#oyster knives

[dreamtigress]

Kaz's Oyster Knives

I realized I was picturing a very specific style of oyster knife each time it is described as one of Kaz's go to weapons. Wondering if others see the same kind of oyster knife, or one of the other varieties. As pictured, generally a shorter blade, 3-4 inches max, double edged, thicker blade with steep tapers to a sharp edge, but not razor sharp. Pointed tip that can push into the oyster's shell gap. Handle made so that it wedges nicely in the palm, even in slick conditions. Perfect for hiding up a sleeve, or in a pocket. Not so deadly looking a weapon, but deadly enough in Kaz's hands.

[mumbledramblings]

vash and knives are each other's antithesis not because vash is kind and knives is cruel, but because vash thinks the best of people and knives thinks the worst

[twiceastasty]

Kitchen Favorites: Oyster Knives and Other Fish Tools

I paired my latest pieces for The Spruce Eats with a recent coastal trip and fresh seafood from my favorite farms and fisherfolk. Learn about choosing and using oyster knives and other fish tools.

When it comes to tools for prying open oysters, filleting and grilling fish, and making stock from shrimp shells, I’ll take any excuse to pull out my favorites. I was able to pair my latest pieces for The Spruce Eats with a recent trip to the coast, so I took advantage of fresh oysters from Westcott Bay Shellfish Co. and black cod and other shellfish direct from fisherfolk at Bellingham Dockside…

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Just re-listening to my ck audiobook and I realised that the oyster knife Kaz used to cut Oomen’s eye out in six of crows is the same oyster knife that Inej uses to kill a Stadwatch officer in Crooked Kingdom by throwing it so it hits him directly between the eyes. Not only is this a great Kanej parallel, but it could also be symbolically representative of their approaches to violence; Kaz’s is slow, deliberate, designed more than anything else to cause pain and to bring across his point, whilst Inej’s is faster, neater, and perhaps more predictable in action because she has clear purpose and intent whilst Kaz’s true intentions are buried beneath layers of façade. She kills this officer on the bridge during the hostage exchange, and Kaz famously kills Oomen after he attacked Inej, so the use of the same knife could also be representative of Kaz’s care for and need to protect Inej, emphasised by him giving her the oyster knife in the seconds before the kill in crooked kingdom. It could also be linked back to Kaz being the one who gave Inej her first knives and how empowered she felt by him believing her to be “dangerous” - even when she thinks she’s going to die she considers what will become of her knives, and decides that “perhaps they could go to some other girl who dreamed of being dangerous”. It’s these moments, these seemingly tiny things Kaz does, that truly solidify him for her and give us so much understanding of all the specific reasons she loves him.

[vse-kar-vem]

joker out cooking livestream recap:

-they cooked chicken in mustard or somethjng. potatoes are in it as well

-nace's government name is, in fact, nace ! bojan thought nace's grandmother calls him ignac but no

-bojan tries to transfer the potatoes into a bigger pan. which they cannot find. they do find ANOTHER pan (disgustingly unwashed)

-jan's parents are currently taking care of igor, who has everything he needs: food. a roof over his head. cuddles if he wants. jan is not worried

-we have a short discussion about dishwashing soap. they use the original green fairy brand soap which is nace's favourite. jan doesn't have a favourite. bojan claims that WASHING HIS HANDS WITH DISH SOAP IS WHAT KEEPS THEM SOFT ("i have baby hands") ??????? APPARENTLY?????

-then jan and nace walk around the house feeling up each other/every one else's hands. bojan's hands are confirmed the softest but it's concluded that his secret is not dish soap but being a singer and not an instrumentalist (or playing an instrument badly, his words not mine)

-throughout this entire livestream jure sharpens two knives. good for him, it's very impressive (he slices grapes! and lemons! truly a resourceful kitty)

-we learn that kris is not here because he's MODELLING???? HUH???? 🫢🫢🫢

-we get an update on kamila's flowers (withering on top of the fridge. 😞)

-the connection was SO BAD im not kidding, which was why we missed out on a lot of stuff ☹️☹️ they don't have wifi and are relying SOLEY on data

-their favourite british supermarket is aldi, because it's cheap and the quality is ok. obviously they diss british produce, which like fair enough

-they sing a little ditty about their current circumstances-- shit wifi, potato cooking, etc (ft. NACE'S SINGING VOICE!!) honestly it was highkey a banger

-they answer some questions ie. "drop hints" about the new song. we get 2 rhythms and one singular chord

-they decide do an mtv cribs (tiktok cribs) style house tour which would be GREAT if anything would load 😐😐 so we ended up with a very very cut-up fridge tour (they have at least 2-3 cartons of milk and slovenian sausage (?). also oyster sauce

-the stream REALLY starts lagging here (as if it wasn't already). ok me personally i only caught "-- doesn't want us to go in his room" (about jure or kris??) jan and nace consider going into bojan's. then extended lag on a very ominous staircase. no rooms seen by me at least 😞😞

-they come back down and answer more qs! that i don't remember! sorry this recap was for me and not you 😞

-oh yeah they get asked "who cleans the kitchen?" a beat. jan and nace both laugh "yeah, who cleans the kitchen??" i think that says a lot about this household

-they talk a bit more about the song-- will give you (uncle roger voice) eMoTionaL dAmAgE. that hurt my soul to write but at least i (cantonese) am allowed to do the accent, unlike SOMEONE ELSE ON THIS LIVESTREAM (thanks bojan. at least you were shit at it enough so that it came off just slightly interesting and not anything else)

-that's all i can remember!! bojan finishes cooking, jan and nace sign off to eat. prolonged minute of staring and waving at the camera. i notice they are both very beautiful men. end of stream !

[lovelytsunoda]

goldeneye // pierre gasly (secret agent au!)

summary: she’s high ranking mi-6, and he’s the french intelligence thorn in her side. but to take down international arms dealer christian horner, they may need to work together, or risk losing their target altogether

pairing: pierre gasly x female secret agent! reader

warnings: typical spy movie things (knives, physical violence, espionage, christian horner is the bad guy, fashionable weaponry and gadgets), pierre gets a bad rap for being french. allusions to sex, fake marriage trope , goes from 0 to 100 real fucking fast.

see reflections on the water // m ore than darkness in the depths // see him surface in every shadow // on the wind I feel his breath // goldeneye, I found his weakness // goldeneye, he'll do what I please // goldeneye, no time for sweetness // but a bitter kiss will bring him to his knees

part i: the chateau

the echo of her high heels against the floor was deafening as she strode across the chateau, attempting to ignore the chattering of voices around her.

parties had never been her thing, especially not ones frequented by europes top criminal masterminds.

“no eyes on horner and we’ve been here for an hour.” she muttered quietly, hoping that the earpiece could pick up her voice as she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter “and my feet fucking hurt in these shoes. why couldn’t you have sent lewis in?”

“because horner knows my face. my op got blown last year.” lewis sighed. “you were still working in the lab, so very few people outside the agency know who you are.”

she wasn’t a field agent, she shouldn’t be there at all. she’d graduated top of her class from cambridge with a degree in mechanical engineering, and she basically kept mi-6 from falling apart. every time an agent credited a gadget with saving their life, there was a ninety percent chance the gadget was one of hers.

but alas, after project silver arrow had gone belly-up, and special agent lewis hamiltons identity was touted to the red bull conglomerate, lead by none other than international arms dealer christian horner, and agent george russell was shot in the shoulder on mission in budapest, she was the only agent left who’s identity was still a secret.

three weeks of training later and she was here in france, wearing stilettos that head heels that doubled as knives, in a billowing green dress that made her stick out like a sore thumb.

it was no secret that horner has a wandering eye, despite being married to one of the biggest pop stars of the mid nineties. after all else had failed, the agency wondered if a honey trap would be the best way to catch the man in the act.

frankly, the thought of getting into bed with him made her feel sick to her stomach.

