#for more on this see: the years of rice and salt

[utilitycaster]

I should note, I hate the soulmates "we would fall in love in every universe" trope for the aforementioned "where's the tension and interest and really anything worthwhile" reasons. However, "we would find each other in every universe" fucking rips. We would interact meaningfully in every universe but sometimes we are lovers and sometimes we are friends and sometimes we are bitter enemies and sometimes we'd simply both be in the same HOA.

[keeps-ache]

once again i am on the playlist lol

[saja-star]

I've had a hard time articulating to people just how fundamental spinning used to be in people's lives, and how eerie it is that it's vanished so entirely. It occurred to me today that it's a bit like if in the future all food was made by machine, and people forgot what farming and cooking were. Not just that they forgot how to do it; they had never heard of it.

When they use phrases like "spinning yarns" for telling stories or "heckling a performer" without understanding where they come from, I imagine a scene in the future where someone uses the phrase "stir the pot" to mean "cause a disagreement" and I say, did you know a pot used to be a container for heating food, and stirring was a way of combining different components of food together? "Wow, you're full of weird facts! How do you even know that?"

When I say I spin and people say "What, like you do exercise bikes? Is that a kind of dancing? What's drafting? What's a hackle?" it's like if I started talking about my cooking hobby and my friend asked "What's salt? Also, what's cooking?" Well, you see, there are a lot of stages to food preparation, starting with planting crops, and cooking is one of the later stages. Salt is a chemical used in cooking which mostly alters the flavor of the food but can also be used for other things, like drawing out moisture...

"Wow, that sounds so complicated. You must have done a lot of research. You're so good at cooking!" I'm really not. In the past, children started learning about cooking as early as age five ("Isn't that child labor?"), and many people cooked every day their whole lives ("Man, people worked so hard back then."). And that's just an average person, not to mention people called "chefs" who did it professionally. I go to the historic preservation center to use their stove once or twice a week, and I started learning a couple years ago. So what I know is less sophisticated than what some children could do back in the day.

"Can you make me a snickers bar?" No, that would be pretty hard. I just make sandwiches mostly. Sometimes I do scrambled eggs. "Oh, I would've thought a snickers bar would be way more basic than eggs. They seem so simple!"

Haven't you ever wondered where food comes from? I ask them. When you were a kid, did you ever pick apart the different colored bits in your food and wonder what it was made of? "No, I never really thought about it." Did you know rice balls are called that because they're made from part of a plant called rice? "Oh haha, that's so weird. I thought 'rice' was just an adjective for anything that was soft and white."

People always ask me why I took up spinning. Isn't it weird that there are things we take so much for granted that we don't even notice when they're gone? Isn't it strange that something which has been part of humanity all across the planet since the Neanderthals is being forgotten in our generation? Isn't it funny that when knowledge dies, it leaves behind a ghost, just like a person? Don't you want to commune with it?

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Slight note about the system of food.

'cause adding it to the large doc might crash my computer?:

I've realized that though historical fiction minds this more when set in pre-industrial times, that often fantasy set in agricultural societies doesn't seem to do this, though it should.

So I'll give you an example...

Almost everything in Korean food is centered and bred for two things: Kimchi and soy sauce.

But what you don't realize in your industrialized state how freaking long it takes to make these things and how much planning is involved and how much you have to mind the seasons in order to make it correctly.

Kimchi:

Baekchu (or other vegetables) that's often harvested in fall.

The salt, which was traditionally sea salt was harvested in the spring and summer months.

Garlic is a spring to mid summer crop.

The sweet rice that goes into winter kimchi takes a ton of work to make and can take from Spring to fall.

The fish sauce that goes into Kimchi that helps preserve it for over a year, takes and ENTIRE YEAR to make. Yes, a year. You really, really have to plan on that. And what do you do if the fishing is poor for that year?

Spring onions are faster to grow, but you still have to time it for the fall kimchi making.

The fish are seasonal. For example, Yellow Corvina is taken in Korea in the spring. Shrimp in the summer (June), and anchovies in early spring to fall.

Your timing has to be impeccable and you need an entire year to plan this one dish.

Meanwhile, you, industrialized person, take for granted that you can get fish sauce any time you like and can pour it over kimchi.

In fantasy this could add flavor to your fantasy make up, if your character can only get this dish once a year. It can add political unrest (What do you mean the salt harvest was poor and we're left with the shitty metallic salt), because your characters in an agricultural society will be subject to weather changes, which you get when reading historical fiction and so on. Three seasons of poor harvest, daaaamnn... the people might overthrow their government. There might be new religions that pop up, there might be uprisings because the King and Queen are eating feasts every day while the peasants are eating things that are empty calories.

What I'm saying is that you can't be too entrenched into industrial mindset if you're not writing an industrial setting.

That orange is seasonal and only comes about in a connected system that has winter and a warmer climate.

Maybe there are key foods for your climate that are highly treasured or sought after. Mandarins once were. Cacao. Think a bit about those things and how it might interact with the larger world. When does your plant mature and when can it be harvested? is it different from different climates? There's wars that have been fought over food. (Tea, famously, at least a few times).

A staple crop failing is going to have devastating consequences.

And yet, often in fantasy, I often see people going, ya know what I can eat in the dead of winter, strawberries. Do we have greenhouses? No. Did we have freezers? No. But you know what my character is eating? A strawberry. Yeah, think about that. Strawberries don't preserve well. So plan out the timing of your dishes a bit (to the climate and subsistence system) and it can give a bit of background worldbuilding to your dishes and food.

I do have to say that the small mentions from Rings of Power on what's in season or not and why kinda made me feel like the world and the traveling was more "real" with the Harfoot. There's small references to fall v. spring crops.

[sakuraszn]

— CHAPTER 1: FIRST TOUCH, FIRST TIDE.

summary : after a year of not being in town you finally come back for the summer to release all the tension.

notes : this is the first chapter, hopefully you guys enjoy it!! Don’t worry future chapters will be longer than this!! I’m very nervous about how this story will go, but we’ll seee. :) here’s the masterlist to this story!

wc : 2.2k

The bus pulls into the station with a slow, tired sigh, its doors creaking open to release its passengers into the thick summer air. You step down onto the pavement, the heat instantly wrapping around you, heavy with salt and the scent of sun-warmed asphalt. Kioku Shores, a name that whispered promises of remembrance, lived up to its billing. Gone were the towering skyscrapers and relentless honking of the city; in their place stood quaint, pastel-colored houses huddled together like gossiping neighbors, their windows winking in the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze rustled the palm trees lining the streets, their fronds swaying in a rhythmic dance that instantly calmed my frazzled nerves. The air hummed with a lazy, carefree energy, a stark contrast to the frenetic pace of my urban existence.

The town hasn’t changed much since you last been here.

My backpack, heavy with the weight of essentials and anxieties, felt lighter already. The tension that had coiled itself around your shoulders for the past few months, a byproduct of looming work and strained family dynamics, began to unravel. The constant pressure, the feeling of being perpetually on edge, seemed to melt away with each breath of this salty, sweet air. This was it - your escape, your sanctuary, your annual pilgrimage to this little slice of paradise.

Every summer, you sought refuge in kiouku shores, a ritual as ingrained in my life as breathing. It was a reset button, a opportunity to recharge before facing another piles of work papers on you. another round of societal expectations.

You take a slow breath. It’s been a year. A year since you last set foot in this place. A year since you left behind more than just the ocean.

It feels the same. And yet, it doesn’t.

A familiar voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Well, well. Look who finally decided to come back.”

You turn around already finding comfort in the knowing voice that called to you. “Hey, Mrs. Yoshida,” you say, shifting your bag on your shoulder and smiling softly.

Mrs. Yoshida stands in the doorway of her small grocery shop, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her lips. Her graying hair is pinned up into a loose bun, her apron dusted with flour. She looks exactly the same—like she’s been plucked right out of your memories and placed in the present.

She looks you over before taking off her apron and slowly approaching you to give you a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so different.”

You let out a small laugh as you wrap your arms around her, embracing her. “It's only been a year.”

“A year's too long!” she replies, cupping your cheeks before tilting her head toward the store. “Come in. You must be exhausted from such a long bus ride.”

