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nyoomerr · 4 months ago

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Fic prompt: SY is the chosen cleric of LBH, the world's most possessive divine emperor, accent on the divine. He did not sign up for this. (Meanwhile, LBH is trying to figure out how he can fit a divine empress into this pantheon)

i actually got very into this AU once i thought about it for 0.5 seconds, so here's a lil drabble that i hope to expand on and put on ao3 in the future ;>

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Shen Yuan wouldn’t consider himself to be particularly religious. He believed in the gods, of course - the proof of their existence is written on every street corner and under every roof. The lights of the city that have no discernible power source outside of the goddess of invention herself, the unemptiable food basket that had been gifted to Shen Yuan’s father by the god of plenty, the buzz of raw energy in the air each weekend when the city gathers to say its prayers.

Undoubtedly, Shen Yuan had grown up in a city blessed by the gods, so naturally he believes in them. He just doesn’t much care for them.

A city blessed by the gods is also a city kept by them, after all. No inventions that could possibly be construed as a weapon would ever be approved by the ministry of creation. No civil courts existed when the gods could directly send down divine punishment to sinners.

No life in the city would ever survive if the gods found it unworthy.

Shen Yuan knew, objectively, why the rules of the gods were so strict. Divine Emperor Luo wrote them himself, and each one had been crafted specifically to prevent the sort of strife and abuse that he had witnessed when he was a mere mortal. Every schoolchild learns the story of the pitiful Luo Binghe who struggled to reach the heavens, faced every day with proof of humanity’s dishonor and ugliness.

When that pathetic Luo Binghe had awakened his blood as the Divine Emperor, he’d immediately sought to rewrite the rules of the heavens to fix the issues he’d seen as a mortal. It made sense. It even worked, to some objective degree of measurement: starvation and war between human lands was barely heard of, these days.

Shen Yuan casts his eyes up to the ceiling of the chapel. A mural of Divine Emperor Luo is painted in bright splashes of color, his eyes piercing down at the viewer as he holds a drink in one hand and a woman in the other. An image of wealth and wellness; a warning to stay in line if you wish for a similar happy ending.

Shen Yuan thinks that the Divine Emperor must truly have had a hard life, to rule as such an immature god. A child that never got the chance to grow up freely, now imposing their black-and-white outlook of life on an entire land of people who are mature enough to understand that life isn’t so simple.

Shen Yuan looks back down, peering through barely open eyes at his feet. He isn’t supposed to have his eyes open at all, during prayer. It’s just - despite the issues he has with the gods’ reign, and despite the apathy he feels in place of admiration or piety, he really can’t help but think -

How pitiful, to have ascended without first understanding the joy of being human. How sad, to have your ‘happy ending’ worshiped by the masses without understanding it yourself, believing it to be good only because it follows your own strict rules.

Shen Yuan sighs, a quiet release of air in the quiet of the chapel.

His next breath in feels electric.

The vaulted ceilings of the chapel suddenly feel claustrophobic. The quiet hum of hands rubbing against hands in silent prayer rises to a crescendo of skin and movement and life. What low light the candles lining the pews had provided now burns as brightly as the light of a hundred divine lanterns, but there isn’t anywhere Shen Yuan can cast his eyes towards that is less shocking to look at.

And there, at the front of the chapel, is a god.

Shen Yuan’s breath catches. He can’t look away. The god is beautiful; more divine than any blessing that Shen Yuan has ever witnessed.

He is also looking directly at Shen Yuan, meeting his gaze through half lidded eyes and with the laziness of an apex predator.

Around Shen Yuan, the other church-goers have begun to break from their prayers, startled and choking on the divine presence around them. Many of them dare to sneak peeks at the descended god, but none of them seem able to look directly at him, their eyes sliding off of him before they quickly duck their heads and take up the pose of prayer once more.

Shen Yuan still can’t look away.

Slowly, the god steps down from the pulpit and begins to approach. He doesn’t bother to look at Shen Yuan as he moves forward, casually glancing around the chapel as if assessing it. His eyes catch on the mural on the ceiling - his own face looking down at him, though paling in comparison to the beauty and power of the real thing.

And then he pulls his eyes back to Shen Yuan, and Shen Yuan realizes with a start that he’s stopped walking, standing directly in front of the pew Shen Yuan is sitting in.

Shen Yuan wets his lips. His pulse beats jack-rabbit fast in his throat.

“Divine Emperor Luo,” he greets. “How - how can I serve you?”

The weight of the Divine Emperor’s attention is no lighter than if Shen Yuan had held the entire ocean on his shoulders. He looks at Shen Yuan as if he might eat him, and expects Shen Yuan to thank him for the honor of filling a divine stomach.

“Do you think you can?” He asks, and Shen Yuan shudders at the sound of his voice. An infinitely powerful being, and he’s speaking to Shen Yuan as if Shen Yuan were a peculiarity, something fit to either be played with or disposed of once the god has finished assessing him.

“Can I - um, my apologies, Divine Emperor, can I…?”

“Serve me,” The gods says. “Or did you offer such a thing unthinkingly?”

Shen Yuan stares at him. Divine Emperor Luo stares back, his gaze sharp as he takes Shen Yuan in.

“Can you,” Divine Emperor Luo says, voice low and dangerous, “serve a god that you see as pitiful?”

Shen Yuan jerks back as if slapped. How useless would it be to say that he hadn’t meant it? If a god can hear any thought about them, not only directed prayers - for certainly, Shen Yuan’s private ruminations about the tragedy of Luo Binghe’s story had been nothing like a prayer, and yet they had clearly been heard - then there is no point in lying. If Shen Yuan were to claim one thing with his mouth and another with his mind, he’d only be branded one of the many sinners to be smited by the Divine Emperor’s just hand. Deceit was hardly looked favorably upon; to lie to a god that could hear the truth from your own mind would be suicide.

Shen Yuan hesitates. At his back, he knows his family must be terrified, and yet he also knows that they dare not look at the Divine Emperor, and that their heads must be bowed in prayer like everyone else in the chapel.

A room with a hundred people, and it may as well just be Shen Yuan and his god.

The Divine Emperor’s lips quirk up. It isn’t a friendly expression.

“Your god, little Shen Yuan?” He asks cruelly. “You can pity me, and you can know in your heart that you are incapable of serving me, and yet you claim to be devout to me in the same breath?”

“Aren’t I yours, Divine Emperor?” Shen Yuan asks. His voice does not waver, but it is a near thing. “If I didn’t belong to you, could I dare to live in this city? Every living thing here must live by your rule; naturally, we must all belong to you.”

“What pretty words,” Divine Emperor Luo says. His eyes glint red from beneath his lashes, and Shen Yuan thinks -

Ah, so red is truly the color of the divine.

Divine Emperor Luo’s eyes are very suddenly the same deep brown that his murals all portray him with. Shen Yuan lowers his gaze deferentially, and wonders idly if all the other too-sharp pieces of the Divine Emperor would smooth out if Shen Yuan’s thoughts lingered on them.

“If Divine Emperor Luo finds my words pretty, then I will dare to keep speaking,” Shen Yuan says, keeping his eyes turned down.

“Go on, then. Speak.”

Shen Yuan takes a shuddering breath in. His family is still cowering behind him. The old lady who lives down the street is shaking in her pew across the aisle.

And Shen Yuan has never considered himself especially religious, because believing in the gods is very different from placing your faith in them.

“To spy is the manifestation of distrust,” Shen Yuan recites, the words long since memorized after a lifetime of growing up under the gods’ many rules about morality and punishment. “A lack of trust in others implies something impure within yourself. Spying should be punished with ten lashes.”

Shen Yuan’s mother lets out a quiet sound of alarm, stifled so quickly it sounds like a whimper. Shen Yuan does not bother to send her any sort of mental apology; it would not reach her, and would instead be intercepted by an outsider.

Besides, Shen Yuan had known well what he was doing, quoting the rules that the Divine Emperor had written right back at him, implying that a god should be punished. It would be foolish to apologize for something he had done so purposefully.

“Spying,” Divine Emperor Luo says, after the silence in the chapel has stretched long. “What a funny way to describe listening to the prayers of my followers. Is it spying for you to hear a call made to you from within your own house?”

“If all of the prayers that the Divine Emperor receives sound like what he heard from me,” Shen Yuan says, glancing back up to meet the god’s eyes defiantly. “Then I wonder why he hasn’t bothered to descend before today to scold us all.”

“Does little Shen Yuan think I will scold him?” Divine Emperor Luo asks, voice soft.

“I think,” Shen Yuan says, “that a god normally so busy with punishing us would not bother to descend unless it was to fulfill those duties.”

“The world is good, from the work that I do,” Divine Emperor Luo says sharply.

“Is it?” Shen Yuan asks, and he finds that his fear has been pushed down, his chest tight with a lifetime of reading about the gods and wondering why, if Luo Binghe’s life was so miserable, would he be unable to recognize misery in his own subjects, living every day in fear of him?

Luo Binghe had been pitiful, and he’d never been allowed to grow up peacefully, and Shen Yuan truly thinks it sad that a divine being could live in such a tragic way.

But that doesn’t make him blind to the way that Luo Binghe’s immaturity has scorched the mortal plane, nor does his pity completely dissolve his anger over such a thing.

Shen Yuan’s fate had been sealed from the moment they the Divine Emperor had descended. If he’s going to be punished regardless, then it will be for having said his piece.

Dying from bitching this pathetic god out is a far better story than dying from having only thought it.

And yet, before Shen Yuan can open his mouth again -

The Divine Emperor turns suddenly, facing the cleric at the front of the chapel. The old man is clutching at his prayer book with shaking hands, and he ducks his head instantly when the god looks his way.

“Take him in as a disciple,” Divine Emperor Luo commands, gesturing lazily in Shen Yuan’s direction. “I want him trained and moved to the main church by the end of the year.”

Shen Yuan looks at the cleric, and then back at the god in front of him. He - what?

The Divine Emperor glances back at Shen Yuan, his lips quirked up and his eyes once more a blazing red.

“There’s another reason for a god to descend than to administer punishment,” he says. “We must also appoint clerics.”

And then Divine Emperor Luo is gone, the space where he once stood crackling with divine energy.

In disbelief, Shen Yuan - the first cleric to be personally appointed by the Divine Emperor in nearly a century - falls to his knees. Fuck, he thinks, and he hopes that the god is still listening to hear it.

#and then bingge keeps bothering this cleric that he appointed half out of curiosity/pettiness #and half out of genuine desire to be around someone who's willing to bitch him out / not be so deferential #and he naturally starts falling for sy and tries to remake the world to sy's tastes 😌#svsss #binggeyuan #fic drabble

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itsabouttimex2 · 3 months ago

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Y/N’s not the Beloved?

(At least, not at first)

Thinking so hard about Y/N just… not being the “beloved” in the yandere dynamics, and instead being the “neglected” party.

Just, like-

It’s not that Sun Wukong and Macaque don’t love you for being their precious adopted kiddo, but… you’re “just” a person, and you don’t have a tail or fur to groom like them. You can’t climb as well as they can, and you don’t have fangs. And you just aren’t strong enough to keep up.

So there’s this inherent disparity, and you feel sometimes more like a guest than a member of the family.

But then MK’s rock comes along! And then it hatches and there’s a new little monkey in the family for them dote on! They have a new baby, one that’s just like them!

In a way that you just… aren’t.

You just can’t compare. Sure, they still love you- you’re never hungry or cold, your clothes are plentiful, and they still support your interests, but…

They just don’t love you like they love him.

Because MK gets the nicest things, in all the ways you didn’t. He gets brand new clothes just right for a growing boy with a true form that fractures in and out of existence. But many of your “new” clothes have to be hastily sewn up because they’re hand-me-downs from Papa, and they had ear and tail slits- they were made for Mystic Monkeys, after all!

(And you aren’t one of them, no matter how hard you try to be.)

And MK gets his favorite foods and snacks whenever he asks, no matter how far Baba has to travel or how many stores his clones have to trawl to find those illusive treats. And when he digs in, you think of the times Papa taught you to “appreciate” his hard work in the kitchen by making you eat every bite of a meal he made, even if you gagged and coughed through it… but MK gets full impunity to have sides replaced whenever he decides a food is “yucky” without even trying it.

You got gifts for being well-behaved or accomplishing goals, but MK gets them for simply asking. You got money by doing extra chores or babysitting the mountain monkeys. MK is given it because your dads are in a good mood.

Not to mention how many of your hobbies and free days are undermined because you “need” to babysit the favorite child.

So on, and so forth.

And then one day it all grinds to a peak and you can’t take the favoritism anymore, so you eventually have the quietest messy breakdown known to man in the ungodly hours of the morning. When you finally manage to pull yourself together, the decision is promptly made- with a tightly-packed bag in tow, you sneak out through a window, clamber down the house walls, and disappear beyond the horizon.

And Macaque and Wukong are devastated, obviously. Sure, you aren’t the “beloved”, which is clearly MK, but you’re still their baby!

BUT! It gets even worse, because for all the worry in their hearts, MK is even worse!

He throws tantrums and rejects food and has uncontrollable fits where he bites bloody marks into his arms through hysteric tears. And even when the kiddo isn’t screaming his bloodied little mouth off, it’s only to scream for you to come back.

So, while they would’ve always made an honest effort to bring you back home (this is your home, even if it doesn’t always feel like it), having their “beloved” child start to genuinely harm himself over your absence only ramps up the efforts to get their first kid back.

“Open the door,” comes your papa’s tempered voice, barely second after you’ve registered the knock. “C’mon, kiddo. We need to talk.”