"turn your head slowly, look at the man in the black suit, three oclock." lewis' voice crackled to life. "he's been watching you all night, and i'm not getting good vibes."

she turned her head, almost gagging on her champagne.

"i said turn your head slowly, kiddo. he's probably harmless, but just in case, i don't want him knowing you're on to him."

catching her eye, the man in the suit took off down a side hallway, abruptly brushing past three waiters in the process and knocking a platter of oysters to the floor.

"that was odd." lewis mused. "i know you'll want to follow him, so just keep a safe distance. do not engage the target."

"what if he's going straight to horner?" she worried, hurrying as much as she could on stiletto heels to follow the mystery man out of teh chateau.

"keep your cool and use the panic button if you have to."

she marched down the hallway, leaving her empty champagne bottle on a tray next to the revolving kitchen door as she balled up her dress skirt, pulling it away from her heels as she made her way down the hall.

she found the man outside, he was leaning against a stone balcony. from underneath the layers of fine italian craftsmanship he was wearing, it would take a fool to miss how broad and built the man was.

"stay away from horner." he spoke with a thick french accent, his voice carrying over the breeze as she walked towards him. "he's dangerous. you don't know what you're getting into."

she raised an eyebrow, settling in next to him against the balustrade, rock warm against her bare hands. "who is it that you think i am?"

"does it matter? a wannabe model, a movie star. the kind of bullshit that clings to fame and fortune, no matter what the cost, and you end up getting taken advantage of along the way. trust me, christian horner would eat you alive." he turned to look at her and she got a glimpse of his sad eyes, the stubble around his jawline. the poof of his brunette hair. "so leave while you still can, mon cher."

“bait him, y/n.” lewis encouraged. “find out what he knows, but do not give yourself away.”

she took a deep breath, sitting on the balustrade and crossing one leg over the other, fingers tapping against the heels of her shoes. “what if I know exactly what I’m getting into? christian horner is a very wealthy, very powerful man. i know about jeddah, and I know about lusail.”

lusail had been the base for project silver arrows. horner had been attempting to sell arms to rebel groups in qatar, and lewis had been attempting to pose as a foreign buyer, hoping to stop the sale. obviously the operation hadn’t gone according to plan.

there was a rustle from the man as he reached into his suit jacket, and she barely had time to think before she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“who the fuck do you work for? are you one of his?”

“i should be asking who the hell you are.” she growled, yanking the blade right out of her shoe, pointing the sharp-tipped tool at the frenchman

“you first.”

“not a chance in hell. we draw credentials at the same time or not at all.”

the frenchman caught the bait, reaching into his jacket pocket as she reached down the bodice of her dress for her own identification.

“oh fuck me to the moon and back.” she cussed, seeing what was printed on his id card.

pierre gasly, french intelligence

part two: the compromise

they sat in a debriefing room in french intelligence headquarters. everything about the room screamed old money, right down the the heavy wooden roundtable they sat around. y/n was wedged between Lewis and george, staring daggers at pierre as their handler paved the room.

“if this bitch hadn’t followed me out of the chateau, horner would be awaiting trial at The Hague!”

her jaw dropped. “if I hadn’t followed you? if I hadn’t thought you were suspicious, I wouldn’t have had to! we had a plan.”

it wasn’t a plan she had liked, but it was a plan.

“if your agency hadn’t bungled the lusail operation, we e wouldn’t even be here right now!”

“you fucking take that back you baguette fucker!” she shouted, getting to her feet. “we did everything right in lusail!”

that was when it was decided that enough was enough. lewis grabbed for her arm, a silent plea to stop making a scene. george snickered, laughter hidden behind his fist and disguised as a cough as y/n and pierre glared daggers at each other over the table.

pierres eyes cut deep. she felt like he could see into her entire soul, while his own eyes put up such a wall between his face and his own soul. she felt like he could see everything about her, and yet she couldn’t see him at all.

damn those ocean eyes. damn the jolt of something that passed through her body when she fell under his gaze.

“enough!” her handler shouted, finally done pacing the room. peter bonnington glared at the duo, a flash of pure fury crossing his face. “this situation is fucked for all of us. two foreign agencies are t supposed to be working the same target at the same time, so clearly some wires got crossed.”

“no shit.” george laughed. “god, I’ve never been so happy to be on medical leave.”

“shut the fuck up, russell.” she crossed her arms over her chest, flopping down into her rickety wheeled chair.

across the table, pierres handler crossed his own arms over his chest. laurent rossi was a stoic man, tall and refined, but with a penchant for beating around the bush. the faces within mi-6 thought he was a bit of a pompous git.

“we have a solution.” laurent proposed. “our best chance at catching horner and getting him off the streets is to work together.”

pierre gawked. pierre gasly was nobody’s partner. a line wolf, and he had been ever since his partner was killed back on the last op they worked together, bringing down one of horners associates in austria.

and that’s why getting horner was so important.

for charles.

“not on your life.” he snarled at laurent. “I work alone.”

“if you expect me to work well with him, you must be on lsd.”

despite himself, pierre liked her take-no-shit, speak your mind attitude shown by the young british agent. why, he wondered to himself, had she spent so long as a desk agent when she could match wits with the best of the field agents.

“the decision has been made.” bono boomed. “and an arrangement has been made for you both to stay at horners chateau this upcoming weekend.”

“what’s the catch?” pierre questioned. “this sounds too easy.”

laurent chuckled. “ah, this is the part that you both will hate me for.”

“you’ll go in as interested buyers. a married couple, to be specific.”

part three: the ruse

the vintage cadillac trundled down the long country drive to christian horners french estate. the pair were already dressed to match their cover stories: he was in a tasteful linen shirt and khakis, and she was in a silk floral sundress.

she opened a small velvet box in her lap, extracting the diamond earring that acted as an earpiece, connecting her back to lewis and george.

pierre watched through the corner of her eye as she connected the earpiece, radioing in to home base to let them know she was all ears.

“that’s a good idea, hiding the earpiece in the earring. it’s less detectable.” the frenchman hummed

“i know, i designed it. it was originally supposed to be for lewis, since he has so many piercings and it would have blended right in.”

she tapped on the fake diamond to activate the earpiece, sending Pierre a look to remind him that all their conversations would now be recorded onto an mi-6 server.

“you nervous?”

“no.” she lied, fiddling with the brim of her straw hat, a small camera tucked under the band.

but she was nervous. more nervous than she had ever been in her life.

she was about to get up close and personal with the most dangerous man in europe and she was going to lie about who she was. one misphrased question could be the difference between life and death.

“I’m sure you’re going to be fine, and if you get nervous, just let me take the lead. this is how we profiled horner, hes going to use me as the point of contact.” pierre reminded her “which means that you get to do all of the fun sneaking around espionage kinda things.”

the frenchman let his hand drip down towards her leg, thumb gently running along her skin. she reddened under his touch, unable to deny the butterflies in her stomach at the gentle and reassuring way that he touched her.

when they got out of the car, beginning to follow the path up to the chateau while horners handmaidens grabbed their luggage from the car, Pierre’s hand on her back was a comfortable guide, and she couldn’t deny the heat on her skin underneath his touch, hidden by the shadow cast by the wide brim of her hat.

maybe pretending to be pierre gaslys wife wouldn’t be so bad after all.

they walked up the crest of a hill to a large stone patio surrounded by plants, no doubt planted by horners wife. there was nobody around except for a man in a crisp navy button down shirt, hands in the pockets of his slacks as he stared off into the distance, his back towards the agents.

“ah, you must be the wolffs! i saw the two of you coming up to driveway. apologies for how long it is, i like a little bit of privacy.” the figure chuckled, spinning around to face them.

there he was. christian horner, in the flesh.

