#I'm hungry now :(

[skylaryozora]

I'm giving Darcy a group chat nickname: Udon Bangs 🍜

Context: have just rewatched S1E8, sharing my "live" comments on IG stories

[sau-cen]

[drearygenie]

hungry?

heres a kyborger. for dessert, we have a lemon bart. and some gum gum to freshen up after

based off @finnbin saying I should make a kyborger and the rest just came to me

(I didn't make a mudd one because it seems obvious but also the food theme THE FOOD THEME)

(I also just thought of gumbo while making this post I'll be back)

[sadlynotthevoid]

Last night I was watching Kotaro Lives Alone clips before sleeping. So now today I opened Wind Breaker's manga, hoping to read some shounen touchy fights and fools fooling around—

Instead I got face slapped by Suzuri and Hajime's stories.

I'm not fine. I can't stop thinking about tissues and what Sakura's past must be like if the other stories in this manga are like this.

I mean, he seems to be someone who learns from what he observes and experiences, trying to get the best out of it. He's really pensative. When people at Makochi were slightly kind to him (like Kotoha saying thank you and giving him a meal— that's just— wtf, Sakura's unknown hometown?!) he pays it back with kindness (protecting her).

Even before that, he went and helped her expecting her to run away or something, not gratitude (which only talks about how good he is, besides making me sad, ofc). But he had not idea what being treated with kindness feels like. Little buddy was surprised when Togame, the guy he was going to fight to, called him without honorifics, saying it's the first time someone called his name like that.

Just— how many tissues I'm going to need if the author goes in detail about his backstory? And how many more am I going to need when I remember Kotaro and tv guy ate them?

[fellowmellowo]

is it just my autism or do these cubes look really delicious?

[morbidlychubese]

the best part of having you as my blubberfuck is getting to humiliate your lardass. i turned off the tube to your stomach and threatened that it’ll stay off until you sit up for me. you don’t need to be able to open your eyes or move your soft lips for me to see the worry on your fat face. you haven’t been able to move a finger in over a year, much less sit up on your own. hell, even when i helped you sit up, the pressure on your heart caused you to pass out, and i’m asking you to get up yourself? you wouldn’t even think of attempting that, except you have no choice. you haven’t been without something pumped into you for longer than two minutes in the three years since i brought you here. so you try, ushering all your strength to use the momentum of your whale body. but it doesn’t work. you barely lifted six inches before coming crashing back down on the roller king sized bed you’re hanging off of. your blubber ripples harder than the atlantic ocean on the night the titanic sunk. fucking hell, i’m wet just watching your pathetic attempts. something like a cry made it’s way around the tube down your throat, you skin feeling like it’s about to burst from the movement. you think i’m moving to turn the pump back on, but all i’ve done is lean down next to your ear. you can hear some, it’s one of the few senses your fat hasn’t halted. “you absolute blubberfuck, do it again.”

FUUCKK, THIS IS SO HOTT. I moaned out loud while reading this. That's how badly I need this. No, I am genuinely destined for this. I don't care about being unable to lift a finger, or speak due to the tube in my throat. All I care about is the fact that you said I could have a tube down my throat so I could eat constantly.

[shadows-of-almsivi]

For the writing prompt list: 18 & 15

18: Autumnal

The old ostler put out a notice for a horse trainer, when the Rorikstead crops were coming into their height. A small room for my boarding built into the stable, a meal and ten septims a day were, apparently, enough to buy me, to my own surprise. Still, it is only until the ostler’s son returns from some wedding or other, and I’d grown tired of sleeping on stony ground.

It’s been rather a delight for me here, truth be told, though the pay is poor and the work leaves my body numb with exhaustion. Horses are a fondness of mine, and even the meanest and foulest-tempered of the beasts passing through the ostler’s yards can kindle a little tenderness from me. I’m tasked to breathe a little spirit back into these worn-out old carriage drafts, to take wild-eyed Reach ponies and make them fit for the smallest child’s first saddle, and by and large I do succeed by some measure. Having no friends here to speak to nor inclination to find any, I spend all of my time with the horses, and the training goes all the swifter for the closer attention. The ostler seems pleased with my progress, as am I.

Is this what it would have been like, to have held more conventional employment?