His foot meets the wooden door, tapping and testing the strength- not that there was really any question he could clear the flimsy barrier.

Tap. Tap.

At the pause, you drop everything and scramble into the closet, right as Macaque kicks through the door with a huff. The leather of his boot catches the light with a dark gleam, but he retracts it and readies for another blow.

“You in, Mac?”

“Not yet- I missed.”

His next strike lands true, shredding the cheap doorknob out of place so forcefully that it tears through the glass window behind it and disappears into the bushes behind the hotel, entirely flattened into a copper disk.

“Not bad,” cheers Wukong, peering into the wrecked room. “Not bad at all, bud!”

With a hand clasped over your mouth to muffle the sound of shallow breathing, you hunker down and wait- with a bitter thought at how casual they are about all this.

Didn’t they realize how badly hurt you were by the unabashed favoritism, the constant coming in second, the unending isolation?

How could they treat this like a casual outing?

“Alright, bud- pack your bags and put on something warm! We’re heading home!

Just barely you manage to bite back a cry of frustration over this miserable circumstance, expected to return to a home that had essentially shunted you aside.

“C’mon, brat. Did you really think we’d let you spend any more time in this hellhole? The mountain is a lot safer, anyways.”

You don’t even realize that Macaque is reaching into the closet until he has your upper arm in his hold, pulling until you’ve cleared the wooden threshold molding between your sanctuary and the living space.

Barely even on your feet, Wukong is upon you with a scarf, wrapping it tight and finishing with a neat bow.

“You know, MK really missed you,” he sighs, thinking of tantrums that spanned hours and the smell of mold in the kitchen when food the child flung had spilled under the counter and gone unnoticed for far too long.

Why should you care that their baby was suffering?

But whether you care or not (and they’re certainly not waiting for your opinion), they’re going to take you “home”.

With Wukong’s hand to wrap around your shoulders and Macaque’s to grip your wrist, they slowly march the way back to the precious little Mystic Monkey that you’ve come to hate.

And though your heart turns over at the sight of MK wailing on the floor, there’s this strange discomfort that arises when they call it that:

“Y/N is back!”

and it prompts an immediate end of his formerly hysterical waterworks?

Because he runs to you and throws both of his chubby little arms around your legs, demanding that you “never ever leave again!” and both of your dads are right behind him, because their son gets whatever he wants, when he wants it-

And what MK wants is you.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere MK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Monkiefam #Shadowpeach #Yandere Father #Yandere Brother #TW: Self Harm #Not The Beloved

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hyper-pixels · 8 months ago

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How to Grow Up

A guide on how to grow up. It was originally posted by @/friendliness but half the links were broken. So I took what links weren't broken and added other links and more things to know.

This is USA based resources

Personal

Reasons to Stay Alive – A Tumblr post of 116 reasons to stay alive by @/friendliness.

How to Get Better At Asking for Help – Website is Harvard Business Review. The article is “5 Ways to Get Better At Asking for Help” by Wayne Baker.

What to do if you Can’t Afford Therapy – Website is Psych Central and the article is by Steven Rowe.

How to Quit Smoking – “The 22 Best Ways to Quit Smoking” by Debra L. Gordon and David L. Katz M.D. from the Healthy Digest.

How to Legally Change your Name – Website is Forbes.

Wanna Learn Something New? – A Tumblr post made by @/hamletthedane with various new things to try from language learning to ballet.

Free Harvard Courses – Harvard University’s free online courses.

Getting a New Computer? – A quick and dirty comprehensive guide by WIRED on what to look for.

How to Sew – Website is Autodesk Indestructibles. The article is “How to Sew” by Jessyratfink. Having a small sewing kit (that you can pick up from nearly any craft store) is super handy and has saved my life and clothes.

What to Look For in Clothes A YouTube video by Alyssa Beltempo titled “How to Identify High Quality vs. Poor Quality Clothing | Slow Fashion”. Here’s a WikiHow [x] if a YouTube video isn’t your style.

Dealing with Executive Dysfunction – A Tumblr post made by @/compassionatereminders. It's a list to more links on how to deal with executive dysfunction.

Another List Like this One – A Tumblr post made by a now deactivated account. It's a list much like this one.

Home

What’s a mortgage? – Website is realtor.com and the page is called “What is a Mortgage? Home Loan Basics Explained” by Cathie Ericson.

First Apartment Checklist – A checklist PDF. Here’s another link to a Tumblr checklist [x]

What to Ask Landlords Before Renting? – “25 Questions To Ask a Landlord When Renting a Home” by Morgen Henderson.

What’s Renter’s Insurance? – Website is Forbes Advisor. The article is by Jason Metz and titled “How to Get Renters Insurance”.

Plant Care – A master list of how to care for plants made by @/difficults

Job

Time Management – Website is Entrepenuer and has 10 time management tips. One I personally recommend is keeping a physical calendar book on hand. I keep mine in my bag with a designated pen.

Finding the right job – Website is The Muse and it has 13 free career assessment tests.

Make a resume – Website is Resume Now. Many hirers look at your name, the middle of the page (where your experience list is) and skim the rest.

Job Interview Tips – Website is Linkedin. The article is titled “10 Job Interview Tips to Land The Career of Your Dreams” by Caren Merrick.

How to Write a Cover Letter – Website is The Writing Center. University of Winsconsin, Madison. It’s titled “Writing Cover Letters” and I can’t find the author.

Money

Couponing! – Website is Coupon Database :: Southern Savers. It has a list of mobile apps for coupons to places.

Call 211 for Help – the website leads to 211.org. It's anonymous and can help you get connected to food programs, paying bills and things like doctor appointments. Here’s a Tumblr post about it [x] by @/poessionisamyth

Groceries! – This is a Tumblr meme post, but scrolling through tags/reblogs/replies and there’s plenty of good tips. The post is by @/charlotten

What To Do if You Can’t Pay Your Bills – Website is Nolo. The article is “When You Can’t Pay Your Bills: Thiings To Know” that was updated by Amy Loftsgordon.

Are You Paying Too Much for Your Phone Bill? – An article by Beht Beverman titled “How Much is Too Much to Pay for a Cell Phone Bill?”.

54 Ways to Save Money – Website is America Saves.

How to Do Taxes – Website is Wiki-How.

The 70/20/10 Method – Website is Business Insider. The Article is “A Beginners Guide to the 70-20–10 Budgeting Method” by Paul Kim.

Side Hustle Ideas – Website is Forbes. “30 Side Hustle Ideas To Make Extra Money In 2024” by Krista Fabregas.

Emergency

Your Rights When a Cop Pulls you Over – Website is Business Insider. Cops are allowed to lie to you, and they will, so be careful.

Hotline List – The website is DoSomething.org. Depression/Suicide, domestic abuse, child abuse and runaway/homeless/and at-risk youth hotlines.

What to Keep in Your Car – Website is MentalFloss. I live in a snowy area that gets blizzards and bad ice. I keep blankets, water and other aids in my car as well as a knife and road flare. I also own a self jumping car battery and it has saved my ass more than once. Heimlich Maneuver – A one minute video by the Mayo Clinic.

The Heimlich Maneuver on Yourself – A one minute video by The List Show TV.

What to Keep in Your Wallet – Website is PureWow. The article is by Rachel Bowie. Keep your drivers license, medical insurance card, and an emergency contact in your card. If you have a pet home alone make sure that you have a card detailing this. Free printable one here [x]

Traveling

Packing List – Website is Smarter Travel.

Traveling with Little to No Money – Website is Nomadic Matt.

How to Pack a Suitcase – Website is Real Simple. The article is by Thersa O’Rourke.

How to Apply for a Passport – Website is WikkiHow.

Making a Travel Budget – Website is Travel Made Simple. “How to Make a Travel Budget” by Ali Garland

#how to grow up #list #housing #living on your own #insurance #traveling #may update more and refine over time

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gundawifey-inactive · 9 months ago

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𝕄𝕒𝕞𝕒'𝕤 𝔹𝕠𝕪

Bo Sinclair x Fem! Reader Smut !18+! !MDNI! Syn. Bo has the tendency to compare his wife to his mom, and she's getting real sick of it. Tags. unprotected sex, p in v, housewife-reader, toxic/dysfunctional marriage, implied verbal abuse, mommy-kink, hurt/comfort, slightest breeding-kink, mommy-issues (Bo's, not child's), Bo & reader's son's name is Billy, (no use of y/n) Word Count. 2.9k

Droplets of scalding oil fly off the heavily greased pan and hit your skin like prickles, shit hurts. Not as much as your eardrums do, though, same as your other arm you aren't using to hold the handle of the pan that's carrying the twenty-five-pound toddler in your other arm that's screaming bloody murder.

"'Wanna play outside! MORE PLAYTIME!" another shriek of baby babbles wrecks the barrier protecting the shell of your ear. You groan, attempting to bounce Billy while also attempting to not burn the dinner on the pan, yeah that'd hurt more. Bo's been working 'round Ambrose all day, as usual, you don't need two temper tantrums to deal with over a burnt supper.

"God damn.." You suck in a breath when Billy knees into your side and you almost drop the food cooking. He's a growing boy for sure, pudgy small legs of his grown enough to land some fatal kicks. Bo would've laughed, except it's not funny, not when you're the one dealing with the kid all day. "You can't go outside, it's late baby." You try and reason with the kid, but you know, he's a kid.

"No! Wanna play! WANNA PLAY OUTSIDE!" He retorts, it's a nonexistent counter-point, not like he could make one anyway, his vocabulary is as small as he is.

Another bubble of sizzling oil scars your wrist shaking the pan and you damn near snap at it. All things considered, to say you were overwhelmed is an understatement. The grip you have on Billy snugs and you let go of the panhandle, leaving the frying food on the stove, instead drifting your full attention to Billy's.

"Enough." You elongate your words, mommy voice pitching deep and you wrap both hands around him, staring him down. "Daddy's gonna be home soon and that means supper then bed for you, no more playtime, 'specially when it's dark out." You scold. Billy whines and tosses around in your arms, dramatic showmanship but doesn't screech back at you anymore, at least.

At this point, your patience is out the window, and while thank god your ears ain't bleeding, you need the toddler to just calm down so you can get back to finishing up dinner. About to burst, the door swings open first, cutting off the next little lecture you were going to dump on Billy, familiar taps on the old wooded floor, Bo's home.

His boot turns and he grins at you and Billy, stepping to the kitchen quickly. "How're my babies?" Bo said before he could really process the exact situation he stepped into.

Turning to face Bo rather than the miniature of him in your arms, your brows furrow at him, and Billy just keeps, whining. Squirming around in your arms while you glare at Bo, not that you're mad at him, okay maybe you are but not justifiably, at the moment you're just mad. Bo doesn't acknowledge it, instead looking around then to the stove.

Shit, dinner.

"You burnt supper," He gestures to the now char-blacked mix of ingredients inside the pan, nose and eyes crinkling in disgust at it. Funny, he's seen plenty of burnt shit, like corpses, but god forbid his dinner be burnt.

You choose to ignore the statement. "Can you take him?" You ask instead, reaching your arms outward for Bo to take Billy out of them. He wails between your arms, tiny nails digging into your skin while you try to hand him to Bo, let him help out.

"Can't handle him yourself?" Bo replies and doesn't take Billy out your arms, raising a judgemental brow at you.

"Just take him so I can fix the food." You respond, nudging your chin up in the direction of Billy for Bo to take him, but he doesn't.

"Bo." His name parts from you in a restrained growl.

Billy is out of your arms into Bo's now, but there isn't any sweetness in the expression Bo gives you when he does. Mercy isn't present in his gesture, taking the kid and giving you another judgy look in lieu of a willing expression as he does.

Circling between the kitchen to living room Bo rocks Billy over his shoulder, letting him wail it out till he gets exhausted by his fit. Eventually, the whines soften to snores. A momentary silence as Bo rocks him in his arms, you opting out of remaking the earlier failed meal with Billy now sound asleep. For a second your eyes meet Bo's while you wash the burnt remains off of the pan, as he walks off with the sleeping toddler to put him to bed.

"Need help with that too?" He balances himself against the hardwood kitchen counter clicking his tongue from behind you, there's the tiniest amount of condescension in his voice. See that, that shit hurts a lot more than hot oil. Can't control that mouth of his, has a mind of its own, he told you once too many times by now when, if, he'd bother to check up on you after airing out his bullshit onto you.

"No." You've learned not to engage with whatever got him pissed by now, not with Bo. Vincent doesn't, hell even Lester doesn't, why would you? Would be stupid to. Not like he hits you or anything anyway, just mouths off sick filth with absolutely no filter. Got the worst of tempers but he does enough gutting and beating in his own time when getting Vincent his wax muses.

A mock laugh erupts from Bo and he tilts himself forward to your side of the kitchen, leaning over the sink to look you in the eye. Once again, you ignore the bubbling rage emanating from him, boiling up. But you can handle heat. Spend half your day on the frypan taking care of the boys, even if it means the boys just burn you twice as much.

Bo sucks in his teeth, and you can feel the room getting warmer, not the arousing kind, Bo's signature can be being a horny fucking mess, but also an angry one. "I don't get it." He scoffs, shaking his head at the unsaid words he isn't even gonna try and hold back on. "It's one kid, for fucks sake."

Now this, you know where this one's going. Reuccering theme of your husbands, the never-ending need to nitpick at your parenting. He bitches about damn well everything, but there are those times you feel the tips of your nerves itch all wrong, like a sixth sense at this point when he's about to spit those abhorrent words.

