#maybe a few more recipes thought by people he's saved

[coolerhope]

I headcanon that Wyll and Gale take turns when it comes to cooking for the party, with the other being the "sous-chef". (Gale having more experience cooking overall but Wyll having more experience cooking outdoors). They learn a lot from each other.

However, Wyll quickly learns (like Gale's old teachers at Blackstaff) to give Gale little tasks while he cooks otherwise Gale's gonna be an annoying little backseater while Wyll is trying to cook.

[ms-demeanor]

You seem like a good sort of person to ask; how does one go about building up a good spice rack? Not only just having the spices, but knowing what they are and how to use them, when and in what quantities, and developing a wider spice palette in general? I grew up in white suburbia and my mother has no idea how to use anything other than salt and ground black pepper, and I want to start making my foods more flavorful. I am tired of utterly flavorless dry roast pork! But I have no idea where to begin lol.

I'd say to start by trying a lot of foods that use a lot of different spice profiles and seeing what you like. If you like Thai food, look into Thai spices and try cooking a few recipes. If you like Indian food, try Indian recipes. If you don't know if you like a particular kind of food, go out and try it and see if you do.

I think the best way to build up your spice rack is to do so slowly over time as you familiarize yourself with different flavors. Don't go out and buy a ton of stuff, go out and buy cumin and make a rice recipe that calls for cumin and see if you like it, then next time maybe add another spice like cayenne pepper to the recipe and see if you like it.

Spices can be really expensive, but they can also be really cheap if you're looking in the right places. Try to avoid the shiny organic spice jars, and see if there are packets of spices in the various "ethnic" food sections of your grocery store (in California it's pretty common to have a Mexican food section and an Asian food section in the store and you'll often find stuff like a packet of cumin for 70 cents that's got the same amount of spice as the organic jar that costs five bucks in the spice aisle).

Once you've got some basics down, start branching out and seeing if you've got any good markets nearby that have more unusual spices. Large Bastard and I get most of our bulk spices from a Middle Eastern market around the corner from our house or at an Indian market a few miles away because it's WAY cheaper to get allspice or turmeric or garam masala from those stores than it would be from the grocery store.

And if you're starting at the basic-basics, like how to season a simple pork roast, check recipe blogs. Find different bloggers and test their recipes until you find someone you trust, then follow their recipes. One good place to start is with Chef John and Food Wishes - he has a wide variety of cuisines that use a lot of different spices and has recipes that range from very simple to very complex.

Large Bastard really likes Food Wishes and trying recipes from Chef John - he cooks less than I do and has less of a sense of what to add to a pot to get something to taste the way he wants it to, but he's gotten very good at taking Food Wishes recipes and tweaking them or adjusting them and figuring out how to mix and match flavors.

Just cooking - finding a recipe that looks interesting and following it - is a really good way to get better at this kind of thing.

That's actually one of the reasons that I think meal kit boxes like blue apron can be worth it for people who want to learn how to cook - they give you recipes you wouldn't have thought to look for and provide small amounts of the required ingredients so you can sample them and figure out if you like them. My dad and sister got blue apron for like two years and it has significantly improved their cooking skills and ability to mix and match flavors.

It just takes time and money and trial and error. Easy, right? (It isn't, but there's also no way to make it faster other than doing more experiments. Thankfully there are ways to make it cheaper, and yeah looking at local specialty markets is a good way to save on spices)

[wooahaes]

an act of caring for others

pairing: non-idol!husband!s.coups x gn!reader

genre: fluff. married life au. grad student!cheol mentions.

word count: 1.0k~

warnings: food mentions. sappy loving domestic life <3

daisy's notes: hes just so husband shaped idk what to tell u

In your married life, you never expected to become the kind of couple who hosted dinner parties regularly. 

Maybe “regularly” wasn’t the best word for it. It wasn’t as though the two of you hosted these nights every month or anything. Simply put: you learned a couple things in your two years of marriage. One was that several of your grad student husband’s friends were crushed underneath the weight of classes and jobs (you, thankfully, only had a job to worry about). Two was that a few of his friends couldn’t cook to save their lives (Wonwoo and Soonyoung and sometimes Vernon…). And three: you genuinely, truly loved cooking for other people. This one wasn’t exactly new, though. Sure, you loved cooking for your now-husband while the two of you were dating (sometimes he’d help where he could, always in love with the domesticity of it), but you loved cooking for your friends and family, too. 

A little over a year ago, you had invited his friends over with this ‘bring a side dish or a dessert, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to’ tacked onto the message. Hell, you’d mentioned that they could bring a lunchbox if they’d like to take leftovers—but they’d have to settle things out themselves. It was during that first night that you really got to listen to a few of them talking about life. You and Seungcheol were pretty lucky to not have to worry too heavily about things, since your job paid pretty damn well and you both also had family to fall back onto. But Joshua had been talking about how he kinda missed being in the U.S. sometimes because his mom only visited so often, and when you heard Seungkwan talk about missing Jeju and his family…

Well. It tugged at your heartstrings enough to ask Seungcheol how he felt about maybe picking a day every few months so that most of his friends could come together for a meal. He’d agreed pretty easily, admitting his own concerns over people like Junhui and Minghao who didn’t have family here. So the two of you started hosting little dinners here and there, always for people who were feeling homesick. Sometimes that would mean Seungkwan would call you up and ask if he could join the two of you sometime, other times it was Jun saying he would come help make dinner and Minghao would bring wine. 

Other times were like today: you and Seungcheol waking up early on a day you didn’t have to work, and immediately getting started in the kitchen after you’d had breakfast. This time, Seungcheol would have to stop helping in order to study for a bit since he had a test tomorrow morning in one of his classes, but that was fine. It was the prepwork that was the most hell, in your opinion: endless chopping and whatnot. 

You couldn’t help but admire him now. He was standing near the fridge, glasses sliding down his nose as he studied a recipe book, hair half-pulled up. Sometimes you thought that you would marry him again if he asked you, no matter how silly that would be. 

“You’re staring again,” he hummed, smiling. 

“I’m admiring, thank you.” 

He chuckled, turning to kiss you as you came closer. “I’m doing the math in my head,” he said, turning back to the book. “I might have to run to the store for more of this…” He tapped at something on the page, although you didn’t really care to look. You were still admiring him. He noticed a second later, and smiled into another soft kiss. “I hate that you’ll have to do the majority of the work this time…”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “I care about you and your friends. You can’t help that you need to study,” you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You’re almost done, y’know?”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. His arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you in closer. “But you already do a lot for me. Other people would be annoyed—”

“And other people aren’t me, so I don’t care. You’re studying hard to get farther,” you said. “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t support you.” 

He smiled again, a charming look in his eyes as he gazed at you. Seungcheol was always so soft when he was near you, to the point where the tender look on his face was enough to make you cry on your wedding day. In turn, it made him cry, so you considered the two of you even. “I love you,” he said, soft as a promise. “Let me know if you change your mind and want Jun to come help. He said he didn’t mind—”

“It feels wrong to say yes,” you admitted. “I mean… We’re hosting. All the others need to do is show up.”

“Jun knows how many people we’re cooking for,” Seungcheol said. “There’s nothing wrong with needing help. Especially when I can’t help you.” 

With a sigh, you nodded. “I’ll think about it. Are you going to the store now?”

“Are you coming with me?”

Normally, you would… But duty called. You had things to keep working on. “Grab me something sweet?”

“I’ll be coming back—”

You swatted at his arm, but fell only deeper in love with the warm way he laughed at his own dumb joke. “Something chocolate, please,” you said. “We can share it if you want.” 

He stole one final kiss from you before he stepped away. “Whatever you want,” he promised. 

You purposefully waited until he was about to leave to call out to him. “I love you, too.” 

And, oh, that warm smile on his face made all of this work worth it. You would kiss that smile when the two of you went to bed tonight, exhausted from the long day and dinner that you had to put away any remains of when it was all said and done. And you would kiss that smile again tomorrow morning, just to remind him that you knew he could ace it.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @staranghae @synthetickitsune @weird-bookworm

[monkawonka]

Okay. So cooking and feeding yourself and others just means alot to me (even tho i burn alot of stuff teehee) but i just read alot of different hc for these two and cooking and wanna do a poll cuz i got brain worm. Anyways my specific HC under the cut

Okay so i honestly think neither knew how to cook dureing the events of the first game. Phoenix, i think could cook a bit but it would be very bland cuz he doesn't know how spices work and i also think he burnt stuff alot. He didnt seem like he had the time to learn to cook between lawschool and wanting to save edgeworth. He's always been better at takeing care of others than takeing care of himself so i dont think he was a particularly good cook dureing the events of the first and especially second game. This bitch has never looked at a recipe.

Edgeworth on the other hand probably hasent ever needed to cook like ever. Gregory might have had miles help in the kitchen but after miles moved into the von karma household he never really used a kitchen outside of a kettle maybe. He doesn't know how ovens work. When in Europe after the first game is when he startss to learn some cooking. I think its part of his learning to care for himself. Treat yourself kindly and make yourself a nice meal is the idea. I think at first its disastrous. He may have had to put out some fires. I think he improves in cooking when he starts to improve himself, sort of like a reflection of his progress. By the time he returns in the secound game hes able to cook better than phoenix but only if following a recipe.

Phoenix doesnt see major improvement untill his disbarment. The first few years dont see much improvement but in tye last few years he spends time in europe with edgeworth and something they do together is cook. They choose a recipe and follow it, and phoenix starts useing those recipes when they return home.

By the time phoenix gets his badge back i think they are both pretty capable cooks and have a decent understanding of how to use spices and not set fires. I think in the end edgeworth is the better cook overall but phoenix isnt too far behind, he just has more kitchen accidents bit he also cooks more than edgeworth since he likes to feed people.

Anyways i have more thoughts bit o need to sleep and also i cant find the words cuz it makes me too happy

[writing-bakugo]

Working on a Kirishima fic and have no direction so thought I'd share my biggest headcanon that I've been keeping secret but can't anymore because its TOO good.

Kirishima's Significant Other

Everything weighed him down. Yes, he had his dream job. Yes, he worked close with his friends. Yes, he saved people.

But no one told him how lonely being a pro would be.

Kirishima was trying his hardest. He truly was. But after the third dead person he couldn't save in a single week? It was no secret his smile had started to shrink when he wasn't working and his shoulders slumped more and more.

Of course he did what he could. He was a good man and went to therapy every week and did exactly as the therapist recommended. He even did service projects where he would go help cook or clean at orphanages or homeless shelters.

But no one warned him being a pro would be like this. There was no preparation for the weight that pros carried on their shoulders. And it didn't matter that he was alone.

Kirishima was so terribly alone. After watching all his high school friends get married one after another—even Bakugo, the most unstable man in existence—Kirishima wondered what was wrong with him.

It's not like he didn't have a plethora of fans dying to date him. But none of them lit so much as a spark under him. It wasn't their fault, he just...wasn't interested.

But maybe if he had someone waiting at home for him the weight wouldn't be so bad. If he had a home to come home to, maybe the stress could melt away and he'd finally relax.

