#kitchen knife sharpening tool

[sharponsight]

Before: A blade that's seen its fair share of wear and tear – dull, dirty, and in desperate need of some TLC.

After: Revitalized, razor-sharp, and ready for action – a testament to our hand-sharpening craftsmanship.

Your tools are an extension of your profession, passion, or hobby. They deserve the best care. Our commitment? Ensuring each tool we touch not only performs at its peak but also looks the part.

For those who value precision and quality: We're here to serve. Reach out and let's bring your tools back to life.

Curious about our work? Google "Sharp On Sight" to read reviews from our satisfied customers or to find directions.

[rickgentle]

[reviewsbrotherofficial]

Learn how to select the best chef knife for your kitchen with our ultimate guide. Learn about blade materials, handle designs, balance, and top brands to make an informed purchase decision.

[shilpaagrawalsblog]

[latenightdaydreams]

Blacksmith!König x Farmers Wife (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

Master List✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, lust, unhappy marriage, thoughts of cheating, p in v

1.4k word count

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On a hot summer day, you find yourself lost in thought as you chop vegetables in the kitchen. The heat is unbearable, small beads of sweat drip down your forehead and onto your brow before you wipe it away. Your small sense of peace is disrupted when your husband slams the back door open. You jump, turning your head to see your husband covered in sweat and dirt with an angry look on his face.

“The fucking axe is too damn dull to chop a goddamned thing!” He tosses the ax on top of the kitchen table.

“Get that off the table!” You shout in annoyance as you turn to face him, slamming your knife down.

“Calm down woman.” Your husband walks to sit at the table. “I need you to take it to the blacksmith. Get the horse shoes I ordered while you’re there too.”

“I’m in the middle of cooking-”

“Don’t talk back to me.” He points a finger at you while giving you a stern look. “Leave.”

With a glare you grab the apron that rests over your skirt to wipe your hands before untying it and tossing it onto the kitchen counter. You walk to grab the ax from the table before walking past your husband and out of the house. Under your breath you mumble insults towards your husband as your approach the stable.

You hike your dress up to get on the back of the horse and head out to the blacksmiths, nearly half an hour’s ride. The sun beat down on your skin, the lack of a breeze makes the air feel thick. At least the scenery is nice. Ever since you got married, you really don’t leave the house much. Everyday all you see is the farm and the small woods across from your home.

As you approach the edge of the local town, you turn down a dirt path that leads to the blacksmiths. You can hear the sound of him working as you get closer, seeing the man’s figure as he moves. You’ve never met this man before, causing a small wave of anxiety to come over you.

With the ax in hand, you approach the doors to the barn he’s working in. The heat is unbearable in the small space with a large fire in the background. As König catches a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye, he stops what he’s doing and turns to you. His face is angular with a deep scar across the right side of his face.

“Hallo.” His eyes drift up and down your body as he steps closer. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, uh. My husband ordered shoes for the horse and needs this sharpened.” You hold up the axe for him to grab.

König’s fingers lightly graze your own as he grabs the handle to take it from you. His eyes look over the dull head of the ax before nodding. He turns, walking to his work station and giving you and full view of his muscular back in the undershirt he has on.

“What’s the order name?”

“Uh- my husband’s name is Michael Andrews.”

“You’re his wife?” König asks, almost surprised that a man like him could possibly land a beauty like you.

“I am.”

“Hm. Okay. I’ll work on this and then fetch the shoes for you.”

“Thank you so much.”

König nods to you and turns to grab his tool to begin sharpening the head of the ax. With every move he makes, the muscles in his arms flex. The focused look on his face makes him even more attractive. From behind him the fire cast a golden hue around his massive body.

“W- what’s your name?” You ask, trying to distract your mind from the thought of what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his massive arms.

“Alexander König, but I just go by König.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” You saw so softly he almost misses it.

König looks back up at you, his eyes landing on your chest where your breasts sit perfectly. He smirks at you before looking back down. The fact that you’re Michael’s wife truly boggles his mind; such an ugly and unpleasant man.

Working in these conditions has left König absolutely filthy. Usually when your husband is covered in dirt you find it repulsive, but König on the other hand was a different story. The way the smut blackens his pale white skin, his blond hair polluted with grime. You can only imagine what he would smell like. His strong masculine musk consuming your nostrils… You shift your legs as you feel a tingle between your legs from your thoughts wandering.

Once König is finished, he polishes off the sharpened edge. He inspects his work before smiling at himself. His body turns and approaches you. As he does you gaze up at him, his massive height making you feel so small. He stops only a few inches from you; intruding on your personal space, but you don’t mind.

“All ready.” He lowers the ax, resting it against the wooden wall of the barn.

“Thank you. What about the shoes?”

“Hm, right.” He lifts his head looking past you at your horse. “Bring him around back, I’ll put them on.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course, Schatz.” König winks at you when he calls you that.

With a small smile you nod, turning to go grab your horse and lead him around the building to meet König. He walks up to you both after a while holding the shoes and supplies he needs. Your eyes obviously roam down his body, focusing on the massive bulge in his jeans. The impression nearly going down his leg. It’s almost like you’re mesmerized, not noticing that König is smirking at your obvious gaze.

He places the items on the small bench, turning to look at you. “Do you work on the farm too?”

“No.”

“I can tell, your hands are soft.” He comments so casually, causing you to blush.

König’s attention turns to you as he approaches you, nearly pinning you against the fence behind you. He shamelessly looks down at your cleavage as he towers over you. One of his hands reaches out to feel the texture of your hair, letting out a soft hum. The feeling of a soft woman isn’t something he’s used to. His scar and standoffish personality scaring off most women.

“You’re a beautiful woman.”

“Oh, I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t speak poorly of yourself. You’re beautiful.” His eyes roam over your face and caresses your jawline.

“Sir, I’m married.”

He looks back and forth between your eyes before nodding and backing away. “I apologize for overstepping Mrs.” His voice speaks so softly as his thumb caresses your lower lip before stepping back.

You ride home to your husband with the mental image of König so close to you, touching you. It’s as if you can still feel his touch on your lips. The thought of how big his cock must be consuming your mind. As you approach home, you try to calm yourself down.

After you put your horse in the stable, you rush into the house. Michael is sitting on the kitchen chair still, smoking his pipe. You march over to him and straddle his lap, kissing him as your hips grind against him. He drops his pipe on the table, in a hurry to unzip his pants.

Michael pulls his cock out as you lift yourself up to remove your undergarments. You lower yourself on his cock with your eyes closed, thinking about König’s piercing blue eyes gazing down at you. A soft moan leaves your lips as you begin to bounce on him. His hands grip your hips to encourage your bouncing; his hips thrust up to meet your movements.

You lean back to pull your breasts free from your dress to hear your husband let out a lout moan, his hands holding you down so his cock is fully in you. He cums deep inside of you, after only maybe a minute of sex. While his head has fallen back in a sleepy bliss of pleasure, you sit there glaring at him with disdain. Quickly, you stand up and grab a towel to clean yourself up.

“Where is the ax?” Michael asks as he watches you wipe his cum as it drips from you.

“Oh, shit. I must have left it.”

“Jesus Christ, y/n.” He snaps at you as he sits up. “Now I have to go get it.”

“No,” You cut him off quickly. “I’ll get it first thing tomorrow.”

Part 2

[fuckingrecipes]

Hey friend I basically learned to cook from you (you took all the intimidation out of it, and gave me my first meal that other people liked) so I come back like a decade later asking if you have any advice about knives. I don't love cooking but I recognize that the right tools make any task much more satisfying and also I am just so tired of my cheap knives going dull immediately so: what exactly is a "good knife"? Any advice on how to recognize one, and take care of it once acquired? Many many thanks.

Thank you so much, that's really heartwarming to hear <3

Regarding knives: I'm going to go over some basic care & maintenance that will help knives stay sharper, longer... and then some knife recommendations.

Always cut on a cutting board. Wood or plastic. Don't cut food against stone, metal, or glass as they'll fuck up the edge.

Don't use the sharp side of the knife to scrape food off the cutting board. If you wanna use the knife as a scraper, flip it over and use the non-sharpened edge.

Once or twice a year, sit down and sharpen all your knives.

Don't use those shitty little "knife sharpeners", they don't actually give the knife a good or stable edge. Instead, take 30 minutes to learn how to use a whetstone. They're shockingly easy to learn to use, and super effective. You can make a shitty $11 walmart knife razor sharp. Here's another video about it.

Ideally, you should hand wash and towel dry your knives right after you're finished prepping food with them. Best practice is to avoid leaving it in water to soak, and to avoid putting it in the dishwasher. Cleaning it immediately keeps the edge nice, longer, and heads off any rust or corrosion that can happen from leaving acidic juice on the metal.

ALL KNIVES need to be sharpened 2-3x per year if you're a home chef who cooks almost every night. 4-6 months of excellent sharpness, then becoming kinda dull, is normal for a good knife.

Even a $700 knife will eventually get dull and need sharpening, if you're using it frequently. Because knives are tools, they get used, and in being used the metal gets a little damaged. The edge rolls, dents, or gets chipped. So, it needs to be sharpened.

--

This guy gives an EXCELLENT overview of knives.

You do not need to spend a ton of money for decent knives.

Victorinox and Mercer are solid workhorse brands that make good-quality knives, which you can get for between $20-$60 per knife. Really great for any home kitchen. Wusthof and Zwilling are a little more expensive, and even nicer quality. More expensive than that, and you're looking at high-carbon steels meant to be used by pros for hours and hours, every day. A home chef doesn't need that.

---

There's a lot of specialty knives out there, but I always come back to the 8" chef's knife. Two chef's knives lets me cut raw meat with one, and everything else with the other.

I also have a cleaver and a bread knife for Melons/Bones and Bread respectively, and a small set of smooth-blade steak knives.

