#I was worried these raw recipes would be a pain

[crisiscutie]

Honestly this is more of a prompt than a true request. But, imagine baking bread with Sephiroth(s) and the kids. Family baking time is always cute.

Yes, but I'd imagine with five kids (and counting🤭), said baking time can get quite chaotic with Fluffy Sephiroth.

You sat on your yoga ball, trying to ease your pregnancy pains. Although you hoped for a peaceful break, you couldn't bear leaving your poor husband alone any longer with everyone else, especially your youngest wild child, Lucy.

"Kadaj, that's too much flour!" Sephiroth said.

"You're not adding enough, father! I'm adding more!" Kadaj said.

"No, it'd be too much! And Loz, stop eating the raw batter!" Sephiroth's slit eyes quickly scanned the kitchen. "...Where is Yazoo?"

Meanwhile, Angealica, your eldest daughter, sprinted around desperately. She was trying to intercept Lucy before she could enter the kitchen and further stress Sephiroth.

"Put this apron on!" Angealica shouted, but Lucy just giggled at her. While it may have seemed like a game to Lucy, it was anything but for poor Angealica, who always did her best to help maintain order in the household.

Yazoo approached you from behind and relaxed his head on your shoulder, just as Sephiroth would do in his moments of stress or laziness.

"Mother, I don't want to bake bread without you... Kadaj doesn't know what he's doing, Loz keeps eating the batter, and Father has no control," He quietly pouted, mumbling into your skin. You reached a hand backwards and petted his head.

"Don't worry, sweetie," you reassured, "Mommy is just taking a short break. Everything will be better in a little bit..." In response, a satisfied purr could be heard coming from him. Smiling, you rose from your yoga ball and led him to the kitchen. Along the way, you interrupted Lucy during her antics and took the apron from Angealica, carefully wrapping it around Lucy as she squirmed in your grasp. She playfully growled at you and gave your cheek a tiny chomp. You giggled, chomping her right back, and then ruffling her hair. When you reached the kitchen, you put your hands on your hips, watching Kadaj and Sephiroth debate with each other over the bread recipe.

"That's why you bake it the first time and make adjustments for the second!" you said, planting a quick kiss on your silver kitten husband's lips and while gently pinching Kadaj's cheeks. Next, you softly took the raw batter from Loz, booped his nose, and tied your own apron. Finally, it seemed order was restored at last. Your family fell silent and watchful, closing in around you. You let out a relaxed sigh and started going over the fundamentals of breaking bread again.

[crimsonblackrose]

I promised my aunt I’d make tiramisu but forgot pie day coming up and I’ve wanted to make pie for pie day for...years and always miss it. But! I think we have a pie crust (with cigars resting in it for some bizarre reason) in the freezer and this like raw sugar-free book has a pie recipe that I think we’ve got all the ingredients for...so I might be able to do both?

[hanaonesflower]

“let me do this for you.”

“let me get that for you.”

“don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

when nanami was around, it was like being watched by a hawk. not in a bad way of course, just not a way you're probably used to. he is always on it, taking care of everything from beginning to end, hell bent on you not ever lifting a finger and actually bar you from doing it, even behind his back.

"seriously, kento, I can do it myself!"

"absolutely not, you worked all day, when you come home, I take care of you."

you try to bargain, dishing out facts that he, too, has a full time job that usually pushes him to the brink of exhaustion that he may or may not recover from, yet, here he is, elbows deep in dough, insistent on making pasta from scratch. according to a recipe that you may have briefly mentioned weeks ago that you wanted to try.

you tried to pick up the knife and dice the tomatoes or turn on the stove, he shoos you away.

"this is getting out of control, kento."

"you can help me by taking a nice warm long bath, honey."

nanami knows what he's doing, the majority of the time. but will he ever express that he fumbles from time to time? never. not that his ego is inflated, but because he has prided himself for being to care for you boundlessly.

so when you leave the bath and find kento with his hand in a bucket of ice water, you realize something have gone south in the kitchen.

"kento! what happened?!"

"nothing to worry about my l-"

"enough! tell me, now."

your stern voice and attitude stun him, he's never seen you like this before. his behavior is downright concerning, he hasn't always been this way though. sure, he loves by serving, but he isn't always this stubborn or ridiculously protective. you have always cooked together, why would it be different this time, or the last few times within the past couple of months. nanami isn't unreasonable, but he can be if something pricked at his pride.

"I may have burned myself with the hot steam."

"may have? your skin is having a terrible reaction! for a smart man you can be so clumsy sometimes."

"it's not that bad."

you glare.

"okay, it's pretty burnt and it hurts."

"I bet it does."

you slowly pull his hand out from the ice bucket and lead him to the kitchen table and command him to sit still when you fetch the first aid. his palm is raw from the burn and his face twists in pain when you apply some pressure.

there isn't much conversation exchanged between you and him, but something is definitely hanging above your heads. kento seems to be closed off to it, but you're willing to get to the root of things.

"you haven't been yourself lately."

silence.

"I feel like this is not just about providing for me, something happened, and it affected you."

kento looks saddened by this. you are spot on. something did happen.

a few months ago, during a dinner party amongst friends, kento found himself begrudgingly involved in unpleasant conversations with his colleagues, the way they audaciously questioned his ability to care for his partner when he was always away on work trips or spending extra time at work. he took it to heart, kento questioned himself. he realized, that even though his colleagues were terribly annoying and invasive, they made some considerable points. he made the executive decision to fully take over, spinning a complete 180 on you. at first you thought it was sweet, until it became authoritarian.

"that's really how you feel?"

"have I been absent to you, y/n?"

you contemplate for a while, you truly wish he is around more, but you always understand the nature of his job.

"I do wish I can see you more often, when you had that 2-week long vacation, I was able to spend such amazing quality time with you, and it was awesome, but I also understand how your job is. I didn't want to come in between that."

"so I have been absent." he moaned defeatedly.

"please don't blame it on yourself like this, it's not healthy, I still love you, kento."

"this is all my fault, y/n, I should have been there for you more."

truthfully, you wish he was, but once again, you are both stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"have you been doing all this to somehow compensate?"

"is it working?"

he is trying to humor you, although at quite a horrid time, you still crack a smile.

"I think it's very kind of you."

he sighs.

"please, forgive me, my love. I became what you called a workaholic, I tried to get more hours to provide for you, only to come short in other aspects."

"I'm not an unemployed housewife, kento."

“this isn’t my way of saying that you are incapacitated in any way, i just wish that you didn’t have to worry about anything,” he groaned from the incessant gnawing of the antiseptic on his burnt wound.

“kento, this is a partnership, you’re not my servant and i’m not a spoiled brat,” he felt a little silly, nanami knew this fact yet he felt impotent in this sense. he opened and closed his lips, hoping to get his point across even further but nothing seemed good enough at theis point, he’s done fighting.

“whatever you’re going to say, it’s not going to change the fact that i love you,” you silence him.

“then can i say that i love you, too?”

“that, you can.”

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧

note: PHEEeewww… it’s really good to be back :33 this piece shall be the redebut as it is one of my cuter fics. going back with smut pieces after such a long hiatus didn’t feel right so – soft nanami is always the way to go!! more content will be coming soon (smut included >.>), stay tuned ( ˘ ³˘)

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hiiii

Can you make another Alastor x Rarity reader like I love it sm and I need more 😭😭❤️

If you do thank youuuu

I definitely can! My dear @sillyalastor, here will be yours and @nenerobobot’s post for Rarity-reader and Al! I hope you both like our kinda short follow up to the Radio Demon and his Drama Queen!

Alastor- Diamond Trio

Alastor knows how much of a detail-orientated and fussy woman you are, and he knows fashion colours, stitching processes, habits, facts and more on the top of his head. He knows what is considered eggshell white and what is considered ivory white. That’s how much time he spends with you

Alastor has been teaching you some new recipes, ones that get a bit messy. Whilst, you’re very worried about getting food on you and is wearing about five layers of protection each time you cook with him. He finds it cute and cheers you on for you being so precise and careful with the measurements. You’ll stand there for five minutes making sure the water percentage is just perfect and he thrives off that

Alastor is not a fan of you being friends with any of the Overlords except Rosie, so when he finds out, you befriended a fellow fashionista Velvette. He is supportive of your wishes but he is glaring down Velvette and threatening her behind your back to not hurt you or he’ll hurt her. Needless to say… Al’s protective and he doesn’t tolerate any of your friends trying to ruin your spirits or your work

So that means, if anybody rejects your outfit choice and creation you made for them, even politely. Alastor will hunt them down. You’re generous and you should be praised for that generosity. Alastor takes everything you give him, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll merely ask for some additions. He won’t ever demand a new outfit or item

Now. How did you and Alastor meet, you ask? You met him at a grand gala. It mainly consisted of Overlords but some Sinners can be invited and you were one of those rare sinners brought over to this incredible party

Alastor had been quite intrigued by you, the moment he saw you. A gorgeous, classy, sophisticated sinner dressed in the most pretty, regal maroon pink dress he has ever seen. You had attended this ‘best night ever’ party in hopes to find your prince, the man of your dreams and when you ran into a prissy but handsome Overlord that screamed prince-like grace, you immediately latched onto him. Unaware that you’re actual prince is the one Overlord all the guests avoided like the plague

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to just ignore the only shining jewel within this boring, prim and proper high-class party. He was so uninterested that he only got entertainment, out of talking to his dear friend, Rosie. So after some quick consideration, he begun to secretly follow you and your… date around the large palace hosting this gala. He was curious on what you’d do and the disgust he felt over this Overlord acting so uncharming and so harsh to a sweet lady such as yourself. He doesn’t tolerate women of radiance being disrespected

Alastor is so glad that you finally put your foot down after all the treatment: that ‘Prince’ of a Overlord making you pay for treats, making you give up the cushion seat, taking your rose for himself, making you throw your gorgeous silky-fabric shawl over a puddle so neither of you would slip. No gentleman should treat his lady this way and his blood is boiling in pure disgust at his fellow Overlord. The final straw is when that Overlord used you as a shield to block off the pretty strawberry icing cheesecake that came flying at the pair of you

Alastor watched from the sidelines with much pride and respect, over you talking that Overlord down and proclaiming he is a royal pain but of course, that ‘prince’ only cared about his looks and was scared of you drenched in the cake. Shaking off some of the cake on your dress, hair and face to get it onto the Overlord, out of raw rage. You ended up stomping out of the main big dance ballroom, furious and on the verge of crying. Leaving that ‘date’ of yours behind

