#food as a metaphor for love tag still reigning supreme

[tartagliatum]

since you mentioned Albedo’s clone/Subject 2…

warning. im obsessed with him. this has turned into something completely tummy-unrelated, but i hope you still enjoy it. feel free not to respond if you’d like.

if this were on ao3, i’d tag it “food as a metaphor for love” lmao

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rhinedottir’s treatment of her prized possession, her perfect creation, was one of strictness and emotional deprivation. so it’s no wonder that she treated those that came before Subject 1 as trash under her foot. of course none of the previous subjects would even live to remember such anguish, except for one.

When Subject 2 witnessed Albedo sharing supper with Kaeya and Klee one evening, he was…confused, if anything. He had just begun stalking Albedo to learn of his habits and lifestyle, and this was the first time he had witnessed this so-called “art of cooking.” Before being fed to the Dragon, he, too, was sustained only on their creator’s supplement cakes. He didn’t know cooking was an activity one could do in general.

But the way Kaeya flipped the unknown food in the pan, the smell of foreign spices escaping the cracks of the window from where he secretly peeked in, this hiss and crackle of the stove’s flames as bits of food spilled over the metal edge of the pan…it fascinated him. Was this magic? A form of alchemy he had not yet been taught?

Then the three sat down at their table, and Albedo took the first bite. His eyes filled with an expression Subject 2 had never seen in his life; was that joy? surprise? confusion? Albedo was not supposed to be confused; he was perfect. He knew everything. What sort of magic would have even Albedo bewitched by its sorcery?

His stomach churning with an unknown sensation, and his chest burning with simmering envy and rage once again, he slowly slipped away from their city home.

Subject 2 had rarely known hunger. If he ignored it enough, eventually it would go away. His body, though flawed, would supplement itself with the chemical bonds around it; stealing ions and electrons from the environments he lived in to form new compounds that would replace the energy lost. No sustenance was needed.

And yet, ever since he had smelled those foreign spices in Kaeya’s kitchen through the cracks of the window frame, it was as if there were a hole in his stomach that wouldn’t go away. One demanding to be filled by the same dishes. His mouth seemed to water and crave those distant flavors, and his hands, too, itched to recreate whatever cooking Kaeya had unknowingly shown him.

Subject 2, who was cursed with more freedom than Albedo, was the one to begin cooking for himself.

He burnt nearly everything he set atop his fire pit. He had no access to fancy spices, as Dragonspine yielded only sweet flowers and mint, and he had no mora to his name— not like he’d actually be able to buy anything at a market anyway. Not when he still looked so much like Albedo.

And yet, he persisted.

Eventually, he’d make a dish that recreated a muted version of the reaction he witnessed Albedo have those many days ago; a bootleg goulash of sorts. A thin broth of tomatoes, unevenly sliced meat (some still laden with fat and bone), two dashes of mint leaves and a sweet flower bloom. Add a dash of salt he’d stolen from a Fatui camp, and ding! it had been the best thing he’d ever tasted.

Which was, in comparison to Albedo’s now expanded palate, quite sad.

Months later, when Albedo came to confront this “twin” of his again, he stumbled upon him cooking that very dish. He stirred with a wooden ladle with a half-broken handle, hunched over a fire that wasn’t even strong enough to boil the liquid within the pot. Even after months of practice, with no one to teach him the proper etiquette, the soup still cooking in the notably rusted pot still looked…dubious at best.

And yet from the look in his eyes, Albedo could tell he was hungry. Perhaps almost starved, in any sense but the physical one. His body was not yet eroding away from the inside out, but his gaze was locked so intensely on the stew it was as if he was afraid of losing it. The way his fingers trembled by the fire wasn’t simply from the subzero temperatures of the climate. If Albedo strained his ears, he could hear the tell-tale faint grumbling noises beneath the howling of the frigid wind.

Well, Albedo thought, Kaeya always says the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

“Hey”

Subject 2’s head shot up, and he sprung to his feet to defend himself against a sword. But what Albedo held out instead were two small bottles of cumin and pepper. A small sack of perishables weighed in the bag on Albedo’s back, and a smile graced his face.

“If you’d like, I could teach you to cook.”

Taking one step forward into forging his new identity, Subject 2 grasped his “brother’s” outstretched hand.

-🤍🪶

(i’m sorry, i went crazy. i’m in a subject 2 mood, not really much of a tummy mood. but by the time i realized it, i had already finished writing. also, this is me inadvertently headcanon-ing that if Subject 2 were playable, his special would be Goulash)

kicking my legs and giggling at all the kaeya mentions

i feel so bad for clone albedo he is so pitiful:(( i just love the idea of his pedestal placement of real albedo crumbling a bit when he realises that he too struggles with the need to be something else (truly human) and they can bond together over their newfound relationship w food !!