His weeks had a routine to them. Monday-Wednesdays were patrol days, Thursday was his day off, Friday-Sundays he was on call. Which he tended to get called in.

So that left Thursdays being the only day of the week that he could do his laundry, clean his kitchen (like his mother taught him), buy groceries, meal prep (Kirishima has a strict diet), and go to therapy.

Hectic, methodical life. Always in motion but never participating. So Kirishima dragged himself to the store and unsurprisingly was swarmed by fans who wanted his autograph.

One even had the gall to ask for his number. She looked like she was in middle school.

And then he was finally in the frozen food section searching for frozen chicken. He always bought the same brand, same packaged chicken. Not for any particular reason, but because it was easy to remember with the bright red logo.

He tossed the last bag in his basket and made to leave when you appeared and frowned at the empty freezer. You wore loose mom jeans and a plain t-shirt with purple stains on it. Your hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and you didn't even bother with makeup.

When you noticed him, you smiled. "You got the last one! Lucky!"

"Oh yeah," Kirishima said and watched you scan the freezer for a replacement. "Do you want it?"

"Huh? No! That's yours! I couldn't!"

"Here." He held it out like some sort of treaty before you shook your head and he laughed. "I insist."

"I suppose if you insist," you said and took the bag. "Thank you! Do you need help finding more?"

"I'm not too worried about it," Kirishima said before reaching into the freezer for ground beef.

You slightly bowed before you went on your way. A few years earlier, Kirishima had a pretty good meal plan surrounded by beef, so he figured he could change it up a bit a make his old recipes.

When he stood in the checkout line, he saw you two registers down. You bowed slightly and apologized before pointing at a cake mix. The cashier set it to the side and Kirishima's eyes widened. Did she not have enough for a cake mix?

The register opened and he turned away, letting the person behind him go before he rushed to the baking aisle and grabbed a cake mix. He didn't really know what he was doing, but it was his hero's duty. And who knew? It could be your birthday or something and you really wanted a cake.

When he checked out, he looked through the doors and wondered if you'd gone far. Kirishima rushed the cashier before he grabbed his three bags and ran out the door.

There you were. You were struggling with putting your bags on the back of a bike and Kirishima grinned when he came over.

"Sorry, I noticed you wanted one of these, so..."

Your eyes widened. "How...thank you." You bowed deeply. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no biggie."

The next week passed. And the next. He didn't see you at the grocery store either times. But, third time's a charm when you appeared and pulled out a bag of frozen chicken.

"Looks like there's enough for both of us, huh?" Kirishima asked when he put a bag in his basket.

"Oh hey! How are you?" You asked. "Thank you so much for the cake, by the way. I didn't know what to do. It was my baby boy's birthday and I wanted to make it special but money's tight right now."

Baby boy. Kirishima stared at you with a drooped smile. He noticed orange stains on your pink shirt and your hair was disheveled like it'd been pulled and of course he would think about someone who already had a family. How embarrassing.

But just like him, honestly.

"No big deal," he halfheartedly said.

You sighed. "Seriously, you were a lifesaver. After his dad skipped town three years ago, it's been so hard."

Wait. Kirishima gawked. "What?"

"Yeah," you deflated and stared at the ground. "My ex went crazy one day and said he wanted nothing to do with us. I'm happy my boy wasn't old enough to remember him or any of it, but jeez. He's five now but I don't even know how men shave. Like do you do just your face or is there other parts of the body? Or even attempting to explain puberty," you shuddered, "and who's going to teach him to tie a tie? And—I'm sorry. You don't want to hear about all my woes!"

Kirishima didn't know why he went home that night relieved that your ex had left. He also didn't know why he was imagining your kid over and over and he didn't know why he found himself standing in the frozen meat aisle just waiting for you to show up on the next Thursday.

And when you did, Kirishima held a bag of frozen chicken out for you and cleared his throat. "Do you want to go out sometime?"

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

I 10000000000% see Kirishima being the kind to fall in love with someone with a kid and 1000000000000% adopt the kid. He'd make the PERFECT adoptive dad. Totally the kind of man who'd say "no it's not your kid it's MY kid." 1000000000% ya'll

[harleychick91]

New Story

El Mayarah (M)

Summary: After waking from a recurring dream, Kara tells Lena the truth about her identity and how she feels. Nothing goes as the Kryptonian hopes. After being attacked by The Children of Liberty, the only way to save Lena’s life is to take her to Argo City. What happens there will change everything.

Chapter One

Kara’s POV

Ever since Reign was defeated and The Children of Liberty gained power in the media, I've had nightmares. Some were about fighting The World Killers, losing, and them killing everyone I cared for or The Children of Liberty killing all aliens and everyone who helped aliens. Either way, everybody I loved or cared about ended up dying and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

The only way I could go back to sleep was making a cup of tea and wrapping myself in the blanket Lena had left after a movie night. Sipping the warm liquid, I thought about the last few months. Things are so messed up. Lena and Supergirl are at odds because of kryptonite and she doesn't know the truth. It's been too long. It won't end well when I tell Lena who Kara Danvers really is.

Flipping through Netflix, I put on a comfort show and let it play in the background. Lena still made me the kryptonite armor even after our fight. And she gave Mom the recipe to make more Harun-El. I'm so confused.

Desperately needing sleep, I rinsed my mug and went back to bed. Since the blanket still smelled like Lena's apartment, I brought it to bed with me. Nuzzling my face into it, I inhaled the calming scent.

Waking in my bed, I heard a knock on my door. Rushing to answer it, Brainy stood before me. "Brainy? What are you doing here?"

"You're talking to me. And you know who I am." His brow creased. "Supergirl is-,"

"You can't say that! " Pulling him inside, I closed the door quickly. "It's dangerous to walk around without your image inducer turned on."

"Do we know each other? I am Brainiac 5. A 12th level intellect. The Legionnaires call me Brainy." He walked around my apartment aimlessly looking around.

"Yes, we know each other. Mon-El sent you." Why does this feel so familiar?

"Yes. To make sure your neuro pathways are intact." Brainy picked up a plant and examined it. "Your brain is in remarkable health for someone languishing in a coma."

Oh, Rao. "The coma dream palace thing I was in," I sighed. Not this dream again. "Yes, you think I'm in a coma. I was, but I'm not anymore."

"Did I bury the lead?" His head tilted. "You've been in a coma for two days."

"I know. My subconscious feels most at ease here and so on."

"Yes, you've been in a coma."

No matter what I say, it's still going to play out. Rubbing my face, I went along with it. "I'm in my loft."

"Oh! This is just where your subconscious feels most comfortable. We're not really in your loft."

This can't be happening. "If I'm in a coma, how are you here?" I watched as the man continued to walk around my apartment.

"Mon-El woke me from hyper sleep to communicate with you on behalf of him and your D.E.O. patriates. 31st century technology. It's also what's keeping you alive."

"Alive?"

"Reign defeated you," he spoke curiously. "Don't you remember?"

Flashes of the fight and Alex finding me in the rubble flashed through my mind. Dread filled me. "No. This…Reign is still out there. People are dying. I need to wake up." Rushing to my door, I tried to open it to no avail.

"I don't think you're listening to me." I tried pulling harder but the door wouldn't give. "Could we maybe try relaxing for a bit?"

After finally giving up on the door, I paced the loft. "This is torture," I huffed. Sitting on the couch, I watched as Brainy inspected my kitchen. "What are you looking for?"

"Any sign of decay or damage. In a simulation like this, it can show up in any type of fashion. I want to make sure there's nothing that will harm your reality reentry."

"Reality reentry?" I held a pillow to my chest.

"If you're not properly prepared, you could go into shock. Some people die instantly."

"Wait, does that mean I'm ready to wake up?" Getting to my feet, I tossed the pillow. "Is there anything I need to do?" I made my way towards the door again.

"This is the manifest of your subconscious and that's the only way in or out. Logic says you need to walk through it."

Trying the door again, it wouldn't budge. "It's not opening." I continued to pull. "Why isn't it opening?"

"We drained the tank and you've suffered no ill effects of hibernation." Boiling water, Brainy sipped a cup of tea. I bit my lip realizing he used some of Lena's favorite tea. "Everything is physically fine. There must be a different reason your mind is keeping you here."

"You're saying I'm keeping myself here?" I scoffed. "That doesn't make any sense. I'm the one who wants out of here." I tried punching through the door but was only knocked back.

"Is there a reason your subconscious wants you to stay here? Self preservation perhaps? You were badly beaten." He sipped more tea as he sat on the couch. "Fear can be powerful."

"I am not afraid." I tried using my heat vision until everything around us was destroyed. Frustrated, I started to clean.

"Is there something different about this version of your loft? Something that stands out."

Placing some items on my coffee table, I looked around. My stomach dropped seeing coats, shoes, and other little things that weren't mine. A lot of Lena's things are here. Things that aren't actually in my loft. This is new. The dream has never taken this path before. Turning my gaze to the picture in hand, it was one I took of us. We were cheek to cheek and smiling.

"You've noticed something," Brainy's voice trailed. "Who is this brunette woman?" He picked up a nearby picture I kept on the side table. "Your mate? Mon-El said you were single."

"No. She's…just a friend." My stomach fell. I don't want her to be just a friend.

The man studied me. "You want her to be your mate." His head tilted. "You could be stuck because you're scared."

"I've not told her that I'm Supergirl. She'll hate me." I swallowed hard seeing the brunette in question appear sitting in my armchair. Walking towards her, I wrapped Lena in my arms. "I miss you."

"I'm right here, Kara," Lena nuzzled her face in my neck, holding me tightly.

"She appeared to you for a reason," he coaxed. "What is it?"

Releasing the shorter woman, I turned towards Brainy. "Possibly because I have to face the fact that I've had feelings for her?"

His brow creased. "But you love Mon-El."

"You can love more than one person at a time, I think." I took the safer option, falling for Mon-El. Loving him was easier than loving Lena. He was a certain thing. She's not.

"And now?" Brainy's attention shifted.

Turning back to dream Lena, I cupped her face. The action caused a warm smile to appear. "To get out of here I have to admit to myself that I love her…." That thought terrifies me.

My alarm woke me from my Lena, Brainy, coma dream. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about Lena and my feelings for her. I am so screwed. I need to bite the figurative bullet and tell her. I'd rather bite a real one.

Continue reading on AO3 or FFN

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54436363

FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14336503/1/El-Mayarah

[boliv-jenta]

Joel Miller x Jackson Librarian f!reader

A day late and not proof read but here's a Halloween drabble on my favourite Jackson couple.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff.

WC: 850

Halloween Memories Old and New

Joel Miller had been called a lot of things over the years. A grumpy bastard. An asshole. A killer. No one had ever accused him of being sentimental. Which was odd considering the ever-present watch on his wrist. Although only a few people knew its significance.

