#food is their love language

[lanfan01]

Eat, drink,sleep and binge watch some of their favorite series...this is how they spend their days off

(red horse is an alcoholic drink)

This is how it was supposed to be ahaha

[seza-and-her-not-me-obsession]

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My mind went straight to VegasPete.

[machveil]

okay wait, because I was immediately struck with more Boyfriend!König after posting this

Boyfriend!König who comes home from a deployment - he reeks, he’s sore, everything aches and he feels like death. but, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him his eyebrows furrow. somethings cooking and it smells familiar. he’s kicking his boots off at the door and shrugging his coat off as he walks towards the kitchen. and there you are, standing next to the stove with a spoon held up to your lips, listening to music and unaware of his presence

Boyfriend!König who coughs, not wanting to startle you with his sudden presence. it’s worth it though, seeing you look over at him, eyes lighting up as you practically tackle him for a hug. it’s a sweet, short moment, but König’s eyeing the stovetop. when you let go you excitedly tell him you’re making dinner, something special since he’s been gone for a couple weeks. “You can’t look! It’ll ruin the surprise— uh, actually, maybe take a shower. I’ll call you when it’s done, okay?”, he chuckled at your rushed words, moved towards your bathroom when you gave him a gentle shove

hair wet and dressed in some ratty sweatpants, Boyfriend!König comes back to the kitchen while toweling off his hair. the scent from the kitchen is stronger than when he came in, but it’s nothing compared to what’s on the counter. he freezes, a little wobbly when he puts his foot down and looks at the food. tafelspitz. and suddenly that familiar smell registers in his head, his mama’s cooking. you had called her regularly while he was deployed, spent every other day learning how to cook some of König’s childhood favorites

Boyfriend!König whose eyes get watery when he starts eating because, oh, it tastes exactly how his mama makes it. he hasn’t been back home in a year and a half - purely from bad timing and deployments - and he’s missed his mama’s food so much. König who gets up from the table, walks over to you while chewing and hugs you, not giving you the chance to stand up or properly hug him back. as soon as he swallows he’s babbling ‘thanks you’s and kissing the crown of your head, murmuring how ‘you didn’t have to’. he’s got you in a death squeeze, eyes closed as he presses his nose to your hair, “Ich liebe dich— you’re too good to me, Liebling.”

[personinthepalace]

#lucy starting off alone and then becoming part of a home and that home is being represented by food and warmth and getting together with#george and lockwood around a table#it's just really fun#also the boys caring for her with food ♥ via @thereigning-lorelai

#started from the bottom and now we’re here

[nerdynuala]

Some cute doodles after the angst I've been spamming here

[metamorphesque]

musings on oranges

Alessia Di Cesare, Romero Barros, Wendy Cope, David Stevenson, Rebecca O’Connor, Andrea Kantrowitz, Nina LaCour, Augustin Rouart, Ocean Vuong, Chris Krupinski, Wendy Cope, Mickie Acierno, Jacques Prévert, Robert Spear Dunning, Wendy Cope

buy me a coffee

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

#Making Food As A Love Language

[mendellyill]

Gale's line when you first see the owl bear at camp is something like "the hand that feeds is the hand that's loved" and I think that little insight says a lot about his self appointed position as camp cook.

[momodita]

snapshots. [—chilchuck tims]

TAGS / WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, modern au,       minor pining, background marcille/falin WC: 1,000 NOTE: divorced father of 3 save me... save me       divorced father of 3...

✗ MINORS / AGELESS / BLANK BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

“Move over.”

Chilchuck’s voice startles you. The bowl in his hands is steaming: a hearty stew made with Falin and Marcille’s collective effort—(“Senshi’s tried and true recipe!”). A thick slice of bread perches on its rim. It smells just as heavenly as it did at dinner.

“Here?” you ask, stupefied. The armchair you’ve claimed is wide; there’s easily enough space to fit a Chilchuck-sized person, but your mind jumps—unbidden—to the reason he’d been late in the first place.

“Where else?” He nudges you with his knee. “As if I’m gonna sit near that love-fest over there.”

“You’re not welcome anyways,” Marcille tuts, midway through dipping the maraschino cherry from her sundae into Falin’s mouth.

“This is my apartment!”

