#getting the sticky rice right takes a try or two

[zvaigzdelasas]

Getting better @ making mango sticky rice 🥭

[so-much-for-the-seashells]

Movie Nights Headcanons With BF!Dean

✨ Dean Winchester x fellowhunter!Reader ✨

Minors! Get out of here! Please and thank you!

COOOOONTENT: definitely 18+ (a tiddly bit of spice) but very cute

A/N: reader’s supposed to be cis/fem BUUUT headcanons only mention “girl” a few times? I’m working on my spicy gender neutral skills I’ll get there I swear

Oh also!!! I made my own icons, super proud 😌

And please! Feel free to leave notes! They literally make my day!

Anyway, let’s get this party started!

( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

-movie nights at the bunker are few and far between, because, you know, hunting is exhausting

-however, when they do happen, they’re the best thing in the whole wide world

-let me explain

-once you started dating Dean and moved into the bunker, some changes had to be made

-you had gotten a cute sofa for the Dean cave, somewhere for the both of you to sit because all that had been in there before you moved in was two dingy chairs

-at first Dean had protested in the sofa saying that it was “too girly”

-but you know how dads are with the pet that they never wanted??

-that’s Dean and the sofa

-so once you guys get comfy with your favorite snacks and drinks, you snuggled up sitting crisscross in the corner

-he’ll lay with his head in your lap, letting his bow legs rest on the opposite arm rest.

-he really loves laying on your thighs. This can be taken as you want it to.

-they really are his favorite pillows

-they’re just so squishyyy

-anyway

-he loves when you play with his short hair. It’s really comforting to him, and he really enjoys it

-this may or may not come from his love of you pulling it when he’s being a munch

-rom coms are his guilty pleasure. He’s a sucker for Rambo and Top Gun. Also Back To The Future. Ofc he likes his horror movies too. Won’t make you watch anything you are uncomfortable with.

-might try to grumble when you pick, but if you give him some puppy dog eyes he’ll shut up real quick

-he’s sugar sweet when he’s sleepy. No more defenses or cool guy wit, just Dean saying a lot of I love yous and being the fluffiest biggest stuffed animal of a man

-tends to fall asleep in your lap

-if he doesn’t fall asleep he’s always chatting with you about literally whatever shows up in his pretty little head or talking to the movie

-“who fumbles reese witherspoon?” said with full indignation (about legally blonde)

-“I think my man Freddie is blind” (about Lainey in she’s all that)

-it’s super cute, especially if it’s after he’s grumbled about watching the movie he’s commenting about

-now (nsfw ahead)

-the thing is

-sometimes this dude wants to watch a movie, but he also wants a specific kind of snack

-yk, one that’s typically… white and sticky? And no I’m not talking about sticky rice

-so if you’re wearing only one of his shirts and your underwear

-and he’s in a mood

-uhhh let’s just say he really gets the munchies

-his legs’ll fall off of the sofa and magically his ass’ll land on top of them

-and oh em gee suddenly he’ll be eating that pussy like he didn’t just take down a whole bowl of popcorn

-and let me tell you, your hands aren’t ever gonna even bother leaving that hair, cause you’re gonna need to hooooold tight

-other times it’s a little different

-maybe you’re being needy while you both want to watch the movie

-so he’ll sit up, take down his pants just a little bit, move your underwear to the side and just sit you there. Keeping his cock nice and warm until the credits.

-cause you wouldn’t wanna be a bad girl (cue jojo siwa) and move on him!

-but sometimes you just can’t help it…

-so he’ll sigh heavily and pause the tv lethargically with great dramatics

-and then he’ll rail you within an inch of your life, as he does (has to make sure his girl is sated and then some 🖤 🎀)

-and hit play like nothing happened, keeping you sat right where you were

-honestly it’s a great time

-oh, also, blankets

-he loves blankets

-it’s his guilty pleasure, he buys them whenever he has some extra (stolen) cash and isn’t with his brother or Cas

-cause obviously they can’t know about his “girly” habits

-but he has so many. Some of them have flannel prints, there’s one with a bunch of Patrick Swayzes, one for every season, fluffy ones, scratchy ones, hand crocheted ones (major brownie points if you can somehow make him one)

-oh and back to snacks

-listen. You can tell him all about how much of a good idea it would be to eat healthy. Bring up all the stats and one of Sam’s famous guilt trips too.

-but all it takes is a pout with those sparkly, gorgeous, mountain-ass green eyes

-and all of a sudden you’re baking brownies together, just because you actually have a second to do normal couple things

-and anyway, brownie batter kisses?? Worth it.

-oh

-and it’s not just movies, sometimes it’s shows

-and I mention this because sometimes those shows are the wiggles. And you know why they’re the wiggles? Cause you two’ll sometimes sneak just a little bit of fun time grass into the brownies

-and the wiggles is just too much fun to watch when you’re uh… seeing sounds and hearing colors

-oh and also giggly high fun time sometimes ensues (WITH THE WIGGLES TURNED O F F you are NOT that blasphemous) (I hope)

-another one of the shows you get him to watch is Gilmore girls.

-he got hooked for three reasons:

1. he loves Luke (and no we don’t know if he loves him or LOVES him) oh and Kirk. He wants to be best friends with Kirk.

2. he’s a sucker for fall vibes. Including pumpkin spice and Halloween, apple cider and ofc his flannels- so naturally stars hollow visually floats his boat

3. he thinks it’s hilarious that some dude named Dean looks exactly like Sam ( 😏)

-oh and bonus- he’s really just a messy bitch who loves the drama and wants Lorelei to be happy

-ofc you two don’t watch your shows as much, movies take priority, but when you do you binge them. Cause who knows when the next time you’ll have time to see them is

-stupid supernatural warfare

-oh and he will always convince you to make a pie with him (NOT the sexual kind) (…sometimes the sexual kind) (🤤)

-sometimes you’ll host family movie nights, have Sam and Charlie and Cas and whoever else is hanging out around the bunker come

-most of the time a movie doesn’t even get chosen but that’s okay cause it’s still fun

-anyway, Dean is a cutie patootie sweetie sugar pie

-oh, and a munch

-I rest my case

-yeah that’s basically it

If you have any ideas for headcanons, send a request! My box is always open!

Xx

[slut4msby]

flower shop girl. miya osamu x fem!reader

+ tags & warnings; not proofread

+ a/n; i wrote this at 2am last night as the idea came to me as i tried to sleep so keep that in mind </3

“Just go give him some flowers Y/N it doesn’t have to be in a romantic way, just a nice neighbourly worker gesture!” Your coworker, Emi suggested.

“I’m pretty sure Osamu-san would take it the wrong way, Emi…” 

“But Osamu-san brings us onigiri all the time! So it’s not weird unless you make it weird, Y/N.”

You couldn’t deny your feelings towards Osamu have grown since you started working at the florist. It started with you going to get some lunch and wanting to try “Onigiri Miya” which was located across the road from your work. All your coworkers could only ever speak positively about Osamu’s onigiri. And after trying it you could not blame him. The onigiri was a masterpiece, it was a perfect triangular delight that fit perfectly in the palm of your hand. The outer layer was crafted from expertly seasoned sticky rice. The rice was perfect, not too dry nor too mushy. When the nori seaweed wrapping peeled back a symphony of flavours unfold. It felt as if Osamu had crafted a masterpiece with something as simple as Onigiri. 

However, it wasn’t just the onigiri that stirred something within you; it was Osamu Miya himself. Osamu was fine. More than fine to be honest, he himself was like a Greek god. His physique from his volleyball days had slightly decreased since quitting and pursuing the store, but he was still in beautiful shape. The black Onigiri Miya shirt hugged his body just right. His hair was always slightly messy when he came over to the florists from the Onigiri Miya hat. Not only was he hot, he was funny. Everytime you would see him he would crack some jokes that never failed to put a smile on your face. Not only that despite his more dead-pan face, Osamu was great with his customers. He knew them like the back of his hands, he cared, was passionate and he was funny. God, the true triple threat.

“Plus if Osamu finds it cute, maybe your little crush will go further~.” Emi teased.

You gave her a nasty side-eye in return to her snarky comment. “Okay fine, I’ll bring some flowers to Osamu-san after my shift, if that will make you shut it.” Emi’s face lit up at the comment, “BUT. There is a catch. I get to tell Osamu-san it is a gift from the store for all the onigiri he gives us. Deal?”

“Fine, deal.”

“So… Emi… What flowers do I give Osamu-san?” You say awkwardly.

“Well I would recommend tulips - pink tulips in particular if you don’t want it to be romantic. They convey good wishes, yet non-romantic love and affection. Or maybe some daffodils! To celebrate new beginnings and goo-” Emi rambled.

“Y’know what Emi? I think I’ll just make a bouquet myself…” you mumble as you walk off.

You loved Emi but god she could get on your nerves. 

You begin taking your time putting together a bouquet for Osamu. Nothing romantic, but also beautiful enough to put the wrong idea in Osamu’s head. It wasn’t supposed to be romantic, just a nice gesture. Despite your admiration for Osamu, you barely knew the guy. He could have a girlfriend or even worse a wife. And you were no home-wrecker. You had finally decided on a bouquet with pinks and whites, with pink carnations, white roses and baby's breath flowers. It was simple, effective and didn't give Osamu the wrong idea, perfect.

“Emi-chan I’m clocking out now~” You call out to your coworker.

“Don’t forget your bouquet, Y/N-san! I’m sure Osamu is going to fall head over heels for you and you two will have like the cutest romance story ever! And I Can say I planned it ALL and I better be a bridesmaid and-” 

“Yup, okay Emi.” You say giving her a weak smile and a wave as you walk out.

You crossed the road and walked into Onigiri Miya, the bell jingling as the door opened. Osamu raised his head to greet the customer who entered.

“Welcome! Ho- Oh, it’s one of the flower shop girls. What can I do for ya?” He smiled.

“Oh Osamu-san! I have a gift for you from m- us over at the flower shop because your always so nice to us and bring us onigiri and stuff and we just wanted to say thank you and-” 

He cuts you off from your awkward mess of a speech, “Thanks flower shop girl.” He said walking over to you, grabbing the flowers from your hand. “And don’t ya worry yer pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” He examined the bouquet in front of him, looking at the array of flowers. “It’s beautiful…?”

“L/N Y/N.”

“It’s beautiful, L/N-san. What flowers did ya use?” Osamu asks out of curiosity. 

“Oh well I used white roses which you can obviously see, and some baby’s breath. The pink touch is some pink carnations, my personal favourite flower! They also express gratitude and stuff… so it’s cool I guess…”

“Well I am super grateful for the gift, L/N.” Osamu smiled.

“Oh uhm… You’re welcome! I have to get going now, Osamu-san!” You say waving as you speed walk to the door. Osamu just waves in confusion in response to your awkward actions.

“God Y/N, why are you so awkward?” You silently cuss yourself out as you walk away.

Days have passed since your very awkward flower delivery to Osamu. The interaction still haunts your mind like a bad dream, that’s what you wished it was. As you care for the flowers towards the back of the door, a familiar figure walks in. Osamu Miya. Just your luck, you gave him an awkward smile before continuing your work. Osamub slowly walks over to your coworker, Maki.

“How can I help you Miya-san?” Maki asks.

“Just wondering if you have any bouquets of pink carnations?” Osamu says, looking around the store, attempting to find some.

“Oh we just got some in before, they are a popular choice at the moment. Y/N sells them quite well, they are her favourite after all.” Maki smiles.

