#i'm just a curious cajun

[dusterbishop]

have you come here to rescue me (all of this can be broken)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.7k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. thank you for all the kind comments and likes! i'm happy i could share this with such a talented fandom.

part one. || part two.

You and Gambit meet before, eh?

Many times

Mais, pleasure’s mine, chér. Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman

You draw your next card at random, and find yourself flat on your back, the back of your head still slick with the blood that pools beneath you. The hit from behind splintered your skull, but this body merely festers with a fading migraine. It is the closest you could get to avoiding death without skipping from this reality entirely. The pain has to keep you anchored, because you can’t count on Gambit to know what to do to keep you here.

Gambit, for his part, stares down at you. He looks like your Remy, which seems like such a strange thought to have. Of course he looks like Remy LeBeau. That is who he is in every lifetime. And yet it makes perfect sense that you halt upon this revelation for the very same reason.

Every Gambit is Remy LeBeau, and yet this one looks like Remy. He has the same strong jawline, the same furrow of his brow, the same black-rimmed red irises. He towers over you, the line of his shoulders set back and perplexed, at least until he crouches down to be closer to your level. Every movement is fluid, graceful. No sign of pain or hesitation. No snarl of distrust or blank expression of disinterest.

Found ya’, chér.

You would laugh if the back of your skull wasn’t just recently smashed in, new body or not. The daze of death’s lingering touch keeps you still as you stare back up at him. He had promised you would meet again, hadn’t he? In another lifetime, at least, he had. You are not the same body that he had been in love with, and yet some part of you can still smell the smoke in the air and feel the buzzing of kinetic lightning across your skin.

He is not your Remy. Not even if he’s looking at you with that same curious intensity. Gamblers could never refuse the call of the cards, and you have a stacked deck.

“Watch it, Cajun,” you tell him. Your voice is scratchy, grating the back of your throat. That explains the weariness in your joints, then. This version of your body is sick in some way. “I know how to wave a stick.”

A knowing laugh escapes him. “Oui, saw ya’ wit’ it. Don’ threaten Gambit wit’ a good time.”

Right, the flirting. Of all the swamp-dwelling boys you could have ended up entangled with, you just had to choose the one with that damned silver tongue. This version of Gambit is no different than the thousands of others you have witnessed in terms of that, at least. Perhaps thousands was even a conservative estimate. How many times have you crossed lives only to find a stranger wearing the face of the man you love?

God, you’re tired of it all. You don’t think you can handle another Gambit right now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh. “I’m not staying long.”

“S’il vous plait, you should.” He’s smiling, but you know that look in his eyes. Your gaze falls to the inner folds of his coat. You can barely make out the stitched lining where he keeps his cards, but you know that its there. He always had a habit of stitching the pockets in the same spot. Your Remy liked to command full control of the kitchen table to spread out his coat and ensure straight stitching. The cats liked it, too. You would come home to find them all clustered at the table, Remy idly scratching Oliver’s chin while he assessed his work, the other two boys stretched out languidly with them.

Gambit notices your attention, and his smile goes flat. “Where’ve you been my life, eh?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back. The fatigue starts to settle deep in your bones. Maybe this body wasn’t sick when you borrowed it. Maybe this is just the effects of your time-skipping leeching over to another form. Your body feels like its burning a low-grade fever. “I don’t want to argue with you, Gambit.”

“Argue?” He looks almost offended at the mention of underlying tension. “Mon chér, you wound me. Dis is a civil conversation, non?”

“Don’t you get tired of talking?” You know he doesn’t. The two of you have spent so many hours sparring both in the danger room and verbally. He likes to make you take the backfoot in both fighting rings. At least, Remy did. This Gambit seems… off.

He almost seems familiar.

“Not when I’m talkin’ to you,” his smile edges with that coy charm. “Why don’ you tell Gambit about your travels?”

It feels like dunking your head beneath tumultuous ocean waves. Your gaze jolts to his eyes. His biggest tell had always been the way his pupils expand, consuming the ringed red of his irises. In some light, at some times, it almost looked as if he didn’t have irises at all. Just an all-consuming gaze of ink-black.

He looks that way, now, staring down at you. Black-eyed and smiling like a rogue, his elbows perched idly on the curve of his crouched knees, hands freely dangling between you. Unarmed, almost, if not for the weight of cards pressed against the cuff of his sleeves. That brand of stitching is new. Your Remy would have been absolutely delighted to see that sort of innovation as much as he would have groaned about not doing it himself.

“Ace up your sleeve,” you say instead. Your head is rattling with a desperate panic. How does he know that you can travel?

Gambit flicks his wrist, the air rushes, and a splayed set of cards stare back at you. Four of a kind. A handful of aces, in fact. Your Remy would be in absolute stitches over it.

“Some, oui,” he says. He looks just as pleased with himself. He always did like to be the smooth-talker. The air whirs with quiet trepidation, charging, turning metallic in the back of your mouth. One of his brows raises the same moment you half-raise your arm, reflecting the same suit of cards back to him. His fingers reluctantly slide closed on empty air.

“So do I,” you tell him. You hold steady when he goes to take them back from you and nearly yank your arm out of reach when his fingers close over your wrist instead. He’s wearing his gloves, but even the slight warmth of his skin pressed against yours makes your mouth go cotton-dry.

“Houdini,” he remarks.

“Not quite,” you whisper.