Since he settled down with his new love in Jackson, he felt the door to the man he used to be opening wider and wider. Ellie had been the one to prise it open. The gap she made let out some of his old ways. When he went foraging, he picked up things he thought Ellie would like, just like he did at the grocery store for Sarah. He found himself asking for Ellie to pull out Will Livingston just to share something that made her smile. Just like when he used to sit through those god-awful werewolf teen romance movies for Sarah. Sharing his life with someone so well read and insightful when it came to people made more conscious of how he displayed his emotions. He made an effort to drop his guard and let her in. He showed her his sentimental side. He marked the anniversary of each special day between them. He noted each thing that made her smile. On the days when he couldn't find the words to tell her how much she meant to him, he showed her with gestures. On the cold nights, he'd warm the sofa in her reading nook with a hot water bottle because he noticed how she would shiver before she warmed up under her blankets.

When Halloween rolled around Joel saw the perfect chance to show her just how much he cared. The well worn copy of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory on her shelf gave him an idea. Along with her memories of childhood Halloweens spent trick or treating. Candy wasn't exactly abundant in Jackson. A few recipes had been cooked up from what ingredients they could grow. Honey candy and popcorn were among the favourites. Once the kids had stopped knocking and the memories were relived, Joel and his girl settled on the sofa for an old school horror movie.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I saved some candy for you." Joel reached into a side draw.

"Thank you but I think I'm done with candy for the night." She lay her hand over her stomach.

Joel winced for a moment at the thought of what might have been in another life.

"You sure you ain't even got room for chocolate?" Joel teased.

"I would if it wasn't all old and mouldy." She wrinkled her nose.

"Well, look what I have here." He handed her a rectangular object.

Her fingers felt the weight and the paper wrapping before she looked at it. On the paper was a perfectly draw replica of a Wonker bar.

"What?! Did you draw this?" Joel blushed slightly as he gave a little nod. "It's so good! Don't tell me there is actually chocolate in here."

"There is." Joel was smiling from his own pride as well as from her joy.

"No way! Where did you find chocolate?!" She practically bounced into his lap, pulling at his shirt as if she could draw the answer out of him.

"Well, someone told me how useful libraries can be. I looked up what conditions cocoa beans can be grown in and paid a visit to Eugene." Joel informed her as he laced his fingers behind her back.

"Wait, where did you get cocoa beans?!" She pushed.

"Aren't you going to open it? You might have a golden ticket." Joel was keen to change the subject as he was more embarrassed about what he had to trade for them than for what he traded for his coffee.

"Oooo. Might a win a special ticket to see where the magic happens?" She raised her eyebrows salaciously before pressing a kiss to Joel's full lips.

"Maybe." Joel grinned, returning her kiss.

Carefully, as to not rip the drawing, she opened the bar. The scent of chocolate made her mouth water. Sure enough there was a 'golden' ticket under the wrapper. This was another drawing by Joel.

"I won!" She beamed.

"Oh yeah?" Joel smiled knowingly. "What does it say you won?"

Taking a closer look at it, her jaw dropped and eyes welled up. "Joel?"

"Well, go on then, read it out for the class."

Joel cupped her cheek gently.

Between light sobs she managed to get the words out. "Will you marry me?"

"What do you say, Sweetheart? Feel like making an honest man out of an old fool?" Joel's nerves were getting the better of him. He knew he was nowhere near deserving of her but he couldn't let another day go by without showing her how much she meant to him.

"You must be an old fool if you want to marry me." She laughed. "Yes, Joel. Of course I'll marry you."

The chocolate, as precious and thoughtful as it was, was long forgotten as Joel gave her something much more sweet and precious, his heart.

[lorata]

Claudius & Eibhlin for @penfoldx

in which anthropological study subs in for discussing one's private anxieties

(h/t to attractiveness anon & @literallyjustanyurlatthispoint for partial inspiration)

it's @penfoldx's birthday! have some ridiculousness

also found at DW here

-----------------

The notebook lay on the coffee table, half buried under various tomes (that was a new word Claudius learned and liked to throw around, tomes) on rabbit husbandry, one corner peeking out just enough to draw his curiosity.

Eibhlin called them ‘composition notebooks’ and claimed every child in Three used them, which cracked Claudius up — imagine writing enough in school you needed multiple notebooks — but sure, why not. It was the genius district after all. She’d had to make do with recycled paper for a while after the war but now she could finally import the good stuff. Which meant Claudius kept finding them everywhere, experiment logs and local recipes and logical reasons why Brutus should let her keep a Village bear (pending).

This one, worryingly, carried the simple title ‘Observations’.

It could be private, unleashing the wrath of heaven if Claudius cracked open the cover. Or it could be a topic too awkward or embarrassing for Eibhlin to raise on her own, leaving this as the most convenient and least emotionally excruciating way of broaching the issue. The real question, which one?

With Misha, this would be deliberate psychological warfare. With Eibhlin, the lines blurred.

“Eh, fuck it.” Claudius flipped open the book. He could always cave on a fifth rabbit if need be.

Later that evening Eibhlin crept up behind him in the kitchen, impressively silent as always. Claudius resisted the automatic impulse to flip the chef’s knife around into throat-slitting position (years of post-Arena healing undone by ground warfare, now finally uncurling a second time) and laid the blade flat against the cutting board.

“Hold out your hands,” Eibhlin said. Her voice twinkled in a way that those who’d never lived with rabbits might call childlike innocence.

Claudius, on the other hand, shared his living space with several rabbits, and left innocence behind a long time ago. “I am making dinner,” he said without turning around. “Should I still hold out my hands?”

A pause, in which Claudius envisioned the pout growing like fog over the lake in early morning, and yeah, he thought so. “Misha says you are a party pooper.”

“Ironic,” Claudius said dryly, but while he’d acquired several mental illnesses over the years, finding ‘wee little rabbit poops’ endearing was not one he’d picked up along the way, sponsors save him. “I’m sure there will be more cute poops tomorrow. Do I want to know why you’ve been polling people in town about what they find attractive? If we’re hosting an orgy I should go out for snacks.”

Silence of a very different character this time. Claudius spent a long time cataloguing the pauses in their conversations, learning when to send for Beetee, when to backtrack and apologize, when to wait it out. “Ah,” Eibhlin said. “That was careless.”

“I thought maybe it was on purpose,” Claudius said. He slipped the knife back into the block and turned around, risking embarrassing Eibhlin with eye contact just to let her see he wasn’t pissed off. “Like one of those things you hid as a hint or something. I can pretend I didn’t see it if you want.”

Eibhlin’s gaze shuttered. “Don’t be asinine,” she said, her tone acerbic. “You do not need to insult us both. I am conducting — research. Anthropology. Desired physical traits in this district seem to be consistent in a way that extends beyond what I had assumed to be Village sampling bias.”

He’d been pretty good at keeping his expression neutral and non-judgemental, but Claudius felt his eyebrows creep up in spite of himself. “You mean we’re a bunch of lunkheads so you thought we were poisoning your data?”

Her ears turned bright pink. “I meant —“ but oh, looks like Claudius wasn’t the only one to pick up a few tricks over the years. Eibhlin stopped, narrowed her eyes. “You are attempting to distract me by manufacturing outrage. Despite the willfully reductive phrasing, yes. This is a community of athletic outliers. You are not representative. I have made many efforts not to generalize across the population, and so this one has surprised me.”

It felt absurd to have this conversation while Eibhlin stood in front of him with a handful of rabbit dung, and so Claudius ducked down for the compost bin. Stepping out of the way for Eibhlin to wash her hands gave him a second to think about whatever the hell this was. “Is it really so weird? We move rocks around and make guns in factories and kill people. Grr, argh, strong people hot.”

This time the impatience nearly skewered him. “But that is the point, it is not that. Perhaps superficially, for short-term liaisons, but not partnerships. There is a reason why attractiveness in Three is strongly weighted toward intelligence. Physically symmetrical but intellectually bankrupt partners will not create a stable or successful household.”

Claudius blinked. “Ouch?”

“Do not —“

“Okay, okay. “ He held up his hands. Three-stupid was not universal-stupid, they’d had this argument before and reopening it now wouldn’t help anyone. “So you’re trying to figure out what is the … biological imperative … behind what Twos find attractive?”

See, he could do it too.

Now she hesitated. He probably should have moved this conversation to the living room or found her a rabbit to cuddle before starting this conversation, but more fool him, now they had to have it in the middle of the kitchen with nothing to fiddle with but sharp implements. “Leaving aside the question of whether biological or evolutionary imperatives exist other than as excuses for the creation of sexist binaries — yes. In Three we value intelligence because intelligence is how we survive. I could not understand how brawn could hold the same value in your society.”

“Okay.” Claudius leaned back against the counter, hands braced but open, nonthreatening. “And?”

“It isn’t brawn,” Eibhlin said. “It’s — community. Care. You are a district of physical labourers and physical people, so of course you value those who can take care of each other with your bodies.”

“Sounds kind of like cavemen,” Claudius said, amused in spite of himself. “I’m sure Brutus would agree, though.”

“He did,” Eibhlin said, nose in the air with the delicate air of someone choosing not to take offence, as the bigger person in the room thank you very much. “And Artemisia, once she stopped laughing. She went home with many girls, but she wanted to marry Emory when she was young, and now she is with Devon. That speaks to type.”

“Okay,” he said, again. “I still don’t know what — you don’t just do anthropology. You have to have a thesis.”

Eibhlin’s fingers curled in her sleeves, which — Ah, shit.

This was the part Claudius hated. Speedrunning weeks of research and observations to find whatever tangled mess of emotions had prompted Eibhlin to do this in the first place, because while Claudius might mangle onions or spar with his mentor or call up his friends in a total panic when he had a problem, Eibhlin … well, she did science.

“Okay.” A third time, the jigsaw puzzles falling off the table and clicking together into the most terrifying image of a nightmare clown he’d ever seen, but also the clown was right in front of him looking sad and he had to be very careful not to jump. “So it sounds like … we have the best of both worlds? You’re a super genius and I — well, I can sort of fix the roof, if I have help.”

Eibhlin studied him in silence for several moments, eyes intent and searching, but finally she nodded sharply and the knot in his chest unhooked. “Don’t forget the cooking,” she said. “You have become quite adept.”

“Glad to hear it,” Claudius said. “You want to help? I was still chopping when someone tried to put rabbit poop in my hands.”

“Hm,” Eibhlin said, admitting absolutely nothing, and held out her hand for the knife.

[sukacheri]

2wink Week 2023 Day 1 - Nostalgic

A Quarter Past 2am [AO3 or keep reading below]

2wink | one-shot | 1.4k words

Though the size of his palm had changed, the portion of chocolate chips stayed the same. As if what Hinata had used as a child, with palms barely big enough to grab any sort of meaningful handful, was Yuuta’s preferred amount of chocolate. Or maybe it was what nostalgia tasted like. Or: Hinata makes Yuuta hot chocolate when he can't sleep.

a/n: yayy first 2wink week post!! this is an old fic i posted a few months ago but since the day 1 theme was nostalgia i feel morally obligated to post this here. i hope you enjoy!

@2winkweek

It was 2am.

Hinata didn’t fall neatly into being a night owl or early bird by any means, but this was definitely too late for him to be up. It would be one thing if he had just woken up from sleep and decided to get a glass of water before going back to bed, then it wasn’t “staying up”, it was an interruption to his sleep. If anyone walked into the kitchen at this hour and saw him, that was what he'd tell them. If there were even other people awake right now.