Tbh, most people think they have a shitty knife, but really they've just been using it for 3 years straight and never once sharpened it.

[almondx1ao]

Sanji hcs

___________

Words: 1248 (?) some changes have been made

Cw: nothing just hcs

Doing Sanji hcs as a person who just started one piece and just met Sanji.

____________

• The type to push your hair out of your face before cupping your cheek to kiss you.

• gets your attention by lifting your chin until you meet his gaze.

• He's the type to keep track of the things you don't like and do like. Whether that is food or anything else

• Sanji would keep an eye on your portions that you normally eat, and make sure you get that portion everytime. Since he wants you to be full, but not overeat, but also not waste food

• Would absolutely get up and make you more if you were still hungry

• Acts of service and pda/physical touch are his love languages

• Literally would panic because you're upset

• The type of you were to notice his gestures he would accept it but also the type to be in his room giggling and kicking his feet later when he thinks about it.

• Would like it if you played with his hair

• Jealous, and will have more pda because you're his and he wants your attention.

• He would gently pull your gaze to his when he's jealous and lean in and whisper into your ear things like "eyes on me." "Look at me my love."

• Soft spot for pets and kids

• Would be the type to teach you to cook, would internally cry if you got the steps wrong, but not let it show because it's you. Because he's a sous chef he's used to not only making sure the other chefs are doing things right, but doing things in a very quick yet flawless way. He would still be gentle with you, but he is internally crying every time you make a mistake.

• I feel like he would hug you from behind and take your hands to guide them through each step.

• He's making sure that every utensil, pot, pan, ECT is sparkling clean. Would keep the kitchen spotless and organized. Would have one of those knife sharpness testers and an expensive sharpening kit. His tools are always pristine.

• Will get upset if things in the kitchen are out of order

• Loves making food for you because he likes seeing your eyes light up when you taste each dish

• Would have a laid out schedule for everyone to eat, making sure everyone is kept fed during the day, is staring down Luffy if he grabs one snack when it isn't a snack time

• Would make a special plate for you if you didn't like a certain ingredient. People liking the meal is so important to him. Sanji would want to lessen the waste, if he knew that you would pick out something he would not put it in again or at all to begin with.

• If you didn't like him smoking, I don't think he would quit necessarily, unless you found another stress reliever to replace it, but he wouldn't smoke around you

• Very attentive to you, you're his priority.

• during cuddles he would lay his head on your chest.

• I feel like Sanji would like being the big spoon, but also wouldn't mind being the little spoon. Anything is fine as long as he's touching you

• His favorite places to kiss are in the most obvious places

• He's kissing everywhere, but out in public he's making it extra obvious, if there's exposed skin, it's getting kissed.

• Stands tall and is super proud to have you at his side

• Will not hesitate to show you off, absolutely is showing you off

• Bringing you up in every conversation, he literally will not shut up about you.

• A flirt, but once it's you, he's done for. You are the apple of his eye. You would be one of his treasures

• If he's not there when you wake up, he's leaving you a letter on the side table. Making you breakfast in bed everyday, you're the only one that gets special treatment.

• Head over heels for you in everyway possible. Would act like he got shot by cupids arrow.

• I would feel like he would follow you everywhere. Would be moody if he's not near you. He's like a lost puppy.

• Is the type to write love letters, he's sappy.

• Would like to do your hair for you, anything to be close to you he's doing it.

• Has an interest in fashion

• Knows how to do makeup

• Example: you would be getting ready for a date and you were getting frustrated because you weren't liking anything that you were wearing, your hair, your makeup, and your accessories. But he would absolutely notice immediately,

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

And you're hysterical as you tell him, he would gently guide your eyes to his and gently smile and look at you,

"You're beautiful no matter what you do."

He would then help you with everything and making sure you like it as well

• If you're acoustic(I promise I'm joking I mean autistic) would have a journal to keep track of what makes you meltdown/shutdown

Favorite stim toys if any

Favorite textures

Comfort foods

Ect.

Would spray something with his cologne to give to you to calm down

• If you were to infodump about something you already have, he would pretend that he knew nothing because he loves hearing you talk.

• Would play it off like it was normal, but seeing you hugging the thing and burying your nose into it Sanji is mentally kicking his feet and giggling that his scent and just him in general brings you comfort

• He would absolutely love that he brings you the most comfort

• Oh and if you asked him to lay on you for compression, do you think he's gonna say no?

• He would call you every name in the book, but I feel like his favorites are sweetheart, darling, and my love

• My love specifically because it has that possessive part to it. Not in a bad way, but a reminder "they're mine" to himself and others.

• Still starstruck that he has you because he flirts all the time obviously but no one has reciprocated. So he feels like he's in a dream and it's unreal.

• A romantic and is the best date planner

• Has expensive tastes, suits aren't cheap.

• If you were the type to not get anything expensive things for yourself and turn down expensive gifts, he's spoiling you and not taking no for an answer. Wouldn't tell you prices either, no matter how much you asked.

• If sanji notices that you have a favorite piece of clothing whether that be pants, shorts, shirt, ECT. He would make sure that it was clean for the next time you wore it. Would match with you as well. He would love it. He would put his cologne on it before you wore anything.

• You're always getting special treatment

• He would memorize your favorite songs, possibly would hum them while he was cooking

• Would be the type to get you a necklace that says I love you in different languages

• Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and a giant stuffed animal any day, but especially Valentine's.

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 1

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.2k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3 Feel like binging the rest of it? it's all there!

Chapter 1: The understatement of the century

To say Roronoa Zoro was intrigued would be the understatement of the century. The straw hats had arrived at the peaceful island the day before. It was by far the most boring island they’d visited on their voyage. The small port town was serene, seemingly untouched by the chaos of the outside world. It was a refreshing change of pace for the crew after the usual turmoil of their adventures. They’d decided to spend a few days on land while the log pose set the way to their new adventure. They’d relax a little, take the time to stock up on provisions and perhaps even enjoy a bit of leisure time.

At first he’d thought it was a fluke. He’d been seated at the bar when the bar tender whipped out a black bladed knife to cut a lemon. It couldn’t be, could it? And yet as he continued to examine it from afar, the more certain he’d been. It was most definitely a haki infused blade. His eye had narrowed as he’d taken in the old pudgy bar tender. No. He was normal. There was no way he’d infused the blade with haki. Whatever. He’d given up on the mystery for the night. He was here to drink, it didn’t matter.

It was the next morning as he reluctantly accompanied the silly cook for his errands that the mystery hit him again. The merchants were all using haki infused tools. Hell, even the farmer they’d crossed was raking with a haki infused rake. This should in no way be possible. It took years of battle for haki to infuse permanently with a blade. One was a fluke, there was an insanely small probability that maybe a kitchen knife could be infused with haki through generations. But this? This was not a fucking fluke. He’d felt something drop in his stomach at the realization. There was someone on this island infusing every scrap of metal they could find with haki.

The sudden awareness of the sheer amount of haki infused objects on the island ignited Zoro’s curiosity like a blazing fire. He had to know. That evening, he asked the bartender. “Oi, that blade. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, this old thing?” The portly man answered casually, as if it were the most ordinary knife in the world.

Zoro nodded encouraging the old man to continue.

“The witch made it,” he chuckled.

“Witch?” he asked incredulously.

“Well… She’s not exactly a witch. It’s just how the children refer to her,” he laughed heartily. “I bought this knife from our resident blacksmith. She can be a bit abrasive, but you won’t get a better knife anywhere else.” The old man twirled the knife in his hand, a fond look in his eyes. “I’ve had this one for years now, never had to sharpen it once. It’s just as sharp as the first day I used it.”

“Huh,” Zoro grunted in response.

“That’s right! They’re really amazing! If you want one of those, young man, you should go up the mountain to see her,” an older lady joined in to the conversation.

“Yes! It really is a must! You won’t find anything else like it,” another middle aged man sitting next to him added. “She always has a few good knives in stock.”

“She might chew you out though,” a younger woman added behind his back. “You never really know with her. It’s always a fifty-fifty chance,” the whole bar laughed at the comment. Clearly invested in the conversation. Comments and funny stories about their interactions with the ‘witch’ flowing through the tables.

“Up the mountain, huh?” Zoro muttered more to himself than anything.

“Aye, lad,” the bartender answered him. “But heed that warning. With her you never know whether she’ll sell you the knife or throw it at you.” Another wave of laughter went through the bar. Acclamations of ‘that’s right!’ and ‘true, true’ in agreement flowed around him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He downed his drink, a half-smile quirking his lips. He’d decided he’d find this ‘witch’. He had questions and he would get answers.

The next morning he’d woken up early. Robin had quirked an eyebrow in surprise as he’d entered the kitchen, sun still low on the horizon.

“Oh! Zoro!” Luffy had said between mouthfuls. “You going somewhere?”

Zoro grunted in response, his mind already set on the task ahead. “Yeah, I’m heading up the mountain” He replied tone resolute.

Luffy paused mid-bite, his expression shifting to curiosity. “What for?” He asked interest glinting in his eyes.

Zoro couldn’t help the faint smile twitching at his lips. “I’m gonna find a witch,” he said cryptically.

“A witch?” Robin inquired, setting down her book, evidently intrigued.

Sanji, who’d been quietly preparing breakfast, perked up at the mention. “You mean the blacksmith girl?” he interjected, a smile playing on his lips. “They say not only she’s talented but she’s a true beauty,” he added, hearts almost coming out of his eyes.

A ‘tsk’ escaped Zoro’s lips at the pervy cook’s reaction. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

“You better not spend all my money on some fancy blade,” Nami cut in, opening the door to the kitchen.

Zoro grunted in response.

Luffy with a full mouth asked “Can I come with?” He was clearly bored of doing nothing.

“Me too?” Robin added.

Zoro nodded in response. It didn’t really matter to him. He just had to put this mystery to rest.