“Non,” he agrees. He studies your hand for a long moment. The cards are his, of course. You had shifted time just enough to reach across it and claim your prize. Nothing more than a parlor trick in the light of what you have done lately. What is a suit of cards in the face of endless, staggering realities? If you don’t like the way a restaurant cooks a dish, you can cross time until you find the same dish cooked to mind-numbing perfection. If you miss the city bus because it showed up three minutes early, you can change lifetimes to delay the driver by five minutes, the extra two minutes only for good measure.

If you lose one Remy LeBeau, why not venture out to find him again?

And again?

And again.

You know the answer, now. Maybe part of you always did, yes, but the answer is staring you in the face. You cannot ignore him any longer. You cannot skip timelines and pretend that there will never be a Remy like yours again. He was yours because he was not perfectly brought up as a child and ended up with some nine-to-five office job and a three-bedroom home with a white picket fence. That Remy does not have an interest in a strange paradox such as yourself. Neither does the Remy LeBeau that ends up being a schoolteacher, or a stay at home dad, or a volunteer at an animal shelter.

Your Remy was imperfect, and that was why he was the only version of himself that you could love.

This version of Remy LeBeau is still holding onto you. His grip is firm, but not bruising. He’s holding you fast to keep you with him, not to hurt you. You’re too tired to attempt to escape. Every muscle in your body feels leaden and overworked. That’s the other answer demanding your attention, but you let the revelation slip from its leash and ignore it.

“I know what you are, chér .” His grip doesn’t change, but there’s a dangerous riptide swelling in his tone. “What you do.”

“Wayfarer,” you say. It feels flimsy to say it like this, laying flat on your back, Gambit poised gracefully beside you. Remy had been rather nonplussed with the title when you first told him about it. Non, mon coeur, you are Wildcard. Not even Gambit knows your next move.  

“You travel, d’accord?” With the hand still holding you fast, he rubs the calloused pad of his thumb against the rapid flutter of your pulse. It’s nearly enough to make you flicker out of time itself, consequences be damned. His next words are a wistful purr. “You can leave.”

You aren’t sure why the surprise that lances through you hurts so much. Of course, he isn’t your Remy. You know this. He may smile and banter and touch you as kindly as Remy does — as he did, past tense, it’s all beyond your grasp now — but that does not make you something for him to cherish.

It does, however, make you something to use.

“I am always here,” you start, settling into this waltz slowly. This was the other part of your existence that used to confuse Remy. Some part of you hardly understood it, either. You don’t know how every part of a jet plane or automobile works either, though, so it doesn’t phase you much anymore. You had tried to explain it with the T.V. analogy, like your other versions were playing on different screens even if you aren’t tuned in, but that only served to confuse him more. He did enjoy your choice of explanation in some way, at least, by fully indulging in references from his favorite T.V. shows. The conversation had derailed into you hitting him with a pillow, and then you had both unraveled into a different sort of banter.

Not that Remy ever let you get the last word, though. Tuning the channel, he had said seriously, as you had writhed beneath his touch in a breathless rush. Smart-mouthed, smooth-talking swamp boy.

“Some part of me stays here. A variant,” you continue. Gambit waits, those slivered-red irises trained intently on your expressions. How strange to have him staring at you with such suspicion. You could never lie well to Remy LeBeau no matter the version you stumbled across. You could hold back, yes, but he would always know anyway. You have learned to stop hiding from him. It is inevitable that you will admit your life to him in some way, either by choice or by necessity.

“I am here,” you say. “Like I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, reading the morning newspaper, playing the crossword. I can see the empty grid in my head. I know the clues.”

There’s a familiar furrow in Gambit’s brow. You’re suddenly glad he’s holding your hand before you end up surrendering to the urge to reach out and smooth it away. Not your Remy. A touch from you is not the sort he hungers for.

“Paris, eh?” He presses his thumb to your pulse. You wonder if he feels the leap in your heart beat at the touch. “Wha’s got you wandering da Void, then?”

“I didn’t choose to be here,” you admit. “I got… reset, I guess. My mind went to the next version of my body available.”

“Reset sounds awfully dire, I t’ink.” He gives you a pointed look. “Wha’s got you?”

For one long, awful moment, you almost tell him the terrible truth. You almost tell him that you went looking for a version of him that was familiar enough to soothe the gaping hole in your heart. That you found a Gambit that was witty and kind despite his shitty upbringing, one that liked to make you laugh and could keep up with the practice drills you still put yourself through. A Gambit that wasn’t afraid that you would one day vanish and be replaced by some version of yourself that he didn’t love.

You want to tell him that you found a Gambit that you had wanted to keep safe, and he was shot in the back trying to do the same for you. You tore yourself apart to take down the men that did it to him. You died with him and you still woke up within one breath and the next. You had to wake up and hear his voice, except this is not the Gambit that died because of you, this version does not know what he holds onto so tightly.

You want to tell him that three other versions of Remy LeBeau died just as terribly, and you just keep spinning the roulette wheel, and you just keep living.

“That version of me died,” you say. “Shot in the stomach.”

He’s looking at you as if he has never seen such a phenomenon. You suppose, technically, he hasn’t. He used to be one of the lucky ones that didn’t know you even existed. There goes that winner’s streak.

“Do’ya have t'die to… reset?”

You think about lying again. God, you wish you could. “Not always.”

