#because i love artistic fine cuisine

[thekrows-nest]

normally i dont have my OCs be yanderes when I set them up with someone else's yan OC but i like the idea of a yandere primmy with krow <3<3<3 some more naughty stuff will come eventually

General Things:

Prim 100% has her hands on Krow all the time she's so insatiable 😭 (Ofc she stops whenever Krow asks- consent is sexy :lipbite:) I know she'd love to press long and drawn out smooches on Krow's lips only to nip his lip as she pulls away. Prim adores holding his hand all the time or wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. She peppers kisses all over krow's hands calling them pretty and gushes about how talented they are as an artist. Constantly compliments him on anything and everything. Prim would frame anything that Krow gifts her 🥰 She'd put little braids in his hair, transferring some of her hair clips onto him.

Prim's huge on gift-giving. I haven't specified it too much i think??- but Primmy’s not the type to just buy expensive gifts because they're expensive. (She haaates most of the popular luxury brands) She honestly puts the effort to buy gifts that are meaningful to her darling. I'd say Prim would avidly watch Krow paint/sculpt and take note of any paint/material he runs low on. As much as she would love for krow to let her spoil them with her money she understands that it can be overwhelming so she tries to be careful about it. She buys him groceries often because he probably cooks all the time for her since she cant cook for shit 😭

Yanyan things:

I don't think there's very many things that Krow would do to make her act rashly 🤔 I think they pair so well that its just unlikely jdhdbdbd

But i still wanna talk about kidnapping so lets pretend Primmy lost a few (more) screws

Krow would wake up in a plush bed, leg chained to the wall, enough slack to move around the room. Prim sits at the foot of the bed, perking up as she spots him awake. "Birdie! Good morning, love." She coos, leaping over and tightly hugging him. A sweet strawberry scent fills his senses. She tightly grips his face, looking at him with absolute adoration. "I know this seems a little scary but it's for the best. I can't have you getting away from me." She nuzzles him close, sharp nail nicking his cheek as she moves. She presses a kiss over the cut and licks the small bead of blood. Krow lifts a hand to feel his neck, a collar customized to suit him sit snugly on him. "Oh I'm so happy I have you here with me, birdie. We'll be together forever and ever." She lets out an airy giggle, lacing their fingers together.

Okay NOW I think I have the spoons to actually respond to this ndfgbld

Krow is totally fine with all the physical affection Prim wants to give him (the only time he'd really ask her to stop is when he is trying to work on some art, ESPECIALLY if it's something where he could accidentally nick her like if he was carving something). He'd definitely get a bit bashful over the compliments, but accept them in good stride. What affection she gives him, he returns in equal doses. Krow is like a mirror, reflecting the love and attention his Dove gives him in turn.

Small, meaningful gifts Krow can and does appreciate. Like I mentioned before, the more expensive and/or grand the thing, the more awkward he gets over it. Even if he KNOWS it is within Dove's price range, what makes him feel weird about it is that he cannot do the same in turn. Like, he can also gift small, cute stuff. But something impressive with a hefty price tag? Not at all. And he'll cook all the time for Prim. He enjoys it and food is something that makes him very happy. I hope Prim delights in different foods and cuisines like he does. You'll never get bored with Krow's cooking.

As for the yandere side of things hoo boy.

Like you said (and I think I did too), I highly doubt there's anything either one would do to make the other spiral into more crazy yandere acts. Prim I am sure wouldn't do anything to ignite Krow's jealousy (not to dangerous levels anyway) and I don't think Krow would do anything in turn.

But again, for the sake of the plot bunny, let's say he did.

Admittedly Krow is... torn?

On one hand, he is flattered that Prim loves him SO MUCH that she wishes to keep him forever and ever. He feels much the same! He'd love to stay forever! But also like... "Heheh, D-Dove, m-my Muse, y-you didn't have to g-go through s-such efforts. Y-you could have simply a-asked me to m-move in." And he was... never gonna get away from you?

And yet. And yet he thinks of his coworkers. Especially Luke and Jazzy. He loves the both of them too. He wants them in his life somehow. It is not like they replace Prim or are more important. Prim AND Luke with Jazzy are equally important! Krow knows he'll have to proceed with caution to convince Prim that he WILL be with them, forever and he isn't leaving them or anything. But he has some devotion to Luke and Jazzy too.

It's... a sticky situation for sure.

[marybeatriceofmodena]

I came across your anti-Grishaverse posts and I like to add some of own analyses about the worldbuilding (if you're willing to go through the series again after 2021, ofc). My knowledge on Russian history and folklore is very surface level but even then I still was absolutely baffled at how bad the worldbuilding is. Especially with "Grisha" which is literally Russian for Greg???? Lol, let's just call in the Pasha Army too because why not. I've already relentlessly made fun of the name "Grishaverse" being a multiverse of Gregs so here are my favorites: Gregor-Man: Into the Greg-verse. Gregory-thing Gregory-where All At Greg, Doctor Greg and the Multiverse of Greg-ness. And it's even worse with the show when they clumsily tried to explore racism with a more diverse cast of people of Asian descent which would've been an incredible story considering Russia's rich history with the Mongols and the Turks but then they had to add in the term "rice-eater". When like, Russian cuisine includes rice. Like salmon coulibiac. So it just makes no sense at all, it's kinda the equivalent of calling an American "burger-eater". And the absence of patronymic names just because the author thought it sounded better without them (Alina Starkov is grammatically incorrect and it drove me insane, it literally takes 5 minutes to look up how to do it). I think it's great how the author wanted to do a fantasy story with some vaguely Slavic traditions but the result reminds me of Raya and the Last Dragon from Disney which, as a South East Asian person, I really dislike because it literally does the same thing of cherry picking stuff from SEAsian countries and using words from real languages that don't make sense at all, even if it's a fantasy story (I really hate the "dep la" line from the movie). It's like the author doesn't really care about the nuances of Russian society or Slavic societies in general and really only cared about the aesthetics of it (which the show didn't even do right, what the fuck are those costumes, I hate fantasy costumes that look like they were on a haute couture fashion line). Which could lead into some really awful pitfalls bordering on stereotyping and exoticization. I think it's great how she wanted to do a fantasy story with some vaguely Slavic traditions since they're pretty underappreciated but the result reminds me of Raya and the Last Dragon from Disney which, as a South East Asian person, I really dislike because it literally does the same thing of cherry picking stuff from SEAsian countries and using words from real languages that don't make sense at all (I really hate the "dep la" line from the movie). I'm just tired of authors cherry picking stuff from other cultures for the aesthetics and don't bother to really delve into said cultures and build an interesting story inspired by their folklore or history. Not to mention, it feels like the lack of research shows a reluctance to genuinely learn and fall in love with Slavic cultures, like Westerners still think they're backwards and barbaric. I certainly felt the same way with Raya.

So, I'll start with the disclaimer that I haven't seen Raya as of now so I can't really speak for it, BUT I think the one nuance I would bring to this is that I do think it's fine to use artistic licence when you're taking inspiration for a certain culture, WITH THE VERY IMPORTANT CAVEAT that you need to understand what you're taking inspiration from in the first place.

Take me, for instance. My original fiction takes inspiration (among other things) of Breton tales and mythology, since it's the region where it's believed Nimue trapped Merlin, and there is a personnifcation of Death figure that is a bit of a nod to the Ankou (who in Breton mythology is considered to be Death's henchman), a plot point that will be a callback to the Midnight Washerwomen, and so on and so forth, but none of these are a 1:1 comparison with the Ankou and the Midnight Washerwomen, simply because... well, I felt like doing something different. But you know, I acknowledge it's a nod, I'm not going to say "Lord Death in my story is like the Ankou", because that simply wouldn't be true nor accurate.

All that to say, "inspiration" doesn't save you from having to do research, and learning "why" certain things tick a certain way. Orthodoxy tends to be very oriented towards mysticism and spirituality, and we kind of get that with the cult of the Saints in the Grishaverse, but if you stop and think about religion for more than 5 minutes in that setting, it falls apart. You could get away with saying naming conventions are different in your story compared to Russian conventions (if only for the sake of being gender-neutral and more inclusive), but it becomes a problem when there are several other mistakes that native speakers can easily point out.

And then, of course, you have to take into account that LB's forte is not writing fantasy that involves politics, sociology, wars, and so on. If we're talking about something that's more "in isolation" like the SoC duology, you can get away with that. Seriously, 19th Russia was a mess - it produced absolutely amazing art that endures to this day and still inspires a lot of people (not that we see any hint of that lmao), but it was also a pretty shitty place to live if you were a peasant or a serf. The problem is, the PoV characters we have for both the Grisha trilogy and the KoS duology are essentially 21st century characters, who apply 21st century logic and solutions to a 19th century setting, and instead of that causing a certain set of consequences, it works out for them when it really shouldn't, all the while they're ignoring HUGE PROBLEMS that are right there.

If you're going to write high fantasy with big stakes, I cannot recommend enough reading and learning about history. You're writing about a female freedom fighter in an oppressive regime? Read about real life folk heroines - Boudica, the Trung sisters, Joan of Arc, Emilia Plater, Rani Lakshmibai. You're writing about a rags (or close enough) to ruler protagonist? Read about Catherine I of Russia, Wei Zifu, Basil I, Fredegund, Theodora, Honwu Emperor. What made them tick? How did they get all the way to the top? Was it charm? Guile? Brute force? Knowledge? Sheer luck? Divine intervention (don't look at me like that, go ask Joan)? How did royal courts work? What were the conflicts at the time? Why were there conflicts at the time?

"But Irina, why should I do that research? It's all magic and dragons and monsters!"

Unless we're talking about a post-apocalyptic or primitive society, you're still going to have a certain level of societal organization. How is magic viewed in your fantasy world? Is it allowed? Glorified? Despised? Where does it come from? What's your inspiration? How does this inspiration view magic? What are you going to do differently and why? Are your dragons friendly or not? Are they gods? Pets? Prey? Are we talking about dragons in Persian mythology where they represent vices? If you're going to make them benevolent, why? Are they Chinese dragons, where they're considered benevolent and wise (on that note, that's why China had a more negative reaction to Mushu when Disney's animated version of Mulan came out)? If they're just going to be mindless beasts who just think about violence, why? Why not even pick another monster if you're going to make them the big bad when they're anything but? And the list goes on.

[kvetchaeg]

Detective _____ and the Search for Ennis

The other day, I came home from work and realized I did not know where I was.