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of her question hanging in the air, but she’s already stepping back inside, leaving the door open and inviting you in. As you cross the entryway, the familiar ambiance of the shop envelops you—a cramped, cluttered haven filled with the rich aromas of exotic spices and the comforting scent of aged wood. The shelves, overflowing witha diverse mix of bags of rice, colorful canned goods, and an assortment of local treats, create a delightful chaos that reflects the heart of this community.

A tiny fan whirs valiantly in the corner, struggling to combat the oppressive heat that seeps through the open doorway. She motions for you to take a seat on one of the worn-out wooden stools by the counter, its surface polished from years of use. You can see the care she puts into this place, each item a little story, each corner a memory.

With a probing look, she leans against the counter, arms crossed. “So,” she begins, her voice tinged with a mixture of teasing and concern, “you planning to disappear again after this summer?” Her question lingers, a reminder of your past decisions and the uncertainty that follows you like a shadow.

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know.”

She hums, unimpressed. “Figures. You always were a flight risk.”

You smile, but it’s small, almost hesitant. It’s strange being back, sitting here like nothing’s changed when everything has.

She sets a cold glass of lemonade in front of you. “Drink up. You look like you’re about to pass out.”You murmur a thanks, sipping the tart, chilled drink as she watches you.

“Y’know,” she begins, her voice a bit hesitant as if weighing her words carefully, “that boy has been looking for you.”

You feel a jolt of surprise, your hand freezing with the glass poised halfway to your lips. The refreshing chill of the drink inside is overshadowed by a rush of thoughts, your heart quickening.

Mrs. Yoshida, with her keen eyes that seem to catch every nuance of the world around her, notices the sudden stillness in your posture. She always does. Her gaze softens, and an understanding smile creeps onto her face. “Thought you should know,” she adds, her tone half-concerned, half-mischievous, as if she’s sharing an intriguing secret rather than mere gossip.

You look down, trying to process this news while avoiding her knowing look, the weight of her words hanging in the air between you.

You swallow. “I wasn’t—” You shake your head, setting the glass down. “I wasn’t asking.”

She snorts. “Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

The conversation lingers between you, thick as the summer air.

You finish the lemonade, thank her again, and step back outside, your heart feeling heavier than when you arrived.

The streets of the town are lined with cherished memories, tucked into every nook and cranny, and resonating from every sun-faded storefront. You stroll past the beloved old ice cream parlor, where laughter once filled the warm summer nights as you savored melting cones that dripped sticky sweetness onto your fingers. A bit further, you approach the weathered dock, where you would sit with your feet dangling above the shimmering water, the gentle tide rocking you into a dreamy illusion of eternity. You once thought time would wash these moments away, yet they remain, deeply etched into the very bones of this town, patiently waiting for your return.

The hotel isn’t far—a modest structure standing resilient just off the beach, its wooden frame adorned with the patina of years gone by. The check-in process is swift, and the receptionist greets you with a warm, polite smile, handing over the old brass key to your room like a tangible piece of history.

As you step into the space, it feels both small and incredibly familiar—a sanctuary wrapped in cool, crisp linen sheets, softly illuminated by the gentle glow of yellow light. The faint, refreshing scent of the ocean wafts through the open window, mingling with the nostalgic air. You drop your bag onto the inviting bed and sink onto the edge, exhaling slowly as the weight of the past settles in around you.

You should unpack. You should shower. You should do anything but sit here and think.

Instead, you lie back, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of summer settle into your chest.

The ocean calls to you. It always does.

And despite everything—despite the memories, despite the past—you know you’ll answer.

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself drifting into a light sleep, surrounded by an array of unpacked boxes that were still scattered around the room. The gentle sound of waves crashing rhythmically against the sandy shore stirred you from your slumber. With a soft sigh, you shifted your gaze toward the window, where the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the sky. The salty breeze wafted through the open window, carrying with it the invigorating scent of the ocean, momentarily pulling you from the clutter of your thoughts and the chaos of your surroundings.

You got out of bed and searched through your suitcase for a swimsuit before putting it on and heading toward the place that feels like a second heartbeat, a pulse beneath your skin that you’ve never been able to ignore.

kiouku shores; the ocean that has always been the one thing that never changes. It’s constant—pulling in, washing out, whispering secrets in the language of waves. No matter how much time passes, no matter how many summers slip through your fingers like grains of sand, the tide always returns.

The sand feels warm and inviting beneath your feet as you walk toward the shoreline, where the gentle waves softly kiss the shore. Today, the ocean holds a serene blue hue that stretches endlessly to the horizon, creating a peaceful, uninterrupted view. The wind playfully tugs at your clothes, reminding you of the simplicity of this moment. Here, it’s quieter—far from the hustle and bustle, away from everyday responsibilities. You can embrace the calm, finding solace in the way the horizon blends with the sky in a beautiful display of color. It's a space for reflection and a gentle reminder of the serenity that life can offer.

This place has always felt like another world. A place untouched by reality.

“Well shit, look who it is.” A voice, rough and unmistakable, cuts through the stillness making your whole body go rigged.

It can't be? It's not him, right?

You come to an abrupt stop, heart pounding wildly in your chest as you pivot on your heel. There he is—Katsuki Bakugo—just a few feet away, and he commands attention like a storm about to break. With arms crossed tightly over his broad chest, he radiates a mix of defiance and intrigue that sends a thrill through the air. His golden hair, tousled by a playful breeze, dances in the dying sunlight, creating an almost ethereal glow around him. The fading light plays off his skin, accentuating the fierce angles of his jawline and the striking contours of his face. Instead of his usual scowl, there's a surprising softness in his expression, hinting at a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

The air between you crackles with an electric tension, brimming with unspoken words and a shared past that lingers heavily, enveloping the moment in a thrilling uncertainty.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the ocean as if it might have an answer for him.

His red eyes trace over you, unreadable. Then, after a beat, he scoffs. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest, but you keep your voice steady. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Silence. The tide pulls in, pulls away.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the ocean like it might have an answer for him.

Eventually, he looks back at you.

“You stayin’ this time?”

The question hangs in the air, straightforward yet heavy, burdened by the countless thoughts and emotions lingering beneath the surface. It presses into your ribs, a relentless reminder of everything left unspoken, every nuance of feeling that weighs down your heart. You take a moment, caught in the stillness, realizing that you can’t respond immediately. The words are stuck in your throat, tangled with hesitation and uncertainty. You search for the right answer, but the truth is as elusive as the shadows of doubt that dance in your mind.

Instead, you look out at the waves, at the place where the ocean meets the sky.

And for the first time in a long time, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to keep running.

You feel his gaze blazing into your skin waiting for an answer.

“I—” you start softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “well, I’m just planning to stay for the summer to help clear my mind a bit.” As you speak, your gaze drifts downwards, your fingers nervously intertwining, seeking solace in their familiar motion. “Things back home have been a bit overwhelming,” you confess, the weight of your words heavy in the air. The warm breeze rustles the leaves nearby, but all you can focus on is the way his eyes hold yours, making it difficult to shake the feeling of vulnerability creeping in. You feel a mix of apprehension and hope, caught in the moment. It was so awkward to reconnect after all this time. Especially after what happened last year..

He hums softly, as he shifts his gaze to the horizon where the sun has dipped below the edge of the world. The sky is painted with hues of orange and pink, the colors mingling like a soft watercolor wash as they fade into twilight. He stares, entranced, at the last remnants of daylight, while the moon begins to rise, casting a silvery glow that bathes the landscape ina peaceful blue hue. The stillness of the evening wraps around you both, as the first stars twinkle into existence overhead.

“Um, well, I should really head back to my room now since it’s getting late,” you say, your voice slightly shaky as you gather your thoughts and turn to face him. You can feel your heart racing as you take a step back, eager to put distance between yourself and his penetrating gaze. “Goodnight,” you finally manage to add, your words slipping out in a rush as you hurriedly turn away.

God, why did he have to be there, watching you go?

You can feel the heat rising through your body as you quicken your pace, acutely aware of his eyes trailing after you, a mix of curiosity and something unspoken lingering in the air.

