#for any mise en place heads out there

[capricornlevi]

being a little #real for a second it does bum me out that I'm so slow with updating mise en place ... i get the most nicest most encouraging comments and i am so eternally grateful for them ... i just think the longer a story gets the more effort i try to put into making it cohesive etc but that just leads to me agonising over tiny paragraphs ...

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[floweringlino]

Shared passion | L.M

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 ; A chef losing his passion for his occupation and a right hand that is losing respect for the person that taught her all she knows.

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; Chef!Minho x SousChef!Reader

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 ; Mention of knives, slight aggression, loss of passion, mention of burn out, slight angst, fluff, suggestive

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 ; 2,3k

The Gods Menu Masterlist

✎ ❀

"Alright everyone, we can start Mise en place in a second. There are some things that we need to discuss before we start and i'd like everyone to listen." The girl gathered the attention from her colleagues around her, a hand shot up from the back.

"Yes Felix?"

"Where's Chef?" The pastry chef de partie calmly asked, not to piss his sous chef off

"I don't know Lix, we'll see him show up somewhere today. If you need to ask something important about work you can ask me."

"Yes Chef”

Another hand shot up from the crowd. It was the intern. He had been at the restaurant for about 8 months, nearing his exames.

"Anything I can help with Jeongin?"

"Maybe Chef, I had a meeting with Chef at 12.00 about school, what can I do if he doesn't show up?"

"I'll talk to you after debrief, is that okay?" To which he responded with a polite nod.

"Okay now the points of today, first of, today all of you will do as much as possible without mine of Chefs help. Its time to show us what you’re all capable off, that doesn't count for our Interns." All responded with a yes chef.

"Secondly, Changbin. I would like to ask you politely to stop making the Interns clean up your mess. Jeongin is here to learn. I don't need him filling piping bags because you're too lazy to do it yourself. Han,  Jeongin is not your personal Carrot scrapper. Do it yourself." Both men responded with another yes chef and looked down to the floor in embarrassment.

"Three, i will first be carving the meat, after that i will be in the office, working on the fall menu, got any ideas, share them with me. I'd love some of your input."

"Lunch, 30 people, two times no pork. One person gluten-free, and 5 people confirmed vegetarian. Does everyone know what that entails for each partie?" Another yes chef.

"Alright everyone, it's a beautiful day to make some people smile. Let's start Mise en place. Jeongin come with me." The intern followed her into the restaurant where they sat down at one of the tables.

"Talk to me honey." She spoke kindly

"Well you see, i have my exam next month and I still need to do one more assignment before i qualify for the national exams. But i need a superior to sign it."

"And you worry because Chef hasn't been around much." To which he responded with a shy nod.

"I'll get him to sign it. Do you have the paperwork here?" He nodded and gave the papers.

"You'll have it tomorrow, now you do your work. There's a lot to learn from the guys today, try to keep an eye on everything." He nodded happily and went back into the kitchen.  Y/N dropped her head in her hands and her elbows rested on the table bellow her. A deep sigh left her mouth just as Chan entered the restaurant.

Chan and Minho had opened the restaurant together, two weeks after opening Minho called Y/N to become her sous chef.

"Whats the matter?”

"Min is not showing up I think."

Chan sat down next to her putting a caring hand on her shoulder.

"I know its hard but he's going through a bit of a rough path. Don't love faith in him."

"I'll try" she nodded at him, understanding his words.

She went back into the kitchen and did what she did best, cooking her ass off.

At 12 lunch started rolling in but still no Minho to be seen. She called him but was met with a sleepy voice on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Get your ass here and help me with the new fall menu."

"Why would I?"

"Uhm excuse me what the fuck? What do you mean why would I? Your kitchen, your staff, your mess."

"Whatever, I'll be there in 20."

"You better." And she hung up on him. He did keep his word as 20 minutes later he walked into the restaurant. Not in his work clothes but in his sweatpants and Tshirt.

Y/N wishes everyone a goodluck with service and with that she left to the office, dragging her chef with her.

"I need you to sign this." She shoved Jeongin's papers in his hands.

"Whats this?"

"Your interns papers. Or did you forget you had a meeting with him today at 12?" He smacked his own face which made it clear that he had indeed forgotten. Later that day they had gotten nowhere with the new menu, only arguing and head butting.

Y/N picked up her stuff and stormed out of the office. She made her was to the kitchen with her notepad. Minho running after her.

"Hyunjin, you're in charge for tonight. I need to get the fuck out of here. It's 10 people, will you be okay?"

"Of course I will! Thank you for this opportunity, Chef."

Minho didn't like that answer even one bit.

"Y/N is not your chef so you will not refer to her as such."

She angrily spun around to face him.

"“You are such a fucking asshole, you haven’t shown your face in days and now you do this? You know, i used to admire you but i have lost all respect i ever had for you in this moment. You sad excuse of a leader. You don’t even know what is going on in your own kitchen.”

And with that she left

~

Later that evening Y/N was preparing food for the new menu in her own home. Thought flew through her head and she wrote all of it down, even if some things didn't make any sense. Multiple people for work had texted her their ideas and those also made their way onto her papers.

Her mind wondered to how it all was 10 years ago, she was still an intern at a Michelin star restaurant, freshly turned 18. Completely overwhelmed and extremely confused. It was there where she met Chan and Minho. Chan was just a simple waiter back then but Minho, he was everything the admired about the job.

He had the confidence, the admiration and most importantly he had more passion for his work than everyone around her combined. She looked up to him, started watching his techniques, following his movements. He quickly noticed and took her under his wing. Of course she had learned a lot school but Minho had learned her everything she knew.

He learned her how to use her creativity. He showed her the best techniques, took her to the most important seminars. He made her follow the most interesting courses. Together they rose to the top

Intern, chef de partie

Chef de partie, Junior sous chef

Junior sous chef, sous chef

And now they were at the end of their road. A year ago she knew for sure that there was still so much he could learn her but then he stopped showing up. Y/N had to figure out how to do it without him and it hurt her.

Even a simple bystander could see it. Guests asked Chan about it? Were they together? A normal person saw love but it was so much more than that. It was shared looks of respect, passion and admiration.

Her lonely thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Only after that she noticed the single tear that had rolled down her cheek oh so dramatically. She wiped it away and opened her Front door.

A face full of regret was what she was met with. Both didn't know how to start a conversation so after a couple awkward second of silence, Y/N just gestured for him to come inside of her home.

"I still remember when you still lived with your parents. Now you own a home and have pets."

"Well im not 18 anymore, and you're not 19 anymore. What are you doing here Minho?" She wasn't interested in his small talk. Why did he come to her house at midnight.

"Okay, uhm. How do I start this" he took a couple of seconds before continuing. "Im sorry."

"Explain to me what it is that you're sorry for."

"I'm sorry for letting you down. What can I do to make it up to you?"

She couldn't help but look deep into his eyes. She used to always be able to tell what was going on inside his head but something was blocking it. So she did the one thing what made them a team.

"Cook with me?" She pointed her head to her kitchen where a messy kitchen was displayed. He nodded happily and accepted the apron she handed him. He smiled as he held the fabric in his hand, the logo of his old job looking back at him. She stole it from them. The place that brought them together.

"You kept this?"

"Of course I did. I had the best time of my life there. It's where I met you." She smiled kindly at him, a smile he hadn't received in a couple of months and he couldn't help stare.

"So what are you gonna do."

"You're gonna do what you do best, debone this pheasant."

"Where did you get a pheasant?"

"I have my sources."

And they cooked, they wrote down their ideas and ended the night with a perfect new menu. They were a team and for the first time in a while Minho had found his joy back in the kitchen.

Gradually the cooking came to an end and the scenery changed for the kitchen to the living room.  A opened bottle of wine and deep conversation was where the night was headed.

Minho sat on the couch normally, and Y/N sat next to him but her legs over his. First he wondered if it was the alcohol speaking to him but only now he realised how dumb he had been. Looking in her eyes he realised something.

"I'm gonna start going to therapy I think. Maybe they can help me with my burn out."

"Im proud of you, Min."

"Im proud of you too. I had lost my passion, I felt completely burnt out and tired. And today I realised that it was still there. You made me realise." His finger traced the side of her head and shrugged leaned into his touch.

"Im sorry for pushing you aside and im sorry if i have caused you any pain. I have been horrible to you when you have shown me nothing but kindness from the beginning." His hand moved along her jawline, shyly she looked away but that was not gonna happen like that.with his hand on her chin he lead her face back to his. Their eyes interlocked, Minho leaned closer. His eyes darting towards his lips.

"Minho wait." He stopped and they rested their fore heads against each other.

"Do you want this or is this the alcohol? Because if its not real I don't know if I can do this." She started tearing up but before she could she got her response.

"I don't what this, i need this. I need to hold you, i need to have you. I've waited 10 years for this moment and I'm never gonna let you go." And with that confirmation he presses his soft lips against hers. Soft and tender. He wanted to take in every second of the moment, as they could only get one first kiss. It brought comfort and happiness. A longing that was finally fulfilled. After a soft kiss of a couple of seconds both pulled away.

"I've been in love with you for 10 years, Y/N."

"I've been in love with you too, Min."

He dove back into his kiss happily, smiling into it as he wrapped his arms around her, his arms sliding halfway underneath her hoodie.

"You're so beautiful, i could do this all day with you." She giggled into the kiss which gave him the opportunity to add a little bit of tongue into it which she happily accepted. Her hands wondered to the bottom of his shirt which was quickly taken of in a swift motion, along with many other pieces of clothing. They fell asleep of the couch after that and when Minho woke up at 9 he traced her naked shoulders.

"Wake up my love, we need to go to work." He pressed a kiss against her forehead with care. She humbled.

"Are we going together? Your coming with me?"

"I am. Its time for you to give me back my position."

"Gladly, being chef is fucking tiring."

"Be my Co-Chef? We'll do it together."

"You sure?"

"Id love for you too, the team listens to you. Im not there yet with them. Respect is something you need to earn and i haven't proved myself to them yet."

"You have proven it to me."

He turned to his girl as they made their way to work.

"Are you officially mine now?"

"I've always been yours."

Apparently there are more places for people to find their passion. Sometimes you just need to find the perfect person to help you with it.

Passion is in everyone, even if you can't see it so closely. Chase your dreams and don't be afraid to do new things.

Do the things that make you happy the most.

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 15]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

When Yunho walked in, he was surprised to see just Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho there. You were not to be seen anywhere. From the looks of it, Seonghwa had taken over your head chef duties temporarily, instructing other other two on their tasks for the morning bakes.

"Morning." Yunho greeted, emerging from the locker room after having put his things down. The 3 returned the greeting, turning back to what they were doing.

No doubt, with one person down, they were busy and needed to keep up the pace to deliver on time.

"Is (y/n) coming in late?" Yunho asked as he went to wash his hands.

"No. She's not coming in at all today." Wooyoung replied as he was pouring the cake batter into the cake pans. Yunho stopped for a while, why were you not coming into work today?

"She's sick." Seonghwa informed on your behalf, not offering a lot of added information.

"Oh, I'll step in and help then. The others should be in soon to set up out front." Yunho said. He was to the locker room to retrieve his apron, tying it around his waist and pulling his sleeves up. He came to assist Seonghwa.

"Is she okay?" Yunho asked as he helped measure out the ingredients accoridng to the recipe card. Jongho would have to step up to sous today so Yunho did the prep work.

"She's fine. I'll check on her after this." Seonghwa replied.

"Yunho, can you help me get more vanilla paste from the dry store?" Wooyoung requested.

"Sure thing." Yunho went to the pantry. In the few moments he was there, he couldn't help but feel sad that he wouldn't see you today or work with you.

At the same time, he was worried about you. Should he text you or visit you to see how you were doing?

"Yunho?"

"C-Coming!" Yunho grabbed what Wooyoung needed and left the pantry, passing it over to him. As the rest of the boys came, Yunho instructed them to set up outside while he helped in the kitchen.

"San? Do you have an extra pair of hands?" Yunho asked. San turning to Mingi, who nodded, assuring the other that he could manage setting up the barista counter on his own. San came in, washing his hands and going to help Wooyoung. Yunho briefly stepped out to make sure that everyone was fine outside.

"Where's (y/n)?" Yeosang asked as he cleaned the mugs and stacked them onto the shelves.

"She's sick. That's why the kitchen team needs someone there. So for today, if anyone is confident and available to help out, please volunteer in the kitchen." Yunho spoke.

"Sure. Although, I think it'll be between San and Mingi. For safety, I shall not volunteer." Hongjoong chuckled.

"Agreed." Mingi said, making Hongjoong threaten to punch him.

The kitchen team was fine. They operated as usual, your absence did not hinder them or delay them. Plus, San was able to help out with small things.

"I'll bring this out on my way." San said, taking the trays of muffins out to display to prepare for the store opening,

"Can you two manage? Then I'll start on mise en place for tonight to save us time." Jongho asked.

"Go ahead." Seonghwa nodded. Jongho began preparing the yakumi mise en place containers that had chopped garlic, spring onions, soy sauce, salt, pepper and other things that the chef might need at the stove or their preparation counter.

"I'll need butter." Wooyoung raised his hand. Jongho put the butter into one of the small metal containers for Wooyoung.

"Seonghwa hyung, any specific requests?" Jongho asked.

"Let me check." Seonghwa took his phone out to see what the menu was for tonight. You had discussed with them last night what the dinner menu would be.

"Chives. There's a lot of chive garnishes tonight." Seonghwa replied, scrolling to make sure he did not miss anything out.

"Okay. I'll fill the oil containers as well." Jongho chopped the chives and covered them in plastic wrap.