I wasn’t lost. I had made it home as normal. I knew the street and the unit number, recognized all the furniture, all art on the walls. I knew the dishes stacked up by the sink and heap of mail on the landing pad addressed to me, and to Denis, and to various prior occupants. I knew where I was in the world. What I could not find was me. Where had I gone? This was where I was, so by all accounts I should have been there. And yet, no such luck.

I paced from room to room, opening windows, turning off the AC. I sat at my desk, at the kitchen bar, laid down on the couch, on the bed. I pulled out art supplies, books to read, games to play. I made a list of correspondence that needed tending to, tasks needing completion. I put my hands on every hobby and responsibility in my home.

I could do none of it. Felt none of it.

It was the strangest thing, like I had opened up a compartment in my chest and emptied everything out, so that all that remained was an irregular lightness.

I sat down on the kitchen floor and found I did not even want to cry. So unlike the listless, lethargic numbness of prior depressions. I wasn’t lacking in energy or direction. Had plenty of both, really. It was more like I’d lost my sticking power. I could identify my hobbies, my pleasures, the things that bring my life meaning and fulfillment—and I could do them! I had no trouble getting on my feet and going through motions. But when I reached out and put my hand on them, it was as if nothing was there. Because I was not there.

Where was I? Where was I? What do I do without me?

Banchan, unable to walk on the hard tile of the kitchen, laid at its boundary and meowed for me, and I did not, as customary, meow back at him. I realized that I had no desire even to pick him up, and that frightened me enough that I did nearly cry for a moment. Nearly.

I stood. I resolved to find myself, to fix all this. I took out the big plastic bin in my brain full of all the things I love and popped off the lid, knelt rooting around in the miscellany. I was a detective, vacant and impersonal, but single-minded in my pursuit of this missing person. What did I know about this Ennis? What sort of things could they reliably be found doing?

Playing games, yes. Making art, yes. But these were things I could not do. Play and creativity were places I could not go, kingdoms I did not have entry to. That was a startling thought, too. I do not have memories prior to the point at which I started drawing. My tenure as artist began before memory kicks in, my elders all having stories of little-me with crayon in hand from a time farther back than I can recall. To stand in my home, in my own damn free time, and not know how to tell a story or doodle some happy foolishness was unmooring. Wherever I had gone, I had gone far.

I decided to cook. Denis would be home in an hour or two, and whatever else was true, we would need to eat dinner. It was a practical thing, and though my love for cooking is not as old as my love for games or storytelling, it is nearly as fundamental. A fine place to start looking.

I had no desire to eat (unusual), and therefore source of direction. My stomach-North Star had absconded with the rest of me. No matter, though. I was an expert on these Ennis-things, and thus consulted my record of favorite cuisine (Korean) and favorite genre (baked goods). I inventoried which appliances and niche cookware hadn’t seen use in a while and took stock of what groceries there were to work with. I settled on jjinppang, stuffed with onions, garlic, eggplant, Impossible ground beef. Gochujang and rice syrup, maybe sesame.

I got the dough proofing, felt nothing. Diced the onion and the eggplant, felt nothing. I turned on the radio, nothing. Warm golden light from the falling sun sent the house glowing, the birds and the bugsong throwing in with the soul FM. Nothing.

When Denis arrived home, he cheered about the music and food that filled the air before he even finished setting down his backpack and kicking off his shoes. I felt no pleasure in the loveliness I had created, but took his happiness as a sign I was on the right path. This way. This is the kind of place Ennis likes to go.

He asked me about my day, and because I was not myself, I did not feel my self’s usual urge to feign normalcy. I was honest. I am impracticed with speaking honestly about my emotions. The deeper the sorrow, the less I prefer to say. Let it stay down there, is my thinking. Don’t let it up here, where it’ll kill the atmosphere. If it doesn’t involve or impact them, why poison their day with it? Don’t let it ruin the moment. Let it stay down there. So I was honest, but faltering and ineloquent. He tried to speak sympathetically, to acknowledge and encourage and give advice where he saw space for it, but I could not explain to him the vastness of what I was experiencing, what I was not experiencing. The way I spoke, I must have simply seemed tired; worn down by a long, bad day.

He came to pull me into a hug.

When my partner hugs me, it is supposed to be a rush of joy and relief and safe-feeling. It is the most certain, reliable, foolproof way I know of melting into dopamine. A hug cannot fix a bad day, or cure a broken heart, or heal a wound. It is not a catholicon, but it is a reprieve always. A small, sacred moment of feathery confidence, unbound from the world and its woes, like floater airtime.

I felt his arms go around me, pull me into his warmth.

This was the loss that sent me, finally, into tears. If this did not feel like happiness, then I had gone very far away, indeed.

And what if I never came back? What if this was what it was to be, forever? Where would I go? What would I do? How would I pass the long hours? Who would want my unfeeling company, unenthused and uninterested? Whose company would I want, if not Denis’s?

I whimpered and shook pitifully in his arms, feeling something at last but reclaiming no relief in the sensation of sensation. The only feeling I could hold inside of me was the dim, grim mantle of shame falling over my back, like a shawl slid between his skin and mine; a dividing and distancing that folded over me where ardor ought to have. Shame, for how little his touch moved me.

When the buns were finished steaming, we sat down in silence and I forced myself to eat. It tasted good, and at that dim and simple acknowledgment, somewhere deep and far away, I sensed a faint twinkle of happiness flicker on in the empty dark sky. Not near enough to feel, but near enough to know that it was still out there. I felt passive and disinterested, but I marked the pride duly, taking it as good sign, and boxed up my leftovers.

Unable to feign enthusiasm for any further any-thing, we retreated to bed. I pulled Denis toward me. I did not long for his touch any more than I had standing in the kitchen, but I was cognizant of the fact that his hands on my body, like eating, is good for me.

In the morning, I woke up in bed and realized I did not know where I was. This was no longer a surprise, though.

I rose, drank coffee, kissed Denis goodbye as he set off to go kayaking with his mom (“Are you sure you don’t want to come? There will be a waterfall.” “Yes, yes, I’m sure”). I hoisted the last of the bags into his arms, bade him text me when he got there, then turned to face down my crime scene.

I spent the day hunting: I studied a little. I drew a bit. I made sweets for a party I had no desire to attend. I tidied some, pet my cats when they passed near. I wrote this. Now there is quinoa simmering, broccoli and veggie sausage crisping in the cast-iron. Denis is home. We will eat food, sit together, and play a game.

I still don’t feel any pleasure or interest, but I realize now that neither do I feel any fear. I had been so focused on the missing good, I had failed to notice the missing bad. There’s no looming dread, no guilt of things not-done. No stress. No anxiety. No melancholy. It seems when I left that I took all the bad with the good, and I suppose there is something enjoyable about the peace that I feel. It is a vacant, empty sort of peace, something I doubt could be healthy—but it is peace nonetheless.

Maybe that’s all this is. Maybe I haven’t gone anywhere after all. Maybe the crazing vase just finally fractured, bottom bottomed-out and all the everything it had hardly held within simply, woosh. It could it hold no more. All the death, all the sorrow, all the failure and fear and frustration—let it all fall away and let the flowers out fall with it. Maybe it just needed to break and be empty a while; feel the unburdened thinness of what it is to be hollow. Maybe this is just the heart’s way of saying, too much. That’s too much. I can’t hold all of that. I am just one little vase.

I am happy, now, to say that this emptiness has passed. I came back to myself somewhere in the third day, slow but steady. Some passing amusement in a game; the pleasure of a purring cat; honey-lavender tea; his hand on my back, making slow circles. Slow but steady, slow but steady.

I am holding my little vase carefully now, wary of what all must go in. Little earthenware-heart, you have so much heat to bear! So much sorrow to stew, fear steaming off in thick coils. It is unavoidable. It is life, the burning eye, and the mess of your self the meal making. We are all eventual food, all oxidizing, all bound for the earth or the oven. We have no say of the flame, of fate. But we have some say of what manner of meal we make of ourself. What goes in the pot? How much can we make it hold? How much of our own choosing can we add or take out? Slow and steady, slow and steady. Let’s not boil over or break before the feasting hour, before the dinner bell tolls.

[grandhotelabyss]

Do you think there is a link between being a picky eater/ having a childish food palet - and intelectuall shallowness or atleast a myopic understanding of culture?

To be pedantic, "picky eater" encompasses "childish palate," but it could include all sorts of things, including the opposite of "childish palate," like "only eats haute cuisine." I make that point because "picky eater" might mean a refined or mature taste as well as a shallow or unformed one. I do find that if your taste, in both food and culture, does get more refined or mature, it's hard to go back, at least for any length of time, to chicken nuggets and Star Wars. (Lest that sound snooty or self-congratulatory, let me balance it by saying that I can't stand people who make their pickiness somebody else's problem. Unless medical necessity is involved, when you are someone's guest you should eat what you are served and say "thank you.")

Does a childish palate indicate shallow culture? I am tempted to say no, since no one can master all the arts (I'm considering cuisine an art here), and I, anyway, as a product of the lower middle class, have never been rich enough for fine dining. It would be interesting to investigate the question, to look at great or not-so-great writers' or artists' eating habits.

Shelley, English poetry's great idealist, was a vegetarian: his diet, like his poetry, bloodless. But did the sensualist Keats eat more richly? I don't know. Susan Sontag, cultural gourmand, interpreter of high culture to the hoi polloi, lived on junk food, literally on fried baloney (of course, she emerged from the same class milieu I did, as I may have had cause to mention before). Ray Bradbury and Toni Morrison, perpetrators of a cloying prose in their different modes and genres (according to their critics, in whose company I should mostly not be numbered), each had the proverbial sweet tooth, loved cake and ice cream, dessert their favorite meal. David Foster Wallace subsisted on blondies, and I would be tempted to connect this to what I have found his works' cultural thinness, except that Sontag, Bradbury, and Morrison here form counterexamples. Faulkner ate a heavy Southern breakfast, sausage and eggs and grits and collards and bacon, though we know him more for his fatal love of the grain, as we know Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Joyce—what did they eat?—for their fatal love of the grape. We know more about what writers drank (Dr. Johnson's tea, Balzac's coffee, Coleridge's laudanum) or smoked (Baudelaire's hashish, Camus' cigarettes, Pynchon's weed), or at least I do, than what they ate.

In sum, it's tempting, but I don't think we can make this connection, even if I could remember off the top of my head more authorial eating habits.

