I would offer to assist you,” Tara commented, watching as Devi prepared the bird. “Don’t forget to add salt and pepper to the chicken before you cook it.”
“I’m on it,” Devi confirmed, adding the seasonings to the chicken skin before she put the bird in its own pot and set it to roast. “Do I need to add anything else to that, do you think?”
Tara tilted her head, her tail swishing again. “I don’t think so?” she said after a moment. “I have watched Mr. Dekarios cook many times, but I have never been involved in the cooking process. Tressyms don’t need their food cooked.”
“And I’ve sat and watched Gale cook enough, you’d think I’d have picked up some of what he knows,” Devi muttered. “But a chicken vegetable soup can’t be too hard, right?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Tara said. “Provided you don’t burn anything.”
---
Half an hour later, Tara’s nose twitched at the smokey, charred ruin that had once been a chicken. “Did I not say to not burn anything?”
“That’s not half as helpful as you think it is, Tara,” Devi growled, gingerly poking at the chicken. “At least it’s not raw?”
“I suppose,” Tara admitted. “Perhaps it will be salvageable after you scrape off the charring on the outside.”
“The things I do for Gale,” Devi sighed as she started scraping the charred skin away from the chicken. Her stomach roiled threateningly at the smells that assaulted her; she winced and gently touched her swollen belly. “Enough of that,” she said to her unborn child. “Your daddy is sick and needs this, and Tara can’t exactly cook!”
“I have my doubts that you can either,” Tara commented.
Devi scowled at the tressym, then pried one of the legs off the chicken’s body. “Are you fucking joking?” she asked when she saw the still-raw meat under the burnt outer layer of the bird. “I can’t feed Gale this!”
Tara jumped up onto Devi’s shoulders and peered at the chicken. “I’m a little impressed that you managed to both under-cook and burn the same chicken,” she said.
“One of the many talents I have,” Devi deadpanned. Setting the chicken leg down, she stepped over to the first pot and gave it a stir. The vegetables in the broth seemed to be unburnt, for the moment. “So perhaps Gale is getting a plain vegetable soup today without the chicken,” she said. “These, at least, are still edible.”
“I suppose that will be acceptable,” Tara said. “When Mr. Dekarios is feeling better, perhaps you should ask him for cooking lessons.”
“Not the worst idea I’ve heard,” Devi admitted. She gave the soup another stir, making sure none of the vegetables were sticking to the pot. “What other vegetables are good in soup? Maybe potatoes?”
“Potatoes would be a good addition,” Tara mused, her tail flicking from side to side. “Perhaps a courgette as well?”
Devi nodded, then went back to the pantry, returning with a couple of potatoes that she scrubbed clean. Once they were chopped, she carefully added them to the soup pot and gave it another stir before going back for a courgette. As the green vegetable was added to the pot, the former thief gave her creation a contemplative look. “Any other suggestions?”
“Perhaps give it a taste,” Tara suggested.
Turning to the silverware, Devi fetched a spoon, then dipped it into the broth and took a careful sip of the hot liquid. She frowned at the bland flavour. “Salt and pepper,” she said. “Maybe some herbs too. Herbs will help Gale feel better too, right?”
“They should,” Tara confirmed. She jumped off of Devi’s shoulders and started sniffing at Gale’s spice rack. “Ah, curse that boy. I’ve been telling him for almost thirty years that he needs jars that I can pick up and open!”
“I’ll come help you in a moment,” Devi said, picking up the salt and pepper. The pepper, freshly ground as it was, went into the soup easily enough. The salt went in a little easier. “... Ooops.”
Tara looked up. “What now?”
“I, uh, may have put a little too much salt in here?” Devi said. She took another sip of the broth and winced. “It’s… not bland anymore, at least?”
Tsking, Tara shook her head. “Come get some of the herbs, and hopefully those will balance out the salt. Open the jars first so I can smell them.”
Devi stepped over to the spice rack and picked up the first jar Tara pawed at, opening the lid. “Smells nice,” she commented as she peered at the label in Gale’s handwriting. “Basil?”
“Try adding that to the soup,” Tara said. “And this one, and this one.”
“How much?” Devi asked, and saw Tara shrug. “... That’s not helpful.”
“Mr. Dekarios never measures his herbs or spices,” Tara responded. “He says that such things should be measured with your heart.”
“My heart has never cooked a vegetable soup for a sick wizard before,” Devi retorted. She picked up the other jars that Tara had indicated and eyed them before shaking out what she thought was a good amount of each herb into the soup pot. Her next taste test only came back with more of the overly-salty flavour – she frowned, then added more of the herbs, a more generous shake from each jar.
Her next taste wasn’t ‘good’, but at least it wasn’t quite as overpoweringly salty as before.
“How is it?” Tara asked, watching Devi contemplate her spoon.
“... Not great,” Devi admitted. “A pity you don’t have human tastes – you could tell me what’s wrong with this. And I’m not waking Gale up to get his opinion when he needs sleep.”
“Perhaps it just needs more time to simmer?” Tara suggested. “My understanding is that soups take time to properly come together.”
“It can’t hurt,” Devi said after a moment. “Maybe an hour, do you think?”
Tara nodded. “I think that’s a reasonable length of time. Come, let’s see if you can at least make a cup of tea without ruining that too.”
---
An hour later, and Devi was ready to admit that cooking anything required no small amount of magic. Somehow, the vegetables in her soup had managed to burn themselves on the sides of the pot, and the ones that weren't burnt were decidedly mushy. The herbs she had added didn’t do a thing to mask the slightly-burnt flavour of the soup, and she swore the overly-salty flavour had just gotten worse with simmering.
She and Tara looked down into the pot – Devi with a frown, and Tara with her tail swishing. “I’m not sure how to salvage that, if it’s as bad as you say,” the tressym said.
“I don’t think even Gale could salvage this,” Devi sighed. “Why did I think this was a good idea?”
“Because Mr. Dekarios is ill, and you wanted to tend to him?” Tara asked.
Frustrated, Devi poked at the ruined soup with the ladle. “I'm half surprised I didn't melt the ladle on top of everything else,” she grumbled.
“That makes two of us,” Tara said. Ignoring Devi's scowl, she sat on the counter and started grooming herself. “What is your next plan?”
Devi sighed and raked a hand through her hair. “I have no idea,” she muttered. “I'm almost ready to send you to Gale's mother for help with this.” Except that Devi did not want to appear helpless and incompetent in front of Morena Dekarios. Her mother-in-law seemed to like her well enough, but Devi still had a few fragments of her pride left.
Tara looked up from grooming one large wing. “I doubt even Mrs. Dekarios would be able to salvage that soup,” she commented. “Perhaps if we–”
A sneeze interrupted the tressym's thought. Gale shuffled into the kitchen, wrapping his robe around him. “What was that about my mother?” he hoarsely asked.
“You should still be in bed,” Devi murmured, abandoning the pot and its dismal soup to give Gale a gentle hug. “How do you feel?”
“Like a carriage ran over me,” Gale mumbled. He hugged Devi back, resting his cheek on her hair before he looked at the scene before him. “What's this? You were cooking?”
“‘Cooking’ might be too generous a term,” Tara commented. “The best that could be said is that she didn't burn the tower down.”
“Hey, you were no help,” Devi growled at the tressym before she looked up at Gale. “Uhh… I tried cooking. It's… almost edible?”
Gale raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Only almost? I'm sure you aren't giving yourself enough credit, darling.” Letting go of Devi, he shuffled over to the pot; Devi saw his brow furrow as he examined the attempt at soup. Picking up a spoon, he cautiously sipped the broth.
Devi winced as she saw Gale freeze, his face contorting in a grimace that he couldn't quite hide from her. “Oh, gods. I know it's awful – I'm sorry. I tried to follow your recipe, but…”
With an effort, Gale swallowed the mouthful of broth, and gave Devi a smile. “No, love, it's not that bad! It…” He looked at the pot. “It's, uh…”
“It's barely edible,” Devi groaned. “Don't feel like you have to be nice about it, Gale. I know it's terrible.”
“Nonsense! I've had worse.” Gale chuckled and set the spoon down. “Trust me, darling. I've made worse food than that, when I was first learning. I wouldn't call this a culinary masterpiece, but you meant well with this!” He came back to Devi and gently curled his finger under her chin. “It means the world to me that you tried this, even though I know you aren't as comfortable in a kitchen as I am.”
Devi smiled sheepishly at Gale and ran her fingers through his hair. “Well, you felt terrible – I wanted to do something nice for you. And you always take such good care of me when I don't feel good…” She stretched up to kiss his cheek, then eyed the pot. “... But is that even salvageable?”
Gale looked at the pot as well, then ruefully smiled. “The pot itself should be fine, but there's no magic that exists to remove too much salt, or to un-burn food.” As Devi groaned again, he chuckled and wrapped his arms around her again. “If you like, I can teach you how to make a soup properly. I know my notes in the recipe books are hard to read, but I have a few tricks I can teach you.”
“You're still ill, though,” Devi said with a little frown, stroking Gale's forehead. He still felt warm to her touch. “I can't ask you to teach me to cook when you're sick.”
“I'm not so ill that I can't sit at the table with a cup of tea and talk you through cooking, my love,” Gale assured her. “All I ask in repayment is for you to come back to bed with me afterwards for a snuggle.” He winked at her and kissed her forehead. “Does that sound agreeable to you?”
Devi smiled and stretched up to give Gale a light kiss. “That sounds good to me.”
With a little grin, Gale let go of her and sat down at the table. “Now, the first step is to dispose of your earlier attempt at soup–” He looked around, his eyes setting on the burnt chicken carcass that Devi had tried and failed to salvage anything edible from. “Oh, dear. Another attempt on your part?”
Wincing sheepishly, Devi nodded.
Gale ruefully chuckled. “All right. Throw that out too, and we'll try cooking chicken another day, darling.” He watched as Devi disposed of the ruined soup and chicken, then managed to summon the energy to magically clean the pot of its burnt mess. “The base of a good vegetable soup is onion, celery, and carrot…”
#bg3#bg3 fic#gale x tav#tav x gale#tara the tressym#fluff#gale dekarios#gale#illness#domesticity#bad cooking#listen#Devi tried#and failed miserably#how badly can you fuck up a vegetable soup?#VERY badly if you're Devi#and Tara really isn't that helpful
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could you please do some headcanons about Batmans cooking disasters over the years?
Age 5: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs
Age 6: He decorates a cookie so badly another kid cries until they throw up
Age 7: He tries to make a PB&J and the countertop is sticky for a week
Age 8: He tries to make Martha's chicken noodle soup but ends up crying on the kitchen floor surrounded by half-chopped vegetables
Age 9: He tries to impress a houseguest by recreating Thomas's mixology tricks (sans alcohol). There's still a stain on the ceiling to this day
Age 10: He makes green eggs. It's not on purpose. He's never even read the book
Age 11: He makes lava in the school cafeteria
Age 12: He tries to make cheese bread by drilling holes into a baguette and filling it with melted nacho cheese
Age 13: He melts a cutting board in the oven
Age 14: He folds a Pop Tart
Age 15: The chocolate-covered bananas he makes for the school bake sale come out looking very very wrong
Age 16: He's asked to drop a home economics class after mistaking refried beans for pumpkin puree in a pie
Age 17: He boils eggs in the carton
Age 18: He makes his entire freshman dorm evacuate after burning his ramen to ash
Age 19: He sculpts a severed hand out of meatloaf and is sent to the university psychologist
Age 20: He tries to bake a cake but doesn't have a cake pan, so he pours the batter right in the oven
Age 21: He tries Thomas's mixology tricks again, this time with alcohol. One of the tricks is flipping it over his head. He ends up losing part of his vision for 3 days
Age 22: He burns water. Harley Quinn is there. She still holds it over his head
Age 23: He packs his first patrol snack as Batman. It's a chocolate bar wrapped in a tortilla. The chocolate melts onto his gloves and he drops the tortilla down a sewer grate
Age 24: He makes an ice cream cookie sandwich to eat while he and Batgirl work on a case, but he's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't notice it melt until Babs points it out
Age 25: He enters the first annual Justice League cook-off and immediately gets banned from ever entering again
Age 26: He tries to comfort little Dickie Grayson by making fried cornbread from a book of Roma comfort recipes. It turns out about as well as you'd expect when you give Bruce Wayne hot oil. Bruce is genuinely bummed out, but Dick says it's the thought that counts
Age 27: Clark delivers a huge hunk of beef from the farm. Instead of waiting for Alfred to come back, Bruce and Dick try to break it down with a power saw
Age 28: Bruce and Dick's latkes are burned so badly they can play floor hockey with them
Age 29: He makes stuffed mushrooms. Badly. Like imagine the worst way you can fuck up a mushroom. It still won't compare to what Bruce did. And it's for a potluck with the West-Allens that Barry won't let him live down
Age 30: Bruce sees Dick struggling to make ravioli and he's like "Let me show you how it's done" before proceeding to make it infinitely worse
Age 31: Bruce sees a hungry Jason Todd and the first thing he does when they return to the manor is make a double-decker bread sandwich. That's bread with two more slices of bread in between
Age 32: Bruce packs Dick and Jason's lunchboxes when Alfred is out of town. They're supposed to include a salad. Instead, Dick gets a whole head of lettuce and Jason's is just a bottle of ranch
Age 33: He makes hot chocolate after patrol... but forgets the chocolate
Age 34: The Manor is too cold, so Bruce tries to warm it up by making Jason's favorite soup. His hands shake the whole time. Suddenly, he's eight years old again, sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by scraps reminding him of his failure
Age 35: Jack and Janet Drake are out of the country again, leaving young Timmy by himself. Bruce decides to bring some dinner over. It's baked perfectly, but it's full of things that shouldn't be anywhere near a casserole dish. They end up ordering takeout and watching old detective movies together
Age 36: Steph walks through how to make waffles. Bruce is standing there, watching closely and taking notes. They still come out looking radioactive
Age 37: Cass asks if they can get smoothies. Bruce says he can make them at home. She gives him a warning look but that's not enough to stop him. Cue Bruce forgetting to put the lid on the blender
Age 38: Jason's first night back at home, Bruce tries to make that soup. It shoots out like a geyser and hits the lights. He's panicking until he hears Jason laugh, and then the soup doesn't matter
Age 39: Damian screws up hummus and he desperately tries to hide it so people won't see him as inadequate at something so basic. Instead of getting upset, Bruce assures him it's okay and offers to fix it. (He doesn't fix it, he just makes it worse)
Age 40: Bruce's birthday happens while he's fake-dead and away from home. He grabs a convenience store cupcake and sticks a single candle on it. Then he closes his eyes, pretends his family is around him, and makes a wish. (The candle droops and sets the hotel sheets on fire)
Age 41: Back at the Manor, he attempts to make lemonade on a particularly hot day. Selina offers to help, but Bruce declines, saying, "How hard can it be?" (Spoiler alert: it's not supposed to be full of seeds)
Age 42: Kate shows him a video of Canadians pouring maple syrup into the snow to make candy, so he gets her to boil the syrup so they can do it together. The problem comes when they can't control the pour and end up with a glob the size of Damian
Age 43: As part of a school project, Bruce and Duke try to deduce the Coca-Cola secret formula. Duke's teacher takes a point off because at the beginning he told her he'd taste the results, but there's no way he's doing that now
Age 44: The family gets together to make a full English breakfast Alfred's birthday. Each person takes a part—Dick has eggs, Jason has the grilled tomatoes, Tim has mushrooms, Duke has the bacon, Steph and Cass are tag-teaming the sausages, Damian just has to open a can of beans, and Bruce needs to put bread in the toaster. It goes South immediately when Damian reaches for his katana instead of the can opener
Age 45: Bruce puts tinfoil in the microwave. Alfred shakes his head and laughs
#bruce wayne#batman#dick grayson#nightwing#jason todd#red hood#tim drake#red robin#damian wayne#robin#stephanie brown#spoiler#cassandra cain#orphan#duke thomas#signal#alfred pennyworth#justice league#batfam#batfamily#batboys#batbros#batgirls#batkids#batsiblings#batman family#dc comics#headcanon#ask#anonymous
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
there's a certain kind of article on the internet that pisses me off so badly. it's written by a person with a surface-level understanding of the topic and little-to-no personal experience, who collates a few sources and then litters the information highway with yet another piece of trash
today's trash article is a discussion of bone broth.
my position on bone broth is that it has personally done a lot for my physical health, energy levels hair, skin and nails. but it matters a lot HOW i've been doing it. first, i've been cooking it myself, from organic bones, and with alcohol and certain kinds of vegetables, which increases the breakdown of the bones and release of nutrients in the water. second, I have been eating Mass Quantities, that is 1-2 bowls a day, with seaweed and other vegetable nutrients added, for almost 2 years now. the level of healing i've experienced is directly. proportional. to the amount and quality of the broth.
so it can help you. but you have to use quality ingredients, and invest time and energy into cooking it right, and you have to eat A LOT. and yes, many people don't have the time, resources and money etc, of course! so of course this can't help people who don't have the time, resources, money etc. this is not a cure all.
what makes me mad is the stupid black and white thinking the internet is prey to. like, if not everyone can benefit, then NO ONE can benefit. if vegans and vegetarians cannot benefit, then NO ONE can benefit. if poor and under-resourced people cannot benefit, then NO ONE can benefit. (the biggest of eye rolls)
and like, yes. people who don't beleive in eating animals exist. people with lack of access to resources exist. I feel a lot of compassion for both of these groups, but I can't! do anything! about their concerns! does that mean I am not supposed to share a method that CAN work for SOME people?