"My Mama managed fine with three so," Ah, there it is, your least favourite words to ever grace God's green earth. Broken record at this point with how often Bo brings it up. 'My Mama never-' 'My Mama did-' Words that seemed to toss any left sanity you had in you into the fire you thought you had grown used to, but no you didn't. Because it burns more hellish each time it's said.

"I'm sure she did." Your teeth grit while you speak feigning little control as you try and remain docile, not to fan the flame any further.

"Shouldn't be burnin' dinner, you know your way 'round a fire." He adds, voice raising with each sentence. Damn straight you know your way around a fire, dealing with Bo's frenzies all the time, you've gone numb to the temperature he inflicts with his tongue.

"Billy was having a tantrum." You gently defend.

"You call that a tantrum?" Bo snorts, taunting the notion. "Small lil hissy-fit at best, darlin'. My Mama ain't never burnt no meals over my tantrums."

"Well, I'm not your Mama." You snarl cutting him off, pupils jolting away from the dish you were scrubbing to Bo's. Sick and tired is one way to describe the crazy you were experiencing right now at Bo's statements. A band snapping in the kitchen between you and him

The edge of his shoulders stiffens into a line, and for the first time since you've known him, you think you've burnt him instead. A woefully pathetic air casts in his over his eyes, turning pitiable. "No, you're not." He replies as if he's testing the words, tasting them in his mouth as he verbalizes them, and they taste bittersweet sort of wrong. An unfortunate truth.

Not sure if you're more shocked at yourself, or Bo right now you simply pause at the sight. Bo is, in fact, not yelling back at you. Shutting you up in some pseudo-volume battle that'd sure to have woken up anyone asleep in the house. Instead, he just looks at you like a kicked dog, not too far from what he was, his life considered.

The air goes cold, bedsheets feeling extra plush around you, that sort of featherlight coolness engulfing you on the bed, odd. Rarely cold in Ambrose, even in the dead of night. Much less soft, you're more used to suffocating in heat, wax requires it to meld and shape, And Bo pours it out in all his hot-headed tantrums you get burdened with.

Bed post creaking you look over your shoulder from your side and the familiar dip on the other side has Bo there finding his usual spot beside you.

This isn't hellfire hot, this is limbo, off-putting quietude, yet not tranquil. A second passes and Bo just stares off at the rusted ceiling. Did you break Bo? Did you fuck it up this time, like seriously fuck it up with what you said? More disturbed by the blue tune of silence than hollering, you turn completely to him.

"Uhm," You start, unsure of where you're going with your question. "You still mad at me?" If he was, you're sure you would've known it, Bo doesn't shy away from his anger or showcasing it. Still, you question.

"I'm not mad at you, darlin'." Bo sighs, shutting his eyes to avoid yours, wrinkles of the eyelid creasing in some kind of negative emotion.

Gently rolling to Bo's side you land atop his chest pressing your cheek flat against it, hearing the thump of his heart, familiarized with it by now. His arm finds place around your side rubbing your back instinctively. "Just, you know, my Mama... My Mama was real different than ya. Different to how you're with Billy."

There's an internal tick being set off because you've heard him sing this song too many times, about his Mama. Not that you had anything against the lady, bless her for raising your man, and bless your man for respecting her, it's sweet. But it's the constant comparing that had you getting all worked up.

"Different to how you're with me..." He adds, swallowing back a lump, and perhaps if you haven't gone crazy officially, a tear as well. So, this is not where you were expecting the conversation to go. Bo's not mad, not picking at you for the expectation his mother set.

"You're so, so patient. With Billy, with me." He praises, he's praising you. Not mad, not disappointed, grateful. "Don't hurt me, at all, only," He groans, the bridge of his brow pinching, eyes still shut as he speaks. A vulnerability in his tone. "You only do me good. Make me feel good." He means it all, with complete genuineness. Almost as though he's shocked at you for it, 'cause Bo's never seen you hit Billy, the kid's only got scars from scruffy tree branches that scrapped his knees. Bo's are all too vivid, leather and duct tape that's no longer there but still stings in his wrists and ankles. Never knew a woman could get so gentle, not with how his mama was, yet you were.

You smooth a hand over his chest where you lay, up to his cheek, hovering over his waterline wiping off the tears before they've fallen with a soft motion. "Shh, Bo." You soothe.

"Christ darlin'. You're such a good Mommy..." Bo murmurs, releasing a shaky breath, opening his eyes to look at you. Disbelief apparent from the quake rumbling through the way he speaks right now. He mumbles something else intangible and pulls you flush closer to him.

Sweat salts your skin, snapping hips up and down against each other room re-enveloped with familiar warmth while you swallow him whole.

"O-Ohh.. S'good, such a good boy, Bo." You warble in mixed moans, absolutely drenching the sheets under the round of your ass Bo pounding languidly into your gushing cunt. Tips of your finger pushing indents into the muscle of his back.

Fervor spilled through his mind as you tugged him down closer, pussy sucking him in the same. Pulling then pushing his cock by the full till the tip nearly slipped out then slamming in deeper. "Fuck yeah, feels good Mommy? I makin' you feel so good, huh?" He purred, dipping his head into the crook of your neck breath fanning right over your ears fuzzing out the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. "Oh fuuuck, Grippin' me like crazy, Mommy."

Saliva doused into the crook of your neck, Bo sucking in the skin and lapping at it. Wanting to kiss you whole, fuck you full. Maybe fill you with another baby, because you've done so well with the first he's given you. Another time, though, right now all that swelled was his cock lodged deep into you and awe in his mind.

You tossed your legs around his waist, shivers twisting the inside of your abdomen, Bo fucks good every time. His mouth is so much more lovable stuck on the sensitive inches of your flesh making out hickeys and love bruises rather pissy words. "Close! Mommy's s-so close!" You gasp, tugging him closer, close as can be so his body heat can burn you right, the way you deserved it.

Feeling you pull him till bodies melded like molten wax, and your insides warming his cock, clenching in a steady increase, Bo hugged his arms around your waist. Pelvis slamming harder, quicker against yours, increased pace jackhammering your cunt.

"Cum f'me. Come on, Cum for me, pretty Mama. Cum all over my cock Mommy," His voice mumbled in a strained groan, bordering a whimper, heavy breathed against the sticky spot he'd left into the corner of your neck and shoulder while he pushes you to climax.

Felt good to burn like this, to be loved by Bo. Your brain turned to mush and white stars of bliss flooded from your spasming cunt to your brain. "Fuck, Ohh yes! Cumming! Cumming!" Gripping his cock so tight he almost came right there and then, but graced himself while he plunged deep into you restlessly, riding out the onslaught of euphoria that burned your veins.

You were fucked out, that much was certain, first orgasm hit hard, harder than any words he could beat you with. Already stressed out day, Bo fixing that for you, dutiful husband the such. Rolling his hips in slower motions as you calm down from your high, your thighs clamp around his hips feeling the sting of sex continue passed your orgasm.

"Stay wimme Mommy, gimme one more, yeah?" Bo tilted his head, raising it so it hovered over your forehead, staying atop you with a lustful adoration in his eyes. He was lucky, that much was certain. Not much luck in his life, crazy dead daddy and mommy, favourite freak of a twin brother, got you though. He got himself the sweetest baby mama a man could ask for. That shit is the best luck if he'd ever felt it.

"One more, sweet Mommy, and I'll fuck ya full. Mhm?" He cooed, pressing his lips to yours and snapping his cock into you, regaining his previous pace as your pussy relaxed around him. Building his thrusts back into quickness while hugging you close, kissing you with love.

You warmed impossibly hot, like an unbridled flame. Clinging to him while he does to you, because you're his everything, because you're his wife, his mommy, his darling. "O-Oh, Oh god Mommy, gonna... Gonna-" Bo choked out, cock throbbing in you with each slap of his balls against your ass. body churning and tense fucking you quick as could be.

"Me too- Oh fuck!" You felt it coming harder than a tidal wave this time, Bo nearing his as well. Your eyes rolled behind your skull and Bo slammed his lips to yours again to shut his own pornish moans from spilling out, your pussy driving him to pure rapture.

Ecstasy ran through you two's bodies and he delved his cock straight into you in a final thrust of needed high, balls tightening and spilling deep into you with strangled cries of pleasure filling your lips that parted his. Teeth clattering messily against each other while he rode out his high in your spasming pussy, you washing into the second state of bliss the night cumming hard around his cock.

Bo could be a horrid husband at times, but God be damned, was he a grateful one. So grateful, wanted to send you to heaven, and push you through it over and over. Hoping to keep the fire churning in you forever.

But for now, his dick was spent. And his Mommy was already exhausted as be taking care of his kid all day, and also getting fucked stupid by him. He pulled out with a grunt and flopped to his side in the bed. "Supper would've been good, now." He mumbles in a snort, wrapping his loose-jointed arm around your waist and rubbing a hand over your bare curves.

"Don't even start.." You grumble softly, before letting out a soft giggle, the type that makes him go stupider than emptying his balls in you. A dumb grin overtook his face and he smiled at you, rolling slightly in the bed to face you.

"Sorry, darlin'." Sorry's only happen after Bo fucked you, not after he yells, never after he scalds you with words. But you'll take it, if it meant getting dicked down by the best man in Ambrose.

"It's okay." You reply in a soft sigh, nuzzling against him. His perfect Mommy.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair smut #bo sinclair imagine #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #!gwrites!

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najia-cooks · 1 year ago

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[ID: Two large flatbreads. The one in the center is topped with bright purple onions, faux chicken, fried nuts, and coarse red sumac; the one at the side is topped with onions and sumac. Second image is a close-up. End ID]

مسخن / Musakhkhan (Palestinian flatbread with onions and sumac)

Musakhkhan (مُسَخَّن; also "musakhan" or "moussakhan") is a dish historically made by Palestinian farmers during the olive harvest season of October and November: naturally leavened flatbread is cooked in clay ovens, dipped in plenty of freshly pressed olive oil, and then covered with oily, richly caramelized onions fragrant with sumac. Modern versions of the dish add spiced, boiled and baked chicken along with toasted or fried pine nuts and almonds. It is eaten with the hands, and sometimes served alongside a soup made from the stock produced by boiling the chicken. The name of the dish literally means "heated," from سَخَّنَ "sakhkhana" "to heat" + the participle prefix مُـ "mu".

I have provided instructions for including 'chicken,' but I don't think the dish suffers from its lack: the rich, slightly sour fermented wheat bread, the deep sweetness of the caramelised onions, and the true, clean, bright expressions of olive oil and sumac make this dish a must-try even in its original, plainer form.

Musakhkhan is often considered to be the national dish of Palestine. Like foods such as za'tar, hummus, tahina, and frika, it is significant for its historical and emotional associations, and for the way it links people, place, identity, and memory; it is also understood to be symbolic of a deeply rooted connection to the land, and thus of liberation struggle. The dish is liberally covered with the fruit of Palestinian lands in the form of onions, olive oil, and sumac (the dried and ground berries of a wild-growing bush).

The symbolic resonance of olive oil may be imputed to its history in the area. In historical Palestine (before the British Mandate period), agriculture and income from agricultural exports made up the bulk of the economy. Under مُشَاعْ (mushā', "common"; also transliterated "musha'a") systems of land tenure, communally owned plots of land were divided into parcels which were rotated between members of large kinship groups (rather than one parcel belonging to a private owner and their descendants into perpetuity). Olive trees were grown over much of the land, including on terraced hills, and their oil was used for culinary purposes and to make soap; excess was exported. In the early 1920s, Palestinian farmers produced 5,000 tons of olive oil a year, making an average of 342,000 PL (Palestinian pounds, equivalent to pounds sterling) from exports to Egypt alone.

During the British Mandate period (from 1917 to 1948, when Britain was given the administration of Palestine by the League of Nations after World War 1), acres of densely populated and cultivated land were expropriated from Palestinians through legal strongarming of and direct violence against, including killing of, فَلّاَحين (fallahin, peasants; singular "فَلَّاح" "fallah") by British troops. This continued a campaign of dispossession that had begun in the late 19th century.

By 1941, an estimated 119,000 peasants had been dispossessed of land (30% of all Palestinian families involved in agriculture); many of them had moved to other areas, while those who stayed were largely destitute. The agriculturally rich Nablus area (north of Jerusalem), for example, was largely empty by 1934: Haaretz reported that it was "no longer the town of gold [i.e., oranges], neither is it the town of trade [i.e., olive oil]. Nablus rather has become the town of empty houses, of darkness and of misery". Farmers led rebellions against this expropriation in 1929, 1933, and 1936-9, which were brutually repressed by the British military.

Despite the number of farmers who had been displaced from their land by European Jewish private owners and cooperatives (which owned 24.5% of all cultivated land in Palestine by 1941), the amount of olives produced by Palestinians increased from 34,000 tons in 1931 to 78,300 in 1945, evidencing an investment in and expansion of agriculture by indigenous inhabitants. Thus it does not seem likely that vast swathes of land were "waste land," or that the musha' system did not allow for "development"!

Imprecations against the musha' system were nevertheless used as justification to force Palestinians from their land. After various Zionist organizations and militant groups succeeded in pushing Britain out of Palestine in 1948—clearing the way for hundreds of thousands of Palestinians to be dispossessed or killed during the Nakba—the Israeli parliament began constructing a framework to render their expropriation of land legal; the Cultivation of Waste Lands Law of 1949, for example, allowed the requisition of uncultivated land, while the Absentees’ Property Law of 1950 allowed the state to requisition the land of people it had forced from their homes.