"Those look heavy, let me help." Yeosang came in, seeing Jongho lift the oil drums to fill the oil bottles. He filled the grapeseed oil bottles while Jongho did the olive oil bottles.

"Shall I bring those out?" Yeosang pointed to the tray of pastries.

"Yes, please. Careful, they might still be hot." Wooyoung cautioned. Yeosang nodded and brought out the tray.

'Hey! I heard you're sick. Are you feeling alright? - Yunho'

Yunho sent you the message before tucking his phone back into his pocket and going ahead to open the restaurant for the day. He greeted the customers with a kind, charming smile. Being a Friday, there were quite some customers already waiting to get their coffee and morning treat.

"Please wait for collection over at the end of the counter." Yunho smiled after returning the change back to the customer. He waved for Hongjoong to take over.

"Do you need any help?" Yunho asked, entering the kitchen.

"We're good. Thanks for helping and rotating with the others to help us, Yunho." Seonghwa smiled.

"Let me make you guys some drinks. Remember to stay hydrated." Yunho reminded, going out to make the regular drinks of the kitchen team. Just as he brought them in, Seonghwa's phone rang.

"Thanks, Yunho. Just leave it there... Hey, (y/n). Hang on." Seonghwa said, stepping into the locker room to speak to you.

Yunho curiously checked his phone. You had read his message but hadn't replied. He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. However, maybe you just woke up and the first thing you did was call Seonghwa to check in.

"Bye." Seonghwa told you and hung up. He noticed Yunho's anticipative stare on him.

"She's fine, Yunho." Seonghwa assured with a small smile, knowing that the taller was anxiously worried. Yunho let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"T-That's good." Yunho smiled. He bowed his head and went back out.

*BZZ BZZ*

'Apologies for taking a sudden day off. - (y/n)'

'Don't apologise! Sickness just happens out of nowhere, no one can ever plan for it :) I hope you're resting well and feeling better!! Take all the time you need! - Yunho'

Yunho read over the message he sent you, he hoped he wasn't too overly enthusiastic. A small smile appeared on his lips, he was glad that you replied. Even if you didn't tell him what happened.

Looking over at your phone, seeing Yunho's reply, you sighed, deciding not to reply for now. You didn't know why you felt bad for lying to him. Maybe because you could tell he was genuinely worried for you. But you swallowed whatever feeling you had and focused on what was happening in front of you.

"So (y/n), where are you working now?" The question that was suddenly thrown at you was unexpected.

"What?" You blinked, looking up.

"We asked where you were working at now? Why are you so distracted? Pay attention." Your father frowned. Your eyes moved to your stepmother.

"I'm working at a new restaurant that just opened. There's no fixed concept." You replied.

"A start up? How did you go from working at the top kitchens to a start up?" Your father scoffed.

"A great opportunity appeared so I decided to take it. Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Jongho are working with me. The environment there is good." You said.

"Seonghwa is the Park's younger son, right?" Your stepmother asked. You nodded in confirmation. She always asked, for some reason, even though the answer never changed.

"You're always floating around. It doesn't look good on your rep sheet. You should find a high end place, settle there and work." Your father lectured. You sighed, why was there suddenly so much focus on you when they never cared?

"I like changes in pace and environment, dad. It gets stagnant when I stay in a place for too long." You spoke calmly.

"You've always been so fickle. Just like your mother." He clicked his tongue in disapproval. You clenched your fists, hating the way he spoke about your mother, like he had never loved her.

"Oh, honey. Don't say that. She was still (y/n)'s mother." Your stepmother said.

It was all a facade. To seem like she was nice to her stepchild, when all she did was put her own son on a pedestal.

"That aside, I'm assuming you and Seonghwa will be attending the charity gala, right?" Your stepmother still had her fake smile plastered on her face.

"I am." You nodded.

"That's good. It's a shame that (y/b/n) [your brother's name] cannot make it." She said sadly.

"True, but all our friends and acquaintance know that he's busy studying surgery in the US. It's understandable." Your father reached over to pat the back of her hand with a chuckle. You were glad that attention was off you and instead, on someone who wasn't even around. You didn't care, preferring they ignore you.

When your mother was still alive, your father was a different person. You were his treasure, his world. But when your mother passed, your father became so cold to you, like he hated you.

It became worse when he brought in your stepmother and stepbrother. You were completely ignored, forgotten.

Your stepbrother was studying to be a surgeon in the US. He was your parents' star child now. You, who pursued culinary, was the black sheep.

"Have you made things official with Seonghwa yet?" Your stepmother asked.

"No. As I've said before, we're just close friends. We will not be together." You frowned.

"But it doesn't seem nice that you're always around him, relying on him and hanging out with him when you don't have the intention of getting together with him." She shook her head.

"We're living in the 21st century. And we've been friends for way longer than you have been here so don't act like you can make decisions in our friendship." You said. Your father slammed his hands onto the table.

"(y/n), that's no way to speak to your mother." Your father scolded.

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have overstepped." She said, like the poor victim that she was.

Both you and Seonghwa came from families of similar status so it was easier to go to functions together instead of having to find a 'date' to accompany you.

"If you want to be introduced to someone, I have some friends who have sons that are single." She giggled.

"I'm good." You replied, picking at your food.

"Your mother is just trying to help, (y/n). At your age, you should find a partner and settle down. Or at least, date." Your father told you, sipping his wine.

"What's with wanting me to settle, dad? Settle at a restaurant, settle in a relationship?" You sighed.

"Because you're never going to get stability in your life if you keep going on the way you are going, (y/n). You can't keep living like this. Or else you're never going to succeed in life. And your stepmother is right, you are holding Seonghwa back from meeting a potential partner for the Park family." He said.

"Until now, with everything I have done, I still haven't succeeded in your eyes?" You asked, ignoring what he said about Seonghwa.

"Not at all." He replied firmly, his gaze hard and cold. You pursed your lips, thinking what to do.

"I'm taking my leave now. I'll see you both at the gala." You stood up despite your stepmother's fake protests of concern. As you exited the private room of the restaurant, you took your phone out.

"You are holding Seonghwa back."

With your father's words fresh in your head, you decided not to text Seonghwa, even if you told him you would after the lunch with your parents.

"Take a walk." You told yourself with a long sigh, you wished you had your hoodie to isolate you but you were dressed a little more formally, an expectation of you when meeting your family.

"(y/n)?" You stopped when you heard someone call your name. You looked up and saw Hongjoong standing there. He looked surprised, eyes looking at you, probably judging the way that you were dressed. You stared at him.

"Are you alright?" He tilted his head, eyes full of concern. Even if you didn't say anything, Hongjoong could sense that you were upset.

"I'm fine." You replied. You saw the art supply bags in his hands, he was probably going to his studio.

"Yunho said you were sick, that's why you weren't there in the morning and that you weren't coming tonight..." He said. You grimaced, were you caught in a lie?

"Are you sure you're okay? Should I call Seonghwa or-" Hongjoong offered. Your eyes widened.

"No need." You cut him off. Realising how unintentionally harsh you might have sounded, you cleared your throat.

"So, I'm actually headed to my studio if you would like to come hang. No obligations, just a place a chill." Hongjoong offered kindly. You knew you should have said no.

"Sure." You nodded. Hongjoong smiled softly and led you to his studio. The two of you walked in silence. To be honest, you didn't look sick and considering how you were dressed up, it looked like you had just went out. But it wasn't his place to question you, especially when he could tell you're going through something.

You agreed to go with Hongjoong because you needed a distraction and you didn't want to be alone. If Hongjoong could take your mind off the conflict with your family, it would help you relax.

"Wow." You entered the studio space. Two entire walls were floor to ceiling windows, letting in a lot of light.

"Sorry about the mess. I don't usually have people over." Hongjoong said in embarrassment.

"It's fine, not as bad as you think. Thank you for letting me into your private space." You bowed your head. Hongjoong stared at you before he burst out laughing.

"(y/n), relax. It's all good." He chuckled, putting the supplies he just got down at his desk.

"Sorry, what do you do again?" You asked, forgetting what he told you before.

"I recreate fashion items. Like shoes. I'll buy sneakers and repaint them or redesign them. But right now, I'm working with different kinds of jackets." He explained, pulling a stool for you to sit.

"Let me show you some stuff I have been working on more recently. I mainly work based of commissions for now or smaller content creators for collaboration projects." Hongjoong dragged over a clothes rack with jackets on them.

"These are amazing." You said, lifting one of the leather jackets up to see the design. Then you moved onto the denim jacket.

"The stitching is a little messy. I usually hand stitch but I'm learning how to use a sewing machine instead." He chuckled, pointing at the fabric arm band he added on.

"I would never be able to do this, I don't have the talent for such art." You said.

"Art comes in many different forms. Your art is in your cooking, I wouldn't even think of recreating a dish of yours." He said.

"Thanks for thinking so highly of me." You let out a bitter laugh. That wasn't supposed to come out so sarcastically but you couldn't help the feeling your father had left you with.

"You're doing great, (y/n). Ignore what others say." Hongjoong smiled.

"Please don't let me keep you away from your work. There's only so much time before you have to return for dinner service." You avoided the topic, wanting to move from it entirely. Hongjoong hummed, moving around his studio. You watched as he sketched out ideas on a paper before doing it on a scrap fabric.

*RINGGGGG*

"Sorry." You stood up and moved to the side to take the call. It was Seonghwa. As expected, he was worried that you hadn't called him or contacted him.

"No, the lunch ended.... Or rather, I ended it." You said, leaning against the wall, letting out a sigh.

"Are you okay? You didn't text or call me... Who am I kidding? You're not okay. Where are you now? Do you want me to get you?"

"No, Hwa. I'm okay now. I bumped into Hongjoong so I'm hanging out at his studio now. Don't worry about me, I'll head home in a bit. Just needed a distraction." You said.

"Wait, you're with Hongjoong? Never mind that. (y/n), tell me what's wrong."

"We'll talk after dinner service, alright? Don't be distracted by me." You rubbed your forehead.

"We are definitely talking after this. Get some rest."

You hummed before hanging up. Maybe you should have just headed home and turned off your phone. You hated how after so long, your father's words still got to you and affected you. Taking a deep breath, you straightened up and headed back to where Hongjoong was.

"Everything good?" Hongjoong tilted his head, seeing the slight sour expression on your face.

"I'm not feeling too good. I think I should head home. But thanks for bringing me and the chat." You plastered on a fake smile as you grabbed your bag.

"Want me to take you to a doctor? Or send you home?" He asked.

"No need. I can just take a cab. Thanks again, Hongjoong." You patted his shoulder and walked out of the studio.

During dinner service, Yunho listened from the pass window, Wooyoung and Jongho asking Seonghwa how you were or if he has heard from you. He felt bad for eavesdropping but he was curious.

"I spoke to her on the phone for a bit. I'm going to see her after work. You know how she gets..." Seonghwa sighed.

"Want us to go too?" Wooyoung offered.

"It's okay. I'll go see how she is first. She didn't sound too good on the phone." Seonghwa replied.

"Promise you'll tell us how she is." Jongho said. Seonghwa hummed in reply. Yunho pouted slightly, he grew increasingly worried about you. Maybe he was overstepping but he felt compelled to go visit you at your house and see how you were. But if Seonghwa was going, Yunho knew he shouldn't go.

"Hey, Seonghwa. Are you going to see (y/n)?" Yunho was surprised to hear Hongjoong entered the conversation. The shorter must not have seen Yunho standing by the pass window.

"Yeah. After work. What's up?" Seonghwa asked.

"She left this at my studio when she was there earlier. Help me return it to her?" Hongjoong presumably passed something to Seonghwa.

"I will. Thank you. And thanks for accompanying her earlier." Seonghwa said.

"No need to thank. What are friends for?" Hongjoong chuckled before leaving the kitchen. Yunho's eyes widened as he overheard this conversation. You were physically with Hongjoong earlier, at his studio?

What was your relationship with him that you met him outside of work, especially when you took a sick day?

His mind raced with possibly theories and reasons. He hadn't even noticed that you were that close with Hongjoong. And most importantly, why was there an ache in Yunho's chest at the thought of you being closer to Hongjoong compared to him?

~

Series masterlist

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Mise en Place, Chapter 4

Pairing: Chef!Matt Murdock x F!Journalist!Reader

Rating: M

Story Summary: Here

Warnings/Tags: Hallmark levels of fluffy, cheesy goodness, no use of Y/N, Matt is not a vigilante, things gone get SPICY later 🔥 (aka smut in future chapters)

Word Count: ~2600

A/N: Here we are with another update!

Divider by the phenomenally talented @theradioactivespidergwen!

Tag List: @danzer8705 @shouldbestudying41 @capylore @mattmurdockstateofmind @yarrystyleeza

“New text message.”

Matt finished blending the batch of Daredevil's house salad dressing he was currently preparing and put it in the fridge to set before pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping at the screen.

He smiled when his phone announced that the text was from you.

“Thank you so much for the flowers,” it read off to him. “They're beautiful. By the way I'm thinking of you too and also can't wait to see you again. Heart emoji.”

Matt's smile widened into a grin. He had spent thirty minutes at the florist this morning trying to choose the perfect bouquet of flowers to send to you and come up with the perfect message to go on the accompanying card.

“Ooh, heart emoji,” Foggy teased good-naturedly from over at the sink. “You two must've had a really good time last night.”

Matt chuckled. “Not in the way you're insinuating, but yeah, we did.”

“And? Tell me all about your evening with your woman.”

“One second.” Matt hit the reply button and dictated, “I'm glad you like them, smile emoji” before sending his response.