“let’s get this meeting started then, shall we?”

part four: for queen and country

she stood in the ensuite bathroom, smoothing out the front of her dress as she exhaled, staring at herself in the mirror. she felt pretty, seductive, even, but she didn’t think she could play this part. be this person that the agencies depended on her being.

and maybe there was also a part of her that was worried about looking good for pierre.

maybe this wasn’t a bad thing after all. wasn’t this what espionage was; faking it until you made it? maybe she could enjoy pretending to be someone else for a while. someone who did impulsive things like make out with her coworkers or have sex with men who were very clearly attracted to her.

although, dense as she was, she had missed the signs. lewis and george hadn’t, going on and on over the comms system about how pierre was practically undressing her with his eyes before bono came on call and told them to stop acting like teenagers and observe their surroundings like the agents they were supposed to be.

there was a knock on the bathroom door, and she cleared her throat, shout raspy as she told pierre she’d be out in a second.

she tiptoed out of the bathroom, the chateaus stone floor cold on her feet as she allowed the short dress to dust her thighs, hair just brushing her shoulders.

“you clean up nice, desk agent.” pierre hummed, his eyes tracing over the exposed parts of her body.

“so do you, baguette boy.” her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of the man in front of her, dressed pristinely in his three piece suit, hair fluffed to perfection. the navy suit was stark against the white dress shirt, the first few buttons undone to show off his golden cross necklace.

she cleared her throat, looking away as blush coated her cheeks.

pierre took her manicured hand in his, whispering something in french that made her pussy throb as she but her lip to stop from moaning. he kissed her knuckles gently before turning to face her.

“you know we’re supposed to be newlyweds who can’t keep their hands off each other, right.”

“then don’t. do what you’d do if we were newlyweds.”

pierre inhaled softly, his hands possesivley going to her waist. “oh, mon cher, if we start I won’t be able to stop.”

“good. it sells the cover better.” she hummed, hand shaking as she reached up to caress his face. “fuck me, baguette boy.”

pierre chuckled, leaning down to ghost his lips over hers, laughing even more when she whined at the lack of contact.

“oh, you’ll be calling me something totally different once I get my way with you.”

for queen and country. that was her oath. but kissing pierre gasly, pressed up against a wall with his hand between her legs and his tongue down her throat, she was ready to give up queen and country.

he was like oxygen, and she was coming up from a deep sea dive, tearing his shirt open almost animalistically.

“wait, wait.” she gasped, eyes flying open at the sound of shocked breathing and laughter. “my earpiece is still in.” she tapped on the receiver, a hickey forming in her sweaty skin as he tried to regain her breathing.

“fuck you both!” she shouted, knowing full well that lewis and george could hear her. “I’m taking the receiver out now, thank you very much. and delete the end of that recording.”

“nah, mate.” george laughed. “the bit where you called him baguette boy and then asked him to fuck you was comedic gold!”

“george! I’ll tell bono about the recording of you and those two models in monte carlo two summers ago.”

“right on, I’m deleting the last ten minutes, sound good?”

as she pulled out the earpiece and sealed it in the nightstand drawer, pierre chuckled, pulling his suit jacket and the remains of his shirt off.

“blackmail? I didn’t think you’d stoop that low just to get your rocks off.”

“shut up.” she laughed, pulling him in by the belt loops. “I did him a solid and deleted that recording as soon as I saw it. george is just so much fun to fuck with.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak about other men when I’m about to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk in an hour.” his voice was husky as he spun her around, pressing his cock against her ass.

“then give me a reason to forget georges name.”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @thatsdemko @diorleclerc @sidcrosbyspuck @silversainz @scuderiamh @silverstonesainz @lorarri @clemswrld @httpiastri

[blueberryarchive]

Peaches and Cream. (Pt.1)

In which Jungkook, a one-star Michelin chef, gets the information: a new blogger, you, gave him a bad review of his restaurant, and he gets obsessed with the things you wrote; and in the process, with you. Wanting to show you he's a good chef, he invites you to a good meal cooked by him.

—⁠☆Pairing: Bi Chef!Jungkook & Blogger!Reader

—⁠☆Genre: au, enemies to lovers.

—⁠☆Word Count: 4.3k

—⁠☆Warnings: filthy mouth Jungkook, like so much for no reason. smut, two doms trying to dom each other, stalking, dub-con, masturbation, prejudice/bigotry, depictions of queerness and family. (these are the warnings for the whole two-part series)

—⁠☆a/n: this the first part of a 2 part ff, i hope you gals can help me get better at writing in english since it's not my first language. as always thank you for reading.

The morning painted the windows of his office with a slight dew, the clouds announced how gray that Friday would be. Every time it rained it wasn't busy in the restaurant, but Jungkook appreciated the sweet aroma the concrete emanated in the alleys. 

The smell of the city of rotting garbage and asphalt goes to give way to childhood memories of him. Running home, jumping through long puddles, the taste of freshly cooked rice. Mild and fluffy in the mouth. 

Jungkook dropped his cigarette halfway to the ground as a van turned the corner. Grocery shopping was one of the favorite parts of his job. Maybe the best. At 4 in the morning, he would open the back doors of his restaurant, clean and file his knives, which he kept wrapped in cotton cloth that his grandmother sewed for him with his initials. In a rather old mocha pot, he used to put three spoons of freshly ground coffee and water and stayed waiting for the men from the market, who came to bring him the freshest products for that day's dishes. Cup of coffee in hand and a lot to say.

He loved to touch, press, smell, taste and pinch the vegetables; pick them up on the light and complain that the salmon was from yesterday and the courgettes were too big. Loved to bargain with Tomas the price of trivial things. 

"Tom, don't be a bitch. I'll have to throw away half of these tomatoes before four o'clock." 

"Jung-" Tomas, a Hispanic man with the face of that painting from Alexandre Cabanel, inhaled sharply, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what Tomas was saying in Spanish, but Jungkook knew, somehow, that it involved fucking his mother. 

"You take the two boxes and the Montserrat." Tomas repeated.

"Tom, what am I going to do with shit as acid as Montserrat tomatoes. Green ones." Jungkook yelled, almost spitting out his coffee, taking a healthy tomato in his hand. 

"Shove it up your ass." Tomas shrugged casually. Jungkook hit him on the shoulder, and both laughed. 

"Okay, give me both. Maybe Vic will think of making something with your fucking tomatoes..." the imaginary disgust on his palate at the thought of a Montserrat tomato sauce or a salad. Worse: fried. 

Tomas knew that silence and the lost look of Jungkook's idiot fuckface. "You can't change your mind anymore, chef. I already had my boys put the boxes down." 

"I know. I'm just regretting letting you win." 

Tomas clicked his tongue, revealing a perfect smile to the ched. "Sometimes you have to let it go, chef." 

"Go away, motherfucker." Jungkook smiled, still looking at the boxes of green tomatoes. 

"Bye, Chef." 

"Mmm," Jungkook took the last sip of his coffee as the truck pulled away. Now it was time to lift the boxes. That kept Jungkook's arms in good shape. He rolled up his baggy shirt to reveal his colorful tattooed arm. Smoothly tying his wavy hair in a low ponytail. With one arm, he lifted the sack of rice to the kitchen island, then the oysters, then the crate of vegetables. 

With precision and finesse, he grasped the knife with the curved edge from his collection and began to peel each vegetable. Everything was with the accuracy of a surgeon. 

If lifting sacks was his daily exercise, cutting and peeling the preparatives was his meditation. With so much attentiveness to his peeling, he almost cut himself when he heard his cell phone vibrate. He growled and cursed in a breath. He hated getting called on the phone. If it weren't for his mom, he would have thrown away that piece of plastic years ago. 

Vic, the screen said, the face of a curly-haired man in a perfect afro, teeth so perfect as he smiled into the camera. Jungkook took that photo about a year ago, just outside his favorite café. He had months without buying a cup of coffee there.

With his knuckles, he opened the call. "I thought you were coming over to help me with the oysters, Vic," he demanded with a frown concentrating on peeling the shiitake mushrooms until soft and white. 