“Goodnight,” he whispers gently, concern flickering in his eyes as he watches you slip away into the shadows of the dark night.

2025 © SAKURASZN !

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @v3n7s, @d4rlinxs, @rednicotine, @cielito--lindo, @nanasrkives, @afterlife11, @jazoewazoe

[buffetlicious]

Nephew didn’t want steamed rice and he asked for the Yang Zhou Fried Rice (扬州炒饭). We got him a medium portion (S$10) to share with those who may preferred a little more carbo. The savoury fried rice has got that wok hei (breath of the wok) and is packed with quite a few other ingredients like char siu, crab stick, peas, egg and spring onion.

Everyone loves fried chicken so we had the Prawn Paste Chicken (虾酱鸡). The appearance is not really Instagram worthy but the umami flavour of the crispy and succulent wings won us over.

Instead of the usual sweet and sour pork, we order the Sweet & Sour Sliced Fish (酸甜鱼片). Would have been nicer if the batter coated fish is still crispy and the flesh is too firm for my liking.

Cereal Sotong (麦片苏东) was a letdown with too thick a batter and rubbery texture. Sotong is Malay word for squid. My brother also commented that the cereal was on the sweet side and I have to agree with him. Maybe we should have opted for the prawn instead.

The Yam Ring (佛钵飘香) is deep-fried separately then filled with a medley of sautéed vegetables and seafood like prawn, squid and scallop. Normally, there would be crunchy cashew nuts added but I don’t see it anywhere and sis said the colour of the yam basket is too dark a colour though still tasted decent.

This Claypot Superior Pot (砂煲一品锅) is the most expensive of the dishes coming in at S$50. But is chocked with plenty of seafood like fish maw, prawn, scallop, sea cucumber and mushroom. The brown thickened gravy goes well with the bowl of white rice.

A large plate of stir-fried Sambal Sweet Potato Leaf (参巴番薯叶) is up next. The tender leaves and stems of the sweet potato plant is cooked with sambal chilli which give the vegetable a spicy kick.

The last dish of the night is this Salt Egg Prawn (咸蛋虾). Everyone was looking forward to it but it turned out to be the worst disappointment that night. The prawn fritters were supposed to be crispy but it came smothered in the salt egg sauce and ended up mushy. Moreover, there isn’t enough salt egg yolk in there so it is more milky sweet than savoury fragrant.

Compared to last year’s Reunion Dinner (团圆饭), the overall standard of the food at the restaurant had deteriorated a lot. Not sure if it is because different chefs are manning the kitchen or some other reasons but we have decided to patronize another restaurant next year.

[gatheringbones]

[“The American soldiers in Vietnam discovered their own ignorance in an immediate way. The NLF guerrillas chose the night and the jungles to fight in, similarly, and they chose to work with that part of the population which was the most obscure to the Americans and to the Saigon government officials. For the Americans to discern the enemy within the world of the Vietnamese village was to attempt to make out figures within a landscape indefinite and vague — underwater, as it were.

Landing from helicopters in a village controlled by the NLF, the soldiers would at first see nothing, having no criteria with which to judge what they saw. As they searched the village, they would find only old men, women, and children, a collection of wooden tools whose purpose they did not know, altars with scrolls in Chinese characters, paths that led nowhere: an economy, a geography, an architecture totally alien to them. Searching for booby traps and enemy supplies, they would find only the matting over a root cellar and the great stone jars of rice. Clumsy as astronauts, they would bend under the eaves of the huts, knock over the cooking pots, and poke about at the smooth earth floor with their bayonets. How should they know whether the great stone jars held a year’s supply of rice for the family or a week’s supply for a company of troops?

With experience they would come to adopt a bearing quite foreign to them. They would dig in the root cellars, peer in the wells, and trace the faint paths out of the village — to search the village as the soldiers of the warlords had searched them centuries ago. Only then would they find the entrance to the tunnels, to the enemy’s first line of defense. To the American commanders who listened each day to the statistics on “tunnels destroyed” and “caches of rice found,” it must have appeared that in Vietnam the whole surface of the earth rested like a thin crust over a vast system of tunnels and underground rooms.

The villages of both the “government” and “Viet Cong” zones were pitted with holes, trenches, and bunkers where the people slept at night in fear of the bombing. In the “Viet Cong” zones the holes were simply deeper, the tunnels longer — some of them running for kilometers out of a village to debouch in another village or a secret place in the jungle. Carved just to the size of a Vietnamese body, they were too small for an American to enter and too long to follow and destroy in total. Only when directed by a prisoner or informer could the Americans dig down to discover the underground storerooms. Within these storerooms lay the whole industry of the guerrilla: sacks of rice, bolts of black cloth, salt fish and fish sauce, small machines made of scrap metal and bound up in sacking. Brown as the earth itself, the cache would look as much like a part of the earth as if it had originated there — the bulbous root of which the palm-leaf huts of the village were the external stem and foliage. And yet, once they were unwrapped, named, and counted, the stores would turn out to be surprisingly sophisticated, including, perhaps, a land mine made with high explosives, a small printing press with leaflets and textbook materials, surgical instruments, Chinese herbal medicines, and the latest antibiotics from Saigon.

The industry clearly came from a civilization far more technically advanced than that which had made the external world of thatched huts, straw mats, and wooden plows. And yet there was an intimate relation between the two, for the anonymous artisans of the storerooms had used the materials of the village not only as camouflage but as an integral part of their technology. In raiding the NLF villages, the American soldiers had actually walked over the political and economic design of the Vietnamese revolution. They had looked at it, but they could not see it, for it was doubly invisible: invisible within the ground and then again invisible within their own perspective as Americans. The revolution could only be seen against the background of the traditional village and in the perspective of Vietnamese history.”]

frances fitzgerald, from fire in the lake: the vietnamese and the americans in vietnam, 1972

[unfortunate-brat]

sundown

pairing: dbf!jensen ackles x sirenita!reader

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: you finally meet the guy who’s face is plastered all over the town’s bilboards in the most unexpected way…

warnings: getting caught, inappropriate thoughts, slight flirting

yazzy’s comments: girl in banner does not reflect reader! simply aesthetics. also, i am accepting blurbs and asks about this idea. follow @unfortunate-bratfics for fic updates 💕

beware: minors or ageless blogs who interact with this will have their throats ripped out !!

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────────

as the waves tickle your feet, you close your eyes one last time as the sun begins to set. it would be the last time you’d be home tonight. you’ve already said your goodbyes to friends and needed to say one last farewell to the ocean.

your fingers dance along the tiny waves, enjoying the cool salt water on your skin despite being submerged not too long ago. the salty sea drying onto your sun kissed skin, which thankfully wouldn’t suffer a burn. thank your sunscreen for that one.

as the sun sets, you’re up on your feet, gathering the towel while walking up the steps to head into the room just above. technically speaking, the room was on the second floor but the layout of the home was a bit different from the norm. your father wanted the ground floor to feel more like a basement area and the second floor to feel like the first one. his words. though try as you can, you’ll never understand the vision but are thankful you have your own beach access.

however your access to the beach also gives you a glimpse into the neighboring home, specifically the one that was what appeared to be an office. each step you take upon the wooden stairs leading up to your bedroom got you a closer look at what’s going on.

one hand is pressed against the glass, along with the unbuttoned blouse of someone who’s struggling to keep up as a brute force pushes her against it with harsh thrusts. though the woman’s eyes are closed, yours happens to make contact with the man behind her. his dark forest pools of green staring into yours and you can only smirk.

what your neighbors do is none of your concern but seeing him get caught fucking some girl is kinda funny. surprisingly however, his thrusts don’t stop despite the eye contact between you both. in fact it gets even harsher as the girl’s screams are slightly muffled. you can only guess he got turned on by the sight, maybe its the thrill of being caught. or you in the bikini, leaving little to the imagination. but that’s just the delusion talking.

you keep walking back to your room, stripping in the bathroom as the shower turns on with a cool spray of water. whoever that was, you’d most likely never see them again.

