#aside from chopping it in half because well

[not-poignant]

Game Theory Vol 1 Edits - Chapter 1 (well, 2)

As y'all know I want to publish Game Theory (in multiple volumes because it's several standard books in length).

You'll be able to see two versions of the chapter - the version cleaned up, and also the tracked changes in PDF so you can see what is being changed, what is being added, and eventually you'll be able to read entirely new scenes and more :D I'll also be offering a changelog for folks who want a quick rundown on what's been changed!

I'll be releasing the chapters as I go into the $10 tiers over at my Patreon! And the first one is here:

Chapter 1 (or 2) of Game Theory - Retribution.

There's no schedule for this, it's really just a bonus. Everyone else will get to see these edits when the book is released in paperback/hardback form! Some may also roll out into the actual AO3 novel too, depending on how useful the extra scenes are for establishing back story and exposition. :D

[churipu]

FIRST EVER REQUEST. WOOHOO!!

Id like to request jjk men with a reader that has atrociously long hair, like super duper long hair please.

(eg. do some get mad becuz the hair is everywhere. Do some help you make your hair)

I hope your taking care of yourself and staying healthy and hydrated <3 mwah mwah

JJK MEN + PARTNER WHO HAS LONG HAIR

featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, choso kamo x reader

warnings. cursing (toji)

note. hi nonnieee, congrats on your first request mwah mwah. as a person who used to have ATROCIOUSLY long hair — some people weren't happy, including me (which is why i decided to chop it off >:() and nonnie baby, i hope you're also taking care of yourself <33 also, i'm gonna be closing the requests as of now while i try to finish the other requests, and it will be opened back if everything is done! thank you.

GOJO SATORU. loves your hair, no questions asked. he loves playing with your hair if you both are just chilling in the house, the male always tries to look up easy hairstyles to do for beginners — which never ends up good.

gojo once got your hair stuck in a brush because he was too focused in watching the tutorial, and he contemplated chopping your hair off. but you threatened him, and so he spent approximately one and a half hour to untangle your hair.

after that day, he never tried a new hairstyle in fear of doing something wrong again. but he still and does play with your hair, twirling it around his slender fingers and caressing it — sometimes he helps you with drying your hair after a shower, and he helps on your hair care routine.

"so i just put the tonic on? how much should i put? four dose of pipettes?" he asks you, looking at the small pipette in confusion.

"baby, no— just four squeezes are enough." you informed, a bit worried about your hair now; but the male did extremely well, even giving your scalp a quick massage.

"did i do good? can i do it again next time, please please?" he asks you, pulling you into his chest, "it's fun, i'm like your personal hairdresser."

you rolled your eyes, "sure, sure. free of charge, right?"

the male rolled his eyes, "of course not, there's a price to it. i get a kiss after, one for the tonic, one for the massage. deal?" he proposed, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips.

"i like that deal. deal."

TOJI FUSHIGURO. he hates it. on certain occasions — absolutely despises your hair when you're both cuddling, it gets into his face, his eyes, his mouth, everywhere where he doesn't want it to be. but out of that, he's perfectly fine with it.

"ah, fuck— doll, 'm going to cut your hair one of these days and make it look like an accident," he groans out, gently brushing your hair aside as your back was pressed onto his chest.

"cut my hair, and i'll cut this relationship short."

toji chuckles, pressing a light kiss on the area between your neck and shoulder, "you're mean," he mumbles into your skin.

as much as he said he'd cut it (as a joke), he'd find your hair really fun to play with sometimes; and his fingers would reach out to the edges of your hair, playing with it while his eyes are focused elsewhere. during movie nights, he'd be unaware of his lingering fingers in your hair as he watches; you didn't mind though, letting his hand just roam in your hair until the movie ends.

the male looks intrigued by your hair care routine, toji would always be there to watch you put care into your hair. sometimes offering to do it, and when he messes up he asks you to take over because he was scared of ruining your beautiful hair.

"ah, shit. i can't do it baby, you take over." he mutters out in annoyance, sliding the hair tonic over to you after failing to pump in the right amount of liquid into the pipette from his strong grip.

the male looks up hairstyles and sends the link to you, asking: "can you try this hairstyle, wanna see you in it." and is never disappointed with the result.

he makes himself the small spoon so your hair wouldn't get in his face — not that he's complaining, he likes being held by you.

"what're you doing, toji?" you asked in confusion, seeing the male curled up in bed.

"being the small spoon," he mumbles out.

and from then on, he is now the small spoon (he loves it, but would never admit it, telling you that it's just because of your hair).

CHOSO KAMO. he is the best at doing hairstyles, especially pig tails. choso is so delicate with your hair, treating every strand like they're his own. and he was the first one to offer to do your hair when he sees you slightly struggling with trying out a new hairstyle.

he would be independent to look up new hairstyles and come to you, asking if he could try doing your hair.

"hi y/n," he appears behind the bedroom door, peeking slightly with a small smile, "can i do your hair?"

when you tell him yes, he gets so happy and skips on the bed. telling you to sit down in front of him while he follows the tutorial patiently — and when he's done, he's always giddy to hear your reaction to his work. such a cutie.

"cho, this looks really pretty, thank you," you kissed his forehead, and the male shyly smiles at you.

choso sees you putting on a lot of things on your hair after a shower and he began looking up hair care routines on the internet, how to do them step by step, remembering everything so he could be the one doing your hair care routine for you.

"baby, baby! i wanna do your hair care routine," he tells you, tugging your hand with a smile on his face.

you, of course, let him. trusting him with it — and choso delivers perfectly, doing the steps you usually do with the right amount of things. it makes him really happy when you tell him thank you and awarded him with a kiss or two.

choso loves and adores your hair, he treats it like his own.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[dduane]

That paprikahendl recipe

So the first thing to be said is possibly the most important: this is a paprikahendl recipe. (And in this case, it was made with duck, because we were out of chicken... so it's probably paprikaentl, if anything.) :)

Everybody's mom or grandmother would've had her own version of this, which would naturally be the best one in the mind of the person you were talking to. The original dish, though—as @petermorwood has pointed out—would have been a peasant dish of the use-a-moderate-amount-of-flavorful-and-spicy-meat-to-season-a-lot-of-noodles-or-whatever kind. If you're a peasant, after all (and maybe even if you're not, of late...), meat is expensive, so in dishes of this kind it's used as more of a seasoning for what you have plenty of—in this case, the tiny flour-based noodles-or-dumplings called spaetzle. (In its rural beginnings, of course, the meat probably would've been a laying chicken that was too old to lay any more... or even a cockerel that had started shooting blanks, and whose morning racket was starting to get on your nerves.)

Later, though, a small tender chicken (or two) was seen as preferable. Paprikahendl became very popular in Hungary and other parts of central Europe, and in the process—over time—got taken somewhat upmarket. The recipe I used as my basis for this version is one that apparently was (and who knows, maybe still is) served at one of Vienna's famous Sacher establishments. As a result it contains elements I'm none too sure about—such as the last-minute apple—but otherwise seems to me to hold water.

The full recipe is here. Now let me tell you what I did to with it.

(inserting a cut here, so those who don't want to watch a bunch of video clips of things frying and cooking won't have to...)

Normally in the initial stage of this recipe, you'd cut up a whole small chicken (or two) into pieces, color them in your preferred frying fat (in Hungary, possibly lard, but at very least butter) and then set them aside to make the sauce. In this case, since the meat I had to work with was duck, I cooked that as directed and put it aside while we went off to do some other stuff. I also made spaetzle to go on the side, as it's the kind of thing you'd be likely to run into regionally. These we can fortunately buy ready-made, like most other kinds of pasta. Or you can make them from scratch. Since I now have a Magic Spaetzle Machine to do this, I'll show how that's done some other time. (Or you could look at this video...)

Then, to make the sauce, I pulled together:

The zest and juice of a lemon

Half an onion or more, chopped fine (I have to be careful with onions, as too much will set off my IBS)

Off to one side, I asked Peter to do the dry paprika mix for me. This was two very heaping tablespoons of paprika, and about half a teaspoon of cayenne, to mock up the heat of the hotter paprika that would have been used in small villages in the Carpathians.

Then I clarified some butter in the microwave, about three tablespoons of it (you melt it in a tall glass and set this aside until the milk solids settle out, then pour off the clarified butterfat) and dumped that in the big cookpot along with the onions.

When those had hit the cooked-until-translucent point, I cut the duck up into chunks and got them ready to go in: then added the paprika and (when that had fried a little) the lemon juice. (Paprika can taste a little raw in a sauce if you don't fry it a bit first.)

Then in went 125 ml of rose wine (I'd have used white if I'd had any, but whatever...) and about 500 ml of chicken stock, and everything got stirred very well together.

After that, the duck got chucked in and the pot was covered and left to simmer for 45 minutes or so. Normally this would be the time a raw chicken would need to cook, and naturally the duck was well cooked already: but it seemed to me that another 45 minutes getting even more tender couldn't hurt it.

So that was what happened. At the end of 45 minutes, the duck was removed and set aside while I got busy with finishing the sauce. You lower the temperature in the big pot until the pre-sauce liquid is just barely simmering. Then to thicken it, you use about a cup of the thickest sour cream you can lay your hands on, with a third of a cup of flour beaten into it very well with a fork. At which point you should be able to do this with the fork:

Now you find a big balloon whisk and start whisking this mixture into the pre-sauce, sort of a tablespoon or two at a time...making sure each dose of sour cream + flour is very well beaten in, leaving no lumps, before adding the rest. When it's all in there, you very gently raise the heat, stirring or whisking occasionally, until the sauce starts to thicken. Then add the meat back in and let it warm through in there for a little while longer: ten or fifteen minutes should do it.

Assuming that people are ready to eat, you heat the spaetzle (and toss it with some butter), plate it up, and add the paprikahendl on top. And dig in.

...Anyway, that was my take. If you go googling for "paprikahendl", you will find many, many more recipes: some far less complex than this approach, some far more so. Pick one that suits you and see what you make of it. This one worked really well, though: so you might like to take a shot at it.

If you do: enjoy!

[simonrileysfavteacup]

Peace

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gf!reader

Word count: 1K ish?

Warnings: skinny dipping, simon being fine while he chops would, manly muscles, manly tasks, simon who works all the time

Summary: With Simon, vacations were always rare, so you soaked up every chance you got.

(This is the lake I imagined, the one from The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Snakes and Songbirds, this includes the cabin where Coryo finds the gun)

Vacations with Simon were always hard. 

He’d always be working. All the time. He’d come home from a mission just to go on another one the next day. If he wasn’t on a mission, he’d be writing reports or working out in your home gym. Never gets a break. 

So when you invited Price and his wife over to dinner, you secretly begged for a leave for Simon to take him on a vacation. Price, being the good dude he is, obviously says yes and sends Simon off on a vacation for three weeks with you. 

And here’s a lil headcannon, Simon hates sand. And heat. So no tropical areas. :( No bahamas trip for you.

More so, you settled for a little cabin, deep in the woods, in British Columbia, Canada. And yeah, it sounds lame, but it was perfect for you and Simon. 

One bedroom cabin, a fireplace in the living room, and a cozy bed with the best duvet. It featured a little tiny shower that you and Simon shrunk into every morning, mostly just to be close to each other because the shower was half the size of Simon. And one of Simon’s favourite additions, an axe for wood chopping. The cabin faces out to a large lake. Everything was concealed by trees, leaving just you and Simon alone. There were no distractions, just the very-much-needed break. 

Simon would wake up every morning to chop wood, his way of working out. His exact statement was that the woods were peaceful and the swinging with the axe was good for his arms. And he did it shirtless, of course, just as he did when he worked out at home. 

Toned chest, glistening with sweat in the early morning of the hours, hands gripping the axe he grew to love in the last week, grunting every time he brought the axe down. 