No, there definitely were. There were plenty of weirdos living at Ensemble Square.

Also, he like, totally did not snoop on his phone to see that Yuuta was active on social media right now. That would totally be violating Yuuta’s privacy. But it wasn’t like he was hiding it. Okay, well, he wasn’t posting anything, but it said his status was active! So, if he really didn’t want people to know then he’d turn that setting off.

It didn’t really matter.

Hinata already had a saucepan warming up on the stove. Milk and cocoa powder set to the side, waiting on standby to be added in. 

Yuuta’s lack of sweet tooth normally deterred Hinata from making something like this, and he knows countless spicy alternative recipes for other meals. He had even gone out searching for spicy hot chocolate recipes and begging Niki to teach him how to make them properly because while he had mastered the art of adjusting sweetness, mixing and matching spice wasn’t as intuitive to him.

And even with the special training, his spice palette was unsatisfactory, but it was probably better that way. Yuuta would hate it if Hinata was invading on one of his key personality traits. Even if, no, especially, if it were for Yuuta’s sake Hinata did so.

Hinata hovered his hand over the pan, heat seeping through his fingers, and decided it was warm enough now. He poured the milk in first, the white 2% of it all covering the bottom of the steel pan, with the cocoa mix following right after. He whisked them together with a practiced hand, muscle memory that knew a repetitive whisking motion used in most cooking, yes, but also this particular movement for this particular hot chocolate.

Everything about this recipe, routine, ritual, was ingrained in him, from his fingertips that spread the mix, to his arms that whisked the pan, and to his feet that had taken him out here to the kitchen in the first place. It might as well be a piece of his soul. 

It was pointless to wonder how much of his soul is dedicated to Yuuta. Sure, he tried nowadays to be himself, Hinata Aoi, through and through. Whoever that was.

The more thought-provoking and less existentially-dreading exercise was to scour through the pieces like a web and decide which ones didn't end up linking back to Yuuta in some way. 

Most of his hobbies started from a need to improve himself, not for his own personal self-satisfaction, but for Yuuta’s sake. Gardening was his one non-performance based hobby, but even that started as a way to save on groceries at home and grow the peppers his brother liked that hurt his wallet just a bit too much. 

A drop of milk splashed out onto Hinata’s arm as he whisked, drawing his eyes back into focus on the warm brown color [verb]ing in the saucepan now. He set the whisk down, feeling the beginning of a cramp in his hand but ignored it to reach across the counter and grab the sugar. He didn’t need to use a lot; Yuuta usually liked something a little sweet when he couldn’t sleep.

It took only a few seconds for the sugar to dissolve and for Hinata to grab a small handful of chocolate chips to scatter in the pan like saccharine hail. He started whisking again and tried not to dwell too much on the memory of a much younger him, one before all the growth spurts and near-constant sibling bickering, one that had his little brother fully rely on him. Though the size of his palm had changed, the portion of chocolate chips stayed the same. As if what Hinata had used as a child, with palms barely big enough to grab any sort of meaningful handful, was Yuuta’s preferred amount of chocolate. Or maybe it was what nostalgia tasted like for him.

Some things change and grow, like how Hinata wasn’t a child anymore, but other things remained the same, routines built into the soul like a code for design.

It was a quarter past 2am, and while the oncoming footsteps were soft, trained to be light on the floor at night, they were wearing slippers, not socks. This was a public building after all, and the twins weren’t living at home anymore.

Yuuta rounded the corner into the kitchen, and Hinata spied the stray hairs sticking up at the back of his head from tossing and turning in bed. The hunch of his shoulders could be mistaken as stress to anyone else that saw them, but Hinata knew his brother’s heart and behaviors, and not that he carried stress but a chill. It took a lot for him to finally drag himself up and out of bed, away from the warmth and comfort of his blankets.

It meant he gave up on sleep and decided to make the chilly trek without a blanket to the kitchen. And like any regular person, he would get a nice glass of water and then try once again to get some shut eye.

Being “overbearing” was a trait Hinata has yet to fully kick, and who says he should be rid of it completely anyways? He should always be able to spoil his brother.

Knowing Yuuta’s ‘I can’t fall asleep even after looking at my phone for several hours and switching which side I lay on so that my phone can keep charging because it almost died’ ritual is hardly a facet of being overbearing. They did share a room for years.

Hinata’s mouth twitched like he wanted to greet Yuuta, but maybe his brother’s eyes do look a bit more tired than usual (or maybe it was just eye strain. These kids on their dang phones..!). He kept quiet instead, and let Yuuta be the one to initiate any talking.

Yuuta paused when his eyes met Hinata’s, and he can see how Yuuta’s mouth is already forming words of interrogation for him. It took a moment for him to settle on his words, and they were less questioning than Hinata would’ve thought.

“... You don’t drink hot chocolate this late,” Yuuta said, walking to join Hinata at the counter.

Hinata didn’t respond, instead looking at the warm, light brown color of the hot chocolate in the pan. The perfect color. He turned the heat off for the stove with a click of the knob, and when he turned to grab a mug, Yuuta’s already beaten him to it.

Hinata accepts the two white mugs, the Cosmic Productions logo printed on the sides of each, that Yuuta hands him. He didn’t bother saying anything right now; if Yuuta wanted to press Hinata on why he was up so late then he could do that, but Hinata wasn’t going to open that can of worms if he didn't have to.

He poured the hot chocolate into both their mugs, steam rising as the liquid filled them. They would probably get stained brown, but that was on CosPro for deciding to get plain old white instead of a nice sleek black or something. Maybe they should’ve done a chrome color.

In the little momentary crease of Yuuta’s eyebrows as he picked up the mug, there was the lingering need to question how Hinata knew he was awake. Hinata can imagine the thoughts flitting through his brain as Yuuta tried to make sense of it. Was it a camera in his room? A parenting app installed in secret? Twin intuition? At least there was no need to question what comes after Hinata knew that his brother was awake, since this was a routine as old as they’ve been able to reach the stove by standing on a wobbly stool.

He had always been making hot chocolate for Yuuta to help him fall asleep. Hinata didn’t plan on ever giving up that level of care for him, because as long as it was impossible to beat up nightmares and bad dreams, then this would be all he could do to settle his brother at night.

Yuuta took the first sip, his face relaxing as he held the cup with both his hands, seeping in its warmth. It was a short sip, since it was too hot to properly drink right now, but his lips turned up into a small smile regardless. 

“Thank you, Hinata-kun.”

There was no need to question Hinata tonight, not over this familiar hot chocolate that had comforted Yuuta countless nights before.

“No problem, Yuuta-kun~”

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You: Chapter 5

Hello! Hope you all enjoy the update and I apologize for the drama... well not really, lol. I live for the angst both as a writer and reader. This will likely be the last update for a couple of weeks, I haven't started not the next chapter and have some things in my own life coming up.

Possible TW: Arguing, cussing

*I didn't edit this, it's hot off the press...

Word count: 3.9K

Masterlist

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The workweek had passed by in a blur. Chaol had left yesterday for a short trip to the coast because apparently, he was the only one trusted enough to sort out whatever problem had happened at the engineering yard. Aelin knew he was good at his job, but she wished someone else could deal with it, as their weekend plans were forced into a rain check. 

A steady flow of bookgoers had been in and out of the shop, leaving little time for Aelin to mentally prepare for Rowan’s impending afternoon arrival. His books had been neatly wrapped in brown paper since their arrival yesterday and were currently burning a hole on the shelf underneath the register. A constant reminder on the forefront of her mind. 

More and more light filtered through Present Tense’s windows, signaling the time was now sometime after noon. Anxiety began to creep in, making her antsy, and bobbing her knee in anticipation. Should she check the time? Would that make things worse or better? Lyria hadn’t come by yet either so maybe it wasn’t as late as she thought. The woman had said she’d be by on her lunch break to pick up the cookbook. 

Deciding to chance it, her turquoise eyes flicked down, eyeing the corner of the computer. Her initial assessment of the time proved accurate—the clock displaying a bold 2:15 p.m... It was going to be a long afternoon. A few tasks for the week had been put off, due to their tedious nature, but now was as good of time as any to tackle one or two of them. She clicked into her inventory lists on the computer, evaluating what titles needed to be reordered and what genres could possibly be expanded. 

Sometime later, Aelin heard a feminine voice clearing their throat. She looked up and saw Lyria shyly standing at the counter.  “I thought you would have heard me come in, but I see you’re really into whatever you’re doing,” the woman supplied sweetly. 

“Apparently, I’m exceptionally unobservant as of late. Good thing you weren’t an assassin, I would have been toast,” Aelin joked, dragging her hand across her throat to emphasize the dead part. 

“Then who would order books for me?” 

“You’re right. I can’t get taken out; the whole city would suffer from lack of literary works.”

Her theatrics made Lyria chuckle and for that, she was glad. Sometimes she could be a bit much for other people. 

“I got held up at work or I would have been here when I’d originally said. No one seemed to want to handle their own fires today and naturally, they became my problem.”  Now that Lyria disclosed the reason her tardiness, Aelin noted the woman did seem somewhat frazzled, with her long brown hair in a messy bun and a pen tucked in it. 

“That’s exactly why I’m my own boss…,” she snickered pushing away from the counter. “If you’ll wait right here, I’ll grab your stuff from the back.”

Aelin’s office was a complete mess, the floor littered with dog toys and dried water spots.  Fleetfoot was chaos embodied and this room had been the latest casualty. A hefty stack of new books sat on the corner of her wooden desk but as she roamed down the book spines, Lyria’s cookbook was not amongst them. 

Shit, she internally cursed. It had come in yesterday, she recalled flipping through the many glossy pages, appreciating a few dishes that looked worth trying. Rowan’s books had also been in the same shipment and were far more interesting than the recipes—mainly because Aelin couldn’t cook to save her life. She could read though and halfway into the Campfire Tales book; it had been decided that it needed to be carried full time in the store front. 

The telltale bell ring of the door reached her ears, signaling another customer had come in. Hopefully they could manage without her for a few more moments as she continued retracing yesterday’s steps. It wasn’t on the desk, shipping container, or under the register with Rowan’s books. The puppy wasn’t here yesterday, so she couldn’t blame her. Finally, she saw it, haphazardly shoved into her small bookcase by the office door. That was one place to put it she supposed, grabbing it with relief. 

Lyria was still by the counter when she emerged from the back but looking far less relaxed than before. The woman kept throwing glances over her shoulder, a nervous expression in place.  Was the new customer a vagrant? Had something happened while she was gone? Aelin craned her neck trying to see who was in the store. 

Seeing no one, she proceeded with ringing up the book.  “Alright, that’s going to be $32 even.”  

“Can you put that in a bag, please?” Lyria asked swiping her card. 

Aelin was slipping the item into a bag when movement in her peripheral caught her attention. Soon, a familiar figure came into focus, and she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from pulling up. As quickly as the smile had come, it disappeared. He didn’t deserve smiles and niceties.