*

“everything packed?” your father questioned as plates are set down in front of you both. tonight’s dish was molé rojo, accompanied by some white rice and for your plate only, grilled onions. typically you didn’t make special requests for the kitchen staff but had expressed a craving for this childhood staple before you left home.

“for the most part, just need one more suitcase.” as far as you knew, this was a five year trip abroad to study in Mexico. there you’d take courses on the culture, touch up on some spanish and get in touch with your roots. something your father wanted you to have access to as he didn’t have the best upbringing. yet knew, you should know where you came from. it was paid for by him as a graduation gift, though you wonder if he simply wanted the house to himself for once.

you couldn’t check on your room while gone, so all valuables were locked in a safe. those you couldn’t take with you at least. your fingers fiddled with the shell charm on your necklace, a gift from your father when you were a little girl who was non stop obsessing over little mermaid. your favorite character being not ariel herself but the sea witch, cause who didn’t wanna be a badass with magical powers?

“honestly mija, this trip is gonna be good for you.” your father takes a bite of his food, blessing himself for choosing the best chefs in the world cause it tasted like home. “i don’t want you to grow up being disconnected because of my upbringing and plus,” he offers a reassuring smile despite the fact his only child is leaving him for five years! “you’ll be staying with family. that’s who matters at the end of the day.”

you had been to mexico only twice in your life, each trip cut short due to your grandmother fighting with your father over little things. yet what you can recall is that mexico’s beauty was something magical itself and you wanted to experience that again. though your abuela may not like you for being the spitting image of your father, you hoped within the five years those feelings might change. maybe she just needed more time to get to know you.

just as your father was about to say another word, the doorbell rang. the butler quick to open the door and reveal who it was, though you focused on the food in front of you. sometimes your father’s associates popped by the house and steal your father away for something, yet as footsteps approach you can’t help but be curious. “it’s delicious and i know you need something better than burgers in your diet.”

you look up to see its the man from earlier, who you caught fucking some girl. only now he’s dressed in some jeans and a black button up that barely was holding onto his biceps. one little flex and you’re certain the fabric will rip. “mija, this is our neighbor jensen ackles.”

you’re quick to stand and shake his hand, noting how his own practically was swallowing yours. now with a name to the face, you recalled all those billboards around town with a law firm on it.

“nice to meet you sweetheart.” god even his accent was enough to make any fabric be ripped to shreds, specifically your own underwear.

you nodded, sitting back down and resuming to eating your food. stealing glances every now and then at your semi famous neighbor. you’ve heard he’s lived there for years but never caught him in his own home till today or seen the dude around honestly.

one of the staff brought him a plate and jensen was slightly hesitant. growing up in the south, there wasn’t much diversity in food and as to no surprise the man grew up on hot dogs and burgers. rarely would his family choose to eat or cook anything else, too worried they wouldn’t get the right item.

with one bite of both the meat and rice, he tries the dish. the flavors of the red chile and some other spices hitting his tongue, which gets absorbed by the rice. a rich flavor no doubt and jensen himself is surprised. its not overwhelmingly spicy which was a fear of his, sometimes he can’t handle spice.

and while jensen was discovering other food outside pure american with his tongue, you had tried your best not to stare at him too much. the way his stubble highlighted his jawline, twitching slightly with every bite. looking far more handsome than those billboards spread across town.

“seems like you’re enjoying yourself there jay, there’s more than enough if you’d like seconds or some to take home.” your father chuckles as jensen nodded in agreement, watching his buddy eat more of the food.

you simply smirked, knowing that after that little workout earlier in his office, he had to be starving. excusing yourself, you offer your father a hug and wave goodbye to jensen. tomorrow was going to be a busy day and you rather go to bed early.

retreating upstairs, you prepare the final suitcase and take a look around your room. a place that would be sealed in time to this very moment, till you returned home. the flight was sometime around 8am and you’d need some sleep to be there at 5am, per your father’s insistence to be there early.

changing into something more comfortable, you open the bedroom door and spot jensen in the hallway. his figure towering over your own as he walks out of the bathroom. a small smirk on his lips as they roam over your figure. “sleepy already?”

“long day tomorrow.” you managed to mumble, noting his teasing tone. “you heading back home mr.ackles?” addressing him so formally seemed foreign but the glimmer in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“yeah, got some stuff to take care of in the office.” he has to keep the dirty thoughts at bay, the age difference was too much and as a high profile lawyer, he knows that path was destructive. but that doesn’t mean jensen can’t flirt just a bit. “thank you for not overreacting about earlier, some neighbors get hysterical.”

you know the age difference is too significant to ignore and part of you wants to tease back but its risky. your father is downstairs and he can easily come upstairs at any second. then again, you’ll be gone for five years. it won’t matter. “it’s not a big deal, you’re a man who has needs.” you simply shrug your shoulders. “hope you gave her needs some attention to.”

with that, you entered the bathroom and completely misses the way his jaw clenched as the door closes.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─────────

feedback is lovely;

want to see more? please like, comment & reblog !!

[golddustwomanwins]

Seagulls on the Shore

Safe haven au

Patrick Zweig x Reader

Watched the movie for the 50th time today and needed to share my love for it.

You were the new woman. On the younger side, barely past your twenties and when stepping into a small town people were bound to talk. New Haven was a small sleepy town, located right at a port, sailors boats tilting back and forth on the glittering water. It smelled like salt and sunshine, seagulls were gawking, floating in the air.

You loved watching them, how the wind kept them in one place. They never seemed to hurry away or flap against the storm, only hovering in place, content with where they are. There was no need to fight against the storm when it was your friend.

Your start was more than rocky. You bought a house right in the woods, no lone soul apart from yourself trekking through the crunching leaves and earth. You liked the smell. Especially when it rained. The moss climbing the bark got all wet, the earth sinking beneath your shoes as the smell of it raised in the air. On hard days you’d step out of the house barefoot, standing in the mud and closing your eyes. You liked the way you sunk into the earth a little, leaves crunching beneath the sole of your feet, small little stones digging into your skin.

The breeze would brush your hair away like a gentle lover and a few birds kept humming a quiet melody. It was beautiful, how the sun rays peaked shyly through the crowns of the trees, tickling your nose. It was only then that you were at peace. Only then that you could really stop for a moment, not feeling the itch that told you to run.

Maddie was nice enough to trust you and got you a job at the locals diner. It made you keep track on all the tourists passing through but it also paid good. You didn’t know yet if you’d stay or not. You liked the town, the people were nice enough. Well, almost all of them.

There was exactly one little shop right at the port where you’d get everything you needed. Groceries, hardware stuff, paint, whatever a girl needed. When Patrick first saw you, you were squatting down, talking to his little girl, a soft smile on your lips. The moment he stepped into the shop he could see you stiffen and quickly stand up, grocery basket in hand.

“I’ll ring you up,” he quickly walked behind the counter, Ruby his daughter helping him. She had a little gap between her teeth, flashing it at you every time she beamed with a smile.

He packed up your purchases for you, glancing at you occasionally or making a little comment he’d scold himself for later. Toothbrush and toothpaste, light bulb, rice and light matches.

While you were cautious around Patrick, you kept coming by his store and getting your things. You barely talked, almost squirming beneath his watchful and older eyes.

He couldn’t help himself. Despite being a towny it was not natural curiosity that made him watch out for you. It was the way you always shrunk into your self, like you wanted to disappear. It was like you had a 360 view of every room. You knew where everyone was and what they were doing.

You were always with one foot in the door, ready to leave.

Despite your flighty nature, you slowly started to relax around Patrick, he had most to pay due to Ruby. You seemed to melt around his girl, knowing that she could never inflect harm to anyone.

Maddie noticed how you seemed to linger around the shop more often, chatting softly with Patrick, his eyes never leaving your form. His knuckles would brush your elbow, helping you get something from the top shelf when you struggled to get it. You’d never asked for help but he could see you struggling. He was behind you in a matter of seconds, smelling of the wind and salty air as he got the glass of honey from the top shelf.

He flushed when you thanked him like a little school boy and not a man in his thirties.

“Surely you’ve heard what happened to his wife?”

You looked up from cleaning the tables at Maddie.

“His wife died, a few years back,” Maddie said. “She had cancer.”