You stood at the entrance of the cabin, leaning against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand as you stare at him, practically eye-fucking him. He was panting, a pile of wood sitting next him, fully chopped. You had no purpose for it but the fireplace, which you kept lit every evening as you two ate dinner. Simon’s grunts were reaching every nerve of your body. He looks too damn good for it to be 6 A.M. in the morning. 

“Do you want tea?” You speak up, breaking his focus on the wood. Your eyes stay on his abs as he looks up, chuckling softly. 

“Would love a cuppa, lovie,” he looks back down at the wood. “Admirin’ the view, hm?”

“You look really good, honey,” you bite your lip to hold back a giggle. 

“Bet I do,” he moves back to chopping his wood. 

“Don’t we have enough fireplace wood?” you tilt your head, still staring at him. 

“Just havin’ fun with it now, lovie,” he shrugs. “Helps me stay in shape, migh’ as well.”

“You don’t need any help staying in shape, honey. You look fine to me,” you giggle. 

He chuckles softly, “Ya keep feedin’ me them deserts and I’ll end up bigger than the lake.”

“You love my deserts,” you giggle. 

“Damn righ’, I do,” he looks up at you and smirks. 

“When you’re done, lumberjack, come inside. I’ll make breakfast, ‘kay?” you smile. He nods and continues his chopping. 

You head back inside, pulling a pan out from one of the cabinets, preparing a batch of scrambled eggs. You make Simon a cup of tea as well, setting it aside for him. He comes in moments later, sighing as he stretches. He grabs a plate of the eggs, taking his cup and sitting down on the couch before patting the spot next to him. 

You sit down next to him. “You wanna go for a dip in the lake after this?”

“Always,” he smiles. 

The two of you eat in silence, taking in the environment around you. The soft rustling of the trees, the chirping of birds, the smell of fresh air, and the sight of the sunlight filtering through the windows. Staying in a cabin in the middle of the forest wasn’t ideal, but it was perfect to you. The quiet solitude of nature and the fresh air provide a peaceful refuge to recharge and rejuvenate. The sounds of nature, from the songs of birds to the gentle whispering of the wind, create a harmonious cacophony that calms the mind and spirit. 

It was truly perfect to the two of you. 

You left both your dirty dishes in the sink to worry about later, heading outside to join Simon, who’s already stripped down to his boxers. He jumps off the dock and into the lake, making the loud splash of the water echo through the empty forest. You follow him, stripping off your dress, jumping into the lake in just a bra and panties. 

 The satisfying splash as you break the surface and the sensation of cool water against your skin, followed by the refreshing feeling of weightlessness as you glide through the water. The taste of salt on your lips and the sensation of the sun's warmth upon your face as you emerge from the water, breathless and invigorated. Simon’s arms wrap around you, holding you flush against his chest, smiling. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, biting back a giggle as he pulls you underwater with him again. 

The two of you spend at least an hour in the water, giggling and splashing each other with water, suppressing loud laughs. When you finally decide to get out, Simon pulls you in for a kiss, heading into the cabin to grab a blanket and a towel. He dries you off before drying himself, motioning for you to lie down on the blanke the laid out like a picnic. He lays down on his side, pulling you in to lie your head on his stomach. He intertwines your hands, kissing your temple. 

“Thank you for forcing me to come on this trip,” he smiles. 

“Thank you for putting up with my bullshit and always doing whatever I say,” you giggle. 

“Always will, lovie,” he kisses your temple again. You look back up at the sky, squeezing his hand. 

This.

This was what peace felt like.

[devourable]

➶ the butcher

sfw | tags ; nb!yandere butcher x gn reader (only prn used for reader is ‘you’), yandere behavior/tendencies, stalking, butchery (duh), violent imagery/ideation + implied violence

i dont see explicitly nonbinary yanderes much at all so im here to change that bc us offgendered mfs can be are crazy too 😌 sorry if this kinda sucks bc i finished this up while half asleep

you always felt there was something… off. about the 24 hour deli you always passed by.

it seemed to always be empty, aside from the butcher who was constantly at work inside. chopping meat, severing flesh from bone, every action executed with nearly clinical precision. did they ever do anything else? how were they always so busy with so little customers?

you could never understand. but as much as you were put off by the strange little store, curiosity gnawed at you with equal strength.

because of that, the day you entered the shop for the first time late one night, you left all of your concerns at the door.

unbeknownst to you, the butcher had been watching you long before you ever entered their deli. they always felt your eyes on them when you passed by their store — your gaze just felt so different from others. electrical, almost. they always knew when you were nearby. you must've felt it too, right? the connection you had?

but poor rhodes, they could never just approach you! you never stopped by and you didn't even know their name. they never had an opening to meet you formally. it'd be such a shame to scare you off...

thus, they were content with watching you from a distance. they ensured you never noticed their dark eyes following you, only daring to observe you passing in their peripherals or looking in your direction after you had walked far enough away. how wonderful your appearance was... a lovely sight that always brightened up the monotony of their work days. it was so fun to see you go about your life, it satisfied them enough to not mind your lack of connection.

though, sometimes... they couldn't help but imagine the animals they were tearing apart were the folk they occasionally saw you talking to. to tear their skin off of them, cut them into filets and send them far, far away from you... they ideated about it more times than they'd admit. why did you have to interact with others in front of them?

the day you actually entered their shop was a day they'd never forget. they thought they were dreaming when you walked in, shivering from the cold of the night seeking warmth and food in their establishment for the first time. you'd started a new job, see, and your shift ended well after everything else had closed. you were forced to forgo dinner and you were starved. so rhodes' butchery was the only place nearby you could visit.

you were intimidated by them, admittedly. their hulking frame, blank expression, and rough voice combined with the blood and gore constantly clinging to their apron was enough to put anyone on edge. but they couldn't be that bad, right?

their rampant emotions were hidden behind the unwaveringly neutral expression they always held, and you were none the wiser to their thudding heart and the slight tremble in their hands as they took your order.

the exchange was simple enough — you ordered a sandwich and something warm to drink, they made it for you, and you'd sit in one of the few chairs scattering the deli's entrance to enjoy your food and try to wind down after your shift.

and just like that, a routine was established.

you got to know rhodes as you continued to visit their place of work. they weren't scary, just awkward! or so you told yourself. but they were so easy to talk to — albeit not the best conversationalist, they were a superb listener. they'd devote their full attention to you every time you spoke to them, not daring to breathe a word so they wouldn't interrupt your lovely voice. they'd learn everything they could about you during your conversations. how you were gradually getting used to your new job, how it was a good thing they were open so late, how you were grateful for their work... things that they'd replay in their mind over and over again when you left.

you never really thought much of it when rhodes began giving you food on the house, using various excuses from not wanting to have to reopen the register to having conveniently already made your favorite sandwich earlier that day for a canceled order. you were friends now! of course they'd want to do you favors.

you also never really thought of it when the coworker who you'd complained about to them a few times stopped coming to work, either. they made an enemy out of so many people at your job, maybe they got fired? it wasn't any of your business.

rhodes had no clue how they'd get closer to you just yet. but now that you were seeing them regularly, they didn't mind settling for making your life a bit easier.

in any way they could.

after all, no one was going to question a butcher for having bloodied clothes.

[flowery-laser-blasts]

DINE 'N CRIME: DUMPLING

This recipe is part of the menu of 'Chez Molerat vs Dine 'n Crime'.

HOW TO MAKE THE FILLING. Ingredients: - Fatty pork meat/porkbelly slices (preferably ground meat) - 2 hands full of big shrimp (deshelled and cleaned out). - Two gloves of finely chopped garlic - A piece of ginger (size of your pinky finger), also finely chopped - 2 Spring onions - 1 can of bamboo shoots (use only half of it) - 2 quick shakes of ground white pepper (or to your preferred taste) - 2 tbsp of water - 2 tsp of Soy sauce - 2 tsp of Shaoxing cooking wine - 1 tsp of Sesame oil - Samyang Buldak sauce to your liking (HOT!) Optional ingredients: - Finely chopped carrot - Finely chopped cabbage - Finely chopped shiitake mushrooms

Instructions: - If you have ground pork, great! If you don't; chop the pieces of fatty pork meat as big as your pinky fingers. After that, carefully start hammering down on it with two knives; ground it ye olde way! It's a bit time consuming but you'll feel like a professional chef when you start double wielding kitchen knives. Keep in mind that this causes a lot of noise though and PLEASE BE CAREFUL BECAUSE KNIVES ARE SHARP! Once you are done, put the ground pork into a bowl. - Wash and deshell the shrimps in cold water. Take out the guts, wash the shimps once more and finally chop the shrimps into 4 to 5 pieces. Add the shrimps to the pork. - Clean and finely chop 2 spring onions (depending on the size it can also be 1 or 3). Chop the bamboo shoots and lastly mince the ginger and garlic into tiny pieces (you can also grate the ginger and use a garlic press for the garlic). Add these ingredients to the pork shrimp mixture. - Add the water, ground pepper, soy sauce, Shaoxing cooking wine, sesame oil and Buldak sauce to the mixture. Stir well until everything is evenly divided. Once combined, cover the bowl and set the filling aside in the refrigerator. NOTE: If you do not have the Buldak sauce, that's no problem! You can easily replace this with a bit of Madam Jeanette or any other hot pepper to your liking. It's up to your spice level. Keep in mind that this recipe is made to my preferences and not everyone likes hot foods. So if you want to eat good dumplings without the spice; leave out the Buldak sauce (or use it seperately for dipping).

HOW TO MAKE THE DUMPLING SKIN (RECOMMENDED FOR MORE ADVANCED COOKS). Ingredients: - Water 120mL/4.2oz - 200g/0.85 cup of All purpose flour - A pinch of salt - 80g/half a cup of Spinach (preferably fresh baby spinach) for the green dough - Liquid Squid ink for the black dough

Instructions: - Add the flour and salt to the mixing bowl. - Boil the water, turn off the stove and add the baby spinach to soften it. Make sure to NOT overcook spinach as it contains 'prussic Acid' which means that your body can turn this stuff into Cyanide.Not enough to actually kill you, of course... I hope. I'm a Doctor, but not a health doctor or dietician, so don't take it as hard facts from me! Technically speaking, you're also not a 'doctor', you know... Since you're a drop out. ZIP IT, SHEGO! - Add the softened spinach and the water to a mixer and blend it until smooth. - Sieve the blended spinach juice until all the pulp is seperated from the warm green water (yummy). Make sure that the water is around 45°c/113°f - Carefully add the warm water to the flour as you mix it - Make a ball of dough and if it's too wet, add a little bit more flour but not too much! Keep on kneading and once the ball of dough is springy to touch (push it in with your finger and it should go back up) it's ready! - Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Wrap up one of them and to the other we will add a few drops of squid ink. Knead the ball (yes it will be a bit sticky again) until it changes color. We're aiming for a dark grey color, not to worry; this will turn black during the steaming process. HOW TO FOLD THE DUMPLINGS: For the life of me I cannot explain to you how to fold dumplings so here; have this amazing tutorial by China Sichuan Food. My auntie taught me how to fold crescent moon dumplings but well, I'm still not the best at it when it comes to folding home made dumpling skin. That's the reason why I adviced at the start that making this is for more advanced cooks. If you have never folded dumplings before, I recommend you start with store bought frozen gyoza skins. They are WAY easier to make dumplings with but sadly, I haven't found any black and green frozen gyoza skins in stores.

Once you're finished making all your dumplings, you can go right ahead and steam them for 7~8 minutes OR you can store them in the freezer (make sure to first seperately freeze them for up to 1 hour (or until slightly hardened) and then you can put all of them together in a bag, this way they won't stick together) If you want to heat them up after freezing; steam them for 15 minutes.