Luffy swallowed down the mountain of food before him in one go. “Alright! Let’s go!” He declared excitedly with his signature grin marking his face.

“Don’t get lost!” Nami had screamed from the deck of the ship as the three of them made their way to the mountain path.

The trail was an arduous one but it wasn’t too hard to navigate. The air growing crisper and colder as they ascended. Robin led the way, chuckling at their captain’s tone-deaf singing. The scenery was nice, the quiet rustle of leaves and distant hum of birds accompanying their journey.

“Oi, Zoro, why do they call the blacksmith a witch?” Luffy asked along the way.

“Dunno,” Zoro replied.

“I heard some children say the witch puts magic in the metal she forges,” Robin answered instead. “Some of them say they could see black things floating around when she works. Others say it’s only the product of children’s imagination” She continued. “It’s a mystery really.”

“Ehh! “ Luffy interjected. “Magic huh, sounds interesting” he mused.

“It’s probably just haki,” Zoro added.

“Most likely, after all not everyone is able to see it” Robin agreed. “You see, Luffy, what’s actually the mystery is the concentration of haki infused objects in this town,” She carried on, all attention on her. “In archaeology, haki infused blades are an extremely rare find. They are very few and far in between. Zoro probably knows more than me on the subject,” She eyed him a small smile on her lips. “But it takes a lot of skill both from the person forging the blade and the swordsman wielding the blade for it to become permanently infused with haki.”

Zoro nodded, confirming her suspicions.

“Now what is actually strange here is” She took a pause, trying to find the right words. “While haki infused blades are found here and there, haki infused daily objects have never been heard of.” She stopped in her tracks, looking at Zoro, a serious look in her eyes as she finished. “And this town is practically overflowing, with haki infused objects. Knives, rakes, sewing needles, even nails. Name it it’s probably there. It makes no sense really.”

“Is that so?” Luffy said. “I’m not sure I understand, but it sure does sound interesting,” he continued ahead on the path. “I wonder if she’s a good witch or a bad one,” he mused, Robin’s explanation going right over his head.

Zoro and Robin exchanged an amused look. A small sigh escaping their lips as they continued up the mountain.

It didn’t take long for Luffy to scream back at them. “Oi, I see a house! Hurry up you guys!”

As Zorro and Robin rejoined Luffy, they spotted a tall frail looking woman exiting a building. Something was clearly wrong, she had a hurt look in her eyes, her pace slightly off. Before they could stop him. Luffy was already shouting, “Hey! You! Are you the witch?”

The interruption seemed to snap her out of whatever trance she’d been in, blood coming back to her rosy cheeks. A soft smile plastered her lips. “Me?” She asked, amusement clear in her voice. She laughed, a clear cheerful din travelling in the crisp morning air. “Gods, no. That would be my sister.”

“That so? Why is she called a witch?” Luffy asked, no tact as usual.

She chuckled. “I’m not sure” She pondered. “Maybe it’s because of her temper, maybe it’s because of her skills as a blacksmith. Not everyone can see her magic after all.” She added in a sing song. It was clear to Robin that the young woman was the one entertaining the children’s fantasies.

“Is she here? I realllly want to see a witch,” Luffy probed. “I’m Luffy by the way. I’m gonna become the king of the pirates.”

“What?” The young woman laughed, incredulous at the captain’s antics. “I’m Mary.” She answered the introduction. “My sister is in her workshop, I wouldn’t recommend going in there though, she’s in a really bad mood today.”

None of the straw hats heard the second half of the sentence. Following their captain in the workshop instead.

To say the past few months had been hell to you would be the understatement of the century. You weren’t sure if you wanted to cry or scream. Your hammer clanked against the block of steel you were working. You were in a really bad mood. Enraged, would be more appropriate. You were aware your strikes were a touch too hard, risking the steel to settle wrong. You didn’t really care; anger clouded your eyes. Tears of fury threatening to blur your sight.

At first it’d been a captain from the navy. He’d offered some kind of contract from the government. You’d politely refused him, you were no government dog. But the bastard had simply turned away and said they’d be back. Then it had been fucking pirates. One after the other, you’d refused them. Ain’t no way you’d serve under thieving assholes either. But then. Then, a fucking admiral had shown up on your door. You scowled as his sleezy smile made its way in your mind. You’d told him no. He’d told you he’d pick you up in a month. Before he’d gone, he’d given you a wanted poster with your face on it. 1 Billion berries, it said. Dead or alive, it said. The threat was clear, refuse the government’s offer again and they were going to make sure you’d regret it. AND THEN. As if that wasn’t enough, a Yonko… A FUCKING YONKO, had strolled in your workshop as soon as the sleezy son of a bitch had left and asked you to join his crew. Admittedly you might have snapped, thrown a few knives and foul words his way. But the red-haired jerk had simply laughed and said he’d be back soon.

The one-month limit was nearing the end. You sighed.

“(Y/n)! Are you listening to me?” Mary, your sister, asked, sitting on a stool at the other end of your workshop.

“What?” you snapped at her not stopping your work. The rhythmic clank of your hammer on steel the only thing keeping you sane.

“I’m just saying, maybe you should reconsider that last offer. He didn’t seem like a bad guy, and you know the next time the Navy docks here, they won’t give you a choice.” She tried to plead with you.

“I’m not going to serve under a fucking Yonko,” your answer was final and she knew it. Still, she flinched at your tone, brows furrowing angrily.

“Why are you always such a bonehead,” she shouted at you. “At this point, your stubbornness is going to be what’s going to kill you. You need to leave this place!”

The next clang of your hammer was definitely too hard, leaving a deep dent in the hot steel. You didn’t stop even though the block was most definitely ruined. You’d have to re-melt it later. It didn’t matter. The outrage you felt at the situation started to border on fury. The air around you felt heavy, red crackling lightning-like filaments joining the threads of black flowing around you and into the steel.

“(Y/n),” You heard Mary plead. You saw her start to sway a little, her face beginning to blanch. “Stop! You know I can’t breathe when you get like that” She tried to calm you.

You couldn’t. The only thing in your head was that poster. 1 Billion berries. Fuck. You almost wished you could hand yourself in for that amount of berries. The sleezy asshole would be back soon. The atmosphere around you crackled more intently. The rage simmering under your skin threatened to boil over.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Then.” You answered, each word punctuated by the clank of your hammer.

Even looking only from the corner of your eye, the hurt was clear on her face. The pace of her footsteps was uneven, threatening to crumble under the oppressiveness of your haki. You sighed, guilt temporarily flooding your heart. You’d apologize later.

Next Chapter →

Masterlist

[a-living-canvas]

Reeks of Someone Else

It's a warm, rainy night. Whumpee slept comfortably on their bed, blanket wrapped around their figures. Warm and fluffy. Warm and drowsy. Warm and—

A finger slowly, gently, traced the palm of their hand. Drawing circular motion around it as Whumpee shifted on their position. The touch felt awfully familiar. Was it Caretaker? Or was it…

Whumper.

Whumpee opened their eyes wide as they sat up and backed away to the wall, hiding their face behind the pillow. Their body were trembling as tears slid down their cheeks. It must be Whumper, wanting to take them away again. They could feel their presence, slowly climbing up on the bed. 

"Please…please…don't take me away, please!" Whumpee pleaded. They couldn't bear the thought of living with Whumper again. They couldn't handle the constant pain anymore. Please…please…have some mercy on me…

"Whumpee?"

Caretaker put a hand on Whumpee's shoulder, making them flinch.

"No! No! Please!"

Caretaker grabbed Whumpee's arms, turning their body to them. 

"Whumpee, calm down!"

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears as they looked back at Caretaker. "C-caretaker…"

"Yes, it's me…" they stroked Whumpee's hair gently. Whumpee finally calmed down a little, but then they spoke with a serious tone.

"Caretaker, I think…I think Whumper is here…"

Caretaker tilted their head, "Whumper is here?"

Whumpee nodded, wrapping their hands around Caretaker's. "Yes, he…he must be hiding somewhere. He traced my palm just now…he…he always liked to do that…!"

Caretaker shook their heads, "Nobody's here, Whumpee. It's just me."

"You traced my palm earlier?"

"Well, no but—"

"Then who?!" 

Caretaker flinched. "I…I don't know…it might be your mind playing tricks on you."

Whumpee stared at Caretaker with a disappointed gaze before walking towards every corner of the room. They opened the closet, throwing all the clothes to the floor before moving to search under the bed.

"He must be here…! Hiding anywhere. I bet he put cameras around my room…" Whumpee muttered, looking at every inch, every corner of their room.

Caretaker watched Whumpee in slight worry. "Whumpee, can you just calm down please?"

"No! You don't understand." Whumpee continued searching. Frustration mixed with fear, they pushed all the stuff on the table to the ground before sitting on the edge of the bed. Burying their face in their palms, they muttered softly,

"I can't live like this anymore…"

Caretaker rubbed their back up and down gently. "Shh…it's okay…"

~

He kept haunting them, without stopping.

Whumpee walked downstairs late at night. It's 2 AM. Their throat felt dry as they rubbed their fingers around it. Yawning, they made their way to the kitchen before stopping. 

What is that?

A faint sound of a knife being sharpened could be heard from the sink. Whumpee saw a figure, standing with his back facing them. He was humming softly to himself while sharpening the sharp tool, a sadistic chuckle suddenly echoed through the kitchen.

Whumpee froze on their position. Those broad shoulders…those familiar hands on their skin. 

"Whumpee?"

That's it. Just hearing their name with that voice was enough to make them slowly kneeled on the floor. Their fingers trembling, tears were streaming down their faces without warning. 

"Y-yes, Master…?"

He went silent before calling out their name again. "Whumpee?"

"Yes, master…?" 

Again. "Whumpee?"

Whumpee bite their bottom lip. "Yes master? What is it? Tell me…" 

"Whumpee?"