[pointreyesjournal]

The Amnesiac : ep37

River, Flood, Moses and David

The sun sets on our wonderful day and we enjoy watching the colors of the sky disappear and the lights of the glowing businesses illuminate the street. Sunday evening is typically slow for businesses, but the restaurants are bustling. We decide to find dinner somewhere on Front Street and set our standards as “authentic German cuisine with real Kölsch beer.” We depart our park bench heading north once again. There’s a group of people pouring out of a shoppe onto the sidewalk about a block and a half north that have piqued our in interest. They’re holding wine glasses and little plates of cheese pierced with toothpicks, so we assume it’s either a private party or an art gallery opening.

At first glance, it appears to be a space reserved by the local chamber of commerce for highlighting local artists. There are about six people in front of the gallery on the sidewalk when we approach, and I’m getting weird vibes from them as we approach. They’re looking at me and River oddly. They have a look of shock in their faces, like there’s some sort of Leavenworth localism and we’re crashing their party.

I take notice immediately at the way they’re dressed. Unlike Los Angeles or New York, their “dressed up” is more “dressed down.” There are no black turtlenecks or casual suits. Instead they’re wearing nice Pendleton flannels button-downs with cuffed denim, chambray, and fine silver jewelry with turquoise, malachite and onyx stones. The PNW vibe is strong and these people are definitely locals. There’s one couple, a petite blonde and a ruggedly handsome man, that are paying particular interest to me. As we approach, the man turns directly toward me and stops us in our tracks.

“Hey, you’re the guy” the man says to me with incredulity in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Aren’t you the guy in the art show?”

I am completely confused here. The only art I’ve ever created are the five drawings that are tucked away safely in the panniers of the Ducati and the one picture rolled up under River’s arm. I must look completely bewildered, because the man asks me again.

“Sir, you’re the guy in the art show … aren’t you?”

“This art show??”

“Yes, it’s a photography exhibit called Vanishing Desire. It’s about a woman who falls in love, only to have the man vanish forever. You look like the man in the pictures.”

I look at River. River looks at me. Could this be the final clue in the mystery? I turn back toward the man in the flannel.

“I guess there’s only one way to find out …”

The man and wife stand aside making way for River and I to enter the exhibit. We pass through the door. There’s a wall and and a guestbook between us and the exhibit, and on that wall is a photograph. It is a portrait of a woman with strawberry blonde Farrah Fawcett hair and a face hidden behind a Leica camera. The image takes our breath away. River unrolls the drawing under her arm and holds it up against the photograph on the wall. It is an EXACT match. The print and the drawing are coincidentally almost the same size. The details match perfectly. My blood runs cold. I am nearly in shock. River is looking at the photo in absolute disbelief.

“Floody” River says to me “what the fuck is going on here??”

I am at a complete loss for words. River leans our drawing against the wall below the print on the table behind the guestbook, then takes my hand and holds it tightly. “Buckle up Floody, I have a feeling your amnesia headache is about to hit you like a freight train.” I look at my drawing, and then at the picture, and then at River. They are three identical matches. My hand is cold and shivering in suspense, but River holds me tightly. We step into the exhibit.

The first image we’re greeted with is a candid photograph of me standing in Fern Canyon. It’s the reciprocal of my first memory recall when I saw River walk past me the canyon. I remember River’s spirit making this photo, but how was River’s spirit making photographs of me and then actually printing them? This is insanity. I feel a burning in my gut from the confusion and River keeps a tight grasp on my hand. The next image is even more shocking. It is a picture of me posing in front of the giant statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. My hands are on my hips and I’ve got a big smile on my face. I’m so confused by what I’m seeing that I step to my right clumsily to get a look at the next picture and bump into another patron. She looks at me, and then at the pictures on the wall, and then back at me again a couple of times. “Oh look, it’s you!” she exclaims. She says it loudly enough that the rest of the patrons take notice and there seems to be a commotion and lots of chatter. It seems that everyone in the gallery are as surprised as I am that I’m here.

And then, in an instant, the crowd of art patrons part as if guided by the hand of Moses, and standing in the back of the room is a woman looking upon me in complete disbelief. The woman’s eyes light up and she dashes across the room toward me and nearly tackles me with a hug. I feel her squeezing me hard as she says my proper name. “Oh David! My God, I was so worried about you!” She releases me from her hug, and takes a step back. “David my darling, I thought I’d never see you again!” she exclaims. I feel River’s hand slip from my grasp and standing in front of me are two women, nearly identical in looks, River and this other person, both with strawberry blonde Farrah Fawcett haircuts, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, slender athletic builds and even matching cosy white sweaters. They are complete and absolute doppelgängers. I glance down at this woman’s feet and she’s wearing the leather waffle stompers with the red laces from my memories. Then I look at River. Tears of sorrow and heartbreak are streaming down her face. This new woman says my name once again to bring my attention back to her. “Oh David” she says as she takes my hand. The instant our fingers connect I close my eyes and my amnesia disappears. I keep my eyes tightly shut, and like being struck by a bolt of lighting, I relive the entirety of the past month in the blink of an eye.

[senawashere]

1. What's your current field of study or occupation?

2. Where do you see yourself in the next five years?

3. What's your favorite hobby or pastime?

4. How do you stay active or maintain a healthy lifestyle?

5. What's a recent book, movie, or TV show you enjoyed?

6. Do you have any travel plans or dream destinations?

7. What's your go-to music genre or favorite artist?

8. Are you involved in any community or volunteer activities?

9. How do you manage stress or relax?

10. Do you have any favorite podcasts or YouTube channels?

11. What's a skill you would like to learn or improve?

12. How do you stay connected with friends and family?

13. Any recent achievements or milestones you're proud of?

14. What's your favorite type of cuisine or specific dish?

15. Are you a morning person or a night owl?

16. Do you have any financial goals or budgeting tips?

17. How do you stay informed about current events?

18. What's a memorable experience from your teenage years?

19. What's something you wish you knew when you were younger?

20. Do you have any favorite quotes or life mottos?

HOLY MOLY I HAVE ANSWER ALL OF THEM WAIT.

1. I used to study Music-fine arts but i dropped now i just study english language and literature

2.I see myself in a good paying job in new york,thats my only wish

3.I sing and dance haha and most of time i sleep and eat...

4.Girl belive me i dont 💀

5. Recent book: i finished perks of being a wallflower and now i am reading lesson in chemistry

Movie: I just watched saltburn it was good

Tv show: im not proud to say this but i wish finished jeffrey epstein filthy rich💀

6. New york is basicly my dream.

7.Probably pop or rock im not sure but as artist taylor swift,fleetwood mac,muse,scorpions etc..

8.Yes!! I am writing a fanzine and i am also shooting a short film with my friends for school

9. I am terrible at stress i just cry

10. I probably dont have but i used to listen true crime podcast but they gave me nightmare so i stopped

11. I really want to get better at my guitar

12. I dont have many friends people dont like me i guess but i visit my family like most of the time

13. I HAVE SO MANY!!! But probably the first time i did a full 14 hour international trip by myself hahah

14. I love everything related doner,mercimek soup and all kinds of pasta

15. Somehow both.

16. Live alone.

17. From instagram and twitter and sometimes here

18. Ah god i miss it but i dont remember too many

19. That growing up is not scary and you will find a job if you finish english language and literature

20. Ah man i have so many but i like the word silver lining a lot and "never wanted love,just a fancy car" because a fancy car is better than a man

[amateurd18]

Hii Ami!! Secret Santa here!! Hope your Sunday was a relaxing one!! ✨

I feel like I know exactly who you’re talking about!! Did they make video edits on YouTube in the earlier years and one of them was to the song “taken?” The one where they used Miley Cyrus as the main protagonist that the boys tried to get to? I probably sound crazy with that description, but I could have sworn there was something like that too!!

Ahh I see!! Sadly, I’m not too into the HP fandom, but I can appreciate it from afar!! Do you have a particular book/movie you like the most from that fandom?

Some speed round questions!!! Do you have a favorite color? Any pets? Are there any hobbies that you enjoy!? Do you have a preferred sound from the 1d boy’s solo stuff?! Any other music artists that you recommend? 🎄✨

I don't remember if taken was part of that song montage video thing, but i don't remember much so who knows. And you don't sound crazy at all, my brain remembers so much random shit that I'm not surprised at all.

Regarding HP, i think sorcerer's stone (movie and book both) will always have a special place in my heart because they were my first introduction to the wizarding world. But nowadays it seems to be fic through and through keeping me hooked.

Fav colour: blue

Pets: none, and i don't want any

Hobbies: artsy stuff! Give me a bunch of markers / colouring pencils and a colouring book and i will not move for ages. I'm branching out into experimenting with digital art too, but that's been slow going so far because I'm essentially self teaching.

Preferred sound: i feel like i vibe with Niall and louis'music the most. Loved fine line, but Harry's house took longer to grow on me.

Music recs: i am a basic bitch who loves pop / pop rock. So. Coldplay, little mix, one republic, imagine dragons, ed Sheeran, Lewis Capaldi. Unusual recs: i love listening to soundtracks from movies, usually when i can't afford to get distracted by singing along 😂

Gonna ask you the same with a few more:

Fav foods/cuisine? Spotify top artists? Did any surprise you? Do you celebrate Christmas?

Xx

[chartedrights]

Made up fic title: Oh, No! He Can't Stop Eating Frog!

(Dare I ask why this came to mind?)

Hatchetfield/Solve-it Squad AU where most of the characters work as staff at a very fancy very expensive restaurant. Ted, Ethan and Lex are waiters, Bill is the sommelier, Paul is the accountant, Charlotte is the pastry chef, and Nora is the manager. Emma is the sous chef and Zoey is technically the chef, but she’s always out back making out with her annoying cop boyfriend who just so happens to be Charlotte’s annoying cop ex-husband.

The actual plot is that Linda Monroe is found dead in the driveway and nobody can figure out how or why it happened, but Sam is incompetent and Tom Houston’s truck was spotted leaving the restaurant just ten minutes before her body was found, so Emma is very interested in getting things done properly. Paul and Bill help, of course, while Charlotte stirs up trouble with Sam and Zoey to distract them and Ted seethes jealously in the background. Tom and Becky were about to get married, so it rather bursts their bubble, but they both swear up and down he’s innocent, and Emma just knows neither of them did it. Ethan accidentally frames himself because he finds the murder weapon and goes “oh sweet, free knife” so that’s an ordeal.