HOW TO MAKE THE DIPPING SAUCE. Ingredients: - 1 tbsp Chinese black vinegar - 1 to 2 tbsp Soy sauce - 1 tsp Sesame oil Mix these condiments together in a little bowl, for topping you can add: - Sesame seeds - Sliced chilli - Finely sliced ginger

Enjoy these dumplings while hot! Carefully bite the tip to create a little air hole so you won't burn your mouth because these dumplings are juicy!

[laundryandtaxes]

@fetusdeletustotalus I actually happened to take pictures the most recent time I made beef burgundy, which is very handy here. What I usually make is basically an extremely simplified, totally stove-top version of the dish. I don't necessarily reference a specific recipe, but ATK has a version called Modern Beef Burgundy that's similar, though theirs is much more complex and probably, resultingly, better. I find that using fairly few ingredients works perfectly well for me, and allows me to cook this routinely without any fuss and without needing a special trip to the grocery store for anything other than a shallot if I'm out or some fresh thyme. I rely on method to build flavor, and it works for me.

Basically, for one pot:

1 lb or more of chunks of high connective tissue beef- I usually just buy what is labelled "stew beef" by the grocery store

As many carrots as I want (about twice the amount pictured), half cut into circles and half cut into quartered chunks

One onion, half cut into big chunks and half diced

A tablespoonish of butter

1 shallot, half quartered and half sliced

As much garlic as I'd like

As many potatoes as I'd like, cut to roughly similar sizes and then submerged in cold water to keep them fresh in the fridhe while everything else works. This recent batch featured maybe too many potatoes even for me, an extreme lover of potatoes

1 bay leaf

A few sprigs of thyme

3ish cups of chicken broth (not beef broth, because the storebought stuff just isn't good ime, though I've been meaning to experiment with better than bouillon beef since the chicken is so good)

3ish cups of red wine, ideally something drinkable and robust

Corn starch dissolved into a little bit of cold water- more than I, at least, initially guessed I would need

S&P

Prep all your items, and you can spend almost no time touching anything after the first few minutes.

Steps post prep:

Sear beef over medium high heat in a generousish amount of oil, just enough to get sufficient color on all chunks. I salt in the pan, and cook in batches. The reason I do this is to prevent crowding the dutch oven/steaming the meat rather than frying it. Once a chunk is ready, set it aside on a plate, etc, working in batches. You will need to monitor heat, and likely lower it at some point in this process to prevent oil smoking or anything burning. This is the only step that's trickyish.

Lower heat to medium low. Add a tablespoonish of butter. I do this for yumminess reasons and because it helps to prevent the oil/beef fat in the pan from burning. Add in the roughly chopped half of the carrots and alliums. S&P in pan. Cook until everything has some light charring. Then, add in chicken stock, wine, the bay leaf, and maybe 2 sprigs of fresh thyme. Salt again. The reason that I do this is basically to make a richer beef stock- the flavor from these carrots and onions is part of the stock, and these will eventually become mush. These are not to be eaten as pieces.

Bring to a low/moderate boil and let it reduce a little. I let it reduce until I no longer really strongly smell wine. At that point, add in beef chunks, submerging them as much as possible in liquid. Reduce to a simmer. Walk away and forget the stew for a minimum of 2 hours.

Pull beef chunks, set aside. Pour the stew liquid into a bowl through a strainer. You will be left with very mushy vegetables and your herbs in the strainer, and basically finished stew stock in the bowl. Toss the bay leaf and thyme. I personally mash the vegetables up as much as possible, then add them to the stew and stir as much as possible. If I were being sophisticated, I might immersion blend the veggies in for texture uniformity. But it's stew, and I don't have an immersion blender and this sure isn't worth using a standard blender for me. The only reason I don't just mash the vegetables in the dutch oven is that I use a potato masher and don't like using metal in my dutch oven. Otherwise, I'd just mash it in the pan directly after removing the beef.

Put everything back into the pot, and add your more nicely cut carrots, onions, and potatoes. Simmer for another 30 minutes minimum.

Prep corn starch. Once added to the stew, bring it to a boil for a minute minimum to allow the corn starch to set up.

Profit

Basically, once the veg is cut and the meat is seared, you're doing very little. This is definitely not the most classic or involved beef burgundy, it's just how I personally choose to make beef stew when I make it. Some people like to remove the fat from the broth, and there is a special measuring cup sort of device you can purchase cheaply for that purpose, or you can use an ice and ladle trick that I've heard works well. Or you can do what I do and just leave it.

[earthtooz]

𝗕𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗚𝗜𝗙𝗧 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥

in which: oikawa surprises you with the best christmas present you could ask for.

warnings: 2.1k words, fluff !!!, reader is called 'beautiful', gn!reader, established relationship, lmk if there are other warnings!

a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this one <3 by far the cutest i've written :(

˗ˏˋ XMAS MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗

When Iwaizumi invited you to a Christmas party with fellow Aoba Johsai graduates, you thought nothing of it. It was going to be on two nights before Christmas, just a small thing amongst your closest friends and an invite that you accepted pretty readily. 

It would be a good distraction from missing Oikawa too much considering how four days after would mark six years of dating since third year. Although you wish he could be in Japan to celebrate the holidays with you as he’s done every year since leaving, he seems to be busier this time around because he’s got a match to play on Christmas to celebrate some sort of ‘tradition’. At least he’s given you the livestream link to watch, promising to wink at the camera with each service ace he gets.

“Hi, pretty,” Oikawa’s voice rings out from your phone which was currently propped up against the wall of your kitchen. You’re scrambling around, trying to find the appropriate ingredients needed to make dinner.

“Hey, handsome,” you reply, not paying much attention to your phone screen that your boyfriend was currently dominating in all of his drowsy glory, having just woken up from a good night’s rest.

“What are you doing?”

“Making dinner.”

“Without me?” You can hear the pout in his voice as he peers at you with his tired eyes that were still slightly swollen.

Brushing aside the obvious that he was in another country, you place your chopping board in front of your phone so he can hear your response clearly. “Yes because you should be asleep instead of waking up to call me at 6:50am.”

That earns you a whine. “But I love spending time with you! I can’t do that whilst asleep.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you don’t dream of me,” you set out to cutting up some carrots, decidedly making a curry for tonight’s dinner.

“I do! But when I’m not dreaming of you I wake up so I can spend some time with actual you,” Oikawa points out, his confession making your insides gush with adoration and warmth. You wish he was here so you could actually kiss him for it. “Don’t you dream of me too?”

“All the time. Even when I’m not asleep, you’re always on my mind, Tooru.”

His lips become wobbly and a sudden shine glosses over his eyes, was he about to cry from that small of a comment? A sniffle that he let escape answers the question for you. “You’re so perfect, I love you so much,” he mumbles, slightly muffled when he wipes his eyes. There’s urgency in his next demand, instructing you to ‘tell me you love me too.’

“I love you too, Tooru,” you reassure. “I really hate that you’re not coming home these holidays.”

“I know, love, I hate it too, I even tried crying in front of my manager but she wouldn’t budge!”

“Good. Someone has to keep you in check when I’m not there. Send her my best wishes.”

“Not you too! Even the love of my life is cruel to me.”

“Only when you deserve it.”

He humphs, watching you work in silence. No matter how much you berate him for waking early, you will always appreciate his company, even if it’s over a phone screen that leaves you constantly yearning for a physical version of him, but at least the emptiness can be mended with video calls, messages that update you about his day, and selfies to match.

Although the feeling of an empty bed, unused mugs, and untouched books that weren’t yours will always haunt you, no matter how hard Oikawa can try to mend it, it just isn’t the same without your other half by your side. You could be selfish- well, you already are, it’s just that you’re not inclined to act on your selfishness because watching him soar and flourish in Argentina was a real blessing. If he’s happy, then you are too.

“You’re not mad that I’m not coming back, are you?” He asked, voice suddenly a lot softer and timid.

Pouring some water into a pot, you huff with contempt. “I’m not, I promise, it’s just- I really miss you. It’s been a while since your last visit to Japan as well and it feels a little empty in our apartment without you. My life feels a little empty, too.”

“You’re gonna make me actually cry, I hate it when you’re sad,” he mutters, hugging his pillow tighter to his chest as his frown deepens. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault at all, Tooru. I don’t want you apologising for things like this because I’ll support you no matter what, you know that.”

“I’m apologising because you’re too good for me. You could’ve left me whenever you wanted to find a ‘better’ man- if he exists, but he doesn’t because I’m already the best! Yet you’ve decided to stay with me only for me to put you through all this.”

You scoff. “You also could’ve left me to find a ‘better’ partner-” 

“-no such thing,” he says with a wink, but the mischief doesn’t really reach his eyes.

“Yet you’ve decided to stay with me as well, Tooru. You put so much into our relationship that I don’t have anything to complain about, which is good because otherwise Iwaizumi would throttle you on my behalf.”

“Of course I’m gonna stay with you, you’re the one for me. I figured that out before I even left for Argentina.”

“You’re the one for me too, Tooru,” you confess timidly, making a ‘heart’ shape for him with your hands. Although this is far from your first time being vulnerable with one another, it’s always going to be a little cringey expressing your feelings for one another, no matter how comfortable Oikawa may get with you.

The conversation dwindles a little as you transfer your phone near the stovetop, waiting for the vegetables to boil whilst preparing the curry roux you purchased earlier. Under the kitchen lights with the sound of appliances in the background, you’re content to just exist with your lover through the familiarity of your device. 

As the vegetables soften and the rice cooker is operating the background, Tooru has gotten up and done his morning routine- shirtless because he was generous enough to keep you in mind, before showing you the beautiful landscape of Argentina from his apartment. It’s outside on his balcony that you continue the conversation.

“Iwaizumi actually invited me to a Christmas party with our Seijoh friends,” you tell him once you leave the pot to boil.

His eyes widen a little in curiosity, leaning closer to the phone in interest. “Are you going?” 

“Yeah, I am. I thought it might be fun.” Tapping your fingers on the kitchen bench, you raise your phone closer to your face so you can see his pretty face clearer. “I’m excited to catch up with the friends I haven’t seen in a while which is easier because I won’t have your annoying ass around me all the time.”

Putting his hand over his chest and clenching it, he acts as though he’s been fatally wounded and you can’t help but roll your eyes at how dramatic he is.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” you relent.

Oh what a miracle, Oikawa has been healed. “Can I help you find an outfit?” He asks, a sheepish smile on his face. When you nod in agreement, he continues. “You should wear that one outfit you love that I got for you. You haven’t worn it at all and I think you’d look really nice in it,” he mutters with a small pout, putting his chin on his hand.

“You’re not even gonna be there to see it!” 

He raises his hands in defence. “You can always send photos! It’ll be like I’m with you through the dress because I bought it and so technically, that’s me showing off how beautiful my partner is.”

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand, denying his compliment with a shy expression. Your humbleness pisses Oikawa off.

“Don’t be like that. You know how pretty you are,” he reaffirms. “I hate that I’m not there in person to remind you.”

You soften a little, trying not to let sadness plague your expression again. You truly are miserable without Oikawa, feeling incomplete unless he’s here with you but that’s how you know you’re soulmates, you suppose. Such a painful way of realising something so beautiful. 

The call ends twenty or so minutes later because he needed to go on his morning run, but this routine is performed daily. He calls, asks you about your day, you tell him then ask him about how he is, and what he has to do later. It’s a nice routine and one you’ve been sticking to very frequently, a balm to the burn of longing.

But when you’re preparing for the Seijoh Christmas party, you’re about to call Oikawa to show him how you look, only for him to not answer your call which was very unusual. Maybe he was still asleep? He did mention how training was draining him and that it hurt to walk so you chalk it to that explanation and let him rest for a little longer. He deserves it for how much he gives towards being a volleyball player.

Leaving the house at exactly 7:30, the address to the place you were told is only twenty-five minutes away. Although you find it weird that even though it’s a friend-organised party, the venue was a professional and proper hall for celebrations. Looking on the website, there were even full-length windows acting as walls that gazed at the scenery outside but you brushed it off, thinking nothing of it before going on with your day.