Alastor couldn’t stop himself from following you. He was curious how a pretty mid-atlantic accented lady would handle being humiliated and having lashed out against her ‘date’ in front of almost ALL of the guests in the Gala. Your pretty sparkly almost diamond-like eyes poured tears, smudging your nice mascara and light blue eyeshadow as you stomped into the pretty empty gardens and cried out your rage

Oh. Alastor didn’t like seeing somebody so innocent and done no wrong mistreated like this. Even if it was amusing, he doesn’t like it

So, he finally approaches you after a few seconds of watching you vent out your feelings through sobs. His strong sharp crimson red eyes going from your forehead golden crown to the glass plumps to the still damp shawl tied around your shoulders in a classy princess style. You’re the most beautiful guest at this sorry excuse of a Gala. Alastor folds one arm behind his back, his own gala-style black, white and red coloured suit making his red and black colouration pop as he presents you with a rose

“I believe this is yours, my dear” Your glassy eyes turned over to look at him, the almost folded, multi-layers of your dress hugging your curves and hiding your leg movements as it just felt like this night went from the worst to the best. Is this the actual gentleman you’ve always wanted?! Gently reaching out, you’re a bit intimidated by how strong his glare is, how visible his golden yellow fangs are through that wide open grin, with how menacing his long fingers are

Taking the still stemmed rose from Alastor, you didn’t even know his name but you wished you did… you are a bit scared he may be a fake like that awful Overlord you were chasing after just before but he seems friendly enough. Alastor lifts up your hands with his single one, precisely placing the rose into your prettily curled and tied up hair, just above your bangs before speaking once more. His entire presence leaking charm, grace and poise

“Shall we dance?”

You were a bit shy, still drenched in destroyed layered cake batter but Alastor didn’t even chuckle at how ruined your clean, neat look is now. He merely snaps his fingers and like that, all the sweet confectionery remains are gone and all the ruffled, ripped or knotted parts of your dress and hair is smoothed out to perfection, as well as your slightly wet shawl back to being completely dry and your makeup returned to more presentable. Just like how you looked when you entered this Gala and when Alastor first saw you. Taking a deep breath, your cheeks flustered and blushy

You take his hand and with a single tug, you and him are dancing together in the calm, breezy, beautiful gardens of the giant gala palace, no music, no other prissy annoying guests. Just the plants, the animals and you two

Your eyes are no long filled to the brim with tears, anger and heartbreak. You’re now developing a sense of admiration and awe at Alastor being so gentlemanly and sweet with you in seconds flat, he’s treating you the way you wanted that blueblood ass to treat you and it’s making your heart flutter. Twirling slowly in a nice slow steady waltz, the only music ringing is the sound of the nearby birds singing

That night was the best night ever

[sirfrogsworth]

My dad and I had a very long day but we are starting to figure some things out.

His main issue is circulation to his right foot. That is causing most of his pain and discomfort. His right big toe is a goner. But if they can restore circulation to his foot with a stent, then that is all he will lose. But there is a major worry that he could lose half his foot or all of his foot or even part of his leg if the catheter procedure with the stent is unable to improve circulation.

The more foot they take, the harder it will be to walk. And if he can't walk at all, I might not be able to take care of him. And that would suck for a myriad of reasons. My possible homelessness being a real concern.

The podiatrist was real doom and gloom about all the possible amputations and scared my dad with worst case scenarios. I didn't appreciate that. I mean, I know he had to present all the possible outcomes, but can we at least do the procedure tomorrow before we talk about losing a leg? I don't know.

That said, we are told this doctor that puts in the stents is one of the best in the world. He has won awards for this and everything. So if anyone can save my dad's foot, it is him.

I still think my dad has an infection. He was pretty lucid today, but for the last 30 minutes he has been seriously hallucinating. I can still communicate with him, but he is very loopy. He hasn't slept all day and they gave him a Percocet and that made him quite, umm... high as balls. So if there is an infection combined with no sleep and an opioid med, I would guess that is a recipe for delirium. They are going to give him an Ambien tonight so I am hoping he'll get some long deep sleep and hopefully that will fix the delirious state he is in. It has worked in the past.

I had a great conversation with his kidney doctor today. She is wonderful and I wish we saw her more often. She is one of the smartest doctors I think I've ever encountered but also incredibly kind, funny, and empathetic. She reminded me of a cordial Black auntie but like with a Mensa membership. She went from complimenting my dad's silver hair and making fun of her husband for using Just For Men hair dye to hacking the hospital computer to find my dad's sleep study results that we have been unable to obtain since July... and then perfectly interpreting them without being a sleep specialist.

She is not just proficient in kidney issues, but she seems to have well above average knowledge of many medical issues outside her purview. She gave us some great advice on a variety of problems my dad is facing. She also gave a great explanation on why my dad has issues with his breathing and requires constant oxygen. Can you believe after all this time no one has been able to give me a good answer on why he needs oxygen? I've had several doctors just say they didn't know. But I ask her and she tells me his lungs have trouble inflating all the way. I forgot the medical term, but he can not inhale deeply. So it's like working with half lung capacity at all times. She recommended a breathing exercise toy thingie. It's like a game where you inhale and try to lift a little ball. You do your exercises every day and hopefully increase the power of your suck over time.

After (hopefully) fixing the foot, my secondary concern is my dad's mental decline. He was lucid in the morning and most of the afternoon. But after a Percocet he was grabbing for imaginary pills in the air and trying to eat them. It is very hard to take care of him when he has these episodes. Especially since he gets them at night. I am not able to sleep when this happens. He becomes a danger to himself and sometimes tries to get up and walk places when he doesn't have the balance. One time he tried cooking raw potatoes on the stove top and nearly burned himself. He just put whole ass potatoes in a hot pan and thought he was cooking them for my mom. That was a very difficult night. But until last week he hadn't had an episode in nearly a year.

So I am hoping once the infection is completely gone and he is back in his own bed and able to get quality rest, these events will be rare again. But I am worried they may be a more common occurrence and I will have to adapt my caretaking to accommodate them. Perhaps I could sleep in the morning and afternoon instead of late evening. I dunno.

Anyway, his catheter procedure is in the morning and then I think he has dialysis. Since he won't be in his room most of the day, tomorrow might be a rest day for me. I'll stay home and try to catch up on all the sleep I've lost.

We are working it out. I think my dad has a decent prognosis at this point. But there are still many things that could go wrong. I am choosing to be optimistic at this point.

One final thought... my dad's medical care would be substantially worse if I was not there to advocate for him. It makes me feel sad for all of the elderly people out there who don't have someone to speak on their behalf trying to get them the best medical care possible. Like, if I didn't tell them he needs Ambien to sleep in the hospital, he could be so far into delirium right now that they would be unable to communicate with him at all.

[lomlhwa]

disordered (c.bg)

pairing: bf!beomgyu x gf!reader

preview: beomgyu doesn't care how much you weigh. he doesn't pay attention to that stuff. but when he notices you rushing to the bathroom and turning the fan on after every meal, he gets worried.

tags/warnings: fem reader, bulimic reader, mentions of eating disorders, reader forcing herself to throw up, gyu being super worried, pet names (baby, my love, angel), so much fluff at the end, they're so domestic it's sickening

trigger warnings: reader has bulimia (an eating disorder) and it is heavily explained and is the main plot point. if this triggers you, please keep scrolling.

wc: 1.3k

song recs for this fic: kiss by dojaejung, just right by got7, likey by twice

a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon. i hope you like it! if you have an eating disorder, please know that my page is a safe space to talk. my inbox and asks are always open.

beomgyu couldn't care less about your weight. no matter what, you’re beautiful to him. all he wants is for you to be happy and healthy. 

he has classic boyfriend blindness. he doesn’t notice when you change your hair or wear different shades of concealer. he doesn’t even notice when you change your earrings, which is sad when you buy new ones that you think he’ll like. 

now, luckily and unluckily for you, he also doesn’t notice when your weight changes. even if it’s a dramatic change. as long as you’re not morbidly obese or he can’t see your bones through your skin, he doesn’t care. 

your boyfriend absolutely loves cooking for you. breakfast, lunch and dinner. if he could actively afford to make 4 course, 5 star meals, he would do it. he loves seeing his beloved eating well for her health. 

now, one thing he does notice is you scurrying away after every meal. at first, he didn’t know where you were going. but when his ears finally picked up on the sound of the fan in the master bathroom, he put two and two together. 

well, almost put the pieces together. 

at first, he thought the food he was providing was giving you stomach aches and making you sick. he changed his recipes to try and find out what was making you sick without asking. but no matter what he took out, substituted or added less of, you always ran to the bathroom. 

he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he just decided he needed to follow you to the bathroom. so, that’s what he did. he let you scramble away before tiptoeing after you. he pressed his ear against the door and he listened into what you were doing.

he heard what he thought were gagging sounds and what he assumed was you throwing up. this solidified the thought that you were getting sick from his food. so, he quietly opened the door. he came face to face with you, shoving your pointer and middle fingers down your throat. 

he stood there for a moment, stunned. he said nothing as he silently closed the door. he walked back to the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools set at your island. he held his head in his hands as his mind ran through every possible reason you could be forcing yourself to throw up. 

by the time you came back from your hiding place, he had composed himself. he needed to figure out how to bring up the fact that he caught you vomiting. does he just straight up say; “hey y/n, i followed you to the bathroom and spied on you making yourself throw up so what the fuck?” obviously he couldn’t do that.

he decided he didn’t have enough evidence to decide that you had been forcing yourself. maybe you were just sick. he really wanted you to just be sick. he did not want to believe that you wanted to inflict pain upon yourself. 

so, for the next few meals, he trailed undetected behind you to the bathroom. each time he was faced with more proof that you were doing this to yourself on purpose. shoving your first two fingers so far down your throat to induce gagging and eventual vomiting. he can’t even imagine how raw your throat must be. 

he needs to intervene. he needs to do something to stop your habit. he wants to know why you’re doing this to yourself, despite the fact that there’s absolutely no good reason. he needs to make a good plan.

later that day, he makes a nice healthy meal for you. full of veggies and protein to make you strong and healthy. the things your body is probably lacking from vomiting. he watches you consume the food he made for you. you do it all with a smile but beomgyu knows your plan. 

you place your plate and fork in the dishwasher. you move to excuse yourself to the bathroom but he gets in your way. “what are you doing, gyu?” there’s a hint of laughter in your voice as you try to go around him. he blocks your path once again.