Rowan hadn’t approached the counter, seeming as though he was waiting on Lyria to leave or maybe he was quietly praying to Hellas for guidance on how to ruin Aelin’s day—that seemed like the more plausible answer.  

What she did notice though was how tense Lyria was now that he had joined them. 

“Here, all done. You’ll have to let me know how it goes with the cooking,” Aelin requested, handing the packaged book into Lyria’s open hands. 

“What a small world Orynth can be,” Rowan chimed. 

Aelin was undeniably missing something. 

“So it would seem, Rowan,” Lyria replied as she turned to face him. 

Rowan had the biggest smile on his face and offered out a closed fist in Lyria’s direction. The woman bumped her own fist against his and gave a small chuckle. 

It was clear the two knew one another and were likely friends. But if that were the case, why had Lyria been acting so strangely? Aelin continued to glance between the two looking for more answers. 

“Well, I better be going, I still have one thing to finish up at the office before I can celebrate the weekend.” 

“Still on for Saturday?” Rowan asked Lyria as she walked past. 

“Of course,” she answered quickly, almost too quickly, her cheeks pinking up. Aelin’s eyes unconsciously narrowed Lyria gave a small parting wave to Rowan. Either the two were intimate or given the other woman’s reaction, heading in that general direction. 

Aelin felt her stomach drop with that deduction and she tried to shove down the sudden wave of nausea that was creeping up.  She shouldn’t care. She didn’t even know Rowan, much less like him. Yet, a small nagging voice in the back of her head whispered “liar”. 

“Good afternoon, Aelin,” greeted Rowan. 

“I have your stuff right here,” she declared, pulling out the wrapped stack from under the counter and holding it out to him.

“Usually when one person greets another, pleasantries are exchanged, and then the conversation transitions into a more serious note. So, let us try this again,” he chastised trying to sound serious, but Aelin could hear the humor beneath his words. “Good afternoon, Aelin.”

“Good afternoon, Rowan,” she replied with an eye roll. 

“Eye rolls don’t make for polite conversation.”

“Who said this was a polite conversation,” she quipped, trying her best to sound indifferent.

“Gods, are you always this so damn difficult?” he implored, leaning against the desk and staring her down with pine green eyes.

Aelin gave a noncommittal shrug and waved the wrapped books in his direction, silently pleading him to take them. Polite Rowan was the last thing she had been expecting and he’d further caught her off guard with his teasing. She did not like it one bit.  

“I’m not taking the books until you have a conversation with me. I know you can because you were talking to Lyria just fine.” 

She sighed, loudly, and sat down on her stool, contemplating whether to be nice or a pain in the ass. The latter won out. “How do you know, Lyria?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re the one who wanted to have a conversation.  This is me using my words, Rowan.” 

Rowan was visibly frustrated. He took a few deep breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Aelin surmised he was choosing his next set of words carefully. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Lyria and I met when she attended one of my hiking get togethers last year. She attends them still if she’s not busy with work.” 

She wasn’t sure what she had expected his explanation to be, but it wasn’t that. Lyria didn’t strike her as the outdoorsy type… and Rowan didn’t strike her as a people person. But you know what they said about assuming. 

Aelin again pulled the wrapped books from beneath the counter, holding them out to him with smile, trying to appear apologetic—which she was, but she’d be damned if she actually said sorry for being nosy. Or for being rude. His green eyes flitted between the books and her face a few times before he finally grabbed them from her, his finger accidentally brushing against her own. 

An electric current zinged up her arm and she jerked it back in surprise. Had he felt that, too? The look on his face was unchanged but his eyes seemed a little darker, emerald instead of pine. Neither commented on what had just happened and an awkward silence ensued. 

She was about to ask if he was ready to pay for the books, when the bell of the front door chimed, and a middle-aged couple walked in. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said quietly as she went to meet the customers.

“Hi, my name is Aelin. Did you need any help or are you just browsing?” Her tone was very polite; she hoped Rowan was taking note of it. 

“So nice to meet you. My wife and I are visiting from Eyllwe. When we looked up things to see in the city, visit downtown was number one on the list. We were walking by just now when we saw your shop and thought we’d pick up a good book or two.”  

“That’s wonderful. I hope you’ve enjoyed it thus far.  Downtown still has many of the old buildings from before the great war, which I’m sure you’ve noticed. The opalescent shine gives them away.” Aelin smiled fondly, recalling history lessons with her dad freely given every time he brought her downtown. Both Evalin and Rhoe had had such pride for the city and Terrasen—a pride they’d passed to their daughter.

“Oh yes dear, it’s been such a treat,” agreed the woman. 

“If you are interested, I’d love to show you the section especially catered to showcasing Terrasen, and if not, I can direct you in whatever area you’re interested in.” Books had been her life for as long as she remembered, and it was a gift to share that unbridled passion with others. 

“Oh, we’d love to see your specialty section,” both exclaimed excitedly. Aelin didn’t worry about Rowan, he could wait, or come back later. These people were actually excited to hear what she wanted to share and say. She eagerly ushered them to the back of store and into a small room dedicated to her homeland. 

Roughly an hour, six books and exchanging of numbers later, they were done and heading back towards the register. Aelin’s steps slightly faltered, surprise consuming her at the sight of Rowan’s hulking frame occupying her stool behind the counter. His attention solely focused on the leatherbound book laying atop the counter, giving no indication he was the slightest aware of their approach. 

Aelin couldn’t stand it, elbowing him in passing and he jerked, almost falling off the stool. Much like a fox in the chicken coop, she couldn’t resist this moment of gloating. “Look whose unaware now.” 

Rowan narrowed his eyes, and she could see him gearing up for a smart remark until he realized they weren’t alone. The look in his eyes was clear enough. 

Brat. 

Aelin could tell he found humor in the situation which filled her with a feeling she couldn’t place at the moment—there was always later. 

“Is this your boyfriend, deary?” the wife asked. 

Her heart felt like it was going to race out of her chest, a wave of heat creeped down her neck. She knew her face was beet red. Rowan merely snorted at the comment but otherwise remained his same confident self. It would appear the ball was solely in her court. 

“He’s uh- “she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, trying to come up with a label for what Rowan was. Were they friends?  Acquaintances? She wanted to say bothersome asshole but that wouldn’t make for palatable conversation, and he had been rather nice today. “- my friend.  I just special ordered some books for him.” 

Aelin subtly glanced sideways, trying to see what Rowan thought of them being “friends”. His eyebrows were drawn together, creating a small crease in his tan skin, and his mouth a thin line, but it wasn’t a hard expression… she’d mark it down as thoughtful. 

“Oh, how exciting! I’d be poor if I had access to a bookstore owner at any given time.” The woman unaware of the tension she’d created with her intrusive question, kept rattling on to her husband about their books Aelin rang up their purchases. After they paid, they promised to keep in touch and let her know how they liked the books, before wandering out of the shop. 

Aelin waited, expecting Rowan to move from behind the counter now they were alone. Again. Instead, he continued to sit there, unbothered, reading the page he’d been on earlier. She loudly cleared her throat, pointedly staring at the side of his face. His face stayed a mask of indifference, giving no indication he’d heard her at all. 

She cleared her throat, louder.

Still nothing—he flipped the page. 

And we are back to being worse than Hellas, himself. Mala grant me the patience to not commit murder, Aelin internally pleaded to herself while continuing to stare at him occupy her space. There was no way he couldn’t have heard her clearing her throat, meaning he was purposefully trying to get a rise out of her.

It was both infuriating and lovely that he wanted to rile her up. Perhaps they had found their way into a tentative friendship. It didn’t negative the fact she wanted to push his 6’ 4” frame onto the floor, though. Violence brought joy from time to time. 

Her eyes traced down along his jaw, noting the light stubble gracing it, down his neck decorated with words in language foreign to her, and along his muscle arm, appreciating the way his long sleeve outlined it.  He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen and that was saying something considering all her friends were especially attractive. Chaol was handsome but it was different—he didn’t command the room or draw attention wherever they went. 

Rowan deftly flipped another page, drawing her attention. He was now past the point of where she had stopped yesterday. Curiosity driving her forward, she moved behind him, peering over his left shoulder so she could read, too. She read along as he finished a story about some giant worm who ate people and was glad that these were just “stories” and not true encounters. 

Since he didn’t seem to mind her presence, Aelin stayed reading over his shoulder as started a new tale about a witch who was said to live in the Middle, a neutral part of the Prythian forest. Aelin was only vaguely aware of “the Weaver” as it had been a scary story her parents had used to keep her and Aedion from venturing unaccompanied into the forest at night.   

“It is said the Weaver is not of our world, but a death-god fallen from another dimension. A being of immense power, she reveled in the worship she received and reigned terror upon Prythian’s citizens, using live sacrifices’ life forces to keep her young and beautiful. However, she was bested by a young warrior, her power diminished, and subsequently doomed to occupy only a small parcel of land in Pyrthian forest.

Here, she crafted a cottage from bones, fat, and hair of those who crossed her path. The home filled with a collection of treasures, tanned skins, and yarn woven from hair. Untouchable by any of the neighboring lands, the Weaver did as she pleased within her boundary, lying in wait like a spider with a web. No one had successfully stolen a trinket and lived to talk about it, until—” 

Rowan closed the book, effectively ending Aelin’s reading. She made a small noise of discontent and felt his body shaking. Suddenly, she noted her chest was pressed against the warm, firm planes of his shoulder and back. She’d been using him as a rest spot, he hadn’t corrected her—and now, now she was feeling his quiet laughter, not hearing it. 

As though he could hear her racing thoughts or detect her panic, he whispered lowly, his accent thick, “I didn’t mind.” A warm heat bloomed in her chest at his words, her panic dissipating into calm feelings. Neither moved, maintaining the intimacy of the moment. Her mind wandered, wondering what it would feel like run her hand down his arm or to rest her head in the crook beneath his jaw. 

Guilt took over before she could try to rationalize it away. Somewhere in her mind, she knew this was wrong and the thoughts she was starting to have, were wrong. Chaol deserved better than her and he should be the star of the things she was thinking. Yet, he wasn’t. 

Aelin pushed away from Rowan, trying to end whatever was happening. Standing, Rowan stayed silent as his pine green eyes looked her up and down, seemingly searching for something. Aelin felt naked under his gaze, hating how he already had the power to make her vulnerable. The tension was palpable in the air, weighing on her. He took a step towards her, almost erasing the distance she’d put between them only moments ago.

“Aelin”

The rest of his words went unheard as the shop’s front door swung open, clacking against an entrance table. She stepped back and turned, zooming in on the person who’d rudely come in. She paled as turquoise met bronze. Chaol’s body was tense, face pinched in anger as he approached desk. Aelin would be the first to admit the situation probably looked bad to an outside party. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Chaol barked, crossing his arms and glaring daggers at the both of them.

Rowan scooped his ghost leopard book off the counter and held it up alongside the campfire book, showing Chaol why he was here. “Buying books.”

“Is that code for ‘about to kiss someone else’s girlfriend?’” Aelin could see the vein in Chaol temporal throbbing.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, man, but we were just talking.”