Eventually the FBI gets called in, and Scrags and Esther come in like the world’s least impressive dynamic duo. Bill is smitten. So is Nora. Who is running the restaurant anymore? Idk. Mr. Davidson, maybe. Anyway, Bill and Scrags are the world’s softest most boring couple. They do crosswords together. Esther lives out her rap music video dreams in the men’s bathroom with Nora. Emma is singlehandedly solving this crime. She is the backbone of this restaurant. Who is doing the cooking? Idk. Paul is just there for moral support and the occasional common sense huddle.

(It turns out that Linda tried to embezzle funds from the PTA and was killed by another parent who was already doing that, who happened to have a copy of Tom’s key from like three years ago because Jane had lent it to them for a bake sale. Everybody is wildly confused by this.)

The title is dropped like 1/3 through the fic, when Paul makes a remark about Sam “eating frog,” which Ted mercilessly begins to mock him for. “Oh no!” He cries, as he carries food through the kitchen. “Watch out for Paul, he can’t stop eating frog!”

“It’s crow, Ted, we know, it’s eating crow, I wish I could go back and say crow, but-“

“Oh no! No! It’s frog, now! We’re all eating frog for it, but it’s eating frog from here on out.”

Emma literally shoves a frog in Ted’s mouth a chapter later and he stops saying it. Esther won’t let him forget it, though. She keeps calling him “mister Theodore Frogmouth” like it’s his last name. Which, considering her last name, she might think it is.

Restaurant AU, Murder Mystery AU, 100k words, Paulkins, background Bill/Scrags, background Barneston, background CharTed, High Cuisine, Loving Descriptions of Cooking, Zoey Dumps Sam, Linda Monroe is A Feral Karen, Raccoons Ate The Evidence, Ethan And His Free Knife Obssession, High Stress Work Environments, Recreational Drugs, The Hatchetfield FBI Is A Gays Only Event, Nobody Does Their Job, Slow Burn, Coworkers to Friends to Lovers, Fake Dating, Honey Trap, Jealousy, Red Herrings, Kissing, Happy Ending

[thorniest-rose]

I wish we discussed italian daniel more!!!!!!

Oh my god you know I love Italian Daniel!!! And Italian Daniel who’s really pompous about it too. Like you meet him for the first time and within the first 5 minutes of talking to him, he’s already told you all about his Italian heritage and where in Italy his family’s originally from. And it’s just like, “Okay king thanks for that, but I didn’t need to know about your entire family tree, can we please talk about something else?” 

It’s a cornerstone of his personality too. Daniel grew up bilingual because of his dad so he can speak Italian fluently, which he does with Lucille all the time when they’re together. It’s a way of remembering his father, but it also means he can talk about people (Johnny) openly without them realising. And he has a habit, when he gets angry or emotional, of slipping between English and Italian without realising it. 

He also loves cooking Italian food and is really snooty about any kind of fast-food Italian. He makes his own bread and pasta from scratch, and he stocks his pantry with the most eye-wateringly expensive Italian wines, vinaigrettes, peppers, olives, you name it. This means he refuses to take the kids to Olive Garden because he thinks it’s a disgrace to Italian cuisine. He won’t even let them order pizza on the weekends. Instead he insists on making pizza himself from scratch, which admittedly tastes amazing, but sometimes Amanda and the kids just want something easy! And they can’t have it!! One night Daniel finds a pizza box in Sam’s room after she comes home from hanging out with friends and Daniel’s so offended it takes him the entire weekend to recover. 

And maybe if Daniel had grown up during the High Renaissance he would have been the muse of artists and his visage would have been painted in churches and castles across Italy. But instead he grew up in New Jersey and couldn’t be coddled, he had to be tough and scrappy to survive. But with his cross necklace glimmering against his collarbone, and his thick hair and creamy skin, people’s eyes would still catch on him as he ran down the street. Especially when he moved to the Valley and felt like a misfit in the sea of blonde, blue-eyed kids. He was like something unknown, almost too wild and pretty to look at head on. He stood out everywhere he went, like a swoony boy from a painting. At least until he opened his mouth and said something ridiculous in his husky voice. And people realised, oh he’s not an angel, he just looks like one.

In his 20s, after graduating from college, Daniel also went to Italy and spent a summer there to reconnect with his roots. It’s there that he learned all about fine art and the difference between the grapes in Italian wine and how to ride an unbridled horse. And while he was there, standing out because of how American he was, like a modern soul in a renaissance angel body, he had a reckless, wild affair with an older man. It’s something he never tells anyone about when he goes back to America, but every now and then Daniel will read the man's old letters, or look at the sketches the man made of him, the nude ones where Daniel’s in the bath or sitting outside against a Tuscan sunset, and feel nostalgic. It was just a summer fling but it was the first time Daniel has ever felt truly desired by someone, and the sunlit, syrupy weeks he spent in the man’s bed and in his studio seem like something from a dream, especially now, in his 50s, when he has a wife and children. But sometimes he looks at the young Daniel LaRusso in these drawings and thinks, wow, that was really me.

[pillow-anime-talk]

dating with near.

request: aaaa anon that requested the near hcs here! your writing is seriously godly bb🥺🥺 i have to jump on the opportunity with your requests open again fluffy relationship hcs for dating near👉👈

# tags: headcanon; current relationships; romance; fluff; cute shit; sfw

includes: gender neutral reader ft. nate river {death note}

author’s note: nice to see you again, cutie and thank you sooooo much for your requests!

↘ We all know that the kids from Wammy’s House grew up without parents, so when you meet Nate and when you two will get to know each other much better, he’ll be really attached to you and also will want to be next to you all the time.

↘ He’s always worried about that you will leave him or love someone else... He’s really scared afraid of that thought.

↘ Of course, you won’t do it, so you keep telling him about it, adding that no one will be as important to you as he is.

↘ Fortunately, after many weeks, he’s convinced of your words and he feels much more valuable and happier that you trusted him and he trusted you.

↘ After that, everything happens naturally and as it should be in any healthy relationship.

↘ You spend a lot of time together and Nate will get used to the other person’s touch.

↘ He especially loves that one moment when he’s sitting on the floor and working on another dangerous case, and you just walk up to him, sit behind his back and hug him tightly, wrapping your arms around his thin waist.

↘ I think his stress, fatigue and nervousness decrease by 98%.

↘ Near doesn’t care too much about his own health, so when you reach the age of majority, you two will definitely live together in a big apartament or something like that, and your life mission will be to improve his daily life plan. 

↘ You’ll distract him from work and make him rest a bit. Also, you will certainly learn many tasty recipes so he could eat at least one hot meal a day.

↘ In addition, you will take him for a walk more than once.

↘ If you have a large balcony, you will prepare it so that two of you can sit on wicker chair and rest. It will be a lovely alternative with lots of colorful flowers or small trees.

↘ White-haired will certainly appreciate it, although he will always ask ‘What it’s all for? I’m fine, love’, but you both know it's just your concern for his health.

↘ I think Near doesn’t show affection with words, so he will buy you pretty, small gifts (for example: beautiful flowers, CDs of your favorite artists or interesting books).

↘ Everything with home delivery. Lmao.

↘ Additionally, on tiny notes or in text messages, he will write what he could never say aloud, and you will always smile like a fool when you read his cute words.

↘ I think your dating will be mostly at home.

↘ You will watch movies with a cup of cocoa or tea, take baths together until late in the evening, cook or bake cookies together. From time to time you will do puzzles or play cards together, occasionally betting over who will do the laundry or clean the bathroom the next day.

↘ You usually lose because Nate is just too good, but not gonna lie, he more than once gives you an edge just to see your shiny, big smile.

↘ His batteries charge very quickly then.

↘ Nevertheless, if the weather is fine and you manage to get your boyfriend outside, you will definitely go to the park for a walk or to the library for some new novels.

↘ He will hold your hand all the time, and when you both sit down, he will take you on his lap, hugging you to his warm chest.

↘ As I said, he’s not good at expressing feelings verbally, but I’m sure he’ll break through at some point in your life enough to be able to tell you a few of sweet sentences like ‘You look really beautiful today, these shoes fit your eyes’ or ‘I love your cuisine, do you think you could make this stew one again? I love it so much’.

↘ It’s a really sweet, very healthy relationship. You two are a beautiful and lovely couple.

[inavagrant-a]

@starsdescent​ said: “i know it’s not perfect, but i did follow the recipe this time.” from lumi

It is the familiar aroma of a dish from the islands he would have called his home that rouse him awake and not that pesky dream he has had for countless nights on repeat since he’s had his hands on the gnosis, so he argues with himself. His eyes wide open, he is awake, facing the wooden wall as he allows this body of his that will not once grow familiar with decaying due to age some semblance of rest. He does not hunger like others hunger and he will not ache like others do, and yet still the aroma of the dish is reminiscent of times long ago having grown dust with the relentless movement of time, to lay waste and forgotten eventually. But, he will not forget, because though time continues its course and moves on, the lovely puppet will not. He will be still, as he always has.

Kunikuzushi rolls on his back and for a moment remains there taking into consideration his circumstances. Sumeru has been such a bore thus far and his person of interest seems to somehow slip through the cracks. He can’t help but to think that he knows he’s after him, but that’s fine. A little game of chase wouldn’t hurt him, it might make things more fun, more enjoyable, destroy the monotonous hymn that tends to be his existence and crescendo into something worth his while. He ponders, wonders, he will act and do something when he gets his hands on that scholar—a finger or two he will break as in to tell him: you tried it rodent. 

The delicious aroma of the dish native to Inazuma overwhelms him again and it galvanizes a reaction. He is overtaken, he is seduced, but he does not starve. He decides he will merely eat to eat that’s all. He will eat to remind himself of why he is so taken by the seafood dish. Kunikuzushi takes an educated guess before he’s out the door of his little room to this house he and his unlikely traveling companion have acquired in the outskirts of the city—Lumine is cooking, for herself more than likely.

He’s sure Lumine is tagging along for her own agenda, but so long as it doesn’t interfere with his then he’s little to no qualms about her companionship, he says. Truth be told... actually, he’s not in the mood about diving into this truth right now, not yet. Those worms can remain in their can for now.