I myself am a former vegetarian. I've discovered that vegetarianism, combined with overwork and a lack of sleep, fucked my health right up. Do you know what I've found that fixed that? fucking bone broth. Is abandoning vegetarianism right for you??? maybe not! is bone broth right for you?? maybe not!! and that's okay!
so but, along comes this article which apparently is a gotcha about that bone broth is useless. which, if it were actually sourced from actual studies about actual bone broth, I might consider its arguments.
but you know what it actually argues?
that a) collagen supplements provide more and better collagen than bone broth, and b) you need the minerals from vegetables to make them available. Okay, but where do you think the fcuking collagen in supplements comes from? Fucking industrially produced fucking bone broth. just, y'know in giant factories, not in your kitchen, and reduced water content so it's a gell or a pill and not a soup. so what they're actually arguing is that industrially produced bone broth is better. which...okay, but that's bone broth. and it's true about the vegetables by the way, which is why you cook the fucking bones with vegetables when you make the broth, to make the bones more bioavailabile. So the recommendation here is actually: don't make bone broth yourself, take our pills and eat your salad like a good little girl.
that because proponents of bone broth tell you that glucosamine is one of the components of bone broth, and that glucosamine supplements don't work, therefore bone broth doesn't work. but we're not talking about fucking glucosamine supplements? we're talking about bone broth? which you haven't shown a study about the uselessness of?
then they're like, "okay, there's supposed to be protein and calcium in bone broth, but you can get more protein from other sources, and the calcium is actually very little, so you see, it's not very useful". you know what's very high in calcium? milk. do you know how bioavailable the calcium in milk is? Not Very! because you need magnesium to put calcium in the right places in your body. without magnesium, calcium ends up in your joints, causing stiffness and arthritic symptoms. magnesium signals calcium to go to the right places, your bones. If you cook bone broth right, with vegetables, then you have the magnesium to do the job right. but also, you have to drink a lot, on the daily. it's not like taking concentrated vitamins, it's broth, it's just soup, it's going to take greater quantities. Also the amount of daily calcium you need is not as much as milk ads have made people think.
here, all they say is they have no evidence to support that bone broth helps leaky gut syndrome. how and why does this merit its own number on their list? "Uh.....we got nothing, but we're going to make it a bullet point" okay there player
aaaaand this is the only point I agree with, because I'm also sick to fucking death of all of the claims of detoxing around. you can't detox your body. your liver does that shit. you can maintain your liver and kidney health to HELP them do that shit, but you can't eat stuff to do their job FOR them.
and so the article's grand conclusion? what they actually write is that maybe bone broth is okay, it's neutral. SO their main point is actually that bone broth is okay? Even though the tone of the article is trying to lead you to believe that it's a big scam, even though they have maybe one point that supports that?
so how is this article actually informing you in any way about the supposed failures of bone broth? all they're saying is that collagen supplements--industrially produced bone broth--is better than home-made, that glucosamine supplements are not bone broth, that bone broth doesn't have 'enough' calcium without discussing bioavailability and actual studies of the amount of calcium needed and the actual amount of bone broth required, they can't even back up their argument about gut health and they have to concede that it's still actually nutritious.
okay so that's your gotcha article.
Listen I understand that bone broth has become trendy, and i'm also sick to death of food trends that take off because they've been passed around the internet looking for the next big thing to promote. but articles like this are also fucking shady, because they're using false equivalencies and ad hominem and faint praise to do their takedown, instead of actual fucking facts and studies. it's just as lazy as all the next-food-trend promoters.
I just want the internet to actually be the accessible central repository of all human knowledge that we all think it is, is that too much to ask?
16 notes
·
View notes
Note
omffffggg ur fic is killin me /j /pos i sa you were takin questions abt the boys so can they cook? like who cooks n who microwaves lmaosshdsk
omg, listen, i am obsessseeed with this ask because i go back and forth on this one all the time. i'm going to put this under a readmore because it got really long, but in short: stan microwaves, kyle cooks.
also thank you for sending this in, i love responding to all your messages in between my updates!! it's seriously so fun to me <3
like, on the one hand, sobo mimi ( who is grandma marsh in peppermint because stan is 25% japanese ) definitely tried to teach stan how to cook during their visits and was a very good cook.
sharon, however, god bless her, cannot cook to save her life, like burns everything, egg shells, makes inedible quality the sims dishes, but stan loves his mom, so he pretends like everything she makes is the most delicious food in the world. stan would eat a shoe if she put it in front of him and he would eat everything down to the laces.
randy, i want to say, slays the dad barbeque and nothing else ( i hate you randy die a miserable horrible death, bitch! ) and probably could cook kind of well if he didn't spend all of his waking hours being an incompetent alchie, junkie and *stan vc* fucking wastoid of a father so he does a lot of microwaving and using sharons hard earned money on takeout smh...seriously i hate you randy.
stan, also, is vegan, my crunchy granola boy and brother nature who actually enjoys fruits and vegetables, herbivore king. he also...is a human garbage disoposal. that man will eat ANYTHING, i mean ANYTHING as long as it's vegan period. he really likes spicy food, has like zero sensory issues and when drunk once, probably ate a decorative soap. that was an sari aka Stan-Alcohol-Related-Incident.
i'm getting off topic, but i think stan is a little too imprecise and impatient to cook. also his adhd is so awful that i feel like he puts shit in the air fryer, forgets and has almost burnt the house on multiple occasions. his fine motor skills are nonexistent, his hand writing is awful, i feel like all the vegetables he slices are like different sizes...so respectfully...i do not think he is a cooking legend...but he do b eating!
can eat a frightening amount. frightening. if u take that man to soup plantation he will fuck it UP! he turn that place upside down, it will look like a bomb went off in there like it's no joke!!! shdlksah
stan also...literally keeps the lights on at all of the fast food restaurants in south park. he is in those drive thrus more than after school tutoring ( which u need! baby! badly! ) like specifically taco bell...the stanley marsh special is a black bean crunch wrap supreme with 10...count em!!!...ten diablo sauces, a large baja blast with extra ice and he thinks theyre repulsive but those little cinnamon motherfuckers...if he thinks kyles insulin is low, he is like here bb <3
kyle on the other hand i feel like has seen every single season of master chef, half his tiktok is cooking tiktok, worships gordon ramsey and could cook really well...in theory.
because kyle, pep!kyle at least, is definitely a little dizzy with the tizzy and probably has high functioning autism, honestly.
i feel like he is very picky with food, like does not like spicy food ( u know what u are spicy enough baby, i get it ) which is hilarious because i swear stan b eating food so spicy that he can see god, and has issues with food textures specifically stuff that is way too squishy. like stan and kyle have system where if there is a fry that is not crunchy enough stan will eat it and stan will give kyle all the extra crunchy ones bc theyre in love...you know...dhflkdshf
but i think he would be really good at cooking, appreciates the artistry of cooking, does really clean knife work and as he gets older, definitely starts to go against the grain of his brain and get more adventurous with what he can eat.
also kyle totally makes food for stan ( in shelias tacky star of david apron...i love that thing sdlksa ) and is like...idk is this good idk its not my best work and stan is like respectfully this is the best food i have ever had in my life please stop capping...also pls give me a big sloppy wet kiss dummy!!!! sakdhdsl
i feel like in terms of cooking, kyle doesnt really enjoy doing savory food as much as like...baking. KYLE DEFINETELY BAKES!!!! him and tweek def bond over baking 100% argue with ur momma! because baking is math and science i just know that shit makes his brain go brrrr! also kyle is a sugar fiend, like if he smells sugar on u he will sit there and nag ur ass until u hand it over he is like a wild animal shdl.
finally i feel like when stan and kyle are dating dating and like living together in their little apartment they totally do date night and stay in and cook. which is...mostly kyle cooking and stan being really annoying and whacking kyle's ass with the spatula every five seconds shdlkad so he gets put in time out frequently for being distracting
thank u for coming to my ted talk! <3 -nina
#style#south park#stan marsh#kyle broflovski#live love style world domination and the peppermint cinematic universe#hc
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Made up fic title: “Destiny sounds bad (can I help?)” 👀👀👀👀👀 this is stolen from the movie I’m watching rn (The Core, slightly trashy apocalypse sci fi) bc I caught a cold and am vegetating in bed 😩 but I’m sending you (virus free) hugs!!! 💜
Aw, I'm sorry, pal! Hope you feel better soon! Drink some soup! Gets some ginger ale or ginger tea (tea is better). EAT SOMETHING! Hugs are always appreciated and returned!
This is a brilliant title! Reminds me of bnha a bit so that's what I'll go with.
Way before Izuku gets OFA, Toshinori gets help. He's legit forced to see a psychiatrist (who also sees patients for therapy) and do talk and group therapy.
In these groups, he (re) connects with several Heroes who are dealing with their own issues. Therapy is usually advised if the Hero in question is dealing badly with, say, the loss of human life during a mission or personal crisis. You can imagine Toshinori has seen a lot of both.
At first, he doesn't talk. He doesn't see the need to burden these people, some older than him, many younger, with the troubles he is very obviously having.
The first time he talks, it's to reassure someone in the group that they did the right thing and share how he felt and what he did for a similar mission. Considering he's the Number One Hero for a reason, the stakes are higher.
Cut to everyone in the group being horrified when he drops some news that he honestly doesn't think is news, just how things go, and they all have to be like "All-Might-san, what the fuck?!"
And that's how All For One gets suplexed into the next century waaaaay more than six years before canon and his empire is torn down for good!
Gran Torino is on thin ice
Hawks is also in this group, so you can imagine who their next target is! (Spoiler alert: it's the HPSC)
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Acomaf Chapter 55
Warnings: 18+ only ; anti feysand; bad smut.
I just want to make clear that I, in no shape or form, like this badly written smut doing this cause some of ya'll requested it. So I am proud to present the infamous Chp 55 commentary.
I watched him consume every spoonful, his eyes darting between where I stood and the soup.
Umm... Does sjm not realise just how unromantic soup is? Like why soup? It's...slimy and has vegetables and boiled stuff and like- it's the least romantic food bruhhh 😭
“I was going to tell you what I’d decided the moment I saw you on the threshold.”
Maybe you should....
Rhys twisted in his seat toward me. “And now?”
Ohh yeahh Feyre answer him!! What do u think of your sexual assaulter now?? After he told you he SA'd you for your own good, told you a sob story and gaslighted you! No srsly I am so intrigued. Please do tell.
Aware of every breath, every movement, I sat in his lap. His hands gently braced my hips as I studied his face. “And now I want you to know, Rhysand, that I love you. I want you to know … ” His lips trembled, and I brushed away the tear that escaped down his cheek.
WHAT THE FUCK? BESTIE WHAT?!
“I want you to know,” I whispered, “that I am broken and healing, but every piece of my heart belongs to you. And I am honored—honored to be your mate.”
Honoured?? Wtf 😭😭😭 why wud u be honoured to he tied to Rhysie???? BITCH HE SA'd YOU! I wud have legit went naked out in snow and died of hypothermia if I were her Honoured my ass.
Rhys looked up, his face gleaming with tears. He went still as I leaned in, kissing away one tear. Then the other. As he had once kissed away mine.
Here we go with the retcons again. If I remember correctly babe, he licked your tears. Yes he licked u without your consent and like then twisted your bones. Literally.
The word's licked. Not kissed. Don't make it romantic. It's fucking gross.
His body shuddered with what might have been a sob, but his lips found my own.
You wanna know what my body is shuddering with? Disgust.
Rhysand scooped me up in a smooth movement before laying me flat on the table—amongst and on top of all the paints.
Ouchh.. that's gotta hurt. I mean aren't paints in like glass bottles?
I plunged my fingers into his hair, and he braced a hand beside my head—smack atop a palette of paint.
Nah noo why? Why the paints? Is it supposed to be poetic cause she paints? Nah i- paints are gross and sticky and have a weird smell?
He let out a low laugh, and I watched, breathless, as he took that hand and traced a circle around my breast, then lower, until he painted a downward arrow beneath my belly button.
PLSS 💀
Homeboy thinks he's Google maps.
Thanks for the directions sir.
“Lest you forget where this is going to end,” he said.
Wtf is this shit?? Like is this supposed to be dirty talk?
He bhagwan uthale mujhe 😭😭 (translation: oh god kill me)
I snarled at him, a silent order, and he laughed again, his mouth finding my other breast.
Idk why but whenever it's mentioned that someone snarls, All I can think of is old ppl snoring loudly.
Smearing it in his hair, until great streaks of blue and red and green ran through it.
PLSSS RHYSIE WITH BLUE, RED AND GREEN HIGHLIGHTS LMAOOOOOO
Rhys pulled back again, and I let out a bark of protest—
Okayyy... What is this really? Is she shapeshifting into a dog or like-
I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast.
Yepp that's doesn't sound cannibal-ly at all.
He growled his approval at my moan, my taste, and unleashed himself on me entirely
Okayy I get u wanna do it doggie style but that doesn't mean u have behave Iike them too 😭💀
He looked me over, naked, covered in paint, his own face and body smeared with it, and give me a slow, satisfied male smile.
Umm... But how is a smile male or female? Like what is a male smile? Do tell.
Wholly naked, I watched as he unbuttoned his pants, and the considerable length of him sprang free.
I'm sorry but sprang free. 🤣🤣💀
I leaned up, reaching over his shoulder to caress the powerful curve of his wing.
Rhys shuddered, and I watched his cock twitch.
Nah but what is this weird wing fettish sjm has?????? Like wtf? This reminds of the anon ask about Illariyans orgasming on the battlefield because some touch their wings. 💀💀
and slid in. And in. And in.
Is this a typo or is she really that bad a writer?
My friend through many dangers.
My lover who had healed my broken and weary soul.
My mate who had waited for me against all hope, despite all odds.
Great! I'll join in! You're sexual assaulter who traumatised you for three months.
drawing out my pleasure until I felt and saw and smelled that bond between us,
OHHH NO GROSSS WTF SHE MEAN BY SMELLED
Outside, the mountains trembled, the remaining snow rushing from them in a cascade of glittering white, only to be swallowed up by the waiting night below.
Not the Illariyans hiding under their tables cause their hl orgasmed and now there is an earthquake. Life there seems fun ngl.
#this only half the chapter 😭#srry it took me so long for this but can blame me really?#plus i was super swamped with school#anti sjm#anti acotar#anti feyre#anti feysand#anti rhysand#anti acomaf#let me know if u want part 2
95 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love at First Bite
A/N: we love a man who can cook where can I find myself an osamu (and yes this is an excuse for me to write about food)
Pairing: Miya Osamu x reader
Description: Your story with Miya Osamu began with tears, rain, and really good food.
Word count: 5270
Playlist:
Making Breakfast//Twin Peaks
Sunday Kind of Love//Etta James
Baby I’m Yours//Arctic Monkeys
-
You met Miya Osamu on what felt like the worst day of your life.
“I don’t feel the same about you anymore.”
The words that your boy- no, ex-boyfriend said to you rang in your ear. You could not get it out of your head ever since he uttered those few words in front of you, leaving you dazed and alone on the street as he turned away without even looking back.
He did not even look back, not even bothering to see the look on your face and hurt in your eyes as the reality sat in.
I don’t feel the same about you anymore.
What the fuck was that even supposed to mean? Your face heated up at the anger that was starting to boil up. It was humiliating how you just stood there and say nothing as he walked away, you could have at least say something smart, or demand an explanation. But instead, you stayed still like a block of wood.
Pathetic, maybe that was why he got tired of you.
It did not work. You tried so hard to shake off the echo in your head of last voice you ever wanted to hear at that moment but the more you tried, the louder it was in the void of your mind. You hated how easy it was for him to walk away and how hard it was on you, you hated how you could barely even think straight as you mindlessly walk along the straight road ahead, taking turns whenever there was one without even having a single thought.
There was a moment when you stared at his figure as he walked away and felt the urge to say something that would make him stay, and that was the worst part of it all.
How sad, how pathetic.
The streets were getting dark and one by one, the shops along the sides dimmed their lights. It was late and you should go home but just the thought of being along made your stomach twisted into knots.
There would be no one waiting for you when you get back, which you should have gotten used to by now. But being by yourself was one thing, the thought of there being no one you could go to anymore was another.
You had not felt so lonely in a long while, and you weren’t sure how to deal with this foreign hollowness.
You did not want to be surrounded by nothing but four walls. You knew that the voices in your head would be clearer and louder when you were accompanied by nothing but silence. At least when you were out, wandering on the empty streets, you had the eyes of the people walking by to keep you from breaking down completely in fear of the looks you might get, a sad attempt at convincing yourself to stay strong.
But the reality was that the emotions that were boiling up at the depths of your chest were starting to bubble up, and you had never wanted to cry so badly.
You grimaced when you felt the bead of water rolling down your chin, then you realised that it wasn’t you.
It was like the sky could sense your conflict and it decided to cry on your behalf when you were o hellbent that you wouldn’t be vulnerable. It started off as sparse drops of water on your face until the silver strings of water became a downpour.
You were a mess as you scrambled to find cover, clutching your bag close to your chest as you ran under the rain, barely able to see what was in front of you. Amidst the heavy veil of rain that covered the street, you spotted a distant glow. A warm light from afar, and with your clothes soaked through and your brain tangled by every train of thought that had been bothering you, your feet moved on its own.
You just wanted somewhere you could be, somewhere you could hide for even just a second.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed-”
The man standing by the counter turned around at the sound of the wooden door being slid open. He was holding a cup in hand and a towel in another, clearly in the middle of closing things up. He froze in place when he saw you standing by the door, drenched from top to bottom and your eyes looking down. Your shoulders were drooping down, your lips quivering as your chest rose and fell to the heavy breaths that you were struggling to maintain. You looked like a mess and shame burnt through your face when you realised you were barging into someone getting ready to be finished with their day, unlike you who were just finding a place to escape to.
He paused and stared at you for a while before slowly opening his mouth again, “Welcome, take a seat wherever you like.”