“And you needed to be behind the desk to talk? Sounds like a load of shit to me.”

“Aelin was reading some of the book and I wanted to sit down.” Rowan’s answer sounded convincing despite it partly being a lie. 

“Like she couldn’t read the book on her own time? She doesn’t need your help,” her boyfriend spat defensively, stepping closer in Rowan’s direction.

Aelin would never speak to either of them if they fought in her store. 

“Can you both stop talking about me like I’m not standing here?” she exclaimed in frustration, throwing her hands up. Neither acknowledged her, too busy staring one another down. She would get nowhere as long as both stayed in Present Tense.

“Chaol, Rowan was just leaving. He was literally saying goodbye when you came in throwing a fit.” Aelin turned, eyes pleading with Rowan to go. He gave her a rueful smile, leaving her alone with her boyfriend. When the door shut, she focused all her attention on Chaol, who remained standing, arms crossed, glaring at the floor.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me?  What the fuck, Aelin?  I come here to surprise you and you’re basically nose to nose with some guy you swore you didn’t know. That’s the guy from the bar.” 

“I don’t really know him. Yeah, I know his name and I know what books he likes read, but I don’t know him,” she admitted defensively. 

“You’re bending the truth to fit your narrative, Aelin.” 

“No, you’re just mad and hearing what you want to hear.  I don’t know Rowan. Before last week, I’d never even seen the guy. In case you haven’t noticed, Orynth can be a really small place.” Aelin was trying with everything in her to maintain a level-headed conversation with Chaol but she could feel herself losing control.

“I just find that hard to believe. He was behind your desk. I’ve been dating you for six years and can count on one hand the times I’ve been in your office or behind the desk. Is he why you don’t want to move in together?” he questioned angrily, slapping his hand against the top of the desk.

Aelin startled, his gesture unexpected. This was the most upset she’d seen him in years and part of her was remorseful, but the other half, mad. He had no right to be slinging accusations at her and bringing their personal issues into a discussion that they had no bearing on.

“Stop using this conversation as a way to bring up other issues. Moving in together has nothing to do with that guy and quite frankly, it’s both hurtful and infuriating that you’d accuse me of cheating or whatever it is you’re doing,” she yelled back, her semblance of composure fracturing as her voice cracked. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“So, it’s okay for you to come into my business, yell at a customer, insinuate using that customer as a reason for not moving in together… but when I question and correct you, I’m suddenly putting words in your mouth?” The palms of her hands were screaming in pain, her tightened fists digging her nails into the flesh. She would not break down in front of him. He deserved her anger, not her tears. If digging into her palms kept her from breaking, she’d do it until they bled.

“Fuck this,” he hissed roughly rushing backwards towards the door.  

Aelin wanted to stop him, to not end this converstion on a bad note, but she stayed glued to where she was. Chaol glanced over his shoulder as he opened the door, “I’ll see you when I get back.” He left just as loud as he’d come in, the slamming door deafening throughout the empty store.  

Aelin stood and stood and stood, staring at the door like he’d come back any moment and apologize for it all. But he didn’t. And it wasn’t until the sun began to disappear behind the tall buildings of the city, that she released her tights fists. The pale skin of her palms an angry red with crescent moon shapes imprinted in them, some bloodied.

As the pain receded, so did her resolve. Her eyes prickled, tears welling in them. She sunk down, crumpling on the wood floor, exhausted. Silently, tears rolled down her cheeks, shoulders shaking as she cried. Earlier she had been perfectly content, passionately discussing books and leisurely reading. And now, she could feel the crack in her soul growing a little larger, her light dimming a little more. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@rowanaelinn @theresyourfireandblood @backtobl4ck @leiawritesstories @morganofthewildfire @rowaelinismyotp  @jorjy-jo @theresyourfireandblood @numbers-colors-fashion @swankii-art-teacher @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart

[razorsharpteeth]

Kitchen Meltdown / Van & Samir

TIMING: Recent PARTIES: Van @vanoincidence and Samir @razorsharpteeth LOCATION: WR Community center SUMMARY: Van and Samir hang out after a cooking class he taught, which soon turns on its head as Van grows anxious and accidents occur. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

The cooking classes were his favorite. Samir was a simple man: he liked doing things he was good at. He liked sharing the knowledge of things he was good at. During the cooking classes, he’d share a few funny stories from back in the day, when he’d cooked for the tourists in Florida. Of working in a real restaurant’s kitchen, and how mistakes were not as permitted there as they were in his class.

Most of the people that came were the same old. This, he didn’t mind. It was a steady beat. They oohed and aahed at his knife technique and asked him questions for at-home cooking. Now, with the class done, there were a few stragglers, like mrs Selic who was wondering what she was supposed to do about her daughter’s girlfriend ‘who was a vegetarian, and it’s all so much to get used to’. Samir patiently pointed her to some recipe sites, as well as the beyond meat stuff in the grocery aisle and watched her go on her merry way. 

Now came the cleaning. Samir also didn’t mind this: it was different from cleaning his own mess. It was something more satisfying. He was about to start piling all the cutlery into one pot when his eyes fell on one of the people from the class. A tiny thing, which explained why he’d missed her. Or maybe it was just the full moon around the corner. “Hey,” he said. “Van … right? Not like the car? Can I help you with something?”

Van wasn’t sure what she was thinking, taking a cooking class. Of all places she shouldn’t have been, a public kitchen was definitely one of them. Her nerves were hard to shake, even after the class had concluded. She had tried her best to listen to Samir’s stories, had tried to get lost in them, even. But the thought of somewhere else only brought her back to the reality of her situation. 

Even if she was in community here, at a literal community center, she still felt alone. Her thoughts broke as Samir approached. Her gaze snapped up to meet his and she opened her mouth to respond, to give him thanks, or maybe something else– to say that she was glad she came today, but it was locked beneath her tongue. 

“Not like the car, yeah.” At least he had remembered. Van wasn’t sure where that came from these days, it was just something she reminded people. “Um…” She looked around her station. She had tried to tidy it as much as possible. The empty plate of what they made sat with the fork and knife hanging over each other in some dangerous balancing act. “It was good. The class was good.” That was right, right? 

The community center was a saving grace. Samir had always felt this incessant need to be useful, to have at least some kind of purpose. It was something born out of trauma, but he lacked the insight to understand that — and so he just moved through the world like this. Searching for small purposes. Volunteering to help his colleague move. Working in a kitchen, where he could make people happy with the food. Fulfilling tasks here, in this community center.

It was a balancing of scales. He didn’t delude himself into thinking he was a good man: he was just a man, who was also a monster. A trail of blood had followed him to Maine. No matter how many old people he helped or how many cooking classes he taught, there’d always be those ghosts. He would never be good — but he could at least try to put some good into the world.

So he smiled at the semi-stranger. “You can leave it as is, it’s fine. I’ll clean everything. Don’t mind.” With the full moon looming and the Pit promoting his oncoming fights more than usual, he liked the menial tasks as distraction. Samir shrugged. “Thanks. I try to keep ‘em exciting. Cooking’s an important skill, you know? If you have any requests on what you’d like to learn to cook for a future class, just let me know.”

“Are you sure?” Van had been taught to clean up after herself, and even if that lesson had gone over her head in recent years with her grandma’s departure back to New York, that didn’t mean she left other places a mess. Unless it was Sly Slice, but only when Janice was working there. Now, she had no excuse but to clean up after herself. 

He seemed sure, but she still felt bad. She looked around him, gaze sliding over the different components of the kitchenette. She hadn’t realized it existed until a few weeks ago, too lost in her own head to really venture out into the unknown. Van bit the inside of her cheek and nodded at his comment. “You sound like my–” My what, she thought. She didn’t have anything, and nothing had her. All she had was herself, and maybe her friends, but she was slowly turning them away as the days went by. 

“Friend. Who likes to cook.” Van scrunched her nose before sticking her hands into the pockets of her too-baggy jeans. “Do you always teach them? Or do you like, take volunteers?” 

“Sure. Unless you’re a superfan of cleaning, don’t wanna keep you from your hobby and all.” He said it as if it was an outlandish thing, as liking to clean was a rare characteristic. Samir wasn’t going to forbid her from helping out, though. He didn’t have the energy to do so. He even mustered a little smile.

He smiled a little further at the rest of her words, “It’s good to have friends who know how to cook. Nothing like sharing a meal, huh?” He said those words and he meant them, but they were removed from him and his current reality. Samir didn’t cook for people any more, especially not friends. Sometimes he did some mise en place at local restaurants that were short staffed, but that hardly counted. There seemed little room for him to speak his love languages.

“Sometimes it’s me. There’s another woman, too, she’s brilliant. Monica.” Cursed with a shitty name, though. “Why, do you want to be the teacher? Or …” Samir frowned a little. “Was it not to your liking?”

“A superfan…?” She blinked before shaking her head. “No, I’m not, I just–” Van thought for a moment, brows furrowed, “wanted to help out.” She made a mess of pretty much everything in her own house– outside, things were clean. Outside, she could pretend to take care of herself. 

At his comment, she nodded. If she hadn't lied, she’d be able to hold onto it. Van had lost her community the day her grandmother left Wicked’s Rest. The ladies who played mahjong, the man who would give her discounted fruits at the grocery… they looked at her now as if they’d never known her at all. She wondered what kinds of things her grandma had said on her exit. 

“Oh, that’s cool.” She didn’t know anyone named Monica. At his question, she shook her head. “What? No. No, I don’t–” Van cleared her throat, “I was just– small talk. That’s what people call it, right?” She’d made it tons of times, knew it like the back of her hand. The things she could avoid with small talk, to keep things busy. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t want to–” Van shook her head and rubbed her hands together. “It was cool, I swear, I just… I was wondering is all.” She wasn’t sure why this out of everything had catapulted her into the throws of anxiety, but it had. 

“Ah,” he said. That made more sense. “I mean, you’re welcome to. Really. Just don’t feel obligated to!” Samir wasn’t really sure if he was helping or worsening the situation, or if he was imagining a problem. He just didn’t want the younger woman to feel like she had to. 

Now he had said the wrong thing. He watched Van stumble over her words and felt his stomach sink — he’d felt so good about the lesson, about giving people some properly helpful tips when it came to cooking. For a moment, he’d felt like a tolerable person, rather than whatever he made of himself when his thoughts were dark and stormy. And here he was, anyway, making a mess of things.

“Shit, no, you didn’t offend me. I was just wondering, just wanted to be sure it was all good, you know.” He tried to keep his face clear and calm, tried to think of managing his younger siblings or even the rascals that came in here. “Just small talk. It’s fair to wonder. You’re okay, I’m glad you liked it.” 

She was regretting leaving her house now. Van cleared her throat, feeling the tips of her fingers beginning to grow clammy with the unprovoked anxiety that swarmed her. She wasn’t sure why this situation had triggered her. She could feel his gaze under her skin, could pick out all of the things she was saying wrong, the way he almost seemed confused. 