You stopped cleaning the table at that information. The next time you saw Patrick you saw him in a different way. Soft shadows clung to his body. He tried to mask it, putting on a brave face for his children and it was working quite well. You were surprised you didn’t notice it first. There was an air about him that made you relax. Like he’d stared death in the eye and stood his ground. He was brave. Braver than you.

When you stopped by one time and Ruby insisted you join them to a day at the beach you agreed. To your and Patrick’s surprise.

Milo and Ruby were both building sandcastles as you and Patrick lay on your stomach side bide side. His fingers plunged into the cold sand, letting it trickle between them and you glanced at the colorful beaded wristband on his tan wrist. Probably made by Ruby.

“I was surprised you agreed to join us,” he spoke softly.

The sound of waves crashing and the scent of salt in the air made you feel safe. But maybe it was his presence too that gave you a slight sense of security. Patrick was a good man, he was a good father and despite your past you could tell that he was attractive.

“You were?” You asked.

“Mhh,” you both were staring at the sand your hands were buried in, fingers just inches apart.

“I’m glad you did,” Patrick went on. “Ruby likes you a lot.”

“Well I like her too.” You smiled softly. “She’s a great kid. Milo is too.”

Patrick snorted lightly. Milo wasn’t the easiest kid. He still remembered his mother and no matter what Patrick did he was doing it wrong. He was at his wits end, he loved his son to the end of the world but it was hard on some days. When you gave and gave and got nothing bad but anger and stubbornness. He needed to swallow his grief for his children, not properly able to say goodbye while putting on a happy face.

“He’s been nothing but rude these past days.”

“He’s a child,” you turned your head, smiling softly at Patrick. “I can understand that that kind of loss leaves scars.”

His eyes clouded slightly as he watched you, his fingers burying deeper into the sand.

“He remembers her so vividly. Sometimes it feels like my memory is slipping. I barely know what her voice sounds like,” he admitted quietly.

Your pinkies touched beneath the sand as you looked at him.

“No matter how long you’ll not forget her. The things you did, the time you had with her will always be there. It doesn’t matter if you remember her voice or what blouse she wore on a day. People leave a mark. It might not be visible but it is unconditional.” You said. “She’ll forever be a part of who you are.”

Little did he know that you weren’t only talking about him. Some people left a mark you desperately tried to get rid off. Unsuccessfully.

Patrick chuckled lightly. “You’re pretty wise for your age, huh.”

Your smile turned sad, a little furrow burrowing between your brows. “Age doesn’t define people,” you sigh. “Only experience does.”

Turning things lighter he cleared his throat. “So, you settling down yet?”

You stiffened slightly, only relaxing when his pinky twitched against yours nervously. You looked at him, the way gray streaks ran through his dark curls. Soft freckles dusting the bridge of his nose as the sun hit him from behind. It looked like he was alight by the sky, shimmering softly.

“Why?” You asked with a slow smile. One corner of his lips tilted up in a soft smirk. If a smirk could ever be soft.

“Just curious. You think of staying?” the way his eyes dipped to your lips made you flush slightly.

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll stay if I have reason enough to stay, I guess.”

His eyes flashed and your hands met, buried beneath the sand. Something warm settled in your chest as he intertwined your hands in secret, for no one to see. And for a moment it felt like there was something past what had been, making space for things that could be.

Seagulls croaked and you both tipped your head back. They were soaring in the wind right above you, hovering in place, with no hurry to leave.

[theseinfernalangels]

i’m a firm believer that ridoc is the best cook out of the second years, and i’m sorry to say that i don’t think sawyer can make much more than ramen (a necessity for any college student’s cupboard, but still)

HELP ME. I can totally see that 😭 I don’t think it’s that he can’t do more — he just never feels like it. He’s that guy that steals the salt shakers and creamers from restaurants because his card declined at costco last week.

And, yeah. Ridoc definitely cooks. He’s like that person on instagram who makes whole ass meals with a rice cooker in his bedroom. They’re roommates btw. Ridoc cooks and Sawyer does the handy stuff.

[ms-demeanor]

You seem like a good sort of person to ask; how does one go about building up a good spice rack? Not only just having the spices, but knowing what they are and how to use them, when and in what quantities, and developing a wider spice palette in general? I grew up in white suburbia and my mother has no idea how to use anything other than salt and ground black pepper, and I want to start making my foods more flavorful. I am tired of utterly flavorless dry roast pork! But I have no idea where to begin lol.

I'd say to start by trying a lot of foods that use a lot of different spice profiles and seeing what you like. If you like Thai food, look into Thai spices and try cooking a few recipes. If you like Indian food, try Indian recipes. If you don't know if you like a particular kind of food, go out and try it and see if you do.

I think the best way to build up your spice rack is to do so slowly over time as you familiarize yourself with different flavors. Don't go out and buy a ton of stuff, go out and buy cumin and make a rice recipe that calls for cumin and see if you like it, then next time maybe add another spice like cayenne pepper to the recipe and see if you like it.

Spices can be really expensive, but they can also be really cheap if you're looking in the right places. Try to avoid the shiny organic spice jars, and see if there are packets of spices in the various "ethnic" food sections of your grocery store (in California it's pretty common to have a Mexican food section and an Asian food section in the store and you'll often find stuff like a packet of cumin for 70 cents that's got the same amount of spice as the organic jar that costs five bucks in the spice aisle).

Once you've got some basics down, start branching out and seeing if you've got any good markets nearby that have more unusual spices. Large Bastard and I get most of our bulk spices from a Middle Eastern market around the corner from our house or at an Indian market a few miles away because it's WAY cheaper to get allspice or turmeric or garam masala from those stores than it would be from the grocery store.

And if you're starting at the basic-basics, like how to season a simple pork roast, check recipe blogs. Find different bloggers and test their recipes until you find someone you trust, then follow their recipes. One good place to start is with Chef John and Food Wishes - he has a wide variety of cuisines that use a lot of different spices and has recipes that range from very simple to very complex.

Large Bastard really likes Food Wishes and trying recipes from Chef John - he cooks less than I do and has less of a sense of what to add to a pot to get something to taste the way he wants it to, but he's gotten very good at taking Food Wishes recipes and tweaking them or adjusting them and figuring out how to mix and match flavors.

Just cooking - finding a recipe that looks interesting and following it - is a really good way to get better at this kind of thing.

That's actually one of the reasons that I think meal kit boxes like blue apron can be worth it for people who want to learn how to cook - they give you recipes you wouldn't have thought to look for and provide small amounts of the required ingredients so you can sample them and figure out if you like them. My dad and sister got blue apron for like two years and it has significantly improved their cooking skills and ability to mix and match flavors.

It just takes time and money and trial and error. Easy, right? (It isn't, but there's also no way to make it faster other than doing more experiments. Thankfully there are ways to make it cheaper, and yeah looking at local specialty markets is a good way to save on spices)

[bonefall]

what poison/s were used in riverstar's heir at moth's celebration and when bright and flowerstar ate together? suggestion (if you hadn't decided yet): Monkshood/Aconite/Wolfsbane (Aconitum napellus) its a VERY poisonous plant native to the uk and europe, lethal with both ingestion and body contact and has historical use in killing and murder. symptoms appear quickly and death often comes in only a few hours; its a shame it wasn't used in canon lmao

Oh symptoms don't just appear quickly-- Aconite's name is said to be ancient Greek for "Without Dust." That refers to how aconite kills SO quickly that you will not even kick up dust in your death struggle. Death coming in a few hours is from the minimum deadly dosage, any good assassin worth their salt would use more (and take care to mask its bitter taste, it's not a subtle flavor like cyanide is.)

Forget "deathberries." Yew is nothing next to aconite.

Yew's deadly compound, taxine, acts by stopping your heart. Yawn. Aconite targets your heart, liver, kidneys, AND brain all at the same time. It's so potent that handling young roots will make your hands go numb. Only 2 miligrams of the deadly compound, aconitine, is a fatal dose in a human being; a single grain of rice weighs 20 miligrams.