Vic didn't answer until after a lengthy silence. Pretty long, considering he had just finished peeling a couple of mushrooms. Jungkook looked at his cell phone. "Victor?" 

"Here I am," he replied reluctantly. 

"Why the hell are you calling me if you aren't going to talk? I'm busy." 

"I thought, when I met you, that you cuss so much and act like a piece of shit because you wanted to be like Gordon Ramsay or something." 

"What's the point, Vic? The oysters are still here unopened, and Helena doesn't come in until six, and I-" 

"You're busy." They both spoke in unison. That made Jungkook feel a sting in his throat, a slight tickle. 

"Are you going to come, yes or no?" 

"My God, Jeon, just for a moment, stop thinking about the damn oysters and pay attention to me." 

"I do, Victor, and you still don't answer my damn question. Do I have to pick up a fucking bum off the streets to do your job?" 

"Why did you come to my house on Tuesday?" Jungkook stopped the fluid movements of the knife, his eyes on the phone. 

"You wrote me to go," the chef replied.

"Yes, but for you to pick up your things." 

"I did that." Jungkook snorted, finishing with the mushrooms and starting with the carrots. 

"Yeah, after fucking me and telling me you loved me... like twice in the process." Vic sounded hurt. Jungkook hated it when he did that because he knew how dramatic Vic could be. 

"And after that, you kept treating me as your sous-chef the next day."

"You are my sous-chef, Victor." He interrupted, leaning on the metal table.

"Yeah, but I'm talking like outside of work."

"Yes, because you're still my sous-chef, Victor. I don't get-"

"Do you do this to Marianne? Or Helena, Joseph, or every waiter with an innocent little face when you tell them they're your favorite." 

"Vic," warned the chef. 

"Or maybe you were in a year-long relationship with your maitre d' so he wouldn't fire you. No, that was me. If it weren't for me, that place wouldn't have the popularity it has" 

"Vic," Jungkook growled, feeling the blood rush to his head. 

"You are a pest to your restaurant, Jeon Jungkook." 

That was it. Jungkook dropped the knife on the table and gripped the device as close to his mouth, thin lips brushing the screen. 

"Victor, if you hadn't opened your legs to me, you wouldn't even have the chance to lick the leftovers from my alley." 

"Bullshit, if I'm the whore, what makes you?. Who did you have to fuck for your place, chef?" 

"Everyone." Jungkook laughed sarcastically, "And yet, I'm the one who has a fucking Michelin star under my name and my sweat... what have you done with the fucks on your record?" 

Victor was silent. "You are a prick." 

"Okay" Jungkook didn't understand where this was going, but it was almost six in the morning, and he had to start removing the skin from the salmon. His walking around the station didn't keep him calm, nor it was productive. 

"I don't know why I let you into my house." 

"You were alone, just like I felt that day too. And you also act like it doesn't turn you on when I drunk fuck you." Jungkook waited for an answer, but there was nothing. "Vic?" Silence. When he saw the screen of his cell phone, there was no longer the photo of Victor or the creaking of the telephone line. "Vic, the oysters" He didn't even know why he was trying, he closed his eyes and put the cell phone in his pocket. 

The door opened suddenly, startling Jeon. It was Helena, a curvy thirty-something girl taking a last puff from her vape. With a rush, she put her hair in a high ponytail. 

Jungkook tried to act as naturally as possible. 

"Good morning, chef." Helena hastened to say, putting on her apron. 

"Mm," he muttered as he followed his work, musing among the damn green tomatoes that he had no idea what Vic asked them for.

A long time passed while both, Jungkook and Helena, worked at their stations. 

"Chef," Helena broke the silence by pressing her lips together. 

"Yeah?" 

"I'm trying to make a list for my future...you know I want to open my place one day." 

"Everyone wants their own little place," Jungkook interrupted, opening the oysters with swift movements. 

"Yes, yes. But I really don't like getting fucked in the ass, and it's not that there are a lot of women in this business, much less lesbians." She burst. Jungkook grinned against his own will when she wasn't looking. 

"Fuck you, Helena. Cut the mangoes for the sauce." Jungkook hissed, and set the oysters aside as Helena laughed at him. "I'm going to the market for more onions and tell Joseph to finish the oysters by himself" 

"Yes, Chef." voiced Helena with a grand smile.

Jungkook left the station, the cold air soothing the remains of his anger. Without thinking much, he reached into his pocket taking out a cigarette.

He started walking through the streets of New York. Vic had worn him out, and his 14-hour shift hadn't started.

The steam rising from meats, the incessant sound of vegetables being cut, three different sauces being stirred. Jungkook's kitchen was alive, it was seven at night and this was the time when his guests arrived like flies on the cake. Men in Italian brand suits and their girlfriends of the week, older women with picky palates, fanatics, high-class tourists…you name it, you find it.

Normally, Jungkook would be in the front. Preparing each dish, tasting each sauce, checking each cut, and scrutinizing that each dish looks like something he is proud of.

But here he was, in the dark alley behind his restaurant as he called Vic over and over on the phone, the cigarette in his hand melting with the wind and light drizzle. His hair and his white suit getting wet as he left the umpteenth voice note for Vic.

"Victor, for God's sake, I have the restaurant full tonight. It's a fucking Friday, why the fuck aren't you here?" he breathed sharply, the tension had his shoulders tense and the veins in his arms looked like they were going to explode.

The messages did not reach him, the wretch had turned off the phone.

"Shit," he muttered as he thumped into the kitchen that blazed with the heat of thirty pots on the stove. What happened after going through the door seemed…uncanny. All of his cooks looked at him at the same time, fleetingly to return to their tasks again.

They knew something that Jungkook didn't.

He sighed deeply before tying his hair into a half-bun. He rolled up his sleeves and went to his station, reading the orders aloud.

"One duck, two mussels, one Bok Choy" Jungkook ordered.

"Yes, chef," the others said in unison.

Food was piling up around Jungkook, sauces, and stir-fried vegetables. With a spoon he tasted the first and nodded slightly, then the shiitake. With agility he grabbed an empty plate and began to order each detail: first, the sauce spread like a brush, the green color so bright; then the piece of meat, glistening with juice, three drops of yellow radish sauce, a delicate yellow flower for the final touch.

"Service!" Jungkook pushed the plate away towards the waitress on the other side of his table.

"Fuck," Joseph muttered in the kitchen.

"Stop being an imbecile and attend your damn station," Charlie, the poissonier, snarled, hurling a frying pan into the sink with a crash.

"Where are my mussels?" Jungkook was sweating, his eye trembled slightly.

"Joseph just screwed them up, I have to do them again"

"And what are you doing wasting time talking?" Jeon interrupted on the verge of screaming. The others tensed, again that look from everyone.

"Sorry, Chef" said Joseph and Charlie.

"Hurry up, damn." Jungkook continued with his task of plating each meal, tasting over and over again everything that was within his reach.

"Where is my sauce?" he growled when his hand reached to his right, and Helena nor the sauce wasn't there. 

"In a minute, sir." 

"I don't have a minute."

Helena took the pan and stirred while going to the prep station. Jungkook took a small spoon and tasted it.

"More salt," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Helena seemed confused. "More, Chef?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, dear." 

"Yes, chef." Helena went back and added more salt, a few seconds later, he was pouring the sauce into the mushrooms. 

"Service!" the waiter took the plate, he started to feel a pain in his lower back and was exhausted. "Helena," he called, continuing his job. 

"Chef."

"Call Vic, tell him that if he isn't here in twenty minutes, I'll fire him."

There was no 'yes, chef', no answer at all. Actually, it was a little quieter in the kitchen. He didn't look back. "I said-"

"I don't think you want that, chef." This time, he turned around, and there it was: the look.