But he was explaining that she hadn’t offended him, but it didn’t make sense, because he had said it in his own words, was it not to your liking? “All good, yeah.” Her throat felt dry. She should go home. Yeah, she should definitely– 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the instructor’s boots had begun to melt to the floor. There was no heat signature, and there was no smell– it was just goop. Shit, shit, shit. Van looked up at Samir– that was his name, desperately. “I– I didn’t do that.” But she had, and she knew she had. 

He’d done or said something wrong. That happened often, as Samir wasn’t the best communicator. He tried to be patient and open, to think along with the people he spoke to and offer them grace. But he was clumsy and tired and sometimes simply an asshole, but this time he’d really tried. And yet.

He felt frustrated with himself as he looked at the young woman, but then his attention was diverted by a strange sensation at his feet. Looking down, the cause of that feeling was very clear: there his shoes went, growing liquid around his socks. “Uh.”

That there was more out there besides werewolves had grown abundantly and horribly clear to him the months since he’d become employed by the Grit Pit. But he hadn’t seen this before. He looked back to Van. “It doesn’t — It’s not hurting?” He didn’t know science very well, but shouldn’t this hurt? What else could make leather act that way. He raised a leg and his shoe dripped from his feet, all sticky and gooey. “What the fuck?”

It’s not hurting? 

That was good, at least. Van wasn’t sure what it felt like, mostly because her abilities typically tapped into melting actual objects, never any living creature. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut almost immediately. She wasn’t sure what to do. She was only here for a stupid cooking class. 

Van glanced down to his boot, watching as the plastic and rubber became some kind of goopy mixture, dripping back down onto the linoleum. Her gaze cut back up to meet his, eyebrows pinched together as apologies began to build themselves up at the back of her throat. 

“I– it doesn’t hurt.” It wasn’t happening to her, so clearly he’d put two and two together, right? “That’s good.” The words left her before she could stop them and she was already taking a step back, stumbling towards the closest exit. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t do that.” She had already practically admitted it was her. “I’m sorry!” Van gasped out as she turned, running away from another mess she’d created. 

The plan had been to clean up behind him and then make his way home, take out Cleo for a long, long walk on the beach and think of nothing but the crashing waves. But as he stared at his boots, the way they were growing sticky and fluid around his socks, he had a feeling it would not be that easy. Samir blinked back up at Van.

“It’s not …” Good? Your fault? A problem? He was dumbfounded, not sure how to answer this, what to say to her suddenly insisting that she didn’t mean to, implying that she had done it. Somehow. Though Samir knew there was magic in the world, he didn’t understand it, and would never claim to.

“Hey, no – wait!” His voice echoed after her, and Samir attempted to run after her — wanting maybe an explanation, or at least a solution. Or to tell her it was okay, but that she couldn’t just run off! (Even if that was what he had done, every time his inner wolf had covered himself in blood once more and killed more than just an animal.) As he tried to lift his feet to chase her though, he found himself slowed by the melted boots and did something he’d prefer not to admit.

He tripped, falling on the kitchen floor and looking at Van’s disappearing feet, somehow feeling like this too was his fault.

[ginza-division]

Eiji's Thoughts on Okinawa Division

Ace Douglas

"The son of the U.S. president? Here?! ...Wow, this is... definitely shocking. Especially considering that I had to ban this young man's father from PROFILE. I didn't want to do it, but some of the comments he made were very insensitive towards certain ethnic groups and were deemed insulting by the site's A.I., who had warned him numerous times to mind what he was posting or responding to. His son seems to be better at following the rules. Honestly, his PROFILE page is one of the most followed on the site. I don't know if it's cause he is the son of the president, or something else, but he is very popular. Perhaps I should invite him and his friends over for dinner."

Evelyn Rose

"Ah, I know of her, as well. She, along with... Miss Takahashi, are in the top 10 of the people with the most followers on PROFILE. From what I gather, the majority of her followers are American with a few Japanese in the mix. In contrast, Miss Takahashi's followers are mostly Japanese. Despite America having a much larger landmass and population than Japan, more people use PROFILE here than in America. Of course, that's not really much of a surprise considering PROFILE was started here. I've been trying to popularize it more in other countries, and it's been working, but I know it can be better. Perhaps I should make another trip to another country. Perhaps, maybe..."

"...Ah, sorry. I was rambling. Anyway, as stated, both women have approximately the same number of followers, which is surprising. I've heard about their rivalry against each other. I'm just glad they're keeping it offline. The last thing I need is people debating over which woman is the hottest. The last time we had a battle like that on PROFILE, people were suing us left and right, accusing us of not being diligent enough to stop it." Eiji sighs, shaking his head.

Rashaad Young

"Ah, Rashaad. A good man, and an even better bartender, if I do say so myself. Not discounting other bartenders out there, but they should take a lesson in how to run a bar from this guy. I mean, he's not Japanese, but his bar is one of the most popular bars out there, not the least because he calls the place 'neutral territory'. I've gone there numerous times, not only for a drink, but also to meet with several company owners to either negotiate a deal, or to "mend relationships", so to speak."

"Besides that, Rashaad's got a pretty decent PROFILE. Did you know the guy, once or twice a month, does this little recording podcast where he shows everyone how to make some recipes for drinks and Puerto Rican food? I tell you, I'm a bit surprised his page doesn't have more followers cause of that! I have a reminder saved each time he makes a video!"

Liberty Guild

"When Otome-sama announced that an American team was joining the D.R.B., I, like everyone else, was not only shocked, but also a little skeptical. What reason could an American team have to participate in a rap tournament? I mean, not discounting the fact that they were foreigners, but American rap differs a lot from Japanese rap. But hey, they managed to silence all their critics when they had their first battle. I'll admit, I was expecting them to lose, but when they pulled out a surprise victory, I was shocked!"

"They haven't had any battles since then, but I'm definitely keeping a close eye on them. I have their entire battle against Kyoto Division up on PROFILE, and it seems like I get 100,000 watches a day from it!"

[soldiersscream]

@riidcr​ x

Erwin didn’t regret his life. He didn’t regret the choices that he had made. It had taken him a few years to get to this point of acceptance, there were still moments where the question of ‘what if?’ came up. What if his father was still around? Would he have followed him and gone into teaching instead? Would he have married Marie and given his mother grandchildren? Would he live to be grey and old with all his limb intact? 

But as he looked over at Eugene reading the letter from Rapunzel he let it all fade out. The decisions he had made had created this life for him. Friends that he could call family, a purpose to his life with each titan killed and land gained. He was still teaching as he went by, helping with the classes at headquarters, giving out wisdom when it was needed. It wasn’t so lonely after all. 

He was thankful for Eugene’s efforts, but it only solidified what he had been thinking there on his own. He wasn’t going to get old and senile, it wasn’t in the cards for him and he knew that. He had accepted that. He just didn’t want anyone else delaying the inevitable. A life that had so much potential, that had people who would be devastated if they didn’t make it back, that he would have to tell them he was alive because of them. Was it selfish of him to ask Eugene not to step in? Perhaps. But Eugene had Rapunzel, Isabel, Hanji, Levi, a whole family to help him continue. He had more of a chance to live with this promise. 

The answer wasn’t a surprise to him. Not one of his soldiers would agree to his request so quickly. They were all too willing to keep him alive. He almost wished the MPs finished the job they started, then no one would have the battle of heart and mind. If it wasn’t for that basement, itching at his brain, begging to be opened. He would might have welcomed it. His hand went to hold Eugene’s shoulder, “I’m not asking you to just stand and watch” he spoke quietly, “I’m just asking you not to do something suicidal. Help if you can, just don’t die to save me. It’s not about the promise Rapunzel drew from me, this one is my ask to you” he tried to explain it to Eugene in a different way. 

He knew, if someone was to say the same to him he would reject it too. “I know it’s difficult. I’m not asking you to swear it to me”. Maybe it would be better for Eugene not to have to promise it out loud. A silent pact between brothers. “But let’s talk about this new recipe Rapunzel is toying with, do you know anything more specific?” He sighed deeply before changing the subject, practically shaking off the thoughts, his shoulders rolled, fixing his posture back to that of the commander everyone knew. 

[em-writes-stuff]

Flufftober days 12, 13, and 14 + Whumptober day 13

@flufftober @whumptober-archive

prompts: secret family recipe, “you kept this?”, truth or dare, fracture

characters: echo, frankie

warnings: food

635 words

a/n: will be at the end bc it’ll have spoilers for the fic :)

___

Echo sits on the couch, flipping through a book that he’d read through about a hundred times when someone knocks on the door. It sighs and closes the book before running to the entryway.

“Echo?” whoever’s on the other side of the door calls out. “It’s Frankie.”

His hand freezes just before it touches the handle. It takes a deep breath and grips the handle in his hand before pulling the door open. 

She stands tall, head held high and shoulders broad. “Echo?”

“How’d you find me?” it asks, barely above a whisper. 

She rolls her eyes playfully, “I still work at the dock. You’re a pretty popular person over here. Just had to ask the right person.” 

“Harbly.”

“Oh good, you know him!” she says. “Can I come inside? It’s cold out here.” 

It takes a step to the side and ushers her inside. She sets a small bag on the ground next to the couch and looks down at her feet anxiously. 

“Want a tour?” Echo asks. 

She looks up and forces a smile, “Sure.” 

He shows her around the house, pointing out anything it thinks she might like, rambling about where he got everything as she follows quietly behind him. 

“And this,” it says, walking through a tall archway, “is the kitchen. I’ve actually got some zucchini bread and forever stew cooking right now if you’re hungry. They should both be done right about now.” 

She leans against the wall and smiles, “You seem happy here.”

He takes a deep breath and looks around the room. He stirs the stew absentmindedly and nods, “I am, I think. It’s peaceful.” he taps the spoon on the edge of the pot before setting it across the top of it. “Once you get used to the wind.” 

She laughs, “Yeah, that would drive me crazy.” 

It grabs a bowl from the cupboard and hands it to her before checking the stove. Frankie stands over the pot and fills the bowl, “Is this ma’s recipe?” 

Echo chuckles and reaches into his pocket, “Yep, have the recipe card right here.” 

He hands it to her and she reads it out loud, “‘Whatever broth you have on hand, any sort of meat, potatoes are a must unless you don’t have them. Vegetables. Spices. Can be added to anytime.’ How does she manage without it?” she asks sarcastically. 

They both laugh and she hands the faded paper back to it, “Can’t believe you kept that though. Do you actually look at it every time you make this?” 

“Oh, spirits no. I just-I’ve been homesick lately.” he gestures to the pot, “Hints the giant pot of stew and zucchini bread.” 

She stares at it, eyes boring through him. “Come back.” 

“I can’t.” 

She sighs and looks at the ground again, “You could at least reach out.” 

“Couldn’t risk it.” he says. “Too many factors. If anyone found out where I was…let’s just say it wouldn’t end well. I’m still high on the list for people who could’ve helped him get away.” 

She huffs and takes a bite of the stew, her scowl disappearing after the first bite into the tender potato chunk. 

“I am sorry though. Whatever that’s worth.” 

She scoffs, “It’s not worth much, I’ll tell you that. Ma thought you were dead. Especially after she saw Haven without you. We were all so worried about you.” 