But now that you’ve arrived, managing to find a spot in the relatively filled parking lot, you can feel your gut brewing in scepticism and uncertainty. Were you at the right place? Surely, the fairy lights are on and beautiful, there’s cars so there must be people, but why was there no music? No Mariah Carey to tell you that you were in the right place?

Then, the familiar face of Iwaizumi stepping outside calms the turbulence of anxiety you previously drowned under. He waves at you with an excited grin, helping you up the small stairs with a gentle hand.

“You look nice,” he compliments upon exchanging greetings. You smile gratefully at him, thanking him for his company and for his compliment. 

“Thank you, Oikawa actually picked this out for me, it suits me quite well!” You gushed. “You look nice tonight as well, Iwa.”

“Thank you. Should we go inside? A few people are already here.”

Nodding, the dark-haired quickly leads the way, ushering you inside through the halls which were much nicer than you expected. The reception is beautiful, there is so much art decorating the walls but it gave a refined and sophisticated vibe, and the gentle lighting only pulled it all together. 

Whoever is hosting this party must have gotten a raise. No, maybe a promotion instead.

As your shoes clink against the marble floor, Iwaizumi opens the door for you and you thank him with a grateful nod before abruptly stopping.

The room is enchanting. The decor is beyond comprehension, the lighting is subtle but glamorous, and the windows indeed gave a beautiful view of snow coated trees, gently lit up by fairy lights.

But, the most marvellous sight of all was Oikawa Tooru himself, looking as dashing as ever whilst standing in the midst of an empty room.

Your feet take you to him without thinking and you don’t have time to think before you’re embracing him in a bone crushing hug, a gesture he returns with just as much fervour and passion as he places a lingering kiss on your temple. Melting into each other’s embrace, there’s a shared feeling of relief, warmth, and content as you breathe him in.

“My love,” you whisper into the crisp fabric of his button-down. You’re too overwhelmed with happiness to be confused on the logistics of how and why he was in Japan. “You’re here.”

“I am,” he responds, separating from you to cup your cheeks, looking at you with so much love and adoration, eyes going down to admire the outfit you’re wearing. “You’re absolutely breathtaking, my beautiful, beautiful Y/N.” 

You hide away from him slightly, shying away at his boldness.

“I’m finally home. But, there’s something I need to do first.” Oikawa then sinks to the floor on one knee, pulling out a velvet box with a stunning ring as he looks up at you with doe eyes that brim with hope.

[texas-gothic]

Dracula Daily - May 3: Chicken Paprikash!

Welcome boils and ghouls to another year of Dracula Daily. It is the 3rd of May, and as our dear friend Jonathan treks his way across Central Europe, bound for ominous castle of Count Dracula, we encounter the first real star of this most foundational gothic novel: a spicy chicken dish fixed up with paprika. That's right, everyone! It's time for Chicken Paprikash!

Earlier this week, most of you (or at least I'm assuming most of you, because holy cow did a lot of y'all pile in after I posted it) will recall my guide to gathering the ingredients for this most essential of Dracula Daily Dinners. Tonight, we will discuss it's preparation, and whether or not the deviations I have made from the previous cycles rendition will pay off or not. So, if you've got those pots and pans ready, let's go!

Lets begin with the equipment you'll need for preparing Chicken Paprikash.

All the usual suspects are here. Knives, cutting board, some whisks and woodem spoons, a couple of bowls for ingredients. But the real stars of this show are going to be a large dutch oven, and a large building pot. Examples of these can be see in the photo above.

Once you have all your equipment ready, it's time to move on to the most annoying part of every dinner. It's time for...

Part One: Mise En Place

Cooking can be hard, or cooking can be easy. It all depends on how well prepared you are. If you have everything you need ready beforehand, actually cooking the meal can be a breeze. Sadly, this process will usually take up most of the time you spend making dinner. Is it worth the peace of mind later on? Probably, but I've never passed up a chance to gripe.

So, what all must we prepare for our Chicken Paprikash. Let's make a list:

Roughly 2 Pounds of Chicken Thights (salted preferably 1-4 hours beforehand)

2 Cups of Chicken Broth (or Stock)

2 Medium Yellow Onions (Chopped or Diced, to your preference)

2 Roma Tomatoes (Diced this time, with their seeds removed)

2 Hungarian Wax Peppers (Diced as well, be sure to remove those seeds unless you want to go for a ride like dear Jonathan)

2 Cloves of Garlic (Minced) (Don't let your desire to protect yourself from the undead lead you to add more, garlic is one of those flavors that can radically alter a dish in only small quantities)

About half a stick of butter (Though for this task you could substitute with some kind of oil or lard. Lard will make this dish even more rich, but butter is the easier option.)

3/4 Cup of Full Fat Sour Cream

1/4 Cup of Heavy Whipping Cream (make sure to shake your carton beforehand, this stuff gets clumpy if it's left undisturbed)

3 Tablespoons of All Purpose Flour

4 Tablespoons of Sweet Hungarian Paprika + 1 Tablespoon of Hot Hungarian Paprika (Stirred together for ease later on)

Salt + Pepper (To your liking)

1 Bag of Spaetzle

With all this completed, it's time to get started in earnest

Part Two - Get Cooking

Alright, with all our ingredients in hand, its finally time to start cooking.

The very first thing we're going to do is brown our chicken thighs. Set your dutch oven over a large burner, and get the heat up high. When ready, turn the heat down to medium or medium-high. This change is important, unless you want to smoke out your kitchen. Remember, smoky paprika is great, but nobody likes smoky dry wall.

Once you've prepared your pot, and lightly brushed your thighs with a high heat cooking oil (I prefer avocado) begin to brown them. Lay your thighs skin-side down for 45 seconds to 1 minute. Any longer than this risks burning the skin. Repeat in batches until all your chicken thighs have a nice crispy exterior.

(Sadly, this is where the demonstration photos stop. Turns out, a breezier cooking schedule doesn't leave much time for snappy pictures.)

Once you've brown your thighs, remove them and set them aside. Now, it's time for the real corner stones of this dish. Take that half a stick of butter you have sitting around, and give it a good swirl around the bottom of the Dutch oven. As the butter melts (this will be very quick, so you must act accordingly) do everything you can to scrape up the delicious fond left over from browning your chicken. This residue will add flavor to our dish.

The moment your butter has fully liquified, and coated the whole bottom of your dutch oven, add in your onions. These we will stur around and fry until they are a nice golden brown. You can use this time as well to keep scraping up that fond on the bottom of the pot. Make sure to keep the heat on medium throughout.

Once your onions are nice golden brown, add your tomatoes and hungarian wax peppers. Stir these around with the onions and allow to cook for 2-3 minutes. When you begin to approach the last 45-30 seconds, add in your garlic, and cook until fragrant, but not a moment longer.

This next step is crucial. Remove your dutch oven from the heated burner, and allow to cool for roughly 3 minutes. Paprika is something of a tender spice, and it scorches very easily when heat is applied to it. Once the pot is no longer smoking hot, stir in the combined Paprika, and give it a good mix around all the ingredients in the pot. When you have finished, return the dutch oven to the heated burner.

Return your chicken thighs to the pot, and pour in the 2 cups of chicken broth. The thighs should not be entirely covered, but mostly. Bring the pot to a boil, and once boiling, cover, reduce the heat to medium-low, and allow to simmer for a little under an hour, about 40 minutes.

Now, while this is happening, we will prepare our dairy thickener. In a bowl, mix the sour cream, heavy whipping cream, and flower. I prefer to use a tiny whisk for this task, as it does a very good job of moving through every part of the mixture, and combating any clumps from forming. A normal whisk should still work.

While you wait, you're going to pour about a quart of water into that steel pot, and bring to a boil. About 28 minutes from the completion of the paprikash, stir in your spaetzle to the boiling water. Allow to sit, undisturbed for roughly half an hour.

Once the 40 minutes are up, once again remove your chicken from the pot, and remove the dutch oven from the heat. Allow to cool once more, which will prevent your dairy mixture from curdling. Once cool, mix in the cream. Return the chicken to the Dutch oven, place the cover back on, and allow to heat through. About another 5-10 minutes.

And just like that, we're done! Now, let's find out how we did, shall we?

Part Three - Paprikash

This is how mine turned out. And I'm happy to report that my experimentation payed off! The heat really comes through this time, creating that good warming feeling you should get from chicken paprikash. The paprika is warm and smoky, and the chicken is tender and delicious. I'd never had spaetzel before, but I really liked it. It's still not as spicy as our good friend Jonathan described, but I think it's time that I stop differing to the opinions of a 22 year-old English orphan when it comes to any kind of cuisine.

The August Kessler Spatburgunder (Pinot Noir) proved to be an excellent pairing. The wine possesses a splendid earthiness, and it makes a beautiful partner for that smoky paprika flavor.

Well, that about does it for this year's Chicken Paprikash. Did you make Paprikash this year? How did it turn out? Anyway, I'll be making a dedicated effort to make more conversational posts with the program this year, and I cannot wait to discover what rocks we'll turn over this time around.

Join me on Sunday when we'll be diving into Tokaji, the Hungarian desert wine Dracula serves to Jonathan Harker at the end of his, if I may, strange journey.

Happy Dracula Daily, Everyone!

[immajustvibehere]

Spark (6/8)

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader - Enemies to Lovers

Chapter 6 summary: While still recovering from your wound, you get wind of a trap being layed out for Arthur. You might be the only one who can protect him from something bad happening...

link to my masterlist

chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5

Warning: You have to live with my headcanon that Micah had something to do with Arthur getting kidnapped by the O'Driscolls.

3800 words, 18 minutes reading time

Your wound was healing agonisingly slow. Or at least, it seemed like that to you. Miss Grimshaw had sternly forbidden you to leave your bedroll for the first two days. Afterwards, she'd remain on high alert and snatch everything out of your hands that was even remotely heavy.

Grimshaw also urged you to take care of your wound, so it wouldn't get infected. She offered to have a look at it. Charles and Hosea also offered their expertise, showing that they meant well. Yet, you always refused. Though the sight wasn't a pretty one, you insisted on taking care of it yourself. Had Arthur offered...you might haven't refused. But only because he was the one who stitched you up in the first place. You knew he was capable and secretly, you longed for his gentle hands, but you’d never openly admit that.

The following week passed with a certain routine. You'd wake up early, often forced awake by the pain in your abdomen, and share a cigarette with Arthur. You never said much in the morning. The only thing he usually mentioned in a gruff and raspy morning voice what he'd do today and how the previous mission had gone. Then you'd do the chores that Grimshaw allowed you to do: cleaning weapons, washing the dishes and chopping vegetables. This aside, the days were marked by sitting by the fire and listening to whoever's story was being told at the moment.

Tonight, as it grew late and camp gradually emptied, with every person retiring to their designated bedroll one by one. Micah was the only one left. And while you had enough alcohol in your system to numb the occasional pain in your abdomen, Micah had decided to get absolute shit faced. If you understood correctly, it had something to do with losing some decent amount of money while gambling earlier. For the past half hour, your half-brother had been mumbling a bunch of nonsensical words, you had stopped bothering to listen. But suddenly, you perked up your ears.

"Ohh, I gotta tell you something", Micah rambled on, but he put such peculiar stress on the words, it made your stomach turn. "You know some people here...", he went on.

Micah paused and grumbled, opening his sixth bottle of beer. Honestly, not too much of an astonishing number, hadn't he already arrived drunk at camp a couple of hours earlier.

"Some people here ain't no good for the gang...just gonna make a lot of trouble down the line", he slurred.

Though your thoughts on "those people" had changed significantly in the last weeks, you knew better than to let Micah know that. So you answered with an air of nonchalance and a hint of mockery: "The women, you mean?"