He put his phone away and moved back to the prep counter to peel potatoes for the day's batch of gnocchi. “Okay, so…”

He began to recount his evening with you to Foggy, from the hug the two of you had shared when you had first arrived at Matt's apartment, to holding your hand while you went up to the roof and your gasp of delight at the decor, and the long conversation that you two had shared during dinner. “We talked for so long that I almost forgot about dessert, so rather than having her wait upstairs while I finished making it I suggested that we just have dessert downstairs, which she said she was fine with.”

He smiled at the memory. His original plan had been for the two of you to have dessert on the roof then head downstairs to cuddle on Matt's couch, but he had to admit that the alternative had been quite enjoyable as well. “She also said that she likes watching me cook, even if I'm just making whipped cream in a mixer.”

Foggy joined Matt at the prep table to start peeling and chopping some carrots. “Aww, that's sweet, although I think it's more of the fact that it's you making it, buddy.”

Matt grinned. “Anyway, I had been wanting to kiss her all night but hadn't really had the opportunity, so while we were having dessert I told her she had chocolate mousse on her mouth and made my move.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Matthew Murdock, you smooth sonofabitch.”

Matt shrugged. “Turns out I wasn't that smooth, because right after I kissed her she asked how I knew she had something on her face.”

Foggy gasped. “Oh shit, what'd you say? She doesn't know about your freakishly sensitive senses, does she?”

Matt shook his head. Foggy and Karen both knew about how the chemicals that had blinded him had also enhanced his remaining senses far beyond normal human capabilities, but he wasn't comfortable sharing that information with you quite yet. “No, I’ve only told her that my palate became sensitive after the accident and that's how I got into cooking.”

“So then what'd you say?”

“She didn't really have any chocolate mousse on her mouth, so I told her that I didn't actually know and had just wanted to kiss her.” Matt grinned. “She said I didn't need to make up a reason to try to kiss her, so I took that as permission to kiss her again and we wound up making out like teenagers in my kitchen.”

Foggy lightly bumped Matt with his shoulder. “Yeah, go Matty.”

Matt shook his head. “Anyway, needless to say that the evening turned out really well, so I told her in no uncertain terms that I wanted to see her again then walked her home and kissed her good night.”

“And bought her flowers this morning.”

“Yeah.” 

Foggy stopped chopping. “You know, I know things haven't been easy for you since She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, but I'm honestly really glad to see you happy.”

Matt nodded. “Thanks, Fog.”

While you genuinely seemed to enjoy watching Matt cook and didn't mind having to wait while he finished preparing and plating your meals, Elektra had never been one to be willing to wait for her food or hang around the kitchen -- she had always wanted her meals fully prepared and ready to eat before she sat down for a dinner date and refused to be Matt's taste-tester whenever he was experimenting with new recipes. “Honestly, Matthew,” she had said the first and only time he had asked her to taste-test for him. “I have much better things to do with my time than to sit there and watch you play around in the kitchen.”

In hindsight, Matt should've realized that Elektra had been using him. You, however… 

You were genuine. I don't want to have to wait until later to ask her out again.

He set his vegetable peeler down. “I'll be right back.”

Foggy huffed out a laugh. “Tell her hi for me.”

Matt grinned and headed to the office, pulling his phone out of his pocket in order to call you.

“... Anonymous sources tell the Bulletin that the surprise inspection stemmed from a report of food poisoning originating at the restaurant. Requests for comment from owner and executive chef Wilson Fisk were not returned by press time.”

Skyler huffed out a laugh as you finished reading your story about Kingpin's closure out loud. “Pretty easy to fact-check when we're the ‘anonymous sources’, isn't it?”

You grinned. “Plus we got an exclusive.”

You paused as your phone rang, Matt's name flashing across the screen. “Oh, hold on a second. It's Matt.”

You answered. “Hello?”

Matt said your name. “Hi.”

You couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice. “Hi, Matt.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all. I'm just finishing up an article to send to my boss for approval.”

Skyler lightly tapped on your desk and mouthed, “I'll talk to you later.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

“So what's your article about?” Matt asked.

“Kingpin's closure,” you replied. “It's just a short thing for the online edition since we weren't able to make the print one this morning. We're late reporting about it but at least we have information that the other publications don't about what triggered the closure.”

“Ah, yeah, Foggy did say that Skyler mentioned that the Bulletin was covering that.” Matt paused. “Hey, um, speaking of Kingpin, I don't know if you can mostly write about whatever you want or if your boss assigns all of your articles, but major violations like the ones that got Kingpin shut down don't just happen overnight, so if you're able and have time you might want to dig into their past health inspection records and see if anything looks funny to you.”

Your eyes widened. Matt could possibly be handing you a major scoop. “Are you saying that you think they were falsified?”

“I honestly can't say for certain,” Matt replied hesitantly. “ But there's been rumblings within the industry for years about Fisk being involved in a lot of shady and underhanded dealings, so it really wouldn't surprise me if it turned out that he had someone at the Health Department on his payroll.”

You were pretty sure that the health department’s inspection records were publicly available, but even if they weren't you would easily be able to file a request through the Bulletin . “My boss does assign some of my articles, but he gives me enough autonomy to where I can at least look into it.”

“Okay, thanks.” Matt paused. “Anyway, that's not actually why I called. I was wondering if maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow? Say around noon?”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of getting to see Matt again so soon -- you honestly hadn't expected him to have time for you until the weekend at the very least. “Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to.”

“Great! I thought maybe we could go to that little park near the Bulletin , have a picnic then take a quick walk together if there's time?”

You knew which park Matt was referring to -- you occasionally took walks along the walking path there on your lunch break when you needed to escape from the chaos of the office for a bit. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, and one other thing. I wanted to let you know that business at the restaurant has already picked up thanks to your article -- we got 12 reservations overnight just for this evening alone, and I'm sure at least a few more have come in since Foggy checked the reservation system this morning.”

You grinned. You had hoped that your article would help get the word out about Daredevil. “Oh my gosh, Matt, that's amazing! I'm so happy for you.”

“Thanks. And actually I have to run so I can get back to helping Foggy with prep since we know we'll be busier than usual, but I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow. And I'll let you know if I find anything that seems suspicious about Kingpin's health inspection records.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Talk to you later. Bye, Matt.”

“Bye.”

You hung up, a smile on your face.

You read over your Kingpin article one more time before emailing it to Ellison, then got up and headed to his office. 

You knocked on his open door. “Hey, Mitch, you got a second?”

Ellison looked up from an article he was proofreading. “Yeah, what's up?”

“I wanted to let you know that I just sent you the article on the Kingpin shutdown, but I also received a tip that Wilson Fisk may have been bribing employees at the health department to falsify their inspection reports.”

Ellison's eyebrows raised. “Holy shit, really?”

You nodded. “Chef Murdock told me that there's been talk in the culinary industry for years about Fisk engaging in shady business practices and that the health code violations that triggered Kingpin's shutdown don't just happen overnight, so he suspects that Fisk had people from the health department on his payroll. It seems like it's worth at least looking into, so I figured I could submit a public records request for Kingpin's health inspection reports to see if I notice any kind of discrepancies.”

Ellison thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. Let me know what you find and we'll proceed from there.”

“Okay, thanks. I will.”

You returned to your desk and pulled up the website for the New York Health Department, then submitted an online request for hardcopies of Kingpin's health inspection records.

You smiled as the bouquet of roses Matt had sent you caught your eye once again.

It had been an incredibly kind and sweet gesture and needless to say that you were definitely looking forward to your lunch date with Matt the next day. Yeah, he's nothing like Kelsie had made him out to be.

“Hey, so what did Chef Hottie want?” Skyler said as she stopped by your desk. “Did he ask you out on another date?”

You shook your head with a grin. “Okay, first off, can you please start calling him Matt? I don't know how Foggy would feel hearing the woman he's dating referring to his best friend-slash-business partner as ‘Chef Hottie’.”

Skyler laughed. “Okay, fine. Did Matt ask you out on another date?”

You nodded. “As a matter of fact, he did. We're having lunch together at the park down the street tomorrow.”

Skyler wiggled her eyebrows. “Ooh, a picnic lunch. How romantic.”

“He also said that the restaurant got a boost in reservations yesterday.”

Skyler huffed out a relieved breath. “Oh, good. I know Foggy had been worried about that.”

“Matt too.” You thought about telling Skyler what Matt had suspected regarding Kingpin's health inspection records, but decided to keep it to yourself until you knew if there was actually any weight to it. “I was thinking about picking up some dinner from Daredevil tonight but I don't want to bother him, especially if they're extra busy.”

Skyler shrugged. “How about drinks after work instead? We can hit up happy hour at that new library-themed bar near my place, fill up on wine and appetizers, gossip about our guys.”

You nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

“Okay, great. I've got to go cover the Rotary Club’s monthly luncheon, but I'll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay.” You winked. “Don’t have too much fun.”

Skyler shook her head with a smile. “It’ll be a struggle, but I’ll try.”

You grinned as Skyler headed out on assignment. Last week may have been a shit show, but this one was definitely looking up.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mise en Place 8

Warnings: noncon, coercion, manipulation, violence and blood, alusions to past abuse. Proceed with caution.

Note: Ooh we getting into the nitty gritty.

Thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

The quiet in the street makes you want to believe things are as they should be. You walk with vigilance and urgency. One eye over your shoulder, a hand in your pockets, around your keys, just in case…

Another block and the tension eases. You’re not there yet. You turn your head before you reach the alley. Nothing. No shadows, only the yellow glare of streetlights.

You dip down between the brick walls and free your keys from your pocket. You slow as you see the dark space between your door and the frame. No. No, no, no. The knob barely hangs from the wood as the void stares back at you.

You spin and hit a wall. You’re thrown back by the figure waiting for you. You hit the steps and bounce onto the ground, your keys flying from your grasp. You’ve never felt such sheer force, even with him.

Your back hits the pavement, the breath gusting from you harshly. You wheeze, the air elusive as you try to take a gulp. A foot lands in the centre of your stomach and has you curling around the boot. It pulls back and toes your side, then finally a crack across your face.

You taste blood. You finally suck in a breath as you curl onto your side and cover your leaking mouth. What is happening? Is it him? Is it Johnny? You should’ve known you can’t escape him.

The crunch of gravel makes you wince and the darkness shifts. You stare at the silhouette distorted on the brick. You groan as the figure steps over you. You roll on the ground, choking on blood and spit. The footsteps trail inside, the hinges whining loud behind you.

The man disappears inside, the creak of the stares marking his absence. He’s in your apartment, your home. You fish around shakily, groping for your phone. It’s gone.

You roll onto your stomach, planting your elbows in the scatter of gravel across the pavement. You see your phone, not far from your keys. You drag yourself as your head swells and swirls. You reach out to grasp the cell and the footfalls stomp out and land thunderously at the bottom of the concrete steps.

You look up but can’t get a good look at the culprit, not before his sole once more crashes into your skull. You’re sent onto your back again and hear his boot come down on your phone, shattering the screen. You wheeze and whimper as you hide beneath your hands.

“Please…” you garble wetly, “just… end it… now…” You sniffle, "Johnny, please..."

Your heart races, deafening you. You’ve waited long enough for this. For the inevitable. You would rather it just be over.

You lay, unmoving, waiting. Nothing happens. You let your hands slip from your face, arms falling limp beside you. You shudder at the emptiness of the alley. He’s gone but you know he’ll be back.

⚡

You don’t call the police. That’s what he wants. He’s one of them. 

You get yourself up after what seems an eternity. You’re not entirely sure you didn’t pass out. You drag yourself up the steps and get inside, pushing the loose door into the frame, ignoring as it opens a few inches behind you. 

You climb the staircase one foot at a time. You cling to the banister and fall onto the landing. Your apartment is open too. The lock is still intact but you doubt it will do any good. He got past it once.

You keel over inside the door. You stay against it as you drift off into a gray sleep. The sort where the waking world roils just through the thin shield of your eyelids. You wake up several times, moving only as the sun kisses the floorboards.

You call work. You just have one more day before time off but you know you can’t make it in. Even if you were beat down, you need to get your door fixed. Your landlord will likely tack that onto the rent.

A hot bath is hard fought. You finally get yourself over the lip of the tub and into the splashing stream of the faucet. The steam makes it hard to breathe through the dried blood in your nose. You soak until the water is lukewarm and tinted with dirt and blood.

You climb over the top and clatter onto the tile. You wrap yourself in a towel and crawl out to the front room. You roll onto the futon and bury yourself in denial and the duvet. You’ll call Lewis when… your phone, it’s in the alley, broken.

You don’t know. You’ll find a way. When you can think. When you can move.

⚡

You don’t leave your apartment for two days. You don’t even try to retrieve your phone from the alley. You don’t care about the front door. You spend hours staring at the lock on the apartment door, expecting it to flip back at any time.

When at last you can function, you get dressed. You have to go to work. You need a new lock and a new cell. You doubt you’ll be able to afford those any time soon, even if you hadn’t taken a day off.

Your stomach wobbles at the thought of going in. You’re embarrassed. You can’t hide the damage done. You don’t want to tell the truth, so you come up with a simple lie.

You prop the door shut on your way out. It won’t really keep anyone out but it’s better than nothing. You see what’s left of your cell on the ground, the green circuit board cracked and poking out from the shell.

You limb down the street, gripping your ribs until you come in sight of the club. It’s taken you twice as long as usual. You approach the front door and the bouncer with the scarred face merely lifts a brow at your appearance before letting you in. He’s seen worse, that’s obvious.

You keep your head down and drop your arm as you enter. You slowly make your way upstairs but stop halfway, dizzy and breathless. You lean on the railing and hear someone else coming up behind you.