You felt the lump at the back of your throat at this stranger letting you stay even though it was likely that you being there wouldn’t be anything but helpful to his work. Your dignity wanted to say that you wouldn’t want to be a bother and that you would be leaving soon but as the loud crack of thunder made your body shock, you swallowed it down and muttered a soft thank you as you pulled out the tall stool right in front of the bar table.
The crisp sound of rain drops falling onto the ceiling and the occasional thunder filled the empty shop as you sat there. You stared at your crossed hands that were in front of you, your brain completely blank as the wetness of your clothes slowly seeped through. You shuddered at how cold the layers felt, trying to curl up on your seat as a last resort for some warmth. The man, who you assumed to be the owner of this shop, was at the back and you wondered if it was because he took pity at how disheveled you were and decided to give you some space.
You could hear the occasional clank of ceramics and pots from the kitchen. Warm lights, steam that was slipping past the door curtain, the clicks of gas stoves being turned on. It all felt so terribly like home. Not the small apartment that you had to be careful doing anything to in fear of losing your deposit, the one where you could hear the sound of the tv even at the door right as you step in, the one with someone waiting for you to be home, the one where you could smell the sweet scent of rice from the kitchen.
The one where you were not along.
You felt the tear prickling at the corner of your eye and you quickly brought your hand up to press against your forehead, forcing the soreness in your nose to go away. You had been on your own for so long and probably would be for even longer, you could not let your mind wander to places that would crush you down like that. Not now, not when you knew how hard it would hit you.
The click on the table in front of you broke you out of your spiraling thoughts, and your eyes widened as you looked up to see what was placed in front of you.
White streams rose from the black lacquerware, the shine and the patterns on top a sharp contrast to the onigiri placed on the plate by its side. They were rounded, put on a long rectangular plate side by side with a small stripe of nori wrapped around them. You could see each grain of rice clearly, the light made it looked like they were clear enough for you to see through it. You looked into the bowl to see pieces of vegetables and tofu floating in the cloudy liquid, the soft scent of miso filling your senses as you leaned forward.
Tonjiru and onigiri, how long had it been since you had this?
“You need something to warm you up.” the man said with a small smile, brushing the fallen strands of his silver bangs away from his eyes as he turned away from you.
You nodded as you took the bowl from the counter, your lips pursed together into a thin line at the million flavours that were in your heart. You let out a soft sigh at the heat on your finger tips. It had been awfully long since you had anything as homely as this, and your own breath melted in with the steam that was blurring over your vision.
You tasted the warm soup at the tip of your tongue with your first sip, slowly gliding down your throat into your stomach and then the warmth slowly spread across your entire body from your core. The onions were cooked through, melting into the soup and soft against like jelly. slices of potato were nearly mashed up, the sandy texture still permanent in your mouth even after you gulped it down. The pork was cut up into thin pieces, tender and with the flavour of the stock all blended in. You could still taste the vague hints of the stock between your teeth, your breath shaky as you hold the bowl in your hand.
They said life was made up of different flavours, and right now the flavour on the strings of your heart was salty, from the jar of sealed emotions that shattered on the ground at something as simple as a bowl of warm soup made handed to you by a total stranger.
You did not know you were crying until you tasted the saltiness at the corner of your lips, and you lifted the bowl to your mouth before the sobs could even leak out.
You gulped down the soup, despite how you felt like you were having trouble trying to breathe with the ache at the back of your throat. The man had his back towards you, continuing with cleaning up the many dishes piled up as you cried at the far corner away from him. He had never met you and in his head, you were probably just another annoying customer who took up the time he could have had to himself by being a sobbing mess in his shop, but there was a silent gentleness in the way he didn’t flinch or budge even once as your sobs slowly erupted in a bawl, like you were not there at all, like the fact you were there was just another part of his routine.
You had calmed down a little when you saw the bottom of the bowl, your cries now turned into broken whimpers. You took a small bite into the onigiri and smiled amidst your tears at the sweetness from the grain and the hints of vinegar that expanded in your mouth. There was no filling within, but just the taste of rice was enough to make you feel the purest form of joy. The sound it made when you bit down on the seaweed was nothing less than satisfying and as you felt the crunch between your teeth, the tears rolling down you face and making your chest ache stopped.
The man’s hands slowed down as you stopped crying but he waited for a moment before turning around like he wanted to make sure that he would not interrupt you at a moment of vulnerability.
“How much is it?” you asked. Your voice coming out much weaker than you wanted it to be, like you were out of breath and with a strong nasal from your earlier sobs.
“It’s on the house.” the man said and he couldn’t hide the slight amusement behind his eyes as you visibly panicked.
“I really shouldn’t-”
“I can’t charge you for something that isn’t on par with our usual quality,” he said, pushing your hand that was holding your wallet away softly. You wanted to argue that it was the nicest meal that you’ve had in a while but he stopped you before you could even speak, “so please.”
You stared at him. His eyes were fixed on you, not once wavering during this exchange. You sighed, knowing that there was no way he would back down, and a sly grin found its way to his lips.
You thanked the owner again and again before you walked out the door. With a soft swish, you were alone on the street again but somehow you didn’t feel all too bothered by that.
The rain had stopped.
Taking a deep breath, you could smell the distinct smell of rain lingering in the air. Walking away, you took one look at the shop before you left. The door curtain hanging on the upper half of the door was flowing with the wind, the symbol of the shop printed on in white.
“Onigiri Miya”.
-
Onigiri Miya.
You looked up from your phone to the front of the shop and then back at your phone.
You had deliberately put off coming again after last time for a couple of days, even though there wasn’t a moment when it wasn’t in your mind. Somehow, you were paranoid about if you actually had the face to show up again after the owner had practically seen you at your lowest point. It was embarrassing to be remembered as the person who barged in late at night and cried on someone’s bar table.
And it most definitely didn’t help that even with tears in your eyes and you practically struggling to breathe properly, you still clearly remembered that the owner was likely your age and very attractive.
Maybe you should just leave. Your legs planted firmly on the ground as you thought of everything that could happen if you go in there. But really, you should go in as a proper customer at least for once after the owner practically treated you to a free meal. You gulped at the reminiscence of the warm soup that washed down your system and the crunchiness of the nori, you could feel your stomach rumbling just at the thought of it. How was it that such simple food had such an impact on you that you couldn’t stop thinking about it?
You would just go in there, eat your food, actually pay this time around and leave. What was the worst that could happen?
But on a second thought, did you really want to go back in there? Did you really-
“Sorry to interrupt whatever deep thought you might be having,” you jumped at the voice from behind you and was shocked to see that it was the owner standing behind you.
Wait, no, this wasn’t him.
“But are you going inside?” the man pointed at the sliding door of the entrance.
“Yeah,” you blurted out and went to grab the door like it was exactly what you were about to do anyways, groaning inside at how your earlier conflict was all for nothing, “yeah, of course.”
“Irassha-” the man behind the counter, the actual owner, looked up as the door was slide open, “ara?”
“Samu...” the man brushed past you as he sat right at the center of the bar table but the owner didn’t look away from you and nodded in greeting which you immediately reciprocated, your eyes glancing between the two subtly. Seeing them side-by-side, you could now see that while their facial features were near identical, the two men had deliberately styled their hair differently and dyed them a different colour. The blond laid on the wooden table the moment he sat down, rambling on about how “people nowadays didn’t know what a good joke was anymore”.
You gingerly picked the seat that was the furthest away from him, carefully pulling the stool and had your back straight as you looked around the store. You were too deep in thought that you didn’t even pay much attention to your surroundings the last time you were here. There was nothing fancy about the humble interior, the earthy tones of the wooden structure of the building and the warm lights that were used a very good compliment to the food it served. Down to earth and simple, but sometimes it was the simplicity that draws out the best flavour.
“What can I get you?”
Your back tensed up at the sudden attention that was put on you. The owner of the shop stood in front of you with his arms crossed and you tried your hardest to save yourself the embarrassment that your eyes immediately picked up on the way his biceps flexed under the black t-shirt that fit his form perfectly. You had already broken down in front of this man, the last thing you would want is for him to notice that you were subtly not-so-subtly checking him out.
“Oh,” you snapped out of your trance, your nerves returning as you felt him waiting for you to say something. “um...”
Leaning back, you looked around at the many items that were written on thin wooden boards hung right above the counter. Salmon roe, tuna with scallion, marinated plum, stewed pork... the list went on and on, and that was only for the onigiri. How were you supposed to make a decision when there were so many to choose from?
Miya Osamu felt a foreign swell in his chest as your eyes racked over the menu. Your tongue slightly poking out as you were lost in your thoughts and it was like he could see you debating with yourself as your glance jumped back and forth. He did not get to talk to you when you first walked in but he immediately remembered you as the one who came in that night with the particularly heavy rain. Even as his twin’s blabbering held a tight grip on his attention, he could not help himself but stealing glances at your direction. He could see the way you sat with your back straight and your shoulders stiffed at the corner of his eye but right now, the previous density was all gone.
He would have to admit that he had been wondering if you would come back after your initial encounter. He was not keen on acknowledging that he had been waiting for you to show up again even though judging by the look on your face as you took that first bite, he was almost certain you would.
You were still not able to decide on what you want which normally would be quite an annoyance (especially if it was Atsumu being indecisive because seriously dude, why are you being conflicted? You would get the exact same thing in the end anyways) but he just found how serious you were to be oddly endearing. He was tempted to tease you a little, to see you flustered and panic a little but bite his tongue at the potential of you tensing up again.
“Do you want to try a new product?” and there it was, the subtle glint of excitement in your eyes that you immediately tried to hide, “It’s not out on the menu yet and I’ve been hoping to find someone to try it out.”
The blonde at the other side perked up, his cheeks puffed out as he chewed on the onigiri he had in hand. His voice was muffled as he spoke, “Wait, samu-”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” the owner snapped around before turning back to you with a smile, ignoring the look of discontent on his brother’s face. “So?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you were quick to nod, smelling the lingering smell of gunpowder in the air, “sure.”
The owner hummed and went to the back of the kitchen. You shuddered when you suddenly met the gaze of the man sitting opposite to you. Were you roped into some sort weird sibling rivalry? You wanted to look away but didn’t have the guts as he stared at you. His eyes pursed into thin lines as he chewed slowly before glancing at the kitchen and then back to you. His eyebrows quirked up as his eyes widened, his lips curling up like he had gotten something figured out. You let out a heavy breath as he finally turned his eyes back to his meal.
Ok, what was that supposed to mean?
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
You gleamed at the plate that was placed in front of you. Unlike the small rice balls from last time, this one was nearly the size of your fist and you could feel your mouth watering just at the smell of freshly cooked rice.
Clasping your hands together and giving a quick nod, you picked it up and took a bite. You could not stop yourself from humming in delight when you bite straight into the filling, the flavour immediately filling your cavity. The distinct taste of toro hit you in full force, but the fishiness was not too overwhelming as the saltiness from the soy sauce balanced it out. The tuna was well marinated with the sauce soaking through each piece, small dots of roasted sesame seeds making it look extra enticing. You could taste the hint of sesame oil that followed as the fish melted on your tongue, the mix of flavours still left between your teeth after you swallowed. The sauce seeped into the rice surrounding the filling and you could taste the careful balance of saltiness and the aftertaste of the vinegar with each bite.
Everything was just right, not one flavour outshining the other.
“How is it?” Osamu asked and chuckled as you frantically nodded.
He liked eating, but watching other people eat was a whole other kind of enjoyment.
He watched as you licked away the drop of sauce at the corner of your lips before taking a large gulp of the warm cup of tea in front of you, letting out a satisfied sigh as you held the rim of the cup by your lips.
“It’s so good,” you said, your voice muffled as you pressed the tissue against your mouth, “it’s marinated tuna right?”
You could see the blonde’s behind the owner shook when you mentioned the word “tuna”.
Osamu nodded, his chest puffing out in pride. “Tuna toro marinated in special soy sauce overnight.”
“You had something with a toro filling but you-”
Osamu turned around to give his twin a sharp glare, and Atsumu muttered about how this was the utter betrayal.
“It’s gonna be a hit if you put it on the menu,” you dipped your hand in your bag to search for your wallet, “how much is it?”
“Well, I can’t charge you for something that isn’t actually on sell.”
Your eyes widened. No, you were not going to let him give you free food again. “But-”
“Just get more food when you come back next time,” he said nonchalantly like it made total sense, taking the empty plate in hand and didn’t allow you the time the object, “ok, and that’s settled.”
You wanted to argue that it was not settled, but he didn’t look back as he disappeared into the kitchen again.
Atsumu looked between his brother and you as you thanked him once again for the meal before leaving. He tilted his head as he watched Osamu smiled at the door even after you were gone. He looked at his twin, and then back at the door, tilting his head as he recalled your exchange earlier.
Next time? Next time???
Atsumu smirked, “You sly, sly bastard.”
“Shut up, tsumu.”
-
“Irasshaimase-” Osamu said, a small smirk gracing his features as he spotted that it was you pushing the door open, “arara?”
“I came to get my daily fix of Onigiri Miya onigiri.” you said in a sing song voice, plopping on your regular seat at the corner of the bar table. The store was bustling with people but somehow, the seat at the corner was always empty when you arrive no matter how many people there was. You greeted several of the other regulars that you recognised, leaning your chin on your palm as Osamu put down the cup of tea in front of you.
“What do you want today?”
“Hm... I don’t know...” your brows furrowed together. No matter how many times you had come here, there was still no way that you could decide on what to get at the spot. It felt like you were missing out on something no matter what you settled on. “What is the owner recommending today?”
Osamu laughed and you couldn’t help but grin. You weren’t sure if it was that he got you so hooked on his cooking that you were mistaking it as attachment or was it genuine attraction, but there was no denying that part of the reason you came back was for the young owner who managed to make the simplest of food tasted like something fit for a king.
“I think I have just the thing for you.” he said, filled with confidence as he turned around.
“Are you not going to tell me what it is?” you leaned forward as you yelled, snorting in amusement as a distant “nope” passed through your ears from behind the curtain.
You closed your heads, tilting your head as you listened to the soft sound of ceramics clinking, the ticking of the stove and the sound of water boiling. This was nice, you thought to yourself, like home.
“There you go.”
You couldn’t help but laugh when you saw what he put in front of you, attracting the stare of several other customers but you didn’t care. Your cheeks were hurting from how wide your smile was as you took the black lacquerware in hand, humming as you smelt the delicious scent of miso with the stream.
“You are not reminding me of very happy times here,” you pretended to glare at him, your eyebrows quirking up as you sent him a look of judgment but your features softened when you took a sip of the soup. Same old taste, still brought the exact amount of warmth to your heart. Looking back, you were glad that things happened the way it was. There was no more pain left inside your heart when you were reminded of that night, only the simple gratitude that everything turned out alright.
You were doing better now than you were before, and with something to look forward to whenever you walked past the wooden doors that you now know so well.
You finished the soup in gulps, letting out a satisfied sigh as you closed your eyes to take in the flavour.
It was a good thing that you had your eyes closed, or else Osamu couldn’t stare at you as shamelessly as he was. The way you hold each dish in hand and took each bite with so much joy never failed to give him a rush.
Osamu liked eating, and he liked watching people eat too but nothing could compare to the thrill he felt when it was you munching down on his cooking like you had been starving until you came to him.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love everything you make,” you said, wiping the corner of your lips with your thumb as you took a bite at the plain onigiri, “but I can never get tired of this.”
“I can keep making it for you," he blurted out. You looked up, watching as his eyes widened when he realised what exactly he just said, “if you want...”
And there it was, the same feeling that he felt when you first came into this place drenched from head to toe and your eyes swollen. The same ache at the back of his throat and the weight in his chest that gave him the impulse that he had to cook you something, that he had to make sure you left this place with no more tears in your eyes.
You smiled, and at that moment he was certain that if it meant he could see that every day, then he wouldn’t mind cooking for you for the rest of his life.
“Of course.”
-
The sharp buzz of your alarm rudely interrupted you from your sleep and you groaned as you rolled to your side.
The other end of the mattress was empty, as always. You laid on the bed, facing the ceiling as you struggle to keep your eyes open. God, you pressed your palm to your forehead, why couldn’t you just spare me five more minutes?
It was the sweet smell floating down the corridor into your nostrils that gave you the motivation to stay awake. You sighed as your stomach rumbled, pushing the blanket off of you as you sat up straight against the back board.
Pulling the first shirt you could find on the floor, you yawned as the black t-shirt that was far too big for you draped over your body. You rubbed your eyes as you made your way down to the kitchen, the sizzling getting louder and louder as you got close.
You leaned on the frame of the door, smiling as you watched your boyfriend stirring at the frying pan with a pair of long chopsticks and the other hand at his waist. You had a deep appreciation for him at all times, but you always swoon for Miya Osamu the hardest when he was in the small kitchen of your apartment.
How could you not fall in love again and again with a man who wakes up early every morning to make breakfast for you?
His back tensed up when he felt you wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and you leaned your face against him pressing a small kiss at the blade of his shoulder. You chuckled as he relaxed again, feeling each flex of his body as you silently admired his built.
“Morning, samu.”
“Morning,” his hand didn’t stop, curling the egg in the long rectangular pan up until it was a nicely formed roll, “breakfast will be ready soon, can you get the bowls out?”
You hummed, your hands lingering just a little as you let go of him. You took a whiff of the steam as the lid of the rice cooker sprung up, taking the rice spoon in hand and give it a quick fold before filling the bowls up.
Sitting down in front of the table, you leaned back to stare at Osamu who was still busying himself in the kitchen. He was always so concentrated when he cooks, his brows pressed together and lips pursed. The scent of food filled the air as you waited for him at the table, the sound of morning news playing in the background.
Home was knowing that each dish on the table was cooked by someone that has you in their mind and to the person who did the cooking, that no matter what you bring out, there was someone waiting for you by the table.
You looked at the plates lined up on the table with a smile on your face. Today’s breakfast was rice with miso soup, tamagoyaki, pan-fried salmon and salad made with last night’s leftovers.