“Hungry are we?” He questions, pacing out and seeing the dish she’s finalizes, but he was able to recognize by its smell alone already—butter crab. He raises an eyebrow at her words and chuckles quietly. “It smells just fine to me.” He informs her, putting in his mora or two of an opinion. He’s actually a bit surprised she can make it so well. He takes a seat before the wooden table he’s sure she too will sit to dine upon. “A contrast to your artistic skills if you ask me.” He teases in good fun of course. He still does have her attempted drawing of him, he... carries it with him wherever he goes, of course she doesn’t need to know that, nobody does but... hm...

“I was unaware you were so well versed with Inazuman cuisines, darling.” He adds, propping his elbow on the table, and resting his chin on his palm, watching her with an attentive and hawk-like gaze. Kunikuzushi can appreciate the food for what it is, all and any of sort, but Inazuman food will always have a certain soft spot with him for obvious reasons maybe. “Color me impressed.” He shrugs lazily with a small smile. However what a sight it is to be so... human-like. He can’t pinpoint why just yet but for some reason sometimes he forgets that she’s just that—human.

prompt. / accepting.

[syngigeim]

Day 29 - Debonair

What an interesting ball this is, Alphinaud thought. All of the First was celebrating the return of the Light and the Warrior of Darkness who saved the world. With a caveat that all in Eulmore and in Khoulsia at large could attend. Naturally there was still some lingering distrust between those who were Free citizens and those of the (formerly) Bonded, but there were more here than Alphinaud had anticipated. Especially from those of the surrounding estates. Some where in their finest outfits and some just had the clothes off of their back. Everyone was rather awkward around each other but there were tentative conversations about. Though many were simply lingering by the food.

The soft sounds of music sang out. Mariko and a few other people who could play instruments around Eulmore made up the makeshift band. Alphinaud began looking for the rest of his Scion and friends who decided to attend. It had been a long while since Thancred had a chance to use his social graces, but he seemed a lot more restrained than he normally was. Likely because Ryne was, naturally, right next to him. Urianger was impressing onlookers with his astrologian cards. Y’sthola and Aubinaux were off to the side, both holding wine. Alphinaud was sort of surprised to see Aubinaux here but then again, Aubinaux was now somewhat loosely associated with the high houses of Ishgard. Now where was-

“Oh Alphinaud dearest! You look absolutely dashing!” Dulia-Chai shouted. He smiled, pleased to see Dulia but still slightly embarrassed at the exclamations. Naturally, Chai-Nuzz was also nearby and gave a short nod to Alphinaud. Dulia, however, continued. “I am so delighted you picked up that outfit I recommended for you! Oh you look lovely, just as I knew you would!” she said, clasping her hands together in delight.

“Thank you, Dulia-Chai,” Alphinaud knew that she would be delighted by wearing that outfit for this occasion. It just wouldn’t have worked for his normal adventuring purposes. Bit too frilly. “I presume the party is proceeding as planned,” he said to Chai-Nuzz.

“If anything, we’re more surprised at the turnout,” he said. “Seems everyone wishes to talk to the heroes of the realm!”

“Then we shouldn’t spend so long talking to Alphinaud. Let the whole world become enthralled by our beloved artist!”

Alphinaud gave a small laugh in delight at that. “Well, thank you for taking the time to visit with me,” he said, giving a small bow. Then he was off into the crowds. Many were willing to give him thanks for what he had done for Eulmore. How he helped them realize the truth and stand up again. All and all, it was a bit much. He kept scanning the crowds for one person in particular.

And there she was! Syngigeim was hanging out by a wall between the food table and the music. She would absolutely have opinions on the cuisine. She spotted him and gave him a smile, waving him over. “Been watching you,” she said. “The very picture of a nobleman. If a bit...frilly,” she said, pointing at his outfit.

“Firstly, I thought I would repay Dulia-Chai her kindness and generosity towards us. Second, I think you have no right to comment on me considering what you are wearing,” he said, gesturing to her Red Mage ensemble.

She chuckled. “Fair is fair in that regard.”

“Could you come somewhere more private with me? The Skyfront, perhaps?” There are things I would tell you, without either Alisaie or Arashi around.

“I see no reason why not,” Syngigeim said. Together, they headed out for the railings surrounding the building, taking in a full view of the night sky. Alphinaud should have suspected that there were others around, wanting to see the sky but at the very least, none of the Scions were around.

He took a breath. He had long been thinking of what exactly to say to Syngigeim. While a part of him still wanted to shout his true feelings to her, to declare fully and with passion how he felt, he knew full well that that was not what either of them wanted or needed to say. No, she needed something else. For the weight of love, the weight of expectations, was what drove Syngigeim into isolation when she needed it the most.

So first, something simple. “How are you feeling?”

Syngigeim hummed as she thought. “Fine, I suppose. Food’s interesting. Haven’t had really a chance to sample too terribly many dishes around here. I do need to start learning again about the regional cuisine.”

He should have also figured that that was what she was more going to talk about. “I mean, about everything you’ve been through. The Lightwardens, being the Warrior of Darkness, the…” The fact you nearly died and did nearly everything possible to keep quiet about it from everyone.

She let out a breath, then gave a small chuckle. “I feel...better. Like all of the tension I’ve been building up over the years has finally snapped and I can finally just be. Shame it took me nearly dying for me the realize that, huh?” She said, awkwardly grinning at Alphinaud who just raised his eyebrow at that. “Yeah…” she awkwardly laughed. She then closed her eyes. “It was more of a reminder that for all it seems like the whole world looks upon me to save them, I never really do it just by myself. And to think that is a disservice for those who do stand with me.” She opened her eyes and they were sharper, full of resolve. She glanced down at Alphinaud. “For that, I have to apologize to you, for hurting you.”

Again, words wanted to bubble up Alphinaud’s throat. To say “No I should have seen you were suffering. I should have been better.” Again, he kept quiet, and ignoring his eyes that were clearly getting irritated for some reason or other, let her continue on.

“I was the one who was always pushing you away. Never letting you in on any of my struggles. Because I needed to be that perfect Warrior of Light you so depended on and needed. To be a never faltering hero, despite the times I have failed. I can only hope to be better than I was before and pray for your forgiveness.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he immediately said. “I am not certain if many can easily bear the struggles you have faced.”

“You say that, having had a front row seat to many of them!” Syngigeim said, giving a smile and a small bit of laughter.

Before he could stop himself, he reached up and took her hand. “We’ve been through so much together, and I want to make it clear that I will stand by your side, for as long as I am able.” The forbidden words bubbled up again but he immediately closed his mouth tight, and merely smiled as warmly as he could.

She knelt down, her face full in front of his, gods she is breathtaking, and placed a hand on his cheek. Syngigeim leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead. Alphinaud felt rooted to the ground and had be conscious of where his hand that was not holding hers was. He was so dangerously to close to- “Thank you, Alphinaud,” Syngigeim said, and then hugged him tightly.

Those words. Those words. They were so dangerously close to escaping now. He pressed his lips up against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her. He couldn’t stop tears from escaping his closed eyes, but he did not care. She was here and she was safe. For now. For the briefest of moments, they were safe and together and he could hear her heart beat strong and sure.

When he was alone, he would allow himself to think upon those words but for now, he would just focus on the sound of her heart.

[nicecarito]

Something I wanted to say since I started being in this fandom....

The most people who ever tried to -cancel- me and talked behind my back without face me directly, the 90% have been Americans... And I say it, cuz it's like super wtf how latin americans, europeans or Asiatics fans treat me so nicely and these fellas are like if they wear a Monk attire from the Inquisition.

(not all Americans of course, I have very good friends and wonderful followers who are from America , such sweeties, so I will not generalist as everyone, let's just focus on the meanies, unfortunately , the meanies that I had to deal with are from there )

(I actually know which artists were the ones who dared to say bad stuff about me without even daring to face and know me as a person... I will only give you this ...🙃 Have a wonderful day!)

The worst thing they ever said is that I draw CP Like, when in my fucking life. I have two kids at home! I have raised them, I was a mother figure to them, I am a kids teacher too and I love my kids so much so YOU making such rumor hurts me a lot ... Not all the world is America, so we don't see some stuff like u do.

How they can assume that shit of someone when I had to give my life to two boys. Really these guys taking to serious the freaking fiction it's a pain in the ass... Then... That I pro-incest. NO, MOTHERFUCKERS, u really have a big imagination! Please give me some cuz Sometimes I have a lack of imagination and I can't draw anything!!

That I draw Mug and Cup well I do have a story about it... Forgive cuz my NATIVE LANGUAGE IT'S SPANISH

When the very first trailer of Cuphead came out (the black and white one) and WHEN MY ENGLISH WASN'T STILL GOOD and nobody knows they were siblings at least not me I said, oh two cute cups, I will ship them :$

Like, it's not like I could find more information, I couldn't read it anyway and the spanish information about the game was alway "Two BEST FRIENDS TRYING TO GET THEIR SOULS BACK" so well,Sorry for that I guess??

Then time passed and then the game came out and well tadaaaah they are siblings

And I waS Like "SHIT! WHY ALL THE SUDDEN?! well, I don't think it's a big deal, I still have my headcanons where they aren't siblings at all and I always drew them As adults (THEY ARE KIDULTS BY THE WAY),well not big deal after all .....THEY ARE TWO CUISINE UTENSILS AND NOT HUMANS AND NOT REAL PEOPLE SO..."

But UUUUF NOOOH how dare uuu ,Carito, you are the worst person of the world , let's try to cancel u so you will learn to not draw two utensils kissing cuz they come from the same ceramic oven :)))

If you are gonna give me the excuse that fiction alterate reality or something of that style.... Well, in that case I will try to cancel EVERYONE WHO DRAW ASSASSINATION, MAFIOUS STUFF, CHILD VIOLENCE, DRUGS, AND ALL THE BAD STUFF OF THE MOTHER FUCKER WORLD, and cuz I unfortunately been witness of all of it ... I saw two murders in my life that was about drug dealing, narcos and I sadly saw child abuse to the point of super strong violence.... in my family there’s stories of violations between familiars, so sad.

-But one thing isn't that bad than the other >:U- (a real excuse that I got)

.... ARE YOU SERIOUS?! don't try to put a parameter to height if something is less bad or viceversa, THAT is stupid and hypocrite. Things are bad and POINT. BUT

I'm not going to cancel someone who decide to get into that MATURE THEMES to tell a story!

Because if you are mature enough to make a big difference between reality and fiction then you will enjoy the story, you will understand the concept of the story, why the artist decided to choose these themes for their story, etc...