“Well Y/N has some good taste then, they are also a personal favourite of mine.” 

“Really! I would not expect that from you Miya! You give off like jasmine vibes.” Maki laughs.

“I only recently found out what carnations are, a very pretty girl said they were her favourite and they just remind me of ‘er.”

A red blush swipes over your face at Osamu’s comment. Were you , the pretty girl? Surely not. Carnations are a common favourite flower and Osamu must know lots of pretty girls, I mean just take a look at him.

Osamu continues his chat with Maki, checking out for his bouquet of flowers. “Thanks so much Miya-san!”

However, Osamu doesn’t leave the store, his steps bring him towards you. He holds the bouquet out towards you, “here flower shop girl. Heard ya like ‘em.”

“Oh really?” You sarcastically respond.

“Yeah, a friend told me.” He jokes back, “a friend also told me I should ask you out on a date, pretty girl. So whatdya say?”

“I’d love to, Osamu.” You smile shyly.

“Tomorrow night at 7pm. Are you free?”

“For you? I guess I could make some time…” 

©slut4msby.

[hatsukeii]

i think i’m gonna pick up a 🎸 with a few 🎵 decorations including a ‘rivals to lovers’ guitar pick and a ‘cooking class au’ strap. and lately i’ve heard that osamu is my biggest fan ;)

got it! the band you’ve joined is…

hell’s kitchen / timeskip!osamu miya x reader

genre(s): fluff, slight crack, rivals to possible? lovers, culinary class au! food!

warning(s): nothing!! im worried that osamu might be ooc here or it's not rivalry enough but i hope it works out!>!!>!

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is at…a culinary class?!

setlist:

🎵girlfriend, hemlocke springs

🎵comedy, gen hoshino

🎵get him back!,olivia rodrigo

How many things can someone possibly put in a rice ball? To slurp, or not to slurp? Better yet, is slapping somebody with a whole head of pickled cabbage a viable course of action?

It's humiliating, almost, paired with Osamu Miya in every culinary class. Not because of his lack of skill- he's good, too good even. But he smacks his tongue audibly against the roof of his mouth every time he digs into your cooking, slurps until showers of broth come spitting from the bowl, wipes his hands on his apron, slathering emulsifications of aioli and hollandaise onto rough canvas fabric, then grabs your waist to walk behind you. Every quirk of his is incomplete without his signature, shit-eating smirk. Every class has you considering swinging whatever tool you have in hand into his face.

Unfortunately, that day is not today. Onigiri only requires hands, and seeing that Osamu has formed six seemingly perfect balls of seaweed wrapped rice, he is clearly much better at using them than you are. Handiwork training is what today's chef called this atrocity. To move beyond being a cook to a chef, you must learn the first tool of cooking- your hands, he said. From the corner of your eye, you catch Osamu's amused glances towards the two funky looking shapes on your plate, and the panicked pulses of your palms against a handful of slippery, seasoned rice. He picks up one of the six onigiri of his own, the rounded tip of the triangle disappearing into his mouth as he chews, agonisingly slowly, smacking his tongue the way he knows you hate. A grumble elicits from your throat, your hands squeezing tighter against the sticky grains in your grasp, only for more chunks to fall apart.

"Let me help."

"No."

"Whatever you say."

He walks over now, biting a second corner off his onigiri as his hips lean against your side of the counter. His lips smack together obnoxiously, teeth squelching and grinding at rice and salmon. You irk your brows when the rice in your grasp seems to stop sticking to each other. It takes one look at your now opaque bowl of water for you to realise that you've washed all the starch off in your attempts to release the grains from your palms. Osamu figured it out when you dipped your hand into the bowl for the seventh time.

"Mix it into the rest of the rice that you have. That helps."

You hate that he's right, because when you do what he's told you to, the rest of the rice comes around the wet grains and sticks to them like they're supposed to. He pops the rest of his onigiri into his mouth, swiping his hands together before rubbing them over the sides of his rice-decorated apron. You try again, scooping up a lukewarm ball of rice. Flattening it against your palm, you search for the bowl of salmon, eyes landing on an empty bowl adorned with sad, pink flakes of salt-grilled fish. Osamu's already sliding the rest of his salmon over the counter.

"Need extra?" His mouth is still stuffed, a single piece of rice sticks to the corner of his mouth.

"Thanks."

You dump a spoonful of salmon into the centre of your rice pattie, before sticking your free hand into the water and folding your palms into each other. The rice sticks to your fingers when you pull away, and you groan, pushing harder. At that, grains begin to crack away from the ball, bits of salmon beginning to stick out from the bottom. Osamu swallows half of the contents in his mouth, his cheek jutting out like a hamster hoarding sunflower seeds. He watches your inexperienced hands, clawing at and tossing the rice to shape it, and he reaches over to rinse his hands over the sink.

"Just let me help you out."

Grains of jasmine rice stick to his wet palms that come around your hands, squeezing and pushing at a ball of rice that falls apart at each movement. The fuzz of his rolled up sweater sleeves rubs against your forearms as his fingers work their way onto yours. Starchy water trickles down the back of your hand when he forces them to loosen around the mess of grilled salmon and rice, and you sigh in defeat, letting him move you as he pleases.

"Look, I'm not sure why you dislike me so much."

"I don't."

He chuckles, pushing your hands into the rice now. You study the pressure he applies to the ball of rice, learn the shape of his fingers around yours, memorise the cup of his palms around the back of your own.

"Yes, you do. You always look at me like-"

You snap your head around to meet his eyes, and he's so close that for the first time, you have to angle your head to look up at him. He's not smirking anymore, moreso observing. You aren't sure what there is to observe on your face, but it's welcome nevertheless.

"Like what?"

He purses his lips, huffing out a dejected sigh.

"Like that."

He lets go of your hands, stepping backwards, and you hold the perfectly moulded onigiri up to eye level. The rice is glossy in a sheen of vinegar and water, yet pertains its fluffiness in the tack of starch against your fingers. The handiwork of a true chef.

"You're so good at this class that I can't even get annoyed at you openly. It's infuriating."

"What did I ever do to you?"

You laugh sarcastically, waving the newly formed onigiri in Osamu’s face, before taking a bite. He laughs, mouth forming a taunting oh when you smack your lips against each other the way that he does, the flakiness of salmon spreading char and salt across your tastebuds. Then, you place the onigiri aside, rubbing your hands up and down your pristine apron, before grabbing his waist to move him to the side so you can walk past, making sure bits of rice and fish stick to his apron. He chuckles, clapping tantalisingly slowly at your imitation of his habits. You give him a fake bow, and he drops his hands to his hips, shrugging.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Petty rivalry and kitchen hygiene."

"Mind you, I am very hygienic. My shop hasn't been shut down for a reason."

You watch Osamu's hands dig into the remaining portion of your rice, his tongue sticking out as he moulds and shapes it into another perfectly rounded triangle. You scoff at his defensiveness, arms crossed in front of you. He wraps a rectangle of seaweed across the centre of the rice ball, and holds it up to your face. It is swiped from his fingers by your own, and you stuff half of it into your mouth, chewing without a sound and swallowing the mouthful.

"You do not have a shop."

"Where'd you think I learned how to do all this?" His hands shoot out to wave at his perfect collection of hand-made onigiri, and you sigh, rolling your head to the side.

"Okay, sure. You have a shop. It's a surprise you can be this annoying and keep it running."

"Loosen up, I just wipe my hands on my apron and eat loud. It's not like I'm spitting in my food. Besides, being that uptight ends up with your onigiri coming out more like...that." His head nods towards the funky ones on your plate, bits of fish sticking from the crevices between individual grains of rice. You shrug in acceptance, taking another bite from his onigiri. Osamu clicks his tongue, grabbing your wrist to bring the rice ball to his mouth instead, consuming the final corner of the triangle in its entirety. He swallows it with a hum, his fingers still around your wrist. He's not letting go. Now, you're interested.

"Should I pay you a visit? Need to see for myself that you're running it to safety standards."

"Are you flirting with me? Because you should keep going."

You roll your eyes when you see him wink at you from above your hand, but an toothy grin creeps its way onto your face, and Osamu smiles at his tactics.

"Whatever you say, Miya." His last name finally makes it out of your mouth for the first time since the two of you have been put together for this course, and he drops your wrist.

"You know, I could teach you how to make those onigiris properly if you show up to Onigiri Miya. You'd be almost as good as me by the end of it."

You flick a grain of rice at him, and it sticks to his apron unceremoniously. He's even named the shop after his family name. How cute. Despicable.

"Don't try your luck, chef."

"Chef? High praise."

The supervising chef sounds a bell, harsh waves of high pitched ringing echoing throughout the room. And as Osamu scrubs at bowls and lathers soapy water onto plates, he watches you tap at your phone with clean hands. Your sink is already empty, the two bowls and one plate that you used in total sitting on the drying rack already. Your onigiris sit in a takeout container, lined up neatly in two rows. His own are still on their plate, and he reminds himself to grab a takeout box for himself. You look up to Osamu, and he looks back at his wet hands and soapy dishes.

"Found you online. I'll be checking your place out soon." You remark at him, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a grin.

"You sure you're not there to check me out instead?" You snicker at his blatant flirtations, and pretend that he's completely incorrect.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, Miya."

You shove your phone back into your pocket, swipe an onigiri off his plate, and wave at him as you turn your back to leave.

Osamu watches your silhouette push open the door as he slots his dishes into the drying rack. He hopes that you'll become his favourite regular at Onigiri Miya.

author's note:

i just KNOW im gonna have so much fun writing for this event ngl i hope i get more so i can see what people come up with but I HOPE U LIKE THIS!!! rivalry is more like friendly banter here and lovers is more like he's into you and you're slowly getting into the grroove of it but hopefully you enjoyed it regardless my bbs<333 i'd frequent onigiri miya ngl i love onigiri sm also hell's kitchen needs to be the name of a band icl

anyways tags!!

@chuuya-brainrot @staraxiaa @wyrcan @4ngelfries @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @fiannee @kuroppiii @akaakeis @hiraethwa @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[6okuto]

UNIVERSITY WITH BOKUTO

gn!reader | late bokuto birthday post. kyaaa.. sorry for using sociology btw. i’m coping

university student!bokuto who you meet the first day of classes. it was hard not to notice him on the train, nor how you seemed to be taking the same path. you’re speed-walking down a pedway—just a few minutes from being late—when his eyes flicker over to you. “we were on the train together, right? i thought it was funny we started walking the same way. what class are you going to?” he asks with a smile.

and it’s a cute smile, but you wish it wasn’t because you’re starting to run out of breath and you don’t think the one you flash back is anywhere near as easy. “sociology with, uh, philip.”

your new-found acquaintance lights up. “really? me too!”