“Nice to have you back, F–” the voice begins but fizzles out. Thor pauses beside you as you stare at your feet, shakily lifting one to the next step. “Oh gods, what has happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? It can’t be–”

“I fell down some stairs,” you fib as you grunt and lift yourself onto the next step.

“Down some stairs? Oh my, that’s horrible. Here, let me help you,” he puts his hand on the small of your back and you flinch, letting out a yelp. “Ah, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head and swallow, “really, I don’t need–” your legs quake as you squeeze the railing tighter.

“Just put your hand on my arm, fawn,” he insists and moves your free hand to the inside of his elbow, “hold on, and we’ll go slow.”

You flutter your lashes, fighting back your shame as you let him guide you up. You have no choice, you won’t make it up on your own. You lean on him without thinking as he patiently keeps pace with you. 

You wish he wouldn’t make such a big deal. You wish he didn’t pay any attention to you. You wish you could be invisible again.

[darkostudios-blog]

MISE EN PLACE

(A sydcarmy fic)

Notes: first time doing something like this so bear with me. Would love to hear any feedback! But pls be nice because I’m sensitive 😭🙏🩵

Summary: friends and family night leads to Carmy in the walk in and syd waiting for him to get out.

Chapter one: Jasmine Tea

I grasp my station for support as I feel the inevitable acid in the back of my throat. The sound of the ticket machine drowns out my thoughts. Overlapping voices creep their way into my head. I clasp my eyes shut hoping for it all to just stop. “Seriously guys what the fuck is going on!” I hear a woman’s voice scoff from the dining room. Claire. The faks can handle her. I choke back my vomit as I take a sip of my water to wash it down. I glance over to Tina as she stands outside the walk-in. Carmen has been trapped in there all service, yelling, kicking, screaming. The last time I saw him we had argued. I choke back the acid burning my throat again. “Maybe- maybe I’m just not built for this. Right?” I choke again. “And- and maybe that's okay!” I cough as I cover my mouth. My stomach is a swirling pit of all the bad things from today. I should have eaten before service. “Maybe that just is.” Carmen's voice admits defeat through the thick walk-in door. I take a wobbly step back as I hastily make my way over there. My hand glides over Tina’s shoulder as I tell her to cover my station. I run outside in the fresh air and retreat to a dumpster. I vomit instantly, covering the black asphalt with orange tinted acid and bits of my ramen noodles from this morning. I hunch over behind the trash as I cough and try to compose myself. The voices dissipate but the nausea still lingers. My feet carry me to sit on a curb outside of the restaurant. Watching as happy customers leave and cars pass. I taste the acid lingering on my tongue and I sigh as I close my eyes. This was our first day of service, even if it was friends and family night, it was still service. A bad service. A bittersweet service. Me and Carmy argued, but everyone put all of their hands aboard and made a collective effort to their cause. Even after Carmen got stuck in that fridge.

Ticket machines whir as Sydney tries to keep up with them. She barks orders as I run around the kitchen, plating and cooking. “Hands!” I yell as I give a plate to Richie. “Yo- are you gonna talk to Claire?” He asks over my shoulder. “Later cousin.” I reply as I plate the next order. Lining up wagyu beef strips in a line. “Later?- what- what do you mean-?” “I said later chef.” He scoffs as he turns to walk out of the kitchen. I plate the next plate and yell for hands as I glance at Sydney. I see her eyes glaze over me as she turns back to the tickets. “Can I get two soups and a wagyu please chefs!” Her voice loudly carries throughout the kitchen, as everyone replies with “chef.” I retreat to Sydney's side as she manages the tickets and food orders. I watch her hands as they work efficiently, grasping tickets and highlighting words before she pins them to her station and barks the next task. “Can I get three pastas and one wagyu chefs!”

She yells as Tina slides me a plate, I take it with a nod and begin the same routine with every wagyu dish I get. “One wagyu chef-“ I began as I glanced at her. “That's Claire’s.” She speaks bitterly, her eyes glued on her own tickets. “Right.” I reply blankly as I glance down at the dish. “Are you gonna call for hands or?” Sydney blinks at me and then to the plate. “Uh- uh no- I’ll do it.” I hype myself up as a sigh escapes my lips. “What?” “Yea no- I’ll do it.” I grab the plate as I begin to leave, my gaze glances to Sydney before I leave.

Fear, I saw the fear in his eyes; but I didn’t see the panic until he came back. The door swings open as he comes back in and scrambles with a few dishes before he declares an order. “Refire.” My head whips around to glance at him as he yells, his voice slightly shaky as his breathing picks up. “No- it’s fine- just call for hands.” “No Syd! Refire! Tina. Refire.” He glares at Tina, as I stick my hand out to defend her. “Tina. Don’t. Carmen- there’s nothing wrong with it-“ “The cook is off!!” He yelled like a desperate child. “No- they’re fine they’ve only been-“ I try to reassure him before he cuts me off; stuttering and shaking. “Are- are these for the guy- the guy in the- by the fuc- fucking window? Is it for the GUY BY THE FUCKING WINDOW SYD??” he begins to yell as I approach him. His hands flailing around like he’s drowning as he frantically points to the dining room. “Whoa- whoa- yea it’s table 50-“ I show my palms to him to try and calm him down but he doesn’t listen. “WHAT THE FUCK-“ He booms again. “Refire. Please- Refire.” He states to me with a jab of his hand in my direction. “Well you were out there talking to whoever- and I was trying to-“ I begin to defend myself when I’m interrupted once more. “Syd. Syd. Syd.” The way he’s repeating himself is like a broken record or a child in shock trying to reassure himself that everything is fine. “They’ve been sitting here for fucking ever! Refire!” “Whoa. Hey. Watch. It. Dude.” He sighs as he grasps the kitchen island for support. His eyes dart to the floor as I speak softer. “Way down. Wayyyyyy down you gotta take it way down.” He turns to me again without the rage, without the panic, without the fear and I see Carmy. The real Carmy. The Carmy that doesn’t want to be like this in his kitchen. His brow raises in a nod as he whispers. “I’m sorry.” His fist reaches over to his heart as he circles it. A desperate chance to connect with me again. “I’m sorry.” He repeats in a dazed whisper. I nod at him with a sigh as I glance over the kitchen. I repeat his gesture back to him, a hand over my heart and a pain in my head. “I’m sorry that the food got cold- I- I was doing a lot.” I explain as he watches me. “Good?” He asks. A question I’ve heard only a million and one times before. “Yea” I reply as I glance at him again. “You good?” I ask, rolling the dice on if he’d answer or not. Carmen never answers these types of questions so therefore I never know if he’s truly good or not. It’s a con to working with him, especially in this kitchen where communication is our biggest concern. “Refire the set.” He whispers as he turns away to go into the walk-in.

——-

I sit on the edge of the kitchen island as I stare at the walk-in door. Mangled by the power tool they used to get me out. My life flashes before me as I bore into the walk-in door. My career at the French laundry. My career at Noma. My career in New York. Whenever I think about New York, or douchebags with glasses, it makes me want to puke. I feel the acid burn my throat as I sit there. “Here” a soft voice approaches me with a coffee. I take it from her grasp, not meeting her eye. I’m ashamed of what I put her through. Sydney stands next to me as she grasps her own cup. Probably filled with tea since she’s never really liked coffee. I remember the first day I learned that.

“Jasmine tea” I nod as I watch Carmen examine his mug. “Try it, you might like it.”

He glances at me with a cautious look before setting his mug down on his desk. “Maybe later chef.” I sigh softly as I glance at my own mug. “How’s bookkeeping?” I ask, trying to hide my slight disappointment. His tired eyes glaze over the mounted papers and files that lay before him. Pencil scribbles and anonymous numbers cover the graph paper. “It’s a- it’s a mess.” He pauses as he examines the numbers, then his gaze falls over to me as I lean against the doorway of his run down office. “How’s the brigade?” I scoff softly as I smile. “It’s a mess. I uh. I just feel like I’m messing up their system, like I’m poking my nose in a place where it doesn’t belong.” I admit. “What-? What are you talking about? You belong here.” He reassures me. “But like- I’m new and they already seem to not like me- plus they cook different than I do and it’s just like- now all of a sudden I’m bossing them around I don’t want to be like a- fucking- overbearing- piece of-“ “Sydney.” He interrupts my rambling. My wide eyes glance at him as my lips purse slightly. “You belong here.” He nods softly. I freeze as my eyes search for a sliver of deceit, but I see none. “You belong here.” I follow his nod and glance at my own mug as I take a sip.

“Okay”

“Hey uh- can I ask you something?” Carmen furrows his brow at me as I glance over. “Yea shoot”

“Why jasmine tea?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well we don’t have jasmine tea here- at the restaurant- so you brought it. Why jasmine tea?” His eyes study my face as I glance away at his mug on the desk.

“Well when I was younger uh- my dad used to make it for me. Told me it’s my mom’s favorite.” I nod as I lie slightly. It was my mom’s favorite. “So I kinda just- I don’t know- nostalgia things.” I shrug as I glance at him.

“Nostalgia things.” He smirks with a scoff. “Tell me about it.” He shakes his head as he turns back to his work.

————

I take a sip of my cup. Coffee this time, burns my throat and warms my nerves. My eyes bore into the floor as I think about how I got here. How the fuck did I get here. Why is Sydney still here? I’ve hurt her more times than I can count and yet I can never seem to get rid of her. The silence welcomes back my old memories. They eat away at my nerves like I’m a discarded corpse- numbed by the flashed recollections.

Copenhagen. New York. My first dish. My sketchbooks. Claire. Sydney. The review. Mikey. New York. Asshole boss. Mikey. New York. Claire. Asshole boss. Fuck.

“I’m so sorry.” He pleads out, like it painfully crawled from his lips. I shut my eyes as I sigh and chew on my lip. I turn to him as I grasp my cup. Why is he sorry? Well no, he should be sorry. Right? I shake my head slightly as I search his face.

“We made it.” I whisper back.

“No” he replies instantly as he looks away. I see the vulnerability in his eyes. Whatever happened to him out there before he got locked in- fucked him up. Rocked his world. Did Claire say something? Did he see someone? Did he over hear something?

“You made it.” He nods as his eyes glance back to me. He’s sure of this.

“With the help of everyone else,”

“I left you alone.” He shakes his head as his eyes flicker. His throat is closing, I can hear it in his strained voice. “I left you alone when I told you that I wouldn’t.”

“Carmen. Things happen. Okay? It’s good.” I swallow thickly as I glance over him. I notice how his nails dig into his own skin as he trembles.

“We’re good?”

“We're good.” I confirm as I bite my tongue.

Carmen didn’t drink his coffee for the rest of the night. I only stayed there for about fifteen more minutes and when I left him he was still staring at the walk in door that was chopped off. When I said goodnight, he acknowledged me with a weak “yea” and didn’t even glance in my direction. I went to sleep, well barely slept, thinking about that night. It didn’t feel real, Carmen seemed like he saw a ghost- or picked up some really emotional baggage he lugged away. Opened a rotten can of worms he forgot he shut. It wasn’t my business but I found myself thinking over all of the possible scenarios. What got Carmen that bad? What caused him to emotionally spiral? I turned over in my bed as I sigh, shutting my eyes so hard until I saw the fuzzy little stars. I stayed like that for fifteen minutes- drifting, not drifting off to sleep, just drifting. And it was torture, horrible torture. The same question over and over. Something I couldn’t crack. Carmen. The same cycled thoughts circle in my brain like an out of control carousel. That went on until I couldn’t take it anymore, I shot up from my bed as I wandered, in the dark, to the kitchen. I open a cabinet and stick my hand in like a routine, muscle memory. My hand pulls out a small box and then I grab a mug. Sitting on the counter as I warm up water and drop the tea bag in. I grasp the warm mug, and suddenly I’m transported to Carmen as he sits on the island beside me, staring at the walk in. Transported back to Marcus’s house as I make him food and talk about cooking. Transported back to Carmen’s messy office before I quit, before the renovations, before friends and family night. Transported back home. The jasmine tea lingers on my tongue as I sigh with a shake of my head. I take another sip as I try to drown out the banging thought that I have to do all of this shit again tomorrow.

[gretavanbear]

The Professor - Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

MDNI!!! 18+ !!!

warnings : smut (;

[a/n: hi people. i just wanted u to know i love u guys sm and i appreciate every like and comment and anon ask about this fic. it warms my heart knowing people enjoy reading my silly little story. anyways.. enjoy!]

SCREENING #5 : The Big Hearted Will Take the Bride

“Good morning, everyone!” Josh walked in with a big smile, waving at the students in his class. As he walked by your row of seats, his eyes fixated on yours, staring for a couple seconds before looking down at the steps in front of him. You bit back a smirk thinking about the way his bed sheets felt against your skin and wondered if he pushed back that thought as well. 

“I hope everyone had a lovely weekend. I know I did” He chuckled.

He opened his notebook on the podium and checked his class notes for the day. You inspected the way his hair fell perfectly into place, his glasses sat on his nose and left little marks on it at the end of the day. He wore a gray button down with some dark pants today, with his usual brown vans. He looked cute, comfortable. But your mind wondered back to that night, the camera in his room...

“Today’s screening is The Big Hearted Will Take the Bride. This is an amazing film and I want us all to focus on the mise-en-scene for the scenes we’re going to be witnessing. Try to notice how they frame the characters, how their dances and scenery creates a portrayal of these people’s cultures. This film is pretty long and so if any of you feel the need to walk out and take a small break feel free to do so. Enjoy!” He spoke. His voice was so calming, and you wish he’d just talk to you instead of screening the movie, but you remembered you were here to learn and you wanted to be like him. 

As the lights turned off, Josh sat diagonal to you, in front of you to your left. You watched as he turned his head back and shot you a soft smile before resting his head on his arm as the movie started playing. 