“So,” Osamu took his chopsticks in hand after sitting down in front of you and you did the same.
It was not about what you were eating, it was about who you were eating with.
You grinned as your voices overlapped.
“Itadakimasu.”
#miya osamu x reader#miya osamu imagine#miya osamu imagines#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu imagine#haikyuu x reader#miya x reader#miya imagine
668 notes
·
View notes
Photo
prologue: soupe à l’oignon
Michel’s soupe a l’oignon was burning.
Michel had also been through a terrible breakup the night before in which he had found his boyfriend of almost seven years in bed with their personal trainer. Then Michel’s boyfriend had announced that he and this personal trainer were actually married, per a terrible ceremony in Las Vegas when they were both drunk. Therefore, Michel was technically the other man. Michel had never been the other man before. He was obviously having a rough time.
But the fucking soup was burning.
“Michel! The soup!” Italia shouted before the scent could officially assault all of my senses. The second the words left her mouth, however, I could smell it. The onions were burning to a crisp. There would be no saving them, of this I knew.
“Shit!” Michel yelled, immediately turning off the heat of the stove. He went to go grab the saucepan and the hurried “no!” didn’t leave my mouth fast enough as he gripped the cast iron handle with his bare hand for approximately three seconds before he yelped and dropped it back down on the stove top with a slamming sound. “Shit, shit shit!” he repeated, clutching his wrist with his other hand.
“Let me see,” I demanded, moving away from my own meal (which would be fine and not on the verge of burning for at least another five minutes) and towards Michel. He held out his hand to me with tears in his eyes and I honestly felt bad for the guy.
I just also felt really, really bad for the customer who was waiting for their soup.
“Go run it under cool water. Cool, Michel, not cold. Ice-cold will damage the tissue even more. Then get a rag wet and hold it over. You can just go ahead and take your fifteen.”
“My soup—”
“Italia and I will handle it,” I interrupted. The more time we wasted standing here arguing was time that could have been spent trying to salvage the soup. It didn’t help that we were already down a chef, since Frederick’s wife was giving birth, but we would make do. Italia and I always did.
“Thanks, Dom. I’ll be in the lounge.”
Lounge was a loose term. It was a tiny little room in the back that looked dingy and unkempt. Still, it was enough to pass health inspections. Only about two people could fit back there at a time, which was why I usually just sat in my car for my breaks.
“Sounds good, Michel.” My eyes locked with Italia, who was already working on melting the butter and oil for Michel’s soup in a new saucepan. Isobel, one of our dishwashers, had already grabbed the pan Michel had ruined and was scrubbing it clean with her thick rubber gloves on her hands. At least I knew she wasn’t going to be burned.
When Michel turned to go into the lounge, I grabbed an onion and automatically began chopping it. “Sorry, Italia,” I muttered under my breath, knowing she could hear me just fine. We had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.
“It’s fine. Tell Louis to offer them a dessert on the house because this soup is going to take at least another fifteen.”
I wanted to slam my head against the counter. Or better yet, use the pan Isobel was now putting on the drying rack to hit over my head. “Fuck. Alright.”
Finding Louis was easy enough. He was making his rounds in the front of the restaurant, his pleasant attitude most likely earning him more than average tips. The kind of people who came to Lesauvage were wealthy enough to tip generously. Sometimes they didn’t, but for the most part, Louis wouldn’t be starving anytime soon. “Louis!” I hissed under my breath when he passed by the kitchen doors, cups in hands to refill. He jumped comically.
“Christ, Dom, you scared me,” he replied in a quiet voice, not wanting any of the customers to hear. “What?”
“Tell table eleven there was a complication with their soup and dessert is on the house.”
“What the fuck happened to their soup?”
I raised a brow. “Michel made it.”
Michel’s boyfriend drama had already made it around the restaurant. Twice. Chefs were a nosy bunch. Louis nodded in understanding and filled up a cup with iced tea as he looked towards where I assumed table eleven was. I actually hadn’t ever really paid attention to the front setup of Lesauvage because I had always entered through the back door.
“Fine. But I’m recommending the chocolate mousse because you’re here and you make it the best.”
“Compliments will get you everywhere,” I replied with a wink.
He grinned. “Got me into your bed, didn’t it?”
Louis and I had a fling when I had started working at Lesauvage. I was fresh out of culinary school, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and he was the experienced waiter who comforted me in the lounge my first day when my boss had completely ripped me a new one. He was the unattainable, three-years-older coworker who I was moon-eyed over for at least five months before we actually slept together. And once we had, it was like some switch had been flipped inside my body and he was suddenly nothing but a friend.
Thank the fucking lord he felt the same way.
“You’re damn right it did. Now go make me proud, Tomlinson.”
When I hastily returned to the kitchen, Italia was already ten times ahead where Michel had been with the soup. I sent her a thankful look and grabbed the beef stock, passing it her way as I grabbed a knife and began chopping the green onions for my own dish.
As much as I complained about the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I secretly thrived in it. It was what I had missed when I had been in culinary school. So many of my classmates cooked their meals silently. When I cooked at home, I blasted music and sang loudly and off-key to myself. At work, I had the conversation of other people. I liked learning about Italia’s kids and Isobel’s ex-boyfriend who kept trying to call her. I even liked Michel, even though right now he wasn’t my favorite person in the world.
School had been lonely. At least here I felt like I belonged.
“They’re good for the chocolate mousse!” Louis shouted over the sound of Isobel doing the dishes and Italia chopping more vegetables.
“You’re a saint, Tomlinson!” I replied, dropping the spices needed onto Italia’s cutting board. She slid them into the soup with her knife and the skill of a seasoned Lesauvage veteran.
The chocolate mousse was luckily already in the fridge cooling from my prep this morning, so I didn’t have to worry about making it at that exact moment. I did finish the salad I was working on and passed it off to Sydney, who was another runner. She grabbed the plate and sped off to table seven.
The time went by quickly when I was in the kitchen. My thoughts could roam because the movements of cooking were muscle memory at this point. When I had first been hired, I had been terrified to mess anything up. The first time I had pulled a Michel, I had cried. My boss had yelled at me pretty badly, but had brought me into his office afterwards to apologize and assure me that I was doing a great job. Now, it felt like second nature to pour the green onions into the butter garlic sauce that was sautéing. And when Italia handed me the soup that she had completed, I sent her a grateful look and wasted no time in handing it off to Louis. We worked as a team here.
I thrived on that.
“Get those chocolate mousses out and ready,” I told Michel when he came back from his break. His hand didn’t look too worse for wear, but he looked decently embarrassed. I knew, at least for tonight, there would be no more mistakes.
“I’m really sorry, Dom,” he said softly, preparing for my anger.
“It’s fine, Michel. Just work on desserts for now, okay? But this is the comp dessert for table eleven, so try to pay attention, yeah?”
He hung his head, but nodded and went to go prep the mousse. It wasn’t that Michel wasn’t talented. He wouldn’t have been hired if he hadn’t been a great chef. But the boyfriend thing was really getting to him. I hoped he had at least the next two days off to recoup.
“Dom,” I heard Louis say about thirty minutes later as he walked through the kitchen door. He had the empty plates from table eleven in his hand and handed them off to Isobel. “They’re ready for the dessert.” He eyed me questionably when Michel handed them off to me, as if it was wrong that I had let Michel touch them after his little mishap but I had faith in the chefs. “These better be good,” Louis said in a warning tone.
“I made them, Tomlinson, of course they’re good,” I snapped, clicking my tongue in annoyance. It was a bad habit I had done when I was a kid and never seemed to shake it.
He shrugged, taking the completed desserts and walking back out to the restaurant. “They looked great, Michel!” I encouraged, turning to continue chopping the beef I had been working on before Louis had come in.
When I cooked, time passed by without my notice. What felt like two minutes later but was really thirty, Louis walked back into the kitchen with a solemn look on his face. “They want to see the chef.”
“Who?”
“Table eleven.”
Shit. “You said they were fine with the soup, yeah?” Louis nodded, which meant the problem was with the chocolate mousse. And since Michel had done nothing but added the whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top, if they had a real problem with the mousse, it was on me. “Fuck. Alright. Italia, can you finish this dish for me really quick?”
Italia nodded, looking up from the celery she was chopping to examine the chicken I was seasoning to see how much she would need to do to complete it. Nervously wiping my hands on my apron after I washed them quickly, I tried to make myself look a little more presentable. It was rare that chefs were invited to the front of the restaurant, so we were usually unkempt and had food on our clothes. It didn’t matter to me what I looked like as long as the food was good, but I knew it was a shock to the high-end patrons of the restaurant.
Louis led me over to table eleven, where three people were sitting. There were two men and one gorgeous woman that looked like she could model for a living. She was happily chatting and holding hands with one of the men, excitedly waving around her free hand. He looked engrossed in her story, nodding and smiling and staring at her like she was the best thing in the world. Their companion was simply taking sips of his wine (a wonderful red that went really well with the chocolate mousse and I thanked Louis for obviously recommending it to them) and pursing his lips in response to whatever the woman was saying.
She stopped talking when she noticed Louis and sent a blinding smile at us. “This is the chef, I presume?”
“Dominique Blanchard,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. I was thankful I had run my hands under some soap and water. We weren’t allowed to have our nails painted in case some of the varnish fell off into the food, but her fingers were perfectly manicured and painted a vibrant blue. “I’m sorry again about the soup. We had an incident in the kitchen.”
She waved it off. “The soup was fine. That chocolate mousse, however? It was to die for!”
I felt my shoulders deflate. I had been so worried that they were upset with their experience or food that I hadn’t even thought they had wanted to chat because they enjoyed their meal. “Thank you. It’s a Lesauvage specialty.”
“Dominique makes it the best,” Louis supplied helpfully from behind me. I grinned nervously.
“We all loved it,” the man holding her hand spoke, and I was surprised to hear an Irish accent. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And I was glad it took the attention off the fact that their soup was late. The other man stayed quiet, simply ignoring the conversation as he sipped at his wine again.
“I have the weirdest proposition for you. Please feel free to say no if you don’t want to, but I would kick myself if I didn’t ask.”
My eyes strayed back to the woman, who was talking to me politely.
“I’m two months pregnant,” she said happily, her hand going to her stomach like most pregnant women did when their pregnancy was announced, “and I’m so incredibly exhausted nowadays. I can barely muster up enough energy to come out to dinner, let alone make myself toast in the morning. And your chocolate mousse was the only thing I’ve been able to keep down for more than thirty minutes. I was wondering if you’d ever consider being a personal chef?”
Chefs at Lesauvage being asked to become personal chefs for celebrities or rich individuals wasn’t as uncommon as one would think. The chef I had replaced had left to become a personal chef for some actress who split her time between London and Los Angeles. As far as I knew, he simply travelled with her. But it was the first time the suggestion had ever been brought up to me, the first time that someone had liked my food that much.
Which was why my mouth comically fell open.
“I could pay you plenty!” she said, which led me to believe she was well-off. Well, that and the fact that she was eating at Lesauvage, which wasn’t exactly known for their cheap meal choices. “I just...I’m so tired all the time. The doctor said it was normal, but I don’t even want to get up out of bed sometimes. And I’m only two months along! I can’t imagine trying to cook myself meals when I’m eight months. You’d cook some things for Niall and Harry too, of course.” She gestured to the two males sitting with her.
“This is...I’m sorry, this is just incredibly unexpected,” I managed to stutter out.
“Of course, I’m so sorry I’m just flinging this on you. How about I give you my number and I’ll get back to you in about a week or so? Will that give you enough time to think it over?”
“Yes, of course.” Taking her number wouldn’t hurt, I told myself. She had a little card in her wallet with her information on it, and I saw that she actually was a model.
“I’ll be in touch soon. Thank you so much, Dominique. I’ll probably be dreaming about that chocolate mousse for the next six months.”
I was able to laugh at her joke even though it still felt like someone had shaken me into a concussion. I exchanged goodbyes with the three of them as they left the restaurant, leaving a more than generous tip for Louis.
“Well that was nice of them,” Louis said, clapping me on my shoulder. “Think about it, yeah? It’s not the worst idea in the world.”
It wasn’t. But I couldn’t think about the proposition until my shift was done tonight.
~
Welcome to the world of Mise en Place! I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter and are as excited to read this fic as I am to share it!
30 notes
·
View notes
Note
why their favourite items are their favourite items for the bachelorettes? you can just pick one item if you like
OH I’ve been thinking about this since I started playing! I tried to do the things that aren’t as commonly thought about as favorites. I hope you enjoy! Thank you ily <3
HA so after doing all of the bachelors I re-read and realized it was only an ask for the bachelorettes SO you get both now hehe
Sebastian
Favorite thing: Pumpkin soup
His dad left them in the fall which is why he has an aversion to most of the autumn seasonal flavors
He was really attached to his dad as a baby so when he abandoned them it hurt Sebastian really badly
The one thing he can’t seem to stay away from is pumpkin soup though
Robin actually has cooked it since he can remember
It was his dads favorite too
It brings back the good memories he has from when his parents were together
Robin only makes it when Maru and Demetrius are out together doing sciency things
They sit on the couch together and watch old movies and bond while they eat it but Robin keeps it a secret because she knows he doesn’t like to come across as a softie
She’ll also make him some if she knows he’s particularly down. She’ll just run it down to his room, kiss him on the forehead, remind him that she’s always there if he needs to talk, and leaves him be
Sam
Favorite thing: Tigerseye
Before Kent could afford the mermaid pendant for Jodi, his mom gave him an old tigerseye ring to propose with
Sam always though it was more romantic than a stupid mermaid pendant (basic, duh)
He used to sit on his grandma’s lap as a kid and she would tell him all about his grandpa who died before Sam was born
He was poor, too, when they got married and he managed to trade some manual labor for the ring
It always reminds him of his family and how much he loves them
100% will propose with a tigerseye ring instead of a mermaid pendant
Harvey
Favorite thing: Coffee
Started drinking coffee in middle school
His grandma would always brew a pot while he was over and they would sit and chat about life
The smell of coffee always reminds him of her
He still makes it how she would make it for him. 2 spoonfuls of sugar. That’s it.
He regularly uses the coffee cup he would always use at her house
It has ducks on it with blue trim
Every year on the anniversary of her death he’ll bring a thermos and two cups and sit at her grave and drink coffee and talk about how life is going
He misses his grandma very much
Elliott
Favorite thing: Pomegranate
He knew Leah before he moved to the valley
They’ve been best friends for years
He gets sick a lot and tends to forget to take care of himself sometimes
Leah has always made sure he was okay
She would bring him fruits and soup and make sure he was staying hydrated
One day she brought a few pomegranates
How the fUCK do you eat a pomegranate ??
Leah help me please for the love Yoba what is this weird ass fruit you’ve brought to me on my death bed
Once he actually ate some though, he could not get enough.
It was the first thing he could actually taste in days and it was so sweet and flavorful
He will not buy his own pomegranates though.
It has to be a gift or it’s not the same
Shane
Favorite thing: Hot pepper
Used to struggle with really bad anxiety
He would disassociate a lot
Struggled with mental grounding techniques
So one day is dad was like
Here son
Bite into this hot ass pepper
It was so spicy that it snapped Shane back into reality
He used to keep a ziplock bag of hot peppers in his pocket
Sometimes will still bite into one if he’s particularly going through it
One time gave Sam one at work and told him it wasn’t spicy
Sam cried in the bathroom for 20 minutes
Now Shane has to keep his waterbottles with him at all times because Sam puts weird stuff in them as payback
Alex
Favorite thing: complete breakfast
Alex never wanted to leave his room after his mom died
He would cry himself to sleep every night
He refused to eat with his grandparents
Evelyn would make him hashbrowns, eggs, and pancakes with a side of milk every morning
And would leave it in his room for him to eat when he was hungry
And would always stick a note on the tray reading “breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I love you always. Grandma.”
She never pressured him to do something he didn’t want to do
But ALWAYS reminded him that he was loved
Complete breakfast reminds him that Evelyn loves him no matter what
It will always feel like a warm hug
Abigail
Favorite thing: Pufferfish
When Abigail was little, Pierre and Caroline used to take her to the aquarium in Zuzu City
Her favorite was always the pufferfish
She felt like she could relate to them
Always keeping people at an arms length
Tough when she has to be
She used to collect pufferfish plushies
Does not actually eat them
She could never
But she likes how you can die from consuming them incorrectly
Kicking ass from beyond the grave
Haley
Favorite thing: Coconut
She actually likes the smell more than anything but is a sucker for coconut shavings on her desserts
She’s allergic to coconut
But it isn’t deadly
Emily used to use coconut body spray to hide the weed smell when she was in high school
Haley thought Emily was so cool
Will always remind her of when her and her sister got along better
Haley has a mean streak but is very sentimental
She’ll still tease Emily about it
Keeps a small bottle of coconut body spray in her room for when she needs to feel better
Will not admit to anyone ever about why she likes coconut so much
Penny
Favorite thing: Tom Kha Soup
Elliott actually introduced Penny to the dish
Penny and Pam had gotten into a particularly nasty argument which left Penny in tears
It was pouring but she needed out of the trailer
She went to sit on the docks to listen to the ocean until she calmed down
Elliott saw her sitting alone in the cold rain and invited her inside
He was just about to sit down for one of his favorites, Tom Kha soup, and gladly prepared a bowl for Penny
She had never been close to Elliott even though she saw him at the library often
The soup was delicious
And she was blown away by his kindness and how easily she felt comfortable talking to him
She tries to cook it (it’s terrible)
She always beings some to Elliott (he never comments on how awful it is, and politely accepts it)
(He throws it in the ocean when she’s gone though)
Emily
Favorite thing: Survival burger
Emily is a vegetarian
Her favorite food before she went vegetarian was cheeseburgers
Her first girlfriend showed her how to make burgers from eggplant
She is the one who showed Gus how to make them and season them properly to taste good
She got Haley hooked on them too
She’s lowkey one of those vegetarians that wants everyone to be a vegetarian
Her favorite recipe to show off because it really does taste like a frickin burger
Maru
Favorite thing: Rhubarb Pie
Maru really wishes that she and Sebastian were still close
As small children they did everything together
She looked up to her big brother
They used to play in the lake by their house during summers
She would always catch frogs. It was her favorite thing.