"When I say something, misses Gallo, I mean it" he felt more intense than usual if, that's even possible. Helena felt like she just saw a ghost. Jungkook knew she joked around with him, but she knew her time and place.

"Vic it's not coming back, sir." The youngest, Joseph, tilts his head down in fear. 

"Why is that?"

"God, how I abhor when things like these happen." The elegant man entered the kitchen with his sleek blonde hair and a black suit, calico eyes, and the most pretentious-looking glasses you could find. It was Jimin Park, his maitre d'. 

Jimin was the one who gave the classiness Jungkook lacked when it came to treating his clientele. He greeted and took care of everyone like they were his friends. 

"She's here." 

"Who?" Jungkook couldn't be more out. Jimin gave him his phone, and on the screen was a girl eating a plate exactly like the one he made minutes ago. Wait, that was his restaurant. 

"Oh my God, she's actually here. I didn't know Vic was such a petty bitch." Helena laughed while watching the live stream. Jungkook turned off the screen. 

"What the fuck is going on?"

"Vic tweeted to her to come here because his ex fired him for being a good cook, something like that." Jimin shrugged. Jungkook felt his chest contract, he started biting the ring on his lower lip.

"Who is she?" 

"She's a mukbanger but like a mean one, she's an icon," Joseph said smiling. 

"She's like the new wave of food criticism." Jimin took his phone and put it in his pocket. "Our world doesn't care anymore about magazines or what the paper says."

A waitress came bursting from the door.

"Mr. Park, the girl went away." 

"Am I supposed to be scared because she's going to tweet about some overcooked lamb?" he asked the waitress who didn't know what to say. 

"She's gone?" Jimin raised his glasses taking a deep sigh, he looked at Jungkook and lightly smiled. "You're fucked, Jeon." 

"Fuck you, Park. No, I'm not" he was offended, how could he say that in front of his group?

Jungkook took Jimin by his forearm and took him to his office. The others were left watching through the little window looking for the infamous mukbanger.

For a second, Jungkook was going to look back and ask his sous chef to take care of the kitchen. But he didn't have a fucking sous-chef. 

This couldn't be possible, he had a Michelin star because of his discipline, the way he cooked, his crew, and the stories he told through the food. He had the perfect ambiance, the most amazing maitre d' in New York, and the perfect culinary experience. He worked his ass off for this.

He was above the trolly reviews from Yelp, the people who thought he just did something to fill stomachs. But why did he feel this was not the same? Why did she leave? He made sure everything was perfect. Everything. 

"Hey!" Jimin snapped his fingers in Jungkook's face. For a moment, he put his palm on Jungkook's forehead. 

"Jesus, you're burning" he saw the expression on his chef, with his eyebrow rose, the pierced end moving slightly. Lost in thought. 

"Do you really think this is going to ruin me?"

Jimin's heart felt heavy, he denied occupying his hands with some papers. 

"I don't know, Kook. Perhaps she went away because she didn't find anything bad to say, or maybe she had to go and that's it. You know how those people are."

Jungkook nodded, none of them were sure that Jimin said the truth. But it had to do for now. 

"Now go, the kitchen will be a mess without you."

It's already a mess.

Jungkook nodded again, hands behind his back. He needed to know who you were. As soon as possible.

Jungkook doesn't remember the last time he sat on the couch in his apartment, his legs were covered with two sheets and he had a black hoodie covering his chest and lanky hair. He doesn't remember how strange morning TV was: everyone was wearing makeup and smiling as they talked about how climate change was inundating homes in India. It couldn't be more bizarre. Maybe it was the fever that had him glued to the screen in front of him or the ache in his tired muscles. 

The icing on the cake, he was sick. 

The night of the influencer's drama, Jungkook came to his room. His hair was wet from the rain that fell that night and his body soaked. His body sank into the sheets with his uniform, the fever began to make him have strange dreams where orders came but never came out. He woke up around four in the morning the next day and called Jimin, his voice raspy as he changed out of his uniform.

"Call Jin, tell him to cover me this week."

"Okay," Jimin replied with a breath.

"Okay? No questions?"

"No, I already knew you were going to get sick." Jungkook pursed his lips into a small smile, eyes closed from exhaustion.

"As soon as the fever stops, you won't need Jin. I promise."

"As much as I want that to be true, I don't want you in the restaurant until you're completely well. It's enough for the restaurant that a cute girl says absurd things about your food and then we get rumors about you cooking with your boogers" Jimin blurted out.

"Absurd?" Jungkook looked for some boxers and changed, throwing his body on the living room furniture. "What did she write?"

"Um...," Jimin put the chef on hold as he thought of an honest but not unseemly way to tell him the review. "Well, she said she was sick of seeing the same wave of elite restaurants for the decadent new yorker elite, the same exotic cuts of a bird, and the environment with walls as white as a psychiatric hospital. She said that I looked like a nurse going from table to table to give them their pills in porcelain saucers to the long-lived of New York," Jimin laughed. "That was funny...it's like the truth-"

"And about me?" Jungkook felt the fever consuming his body, a headache approaching like a shadow behind his neck.

"Well, she said the food was tasteless and you screwed up the only thing she was looking forward to"

"The mushrooms?"

"How did you know?" 

"Of course, it was the mushrooms," Jeon muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, cursing Vic with the wrath of a thousand seas, wanting him to be engulfed and convulsing for all eternity looking for oxygen. 

"The sauce was salty to the point that she wanted to throw up, she said."

"The sauce was salty," he repeated and then smiled so as not to destroy the room in his sickly state.

He doesn't remember much of what he did those three days that had passed. Jimin would stop by his apartment to bring dinner and pick up the shirts from the floor. He complained about Jin for half an hour with a glass of wine in hand, until Jimin realized that Jungkook couldn't even stay focused.

"Hey, wake up." Jimin patted his cheeks and Jungkook didn't even flinch.

"Vic has been there? In the restaurant, I mean," Jungkook grabbed the wine from Jimin's hand, drinking it all in one gulp.

"No, he had a friend go get his things the next day."

"Who, the youtube whore?"

"No," Jimin chuckled. They both saw each other and laughed under their breaths.

"It was a redhead."

"Oh, you mean Chris."

"Yeah," Jimin answered looking at his friend with tipsy eyes. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Jungkook began to fidget around, looking for something to occupy his hands with.

"It can't be that Victor-" Jimin's mouth tightened. "Of course," he chuckled, a light rose painting his cheeks.

"What the hell do you know, Park?"

"I would have known."

"Are you spying on me through the cameras you have in my bathroom to see if I jerk off?" His hoarse voice was screeching, and Jimin couldn't take his anger seriously.

"There's a certain je ne sais quoi to it when you fuck, like you stop yelling so much and actually do your job."

"I do my job."

"But it would be better if you didn't scream all the time like a fucking maniac."

"Mmm," tiredness wouldn't let him continue answering. He had taken a pill for the flu but he didn't know it was going to hit him so fast. Jimin noticed.

"Well, I'll let you rest. I brought you a couple of plums and oranges from the market."

"Tell Jin I say hi in the morning," Jungkook mumbled.

Jimin patted him on the shoulder and left Jungkook's phone on the table with your Instagram open. "Stop watching morning TV, your brain will melt."

Jungkook didn't touch the phone for a long while thinking about the words that were repeating like a broken record: "tasteless" and "elite for the elite"...Jungkook didn't even come from a wealthy family. It was foolish.

He lazily swiped his way down through your profile, looking at the thumbnails of your photos where you smiled like nothing was wrong. 

You liked showing cleavage, he realized. In addition to being a liar, you liked the attention. There was one where you were in a jacuzzi with a glass of champagne and another where you were on the French shores.

Besides the fact that you liked the attention, it was for a reason. The way your lips curved into a smile as if your breasts weren't pinched in that bikini two sizes too small. 

What kind of reporter were you?