Anon, my friend, you undersold aconite. It's not just a very poisonous plant in Europe, aconitine is top 5 deadliest poisons period. Members of the aconite family are widespread through the northern hemisphere-- indigenous Alaskan people have used it to hunt whales for tens of thousands of years. Its toxic properties break down within 24 hours, leaving the meat completely safe to eat.

So naturally, suggestion accepted. This is going to be SICK.

Especially since no one will be able to tell what happened. It looks like every major poison because it is. You might assume it was some kind of toxic cocktail from the symptoms. Convulsions, rapid heartrate, vomiting, numbness. It looks like yew, nightshade, and bryony all at once.

It'll be very easy for Bright Whisker to survive this and shake off suspicion simply by poisoning herself with a small amount of something else. If I go with Maple Whisker being a sibling instead of a cousin, I could have her simply join their meal a little late and realize that her mouth feels numb, just as everyone else enters convulsions, so she spits it out.

(Autism win! Avoided a poisoning because texture bad! Maybe she was waiting for the food to cool down too lmao)

And LASTLY... Aconite is Wolf's Bane. I think this is a really cool place to see the earliest incarnation of the Wolf Motif that will later show up in Bluestar's family. It tickles my brain a bit to think of Flowerstar somehow having the "hood" shape of the flower, and then she loses her first life in her gambit to poison the wolf among sheep.

I also had a stroke of inspiration and had an idea for one of the BB!DOTC cats, too. Dappled Pelt gets massively neglected in canon, imo, and I could set up the wolf thing even earlier. African Wild Dog time (painted wolf.)

[putschki1969]

2025/04/30 Blog post by Wakana みんな〜月末がやってきたよ！〜締切は、今日です！〜

❗This is Fan Club EXCLUSIVE content❗ ❗PERSONAL USE ONLY❗ ❗Do NOT SHARE on other sites❗ ❗Join her FAN CLUB! Check out my detailed TUTORIAL ❗

Everyone〜It's The End Of The Month！〜The Deadline Is Today！〜

Two years ago, I received an Agave Titanota 'Blue'🌵 from someone close to me. (The pot was purchased at a plant shop I visited for a newsletter feature.) I looked back on my Instagram post to see how tiny it was when I first got it... It's the one on the right😂 So small😂 By the way, the one on the left (a Sansevieria) has grown too! It's already so big... By the way, I measured the length of the "Mama Agave" (named by me) in the back🌲 It's 170cm!! A giant tree...🌲

I also looked back on Instagram to see the younger days of my "Altissima," which I've nicknamed "Resurrection Tree." This is what it looks like now🌳 It's grown so big...😭✨ There was a point where it had a really hard time but since then, it has made a triumphant comeback and is now growing at an explosive rate. (probably because it's spring...🌸) I measured it and it's now 132.5cm🌳 Just like a normal human...👫

My babies are growing rapidly, it's so much fun to observe them every day in spring‼ ︎＼＼\\٩( 'ω' )و //／／

Hello, this is Wakana(0￣▽￣0)／

Sometimes my babies wither away, but I want to continue to grow them as long as possible, with a relaxed attitude, and with the tenacity to not give up just because they die once😊

Now, everyone! Here's the usual reminder about the submission deadline for my podcast, "Wakana's Talk Garden"! It's already the end of the month! 😱Time goes by so quickly😱 The next talk theme is: ・Everyone's memories of health checkups I had a checkup last month too... it was pretty rough😭 And a little fun😂 I want to tell everyone about it soon😂 I'm looking forward to hearing about your funny and bittersweet health check memories!! !

Finally, the other day I had a dinner party at home with some colleagues from work, here are some photos from that time📸 It was a sake party, so I made some bitter dishes that would go well with the alcohol😂 I often make a meat and potato stew, fried vegetables or braised chicken with veggies, especially before live performances. It's because those dishes are easy to make, you can adjust the flavours and you can keep the salt content low. But above all, those dishes tend to last a long time😌 I'm lazy, so I love making things in advance *laughs*!

I also made chirashi sushi because I wanted to eat it myself, but I misjudged the amount of water to cook the rice so the rice turned hard *laughs*

No matter how many times I look at this picture, the amount of potato salad at the bottom seems wrong. Looks like potato salad is my main dish, doesn't it? 😂 I kept harassing everyone with my potato salad, "please have some potato salad~ Do you want some more potato salad?" 🥔🥔🥔 I forgot to take a picture, but everyone brought all sorts of things so the table was filled with food! 🍚🍙🍚🍙 It was a fun and fulfilling party for the mind and body~＼(^o^)／

Well, that's all for today! Until next time~☆( *'▽'*)/

＊＊＊Wakana＊＊＊

2025/04/21 Instagram post by Wakana

(Source)

2025/05/01 & 02 Instagram post by Wakana

Recently, I went to the "Loewe Crafted World Exhibition" 🌟 I mostly went there to see the LOEWE x Ghibli collaboration works 🥳🎉 Being a Ghibli fanatic, I wore a Makkuro Kurosuke brooch, had a Totoro keychain, and shoved Teto in my bag 🫣♡ This exhibition was really amazing... 😳✨ The history of LOEWE was carefully exhibited, and there were also exhibits that showed the tools used at the time of the company's founding, the bag manufacturing process, collection looks, all of which were very interesting😻 But of course I was even more excited about the Ghibli-related exhibits ♡ I was surprised by how huge the "Howl's Moving Castle Bag" was! Part 2 will follow tomorrow 🌿

Continuing from yesterday, I'll share some photos from the LOEWE exhibition 🌿 The second photo is the face I made when I realised that there was a mushroom in the hole in the wall!! 🍄. In the room where Ghibli films were projected, various Ghibli collaboration works were on display💕 Everything was so lovely...😍 I want to try wearing everything😆 The giant Totoro sofa was cute🫣♡ The LOEWE exhibition was really amazing, I want to go again because I had such an exciting and happy time😳✨ I can't believe it's a free exhibition...!!! And tonight's Friday Roadshow is "How Do You Live?"📺️ I'm looking forward to it since the last time I saw it was two years ago at the cinema (that was so long ago!)♡

(Source 1 & Source 2 & Source 3)

2025/05/07 Instagram post by Wakana

How did you all spend your Golden Week? 🧚 I spent a very fulfilling week changing my wardrobe from winter to summer, doing some serious decluttering, going to concerts, going to the park, and seeing my family😊♡ Last year, my mother invited me to go to the festival, "La Folle Journée TOKYO". This year, my mother invited me to go again🤭 We watched several orchestra and piano performances. The charm of this music festival is that you can spend a wonderful time doing various things as you like🎹🎺🎻✨ There was an art exhibition in Hibiya Park, I ended up staring at a big hand that made me wonder how it was floating above the water surface... It's mysterious, isn't it...✋️ The roses🌹 and the sunset were very beautiful✨(Source)

[justanothersanjilover]

One Piece Modern Gym Au Wip (Part 25)

It would be a lie if Sanji would say that he wasn’t shaking while following Zeff. He knew his Stepdad - scratch that, his Dad! - would never hurt him in any way…not intentionally anyway. But they haven't seen each other for two years and saying they parted on no good terms was an understatement.

“Sanji?”

He looked up to see Patty and Carne starring at him and then at Zeff. The old man looked like he bit into a lime and tried desperately not to pull a face.

„Hi, you guys. It‘s been a few days, right?“ Sanji tried to break the awkward silence.

“You little shithead, come here”, Patty grumbled, came over.

He put Sanji in a headlock and held him tightly, laughing because of the half-hearted struggle of him. The apron in his hands was falling to the floor when he grabbed Pattys arm.

“Let him go, Patty. He just came back, don't break him,” Carne laughed, wiping his hands on his apron.

„Let him cook,“ Zeff‘s voice rumbled through the kitchen and made them all flinch.

Patty and Carne again looked from Sanji to Zeff and Patty quickly let go of him. Sanji busied himself with stroking some imaginary wrinkles out of his clothes.

„What‘s he cooking?“ Patty asked and walked back to the stove.

„Whatever the fuck he wants! Never listened to me anyway,“ Zeff shot a fiery look at him and Sanji‘s stomach dropped.