That's why Something called MATURE ADVERTISEMENT exist.... It's a part of text were the artist tell you that they will talk about themes that might trigger you so...

If you choose to watch it, well it's your decision BUT DON'T TRY TO COMPLAIN IF THE ARTIST WARNED YOU AT VERY FIRST. People Sometimes doesn't read if there's not a damn colorful image there! People just pay attention to certain stuff if looks cute.

I think that trying to eliminate these kind of themes to make everything more -pink and healthy- it is unhealthy.... These themes exist in the end, storytelling exist for a reason.

If you have a boundary, it's super fine. I do have my boundaries too and I do avoid things that doesn't make me feel happy at all but that doesn't give me the power of destroy a person cuz -their content doesn't make me happy-. You aren't a hero... You are just a bully.

and if you are gonna -try- then at least come to say it in my face!! Always behind the stage cuz they always been to coward to come to me and talk! COWARDS!. YOU ARE COWARDS!

THEY SAID LIES ABOUT ME, AND some of them destroyed some friendships that I had or make people try to avoid me to -take care of their reputation cuz if I talk to Carito that will make -friends- think the worst of me-

Well, if your friends push you to not talk to someone cuz very silly stuff, what kind of friends you have :/ are we at elementary school or something?

But to be honest they weren't really my friends cuz they doesn't really cared about my feelings enough so whatever. But yeah..... Angery but they never were able to cancel me for real.....

cuz not for being sassy or shit, But I think I showed who really I am and I believe people likes me. I don't need to pretend shit or stop drawing or change my stories at all. I do what I want and cuz obviously I'm not hurting no one, then people get closer to me.

I like them too and I will continue drawing cuz that's my fucking career, motherfuckers. I draw to pay my debts so, don't tease.

I hope them to show that interest of cancel stuff in real life for people who really need it! The world is outside the screen, and we are REALLY full of bad people outside so... I think you should turn off your computer for once... pinchis morros mensos

And if you ever felt trigerred cuz I ever say hola to you just cuz someone told you a -rumor- about me .. well, you are really manipulable. You should give yourself the opportunity to speak to someone and know them first instead of -take care of your reputation- that's bullshit , it's hypocrite and maybe it was the best cuz I don't need people to give me false smiles and turns around to say shit.

If I EVER did something unforgivable well... Let me see it ._. I can't say sorry if I don't know what the hell are you talking about

I had this inside my heart that really hurted me for so long , sorry for the vent and I'm truly thankful that you follow me cuz you like my art and me as a person.

I'm truly grateful of all my friends too! Thank you for being there for me

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 5

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Warning: Suicidal thinking from Remus!

__

It was a hot Wednesday and Remus was stacking a few big plant pots in front of their store and then checked the time on his phone. It was already a little after twelve and they ought to take their much-needed lunchbreak.

With a groan he straightened up and pressed his hands on the small of his back and stretched. It cracked a little and Remus remained in the position for a second. He looked up. He didn’t really see anything, just stared into the nothing.

He’ll be fine. He’s fallen for the jazz boy. It’s fine.     It’s fine.     He will be fine.     He has enough to support himself.     He will be fine.     And you’ll be free.

Then Remus heard his name being called out. Franticly, he turned around. Directions were hard to pinpoint and it didn’t help that he somehow knew the voice but was not too familiar with quite yet.

“Up here!” the voice shouted and Remus lifted his gaze and found the face which belonged to the voice.

Widely he smiled at Patton, who was waving through the window from the second floor in the house next to theirs. He waved back and shouted up a Hi, waiting for Patton to continue.

“Wait a second! I’ll come down!” Patton said and Remus stemmed his hands in his hips waiting for the man to join him outside.

He did not have to wait a minute until Patton came out and walked towards him. As of now he wore a white tank top and blue shorts with little rubber ducks on it and Remus got a look of the tattoos on his upper arms and calves. It was not a first, in the past week and a half he had seen Patton several times in shorter clothes as he walked into their store to talk with him and such, but Remus enjoyed the view nevertheless. The colours and motives were so interesting to him and had inspired some ideas in his head.

“Hi!” Patton beamed anew.

Remus grinned and repeated his own Hi again, while Patton stepped closer and then halted barely two feet from him and folded his hands in front of his chest. A grin tugged at corner of Remus’s lips and he put his hands inside of his pants’ pockets.

“Eh, I just wanted to ask if you and Roman maybe wanted to eat lunch with me and Lo? We usually eat together when I don’t have a client over noon and well, I thought the more the merrier?” Patton asked and looked expectantly at Remus.

Remus blinked a little taken aback. Having lunch with Patton and Logan? Something they apparently did every day, was part of their day to day life and they wanted him and Roman to take part of this? Remus had already been surprised when Patton had invited him again for the jazz night last Friday and now this?

   It is too good to be true.  

“I’d love to! I’ll just ask Ro if it’s fine with him. Let me go and ask him right now!” Remus said and already turned towards the entrance of their store.

He did not notice that Patton followed him and he was quick to call for Roman in Spanish: “We’re invited for lunch with Patton and Logan? You good with that?”

“Yeah sure! Do you think they might want eat from the fajitas I prepared? Oh and-” Roman shouted, while walking out from the back and stopped as he saw Patton behind his brother.

Almost unnoticeably Roman motioned with his chin behind Remus and then addressed Patton with a smile: “Hi! I heard we’re invited for lunch? All bring their own food? Or should we bring something for everybody?”

Patton blinked a little surprised and lifted his hands.

“Uh, we usually bring our own stuff or more like I get something from the bakery down the street and Lo eats a sandwich but I doubt he’d be upset if you’d bring something for us?”

The upset and offended look Roman gave Patton when he said that Logan ate a sandwich for lunch almost scared the tattoo artist and he felt like he was supposed to apologize for letting Logan eat like this. And he felt a little bit as if he was in danger as well, since he also just went to the bakery or to a general store to get a little snack for lunch, which was apparently something Roman didn’t find acceptable.

“Please tell me you eat fajitas,” Roman said merely supressing the offence in his voice and Remus next to him rolled his eyes in annoyance.

Patton’s eyes darted nervously from one brother to the other until they landed on Roman and he answered: “I like them? As far as I know Logan does too; he just doesn’t eat them too ho-”

“Oh, hotness is no problem. I always make different sauces because Remus doesn’t like hot as well,” Roman cut him off with a pleased look and cracked is fingers. “So, I can get both of you an actual lunch instead of a meagre sandwich and whatever you’d normally get from the bakery. Ah, and do you think Jay and Virgil could join as well? Or did you ask them already?”

A laugh escaped Patton’s mouth and he looked over to Remus who just shook his head. So, there was a little bit of quirkiness in the otherwise so charming Roman after all. It made Patton like him a lot more and he turned his attention back to Roman.

“The more the merrier! I’ll ask them right away! If you want you can already go over to Logan’s. He’s in the backroom of his shop. You’ll find it with no problem!”

___

Five minutes later the six men sat around a round table in the backroom of Logan’s shop. The room had two big windows in the corner, which faced into the backyard. They had them closed as the air conditioning created a far more pleasant temperature than airing could. Besides the table there was a little counter with a microwave on it and a sink in the otherwise empty room.

Still it was a nice atmosphere, as Roman had laid out eight different bowls with condiments and fillings in them, so all could choose what they wanted to put on their tortilla. The smell filled the room and Roman’s explanation which was what and how hot everything was, made it all even homelier than it had been before.

Unabashedly, Remus started putting his first fajita together Patton then following his lead. Virgil carefully started to put his own together, asking Roman at every ingredient he wanted if it was the vegetarian option, which Roman confirmed every time.

Janus, Logan and Roman took a little more time to put their meal together, as Janus just liked to take his time, Logan was a little picky and Roman just wanted to enjoy the process of composing his own meal and the being together with his little group. It was something that was dear to him and his grin and glee managed to convey that quite well to the other men.

“¡Buen provecho!” the twins said and toasted each other with their fajitas.

Virgil repeated the phrase in a mumble, Patton said it loudly and with the wrong pronunciation but it was the thought that counted. At least it made Remus grin and Patton was entirely happy with that outcome.

“Thank you for the meal,” Logan said directed to Roman, as Janus just nodded and took a bite from his own fajita.

Roman smiled widely and responded after swallowing the bite he had taken: “No problem at all! I’m just happy giving something proper to eat.”

“A sandwich is a perfectly proper meal, thank you very much,” Logan argued and eyed the food in his hands with interest. “But I have to admit that this does look better than what I usually have.”

“I’d hope so! Now stop talking and eat! It won’t get any better the longer you wait.”

Logan nodded at Roman’s instructions and finally started eating. And for a few moments the room was a quiet except for the sound of chewing.

That was until Patton chirped up and said excitedly: “This is delicious Roman! You said you made all the condiments and fillings yourself?”

“Thank you! Yeah, I make them myself. It’s not that hard really. Just takes a bit of time. I usually prepare everything in the evening when I make dinner,” Roman said in a humble manner and not with the pride one could have expected from the otherwise rather boisterous man.

“What are you talking about? This still, like, takes a lot of work to do, right? And did you make the tortillas yourself? They are a lot better than the ones we get from the store,” Virgil chimed in and tapped the tortilla of his fajita.

Roman shrugged and cast his eyes down to his hands, unsure of how to respond.

Remus on the other hand knew exactly how to respond: “Yah, he makes the dough himself. We have premade tortilla dough in the freezer. He’s really good at cooking in general. At least better than I.”

“So, you have an interest in cooking, Roman? And I have to agree with Patton; it tastes very good,” Logan agreed and eyed Roman patiently until the man looked up again.

“Well, what can I say? At one point Chinese takeout just didn’t do it for me anymore, and I learnt making some stuff myself. It’s fun. And tastes better than the stuff you buy.”

Roman barely had met Logan’s eyes and was now looking down into his lap. Eyeing his tummy and trying to not focus on the words in the back of his mind. He knew that they must see the heavy thoughts in his posture and the uncertainty in the air around him. But he could not help it; talking about food, about cooking, it made him somehow always feel guilty about his weight, especially when Remus sat so close by. Proving in a way that he could look much differently if he-

“It’s certainly healthier to cook for yourself instead of ordering all the time. Also, if I understand correctly you are self-taught? Learning such a skill all by yourself is impressive, Roman. I at the very least am impressed.”

Roman looked up and glanced over to Janus who fixed him with a calm look. A little laugh escaped Roman’s lips and he tilted his head to the side, before he thanked Janus and let their lunch continue peacefully.