Without realizing it, Jungkook was lying on his bed looking at your photos while eating a plum. He didn't know if it was the sweetness of the ripe fruit or the fever, but he felt strange. His body felt like it was floating between the satin of his bed. 

Another brush up to your profile: more food, more cats, travel, you in a bikini. One, in particular, caused the lower half of him to brush against the sheets. It wasn't that different from the others, but for some reason this time you weren't smiling. You looked at the camera with a certain judging that made Jungkook's throat boil.

His fingers were covered in prune juice, the wrinkled seed clenched between his teeth. What he was going to do wasn't one of his most dignified moments, but the meds made him delirious, not fucking someone besides Vic made him even sicker. 

His sticky fingers trailed from his navel to the edge of his boxers. When he felt the wetness of his slimy fingers on his tip he clamped the seed harder into his teeth, growling in loathing.

Your face caused his chest to swell with anger and his dick to rise at the slightest touch of his tattooed hand. Thinking of your tongue tasting his cock on a plate, no garnish, no cutlery. He wanted you to swallow it and shed tears on your cheeks.

A shriek. He tossed the phone onto the bed and covered his embarrassed face with his forearm. His hand trembled under his Calvin boxers, saliva pooling in his mouth as he couldn't swallow. 

His tongue flicked over the seed in his mouth, and like a flash, the image of him covering your clit with his spit flashed by. He growled like a fleeing animal as his orgasm made him arch his back. He removed the seed from his mouth.

"Fuck," he mumbled when he saw the stain on his pants. Air rushed out of his nose for the first time all day. He closed his eyes in pure bliss. Two minutes later, he wrinkled his nose and repeated: "Fuck," this time rolling his eyes, angry with himself for what he was going to do. He turned on his cell phone screen and opened the dm of your profile.

jkookcooks: So what kind of reviews do you do when you leave mid-meal? You didn't even try dessert. If you really want to do something worthwhile and not your unnecessary sensationalism, maybe you should come try something made by me.

He almost threw the cell phone when he hit send. Feeling the cold of his cum in his pants and the words he send to make him cringe.

When he got up to clean himself up, he heard his cell phone vibrate almost immediately. 

Didn't you have things to do on a Friday night?

CherryCloud: Just say the day, chef.

A smile left Jungkook's lips. He'd love to grab your face and make you eat the best meal you ever had, to see if you'll shut up that way... He'd have to plan the menu for the night.

Why did he feel a sudden fear? He saw the photo again: your judgy eyes, hugging your knees.

[the-everqueen]

For WIP Tuesday: anything about LA guard dog pt. 2 👀

[blows a kiss] for the Coco/Rose crowd

...

Seated cross-legged on her bed, Rose unclasps the locket from around her neck. Cupped in her palm, the bit of heart-shaped gold transforms into something else: a flip phone, designed to look like an oyster. She opens it, and where buttons should be, there is a single pearl.

“Desire, I stand—er, sit—in my gallery and I hold your sigil.”

The Corinthian stands guard at the headboard. His knives won’t do shit against an Endless, but all he needs to do is buy time for Rose. He’s not even sure this will work—not because he doubts Rose’s claim, but because Desire is a flake at the best of times. Honestly, maybe that would be the ideal outcome. Rose would be disappointed, sure, but—

“Has big brother been giving out my number? How generous.”

Floral-rot and sandalwood and musk. The Corinthian’s eyes hiss.

Rose lifts her chin. Every bit as imperious as Dream when she says, “I wanted to talk.”

Desire slinks forward. They’re barefoot, clothed in a silky pajama set that shows off their soft thighs and the ripple of their breastbone. Those golden eyes flick from Rose to the Corinthian, and the red stained lips twitch up in a smirk.

“Hello, you,” they drawl, all honey mead and Georgia peaches.

[apoemaday]

The Sermon of the Twelve Acknowledgements

by Anne Sexton

January? The month is dumb. It is fraudulent. It does not cleanse itself. The hens lay blood-stained eggs. Do not lend your bread to anyone lest it nevermore rise. Do not eat lentils or your hair will fall out. Do not rely on February except when your cat has kittens, throbbing into the snow. Do not use knives and forks unless there is a thaw, like the yawn of a baby. The sun in this month begets a headache like an angel slapping you in the face. Earthquakes mean March. The dragon will move, and the earth will open like a wound. There will be great rain or snow so have some coal for your uncle. The sun of this month cures all. Therefore, old women say: Let the sun of March shine on my daughter, but let the sun of February shine on my daughter-in-law. However, if you go to a party dressed as the anti-Christ you will be frozen to death by morning. During the rainstorms of April the oyster rises from the sea and opens its shell— rain enters it— when it sinks the raindrops become the pearl. So take a picnic, open your body, and give birth to pearls. June and July? These are the months we call Boiling Water. There is sweat on the cat but the grape marries herself to the sun. Hesitate in August. Be shy. Let your toes tremble in their sandals. However, pick the grape and eat with confidence. The grape is the blood of God. Watch out when holding a knife or you will behead St. John the Baptist. Touch the Cross in September, knock on it three times and say aloud the name of the Lord. Put seven bowls of salt on the roof overnight and the next morning the damp one will foretell the month of rain. Do not faint in September or you will wake up in a dead city. If someone dies in October do not sweep the house for three days or the rest of you will go. Also do not step on a boy’s head for the devil will enter your ears like music. November? Shave, whether you have hair or not. Hair is not good, nothing is allowed to grow, all is allowed to die. Because nothing grows you may be tempted to count the stars but beware, in November counting the stars gives you boils. Beware the tall people, they will go mad. Don’t harm the turtle dove because he is a great shoe that has swallowed Christ’s blood. December? On December fourth water spurts out of the mouse. Put herbs in its eyes and boil corn and put the corn away for the night so that the Lord may trample on it and bring you luck. For many days the Lord has been shut up in the oven. After that He is boiled, but He never dies, never dies.

[kaz-brekker-crow]

Rereading SoC will have you be doing shit like browsing for oyster shucking knives

[ritens]

recently finished my first run of ddda so it's pawn Lane lore orb pondering time. don't mind this

the world is my oyster and canon is an inspiration

The Arisen Amaury made pawn Lane to resemble their brother who had passed away prematurely due to a sickness. For a while the pretending came easy but with time Amaury understood that the pawn couldn't fill the role a human sibling could.

Lane did a great job following the Arisen's orders even when they seemed ridiculous by human standards. Amaury was rarely seen with the pawn by their side for they opted to send the pawn out on errands alone. This Arisen was entirely selfish and uninterested in slaying their dragon but believed people would come after them for it. Eventually this paranoia extended towards their Pawn despite the fact that pawns are technically neutral and unable to betray their masters.

A role model was a role model. With flaws and all. The Arisen had left a significant emotional imprint on the pawn, and it spread as time went on. The bestowal of the spirit had begun it's course. As Lane took upon more and more of Amaury's traits, he also inherited the same paranoia and fear that the Arisen had.

Lane became unpredictable at times. This eventually led to a lethal outcome for the Arisen. Amaury's pawn acted out of fear and self-preservation and took the life of his own master.

After this incident the pawn still follows the orders his master had given him, to protect Amaury in every sense. Amaury's identity and fate is unknown to the world. Even as the bile rises in his throat the more Lane starts to understand the abuse he'd put up with.

Lane avoided returning to the rift and took to the streets to look for work instead. But with fear getting in the way he ended up fleeing from a number of Arisen who attempted to enlist him as a support pawn. He wanted to be useful but he couldn't help himself. He was not like a pawn but definitely not human either. He could think for himself somewhat but it was easier not to. It felt wrong. Confusing.

"What kind of demons have you slain to have yourself covered in grime like that?" were the first words he'd heard from his new master, Rau. For some reason this Arisen wanted him as their main sidekick. Rau didn't want to create a pawn of his own in case of bias. Lane accepted the offer and was back on the road. Not alone this time.