You concede with a laugh: it’s just your bruised heart working overtime. The moment his body settles, shoulders touching, you stop being able to taste the ice cream Laios had scooped into your bowl. Existence narrowing to that point of contact with a familiar little rush.

It’s Laios’ turn to choose tonight’s movie, much to Marcille’s dismay—(“A documentary classifies! This is a really interesting one!”)—and he scrolls to find it as Chilchuck digs into his food.

Midway through, you engage him in a thrilling mock-battle of fencing spoons. Falin dozes, lulled from the careful stroke of Marcille’s fingers through her hair. By the time the credits roll, they’re folded onto each other, soft snores drowned out by music.

“They fell asleep again,” Chilchuck drawls, chin cushioned against his hand.

“Must be crashing after all that sugar,” Laios suggests, drapes a blanket over them.

“They were pretty high energy tonight. Eager to hear about how Chilchuck’s date went, I guess,” you tease, taking up the mantle with Marcille fast asleep. “You didn’t even tell us her name.” Keeping the tone casual despite the haunting little pit in your stomach.

(It’d been a shock to hear about it: for as long as you’ve known him, Chilchuck has been eager to keep his life private—even from long-time friends. And there’d been no signs of anyone—except you and your little group—coveting his time and attention; no extra, unexplained toothbrushes, no brands you don’t recognize in his pantry, no missed get-togethers.)

“Huh?” He gives you a look, confusion twisted in his features. The TV’s light illuminates a silver hair. “I wasn’t with any girl.”

Your brow furrows. “…His name? Their name?”

Chilchuck stares. This close—where the minuscule twitches in his expression are noticeable—it’s strangely evaluating.

“You know Marcille was joking when she said it was a date, right?” Heat sears along your cheekbones; embarrassment flushing hot under his gaze—the realization of your mistake.

“Of course I knew,” you say stupidly. Chilchuck’s eyebrow quirks. “Shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, then if it wasn’t a date, who were you with?”

“Senshi,” he says. “He was—we, uh,” his eyes slide off to the side, “I asked him for a favor.”

“Oh?” you hum, relief and mirth creating a warm hum behind your ribs. “Looking to get a side hustle as a cook?”

“Not even close,” he grunts, looking away.

“Should we start calling you our little master chef?” You nudge him with a grin.

“Chilchuck is already quite good at cooking,” Laios pipes up without taking his eyes off the screen. “Maybe he’ll learn to make something else after mastering ramen.”

“Hey—”

“Ramen?” you ask, head tilting. “Like, the instant kind?”

Chilchuck splutters. “No!”

“From scratch!” Laios beams. “Senshi’s said he’s been making really good progress since his first day.”

“Oh?” you grin. “Our little master chef is gonna open a ramen shop?”

“Shut up. No way. Not ever,” Chilchuck grumbles, the high curve of his ear a soft pink.

“I hope you’ll make it for us one day—I love ramen,” you say. “Very tedious, though, so I’ve never done it myself.”

His face scrunches, mouth pursing together like he wants to speak, but doesn’t. His cheeks puff with air, releasing as a long, quiet sigh.

“Oh, hey, so after ramen”—you lean a hand on the chair’s opposite arm, boxing him in with a cheeky little smile—“you should look into French onion soup. It’s probably easier than ramen but caramelizing the onions takes so long—”

“You—!” he leans back, shoulders tense and eyes wide. “Don’t go making requests before I’ve even cooked anything decent.”

“Why not? I bet it’ll be great! You’re good with your hands, so soup is probably a piece of cake for you.” You watch—with no small amount of pleasure—as Chilchuck’s face flushes with vivid color.

“Get away from me,” he mumbles, but his tone is so insincere all you do is laugh. He knocks a loose fist against the inside of your elbow. A surprised noise jumps out; you retreat back against the chair, rubbing the spot.

“Mmh?” Marcille rouses with a sleepy hum. “What’re you requestin’?”

“Chilchuck is making us ramen,” you joke, relishing the way he knocks an admonishing leg against yours. “He’s our little master chef.”

“Oh, yeah. Did Laios end up spilling the beans?” Marcille yawns. Falin stirs, eyes fluttering. “Congratulations, you two.”

Chilchuck goes stiff beside you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

Marcille pauses, head tilting with a drowsy look of confusion. “Huh? Didn’t you ask why he’s learning to make it?” she asks. Falin tugs her sleeve.