Logan began to ask Roman what kind of cuisine he preferred to cook from and Roman started explaining that he had taught himself a lot of Mexican, Tex-Mex and Italian dishes because he liked those in particular. And also, because he wanted to rekindle with his Mexican heritage, which he did not elaborate on much further and left it to the other men’s imagination what that could mean.

All in all, it was a rather comfortable meal and Patton was more than happy that he had gone and asked Patton to join them for their lunchbreak.

They put the empty plates and bowls in the sink and Roman asked Logan where the bathroom was and then excused himself for a moment. Remus, who stood at the sink, ready to wash the dishes, looked after him and turned to look at Janus the second Roman was out of sight and earshot.

“Jazz boy?” Remus said with an oddly creepy grin.

Janus quirked his eyebrow up and Remus continued: “If you dare to hurt him, I’ll break your fucking neck. He deserves everything in the world and if you make him unhappy, I will make you regret it. That’s a promise.”

And just like that Remus turned back to the sink, turned the faucet on and started doing the dishes, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. All stared at him and Remus was well aware they did. And yet he didn’t care.

“Do I want to know what your fucking problem is with me?”

Remus halted in his movements and looked back over his shoulder to Janus. Janus who looked oh so offended, oh so pissed off. Remus almost got a little kick out of it, but he knew this was not the time to anger the man more. He just needed him to understand one thing.

“I have no problem with you whatsoever,” Remus replied simply and pulled his beanie further down over his forehead.

Janus let out a huff and wanted to sneer a comment but Remus didn’t let him. With a grin that really did not look like one he said: “I don’t want a problem with you. I don’t care for you and I’ve told you that before. But I do care about Roman. And he’s very, very serious about you. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him so goddamn happy and I can not have you destroy that for him. He deserves love and a goddamn home of his dreams. And I need you to know that, to respect that and to run the fuck away if you just dare to disagree with any of the things I said. Because I cannot see him hurt more than he already is. Am I understood?”

Janus just stared at Remus. He wanted to argue. Probably not about Roman, but how Remus was interfering with their relationship. How he clearly overstepped a line in meddling with his brother’s life and how he could not say such inappropriate things towards Janus, who he barely knew. But Janus didn’t start to argue but shook his head and remained quiet.

Not a man of confrontation.

Probably would help Roman in the future, to have someone like that by his side.

Again, Remus turned to the faucet and started doing the dishes. The door was opened and Roman came back in looking around and immediately sensing the uncomfortable atmosphere. For a second, he seemed confused then he glanced over to Remus and sighed.

“What did he threaten you with?” Roman asked and stemmed his hands in his hips.

Janus scoffed and watched his fingernails with great interest.

“Oh nothing. Don’t bother.”

Roman rolled his eyes and walked over to Remus, took a towel and started dry the dishes, Remus had already washed and asked his brother: “What have you threatened him with?”

“I’ll break his neck!”

“Pff, good one. And you’re not going to do that. I’m sorry Janus. He’s getting ahead of himself.”

As Janus made an unvoluntary offended squeaking sound, Logan frowned and said: “Is this something that happens so regularly with the two of you or why exactly are you so unfazed by your brother threatening to murder people?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Roman answered and looked over him, while setting the plate in his hands down. “But I know he gets overprotective when I’m genuinely interested in a guy. He has yet to actually follow through with any of those threats he made, so don’t worry about it.”

“Genuinely interested?” Virgil repeated with big eyes and looked over to his uncle, who, for once, did not appear to be quite as cool and collected as he usually was.

Roman just chuckled a little and lightly brushed against Remus and just continued doing the dishes. Patton exchanged a look with Logan. The bookshop owner raised his eyebrows and Patton giggled a little before he walked over to the twins and helped them doing the dishes.

Remus began asking Patton about what kind of tattoos he did and which kind of clients he had, which was a huge jump from their prior topic, but Patton was happy to answer and talked a bit about his clientele with sometimes Logan adding a few observations he made over the years of Patton’s clients mistakenly walking into his shop. The conversation remained friendly and Virgil bid his goodbye soon, so he could get back to the store and check on the pets. Patton was next to go, as he had to prepare his studio for the next client and whished the twins, Logan and Janus a good afternoon.

As Logan was talking with Remus about a new crime series that had been delivered to his store, Janus started to leave and was promptly accompanied by Roman. He side eyed him curiously as he stepped out of the bookstore. His smile was unfaded and it was too easy forget how unhappy and ashamed he had looked down at himself during lunch.

Janus didn’t forget.

“I’m really sorry about Remus,” Roman pulled him out of his thoughts and Janus put a smile on his face.

“Oh, it’s fine. He totally did not overstep any personal boundaries at all,” he said and stopped putting both hands on his cane in front of him.

Roman scratched the back of his neck and shrugged apologetically.

“I know, I know. He’s a lot. But he means well. And I think he and you could actually be pretty good friends.”

“Yeah sure.”

Roman sighed with a smile and shoved Janus softly in the shoulder. He did not miss the little grin that stole itself on Janus’s lips and just looked at him for a moment. He was just so beautifully charming.

Then Roman broke out of his trance and said: “Don’t be like this. I’ll have something to make it up to you! Wait a second!”

Like that he turned around and jogged towards their store and disappeared inside for a minute. Slightly surprised but also intrigued Janus watched him re-exiting holding something behind his back and tilted his head sceptically. Roman grinned brightly and brought forth a bright bouquet from behind his back. Next to some decorative fern and grass it mainly contained little sunflowers and violets and Janus felt his jaw drop.

He had never been gifted flowers before.

Overwhelmed Janus looked from the bouquet to Roman, who’s smile was more than complacent, and quickly cleared his throat and then tenderly took the bouquet Roman had gifted him.

“I guess you accept my offering for amends?” Roman asked far too softly for Janus to handle.

Janus made an effort to straighten his back met Roman’s eyes steadily before saying a bit too quickly: “I’ll consider it.”

Both knew that was a yes.

“Thank you for the meal, Roman. It was very good.”

“It’s fine. Eating with you all was very nice. We’ll have to do that again.”

“I agree…”

They looked at each other for a bit longer. Noon was not endless and they could only stand here for so long.

“I’ll have to get back to Virgil. Can’t have him deal with the customers on his own,” Janus said not making a move.

“Yeah, we can’t have that, can we?”

“No, we really can’t…”

Roman clasped his hand behind his back and turned a little towards to the flower shop.

“So, I guess, I’ll see you soon?” he said as if he thought Janus would never show up again.

Janus nodded, forgetting to add words for a moment and then said: “Yes, you’ll see me soon. We live almost at the same street after all.”

“Cool. Then, uhm, so long?”

Janus grinned and finally turned to walk away.

“Yes, so long Roman. Take care,” Janus said throwing Roman a lingering look and walked over to the pet store.

Meanwhile, Remus and Logan had stood behind the shop window and observed the two lovebirds with blank faces. Logan had met a few of Janus’s acquaintances but as far as he remembered none of them had ever rendered the man so obviously flustered like Roman did. And for the latter it also seemed like he was presenting a side of himself which did not seem to be something he liked to show off on a regular basis.

At least that was what Logan assumed judging by Remus’s look and the things he had said at lunch.

But in Remus head was only one thought. It made his heart a little heavy but not as much as it made him feel relieved.

   He won’t be alone.   They’re not going to leave him alone.    I can go.    Finally go.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

For this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes​

@ladysuperheros

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@liv-is-a-fander

@croftersjam15

[16ruedelaverrerie]

I have a question. How do you come up with ideas for dishes for Les Mignardises? Especially Gavin's ones? I can't get that fish from last chapter out of my head! I enjoy this fic a lot, you are a great writer.

What an actual goddamn DREAM of a question, I’m so happy to discuss this that I wonder if I hypnotized myself and sent in an anon ask just so that I could go on about it. But NO! I am very sad but I am not quite that sad in quite that way. And I am sorry for insinuating that you are a figment of my imagination, anon! That’s how much I appreciate this ask, thank you so much! HERE IS A REALLY LONG ANSWER THAT TUMBLR HAS KINDLY PLACED BEHIND A DASHBOARD CUT.

The salmon and steak tartare from the pop-up flashback has to pull a significant amount of weight since it’s what undergirds Nines’s relationship with Gavin -- the curiosity (what made me chase you) and the tenderness (what made me stay) both -- so it was very much a thing I had to think about a lot. In terms of the triaxial way that I like to conceptualize fics, it’s a dish that has to not only imbue the story with flavor, but address its core. Which means that the foremost consideration I have to keep in mind is:

This dish needs to echo its role in the narrative.

Here, the dish is what alerts Nines to the possibility that the things which most seem out of place may be able to contribute great value and beauty nonetheless; so this has to be a dish that chafes, in what it is and does. It has to sit uneasily with the occasion, the genteel safety of a pop-up showcase for chefs who don’t yet have the status or clout to be public contrarians.

Something that a lot of people still find distasteful is being confronted with where animal protein comes from. Because reminders of this often hinge around the use of odds-and-ends parts -- head, foot, organs -- at this stage, I’m pretty sure that the dish needs to include some part of some animal that a lot of (American, at least) diners would find to be aggressively visceral. Head, I decide, because the drama of it delights me.

This dish includes an animal head.

A pig’s head, maybe? A sheep’s head? At the same time, the dish is also Gavin’s general middle finger to the way that things are done, and an expression of how he sits uneasily within the tradition of fine dining. I want the dish to be angry at certain conventions within restaurant culture that Gavin might disagree with.

In its most conservative incarnations, “surf and turf” is a disgusting bourgeois display of food as symbol of wealth, as opposed to its myriad other potential purposes such as nourishment, community cohesion, artistic innovation, or cultural expression. You take two grossly overrated and overpriced cuts -- filet mignon and lobster tail -- and you plop them down on a plate next to each other because WHY? They don’t do anything FOR each other! It’s just a PLATTER OF TRASH FOR BANKERS TO IMPRESS EACH OTHER WITH. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Anyway, I figure that this kind of surf and turf might infuriate a chef whose M.O. is to make the most out of the least, to leave nothing behind. Also that was a little unfair to lobster tail, which is a fine piece of protein, if overhyped at the expense of the rest of the lobster. But filet mignon as steak can go fuck itself.

This dish is a fuck-you to classic surf and turf.