“yeah, i had him last year and he was really good,” you reply. and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the way he seems so friendly despite how little you’ve spoken, but you decide to introduce yourself first.

the stranger grins again. “it’s nice to meet you,” he says your name hesitantly, as if testing it out for the first time. “i’m kotaro!”

university student!bokuto who has an impressive skill for keeping small talk going in a way that isn’t awkward or miserable. he sits across from you on the train every morning you have class—taking the side that keeps you from squinting at the sun, which, of course, garners a thank you—and talks about anything and everything. he tells you about his other courses, asks for yours, what you had for breakfast, whether you prefer pancakes or waffles, and even describes how he likes to drizzle on designs with his syrup. (one of his favourites was a wonky little owl, and kotaro swears he managed to draw mario once—or at least his long-lost twin.)

it’s easy talking with him, and even when you want to skip and sleep in, you find yourself getting ready, just in hopes of seeing him again.

university student!bokuto who has a pad of sticky notes in his backpack, filled with reminders and drawings and scribbles from testing if a pen has ink left. the professor is going over the syllabus when you turn to see his brows furrowed, pen doing something on the paper. you have to stop yourself from smiling too big when kotaro passes you a note—a little doodle of the you holding hands and cheering, “SOCIOLOGISTS! >:)” written in block letters above. you have a collection growing by the end of the first two weeks.

bokuto who offers to hang out with you while you wait for your next class, and even walks you there when you’re ready. forty minutes—it’s an awkward amount of time where you can’t really do anything, or sit outside the room to wait, so having someone with you is always nice. you’ve just sat down when you remind him again, “you could just go home, kotaro. you don’t have to wait for me.” and kotaro shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink before replying. “you can’t get rid of me that easy. i like spending time with you, anyway, so don’t worry about me.”

bokuto who stops mid-bite of his lunch when you use his nickname for the first time. “kou, did you get napkins?” you try to ask casually, ignoring how foreign the name feels on your tongue. kotaro stares, cheeks filled on one side with rice. “…kou?” “huh? oh, yeah! uhm.” he fumbles, but manages to hand them over. you thank him quietly and he smiles. he considers himself lucky that you’re looking down at your food, and can’t see how he’s holding back what could possibly be the biggest grin of his life.

bokuto who casually mentions his birthday is coming up, much sooner than you’d expect, and much sooner than you’d hope considering you wanted to get a gift. you lightly hit him on the shoulder. “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“aw, you don’t need to get me a gift. but if you’re free, i was gonna have dinner with some friends,” he offers. “which probably sounds awkward because you don’t really know them, but i told them about you and they’re really nice, and i’d be there so i don’t think it’d be too bad? and it’s after your assignment is due for your other class, i think. or we could do something another day? if you wanted to.”

your ears heat up when he says he’s talked about you, the rest of your face following suit when you realize he's been paying attention to your schedule, but you bite the inside of your cheek and say nothing. “no, it’s okay, i’ll come to dinner, if that’d be okay with them.”

any nervousness that was building inside him evaporates, and kotaro is suddenly back to his usual grinning self. “awesome! it’s my birthday so they’ll be fine, promise!”

bokuto who, himself, is not fine when the day comes—who starts shaking akaashi’s shoulder when you text to say you’ll be there soon. he’s barely paying attention to how his other friends are snickering, or even to akaashi’s reassurance that yes, bokuto, your outfit looks nice, and yes, he’s sure you’d have mentioned any allergies to his cake and no, he doesn’t think he’ll need an epipen by the end of the night.

bokuto who had no idea you managed to text akaashi and the others privately to figure out what the best short-notice gift would be. they told you that kotaro would appreciate anything you bought or made, even if it was just a simple card. they’re all a little surprised when you show up with not just a card, but also a sweater, owl plushie, and collection of sticky notes.

“i mean, i just thought the sweater was pretty soft and the owl was cute. but the sticky notes are ‘cause you always draw on them during class. so i sort of…made you little drawings? of you, stuff you like…they aren’t the best since i had to make them fast, but...” you trail off as he flips through each one.

one of his friends—kuroo, you think—looks over kotaro’s shoulder and snickers. “huh? i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him make that exact face before. are you considering going into the art industry?”

you smile as everyone else looks over your gift, but your eyes are fixed on the birthday boy himself. he’s smiling widely as he takes in each sticky note, making comments and laughing when he reads an inside joke you have from class.

bokuto who takes you to the side while everyone else is talking amongst themselves, surprising you with a hug. “oh!” you take a second to process the fact that there’s arms wrapped around you, but eventually wrap yourself around him in return.

he says your name, dragging out the last syllable as he squeezes you tighter, moving you side to side. “thank you for the present!”

you snort and pat his back. “i’m glad you liked it, some of those sticky notes took a few tries to not look like shit.” you joke.

when he finally lets go, kotaro has a look of determination on his face. “i’ll be sure to make a birthday present just as good as yours, or even better! i didn’t miss it, did i? is it close? i should have asked earlier,” he panics. “well, even if it’s tomorrow, i’ll make sure it’s super good. it isn’t tomorrow, is it? or are new year’s presents a thing?”

bokuto who’s already planning what to do for a gift after you’ve all left, wearing the sweater and holding the plush, with the drawings on his desk, waiting to be put up in the morning.

[bbangi]

Comfort Food

Hailee Steinfeld × Actress!Fem!Reader

Summery: You had a really rough day and didn't expect your girlfriend to make your comfort dish at home.

" Lee? I am home!! " You said like if you were in a sitcom, even though you were tired, you would never let Hailee know it.

" Oh, Hi Babe! " Hailee excitedly said, appearing in the kitchen's door frame. You quickly noticed that her hands were covered by gloves that looked sticky.

" What are you doing there? Must I worry about you and the fire's relationship? " You said chuckling as Hailee's expression went from excitedly to playfully offended.

" You must not! I am not using fire, " She said and quickly got back to the kitchen.

You made your way to the kitchen to try and soy on Hailee, but she was quicker than you using her well-known Spider 6th sense.

" Don't come in here now! Go take a shower, then you can come back and eat. "

" Ok ok spider girl, imma take a shower," you said, giving up and starting your way totally he bathroom " Don't burn the kitchen down!! " You screamed at her.

" I will not chef! " She screamed back.

Hailee was too invested in doing whatever she was cooking for, noticing you getting back into the kitchen after a relaxing shower and going right behind her.

" Whatcha doin' baby monster? " You ask, scaring her while scanning the table. Spam, two bowls of white rice with a brown sauce in it and two fried eggs.

" Hey! What are you doing here??? You're not supposed to enter until I say so! " She says, putting her hands on your eyes. " Go to the table, I'm almost finished "

Y/N waited for about 10 minutes. That was when Hailee came to the table with two bowls of spam poke and chopsticks. You could not lie. You were really surprised, Hailee it's not someone you can trust in the kitchen but this... this looks amazing and tasty.

" Florence told me about your day, Love," Hailee said in the sweetest voice you've ever heard coming from her. " So I am here to help you this night, please enjoy your favorite meal! "

" O-oh my god, thank you so much Lee. I love you " You said in shock and gave her a quick peck on the lips before you dived on the food.

" My Gosh Hailee! This is incredible! " You said with your mouth full.

" Really!? " And now you busted her ego " I think I have the talent for the kitchen you know? " She said with a sly smirk on her face.

" I think you should stay in front of the cameras my love "

" I agree, never doing this again. Unless is for you. I love you "

" I love you too, thank you so much Babe "

[mayhem-neverending]

The Big Bad Wolf

Part VIII

Word Count: 4,683

Warnings: cursing, rumors, Canon fighting

Notes: I had to stop this before it got too long. I'm hoping to get the next part later, but it really depends on how quickly I can get my self-imposed chores done :/ Enjoy!!

Konoha’s rumor mill was truly an astounding thing. You were bombarded with questions regarding your alleged relationship with the Hokage before even stepping foot into the Tower. You attempted dispelling the rumors, but to no avail; you could tell by their expressions that they didn’t believe a word of your denial.

Whispers followed you to his door, where you knocked more frantically than you meant in your attempt to get away from all of the stares. You tried desperately not to make eye contact with anyone, lest they take it as an opportunity to ask you more questions. Thankfully, you were allowed entry shortly after your knock.

As soon as the door opened to reveal you, Lord Sixth loudly jested, “Oh, look who it is; my secret lover!”

You slammed the door shut behind you and through gritted teeth said, “Don’t encourage them,”

He was obviously very amused by the situation, with the way his eyes crinkled and how he lazily leaned back in his tall chair. You wondered whether people weren’t bothering him, or if he was just used to all the attention.

You were drenched from the rain, your hair dripping and your shoes leaving a trail of water in their wake as you went to place your reusable bag on his desk. It hit the wood with a muted clank that somewhat satisfied your growing exasperation.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I keep telling people I’m not, but when they found out I was bringing you dinner they just went ham,”

Kakashi chuckled heartily, and went about sweeping the scattered scrolls and paperwork onto one corner of the desk so he could see what you had brought him. He slid the bag in front of him and carefully removed the glass containers and utensils.

You were becoming increasingly aware of the puddle forming on the floor the longer you stood at his desk. You watched uncomfortably as he opened the first container, a warm, comforting smell wafted through the air, and he looked quite pleased.

“I should have warned you before you came; our love affair has been all anyone has talked about all day… is this Oyakadon?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be good for the rainy weather,” you hinted.

He looked up at you and seemed to only realize right then that you were soaked to the bone. You watched recognition form on his face, immediately followed with apologetic eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to make the trip in the rain, I would have been fine,”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I told you I would, so I did. It’s not like I won’t have to go back out in it to get Hikaru,”

“Still,”

Both of you remained silent for a few moments. He gazed into your eyes like he was trying to read your thoughts, which was a little unnerving. If he could read your thoughts, he would have caught you calling him a ‘real oddity’.

“Well, are you gonna eat or what?” You broke the silence.

“Right,” He picked up his chopsticks and brought some chicken and sticky rice up.

He paused, and you raised a brow. “Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,”

You waved your hand dismissively and turned on your heel, satisfied and ready to pick up your son, something you assumed you would only just make it on time for.

“Leaving so soon? Our audience outside will be very disappointed,”

You stopped mid-stride and glanced over your shoulder. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you would have witnessed a shit-eating grin. You chose to ignore the second part of his statement.

“Sorry, but duty calls, Loverboy,”

You only brought dinner two more times that week; afraid anymore would solidify the rumors following you lately. The attention caused you a great amount of anxiety, so you tried to focus your attention elsewhere. Namely, with Obito.

The two of you spent the better part of the week trying to decide what he was going to do. He seemed to be entertained by shooting down any suggestion you could come up with, which only served to irritate you. And that seemed to entertain him, too.

On Thursday, you suggested woodworking, since he seemed to have exceptional attention to detail.

He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed behind his head and an ankle resting over his knee. He hummed in faux contemplation.

“Nah,”

You threw the rag you had been dusting with down and spun to face him with surprising speed. His amusement was clearly visible and it only made you bristle.

“I’m gonna kick your ass!” you jabbed a finger at him to punctuate your words.

“I’d like to see you try,” He drawled.

“Why you-!”

“Now that’s not actually a bad idea, can’t remember the last time I sparred,”

“Get your ass outside then,” you growled.

You were just short of stomping behind him as you followed him to the door where he put his shoes on. You intentionally knocked into him as you went out the door.

He laughed at your antics, and you couldn’t help but feel a little twinge of all your pent up anger and anxiety leave you. He followed behind you at a languid pace to the backyard and positioned himself a short distance across from you.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his upper arm muscles flexed as he raised them in front of his body under his grey long sleeve shirt. He was quickly putting on weight, that was clear.

All defiance and anger dissipated the moment his brows dipped as his expression became serious. His dark eyes flickered with an intensity that made the hair on your neck stand on end. All of the sudden, you remembered that this man was literally a war criminal - the war criminal and he was beyond powerful, even in his weakened state.