"No, no", Micah chuckled darkly.

"The hophead of a priest?", you swallowed after delivering these words. Swanson was getting on your nerves daily, but he had proven to be a good listener.

"You ain't thinkin' big enough!", Micah gestured some huge motion with his hands, "Morgan's gone soft recently...Ain't no use for that. I'll just send him up the ridge and maybe they'll take care of it", he hiccupped. Your eyes searched the camp, you weren't sure why, but maybe you wanted to see if Arthur was still awake. At this very moment, you couldn't make any sense of Micah's words and when you looked at him again, his body was slumped over with soft snores escaping his open mouth.

The next day, lunch had barely passed when you heard the commotion, whose cause was a livid discussion between Dutch, Hosea, Pearson, Arthur and Micah. Something about Colm O'Driscoll and a parley. You hadn’t been properly introduced to the feud Dutch had with Colm, but you have had enough run-ins with his boys. After all, when you stole the bank stage with Micah and Arthur, they had almost managed to surprise you.

While you watched from a distance, the discussion seemed to have found an end. Dutch and Micah strolled off to their horses, followed by Arthur, who reluctantly trailed behind them. He wasn’t so happy about the conclusion of the conversation.

"Fuck", you mumbled. Is this what Micah had been talking about? You waited until the group had left, staring at the dust their horses had stirred up. You had to follow. This uneasy feeling in your stomach that Arthur was in danger wouldn't leave.

For a moment you took a deep breath and thought: "The heck? Why should I care?" Only to blink and admit to yourself, you cared a fucking lot. There was no way denying that. As Arthur stitched you up, his warm hands all over your body, that did something to you. You never thought anyone would ever treat you this kindly. And even though the circumstances had been...peculiar...you didn't care. If there was even the slightest chance....of chasing this feeling could pay off...

You strode towards your horse, aware that neither you, nor your horse, were carried any weapons. Grimshaw still had a stern look at you and when you tried to carry your guns yesterday, it was frowned upon with some demeaning remarks. You were still grounded to camp chores and resting your wound, though you were pretty sure it had beautifully healed the last couple of days. It didn't matter now. You sneaked to your horse and seized the opportunity to ride off before anyone could tell you not to.  

-

Arthur was lying in the grass, the scope of his gun pressed to his eye. He didn't exactly know what the hell he was doing here. It hadn't sound like a good idea before, and it didn't feel right even now, though he had a good view of the surroundings and saw that the coast was clear. A sigh escaped Arthur’s lips when he suddenly heard grass behind him rustling. He was in the motion of turning around when the sound of a muffled groan came almost simultaneous to something warm splashing onto his exposed arm.

When Arthur looked up, he saw you slitting the throat of an O'Driscoll that had sneaked up right behind him. There was still some life in him when you whirled him around to bury your knife in his stomach. Once, twice,...

"God damn fucker!", you hissed, your knife about to stab him for a third time, when Arthur tackled you from behind and pulled you on the ground.

"Jesus, woman! What the hell are you doing here?", Arthur hissed.

"Saving your ass, you ungrateful bastard!", you yelled back. The adrenaline was rushing through your body and you feared your heart would jump out of your chest any second now. Your horse was at some distance, so nobody would hear you ride up and you had sprinted the last yards.

Arthur had to give you credit for staying almost clean after pretty much gutting the fellow, most of the blood had landed on him, anyways. When you opened your mouth again and sat up, angrily wrangling yourself out of Arthur's grip, you spoke more quietly, and yet not quietly enough for a mission where the job was to stay hidden: "This fucker was about to knock you out, Arthur! If I hadn't been-"

Before you could finish the sentence, Arthur's hand was slapped onto your mouth and he grabbed your collar, to pull you into a lower position again.

"Shhh! I hear you. Stay low, damnit", Arthur's eyes bore holes into you as he tried to get his point across. For some moments, neither of you said anything. Your heavy breathing, which you had trouble calming down, was the loudest noise. With his big hand pressed on your mouth, you feared you might suffocate if you didn't calm down. This man's blue eyes that looked you up and down did nothing to relax the situation, quite the opposite actually. The thought alone that they would be closed by now if you hadn't stepped in made you sob, muffled by Arthur's hand that was still covering your mouth.

It wasn't only that. Your suspicion had turned out to be true. Micah knew. He fucking knew. This whole thing was designed to get rid of Arthur, and aside from Micah himself, only you were in on that. Arthur too, was wrecking his brain right now. He quickly checked on Dutch and Colm before he lifted his hand off your mouth only to put his index finger onto his lips, indicating you to be quiet.

"We gotta get out of here. They know you're up here", you whispered. Your voice was shaky, which you found deeply embarrassing. But you were upset.

"M'kay darlin'. Come on", Arthur announced, gripping his rifle and crawling away from the edge before he stood up to go to his horse. You followed, flabbergasted. Darling? Where the fuck did that come from? He hadn't even given you time to react. You just hurried after him, catching up when he was mounting his horse.

"We gotta lay low for a while. I'm not supposed to be here and I dare say you aren't expected back either", you said as you pulled yourself onto your horse.

"I gotta tell Dutch that this was a set-up. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with", Arthur answered.

"No. Please", you almost whined. Arthur looked at you with knitted eyebrows. He did not understand why telling Dutch was bad idea, but he hadn't expected that tone from you either, so he decided to give in.

"Okay. I know a nice spot..."

You rode off, leaving the Heartlands behind. The next best creek you passed, you used to get some blood off of you. Despite stabbing the O'Driscoll from behind, you still had managed to get your arms dirty. Arthur watched you in silence. The last couple of questions he had asked had fallen on deaf ears, so he had given up poking for answers right now.

Later, you entered a wooded area. The sky had taken a mesmerizing shade of purple and the presence of some darker clouds in the South suggested that the drizzle that had just started was about to transform into a solid rain shower. It already smelled like damp earth. Guiding your horses with ease, you navigated through the light-filled gaps between the trees. They did a decent job of shielding you from the rain, except for the occasional drop that would land on your arm.

"I camped here a while ago", Arthur explained as he jumped off his horse when you reached a nice place, "'s a good spot."

"Yeah. I'll get a fire started", you said briefly, hitching your horse and walking off to quickly grab some dry twigs. Arthur was left behind at the spot he had picked and kept wondering at your behaviour. He noticed that you didn't have anything on your horse, no spare clothes, or a tent...So, instead of putting up his tent the normal way, he used every inch of the material, not fixing the corners in the dirt, but spanning it in between some trees.

You returned with wood and build a fire. Nothing was said until Arthur had warmed some beans and passed you the can before he had tried some. His eyes were begging for some explanations, but you sighed: "Please. Don't ask."

"I'm not", Arthur put his hands up in defence and though he remained silent, you felt his gaze on you. Trying your very best to ignore it, you gulped down the beans.

"Y/N...", Arthur started.

"Mh?", you replied, mouth full, starring into the flames. The fire had become strong enough to withstand the occasional raindrop, but the air around you had cooled significantly.

"Is your wound okay?", Arthur asked, "You have some blood on your shirt..."

You checked the brownish stain on your shirt, it was indeed at the same height as your wound should be. The wound which should have healed by now.

"Did ya take the stitches out already?", Arthur inquired when he saw your sceptical look.

"Planned on doing it today, but some things came up", you shot back.

"Want me to have a look at it?", Arthur now offered, already changing his sitting position to better accommodate you.

When Arthur caught the slight questioning gleam in your eyes, he smiled softly. You weren't someone to trust easily – he knew, because he's like that too. Yet, despite the wall you both harboured, Arthur couldn’t help but worry. He wasn't sure if you felt the same, but the events of the afternoon had surely left an impression on him. The fact that you had rushed to his side and stabbed a man a few seconds before his light would have gone out...You had been so calm the last two weeks, but today you were visibly shaken. Arthur wasn't sure if there was some deeper meaning behind this or if he let hope dictate his thoughts.

"I ain't gonna hurt you", Arthur said gently, when you didn't answer.

"I know", you shrugged, setting down the can of beans, "I just think that your reasons for getting me to take of my clothes are somewhat unimaginative." You gave a cocky smile when Arthur released a shaky breath. He mumbled a 'You're insane woman’ as you slipped one arm through your sleeve and therefor exposed your bare side.

In a moment, Arthur's hand was on you again. You flinched a bit as his thumb grazed the flesh near the wound.

"Looks good. Just a slight tear, should be all healed up again by tomorrow", Arthur assessed.

"Good", you replied briefly, getting into your shirt again quickly enough to not let Arthur notice the gooseflesh that had formed at his touch. He still saw the blush on your cheeks though.

In a tender moment, your eyes locked in a silent connection, and in that instant, you discovered that his hand hadn't budged. It remained steadfast, gently resting beneath the fabric of your shirt. It was as if an unspoken agreement held you both captive, unwilling to release the intensity of your gaze, except for Arthur's occasional stolen glances towards your lips.

The feeling of wanting nothing more than to protect you overwhelmed Arthur. He wanted to claim you as his, but not in a selfish, unreflective manner. More as a testament that he still could feel so strongly for someone. Arthur wanted to ensure that love was still possible for him. So he leaned in and in a moment, his lips met yours. The touch was so soft and loving that neither Arthur nor you would have expected that your body jerked away. The same moment, your hand met Arthur's cheek, slapping him. It wasn't meant to hurt, it was more your natural answer to this sudden invasion.

"What the hell?", you mouthed breathlessly.

Arthur's head remained frozen in the position your slap had left it in. His lips had curled into a sad smile, his eyes now avoiding yours. The slap had inflicted a sting, but it was a peculiar sensation, not one he was used to from other brawls and beatings.

"Sorry", Arthur mumbled in a soft whisper. The sad smile didn't leave his face, as if something else would surface if he dared to change his expression. "Might have gotten somethings wrong...", he added. Still looking down, he adjusted his hat, so it threw a darker shadow over his eyes.

You found yourself stumbling over your words, caught between the urge to apologize and swear at him at the same time. But your incapability to express your emotions frustrated you deeply. You managed a loud enough "excuse me" for him to hear before you stood up and walked off. Not too far, just a few feet into the shelter of forest where you thought the light of the fire couldn't reach. Arthur watched you walk off. He figured you thought yourself shielded from his gaze, but he saw as you leaned against a tree, lightly bumping your head into the wet bark.

Arthur couldn't bear watching you for long, so he took his journal out and quickly started to write. It was a momentary update of his state of mind and purposefully, he left some space before he started to sketch the outlines of the dark forest and the campfire in front of him, knowing that you would dictate how this evening turned out for both of you.

However, it wasn't long until he heard your boots rustling through the twigs and leaves. Arthur looked up and his eyes followed you, until you were seated right next to him. The closeness surprised him, but he took it as a promising sign. It was a flicker of hope that soothed the anxiety that he had felt at the thought of having offended you seriously. You had your words prepared, but Arthur was faster: "'M sorry, y/n. I should've asked."

Your eyebrows knit together in a sceptical look. You thought about snorting and and mocking him by saying 'Micah's right when he told me you had gone soft' but deep down you knew that this was just further proof that Arthur was more than what meets the eye.

After you had cleared your throat, you said: "It's okay. I didn't mean to slap you, I was just...surprised."

"Remind me to never surprise you again", Arthur joked, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. With light-hearted spirit, he continued the drawing in his journal. You caught a glimpse, but quickly averted your gaze and instead stared into the fire. You sat right next to Arthur, your arms occasionally brushed against each other, yet he didn't bother closing his journal - seemingly unaffected by your presence.

You couldn't help yourself. It was too impressive to see the drawing come together. When he sketched the shadows of the trees, you could make out the raindrops, though he hadn't specifically drawn them. Your eyes became fixated on the tip of his pencil, captivated by its movements, unwilling to tear your gaze away. But it didn't feel right, not after the last time.