Israel profited from its dispossession of millions of dunums of land; 40,000 dunums of vineyards, 100,000 dunums of citrus groves, and 95% of the olive groves in the new state were stolen from Palestinians during this period, and the agricultural subsidies bolstered by these properties were used to lure new settlers in with promises of large incomes.

It also profited from the resulting "de-development" of the Palestinian economy, of which the decline in trade of olive oil furnishes a striking example. Palestinian olive farmers were unable to compete with the cheaper oils (olive and other types) with which Zionist, capital-driven industry flooded the market; by 1936, the 342,000 PL in olive oil exports of the early 1920s had fallen to 52,091 PL, and thereafter to nothing. While selling to a Palestinian captive market, Israel was also exporting the fruits of confiscated Palestinian land to Europe and elsewhere; in 1949, olives produced on stolen land were Israel's third-largest export. As of 2014, 12.9% of the olives exported to Europe were grown in the occupied West Bank alone.

This process of de-development and profiteering accelerated after Israel's military seizure of the West Bank and Gaza in 1967. In 1970, agriculture made up 34% of the GDP of the West Bank, and 31% of that of Gaza; in 2000, it was 16% and 18%, respectively. Many of those out of work due to expropriated or newly unworkable land were hired as day laborers on Israeli farms.

Meanwhile, Palestinians (and Israeli Palestinians) continued to plant and cultivate olives. The fact that Palestinians do not control their own water supplies or borders and may expect at any time to be barred by the military from harvesting their fields has discouraged investment and led to risk aversion (especially since the outmoding of the musha' system, which had minimized individual risk). In this environment, olive trees are attractive because they are low-input. They can subsist on rainwater (Israel monopolizes and poisons much of the region's water, and heavily taxes imports of materials that could be used to build irrigation systems), and don't require high-quality soil or daily weeding. Olive trees, unlike factories and agricultural technology, don't need large inputs of capital that stand to be wasted if the Israeli military destroys them.

Olive trees are therefore the chosen crop when proving a continued use of land in order to prevent the Israeli military from expropriating it under various "waste" or "absentee" land laws. Palestinians immediately plant olive seedlings on land they have been temporarily forced from, since even land that has lain fallow due to status as a military closed zone can be appropriated with this justification. The danger is so pressing that Palestinian agronomists encouraged this habit (as of 1993), despite the fact that Israeli competition and continual planting had lowered olive crop prices, and despite the decline in soil quality that results from never allowing land to lie fallow. In more recent years, olive trees have yielded primary or supplementary income for about 100,000 Palestinian families, producing up to 191 million USD in value in good years (including an average of 17,000 tons of olive oil yearly between 2001 and 2009).

Israeli soldiers and settlers have famously uprooted, vandalized, razed, and burned millions of these olive trees, as well as using military outposts to deny Palestinian farmers access to their olive crops. It prefers to restrict Palestinians to annual crops, such as vegetables and grains, and eliminate competition in permanent crops, such as fruit trees.

This targeting of olive trees increases during times of intensified conflict. During the currently ongoing olive harvest season (November 2023), Gazan olive farmers have reported being targeted by Israeli war planes; some farmers in the West Bank have given up on harvesting their trees altogether, due to threats issued by organized networks of settlers that they would kill anyone seen making the attempt.

The rootedness of olive trees in the history of Palestine gives them weight as a symbol of homeland, culture, and the fight for liberation. Palestinian olive harvest festivals, typically celebrated in October with singing, dancing, and eating, have inspired similar events elsewhere in the world, aimed at sharing Palestinian food and culture and expressing solidarity with those living under occupation.

Support Palestinian resistance by calling Elbit System’s (Israel’s primary weapons manufacturer) landlord, donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund, and donating to the Bay Area Anti-Repression Committee bail fund.

Ingredients:

For the dish:

2 pieces taboon bread, preferably freshly baked

2 large or 3 medium yellow onions (480g)

1 cup first cold press extra virgin olive oil (زيت زيتون البكر الممتاز)

1 Tbsp coarsely ground Levantine sumac (سماق شامي / sumaq shami), plus more to top

Ground black pepper

For the chicken (optional):

500g chicken substitute

5 green cardamom pods, or 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

4 cloves, or pinch ground cloves

1 Mediterranean bay leaf

1 Tbsp ground sumac

For the nut topping (optional):

2 Tbsp slivered almonds

2 Tbsp pine nuts

Neutral oil, for frying

Notes on ingredients:

Use the best olive oil that you can. You will want oil that has some opacity to it or some deposits in it. I used Aleppo brand olive oil (7 USD a liter at my local halal grocery).

If you want to replace the taboon bread with something less laborious, I would recommend something that mimics the rich, fermented flavor of the traditional, whole-wheat, naturally leavened bread. Many people today make taboon bread with white flour and commercial yeast—which you might mimic by using storebought naan or lavash, for example—but I think the slight sourness of the flatbread is a beautiful counterpoint to the brightness of the sumac and the sweetness of the caramelized onions. I would go with a sourdough pizza crust or something similar.

Your sumac should be coarsely ground, not finely powdered; and a deep, rich red, not pinkish in color (like the pile on the right, not the one on the left).

For this dish, a whole chicken is usually first boiled (perhaps with spices including bay leaves, cardamom, and cloves) and then baked, sometimes along with some of the oil from frying the onions. I call for just frying or baking instead; in my opinion, boiling often has a negative effect on the texture of meat substitutes.

Instructions:

For the onions:

1. Heat a cup of olive oil in a large skillet or pot. Fry onions on medium-low, stirring often, for 10 minutes or until translucent.

2. Add 1 Tbsp sumac and a few cracks of black pepper and reduce to low. Cook for another 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until onions are sweet, reduced in volume, and pinkish in color.

For the chicken:

1. Briefly toast and finely grind spices except for sumac (cardamom, cloves, and bay leaf). Filter with a fine mesh sieve. Dip 'chicken' into the pot in which you fried the onions to coat it with olive oil, then rub spices (including sumac) onto the surface.

2. Sear chicken in a dry skillet until browned on all sides; or bake, uncovered, in the top third of an oven heated to 400 °F (200 °C) until browned.

For the nut topping:

1. Heat a neutral oil on medium in a small pot or skillet. Add almonds and fry for 2 minutes, until just starting to take on color. Add pine nuts and fry until both almonds and pine nuts are golden brown. Remove with a slotted spoon.

To assemble:

1. Dip each flatbread in the olive oil used to fry the onions, then spread onions over the surface.

Some cooks dip the bread entirely into oil; others press it lightly into the surface of the oil in the pot on both sides, or one side; a more modern method calls for mixing the olive oil with chicken broth to lighten it. Consult your taste. I think the bread from my taboon recipe stands up well to being pressed into the oil on both sides without tearing or becoming soggy.

2. Top flatbread with chicken and several large pinches more sumac. Bake briefly in the oven (still heated to 400 °F / 200 °C), or broil on low, for 3-5 minutes, until the sumac and the surface of the bread have darkened a shade.

3. Top with fried nuts.

Musakhkhan is usually eaten by ripping the chicken into bite-sized pieces, tearing off a bit of bread, and eating the chicken using the bread.

Some cooks make a layered musakhkhan, adding two to three pieces of bread covered with onions on top of each other before topping the entire construction with chicken and pine nuts.

#Palestinian #Palestine #palestinian food #recipes #long post /

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lsdoiphin · 1 year ago

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Foods of Vestur

@broncoburro and @chocodile provoked me into doing some illustrated worldbuilding for Forever Gold ( @forevergoldgame ), an endeavor I was happy to undertake. Unbeknownst to me, it would take the better part of a week to draw.

In the process, I conjured about an essay's worth of fantasy food worldbuilding, but I'm going to try and keep things digestible (pardon my pun). Lore under the cut:

The Middle Kingdom

The Middle Kingdom has ample land, and its soil, landscapes, and temperate climate are amenable to growing a variety of crops and raising large quantities of livestock. The Midland palate prefers fresh ingredients with minimal seasoning; if a dish requires a strong taste, a cook is more likely to reach for a sharp cheese than they are to open their spice drawer. Detractors of Middle Kingdom cuisine describe it as bland, but its flavor relies on the quality of its components more than anything.

KEY CROPS: wheat, potatoes, carrots, green beans, apples, pears, and grapes KEY LIVESTOCK: Midland goats, fowl, and hogs

ROAST FOWL: Cheap and easy to raise, fowl is eaten all over Vestur and by all classes. Roasted whole birds are common throughout, but the Middle Kingdom's approach to preparation is notable for their squeamish insistence on removing the head and neck before roasting, even among poorer families. Fowl is usually roasted on a bed of root vegetables and shallots and served alongside gravy and green beans.

GOAT RIBEYE: Vestur does not have cattle – instead it has a widely diversified array of goats, the most prominent being the Middle Kingdom's own Midland goat. The Midland goat is a huge caprid that fills the same niche as cattle, supplying Vestur with meat and dairy products. Chevon from the Midland goat is tender with a texture much like beef, though it retains a gamier, “goat-ier” taste. It is largely eaten by the wealthy, though the tougher and cheaper cuts can be found in the kitchens of the working class. Either way, it is almost always served with gravy. (You may be sensing a pattern already here. Midlanders love their gravy.)

FETTUCCINE WITH CHEESE: Noodles were brought to the Middle Kingdom through trade with the South and gained popularity as a novel alternative to bread. The pasta of Midland Vestur is largely eaten with butter or cream sauce; tomato or pesto sauces are seldom seen.

CHARCUTERIE WITH WINE: Charcuterie is eaten for the joy of flavors rather than to satiate hunger, and therefore it is mainly eaten by the upper class. It is commonly eaten alongside grape wine, a prestigious alcohol uniquely produced by the Middle Kingdom. The flavor of grape wine is said to be more agreeable than the other wines in Vestur, though Southern pineapple wine has its share of defenders.

BREAD WITH JAM AND PRESERVES, TEA SANDWICHES, & ROSETTE CAKE: Breads and pastries are big in the Middle Kingdom. The Middle Kingdom considers itself the world leader in the art of baking. Compared to its neighbors, the baked goods they make are soft, light, and airy and they are proud of it. Cakes in particular are a point of ego and a minor source of mania among nobility; it is a well-established cultural joke that a Middle Kingdom noble cannot suffer his neighbor serving a bigger, taller cake. The cakes at Middle Kingdom parties can reach nauseatingly wasteful and absurdist heights, and there is no sign of this trend relenting any time soon.

CHOWDER, FARMER'S POT PIE, GRIDDLECAKES, EGGS, CURED MEATS: If you have the means to eat at all in the Middle Kingdom, you are probably eating well. Due to the Midland's agricultural strength, even peasant dishes are dense and filling. Eggs and cured meats are abundant, cheaper, and more shelf stable than fresh cuts and provide reprieve from the unending wheat and dairy in the Midland diet.

STEWED APPLES AND PEARS, JAM AND PRESERVES: The Midland grows a number of different fruits, with apples and pears being the most plentiful. In a good year, there will be more fruit than anyone knows what to do with, and so jams and preserves are widely available. Stewed fruit has also gained popularity, especially since trade with the Southern Kingdom ensures a stable supply of sugar and cinnamon.

NORTHERN KINGDOM - SETTLED

The Northern Kingdom is a harsh and unforgiving land. Historically, its peoples lived a nomadic life, but since the unification of the Tri-Kingdom more and more of the Northern population have opted to live a settled life. The “settled North” leads a hard life trying to make agriculture work on the tundra, but it is possible with the help of green meur. The Northern palate leans heavily on preserved and fermented foods as well as the heat from the native tundra peppers. Outsiders often have a hard time stomaching the salt, tang, and spice of Northern cuisine and it is widely considered “scary.”

KEY CROPS: potatoes, beets, carrots, tundra pepper KEY LIVESTOCK: wooly goats, hares*

GOAT POT ROAST: Life up north is hard work and there is much to be done in a day. Thus, slow cooked one-pot meals that simmer throughout the day are quite common.

VENISON WITH PICKLES: Game meat appears in Northern dishes about as much as farmed meat – or sometimes even more, depending on the location. Even “classier” Northern dishes will sometimes choose game meat over domesticated, as is the case with the beloved venison with pickles. Cuts of brined venison are spread over a bed of butter-fried potato slices and potent, spicy pickled peppers and onions. The potatoes are meant to cut some of the saltiness of the dish, but... most foreigners just say it tastes like salt, vinegar, and burning.

MINER STEW: While outsiders often have a hard time distinguishing miner stew from the multitude of beet-tinged stews and pot roasts, the taste difference is unmistakable. Miner's stew is a poverty meal consisting of pickles and salt pork and whatever else is might be edible and available. The end result is a sad bowl of scraps that tastes like salt and reeks of vinegar. The popular myth is that the dish got its name because the Northern poor began putting actual rocks in it to fill out the meal, which... probably never happened, but facts aren't going to stop people from repeating punchy myths.

RYE TOAST WITH ONION JAM: Rye is hardier than wheat, and so rye bread is the most common variety in the North. Compared to Midland bread, Northern bread is dense and gritty. It is less likely to be enjoyed on its own than Midland bread, both because of its composition and because there's less to put on it. Unless you've the money to import fruit spreads from further south, you're stuck with Northern jams such as onion or pepper jam. Both have their appreciators, but bear little resemblance to the fruit and berry preserves available elsewhere in Vestur.