Whumpee pressed their forehead on the floor. They knew Whumper was mad at them for escaping. They just wanted it to hurt a little less later.

"Yes, master! Tell me! Order me..! I'll be good! I'll be good, I promise..!" 

"Whumpee! What are you doing..?"

The sound of Caretaker's voice snapped them from their mind. Whumpee lifted their heads, looking up at Caretaker who stared at them with worry. "You were hallucinating again."

Whumpee shifted their gaze away from Caretaker. They were in the kitchen, alone, and all the kitchen utensils were in their right place.

"Y-you think it's just hallucinations…?"

"Yes." Caretaker crouched down in front of Whumpee, looking at them with a serious expression. "If this keeps happening, we will go to the hospital to check your condition."

Whumpee chuckled in disbelief, "You don't think I'm crazy right? You know I'm not spitting nonsense."

"Whumpee, I–" Caretaker sighed. "I checked the CCTV and nobody was there in your room or anywhere in our house. So please, stop this."

Caretaker stood up, leaving Whumpee alone in the kitchen.

~

"It's not hallucinations…" Whumpee muttered, burying their faces on the pillow as they laid on their stomach. "I know what I see. And I saw him…close to me."

They sighed. Whumpee closed their eyes, trying to sleep even though their mind was still racing. Full with Whumper and his—

Touch.

A pair of arms wrapped around their waist. Hands trailing their back. Another caressing their hair. What is happening? They could feel Whumper's touch, all over their body. Marking his ownership, claiming his property again. 

"Careta—"

No. They will think that Whumpee's crazy again and send them to the hospital. They were not a fan of hospitals, all those medicines and doctors only reminded them of Whumper.

"Stay quiet…stay quiet…"

Whumpee whispered softly. They buried their faces deeper on the pillow, trying to ignore those wandering hands around their body. They let out a slight whimper when their sides were being stroked.

"Stop it…stop it…please…"

The soft caresses suddenly turned into tight grips. The hand around their neck choking them, while the other hand was pulling their head back from the pillow. 

Whumpee let out a breathless gasp. "H…help! Please…stop it…!"

They brought their hands to their neck, trying to grab the hand choking them but they found nothing. 

"Oh, God! Stop…please! Please!"

Whumpee's face turned red from the lack of air. They could see the black dots filling their vision. "Caretaker— mmhh…!" 

Their mouths clamped shut by the other hand. Whumpee gave in to their slumber, closing their eyes as their consciousness fading.

~

Whumpee stirred awake from their sleep. They could hear the monitor beeped beside their bed.

It's all white. White bed sheet, white blanket and white ceilings. Oh, a hospital.

Whumpee let out a soft groan as they tried to sit up on the bed. Gentle hands guiding them back to the mattress, caressing their hair softly. "Don't move too much, Whumpee." Caretaker said, pushing a strand of hair behind Whumpee's ear. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Caretaker spoke again.

"You were choking yourself."

…What?

"Huh?"

"You were screaming and when I entered your room, you were choking yourself."

Whumpee blinked their eyes a few times. They touched the side of their neck, remembering the tight grip around it. Whumper's grip. "N-no…that's…that's not me. It's—"

Caretaker pressed their index finger against Whumpee's lips. "It's not Whumper, dear. It's you. It's always have been you."

Caretaker stood up, squeezing Whumpee's hand. "You need to rest."

Whumpee watched as Caretaker walked out of the door before closing it. They sealed their eyes shut, sighing. 

Half an hour passed, Whumpee stared at the ceiling while fiddling with their fingers when a doctor entered the room wearing a white coat and mask on his face. He walked towards Whumpee and they couldn't help but flinch when a few buttons on their shirt were being opened, revealing their skin.

The doctor chuckled, "Relax, I just want to check your heartbeat."

The cold surface of the stethoscope hitting against Whumpee's skin. They felt shivers running down their spine at the doctor's cold gaze.

"All good?" They asked.

"All good."

He pulled his hand away, buttoning Whumpee's shirt back as he picked up a syringe, removing the air bubbles with their fingers before turning back to Whumpee again. "Close your eyes." He ordered.

Whumpee hesitated for a moment. "Um, what's that for?" 

The doctor smiled through his eyes, although Whumpee wasn't sure whether it's the reassuring or malicious ones. "Just to ease your pain." He said.

Whumpee pondered for a few seconds before they nodded and closed their eyes. The doctor applied alcohol on a cotton-wool ball before wiping it across Whumpee's inner elbow. Whumpee could feel the sharp pain coursed through their body from the injection. 

Their body going limp and heavy, their head pounding with drowsiness. They opened their eyes. Their half lidded gaze met his and in the middle of passing out, the doctor pulled down his mask, revealing his toothy grin and sadistic smile that made Whumpee's stomach churned at the sight.

"Sleep tight, doll."

~

Part 2

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

Evil Ghost, protective Price, protective König, TW: Blood, TW: Torture, TW: Cutting, TW: Hostage situations, TW: Physical Abuse, TW: Intimidation, TW: Gunfire/gunfight

Reader POV:

Your scalp burned as Ghost dragged you across the room, his hand tightly knotted in your hair. You kicked and screamed the whole way, but nothing you did stopped Ghost as he wrestled you into the chair across the room. He used his full weight to hold you in place and forced your arms behind the backrest. The joints of your arms twisted painfully as the surface dug into your biceps and upper back. But your discomfort was the least of his concerns. As if to confirm that thought, Ghost reached down and produced a pair of handcuffs from his vest.

"I'd hoped I wouldn't have to use these," he said, his eyes saying quite the opposite. "But you've pissed me off for the last time, princess."

You tugged helplessly against his bruising grip, trying to pull your arms free. But he made quick work of clicking the cuffs in place. He secured them much tighter than necessary and you gasped in pain when the cool metal cut into your already bruised wrists.

Seemingly satisfied with your current state and confident you couldn't break free, he sauntered back to the bed. For a second, he rummaged beneath it. When he stood, he held in his hands a long coil of rope. He sawed at it with his knife until he had two even pieces before tossing the remaining bundle at your feet.

As soon as he was within range, you kicked at his shins as hard as you could. Ghost successfully grabbed one of your legs mid kick and forced it in place before tying it down to the chair leg with elaborate knots. But with your other leg, you managed to land a strong kick to his thigh. You had been aiming for his groin, but he'd shifted his hips away at the last possible moment.

He finished his last knot, yanking the rope excruciatingly tight. You cried out as the rope squeezed into your ankle, the coarse fibers gouging into your skin.

"Sit still," Ghost yelled, shoving your other leg down and binding it just as tightly. "You and I are gonna have a little chat."

After securing his last knot, he returned to the bed and pulled a thick roll of black fabric out from under it. He placed it on the mattress and untied its fastenings before unrolling it with care. Inside sat rows and rows of knives. Each were different shapes and sizes, each held in place by an elastic cord. Hunting knives, daggers, cleavers, kitchen knives, and even a few surgical scalpels. He trailed his fingers back and forth over each one, admiring his collection like a kid in a candy shop. He smirked, occasionally glancing in your direction just to watch your mind spin.

"Please don't hurt me," you begged, continuing to struggle as your terror increased. "Please!"

Your words fell on deaf ears as he continued to take his sweet time selecting a suitable tool for his task. He saw your eyes go wide when his hand hovered over a large knife with a leather hilt. The blade was sharpened to a fine edge along one side before transitioning to jagged teeth along the other. And both dualities converged into one precise point.

He slipped the knife out of its place, flipping it in his hand to test its weight before stalking back towards you.

"Looks like we've found a winner."

He sank down on his haunches in front of you, watching you squirm and tug against your restraints. But you froze with a whimper as he let the smooth edge of the blade dance lightly across your thigh.

"Now," he began. "I'm going to make this very simple. I'm going to ask you some questions. And since having a choice is so important to you, I'll give you some choices."

His eyes held a strange mixture of rage and glee as the blade skimmed across your hip, making you shiver.

"Here are your choices: me or him. Well, I suppose you could also choose silence. Though I would strongly advise against it, you're free to choose it as you please." He let the blade catch against your skin ever so slightly, emphasizing his point. "Understood?"

"Ghost, I don't wanna do this," you rushed in a cold sweat. "You're scaring me!"

"Lovely. Let's start with an easy one then," he quipped, tilting his head inquisitively. "Who do you belong to, princess?"

There were a few seconds of silence, but you quickly spoke the moment he raised the knife. "Um-I… I don't belong to anyone! I don’t belong to anyone!"

"Very clever." Ghost chuckled. "Let's see what that answer earns us, hm?"

You screamed as Ghost pressed the tip of the knife into the center of your thigh and dragged it down about an inch before twisting it, changing directions. The blade was so sharp that it sliced through the skin with no resistance at all, leaving a fiery line of blood in its wake. In contrast to your response, Ghost remained calm and focused on his craft as you screamed through the awful pain. And by the time he finally stopped, your throat felt raw. Your whole thigh trembled as the burning pain continued to linger. And as you gasped for breath and looked down, you could make out a faint shape within the smeared blood. It was the letter 'G'. A choked sob of horror overcame you as you stared at your mutilated flesh in disbelief. He truly was a monster.

"Maybe you'll choose more carefully this time, maybe you won't," Ghost shrugged, watching the blood continue to well up within his masterpiece. "But as always, the choice is yours. Let's try that one again, then. Tell me. Who do you belong to?"

Your brain really stalled this time. What the hell were you supposed to choose?? If you said it was him, it'd be a lie. And he already knew you were a terrible liar. But if you even mentioned König's name, you were certain you'd earn another cut. Or something far worse.

Ghost shook his head, clicking his tongue as the knife began the first agonizing strokes of an 'H'.

"You! You!" You yelled, suddenly willing to do or say anything as long as it meant he would stop. Even if just for a moment. "I belong to you!"

The knife went still before retreating and you let out a shaky sigh of relief.