„M…maybe…“ Sanji thought about Zoro and Perona. „Oh, I know!“

He turned and grabbed an apron from the hooks on the wall behind the kitchen door. Somehow he automatically grabbed a blue one with childish drawn sea life pictures on it - it was his anyway…why was it hanging there?

Did Zeff really just leave it for two years? Sanji asked himself while walking to the storage room.

He felt the eyes of his stepdad following him everywhere. It made him a bit nervous. He actually was prepared for everything when walking into the Baratie. Screaming, tears, maybe a quick and hard kick in the ass (which would be fair, to be honest). But not Zeff seating him and his friends on one of the best tables and then demanding him to cook.

He got all the ingredients he needed and walked back to one of the work stations - also his usual spot from two years ago. Smiling he took a knife from the knife holder on the wall. It was like coming home. His knives, sharp as ever - like he‘d never left. He could feel his eyes fill with tears and wiped them away.

Turning on the stove beside him and pulling a pot on it, he moved to wash the rice he got. After a few washes, the water stopped looking milky and so he put the rice in the pot with a bit of salt. While the rice cooked, he cut and peeled a few veggies like peppers, green beans, carrots, peas and a few more. Those went into a pan and was put on low heat with a bit water in the pan to steam it.

While he waited for everything to get done, he grabbed another knife and started cutting and seasoning three salmon filets. He fell back into the routine of working in the kitchen at rush hour so easily. While the salmon was steaming in the oven, he whipped together a sauce that was a bit spicy - with chili flakes in it.

The rice and veggies were done in time. He placed both on a plate, preparing it to look like it was a swirl of white and color chasing each other. The fish was done just when he finished the last plate. Smiling, he placed the salmon on top of the rest. Rounded everything off with some heart-shaped carrots on two plates and swirls of the sauce on top of everything.

“Orders up…” His voice got quieter as he spoke.

This wasn't an order…this wasn't his job anymore…he, wasn't working there. Again, his guts dropped and Sanji actually felt dizzy and like throwing up. What was he thinking?! Why was he just doing this? When anyone wanted to hurt Zeff’s reputation, they just needed to tell around that the Master Chef let some random walk-in cook prepare food in his kitchen.

“Still knows the drill after two years,” Crane joked. “Once in this hell, always in this hell, right?”

“Y…Yeah…I…” Sanji stepped back and took off the apron and wrung it in his hands. “I’m sorry I infiltrated your kitchen…and I’m sorry that I just came back without any warning…I…I’m sorry I never reached out; that I never called...” Sanji said quickly before his panic would take hold of him - he had turned to Zeff. „I‘m sorry…“

Zeff stepped in front of him, and Sanji flinched slightly. The look on Zeff’s face softened when he saw that.

“You aren't actually afraid of me, are you?”

Sanji looked up with big eyes and was pulled into a tight hug the next moment.

“You’re such an idiot, Sanji!”

It took a few seconds for him to realize what was going on. But then he hugged Zeff back and actually started crying.

“I’m so sorry! I didn't want to leave! I didn't want to!” he sobbed against his stepdads shoulder. “I had to…He would have…I didn't want you to lose the Baratie! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!”

“It's fine,” Zeff patted his back and stroked his head. “I know…I was angry and shouldn't have said what I’ve said back then. I know you’d never just leave without a warning.”

They hugged each other for a moment, but when Crane let out a long, drawn aw, Zeff let go of Sanji, spun around, and almost glocked his su-chef on the head with his foot. Crane stumbled back to get out of reach but laughed out of the depth of his belly.

“You should get that food out to your friends, eggplant,” Zeff grumbled when Crane slipped out of reach.

“Yeah…gotta do that before the salmon is cold,” Sanji replied and turned to the kitchen station again.

With practiced movements, he put one of the plates on his forearm and took one in each hand. He opened the door with his foot and was out within seconds - falling back into the habits of working there was easy.

“Fried rice with salmon and a variety of vegetables topped off with a spicy sauce,” Sanji said, placing one plate in front of Perona and the other in front of Zoro before sitting down himself.

Prev / next

First Part

[expresso-bean]

Then Man Out of Time [A Shadamy and Silver Story]: Chapter 26

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Amy Rose

Description: It has been seven years of peace following the grueling war with Eggman and his army. Though it took time to rebuild what they have lost, life for the Freedom Fighters could not be better. Whether it's finding love or trying to run from their past, celebrating post-war times has been different for each of them.

All is well until a silver hedgehog comes knocking on Amy Rose's door to deliver the tragic news about an incredible force that seems to be the cause of the future's destruction.

Will anyone believe the mysterious hedgehog's cry for help? Or will he be left to fight for his future alone? Read to find out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

POV: Shadow the Hedgehog

!! I do not own any of the art/gifs/borders used in my chapters. All credits to the rightful owners !!

Masterlist ❀ Ch.1 ❀ Ch.2 ❀ Ch.3 ❀ Ch.4 ❀ Ch.5 ❀ Ch.6 ❀ Ch.7 ❀ Ch.8 ❀ Ch.9 ❀ Ch.10 ❀ Ch.11 ❀ Ch.12 ❀ Ch.13 ❀ Ch.14 ❀ Ch.15 ❀ Ch.16 ❀ Ch.17 ❀ Ch.18 ❀ Ch.19 ❀ Ch.20 ❀ Ch.21 ❀ Ch.22 ❀ Ch.23 ❀ Ch.24 ❀ Ch.25

I looked down at the bowl of smushed tomatoes that I had cruelly bludgeoned to a messy pulp. Whatever was in the bowl would hardly considered to be a sauce.

'It looks like a massacre,' I wanted to whisper. 'Maybe I need to add another tomato?'

I looked beside me to S opening the rice cooker and lifting up the vapor plate. He carefully poured the contents of the plate into a pool of brown sauce that he'd been preparing for the past ten minutes. The sweet smell of the vegetables made my mouth begin to water slightly.

'Anyone could see that his abilities put mine to shame,' I continued to smoosh the contents of the bowl with so much force that the juices began to stain my white gloves a bright red color. 'Not that I would ever make that known to him.'

I put down the fork I was using and grabbed the salt from the spice rack on the countertop. I unscrewed the top of the shaker and began lightly sprinkling the salt in.

'How much should I even put in?'

I shook the shaker a few more times, still feeling unsatisfied. 

'I did say that I like salty things. Maybe she expects it to be salty?' I shook the shaker harder for a few more seconds until I could no longer see the tomatoes anymore. A crusty, pinkish layer was all that was visible. 'I think that is enough?'

"How is the sauce coming along?"

As he looked down at the content of the bowl, his eyebrows raised. I did my best to not look insulted. Though, I knew it was warranted. 

"I've only just started."

"Can I try?" I nodded. He took a fork and slushed the 'sauce' around before putting some in his mouth. His lips scrunched up as tears pricked at his eyes. "Ooh, that's pretty salty." He heaved out, placing the fork onto a small plate I had set aside for the utensils. "How much did you put in there?"

"Aren't they supposed to be salty?"

S shook his head. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and stood next to me by the sink. I gave up smashing the tomatoes from the bowl. It was nothing but a slop of juice and pulp.

"Not like that," He poured himself some water straight from the sink. I would have told him about the cold, purified water in the refrigerator. But his remarks on my culinary skills made him worthy of the lukewarm tap water he was going to consume. "Where is Amy anyway?" He gulped down the water so fast that he nearly choked at his first inhalation of fresh air. "Ow, maybe I shouldn't have drank it that fast."

'You think?'

S doubled over, holding his side.

'He...is more strange than usual,' S grunted again. He tried to say something through his teeth, but failed. 'Or is he dying?'

"You made your stomach cramp from drinking the water too fast. Steady your breathing and rub the area. If you panic, it will make the pain worse."

S unfolded himself and with a shaky arm he grabbed onto the countertop and hoisted himself up. His body shivered as he tried to breath.

"G-got it..."

He rubbed his side slowly. He bit back grunts of pain in between rubs. I stood there watching him repeat the same process over and over again.

'He's so helpless sometimes.'

"You think I'd be used to it by now. My stomach always get sensitive from traveling."

A hum in response is all I could muster. Just watching him frail up like that was enough for me to pity him and allow him to air out his story.