HARE DAIRY: Eating hare meat is prohibited in polite society due to its association with the haretouched and heretical nomadic folk religions, but hare dairy is fair game. Hare cheese ranges from black to plum in color, is strangely odorless, and has a pungent flavor akin to a strong blue cheese. It is the least contentious of hare milk products. Hare milk, on the other hand, is mildly toxic. If one is not acclimated to hare milk, drinking it will likely make them “milk sick” and induce vomiting. It is rarely drunk raw, and is instead fermented into an alcoholic drink similar to kumis.

MAPLE HARES AND NOMAD CANDY: Maple syrup is essentially the only local sweetener available in the North, and so it is the primary flavor of every Northern dessert. Simple maple candies are the most common type of sweet, though candied tundra peppers – known as “nomad candy” – is quite popular as well. (Despite its name, nomad candy is an invention of the settled North and was never made by nomads.)

TUNSUKH: Tunsukh is one of the few traditions from the nomadic era still widely (and openly) practiced among Northern nobility. It is a ceremonial dinner meant as a test of strength and endurance between political leaders: a brutally spiced multi-course meal, with each course being more painful than the last. Whoever finishes the dinner with a stoic, tear-streaked face triumphs; anyone who cries out in pain or reaches for a glass of milk admits defeat. “Dessert” consists of a bowl of plain, boiled potatoes. After the onslaught of tunsukh, it is sweeter than any cake.

NORTHERN KINGDOM – NOMADIC NORTH

Although the Old Ways are in decline, the nomadic clans still live in the far North beyond any land worth settling. They travel on hareback across the frozen wasteland seeking “meur fonts” - paradoxical bursts of meur that erupt from the ice and provide momentary reprieve from the harsh environment. The taste of nomad food is not well documented.

KEY CROPS: N/A KEY LIVESTOCK: hares

PEMMICAN: Nomadic life offers few guarantees. With its caloric density and functionally indefinite “shelf life,” pemmican is about as close as one can get.

SEAL, MOOSE: Meat comprises the vast majority of the nomadic diet and is eaten a variety of ways. Depending on the clan, season, and availability of meur fonts, meat may be cooked, smoked, turned to jerky, or eaten raw. Moose and seal are the most common sources of meat, but each comes with its own challenges. Moose are massive, violent creatures and dangerous to take down even with the aid of hares; seals are slippery to hunt and only live along the coasts.

WANDER FOOD, WANDER STEW: When a green meur font appears, a lush jungle springs forth around it. The heat from red meur fonts may melt ice and create opportunities for fishing where there weren't before. Any food obtained from a font is known as “wander food.” Wander food is both familiar and alien; the nomads have lived by fonts long enough to know what is edible and what is not, but they may not know the common names or preparation methods for the food they find. Fish is simple enough to cook, but produce is less predictable. Meur fonts are temporary, and it's not guaranteed that you'll ever find the same produce twice - there is little room to experiment and learn. As a result, a lot of wander food is simply thrown into a pot and boiled into “wander stew,” an indescribable dish which is different each time.

CENVAVESH: When a haretouched person dies, their hare is gripped with the insatiable compulsion to eat its former companion... therefore, it is only proper to return the favor. Barring injury or illness, a bonded hare will almost always outlive its bonded human, and so the death of one's hare is considered a great tragedy among nomads. The haretouched – and anyone they may invite to join them – sits beside the head of their hare as they consume as much of its rib and organ meat as they can. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan processes the remainder of the hare's carcass so that none of it goes to waste. It is a somber affair that is treated with the same gravity as the passing of a human. Cenvavesh is outlawed as a pagan practice in the settled North.

HARE WINE: While fermented hare's milk is already alcoholic, further fermentation turns it into a vivid hallucinogen. This “hare wine” is used in a number of nomad rituals, most notably during coming of age ceremonies. Allegedly, it bestows its drinker with a hare's intuition and keen sense of direction... of course, truth is difficult to distinguish from fiction when it comes to the Old Ways.

SOUTHERN KINGDOM

The Southern Kingdom is mainly comprised of coast, wetland, and ever-shrinking jungle. While the land is mostly unfit for large-scale agriculture, seafood is plentiful and the hot climate is perfect for exorbitant niche crops. What they can't grow, they obtain easily through trade. Southerners have a reputation for eating anything, as well as stealing dishes from other cultures and “ruining” them with their own interpretations. KEY CROPS: plantains, sweet potato, pineapple, mango, guava, sugarcane KEY LIVESTOCK: fowl, marsh hogs, seals

GLAZED EEL WITH FRIED PLANTAINS: A very common configuration for Southern food is a glazed meat paired with a fried vegetable. It almost doesn't matter which meat and which vegetable it is – they love their fried food and they love their sweet and salty sauces in the South. Eel is a culturally beloved meat, much to the shock and confusion of visiting Midlanders.

NARWHAL STEW: Narwhal stew is the South's “anything goes” stew. It does not actually contain narwhal meat, as they are extinct (though the upper class may include dolphin meat as a protein) – instead, the name comes from its traditional status as a “forever soup,” as narwhals are associated with the passage of time in Southern culture. Even in the present day, Southern monasteries tend massive, ever-boiling pots of perpetual stew in order to feed the monks and sybils who live there. Narwhal stew has a clear kelp-based broth and usually contains shellfish. Beyond that, its ingredients are extremely varied. Noodles are a popular but recent addition.

FORAGE: The dish known as “forage” is likewise not foraged, or at least, it hasn't been forage-based in a good hundred years at least. Forage is a lot like poke; it's a little bit of everything thrown into a bowl. Common ingredients include fish (raw or cooked), seaweed, fried noodles, marinated egg, and small quantities of fruit.

HOT POT: Hot pot is extremely popular, across class barriers, in both the South proper and its enclave territories. This is due to its extreme flexibility - if it can be cooked in a vat of boiling broth, it will be. Crustaceans and shellfish are common choices for hot pot in the proper South, along with squid, octopus, mushrooms, and greens.

FLATBREAD: The Southern Kingdom doesn't do much baking. The vast majority of breads are fried, unleavened flatbreads, which are usually eaten alongside soups or as wraps. Wraps come in both savory and sweet varieties; savory wraps are usually stuffed with shredded pork and greens while sweet wraps – which are much more expensive – are filled with fruit and seal cheese.

GRILLED SKEWERS, ROAST SWEET POTATO: While a novel concept for Midlanders and Northerners, street food has long been a part of Southern Kingdom culture. You would be hard pressed to find a Southern market that didn't have at least three vendors pushing grilled or fried something or other. Skewers are the most common and come in countless configurations, but roast sweet potatoes are a close second.

CUT FRUIT AND SEAL CHEESE: Fresh fruit is popular in the South, both local and imported. While delicious on its own, Southerners famously pair it with seal cheese. Which leads me to an important topic of discussion I don't have room for anywhere else...

THE SOUTH AND CHEESE: Since the South doesn't have much in the way of dairy farming, cheese is somewhat rare in their cuisine – but it is present. And important. Cheese is the domain of the Church. Common goat dairy imported from the Middle Kingdom is turned to cheese by monks in Southern monasteries and sold to the Southern public, yes, but as you have noticed there is another cheese prominent in the Southern Kingdom diet: seal cheese. Seal cheese is unlike anything else that has ever been called cheese; the closest it can be compared to is mascarpone. It is is a soft, creamy cheese with a mild flavor and an indulgent fat content. It is used almost exclusively as a dessert, though it is only ever mildly sweetened if at all. It is extremely costly and held in high regard; the most religious Southerners regard it as holy. Dairy seals are a very rare animal and raised exclusively in a small number of Cetolist-Cerostian monasteries, where they are tended and milked by the monks. Due to their status as a holy animal, eating seal meat is forbidden. Eating their cheese and rendering their tallow into soap is fine though.

(HEARTLAND SOUTH) SOUTH-STYLE GOAT: The Heartland South is a Southern enclave territory in the Middle Kingdom. Visiting Midland dignitaries oft wrongly assume that because the Heartland South is in Middle Kingdom territory, Heartland Southerners eat the same food they do exactly as they do. They are horrified to find that familiar sounding dishes like “goat with potatoes” are completely and utterly unrecognizable, drenched in unfamiliar sauces and spices and served alongside fruit they've never eaten. Meanwhile, Heartland Southerners firmly believe that they have fixed the Middle Kingdom's boring food.

(BOREAL SOUTH) “TUNSUKH”: If Midlanders are afraid of Heartland Southern food, Northerners are absolutely furious about cuisine from the Boreal South - the most legendarily offensive being the Boreal South's idea of “tunsukh.” Southerners are no stranger to spice, so when Southern traders began interacting with the North, they liked tunsukh! It's just... they thought it needed a little Southern help to become a real meal, you know? A side of seal cheese soothed the burn and made the meal enjoyable. And because the meal was enjoyable, the portion sizes increased. And plain boiled potatoes? Well, those are a little too plain – creamy mashed sweet potato feels like more of a dessert, doesn't it? ...For some reason, Northerners didn't agree, but that's okay. The Boreal South knows they're just embarrassed they didn't think of pairing seal cheese with tunsukh sooner.

ARMY RATIONS

The food eaten by the King's Army is about what you would expect for late 1700s military; salt pork or salt chevon, hard tack, and coffee. The biggest divergence they have is also one of Vestur's biggest points of pride: they have the means to supply their troops with frivolous luxuries like small tins of candied fruit from the Midland. A love of candied fruit is essentially a Vesturian military proto-meme; proof that they serve the greatest Tri-Kingdom on the planet. Don't get between a military man and his candied fruit unless you want a fight.

#verse: forever gold #worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #food worldbuilding #fantasy food #food art #animal death//#might have to proofread this later forgive any typos I am tired

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fatkish · 2 months ago

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Alpha Muzan x Omega Reader

Muzan is no stranger to eating omegas

He’s come across plenty of them and they’ve always smelled delicious

But you were different

Back in the Heian era, it was a popular belief that true mates existed

When you find your true mate, you’re supposedly overcome with an intense desire to be close to them. Never wanting to leave their side

Alphas will feel an immediate urge to protect their true mate and a sense of responsibility for their maté’s wellbeing

An omega will feel an immediate attraction and a sense of comfort

When Muzan caught the scent of a particularly enticing omega, he followed the scent

When his eyes met yours he felt a spark inside of him

He never believed in true mates, but since he couldn’t bring himself to devour you he decided to kidnap you instead

He brought you to the infinity castle and made sure to keep you close to him as well as order his demons not to harm you

He had no idea what he was going to do with you but your constant whines and whimpers were driving him crazy with a sense to protect and provide for you

In order to shut you up he left the castle and gathered a bunch of necessities for an omega

He brought you plenty of nesting materials for you to build a nest with as well as food

When he’s working, if you ask him to cuddle with you, he’ll say no but after a bit of your pleads and whines, he’ll relent

He’ll crawl into your nest and let you snuggle up to him

Sometimes when you’re snuggling with him he’ll bring a book and read to you

He doesn’t know why but having you close to him brings him a sense of peace

He eventually realized that the infinity castle was not a good place for you

He made Kokushibo find a small secluded house that you could comfortably live in

Muzan brought you there and made sure that any demon who came near the house would immediately recognize his scent and would leave you alone

Muzan made a small office/study for himself to work in so that he wouldn’t have to leave as often

You started a garden outside and made sure to stay within earshot of Muzan, since he gets grumpy when he can’t see you

Your garden contains lots of vegetables and herbs and there are also some fruit trees in the surrounding forest

You mostly live off the land, you have a small chicken coop and you fish in the river nearby

If there are things that you need that you can’t grow or forage yourself then Muzan will get them for you

Muzan has taught you many things such as how to make medicine from plants and plant identification

His office has a bunch of books that you’ll read. You like to collect flowers and put them in a vase in his office

When he has to leave for a bit he makes sure that either Kokushibo or Akaza are nearby to assist you should something happen

Muzan is paranoid that the demon slayers will find you and take you away

Despite his cruel and selfish personality, he grows a soft spot for you and he is whipped for you

While he travels he’ll find things that he thinks you’ll like and gets them for you as gifts

He enjoys spoiling you, he’ll buy fancy kimonos for you, expensive hairpins, etc.

Despite his gifts which you deeply appreciate and treasure, you always tell him that he’s the best gift you could ever receive

When you ask him about his work or question his studies he’ll carefully explain them to you so that you can understand

Sometimes you’ll just sit in a chair and watch him work. He’s asked you why you do this and you always tell him that you’re fascinated by what he’s doing

He’s very protective of you. Whenever you’re cooking and handling a knife, he watches you closely, making sure you don’t hurt yourself

Sometimes at night when you both are cuddling in your nest, he’ll lay his head on your chest and let you run your fingers through his hair

Sometimes he’ll let you brush his hair. He even grows his hair long so that you have plenty to play with

He does plan on turning you into a demon but he just doesn’t know when he’s going to

He first wants to conquer the sun, then he’ll turn you into a demon who can also withstand the sun

#muzan x reader #demon slayer muzan #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan

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itsonlybaby · 7 months ago

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𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist !

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ you're a coder, but what's a coder without something to code? bellamy had instructed you to keep watch of the guns and ammo instead of going out with the guard on a hunt. you feel useless to the people of arkadia, maybe bellamy could help with that. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: cursing, small kiss scene, sfw

"I shouldn't be watching the guns, Bellamy!"

I shout from inside the main room where we kept the rovers. Bellamy had ordered me to stay in Arkadia while the rest of them went on a hunt, rations had grown scarce since Kane ordered the guard to go out less with the threat of grounders. This was a rare time when people got to go beyond the gate.

"We don't need a lot of people for this, okay? So just stay here." Bellamy argued back, it made sense, only a few people were going with him. Clarke, Murphy, Miller, Harper, and another from the guard. I never got around to knowing everyone's names.