You dropped your fighting stance. You let out a nervous laugh as he did the same. “You know what, I changed my mind. I haven’t fought anyone in years, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,”

You could tell he understood exactly what you were trying to say, and you thought he would give it up, but then he said: “Come on, you brought me all the way out here. I thought you said you were hot shit, with all your training with Genma,”

You inhaled deeply. “Fine, just- don’t break any of my bones, please,”

You both returned to your starting stances.

“Only taijutsu?”

“Only taijutsu,”

Without warning, he swung a fist at you. The reaction in your body was instantaneous, like you had never stopped training. You simultaneously ducked while taking hold of his wrist; using his own momentum to send him flying towards the ground.

He tucked and rolled onto his feet, hardly giving you a chance to turn around before he was on you again. You blocked his next advance with some effort, your muscles straining against his strength, a telltale sign it had been too long since you had done this.

Your heart beat rapidly as you narrowly avoided a kick to the side. You took on the offensive position, hardly able to keep up with him as you continued your dance. You searched for anything that would give you an advantage, but at this rate you were coming up empty. He wasn’t letting up or giving you time to recover, and you could hear your own breathing becoming labored.

This was, however, one of the most exciting things you had done in years. To stretch your mind and muscles was a real treat, and you found yourself thoroughly enjoying it. The next punch he threw, you grabbed hold of his wrist with one hand and used his shoulder to leverage yourself to roll off his back and behind him. You swiped a leg and caught him by the ankles, sending him onto his hands and knees.

You all but collapsed onto your bottom, not giving him a chance to come back at you to fully finish the fight. You panted as he stood up with a grunt. You were pleased to see a bead of sweat on his forehead when he turned towards you.

He stood over you and held out a hand to help you up, a bright smile gracing his handsome face. You took his hand and let him do all the work of pulling you up. He was able to do it as if you wighed no more than a feather.

“You surprised me,”

You put your hands against your thighs, panting but happy with your success. “Shoulda seen me.. at my best.. fuck am I outta shape,”

His grin only widened. “I guess we found an activity to occupy me,”

“Asolutely not,”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Besides, I thought you said you were gonna support me?” His grin turned to a sly smile that suited him all too well.

You glared at him while you gave yourself a second to think it over. “I’ll make you a deal,”

“I’m listening,”

“I’ll spar with you a couple times a week IF you choose another activity by the end of the day - and if you can’t decide I’ll choose it for you.”

“Deal,” he replied without hesitation.

“That means you actually have to partake in the activity,”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I will,”

“Good,”

He didn’t choose anything, instead partaking in a whole lot of snacking and a bit of reading while your tired arms started on your project of staining the floors. The next day, you brought over your sewing supplies that had been sitting on the top shelf of your coat closet, begging to be used.

He wasn’t enthused by your decision, but you reminded him of your deal, so he went about figuring out what kind of project to begin. On Monday, you came to work to find him passed out on the couch, and probably over a hundred small triangle and rectangle shaped pieces of fabric strewn about with a pair of scissors open on the floor next to his hand.

By the end of the week, he had made significant progress with his quilting project, even though he spent a good portion of time begging you to train with him in between working on it. He had drawn out a ridiculously complicated pattern for a quilt (because it’s mentally stimulating, he says) and most of the squares had been made out of the smaller pieces seemingly overnight.

You brought news of his progress, along with a picture of a couple squares to Kakashi with his dinner.

Kakashi was incredibly pleased, to say the least. He complimented your performance, and you couldn’t help but feel proud. You two chatted a while longer, commenting on the latest gossip surrounding you two, which people couldn’t seem to get enough of, and how his work was going.

You still had a spring in your step and a small smile still on your face from his compliments on your walk to pick Hikaru up from school. The dead leaves crunched underfoot and the tip of your nose went numb from the cold. It was becoming dark already, and it made the already chilling breeze bitterly cold.

You pulled your hat down to cover the tips of your ears to avoid them getting the same treatment as your nose. Despite the cold, you enjoyed the evening walk. Lights flickered to life in peoples’ windows, illuminating the street. It was nice to just listen sometimes; the chatter of people walking by, the meow of an ally cat, the fabric of your coat rubbing as you swung your arms in time with your steps.

Far too soon, you arrived at the school. Although you loved your son dearly, you relished the time you spent alone on your daily walks. A dusting of warmth greeted you as you opened the door, and you let out a little contented sigh. You walked slowly to his classroom, and upon entering little arms wrapped around your right leg in a chokehold.

On the days you saw Kakashi, he was one of the last kids to be picked up and he was always excited to see you. You ruffled his hair and lifted him into your arms while a teacher came around with his coat and helped you put it on him. You thanked them and waved goodbye; your little boy tucking his hooded head into your shoulder for the journey home.

He fell asleep that way, and you tried your best to quietly let yourself into your apartment and gently put him in his own bed. You carefully removed his extra layers and cracked the door behind you. After shedding your own layers, you headed to the bathroom for a hot shower. You decided to check your phone while the water warmed up and saw a text from Genma

Hey, I’m having a bday party 3 wks from today. Think we’re going to Your Place. Think you can make it?

That would be Hikaru’s dad’s weekend, so theoretically, yes. The question was moreso whether you wanted to go. You really didn’t have the energy to party these days, especially at a fancy club. He would be really excited if you went though, and if you didn’t already have plans..

You sighed. He had been trying to hang out with you for the last couple of weeks, but you two hadn’t been able to find a good time to do it. With his schedule unpredictable and you always having Hikaru, it was nearly impossible for both of you to be available at the same time.

You wouldn’t have to stay more than an hour. Just make a little appearance, have a single drink, and go home, you reasoned.

Yes, text me the time closer to the date Anything you want for your bday?

Another week flew by as a dedicated Obito worked on his massive project and you went about your regular business with the addition of finishing the floors. The two of you sparred a few times, but you weren’t lucky enough to win any of those. Your body was sore from the beatings it took, but it was actually great exercise for your mind, and it had you feeling really good - energized, even.

You enjoyed watching Obito become engrossed with his project; the way his face scrunched and his shoulders hunched when he was particularly focused. In turn, he was appreciative to see you start showing up to work in your oversized sweaters and comfortable pants as the cold outside persisted. You looked so adorable he even let you boss him around on Friday. He chopped wood for the fireplace and the two of you stacked them neatly against the side of the house. He even helped you clean out the fireplace, which covered both of you in dust and soot. He would have been irritated had you not giggled and brushed a hand through his hair and against his cheek to try to remove it, only to make it worse.

He was nearly finished with the quilt by the following Tuesday. He had only a few squares left to attach, so you decided to cook him one of your favorite meals growing up. It was a dish for special occasions, you had told him that morning before you ran to the store to buy a few ingredients.

You returned with a whole chicken and bacon, and set about your task. “My great grandma used to make this for us for the holidays before she passed,”

Obito sat at the kitchen table so that he could be closer to you while he finished his project. He had noticed the atmosphere between the two of you had become much more lax since you had begun the sparring sessions. There was only a hint of professionalism left, and even then you had to squint to see it. More and more he found himself wanting to be closer to you. At first, the desperation and longing for another human’s presence was dissipating with your continued visits. Now, though, he felt that longing tenfold, but in a different way, because it wasn’t just for another human anymore, it was for you.

Even the sparring was an excuse for him to be close to you; to touch you. His fingers always twitched in your presence, always seeking contact he wasn’t allowed to have. You were like a magnet, and he couldn’t escape the pull, not that he wanted to.

“Was she from Akujia, too?” He asked absently, rethreading his needle.

“Yeah, about half of my dad’s family is,”

“Do you ever miss it?”

You contemplated for a moment while you added a plethora of spices to the large pot. “No, I don’t think so. I miss my grandma, and I get a little overly sentimental about some of my childhood memories, but Akujia as a whole is not a good place,”

“I’ve only been there once, and it’s safe to say I wasn’t welcome,” he glanced over at you.

“I’m not surprised. There’s a reason my family moved here,”

You stopped the conversation there and moved around to the cabinets to find a can of green beans. You found them and set them on the counter with the other ingredients for one of your side dishes. While you worked, you became increasingly aware of the temperature difference next to the stove compared to the rest of the kitchen. A shiver ran down your spine while you were away from it, washing the cutting board in the sink.

“Are you cold?”

You startled, not expecting his raspy voice to come from right behind you. How was he always behind you?

“Are you deliberately trying to give me a heart attack?” You half-heartedly glared over your shoulder at him.

“Sorry, old habits die hard,”

And then, "Aren't you supposed to be a shinobi?"

"There's no danger I need to be on edge about here," You stated matter-of-factly.

You glanced at him again, and he opened his mouth to say something but was rudely interrupted by the loud ringing of your cellphone. You made an apologetic face and wiped your hands off on a kitchen towel.

You fished it out of your bag and answered without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Sage, am I speaking to Hikaru’s mom?”

“Oh, hi, yes,”

“Yeah, um, Hikaru is running a fever, so he needs to go home,”

You pulled the phone away just long enough to look at the time. It was only 11am. You tried not to sigh audibly, but Obito saw it on your face.

“Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can,”

“Alright, thanks. We’ll see you soon!”

You put the phone back in your bag and quickly turned to Obito. "Could you start a fire while I'm out please?"

"Sure, but-"

"I'll be back before you know it," You called, somehow already halfway out the door.

Obito hesitantly followed your direction and started a fire in his large fireplace. He appreciated the way the newly stained wood surrounding the hearth reflected the flames in a warm glow. The pretty image didn’t distract him more than a few seconds; his thoughts centered on you and why you had to leave.

He was concerned about what you had to rush out the door for. All he could conceive was an emergency Kakashi had called on you for, but even then he wasn't sure how plausible that was. Possibly a family emergency, maybe even danger?

He stirred your green beans a few times in between pacing around. It was rather unfortunate that his brain could only conjure the worst scenarios. He tried his best to ignore his intrusive thoughts, but his mental fortitude was not at its peak these days. It was a very distressing forty-five minutes for him.

He was more than relieved to hear your footsteps approaching his door, and ran a hand through his hair one last time as you opened it. And the sight before him was nothing his mind could have conjured. His eyes widened as you shut the door behind you. In your arms was a little boy in an oversized coat, his head tucked tightly under your chin.

“Sorry it took so long, I had to ask Kakashi how to get him through the barrier,” You slung a backpack off of your shoulder and onto the floor next to the couch.

You weren’t looking at him; your focus was solely on the little boy. You gently tugged his coat off and tried to lay him down on the couch, but his little arms clung to your neck in a death grip. His face scrunched up like he was going to cry and you softly shushed him until he relaxed back into your arms.

You finally chanced a glance at Obito, who wore an unreadable expression. “You.. who’s kid?”

Obito regretted the bluntness of his tone when you flinched at his question. He didn’t want to be rude to you, he was just very confused. Not once did he think he would be seeing a kid again while he was stuck in his lifelong house arrest (with possibility of parole in ten years, his mind reminded him, though he was fairly sure it would not be granted).

“He’s mine,” you said in a small voice.

“Wait, what?”

You ran your fingers through your son’s brown curls and hugged him tighter to your chest. You nervously averted your eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up before, I just…” you trailed off.

You straightened your back, made eye contact with him and spoke up, “I guess it’s a long story why. Anyway,”

You walked up to stand next to him. You peeled your son’s face away from your chest just enough so Obito could fully see his face. Now that he could actually see him, he couldn’t help but notice the striking resemblance between the two of you. You shared the same eye color, nose and chins, and he was sure if the boy smiled it would be an exact replica of yours. The boy blinked slowly at him with bleary eyes.