"That's a good answer, don't you think?" His eyes squinted like he was smiling. "But I've heard those words before. So, are you lying to me, princess?"

You bit your lip as he waited, twirling the knife in his fingers and enjoying the way the sunlight flashed across its edge.

"Because you should know by now that lying doesn’t end well for you. In fact-”

Ghost froze in stunned silence and so did you. You didn’t know where the urge had come from, but his rigged games were starting to get on your nerves. Any answer you gave to his new question would simply bring more pain, more wounds, and more blood.

So, instead of picking your poison from the given answer choices, you had granted yourself a brand new one: spitting in his face. You could see the fury boiling over in his smoldering glare, your saliva splattered across the white material of his mask.

“Fuck you!” you hissed, glaring right back in defiance. If you were truly going to die here, you at least wanted to go out fighting. If this was where your story would end, you’d feel a tiny bit better knowing you’d made your final moments as inconvenient as possible for him.

Without a word, he rose to his feet and strolled back to the bed. He wiped the blood-stained blade on his jeans a few times before carefully returning the knife to its assigned place. Then, swiveling on his heel, he stalked back towards you. All you had time to register was his arm reeling back in a blur before your whole upper body jerked to the left, the back of his hand colliding against the side of your face with a loud slap. The stinging welt it left on your cheek made your eyes water and left you gasping in pain. Your jaw throbbed, the pain shooting through your whole head. But you maintained your steely glare, despite the tears that began to spill over your cheeks. And as Ghost drew his pistol and pressed it against your forehead, you held your ground.

"You wanna do this the hard way? We’ll do it the hard way,” he growled, venom lacing his every word. “I won’t ask again. Was it a lie?"

You didn’t cower and you didn’t shut your eyes. You wanted his last memory of your face to be the challenge in your eyes as you silently stared him down. You wanted the haunting image seared into his mind for all of eternity.

But just then, a flicker of movement appeared out of the corner of your eye. At the very edge of the window, something was there. Darting your eyes past Ghost’s threatening presence, you saw Captain Price carefully peek into view. He was pressed against the outside of the cabin, pistol drawn and tense. But he gave you a reassuring gesture. To say you were happy to see him would have been an immense understatement. But you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible as Price ducked back out of sight.

Despite your efforts, Ghost immediately detected the faint change in your expression and that was all the warning he needed. He spun to face the window, hand darting for his handgun. But before he could pull it from its holster, the window exploded in a shower of shattered glass. Ghost grunted as a bullet firmly embedded itself in his thigh, instinctively dropping to the floor and swiveling behind your chair for cover. You whimpered as the barrel of his gun quickly pressed against your cheek.

"Come in here and the girl dies," Ghost called out. His eyes remained fixed on the jagged, gaping hole of the window.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Ghost," Price yelled from just out of view. "Let's keep this between you and me. Let her go."

Ghost scoffed. "As if you’d do this alone. Who's with you? Soap? Alejandro? Her boyfriend?"

"It's just you and me, Ghost. So let's put down the guns, alright? Walk away from her and let’s talk this out man to man."

Ghost ignored him, yelling out a warning to any threats he couldn't see. "You hear me, König? Don't do anything stupid! Don't think I won't do it!"

"I don't think you really wanna do that, Ghost. It's clear you have a… fondness for Y/n."

"If I can't have her, no one can."

Though it would hurt him too, Ghost actually meant it. He'd avoid it if he could. But he'd rather have Y/n bleeding out on the floor than back in König's arms again. It would be one final "fuck you" to his rival. One last gut punch.

"All this time, you wanted us to be friends," Ghost went on, nudging your cheek with his weapon. "And now you want me to let her go? We were having such a nice time together. Isn't that right, princess?"

"Price, help me," you whimpered, trembling as the pistol dug into your cheek.

From outside, you could hear Price’s voice as he tried to keep you calm. "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm right here, I won't let him hurt you. Just breathe for me, okay?"

Ghost smirked. He knew there was no way Price would risk another shot as long as his pistol was aimed at you. Price was quick, but Ghost was confident he was quicker. So, feeling he had the upper hand, Ghost slowly moved out from behind the chair. "Go home, Price. You and your friends do that and no one-"

The instant Ghost’s body shifted past the edge of the chair, the other window disintegrated into a mist of glass shards as a loud gunshot sounded from behind. Ghost yelled and stumbled forward, clutching his shoulder. Price leapt into action, clambering through the window, pistol aimed towards Ghost's voice. But he’d vanished, repositioning in pursuit of cover. He reappeared on the other side of the room as he slid towards the bed, raising his firearm with you directly in his sights.

In a split second, Price lunged forward kicking the legs of your chair. Ghost fired and, as you toppled over with the chair, a streak of molten heat grazed your shoulder. Ghost had missed, but just barely. If it hadn't been for the captain’s quick thinking, you'd have died right then and there. But you weren't dead. Instead, you were landing on your side with a loud crash. Your shoulder bore the brunt of the impact before your head smashed against the floor. As your perspective had tilted sideways, you heard another gunshot. But both men were still locked in a desperate struggle for dominance.

The fight was ruthless and dirty. Price tackled him to the floor, scrambling to disarm him before he could send another bullet your way. But Ghost rolled, snapping his good leg up to knee the captain right below his ribs. Price grunted as the strike landed, but maintained a firm hold on Ghost’s right hand and continued trying to force it to the ground.

“Drop the gun!” he hollered, dropping his knee directly into Ghost’s thigh wound. “Drop it now!”

Ghost gritted his teeth, sending the heel of his boot flying into Price’s abdomen. The kick was powerful and successfully knocked him back, giving Ghost time to jump to his feet. He raised the gun again and immediately pulled the trigger, this time aiming for the captain. Price swiveled out of the bullet’s path, grabbing hold of Ghost’s arm and locking it in his grasp. With a yell of exertion, he hoisted him over his shoulder. When Price didn’t let go, Ghost's arm twisted at an excruciating angle as his back slammed against the floor at the captain’s feet.

Price twisted it further, fresh blood spurting from Ghost’s shoulder as the joint dislocated with a loud pop. As it went limp in his hold, he pried the handgun out of Ghost's grasp. Ghost managed to yank his mangled arm free with a loud cry, but Price released the gun’s magazine with a click before sending both parts clattering across the floor behind him. He then crouched into a fighting position, facing off with Ghost who now wielded a large shard of broken glass. He was gasping in pain and swayed ever so slightly as he tried to keep his weight off of his injured leg.

Anyone else would have been on the ground and writhing in pain. They would have quickly surrendered or begged for death. But Price knew Ghost well. Once he had his mind set on a mission, there were only two possible outcomes: Ghost would succeed or he would gladly die trying. Price did not enjoy the idea of the second option. In all their years as friends and teammates, it was an unspoken understanding that they would only lose each other to retirement or the dangerous nature of their work. He never once imagined that it would end like this. But the only other option would mean that Ghost would win. And that was an outcome Price would lay down his life to prevent.

I know this story includes some pretty dark themes. But at the end of the day, I care more about the well-being of my readers than I do for hits or kudos. Period. I never want my writing to conjure up emotions or feelings that negatively impact you beyond the story. This story can be dark and uncomfortable at times. But it is always intended strictly for fun and fantasy. If at any point along the way it stops being a pleasurable experience, please please close this page and walk away. My stories are never worth your well-being, loves.

[bonefall]

I was wondering- with the clans more advanced nature and ability to deal with more serious conditions, how would a clan deal with a cat who had been declawed? Would they try and change some things to make things like hunting more accessible for that cat, and if so, what would they do? Would they use something like a clawed gauntlet or claw implants?

Absolutely adore your content by the way

Being declawed is a very serious disability for a Clan cat to have. "Accommodation" for a cat that is declawed is completely concerned with reducing the serious pain that this procedure would put them in; there is almost no way to help make hunting more accessible.

Just to repeat that; Declawing is a disability for a Clan cat. I'll be treating it as such.

I'm gonna be using a medical diagram below the cut to show you the problem!! So TW: DECLAWING IS A FINGER AMPUTATION, please do not hit "read more" if seeing anatomy and hearing of a cat in pain would upset you!

[ID: A diagram of cat paw anatomy, showing how a cat's claw is like a "shoe" around the end of a bone and displaying how the muscles connect.]

"Declawing" means removing a weight-bearing bone from the foot of the animal. The final digit of the finger is meant to be in-contact with the ground. For a crude analogy, imagine if someone removed a bone from your foot and made you walk on your tibia and heel-meat.

So from the VERY offset, a declawed cat in the wild would not be able to patrol very far without pain. In addition, they don't have a way to "grab" things anymore. Bringing this cat on a hunting patrol would be unhelpful at best and actively destructive at worst. They can't hunt, not enough to "pull their weight".

Gloves don't fix this, and there is no claw to put an extender on. BB!Cats have slightly beefier hand anatomy than irl cats, but they only have TWO digits. Declawing reduces them to just one.

Quick drawing;

A declawed paw is not a hand that can hold a struggling animal; they don't even have the digit to make a good pincer grasp. Hunting is so hard it's nearly impossible.

For the cat's health, so they can enjoy their Clan's territory as is their right, they might want to make "shoes," or, crude booties. Unlike humans, cats don't have a "wrist" that a glove can easily rest on, so shoes would need to be tied to the leg.

[ID: A cat wearing booties. Note the straps above the paw.]

This could be made out of leather or flax, with some sort of sole for padding. This is an accessibility device, though, so keep in mind this is something you'd need a craftsman like BB!Jessy for.

So generally, a declawed cat is the type that spends a lot of time in camp! With a little extra time, it's possible to modify the tools that Kitchen Patrol uses for this individual. A spoon's handle can be curled so it rests on the wrist. Instead of skinning an animal with claws, they could fasten a knife to the paw.

[ID: BB!Cat paws drawn with the accessibility tools mentioned above.]