They would come into the cool house when the sun went down and lounge on the couch watching cartoons
Robin would frequently make Rhubarb pie for dessert
Maru and Sebastian loved it
They would eat it in front of the TV and joke around with each other
Rhubarb Pie still reminds her of those warm summer nights when her big brother was still her best friend
Leah
Favorite thing: stir fry
The first time she ever tried stir fry was right before she moved to the valley
Like literally her last meal in the city was stir fry from a restaurant around the corner from her old apartment
It was their only option that had mostly vegetables and oh my Yoba was it delicious
The day she moved was the most hopeful day she’s ever had in her life
New beginnings were terrifying but Leah knew everything would be okay
She always makes stir fry before she tries something she’s terrified to do
It reminds her that new things are scary but she can really do anything she puts her mind to
#stardew valley#sdv#sdv headcanons#stardew headcanons#stardew valley headcanons#sdv sebastian#sdv sam#sdv shane#sdv elliott#sdv harvey#sdv alex#sdv abigail#sdv haley#sdv emily#sdv penny#sdv maru#sdv leah#stardew farmer
353 notes
·
View notes
Text
Big Girls Cry || KakaSaku
[Based on a prompt: shuffle your music, pick a random line in the song and start your fic with it.]
“I wake up.”
Hotaru-sensei gazed passively at Sakura, her gaze neither dissecting nor empathetic. The elegant arch of her wrist rested delicately on her note pad, her pen poised ready.
“I wake up,” Sakura repeated, though her words have not gained any conviction. She merely sounded defeated.
“What do you do when you wake up?”
Sakura seemed to ponder this for a moment. “I ... cry. Sometimes. Or I roll right back to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Look ... I know what you’re going to say. That this is just my depression, or my way to escape my trauma or whatever. But I don’t see how this is going to help.”
“Haruno-sensei,” Hotaru-sensei leveled her with a flat look. “When a patient of yours clearly needs a wheelchair, not because he is not capable of walking, but because walking will most definitely worsen his injury, and he refuses the wheelchair, maybe because he has the outlook that needing a wheelchair is a sign of weakness and he’s clearly anything but ... tell me, what would you do?”
The faintest flickers of a smile, a ghost upon Sakura’s lips as she recalled numerous similar incidents: “I’d make him use it anyway.”
Hotaru-sensei nodded. “So then let’s apply the same principle here. You are from your own perspective dealing with this on your own, feeling that eventually, with time, you will move on. And that talking about what you’ve been through is a sign of weakness, while in fact, talking, and coming to terms with what happened and how you feel about it is what will truly help you move on. What will I do in this case?”
Sakura sighed. “Make me talk anyway?”
Hotaru-sensei smiled. “Correctly observed, Haruno-sensei. Now, tell me what you’ve had for breakfast.”
Sakura faltered a moment, shaking her head at the abrupt subject change. “Um. An apple.”
“Just an apple?”
“I had tea as well.”
“How would you describe the breakfasts you used to have when Hatake-san was around?”
Sakura’s lip quivered some. She swallowed thickly as she said: “U-um... we would have miso soup. That’s—was—his favorite. Steamed rice. Tsukemono. Kobachi. Traditional stuff really.”
“What else does he like?”
“Kakashi? Um. He liked dogs. Books. Gardening. He had a lot of hobbies. He talked to his plants.” Sakura laughed hoarsely.
“Mhm. Would you describe him as eccentric then?”
“No. Maybe. I loved that he was a little strange. He always had the most random facts on the tip of his tongue. Did you know a human can swim through a blue whale’s veins?”
Hotaru-sensei sighed softly. Put her pen down. “Why had, Sakura-san. Why was.”
Sakura took a quivering breath. “Because he’s not here anymore.”
“But he is,” Hotaru-sensei stressed. “He’s not dead.”
“He’s in a coma.” Sakura sat back, glaring at Hotaru. “A vegetable.”
“You said it yourself that there is a chance he could wake up.” Hotaru-sensei reasoned. “Is that not true?”
“I said the chances of him waking up are slim.” Sakura hugged her body. Her complexion was ashen and paling under Hotaru’s placating stare. “I can’t even take him off life support because the council threatened to charge me with murder.”
Tears come suddenly. They stream down her face silently. “This isn’t what he would’ve wanted,” she shook her head, a soft sob echoing from her.
“Perhaps... What do you want?”
“I want him back,” she said, voice pleading. “I want him back so bad I’m ready to crush the moon, or collect the stars or bottle the sea. I’d do anything—anything—to have him back.”
Hotaru sighed softly. “You know that’s not how it works Haruno-san.”
“I know,” she said numbly. “I know more than most.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Like I’ll never be whole again,” Sakura buried her face in her hands, took a trembling, strained breath. “Like my lungs will strangle themselves and kill me.”
Hotaru put her pen down. “Alright I think that’s enough for today.”
Sakura nodded.
“Before you go, I want us to work through the breathing exercise together, alright?”
Sakura nodded again, taking a shaky inhale.
“Take a deep breath ... one, two, three, four, five ... exhale ... one, two, three, four, five...”
Her mind drifted, even whilst her body sunk into the rhythm of a breath after a breath after a breath.
Did you know that lungs can float on water? The memory came unbidden.
Sakura didn’t know; couldn’t have imagined since she felt like she was drowning all the time.
Yeah, it’s the only organ that can do that. Pretty sick, huh?
The memory didn’t matter then. It hardly mattered now when her lungs were made of lead. What she remembered most was his mouth; the pucker of his lips, the upward curve of a smile, the sharp canine grazing flesh. She hadn’t been paying attention; at least not enough to remember what he said next although she had a vague sense that it was important. Sakura had been too taken by the urge to kiss him.
You’re the strangest man I know.
I know. And you’re the most wonderful person I know.
The breath caught in her throat
Vicious hotness pooled behind her eyes but Sakura forced it down, and took another one, and another.
What do you think happens in the afterlife?
I’m not sure I believe in it. A bunch of dogs I’d hope. Maybe books would grow on trees, that’d be nice. A river of miso? Man now that would be sick.
A smile, so painful, but so helpless, touched her mouth.
That’s all it’d take to make you happy?
Well, yes. And you. Most of all, you. But that’s a given.
Her breath quivered again. Maybe she was never meant to breathe easily again.
“Good work, Haruno-san. Well, you know the drill, I’ll see you on Thursday.”
Sakura bid her goodbye and made her way to Kakashi’s hospital room, to where she spent her days and nights lately.
She walked in hoping against hope that his eyes would be open, just like she always did after a grueling session with Hotaru-sensei.
And just as always, they weren’t.
Sakura’s back touched the wall, defeated yet again, but her legs didn’t give like she feared. From her perch on a dull wall, suffocating on clinical scents that ate her Kakashi away day by day, she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath the machines forced into his lungs.
“I hope you’re breathing for the both of us,” she told him, voice rough.
Maybe in the end, she was more angry than hurt. That he’d dare go first. That he’d dare chain himself to a bed in the place he hated. That he went and hurt himself so badly even she couldn’t save him.
“I hope you can hear this,” she went on. “I want you to know this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
His chest rose and fell again, hypnotising, its own kind of sick addiction. His face, even deadly pale, still held an ethereal sort of refinement, like he was more angel than human.
“And you’re an asshole.”
“And I hate you.”
“Almost as much as I fucking love you, which is a lot. Which is more than I can bare. So I hope you find the good grace in your heart, or a shred of sympathy in it for me, and open your eyes.”
The steady heart rate on the monitor remained unchanged. Her eyes swam until she could no longer map the cresting lines of what powered the things she loved most in the world.
“I see,” she said after a moment, strangled. “Well then, you know the drill. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
And when he didn’t open his eyes, Sakura forced her lips around a whisper. “Good night, Kakashi.”
Fascinating how basic functions like movement, the things she depended on, on day to day basis to stay alive, could fail her so suddenly. Her legs refused to move. And why should they when what they sought was home, but home was no longer there.
She watched him a moment longer, until her lungs burned so much she doubted she could move at all.
Did you know ... that falling asleep next to you makes me the happiest?
Movement. Perhaps his calling from another life; his soul reaching out for her for one final request. Sakura’s feet carry her over to his prone body without thought, into the nook by his side, into the only place she felt whole. She curls into him and cries, and cries and cries.
I think I prefer waking up next to you. You do have the most ridiculous bed hair.
.
.
.
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five
In which we have a scene at the bar
Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four
--
Early November 2000
When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.
“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”
“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.
“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”
Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”
“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t.
“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.
“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.
“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”
“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”
“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”
Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”
“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”
“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.
Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”
“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.
Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”
“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”
Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”
“Serve yourself then, asshole.”
“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”
“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.
“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”
Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.
“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.
When he comes back the tension has receded.
“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.
“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.
“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”
“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”
“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.
“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”
“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”
“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”
“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.
“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.
Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.
“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”
Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”
Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”
“What?”
“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”
Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”
“I’m a solid.”
“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.
It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.
Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”
“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.
“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.
Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.
“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.
“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”
They stare down into their glasses, drink.
“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”
He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.
“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.
“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”
“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.
“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”
“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.
“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”
“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.
“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”
“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.
Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.
Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”
Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”
Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.
He shuts the cooler and returns.
“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.
Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”
“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”
“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”
Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.
“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.
“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.
“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”
“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.
Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.
“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”
As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.
That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.
They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.
Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93.
“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”
“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”
Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.
“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”
“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”
He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.
He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.
“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.
“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap.
That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover.
Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty.
Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.
“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”
“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”
“Friends.”
“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”
Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.
She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”
“Oh, yeah, definitely”
“We just aren’t.”
“We’re busy.”
“We are busy people.”
Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.
“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”
Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”
“Fuck you.”
“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”
“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.
“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.
“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”
Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”
“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”
His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.
“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”
Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.
“When you leave tonight, you better—”
“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.
“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.
“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”
“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.
“I said, leave it.”
“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”
Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.
“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.
“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.
“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”
“Forget about it.”
“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”
“A-Cheng, forget it.”
“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”
“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”
Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.
“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”
“I mean, a bit. Okay?”
“For cutting—?”
“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”
“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”
“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”
“But that’s not your—”
“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.
Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”
Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”
“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.
“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”
The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.
“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”
“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”
“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”
“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”
Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”
He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”
It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.
Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”
“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”
Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”
“Like what?”
“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”
The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.
“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”
Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.
“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.
“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”
The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.
After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.
“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.
“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”
“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.
“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”
“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.
“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.”
“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.
Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”
Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.
“A-Cheng, it’s not—”
“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.
Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.
A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.
Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”
“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”
“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.
Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”
Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s.
“You’re doing good,” he says.
Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.
“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”
Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.
“A-Ling is lucky.”
“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”
“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.
“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.
“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”
An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”
“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.
“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”
“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.
“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”
“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.
“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door.
“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.
“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”
Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”
“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”
“Innocent is—”
“Zixuan, think about where you are.”
Zixuan nods.
All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City.
But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.
“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.
“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”
“But still.”
“But still,” he agrees.
“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.
“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”
Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.
“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.
“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.
“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”
Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“What about you?”
Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.”
Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him.
“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.”
Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”
“The kids?”
“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”
Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.
“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cracks knuckles . I am doing badly so I will focus all my energy into making a large ramble about the ecology of lothal before bed bc people gave me the go ahead and I havent spent my college education learning this much about this stuff for nothin
So first and foremost
1. Lothal doesn't make sense like many sw planets . We maybe see 3 different types of biomes max which is strides more than most star wars planets. Lothal is probably a small planet but none of the organisms are affected by the lesser gravity even though it's commented on . I will mostly be ignoring this and going as much off of canon just for fun
2. From what I can tell most of lothal is based off of North American badlands and grass prairies and that's what I'll base a lot of my other assumptions on . I'm no geologist but I will maybe talk a bit about that w some help from a friend
So-
Most of lothal we can see these mountains in varying size - probably some kind of sandstone . It could be weathered by water or precipitation but I doubt lothal gets much precipitation for a few reasons ill get into later, so they are more likely weathered by wind . This makes sense that 1. We know these mountains are fucking OLD and have a lot of weathering , and 2. Lots of open Prairie w no trees means High winds . Irl badlands work in p much similar ways- a lot of it is a transition zone between mountains and different prairie types
The mountains obviously served as the home for ancient people who we dont.. really know anything about ? I'm not going to speculate too much beyond that they were not human bc we know they had a developed culture by the time ancient jedi arrived on lothal
Animals in the mountains would probably be pretty scarce - I like to imagine there's a fantasy bighorned sheep out there, w the weird little lothal brand feets, probably also domesticated by the people who used to live there to use for wool, meat, ect. Most of the animals and the people probably lived or had the ability to climb or fly up to the mountains due to the frequent low intensity fires that would occur In the ecosystem . Probably a few birds of prey and small mammals that could climb . Otherwise a majority of the animals would burrow into the mountains or underground . Plants are scarce , we don't see much grows on the mountains themselves . Maybe little water or wind formed crevaces could create a place for some lichen or small hardy leafy plants to love but besides that most the vegetation is on the ground
(Edit: forgot about loth bats - I'm not an expert on bats but from what we know they probably live in very high wind shaped crevaces on mountains and go out on the prairie at night to get food . Shrug)
And now .. the prairie.. there would be so many different grasses you dont fucking know. People in irl north American prairies spend years just learning the hundreds of different grasses , can you imagine how many there would be on a whole planet full of them? Domesticated wise there's definetly a good chunk of domesticated grains considering the planet isn't good for.. much else . Probably have a corn-like cereal with enlargened seeds bc high winds spreading around small seeds would be a nightmare . Probably a lot of local foods based on fermenting grains or alcohol (think like .. injera(fermented Flatbread) or soups like żurek (fermented rye soups) or just like . Any alcohol in general). Animals on the Prairie would just be small mammals out the wazoo. So many fucking prairie dogs n like voles n shit . We haven't seen what a loth rat looks like (to my knowledge) but it was probably a prairie animal that got into cities and started to rely on people . Also there's For Sure huge alien Buffalo and elk and probably caribou in the more snowier regions . Like what else are the loth wolves gonna eat?? Prairie probably gets a lot of small frequent fires which is why the mining guild having the high intensity fires in Rebels is . Bad. A lot of burrowing animals, a lot of birds that live in the mountains come here to hunt, and probably some burrowing owl like creatures bc they're cool . I'm no expert on animals so I won't get too in depth on it but . Waves hand
Thinking about regional variants is . Weird. We know there's a large snowy region near the poles but we have no clue how seasons work ?? And we really only see one large body of water . Northern areas probably more tundra based which like. Is my area of expertise I could go on about but I won't. Lots of lichen in the mountains, and probably actual shrubs and trees even tho we don't see them . Also probably a lot of saturated wetlands around the planet instead of more open rivers n ect , or at least a lot of coastal wetlands near the few water bodies they have . This is why they probably don't get a lot of precipitation and mostly ground fed waterbodies, like bogs. kinda losing the plot at this point but if u read this far im kissing u on the cheek and I might design some aminals in the next day or 2. Muah . This did help me feel better
#also uh. cereal is just like a term not just lile the breakfast food i forgot to clarify#idk what else to say !#mine
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pairings: None
Word Count: 1,945 Words
Summary: Five worried members of class 1-B and a day off for the hero courses.
Warnings: Cursing, Injury Mention, Caps, Death Mention, Broken Bone Mention, Panic Attack Mention, Abuse Mention, Disownment Mention, Blood Mention, let me know if I should tag anything else.
Usernames: Existence Is A Prison Aizawa: feral cat dad, Aoyama: gay salt, Hagakure: ranch flavored jello, Tokoyami: foil-mecha, Shinsou: farmer toshi, Kuroiro: life is a nightmare, Shiozaki: saviour, Tsunotori: schrodinger better run, Honenuki: pure, Monoma: nat20
Aizawa, We Agreed No More Cats: Chapter 4
2:55 PM
Existence Is A Prison
nat20: @feral cat dad @gay salt @farmer toshi @foil-mecha @ranch flavored jello
nat20: Are you guys okay? There was an announcement for all available staff to come to the USJ asap. Isn't that where you are?
nat20: Guys?
nat20: I get that y'all are training but can one of you answer? I'm getting worried.
nat20: Akemi, sis, you better fucking answer me.
3:00 PM
Existence Is A Prison
nat20: Akemi, this is breaking law three of being half-siblings. Getcha ass in the chat and fucking respond to me or I'm taking a protective quirk and coming down there myself.
saviour: You will do no such thing. Clearly it's dangerous since the announcement was directed toward all available teachers. That doesn't sound normal to me, even if someone had been just injured. Seiko, it's best to try to make things decently safe for their return instead of hound a response.
life is a nightmare: Six different news sources say that three unidentified people were admitted to a hospital nearby UA, said to have been transported from the USJ, which was attacked this morning by an unidentified villain, the attack being resolved by UA's pro hero staff members only ten minutes ago. Two more people were injured and are supposedly in Recovery Girl's office.
nat20: AKEMI @gay salt
gay salt is now online
ranch flavored jello is now online
foil-mecha is now online
gay salt: I'm back, Seiko. I'm fine. Almost everyone is fine.
nat20: Five people are hurt!
ranch flavored jello: Yeah, all three pros were hurt.
nat20: Which students got hurt!?
foil-mecha: I think you already know what you're suspecting, Seiko.
nat20: No. No, he's not dead. If Shinsou's dead, I'll personally bring him back to life to scream at him. My little brother isn't dying dammit.
gay salt: Not dead, mon dieu. Shinsou is severely injured but he isn't dead.
nat20: Who else is hurt? That green kid again?
ranch flavored jello: Yeah, Midoriya's hurt again. To be fair, he wasn't thinking about how he was using his quirk, just that he was using it period.
foil-mecha: Hold on, they're calling on Aizawa and Shinsou's condition, I'll do a video chat with you guys.
foil-mecha has started a video chat
The bones in his arms are
splintered and he's got facial
fracturing. Fortunately there
doesn't seem to be any serious
brain damage. But his orbital
floor has been almost completely
destroyed. We have no way of
knowing if his eyesight will be
impaired or not once he's
healed. -Unknown
Well, you heard the man. -Unknown
Sir, what about Thirteen? -Unknown
No need to worry there, despite some
pretty bad lacerations to the back,
Thirteen is gonna pull through good
as new. And AllMight is also without
any serious injuries. He's in the nurse's
office right now. Recovery Girl's power
should be all that he needs.-Unknown
What about Deku!? -Unknown
How's Midoriya? -Unknown
Midoriya? Oh, Recovery Girl was taking
care of him too. He's fine.-Unknown
How is Shinsou!? -nat20
Who was that? -Unknown
My half-sibling, we both live in the
dorms with Shinsou and Aizawa.