“This is Hikaru,”

You turned your head to look up at him. “I’m sorry for bringing him, I should have asked. I just really wanted to cook this dinner for you and I don’t have anyone else to take him,”

Obito shook his head. “No, it’s just uh, unexpected. I had no idea,”

He stared at Hikaru, who stared right back. You didn’t comment and took him back over to the couch, where he let you put him down this time. You took off his shoes and pulled a small blanket out of the backpack you had brought with you. He curled up into a little ball while you tucked him in and pressed a kiss to his temple.

Obito watched you tenderly brush his hair back and whisper to him with the gentlest expression he could ever recall seeing. Your eyes softened just for him and he could see in your movements just how much you loved your son. He felt out of place witnessing such an intimate moment, but he couldn’t force his eyes away. He would be lying if he said seeing you like this didn't do something dangerous to his heart.

You pressed your fingers to his temple and a soft green glow emitted from them. You stood when his eyes fully closed and you had pressed one last kiss to his forehead. You were still wearing that sweet expression when you made eye contact with Obito again, and it made his heart rate pick up.

A sudden pang of envy reverberated in his stomach and chest. How different would his life have been had someone only loved him like that when he was young?

“I’m sorry, just let me do one more thing before I get back to it,”

He only nodded. He watched you peel a couple garlic cloves and crush them before returning to your son’s side. “I know this looks weird as fuck, but it really helps,”

You took his socks off and pressed the crushed cloves against the bottoms of his feet before putting them back on him. You started getting up but halted upon seeing his expression. "You're not mad, are you?"

He hadn't realized he was glaring until you said something. It instantly dropped. "No, why would I be mad?"

You shrugged one shoulder. "I dunno, maybe you don't like kids or something,"

There was a heaviness to your tone that he decidedly did not like, and he was sure he was not the sole cause of it. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unsure how to express the plethora of emotions he was experiencing at that moment.

"I don't.. not like kids," He managed lamely.

"Hm,"

You took your place back at the sink and turned the water on so you could finish taking care of your dishes. He took a spot close to you and leaned his back against the counter so he could still see your face. He didn't know where to begin, because how had he spent 5 days a week with you for like, two months now without ever hearing about you having a literal toddler?

The most important question to his heart in that moment, however, was: "Are you married then, or?"

You let out a derisive snort. "No. I wouldn't be here if I was,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" There was an edge of offense to his voice.

You set your mouth in a straight line before answering, "His father wouldn't allow me to work, especially not anywhere near another man,"

Your eyes were hard when you made eye contact with him. "That's why I haven't trained in years,"

His lips formed an "O". He thought about it for long enough that you finished the dishes and started cleaning the countertops.

You worked quietly for a long while. He went and finished his quilt after watching you for a bit, questions swirling in his mind. He was curious, but you looked like you didn’t want to be bothered after sharing that little tidbit about your past relationship.

“Thank you,” you said unprompted.

You stood next to his spot at the table with a troubled expression. “For what?”

“Not prying, and not getting upset about me bringing him. It wasn’t right for me to spring that on you, and I’m sorry for that,”

“It’s really alright, sure it was unexpected, but I don’t mind. You don’t have to apologize,”

You looked to the side out of the kitchen window and stated distantly, “I lost a lot of friends when I got pregnant. I’m appreciative of your minimal reaction,”

“… is that why you never mentioned him?”

“Probably,”

“So, you consider me a friend, then?”

The corner of your lips quirked up. “Is that what I said?”

“Hm, pretty sure, yeah,” He smirked.

You took your attention away from the window and gave him a real smile. You leaned towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Your touch felt like flames licking across his muscles and it took the majority of his attention not to show it.

“Of course I do. Only a true friend could annoy me and entertain me at the same time,”

“You’re such an ass,” he rolled his eyes.

“As your friend-” you started.

“I’m your friend, I didn’t say anything about you being mine,”

You seemed to change your mind about continuing whatever you were going to say. You simply shook your head and started towards the hallway.

“Wait, what were you going to say?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you disappeared around the corner without turning around.

He scrambled to his feet, afraid he had upset you with his joke. The chair scraped loudly against the wood floor, but before he could get two steps in, crying sounded from the couch.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Part IX

Tags: @mostlyunsure, @humongousdreamlandbear

[kirisaki-daichi-scenarios]

haizaki shougo is in the sticks

for @paintoreos who requested “could you write some fluff for Hanamiya/Haizaki of them being kissed by their s/o for the first time?? 🙏❤️” and @dust-of-fandoms who requested “I have been in a Haizaki mood for a couple of days now, would he be too annoying to write fluff for? I feel like the fluffy part of a relationship with him comes after he gets over himself and starts treating his partner better.” hope this works for you both!

engawas are like japanese architecture’s equivalent of a porch. haizaki’s aged up to 20 in this so i’m not promoting minors drinking. i'm not advising that adults drink either. haizaki is permanently bad role model.

Sat alone on the engawa, Haizaki takes another swig of beer and stares out across the sticky summer dusk, dimming fields stuffed with rice flowers and mosquitos. Excluding the crickets, he hears nothing but his own breath and the sloshing of the sip of beer in the can.

When she said her family was from the sticks, she really meant it. 

It’s no place for a city boy like Haizaki. He misses the sound of anything and everything, police sirens to the neighbours’ arguments. Even thinking about the sound of the nursery kids screaming down the road is making him feel homesick. The sound of people and the sound of conflict: he’s only just realised that it’s been with him since he was born. 

At last, he hears footsteps behind him and the thump of a girl coming to sit down beside him. 

“You took your time,” Haizaki remarks, moving over for her.

She hands him another beer and opens her own. “Don’t tell me you were scared without me?”

“Scared? Of what - the crickets?”

“Bears. Ghosts. Serial killers.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not kidding,” and she points towards a couple dwellings in the distance, her nightgown sleeve slipping down towards her elbow. “When my parents were born, the guy who lived over there would have been on his third murder. It took another two deaths before the police found him, and they still haven’t found all the bodies. They say the lead investigator only figured it out when he realised how well the guy’s crops were growing. And, you know what the creepy part is? He’s been in prison for decades now but the crops still grow better than everyone else’s.”

“Yeah, well I’m not scared of him. Hell, if he ever got out and tried something, I’d-“

In the darkness, a meow. Haizaki squeaks with surprise and she bursts into giggles as the culprit, her mother’s aged tabby, trots over towards them. 

“Says he’s not scared of a serial killer but can’t even face a cat without bursting into tears.”

“Oi, he just caught me by surprise,” he replies gruffly, looking away. “I’d take him in a fight too. Dumb fucking cat.”

She’s still giggling, “what are going you going to do, Mr Big Bad Haizaki? Challenge him to a duel, 1v1 him, organise a boxing match with a cat?”

“You don’t get it. He disrespected me. Disrespected me,” he repeats, stressing each syllable, focused on trying to keep his tone sounding serious, to keep her laughing as long as possible. “As a man, I can’t let this slide.”

The cat is now swatting at mosquitos, rolled over onto his back.

“He doesn’t think you’re a worthy enough opponent. You’ll have to fight the mosquitos before you have the right to challenge him.” She takes a sip of beer and glances at the tens of mosquito bites littering Haizaki’s arms and legs. “And I don’t think you’ll win against them anytime soon.”

“Man, was this why you invited me here? Just to mock me?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And here I thought it was because a cute chick liked me.” Haizaki reaches out to the cat and lets him swipe at the man’s hands “You hear that? I’ve become a laughing stock.”

“No, you weren’t wrong about the cute chick liking you,” she says, and turns her head, and her lips make gentle contact with Haizaki’s cheek. 

No one says anything. Haizaki’s heart is going a mile a minute, even though logically he knows it’s just a kiss, really just a peck on the cheek, something that a guy who’s been in as many half-hearted hookups as he has should have long been desensitised to. Yet the intimacy of it panics him, has him blushing like a kid, has him thinking twenty years ahead to days of sitting on this engawa together, maybe with more cats, maybe even with kids, and holding her hand, and watching the sunset, and realising that the feeling of her presence, and shoulder brushing his, will always be far more comforting than any city sounds. 

He’s thinking, what the fuck is wrong with you Haizaki Shougo? 

And he’s mumbling, because love is still too big and intimidating a concept to profess, 

“Do that again.”

[tastesoftamriel]

As someone who loves sweets, what fine desserts exist across Tamriel? I’ll bet the bosmer get super creative! And the Khajiit are sure winners.

Aside from candies and sweets, desserts across Tamriel reflect local tastes and vary in complexity, flavour, and texture.

Altmer

Dessert in Summerset is always served cool or chilled, and is bound to be just the right amount of flavourful and refreshing. Take, for example, the famous sorbet cups served everywhere from street corners in Alinor to posh dining tables. Some of my favourite flavours are candied cherry blossom, jasmine with dark chocolate chips, and mint with lime zest.

Argonians

Nothing beats the popping "onde-onde" balls beloved by Black Marsh residents. These sticky "cakes" are made of glutinous rice, and have a liquid coconut or palm sugar centre, and are liberally coated in shredded coconut. While small and easy to eat in a bite, the glutinous rice does get quite filling, so four is usually enough for dessert!

Bosmer

Custard, in its most perfect, creamy, glorious, silky form, is one of the staples of Valenwood desserts. Made with sugar mammoth cream and eggs, these lightly sweet custards are served as is, chilled, or topped with bacon bits for some crunch. My personal favourite is the non-Green Pact version of a creme brulee, where custard is drizzled with moon sugar and blasted with a flame spell until caramelised and crisp on top.

Bretons

The humble chocolate pastry is probably every Breton's favourite everyday treat, and for good reason. Sweet dark chocolate enveloped by buttery puff pastry is oh so simple yet oh so decadent. Best served with a cup of tea or coffee.

Dunmer

A traditional Dark Elf dessert loved by all from Mournhold to Windhelm is a deliciously weird "cake" made from a layer of sweetened glutinous saltrice, and topped with an equally-sized firm layer of marshmerrow custard. Served chilled, these "kueh salat" are enormously addictive and satisfying. One of my favourite desserts.

Imperials

Every Imperial dessert is enjoyable in my book, especially those containing a drop or two of something boozy. Take, for example, the humble tiramisu of Bruma. Almond and coffee and all things flavourful make up this rich, mascarpone-based cake, made traditionally with almond biscuits soaked in amaretto as a base. Topped with a mound of glorious cocoa powder, it's a sumptuous delight of a dessert.

Khajiit

Miso...caramel? Umami fermented soy bean paste meets rich moon sugar caramel for the ultimate flavour fusion that I certainly wasn't prepared for! Big batches of Miso caramel are always on hand in any confectioner's kitchen. It goes in everything from ice cream and cheesecake to being mixed with dulce de leche for an outrageously decadent pudding. On that note, I'll have one miso caramel pudding with a miso caramel cream coffee, thanks.

Nords

Steamed treacle pudding gets my vote as one of Skyrim's best desserts. Dense and gooey, and sometimes even drenched in mead, these puddings are served hot at every tavern (rivalling Breton sticky toffee pudding). Topped with whipped cream, the rich treacle is a real treat when poured over and infused into the rich butter pudding!

Orcs

Sweet potato pudding is a set custard infused with lots and lots of roasted sweet potatoes! Mashed and mixed into a plain creme patissiere, then swirled through with a spiced caramel swirl, these ganache-like treats are simply to die for (and you just might, if you try nick this off an Orc).