He raises a brow at that, but you don’t offer to elaborate. Instead, you let the cards in your hand release from this reality with a soft whir of energy. Your head feels stuffed with cotton, or perhaps rocks. Maybe this is your mind finally burying itself alive in rebellion of your time-skipping antics.

“Tell ya what, chér.” His fingers loosen their grip on your wrist only to tangle with your own, intertwining your hands. Your breath catches. It’s the only split-second warning you have before he hauls you up to your feet, one hand entangled with yours, the other supporting the small of your back to keep you balanced. You have to shut your eyes against the vertigo that thunders in your head.

“Don’t die,” he continues. “Paris ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, hein? No reason to go dere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you grit out. You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Your free hand grips onto the lapel of Gambit’s coat hard enough for your fingers to grow stiff. His hand on your back is a solid, anchoring weight. It supports you more than you would like. Relying on him could be a dangerous game.

Still, your power is a raw, aching nerve burning through your veins. You couldn’t switch without tearing yourself apart, not as exhausted as you are. Considering that this Gambit hasn’t driven a knife into your back, either literal or figurative, it’s easier not to resist when he makes a soft hum and sweeps you into a bridal carry. You keep your eyes closed, and try to ignore the burn at the back of them. A part of you waits for his sound of pain, the impact of bullets thudding into his back. Another part wonders if he will be vaporized from existence by the TVA, just a second before your hands meet.

The third, quieter part of your mind just thinks: Remy.

Gambit, the fourth ace in your suit, doesn’t do any of those things. He adjusts your weight, testing to see if you will squirm out of his grasp, then he begins to walk. He’s strangely quiet. It’s almost a relief in the wake of your draining, familiar conversation. How many times will you have to reintroduce yourself to a Gambit? What could you possibly offer this fate-curious, battle-wary version of the man you love? It’s the sort of question that makes you reconsider your choice to stay.

Stay with a Gambit with ulterior motives, or move on to another life with no guarantee of who will meet you there? Well. When you put it like that, there’s no other option at all.

And, as if he can read your mind, Gambit begins to explain.

[housebound-hermit]

"Uh...Hi?...."

-Ittoku Kattou (@uneasy-itto )

((ooc:is he supposed to be Cajun?I'm just curious,cause thats how I read every bit of dialogue he say lmao))

"oh - ah- howdy-? May ah help yew?"

((He's a very southern/Texan fella.))

[ponyspicerack]

hi! you might have answered this before but if so tumblrs search function didnt show me. im curious abt cajuns tack! i see what looks to me like a halter and a western bridle together, is that right? if so, whats the thought behind that? ive only seen horses with only a bridle :)

Yes! So my favorite rides are on trails. I'm trail trash at heart. He wears the halter and leadrope mostly for the experience and just in case. If I ever need to dismount and tie him, he's already ready to go and used to the tack

Otherwise, you have to put the halter on over the bridle, which probably feels weird with the bit. Also have to have a window where the horse is literally loose for a brief moment isn't great, some will take advantage of it

I like that he's desensitized to it. He's a really good boy and behaves (as you can see in some photos) completely loose from my control in many circumstances, but having him set up for success in crazy situations is great

[dilfsisko]

I'm not a ds9 writer but I've always been curious about the origins and development of southern cuisine so here's your invitation to infodump about it

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

So to start off, I will be referring to Louisiana Creole as just Creole, but it should be noted that there are other Creole cuisines!

So, Creole and Cajun foods are really really similar. They’re like sisters to me. They share the a lot of same French, Spanish, Black, and Native influences, (and in fact you could argue that Cajun is a really specific type of Creole food derived from the cuisine of the descendants of the Acadian people) albeit with slight differences.

Cajun food is heavily influenced by French and Southern cuisine, and is very meat heavy. Lots of pork (ESPECIALLY in sausage form) and chicken, usually in one pot dishes paired with rice. It’s also a lot spicier usually. Crawfish and crawfish boils are also distinctly Cajun.

Creole is a real metropolitan cuisine, with Italian, German, and even Caribbean influences. It developed in New Orleans specifically, and features a lot of seafood, usually locally caught. There’s also a lot of tomatoes. Like a lot of tomato.

There’s a lot of crossover, like gumbo for instance. Creole gumbo tends to be more seafood based and uses okra as an additional thickening agent

It should really be noted that you cannot ignore the influences of enslaved Black people on either cuisine, but Creole food especially. Okra is an African vegetable!

With all of that being said, I find it really disappointing that the foods they mention in Star Trek (jambalaya, boudin, crawfish, etc.) are all….Cajun. Those are Cajun dishes. Like a lot of Creole restaurants in New Orleans have Cajun dishes on the menu but there’s nothing Creole about Sisko’s Creole Kitchen!

[loftylockjaw]

TIMING: End of September LOCATION: Hallow's Eats PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Caleb (@dirtwatchman) SUMMARY: A repeat customer at the restaurant keeps asking for spicier and spicier dishes, and Wyatt is finally curious enough to leave the kitchen and see just who this person is. He's pleasantly surprised, and offers to cook Caleb a private dinner that might satisfy his palate. CONTENT WARNINGS: none!

—

He always got those looks. Every single time Caleb ordered at any restaurant these days and he asked for the dish to be as spicy as possible people would pause and stare for a split second before composing themselves and walking away. It wasn’t like he could blame them, he didn’t exactly scream spice, but for once he wished that he could get through the order without feeling awkward as sin. It wasn’t like he did this too often but dining out used to be a much more pleasant experience without the stares. If he were perhaps a bit more secure with himself he might not have minded it much.