'No one knows anything about him other than the role he plays in a future wasteland. This could be the chance to try and see who he really is.'

"I was only fourteen when I began the practice trial runs. None of us knew what to expect from it. One the day of my first one, my father gathered the whole neighborhood to send me off. This couple prepared some soup for me made from rice noodles and a wild boar her partner had captured. It scared my father a bit because meals like that are only supposed to be served on special occasion like if someone is born or if someone dies," S' interrupted himself by coughing. He grunted, holding his side and trying to maintain his posture. "S-sorry..." He whispers.

"Your straining yourself."

"No, no, I'm fine. I'm almost done," He breathes in and out slowly before continuing. "I was meant to stay for half a day since the time device needs to be in idle for twelve hours before it is used again. When I finally got the chance to eat some of the food, well, it didn't go so well for me when I jumped back into my current time."

'The watch's ability to allow him to jump through time puts momentous strain on his body? I may have been underestimating his competency.'

"I learned the hard way why you should travel on a full stomach. I still can't eat pork belly to this day. My stomach refuses," He laughed. "I can eat noodles funnily enough. It was hard at first, but I got over that hurdle."

I hummed again only to indicate I was still paying attention to his incessant rambles. I could hear his breathing slowly going back to normal the more he spoke. The breathing technique I showed him seemed to be working.

"So far, I've been snacking on the instant noodles you guys have. They're amazing!" He gleamed. "It sucks, though. The more I enjoy the innovations of this timeline, the more I think about all the starving people this could have helped in the future."

I then turned to look at him. Even through his pain, he sounded confident in his ranting, not caring if he had an audience.

Glimpsing at him was like putting up a mirror to my past. All those moments after escaping my prison, standing alone plotting revenge, monologuing to anything in my sight.

'That feeling. I know it so well,' I kept my mouth shut, not even bothering to look at him. 'Why is he telling me this?'

"I don't mean to ramble. Talking distracts from the pain. Tails taught me that."

"He was your uncle, right?"

S looked conflicted for a moment. With his body still doubled over, he managed to smile softly.

"Tails raised me, along with Cream and my father. The three of them taught me a lot."

"I'm sorry." I meant my apology with all sincerity. A pang of guilt shot through my body. It wasn't until now I realized how much we truly have in common. It was in that moment of my weakness I realized this was the most I have spoken to him since he got to this timeline.

'I know what it is like to lose yourself for so long,' I sighed. Memories flowed back to me as hard as a wave crashed against rocks on the shore. I forgot how hard it was to experience all that loss on my own. How heavy the burden of loss is to a lonely person. 'He lost everything. Through the impossible, he found a way to travel through time to repair everything that had been broken. To help people that he did not even get to meet in his own lifetime.'

The more I stare at the red hue of the sauce, the more I think of Rose. I would not be standing here making a mockery of culinary art without her kindness and belief that I had something stronger within me than revenge and hate. She found love still resided in me—love for creatures and beings alike.

Love for the place Maria adored and called home.

I swore I would die to protect it. I would die to protect Rose and the people she loves. But the one person who could help is the same person I have been pushing away since he arrived.

'He has a good heart. I have not been exercising the kindness both of them fostered within me.'

"I..." When our eyes met, my voice trailed off. There was a familiarity within them.

'Where have I seen them before?'

I cleared my throat and tried to brush my question off. S tilted his head as he, no doubt, waited for me to finish my sentiment.

"Yeah?" He questioned, still slumped over.

"You asked earlier where Rose went. She is at the store, grabbing some refreshments. She mentioned some things she wanted you to try."

"Really!" He gasped, and I flinched at his eager response. "I hope she gets the fruit stuff again. Those things are GOOD!" 

"Keep yourself composed before you go on and hurt yourself again."

"Oh, you're right," He chuckled. I could tell his voice was slightly strained from his groaning in pain earlier. "What is that stuff I ate anyway?"

"It's sauce."

"THAT is the sauce?" S covered his mouth and mumbled out what I think was meant to be an apology. "I didn't mean to say it like that. It, um, has a good color to it."

'So my suspicions were right. This is wrong,' I put what I had been clenching in my fist down back in the bowl and sighed. 'I've never made anything like this before, I have no choice but to...'

"S?"

"Huh?" He hummed.

'Ask him for help.'

"I need..." My voice trailed off. The words were stuck in my throat, which was now dry.

'Why is my chest so heavy? It's just a request. The worst he could say is no,'

"You need...?" He questioned, a nervous smile on his face. I could tell I was making him uncomfortable with the silence between us.

'I retract that. The worst thing is asking him of all people for a request.'

"I need to learn how to make a pasta dish,"

'Finally. That was...hard.'

"It's for Amy. She deserves to have something nice to eat in these times."

My face grew hot with embarrassment. 'Why did I phrase it so strange?'

"Oh, that's easy! I'd love to help!"

'Really? Just like that? Has it always been this easy to ask for favors?"

"Perfect timing, too. I helped Amy pick up some groceries the other day. We can make the sauce tonight. Do you want me to show you how to make it?"

"That would be...a lot of help."

"Cool," S smiled, moving away from the counter and stretching his body upright. A few of his joints popped as his back adjusted itself. "Let's wait till she goes to bed; it shouldn't take long to make, so you'll still be able to get some rest."

"Hm. I agree."

'Never in my life would I put myself in this predicament, but for Rose, I'd do this and more.'

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

If a town had their food completely self-sustained, how much farmland would they need? It's a heavily vegetarian community by the way. How much would it depend on the exact crops they're growing i.e. beans vs lentils, rice vs wheat? Let's say 30,000 people for now. If I need to adjust for a different population, would it be linear or not? What if they optimised their fields for most nutrition to land required? The town is in the coastal tropics by the way. Crops that can't be grown there can be greenhoused. Also, I heard about crops being grown in seawater instead. How much land can be saved if some of the crops were there instead? Also, how possible is it for this community to be able to achieve less than 5% food waste?

Tex: So I went and gave “how much farmland is needed per person” a quick search on the internet, and here are the first three results:

How Much Land Does It Take To Feed One Person – Online Calculator by William Swanson | Permaculturism

How much land to feed a person? by The Naked Scientists

Agricultural land use per person by Our World in Data

Now, I do not necessarily claim these are the best search results, only the first search results. (Admittedly, the top result is pretty good for most uses.) Adjusting your keywords and search parameters will likely net you more pertinent results.

For some additional context, here is a list of types of malnutrition (Wikipedia). It has a category for both under- and over-nourishment, which will be useful for your context and as a form of general education in real life.

Humans require a varied diet. If they do not get this, and in proper quantities, they fall ill. Trade has been an enormous supplement for this, in terms of things like preserved produce or meats that cannot be produced locally for various reasons, or preservation agents such as salt (which also fill a spot in the nutritional index).

Land can only produce so much during a growing period, and requires seasonal periods to lay fallow - something which typically requires the use of manure to amend the soil to a useful mineral ratio (you can use chemicals, strictly speaking, if you don’t mind destroying the microbiome in the process). Greenhouses have much the same pitfalls, hence their experimental or ornamental nature compared to the style of agriculture humans have been practicing for thousands of years.

The amount of arable land will dictate how many people can survive healthily in a given area. For this, you’ll probably want to use the calculator linked above, and make sure to account for non-arable, uninhabitable land for other flora, other fauna, and geological features such as rocks or beaches.

It will not be a utopia, and an agriculturally-dependent society that vegetarianism or veganism (an even more stringent diet) demands will necessarily spend the majority of their time tending to their crops and the accessory chores to keep their farms running year-round.

Additionally, food waste is a relatively new concept, and mostly for the Western or adjacent world, because historically most people have been too poor to afford wasting even a single scrap of a mealy vegetable. If it cannot be cooked into edibility, fed to a farm animal, composted, used to insulate crops over winter, converted into a useful craft (see: textiles, manufacturing of non-food goods), or otherwise consumed in a worthwhile manner, it generally is not bothered with as a crop because wasted crop costs money - and money is historically housed by the wealthy who need not worry about such things as where and when their next meal arrives, not the people who produce the food.