“no, y/n, don’t,” he says sternly. he shakes his head, “don’t what? i’m just going to the bathroom,” he shakes his head again, wrapping his arms around you. he presses your face into his chest, enveloping you in his scent. “i know why you go to the bathroom after every meal,” you eyes widen and your knees weaken. 

he knows. how does he know?

you slowly crumble to the floor, beomgyu never letting go of you and falling to the floor with you. you burst into loud sobs, hot tears staining beomgyu’s shirt. he holds you tightly as you weep in his hold. “why, baby? why would you do that to yourself?” he says, his mouth pressed to the hair on the top of your head.

your hands come up to grip beomgyu’s shirt, trying to bring him impossibly closer to you. you try to muster up an answer but what are you supposed to say to that? “i-i don’t know,” you wipe your tears and check the time. you’re running out of time to get the food out of your system. you try and wriggle your way out of your boyfriend’s hold. 

“please. i have to get it out,” you push against him and try to dart for the bathroom. “no, my love, you need the nutrients,” he holds you down tightly. more tears spill from your eyes as you realize he’s ruining your schedule. it’s too late. 

“beomgyu, i’m gonna get fat if i keep this food inside me,” you yell, shocking him. “let me up. i need to get it out.” this only makes him hold you down more. “you’re perfect just the way you are. you’re nowhere near fat. you’re closer to being a cluster of bones than you are to being fat.”

you claw at his arms to get him to let go of you, even managing to draw blood. you sink your teeth into the arm wrapped around your chest, trying to get him to flinch. but he doesn't. you don't bite enough to break the skin, not wanting to give him an infection. you rip at his already open wounds from your nails but beomgyu doesn't falter. his grip on you remains the same, keeping you close to him. even as his blood gets on you, the floor and his clothes he doesn't move. 

"baby, you're perfect. i've never met a woman as beautiful as you. from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, you're gorgeous. you don't need to purge and then force yourself to vomit. you're allowed to eat, enjoy your food and let your body use the nutrients to keep you healthy. you won't get fat." 

he peppers your face and your head with kisses, trying to get you to calm down. even just trying to get you to feel how much he loves you. "i love you so much. please be healthy," he says, his own eyes finally filling with tears. the realization of how desperate you'd been to get the food out of your system hits him like a transport truck. 

you remain on the floor for a few hours, long enough for it to become dark outside. you'd fallen asleep in beomgyu's arms after tiring yourself out fighting him. he untangles your limbs from his and lifts you up princess style. he walks to your bedroom and places you on your shared bed, bringing the covers over your body. 

he goes to the bathroom to bandage his arm, the blood having dried out long ago. he washes his gashes, hissing at the contact of the cold water. thankfully, you have wrap bandages on hand and he can wrap his whole arm. he wraps it like a cast, making sure it's secure with the gauze under it. 

he goes back to your bedroom and climbs into bed next to you. he silently admires you

his beautiful girl.  

© lomlhwa 2023

[rebrandedstoryline]

Rebranded - 16.4 - Aftermath

We close up our cute segment! Don't worry, more pain comes next. Because I am a horrible person.

Little over 1600 words. Have fun!

Sun and Moon made sure to clean up their little theater space once Storytime came to a close.

There were more books in the box. Sun and Moon examined each of them briefly. Based upon thickness alone, Celestial Beginnings was the shortest of the books Ayala had written. They also weren’t sure which story would be next in the series, as they all seemed to be connected. In the end, they thought it would be better to call it quits for the time being. The other books could wait for a while longer. They wouldn’t be going anywhere.

In any case, the stuffed animals were all re-dispersed throughout the house. Moon brought Henry back down to the closet to be safely tucked away. By the time they had gotten through with sorting through all of the cleanup, Ayala had seemingly finished with her work. For the time being at least.

She had moved on to starting something for supper. 

Still eager to learn more about cooking, Sun made his way into the kitchen to observe.

“What’s on the menu tonight, Sunbite~?” Sun playfully inquired, watching as the woman went about her business. She was pulling out all manner of interesting ingredients. 

Moon wound up sneaking in while she was distracted. Rather than stand by the counter, he just sat down. He was in a rather conflicted state. One where he wanted to feel like he was involved but he didn’t want to actually socialize. 

Being in the room without interacting with anyone would be the best compromise.

“Steak Tartare. Or at least my bastardized take on it.” Ayala hummed in turn, doing a once over of everything that she had on the counter. 

She had all of the basics for the recipe. Some fresh beef. A shallot. Some garlic. Anchovies. Olive oil. Eggs. Plus a few other ingredients that she may or may not decide to use. 

The daytime attendant began to tilt his head. That was a food item that he had never heard of before. 

Given that the woman knew that he could connect to the internet, she opted to remain silent for a bit. Part of her wanted to see if he would attempt to look up the recipe on his own. And if he did, she was more or less expecting an amusing reaction.

She would get just that.

“Goodness! Sunbite, you shouldn’t be eating such dangerous food! You’re just asking for trouble!” Sun abruptly commented, practically jumping upon realizing exactly what steak tartare was. He began to shake a scolding finger in Ayala’s direction as he spoke, further attempting to discourage her from preparing such a hazardous dish. 

A sort of quiet laugh escaped her in response to this.

“Somehow, I knew you were gonna freak out over this~” Ayala replied, laughing a bit more even as she spoke. 

Still, she went about the business of preparing her meal. Starting by finely mincing the various ingredients that were going to be mixed into the final dish. 

Her response only coaxed a worried noise out of the daytime attendant.

“Really now, Sunbite! Consumption of raw or undercooked beef is not safe! You could transmit a foodborne illness, or even contract internal parasites! You really shouldn’t risk it...” Sun pleaded, actually stepping around the counter so that he could approach the woman. He was really worried that she might go and get herself sick.

“Relax, Sunny. I’ve eaten this before, and I’ve been fine. Besides, you’ll be here to take care of me if I get sick~” Ayala replied, continuing to go about the business of making the steak tartare. She finely minced the various ingredients and arranged them in a shallow bowl to be mixed. 

Her commentary seemed to confuse Sun for a moment, before he became rather flustered.

“H-hey! That’s no fair! Using my own protocols against me!” Sun stammered out, admittedly conflicted about his emotions. 

On one hand, Ayala had effectively just admitted that she would allow him to take care of her if she ever got sick. On the other, she was intentionally doing something that could get her sick. So he was happy that she would let him take care of her; but he was upset that she seemed to care so little for her own health. Especially after recent events. She had only recently recovered from her little emotional catastrophe, relating to the contents of the Sad Box. He was afraid that she might be trying to intentionally hurt herself!

The woman simply laughed to herself again, progressing to the final steps of preparing the main dish. Steak tartare was not an overly complicated thing to make. Especially when someone was making a sort of lazy version of it. All that remained now was to mix everything together.

“Look, Sun. I’ve eaten this at least a half a dozen times. So that means I’ve eaten it and been fine at least half a dozen times. I’m sure I’ll eat it another half dozen times and be fine. So, relax~” Ayala replied calmly, attempting to calm the animatronic down with a bit of extra logic. She knew that he meant well. But she also knew that the odds of getting sick were relatively low. Modern day food processing was rather sophisticated and most of the information pertaining to foodborne illnesses originated from incidents that occurred decades prior. 

Still, Sun offered a rather unhappy groan in response to her nonchalant attitude. 

Moon, meanwhile, remained silent. He effectively had the attitude of ‘Don’t blame anyone else if you get sick’. 

When the solar animatronic remained unhappy, she offered something of a sigh.

“Look. I’m having a real strong craving for red meat. I’ve suffered from anemia in the past. So when I get a craving, I eat some beef and that usually clears everything up. It hasn’t gotten me sick thus far, and I don’t think it’ll get me sick tonight.” She explained, trying to give Sun a valid excuse so that he would calm down. 

The animatronic continued to offer unhappy noises for a moment, before eventually relenting.

“Alright...” Sun muttered, still rather uneasy with the idea of her eating raw meat. Then again, he wasn’t okay with the idea of consuming raw meat himself either. The idea admittedly brought up some rather uncomfortable memories. “M-Moony and I don’t have to eat that, do we?...” He inquired, wanting to make sure that Ayala didn’t expect them to consume the dish of raw beef and egg. 

He could tell by the woman’s sudden change in posture that his question had confused her. Animatronics could not get sick or contract parasites through the consumption of raw meat and eggs. So she must have been struggling to try and think up some sort of explanation behind the question. 

Thankfully, she did not try to question why they would want to avoid eating the peculiar dish.

“Well, no. You never have to eat something if you don’t want to. There’s some leftover rice in the fridge to make a lazy stir fry with, if you’d prefer that. Or whatever else you might want.” Ayala replied, making sure to remind the animatronic that he need not eat something if he did not wish to eat it. They had the choice to consume things that they enjoyed. 

Being told this admittedly relieved Sun, who seemed to let out a sigh. 

What followed was a brief moment of silence, before the woman decided to try and change the subject.

“So. What did you think of the book?” She inquired, admittedly somewhat curious as to what the animatronics had thought of her story.

“Oh! Thanks for asking, I almost forgot! The book was lovely~ Very different from anything we ever read at Fazbear. Very creative~” Sun replied, quite happy to go along with the change of subject. 

Even if it was just a distraction, it was a pleasant distraction. 

The woman offered an idle hum in response, finishing up with the main aspect of her supper. All that was left was to make some garlic toast to eat it with.

“That was the first book I ever published... Got really lucky with it. Had almost no sales for the first six months, then it just flew off the shelves. If I’m remembering right, a couple schools bought a bunch of the books en masse at a discount. They needed cheap books to give away at some sort of event.” Ayala explained, opening up about her past to some degree. “A bunch of kids wound up really liking the story, and it just progressed from there. Published another batch once there was a demand, then sat down and started writing other books.” She added, explaining how it was that her job as a story writer started. 

This, admittedly, made Sun happy. He liked the idea of her being comfortable enough with him to trust him with details about herself. The good or the bad. Given how reluctant she was to discuss her past with anyone, any amount of unprompted disclosure was welcome.

“Well. I look forward to reading the rest~ Which one should I read next~?” Sun responded, asking the woman which book she would recommend he read next. 

Ayala offered a hum in response to this, seemingly in thought.

“Well... Let's see. I believe ‘Why the Moon Wanes’ was the next story in the series, and after that it was ‘How the Sky gained its Stars’... Or, no. No, it was ‘Why the Moon Wanes’ followed by ‘Perils of the Sunlight’, then I wrote ‘How the Sky gained its Stars’. Sorry, I get things a bit mixed up. All of the books are a continuation of the first story, but they jump perspectives. So there’s multiple linear paths.” Ayala explained, giving Sun a rough idea of which books he should read in what order. 