At least the food was good, or at least what he could taste of it. The spices blended well together and he enjoyed it despite not being able to actually enjoy the main course itself. It was a win tonight, for sure…well, until the waitress walked up with his bill. It wasn’t the price that caught him off guard though, it was the girl asking him to wait at his seat so the chef could come speak to him that caused a stir of panic within him. Had Caleb done something wrong? Was he about to get yelled at in front of the other patrons? Before he could even ask, the waitress was walking away so there was no way to quell the ball of anxiety that was knotting in his stomach.

He quickly looked at the dish in front of him, wondering if he should finish the rest of it before the chef could get to his table. It wasn’t like he could get full off of this stuff, the little stab of hunger almost constant within him these days as he did what he could to ration his supplies. He’d just…had enough. Caleb didn’t want to offend them though, whoever it was, so he started to work on the dish again, barely tasting anything this time while trying to gulp it down.

—

He wasn't sure if you could call the customer a regular at this point: Wyatt had only been the chef de partie at this particular restaurant for a month or so, but somewhere in that time, he'd received requests from a patron to make the dishes spicy. More than spicy, really—as hot as he could realistically manage. Expecting some kind of showoff personality (and appearance), Wyatt had been surprised the first time to see the young man sitting alone at a table for two, looking to all the world like a mild-mannered, polite sort of fellow. And he WAS that, according to what the waitress had told him the the first time. And the second time. And the third, and fourth—well, today, he was just going to have to MEET this man, and figure out exactly what his deal was. Was it important? Probably not, but Wyatt couldn't help his natural curiosity. 

Slipping the apron off over his head but leaving it tied around his waist, Wyatt tucked the extra material away in the front as he moved out of the kitchen. The restaurant was full, as it always was, and most patrons were taking advantage of the 'costumes encouraged' sign that sat up front, tying the whole Halloween theme together... but some of them were not costumes, of course. Wyatt was looking positively human, though, figuring this wasn't the time to flex his scales, so to speak. After all, maybe this patron was just a normal guy that liked to numb his taste buds.

Approaching the table where the guest sat, Wyatt smiled and held out a hand as he sidled up to him. “Don't choke,” he chuckled good-naturedly, shaking the man's hand. Cold. Hm. “May I sit?” He noticed the worried expression on the other's face and did his best to assuage any concerns by adding, “I'm ain't mad, by the way. Just curious.” His thick cajun accent did him some favors in regards to sounding friendly, helping him come across as warm and nurturing rather than upset or offended. There was something to be said about southern charm. 

—

The words only served to send a cough through Caleb's body as the zombie did his best to swallow the bite he'd taken just before the chef had made it to his table. He cleared his throat, trying to smile up at the other man but only managing a small grimace. ”Sorry, I just...“ He cleared his throat again, feeling whatever was stuck go down finally. ”It's really good, is all. It's good.“ Again, the man startled him with a handshake, something that Caleb tried to avoid most days because of the temperature of his body but wanting to be polite always won out over common sense. He was an idiot, that was for sure.

”Oh, yea, of course.“ The zombie gestured toward the seat opposite his, noting that this man was definitely not from around here. That accent was a dead give away and most anyone who was from Wicked's Rest probably wouldn't have asked to sit before taking their seat. Mostly because they recognized Caleb from around town. He did relax though when the other man partially explained his presence in the dining room as opposed to the kitchen. He hadn’t offended him at least.

”I don't think I've ever inspired enough curiosity to bring a chef out to me before. Seems like I should be...I don't know, honored? No, that doesn't seem like the right word. Proud maybe...I don't know, seems dumb now that I say it out loud.“ He'd relaxed a bit, but not completely lost all of the nerves coursing through him. Rambling was bound to happen. This was a chef though, what did Caleb have to worry about?  ”Um, I hope you don’t mind me asking but why exactly are you curious?” 

—

Smiling broadly while the other man stumbled over his words, Wyatt was taking stock of the notes he’d gathered so far: his hands lacked that distinctly human warmth, which really shouldn’t have been the case given how long he’d been inside out of the crisp evening air. He always wanted his food as spicy as the kitchen could make it, which could just be a preference, but it should’ve been causing some kind of visible reaction, given the peppers Wyatt had used in the dish to accommodate his taste. A flushed face, perspiration, any of the usuals… and yet. 

Fascinating.  

“Proud or honored are both acceptable, mostly ‘cause they make me seem like hot shit,” Wyatt chuckled, threading his fingers together as he rested his arms on the table between them. “Just never had someone so consistently askin’ for the temperature stakes to be raised. Even with the hotheads I’ve known in my life, they always needed a break from it. Now sure, maybe you get that in between visits here, ain’t a stretch, but…” He cocked his head at Caleb. “You also just don’t really strike me as the… type, if you pardon.” Clearing his throat, the lamia shook his head. “Where are my manners? Sorry, friend, you can call me Wyatt. Wyatt Barlow. And you are…?”

—

“I mean...yea, you should feel like that.” Reaching up, Caleb ran a hand over the back of his neck as he sat back in his seat, rigid as anything. The other man's friendly smile and laid back way of speaking should have been enough to placate his nerves and yet it seemed he was always on edge, uncomfortable with life. You never knew when people could turn. That was something he learned when he was younger. “It's...good food.” He lamely spoke the words even while realizing he'd already said them. Jesus, he should work on his people skills. 