So, if the cat enjoys helping out around camp, there's still ways that they can contribute if they would like to.

And lastly, Clan cats think this is the ultimate symbol of human cruelty. Sharpening one's claws (karrurrska) is EXTREMELY important to the mental health of a cat. It feels good, it exercises your whole arm to get up there and sccrrraaaatch, there's tendons, bones, and scent glands on that final digit.

Hearing that a kittypet has been declawed is evil to Clan cats. Beyond mwyrgna. The cuckoo kills its kin to get more food from its parents, the rat kills its young out of fear. What purpose could humans possibly have to mutilate a cat like this, besides delight in seeing them suffer?

It's the kind of concept that would invoke a lot of emotion out of Clan cats.

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter 6:

Sunflower

Series Masterlist

previous part: Absdoughlutely next part: Beautifully Natured

Word Count: 5,150

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, anxiety, and domestic abuse.

"Hello!" Your favorite voice bounced off the walls all throughout the quiet and empty bakery after the sound of the bells above the door chimed.

"Hey, honey! I'm in the kitchen!" You called out, a sickeningly delightful smile smeared across your face as you could hear his foot steps quickly approaching.

Since you we're facing away from the doorway, busy peeling and chopping apples on the big stainless steel countertops, you felt him before you saw him.

Steve's big arms engulfed you from behind as he peeped at what you were up to from above your head. "What's cookin' good lookin'?"

You laughed at his question before setting the big, freshly sharpened knife on the cutting board and ripping off your vinyl gloves. "Well for now it's just apples, but hopefully in an hour or two it'll be a whole tray of apple crisp bars ready to go for morning rush."

"Well it already looks delicious" He commented with a lopsided grin as you tossed the gloves into the trash for an opportunity to give him a proper hug.

You wrapped your arms around each other and lingered there for longer than an average hug, but who could blame you when he smelled so nice and held you so close and snug against his built chest. "They're just green apples, Honey"

"I love green apples" He stated as a matter of fact.

"Well today is your lucky day, because we have far too many so eat away" You released Steve from the hug and finally got to admire him.

It seemed as though every t-shirt he owned was one wrong move away from bursting at the seams, all while his legs just went on for miles and miles an-

"Soooooo, how can I help?" He asked, running his hand through his hair to pull it off his face.

"However you want" You smiled knowing that was his favorite answer.

If there was nothing blatantly obvious that needed to be done, he always found tasks that he loved to do. From organizing the cookie cutter bins by category in alphabetical order, to rearranging all the spools of ribbon on the long hanger to be in order of the color wheel, he always did it with a smile on his face.

At first you found it a little unnerving as if he felt pressured into needing to do something rather than just hang out with you, but after a few weeks of insisting, you finally understood he really did enjoy keeping busy any way he could. Anything that could occupy his hands and mind kept him one step closer to sanity.

"Ohh!" He lit up. "Can I finally fix that light in the bake case?"

He's quite literally been begging to fix it ever since he noticed one of the tiny lights in the bake case had been out. It wasn't enough for a customer to notice, nor was it a dire issue so it kept getting pushed to the back burner. It also wasn't as simple as just replacing the bulb, there were screws and wires and some weird metal pieces attached to weird plastic pieces...

"Be my guest, I know that would make you so happy"

"Just think of how beautiful your apple crisps will be in the morning under all of the lights, rather than all of the lights except for that one that's been out for weeks!"

"What would I ever do without you, Stevie?" You giggled as you snapped on a new pair of gloves to continue your apple chopping. "The bake case would be so dull... much as every passing day"

"Ugh, you're so lucky to have me." He joked with a sigh. "Screw driver?"

"Tool box is in the supply closet, very top shelf, back left corner." Your smile prevailed. "Did you lock the door?"

"Yes ma'am, and closed the blinds."

"Wow, at this point you're my best employee."

"And don't you forget it" Steve threw you a casual wink before disappearing into the lobby.

The light was an easy 15 minute fix, well, it would've been about five had he not lost a screw that took 10 minutes to find but he would never admit that. As he was finishing up, he heard what was almost a hissing sound coming from you in the kitchen, followed by clanking as if something had been dropped onto the metal countertops.

The sounds piqued Steve's concern, so he closed the case back up. But as he was walking back to the kitchen, he heard your little voice call out to him.

"Steve?" It was shaky and scared, something he had never heard from you before. Needless to say his walking pace turned into a jog, and when he made it through the doorway he saw you holding your hand in the other.

Your face was white as a ghost and your eyes were spacey, but the closer he got he noticed you were squeezing a bunched up paper towel to your hand and slowly swaying. He looked over to your apples to see a red puddle and the knife where it shouldn't be.

He recognized that glossy facial expression, he had seen it millions of times before on battlefield and training rooms. So he offered you a comforting smile as he approached to keep a hand on you. If you were about to pass out, he would be there to catch you.

"I um..." You started, but you couldn't quite get the words out without your internalized panic becoming very, very external. "Was cutting- then the knife slipped and I...caught it..."

"Are you okay?" He rubbed your arm as all his extensive first aid training from his days as an Avenger came flooding back to him.

"Bleeding" You stated, blinking your eyes as fuzzy darkness started to overtake your vision in invasive swirls. "A lot."

"Feelin' dizzy?" He questioned gently.

"Very." You nodded.

"Alright sweet girl, let's get you sitting down." He encouraged. You took one wobbly step before Steve stopped you in your tracks. There was no way you were going to make it to a chair by the will of your own two feet. "Okay I'm just going to pick you up."

You nodded in agreement and he swooped you into his arms like a rag-doll. You didn't even feel the need to hang on in case he dropped you, you just focused on keeping firm pressure on your hand as he took you to the front and set you down on a padded booth.

"Can I see it?" Steve questioned as he squat down in front of you. Once again you nodded and slowly pulled the paper towel away from your hand to reveal a nice slice right in the cushioned part of your palm beneath your thumb.

He inspected it the best he could but there was too much blood to even see what was going on beneath it, and when you curiously took a peak at your own hand, the black fuzzies invaded more of your vision.

"I think- I think I'm going to pass out." You mumbled.

Steve's eyes met yours in an instant when you admitted that, and he saw your ghostly white complexion had turned into bright pink cheeks and your head barely standing still. He pressed the paper towel back into your palm to block your injury from your eyesight.

"It's okay, lay down. Deep breaths." He reminded you, and assisted you on a slow and careful journey downwards on the booth. He reached over and grabbed a throw pillow from one of the lounge chairs and slipped it under your head. "Where's the first aid kit?"

"B-bathroom." You mumbled.

"Keep putting pressure on this, I'll be right back." He told you, guiding one of your hands to the other so you could firmly press them together.

You tried your best to stay awake even though you had to fight through the tunneled ringing in your ears and you lack of ability to see anything beyond the dizziness. However, you did hear his feet moving quickly around the store and the hand washing sink running.

Less than a minute later he was back and sitting on the floor in front of you, and setting down everything he had grabbed. You looked down to see him snapping on some gloves that barely fit his big hands, along with a whole roll of paper towels and both first aid kits. The calm expression on his face reminded you of exactly who he was, and what he did for most of the years of his life before he even met you.

"Here, take a few sips of water." He instructed you, cracking open a cold plastic bottle he took from the drink fridge. You did as you were told before placing the cold bottle against your hot cheeks as he sandwiched your injured hand between his two. "I'm going to see what I can do with what I have here, okay?"

"Do I need stitches?" You asked.

"I don't know yet, but I'll try my best to avoid that." He grinned before pulling the bloody paper towel off your hand. "Did you wash this already?"

"Ran it under water" You sucked in a breath as you felt gushes of thick warm liquid as he left it uncovered. Having not learned your lesson the first time, you looked again. "Oh my god..."

"Don't look at your hand, look at me." He advised you as he wiped away at the blood. It really wasn't stopping or slowing down at all, so he sandwiched your hand between his again and held it with firm pressure from both sides. "We're just going to hold hands for a while."

His reassuring smile as his eyes met yours made you feel like you could breathe again. "Well this is nice."

"Walk in the park" He agreed. "Does it hurt or can I squeeze harder?"

"Harder is okay" You agreed, so he did. It was just enough to feel your hand throbbing in his hold but not enough to cause more pain than you were already in.

"So, how was your day?" He questioned nonchalantly, trying to pull your mind away from your hand in attempts to calm you down. Plus he knew he needed a good amount of pressure to stay there for a little while.

"It was fine-busy." You answered shortly wanting to cut to the chase. "You're like, medically trained? You can give me stitches?"

"I'm trained enough to stop bullet wounds from bleeding out, and I've given stitches more times than I even remember." He reassured you. "But I have nothing here to work with, and I don't know enough to medically decide what kind of stitches would be best for this. If you need them, the best hands to be in will be a doctor's" He explained.

"Does it hurt?"

You worried eyes were killing him, but setting realistic expectations for what was to come seemed to be the best way you knew how to deal with your own fears, so he was happy to answer. "Another benefit of a doctor is that they'll numb you before. A few little shots around your hand and you'll barely feel a thing. It definitely doesn't hurt more than catching a falling knife."

You nodded with a gulp before an anxious, almost guilty admission slipped past your lips. "I'm really scared of the hospital. I know that probably sounds stupid to you but-"

"That's not stupid." He shook his head. "Most people only find themselves in a hospital when a bad thing happened to them or someone they loved. It's easy to be scared of a place like that."

"I'd rather you sew my hand together with a needle and thread and no pain killers then have a panic attack by myself in the emergency room." You continued to express your fears.

It was apparent to him now that the panic in your voice wasn't necessarily over the injury itself, but the thought of having to seek medical treatment. His first words without much thought would've been 'you won't be alone, I'll go with you', but you were smarter and more thoughtful than him. Stepping into a hospital with cameras around every square inch of the building and high security would be like locking himself in a cell.