I just knew I felt trapped being behind these walls, I was starting to feel useless to the people around me as well, it's not like I could code anything to help us with the grounder attacks, all I could do was sit with Monty and try to contact other stations with radios. Which always ended up in radio silence.

I could feel my blood boiling, "Well why Harper? It's not like I can't handle a gun, swap her out with me." I hadn't known Harper was leaning on a rover near Bellamy and me.

"Gee, thanks." I heard Harper chirp up in a sarcasm-filled tone. I'd have to apologize later, she knows I didn't mean it.

Bellamy sighed and placed his hands on his hips, looking at me sternly. It was only then I got a good look at him. His curls were more defined today, for once not littered with blood and dirt, you could see his freckles more clearly as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't dreamt of him once or twice.

"We need Harper, she's been training with Miller and has become a good shot," Bellamy turned towards the first rover, setting his gun down in the back as Miller climbed in, Harper following after. "This isn't up for discussion." He finishes off with his back turned to me.

Clarke had come up from behind me and placed her hand on my shoulder, attempting to comfort me. "It'll be fi-"

I had cut her sentence short by jerking my shoulder away, I wasn't just mad at her, I was mad at the world. I hadn't said anything further and took one last look at Bellamy before storming off to the armory.

It had been a few days since that last encounter. The group had come back with plenty of food, a successful mission with only a few scrapes and cuts. They didn't even encounter any grounders.

Since they had come back I made no move to talk to any of them- or anyone for that matter. Only speaking to Monty when I had to, which was only once.

Bellamy had tried to speak to me, he tried to sit with me during dinner, tried to speak to me at the bar, and even tried talking to me on the radio stations. Which made a part of my heart flutter at his attempts. It almost made me forget why I was even mad at him to begin with.

I was at the computer, sitting and waiting for anything to pop up about the radios when Monty said he had plans with Jasper to help cheer him up, I made no move to stop him. What's more time alone with my thoughts? They were all of Bellamy. Replaying the few moments he'd try and talk to me in my head.

Me and Bellamy weren't as close as the rest of the group was. It isn't that he didn't try and talk to me, it's just ever since we landed I've viewed him as a player who only had one goal in life; to get into girls' pants.

It's safe to say he's been growing on me- well he was. I had been starting to miss his shitty jokes, how the light from the fire would illuminate his face in the best way, how his smile looked, how it was like he got stars in his eyes every time he laughed. I always tried to impress him, so why wouldn't he let me go?

My thoughts were cut short when I heard a pair of footsteps, which I just assumed were Montys.

"Hey, Monty." I greeted in a monotone voice, not caring to check.

"It's not Monty." I heard the other voice say, a voice I knew too well. What did he want now? I spun around in my chair, seeing how Bellamy toward over me. I simply tolled my eyes at him.

"What do you need," I said flatly

"Why're you ignoring me? Avoiding me?" He asks, care lacing his voice.

I took a moment to think about my reply, why exactly was I? He made me feel useless, I can't do anything to help Arkadia besides sit her in this fucking chair.

"Why didn't you let me go?" I countered his question with a question.

I was met with a scoff, "You're still on this? I told you it wasn't up for discussion."

"Yes, I'm still on this! I do nothing for Arkadia besides sit here and listen to a radio nobody talks into!" I shout, standing up abruptly, and walking closer to him.

Bellamy crossed his arms, unmoving. "What if something had happened to you?" He spoke, trying to remain calm.

"Then so be it! I feel useless Bellamy." My voice wavered, tears threatening to spill.

"You're everything but. At least here, you'd be safe." We were now inches apart.

"Why do you even care." Tears began crawling down my cheek, I couldn't believe I let myself get so vulnerable with him.

"Because I just do," He paused, debating if he should say what he was thinking. "And I'd never forgive myself if I let something bad happen to you."

His arms were now uncrossed and resting on my forearms, a touch that practically melted me. His words brought a deeper blush on my cheeks, my tears slowing their roll. I felt myself moving closer every second until finally, his lips were on mine.

It wasn't a kiss of lust or craving, it was a kiss of passion, a kiss that made me feel warm all over, it was a feeling I wanted to last forever. Bellamy was kissing me like I could break at any minute. His hands went up to cup my cheeks and wipe away my tears.

He had pulled away with a smile, leaving my lips feeling lost.

"I've wanted to do that since the day we landed," Bellamy admitted, a faint pink tint lining his face. Bellamy, blushing, something I never thought I'd see. A goofy smile made its way onto my face at the sight.

"Being useless doesn't seem so bad now."

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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aliamor · 4 months ago

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Thought this would be funny since I finally got to watch the Minecraft stream everyone's talking about with Case, sketch, and Jynxi(I think is how u spell it)

What would it be like if Y/n was playing there with them. It can be platonic or romantic but I'd think it would be so hilarious that case went to the mines and came back up and sketch and Jynxi have only made a bridge and Y/n is no where in sight cause she dropped their dead weight and she's got a whole base built up 😭

Only if u want to though! Make sure your staying healthy and drinking plenty of water 😤

I love thisss, i got youu, literally watching that stream had me STRESSED OUT.

But loove you, im staying healthy. Make sure you all are staying healthy too and taking care of yourselfs🗣️

—

Playing minecraft with caseoh was always fun, but the mix of sketch and jynxzi… wasnt a productive run through.

Sketch and jynxzi would mess around hitting each other as the day gets wasted once again. Case and you running around getting wood and coal and other good resources. Cases many failed attempts to teach the other two shortly ends as case explores into a cave and never to see the light of day ever again.

But you decide to stick by the other two so nothing to bad can happen, but they manage it to be. About 20 minutes into that, your minecraft skin disappears into the the forest that you’ve told them you’d ‘get wood from’. But really sneaking off to set off into different land.

Case every so often comes through his mic to ask you how your doing, and responding back with “good, hows the caves treating you?”.

“Ehhh…not as smooth as i want it to be” he always hums back.

Hour of that going on and off with the constant laugher coming out through the mic because of sketchs or jynxzis funny remarks, they were having fun so thats all that matters.

“You dont seem as excited as i am with this bridge” sketch speaks out to jynxzi. God knows what he means because at this point you’re miles away from them with a nice pretty house built, food cooking up in the furnace and armor building up. But soon you hear that case is rising out of the dust, finding sketchs beautiful four lane bridge. Cases voice rings through the mic, “i come back from the deadlist expedition of my life to find you built a bridge to a cave THAT GOES NO WHERE!!”

Cases hand slaps down on his desk as you laugh hearing it more promptly from the other room of our house, “and where is y/n?? YALL LOST THEM OH NAHHH..”

“I got lost and built a house from where i was” i lied out, though i did build a house its the ‘i got lost’ part that was a lie

“Baby give me your coordinates, lemme come see you” case says, which you do and he goes in that direction for about 10 minutes before coming across a nicely built house, which of course has everything he needs. A basement that can have a cave mining strip, furnaces on furnaces, and a farm growing out back.

“WOAHHH! HOLY, HOW IN THE WORLD??” He says as explores into the house more.

MWAH,

Would kill to play minecraft with caseoh, it would be so fun😭 be safe lovelys🩷

#caseohxreader #caseoh fanfic #caseoh x reader #sfw

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prying-pandora666 · 2 months ago

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The Gaang’s Favorite Foods

Aang is an ovo-lacto vegetarian. He still consumes milk and eggs, just nothing that requires killing an animal. Being more used to getting nutrients from a variety of plant foods including nuts and seeds, supported by nutrient rich bison milk and whatever eggs they eat in this world, Aang’s diet is surprisingly diverse and not as restrictive as it first seems. People have and still do eat this way. He loves egg tarts!

Sokka is a growing teen boy, used to a high-fat diet of primarily fish, mollusks, large ruminants, marine mammals (and their blubber), full fat milk, eggs, blood, etc, and only minorly supported by additional foods like seaweed, berries, tubers, perhaps the occasional imported flour or rice. He is going to need a LOT of animal meat and fat. Especially organs. The cookbook says he loves dried salmon collars.

Katara is also a growing teen girl, and considering what starts for girls around her age, she probably also has higher iron requirements. Heme-iron (from meat) is the most easily absorbed, and if it’s what her body is accustomed to, I imagine there’s going to be a lot of cravings there too. It’s possible she slowly converted to a vegetarian diet eventually, but there isn’t actually anything in canon to say that Katara and Aang didn’t just maintain different diets. The comics and cookbook say she likes soups and stews including sea prunes which are actually a type of mollusk.

Toph comes from a wealthy family. Although most of the Earth Kingdom relies primarily on staple grains (rice mainly, but also others), she likely had a decently diverse diet compared to others. Including plenty of meat (beef, chicken, duck, pork), a variety of vegetables, and even luxury items like refined sugar. According to the cookbook, she doesn’t like to eat her vegetables, which implies she had open access to meat for most of her life. She is fond of tea eggs.

Zuko comes from the wealthiest nation which is also in a tropical climate. He’d have access to a plethora of fruits the others had never even heard of! Tropical fruits, berries, coconut, and all the different dishes you can make with them. The nutrient-rich volcanic soil would also lend itself to farming, giving this country plenty of fresh vegetables and staple grains. However, culturally they seem to be a meat and seafood loving people, and spiciness is critical! Being a prince, Zuko would have even more access to all of the above than the common person. According to the cookbook, his favorite snack is sizzle-crisps which is basically fried and seasoned pork belly. He also sneaks Komodo-chicken to his uncle in prison.

BONUS:

Azula, like Zuko, is royalty in a nation blessed with great diversity of fruits, meat, seafood, and fresh veggies. We know she attended a harsh military academy which puts its students through rigorous survival training. Azula knows how to live off the land and likely can survive off of whatever petty things she can forage or catch. But being royalty, she is more accustomed to having whatever she desires prepared for her. She seems to have a bit of a sweet tooth, which can happen when you give a teen unfettered access to luxury goods like sugar. With her nation’s relatively advanced stage of industrialization, certain more processed foods and desserts are available to her. She is fond of cherries and in the comics she is a fiend for mochi!

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #Cuisine #atla culture #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Zuko #Azula

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cult-of-a-buttercup · 3 months ago

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Headcanons of the Old Faith: Darkwood

Anura

Narinder’s Faith

Anchordeep

Silk Cradle

Festivals:

Being the land of Chaos, the festivals are nothing short of that: there are plenty of bonfires, dance circles and hunts, each more common in different seasons.

Ordinary bonfires are held mainly in winter, as a way to keep cold at bay while at the same time reveling in the natural chaos of fire. All kinds of stuff are burnt during them, from old grass to corpses of heretics killed by followers. The fire is also used as a way of cleansing haunting spirits from the land, an idea originally introduced by Narinder during his time as a bishop.

Dance circles are common during summer and spring, used as ways to celebrate good weather and encourage offspring amongst followers. With the number of followers always rising and falling constantly, it’s important to try and keep somewhat of an influx of younger generations to worship Leshy. In recent years, after a great fall due to the killing of lambs, it only seems to keep growing.

And lastly, hunts are held all year round- though they are at their peak during fall. They are competitions, held from in between villages to small groups of friends. They work as a way to test the body and soul, and how well you can work with the difficult and chaotic lands of Darkwood. It also works as a good indicator to see which followers are more capable of guiding villages into battles.

Rituals:

Due to the lack of doctrines, Darkwood has many more casual festivals around the year than rituals.

A common ritual is a Rite of Wrath: every so often Leshy joins in the destruction of a village, and that sets off the destruction of its neighbors and surrounding forests. It is frowned upon by the rest of Leshy’s siblings, since it tends to end the lives of more followers than heretics and tends to drag on for too long to be fixed quickly- but he either doesn’t care or doesn’t know they feel that way.

Due to this, Darkwood also holds a lot of funerals. Since they are way too often for comfort, most followers of Leshy turned funerals into month-long events for many fallen brethren at a time. During those events, they remember each dead follower individually and speak of who they were, share whatever their favorite meal was and decorate their resting place and home with various assortments of wild flowers. It should be noted that this ritual was originally from Narinder- it was his idea to make a larger and more massive version of the funeral ritual after he noticed that holding one at a time wasn’t paying off.

Similar to funerals, weddings are held as a massive event between many couples. Since most of the time it has to be officiated by a high priest or Leshy himself, it was Valefar’s idea to imitate the protocol already used for funerals. So, weddings are absolutely massive, taking about a full month in Leshy’s temple. There is food, makeshift music with the few instruments the villagers have and a lot of dancing. Leshy often takes part of them, indulging in the food and the dancing along with some of his priests. The clothing is usually passed from generation to generation, made out of dried grass and decorated with the flowers of the season.

Worshipping:

Since it’s a scattered place, the ways of worship vary from village to village: but, it is always connected to the destruction of their own people or the killing of heretics.

Villages destroying neighboring villages and burning whatever remains is a constant way of appreciating chaos- even if it decimates Leshy’s followers constantly. Same with destroying one’s own home and then dancing around the fire, chanting prayers for the holy worm. Sometimes the noise of the fire and the loud prayers are enough to catch Leshy’s attention- those few times he joins in the wreckage and it turns into the ritual mentioned beforehand.

Killing heretics is seen almost as a sport, usually keeping heretics as prisoners before letting them loose and chasing them around the dark forests. Once again, if Leshy notices this he likes to join in, and his followers are more than happy to have him.