“I definitely get that between visits.” Because he didn't eat very much. But the man didn't need to know that. “Things are usually pretty mild for me, I just like the flavors that you use here.” Pulling excuses out of his ass was a typical response for Caleb these days and he'd gotten okay at it but there was always that underlying fear that he was making things worse for himself. If the world wouldn't start a witch hunt, the zombie would tell everyone exactly what he was just so the lies could stop. 

He couldn't help the laugh that came out when the chef pointed out how unlikely he seemed to be the type for spice. Five years ago that would have been the case for sure. ”I get that, I guess people can surprise you though. Cajun has been a favorite of mine for a few years, ever since I stopped being afraid of the heat. Just got over it and took the plunge, you know?“ Shrugging his shoulders, he tried his best to play it off, hoping that the other wouldn't find it too weird. He did seem like he was trying to get at something. “Oh, uh I'm Caleb. Caleb Ellsworth...it's nice to meet you.” 

—

They were all valid excuses, truth be told. And maybe, if not for the room temperature handshake, Wyatt could’ve let it lie. But he was nosy, despite a stranger on the internet telling him he shouldn’t be—in fact it was this stranger sat across from him that’d said that, not that he could have known. The world works in mysterious ways, and all that bullshit. Anyway, they were fine and valid points, and the lamia just nodded and listened and kept on smiling, finding the whole thing to be rather charming. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, my good man,” Wyatt went on, ever the schmoozer. “Well hey, I tell you what, Caleb Ellsworth… since you seem so keen on eatin’ dangerously seasoned food, n’ I get such a kick outta makin’ said dangerously seasoned food… I’ve got a proposition for you.” He sat up a little straighter in his seat, tapping an index finger against the tabletop. “Got constraints on what I can send out from the kitchen here, you see. First there’s the menu, n’ deviatin’ from it ain’t exactly gonna win me a lot of bonus points with the boss, and the proprietor don’t want me sendin’ folks out on stretchers. But… if you’re interested, I do spend a mighty significant amount of time at home makin’ food that’ll knock your goddamn britches off.” The smile turned into something a bit more teasing, but still pleasant all the same. “Or at least it’ll sure well try.” He splayed his hands in the air in front of him in a sort of mock-defensive gesture, continuing with, “Now, I ain’t askin’ a perfect stranger to come eat in my dinin’ room with me, unless that perfect stranger is feelin’ particularly adventurous, however… tupperware exists, and there are plenty of places in town two fellas lookin’ to ruin the linin’ of their stomachs can meet up n’ share a home cooked meal.” He lifted a brow. “Whaddya say?”

—

The offer was....surprising to say the least, and Caleb was taken aback for a moment. If he could blush he wouldn't have been able to stop the heat from filling his cheeks but instead he cleared his throat and diverted his eyes to the plate still in front of him on the table. It was tempting, very tempting, but he couldn't help but think about what ramifications could come from this. Going to a stranger's house, albeit a stranger that had a way of making him feel comfortable enough, wasn't the greatest idea in any part of the country, much less Wicked's Rest. But he was offering to meet up elsewhere which did help subdue some of the uncertainty. And who was he to give up on making a new friend?

“How often does one get the offer of a private meal from a chef?” Especially one that could cater to his mostly dead taste buds? “I don't really think I can turn that down.” He smiled, finally looking up from the table to meet Wyatt's eyes again. Now, the question of whether he was feeling more adventurous than he had been in his life was still up in the air. He was charming, that was a give in, but the slight fishing the man had been doing was still worrisome. 

Too many variables were running through Caleb's mind so he shook his head gently and said the first thing that came to him. “I am feeling particularly adventurous. I should probably take advantage of that while it lasts.” Because it wouldn't last long. In fact, he would most likely wake up in the morning and dread this upcoming outing, become a nervous ball of energy, but right now Wyatt's calming effect was working wonders on calming his psyche. 

—

Brows both raised now, lips downturned into a comical pout as Wyatt responded to the rhetorical question with a shrug, and the gesture was quickly followed up by a chuckle. The man seemed to mull it over for a few moments longer before finally agreeing, and much to Wyatt’s surprise and delight, agreeing to come to his place. 

That was fine, he could behave for an evening.

“Ah!” He clapped his hands excitedly before rubbing them together like a scheming little raccoon, the grin on his face widening further, if that was possible. “Mon cher, I love to hear that! You won’t regret it.” Reaching down into the apron that was still tied around his waist, the lamia pulled out a pencil and a piece of receipt paper. “How’s next Friday sound? I’ve got the rare night off from here.” And no fights scheduled at the Pit. He was scribbling down his number as he spoke, making sure it was legible before sliding it across the table to Caleb. “Here. Take this, think about it, and let me know if you’re still interested, d’accord? No pressure. And—well, I’ve got to get my ass back to work before I get a talkin’ to.” He stood again, pausing before leaving to give Caleb a wink. “Here’s hopin’ it’s a date, firebug.”

—

Next Friday, just enough time for him to change his mind and get out of this. But was that something he really wanted? No, no, Caleb wanted to go to this man's house and enjoy a meal with him so he nodded to show his agreement. And then came the last line from Wyatt's mouth and he froze in his place at the table.