*** 

You turned to face him as the sunrise illuminated his bedroom. His bedsheet draped over his thighs and stopped right under his v-line, which let you have a moment to see his tattoo. It was a small little half-moon with a music note in the middle of the little curve. You wondered what it represented as your pointer finger traced the little black lines. 

“Good morning” Josh’s groggy morning voice caught your attention. 

“Hi” You smiled shyly as you looked up at him. You rested your head on his stomach, facing him. His hand caressed your head and massaged it with his fingers in your hair which made you want to purr, his touch felt so warm. 

“How’d you sleep?” He asked softly, his lips pink and pretty. You studied the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he blinked, the way his lips were always a little upturned, the little gap between his two front teeth. 

“I slept okay, thank you. How did you sleep?” You returned the question, sitting up and caressing his stomach with your hand. 

“Amazing. I always sleep better when there’s a pretty lady in my bed.” His answer made you blush, giggling to yourself quietly as you leaned in for a soft kiss. He returned it immediately, his hand still in your hair as the two of you kissed passionately. 

You pulled away to catch your breath, looking down at him as he smiled softly. Your eyes watched the way his chest rose and descended, the way his skin looked so delicate and pretty under the sunlight which seeped through his big windows. You looked at the hair on his arms, the beauty marks on his shoulders, how every little detail about him was perfect and you were so entranced by his looks that you didn’t notice him playing with your hair. 

You hummed as his fingers caressed your scalp, making you rest your head on his chest. Your fingers found his tattoo once again and traced it’s lines. 

“Josh?” it felt weird to speak, you thought you were dreaming. 

“Hm?” He spoke, his voice so gentle. 

“What’s this mean?” Your fingers caressing the little mark on his lower stomach, the moon and little music note. You wondered if it was a meaningful tattoo to him, and why did he decide to get it. 

“I got it with my brother when we graduated together.” He said. You turned your head to face him and he looked down at you, resting his head on his free arm. 

“Are you close with him?” You asked, resting your head on your arm now, mirroring him. You watched his eyes light up as he prepared himself to answer, licking his lips.

“We are. He’s my best friend, my other half actually��� He’s my identical twin.” He spoke with a smile. You smiled big as you learned more about Josh, he was so special. 

“We studied education together. He’s a music professor now. Before heading off to university we’d always play in our garage with our younger brother Sammy and his best friend, Daniel. We always dreamed of becoming this huge famous band someday, but it never happened. I know Jake, my twin, always holds out the hope that it’ll happen but he understood my dream to teach.. As a deal we got those matching tattoos- to remind us that we’re still there for each other.” He explained. 

“That’s beautiful.” You replied, placing your hand on his chest and resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen him around campus, he’s always swinging by my office.” Josh chuckled. 

***

“Professor Kiszka?” You spoke, knocking on the open door. 

“Yeah?” He spoke, before looking up from his work and smiling at your presence. “Oh hello, you” he spoke, getting up and meeting you at the door, closing it behind you. “Need help with your homework, doll?” He asked with a smirk, holding your hand and bringing you to his desk. 

“Yeah… I just.. Do nooot understand what you taught us today, professor.” You spoke with a small smirk as he sat you on his lap, his hand on your thigh. 

“Hmm, what do you want to know exactly?” He spoke, his lips finding your neck softly, leaving small wet kisses on your warm skin. He spun you so you faced him, making it so you were straddling his lap, his thumbs caressing your inner thighs. “Tell me, what can I teach you?” He said softly as his hands made their way to the hem of your long sleeved shirt, his fingertips leaving goosebumps down your spine. 

“I want you to teach me how to please you..” You whispered against his jawline as his hands made their way to your breasts- you had not worn a bra with the hopes that he’d notice. He did, he noticed quickly as his fingers found your nipples, teasing them a little while his lips found yours. He kissed you passionately as his cock grew harder in his pants- you could feel it through his pants which made you want him so badly. 

“I know how you can please me.” He breathed out, pulling away so he can make eye contact. He looked down at the space between the two of you, then back up to meet your gaze slowly. “Get on your knees.” He ordered. You listened, getting under his desk and waiting for your next command. You watched the way his fingers snuck to his belt buckle, undoing it and removing it, unzipping his pants. Your eyes focused on the shape of his cock through his gray underwear- a little wet spot at the tip. He was so perfect, and you couldn’t stop yourself but you started salivating at the sight of him pulling it out. It was so beautiful under the sunlight, the shape was perfect, the way his veins traced it’s figure just made you want him even more. 

You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a few strokes and watched his reaction. He gasped softly and his eyelids fluttered, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he felt you swipe your thumb over the tip, which made him buck his hips up, needing more. You kept eye contact as you kitten-licked the tip, slowly making your way around wrapping your lips completely over it, sucking softly. 

“Fuck.. hmm, just like that, doll.” he sighed, his hand caressing your hair. You purred gently around his cock- slowly bobbing your head up and down on him as your hand stroked the bottom. You felt the need for his cum down your throat, you wanted to feel him all over- you needed him all over. His cheeks grew redder and redder by the second, his lips dark and a deep red from biting them. His hand pushed down your head slowly, almost as if he asked for permission which you gladly granted as you took him in deeper, faster. 

“God… you’re so perfect.” He breathed out as he began thrusting his hips into your mouth, needing you deeper. “I’m close.. God.. take me, baby… show me how much you want it..” He breathed out, his thigh twitching. You could feel him pulsating in your mouth, practically down your throat at this point. You could feel him about to release- giving you what you’ve wanted for so long… 

Interrupted by a knock. Fuck. 

He gasped, his eyes growing big as he let go of your head, placing his hands on his desk. He looked at you for an answer, what the hell do I do? His eyes spoke as another knock interrupted his thoughts. You kept your mouth wrapped around him as he cleared his throat, his mind doing flips as the anticipation of who was at the door grew around the room, making his office feel tense. You didn’t want to stop, you needed him, the pool in your panties caused by him needed him, too. 

“C’mon asshole, I know you’re in there.” The voice spoke through the wooden door. You saw the way Josh mouthed ‘fuck’ and looked down at you quickly, shooting you an apologetic look before clearing his throat once again. 

“Yeah?” He spoke loudly. He rolled his chair closer to his desk, trying to keep you hidden, needing you all to himself, and also not wanting anyone to notice his whole cock in your mouth. You heard the door open loudly and you closed your eyes, his cock still pulsating in your mouth as you felt his breathing shift. 

“Midterms are killing me.” The voice spoke, you heard the person sit down behind you, the chair facing Josh’s desk. You began bobbing your head up and down- which made Josh choke on his words for a split second. 

“Yeah.. me too.. Now’s not really a good time, Jake. I-” He tried to cover up a groan with a cough as you swiped your tongue against his length, your hand finding his balls and massaging them a little. Being hidden under the desk like this was so sexy to you, being Josh’s dirty little secret- it fueled you, it made you want to be bad. “I have like thirty essays to grade by myself” Josh spoke. You felt grateful that his desk reached all the way to the floor, no one would be able to see you except him. You lowered your head until his head reached the back of your throat, massaging him a little heavier now. You saw the way his breathing became heavy and how his hand gripped the armrest on his chair. 

“Hm, yeah you do look pretty.. Stressed I guess. Listen, come over for dinner- I’ll help you grade them.” The person spoke, which you assumed was Jake. That didn’t stop you, you needed Josh and you wanted to make him feel good no matter who was there. You swallowed around his tip which made Josh have a vocal reaction, which he tried covering up with a cough again. 

“Yeah.. mhm good idea. See you later, Jake.” Josh spoke quickly and Jake chuckled and left the room, closing the door behind him. With the security of being alone with you, Josh backed up his chair with his eyebrows raised, a smirk on his face. 

“You… you’re fucking naughty, edging me like that. Are you a nasty, dirty girl, hm?” He spoke, wrapping his fingers in your hair and pulling you up. “Are you my little cumslut? Hm? All that just so you can feel me all full inside you? Well I’ll show you full, sweet girl.” He groaned, pushing you over his desk and pulling your leggings and underwear down. 

“Fucking soaked. Just how I expected.” He said, a smug expression in his tone. You could hear him lower his pants more, and then feel his warm tip rub against you, your juices coating him instantly. He pushed himself inside you slowly, pressing his body against yours, pressing you down on his desk. “Feel me now? Hm?” He groaned in your ear, his voice low and dominant. 

“Feel how fucking hard you’ve made me, princess, let my cock show you how happy you made it.” He spoke before pulling away and placing his hands on your hips, thrusting his against yours at a fast pace. You knew he was close, and so were you- squeezing around him, showing him how much you needed his cum. 

“Fuck.. ‘m gonna fill you up, god.. Baby, you did so good.. Such a good girl.” He breathed out, thrusting faster, pulling you over the edge with him as he crumbled over you, shuddering breaths against your neck as his cum coated your walls, his hands still on your hips squeezing them tight. 

The room filled with the sounds of your heavy breaths as Josh pulled out slowly, sitting back down on his chair and grabbing a tissue- cleaning you up gently. He pulled up your leggings and underwear before fixing himself, sitting you down on his lap. 

“Thank you. I really needed that.. I’ve been so stressed with homework today.” He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. “Can we do something tonight? After my dinner..” He asked softly with a gentle smile, his brown eyes looking up at you as his hand caressed your hip gently, right over the spot where he was squeezing not long ago. You nodded shyly and looked down at him with a small smile. 

“Yeah? You’d like that?” he cooed, you nodded while his thumb caressed your face before leaning in and leaving a soft ‘bye’ kiss on your lips, before you got up and grabbed your schoolbag. 

“See you later, professor.” You spoke, turning back to him before opening the door and walking out. You kept a smile on your face as you could still feel him leaking out, a part of him still with you. 

“That’s an interesting way to get extra credit.” You heard before placing your earphone in your ear. You snapped your head back to be met with a brown eyed man. He had soft features, like Josh. The same nose, same heart shaped lips. This must be Jake. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You responded dryly, trying to hide your nervousness. 

“Hmm, I was just in that room and he was alone. Yet I just saw you exit from the same door I did.” He said, a smirk on his face. 

“I must've came in after you, then.” You replied, your heartbeat steady in your throat. 

“I’ve been sitting out here on this bench reading through my notes waiting for Professor Kiszka to come out of his office, I would have seen you pass by.” He spoke. He was an attractive man, no wonder he was related to Josh. He wore a nice maroon suit, black shoes, his hair was long and wavy but kept clean and styled. He seemed really organized, much more than Josh. 

“You must’ve just not seen me.. I tend to blend in with the background most of the time..” You spoke, hoping he’d drop it. 

“Hm. Okay, then. Carry on.” He spoke, smiling softly with a smirk hidden behind the soft smile, his eyes looking back down at his notes as you quickly walked away.

Fuuuck. Did I just get caught?

{Taglist :

@joshsbadussy @alyson814 @ageoffleet @Ashabeannn @schleeble @kennygvf @brokenbe11s  @gretavansteph @l0vep0ti0ns @welllauragvf @misshunnybee @succeedingsigns @myfavfics01 @whorefourjakekiszka @not-a-hypochondriac @myleftsock @leedleleedlelee003 @beth-gvf @jordie-gvf-admin @joshkiszkas @oksydneyy @weightofstar @flo-gvf @myownparadise96 @indigokiszka @spark-my-nature @stardustofman @malany-gvf @carbonwrittingthroughtime @groupiegirlie08 @fwzco @nicoleghost18 @andromeda-raine-gvf @sarrrahhh @ren-ni @otherworldlyautumn @Timeless—classics @zoe-tally06 @hippievanfleet @hellowgoodbye @aminaalilyy @gvfcinema @joshpaperscissors @dammittjanet @enchante-em @austinbrry @meetingthestarcatchers @Samkiszkaspinkietoe @spinthehemmo @stonecoldmo @fitalich @justcarsonngvf @tearsofjakey @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lexii-nv-c @bailey747 @streamofgvf }

[asirensrage]

Mise en Place - A "choose your own adventure" style fic - Part 3

Fandom: Punisher AU Rating: Mature Pairing: Billy Russo x OC Warnings: Dark!Fic, threats, murder, obsession, swearing, violence, blood, and likely more to be added... Summary: Nadine thought her biggest problem was helping to keep the restaurant she worked at afloat as the neighbourhood starts being bought out from under them. A chance meeting in an elevator with an old fling proves differently…

Notes: There's a lot of violence in this chapter. Heed the warnings. The last vote was a tie so I made the final call. Nadine...uses her knives to defend herself.

Part 1 / Part 2 /

Previously: “What are you doing in my house?” “Waiting for you, Nadine.” He grins and steps forward…. 

She doesn’t have a lot of options. The door is locked behind her and if she wants to open it, she would need to turn her back on him. She already knows that’s a bad idea.

“Me? Do we know each other?”

“We will,” he says. Her hand moves to her side, drawing out the wrapped cloth bundle from her tote. She grabs the handle that sticks out first. It’s her boning knife. It sits in her hand like an extension of herself. She drops the bundle back in the tote and puts it on the ground before kicking it out of the way. 

The man looks at it and laughs. With its long thin blade, it doesn’t look like much but she’s used it a thousand times taking apart different animals in her work. It’s familiar in a way that he isn’t. 

“Do you even know what to do with that, girl?” 

She shifts it in her hand, trying not to let the comment rankle. It shouldn’t surprise her. Many don’t know what it takes to reach her skill. She ignores the desire to snap back. He’s large and threatening and she reminds herself that he’s just another animal. She’s broken down many, dozens of times before. She’s not going to make this easy for him. Whatever he succeeds in taking from her will cost him.