The animatronic smiled in response, making sure to take special note of those specific book titles.

“Well, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind~” Sun responded happily.

[music-shelter-wilderness]

Soup Cure

I always find myself in the kitchen when you’re in the hospital.

At this point it's all onions and garlic—aromatic but thin, coming to a boil as I pour in the stock. I close my eyes and take in the steam. I let it go too long, until the whole kitchen smells the same unfinished way.

In my defense, I’m a good baker. I have too much patience. I spend it on watching bread rise. I sit on the kitchen floor and turn on the oven light and watch the loaf take its first breaths, no longer just water and flour but something alive. The egg wash browns and shines. The salt melts. It grows all on its own. It tastes as good as it looks.

I’m a horrible cook by comparison. There’s a lot of reasons—I’m not flexible enough to throw the recipe away. My mother is a good cook, but she never taught me. I feel like I’m running out of time from the moment I turn the heat on, yet it’s raw when I cut inside.

I can’t imagine anyone would trust me with a grill.

If it needs time in the oven, that I can do. I can leave well enough alone. I can be well alone.

I say that like I didn’t forget the sugar in a cheesecake. I stir the soup for the third time in two minutes and start talking to myself. My friends all tried the damn thing before it dawned on me, and we laughed, but most of it ended up in the trash rather than in our mouths. I scolded myself for my carelessness, for squandering a child with so much potential. I rarely make the same mistake twice, but I always forget something.

I must have forgotten to ask how you were, to remind you to eat dinner, to call me if you needed anything. I know you have a hard time asking for help.

I regret the dark jokes—telling you that NSAIDs are a painful way to go. You must have gotten ideas of valiant suffering. For what sins, I can’t imagine. It wasn’t your fault.

I cut the carrots and the chicken into messy cubes, but they never make it in the pot. They never make it back into the fridge. They rot on the counter, forgotten. Your mother never taught you how to cook.

I sit down on the sofa and sip at the broth I made. It’s under-seasoned, but I’m not sure what it lacks. Oregano? Maybe some paprika could round it out. I’m trying to sound smart. I don’t know what half of these things really taste like on their own. It comes with experience I don’t yet have.

Maybe by the time we’re thirty I’ll have figured out how to season a chicken soup. I can feed it to you when you get a cold, propped up in bed and complaining to your heart’s content. You’ll remind me that you don’t like onions, and I’ll figure out how to make it taste good regardless.

What will they give you for the pain instead, in my absence, now that paracetamol makes you sick?

Oh, right. They never offer you anything for the pain—they can’t even be bothered to keep your belly full.

I rarely have the energy to do dishes right away. Hot water makes me feel dizzy, and I already feel dizzy. Everything goes straight in the sink to soak while I lay on the floor and count the number of kernels in the shitty popcorn ceiling. I think about watching movies with you. I think about laughing and talking right through them, more content in your company than with the consumption.

I think about Sausage Casserole, the cat you want to get. I think about the 3 am breakfasts you want to have. My stomach feels empty all over again.

You’ll tell me that the paramedic was hot, you just got a little silly. We’ll go back to our procedurals and update your CD collection playlist. You won’t tell me that I shouldn’t worry, because we both know you’ll be back.

By 4 am, I let myself go. The heat is all but gone, and I’ve forgotten how it tasted. The day is a blur. The nausea from my antipsychotics is wearing off, and I can put my phone away.

I’ll take stock in the morning. I resign myself to the possibility I’ll wake to a world where you never got past broth. I fix myself on the possibility that you will have added the celery in my absence.

[getosgf]

Cooking without a recipe

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Fandom: tokyo revengers

Characters: mikey, draken, chifuyu, baji, mitsuya

My headcanons on how cooking without a recipe with them would go

Cw: some curse words

An: aaaaaaaa I’m so sorry for not posting for some time, life’s been kinda hectic these days and I’m still trying to finish some of the requests😭 also it’s my birthday today :) (Not proofread so sorry for any mistakes)

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Mikey

He had been craving chicken nuggets for a while now, so you offered to make some homemade ones with him

You found a good recipe online but he insisted following a recipe wasn’t needed

“It’s literally just chicken and breadcrumbs, we can just wing it” pun not intended

Oh boy

It had already gone wrong when you went shopping for ingredients

Instead of buying chicken cutlets, mf bought a whole ass grilled chicken

“Since it’s already grilled we can’t get salmon vanilla😁”

Cutting the chicken into bite sized pieces was a disaster

He somehow nearly stabbed you

You told him you’d take over the cutting from him and he could toss the chicken chunks into some egg and breadcrumbs

Literally the easiest task, right?

WRONG

When I tell you this mf licked his fingers EVERYTIME he dipped a chicken piece into the beaten egg

Anyway

You went on to frying the chicken after you banned him from the kitchen

He was kinda sad about it

But it was the right thing to do

To cheer him up a bit you put a flag on the top chicken nugget on the plate

After taking your first bite you realized you forgot the seasoning because of the chaos💀

He fought for his life on the toilet that night (don’t eat raw egg kids!)

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Draken

You were incredibly hungry after getting back from driving through the countryside on the back of Draken’s motorcycle

He offered to make his special hot curry for the both of you

Since you were absolutely famished, of course you couldn’t reject his generous offer

You watched him get all the ingredients he needed

You asked if he needed a recipe, to which he replied that he’d already made it so many times, he knew the recipe by heart

Growing up without parents made him a fairly good cook

He began with cooking the rice

Then he cut the chicken and vegetables into bite-sized chunks à la gordon ramsey or so he tried

You offered your help, but he refused to let you lift a single finger

A true gentleman

He cooked onion and garlic in a pan until they became fragrant

He added the chicken and vegetables to the pan

While he was preparing the grated apple and honey for the curry roux in a pot with water, the smell of something burning began to fill the kitchen

“What’s that funky smell, did you just fart- SHIT THE PAN”

He RAN to his vegetables and tried to save them from completely burning to a crisp

He successfully saved them after turning down the heat and burning his fingers trying to toss out some black pieces of carrot

He was so focused on flexing his cooking skills on you, he totally forgot he was, indeed, cooking

You helped him pour ice cold water on his burned finger tips to ease the pain, which he secretly really appreciated even though he tried to act chill about it

“You’re always so overly worried, it doesn’t even hurt” ow ow ow ow ow ow

He went on to add the curry roux with the chicken and vegetables and turned off the heat

When the curry roux pieces were completely dissolved, he served the curry with the rice on the fanciest plates he owned aka not made out of paper

Even after some trouble, the dish was absolutely delicious

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Chifuyu

He wanted to make a Swiss roll with you for a long time and you guys finally found the time to do it

At first you were really working together as a team

But later on he wanted to play dumb

“Can you please show me how to make the filling? I don’t know how to do it :(“

He does, he knows how to do it, he just likes to see you mix all the ingredients and explain everything carefully to him

It’s when he started to throw compliments your way mid-explanation that you knew what he was doing

So you told him that it was his turn to put everything you just told him into practice :)

Boy was dumbfounded, flabbergasted even

He was CONVINCED that he could just let you do all the work

Didn’t try to play dumb after tho, he was already caught once, chances of him getting caught twice were too big

But he was actually useful after you put him in his place

Some mistakes were made here and there like adding too much red food colouring, making the cake batter red instead of pink

Rolling up the Swiss roll almost failed miserably, the cake nearly broke

But everything turned out fine after a lot of screaming and panicking from both of you

The time had come for the cake to rest in the refrigerator for a couple of hours

Guess what

Mf couldn’t wait and ate half of it by the time the Swiss roll was actually done resting💀

He didn’t help you clean up either, said he was too sick to move

Never baked anything with him after

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Baji

Just like most days, he was realllyyyyyy craving some peyoung yakisoba

One problem tho

He didn’t have any at home, nor did he have any money, nor did he know how to make it with the ingredients he had

So he texted you to come over and buy some yakisoba for him

Since you know that him trying to cook on his own would result in the kitchen being on fire, you accepted his demand request

You showed up to his home with a backpack filled with peyoung yakisoba

He tried to reach for the packets in your backpack but you flicked his hand away before he could manage to grab them

Not even a thank you? Tch

Anyway, you prepared some boiling water for the instant noodles before he tried to eat them raw

“They’re crispy that way! What’s wrong with crispy noodles?!”

Everything.

Of course this mf doesn’t even know how to prepare instant noodles, so you had to do everything on your own

It was for the best tbh, he’d probably manage to screw up the most simple steps

But you let him empty the sachets with seasoning into the noodles, since banning him from the kitchen would be useless

He’d just keep coming back

However, you were right about him screwing up simple things

Instead of first opening the sachets, he just tossed them in, unopened

You didn’t have the energy to get mad at him tbh😐

You chased him out of the kitchen with a dough roller and fished out the seasoning sachets

He finally left you alone, so you were able to finish preparing the yakisoba

You insisted on just ordering takeout pizza for him next time

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Mitsuya

It was your birthday and so he decided to bake you a cake

He turned to pinterest for some inspiration to bake the most aesthetic cake you’ve ever seen

After scrolling for hours in search for the perfect cake, he decided on baking a matcha white chocolate cake with green frosting and decorated with edible flowers

He got the ingredients and got straight to work

First he made the batter with utmost precision, even without a recipe to follow along

Not even a tiny piece of egg shell in the batter, what a professional

Has this cooking playlist that he hums to while baking your cake

This man has incredibly steady hands, meaning that when he poured the batter into the heart shaped cake form, no batter was spilled

Like when he finished baking, he didn’t even need to do any cleaning up, the kitchen was still clean af

When the cake was done baking, he put on those cute lil oven mitts and successfully got the cake out of the oven

Even while his little sisters were dangling from his legs, he managed to decorate the cake with an inhuman precision

To top it off he wrote a sweet happy birthday message on the cake :)

Delivered the cake personally to you in a cute green box, matching the cake

Possibly the best cake you ever had, period

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[steampunkserpent27]

You deserve it all

Written for @drarrymicrofic 's prompt feast CW: light angst but overall happy vibes I'd like to thank @drarrymybeloved for the beta!