You blink. “No. Should I have?” Marcille doesn’t respond right away, head bent to put an ear by Falin’s mouth, expression pinched as they whisper. Then, with a sigh, she reaches up to stretch.

“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.” Laios is quick to grab her attention.

“Hey, so are you actually opening a ramen shop?” you whisper to Chilchuck.

“You’re such an airhead,” he grunts against his palm.

“I’m great,” you reply. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze. When next he speaks, his voice is soft—acquiescing easily to your jest.

“Guess you are.”

[swamp-milkweed]

roque dalton, "como tú," tr. jack hirschman

[shoku-and-awe]

Saw this bunny rabbit handwarmer at the Peabody Essex Museum and I don't know whether to stage a heist or throw myself into the sun, it is so CUUUTE

Also, fun fact: this kind of brazier is called a hibachi 火鉢, literally fire + bowl. Coals go in and it keeps you warm.

The North American use of the term hibachi, like at Benihana, doesn't really exist in Japan (and neither does that style of cooking). That kind of inlaid table grill is called a teppan 鉄板, iron + plate.

The other North American use of the term, for a type of portable charcoal grill, also does not exist. That one's called a shichirin 七輪, seven + rings, and if that sounds familiar to you, this is probably why.

[scealaiscoite]

“food as a love language” prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍊 ꒱

-ˏˋ. dialogue ˊˎ-

⋆ “i know you said you weren’t hungry, but i made you something anyways.”

⋆ “you seemed a little off on the phone, so i wanted to make sure you had something nice to come home to.”

⋆ “i heard you reminiscing about it the other day, so i called your mom and got the recipe.”

⋆ “hey, hey- i know you always say you don’t have time to eat breakfast before you leave, so i got up early to make you something you could eat on the go.”

⋆ "you know i don't mind that you can't help me while i'm cooking. wanna help me plate it up now?"

⋆ “of course i remembered what you like, why do you think i always have it made fresh when you come over? i’m not actually a psychic.”

⋆ "well you said you were craving [insert food] and it's too late to run to the store to grab it so yeah, i made it for you."

⋆ “come on, i can see you’re starving. just let me make you something, you know i don’t mind.”

-ˏˋ. actions / scenarios ˊˎ-

⋆ practising cooking a dish from their friend/partner's childhood in secret before serving it to them for the first time

⋆ gently reminding them to eat

⋆ always having the ingredients for their comfort meal on hand in case they have a bad day

⋆ navigating around their sensory issues with food while cooking for them without being asked

⋆ dropping off food for them during a stressful day

⋆ being patient as they teach the other how to cook

⋆ learning how to prepare food from their home country for them

⋆ wordlessly setting a meal down in front of them after they come home at the end of a long day

[belatinysun]

i love love love how hinata's connection with food is showed throughout the brazil arc, how he is always making sure to have a proper meal, how he worries about pedro and wants him to eat well 🥹 it makes me imagine all the different recipes he learned in brazil, how much he studied to be able to prepare healthy meals by his own

he is truly the embodiment of food as a love language 🧡

[machveil]

thinking about Boyfriend!König that eats so much at home. he orders takeout in such large quantities that his usual restaurants know his voice - as soon as they hear his little ‘hello?’ they’re like, “Oh, you want the usual? We’re having a buy-one-get-one-free thing right now on breadsticks.”. if he isn’t ordering at least six different things off the menu something is wrong

thinking about sitting down to eat with him and he’s eyeing your food like he doesn’t have a buffet in front of him. he’ll always let you eat in peace, never rushing you or commenting on what you ordered… but he’s drooling over it like he wished he ordered it. thinking about always saving a couple bites of food for König, pretending to be full and insisting he should finish your takeout. he’ll always double check with you before shoveling it into his mouth, groaning because it tastes good - you saved a little bit of everything for him, from a little sauce, some protein, maybe some grain or veggies. König always offers you some of his food in turn, and messy eater that he is, his food looks like it’s been through hell. some portions are heavily broken up by his fork, others mixed together because, “It tastes better like this, Liebling.”

[humming-fly]

Transcending platonic or romantic affection is the camaraderie of sneaking food during boring meetings or state dinners

[vaguely-concerned]

the barista lady in the treviso café fucking giggles every time you buy the fancy coffee lucanis likes from her btw. can't believe the game is calling out rook and me like this