It stares at the ground, kicking his foot against his heel before looking back up at her. “Want to play a game? We can save the deeper stuff for later, maybe?” 

She exhales loudly, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Echo says, without hesitating. 

“Have you ever thought about coming back?” 

It nods, “Pretty much every day.” he clears his throat. “Alright, my turn. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

“Stay for a few more days.”

___

a/n: i added the fracture prompt for this because their relationship is pretty messed up. might write another fic about how they fix it, but i doubt it.

[buttercuparry]

A youtuber just started season 5 and i just kept thinking i wish they did the plot like in the books with Fake!Arya and all the lords gathering and Theon&Barbarey because I love the book plot so much except for Jeyne suffering like that. But how would you do the plot if you had the chance in the show? Just like Bran that isn’t in season five i had an idea of either Arya‘s plot in bravoos to be shown in the end of season 4 that she starts training.So then in season 5 we have Fake!Arya and then have real Arya back up in season 6 already training like Bran is and ending her plot there.Or have Sansa not be in season 5 but have her in s6, she is still posing as Alayne just how s4 ended , then they learn about Arya being in Winterfell and Jon trying to fight Ramsey so they save them with the Vale army right at the end!?! But then where does Rickon come in and then the succession gets weird. It’s Littlefinger power move to have Alayne be Sansa so then they can be saviors in the last moment if they show up like in the show. So then Sansa can have the north. But having her already be present in the plot like the show with no fake!arya and not have people willing to fight for her name or rickon since he is captured then it makes it easier for Jon to be King. How could they have adapted it with Fake!Arya in a more logical way? My other idea was both jon and sansa reunite in the last episode of season 6 after the battle. and choose Arya to be Queen even tho she isn’t present since they don’t trust each other and they fought for her name. But again rickon is also a problem and it’s not logical too.. How would you adapt it? Sorry for this long ass essay😭

I think there were talks about how GRRM wanted the show to have two more seasons as that would have better executed the endgame but still wouldn't have spoiled the books all together. There could have been both Jeyne and the Arya plot in a season or like you said they could have done it in alternate seasons.

There are a few things in play here, that made the perfect recipe for the disaster that GoT became. First and foremost: Grrm couldn't finish the book while the show was running. Even now we don't have a particular end in sight. So even if D&D truly were dedicated to their craft; there still would have been some struggle points.

But I think this is where you talk to the author. You follow his direction. Of course TV media can never encompass everything a book can; but you can be diligent in your compression and keep it a bit close to the source material. Like you said: we really don't know how to solve the northern plot. Where does Rickon come in? Bran is still alive, so what would that mean for Jon? LF is on a path to destroy the kingdom from the inside: he wants revenge against the world because the nobility thought that his birth made him too inferior to pursue the girl he was head over heels for. He wants the power that his birth denied him and he would do anything to get it. So here we have the Sansa dilemma. And then we have Arya. The Lyanna doppelganger. The one who has an wolf army, and maybe soon would be in possession of a crown. And of course the north has risen in her name. So you see how complex it is; people are rightfully suspecting a Stark succession crisis and maybe a struggle amongst various factions who would want their own preferred candidate to either be the kitn/qitn/lord of winterfell/lady of winterfell.

But the show never ever put this much thought into the material. And herein comes the second point. What D&D did, was that they chose only a few characters to focus on. They relegated other important povs to the role of a minor character. Like for example for Arya they forced her into what they think a "tomboy" should be like. Bran...they didn't even bother to understand who was who in his storyline. The Three Eyed Crow is not a magical designation to be bestowed onto the next poor chap every few generations. It was specifically a Brynden Rivers only thing and Bran was supposed to see that no...this was not him. That he won't just give up his life to rot in a cave. When he says that he is not dead, just broken like winterfell, the readers were meant to relate the strength of House Stark's ancient seat with Bran's own strength. Thereby cementing him as another legitimate heir who can very well carry on the Stark name. I know all the little details of the plot, all of the slow areas cannot be translated when we are watching something. But any little dialogue that relates Bran to Winterfell would have done wonders to Bran's character development. I mean they could give show!Sansa the lines that weren't meant for her and made show! Arya's Braavosi experience filled with more trauma than what she may experience in the books- so I don't see how sticking at least a smidge more to the books could have made it more of a headache 🤷🏽

D&D always played favourites. And because they did, by the end of it all GoT became more and more clownish because in asoiaf- each and every plot is interwoven. I honestly don't know what I would have done if I were the director. But dismissing the importance of magic, dismissing storylines, characters and adding in uneccesary violence just because the fans could figure out the ending can never be an option.

The Northern plot is connected to many, many storylines. When I said that D&d played favourites, I didn't mean to indicate that they did justice to these characters either. One of the main players in the northern plotline is Jon Snow. Jon Snow who haggles like a fishwife. Jon Snow who plots and plans and who is not the wet catman D&D made his show counterpart out to be. They took the line "you know nothing Jon Snow" too literally, not realizing that it is not meant to indicate Jon's naivete but an indication that the more Jon plays a part in politics and has to make dishonorable decisions- he understands what it truly means to kill the boy and be a man. He is not Ned Stark. Honour is a huge driving point in his storyline but he would be dishonourable if it means saving a kid from being burned alive. He would compromise an institution if it means that his sister would be safe. It is he who sends Stannis to the doors of the Northern Houses and rouses them for Ned Stark's daughter. We find here a reference to Ned Stark's legacy that is so so different from Tywin Lannister's. He may be mocked by the Lannister's, by LF. But the northern houses rising is a testament to the legacy that he built. Ned was not perfect, he failed his own nephew and was a hypocrite when it came to Robert; but there must have been something there that made even the mountain clans come down to fight for the daughter of their leige lord. And these values are intrinsically connected to Arya's own. The Northern plot itself is connected to Arya's own theme of a want for home. What makes the whole plot all the more rivetting and fascinating is the thought that this girl who believes that all is lost to her, while still almost subconsciously holding on to her identity- doesn't know that the North is marching to the rhythm of her name. She once fought for her father's men in Harrenhal, now we have her father's men fighting for her.

The Northern plot is important to both Jeyne and Theon. This ask is becoming an essay in itself so I am just going to add a few lines to this. Theon was a hostage of war. Naturally he would have a lot of resentment regarding this. This doubles when he is distinctly made to feel like he could never be a part of the Stark household. And in his revenge, in his lust for power and want of acknowledgement from Balon: he destroys the only home he has known. And it all goes to shit when he unknowingly brings in Ramsay Bolton.

Now after he is tortured, broken, degraded and almost reduced to less than a human being: Theon once again finds the strength in reclaiming his identity because of his want to save Jeyne. Not Sansa Stark, a lady or a princess of the north. But Jeyne Poole an unlucky girl from a minor house. He would gain nothing from saving her- no pardon, no glory. But he still braves the unthinkable. Because fuck Ramsay for breaking them like that. Fuck his sadistic glee at reducing human beings to nothing but broken lumps of flesh and blood.

And he gets this strength after he hears Bran, who reaches out to him through the heart tree.

So you see anon, how everything is somehow connected to everything else in asoiaf. You deliberately snip out one and you risk losing so, so much. And D&D did it again and again. Without consideration. Without thought. I am sorry for not being exactly able to answer, how one could have gone about the northern plot while adapting the series for television. But I hope I could give you at least something.

[onyxisnotuniqueenough]

What are some like random headcanons you have of Matt (Murdock)? Like his favourite scents and songs?

WARNING : SORRY ABOUT THE SPACING IT KEEPS LAGGING I HOPE IT DOESN'T MAKE THIS UNREADABLE. VERY SORRY. IF YOU HAVE A SOLUTION OR TIPS FOR SPACING THE ELEMENTS OF THE LIST PLEASE TELL ME!!

oooooooooooooooooooooh

i've thought about this but never somehow posted about it??? like i post about casting ancient greek philosophers but not matt?? weird

also you never have to specify 'murdock' to me <3 he's one of the only five things i have on my mind at all times

keep in mind this is about MY opinions on LIVE ACTION matt. I have not gotten into any daredevil comics just yet but I'm planning on it - so i'm obviously not very knowledgeable about the comic version of the character!!

also we are going to disregard the "90s top 40 hits" comment from when he was with elektra for the music part

He doesn't focus on it that much in public settings or obviously as Daredevil, cause ofc he fights sweaty people in the darkened stinky alleys of Hell's kitchen, but I feel like his home would be spotless. A few spots of blood sometimes, but usually spotless

Also prefers non-alcohol, unscented or natural cleaning products ofc ofc (maybe even carries a little bottle of natural unscented hand sanitizer sometimes)

as for favorite scents, I feel like he'd love subtle sweet scents more than cologne or perfume- like the lingering smell of cinnamon or vanilla on Carver after she's been bak--- and for himself, relies on the fresh laundry and unscented shampoo for normal days, splurges with a very careful amount of traditionally musky or "manly" cologne for events. very particular about how and where he applies it.

doesn't like cooking that much even if he's amazing at it??

Foggy, in college, as the ultimate wingman, used to advertise those cooking skills to ladies

Also, Foggy has been begging for a recipe for something, that Matt has been refusing to give him for YEARS. They argue about it during holidays, especially thanksgiving when he brings that same dish or pastry to the Nelson family reunion (just to spite him)

Matt's cooking is also sometimes something they bet on! like if Matt loses he has to cook for Foggy or something. If Foggy loses he still cooks for him, but he just puts the bag or boxes in his office and doesn't mention it and leaves before Foggy can argue

He used to hate coffee but he grew to really love it over time, and is now specific about how he really enjoys it. (and bear with me here, has been searching for a perfect coffee place and well, well, well....what have we here....THE CHISEL MUAHAHAH)

In college he had a caffeine pill phase, when he hated it but needed the caffeine

Likes classical music! I feel like he'd really like Puccini. and Vivaldi. (Vivaldi used to be a priest, and was apparently nicknamed the Red Priest due to his red hair. how appropriate is that) - just late-baroque in general. Thinks Tchaikovsky or Mahler are cool too

Also likes old-school rap

ohhh and i can see him not like rock that much but i imagine his Dad making him listen to classic rock and telling him that "it's music at it's finest" and air-guitar to Hendrix or Santana to make him laugh. (tbh Jack has that "i used to play guitar" vibe to him.)

Doesn't listen to music as much as anyone else of course - but that's because there's a certain guilt to it. Matt would be someone who'd always want to stay alert, for his sake but mostly everybody else's. Shutting the world out by focusing on music feels almost selfish because what if someone needs help and he doesn't hear them, or not in time? For the same reason that he keeps pushing himself to save people or "bring justice" in his own way. He just wants to help and save everyone and doesn't allow himself to take proper breaks or relax.

But honestly, i feel like it'd be cute to imagine him reminiscing about music his dad showed him, or discuss composers with Father Lantom

now sorry if this post is a little long, but this is what I thought about already, although if you give me some time i'd probably come up with more tbh

thank you so much for asking!!

tell me what you think or what you agree/disagree with :)