Arthur noticed you were restless, so he said in an affirming voice: "I don't mind you watching, ya know?"

"All of a sudden?"

Arthur shrugged and continued to draw: "Not like you learned to read the last couple days, did ya?"

"Maybe I did. Didn't have much to do recently", you teased.

"Sure", Arthur replied, knowing you were bluffing, "So? Read it out then!"

You helplessly stared at the letters he had written, with not one clue in the world what was spelled out there. You tried to come up with something that could have been written there, but you weren't quick enough. Arthur interrupted your thinking process: "Knew it."

You sighed in defeat but lightened up when Arthur chuckled at your frustrated response. Both of you listened to the crackle of the fire. In a silent agreement, every passing moment saw you inching closer, gradually, you leaned against him. Astonishingly, Arthur showed no signs of discomfort, allowing the newfound proximity to exist, as if it were the most natural and cherished space between you.

"I like your drawings, you know", you whispered.

"They ain't special", Arthur replied. He was done with his little painting of the scenery and skipped back two pages to reveal a sketch of a squirrel.

"How can you even draw that thing with those little fuckers moving around all the time? Was it dead when you drew it?", you asked in awe at the level of detail.

"No", Arthur replied, "I jus' remember how it looks like."

Amidst the crackling of the fire, you uttered words that were almost indistinguishable, your voice muffled by your mouth pressed against Arthur's arm. Perceiving your intent, he instinctively adjusted his arm, skilfully manoeuvring it around you. Both of you were now enveloped in a half-embrace and you let it happen willingly. This was exactly what you had been craving the last couple of days. It was unusual, and yet so welcoming and soothing.

You sat like that for a while before Arthur stated his intent of laying down. You replied you'd still sit and tend the fire for a while.

Arthur lied down on his bedroll, staring at the canvas that obstructed his vision of the night sky...which probably was cloudy anyways. Aside from the usual forest noises, it was silent. About fifteen minutes had passed, but Arthur was still far from falling asleep.

"It just has never worked out for me...every time I tried the whole trusting thing...it ended badly", you explained. Your voice ended the silence and caught Arthur's attention. He sat up again.

"'m sorry to hear that", Arthur answered, "But yer still young. There are plenty people out there. I'm sure you'll find someone. If ya weren't so bad behaved-"

"Hey!", you turned towards him, to see a sarcastic smile back at you. You wondered why he’d just said that, when he kissed you earlier. When he clearly wanted you.

Arthur continued in a teasing manner: "I thought you were a nasty companion at first too, but you’re alright if ya calm down a bit and let yer guard down."

"Could say the same about you", you drew circles in the dirt.

After a while, in which you felt Arthurs eyes on you, he said: "You should try 'n rest. There's nobody around."

"Maybe a bear passes by and attacks us."

"Sure", Arthur readjusted his bedroll, "You ain't much to chew on, so ya gonna have plenty of time for running as long as it's busy with me."

Arthur had adjusted his bedroll vertically, so you could at least put your upper body on something softer.

"I bet ya taste like shit. It won't bother with you for long", you grinned at the teasing, surprised to see that Arthur had arranged a sleeping setup that would benefit you both.

"No doubt", Arthur chuckled.

You looked at the bedroll.

"If ya don't mind sharing with an old man that tastes like shit, it might be more comfortable for you like that", Arthur offered and lied down, his head now resting on one part of the soft material, while still leaving enough space between you. You joined him in the grass, turning your back towards him and fixating on random trees in the darkness. It was difficult to get those words out, but you had promised yourself to at least try expressing some of your emotions.

“I…I don’t really care if there’s plenty people out there. I think, I already found the one I’d like to trust...” You might have rushed the delivery of those words, but Arthur had understood them very well. There was a boyish smirk on his lips when he answered.

“I don’t mean to offend, miss, but you picked a real weird fella.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Next chapter HERE

@xclovers @photo1030 @cowboydisaster @stilinskiwitch @globetrotter28 @unbotheredbeeeee @eyelovie @ashjbu @lovrgirlsstuff @how-the-heck-would-i-know @j4llyf7sh @urfavjanalein

[romance-rambles]

godheim clarence | because it's you

On a seemingly normal day, as he's braiding your hair in the morning, your husband asks you if he should cut his hair. You try to be brave about it.

1.6k, post-clarence epilogue, misunderstandings + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

"SHALL I CUT MY HAIR short too?"

You register your husband's words as a joke at first. Why would you not? It flows so seamlessly from your own, after all—about how he might actually thank you for freeing up his time in the mornings if you chop off your long hair.

You know full well Clarence will not.

It is not enough to prevent you from chasing after your favorite kind of high. The one where he huffs exasperatedly and tells you as much, as a lovely but faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheek. The one that leaves you with the singleminded desire to kiss him, which you waste no time in doing—because you can.

So, expecting to see a hint of mirth in his blue eyes, you roll your eyes and watch him through the vanity's mirror with an unfaltering grin.

There is none.

Instead, the mirror reflects only the almost clumsy seriousness you've come to expect in his endeavors to prove himself worthy of being your husband. It is both flattering and worrying.

And sometimes, it makes you wonder if you were too harsh on him in the early days of your time together in the void, when you demanded apology after apology from him. Then, you remember that he's the same man who catches fishes only to free them in the end—and that this is simply sort of endearing idiot he is.

It helps immensely.

"Would you like to?" you ask carefully, concealing your silent insults with a half-awkward smile.

You would not like him to.

But it is rare for Clarence to express an interest in his appearance outside of what you make of it. His most frequently worn coat is the one you once complimented him, under a brightly-lit street lamp as he wrapped his scarf around you instead. He always buys the same fragrance, and only when it runs out, with a polite explanation of My wife likes this one the most that drives most merchants mad.

The only response he's ever offered when shopping for clothes is: If you like it, I'm fine with wearing it.

Biting back a scowl, you add, "I think you'd look good with short hair."

Of course he would. Even putting aside his hairstyle when he was younger, your husband is handsome enough to pull anything off.

You are, of course, very biased—it's an accusation you've never tried to deny.

"I see." With a pleased hum, Clarence ties off your braid. "Then I'll pick out a date. Would you like to come along?"

He's careful to adjust the hair tie first, concealing any stubborn tufts hair poking through between the gaps before he reaches for your usual red ribbon. Then, with a practiced ease that comes only with years' worth of repetition, he loops it through the hair tie and twists into a proper bow.

Today, you cannot find it in yourself to admire his careful movements through the mirror.

"I'm never going to hear the end of it if I do that," you answer, shuddering a little at the thought. The people at this village are mostly kind, but a few of the louder ones tend to comment on Clarence's tendencies a bit too frequently for your liking. "You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Your fingers traverse down the full length of your neatly-braided hair to pull it over your shoulder. Their grasp on the end of it lasts for only a second before your hand falls to the edge of your stool. Gulping, you swivel around and soon find yourself properly face to face with your husband.

He smiles faintly. "In a sense, they weren't wrong."

To properly hold onto his face, you have to scoot closer to the edge. Clarence bends down slightly, further easing the burden on your arms. Your eyes narrow fondly at him before you ruin the moment by smushing his cheeks.

"They were insulting you," you correct him, indignation fueling your flat tone. "I'd say they were very wrong."

His expression grows helpless and fond. Wrapping his hands around your own, he settles down onto the hardwood floor. In doing so, he ignores your chiding entirely; instead, he looks at you with a hint of reverence in his gaze.

"Perhaps," Clarence agrees softly. "I've heard worse."

Inhaling sharply, you press your foreheads together. When you next speak up, your tone is softer. "Do you have a cut in mind?"

"The same as it was when I was younger, I suppose," he says, sounding a bit uncertain.

You do your best approximation of a nod. You're not entirely certain what brought this on, but that won't stop you from being the most supportive wife to ever be supportive. As you squeeze his hands gently, you hope he can sense your resolve.

"Alright," you say, a bit forcefully, as you press a kiss to his forehead. "—now get off the floor. It's my turn to do your hair."

IT'S WHEN YOU'RE CAREFULLY UNTANGLING your braid at night that you remember the conversation from that morning.

"Did you decide on a date?" you ask curiously.

Clarence hums. "I didn't get the chance to quite yet."

He's watching you from his side of the bed, both hands occupied by a book he stopped reading the moment you walked in after your nighttime routine. When you shake your hair back to normal and settle under the blankets, he wordlessly turns the lamps off, with only a flick of his hand.

Accepting his answer, you snuggle up against his chest, fully intent on going to sleep—

Except you can't.

Curiosity nags at you, offering you the same question over and over again in the hopes that you'll break. And break you do as you call out your husband's name.

You can't quite make out what his expression is, but you know he isn't asleep. It's only been a few years—just a little over a decade, to be precise—since they've reunited. Adjusting to a life within the bounds of time, you know, takes some time, especially for someone like Clarence who had seemingly outgrown the need to sleep even before he entered the nothingness.

"Clarence," you whisper, "what made you want to cut your hair?"

For a moment, he remains silent. You can hear his beating heart, and that is enough to let you know that he's flustered.

"Clarence?"

"You said I looked very handsome," he says finally. "The other day."

Upon hearing those words, your mind offers you nothing noteworthy. To you, calling your husband handsome is no different making sure your heart's intact. You think you might actually die if you don't tell him, but you haven't tested it before.

Your heart, however, is filled to the brim with affection for this man, the one you've searched nearly your entire life for.

Even if you do want to throttle him a little bit.

"You'll have to be more specific, dear," you tell him, gently touching his cheek. He's warm, you think. You're tempted to turn the lights back on. "I'm sure I say that every day. And why would that make you want to cut your hair?"

Clearing his throat, he adds, "To be more specific, you didn't say it to me necessarily. You were—" Clarence pauses, a hint of uncertainty to his next words. "—talking about my younger self."

Oh.

The gears in your head start to turn. Now, you can faintly recall the memory of you waxing poetically about the man whose image remains in use on one of the most popular and frequently sold-out stamps even now, centuries later. Mostly, you remember smiling through a comment about how carefully you must've chosen your husband—as if she hadn't pressured into picking a man other than your husband to gush about.

You would've chosen the Archmage who seemingly had no relation to your husband regardless, but it would've been nice to know ahead of time.

Because you do have eyes, Eliza. That's how you know there isn't a man alive that's more attractive than Clarence.

Still, there hadn't been any deeper meaning when you chose his younger self specifically. There'd been a stamp nearby and you'd used it as a reference, in the hopes that it would help the other ladies downplay your incredible knowledge of his features.

You're almost certain they think you're deranged.

"Clarence." You giggle, suddenly amused. "Clarence. You look very handsome today."

Clumsily, you press a loving kiss to his forehead. Then, to the mole under his eye, to the tip of his nose, to his other cheek, until finally, you kiss him on the lips. At some point, while you're busy being productive, he goes from laying on his side to laying on his back.

"What brought this on?"

He sounds bewildered. You think it's cute.

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you begin to explain. Throughout, he's mostly silent, save for the occasional acknowledgement. Still, you don't have to worry about whether he's listening or not.

Until the very end, his hands—still wrapped around you—give him away.

"I like your long hair just as much, because—" You give him another peck on the lips. "—I love you. No matter what, you're always the best-looking man in the room."

Clarence wastes no time in answering you, though he very nearly chokes on his words. "And I...you."

"Good." Feeling satisfied, you rest your head against his chest. "Do you still want to cut your hair? ...Clarence?"

"I think," he says, clearing his throat. "It's fine the way it is."

You don't try to point out why.

[spinchip]

They send Cole in to talk to him because Jay’s never had a serious relationship other than Nya (and they're still together,) kai’s only ever had flings, and Lloyd was as knowledgeable on break-ups as a wet pile of leaves. Cole is the resident expert on heart break, being as he’s had 2 long(ish) lasting relationships that had both come to a tragic end- albeit, even he wasn’t quite experienced with this level of heartache. His ex boyfriends were from highschool, and nothing ever mattered in highschool. Especially not since he’d become a ninja. Who cared if Joaquin cheated on him with Lexi? He saved ninjago from countless evils. Joaquin was probably regretting it now!