The mare I’m working today is a lively young Chorrol Red, near leaping out of her skin with excitement to be out of her stall. I can feel, in the shiver of her flank against my calves, how badly she wants to canter headlong into the open field, kicking free the stiffness of those long and boring days in the stable. Her previous master ought to be ashamed, to have let such a high-natured beast molder away indoors before trading her to us.

Her hooves churn the dirt as she dances anxiously in place. The brass bells about her bridle and breastplate, the training-tack for horses prone to flight or nerves, chime at every restless step. I hold her reins just firm enough to let her feel me; I prefer the more subtle touch of directing from the knee, but she’s liable to bolt without the extra guidance. Her breed is known more for racing and courier work than for level-headedness, more spirit than sense perhaps. She sees open grass before her and nothing else, and I’d best not let her have her head or else she’s likely to throw me at once, or snap a slender leg on some hidden stone outcrop.

But still, how beautiful she is, how uncommonly fine for this place. That rich chestnut coat shines so lovely in the pale sun, bright as a new-minted copper flashing between a street-magician’s knuckles. Her restlessness is infectious; I find myself, too, looking over those rolling plains with sudden, aching longing. There’s a crispness to the morning air that would feel wonderful raking through my hair, a sluggishness to my blood from my days here that I can’t wait to shake loose. Honest labor has its sweetness, but precious little thrill has stirred me since taking up the old ostler’s offer.

Perhaps a sprint down the road to the bridge would let us both focus a little better…

15: Soup.

I’d had such hope for a good fish soup for tonight. I should know better than to think of cooking before the catch, it’s bad luck to fish with a certain recipe in mind. My nets came up in empty tatters, gnawed through and picked clean. I’d thought slaughterfish, of course, until I heard those bellowing, ugly barks from a ways past the shoreline. I was surprised to see one in a lake; Skyrim’s fauna continues to astound me the longer I stay here.

But, regardless, curiosity does not fill the stewpot. No fish soup tonight, but my recipes adapt.

Tonight, then, it is seal.

I have heard horker is best treated like pork, and a seal shouldn’t be much different, I imagine. With this in mind, I selected a shoulder, diced middling-sized, and one fin to enrich the broth. The skin I set aside; its fur carries lovely marbled markings, and should be a fair trade for a new net at the tradehouse.

The raw meat was a deep red, less like an apple and more like wine, almost the same as the wine I poured into the hissing iron pot to steam and spit. Some cabbage I added next, some garlic, a little mora tapinella from the morning’s walk. Finally, a couple of bees, finely ground, just for alchemical safety-- I don’t believe the mushrooms’ poison to survive a long cooking, but you can never be too careful.

Now, the house smells quite delightful, and I can put my feet up for a while. The soup will want a few hours over a gentle fire, and I have some reading to catch up on.

[syoddeye]

🐮 :)

oh my god i need that hat! but i do not like pickles :(

[palmtreepalmtree]

Seriously though, why does it take so much work to have people over?

[faunabel]

actually wait... all of u

what are YOU guys' favorite pastas???

i have,,, a lot. i love rigatoni and ditalini and conchiglie (rigate) and pappardelle and cavatappi and tortellini and pipe rigate and tagliatelle and gemelli and gnocchi

but i think my ultimate faves are conchiglie and cavatappi <3 and tortellini but it has to be prepared well to be good. omg... i love well-prepared tortellini

[lil-gae-disaster]

I just sat over 5h-6h over a diamond painting

My neck hurts

My back hurts

I'm hungry ;-;

[doctor-aceus-art]

Another random day at the Enby-partment with the chaos trio

Left to right:

Jay (my OC)

Quill (@jellyaris )

Reed (@shoddy0-0 )

[thedeadestletter]

Eero's instagram story, January 18, 2023

[junipernln]

hey man check out this sweet pizza I made

I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and say you forgot to attach the image.

Yall are always good to send me food pics, please do. Submissions are open!

[the-fish-queen]

I'm literally Italian

[niktheniknik]

I crave creamy soup - garlic soup, heavy cream soup, potato soup, vegetable blend

It's 2AM and i crave soup and i can't cook any right now

All i can do is save recipes on pinterest and hope I'll remember to make some later