“You’re a chef,” he says, trying to antagonize her. “What are you going to do? Mince me?” 

She shifts her weight, setting one foot slightly behind her. It seems to amuse him further. Nadine’s not stupid. She’s a single woman in the city and has always been seen as an easier target due to her size. She’s taken self-defence classes throughout her years at school. He knows her name. She wonders what else he knows about her. 

He lunges forward. 

She pivots on her heel, knife sliding against flesh as she moves out of his way. Blood splatters against the floor as he swears, his hand pressing against the sudden wound.

“Bitch!” 

She simply turns to face him. She can hear her instructor’s voice in her head: make good cuts, let the knife do the work. She’s not using a saw and should avoid the joints but there are other places to cut, ones that will maximize the damage she can do in the time she has to ensure he cannot attack. Tendons and large muscle groups, kidneys and liver. 

He strikes again. He’s not trying to get ahold of her, or do any serious damage.  It’s like he’s playing with her to draw this out. Fucker.

She doesn’t manage to avoid him this time, getting the breath knocked out of her sharply as she’s shoved back into the side table by her couch. She nearly goes toppling over it. She forces herself to breathe through the pain. Focus, she can practically hear her instructor say. Think about the step you’re on, not what comes next. The memory is burned into her from the repetition. 

She darts forward, ducking under his swing and swipes her knife up. It slides into the soft flesh of his armpit and she can feel it scrape across bone before she pulls it out. The man screams. 

It doesn’t stop him though and he uses the moment she needs to retrieve her knife to grab her hair. He yanks it back, taking her with it. She swings the knife down and away from her, catching him on the leg. It slips across and down his inner thigh. He lets go of her hair as he tries to put pressure on the wound. She scrambles back, kicking out and catching him hard in the knee. He falls as she gets to her feet, struggling to catch her breath as she watches the man curse, trying to pull himself away from her. 

How long until he bleeds out? She hit an artery based on the amount of blood that’s spreading around him. She’s never going to get her security deposit back now. She laughs a little, wondering if she might be in shock. Her head is swimming. She’s definitely bruised from where she hit that table. 

He’s still moaning. She’s never actually had to watch something die before. The animals she worked with were always dead first. Maybe she should call an ambulance…It would be easy, she thinks, to even disassemble the body herself but transporting it would be a pain and she still has no clue why he was here or if he was working alone. 

Either way, she needs help.

Where is her phone?

mise en place tag: @muchadoaboutcj @koiwrites @chrissymunson  @nageill

general tag: @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse @endless-oc-creations  @stanshollaand @wordspin-shares @chrissymunson

Billy Russo tag: @wheresthesunshinesblog

[fettesans]

Top, photograph by Terry Richardson, Head Bangers!, posted on Tumblr, October 11, 2010. Bottom, Ed Atkins, installation view Olde Food at Martin-Gropius-Bau, September 29 – December 10, 2017. Via.

Videowalls and flat screens depict a choreographed chamber drama of dubious sentimentality and historical inaccuracy. Caricature and parable collide in a nostalgic no-place of derailed escapism, conjuring both recent Fantasy television phenomena, and any fantasy’s failure to distract from a resurgent literalism concerning the romantic possibilities of the imaginary. Unlike much of Atkins’ previous work, Old Food is slow—hobbled and exhausted by its own apparent superficiality. Still, Old Food moves, caught in a concert of sad, pitched inwards and out.

These new computer-generated video works are installed alongside a vast display of the Deutsche Oper Berlin’s costume archive, presented as objet trouvé in the manner in which they are stored. Part perverse mise-en-scène, part practical acoustic treatment, the costumes invite a reading of the videos as aspirationally operatic and as compromised historical dream—both in their failure to sufficiently address their contemporary moment, and their presumed locale, from 11th century Scotland to ancient Egypt to Berlin, and the world, today. Just as the costumes are displayed in a manner to subvert their role as instruments of immersive storytelling, Atkins’ videos constantly undo both their realism and their elaborate technology. The effect, ironically enough, is one of genuine imminence. Via.

--

Space is curved everywhere, but in some places it's more curved than in others: like pockets or bottlenecks or niches, where the void is crumpled up. These niches are where, every two hundred and fifty million years, there is a slight tinkling sound and a shiny hydrogen atom is formed like a pearl between the valves of an oyster. I walked past, pocketed the atom, and set the fake atom in its place. Pfwfp didn't notice a thing: predatory, greedy, he filled his pockets with that rubbish, as I was accumulating all the treasures that the universe cherished in its bosom.

Italo Calvino, from Cosmicomics, 1965. Via.

--

While exploring the evolving search habits of Americans, we discovered a surprising trend: Over 2 in 5 have used TikTok as a search engine. Consumers most often turned to TikTok to search for new recipes, but they also frequently searched for new music, DIY tips, and fashion advice. This shift was particularly pronounced among younger generations, with 64% of Gen Zers and 49% of millennials saying they’ve used TikTok as a search engine. Gen Zers were also 29% more likely than millennials to scour TikTok for new recipes. And even more striking, nearly 1 in 10 Gen Zers preferred TikTok over traditional giants like Google for their search needs. Another surprising find was the new chatbot on the block, ChatGPT. Over 1 in 10 consumers turned to ChatGPT to search for information, with 1 in 20 going as far as asking it for personal finance advice.

(Study conducted by Adobe, with 808 consumers, no data provided, and no information on how the consumers were selected) Via.

[anachronismstellar]

Wip Wednesday: IAAP: CH6

Let's goooo guys! My requests for IAAP: CH6. This one is a hard one (Sanji's past is a whole ass trigger warning for itself) but anyway-

TW: Canon starvation, Canon child abuse, panic attacks

Thank you for the requests: @zyrafowe-sny @eriquin @auburnlaughter @adhdavinci @trappedinmymind @stonemaskedtaliesin @kidsomeday

I'm going to put this one under the read more just to be safe!

Zoro was drowning.  The trapped air tried to escape his throat as water made home in his lungs, salt mixing with copper. He couldn't make sense of up and down on the treacherous sea, body sinking like a stone no matter how much he forced his legs to move. He was drowning but he couldn't make himself move, he could only wait for- there- A big hand grabbed him, pulling him from the water, dragging him away from the waves. And this time he didn't have to do much to grab the rock, holding with all his strength so the waves didn’t carry him back.  He knew that it wasn't him that was fighting death. Ok, he knew this now. But it wasn't his fault that Cook's memories were so disconnected that he could barely follow.  In a blink the sun was scalding his head, the dull knife on his hand laughing at Zoro as Curly watched Red Leg's back, frozen on the spot. “Go away, little aubergine.” Then again Red Leg's back was turned to him, this time however they were in a nice kitchen, the monster on his belly asleep for now. “I'm telling you, old man! I know that I can do it!” “You can't even season your food! Go away from my kitchen before I send you to your room!” He turned around, running full speed towards the door, crossing it, only to come back to the kitchen once more, this time taller, stronger. “Move old man, it’s my turn to prepare the mise en place!” “Over my dead body!” Cook threw a kick, without holding back his strength, but Red Leg blocked at the last second, both falling into a fight that was getting too serious too fast. Again, Zoro knew that it was coming, still he couldn’t move fast enough, Zeff’s powerful kick hitting him right in the head, making Zoro black out and then- He was crying. The place was so dark he couldn’t see properly, but he knew he was in a cell, his back against the wall, a clunky mask over his face, making it hard to lift his head. He was crying and he was so small- he felt like his wrists would snap at any moment,  and again that whole on his stomach, a monster that kept gnawing and gnawing his belly- holy shit why was he so fucking hungry- “You just need to do as he says, why do you never do as he says?”

Zoro turned to look at the girl on the other side of the bars, expecting tears, a reaction, something, but her eyes were empty as if she hadn’t had a soul. “I’m trying-” he sobbed, tears pooling on his cheeks, the salt and the metal irritating the skin, itching like hell.  And all he could do was to pull the mask, the sensation of being slowly smothered by it making hard to breath, he couldn’t breath, he- “Zoro-san?”

I did the whole text because I think it works best with this scene, it's made to be confusing, but if I broke it apart it would look insane dshifhdusf

anyway, thank you again for the requests everyone! <3

and if you got here and want to see more of this, don't hesitate to send me an ask! :D Make me write!

See you next Wip Wednesday!

[paperultra]

mise en rose.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 3,806 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use

The tune that your father used to whistle now leaves your lips the same way it left his.

Notes skip offkey across the water as your boat rocks gently, waves lapping up against the wooden sides. The moon shines brightly overhead. You shift in place and wait for a tug on your fishing line, the basket at your feet waiting patiently for its first meal.

Archy will be happy if you actually catch something for once. There’s not a lot of fish around here, and you’re not exactly sure why; something about the aquatic plants in the area, or if you were to believe the old man in the village square, a curse that swallows anything with fins that swims too close. The last time you caught something was months ago, and it was tiny and more bone than flesh.

You don’t really care. It’s enough to just sit out here and feel the waves.

Cheeks puffing up with air for another round of music, you let your gaze drift out towards the ocean and abruptly freeze.

There’s something floating in the distance.

A piece of debris. Wood from a hull, a scrap of sail perhaps?

The thought that it may be the remnant of a ship destroyed at sea is enough for you to reel in your line and start rowing towards it, anticipation bubbling up and drowning out any thoughts of a midnight snack.

You get close enough and your anticipation gives way to shock.

“Oh, shit.”

The guy clinging to the chunk of wood stirs and lifts his head, and you almost hit him upside the head with your oar.

“Oh, shit. You’re alive.”

—

“You say you’re going out fishing and you come back with a half-dead man with three swords?” Archy looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm, but this time, you don’t blame him. This is certainly uncharted territory and your older brother is hopeless without a map. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What was I supposed to do, leave him to die?”

“I dunno! Yeah!” he gestures to the waterlogged man lying halfway on the living room couch, one arm and leg hanging off the side. “Look at him. He’s probably a pirate!”

“Damn, you think?” Crouching down, you drag your eyes across Swordsman’s ragged clothing and grin. You might’ve just rescued someone with a bounty on his head. “That’d be so cool.”

“That would not be cool.”

You shrug. “Well, I brought him in already, so you might as well help me unless you want a dead body in our living room.”

“You little –” Taking a deep breath, Archy pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long, loud groan, and you know that you’ve won once more. “Fine. But as soon as he’s even a little bit better, we’re calling the Marines.”

“Okay,” you agree amicably. “So, what do we do first?”

“We have to undress him and warm him up.”

“Got it.” Your eager fingers go straight for the swords.

The man comes to life without warning. Seizing your wrist, he cracks one eye open and speaks in a low and rasping voice.

“Don’t. Touch. My swords.”

“Uh,” you say.

“We got to get everything off, mate,” Archy grumbles, and your guest turns his glare onto your brother. “I know how to clean swords and scabbards. I’ll dry them off and put them under the couch afterward.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

With a grunt, Swordsman pushes you away and attempts to sit up. He struggles for a full minute, jaw clenched and muscles trembling; his arms, strong and sturdy as they are, look like they’ll buckle at any moment.

Your eyebrows shoot up to the ceiling when he actually manages to prop himself up.

“Well, that’s impressive,” you mutter, making eye contact with Archy. He rolls his eyes. “Can you remove your clothes and wrap yourself up too?”

It takes a few moments before Swordsman has enough breath to respond. “I’m fine,” he says once he can.

“You’re really not,” Archy replies.

“You’re probably really dehydrated,” you say. “How long were you out there?”

The man stares at you, opens his mouth, pauses.

“Three days. Maybe.”

You gape. “You spent three days floating in the East Blue and you’re not dead?” You look at his neck for gills. “Are you a fishman or something?”

“No.”

“Really? I mean, I never met any fishmen before, so …”

His eye twitches. “I’m not a fishman.”

“Well, okay, if you say so.”

What a weird guy. Then again, you’ve heard that all sorts of characters traverse the Blue Sea. Devil fruit users, talking animals, clowns. A person who can survive the ocean for a couple days on a piece of wood is hardly out of the question.

“You’re dehydrated, in any case,” you conclude. “I’ll get you some water.”

—

After gruffly accepting a glass of water and putting on some dry clothes, Swordsman proceeds to “sleep it off” for the next twenty-four hours. When he finally wakes up, it’s in the middle of the night and you’ve just started rereading your favorite book.

“Oh, he’s awake,” you say when he stirs, swinging your feet off the coffee table and leaning forward in your chair to observe.

He grimaces under the dim light of your lamp, lifting an arm to press it over his eyes. “How long was I out,” he grouses.

“’Bout a day.”

“Shit.” He wriggles around in the fuzzy blanket you’ve wrapped around him. Once he’s loosened its hold enough, he sits up slowly and looks around, expression equal parts drowsy and wary. “Where –”

“Archy took your swords and cleaned them. They’re under the couch.”

“I told you not to touch them.”

“I didn’t. My brother did.”

Casting you the most unamused glare, Swordsman bends over to look underneath the couch. He pulls his swords out and places them in his lap, inspecting the white one first with a care that makes you rest your chin in your hand, curious and charmed. His brow furrows and you know that he finds your brother’s work to be satisfactory when he moves on to inspect the other two.

“Our uncle was a bladesmith in Loguetown. He taught Archy a thing or two before he passed.”

“You’re bladesmiths?”

“Coopers. Uncle was the rebel, I guess.” You close your book and stand up. “There’s leftover soup in the fridge. I’ll heat up the broth for you.”

This time, the man does not refuse your help and only nods. As you head to the kitchen and start to reheat the soup, you glance over and catch him sipping from the glass of water you’d topped off while he was asleep. Somehow, even that small action intrigues you. You smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ladling the steaming broth into a small bowl, you stick a spoon in and walk back to where Swordsman is, sitting beside him. “Here you go. Don’t drink it too fast, and all that.”