Kai nudges him and exaggerates his eyebrows silently, motioning towards the kitchen door. Okay, so Cole was stalling. Just a bit. He was a little afraid he’d be out of his depth on this-scratch that, he was certain of it. Maybe if it were Jay or Karloff, he could manage- but Zanes emotions ran wide and deep and it was so incredibly hard to navigate those waters. Alas, he was specially chosen for this mission. He had to try.

He cautiously creaks open the kitchen door and finds Zane… chopping vegetables. For some reason, he’d convinced himself he’d find him curled up on the counters crying his eyes out. Yes, Zane was a very emotional person- but Cole forgot how deeply Zane hid that part of himself away. He can’t rely on the obvious for this. He’s gotta go into ninja mode, really do some nitpicking recon.

One sleeve of his sweater is rolled up, the other has rolled down and hangs dangerously close to getting tomato juice on it. Oh man. He’s really upset. Zane was meticulous about cleanliness, especially in the kitchen. His mind is somewhere else.

“Hello Cole.” He offers the master of Earth a smile, “If you have come to ask about dinner, it will be ready in an hour or so. I will call you when it is time to eat.”

Oh, clever clever. Polite as a peach but a not-so-subtle dismissal tacked on at the end, which means there’s no way for Cole to redirect the conversation gently. Zanes is banking on him losing the nerve to confront him. Well, Coles is no coward (And the others would just make him try again later. Better to rip the bandaid off now, right?)

“I actually wanted to talk to you.” He starts, swallowing thickly, “About how you're feeling.”

Zanes hands still just for a moment over the next tomato before he soldiers on, “I am fine.”

Cole frowns, “Zane… I’ve been through it too. It sucks… it’s okay that you’re not fine.” He tries softly.

Zane places the knife down, picking up the cutting board and setting the tomato aside, “I understand your concern, but I am fine. My romantic relationship with Pixal has ended, but we will remain friends and that is agreeable with both of us.”

There’s a pause as Cole tries to think of what to say, “You’re really… just okay with that?" At this point, an upset Zane would have gotten that kicked-puppy expression and opened up a bit more. Maybe started wringing his hands together, or shut down completely. Was he really fine? Zane? "You two have been together for what, four and a half years?”

“Five years, three months, and 12 days.” Zane corrects gently as he wipes down the counter.

“And it’s... over? Why did she end it?”

Zane gives him a quizzical look, “Cole, I was the one who terminated our relationship.”

That shocks Cole so badly he actually has to grab the counter for support. his feet nearly slide out underneath him, and he struggles to regain his bearings, “What!?” He gapes, “But- you were like so in love with her!”

Zane cringes and he can’t quite hide it, “I certainly believe I was, yes.”

“Well, what happened? What changed?” He forgets he’s supposed to be helping Zane with his heartbreak, curiosity leaping forward.

“I do not wish to discuss that.” he murmurs, pulling out a large pot and setting it on the stove.

“Ah, yeah. Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head, “It just feels so sudden. I didn’t even know you were feeling this way…”

Zane shrugs uncomfortably, “I did not want to say anything until I was certain of my choice. I thought about it for a long time before I approached her.”

Cole catches that and connects the dots faster than he thinks Zane expects him to, “A long time?… since the Never Realm?” He ventures carefully.

Just like that, Zane's face closes off completely. He stiffly continues to make chili, but does not acknowledge Cole's presence. He doesn’t comment on what he said, and pretends like he never heard it.

Cole decides to speak again, “Y’know what happened in the Never Realm…” he lowers his voice, pitching it low enough so no one could even consider eavesdropping. Something just for Zane, “No one blames you. It wasn’t your fault… We don’t love you any less because of what happened. I know it can be scary to wonder what we think of you, but my opinion of you hasn’t changed. I’m sure Pixals hasn’t either, so you don't need to run away. We still see you the same.” He says genuinely, reaching out and patting Zane's shoulder.

Zane exhales and the air in front of him swirls with snowflakes. He brushes Coles hand off but not unkindly, “You do not understand. I spent sixty years in the Never Realm.” it’s not a surprise but Cole still winces, “She still sees me the same, but I have lived a lifetime without her, a life completely different from this. I am the one who does not see her like I once did. I am not the man I was, and I feel nothing…” He shakes his head and re-words his sentence to be kinder, “I no longer feel romantic love for her.”

“Oh.” Coles not sure what to do with that.

“Thank you for your concern, Cole, but I truly am alright. I have had decades to distance myself from that pain.” Zane assures him with a smile. “Now please, allow me to return to our dinner.” He motions to the pot, and Cole takes the dismissal this time.

When he’s nearly out the door he hesitates, peeking his head back in. Zane has gone back to cooking, one sleeve rolled and the other slipping down. Maybe that’s just who he was now.

“I have one more question.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I want to know the answer.” he admits, tapping an anxious finger along the door frame.

“Then do not ask it.” Zane says. His voice is light but there’s a firmness there. He offers the advice with a push.

Cole accepts it and lets the door swing shut behind him.

On the tip of his tongue is do you still see us the same?

How do you see all of us, now?

[bananasofthorns]

now that it's all gone

read on ao3

At the end of the day, after Ren and Big B are dead and the smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air even though the fires have mostly gone out, they return to the ruins of The Relation. Something heavy settles in Joel’s throat as they approach, squinting against the setting sun. He spent an entire fucking week on that boat, and it’s just— gone. There’s nothing left except a fraction of the hull, some scattered bits of wood and wool, and scorched grass.

He should’ve known better, really. Should’ve remembered that it’s no use getting attached to anything, not in a world like this.

He’d thought that burning down half of the rest of the server had helped, but suddenly all of his raging emotions are back, filling his chest in a way that makes him think his ribs are going to crack with the weight of them.

A furious, guttural scream tears itself from his throat. Behind him, Etho startles; he ignores it and slams his axe into the only remaining piece of their boat, cleaving it in two. The force of the strike leaves his palms buzzing.

“ Fuck,” he shouts, suddenly breathless. 

He’s on the verge of either screaming until his voice gives out or shattering into a thousand pieces. He needs to kill something, needs to feel blood on his hands because maybe this time it’ll stop them shaking and soothe the ache in his chest— if he wears out his axe enough that the blade goes dull, then maybe he’ll feel okay again. It hasn’t really worked before, but, hey! Third time’s the charm, right? Right?

“Joel.”

He reaches up and tears a half-burned plank from what’s left of the boat. Splinters dig into his palms but he doesn’t care, just squeezes it tighter in his fist until his nails leave gouges in the charcoal.

“ Joel.”

With another scream, he flings it at the world border so hard that he sees the forcefield shiver. He does it again, and again, and again, until the remains of their boat are scattered in the field before them, highlighted in dull gold by the sunset.

“Joel!”

Someone grabs his shoulder. He jumps and spins, axe already rising into a sloppy attack. For a moment, his brain doesn’t register anything more than threat, and he’s a centimeter or two away from chopping off Etho’s head and ending both their lives when a hand, cold and surprisingly strong, catches his wrist.

“Seriously?” Etho asks, eyebrows raised; his tone is incredulous and unamused, but Joel knows him well enough by now to see the alarm hiding in his eyes.

“Shit,” he breathes. “ Shit, Etho, I could’ve killed you! What the heck? Why’d you do that, are you a fucking idiot—?”

“You weren’t listening to me.”

Joel takes a slow, deep breath. He lowers his axe. “...sorry. I just—” He runs his free hand through his hair only to remember a second later that it’s covered in soot. Shit. “Sorry.”

It still feels like there’s fire in his blood and a wild animal in his chest, trying to claw its way out of his ribs and up his throat. If it were anyone else in front of him, they’d be dead.

“...Did you wanna talk about it?” Etho asks, awkward. He’s still holding Joel’s wrist; the freezing points of his fingertips serve to quiet some of the inferno raging in his head.

He scoffs. “What is there to say? I’m fucking pissed, Etho. I spent an entire bloody week on this ship, only to have it burn down in less than an hour! This always happens and I never learn!”

His voice rises until he’s shouting again, staring up at Etho’s ever-impassive face and wondering why it’s so easy for him to act like he doesn’t care.

“Well. Even so. It was nice while it lasted,” he says quietly, like it means something, and apparently Joel’s body takes that as its cue to stop the adrenaline keeping him on his feet.

Etho yelps when he all but collapses onto his knees, dragging Etho down with him since he’s still holding onto his wrist. With an annoyed groan, he tosses his axe aside - careful to not hit either of them on the way - and flops back to lie on the grass. 

“Dude,” Etho laughs, finally letting go. 

Joel flexes his hand. “Sorry. Kind of tired myself out, there.”

“You think?”

“Shut up.”

His anger has faded, leaving a bone-deep exhaustion that makes him want nothing more than to pass out for a week. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen, but it’s a nice thought. He lies there for a moment longer before sitting up, adjusting so that he and Etho are side by side.

This is something that’s different from every other time he’s experienced this: he’s got a partner this time. They’ll get through it together or die trying, but Joel really hopes it doesn’t end up being the latter, because he wants to win.

He glances at Etho out of the corner of his eye. Part of him wants to say thank you, but he feels like that would be weird. He wouldn’t know how to put it into words, anyway. He’s never been good with stuff like that.

“Did you know that your hands are absolutely fucking freezing?” he asks instead.

Etho laughs. “Oh, are they? Are you sure?”

Joel isn’t fast enough to dodge the hand he rests on the back of his neck. He shouts, then shoves Etho away.

“Oh, you jerk!”

It’s twilight. They’re both laughing, sitting on the grass a few feet away from their burnt-out husk of a boat. Joel still kind of wants to kill someone, but he’s exhausted and knows he needs to rest. There will be time for revenge later.

For now, with Etho by his side, he can wait.

[maze-of-my-design]

persona fun facts :o? can be from any game!

totally not copy-pasted from dms FUN FACTS BRIGADE (also i cut it in half with a readmore bc its. a lot)

Ann is the tallest girl among the Phantom Thieves, santing at 5'5! (In my head she is taller than Ren but shh)

If you take the thieves to darts, the worst player in the gang is surprisingly not Morgana, but Sumire! Don't ask me how she's worse than a cat!

In P5 (including royal), Ann is the only romance option to directly say "I love you" to the protagonist without cutting herself off* (and, i'm half sure, she's one of the few direct kisses a protagonist receives in a persona game) and honestly? good for them ily ann im so gay for her *Sumire says it too, even before being romanced, but it's not a complete "i love you", per se. She stutters through her confession and Ren has to finish it for her because she's so flustered, which is pretty cute i'll be real but in terms of Saying it, it technically doesn't count.

Sho Minazuki (yknow, the guy from the arena games) was originally meant to be the protagonist for P5! This is massively implied in ending dialogue for the Arena games, as well as how similar the two look if you, like, dye his hair black. Also if you recall the original Femc for P5 with the neon red hair…

Sumire lives with her dad, that much is obvious, but the Royal artbook reveals she also lives with her grandma and her mother!

Among all the non-party-member confidants in P5 (including royal), only 5 find out Ren's identity as a Phantom Thief through something else other than a mementos request. These are Maruki, Yoshida, Sojiro, Mishima, and Sae

The Featherman series is a Power Rangers style anime that airs in the inner universe of the series. Contrary to what the Dancing games make us believe, There's always only 5 Feather soldiers that are part of the main crew: Pink Argus, Red Hawk, Black Condor, Yellow Owl, and Blue Swan. These names, however, are sometimes interchanged between "generations" of the show.