Draco let the oven door snap shut with a clang, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sigh. He’d already destroyed two roasts. The first, when he’d pulled it out to check if it was done, had been an angry flaming red in the middle. So he’d put it back, thinking it just needed more time, but when the timer finally went off it was dreadfully dry and not at all tender. The second had been a disaster from the start. The lid for the garlic salt had decided to pop off, covering the raw meat in an inch of powder. He tried to scrape it off but that only pushed the garlic deeper. He tried to spell it clean, but that only ruined the meat further, making it entirely inedible. He’d given up and thrown it away. While the final roast cooked, he started peeling the potatoes. He decided to do everything by hand, seeing how the last spell ruined everything. Dropping the potatoes in a pot of boiling water, he promptly covered them with a lid, catching the escaping steam. He then set multiple ears of corn into a larger pot, watching everything with a nervous anticipation. He followed the directions from the cookbook that Harry always used. Draco was clueless when it came to the kitchen, so Harry ended up doing almost all of the cooking. He never complained about it. Not even once. Draco had thanked Harry on many occasions. But he was worried Harry didn’t understand how much it meant to him. So, he had decided he was going to cook an entire meal by himself and have it ready by the time Harry got home. It seemed like the clearest way to say thank you. It didn’t matter to Draco that he had a sharp pain in his side from standing over the stove all day. It also didn’t matter to Draco that he’d cut his finger while peeling the potatoes. It would all be worth it, as long as the roast turned out. Draco let out an audible sigh of relief as he set everything on the table. It was all perfect. As perfect as he could make it. Harry would be home at any moment. Pacing nervously, Draco poked and prodded at the forks and spoons, making sure everything was arranged in their proper order. He hovered near the table, not wanting to sit down until Harry arrived but also not wanting to spring at him as he opened the door. The doorknob clicked and turned as the door swung open, letting in an icy torrent of wind and snow flurries. Harry’s face was flushed red from the cool biting air, and he had a scarf wrapped firmly around his neck. He stumbled inside, shoving the door shut with a grunt as he quickly fumbled with the buttons on his coat. “Welcome home, love.” Draco hurried over, helping him slip his winter gear off, “Did you have a good day?” Harry blinked, suddenly noticing the fully stocked table, “Is… is someone coming over?” Draco chuckled, smiling brightly, “No! It’s for you! You make dinner every night and I wanted to do something special.” “It.. it’s for me?” Draco grabbed onto Harry’s freezing hand, squeezing tightly, “Of course.” Harry looked lost, staring at the steaming meal with wide eyes, “I.. I.. t-thank you.” He mumbled at last. Draco had to gently lead Harry over to the table and help him sit down, as he had frozen and wasn’t moving. He sat down in the chair next to him, “It’s not as good as your cooking, but I followed your recipe.” Harry’s shoulders shook as his face crumpled into tears, which he quickly hid behind trembling hands. “What’s wrong?” Draco reached out, his hand hanging in the air as he hesitated, “Did.. did I do something wrong?” Maybe Harry had been looking forward to cooking and he’d taken that away from him. Had he messed up again? Harry’s head shook frantically as another quiet sob escaped him, “N-no. I’m.. I’m sorry.” He let his hand rest on his husband’s shoulder, feeling it bob up and down, “What is it?” “I.. I’ve never had.. anyone do something s-so nice. I’m .. I’m sorry. Just g-give me a minute.” Draco let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t made Harry mad. “Of course.” He waited until Harry’s breathing had calmed down, keeping his hand steady on his shoulder. “Sorry.” Harry

mumbled sheepishly, wiping his eyes clean with a napkin. “You don’t have to apologize.” Harry reached over and wrapped his arms around Draco, hugging him tightly, “Thank you. Thank you.” Draco blinked, surprise flashing in his eyes as he rubbed Harry’s back, “You deserve the world, Harry. The least I could do is make dinner.” “It means.. It means everything to me. I can’t even begin to tell you.” “You should’ve had this your entire life. I’m sorry you’re only getting it now.” Harry shook his head, “I’d rather have it from you.”

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x10 thoughts

GOOD GOD.

“No Weddings and a Funeral” is like being hungover but also coming out of a hangover. Having a terrible cold but also feeling better and appreciating every breath that comes through your nose. Embarking on an organizational project and accidentally falling into a photo album and crying about the pictures and organizing almost nothing tangible but making a few things more clear in your brain.

So much of this episode is about the AWFUL POINTLESSNESS OF DECORUM. How loud is too loud when you’re drinking stolen wine and shrieking about sex in a church right before your father’s funeral? How should you feel--thirty years later, as an accommodating, anger-averse person--about having been too angry to attend the funeral for your father who killed himself? What expression should you make when you show up really late to a different funeral? Why must you wear uncomfortable shoes just because someone died? What happens in your mind between standing up to give a eulogy for a man you’re still angry with and choosing to Rick Roll your mom and everyone else as an act of complicated love, humiliatingly incomplete until someone else starts to sing? Should you worry about your therapist seeing your normally tidy flat in a full-on state of depression mess? Is it okay to be offended that your boyfriend is so uncomfortable about death that he can’t stop making morbid jokes? Should you care about other people caring that you’re crunching an apple in church or squealing with joy to be reunited with a friend you’ve not seen in awhile? Are you obligated to explain your behavior if your kid doesn’t understand how you could stay with someone unfaithful? How far behind the counter should you sink when your [undefined relationship person]’s mother has just let you know she can see your dick through your underwear? Is a funeral reception an okay place to find a hookup? Is a funeral reception a decent spot for a break-up? Is a funeral reception a good time for a love confession when you know the person you’re confessing to is happy with someone else? And who do you make eye contact with when you can’t look directly at the person asking you if you’re okay when there’s so, so much about you she doesn’t know yet? Even if--for this tiny little moment within a vast swath of many okay and not-okay moments--you’re honest when you tell her that you are?

I fucking adored this episode because it answers all these questions very simply: Show up. Show up for yourself. Show up for your friends. Try not to harm yourself. Try not to harm your friends.

I love that this episode is about the messiness of adulthood and the things we bring with us from childhood and that it takes place partially in Rebecca’s childhood bedroom, and in Ted’s childhood memories. Dwelling in those places (whether physically or mentally) isn’t an automatic recipe for regression, but it does get everyone closer to the things that made them who they are, to the unresolved and half-buried parts of them that still make them tick today.

Forever obsessed with every single detail about Rebecca’s childhood bedroom.

Forever obsessed with Deborah’s decision to Rick Roll herself every single morning of her life.

Forever obsessed with Rebecca’s decision to Rick Roll her father’s funeral as a way to not have to make up a single word about her father and to do something very vulnerable and kind for herself and her mother and everyone.

Forever obsessed with Ted’s decision to Rick Roll Rebecca Rick Rolling her father’s funeral.

Forever obsessed with an entire found family backing it up.

I love that it is Isaac’s leadership that ensures every single member of the team attends the service for Paul.

I am very, very interested in Jamie’s love confession to Keeley because I do think it will spark some reflection in Keeley but I do not think it’ll go the cliched love triangle route.

Each scene with Rebecca and Sam struck (for me, a human being sharing a subjective perspective on the internet) the tender-awkward-beautiful-stressful chord I was hoping it would. I think it’s wonderful that Sam is honest with Rebecca about how difficult it is to keep their relationship a secret, and I love that Rebecca has a million mostly-unarticulated reasons for why she’d much prefer the secret to continue. I like that Sassy, Keeley, and Nora respond to the revelation as friends; they might be tempering their judgments in part because they’ve all gathered to bury Rebecca’s dad, but I don’t think their reactions would’ve been that different even on a happier occasion.

While there are a million and one different reasons why a continued relationship between Rebecca and Sam could cause serious ethical problems, I really love that when people share big news on this show, the people who care about them generally react by trying to see why the person is doing what they’re doing. Doesn’t mean they shouldn’t also hold each other accountable, but in my book it’s OK that Keeley’s first reaction was to feel happy that her friend is having some fun.

Also everyone has been making weird judgment calls this season, and this episode felt like a moment of real breakthroughs in terms of people telling the truth about things that happened to them and leaving themselves open to honest responses from others.

September 13, 1991. It’s so tenderly, beautifully, overwhelmingly meaningful that there’s still so much Ted and Rebecca don’t know about the things they have in common in these parallel lives they’re leading. The scene between Sarah Niles and Jason Sudeikis is so beautifully acted, and so is the scene between Hannah Waddingham and Harriet Walter. The way they intertwine to communicate that Ted and Rebecca basically lost the ability to trust their fathers simultaneously, from an ocean away? In the hands of lesser storytellers, it would feel too perfect a mirroring, but here it feels heartbreakingly imperfect. All the things they still don’t know. All the questions they try to ask each other. All the things they don’t dare ask yet. And then the storytellers are holding a candle up to all of it and letting the audience bask in the glow of this connection even if Ted and Rebecca can’t fully understand it yet.

I am so proud that Rebecca and Deborah were able to embark on the beginnings of a conversation about the ways Deborah and Paul’s relationship might have resembled or not resembled Rebecca and Rupert’s. It feels possible that they could get to a point where Rebecca truly internalizes her mother’s pride that she broke a cycle by leaving Rupert, and could maybe even understand why her mother made the choices she made. I love that in the final scene, they’re still relying on their old mother-daughter conversational patterns—the frustrations, the snippy shorthand, the passive-aggression. Mothers and daughters!

I am also proud that Ted—albeit via a joke about Sharon charging him for the house call—indicates that he understands the value of Sharon’s work. He’s changed a lot, all in realistic ways for someone who loves learning and really does want to meet people where they are and appreciate them. I’m very moved that instead of putting himself in a real harmful situation by showing up to the funeral on time at any cost, he did what he needed to do to take care of himself and accept care from someone else. And then Sharon’s suggestion that he think about things he loved about his father? And the way he’s able to share a positive memory of Rebecca’s own father at a time when she really needed it? Gosh.

Awkward, undecorous transition from 1991 to present-day incoming...but SASSY! She’s just, like, a whirling dervish of loyal friendship and not giving a fuck and penis size discussions and being casually, delightfully cruel to Rupert, who so deserves it. Rebecca was going on a real face journey when Sassy goes off with Ted at the end, and I’m sort of *eyes emoji* about all of that, but I continue to feel like Sassy is the most imperfectly wonderful friend-from-the-past kind of person and I love everything she and Nora get to do in this episode.

Keeley saying “That baby is whack” might be my favorite line in the episode? Maybe the whole show? Not really but really.

FUCK YOU, RUPERT. Bex and Diane, y’all are fine. And I truly feel for Nate...whatever scheme he’s getting suckered into. Whatever insecurity Rupert is preying on. I want Nate to go to therapy, too.