The second Arisen was the polar opposite of what Amaury was. Lane felt a sense of gratefulness for every bit of kindness and trust the new master showed him. Rau would make sure the pawn was comfortable, and would quip at anyone pointing out how unfit for anything Lane was as a pawn. HE'S JUST A LITTLE MAN WITH TOOTHPICKS FOR KNIVES, GIVE HIM A BREAK. And it seemed silly. Pawns don't care about such things, do they. They're just there to do their work. Lane was too, right? He thought he was. He thought. Should he be thinking? Questioning motives?

Unlike Lane's original master, Rau was very driven to right the wrongs and was aiming for the dragon who took his heart. Out of fear and greed Lane became a nuisance and did what he could to stall the Arisen's progress. It was what he was made for - to protect the arisen. But on some deeper level he suspected it was his own selfishness that he'd taken from Amaury. He didn't want this one to die in a difficult battle, and he didn't want to go back to being nothing himself.

And even though his wrinkles of toxicity are being smoothed out the more the Arisen works with him, Lane is definitely feeling threatened by other pawns aksdghka being a support pawn in Rau's setup is suffering. Pawn on pawn violence imminent.

I think in the end, there will be an end for one of them. The Arisen will fail to slay the dragon. And Lane will go back to being just another pawn in the streets. Maybe with a designated spot this time. Rau's favorite place maybe. He'd cope, seethe, mald and continue to emotionally struggle with the traumatic experience.

i guess the whole point of lane is what if bestowal could go wrong. could toxic people do this and what if the process is cut midway. could someone else complete it or is my stupid dumpster diving mange infested kitten doomed to be skrunkled.

[nyxnightshade1332]

Expectations When Expecting (Book 1)

Chapter 10

Chapter 11:

Yuu wasn't very fond of using knives, having almost cut off her finger at a young age when her uncle had allowed her to try peeling a chestnut. She hated it yet found that it was the easiest way to actually peel a chestnut.

She huffed, blowing on her fingers as she peeled a still-hot chestnut that hadn't quite cooled off.

"Ha! Weak." Ace stated, blowing on his fingers as he attempted to peel the chestnut in his hands, putting the knife down to go rinse his hands in cold water.

"Says you? The guy using cold water?" She grumbled, allowing the knife to glide across the skin of the chestnut. Once it did that, Yuu peeled the skin and placed the nut onto the plate.

Ace grumbled something, watching the others peeling the chestnuts with magic.

.

.

.

Yuu refused to admit the sudden nausea that hit her had happened because of the sweet scent of milk, chestnuts and sugar and the heat of the room.

Trey had instantly noticed Yuu's pale complexion, allowing her to go sit outside for a bit while her dizziness subsided.

Currently, the young woman was sitting outside, resting her head on the wall and praying that no spiders would climb onto her. As hard and raspy as the stone wall was, Yuu liked how cool it felt. She kept her eyes closed before she heard the door open behind her.

"You okay, Yuu?" Deuce.

She gave a short nod. "M'fine... Heat made me dizzy though." She muttered.

"Yikes. I brought you water, if that'll help." Deuce said, offering her a cool water bottle, which she took gratefully.

Opening it, she took a sip, hoping that it would settle her stomach. Yuu finally sat up, giving Deuce a weak, yet thankful smile.

"Sorry if I caused any trouble." She said, "Apparently, I can't handle sweet smells in hot temperatures."

Deuce nodded sympathetically before speaking again.

"Are you okay now?" He asked, watching Yuu take a sip of the water. She nodded, relieved at the coolness of the water.

"Yeah. I think I'm fine now." Yuu nudged the blue-haired boy. "Let's go back in before Ace chews us out."

.

.

.

"I just need to add butter and sugar to the chestnut paste..." Trey's voice rang in the kitchen as Deuce and Yuu entered. "and a sensible splash of oyster sauce."

Yuu did a bit of a double take, freezing as she thought about what the boy had said. "That's my secret ingredient!" She heard the tall boy remark.

"What the-" She mouthed before Ace and Deuce snapped themselves out of the shock.

"Oyster sauce?!" They yelped.

"Yep." Trey confirmed. "The umami of the oysters gives the cream a deep, savory flavor."

Yuu pressed her lips into a line, looking at Trey to see if he was joking in any way.

"I use this one here: Walrus-brand Young Oyster Sauce." Trey handed the two boys the bottle, seemingly forcing himself not to smile.

"All the best bakers use it in their tarts." Trey smiled, making Yuu sigh in relief. Oh thank goodness. Now I know it's a joke.

"Really? But isn't oyster sauce like, super salty?" Deuce asked.

"Some folks put chocolate into curry, don't they? Maybe it's the same idea." Ace shrugged, accepting the answer.

Unsurprisingly, Trey didn't last much longer, bursting into near hysterical laughter for a good two minutes. Yuu rolled her eyes, a small smirk forming on her face. As stupid as it was, Trey's laughter was somewhat contagious.

"I'm totally lying! No one in their right mind would put oyster sauce into a pastry." He finally revealed, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Called it!" Said Yuu, proudly. "Gotta admit though, you had me in the first half, not gonna lie."

"What?! So you were just yankin' our chain this whole time?!" Ace cried, bewildered at having fallen for such an obvious prank.

"I mean, if you'd used your brain, you'd have realized how ridiculous it was! Let that be a lesson to you. Don't believe everything you hear." Trey said, a very slight lecture being given.

Yuu nodded. "He's right. It's best to not be so oblivious." She agreed.

"Henchman?!" Grim yelped before pouting, turning away from her. "Feh. And here I thought you humans were actually somewhat decent."

"Aww c'mon Grim!" Yuu giggled, amused at Grim's sulking form. "I didn't do it to be malicious.

She smiled, walking over to Grim, kneeling to be able to look him in the eye. "Tell ya what? If you forgive me and you promise to behave, I'll design a batch of butter cookies just for you."

Grim's eyes widened at the mention of food. "Really?!" He turned to look at her. "Deal!"

She extended her hand to the cat, and shook his paw. She heard Trey chuckle behind her.

"Alright!" Trey clapped his hands, effectively getting the group's attention. "Next, I'll put in the cream... Oh!" Trey seemed to pause, looking a little sheepish as he turned back to the group.

"What's wrong?" Ace hesitantly asked, clearly worried about having to be put to work again.

"You guys gathered so many chestnuts that we may have overdone it with the chestnut paste." Trey laughed awkwardly, clearly hinting at the need to go buy more cream. "I don't think we have enough cream to mix in." He informed them.

"Then I'll go buy some. Do they sell it at the school store?" Deuce asked.

"They sell pretty much everything, so... probably." Trey shrugged, adding, "Can I have you pick me up a few other things?" Wow. He's taking advantage of the situation.

"I need two cartons of milk, two packs of eggs, some muffin cups, five cans of fruit..." Trey listed, writing on a pad of paper before handing it to Deuce.

"I don't think I'll be able to carry all that back..." Deuce muttered, turning to Yuu. "Hey, Yuu, could you come with me?"

She gave him a small smile, somewhat relieved at being given the chance to leave. "I've never been to the school store before, but... Sure." She agreed, fighting back a laugh as she heard Ace protest from next to Trey.

"Then I'm comin' too! I'm getting dizzy from all this stirrin'. I need a break!" Grim complained, taking his spot on Yuu's shoulder.

She sighed, before gesturing for Deuce to lead the way. 