You could see his wheels turning, trying desperately to find a solution to ease your mind before he let go of the pressure on your hand to check in on the cut. "It does actually seem to be slowing down a bit, but it looks pretty deep. Even if it closes on its own it's going to keep ripping open." He sighed.

You could tell he was contemplating the most morally correct option. He could do this himself and it would be fine, or he could encourage you to seek medical help and you'd have a not so fun night in the emergency room by yourself.

"Please" You pleaded, tears pooling in your lash line. "Georgia hates me, I have no family here, and I don't feel comfortable going with any of my other friends. We both know you can't step foot into a hospital."

"Can I ask what exactly you're afraid of?" Steve questioned gently, one of his hands still squeezing yours while the other rubbed up and down your arm to try and comfort you.

"I had a lot of really bad nights by myself at Greenwood medical." You started, unsure of how much you actually wanted to confess because you hated the way people looked at you when they found out. But Steve, maybe he would be different. Maybe he wouldn't look at you that way. "My ex-boyfriend he... wasn't very nice. And going there just reminds me of all of those times I was there alone because of him and I just- I can't go there."

His eyes softened, and his eyebrows tried hard to hide his inward emotion but he was still sympathetic. There was not much detail, but he got it now. He was done asking questions until you were ready to tell him more, and he was going to make sure you didn't have to step one single foot anywhere alone tonight.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." He sympathized, still rubbing your arm. "I have a lot of first aid supplies at home, I think I can make it work. I have a few things we can try before I sew it up, but just in case I do have a sterile needle."

You quickly nodded, accepting his offer to play doctor for you. "I'll just clean up the kitchen really quick-"

"No" He giggled as you started sitting up. "You stay here and keep putting pressure on it , I'll clean up the kitchen then take you to my house."

"I'll be fine" you insisted, but as you fully sat up a whole new wave of dizziness hit you once more.

"Just stay here." He smiled, wrapping your hand up with lots of gauze and tying cotton wrap around it as tightly as he could. "I'll be right back."

He disappeared through the kitchen door way, leaving you to lean your head back against the wall and take in some deep breaths to calm yourself down. You could hear the fridge opening and closing, the three compartment sink running, and the contents of the sanitizer bucket being dumped out before he came back to you.

He handled you with such tenderness and care as he helped get you into the car and back to his place. You didn't really even have a chance to process the new environment you were in as he urgently rushed you up the stairs and sat you on top of the en suite bathroom counter with your hand dripping blood over the sink.

He started rummaging through the cabinet and advising you to look away once more before he snapped on a new pair of gloves and aided the best way he knew he could.

Through the whole ordeal he told you exactly what he was doing before he did it, let you squeeze his hand as he sanitized it as you both knew the stinging was going to hurt like hell, then at the very end he was just as happy as you were that a bit of super glue and some butterfly closure bandages saved you from that sterile needle he told you about.

When all was said and done, it was nearing 10pm and he could just see the emotional and physical exhaustion dripping off of you. So the second the final wrapping was secured on you hand and he knew you were on the road to a smooth recovery, he gently raised the back of it to his mouth and gave it an exaggerated kiss just to make you smile.

"All better?" He asked, your eyes opening to look at him when you felt his mustache tickle your skin.

"Thank you, Doctor Rogers" You softly smiled, not having much energy left. "Your services are greatly appreciated."

"It's easy to be a great doctor when you have a great patient" He admitted. "I'm sorry, I know that hurt. On a scale of one to ten, how much of an asshole do you think I am now?"

"Zero" Your smile stretched beyond what you thought was possible. "Far less painful than the alternative."

"Good, that's all I could've hoped for." He let go of your hand. "Are you okay?"

Though the question was played off as surface level, you knew what he was really asking. Instead of answering the question with a lie, or forcing yourself into the emotional intimacy of telling the truth, you simply stuck your arms out for a hug.

He didn't hesitate to step between your legs and let you lean forward onto him before he protectively wrapped his arms around you.

The two of you stayed there for a while, but he didn't mind one bit. He ate up every second of it considering human contact in the past year of his life was few and far in between before meeting you.

"Why do you have so much first aid?" You questioned with your chin resting on his shoulder, arms happily keeping him close.

"Nat, Wanda, Sam... they all know exactly where I am. If they need a place to hide away I just want to be prepared." He explained. "Just in case something happens."

"You're a good man, Steve." You told him confidently. Somehow, talking about your hard realities felt easier like this. Being so close yet not having to see the worried facial expressions of each other as you talk about it. "Does Tony know?"

"Yeah" his voice broke, almost as if he was whispering. "He knows Bucky is in Wakanda too. He knows I broke everyone out of the raft, and didn't do anything about it when he got the call. Even if he hates me, I think there's a part of him that understands why I had to do what I did."

"How is Bucky doing?" You questioned.

"They cured him" Steve told you. "I got to talk to him yesterday. He's doing good, but even though the winter soldier is gone he has a lot of healing to do."

"Does it make you happy when you get to talk to them?" You asked knowing how much guilt he held onto.

"It does, I get a lot of peace of mind. It seems like everyone is making the time to work on themselves. Do things they've always wanted to do but haven't gotten to yet because avenging got in the way." He explained as he relaxed into you once more.

With each honest answer, you found yourself wanting to be more honest with him too.

"How about you?"

"I'm doing better. I slept through the night last night- anxiety levels are starting to creep down. I feel like I'm starting to accept that Captain America isn't who I am anymore, and that's okay." His answer sounded genuine to you. "So, I ask you again. Are you okay?"

"I wasn't." You confessed. "For a very long time, I was in a very bad place. I thought I was doomed to a lifetime of never being able to move on from how he hurt me. But I got there, and I'm doing a lot better. It's just sometimes things happen that remind me of how bad it really was, and it makes me panic out of fear of feeling how I used to. But I'm okay now."

"Where is he now?" Steve tightened his grip on you, nestling the side of his head into yours.

���Arizona"

"Do you want me to drive to Arizona and cut off his dick?" Steve offered, earning a heavenly laugh from you.

"It's okay, all that drive time isn't worth three inches." You smiled.

He laughed right in your ear before letting out a sigh. "You're right, three inches is more embarrassing than nothing at all."

You slowly let go of him and leaned back against the mirror, though Steve didn't feel ready to stop touching you yet so his hands make their way to the sides of your thighs.

"You're so sleepy" He grinned, being unable to hide how adorable he truly thought it was.

"I've been up since 4 this morning, of course I'm sleepy." You agreed.

"I'm mad at you, by the way." He stated with a sigh, mischievously raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah? What'd I do?" You questioned, hyper-aware of his warm hands squeezing your legs.

"You make me enjoy your company so much that no matter how much time we spend together it's never enough." Steve explained. "And when you leave? I miss you. Why did you do that to me?"

"M'sorry." You apologized disingenuously. "What are you going to do about it? Call the police?"

"Mhm, report you for harboring a fugitive." He joked.

"How dare you?" Your eyebrows playfully furrowed and your lips tugged upwards. "Then what would happen to my stupidity handsome fugitive? I'm pretty sure he survives off of chocolate chips and almond croissants. He'd wither away without the bakery"

"He'd have to run far, far away. Find a new bakery in a different town and cry over how lame the almond croissants are compared to yours."

"How do I keep you from dialing 911?" You asked. "How could I possibly spare you from a dull life full of mediocre pastry?"

"It's simple, just stop making me miss you so much." He shrugged.

"I think that's something you'll have to work on within yourself, sweet cheeks."

"Bucky did always say I have quite the knack for becoming far too attached to the people around me." Steve explained. "But this? This was never supposed to happen. Not when I told myself I wouldn't trust anyone until I could figure out how to absolve my criminal status."

"Well told myself I'd never let another man sneak his way into my heart, but here we are." You shrugged, cheeks warming at your own words.

"Is that what's happening?" Steve asked.

"We're either living in a cloudy bubble of naïveté, or maybe we were both supposed to end up right here, right now." You sleepily let your thoughts spew out of your mouth.

You watched the well oiled gears in his brain turn and crank until he deflated. "I really care about you."

"But?" You asked, feeling your heart sink to your stomach.

"I'm going to have to leave one day." He reminded you. "I don't want to hurt you like that."

"I know that." You nodded as you took his hand into your non injured one. "But you've been on the run for almost a year now, Steve. That's a whole year of your life that you'll never get back just because you don't know where you'll have to go or what you'll have to do next. Tell me, how much longer do you think you'll have until you leave Greenwood?"

"I don't know." He whispered, trying to understand your point.

"How long until you're forgiven?"

"I don't know."

"How long until the world needs their Steve Rogers back?"

"I don't know."

"How long has it been since we've been dancing around whatever is going on here just because time is so uncertain?" You laced your fingers with his, and his thumb nervously traced stripes into the back of your hand.

"Since the moment I saw you." He admitted, cheeks glowing pink.

"It's been a long time. A really long time. Months" You reminded him. "Whether we have a whole life time ahead of us, or only five more minutes, I'd rather spend the rest of my time with you being genuinely happy instead of dully dancing around the inevitable."

"Are you going to hate me when I go?" He questioned softly. You could see the concern smeared across his face. The fear flooded his eyes and sunk his eyebrows, he really couldn't handle one more person he loves hating him.

"Nothing could make me hate you." You denied. "I understand that this can't be forever, and that's okay. I just want it for now."

His free hand made its way up to your hair before gently pulling the strands that didn't quite make it into your ponytail away from your face and behind your ear.

Thoughts were firing out of every corner of his mind and ricocheting off every surface they could. It caused a chaotic sea of emotions, and paralyzed him with lack of words as the only outcome he could think of in this moment was closing his eyes and leaning forward hoping you'd meet him halfway.

And you did. His hand traveled along with your movements, caressing the side of your face as your soft lips met his.