Oh, what did he just do? Caleb stared down at the number that was just given to him and he could have sworn that his cheeks were burning this time around. Looking up at the retreating figure, he tried to get any words out of his mouth, anything, but nothing was coming to him as what he'd just agreed to really hit him. Something akin to nervous butterflies started to flutter in his stomach, a feeling that had evaded him for a long time, but he finally sputtered out what he could even though Wyatt had already disappeared into the kitchen.

”It's a date.“

[himejoshikomaeda]

Just perusing and the word "Cajun" in your pinned post cause me so much psychic damage cause yours truly is also cajun, born and raised and the ensuring cascade of nightmare scenarios of being IRLed were just oh so tastey but now I'm super curious like: north of south of I10? And how many legends do you pass on your commutes? Also opinions on River Ranch? (Anon because I am a coward)

north, my mom’s from lacombe and my dad’s from baton rouge (but i’m much more familiar with lacombe)!! i live in arizona currently (🤢🤢🤢) so i pass approximately zero legends on my commutes. river ranch is the sort of bourgeois decadence you can find in plenty of places… but it’s like if they made a golf course into a neighborhood for mini mansions.

[hetalia-club]

I really like your posts where you talk in depth about specific history events and other cultures. I found your Italian American one pretty interesting as I never knew they spoke anther language separate from both Italy and English. I was curious if you had any other fun facts like that.

Yeah I will eventually I'm sure. I do this thing where I pick a random culture and learn a lot about it. Granted it's facts I'll probably have no use for knowing but it's a little hobby of mine I like to do when I'm feeling bored. But they are fun conversation plug ins and it has earned me the 'smart one' among friends and family even if that is complete bull shit because I'm an idiot. I'll often hear something like "what language do *Insert nationality* speak? I don't know ask Brandi she knows". So that is neat I guess. I really don't have the heart to tell them that most of my motivation to learn these things comes from an anime I like.

I'll learn about a culture for awhile until I get bored of it and then switch it up. Right now as I have already stated it's Italian-American culture which has always really fascinated me. Italian-American food is like one of the only foods I eat consistently being a picky eater and all.

But as a side note another American culture I've just started to dive into is Cajun culture. They are a culture located in Louisiana and speak their own language as well. Its parent language is French but the French cannot understand them really maybe a few words here and there. But it would be like someone speaking Old English you wouldn't really understand but you might be able to pick out a few words here and there and maybe grasp the conversation if you listen really hard. Sort of like French Canadian and French. Its parent language is French but it is not the same. Idk if you found that interesting at all. But there is your little fun fact.

I like to wait until I find something really interesting that is worth mentioning. I don't just want to do book reports if you get what I mean (though I easily could).

[cherrys-not-so-secret-stash]

requested by: anonymous (on @oc-x-cannon-on-main)

Fluff alphabet can be found here: https://snk-warriors.tumblr.com/post/173203415802/fluff-alphabet

R, A, K, E for Cajun Fox

R is for Romance

Cajun Fox is about as romantic as they come, a good old fashioned lover boy who's all about flirting and trying to woo you. He really does care a lot about your happiness but because he hasn't had much interaction with others he isn't really sure how to go about it. Still, Cajun Fox will try to make you laugh and bring you gifts, most of which being rather bizarre concoctions that taste way better than they look. He's a rather cliche lover, taking most of his romance tips from Elvis and 1960s movies, still it worked for a reason.

A is for Activities

I'm sure it's not a surprise but Cajun Fox really likes cooking with you, and teaching you how to make new recipes. He finds it to be cute when you react with joy over making something that tastes good, and if you're already a rather great cook he enjoys swapping recipes and trying to make them together. Cajun Fox also enjoys going to the city with you, being rather into fashion and the city life. He'll bring you to all the stores that catch his eye, and will run around like an excited kid, which is actually rather adorable.

K is for Kiss

I could see kissing Cajun Fox to be a little complicated because of his snout, yet he still appreciates the effort. He's an okay kisser but he really does try his best, he tends to lead and can be rather forward. The first kiss with Cajun Fox was actually rather romantic, as it was more a spur of the moment kinda thing where you two had been fighting your feelings for a while but eventually conceded. He quite likes PDA but it always feels a little show, the most romantic kisses are certainly when it's just the both of you alone together.

E is for Equal

Cajun Fox just kind of naturally becomes the more dominant one in a relationship, with how he can be overly confident and wants to show you how “cool” he is. As with being more dominant he tends to lead you around with him but of course makes sure that you're always comfortable with it as he really does love you. That being said, Cajun Fox has no trouble with being the more passive one in a relationship. With that, he likes exploring new places you bring him to and trying out new hobbies you want to do with him, being alone for a while he's a very curious fox.

Fin

[Reblogs > Likes]

[bottlecaprabbitgames]

Absolutely loving Mind Games so far! Might be simping hard for Blake but honestly who isn’t.

I am curious, how good are each of the ROs at cooking? Who’s saving the poor MC from endless nights of ramen and leftovers? (not that there’s anything wrong with Lainey’s cooking 💙)

I'm glad you love it!!! <3 AND YEAH, Blake has been the most popular RO alongside Loche since the very beginning of me writing the game, lol!!!

So, Freja is definitely the best one at cooking. She also loves to do so, and is especially fond of baking!