They're worried about them. So is the
rest of the class 1-B students that
live in the dorms with us. -gay salt
Shinsou has a mild concussion, a
severe bruised nasal bone, and his
jawbone was fractured so he needs
to have his jaw wired shut for a bit
until he's back to being strong
enough for Recovery Girl to heal
him. He should be better in about
a week or two.-Unknown
What the fuck happened to him that
he got that badly hurt? -life is a nightmare
During the villain attack, Shinsou decided
to fight alongside Mr. Aizawa. against
the villains and this big monster thing
was hurting Mr. Aizawa and this creepy
guy was about to hurt Asui, Mineta,
and Midoriya. -ranch flavored jello
Call me Tsu. -Unknown
Tsu, Mineta, and Midoriya. But Shinsou
got the creepy guy to respond to him with
the mist guy's voice and he brainwashed
him. Then the monster hit his face into
the ground really hard. But he covered Mr.
Aizawa with his own body and got his
face hit down again. -ranch flavored jello
Shinsou was really out of it, ribbit. He was
calling Mr. Aizawa his dad.-Unknown
Tsu, Mr. Aizawa legally adopted
Shinsou as of 8 o'clock this
morning. -ranch flavored jello
I'm gonna hang up, we're all gonna head
back. I'll visit you Seiko. -gay salt
You better. -nat20
gay salt has ended the video chat
2:40 AM
Existence Is A Prison
farmer toshi is now online
farmer toshi: WHY CANT I TALK WHATS HAPPENING WHERE AM I
life is a nightmare: Shit, I'll shadow over, hold on, Shinsou.
2:50 AM
Existence Is A Prison
life is a nightmare: shinsousleepingagainsther.jpg
life is a nightmare: Guess I'm claiming he's my boyfriend when they ask why I'm here because I can't even shadow out right now without waking him up.
gay salt: rip to you, Kageya, but me and Seiko need our beauty sleep.
nat20: so go to sleep, Kageya, you need to sleep.
2:16 PM
Existence Is A Prison
saviour: I'm pre-making some easy meals since they both have facial damage and need softer foods.
farmer toshi: What are you making?
saviour: Well, I have Seiko working on frozen smoothie bags. Kiyomi is helping precook some vegetables and stuff that can be blended down to baby food consistency. Pony's really good at making homemade juice so she's making you juice with lots of protein and stuff so you don't loose too much weight and set your progress back.
ranch flavored jello: Me, Akemi, and Fumikage are making soft food for you both once Toshi gets his wires off. We've been making a lot of soup. We may have gone overboard.
ranch flavored jello: So far we have chicken soup, broccoli and cheese, potato soup, split pea soup, egg drop soup, cheese soup, soft curry, corn chowder, turkey rice soup, ham chowder, cheeseburger soup, creamy meatball soup, chicken cordon bleu soup, chicken pot pie soup, and and miso soup.
farmer toshi: You guys are so sweet. Thank you so much. I wish I could hug you guys right now but they want me in the hospital today for observation.
gay salt: I expect a hug when you come home.
feral cat dad is now online
nat20: DAD'S BACK!
feral cat dad: Hello, dorm children. This is Mr. Yamada, Mr. Aizawa told me to tell you all thank you for making him and Hitoshi food for when they come back on Friday.
pure: It was nothing! We want to help them get better as fast as possible and, to do that, we need to keep them healthy!
feral cat dad: I'll add myself so Shouta can have his phone back.
feral cat dad has added Yamada
farmer toshi has changed Yamada's name to President Megaphone
nat20: Wow, you don't waste a second, do you?
farmer toshi: I didn't when I was attacking villains in the USJ.
schrodinger better run: What happened in there, by the way? My phone went missing yesterday and the day before and I finally found it last night.
farmer toshi: Well, you see, some wannabe criminals calling themselves the League of Villains teleported themselves into the USJ just before we were about to start training and our communal father figure was about to go fight them and all my instinct just told me to follow him so I did.
President Megaphone: Kid, you really don't have to tell them just because you live with them.
farmer toshi: These are basically my adopted siblings, Mr. Yamada. Of course I want to tell them.
farmer toshi: Anyway, so I was fighting thugs and Dad had already gotten to this "Shigaraki" dude who was like their leader or whatever and the fucker decayed his right elbow and I was trying hard to get to him but the fucking cronies wouldn't let me by them.
farmer toshi: Then this huge fucking monster grabbed Dad and hit him into the ground and broke his arms. That thing couldn't be human, it's brain was out and it was like 9 feet tall.
farmer toshi: That Shigaraki fucker spoke to me. I can't even remember what about, but he was mocking me, I can tell. But the teleporter told him they needed to leave because Iida had made it out by that point.
farmer toshi: So this fucker tries to decay either Midoriya, Asui, or Mineta to "break AllMight". But I used the teleporter's voice to brainwash him and that monster hit my head into the ground like he did with Dad for brainwashing its friend.
farmer toshi: I knew Dad was out because the thing had hit his head into the ground again and knocked him out and that thing would try to hurt him again if I didn't do something. So I put myself on top of him because I couldn't lose a Dad I just finally got. But the monster hit my head down again.
farmer toshi: I had finally managed to get up to get me and Dad out of there when AllMight showed up. AllMight put us on a stair landing and I had to get up the rest of the way. Another villain tried to get us while I was getting him up there to get out but I just stabbed her and pushed her down the stairs.
farmer toshi: Mind you, I was running on adrenaline this whole time. So, when the UA teachers came in, I was pretty numb emotionally because I was basically out of steam but I wanted to get Dad out of there so I kept going until Sero and Uraraka helped me up the rest of the stairs while the teachers got there.
farmer toshi: I'm pretty sure Snipe is who caught me but then I just passed out and woke up in the hospital not being able to speak and had a panic attack.
feral cat dad: I've figured out speech to text and I appreciate what you did for me, Hitoshi, but I was worried about you when that thing had me. I don't want you dying to protect me.
farmer toshi: Trust me, I don't plan to nearly die again. The headache was killer and I'd rather never experience that again.
feral cat dad: Good. Now, make sure you rest, kids.
2:15 AM
private chat with Bakugou and Yamada
Bakugou: Look, I know it's late, but my mother kicked me out and she's disowned me because she now wants me to drop from UA and I won't do it. I need somewhere to stay and I know Aoyama and them were talking about dorms yesterday after the USJ incident.
Yamada: It doesn't matter if it's ideal. Head to the school, I'll come get you inside and we'll go for your stuff from your parents' house tomorrow after school and I'm putting a rush order for emergency UA protection for your custody right now.
Bakugou: I think I need Recovery Girl, she got my arms pretty bad. I'm losing blood like crazy and I can barely grab things to keep going but my leg is sprained so I need help moving.
Yamada: We can worry about healing injuries once you're here. Until then, just be safe and get here as fast as you can. If you can't make it here, then I'll come get you.
Yamada: Just keep responding, little listener. How bad are your injuries?
Bakugou: bloodyleftarm.jpg
Bakugou: bloodyrightarm.jpg
Bakugou: sprainedknee.jpg
Bakugou has sent their location
Yamada: Fuck.
Taglist: @everythingisstardust
#mha#bnha#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#monoma neito#ibara shiozaki#kuroiro shihai#aoyama yuuga#hagakure tooru#fumikage tokoyami#shinsou hitoshi#yamada hizashi#aizawa shouta#katsuki bakugou#snoweywrites#aizawa we agreed no more cats au#tw cursing#tw injury mention#tw caps#tw death mention#tw broken bone mention#tw panic attack mention#tw abuse mention#tw disownment mention#tw blood mention#i told you i'd post it twice this week
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hunter meeting Hunter
A Xaviera Lah-Mo and Andrei Kulokova Story Chapter 3
Authors Note: Wow....This one is long, but I was in such a big writing mood for these two that I had to do it. We learn some of Xaviera’s memories, we see some sparks flying and we see how two souls bond into one.
Chapter 1 HERE
Chapter 2 HERE
Xaviera Lah-Mo belongs to me
Andrei Kulokova @the-slasher-files
Warnings: 18+ because there are sexual scenes and straight up SMUT
Words: 5.8k
After that incident, Xaviera stayed the rest of the night preparing for the hunt; cleaning her sniper rifle, a weapon that took the life of so many poachers across the globe, from Asia to Africa and even Europe, annihilating greedy humans that wanted to take lives of animals for their own egoistical gains.
Then there were the small arrows. She smirked, remembering how some mocked the small weapons, insignificant at first glance, but only if they knew what they packed, they would have thought twice.
Xaviera learned that size sometimes doesn't help you when faced with a creature that has enough venom to put down an elephant. Her favorites were the snake neurotoxins, like the one of the black African mamba, it's venom could kill a human in 20 minutes if you don't have the anti-venom. It was like a ticking bomb.
Then the venom of the King Cobra; its bite delivers a tremendous amount of paralysis-inducing neurotoxins. The snake’s venom is so strong and so voluminous that it can kill an elephant in just a few hours. Death also results in at least 50 to 60 percent of untreated human cases.
Oxyuranus microlepidotus, also called, appropriately, the fierce snake; Xaviera remembers encountering this deadly snake. She witnessed it during one of the expeditions and one of the researchers got bitten. The venom consists of taipoxin, a complex mix of neurotoxins, procoagulants, and myotoxins that paralyze muscles, inhibit breathing, cause hemorraging in blood vessels and tissues, and damage muscles. The researcher didn't survive; a single drop of venom from the reptile can supposedly kill 100 men.
It left many experts dumbfounded, but Xaviera learned to respect that snake.
'Respect what can kill you.' That's what her father used to tell her when she was little.
'Never underestimate the size of some creatures.' he also would say.
Sitting down at the table, injecting the hallow arrows with the specific venoms, her mind drifted to the memories of when her father would take her to his travels, teaching her all the basic surviving tactics, how to approach certain animals.
'You can look, but you can't touch.' he would instruct her, especially when they encountered very majestic animals, like the banded krait. It was a beautiful snake, it's scaling in obsidian black and strong yellow, but when her father told her that the neurotoxin it sported can induce paralysis, she quickly nodded.
Xaviera missed him so much, and her mother too. She would always patch Xaviera up when she got hurt, also teaching her medical tactics, how to stop hemorrhage, how to properly disinfect a wound and stitch it up.
The white-haired woman closed her eyes; she was getting emotional and that was a dangerous thing to do, considering the predicament she was into. She needed to remember that there was also a predator with her in the cottage.
For now, he seemed unharmful. If he so badly had wanted, he could have killed her by now.
'Never let your guard down when you are surrounded by wild creatures.' her father's words echoed in her head.
She swallowed hard, remembering one time when she was careless, her young age and immaturity showed back then.
She went with her father on a small trip close to their homes in North America, in dense forests to observe the wilderness, only for this expedition to almost take Xaviera's life. They encountered three small bear cubs.
That meant only one thing; there was also a mother bear near and she was furious. Xaviera couldn't blame the adult bear. She was protecting her cubs and if it wasn't for her father that tranquilized the feral, giant of an animal, Xaviera wouldn't have been here now.
Although, the Grizzly Bear gave the white-haired woman a souvenir to remember her by. She remembers how the bear charged towards her, flashing jaws that could probably crush her skull and claws that were five-inch long.
It left five long deep enough scratch marks from her hip down her outer thigh, almost to her knee. Her father saved her; always carrying a tranquilizer-gun in case they encounter wild and untamed beasts.
Xaviera sighed, finished with the venomous arrows, putting them in a special bag, made of thick leather. Carrying around weapons like this was deadly. You never know if you accidentally pierce yourself with one.
Her light blue eyes moved to the window, seeing it was already morning, lightly snowing. Maybe tomorrow she will go out if the weather calmed down, itching to finish the leeches that she knew very well had captured a snow leopard.
'The fucking parasites.' she thought, her brows pulled into a frown.
Her gruesome fantasy disappeared when the need for food made itself known, stomach signaling her that. She moved towards the kitchen, starting to make some soup, cutting the vegetables, calculating the number of ingredients she needed for two people.
She groaned; why did she care for that man's well being? He was obscene, cocky, and infuriating. Still, the way he shushed and cooed her after her nightmare made something in her chest light up, like a small fire that started to heat up her insides.
She huffed in annoyance at this. He was infuriating. Period.....and he made her want to castrate him.
But none deserves to die by starvation, so pushing the strong emotions aside she continues to prepare the dish, putting all the ingredients cauldron and letting it boil, waiting next to it, absorbing in the warmness it provided and the delicious aromas, while she was reading one of her zoology books, enjoying the silence, while it lasts because she knows once the soup is done she will have to go back upstairs with that infuriating specimen of a male.
Xaviera was so into reading, stopping at a paragraph about ranks in the packs of animals when the soup started to boil. She set the book down on the table, then filled two bowls with the hot food, letting it cool down a little, preparing herself to go upstairs and hope she won't be forced to scratch his face off.
Taking the bowls and setting them on a tray, she slowly marched upstairs, feeling her heartbeat pick up a little.
Headstrong man plays with her head.
She pushed the door open with her foot, seeing Andrei gaze out the window, his knives next to him on the bed. She walked towards the nightstand to set the tray down, the small clang of it pulling the man from his thoughts.
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and confused face, still suspicious probably for why she was still taking care of him. To be honest, Xaviera didn't know the answer either. Curse him for being more animal than human.
"Thank you, myshka." he spoke, taking the bowl of soup and sitting it on his lap.
She nodded his way, taking her own bowl of soup and sitting in the armchair like she did yesterday. It felt like such a deja vu.
"None deserves to die by starvation." she simply told him, starting to eat in silence, savoring the first spoons of the warm dish.
"So...Are you going to tell me what you are doing here in Himalaya?" she asked, looking at him with curious blue eyes.
He looked at her for a few seconds, like he was debating if he should answer.
"My job...it's um, well I'm a...I kill people for money." he answered, then continued.
"The poachers are from Ukraine, and the job took me here." he finished, watching her carefully as he took a sip off the spoon.
Normal people would probably be frightened by such a statement, but Xaviera was no normal woman. She killed humans herself and she lost count of how many died; sometimes by having their heads shot or a deadly venomous arrow piercing them, but that's the easy case.
Most of the time she just started the kill, then watched as the animals killed the poachers. Being ripped to shreds by a lion wasn't an easy dead.
Xaviera tilted her head to the side curiously like a cat.
"I see. Well, they are dead so I am more than content with that, although there are more leeches that need to be crushed." she replied, almost finished with her soup.
"Once the snowing stops I am out to balance the ecosystem." she told him, the corners of her lips twitching up in a faint dark smile.
His gaze was directly on her.
"So much fight, so much promise within you, little mouse..." he spoke, taking another spoonful of soup.
"The fire you have is strong...don't ever let anyone take that from you." he finished, getting up, making Xaviera tense a little.
He looked like he would stroke her cheek or share an intimate moment, which made Xaviera nervous, only for the Russian to hand her the half-empty bowl of soup and ruffling her white hair, giving her a smirk, then disappearing downstairs.
She was surprised he healed so fast; probably was used to it, but that's not what clouded the woman's mind. His words, much like the Grizzly scars that she was sporting and hiding, were now printed deep in her mind, giving her a feeling of pride, feeling like her ears were on fire, probably from blushing.
It was so long since someone told her such words, the last time someone praised her in such a deep way was her father. She shook her head, clearing her mist-filled mind, taking the tray with the two almost empty bowls, and walking downstairs.
The first thing she saw Andrei look through his weapons; she was tense at first, probably waiting for him to use them on her, but after she realized he was only checking them, she walked towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes.
"Y'know the kife, this one here, it is my favorite weapon...." he begins to speak, but she didn't look his way, but she did listen to his words.
"Only certain soldiers are skilled with these...." he continues and Xaviera hears his footsteps.
"It is very intimate game of life, death and the blade in hand...almost like a dance." his voice sounds very close and she knows that he is behind her, making her stop, her hands holding the bowl while she tries not to let him get to her; she needs to control her emotions.
She felt like ice was dripping down her back when one of Andrei's hands wee gently placed on her hip, where her scars started down, but luckily the clothes were hiding them.
He moved his other hand that held the knife in front of her, her jaw tense, prepared in case he decided to do something and test his theory that followed.
"This knife has saved me more than hundred times." she could feel his hot breath down the nape of her neck; cursing herself for pulling her hair into a messy bun, but the long white locks always got in the way when she washed the dishes.
His lips grazed her soft skin, making her eyes widen.
"And my favorite part...seeing the knife slip quietly between the bones, slicing skin like butter, dripping in hot blood as you pull it back...." then he kissed her neck, her shoulders so tense, like a feline ready to pounce.