Clothing:

With how quickly things can change while living in Darkwood, clothing is one of the lesser worries- thick wooly coats for winter, flowy robes for summer, and in-betweens for fall and spring. Jewelry is usually stolen from destroyed villages and used as trophies by the followers who are deemed the strongest warriors.

Being the land which had most lambs before Narinder’s imprisonment, a lot of the clothes are made out of wool from their fallen victims- some choose to keep the bells as part of their clothings, others prefer to use it as a doorbell or a trophy.

Amongst cultists:

Amongst themselves, Leshy’s followers are very close to each other when from a same village: they often break havoc, mourn their losses and share their winned treasure together. When from another village, it can be the same closeness shared between villagers or a more dangerous rivalry- which often leads to one village destroying the other.

Being mainly small villages, the jobs involve whatever the village needs- be it cattle, farming or weapon making, there is a bit of everything needed. Anything outside of that, such as writing or art is seen more as a luxury- when a village destroys another they try and steal whatever books and paintings they can find to keep it as a trophy.

Outside of Darkwood, however, followers of Darkwood are seen as the more fanatic and dangerous followers of the Old Faith- sometimes even believing there’s no real followers and just beasts roaming around in the ragged clothes of fallen followers.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl headcanons #headcanons #long post #cotl darkwood #darkwood #cult of the lamb darkwood #cotl leshy #leshy #cult of the lamb leshy #bishop leshy

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mariacallous · 10 months ago

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Imitation caviar invented in the 1930s could provide the solution to plastic pollution, claims Pierre Paslier, CEO of London-based packaging company Notpla. He discovered the cheap food alternative, invented by Unilever and made using seaweed, after quitting his job as a packaging engineer at L’Oréal.

With cofounder and co-CEO Rodrigo García González, Paslier and Notpla have extended the idea, taking a protein made from seaweed and creating packaging for soft drinks, fast food, laundry detergent, and cosmetics, among other things. They’re also branching out into cutlery and paper.

“Seaweed grows quickly and needs no fresh water, land, or fertilizer,” Paslier explains. “It captures carbon and makes the surrounding waters less acidic. Some species of seaweed can grow up to a meter a day.” Best of all, he says, packaging made from seaweed is completely biodegradable because it’s entirely nature-based.

Paslier noted an amazing coincidence—Alexander Parkes invented the first plastic in Hackney Wick, the same part of East London that, 100 years later, Notpla calls home. Since Parkes’ first invention, waste plastic—especially tiny particles known as microplastics, which take hundreds or thousands of years to break down into harmless molecules—has been wreaking havoc in ecosystems across the world.

Plastic pollution is proving especially damaging in the marine environment, where tiny beads of plastic are deadly to the vital microorganisms that make up plankton and which sequester 30 percent of our carbon emissions, “without us having to build any new fancy technologies,” Paslier says.

Notpla’s plans to replace plastic began with a drink container for marathons. This is, in effect, a very large piece of fake caviar—a small pouch that contains juice or water that athletes can pop in their mouths and swallow when they need rehydration. “We wanted to create something that would feel more like fruit; packaging that you could feel comes more from picking something from a tree than off a production line,” he says.

Paslier showed pictures of two postrace streets—one where refueling came in plastic containers and one where it came in edible Notpla. The first was littered with plastic bottles; the second completely waste-free.

The next step was takeout food containers. Even containers we think are cardboard contain plastic, he says, as grease from food would make plain cardboard too soggy. Working with delivery company Just Eat, Notpla has pioneered a replacement for the per- and polyfluorinated substances (PFAS), the so-called “forever chemical” plastics that currently line cardboard takeout containers. It has even found a way to retrofit its solution into the old PFAS plant, so there was no need to build new factories.

The company is developing soluble sachets for detergent pods, ice-cream scoops, and even paper packing for cosmetics. And there’s plenty of seaweed to experiment with, Paslier points out. “You don’t realize it’s already available massively at scale,” he says. “It’s in our toothpaste, it’s in our beer, it’s in our reduced-fat products—so there’s an existing infrastructure that we can work with without having to build any additional processes.”

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topazy · 10 months ago

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Tomorrow's promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader, Rick Grimes × sister reader

Warnings: Blood, childbirth, character death

Chapter: 3.03

“Come on, you can do it.”

Jace wraps his small hands around your fingers and manages to take a few steps in front of you before stumbling forward, but you use your hand to break his fall, so your hands are between his knees and the ground below. Jace repeats this action a few times until he becomes too tired and curls into your arms.

Carl claps his hands and says, “Well done, little guy.”

“Wow, big day for the both of us,” Hershel chuckles. “Give it a few days, and me and Jace will be racing each other in the yard.”

Hershel had adapted quickly to his leg amputation and learned how to walk with crutches. He looks great considering how much trauma his body had gone through a few days prior. Hershel really was a strong man. “You’re looking great; it’s good to see you up and about.”

“Well, Beth told me you helped her alter my trousers; I just wanted to say thank you in person.” Now leaning against the wall beside where you’re sitting on the ground, Hershel uses one of the crutches to point at a folded-up piece of paper falling out of your pocket. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you say as you stand and shove the paper back into your pocket. “Me and Daryl are going on a supply run later; I was just making a list so I don’t forget anything.”

Carl cocks his head to the side. “I thought my dad said we had plenty of food.”

“I need more baby supplies, not just for Jace but also for your new brother or sister as well.” You didn’t want to embarrass your nephew by explaining that your breast milk was drying up. Daryl had overheard you telling Maggie at breakfast and immediately offered to accompany you. Changing the subject, you look to Hershel and ask, “So, how far have you walked now?”

“Only up and down this cell block so far, but I'm going for a stroll outside. Care to join?”

—

“Can I hold him?”

“Sure,” you smile down at Jace, who was trying his hardest to fight sleep. His eyelids would flutter shut, then he'd force them, then he’d whine and open them again. When Beth holds him, he beams up at her before his eyes betray him and close again. “You’re really good with him.”

Beth was only sixteen, and regardless of losing so many people at such a young age, kindness radiated from her. Beth would make such a good mom someday. You smile, noticing the proud look on Maggie, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn’s faces as they watch Hershel walk outside for the first time with his crutches.

Carl raises his gun. “Walkers!”

“Everybody, get inside now!”

You cover Beth as she runs to safety. Hershel hits a walker with his crouch and makes it into the small, fenced-off area with his daughter and Jace. The undead continue to close in on you, their hands reaching out to grab hold of your clothing and pull you down, but you manage to dodge their grasp and continue to fight, the bullets you fire landing in their rotting bodies. Rick, Daryl, and Glenn sprint to the prison yard, but you didn’t have time to wait for them.

“Y/n, quick!” Maggie waves you over to join her, Carl, and Lori as they go into the prison.

You narrowly avoid walkers while getting to the doorway. But you’re unable to close the door behind you, knowing Jace is on the other side of the yard. But when you look back, you see that your brother has reached them and is taking the dead out one by one. Knowing your son is safe, you slam the door shut.

As you run from the walkers already in the prison, your heart pounds in your chest as you catch up with the others. You swear you can feel the hot breath of the undead on your heels, and when you glance back, you see Shane. Except it couldn't be him; his body is still on the farm. The walkers' moans and groans grow louder as they close in on you.

“Aunt y/n! In here!”

You run to the cell block Carl, Lori, and Maggie are in. Soon as your nephew slams the gated door shut, while catching your breath, you notice Lori crouching over in pain, her hand pressing against her back. “Somethings wrong.”

“Are you bit?” Carl asks, panicked.

“No, no, the baby is coming.”

A deafening alarm starts to blast through the prison. You clap your hands over your ears. “We need to move; that damn thing will draw every walker right to us.”

—

You manage to make it to the boiler room without coming into contact with many walkers. You help Lori stand; her screams of pain fill the air. She lets out a deep breath. “The baby is coming, now!”

While Maggie helps Lori lay down and take her pants off, you go to Carl, who is terrified and crying. You gently squeeze his shoulders. “Carl, keep an eye on the door for us, just not, okay?”

His voice is filled with fear and uncertainty. “Is my mom going to make it?”

Unable to respond, you kiss him on the forehead and turn him to face the door. He didn’t need to see his mom give birth.

When you hear Maggie saying, “Okay, it’s time,”

You go over to where Lori is standing, gripping tightly onto the metal poles tightly as she starts to push. You're not sure how to help, you let Lori squeeze your hand so tightly that it will probably bruise as she tries to push again.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Maggie says. Maggie holds up her blood-coated hands. “Somethings wrong.”

—

“Mom, look at me. Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

As you watch Carl cry, your heart breaks not only for Lori but also because you know he’s about to witness his mother dying. Tears stream down your face as the realization sinks in that she was going to die during childbirth.

“I know what it means, and I’m not losing my baby.” She looks directly at Maggie and says, “You’ve got to cut me open.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You won’t survive.”

“My baby has to survive, please. My baby... for all of us. Please! Maggie! Please!”

“Carl? Baby, I don’t want you to be scared, okay? This is what I want; this is right. Now you... you take care of your daddy for me, all right? And your little brother or sister, you take care.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Carl weeps.

Lori breathes through the pain and says, “You’re going to be fine. You are going to beat this world. I know you will. You are smart, and you are strong, so brave, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Maggie holds onto you while sobbing; she wasn’t ready to perform a C-section with Carl’s knife. The baby was breech, and this was the only way to save them. Lori knew that and was saying goodbye. When she meets your gaze, you immediately crumble. No matter how much she hurt you in the past, you never wanted this.

When you kneel beside her, Lori wipes your tears away. “Y/n, when this is all over, you need to do what we talked about; it can’t be Rick.”

“No, no, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can; you need to. And promise me you will love this baby as if it were your own, and you'll take care of Rick and Carl for me. They will need you.”

Kissing the back of her hand, you nod, tears obscuring your vision.

Carl hands Maggie the knife.

All three of them were being so brave. Hershel had taught his daughter the basics of a c-section, so Maggie would take the lead. “Carl, baby, turn around.” Through your blurred vision, you see him still watching. “You don’t want to remember your mom like this; please turn around or close your eyes.”

When Maggie makes the first cut, Lori screams out in agony, and Carl begs for the brunette to stop. Lori suddenly goes still; you weren’t sure if she had bled out or passed out due to the shock of the pain.

“Y/n, give me your hand. Y/n please.” Maggie places your hand on Lori's stomach, where she needs it. “Keep that site clean, okay? If I cut too deep, I’m going to cut the baby.”

Everything that happens next feels like a blur. The alarms have been cut, and the room remains silent except for the distant growling of walkers. Behind you, Carl froze, unable to talk or move.

“I can see the ear. I’ll hold this open, and you pull the baby.”

You follow Maggie’s instructions and pull the baby out. “It’s a girl.” When the baby doesn’t make a sound, you turn her over and rub and pat her back until her cries fill the room. You sob, “She’s breathing; she’s breathing.”

After Maggie cuts the umbilical cord, Carl takes off his jacket and gives it to you to wrap the baby in.

“We can’t stay long,” you whisper to Maggie. “The walkers will smell the blood.”

“I can’t leave my mom like this; she’ll turn.”

“He’s right,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut, and when you open them again, Carl is pointing a gun at his mom's head. “No, no, no!”

He pulls the trigger.

—

The closer you get to exit, the louder Jace’s cries become, which is a relief knowing you’d see him any second, but it didn’t change the massive gaping wound in your heart. Lori was gone. If it wasn’t for the newborn baby in your arms, you would have thought everything that just happened was a horrid hallucination.

Your voice breaks as soon as you see your brother. “Rick…Rick…”

Upon hearing your voice, he smiles for a split second, but the horror etched onto your face and the baby in your arms, and immediately knows that his wife didn't make it.

“Wh-wheres Lori? Where is she?”

You try to answer him, but only a sob comes out.

When Rick tries to go up the staircase you just came from, Maggie stops him. “No,” she says, grabbing his arm. “Rick, no!”

If he saw Lori as you left her, it would completely break him. Rick looks to Carl, hoping his son can reassure him that Lori isn’t dead. “No…no…no.” He cries, “No, no, no!”

Your heart breaks for the innocent baby screaming in your arms, as well as your brother and nephew. She was born into a world that is so cruel and full of darkness and death. You start to shake, your body wracked with sobs, as the guilt of not being able to save Lori sinks in.

Daryl hands Jace to Beth and comes over to you, his eyes full of concern. He wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder. Softly, he asks, “What is it?”

“A girl,” you say, your voice wavering. “She’s—she’s dead. Lori’s dead. The baby… she was the wrong way.”

Holding you tighter Daryl whispers, “There was nothing you could have done.”

#the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon/you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #Daryl Dixon/reader #tomorrow’s promise #tomorrow’s promise 3.03 #the walking dead rewrite #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixion/reader #daryl dixion fanfic

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afyrian · 4 months ago

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ch. 5 - yearning for prosperity or love m.list

the previous night's events replay through your mind like a historical timeline. each part laid out on a line, little times written beside it. events like him inviting you in from the rain, the lights resting behind him like an angelic glow. to him handing off his apron to you, the little consideration boggling your mind.

things slowly started happening in quicker succession until you find yourself staring him down. it hits you like a truck the moment you see his eyes land on you. the way you would've loved to have tasted the food on his lips, to have felt his hand resting on your cheek.

you close your eyes for a moment, wondering how you're getting so caught up on it all. how he can look at you with such a smile that can make you melt. that you can forgo any thought of your customer base dwindling, his restaurant's flair only growing. even now, a few of your students don't want to come due to the parking during rush hours. and it crushes you.

but he somehow makes you forget it. like some sort of sorcery, you just find yourself biting your lip, pondering what life could look like with him. even now, it's invaded your thoughts so much so that your thumb runs through the mug on your wheel. the shape that you were starting to perfect for the raven's eye diner (in exchange for a few free breakfasts) quickly crumbles under your touch. but you can't help but feel it's his touch.

you want to blame him for the failed mug, the swirling design now destroyed. the way it lies on the wheel like an amalgamation of your descent into affection and his affect on you. however, your mind can't conjure up ill will for the man. especially as you remember him tying the apron around your waist, his fingers just barely touching your back. his touch sends a shock through you akin to a kiss of death, the death of all things rational.

however, his touch isn't the only thing that has been sending you into orbit. everything he does has started to worm its way into your life. you've felt like your entire worldview has been flipped on its head, that this one particular man has changed everything for you. something about osamu in particular makes you queasy.

he could do anything and it could cement itself in your core memories. like when he wiped clay off your face, or sometimes he could just be walking into your shop...