He takes the soup, blows on a spoonful, tastes it. His eyes close, and something funny happens in your stomach when he opens them again to look at you.

“’S good.”

“Really?” He nods and puts the bowl to his lips to drink directly from it. “Thanks.”

You let him finish the miso broth in silence. It gives you time to stare at him some more; even with the horrible sunburn and petroleum jelly smeared everywhere, he’s a very handsome man, that much you can tell, with broad shoulders and a pretty face and hair as green as forest moss. The three earrings on his left ear gleam gold and sway with every movement he makes.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me, or are you gonna ask me questions?”

“Hm? Oh!” Shaking your head in slight bewilderment, you smile. “Yeah, I guess it would be good to ask some questions … so, what’s your name, anyway?”

“Roronoa Zoro.”

You tilt your head with a frown. “Roronoa Zoro.” You taste the name in your mouth. “That sounds really familiar. Are you a pirate?”

“No. I hunt them.”

“You hunt them?”

“That’s what I said.”

You look at his swords again. His earrings. Three and three.

Shooting up from the couch, you dash to Archy’s room and slam the door open.

“Archimead! Wake up!” You grab your brother’s shoulders and rattle him.

“Shit – what?!” he gargles, pushing your face away with one meaty hand and sitting up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“It’s Roronoa Zoro!”

“What?”

“The guy in our living room,” you shriek at him, practically shaking, “is the Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro. I fished Roronoa Zoro out of the fucking ocean.”

Archy stops rubbing his eye. “What.”

Soon enough, Zoro faces both you and your brother in the living room once more.

“You’re Roronoa Zoro? For real?” Archy asks him.

Zoro blinks up him. “Yeah.”

“Can you prove it?”

“‘Can you prove it’ – Archy, look at him. He’s got three earrings in his left ear and three fucking swords.”

“He could be some sort of copycat. We have no idea what Roronoa Zoro actually looks like.”

“You’re such a pessimist. Nobody would lug around three swords if they couldn’t use all of them at once.” You turn your attention back onto Zoro. “How the hell did you get stranded out there?”

He looks between the two of you, waiting for a moment before crossing his arms. “I was headed to Mirror Ball Island, but the boat I was on got caught in a whirlpool,” he says, displeased. “Then I got separated from the rest of the crew. Don’t know if they survived or not.”

“Mirror Ball Island?” you repeat. “That’s a three-day journey from here, at least.”

“Where’s here?”

“Dokusha Village.” You open one of the books on the table and point to a tiny strip of coast you’d labeled on the edge of the East Blue map. “Right there. You could buy a boat and sail west, straight to Mirror Ball Island.”

“I don’t have any beri on me right now,” Zoro says.

“Oh, yeah. Of course you don’t.” Archy puts his hands on his hips. “Well, the merchant ship is coming by in two weeks. If you’re all good by then, you can hitch a ride.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow night.”

You snort, closing the book and reclining back. “The rate you’re going, I don’t doubt it. Does that mean you want to leave earlier? You’ll still need a boat and supplies. Food, water, towels, sleeping gear. That all costs money. I mean, we could lend you some, but still.”

“I’ll work for it,” Zoro replies. “I don’t take and give nothing in return.”

Both you and Archy give a hum of approval.

—

True to his word, Roronoa Zoro is up and off the couch by the fourth day.

He doesn’t have a clue as to how to make barrels or buckets, which is expected, so he ends up helping with the grunt work of carrying staves into the workshop and stacking finished barrels. Other than that, there’s not much for him to do.

“Sorry if it’s boring,” you apologize during lunch, speaking through a mouthful of sandwich. “You’re kind of just hired muscle.”

Zoro shrugs, chewing on his own sandwich. Two girls walking by – Phoebe and Iris, the blacksmith’s daughters – spot him on the bench and giggle, hurrying past with glances over their shoulders. He appears not to care. “It’s fine.”

“I think you’re even stronger than my brother. Is it because of your training as a swordsman?”

“Probably,” he says.

“When did you start?”

“When I was eight.”

You nod sagely. “Not surprised. I’ve been helping around the workshop since I was a kid, and I only just finished my apprenticeship a few weeks ago. It’s good to start young.”

It seems that Zoro agrees by the way he grunts, stuffing the last piece of crust into his mouth.

When he’s done, you muster the courage to ask, “What’s it like, being a bounty hunter?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow at you. Then he gazes back out at the street. “It’s fine,” he responds. “Makes good money.”

You sigh exasperatedly. “Yeah, but, like, is it fun? Do you spend a lot of time at sea? See a lot of different places? Stuff like that.”

“I don’t do it for fun. My only goal is to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” He leans back and puts his hands behind his head. “It’s a shitton of traveling, both on ships and on land. I’ve been all over the East Blue.”

“Wow.” The word comes out as a sigh. You crunch longingly on a carrot stick. “That sounds amazing. It’s my dream to travel all over the world on a ship.”

“How come you’re here, then?”

You wince, hushing him hastily. Glancing behind you, you clear your throat and lean in to speak softly. “Archy hates the ocean. He worked on a merchant ship for a few months when he was eighteen and got super sick.” Upon reading Zoro’s blank expression, you clarify, “I can’t just leave him. I’m the only family he’s got now, and his younger sibling to boot. So Dokusha Village it is.”

“You’re staying because of your brother.”

“Yeah. I love him, so it’s fine.” There’s a familiar ache in your chest, but you push it down and elbow Zoro’s ribs in jest. (He doesn’t even move a muscle. Geez.) “Makes okay money. I got a bunch of adventure books to live through, anyway.”

It’s a little hard to meet your lunch companion’s eyes after that. You eat the rest of your carrots in silence, pretending to be occupied with finishing them. Zoro doesn’t utter another word.

But as the two of you get back to work, he seems a little warmer, a little less stiff. You make a silly joke and Zoro huffs out something that almost sounds like a laugh while Archy threatens to stick you in a rum barrel and roll you down a hill.

Perhaps you’ve made another friend.

—

“What are you making?”

You blow off the wood dust, closing one eye to cut a fin just right. “Shark. See?”

The bonfire you’d made crackles just a few feet away as you place the half-finished carving into Zoro’s palm. He picks it up with his other hand and twists it around, touching with intention, and you almost feel self-conscious with the way he’s examining it.

“Nice,” he finally says, and the praise makes you giddy. He hands the shark back to you.

“Thanks. I had a lot of practice.”

Zoro rests his elbows on the rock behind him and takes another swig of sake. You resume carving the shark’s fins, bare feet buried in the cool sand.

Archy’s on a date for once, so he left the two of you to your own devices for the night with a distracted wave goodbye and a warning that he’ll be back late. You took that as a chance to break into the alcohol after supper and drag Zoro down to the beach. The swordsman was willing to come along, though you suspect it was mostly for the sake.

“Ain’t that your third bottle?”

“I can hold my liquor.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “No need to brag.”

He wipes his mouth, dark brown eyes black in the firelight. They glint like steel when he looks over at you, but he doesn’t say anything – not that you’re surprised; sometimes Zoro just looks at whatever he wants without any reason. He’s not particularly complicated in that sense.

(You like that. Too many things in life are complicated.)

“Hey, Zoro.”

“Hm.”

Your lips purse. “Do you think my brother will get married one day?”

“How am I supposed to know?” His tone is flat.

“Well, I dunno! It’s just a question.” You frown, slowing in your work. “It’s just that after our parents died, he’s been too busy looking after me and the shop to court someone. He’s turning thirty next year and most people his age have settled down already. I feel kind of bad.”

“It’s not your fault,” Zoro says. “Wouldn’t he have more time now, anyway, since you can take care of yourself?”

“I think he’s been out for so long he doesn’t know how to date anymore.”

Zoro downs the rest of his sake. You know that there’s no advice he can give you regarding Archy’s marriage prospects, which doesn’t surprise you either. You suppose you just need someone to listen. It’s not like you can talk to Archy about it.

“Hell,” you remember, “I’m expected to be married by now, too. I’ve never even been on a date.”

“Really?”

“Nope. Why, are you surprised?”

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Zoro yawns and closes his eyes. “You just seem like the type.”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk a lot,” he says.

You burst out laughing. “Yeah, I do. Would that make me a good date?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“I’m guessing you’ve never been on one, either?”

Zoro shrugs. He doesn’t look too torn up about it. “Waste of time,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “Figured you’d say that,” you drawl, digging your blade into the shark’s mouth. “Dating doesn’t really help you become the world’s greatest swordsman, does it?”

“Nope.”

“I still think it might be fun, though. If you’re with the right person.” With that, you brush away the last curl of wood from your carving. After admiring it for a few seconds, you offer the shark to Zoro, bumping the nose softly against his cheek. He opens his eyes and turns his head to squint at it. “Here you go. All yours.”

His brow furrows as he takes it.

“It’s a going away gift. Since you’re leaving tomorrow,” you say. Folding your knife and putting it down beside you, you grab your bottle of sake and gulp down half of what remains. “Don’t forget it.”

One of the logs in the bonfire crumbles, falling into the coals. Orange sparks fly up into the smoke and disappear just as quickly. You poke at the fire with a stick, trying not to think about how sad you’re going to be tomorrow morning.

“I won’t forget,” Zoro says.

“I know.”

—

It’s almost dawn, and the family boat is packed up and ready to set sail.

“Got everything?” Archy asks, lowering into a squat to scan over all the supplies.

“Yeah.” The swordsman drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks again for the boat.”

“It’s nothing.” Your brother elbows your arm, and you sway. “Oi. He said thank you.”

“I know,” you mumble. For the first time this morning, you spare Zoro a glance and smile at him, but it’s shaky and fake and you really hate how your voice wobbles when you say, “You don’t have to thank us. Just have a safe – have a safe –” Your voice cracks, and you look down at your feet, eyes burning. “Have a safe trip,” you finish quietly.

You can feel two pairs of eyes on you as your vision goes blurry. Shit. This is so embarrassing.

The fact of the matter is that Roronoa Zoro has been in Dokusha Village for only a week, and you’re already missing him like he’s been in your life for years. You’re going to watch him get into your family’s fishing boat and sail away, the wind at his back, the East Blue before him, and you will remain on the dock with your big brother beside you and your dream in your head.

You’re being selfish, but it’s not … it’s not fair.

Archy puts his hand on your shoulder and says your name.

You wipe your nose. “What?”

“… I’ve been thinking.” He sounds hesitant, taking in a deep breath and letting it go slowly, carefully. “You’ve always wanted to travel the world on a ship.”

It’s like the world tilts on its axis.

Rigidly, you look up at your brother, eyes wide.

“I’m not dumb, you know. You’ve only stayed here because of me,” Archy says. “I’m the one who’s supposed to look after you and protect you. But you’ve been able to do that for yourself for a while, now. Right?”

“Archy.” You swallow. “What are you …?”

“I talked with Zoro last night. He’s willing to take you to Mirror Ball Island, if you want.” His smile is crooked, but it trembles at the corners as he continues. “You know how to sail, how to navigate. We’ll just have to add some extra stuff to the boat.”

You can barely breathe.

“There’s plenty of merchant ships there,” Zoro adds, leaning on his sword. “Your skills are valuable. Just be willing to pull your own weight, and they’ll take you on board. If not, I’ll tell them to.”

“You don’t have to –” Now you’re full-on bawling. You throw your arms around Archy, who wraps you in a bear hug, and then around Zoro, who stiffens. “Thank you so much. Thank you thank you thank you.”

“No problem,” Zoro mumbles, patting you on the back. When you let go to beam at him, he averts his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “Just hurry up.”

Nodding, you dash back up to your house, Archy following close behind. You grab your bag, throw what you need into it, snatch your hat from your bedpost. Less than twenty minutes pass before you’re all ready to go.

“Got everything?” Archy asks once more at the dock. You nod and look at Zoro, who nods as well. “All right.”

You hug Archy for the last time. Tears spill over and down your cheeks. “Thank you for everything, big bro. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, kid.” His voice is rough and trembly, muffled against your head. “Come back to visit sometime, okay?”

“Okay.”

Getting into the boat with Zoro, you help him check the rigging and hoist the sail. Archy unties the vessel and pushes the two of you off. As you float away, he waves, and you wave back, staring as he gets smaller and smaller.

“I’m not turning back,” Zoro tells you as you eventually settle in your seat. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Is it?

You cast one last glance back at Dokusha Village, at the small point of your brother. Then you look out at the broad expanse of the ocean. And you feel many things – joy, sadness, apprehension – but above all that, you feel –

Free.

“Yes,” you say firmly. You push your hat down and smile at Zoro, and this time, it’s genuine. “It is.”

Zoro smiles back. And as the sun begins to warm your face, you whistle your father’s song and think about the journey to come.

[staccato-fever]

Art Financing Case Study: Sheeps and Drakes & Hens as a House Pet. Homestead as a Second Property for Artist Residency Husbandry with AgTech Education. No Cows, Horse, Dogs, Cats, or Rabbits.

Rambouillet FX Listing Pegs: Copper & Gold; Agriculture Central Hedge Fund, Mining Unions, Peninsula Agronomique Engineering, Commodities Options Exchange (Credit Spread Options, Farm REITs, Crop Production; Fertelizers and Seeds; Equipment; Distribution and Processing Stocks, Ag ETFs and ETNs, Ag Mutual Funds), Tableau Économiques, Investments Farms REITs, Scallops Mollusk Razor-Razorblade Model Port Economics, Art Financing Bon Vivant.