I feel like it was an unpopular opinion at the time, but I loved Rebecca’s 2x1 revelation about vulnerability and fear of getting hurt and needing to let someone love her. Sassy doesn’t always word things in the most nuanced way, but I think there’s a real possibility that she did ask Rebecca to really consider what it means to feel either safe or unsafe with a person but to know that in either circumstance, that person could end up causing her pain. Standing in that closet with Sam, managing to make it clear that she’s not asking for a break because she knows he will hurt her but because she has to figure out how to be with a wonderful person who could cause her pain...the growth, man. Makes me emotional.

I emerged from this episode feeling, of course, stunned by all the amazing parallels and revelations and beautiful acting and Rick Rolls and just, everything. I also emerged feeling sad/raw/tender because messiness and decorum and growth and coping mechanisms and death and dramatic irony and not knowing things about people and not knowing what you don’t know...it’s a sad, raw, tender place to be.

To quote a guy who got a whole sitcom (lol) named after him, life is real hard.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Ice Storm (part 1)

Almost eight inches of snowfall just that morning, and it was only supposed to get worse.

B had their windshield wipers on high as they slowly made their way through the near-deserted streets, wishing they had a snowplow.

When they finally got to the shabby building C called home, they felt the familiar twinge in their chest at the reminder of the conditions their friend lived in. For the moment they pushed it away - there wasn't anything they could do about it now, not when they had more pressing concerns.

They rushed through the freezing parking lot as quick as they could, kicking snow off their boots on the steps up to the front door and blowing on their hands. They had to get C out of here, and fast.

B scrambled up the stairs to the third floor and knocked. When C didn't answer the door their concern for them turned to flat out worry. They hadn't been answering their phone, texts, anything, nobody had been able to get in touch with them.

They knocked again, more urgently this time. Finally, they heard the lock turn and the door opened slowly to reveal the pale face of their best friend.

C looked exhausted. "B?" they said, rubbing their eye. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

"Almost one in the afternoon." C's haggard appearance had startled them. "C, are you okay?"

They coughed a little into their elbow. "Fine. Just slept in too late." A shiver took hold of them and they clutched their sweater more tightly around them. For the first time B noticed their breath was steaming even inside. "C...have you had any heat? At all?"

C shivered again. "Not really, I guess. I think the furnace broke down yesterday...it's been cold even with it on, thought."

So they'd been in the freezing cold on top of the storm? B's concern only deepened. "You need to come with me. I'm getting you out of here, we've got power at my place still but you'll freeze if you stay where you are. Half the city's lost power from all the ice."

"Ice?" C frowned slightly out their back window. "Oh," they said, evidently glimpsing the layer of solid ice cast over every surface, turning the world to a glittering wonderland. It would be beautiful, if it wasn't so damn cold. And if the sky wasn't still casting snow and sleet in turn down from it.

"Come with me, C," B repeated. "Grab some clothes and a toothbrush, you might be with us a few days."

To their surprise, C didn't protest, instead dutifully shuffling in their bedroom for a few moments before returning with the appropriate necessities. Odd. In the past it had taken forever to get them to accept help.

In a few minutes they were both packed into the car and on their way out of the icy parking lot. Step one complete. Though B couldn't help worrying about how much C was still shivering - how much had living in the cold like they were affected them? They turned up the heat, just to be safe.

After half an hour of careful driving over traffic-clogged, ice-slicked roads, C fell asleep curled up in their seat. B didn't bother them. After all, who knew how much sleep they'd been getting?

The snowfall thickened as they finally made their way out of the city, making visibility near impossible at times. At least they would soon be on one of the smaller country roads off the highway, surely it was bound to be less busy.

The light began to turn grey as late afternoon approached and the clouds thickened. It was when they hit a bump in the road that C finally woke up with a jolt, looking around them in a disoriented way.

"Sorry," said B, "pot hole."

"It's okay." B instantly tuned in to how hoarse their friend sounded. They gave a small groan and sat back, rubbing their eyes. A few small coughs escaped them - small, but sounding a lot worse than at the apartment. "C," B said again, "are you okay?"

Silence. Then -

"No. Not really."

Deaf to C's protests, B pulled them over to the curb. "What is it? Will you talk to me?"

Their friend looked worse, much worse; red patches appearing in their pale cheeks and more red around their eyes, violent shivers hitting them every few seconds. "Just - I'm just really tired."

"Bullshit." B reached over and felt their forehead with the back of their hand, only to jerk it away almost immediately. It was like being in a car with a bloody solar flare.

"Oh, C." Sympathy overrode frustration, at least for the present. "How long have you had a fever like that? You shouldn't even be functioning!"

C coughed again, this time sounding deeper and more raw and a hundred times more painful. "A day or two, I think. I didn't want to bother you."

"C, you can always bother me for something like this. And your heat was out - you could have done real damage to yourself being sick in the cold like that."

"I know." Their friend sounded so tired, and close to tears at that. "I know. I just...it was too much."

"Okay. Okay, just let me think." Well, they'd done all they could at this point. They were on their way somewhere much warmer and more comfortable, with food and medicine and anything their poor friend might need. All they could do was help where they could.

"Let's get you back to the house. That's the most important thing. We'll get you lying down somewhere nice and warm, how does that sound? Maybe make you some hot tea? Or better - last year D taught me their family chicken soup recipe, it'll be the best thing you ever taste."

C was quiet for a moment. It took B a second to realize they were crying silently. "That...that sounds really good," they said in a tiny voice.

Suddenly awkward, B lowered their gaze from their tearstained face. "Good, because that's what you're getting. Expect some real pampering until you're feeling better."

C gave a shaky laugh and B thought it was safe to look up again. They patted C rather clumsily on the shoulder. "Come on, kid. Let's get you back home."

[tentamissilebrat]

Quick Obey Me Headcanons I have for my MC and stories

I wanted a place for this because I’ve been thinking about this stuff as I've been writing a story and because I'm feeling really in the mood for plotting this out in my own head.

Mammon definitely still sleeps in the nude but tries to do less so on account of the number of times Clang comes over because "Mamo? Do you think plants wish they could whisper secrets?" Because Clang has a lot of 3am questions and, look, it's easier to just wear pants then wake up naked, your crush/datefriend hovering over you, letting you scream before saying "I think it's a flaw that you can't turn off your tastebuds."

Belphie sleeps everywhere but is something of a stickler if he sees other people napping in weird places, especially his family. Like, no, of course he doesn't care, but no he does and he's woken up from sleeping on this couch with pains from his neck to his back so, hey, wake up, wake up so you don't damage your back idiot.

Clang encourages the worst of Lucifer's tea mania because they'll be out shopping and Clang will pull him into the tea shop and ten minutes later, there's 20 new tea pots, 15 different tea sets, and too many new orders of quality tea. Lord Diavolo loves it because Clang hosts more tea parties after a successful tea endeavor and thus there's more group hangouts where less stupid bull I mean, fun events are held against everyone's will!!

This is very specific to how I write Clang and their relationships but I'll throw it in here: Clang is only romantically involved with the boys, but is not uninterested in pursuing other relationships with the other Dateables. I do think as of now, Clang and Solomon are courting, Clang is....giving some time to Lord Diavolo because they don't trust him (more on that another time), and Clang admitted to not feeling romantic towards Simeon during his confession, but said that they would like to try. So they're in a half-courting thing while Clang worries over what's happening to him during season 4 (and if it has anything to do with them). Barbados and Clang are....not exactly icy, but when Barbados tells the MC ingame that "I'm curious over you, but I don't really care beyond that", Clang was like "No yeah, that checks."

Luke, during their first year in the Devildom, tried to remind Clang that he's "technically older! I should be the one taking care of you!" Clang just took this as "I should call him older brother". So they do. A lot. In public. Luke: (Sees Clang and Mammon walking together to class) Clang! Clang: (Turning around, sees Luke, big smile) Big Brother! It's very jarring for people who aren't in the know (actually, it's somewhat jarring for people anyway, since it looks like someone in their late 20s being deeply respectful to a pouty child who barely reaches the other one's stomach) but Luke actually likes it! Clang tends to be very respectful and affectionate towards him as well (Old habits die hard when you have cold parents) so he likes it! Clang likes that someone so genuinely likes considering them a part of their family.

I think when the boys used to miss Clang, they all collectively would do family bonding that Clang tried to encourage. Family movie night is never adhered to as much when Clang is gone, but it definitely happens. In fact, if someone tries to weasel out, one of the brothers looks over at them and goes "It's Friday so it's family movie night". When Clang comes back, they regale them with the movies they all saw and the games they played and all promise to do it now that everyone in the family is home.

After learning a few very simple recipes, Beel bakes a little more after that first year of the student exchange program. More often he eats the raw ingredients or whole bowls or pans of batter, but he tries again once he feels he can. Filling up the house with something warm and good makes him feel it's home. Sometimes, he does it because he misses his favorite human. Sometimes, he does it because the house feels too cold, too much like how it used to be. Sometimes....he bakes and wonders if Lilith would have liked it. He wishes he could show her, he hopes somehow that when Clang comes home, takes a bite out of something he makes, somehow Lilith can taste it. Or just the joy her precious descendant takes from his baking. He hopes Lilith can taste that too.

Satan is the only one Clang talks to about the timeline trauma willingly, because initially they needed help seeing if things were different and, if so, how much? Satan has had to hold Clang as they cried, confused and upset at the feeling of being a replacement for themselves, feeling like they jacked the life of a different Clang. Satan is a little more bitter towards Lord Diavolo once Clang pieces together that Lord Diavolo must have known they would die, he must have, and admits to Satan about feeling lied to, time and time again, by Lord Diavolo.

I don't really want to leave any boys out so uhhhhh Levi and Clang's relationship is sort of based on the fact that Levi really did think for the longest time that Clang was a normie who was only interested in like "normie anime" (think Naruto, Dragon Ball, and My Hero Academia if you've never had this lobbied at you or a friend) so he was trying to get them used to the "good shit". Cut to someone else (probably Satan) asking about what their personal library set up was like, and Levi overhears that Clang has a whole half of their bookcase dedicated to shoujo manga. Turns out, when Levi was trying to figure out what kind of anime to show them, he went to the general consensus for good anime and (I don't know if anyone's noticed) they're either ghibli movies or sci-fi/action shows. Cut to Levi being embarrassed that they never told him they were a huge weeb too!! ("You never asked, you just called me a normie and didn't even ask me for an 8x8." "I didn't even know you knew what that meant! I-I-I-! You just looked too nice and normal to get into anime!" "....You think I'm nice and normal? :D")

Asmo and Clang do a lot of skin care treatments and make up sessions together (mostly because Asmo drags them into it) and Clang will write about the experience and how romantic it was for them (if you've ever had a crush on someone who would occasionally do your make up, you know what I mean and it is a mad heart racing shoujo moment) and send them to Asmo. Asmo keeps these "love letters" and has only showed off a few to Solomon because those puppies are Asmo's and he is not sharing.