Redguards

Cardamom and saffron are ubiquitous in Redguard cooking, and this includes desserts. "Rasmalai", a dish made from fried, spongy patties of cottage cheese soaked in cardamon syrup, floating in a thick and sweet saffron and cardamom milk sauce. While it sounds a bit odd, rasmalai is a true treat for the senses, and is a rich and flavourful end to any meal.

[anulithots]

noorie my love i have a question ☝️(i am dying of extreme boredom and plagued by the fact that i’m not doing my chinese homework which is lying right in front of me)

how does a typical meal in your household look like? (for example, mine would look like rice with common dishes, usually consisting of stir fried vegetables, either chicken or pork, and some sort of egg dish, with soup/broth at the end to wash it down.)

that is all. adios

Hello hello cristie!

NOt doing homework is so real. (in the last year of high school and absolutely doomed I’ve been yelled at so much this summer I can’t take it anymore. ANways…)

Meals in our household!

(We’ve eaten out a lot this past month for our collective sanity as we've seen around 100 houses anyways-)

Usually rice (obviously rice, always rice, I love rice it’s a safe food) with something like dhaal or salaan. (if I spell anything wrong it’s because I live in the grand ol’ USA I apologize). I’m usually the one cutting the onions and garlic whereas my sibling makes the rice. Usually dhaal has eggs with extra onions to put on top. And I like the soupy salaans where I can have the most ridiculous soupy-to rice ratio ever.

(Also I have issues eating things and soupy things with rice and/or vegetables are always good and I pretty much can’t eat anything else that well so it works out. yayay)

I love palak paneer tho. My mom and sibling made it once I love it.

Oh the other day my mom make chickpeas with potatos and some dosa and akljfdasklfjaskld. I like rices better than ones with naans or bread-like things because I can’t let things sit on my hands for too long if I can’t go to wash it off ever two minutes. (Especially at restraunts I despise having to wipe things off of my hands with napkins and having them sticky or messy for longer than a few minutes. It drives me insane. At home it’s okay-ish… especially if it’s with chickpeas I’d kill a person for chickpeas)

I think my favorite homecooked meal thing is chickpeas. I looooveee chickpeas. Sometimes I wash the chickpeas and snack on them beforehand. There’s usually meats in salaans but tbh I try to stay away from meats when I can. And we don't eat pork for religious reasons. (It's fun when the people at restraunts may or may not care about keeping pork out/disclosing that there is pork. Another reason why I like sticking to veggi things ayayyaya.)

IDK little me went on that whole ‘save the animals’ thing and nowadays meat just tastes weird to me IDK. (Okay I’ve choked on them a lot there’s that too but once I choked on tofu and I lovee tofu and I kept choking on oranges and continued to eat them so IDK my brain is weird) Also I like veggis so there's that.

Cleaning is ew though. General cleaning with everyone else is too loud I can’t hear my rain sounds. Me personally I’ll gladly clean the whole kitchen (and have) when I’m alone and can use it as ‘daydreaming time’. Also it’s definitely an improvement nowadays from the time in a previous move where the kitchen was out of commission for… months. SO we lived upstairs, which had one of those barely-working tiny sinks. It would get clogged up a lot and my mom yelled at me once that if I clogged it up again [insert general threat here brain isn’t telling me what exactly she said]. So the better option was to pile all the dishes onto a tray and make a trek to one of those jurassic park style sprial staircases that isn’t used to the weight because it would shake around. Then I would wash the dishes in the mudroom (newly renovated after the flood!), pile them back on the tray, and take them upstairs.

… anyways thank you for the ask! It’s fun answering these ones because I get to randomly talk about the crazy childhood of moving 4+ times. (and only now I’m figuring out my neurodivergent brain didn’t like that crazy.)

[youraveragecatastrophe]

Coach Brunt and Shadowsan in season 1 : contrast and juxtaposition

[Image description : a screenshot from season 1 episode 9 of the 2019 Carmen Sandiego show, The French Connection Caper. In the basement of VILE’s Poitiers residence, Coach Brunt and Shadowsan stand next to each other. /End description]

During season 1 of Carmen Sandiego (2019), two VILE faculty members in particular, Coach Brunt and Shadowsan, are subtly compared. Alike at first, they end up differing in major ways.

They are both very discrete (outside of the Becoming Carmen Sandiego, an expository double episode, and the finale, which are special cases and change the status quo). In most episodes, they barely speak or even appear. They have no lines from episode 3 to episode 6 included. They only start speaking again in episode 7, and they progressively gain more narrative weight in those last episodes.

In episode 8, when Shadowsan and Brunt come to a literal opposition, it's regarding Carmen and their treatment of her. Shadowsan accuses Coach Brunt of being soft on Carmen and repeats he was always against her enrolling, when he is the one secretly on her side. Coach Brunt deflects and subtly implies she isn't soft anymore. All this is foreshadowing for what happens in the next episode.

In episode 9, Coach Brunt saying she agrees with Shadowsan (who was supposed to get rid of Carmen) garners a shocked reaction from the other faculty members. She even acknowledges how unusual that is with a "that's right, for once".

They don’t order or organize any caper. We have the Fishy doubloon caper and the Chasing paper caper for Maelstrom, the Duke of Vermeer caper for Cleo, the Opera in the outback caper and the Sticky rice caper for Bellum, but neither Shadowsan nor Brunt try to organize any (not counting the Lucky cat caper as it's not said who organized the stamp theft). The most we have is Shadowsan opposing Paperstar stealing the Magna carta in episode 7 and asking to send Tigress in San Francisco in episode 8. Brunt doesn’t even give her opinion on any caper beside voting on them and criticizing Shadowsan's choice of Tigress in episode 8.

In Becoming Carmen Sandiego, they’re the most developed of the VILE faculty in their relationship with Carmen - Brunt in positive (the protector, the support, the motherly presence), Shadowsan in negative (the constant opposition as she tries to become a professional thief).

Of course they end up being the two who go ‘take care of’ Carmen in the final episode of season 1.

They’re the one VILE faculty member who Carmen felt close to VS the one VILE faculty member who seemed to hold something against her and whom she resented

The VILE faculty member who directly tried to kill Carmen VS the VILE faculty member who saved her and then joined her team

The one who Carmen wrongly thought had found her as a baby VS the one who had actually found her

[realasslesbian]

Also, lemme paint a picture for you, of maybe the lowest moment of my life, due entirely to the robodebt scheme, since I'm so good at 'fun creative writing' lmao

It's been raining all week. The roof of the car that I live in is leaking right on my pillow, but there's not much I can do about that except put a takeaway container that I found outside in the gutter on my pillow and empty it every fifteen minutes. I've just come from the doctor where I spent my last $50 getting a large skin cancer surgically removed from my shoulder. The doctor, who had his nose wrinkled the whole time, because I hadn't showered in a whole week, told me to 'try and keep the wound clean'.

I drive to the backstreet behind my work, where I have to be at 6am the next morning. As I turn into the street, my car stops. I wrap a plastic bag around my twelve stitches and get out in the rain to push the car off the road. After half an hour of tinkering, I figure out the fuel pump has shit itself. Thank god for my 6.6GPA science degree, I know exactly how to fix it. So I call up the nearest mechanic (a two hour walk away) and reserve the part for when my paycheck comes in next week. By this point I've busted open three of those stitches. But it's not like I can go anywhere and do anything about it, so I just try and thread them back together as best I can (yes, it does hurt, a lot) then I smother it in antiseptic and hope for the best.

I get ready for bed, by constructing a gutter out of plastic bags to divert the water from the leaking roof off my damp pillow. I'm pretty exhausted at this point, so despite being wet from the rain and sticky from several days of unwashed sweat, I fall right asleep. I'm occasionally woken up by hoons screeching by, slamming on the horn when they see a car with foggy windows and screaming 'wake up' as they go by. I'm sort of used to this frequent nightly reminder of society's active disdain for the less fortunate.

I go into work the next day at 6am. I work most shifts alone, but at swap over my co-workers make sure to let me know I look and smell like shit. They know I'm homeless. They don't care. No one does. Well, that is except for the dog walker who calls the cops on Day Three of me being stuck in the same spot. The cops give me a move on order. Thanks to my first class legal honours degree I know I have 24 hours to comply before they can do anything. My paycheck comes in at midnight, so I'm hoping to have my car back on the road the next day.

I eat some white rice, take a leak in an ice cream container, and go to sleep under my makeshift gutter. I wake up in the morning to absolutely excruciating pain in my jaw. I dunno what it is, but it's the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. There doesn't appear to be anything immediately wrong, other than swelling in my gums, so I just down half a packet of pain killers and make a note to swing by the pharmacy for something stronger on my two hour walk to the mechanic today. It would later turn out I had developed bone cancer in my jaw from the abscess an untreated wisdom tooth had created.

Anyway, five hours and about 20km of walking with a 10kg fuel pump hanging off my one good shoulder later and I'm back at my broken down home. I have about three hours to get out of here before the cops show up to fine and/or arrest me for 'camping illegally' on a city street. Usually replacing a fuel pump would take me half hour, max, but I'm in significant pain. The painkillers the pharmacist gave me are helping, but I'm still borderline delirious. I spend a long time just laying under the car, the greasy city rainwater in the gutter running directly into my now infected surgical wound, just clutching my face, trying to make the pain in my jaw stop. I kind of want to cry, but I ain't cried since I was a kid and I just don't really know how to physically do that anymore. I lay under my car, not really knowing how much time had passed, but pretty anxious the police would show up any minute.

In my semi-delirious state I think about how it wasn't supposed to be like this. I'd worked so hard at my education for nearly a decade for it to not be like this. And yet the Australian government had swooped in and destroyed that burgeoning career for no other reason than wanton malice. I was supposed to be sitting at a nice dry desk, on the upper floors of some top tier law firm's CBD office tower. But I couldn't be admitted as a lawyer with a welfare debt to my name, even if it was obviously fabricated. My greatest discomfort should have been the squelch of rain in my nice shoes when I accidentally stepped into a puddle on the city street. It should have been beyond my comprehension to be laying in a gutter, not even worried about the dirty water in my busted open surgical wound, because of the overwhelming pain of some as yet unknown malady in my jaw. I would never have to know how many people (mainly men) will go out of their way to make a homeless person's life just a bit worse. I would never have to know how little it would take for friends and family to abandon me. I would never have to know that 'unconditional love' doesn't really exist, not when the government says people like me, people with welfare 'debts', don't deserve anything at all. And even back then I knew my 'debt' wasn't a real debt, but no one would believe me. Still not many do, but back then there was no class action, there was no royal commission, there was just the government's propaganda machine against dirty dole bludgers like me.

Anyway, I got the fuel pump in and, while I probably shouldn't have been driving in my state, I drove to the nearest doctor, the one who had originally done the cancer excision. I don't remember too much, due to the pain, but I do remember him saying things like 'what drugs did you take' and 'I'm not sure there's much of a point in me cleaning this up if you're going to not take care of it'. Such is life, I suppose.

I was fairly new to being homeless at that point. I'd only been on the streets a couple months. I've learned and toughened up a lot since then. I still have days and weeks and months where everything goes wrong, but I'm more prepared for it. For example, I try and keep antibiotics and prescription painkillers on hand, even if I have to lie to get a renewed prescription. I've upgraded to a good van and I voluntarily spend my days under it, learning everything I can, fixing and maintaining everything I can. I keep a close eye on the weather. I stay out of populated areas, even if that means staying unemployed, because in the long run, I'll save more money not paying the fines I get from nosy cityslickers than I would in a job. Also I taught myself how to hunt and forage, which reduces my grocery bill significantly. I've basically just accepted survival as the only option.