The History of Mise en Place

While mise en place is now ingrained in kitchens across the world, this wasn’t always the case. Near the middle of the 19th century, Auguste Escoffier, a former soldier, entered the culinary world. As he advanced through kitchens, he used his experience with strict military systems and clear rules to develop the mise en place system.

At first, not everyone agreed with Escoffier’s rigid organizational methods. However, once they saw how mise en place helped with kitchen workflow, these previous naysayers adopted the practice. Today, this technique is one of the foundations of any functioning kitchen.

In French, mise en place means “putting in place.” We’ve discussed using this strategy or philosophy to apply it to your morning routine and prepping your work area, but you can take it even further. When you set aside all the things you need to get out the door in the morning, that’s mise en place. When you follow an evening routine with your kids (e.g., bath, books, bed), that’s mise en place too. When you open a select set of browser tabs and apps that you need to work on—sans distracting sites—yup, mise en place.

Chef de Cuisine: Sometimes called the head chef, a chef de cuisine is responsible for day-to-day kitchen management. Depending on the size of the business, they may be at the top of the kitchen hierarchy and report directly to the restaurant manager or owner. They have a largely supervisory role, ensuring the kitchen operates smoothly and taking the lead on creating menus.

https://youtu.be/7_ldJMHjbPA?si=Ji5l-cnNEJRXxfub

Rambouillet Brillat-Savarin Culinary Linguistics Hedonistic. The Hedonic Paradox (also called the Pleasure Paradox) states that if you seek pleasure or happiness for the sole purpose of achieving it for yourself, you will fail. Instead, you must pursue other goals that will bring you happiness or pleasure as a side-effect: Pardicé Minuit: Sensory Experience, Culture Expression; Rambouillet Barter Economics and Brillat-Savarin Cheesemonger Farmer's E-commerce. Rambouillet Brillat-Savarin Hedonistic; Planetary Intelligence: Venus (Taurus) Rising, Mars (Aries) Sun, Mercury-Sun (Gemini-Leo) Moon, and Jupiter (Sagittarius) Fleur-de-lys; Lens for Fashion/Fragrance: Spring Cleaning for New Year's Party Resolution; What if we handled fall and Spring and planned in the Winter; Work Quarters Eisenhower Matrix; Hedonic hunger or hedonic hyperphagia is the "drive to eat to obtain pleasure in the absence of an energy deficit". Particular foods may have a high "hedonic rating" or individuals may have increased susceptibility to environmental food cues. It is derived from the concept of hedonism, which by definition is the doctrine that pleasure or happiness is the sole or chief good in life. Hedonic eating is a form of eating in which one eats for pleasure rather than for energy needs. A chapter 13 bankruptcy is also called a wage earner's plan. It enables individuals with regular income to develop a plan to repay all or part of their debts. Under this chapter, debtors propose a repayment plan to make installments to creditors over three to five years. If the debtor's current monthly income is less than the applicable state median, the plan will be for three years unless the court approves a longer period "for cause." (1) If the debtor's current monthly income is greater than the applicable state median, the plan generally must be for five years. In no case may a plan provide for payments over a period longer than five years. 11 U.S.C. § 1322(d). During this time the law forbids creditors from starting or continuing collection efforts. The limited liability company (LLC) is a corporate structure that protects its owners from being personally pursued for repayment of the company's debts or liabilities. Michelin Star SPORTS Stadium Platform NYY Steak.

Bagel and Lox & Husbandry or Fishmonger & Brillat-Savarin Cheesemonger (Triple-cream cheese or fromage triple-crème is cow's-milk cheese which contains more than 75% fat in its dry matter. Triple cream cheeses taste rich and creamy.[1][2]): Farmer's E-commerce and Ghost Kitchen; https://youtu.be/zkGQ4bDg_Y8?si=YeajPobKMymv1Ygr

Husbandry Junk Food/Sephora Cosmetic Plantation Cash Crops: Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream Cake/Sheep, Fried Dough & Dark Chocolate with Hazelnut/Musk, and Breakfast Bagel/Exotic Option; https://youtu.be/Y9b5HBSpbqs?si=CRmBNbvfIIvN09wR

Rambouillet-Iron Barter Economics Technology Index Supplier Technology Retail Business Clusters; Iron from food comes in two forms: heme and non-heme. Heme is found only in animal flesh like meat, poultry, and seafood. Non-heme iron is found in plant foods like whole grains, nuts, seeds, legumes, and leafy greens. Non-heme iron is also found in animal flesh (as animals consume plant foods with non-heme iron) and fortified foods. (Source: https://nutritionsource.hsph.harvard.edu/iron/)

FarmVille is a series of agriculture-simulation social network games developed and published by Zynga in 2009.[3][4] It is similar to Happy Farm[5] and Farm Town.[6][7][8] Its gameplay involves various aspects of farmland management, such as plowing land, planting, growing, and harvesting crops, harvesting trees and raising livestock.[9][10] The sequels FarmVille 2 and FarmVille 3 were released in September 2012 and November 2021, respectively.

Switch from Luxury New Worth to Hedonistic Husbandry Homestead REITS

Pleasure Paradox or Hedonistic Paradox

NOUCHI

[boy-grandma]

EARLY SPRING TACO SLOP, ETC.

we had a few unseasonably beautiful days this weekend, so we invited a few friends over and busted out the grill.

GRILL DAY HAUL

stella parks’s Ultra-Fresh Limeade

chef john’s beef birria, made into tacos

grilled asparagus, broccolini, and shishito peppers

grilled tteokbokki (prepared by our friend J)

simple ranch dressing (equal parts greek yogurt, sour cream, and mayonnaise, plus a little bit of dijon mustard, fresh dill, lemon juice, salt & pepper to taste) for dipping vegetables

pickled red onions

various Baja Blast Potions (more on that below)

…we also had a rack of ribs in our freezer that we wanted to get through, so i did some very simple prep (took off the silver skin, split in half, seasoned with salt, black pepper, and a little bit of liquid smoke) and cooked it sous vide (165 F for 12 hours), though we ended up with so much food that we sort of just forgot to grill it lol. we’ll probably just brown it under a broiler or something and have it for dinner soon

TACOS

(there are tons of videos on birria taco-craft; i like this one by kenji)

to prep the finished birria for tacos, we just removed the meat, shredded it off of any bones (discarding skin/gristle from the ribs), then passed the braising liquid through a fine strainer. we didn’t bother with skimming off any fat.

mise en place for taco time:

stack of store-bought corn tortillas. nothing fancy (they’re going to be smothered in Meat Juice anyway). we steamed them a bit just to get them pliable again, and kept them warm under a kitchen towel. microwaving them briefly works too

bowl of oaxaca cheese shredded ahead of time (something like mozzarella would work too)

shallow bowl with a portion of strained braising liquid

bowl of shredded beef

one or two cast iron pans, heated directly on the grill; we had one in a hotter zone and one in a cooler zone

cooking the tacos on the grill was simple — take two tortillas from the stack, dip them in the braising liquid, place them one on top of the other on the cast iron pan (in our case, we started in the hot zone); griddle one side until it’s browned in spots, flip both tortillas (keeping them stacked), then sprinkle generously with cheese over the whole surface and add a portion of beef. fold it over and keep griddling until the cheese has melted. we used the cooler pan as a hot hold so we could batch them out to our friends. serve with chopped onions and cilantro, or whatever you like on tacos — we did pickled red onions. if you want to get crazy with it then grab a bowl of the braising liquid and dip that shit right in. delicious taco slop

GET BAJA BLASTED, IDIOT

our local fred meyer store has been having some buck wild sales on the newly-liberated baja blast (3 cases for the price of one???) and while we aren’t big Dew Heads typically, we simply can’t resist the powerful meme magics of the Taco Bell Tonic. what i mean to say is that my partner bought a case a week ago mostly as a joke and now we’re unironically obsessed with the stuff. everyone we’ve had over this weekend was similarly psyched to get Baja Blasted. this windex-looking shit has 59 grams of caffeine per can and it’s here to baja blast your teeth right out of your head

Baja Blast Potions have been a running gag in our friend group ever since we ordered an irresponsible number of Cravings Boxes on new year’s eve and proceeded to try mixing our blue dew with whatever bottles of booze J and M had in their apartment. these were pretty much all terrible. but in this exciting new age of readily available Blue Meth In Cans, there are now endless opportunities for iteration and innovation — a shot of tequila and a pinch of salt? maybe some orange bitters? my partner and i bought orange bitters last week just to try this. we’re too far gone. it’s too late for us now

anyway our friend M ended up hitting on something… drinkable? i hesitate to say “good.” it was at least good enough that multiple people ended up wanting one. sort of a margarita for younger millennial dirtbags: equal parts decent white tequila and dry curaçao, as much Baja Blast as you can tolerate (M built his in a pint glass. lol), a dash of orange bitters. the resulting drink is less windex and more radioactive swamp green due to the addition of amber color from the curaçao. his partner J saw him building this drink and looked like she was going to scream. Blastarita: the perfect drink with which to torment your loved ones all summer long

[hostradio]

❝  hmm? ❞   the  concern  is  greeted  with  quizzical  hum  and  owlish  blink  —  as  if  such  grotesque  displays  have  become  so  normalized  that  he  no  longer  sees  them  as  strange.  (  a  partial  truth!  alastor  loves  to  disgust  those  around  him  as  much  as  he  does  entertain.  )  ❝  hmm. ❞   there's  another  sickening  crunch  as  his  neck  tilts  at  a  perfect  ninety  degree  angle  —  then  rights  itself  just  as  quickly.   ❝  hmm. ❞   his  head  then  swivels  as  if  he  means  to  glance  over  a  shoulder,  yet  it  keeps  turning  with  all  the  unnatural  articulation  one  might  expect  out  of  a  doll.  it's  only  when  it's  twisted  in  the  complete  opposite  direction  that  alastor  stops.  he  raises  his  hands,  placing  one  on  either  side  —  and  violently  wrenches  his  head  the  right  way  around,  jolting  a  bit  as  if  the  gesture  was  enough  to  inject  some  much-needed  life  into  the  drowsy  sinner.  ❝  perfectly  fine,  my  dear! ❞   alastor  chirps  then  brightly.  ❝  why,  residual  grogginess  aside,  i  daresay  i've  never  been  better! ❞  that  felt  good!

he  rises  from  his  seat  with  another  stretch  —  though  this  one  is  comparatively  more  mundane  in  nature.  extending  his  arms,  arching  his  back  not  unlike  a  feline  roused  from  slumber.  ❝  oh,  that  does  sound  delightful. ❞  who  knew  the  world  of  coffee  was  rife  with  so  many  intricacies?  he's  never  paid  much  attention  to  those  fancy  drink  orders  that  sound  more  like  demonic  incantations  than  a  perfectly  serviceable  beverage.   ❝  i  see  i  was  correct  to  trust  in  your  expertise!  of  course,  of  course  —  i  never  had  any  doubts  at  all. ❞  he  didn't!

the  radio  demon  takes  a  moment  to  observe  as  hikaru  grinds  down  the  beans.  (  nice  call;  fresher  IS  better!  )  though  the  prospect  of  food  does  predictably  catch  his  attention.  ❝  ordinarily  i  would  prepare  breakfast  for  myself, ❞   and  he  quite  enjoys  doing  so,  ❝  but  even  i  couldn't  POSSIBLY  bring  myself  to  deny  an  aspiring  chef  the  opportunity! ❞   on  the  contrary  —  what  is  cooking  if  not  an  art  intended  to  be  SHARED?  ❝  i  don't  suppose  you  would  be  in  need  of  a  sous  chef?  a  right  hand?  someone  to  bear  the  responsibility  of  your  mise  en  place  while  you're  still  ever  so  preoccupied  with  the  coffee? ❞   he  doesn't  mind  —  he  would  relish  the  chance!

❝——Are you okay?❞

The words tumble out of her mouth rather suddenly when she hears the audible snap coming from him, causing her own carmine irises to blink a couple of times. She's admittedly still getting used to being around others who are just as, if not more durable than she is when it comes to physical constitution. (...although that's not hard to achieve, given how run down her own form has become over the years, but who needs to know those specifics?) Still, can one blame her for wanting to show concern over Alastor's own well being?

...Right! After that brief moment of surprise, she remembers just what her task prior to that was. She has offered to make coffee for the both of them! Deciding to pour what remained of the inferior coffee down the drain, she opts to not use the machine in favor of the tools that she has taken out. After all, in her opinion, the best coffee is always handmade.

❝A darker roast... hm. There's a few we could try, but I think you'd like the Sumatran dark roast for its full-bodied flavor that has an earthy sort of taste to it, along with a persisting flavor of dried herbs and barely any acidity to it! It's also can have a kick to it, too, which might just be the perk you need for this morning.❞

The entire time she's describing the taste of this particular roast to him, she's already started to work on grinding the beans down into something that can be eventually brewed once she gets to that step.

❝Did you also want something for breakfast while I'm at it? I'm still learning how to be a better cook, but I'd like to think I've improved.❞

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Writing update time!

ICYMI, chapter 1 of my new Frank x Reader fic, That Summer, is now up!

Canon Matt and Chef Matt have been vying for my attention the past few days, so updates for both Sweet on You and Mise en Place will probably be coming by the end of the week.

I need to rewatch the last 2 episodes of season 2 of Kin to get back in the Mikey headspace, so an update for It's Always Been Us is probably a few weeks out at the very least.

I'm still struggling with how to end the second chapter of Of Coffee and Cinnamon Rolls, so that's also on hiatus for a bit while I figure it out.

Mind the Gap and A Good Read -- as well as my Foggy fics -- are still coming, it's just a bit too crowded in my head right now to work on those.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged in anything please let me know, or if you have any questions about my stories my askbox is open!