Blake is a good cook, too. You don't grow up in no Cajun house and get out unable to cook!!! A Cajun mom would beat you senseless if you tried to get out of your fair share of cooking LOL

Adontis is also a good cook, but he's also Mr. Fancy Pants and if he's cooking, he's going all out. Man has absolutely dropped $1,000 or more on ingredients for a regular dinner night, because if he is to eat food it's gonna be the best... no matter the cost.

Fawn is probably the last one that is safe enough to be put in the kitchen. She's not making anything super complicated, but she can still whip something up and have it be tasty. However, she'd rather others cook than herself, unless it's meat.

Loche still hasn't, uh, figured out human kitchenware. Truthfully, they can cook decently over a fire or something, but in an actual kitchen? Yeah, no, they won't even make an attempt. They learned their lesson the hard way when they went messing with Freja's mixer.

God help you if you ever let Iri into a kitchen. It'll be a mess, a potentially explosive mess, and the whole house might just burn down. They're a menace in the kitchen, an absolutely DISASTER.

Listen, Lainey sending over leftovers definitely helps, but at least half the ones in MC's fridge are from nights over with Sylvia, lol! She is the very backbone of MC's dietary needs because she can cook amazingly and is also tired of MC living on ramen and T.V. dinners and frozen food, lol!

Thanks for the ask!!! <3

[frozenaltarss]

Hey!

I see you made a lots of spyro fanart (really REALLY love the style) but i want to ask... Do you have a OC form Spyro universe?

Its okay if u dont have! Im just kinda curious 🙇‍♀️

Thank you so much for the compliment! I really appreciate it! <3

I don't have a Spyro OC, sorry. The only reason why I'm not really strong on making an OC for it is that I always lose motivation to constantly draw them and then I forget them. I have my own characters that I don't even draw because I rather draw fanart...

Though, if I was to make one, it would probably either be a Dream Weaver or a Beast Maker, funny enough. I love the dream and star motif of the DWs and the plant/moss/cajun style of the BMs.

[latibvles]

Hello Poet! Funny, cuz Matt's father was a Marine. Since the Ardennes chapters are coming (so thrilled, tbh. 6 + 7 are the soul of BoB to me) may I ask you about Eugene? I'm very curious about your view on Roe, and also about the nurses' bond with him. Thank you🎇

*clears throat. gets on podium. taps the mic*

I love Eugene Roe with my entire heart and soul. He is the loveliest ever to me. Seriously, he is one of my favorite characters in BoB. At first it was just a “yeah he’s cool” but I think when I first started doing my pre-research for SBT about combat medics and nurses my appreciation for him really grew.

The nurses’ bond with Roe is important to me. I know that I have a couple anons / ao3 readers who ship Roe and Daisy which is … Very Funny. Cue @liebgotts-lovergirl calling him “Her Cajun Prince Charming” in the gc. But BEYOND that and into the realm of “canon”, Roe is important to the narrative in his own way.

Many corpsman didn’t respect nurses in the field, refused to take orders from them, etc, despite the nurses having a rank and being considered officers. As we get into Mourmelon I do touch upon this a little more, not exactly diving into it but it’s mentioned.

Eugene Roe respects the Hell out of the nurses. And they, in turn, respect the hell out of him. He is most familiar with Laura, the resident social butterfly, and Daisy, who he met first. But given how long the nurses spent with E Company before splitting between the three companies — he recognizes Catherine, Jane, Carolyn, and Ginny by face, even if they haven’t all spoken to him.

Whereas Liebgott is kind of the one to bring a certain fire to Daisy’s life, like a brother — Roe is the one she goes to to talk about the smaller things, the things that bring joy. One of my favorite scenes is Roe and Daisy in Aldbourne, watching all their livelier friends have fun, content to sit on the edges and talk and breathe for the first time since Normandy.

Thank you for the ask, dear Anon. And I, too, am looking forward to the Ardennes Forest. Needless to say, I have a lot of plans ;)

[chaotic-succulents]

Re-blog please, I'm curious!

[the-firebird69]

Watch ""Lola"- The Kinks" on YouTube

I heard what he said the whole time they stick to you like gum under a chair and I noticed it too you are stuck to me all the time and you're there and I can't stand it I have to kill you I don't want to talk to you you're not a friend you keep blasting the stupid s*** I don't know what your damn problem is we're going to go after you now you suck so damn bad down here at all like 20 minutes you have the stupid after effect you're such a loser man I'm going to nail your ass you stupid dumb s*** seeing all this gross stuff I'm going after you. You're wrong of course we annihilate tons of your day huge lots of you gone today and make sure we get rid of you fast so sick of hearing from you you're a huge a****** too nobody likes you I got to tell you something you're so annoying that people shoot you right in the face after you're done talking and you don't remember it cuz you get shot in the face like all the time you don't even care yeah just make sure we get enough of you you don't even care which is good now I'm telling you something I'm down here and he wants to know what I want to play it there's so many of you jerks here you trumpsters I'm starting to see you trying to kidnap me to try and do something to the character to try and grab me so call my boys for help this morning I got a ton of them but I need a lot more we need help down here in Mexico there's way too many of these idiots and I see them starting to flow in now and they're ready and they've been doing it but I get it and I'm putting a number down and I'm sending it in it's the same number so we have a huge huge number we need and he says we got to use some heavy on them down there if that's so many that's way too many Mexico left and they we suddenly see what you're saying any pauses a little and says how many is a lot it's like $300 octillion an hour there's tons of spots like that though so I'm looking at what they're doing there they are using heavy on them they still keep coming the big Force built up here we can't afford to have something happen so I'm going to nail them and he says huge forces will come in after so he's requesting battle groups and now I know I called him. We named it by name and it's something they like to do as well and they saw us going up and down and want to know what it was it's very very incriminating and curious so we are going to have to take it out