"i'd love to buy one of your pieces, they're all so beautiful, they really exude you," he mentioned a few days ago, having entered your shop to give you an incorrectly shipped package.

there was something about seeing him in casual attire, the way his shirt rests comfortably on him. him holding the package like your packages are so natural in his hands, an edge of domesticity plaguing your mind like a drug. the thought of him bringing in some random thing you ordered online, breaking the seal for you, it’s all to much.

imagining it all made it so you couldn't help but offer your services to make him a few specialty pieces. a plate or bowl here, a utensil holder there. however, the thought of making them any less than perfect leaves you procrastinating.

ever since you met him, you never would’ve thought of making him pottery. taking the time to create something with your bare hands and hand it to him as a peace offering. especially when you can see how his restaurant is affecting the town. but now? all you want to do is create his own special blend of natural clays to make him a line of plates and bowls.

you even wonder if a trinket tray for his personal use would be a divine gift. a way to represent your feelings in a way that doesn’t come outright. but rather, it’s slow and steady, easing your way into it. giving you plenty of time to back out and reconsider everything the second you start to feel uneasy.

it’s selfish, to yourself and him, but you know you can’t give up either one. not logistically, not when you’re yearning for love instead of prosperity. and not when you’re just now realizing just how sickeningly wonderful loving him feels.

a/n: i do not want to finish this fic ever 😭 but we still have a few more and an epilogue <33 FORGOT TO ADD: please read raven’s eye diner from mo (guitarstringed-scars), legit so good so far taglist: @causenessus @osakis-gf @eggyrocks @brkfclub @marisabel14

@bbybibi @etoiile @miyamoratsumuu @girlokarina @gsyche

@cherrypieyourface @zephestia @acowboykisser @whosmarjj @gumiiiiezzzz

@guitarstringed-scars @19calicos

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu fanfic #hq #hq fanfic #hq x reader #☼༄ my bisque beau #hq osamu #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu miya fluff #osamu miya x y/n

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trashpanda66 · 1 year ago

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"Communicate"

(Pickle x gender neutral Reader) (SFW)

[So this is my first Baki fic and my first fic on Tumblr. I'm still really new to both of these so if anything is weird or messed up, please just explain how I can fix it. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO! Love y'all. @rottmntrulesall

Life is a very interesting thing, isn't it? You can think that you have everything all figured out, that there's nothing left in life or in this world that can surprise you or knock you off your game. But life always has a curveball hidden just behind the corner, waiting patiently for the day that you don't have your bat ready to swing. Unfortunately for you, you didn't have your eye on the ball today.

You had a lot of experience with animals of all kinds. You grew up in a forest in the countryside your whole life with your family, so encounters with animals happened quite often. From gators in your back yard that you'd give a good bath/scrub to before guiding them back into the swamps, to paying attention to the number of coyotes howling in the woods so you could know when the panthers came back through and cut the canines' numbers down. The herds of deer would just walk around with you when they were in the area, snakes would cuddle up to you for your warmth, and you had a few wild hawks that would come to you for food and comfort all the time. All of these things together made others think that you were some sort of animal tamer, that you could control all of nature's beasts with a wave of your hand and a command from your mouth. It was a cute idea, but it was entirely wrong. In your years growing up in the forest, you had learned how to communicate with the animals. "Look at the ground when you're around deer so they'll think you're a grazer like them, direct eye contact and/or bared teeth are a challenge to fight, a turned back is a prime opportunity to attack, and show any opponent your side to express that you can fight but would prefer not to." These were just some of the lessons you learned as you grew up, but it was the language of the animal world, and you were determined to learn it. Over time, you mastered this unspoken language and earned the respect of the wildlife around you. You didn't control the animals, you simply spoke to them in their language.

You were in Japan for a vacation, rather than work for once. You were enjoying your time there, going to different sites and experiencing the wonders of the land when you suddenly got a phone call. It was an unknown number, but your instincts told you to answer the phone rather than ignore it. With a sigh, you answered the phone call. You were called to Mitsunari Tokugawa's fighting ring to, in his words, "help take care of a wild animal". The man on the other end of the line refused to explain any further than that, instead just repeating "I promise to pay you plenty for your help if you come as soon as possible".

And that's how you ended up here, in an illegal fighting ring, staring directly at a fight between an 8 foot tall caveman and some new upcoming fighter who wanted to test his mettle against the dinosaur killer. You felt a tug on the side of your jacket, causing you to look to the elderly man who called you here in the first place. Tokugawa had a solemn look on his face as he finally elaborated on why you were here.

"His name is Pickle. The main problem is that he keeps eating the fighters who lose to him." His eyes shine with hesitation and fear, as if he's concerned that you'll run off without helping once he finishes explaining everything. His tired old eyes drift back to the arena, catching sight of Pickle as he gives an open palm slap to his opponent and sends the young fighter flying out of the arena. He swallowed down a lump in his throat before continuing.

"I need you to go down there and stop Pickle from eating that fighter in there. I've watched him tear apart some of the world's best fighters, all of them being men that I admired greatly! It's because of him that some of my favorite fighters can no longer return to this ring and others had to give up fighting completely. For now, all I need is that you make sure that fighter in there goes back home mostly intact." The small old man shakes as he talks, seemingly convinced that you're going to escape the moment you get a chance. I mean, who wouldn't? He was sending you into a situation where you could lose parts of your body at best, and your life at worst. But you didn't respond. You stared into the arena, your eyes following every move made by the gigantic ancient human. You could see it in the way his muscles flexed and relaxed, the way his eyes opened and closed lazily, and in the way his facial muscles were mostly lax. You could see it clearly where no one else could.

Pickle wasn't taking this fight seriously. While the young fighter was pouring every ounce of his strength into this match, the caveman had yet to even go halfway. Like a wolf playing with a pup, Pickle was handicapping himself just to give his opponent confidence. The caveman didn't want the game to end anytime soon, but the young fighter was growing more and more weary with each passing second. You were in no rush to get to the bottom of the pit because as far as you could see, Pickle was more than happy to play with and not hurt the smaller fighter. As you neared the entrance of the arena, you caught sight of something that sent you straight into action.

In a foolish attempt to gain victory, the young fighter took aim for Pickle's family jewels. The hit landed, causing Pickle to scream and hiss in pain before backing away from the fighter. Said fighter was staggering around on his own feet, exhaustion and fatigue taking over his entire body as he struggled to simply stay awake. And then you both heard it.

A growl. Then you saw it.

Pickle was on all fours, his entire body lifted up and tense, ready to pounce. Pickle wasn't playing anymore.

You sprinted into the arena, throwing caution to the wind as you jumped in front of the caveman. You turned your back to the massive fighter, baring your teeth and shrieking at the smaller fighter. You lifted your arms and opened your stance, making yourself appear bigger to both men. While the young fighter was confused and dazed by your display, Pickle understood.

You, despite being even smaller and weaker than either of the fighters in the pit, were siding with Pickle against his opponent. Even better, you trusted the prehistoric man to not attack you while you were distracted, a trust which is not lightly given in nature. You were protecting the warrior, you were fighting for the fighter, and your actions did not go unnoticed. Suddenly you leapt forward towards the weary fighter, wrapping your small hands around his head before knocking him to the ground. You didn't give him a chance to speak before you ordered him to go limp and close his eyes. It wasn't difficult for the exhausted brawler to obey your words, passing out at just the right time. Hurriedly you rolled the both of you over on the ground, making it appear as if the younger fighter had gained the upper hand in his "altercation" with you. It was entirely accidental on your part, you had just meant to get the unconscious fighter into a better position where you could sling him closer to the exit of the arena, but you didn't get a chance. Suddenly Pickle was standing over the both of you, his hand outstretched behind himself as his whole body twisted into delivering a bone shattering slap to the exposed fighter. You started struggling underneath the younger fighter who was much heavier than he looked to get the caveman's attention and stop him from delivering his final blow, but Pickle saw your struggle as the last efforts of a warrior who will lose the fight against their opponent, furthering him into putting as much force as he could behind his strike.

If there is communication, then there must be miscommunication as well.

The caveman's hand connected with the ribs of the knocked out fighter, sending his unconscious body rag dolling across the arena and into the stands. Welp. At least the young fighter is no longer in the ring. You start to calm down, your eyes fluttering shut slowly as the adrenaline starts to wear off. It was somewhat peaceful, the bright lights were almost good enough to mimic the warmth of the sun as your own fatigue started to catch up to you. It was almost perfect napping conditions. And then you felt a slightly leathery hand cup your cheek softly, which was then followed by a mildly damp nose pressing gently against your forehead, blowing out soft puffs of hot air against your hairline. Your eyes fly back open, expecting to witness horrid fangs the moment before they're buried in your flesh, but instead you're met with a curious sight.

Bright meukow cognac colored eyes peer down at you from behind long, greasy black hair. The giant man is peering down at you, his head blocking the intense lights and giving him a shimmering halo. The caveman's massive hand was gently cradling your face, angling your head towards his and allowing him to check you over for injuries. As far as he knew, you had just taken on a challenger who was strong enough to actually hurt him, and had he not interfered when he did, you would have become the young fighter's next meal. Pickle's eyes filled with tears, his admiration of you flowing from his brandy eyes and dripping onto your face. You knew you couldn't win against the caveman's opponent, yet you still protected him. But there was another reason for Pickle's tears, one that you recognized almost too well.

Pickle doesn't respect anything that can't fight. Pickle doesn't befriend anything that can't fight. But if his opponent can actually put up a good fight, Pickle will bond with them. He'll see them as a companion, an equal, someone worth being in a pack with. But there's one problem; the nature of his time demanded that he eat anything he defeated. Even if he befriended his opponent, even if he loved them with his whole heart, he had to defeat them, and he had to eat them. Because if he didn't, then he'd be the one being consumed. It was eat or be eaten, kill or be killed, and Pickle was determined to survive. No matter how much he loved his enemy, he'd only have that one battle with them, that one bonding moment with them before he had to kill them.

Until you strolled into the arena. You proved your strength by taking on the fighter who managed to injure Pickle, earning the caveman's respect without having to fight him yourself. Pickle didn't have to eat you, because you didn't lose to him! You could be his first companion! The first member of his pack! Finally. Finally Pickle wouldn't have to be alone anymore!

But Pickle could be happy about his new potential pack member later. For now, he needed to finish checking you over for injuries.

You couldn't help the nervous giggle that escaped your lips as the giant caveman skirted his massive hands over your entire body, pressing his nose to anything extra sensitive and sniffing. You let him pick you up and move your joints carefully, testing the ranges of your body just in case anything got hurt in the scuffle. So far, it seemed everything was alright! No injuries accounted for, no discomfort from you, so everything was going great! Pretty soon, the caveman would let you go and you'd probably be free to return to your vacation. Once Pickle was certain that you hadn't been injured in your supposed "fight", he set you down gently on the ground in front of him, gauging your reaction to his presence. You sat in front of him cross legged, your eyes half open as you leaned back and exposed your torso to him. You were telling him you trust him. Pickle immediately began to reciprocate your trust, exposing his neck to you as he used his hands to scuttle closer. Once he's deemed himself close enough to you, he begins to lean forward. You could sense that you were safe with him, that if he wanted you gone, he would have handled that himself long ago. As such, you began to lean forward as well.

Pickle placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and taking in a shuddering breath. You had to physically stop yourself from gagging at the stench emanating from the giant man, but you closed your eyes and bit your tongue, letting the prehistoric man continue his little bonding ritual. You felt that same massive leathery hand rest against the side of your face once more, though this time he wasn't attempting to move your head. He was just holding you gently, seemingly waiting for you to do something. With an internal sigh, you begin to lift your hand to hold the side of his massive face. The only thought that went through your mind before your small hand touched his dirty skin was 'I hope this isn't some kind of mating ritual'. The moment your hand made contact with his face, Pickle's eyes flew open. Upon seeing that your eyes were still closed, he gently tapped your face. Your eyes opened and met with his once more, the two of you sitting in a position that makes you almost look like lovers. Slowly, his massive hand drifted down from your face, causing you to mirror him and sink your hand lower than his face. Once his hand stopped on your shoulder, you placed yours on his big shoulder, never once breaking eye contact. Pickle smiled to you, showing his fangs before hiding them slowly, so you reciprocated. Finally Pickle pulled his head away from yours, sitting up a bit straighter in front of you. He closed his eyes happily before making a little chuffing noise at you, to which you giggled and finally spoke to the caveman. Though your sentence was in the language of the modern humans, Pickle understood your words.

"Hello there, Pickle. I'm glad we're friends now."

#baki son of ogre #baki the grappler #pickle baki #pickle x reader #baki pickle

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