Now I need to decide on an animal head that might belong in a hot take on surf and turf! Another factor at play in the pop-up flashback is that it’s being hosted by a Japanese chef at a Japanese restaurant, where Gavin has been working and learning for a while now. Is that because a huge part of what I know and enjoy about food is East Asian? YES! LET ME LIVE!

The benefit of going with salmon head for the surf portion of the dish -- as opposed to using a head for the turf -- is that salmon head is easier and cheaper to source (even though ones as huge as described in the story can only really come from some kinds of salmon). It’s also an ingredient that Zabuton is likely to use on a regular basis, since it’s an established part of Japanese cuisine, giving Gavin familiarity with it and a starting point for building his dish. Also also, it’s really fatty, and since Gavin in this story is the kind of chef who gravitates towards blisteringly high heat, I like the thought of what burning the shit out of that head would do.

This dish includes salmon head.

What do I do about the turf? If the surf element and the turf element of the dish are to interact with each other in mutually beneficial ways, the turf can’t be too assertive; it shouldn’t overpower the salmon. Like, grilled flank steak? Great, yes, please, but maybe not the right choice for this.

Fortunately, steak tartare simultaneously tastes subtle enough and looks brutal enough to be a good counterpoint. In a lot of ways, it’s a productive mirror image of the salmon; it’s raw whereas the salmon is charred, it’s lean whereas the salmon is fatty. Nice!

This dish includes steak tartare.

I also do know -- again, from East Asian cooking -- that raw beef works well with salmon roe. Ikura echoes the salmon head that’s in the dish already, so in it goes. Some egg yolk to bind the tartare might not go amiss, especially since I want it to be a scoop-and-eat party-platter dish.

There’s brininess in the ikura and salt throughout, but because it’s essentially an ANIMAL PROTEIN BOMB dish, it needs something sharp to cut all the richness. In addition, everything so far has also been pretty soft; let’s add some elements of acidity and textural interest. Tartare loves a little mustard! Toss in the crackle of a puffed grain (why not millet, rice feels too fragile), the fiber of the chives, and the crunch of rakkyo (doing double duty with its vinegar).

This dish includes ikura, egg yolk, pickled mustard seed, puffed millet, chives, and rakkyo.

For a while I thought that the scoop on the side would be shrimp senbei, because that’s what “chips, but Zabuton” made me think. But I didn’t really love how delicate the senbei would be in this particular dish. It felt like the tartare and salmon would turn the senbei into, like, a thick paste in your mouth?? I was looking for something thinner, a lateral move from a potato chip-- so I tried to think of other ingredients on the root-tuber-rhizome continuum. What can be sliced thin and baked brittle?

I liked lotus root as a choice because it has the right snap, it’s light -- visually as well, with all its perforations! -- and it has more of a pronounced earthy flavor than potatoes, which seemed like a fun way to mix in some plant quality to offset all the animal. Lotus root it is!

This dish includes lotus root chips.

THE END, STEAK TARTARE ON A BED OF CHARGRILLED SALMON HEAD, GARNISHED WITH EGGS TWO WAYS, SERVED WITH LOTUS ROOT CHIPS ON THE SIDE

lmao WHAT A SELF-INDULGENT POST THIS IS, thank you anon for allowing me to talk shop, you are too sweet and I hope you regret what you have done. Additional thanks to tumblr for read-more cuts. Anon I love you! I can’t believe I’ve rambled on at this length about THE PROCESS OF COMING UP WITH A FAKE DISH FOR A FIC but also, I mean, I can believe it, in the sense that it is something I would jump at the chance to do. Thanks for giving me the chance to do it anon! May the wind be ever at your back and the sun shine upon your path!

[longingkisses]

not so silent dinner night - willvinc

Warnings: None

Characters: William Shakespeare (Ikèvamp) , Vincent Van Gogh (Ikèvamp)

Pairings: WillVinc (pre-relationship, pining)

Tagged: @arsnovacadenza (Let me know if you want to be added in tags in the future!)

Notes: this is so old, i've had this sitting out for forever until i remembered... i should actually drop it lmao.  takes place during the drunk off your love event a while back, sharing some dialogue with the story.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801260

Clink, clink.

The sounds of silverware and glass sound throughout a table of two, as they spent the night taking in both fine cuisine and wine. It was a rare occasion for Shakespeare to have company like this normally, but with Vincent, such things became natural between the two. After all, was Vincent not his only friend? In this fact Shakespeare was content to wind away with him.

So naturally, any caution with their wines and various other beverages were thrown out the window. On this night in particular Vincent had requested to finally try reaching a state of drunkenness. Almost instantly did Shakespeare jump at the offer, curious at the results.

It was truly fitting for him to throw away any sort of common sense for an angel. There was always something about intoxication that made one more bold and open, this time in the expense of the playwright.

"Vincent, may I ask your advice on something?" At the call of his name, Vincent looks up at Shakespeare with a smile. 

"Sure! What is it?" Innocently, Vincent looks upon him with curiosity, as well as affection. Almost immediately does the writer look away. 

Looking down to the glass held in his hands, Shakespeare continues. "Sometimes in the still of the night I find myself gazing up at my noble, chaste mistress of the moon, and wondering.."

He stops for a moment, sighing slightly. "Why is it that I bear this gaping hole in my heart..?"

"Hmm.." The painter hums, taking genuine thought into his answer. "Maybe it's because you're all alone." Vincent's striking blue eyes stares into Shakespeare's figure, watching for the other's reactions. In his innocent heart, he hoped that his words could help bring a realization to his friend. 

But with a slightly agape mouth, Shakespeare soaks in Vincent's words, only to look at the other with a confused expression.

"What?"

"Hmm? I just thought you might be feeling lonely, since you're all alone." Concern fills up in Vincent's eyes, distressed at the other's confusion. Even if he was intoxicated, his eyes were always bright, looking into Shakespeare's soul.

Under the other's gaze, the playwright felt bare.

"Um, Vincent.." It was even enough to make Shakespeare feel uncertain in his words. Which was quite a feat, considering his own mannerisms. But if it was Vincent, perhaps it was to be expected. 

"Oh, but I forgot- you chose to leave the mansion on your own accord right? In that case, I guess maybe you like feeling lonely." Vincent speaks with such innocence in his tone that it makes Shakespeare's heart ache.

It is there that Shakespeare lets out a breath he wasn't aware that he was holding. His friend was truly too perceptive, despite his air of innocence. Perhaps it was the quality of a true artist, being able to perceive the world around them. 

"It's all for the sake of your works, isn't it?" Vincent's gaze was always so kind. Even when Shakespeare was scorned to the other members of the mansion, there was always an angel reaching out for him. "You know, you're pretty cool, Will."

If it was possible for an intoxicated man to blush even more, then so be it. The playwright can only thank the alcohol for providing a sort of cover, albeit flimsy to the trained eye. 

"..I must thank you for your kind words. It is true, being alone provides such clarity to me when I write. But.." Uncertainty paints itself onto Shakespeare's expression.

It is not a look that Shakespeare would not acquaint himself with. But would it even matter when Vincent was with him? His purity would look straight through, perhaps even catching a glimpse of the whole image that was the playwright. 

"Ah.. thank you, Will. You're really nice. I said it before, but you're really cool.." 

What pains Shakespeare the most is that those words can easily be proved false if said by anyone else. But the feelings of such praise is rather undeniable, that he makes no moves to deny Vincent's words for now. 

The murmurs of the restaurant also silences itself slowly, signifying the time for its patrons to leave. Tentatively a hand reaches out for Shakespeare.

"Should we go?" 

It was natural for Vincent to smile at all times, but in this moment it was so romantic that it hurt. But the pain doesn't show on Shakespeare's face, of course.

Leading each other out back onto the streets, the stars gleamed on them softly as they stood in the dark. But what was brighter than any other light was Vincent, and Shakespeare can only blame the other's stereotypical angelic appearance. 

"Quite late, isn't it? Oh, I hope Theo isn't too worried.." Their hands are still linked even as Vincent speaks, and neither make any move to separate. 

"May I remind you that you are the older brother? I would hope by now that Theo would be aware of your own independence." Shakespeare spoke with finality, aware of his own harsh word. If anyone was curious, he would simply blame it on the effects of alcohol. 

While he had no real ill will towards the younger Van Gogh, having someone who was actively against him meeting with Vincent was something of an annoyance. But this particular woe was rather miniscule in comparison to the rest of Shakespeare's troubles. 

"..Hm. I still wouldn't want to trouble him.. Especially late in the night. I hope he's sleeping right now. If I came back, I think I would cause a disturbance." Vincent maintains his hold onto the other, only gripping ever more tightly as he goes on. 

Such an action definitely piqued Shakespeare's interests. He had always taken the painter to be somewhat passive, but as always, the supposed angel of the manor always had a few surprises. To his painting and personality, the playwright was always enraptured.

"If I returned in the morning.. Then I can stay with you tonight, right Will?" Vincent asks with a new sort of smile, genuine yet teasing. If one stared at it for too long, it would certainly blind them, even in the dark. 

"Of course. I enjoy all manner of visits from you."

~

Their carriage eventually makes its way to Shakespeare's familiar villa, the two both very familiar with the home. Even in the dark, Vincent manages to navigate his way inside, perhaps not even needing any help with Shakespeare's hand guiding him. 

They both breathe a sigh of relief when the villa rooms light up, Vincent immediately resting on the living room's couch. 

Vincent almost immediately goes to rest his head on the cushions, with his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Shakespeare admires the scene from one side before arriving at the other with extra blankets and pillows in hand. 

"Are you sure? I would not mind if you slept in any of the villa's beds tonight. Comte was rather generous when he allowed me to live here, you know." It's a question Shakespeare already knows the answer to, but he asks out of courtesy nonetheless. 

"Ah, I'll be fine. I really wouldn't want to impose on you too much. But thank you anyway, Will. Goodnight." Even when he was exhausted and supposedly drunk, Vincent remained both polite and immaculate. It was his true self, no mask hiding any nefarious intent.

That sort of beauty would be something dazzling to Shakespeare, even if it terrified him to his core. 

And that is why, in the dead of the night, the English playwright admires the angel sleeping on his couch. 

His lips ghosting over the cheek of this angel on Earth. 

A fleeting moment, but it serves as a supplement for Shakespeare's own romantic desires. Just enough, to stave off complete starvation. 

Basking in the feeling of his soft affection, Shakespeare slips away. 

In his own hastiness, he would miss the small smile that would form on Vincent's face.