[deeplywornletters]

as long as you stand by me

My final entry for my @thewitcherbog​ ‘s fluff bingo-card: Dancing Together Hope you enjoy! (And thanks to @calamarisnapfish​ for beta-reading ♥)

Summary: For their anniversary, Jaskier tries to surprise Geralt with his cooking, but things don’t quite go as planned...

Rating: General Audiences Length: 1.1k

You can also find it on AO3!

Geralt smiled as he walked up the stairs to Jaskier’s apartment, running one hand through his hair and holding his boyfriend’s favourite white wine in the other. He had opted for a messy bun today to show off his undercut and purposefully let out a few messy strands of hair to frame his face, knowing well what it did to Jaskier.

Tonight was a special occasion: they had been dating for 6 months now, and although Geralt found it ridiculous that Jaskier wanted to celebrate that (they were no longer in high school after all), he would never say that to his face - smitten as he was, he probably would have agreed to celebrate their 6 day-anniversary.

He had proposed making a reservation at their favourite restaurant, but Jaskier had insisted on cooking, simply instructing Geralt to be there at 8 and bring wine.

There he was, about to knock on the apartment door when he registered a smell. It was sharp and smokey, but before Geralt could dwell on it, he heard yelling from inside the apartment - a long string of curses followed by “Ouch, god that hurts!”

He nearly dropped the bottle of wine and was about to kick in the apartment door when he remembered that Jaskier had given him a spare key to his place and told him to put it in his wallet, in case there “ever was an emergency”.

The uncertainty of not knowing whether Jaskier was hurt or not made Geralt’s hands shake as he retrieved his wallet from his jeans and fumbled around with it. It felt like aeons had passed when he finally discovered the key, tucked in between his debit card and a random coupon code, and he let out a sigh of relief when he finally managed to get it into the keyhole and turn it.

He pushed the apartment door open with so much force that the handle might come flying off, but he didn’t care. All that was important right now was finding Jaskier, making sure he was safe.

As he ran inside, he was met with a wall of smoke, the air slightly hazy because there was just so much of it. He heard coughing coming from the kitchen and saw Jaskier hunched over the sink, clutching his hand to his chest.

Geralt’s heart nearly dropped to his chest as he rushed over, quickly opening the window over the sink before tending to Jaskier, gently grabbing his head with his hands and alerting his boyfriend to his presence.

“Are you alright?” he asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier coughed, voice sounding raw, “just burned my hand trying to get that stupid pot off the stove.”

At that, Geralt let go of Jaskier’s face and gently took the other man’s hand in his to inspect it. He may have only gone to veterinary school, but even he knew how to treat a burn. There was a bright red streak across Jaskier’s palm, probably from where he had gripped the pot’s handle, but even though it was painful right now, his boyfriend had gotten lucky—

“Don’t worry, it’s only superficial. It’ll hurt for a bit, but you’ll be fine,” Geralt reassured him, and Jaskier’s shoulders sank as he looked visibly relieved.

Geralt looked behind him and in the sink where he found a pot that contained… something. Whatever it used to be, it had been burned beyond recognition and was apparently also the source of the stench that was now filling the apartment.

“What the fuck were you doing, Jask? You told me you could cook!” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised as he looked at his boyfriend, who suddenly had a very sheepish look on his face.

“Well, you see…” Jaskier began, avoiding Geralt’s eyes as he spoke, “I wanted to surprise you with honeycakes. Lambert told me how much you loved them as a child and even gave me Vesemir’s recipe, but I accidentally left the honey on the stove for too long and it burned.”

“Burned? You nearly set the kitchen on fire!” The words had left Geralt’s mouth before he could stop them and he regretted it as soon as he had said them.

Jaskier looked at him, clearly hurt by his comment, and pushed Geralt’s hand away, the action making Geralt feel as though he had burned his hand.

“I had it all planned out! I was going to cook your favourite meal, put on good music, get you drunk enough on wine so that you’d finally agree to watch Dirty Dancing with me…” He let out an exasperated sigh. “And now I’ve ruined it!”

A small laugh escaped Geralt, and the look on Jaskier’s face shifted from hurt to pissed.

Fuck.

Geralt had to do some damage control before this whole thing went south, and so he grabbed Jaskier by the waist and pulled him close, forcing him to look at him by putting a finger under his chin, rage clearly burning in those blue eyes.

“Nothing’s ruined. What matters is that you are alright, nothing more.”

That seemed to reassure Jaskier and Geralt felt him relax in his arms. He pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead and his heart fluttered in his chest as Jaskier nuzzled into his neck. His hair was tickling Geralt’s nose, but he didn’t mind, simply relishing the moment.

Carefully and hoping that Jaskier wouldn’t notice, he fished his phone out of his pocket and opened his music app, blindly hitting “Play” on the first song that appeared on the screen.

The sound of a guitar started filling the room, quickly followed by soft drums and finally the singer’s voice joining in, creating a lovely melange of rhythm and melody.

Jaskier had let out a gasp at the first note, and Geralt had quickly put his phone down on the counter to embrace the other man once more, pulling him even closer than before, chests flush together.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed, and for once, Jaskier did as he was told without questioning it, curiosity most likely getting the better of him.

 If the sky that we look upon Should tumble and fall

It was clumsy and awkward, but in an attempt to match the rhythm of the song, Geralt started shuffling them around - with tiny steps and bumping into cabinets and the counter wherever they went, but he tried nevertheless.

 Or the mountains should crumble to the sea I won't cry, I won't cry

Jaskier didn’t say anything, just stared, seemingly lost in thought. There was a tiny smile on his face and Geralt couldn’t resist—

He pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s lips, soft and tender, a testament to what they had and continued to build on every day of their relationship.

 No, I won't shed a tear Just as long as you stand, stand by me

They kept on dancing long after the song had stopped, creating patterns on the kitchen floor that spoke of burnt honey and love and them.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Master Craftsman headcanons

Neverwinter gives its players a workshop for in-game crafting, and with Mod 21, which dropped last week, mastercrafting just got a much-anticipated new update.

I've only recently started getting into mastercrafting on my Ethari toon (I had to, I really like crafting stuff anyway, but of course I had to step it up on that character). And let me say, it has been delightfully eye-opening. So for the past few weeks, I've started mulling over some initial master craftsman headcanons.

We all know Runaan leaves home for missions, but we generally have been assuming that Ethari leaves the Silvergrove less often and/or for shorter/softer reasons. But maybe Ethari's job is wildly different than we think it is:

he works with rare materials for his mastercrafted items, so he's gone on procurement trips on a regular basis. He won't leave the choosing of such rare and precious materials to anyone else

sometimes he trades with distant merchants for what he needs and he's gone a very long time

sometimes he's on shorter gathering trips so he has something to trade for what he needs

and he's often on his own short gathering trips, but they take longer because he packs a picnic and his lute and maybe a tent because why rush things when there's lunablooms to admire along the way and songs to compose about his handsome husband as he rides through the forest on his shadowpaw

he has traded a song for supplies more than once, but only the happy ones, he keeps the angsty ones to himself because he's considerate like that

some of the things he gathers are cute and soft and some are very stabby and dangerous, like fluffy magic floating seeds one day and then soulfang venom the next, so he is very prepared for all kinds of things to happen to him on his journeys

his shadowpaw is an excellent mount for such trips, being a big sturdy boi able to carry Ethari and his supplies all day long

his shadowpaw makes an excellent lookout as well, being so fiercely protective of his elf, so Ethari always makes sure to keep him close when he's hyperfocusing on collecting magic snail shells or digging precious ore or stones out of a vein of rock

on the extra dangerous trips he takes Runaan with him, mostly so Runaan won't stalk after him to avoid sitting and worrying at home

Runaan has helped Ethari when things get rowdy, but Ethari's style is softness and charm first, not stabbing things, and he can get himself out of most tough situations unscathed

getting Runaan out of them with him is another matter. Runaan will let a dangerous creature go before he'll give in to a rude elf and let something drop, so Ethari makes sure to bring plenty of moonberry surprise to soothe his grumpy husband with when he accompanies him on his trips

Ethari's trips across Xadia have given him an extensive contact list of capable crafters, designers, and merchants

Runaan's mental map of Xadia is marked with infiltration points and tactical weaknesses, but Ethari's mental map is covered in pins for people and places that can help him make something that doesn't exist yet

if a human could place a monetary value on the raw and finished materials in Ethari's workshop, they'd list Ethari among the richest elves in Xadia

the treehouse has an understump basement and there's a storage room down there for Ethari's most precious ingredients and not even Runaan is allowed inside

Rayla made him mess up a very costly item when she was little and that's why she got banned from the workshop

now when Ethari's working on mastercrafting, there's a swirly-covered sign on the door--and one at the top of the ladder--and one in the back hall--and they all say MASTER CRAFTSMAN AT WORK, DO NOT INTERRUPT ON PAIN OF ME MESSING UP AND MAKING YOU WATCH ME CRY AND ALSO CONSCRIPTING YOU FOR MY NEXT RESOURCE GATHERING TRIP AND DO YOU REALLY WANT TO SKIP THAT MUCH ASSASSIN TRAINING, I DIDN'T THINK SO, SEE YOU AT SUPPER, LOVE YOU

this doesn't even begin to cover the study Ethari does for his enchanting

he's always on the lookout for better volumes of enchantment recipes, and he keeps them close and protected there in his workshop because mismanaged magic is just as dangerous as a lot of other things that could be mismanaged in the process of mastercraft

this is why Ethari knows the value of a good work ethic. He's got dozens of cycles of gathering and production spinning in his head at all times, and he keeps an updated schedule so he never misses a step in his incredibly complicated maintenance of supply and creation, because if he did then his four-dimensional production line would stumble and grind to a halt, and everyone around him--everyone he has dedicated himself to protecting--will have to wait for him to clean up his own mess and get back on track, and during that delay someone could get hurt, and Ethari couldn't live with himself if that happened, so it never does

because Ethari is a Master Craftsman

[greymantledlady]

you are my sweetest downfall

Adam squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. 'Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

My second fic for @midamweek! People seemed to really enjoy Adam calling Michael 'sweetheart' in the previous fic in this verse, so I decided to expand on it. Michael is a dork, honestly.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Having an archangel as your boyfriend is really good, actually. Better than good.