So I'm sorry if I come off a bit feral to anyone sitting pretty in their nice little house, with their nice little shower, and nice little toilet, and nice little $20 steak they bought at the supermarket, and their nice little as yet unchallenged fantasy land where they have more in common with politicians on $900 000 a year salaries than with the homeless, and their nice little government-sponsored ideas about how anyone the government says is a bad person is in fact a bad person, and their nice little personalities where it's apparently acceptable to have a dig at the traumatic experiences of people who have endured a hell that is so unimaginable, it must be a lie, no matter how fucking watertight the evidence is.

Actually lemme fact-check a little here, because turns out I'm not sorry for being feral. Actually I think the real ferals are the people who choose to ignore the factual, legally-proven, federal court-backed, royal commission-backed experiences of robodebt victims, and instead choose to dismiss, harass and abuse some of the most vulnerable members of society who have endured wrongs and horrors most people can scarcely imagine. I can't even begin to understand the mentality, the lack of basic human decency, that would be required to stoop so low. I could not possibly look on anyone, even my worst enemy, in such a situation and think to open my mouth and tell them 'lol you're lying get therapy uwu'. I just don't understand what has to be fundamentally wrong with a person for them to act this way. But I see it so much, most people are apparently of this calibre, and I'm apparently one of very few people able to see what tf is wrong with it. So I guess that's just another reason I'm better off being a feral out in the bush. I'll take torrential rain, the blistering heat, brown snakes, red backs, shitty dirt roads and plagues of rats over humanity any day.

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Dwarrowtober: Family (and maybe Durin's Day)

Balar walked into the wide hallway, the entrance chamber to the palace of Nazbukhrin, and had to do a double take. For the first time for about five years, everyone was here, in one place. It was a modern day miracle.

The Royal Family of Nazbukhrin was far more disparate and widespread than people realised. Somehow, various members of it had managed to travel halfway across Middle-Earth and settle there on more than one occasion, building their lives far from the Eastern dwarven capital. On the major feasting days, and on Durin’s Day in particular, His Majesty King Fara did try and gather together the loose ends of the brood, but like grains of rice spilled out of a cooking pot, there were always a few that missed the sweep for whatever reason. Either they had their own business to attend to, or their own families where they had built their lives. Or, having them in the same room as somebody else had far more… inflammatory results.

Balar settled himself between his father and uncle Hafar. He stuck a finger underneath the rim of his crown and wiped away the sweat that had formed underneath it, feeling acutely uncomfortable. His collar was too high and starched and something was poking him in the small of his back. “How long do we have to sit?” he asked his mother. “Two hours — and we’re coming back over the next week to get it all done!” Queen ‘Rera exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise as she turned to him. “Didn’t your father tell you?” The King, who had his own crown resting in his lap, was diligently avoiding looking at him, instead looking straight ahead and pretending to listen to something Akil was saying. “You didn’t tell me it would be two hours!” he said accusingly. The King shrugged. “I didn’t say it wouldn’t be two hours.”

Balar slumped back in his chair and looked around idly. Their family really was a melting pot of so many different backgrounds, nations, and personalities. His mother had been a dockworker from an impoverished family, and his maternal grandparents were as far removed from nobility as it was possible to get. His grandfather caught his eye and frowned, checking the chronometer on the wall, as he had been doing every five minutes. Balar grinned and mouthed ‘two hours’ at him, and he rolled his eyes, making a ‘drinking’ motion. Balar nodded. A pint of ice-cold beer and some food was definitely in order as soon as they were freed from the entrance hall. On his right, his uncle sat with a stack of papers balanced on one knee and a pair of slim golden reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Balar leaned over and read a few of the words — some sort of mining contract, and the words ‘OPAL CONGLOMERATE - CLASSIFIED’ were written in bold at the top of the paper. “You really have to do that now?” asked Sher Ghazali, who was sitting next to their father, the owner of the mining conglomerate that Balar’s uncle was a director of. Hafar yawned and flipped the page. “Li’s not here to paint us yet — Durin’s Day traffic has jammed up all the roads. It took me three hours to get my carriage through this morning.” Sher sighed in annoyance and settled back, resuming their conversation with their father, Akrum Ghazali. They were the newest members of the family, Hafar having only married the billionaire’s son in the Spring. Sher wasn’t as uptight as Balar had once thought, and Sher had worked hard on making an impression at each occasion, determined, Balar knew, to assuage any assumptions that they were a young piece of arm candy. He had been mistaken that the nobledwarf hadn’t had an education — the heir of the Ghazali family was an avid painter and poet, and spoke several Eastern languages fluently and with a confident flair. Sher was dressed in a silver gown which shone like the full moon on a clear night, and their hair reached down to their waist, braided through with matching thread and pale opals. Sher was the only one who wasn’t sweating, it seemed. Balar was sticky; Akil, his elder brother, was mopping his receding hairline with a handkerchief, a large indentation across his forehead where his crown had been (being Crown Prince, it was only slightly less ornate than his father’s); and next to him his wife Sandar glowered, her bright red hair brushed tightly back and her green robes draped heavily over the arms of the chair she sat in.

Balar nudged the back of her chair with his foot and she spun around, as though waiting for the chance to snap at someone. “What?” she hissed, her cheeks flushed and a sheen of moisture dotting her brow. Balar’s youngest nephew coloured a drawing on the floor next to her feet, occasionally tugging on the hem of his mother’s cloak. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” he quipped, flexing his arms underneath his much lighter, white cotton fabric shirt. Balar had chosen to wear whatever he wanted, as he usually did. Queen ‘Rera might have bullied the others into looking presentably royal, but Balar knew with smug satisfaction that he’d be the only one sitting here at the end of the two hours not looking like they had been caught out in the middle of a summer storm. “Shut up,” Sandar muttered darkly, after first glancing up at her mother-in-law. Balar grinned and prodded her chair again, and Sandar grabbed his ankle, shoving it away. She was the sister he’d never had, and Balar got on with her the most out of any of the royals who had married in. Her fathers, Prince Khalei Iskbanal and Lord General Âr Baranul, sat together on the far right side of the room. Khalei looked as he usually did, composed and calm, with his legs crossed and his head resting on his husband’s shoulder. He had recently re-joined the Ereborian military as a lecturer in battlefield medicine. After over a hundred years, he’d wanted ‘something to do’, and had taken the opportunity to get back to his roots in the army, where he had first met his husband of one-hundred and forty years. Balar respected him for this, and knew how he must have felt. Neither he nor Balar needed to work. They wanted to, they wanted to make a change in the world around them, to actually use their minds — and Balar knew that if he didn’t do something productive each day he would jump out of his skin with boredom. Âr Baranul was red-faced and haughty, occasionally making a comment to his husband or to Sandar. His broad chest and muscled, meaty arms were crammed inside his military uniform, which he insisted wearing in full, no matter how uncomfortable it was in the heat of the room. Already his bald head was gleaming, the tattoos on his scalp slick with sweat.

The only ones who didn’t really mind the heat were the youngest royals, who sat bickering and joking with each other. His brother’s three oldest children were squabbling about something but he couldn’t really hear what they were talking about — and then Balar saw the letter in his niece’s hand and the embarrassed, yet defiant, expression on her face. She tucked it into her pocket. Ah yes, Balar thought with a smile, the mysterious lover… From the information that Khalei Iskbanal, the purveyor and curator of all sorts of family secrets, had managed to wrangle out of his granddaughter, the dwarf was one year older than Tîril, and in the same coastguard corps as her. His father worked as a sea rescuer, the captain of a crew of hardy dwarves who saved sinking sailors and ships run aground in the Eastern Strait. Khalei had said he’d a suspicion as to who it was, but he, of course, wasn’t telling. Tîril was in her own cadet’s uniform, whereas her older brother and second-in-line, Sigrar, was dressed in robes of a shimmering copper-colour, cinched with a black cummerbund. He was the brains of the outfit, and had transformed from a rude and rambunctious dwarfling to an up-and-coming scholar. Studying abroad in Erebor, in one of the most prestigious private schools, would do that to you, Balar mused. Or maybe it was just part of growing up. Still, Sigrar flashed Balar a mischievous smile and nodded towards the tip of the letter peeking out of his sister’s pocket. “I already read it,” he whispered, raising his eyebrow, and making a face like he wanted to violently vomit.

The door of the entrance chamber opened, and Balar didn’t immediately realise why everyone was suddenly on their feet. He scrambled upwards and bowed a fraction too late as King Thorin Stonehelm and King Varhi Iskbanal entered. Varhi had a large fan clenched in his hand, and his expression was set in its stony-faced frown. Not that Varhi was angry all the time (only most of it) — the deep lines at the corner of his mouth was a permanent fixture. King Varhi of Ghomal, one kingdom over to the North, was the tallest dwarf that Balar had ever laid eyes on, and stood head and shoulders above Balar’s father-in-law, the King of Erebor and Lord of the Iron Hills. It was for Thorin, the youngest of the dwarven kings, that they stood, and King Fara extended his hand graciously, indicating the seat next to Balar. “Welcome, welcome — no, no, you are not late. Of course not. We have only just sat down,” he fussed, striding over in a flurry of golden silk and beckoning the king of Durin’s Folk forwards. Balar bowed as Thorin neared, and he was almost knocked off balance at the clap on his shoulder. “How long have you really been waiting?” muttered the King into Balar’s ear. “About an hour,” Balar said with a wink. Thorin grinned apologetically. “Sorry, took a while getting ready — you wouldn’t believe how much weight I’ve put on. They almost sewed me into my undergarms.” Balar snorted and Thorin took his seat awkwardly beside him, adjusting his crown and heaving his heavy, red axe over his lap. He wielded it with his late father’s strength, the heavy slabs of dark grey armour, customary of his Iron Hills heritage, jutting out to either side. And behind him…

The last member of the family sat down on Balar’s left-hand side. Prince Umir of Erebor grabbed Balar’s hand and squeezed his fingers, placing a swift kiss on his cheek. He smelled of a spiced, woody perfume which he’d dabbed underneath his ears and on the sides of his neck. “Fashionably late,” Balar said. “Naturally — Longbeard time.” They shared a smile as the renowned royal portrait painter, Li, bustled into the room with two assistants in tow, half apologising to the gathering and half berating the poor dwarves who were lugging the equipment.

Very soon, this gaggle of wonderfully dysfunctional dwarves that Balar called his family would be forever immortalised in pigment, and generations after him would wonder at the faces within the frame. Would they know that uncle Hafar spent the night in jail for punching the Lord General Baranul in the nose one Durin’s Day? Or that Khalei Iskbanal had once had an affair with the ringleader of an organised crime gang (who still wrote impassioned love letters from his prison cell)? Or that King Fara had drunkenly confessed to Balar that the queen occasionally wrote sordid stories for a well-known raunchy magazine under a pen-name? Balar sighed and sat up straighter at his mother’s request. These were the gold nuggets of information which would, unfortunately, never see the light of day.