Hera

We are sending them now and we're sending huge ones and they're saying ground forces and Cajun I'm going to rip them a new one they're going to push some fish over there too I'll teach them to open their damn mouth they'll probably kill him in the crabs will show up there's a huge fleet that's headed that way it's like two septillion and it's Max and morlock we don't like either it's a good opportunity and Tommy f is in the way and he's probably going to blast him to nothing but he's going to suffer heavy losses cuz I'm actually there so we got to be ready we're building up now it's a couple other spots like that that we need help with the upper Midwest we're taking the equipment and we're encountering severe resistance a lot more than we thought they got special out and they're using it so we have to get there and wipe out everybody out there enemies and yes ours who are fighting we're moving out now and one more area is China they're searching out to try and find other motorcycle company is they don't know I guess so we're blasting the crap out of there it says anti personality works pretty good so you do that and they bring other stuff when we need them to we try and draw it out though it's true it's going to pass it in Mexico now I'm going down there it's a lot more than 300 octillion an hour

Thor Freya

I'm trying to draw it out and get it fixed I guess we can't do both he does dry down on purpose but he thinks that down here it's going to be a lot bigger because of what we said and what we told him we were doing but they're going to figure out it was in other areas too when I was Jen we're going up and down the coast and back and forth from Lexington to other places down south and that's what we're doing we weren't going to westborough and when I was Melissa we just in westborough but we would go down to the movie theater and they're all looking at that and it's going to be a curious day because I told him it said governor's Mansion I mean bunker okay well I guess I'm screwing around with him so everybody have a nice day it's going to be pissed off since no I'm not I can hear you messing around with me trying to see if I'm paying attention I'm trying to remember what it looks like I don't know what the heck that would be and we went from Lexington to somewhere so you're mad I went to the mall and I thought it was North and it was and it's North shore they call it the North shore Mall obnoxious laugh and we were UMass just staying at you Mass and there's a ship out there that's pretty big the face of it is about 40 miles now and it's a hundred miles plus it goes up another 20 or 30 so it's another 2000 and yeah those are where the nests are they're not interstellar but they're very large and they're compliment and they're probably not for humans

Hera

Zues I'm not writing the above I'm here for support only and she says that's not right you had input and stop it

This has to stop these people are taking all their time wants to know what we want to talk about next so probably about more ships but that's okay

Mac daddy

He wrote up and down the coast with me too all the way to New Hampshire it's raining at his dad and it was Tommy f so he's way ahead of you guys and he's looking for that chip

Jen

[lesbiancolumbo]

okay now i'm curious and very not midwestern. what things do you notice from tom that are patently midwestern-y? (also, hello hi. longtime listener, first time caller.)

you’re a legend, you know this, right?

thank you for letting my ass ramble about this. well the one big example that really and truly called me out and knocked me on my ass was him bitching to charlotte the poor wedding planner and then immediately turning away and yelling MOM!!!!!! <3 in the most fake-ass happy voice. truly the epitome of minnesota nice/thinly veiled passive-aggressiveness (which like, he learned from masters - the scene where we meet his parents? distresses me so much bc they are carbon copies of my extremely midwestern and extremely passive aggressive parents)

it’s in the extremely little things for me, if we’re being honest, and i’m having a hard time determining if they’re accidents or intentional because i know damn well armstrong & co. know nothing about the midwest and our love of chain restaurants. CPK has NEVER had a cajun chicken linguini, that always been a perennial RED LOBSTER FAVORITE - but we’re getting off topic.

the way tom kinda..... hangs around holding that watch in the pilot. the way he’s such a spineless people pleaser sometimes. the way he can barely articulate his own wants and opinions for fear of conflict, and when he does it is COATED in these little, uh, you know, i just feel like, yeah i don’t know i just, etc. the fucking....... can of cranberry sauce.... pretty much the entire thanksgiving episode sends me because watching this dumbass minnesota lutheran boy trying to internally reconcile a holiday that is supposed to be Thankful Family Time with the fact that he is celebrating it with the epitome of dysfunctional people who can’t even hide the fact that they’re dysfunctional for one dinner! (i am sure mr. and mrs. wambsgans have relatives they cannot stand, and at least pretend to get over it for the sake of the Principle Of The Thing) (my family also says what we’re thankful for every year and it is a mortifying ordeal)

but enough of my own mortifying minnesota/wisconsin catholic upbringing.

i’d have to do another rewatch to hone in on specific line readings or lines but for me it’s in how tom communicates - or fails to communicate - that reminds me most of the culture where i grew up. 

[cjsinkythoughts]

quick question- why does Sam call yn Cher? I can't remember if you've said this or not already but I'm curious

It's something I decided on my Sam Wilson x Reader fic, A Familiar Face. In the MCU Sam is from Louisiana and a common term of endearment down there is "Cher". Its French, like French-Cajun. I just thought that since the fandom decided "Doll" is Buckys petname from the 40s, Sam should have one too, so I chose "Cher". Thanks for the ask! 🥰