"It's a beautiful sight." he finished, pulling the knife from her view.
She would have probably used her sarcasm on him, telling him how oh-so poetic he can be, but she couldn['t, because the Russian was in her personal space, way too close for her comfort and not in the usual 'I wanna choke you to death until your eyes are dull and lifeless'.
No. There was too much sexual ineduo dripping from his words and you could taste the atmosphere, which by seconds it turned electric.
Her breathing was the first giveaway of her feelings, a new form of vulnerability enveloping her.
She never had someone so intimately close to her, in such a way that made her feel like she was walking on thin ice.
"W-What are you doing?" she asked, cursing her voice for sounding so weak, so fragile.
Andrei just huffed in laughter, amused at her discomfort.
"Well, little mouse, we are probably going to be stuck here for a few days, and there is no TV or entertainment...." he replied, the hand that was holding the knife, grazed the outside of her thigh, moving upward, only to make her more anxious.
"I am not a big fan of reading, so I thought you could be my entertainment." he finished by kissing her neck, sensitive to his touch and making her breath hitch in her throat.
The sexual ineduo was too obvious now, the grip on the bowl so tight she almost broke it. Her eyes wide, not knowing how to react or what to do, never being in such a combusting situation.
"I-I...." she tried to form words, but it's like they were stuck in her throat, knees starting to shake.
She was a nervous mess.
"Cat got your tongue?" he sarcastically asked, playing with the hem of her shirt, while his other hand held her hip tight, making sure she was planted against him.
"Or should I say wolf?" he laughed, his canines grazing along her naked shoulder, nipping and kissing, all thanks to her over-sized shirt that slipped of her shoulder.
The white-haired woman felt her cheeks go on fire at the way his voice sounded and how he touched her.
What was she supposed to say? That she never indulged in the more carnal and primal activities? That she never was touched? That she was a virgin!?
She had a few boyfriends in college, but there was nothing more than kissing and a little bit of touching here and there; of course, nothing could compare to what the Russian in front of her was doing to her.
When his canines nipped more at her skin she dropped the bowl into the sink.
"N-No...It's just..." again she couldn't find it in her to properly speak.
In a flash, Andrei roughly whipped her around and hauled her on the counter with ease in a display of raw strength, making her squeak, his form settling himself between her legs, towering over her small form. His ice-blue eyes staring her down, his large and rough hands on her thigh, admiring the way she shook.
He was allowing her to speak, to continue her phrase.
Her eyes widened at the position they were in, too intimate, not to mention the way he looked at her, like a very dangerous animal ready to go in for the kill. She gulped down, trying to find her words.
"I-I....I've never..." she began, breaking eye contact with the intimidating Russian, hoping he will get the drift because it was so embarrassing to say the words herself.
Slowly, he pulled away, maintaining the predatory look, only to broke in a burst of full-on loud laughter, showing off his teeth and squinting his eyes, holding his chest and walking backward.
His laugh was deep and almost shook the cottage.
"Y-You....you what???...."
She felt her face heat up more at his reaction, laughing at her like she was a joke.
"S-Stop laughing..." she huffed, but he still didn't stop.
"I said, stop laughing, jackass!" she screamed, getting off the kitchen counter.
His laughing continued, watching her with amused eyes.
"Ba-Baby girl...oh my God." he was almost to the point of tears in his laughter and that's when Xaviera snapped.
Her icy blue eyes turning into a glare, feeling completely insulted at his laughter.
Before she knew what she was doing, her hands grasped his shirt and pushed him against the closest wall with all her strength she could muster, taking advantage of him being distracted.
"Stop laughing, asshole!" she snarled up at him; looking like a kitten that hissed at the big bad wolf.
The laughter instantly stopped, his smile dropping and turning into a snarl, his eyes darkening by her actions.
Swiftly, Andrei grabbed her throat and whipped her against the wall he was just against. She was ready to tell him to fuck off, but his large and muscular thigh was placed between her legs, right in the center, a mewl leaving her lips.
A new type of fire formed in the pit of her stomach, one that made her weak in the knees.
"W-What?" she choked out, her fingernails digging into the wrist of his hand that was wrapped around her neck, not tight enough to stop air to fill her lungs, but enough to assert his dominance over her.
Her wide eyes looked directly into his wolfish ones.
His breath hissed through gritted teeth like he was trying to control himself. He swallowed harshly, removing his hand from her neck, cupping her jaw, and stroking his thumb on her cheek.
The size difference between them was nerve breaking and she knew if he so saw fit he could rip her jaw off.
The dark scenario in her head vanished when he spoke.
"You're so beautiful, Xaviera." the first time he used her name and his words made her feel like she was made of jelly.
That glimpse of softness disappeared when the Russian grabbed her ass, making her wrap her legs around his waist, a growl leaving from deep within his chest when she accidentally grind on him a little.
She had no time to say anything because his lips crashed on hers.
Everything made her feel so dizzy and she knew if it weren't for his hands supporting her, she would have fallen down. The words he spoke echoed in her head, making her feel like her ribcage was gonna combust from how fast her heart was beating.
The adrenaline.
When she had grinded down on him, she felt something to say so....intimidating.....just like him.
"A-Andrei...." she squeaked against his mouth, her hands fisting into his shirt.
His mouth devoured hers and she found herself so weak by the many flavors he was sporting; the taste of tobacco, earl grey tea, and the faintness of the spicy soup.
He nipped at her bottom lip before he broke the kiss.
"I have you, little mouse." he whispered lowly, walking over to the couch, sitting himself down with her on his lap, his eyes trained on her like he was lost in his own mysterious mind.
Closing his eyes, he kissed her again, but this time it was much slower, but passionate, his finger laced into her soft, white hair. Her much smaller hands were gripping his shirt tight, afraid that if she let go she would fall from the rock and hit the bottom hard.
She tried to mimic the kiss, still wondering why she didn't push him away, smashing his balls and making him impotent for all his remaining life.
Maybe it was because she had never met a man like him, someone so dangerous and so at ease with his more primal instincts.
Again, he pulled away, his hand grasping her chin, resting his forehead on hers.
"But how myshka?....you're so beautiful." he asked.
How? Perhaps, she hadn't met someone that could match her, someone who wasn't afraid to indulge in the wilder side, someone who could actually keep up with her....Someone who can protect her.
She remembers in one expedition, there was a guy who tried to flirt with her, only to scream and run when one Boa fell down from a tree in front of her, and before that he was acting like he was all man and that masculinity.
"I-I've never found someone....Well...Compatible to say so...." she answered his question, looking up at him innocently from under her eyelashes.
Something sparked in his eyes, something she couldn't place her finger on.
"I will take care of you....ssh." he murmured, running his thumb along her soft lips.
Her mouth opened instinctually, his thumb moving gently inside her mouth, her tongue running over his digit and lips wrapped around it. His pupils dilatated at her innocent gesture, lips pulled into a small snarl. He was trying to control himself.
He pulled his hand away, only for his mouth to start leaving opened mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulder, his big hands running under her shirt. Everywhere he touched her, he left a hot trail of fire, making her slowly moan, still shy about everything.
Xaviera tilted her head in the opposite direction, allowing him more access, just like a female animal does for the strongest male; a sign of submission. Her hands moved from his shirt to run her fingers through his hair; so soft, so fluffy, reminding her of the fur coat of a wolf.
She never felt like this before, the intensity of all her nerve-endings was stretching, absorbing every touch he gave her. She was so caught up in this newfound pleasure, just mewling in appreciation of all the attention he was basking her in, that th sound of material being ripped pulled her from the induced hormonal state.
Ice blue eyes opening to see he had ripped her shirt like it was made of paper, exposing her upper body, chest covered by a simple white bra, nothing fancy. When you were always on the run like a wild free-spirited animal just like her, you didn't have time to worry about expensive lingerie with all kinds of designs.
His hands quickly moved behind her to undo her bra, breaking the hook in the process, but that was her last of her worry because when the white material was tossed behind him, she wanted to cover herself, but he was much quicker than her, grasping her wrists from doing so. Not enough to break, but enough to tell her not to cover.
The way he was looking at her made her nervous; were they too small, not his desired shape? His tongue peeked out from his mouth, running along one of his canines.
A loud gasp tore from her throat when his mouth laced to one of her nipples, sucking and biting on it greedily. The other breast wasn't ignored, his calloused hand grabbing the globe of flesh, his fingers twisting the nipple.
Her hands tugged on his light brown faux hawk, her head tossed back, and looking at the ceiling. She never knew that such actions could make her feel like this; it made her feel weak, but in such a delicious way, wetness forming between her legs, giving her an uncomfortable feeling.
Trying to adjust herself, she ground on him, feeling the bulge in his cargo pants, only for a primal growl to erupt from Andrei, biting her nipple rather roughly, making her scream, whimpering as he started to lap at the rosy red bud.
It was such a weird mix of pain and pleasure.
His mouth, moved up along her chest, continuing to nip and bite, leaving trails of hickeys in his path; just like a wolf marking his territory. Blue and purples adored her pale skin in intricate patterns.
"Myshka." he growled against her neck, canines grazing her pulse, making the white-haired woman whimper; not in fear, but in sinful submission, something she never thought she would do.
Before she knew it, he moved off the couch with his hands supporting her body again, hands groping her small tight ass as he marched upstairs, her arms wrapped around his neck.
The door to the bedroom was kicked open rather roughly and surprisingly, her form gently laid on the bed and he pulled her lips into a sloppy kiss, showing how eager he was to devour her, to make her feel things she never even had in her life.
He loved to bite, that's for sure, Xaviera noticed that and his sharp canines only made him more of a beast than a man, but God if it didn't send her into a turned-on mess. She could feel how soaked she was and she knew he would be all smug about it.
His lips moved to her ear, licking it, then nipping on the cartilage. Xaviera squeaked, her hands running up and down his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath.
"Sensitive there, baby girl?" he whispered in her ear, blowing hot air, stealing more lewd noises from the woman underneath him.
She was ready to throw him some colorful words, but that thought flew off the window when he sucked harshly on her earlobe, his hands, tugging her pants down in such an uncivil way, leaving her with only a pair of white cotton panties.
His eyes drifted to something that caught his interest; her Grizzly scars. She was afraid he might be pulled off by them, but she was surprised to feel him gently trace the marks, silently telling her it was alright, nothing to be ashamed of.
His eyes then moved to her panties.
Andrei smirked at the choice of her colors, so simple yet so innocent, running two thick fingers up and down her covered pussy, making her legs twitch.
"So cute, little mouse." he commented, making her face heat up.
He always managed to turn her into a flustering mess. She looked at him with confusion when he crawled off her, only for her legs to be thrown on his broad shoulders, his fingers pulling her panties aside, taking a glimpse at her most private parts, so untouched. His big thumb caressed her folds, spreading her wetness more.
"You're so wet for me, baby girl....I wanna have a taste of this juicy pussy of yours." he whispered, voice rough and growling at the end.
Her eyes widened when he felt his mouth on her, tongue lapping at what her heat had to offer him, his canines grazing her outer labia. Her hands fisted the bedsheets, as a series of lustful moans and mewls escaped her mouth; the way he was working her, switching from suckling to biting, the heels of her feet digging into his broad back, instinctually her legs closed around his head, pulling him in closer.
"A-Andrei!" she squeaked his name as his sharp teeth nibbled on her clit, making tears form at the corner of her eyes from how the pleasure was hitting her like a dagger.
It didn't help the growls that left his mouth, sending vibrations straight up her core and a weird feeling was forming into the pit of her stomach; she knew what was gonna happen.
"W-Wait....S-Stop....O-Or I am gonna-" she warned him, but he was just his stubborn self, not stopping his assault on her pussy, pushing one thick finger inside her and she was done, a long and loud whine.
She breathed heavily as he lapped up her juices, slowly raising up and looking at her with wide eyes, that feral look in them making her tremble.
"S-Sorry...." she apologized, seeing his mouth, jaw, and chin covered in wetness.
His wet lips pulled into his trademark wolfish grin, canines on full display, delighted by what she just did. He moved back over her, smashing his lips eagerly on hers, making Xaviera taste herself.
"See how good you taste, pussycat?" he asked against her lips, her eyes half-lidded as he looked into his own.
Her hands tugged on his shirt, a small whine leaving her, wanting to feel his skin. Getting up, he tugged his black shirt off, strong muscles on display, skin that was covered in scars, especially a big one down his chest, her eyes following the movements of his hands as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his cargo pants.
He kicked his combat boots off, then teasingly slipped the last piece of clothing off, along with his boxers. Innocent blue eyes widened as his length was freed, slapping against his abdomen. Her mouth hung open; he was big, everything about him was big, and screamed pure raw strength. Precum oozed from the rosy type, two obvious veins along the girthy length.
When her eyes looked up at his face, she could tell he was mighty proud of what he was packing; masculine pride.
"Close your mouth, myshka before I put something to occupy it." his obscene words made her quickly close it, hearing him chuckle at her flustered face.
The Russian moved back over her, his big hands pinning her tiny ones next to each side of her head as he gazed down directly into her glassy ones.
She gasped as he felt his length rub between her legs, the material of her panties adding to the friction.
"Feel what you're doing to me, darling? This is all your work." he growled, an inch away from her lips, her panties thoughtfully soaked.
In one swift move, one hand left her wrist to rip her panties off, coming back to grip her wrist back.
That was it, no more barries, nothing else between them, his cock rubbing directly on her soft skin, wet and eager for him to take it.
"P-Please..." she whispered, her legs opening more for him.
"W-What was that, myshka? You have to be more precise." he teased, making her whine.
She couldn't believe he was going to make her beg; he had managed to do something no man has ever done.
"P-Please...I-I need it." she choked out when his mouth laced on the skin behind her ear.
"What's that you want? My big cock, baby girl? That's what you want so badly?" he snarled into her ear, his canines running up and down the length of her neck and she threw her head back, the full length of her neck now on display, exactly like a female in heat that needs to be mounted by the most powerful male; the most intimate act of submission.
"Yes, please! Now, hurry up!" she screamed, exasperated with this anticipation.
That seemed to be the call because the follow action made her choke on her own breath, legs wrapping around his waist and her fingernails digging into his back, her mouth in an 'o' shape as she gazed with deer-like eyes into his feral ones, trying probably not to fuck her brains out since it's her first time.
She felt so full like she was going to be ripped in half, tears running down her cheeks, her breath stuck in her throat.
One of his hands cupped her cheek, whipping her tears away.
"Shhh...Breath, myshka....Breath. I'm here." he cooed, letting her adjust and she was very grateful for that.
No way was he average. Fuck no.
She tried to control her body, her breathing, relaxing her tense muscles as much as she could and she gave him a slight nod, motioning for him to move a little, which he did, very slowly, but by the way, his jaw was so tense, muscles bulging under scarred skin, she knew it was hard to control himself.
First, just some experimental thrusts, adjusting to his size, closing her eyes, the foreign feeling of pain fading away little by little which each push and pull until there was only pleasure, her moans signaling him that he could move harder, which he happily did, but he still held back.
"Fuck....You're so tight." he growled in her neck, slipping in and out of her cunt.
Xaviera couldn't form words and she let the primal sounds speak. The slow, languid pace quickly turned into fast and experimental thrusts, their skin slapping together whenever Andrei hilted inside her.
"So dripping for me." he breathed, his hands moving to grasp her ass.
"Yesssss." the white-haired woman mewled, her hands running through his hair.
He used his grip on her behind to move her body up and down his length, her body so light and easy to manhandle.
Now she knew why the animals were so feral in mating; how could you not be when all this pleasure is exploding through your veins. She knew it wasn't going to take her long to cum again, not by how he was starting to pound her cunt.
"Are you close, little mouse?" he asked her, one of her hands fisting his hair.
"I can feel you squeezing around me so eagerly." he sounded so primal; like a true apex predator wanting to conquer his mate.
"Mhmm..." she answered, the delicious knot ready to snap.
"Who do you belong to?" he growled, canines dangerously close to her neck artery.
"W-What?" she asked in a breathless moan.
She guessed that wasn't what he wanted to hear, because he gave her such a harsh thrust that made her toes curl.
"I asked.....Who do you belong to?" his voice had a growling tint, clearly losing his patience.
All her ration vanished then.
"Y-You.....I'm yours. I'm all yours." Xaviera whined when he slipped his cock almost all the way out, only for the tip to rest inside her.
He was going to kill her like this.
He kept her like this, only to took her by surprise when he pushed all the way in, a series of quick and deep thrusts followed, the tip of his length hitting that sweet spot inside her over and over, and she came heavily, her fingernails so deep in his back, running down, leaving a trail of hot red marks.
His cock twitched inside her and she felt warmness in the pit of her belly, making her feel like she was flying on a cloud, but she also had the feeling that she was really fucking a wolf, by the sound that left Andrei's mouth. His lips pulled into a snarl, deadly k9's glinting and the most erotic growl she ever heard meet her ears.
They both tried to catch their breaths, a smirk tugging at the Russian's lips as he looked down at her face; rosy red cheeks, eyes showing deep satisfaction and her lips swollen from the kissing.
"Speechless, koshechka?" (koshechka=pussycat)
Xaviera just gulped down, nodding her head and making him chuckle at her adorable expression, his hand coming to her head, running his thick fingers through her long soft winter locks, his mouth moving to her head as he whispered in Russian.
She didn't know what he said, but by the way, he spoke, it feels soothing, like he was singing her a lullaby.
She felt his thumb graze her pulse, one of her hands running up and down his chest gently, especially over his big scar.
It was like the fire died down and the only thing that was left was a sense of tranquility, a smile tugging at Xaviera's lips.
"Moy prekrasnyy snezhnyy bars." he whispered against her neck, kissing one of the bigger bitemarks he left on her. (moy prekrasnyy snezhnyy bars= my beautiful snow leopard)
She sighed contently, enjoying this rare moment, her hand playing with his fluffy hair as he littered her neck in all the attention.