Adam, in all his years of (largely) calm and resigned pining in the Cage, had never actually, truly believed he had a chance of anything like this with Michael, anything so soft and domestic and - well, astonishingly, normal, really. It still hits him sometimes, that warm rush of astounded happiness when Michael can't stop looking hopefully down at his lips until Adam simply has to press in close and kiss him, when Michael flushes at Adam making the mildest and most low-hanging of innuendos, when Michael asks him what would be the best gift to give Adam for St Valentine's Day. 

The last incident had occurred in July, because Michael had thought Adam would probably forget all about the conversation by the time February rolled around, and he had been so endearingly pleased with himself over this plan that Adam had started laughing and pulled him down onto the couch by the fire and kissed and sucked all the way down his neck until it bruised.

Given that Michael was at the time a metaphysical projection of grace shaped into a copy of Adam's own body and existing in a dimension faintly to the left of the mortal plane, it probably didn't actually need to have bruised, but Michael had warmed extremely quickly to the concept of hickeys, apparently. He likes them a lot, likes to keep them and nurse them and admire them in the mirror when he thinks Adam's not looking, and Adam thinks it's kind of the best thing ever.

Right now, though, Adam's a little worried.

Michael has been - off - for a little while now. Not worryingly so - nothing like the shaking bouts of grief that Adam had held him through when he'd first gotten back, when he'd been mourning the asshole father who'd never loved or deserved him. Nothing like that, it's just - a sort of odd wistfulness that seems to fall over him sometimes, at the strangest of moments, and Adam is determined to work out what’s causing it.

***

They're in bed, Adam happily boneless and tired out and curled around Michael, stroking his hair while Michael smooths his hand up and down Adam's back in the firm way that Adam likes, his grace-formed body firmly anchored to the physical world this time, as warm and solid as Adam's own. Adam nuzzles his cheek affectionately, smiling against his skin when Michael hums with contentment. 

'Hey,' he says quietly, squinting a little to focus on Michael's face.

'Adam,' Michael says, just as soft. He looks hopeful for a moment, as though he's waiting for something. Adam's not quite sure what it is. He traces his thumb gently over Michael's collarbone, waiting to see if he'll come out with it, but eventually Michael just sighs quietly and turns his face to press it into Adam's hair.

***

Adam, before he’d been killed and resurrected, had enjoyed baking.

Of course, that had been more than a thousand years ago, but – well, time was weird that way, when it came to being trapped in an archangel cage in Hell. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any of it, of course, and he valued those memories, the way Michael had softened, increment by increment, until somewhere along the line he'd become someone Adam couldn't live without.

It was just that, once they'd gotten out, the memories seemed condensed, so that you weren't sure at all if it had been ten years or a thousand. Adam wondered sometimes whether that was what Michael's billions of years of existence must feel like to him, too.

Anyway, he'd liked to bake. When he'd come back, after the first long pain-filled months of negotiating with the Winchesters to bring Michael back too, and after the first whirlwind of joy of finding out Michael wanted him the same way, he'd started again, searching up recipes online on his phone and writing them out in a notebook if they turned out successfully.

Today, he’s craving choc chip cookies, so he looks at the pantry and pulls out flour and sugar and chocolate chips, opening the packet immediately to sneak a few to nibble on as he starts to measure everything out. They need a medium-sized mixing bowl; he needs to put that on the list for the next time they go grocery shopping. The big one is fine for today, though.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asks, coming up behind him. He touches Adam’s elbow with a soft hand as he passes, leaning on the counter to watch.

‘Baking!’ Adam says. He bumps his hip gently against Michael’s. ‘I’m making choc chip cookies.’

Michael shifts a little closer so they can stay connected, and leans over to inspect the ingredients, poking a finger into the well of flour Adam has measured out, leaving a little dent. He’s always been surprisingly tactile, liking to touch new things, test them on his fingers.

‘Don’t eat that,’ Adam warns. ‘It tastes awful raw. Choc chips are better, here.’ He picks out a single chip – no need to overwhelm Michael’s still-developing sense of taste – and says, with a grin, ‘Open your mouth.’

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking at him, soft-eyed and so in love that it makes Adam’s heart pulse with warmth. ‘Okay, kid,’ he says, and opens up.

Adam puts down his spoon, buzzing with affection, and presses closer, leaning up against Michael’s chest and delighting in the way Michael’s arms come up to circle his waist. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, up close, and runs his thumb along Michael’s parted lips, just to tease him a little.

Michael sighs, soft, bending forward, only to be foiled by Adam’s hand. ‘Choc chip,’ Adam reminds him, and pops it in.

‘Mm,’ Michael says, nibbling. He looks so surprised at the small burst of sweetness that Adam grins again.

‘Good, yeah?’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

Michael licks his lips. ‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another one, though.’ His eyes dip downwards, his hand stroking a hopeful little circle on Adam’s back.

‘I can’t imagine what you do want,’ Adam teases. He snuggles himself a little more firmly against Michael, runs his hands down his sides and around to fit into his back pockets, enjoying the way Michael shivers. ‘Oh, get over here.’

‘I am here,’ Michael says, but then Adam kisses him, slow and sweet, smiling against his lips before pulling back. ‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘Adam.’

‘Michael,’ Adam says, just as softly, and leaves another tiny kiss at the corner of Michael’s mouth, the moment drawing out soft and gentle; the kind of moment that you could live in forever. Michael’s eyes are soft and hazy, leaning into him, and Adam reaches up to run his knuckles over his cheek.

Michael exhales, and strokes his hands gently across Adam’s back, watching him closely. He has that odd, hidden wistfulness in his face again, as though he’s waiting for something, and Adam wants to do something about it, wants Michael to tell him what it is so he can give it to him.

‘What is it?’ he says gently, and holds back the endearment that wants to spill out, absurdly tender. He’s pretty sure it will only make Michael more embarrassed.

Michael sighs again, very soft, and glances away. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he says.

Adam’s pretty sure it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t press. They have all the time in the world, after all, and he has cookies to bake for them. Michael will come out with it eventually.

***

Except Michael doesn’t come out with it, and it keeps happening, and Adam is honestly starting to worry. They’ll be together, and happy, so happy – he knows Michael is happy, can feel it in the grace that’s constantly twined around his soul. They’ll be kissing, or snuggling, or making love, and it will be a perfect moment, the kind of moment that makes everything worth it, like a warm soft blanket to lose yourself in.

And then suddenly Michael will be looking all wistful, like a sad little puppy wanting a morsel, and disappointed, and Adam is beginning to really, really not like that at all.

He’s tried everything – more kisses, cuddling, even that one thing that Michael really likes during sex but gets incredibly flustered and blushy over, so Adam saves for special occasions. And Michael loves it all, he really does, Adam can feel it, but none of it manages to soothe that particular, wistful little ache in his grace.

When he was small, and he’d had a problem, or felt bad, or unhappy, or guilty, Mum had always managed to coax it out of him eventually. She would sit him on the couch and give him a glass of milk, and tell him that it was always better to talk things out, not hold them inside of you till they hurt. Bad feelings were like appendicitis, she’d say, they’d make you very sick if you left them inside.

Adam thinks Michael has the equivalent of emotional appendicitis at the moment, honestly, and he���s pretty sure he needs to do something to fix that.

***

When Adam comes to find him, Michael is sitting at their kitchen table, inspecting a small pile of rocks. Months ago, he’d read a magazine article about gemstone tumbling, and then read it again, and again, and again, until the pages were dog-eared and Adam couldn’t help but notice. So he’d gone online and bought him a little tumbling kit on Ebay, as a surprise, and Michael had been hugely and gratifyingly pleased about it. Now every time they go for a walk, he comes home with his pockets full of bits of quartz and such, and their house is filled with shiny little piles of gems, like some kind of dragon’s hoard.

(‘It reminds me of creating planets,’ he tells Adam once, softly. ‘I used to polish them until they were so beautiful and round.’)

Now, he looks up as Adam comes up behind him, leaning his head back against Adam’s stomach as Adam slides his arms over his shoulders. Adam kisses his ear. ‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course,’ Michael says immediately, at attention. ‘What do you need, Adam?’

‘Just you,’ Adam says, and gives his shoulders a little squeeze before pulling out the chair next to Michael’s and sitting down, swivelling towards him. Michael puts down the rock he’d been inspecting and turns to face him, the full force of his attention directed onto Adam’s face.

‘Okay,’ Adam says, and reaches out to take Michael’s hands in his own, squeezing. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Michael – oh, no, don’t look at me like that,’ he breaks off, running a comforting thumb over Michael’s knuckles. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Michael nods, still looking rather worried.

Adam decides to get it over with. ‘Look, I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you,’ he says gently. ‘Something that you want, that you’re not telling me. I can feel it in your grace – like last night, when we were falling asleep, and when I made cookies, and other times, too.’ He squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. ‘Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Adam says softly, because he can’t help it, ‘of course it is, it always is – ’

And suddenly, bizarrely, Michael’s grace is going wild, elated, looping and twining, wrapping around his soul with little, soft, shuddering ripples of happiness. He looks as though he’s about one step from breaking down, swaying a little towards Adam with his eyes shiny and his lips a little unsteady.

Okay, what?

‘Okay, what?’ Adam says, and reaches out to touch his face. ‘Michael, what was that? What happened? That was it, wasn’t it?’

Michael swallows, his grace still buzzing with happiness, turning his face into Adam’s touch. ‘You said it again,’ he says, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s basking in Adam’s warmth.

‘Said what?’ Adam says – and, ‘wait, ‘sweetheart’?’ His heart feels like it’s melting. ‘That was all you wanted? For me to call you pet names?’

Michael is going pink now, avoiding his eyes. ‘You must think I’m foolish,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam says, overwhelmed with sheer fondness. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit, for not just telling me, honestly.’ He knuckles gently at the corner of Michael’s eye, and it actually comes away a little damp. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says, knowing he sounds ridiculously tender, and that pulse of sheer bright happiness ripples through Michael again, through his grace.

‘It was the first thing you said,’ Michael says softly. ‘When you brought me back. My name, Michael, and – and you called me that. And I asked about it, and you kissed me and I was happy, but you never said it again. I,’ he swallows. ‘I don’t know why I. I wanted you to say it.’

‘Okay, you need to come here right now,’ Adam says, and climbs directly into his lap. He brings his hands up to hold Michael’s face, looking down at him. ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he says helplessly, and Michael’s whole face twitches, his hands coming up instinctively to fit at the small of Adam’s back.

‘I love you too,’ he says immediately, honestly. ‘Adam.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I – would like it if you said it again, please.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, okay,’ Adam murmurs against his lips. ‘I’m never going to stop.’