Chapter 12

[theaceofarrows]

Reasons why I would kill for a Batfamily/Six of Crows crossover⬇

Bruce and Kaz having a glaring contest that last for a whole hour before Alfred and Inej tell them to stop

Dick and Inej trading circus stories and showing and teaching each other different acrobatics moves

Jason and Jesper having a shooting contest where they just keep doing more and more outlandish shots

Tim and Barbara show Wylan all the different bat gadgets and they start nerding out over crazy inventions

Matthias meets Damian's animals and very formally introduces himself to each of them. Damian tells cute stories of Titus and Matthias tells him stories of Treskell (don't think I'm spelling the right-)

Steph and Nina debating what the best toppings are for waffles

Dick, Steph, Nina and Jesper having bisexual solidarity✨

Bruce: "killing is wrong. If you take a life you're no better th-" Kaz: [gags]

Cass and Inej being the most lethal and absolute badass duo in all of Gotham

Alfred and Colm talking over tea about how exhausting it is to deal with children (Bruce included) who are always putting themselves in mortal danger

Damian and Wylan having a violin and flute duo

Everyone keeping a tally of how many times Bruce and Kaz say something emo, and taking bets on who will say more

Steph and Nina having a heated argument about which is better between purple and red

Matthias getting his ass kicked by Damian after asking why a child is here. Nina and Jesper are laughing at him the whole time

Kaz criticizing EVERY. SINGLE. Gotham rogue about how they are all pathetic excuses for criminals, and then whacking them with his cane

Jesper seeing the Discowing suit, followed immediately by himself and Dick talking about their shared (terrible) fashion sense

Damian and Inej bonding over knives. Inej immediately mastering throwing batarangs

Jason and Kaz casually talking about traumatic stories about being child criminals living on the streets

Nina falling in love with Alfred's cookies, followed by her joining in the batfam fights over who gets the last cookie

Steph, Cas and Wylan having the "my father is an evil piece of shit" Club™

The crows stealing the batmobile for a joyride. Jason laughing his ass off

Wylan and Jason exchanging formulas for different kinds of explosives

"Why would you go with go with robins?? Crows are CLEARLY way cooler-" "[unholy screeching]"

Someone brings up Lex Luthor and it just goes "rich blackmailing piece of shit who lies for political gain? Yes, we know the type"

Kaz: "-and so then after I cut his face with an oyster knife, I ripped his eyeball out and then tossed him over the side of the ship" Jason: "Nice, nice. Points for creativity. There was this one time that I cut off the heads of all the major gang lieutenants in Crime Ally, placed them all into an old duffle bag and then tossed them to the bosses while they were all in a meeting I set up" Kaz: "Hmm, I'll have to remember that" Jason: "I got it all done in only 2 hours" Kaz: "Very efficient"

I will probably add to this

[messinwitheddie]

What are those things sticking out of the ground where Mem’s body was burned? War so they symbolize?

What happens to those female Irkens after being kidnapped from other hives? The ones that do have a thriving population.

Lol! It's hard to tell because I drew them super quick and they're all misshapen...

Those things jammed into the ground around Mem's funeral site are hand crafted throwing knives forged by Handoverfist aka Hof, a smeet from Mem's first swarm.

Hof was taught blacksmithing techniques by the resisty as a young smeet. He crafts tools and primitive weapons for his mother's hive with the metal his siblings mines as they expand their underground domain. He is very talented; a single-drone knife making factory.

He and his siblings noticed Mabel placing a rock besides Mem's body the day she died (a Jewish tradition when visiting a grave). The also wanted to honor Mem's memory so most of her smeets left a knife by her or an antennae bead (they make them out of colorful pearls found in the oyster-like creatures that wash up on a nearby shore).

Modern Irkens don't have much by way of grieving traditions; deleted from their culture... So Mem's friends and family improvised.

To answer the second question;

Birthing drones were often taken hostage as spoils of war between conflicting hives.

[ for context

To become a birthing drone, an Irken has to successfully given birth twice and not die. Fertile Irken females are required to attempt to give birth at least once. (Irkens aren'tlike humans; they will only be able to conceive and give birth a few times in their lifetime.) If they survive a second birthing, they are given the choice to either return to their homes and previous duties or choose to remain in the tallest's chambers and be their companion. They are not obligated to perform in another fertility festival or attempt a third birth that will most likely kill them, but many often do out of loyalty to their hive.]

If a birthing drone is captured and taken hostage during a war, the captured birthing drones are automatically taken to the victorious hive, forced to denounce their old tallest, become citizens and laborers under the new tallest's command. They are usually forced to participate in their new hives next fertility festival and attempt to birth another swarm, whether in good enough health to survive another birth or not.

Captured birthing drones are usually treated with less dignity than the native birthing drones of their new hive. They are not given a choice as to whom they mate with either. Many tallests especially during the mid second era to the late third era, never gave their drones the option of choosing their own mates; the tallest determines whose genetics can be mixed and passed on.

[fumikomiyasaki]

𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

Name: Slice (he will never share his OG name)

Based on: Buggy the Clown

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿: Male

𝗔𝗴𝗲: 21

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆: 21th of August

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗴𝗻: Leo

𝗛𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 201 cm

𝗘𝘆𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿: red

𝗛𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗿: blue with red highlight

.

𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗦

𝗗𝗼𝗿𝗺: Nakaumi

School: @deaths-academy-of-combat​

𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿: Fourth year

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀: 4-B

𝗢𝗰𝗰𝘂𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: Vice Dorm Leader

𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯: gets bored of them easy so changes a ton

𝗕𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁: Blade Handling

Homeland: Like he is gonna tell you

Sexuality: Omnisexual

Weapons: a bunch of small blades aside his detachable limbs

.

.

𝗙𝗨𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗦:

𝗗𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱: left

𝗙𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱: Candy in general, Bananas, fishfilet with dill, hot dogs

𝗟𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗼𝗱: allergic to oysters, not fond of avocados and tomatoes,

Likes: Spotlight, chaotic outfits, Pandas, a loud audience,

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝘀: People trying to touch his nose, laughter where its not necessary, being misunderstood,

𝗛𝗼𝗯𝗯𝘆:  sharpening knives, trying out show outfits, Going to theaters and other shows,

𝗧𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀: Knife throwing, slicing, dancing, entertaining, making carvings,

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬:

Slice is to many in his dorm a mystery... aside Erena who met him in a circus, he doesn't really share about his past cause in his eyes he doesn't need to.... he takes pride in what he does and how he performs... as he was younger and Erena worked with him in a circus he always acted slightly like a bigger brother figure to her even if they weren't related... he somewhat liked to hear the whole pirate stories she had to tell him... as well as got curious about it as well... what if he could have a crew of people as weird as he is that could entertain the sea... Shanaya and him moreso have a bond of they bickered a lot when it came to Erenas safety, but in all they are despite the age close friends. Slice has high respect for her and would never let anyone slander her name... hence he often gets misunderstood by students. If he gets angry he is prone to throw a knife in the direction of the one who made him angry but he always aims so he doesn't injure them... its supposed to be a threat... however this led many to fear him and not understand that he only wants them to apoligize. He is pretty hard to read... especially that clowns make up makes it even harder.

He is in actuality a chill guy if you respect his rules, hence Erena gets along with him well, but some comments can come off as kinda threatening and mean. He has a high Ego, saying he is one of the best performers out there, hence he has a slight disliked towards HSAs Flynn, often saying he would love to tear those feathers off of that bird. He also is really fond of the Zodiaste dorm, feeling a bit more comfortable among some fellow clowns, tried to recruit some but always failed.

Unique Magic:

Chop-Chop

Same as his inspo he can split his body into pieces

[comradekatara]

the gaang and associates + their most niche interests?

i love the use of the word associates. their business partners. colleagues, if you will

aang: is "being an air nomad" too out of pocket? ok im gonna go with "noodle portraiture"

katara: ecoterrorism <3

sokka: rhyming haikus (but let's be real, when it comes to "niche interests," the world's his oyster)

toph: i mean........ metalbending

zuko: reading sontag's notes on camp from cover to cover

suki: being so passionate about consuming bad art ironically that it ultimately just circles back around to being sincere

ty lee: does chi-blocking count if she (probably) invented it

mai: well she has exactly one interest and it is knives. so knives

azula: memorizing esoteric knowledge about military history to bust out at parties