Neither of them were sleepy and probably their minds were clouded with tons of questions and wonders.
#Xaviera Lah-Mo#Andrei Kulokova#Andrei Kulokova x Xaviera Lah-Mo#Andrei x xaviera#Slasher oc#Killer OCs#Original characters#story Time
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Time for PG-13 changes to Kai and Nya!
First thing's first, RAY AND MAYA STAY DEAD!
Maya dies giving birth to Nya, and Ray dies protecting his children from either the skeleton army or the serpentine, leaving a ten year old Kai to take care of eight year old Nya.
Kai did get good at blacksmithing, but resorted to stealing for a little bit to feed himself and his sister.
Nya works a little doing home repairs for others, though doesn't tell Kai because he worries about her immensely, like he has panic attacks if he doesn't know where she is.
The siblings look out for each other, Kai making sure Nya is safe and trying to make enough money blacksmithing to at least keep her from going hungry, while Nya makes sure Kai doesn't overwork himself, and makes sure he isn't bottling up any emotions.
Nya becomes Kai's anchor and Kai becomes something of a father to Nya, keeping her safe and being there for her emotionally the way she is for him.
I should mention that Kai has some pretty bad separation anxiety. Ray told him to take care of Nya until he returned, which he never did. Now Kai gets really antsy if Nya has to leave, she buys food for the two of them since she isn't as good at blacksmithing as Kai, and someone needs to stay behind to watch over the shop so nothing's stolen.
Nya KNOWS full well Kai has this anxiety and leaves on her own anyway to try and help him overcome it, telling him she'll be back within an hour and he can time her to see if she can be back before said hour is up; it's nothing unsympathetic or rude, they can barely afford food and it's the only way she knows how to help him, however childish it may be. Kai doesn't time her or do any real blacksmithing; all he does is tap on a heated swird to get it straight. When he's done, he just sits and watches where Nya left until she gets back.
It does not get better when Nya is kidnapped by the skeleton army and Kai tried to run to catch up to her; Samukai knocked him out, so there wasn't anything he could've done, anyway.
Wu consoles him for it all the same, understanding the pain of losing a sibling, and tells that he can save Nya, provided he train under Wu's supervison.
Kai agrees and they head off to the monastery, Wu explaining MOST of the situation to Kai along the way.
Well, as much as he can because Kai keeps looking behind him and claiming there's aomeone following them. (Gee, I wonder who?)
When they arrive, Kai FREAKS OUT when he sees a ninja clad in black flip over them from behind and dart inside, though Wu calms him by reassuring him that it's another one of his students.
Similar training as before, but there are a second and third watcher now with Wu, one Kai nicknames boulder biceps and the other he nicknames creepy doll. (I wOnDEr WHo tHeY aRE?) He's tested and officially joins, and Sensei explains the FULL situation now that his group of teenagers with attitude is assembled.
Cole and Kai rub each other the wrong way when they first meet, Kai wanting to hurry and find his sister and stop the skeleton army and Cole knowing to listen to what Wu tells them to do, havimg trained under Wu for two years before meeting Jay.
They argue. A LOT. It does not help when Jay and Zane take sides. And it gets to the point where, fed up and annoyed as all hell, Jay, Zane, and Wu lock the two of them in a room together and refuse to let them out until they manage to get along, which takes forever. Cole wants nothing to do with the loudmouthed Kai until Kai admits he joined to get his sister back, which he's been keeping secret from his new team since he joined. Cole admits he understands the guilt he has, talking about someone special he and his father lost and how he, too, feels responsible. They get along easier after this point, having disagreements, but not full on fights.
Jay gets along instantly with Kai, the two essentially becoming brothers and anchors for each other. Jay leans on Kai when he's having bad days and vice versa. Jay even helps Kai with his separation anxiety when he notices Kai is THAT attached to him; he does it the way Nya did, but does it in a sneakier way by saying he's going to grabs the group some water and maybe patch up a cut he has. Kai offers to help him, but Jay shakes his head at Wu, who thought Jay would need that help. He tells Zane to help him instead, as he has a gash on his leg Cole gave him on accident, and Kai can keep training. Zane and Jay leave and Kai and Cole continue training, though Wu keeps telling Kai to focus and not stare at where Jay and Zane left.
They came back after fifteen minutes and Kai , who was focusing more on training, really got back into the swing once Jay was back in his general vicinity.
At first, Kai and Zane avoid each other like the plague. Kai's reasoning was because Zane just stared at him all the time and was the REAL GUY that didn't give a crap as to what people were saying, as because he's hard to beat in a fight, and Zane's reasons being Kai talked too much and was extremely impatient, not to mention bad at following directions. They just left each other alone until an incident while retrieving the golden weapons where Kai nearly fell to his death and Zane saved him. And Zane helped more with his seperation anxiety, where Wu, Jay, and Cole left the two to guard the monastery and Zane was making sinner for them, for when they got back. Kai only paced back and forth while watching the door.
This was the "conversation" between them:
"Man, how long have they been gone? It's been FOREVER."
Zane only looks up and thinks to himself that it's only been twenty minutes.
"What if something happened to them? We should've gone with them! Or-or I should've gone with them!" Kai suddenly has a realization and turns to Zane. "What if they made a deal for Garmadon to kidnap my sister and they're planning to use us next!?"
Zane stops and turns to Kai, raising his eyebrow; 'You're seriously going there?'
Kai shakes his head, now stammering. "I-I have to go! They-They need our help!"
Zane puts down the spoon he was stirring with and grabs Kai begore he can leave.
"Zane, let go! I have to follow them so I know they're okay!"
Zane only pulls Kai back and holds his face, staring into his eyes as he takes a deep breath and gesturing for Kai to follow.
He does and they do this three times before Zane leads Kai to the chopping board and gives him a knife and vegetable and returns to the soup he's been working on.
Kai starts chopping, but stops literally every two cuts and looks back at the door, which leads Zane clapping his hands the next time Kai turns.
"What!?"
Zane taps on the cutting board and then his forehead. 'Stay focused.'
"How can I 'stay focused' when our friends are out there and might need our help!?"
Zane rolls his eyes and continues to stir the soup he's making.
"And how can you be so calm!? Don't you even care that they could be dead, for all we know!?"
Zane takes the knife out of Kai's hand and slams the blade into the wood, grabs Kai's collar, and then holds his hand out between them, showing Kai that he is very badly trembling; he's freaking the fuck out and cooking keeps his mind off it.
Kai is silent after this, and sees Zane have a mini seizure before getting back to cooking.
After a while, Kai asks, "So... what's with all the..."
He nods his head up and down and shakes his hands, which Zane finds offensive, but he gets the idea.
Zane doesn't answer for a minute, but does when he hears Kai consistently chopping the vegetable and not checking on the door.
"They will be alright," Zane admits. "Sensei Wu would never let any of his students be harmed."
Kai stares at Zane as he turns and stares back.
"I know you are concerned for your sister, but you cannot face General Samukai or Lord Garmadon if you worry yourself sick before the battle even arrives." He puts a hand on Kai's shoulder. "Have faith in us. We will help you save Nya."
It helps keep Kai calm until Wu, Jay, and Cole return.
So, TLDR: Kai is still a loudmouth amd hotheaded, but he has problems being seperated from people he cares about, mainly Nya. Tries to be the leader, but the ninja keep him in check. NYA COMES FIRST, SHE IS HIS TOP PRIORITY, EVEN AFTER SHE IS SAVED.
17 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Remember when I said this fic was coming soon in March of 2020? Well...I promise I haven’t abandoned it. I want to finish Wildflower before I start on this, but I thought I might post a sneak peek because why not? Hope you guys enjoy!
mise en place, sneak peek
Michel’s soupe a l’oignon was burning.
Michel had also been through a terrible breakup the night before in which he had found his boyfriend of almost seven years in bed with their personal trainer. Then Michel’s boyfriend had announced that he and this personal trainer were actually married, per a terrible ceremony in Las Vegas when they were both drunk. Therefore, Michel was technically the other man. Michel had never been the other man before. He was obviously having a rough time.
But the fucking soup was burning.
“Michel! The soup!” Italia shouted before the scent could officially assault all of my senses. The second the words left her mouth, however, I could smell it. The onions were burning to a crisp. There would be no saving them, of this I knew.
“Shit!” Michel yelled, immediately turning off the heat of the stove. He went to go grab the saucepan and the hurried “no!” didn’t leave my mouth fast enough as he gripped the cast iron handle with his bare hand for approximately three seconds before he yelped and dropped it back down on the stove top with a slamming sound. “Shit, shit shit!” he repeated, clutching his wrist with his other hand.
“Let me see,” I demanded, moving away from my own meal (which would be fine and not on the verge of burning for at least another five minutes) and towards Michel. He held out his hand to me with tears in his eyes and I honestly felt bad for the guy.
I just also felt really, really bad for the customer who was waiting for their soup.
“Go run it under cool water. Cool, Michel, not cold. Ice-cold will damage the tissue even more. Then get a rag wet and hold it over. You can just go ahead and take your fifteen.”
“My soup—”
“Italia and I will handle it,” I interrupted. The more time we wasted standing here arguing was time that could have been spent trying to salvage the soup. It didn’t help that we were already down a chef, since Frederick’s wife was giving birth, but we would make do. Italia and I always did.
“Thanks, Dom. I’ll be in the lounge.”
Lounge was a loose term. It was a tiny little room in the back that looked dingy and unkempt. Still, it was enough to pass health inspections. Only about two people could fit back there at a time, which was why I usually just sat in my car for my breaks.
“Sounds good, Michel.” My eyes locked with Italia, who was already working on melting the butter and oil for Michel’s soup in a new saucepan. Isobel, one of our dishwashers, had already grabbed the pan Michel had ruined and was scrubbing it clean with her thick rubber gloves on her hands. At least I knew she wasn’t going to be burned.
When Michel turned to go into the lounge, I grabbed an onion and automatically began chopping it. “Sorry, Italia,” I muttered under my breath, knowing she could hear me just fine. We had gotten used to the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.
“It’s fine. Tell Louis to offer them a dessert on the house because this soup is going to take at least another fifteen.”
I wanted to slam my head against the counter. Or better yet, use the pan Isobel was now putting on the drying rack to hit over my head. “Fuck. Alright.”
Finding Louis was easy enough. He was making his rounds in the front of the restaurant, his pleasant attitude most likely earning him more than average tips. The kind of people who came to Lesauvage were wealthy enough to tip generously. Sometimes they didn’t, but for the most part, Louis wouldn’t be starving anytime soon. “Louis!” I hissed under my breath when he passed by the kitchen doors, cups in hands to refill. He jumped comically.
“Christ, Dom, you scared me,” he replied in a quiet voice, not wanting any of the customers to hear. “What?”
“Tell table eleven there was a complication with their soup and dessert is on the house.”
“What the fuck happened to their soup?”
I raised a brow. “Michel made it.”
Michel’s boyfriend drama had already made it around the restaurant. Twice. Chefs were a nosy bunch. Louis nodded in understanding and filled up a cup with iced tea as he looked towards where I assumed table eleven was. I actually hadn’t ever really paid attention to the front setup of Lesauvage because I had always entered through the back door.
“Fine. But I’m recommending the chocolate mousse because you’re here and you make it the best.”
“Compliments will get you everywhere,” I replied with a wink.
He grinned. “Got me into your bed, didn’t it?”
Louis and I had a fling when I had started working at Lesauvage. I was fresh out of culinary school, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and he was the experienced waiter who comforted me in the lounge my first day when my boss had completely ripped me a new one. He was the unattainable, three-years-older coworker who I was moon-eyed over for at least five months before we actually slept together. And once we had, it was like some switch had been flipped inside my body and he was suddenly nothing but a friend.
Thank the fucking lord he felt the same way.
“You’re damn right it did. Now go make me proud, Tomlinson.”
When I hastily returned to the kitchen, Italia was already ten times ahead where Michel had been with the soup. I sent her a thankful look and grabbed the beef stock, passing it her way as I grabbed a knife and began chopping the green onions for my own dish.
As much as I complained about the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, I secretly thrived in it. It was what I had missed when I had been in culinary school. So many of my classmates cooked their meals silently. When I cooked at home, I blasted music and sang loudly and off-key to myself. At work, I had the conversation of other people. I liked learning about Italia’s kids and Isobel’s ex-boyfriend who kept trying to call her. I even liked Michel, even though right now he wasn’t my favorite person in the world.
School had been lonely. At least here I felt like I belonged.
“They’re good for the chocolate mousse!” Louis shouted over the sound of Isobel doing the dishes and Italia chopping more vegetables.
“You’re a saint, Tomlinson!” I replied, dropping the spices needed onto Italia’s cutting board. She slid them into the soup with her knife and the skill of a seasoned Lesauvage veteran.
The chocolate mousse was luckily already in the fridge cooling from my prep this morning, so I didn’t have to worry about making it at that exact moment. I did finish the salad I was working on and passed it off to Sydney, who was another runner. She grabbed the plate and sped off to table seven.
The time went by quickly when I was in the kitchen. My thoughts could roam because the movements of cooking were muscle memory at this point. When I had first been hired, I had been terrified to mess anything up. The first time I had pulled a Michel, I had cried. My boss had yelled at me pretty badly, but had brought me into his office afterwards to apologize and assure me that I was doing a great job. Now, it felt like second nature to pour the green onions into the butter garlic sauce that was sautéing. And when Italia handed me the soup that she had completed, I sent her a grateful look and wasted no time in handing it off to Louis. We worked as a team here.
I thrived on that.
“Get those chocolate mousses out and ready,” I told Michel when he came back from his break. His hand didn’t look too worse for wear, but he looked decently embarrassed. I knew, at least for tonight, there would be no more mistakes.
“I’m really sorry, Dom,” he said softly, preparing for my anger.
“It’s fine, Michel. Just work on desserts for now, okay? But this is the comp dessert for table eleven, so try to pay attention, yeah?”
He hung his head, but nodded and went to go prep the mousse. It wasn’t that Michel wasn’t talented. He wouldn’t have been hired if he hadn’t been a great chef. But the boyfriend thing was really getting to him. I hoped he had at least the next two days off to recoup.
“Dom,” I heard Louis say about thirty minutes later as he walked through the kitchen door. He had the empty plates from table eleven in his hand and handed them off to Isobel. “They’re ready for the dessert.” He eyed me questionably when Michel handed them off to me, as if it was wrong that I had let Michel touch them after his little mishap but I had faith in the chefs. “These better be good,” Louis said in a warning tone.
“I made them, Tomlinson, of course they’re good,” I snapped, clicking my tongue in annoyance. It was a bad habit I had done when I was a kid and never seemed to shake it.
He shrugged, taking the completed desserts and walking back out to the restaurant. “They looked great, Michel!” I encouraged, turning to continue chopping the beef I had been working on before Louis had come in.
When I cooked, time passed by without my notice. What felt like two minutes later but was really thirty, Louis walked back into the kitchen with a solemn look on his face. “They want to see the chef.”
“Who?”
“Table eleven.”
Shit. “You said they were fine with the soup, yeah?” Louis nodded, which meant the problem was with the chocolate mousse. And since Michel had done nothing but added the whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top, if they had a real problem with the mousse, it was on me. “Fuck. Alright. Italia, can you finish this dish for me really quick?”
Italia nodded, looking up from the celery she was chopping to examine the chicken I was seasoning to see how much she would need to do to complete it. Nervously wiping my hands on my apron after I washed them quickly, I tried to make myself look a little more presentable. It was rare that chefs were invited to the front of the restaurant, so we were usually unkempt and had food on our clothes. It didn’t matter to me what I looked like as long as the food was good, but I knew it was a shock to the high-end patrons of the restaurant.
Louis led me over to table eleven, where three people were sitting. There were two men and one gorgeous woman that looked like she could model for a living. She was happily chatting and holding hands with one of the men, excitedly waving around her free hand. He looked engrossed in her story, nodding and smiling and staring at her like she was the best thing in the world. Their companion was simply taking sips of his wine (a wonderful red that went really well with the chocolate mousse and I thanked Louis for obviously recommending it to them) and pursing his lips in response to whatever the woman was saying.
She stopped talking when she noticed Louis and sent a blinding smile at us. “This is the chef, I presume?”
“Dominique Blanchard,” I said, holding out my hand for her to shake. I was thankful I had run my hands under some soap and water. We weren’t allowed to have our nails painted in case some of the varnish fell off into the food, but her fingers were perfectly manicured and painted a vibrant blue. “I’m sorry again about the soup. We had an incident in the kitchen.”
She waved it off. “The soup was fine. That chocolate mousse, however? It was to die for!”
I felt my shoulders deflate. I had been so worried that they were upset with their experience or food that I hadn’t even thought they had wanted to chat because they enjoyed their meal. “Thank you. It’s a Lesauvage specialty.”
“Dominique makes it the best,” Louis supplied helpfully from behind me. I grinned nervously.
“We all loved it,” the man holding her hand spoke, and I was surprised to hear an Irish accent. “It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And I was glad it took the attention off the fact that their soup was late. The other man stayed quiet, simply ignoring the conversation as he sipped at his wine again.
“I have the weirdest proposition for you. Please feel free to say no if you don’t want to, but I would kick myself if I didn’t ask.”
My eyes strayed back to the woman, who was talking to me politely.
“I’m two months pregnant,” she said happily, her hand going to her stomach like most pregnant women did when their pregnancy was announced, “and I’m so incredibly exhausted nowadays. I can barely muster up enough energy to come out to dinner, let alone make myself toast in the morning. I was wondering if you’d ever consider being a personal chef?”
23 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
arcydonia
now playing - new cydonia
lumiere-ito
Lumière clothing & leather item
rodentcompetition
little creatures
mrmorgan-mrjames
Colin Morgan & Bradley James, NEWS.