Actually lemme go on a tangent (you asked for fun facts you're GETTING fun facts) There are three generations of the Featherman show to date: OG Featherman (persona 2), Featherman R (Persona 3), and Featherman V (P4 and the Arena games). There's actually a change in the naming semantics every new generation of Featherman. For example, take this excerp from the wiki: "Red Eagle (from Featherman), Feather Hawk (from Featherman R and/or Neo Featherman), Feather Red (from Featherman V)" So in P2, the naming convention is "[Color] [Bird name]", in P3 it's "Feather [bird name]" and in P4 it's "Feather [color]"

Ok tangent over don't ask me how i know so much about a fictional series from a fictional game JSVGEFVR more fun facts

Sumire actually has the biggest amount of portrait sprite variations, since it includes her Kasumi and her Sumire sprites. She deserves it tbh, fashion icon

Another Sumire fact! Did you know Maruki "transformed" sumi into her sister on her birthday? I sure did! Fuck you Maruki!! Uninvited from MY birthday party for sure

Sumire, piror to the third semester, is only ever called by her last name, Yoshizawa, by everyone aside from Ren, Morgana and Futaba. This is a very a subtle way to show something's up with her and i gasped when i first found out about it.

Ok fine enough P5 facts have a P3 fact. It's kinda well known im pretty sure but Makoto Yuki's barrage of official names include, also, Sakuya Shiomi from the stageplay. Sakuya means "blossom" or "bloom". Hey do you recall that he dies in March 5th? yknow, when spring starts? Cherry trees. you get it

Back to P5, Tactica reveals that Haru used to indulge in chopping firewood when she was younger. Her dad didn't like that for her, but he never tried to stop her. This probably leads to her having an Axe as part of her Phantom Thief artillery.

Did you know Fuuka and Futaba actually become friends in the Dancing games? They sadly don't remain friends after losing their memories post-game but Fuuka knew her as Alibaba, and Futaba knew her as Lucia :) I hope they became friends online again

In the jazz jin in Royal, Futaba reveals that the retro console you use to play games was hers, and that she'd sold it to the shop in Yongen. Also apparently the busted laptop you buy there was Haru's! (fact also revealed in the Jazz Jin)

[autisticempathydaemon]

[A4A] Your Mafia Boss [More Than a Friend] Makes You Lunch

Tags: [Dating] [Getting to Know Each Other] [Librarian Listener] [Part Three]

Type: SFW

Tagline: Any leftovers I take home will go straight to Giacomo, and he’s still in the dog house until you say so. This is all for you, doll.

Tone: familiar, relaxed, occasionally soft and vulnerable

Setting; SFX: outside courtyard; slight wind and possible birdsong

WC: 1178, ~11 - 12 minutes

Author's Notes: This is the third of a series; please refer to its predecessor for the full context and story!

[Laugh] (Mid-sentence) -and obviously, ten year olds don’t understand the technicalities of counterfeiting and crime. We just knew “hey, this is money, we have a lot of it, so no one will care if we take some to the arcade.” (Aside) I was a DDR kid. I loved the game, but she, that cruel mistress, did not love me. I needed practice. (On topic) So, G and I, we see a stack of fresh, crisp fives, and we just grab a few off the top not knowing those were the rejects from the printer.

[Laugh] Misprints. It looked like someone’s punk fanart of Abraham Lincoln, like someone gave him neck tattoos and blue hair except if an artist actually did that, it would have been still more believable than the money we tried to put in the token machine.

Oh, god, wouldn’t have that been amazing? No, they didn’t work, and they were so obviously fakes, they really considered calling the police on a couple of preteens if not for the fact I called our moms who convinced the owners we were the victims here- something about us selling our skateboards to a conman and not knowing any better.

You bet they bought it; my ma’s a great liar. It doesn’t hurt that G and I have known how to cry on cue since we could practically walk.

[Snap] In a heartbeat, especially when I have a whole summer of punishment memories to draw on. Because we took money without asking and almost blew the whole operation- (Aside) which, I have to be real with you, was the main reason we were in trouble- (On point), we had to spend the rest of the summer working in my uncle’s restaurant “learning to appreciate the value of money”.

[Laugh] Which is particularly ironic when any of us remember the restaurant was initially a laundering front. The only reason there’s real cooks and work to be done in the back of the house is because Ma doesn’t let things go half-assed. That place became the talk of the town one month under her thumb, and that’s where we spent hot weeks peeling lemons, chopping onions, kneading pasta, the like. That’s where I learned how to cook.

[Laugh] I’m glad you think my food’s good enough to go pro. That’s sweet, but that was never in the cards for me. Ma wanted to retire, and this is the sort of business you like to keep in the family. Besides, cooking becomes so much less exciting when you have to do it for money. (Playfully haunted) I still refuse to make tortellini after that summer.

No, no, this is tortlloni- much bigger, much less fussy, much more satisfying to eat. Tortellini is not so much a food as an exercise in torture.

(Flirtatious) If you’d like to try it, I’m sure I could be tempted or persuaded- bribed, perhaps.

(Drawn-out) Hmmm, what do I want?

[Pause] (Loaded, sotto voce) I’ll have to consider that. I’m sure I could figure something out.

[Pause, phone alarm, laugh] (Light) Well, I certainly don’t want you to be late, that’s for sure. I will not be responsible for you going missing yet again.

[Rustling] May I help you up?

[Footsteps] I can see why you like your job so much. This courtyard is a lovely place to eat and read and people watch. You know, I watched a little kid take their first steps the other day.

[Laugh] I work! I have my laptop. I leave after we have lunch. I work nights; I do more than cook and look at your pretty self.

I think about your aforementioned pretty self, of course… and educate myself on the finer points of art forgery, which is a new market I’m thinking of getting into- very interesting, lots of potential for international operations, networking, the like. I keep busy, believe me.

For you, doll? Never; I could make time in any and all of my nights for you.

(Surprised, pleased) Especially tonight, if you want.

Consider yourself penciled in the calendar for a date. Did you have anything planned in particular, or shall I pick? There’s a place or two I’ve been dying to take you, places that make food I’m not as good at.

Of course. I’ve been wanting to take you out for a proper date night since, well, since I laid my eyes on you if I’m being honest.

[Beat] (Caught, thoughtful) Because… I kidnapped you- on accident and by proxy but still- found you at the place you work, and implied I’d like you to not talk to the police while also flirting with you and bringing you lunch pretty much everyday for the past three weeks. If we were to take that next step, if I were to pursue you more seriously than I already was, I’d want it to be because you felt comfortable and safe enough to initiate more.

[Beat] (Abashed) And, while I’m being honest, I want to be sure you’re not afraid of me… that you like me.

[Pause, laugh] Oh god, do I really?

(Muffled as if covering face) How could you not tell me I’ve had frosting on my face this whole time?

(Mumbling) “Silly” they call me. A legion of hardened criminals at my beck and call, and they call me silly.

(Unmuffled, normal volume) Did I get it?

[Rustling] What about now?

Here?

(Tender, soft) Sure, please.

[Pause, maybe a hitched breath to imply the kissable tension] (Soft) Thank you.

[Phone ringing, laugh] (Whispered) Sorry.

[Pause, maybe humming to denote waiting for Doll to finish their call] (Abashed) I’ve made you late… again. The next time I make lunch, I’ll have to include something extra for your coworkers- cookies or something.

Correction- I don’t have to, but I’d like to. I should. The last thing I want now that I’ve finally got you to go out with me is to make your friends think badly of me. (Teasing) That is, if I can trust you to hoard the cookies to yourself.

[Laugh] I’ll see you tonight?

(Pleased) Good. I’ll come by and pick you up. Do you want to plan the night, or should I?

Hmm… do you like surprises?

Duly noted. Then, I was thinking something classic and traditional to offset our… I’d say untraditional meeting- dinner and a movie?

Good. I’ll send along the menu of a place I have in mind; let me know if it sounds good so I can call and make a reservation or pick another. We’ll pick the movie after?

I’ll be counting the minutes… and working! I’m going to hustle along that forger I was telling you about and get that meeting done; I’m not letting you call me a slacker again.

Oh, it’s no trouble, believe me, doll. I’m the boss, so if you say we’re going on a date tonight, I am going to make that happen and make it good.

[Pause, cheek kiss] (Sweet) Look forward to it; I know I am.

[headcanons-n-shit]

Aight I'll toss myself in for self indulgence:

How about some of the boys's reactions to a mc who throws their arms around them with a hug of relief?

(some spoilers for shadowbringers, DRK70 and RDM 60 (i think))

Thancred

certainly isn't expecting it. He's panting, exhausted, gunblade slipping from his grip, barely keeping himself propped up for Minfilia's sake, in his least favorite place in the two worlds he's had the displeasure of existing on. To say you take him by surprise is an understatement-- you take him down with you into the glittering wildflowers. It takes him a minute to remember how his arms work before he carefully, carefully returns your hug. And if you're both shaking and crying the entire time, well... Alphinaud and Alisae wont tell.

The pixies might though.

Urianger

barely has an easier time of it than Thancred, but that's only because he is, despite being worn thin, vaguely rested. He still rocks back onto his heels when you interrupt his monologue to throw your arms around him. His arms come around you immediately to steady you, and then tighten, and tighten, as he steadies himself. On one hand, this breakdown was three years in the making.

On the other hand, you now know how to shut him up.

G'raha

is crying. he's crying, okay?! it's been a really long, really challenging hundred years for him. He got shot. Twice. This body has been sleeping in the Crystal Tower for at least a couple of months. And when it finally dawns on you that this is him, him, Student of Baldesion and Scion of the Seventh Dawn, Exarch and Keeper of the Crystal Tower, and you practically tackled him back into the crystal throne that cradled him, well. He needs this as much as you do.

Estinien

Careful, spikey boy is spikey. You're definitely going to have a red mark on your forehead where you bonked against his armor. Gae Bolg clatters onto the ground as his arms come up automatically to steady you, and then his armet as he tosses it aside so that he can lean down to rest his forehead against yours. The last time he saw you, he snatched you out from beneath a falling blade. And the world is still going to shit around you, and it's certainly only going to get worse from here, but right in this moment you're alive in his arms and he can breathe.

Aymeric

should let you go. Should encourage you back into your bed, should tuck the blanket back up around your shoulders and kiss your forehead and tell you to get some more rest. But, fuck, you almost died right in front of him. Here, in this private room, he can surely be allowed this one small indulgence: you, hanging half off the bed, held up almost entirely by his arms as he buries his face in your neck.

Haurchefant

makes a little 'umph' sound as you practically tackle him back into his bed. He's an injured man, aren't you supposed to be a little more delicate with him?! His half-hearted complaints fall on deaf ears, though, especially when he feels your tears against his chest. He wraps his one arm-- just the one, his other side swathed in bandages-- around your shoulders and tugs you a little more securely against him. You've sacrificed so much, had so much taken from you, and when the dawn breaks you will no doubt go out to chop off more of yourself in the name of this war, but right now he needs you to know that you still have him.

Sidurgu

is the one who sweeps you off your feet. You can hear his heartbeat fluttering in his chest, you have got to stop doing this to him. Myste called the shades of the Knights Heavensward against you, and all he could think of was Fray, the fresh snow the clanking of Temple Knight armor and--

There's a lot of berating and ugly crying as he shamelessly clings to you. Even moreso when Rielle comes over to wedge herself between the two of you. He. Can't lose you, okay? Not like that. Not again.

BONUS

X'rhun

gets to breathe out one long sigh of relief before the impact. The two of you tumble down into the dirt, and he gets to make one small noise of complaint when your weight comes down on his wound before the realization hits him even heavier. It's over. It's over. Lambard is dead. He won't hurt anyone else ever again. The souls of the dead have been avenged and the legacy of the Mages Red yet lives and he just

laughs. Against your shoulder. And if his voice is wet and choked with tears, well. So is yours.