[jodilin65]

I was reading about how easy it is to meet people online these days compared to when I was young. I've often wished it had been this easy to meet other women back then, but at the same time, I'm glad it wasn't. Otherwise, I might never have met Tom. I know some people believe you're either gay or straight, but I don't think it's that black and white. Many have questioned how I could like a guy when I've been attracted to many women in my life. It's kind of like this: say your favorite color is red, and you're looking for a red dress. You find five that are appealing, but then you see a couple of green dresses, and one of those has everything you want, from style to price to comfort. Tom was that unique green dress. That's the best way I can explain it to anyone who doesn't have common sense. ;) I’ve been attracted to dozens of women in my life, but none of them have compared to Tom, especially in personality.

Speaking of hubs, I was a little annoyed last night because I lost a few hours of alone time when I had plans to do certain things I do better by myself. One of us with a wacky schedule is bad enough. However, the day he gives plasma tends to drain him, and he fell asleep early and woke up early. It turned out okay, though, because we had fun golfing, and then he went down for a nap for a few hours.

Some of the tiny houses I've seen pictures of that are right on the ocean are so cute. I joined a tiny house group on Facebook and even made a Pinterest board for them. I would never want to live in one unless I was single and didn't have much stuff, but they are adorable. The view is to die for no matter what you're living in. Anyway, maybe I will use Pinterest a little more often than I have been. I have nearly 23K pins!

I woke up super tired today because I woke up a few hours after crashing, needing to use the bathroom, and I couldn't get back to sleep for two hours. When I finally fell back asleep, I kept waking up. Then, I stupidly napped for a couple more hours. While this helped give me a little more energy, I've got to really try not to let my schedule jump ahead too much because I still have five days before my appointment, which is early in the morning.

For some reason, I thought I was having about 1600 calories a day. But for the last several days, I actually started counting them without limiting or changing how I eat, and I'm actually closer to 1100 to 1300. As a postmenopausal woman who no longer has the hunger of PMS or perimenopause, if I ate like this back when I had a normal thyroid/metabolism, I would definitely be skinny. In my 20s, I used to swear that all fat people stuffed themselves and anyone could lose weight. How I've learned my lesson!

I've been having tummy issues the last few days, and I'm wondering if I'm sensitive to Ezekiel bread. The research I just did suggests it certainly could be the cause.

At least I can still eat Chinese! I don't think I'll pick it up today, but I'm going to try a restaurant I picked out soon. I'm gonna start with their house platter and some beef fried rice.

I got my patchouli incense yesterday, along with the incense matches and my VR lenses. Not sure things are much clearer, though, because I swear the last eye doctor we saw gave me a bad prescription. I haven't used them enough yet to really make a judgment.

Leave it to Facebook to remove a post of mine from 2010. Really, guys, why now??? This was on my main account of course.

Finally, I came up with a good idea for the bedroom windows. They have these sticky foam tiles used for sound dampening. It's black foam and not a decorative textured vinyl tile with foam inside like what we're going to get for the walls. They're ugly, but the curtains would cover them. I decided we should put them on both the upper and lower panes of the back window and then stick them on the bottom pane of the front window. Then we'll take something with a little bit of flexibility so we can fit it in snugly yet remove it to open that window when we air the place out after bombing, and stick the tiles to that. Maybe a piece of cardboard just a little bigger than the pane or something like that.

[udo0stories]

I came upon this recipe for grilled salmon on the BBQ while searching for a few different summertime BBQ dishes. I wanted to try something a little healthier because I was sick of the same old hotdog and hamburger combination. Let me begin by discussing the main problem with grilling salmon on a barbecue. A method for making the salmon slide off the BBQ grates. Here are some pointers. To prevent salmon from sticking to the grill grates, here are a few tips: Make sure your grill is heated to the right temperature before putting the salmon on it. Preheat and clean the grill. Using a wire brush to clean the grates will get rid of any residue or debris that can cause sticking. Grates should be lightly oiled with a high-smoke-point oil, such as vegetable, canola, or grapeseed oil, before the salmon is placed on the grill. Using tongs and an oil-dipped folded paper towel, rub the grates. This aids in making the surface non-stick. Oil the salmon: Lightly coat the salmon fillets on both sides with oil. This will lessen the likelihood of sticking even more. Begin with a fish that is clean and well-oiled. Before oiling, make sure the salmon fillets are completely dry by patting them with a paper towel to remove any remaining moisture. Stickiness may result from moisture. Once you have placed the salmon on the grill, give it a few minutes to cook without moving it. Do not disturb the fish too soon. As a result, the fish can naturally form a sear and come free of the grates. Use a fish spatula: To gently lift and turn the salmon fillets when it is time to flip them, use a fish spatula, which is a thin, flexible spatula made especially for delicate fish. This aids in keeping them from disintegrating. By following these tips, you can minimize the chances of the salmon sticking to the grill grates and ensure a smooth grilling process. Other shared-appeal grilled salmon recipes. Pineapple Teriyaki Salmon along with a Fun Giveaway for Spring! 2015's 40 Ingenious Healthy Recipes The icons for the clock, cutlery, flag, folder, Instagram, Pinterest, Facebook, print, squares, and heart solid are all represented by the icons. Grilled Salmon Delight: A Perfect BBQ Recipe for Seafood Lovers Author: Tyler Total Time: 20 minutes Description A fresh salad, rice pilaf, or grilled veggies are some of the many side dishes that go well with grilled salmon. Savor your grilled salmon straight from the barbecue—it is delicious and healthy! Four six-ounce salmon fillets each Two teaspoons olive oil two tsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice two minced cloves of garlic One teaspoon of dried dill To taste, add salt and black pepper. wedges of lemon, for serving As a garnish, fresh dill is optional. Instructions Set the BBQ's temperature to medium-high. Mix the olive oil, lemon juice, dried dill, minced garlic, salt, and black pepper in a small bowl. The salmon fillets should be put on a big plate or shallow dish. Make sure to evenly coat each fillet of salmon when you pour the marinade over it. Give it a good 15 minutes to marinate so the flavors can meld. To keep the salmon from sticking, lightly oil the BBQ grates in the interim. After the salmon has marinated and the BBQ has warmed up, place the salmon fillets, skin side down, directly onto the preheated grill. Once the salmon can be easily removed from the grill grates, close the lid and continue cooking for 4–5 minutes. Using a spatula, carefully flip the salmon fillets, taking care not to break the fish. Once the salmon reaches the doneness you prefer, close the lid and continue grilling it for a further four to five minutes. Salmon that is cooked to perfection should have an internal temperature of 145°F, or 63°C. After taking the salmon out of the barbecue, place it on a platter for serving. If preferred, garnish with fresh dill and serve with lemon wedges on the side. Reader Interact

[lexallisonthailandtrip]

The last Full day in Koh Yao Noi was a top ten day. Began with our usual mango and sticky rice, pancake or egg, and fruit smoothie. Then, we rode the scooter to the dock and met Don, the one of the owners of our hotel for our private island hopping tour. It was just the two of us with Don, a person who grew up on Koh Yao Noi, on his speedboat for our private island hopping tour, and he was taking us out to the islands we’d been looking at from our balcony for the past 4 days.

The first spot he took us to was a rock coming straight up out of the sea - we slowed down and took the boat right under the rocks with the stalactites coming right down over our heads. There were long tail fishing boats all around us, and I asked what they were catching. Don said “jellyfish!” Fisherman get 8-9 baht per catch. You can eat the giant pink jellyfish and they don’t sting, so he plucked one out of the water and handed it to me. He told us if you wash your hands with the salt water, it won’t sting at all, but if you wash your hands with freshwater it will be “like cat scratches,” and he has no idea why.

We set off for island number 2, and Don asked if we’d like to try snorkeling ! We found a couple of masks that fit and hopped in! He told us to swim through the rocks and he’d pull the boat to the other side. There were clown fish, angel fish, rainbow fish, a long pointed fish with a long tentacle/spear for a nose that looked like a mini narwhal (Don told me the name but I couldn’t quite understand what it was called), a black fish with big white checker spots, sea urchins, amazing different coral formations, jellyfish, and a bunch of stuff that I can’t begin to describe. Incredible!

Island number 3 was my personal favorite. Don slowed the boat down, and said “this is monkey island,” pulled out a loaf of white bread and threw a slice like a frisbee into the water. Within 2 seconds a monkey jumped off the rocks into the water, swam and ate the bread. His monkey friends followed. Don handed us the loaf of bread and we fed the monkeys - just like feeding ducks on the jersey shore. One of the monkeys got close enough the grab onto the side of the boat, and we started strategically throwing bread to get them to swim the other direction. Almost had a monkey on board! … before this island, we had no idea that monkeys could swim.

Island number 4 we pulled up to the beach, and hopped off. There was the most beautiful beach and this was the first time we’d seen other boats with tourists. There was a photo opportunity set up (we obliged), a little roped off area to swim, and even an ice cream stand. We felt incredibly fortunate to be able to be on our own schedule and not have to wait for the tour to leave, so once we had our photo, it was back on the boat for island 5 and 6 - more snorkeling!

The second snorkeling spot was the best, and the third was a huge drop off into the depths of the ocean! We looked down this giant ridge of coral into the depths of the abyss, and to be honest it was a little scary to see fish darting around at ease, and here we are - a couple of marshmallows floating around on the surface. We didn’t linger for too long here, we’ve seen the movie jaws.

Island number 7 was another tourist haven, Hong island. We rode through the interior lagoon on the boat, got out for a swim, and Don told us we could get out to walk up to the lookout point if we wanted to but had to pay the park fee. We looked at the lines of people walking to the top, and decided to keep boating around! The next island, similarly had tons of people but it was our lunch spot - we pulled up to a long floating dock, Don handed us our lunch basket and told us to take our time. We walked back through the rocks and found a picnic table to sit at. We had sliced watermelon, mangos, chicken and rice, water, coke, chips, and Allison snuck a couple of Chang’s in her purse! A perfect lunch! After lunch we walked on the beach, snapped a couple photos, read the sign to watch for falling coconuts, then walked back out to the dock, past the line of tourists waiting for their boat to arrive. I waved for Don, he saw us and scooped us up almost without breaking stride. It was amazing, and we started to feel like celebrities. I told Don, that island was amazing, and he said “just wait for the last one,” and we sped off.

It was a long ride on the boat for the final island, but pulled up and it was us and one other boat. I asked what the island was called, Don said “Nok, Nok” and I asked “who’s there?” When we hopped off, Don definitely told my joke to the other boater in Thai. This was just a tiny island with a perfect beach, and a lookout point. We hopped off, climbed up to the top which is marked as a 15 minute climb, and had the entire point to ourselves. After the climb we sat on the beach and shared a Coke. It was a perfect island tour.

Eventually we hopped back on the boat, and sped north along the coast of Koh Yao Noi, and realized we could point out everything on the island now after being here for just four days. Restaurants, other resorts *whispers* six senses, and beaches we’ve been to. We docked the boat, scootered back to our bungalow, and got ready for dinner at our favorite restaurant: the Kindee cafe, ordered the most expensive item on the menu: the full snapper. They gave us a little bowl of sliced peppers to try with the fish, and Allison threw 3 on her first bite, and paused immediately- it was really, REALLY, spicy. It gave us a 10 minute intermission from dinner, and Allison drinking Thai tea, eating plain rice, trying different sauces, anything and everything at the table before the spiciness subsided. …Then I ate one to see how bad it was. It was insanely spicy, but, simultaneously did not make either of us sweat. Just pure pain. I think this is the Thai spice we’ve been warned about. We asked the waitress what kind of pepper this was, and she shrugged “I don’t eat spicy.”

We finished dinner, walked to the shops to buy some souvenirs, and scootered home in the dark. A top ten all time day - maybe even top 5!