The kiss was long, gentle, and sweet. Both of you couldn't remember the last time butterflies filled your stomach that didn't involve cutting it really close in hand to hand combat or just barely escaping a man that wanted to do you harm.

Most people loved to offer unsolicited advice when they learned of the situation with your ex. They all advised you, butterflies aren't some romantic feeling that was meant to sweep you off your feet, it was anxiety warning you to run.

But this, this was different. They were calm, slow flutters that made you feel so warm and relaxed that running wasn't even an option. You were more so melting into his hands like a popsicle on a hot summer day, you felt like the chunks of butter atop a crumble in the oven; slowly melting and turning a good thing even better.

When you mutually pulled away because the unfortunate human need to breathe was just too much, your foreheads and noses stayed pressed together.

"I think you're braver than me." Steve admitted, thou could hear the sadness in his voice.

"Why is that?"

"You've already accepted that this can't be forever, yet I already miss you even when you're right in front of me." His throat felt like it was closing, and his heart was slowly being ripped apart in his chest.

You kissed his lips once more, then again, and again. "I'll miss you too, but we shouldn't keep wasting such a good thing while it's right in front of us. Our time together is so precious, we have a chance right now to make the most out of it." He kissed you this time, then you continued. "Sunflowers still grow when the moon is out."

"I don't know if I would still be surviving this without you." The confessions wouldn't stop flowing passed his lips at this point. "I guess that makes you my sunflower in the dark."

"You'll make it home one day." You pulled your forehead off of his. "You'll be forgiven, you'll get your family back, and when it happens I'll still be cheering you on."

"I'll tell them all about Greenwood, and how I risked everything for a sweet little baker that catches falling knifes and hides away criminals." His sadness started to dissolve when he saw how yours never arrived.

It did, but you did a good job hiding it for the sake of his own mind.

"I'm not hiding away a criminal, I'm hiding away my best friend. Big difference."

His smile stretched impossibly wide. "They'll never believe me, by the way. All of them will make jokes about it until I find my way back to you and they see it with their own eyes."

"If that's the case, you'll need to fill me in on what kind of desserts Avengers like to eat because I'll have to win them over somehow." A yawn took over the end of your words.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Steve questioned.

You shook your head. "Don't want to miss you that much."

"Okay, then how does Cars 2 and some real cuddles this time sound?"

"Like a dream come true." You smiled before taking another opportunity to steal a kiss.

"Come on, let's get you cozy." He offered you a hand to help you off the counter.

You both changed into some cozier clothes after he found you a shirt and some sweatpants of his that might've had a fighting chance at staying on your body. It earned a good laugh when you had to roll up the waistband a few times and tie the drawstring tight, but your efforts to still look a little cute in a super soldiers clothes were diminished when his shirt swallowed you whole.

Although Steve's clothes looked much better on him, you couldn't even begin to deny how comfortable you were as you slipped into his bed in his surprisingly well decorated bedroom and found yourself wrapped up in him once more.

"Tomorrow I'll help you change the bandages on your hand and drive you to work." He exclaimed while running his fingers through your hair that was now out of its ponytail and flowing freely.

"That's some real princess treatment." You drowsily mumbled, soaking in his body heat.

"I'm pretty sure that's the bare minimum of human decency." Steve challenged.

"I told the girls that I got injured at work and that I'll be going in late." You informed. "We can sleep in."

"Good, you deserve more than 12 hours between workdays."

"Nobody in the entire world would be able to wake me up before the sun if this is what I'm falling asleep to." You smiled as your eyelids were forcing you to keep them shut.

"I'm happy to have you here" Steve kissed the top of your head.

"I'm so happy to be here." You reaffirmed. "Goodnight, honey."

"Sweet dreams, Sunflower."

Next Part: Beautifully Natured

Tag list: @patzammit @bemysugarbean @buckymydarlingangel @happinessinthebeing @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @differenttyphoonwerewolf @themotherof10 @lokislady82 @talesofadragon @spikeluv84 @xxxalicerogersxx @avid-fic-reader-05 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bitchy-bi-trash

[britt-kageryuu]

A bit of a content warning! Mentions of Blood, mentions of dismemberment(I think), not sure what else, but Mikey is wielding a knife. He's Cooking!

(I for a very silly reason want to say this ain't very Vegan Friendly, but that's just a weird part of my humor coming through. Let me know if I should get rid of this weird joke of a content warning!)

Mikey is doing another cooking show stream, though he switched somethings up. He's showing off some skills he learned from the high level cooking classes he took recently. And not just the new gadgets and tools he added to his kitchen.

Like he's butchering the skinned, blooded(drained the blood), body of a deer during the stream. He explained that there had been a bit of an accident when they went to visit a friend of theirs that lived out in the woods. "Todd is a total sweetheart! He runs a puppy sanctuary, makes some of the best lemonade, and he's an amazing blacksmith!"

Mikey had already removed the organs, legs and head by this point. And he was separating the main part of the rib area. All while telling random anecdotes.

"I remember hearing those jokes about people hiding weird stuff in their recipe stories, because most people never read that part. And it just made me think how weird it would be to just drop, 'My Dad was trapped in a highly toxic relationship for like 10 years, but during that time he learned the recipe for the best dumplings ever, and here it is!'." Mikey says this with such a upbeat tone, while holding the knife close to his face 'cutely', "But this could only work with like 3 recipes that my Dad taught me. Though I think one of those was from one of the assistants that worked for Barry. Who Dad meet briefly after escaping from his Ex-Fiance."

Mikey paused to chop harshly through a tough connection point.

"Hmm. I think I need to sharpen my knives, I should've been much farther in this than I am." He holds the knife at an angle to look at the blades edge. "Give me a sec, chat!"

Mikey puts the knife down, and goes to a draw, and searches for a moment before coming back with a stone.

"For those who don't know what this is. It's a whetstone, which is traditionally used in blade sharpening. Let me demonstrate by sharpening this knife!"

The audience is not very sure how to handle parts of this stream. Some are fascinated, others are confused, while some feel a bit concerned.

Mikey then demonstrates the now sharp knife by chopping right through a bone section.

"Well, that's more than I expected, but it will definitely get the job done!" Mikey chirps out, "I wonder what else this could cut through? Well I can't test that right now, especially if I want to get around to cooking something today."

He goes back to cutting apart the different sections that were still together.

"Also, I swear the most delicious thing I've ever had, was sadly also poisonous. Not really in a 'this will kill me' way, but a 'I felt boneless for 6 hours' kinda way. And I was forbidden from trying to get the recipe!" Mikey rants with a slight glare off to the side.

Now the audience is even more conflicted, and concerned.

Someone in the chat brings up that Mikey has a Psychology Degree, and some people start to wonder if Mikey is just messing with them or not.

-----------------

Masterpost

I honestly wrote this because of that 'Hide dark stuff in the recipe story' joke. And the idea of Mikey telling one while cutting apart a carcass or something.

[cissa-calls]

Countdown to Agatha: Darkhold Diaries: Day 601

Wanda, carving a pumpkin: “Circe’s wrath! These carving tools are so awful, they can barely cut through anything!”

Y/N: “Pumpkin carving kits usually are like that, we might need to get a more sturdy knife from the kitchen”

Agatha: “No need, I have one here-” *pulls long blade from inside her boot* “-just sharpened it this morning!”

Wanda: “Should I try to feign surprise?”

Y/N: “Can I use it?”

Agatha and Wanda: “NO”

[iamarealkat]

FIRST COURSE - KNIVES

(or at least the ones I recognised from the TV-show so far)

mads mikkelsen by kenneth willardt for vanity fair italy, 2015 - aka my favorite shoot of his.

i apologize.

1. Spyderco Harpy

• appears in Hannibal season 3 in Italy .ೃ࿐

The Harpy was designed as a knife for seamen, featuring a karambit style blade that magically cuts right through rope, the serration lending a hand to the task.

Additionally, the Harpy boasts a detailed tip, which can chew through a manner of different materials, probably one of the main reasons why Hannibal found it handy for different...matters. To sum it up: This is not one of his kitchen knives, but rather one he used as a pocket knife in all different kind of situations.

Originally the japanese Spyderco Harpy was designed to accommodate the needs of commercial fishermen. The hawksbill blade is modeled after the talon of the Harpy eagle, allowing for a deliberate pulling cut where the object does not slip off the end of the edge. The hollow-ground blade incorporates SpyderEdge serrations and a thick spine for support. The handle is made of stainless steel with a drying vent, perfect for Hannibal and his exquisite taste…and of course correspondingly expensive. A good 200 euros for this fine tool, everybody. But he seems to be rolling in money, so no problem for our favourite cannibal.

2. Chroma Type 301 style by F. A. Porsche

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

To be honest I really fell in love with the Spyderco Harpy and didn’t quite think anything could change that. But. When I tell you the design…omg. The Chroma Type 301 knife series was brought to life by F.A. Porsche (yup, the german car guy) and the chef of the decade, Jörg Wörther (austrian chef).

Japanese knives have achieved global recognition for their quality, as the Japanese hold a long tradition in metallurgy. The Japanese metallurgists have elevated the forging and sharpening of the blade into a form of art for hundreds of years, since the era of the notorious Katana swords. On the other hand, Europeans and Americans also make excellent knives, often characterized by superior ergonomics and design, but rarely distinguished for the hardness and sharpness of their blade.

The type 301 knife series by Chroma bridges the gap between Japanese tradition and the European design, this series standing out for its unique design and practical function. Porsche and Wörther closely worked together in order to develop the final shape of the handle, which is optimized for maximum usability. The result is a precision cutting tool. Each knife is carefully weighted to ensure perfect balance in the hand and in combination with the highly ergonomic handle, it feels like an extension of the user’s hand. The Chroma type 301 knives follow faithfully the Japanese philosophy, which dictates a knife to be lightweight and flexible. They are made of high-quality Japanese 301 steel, a relatively lightweight material which has a 56-58 hardness rating in the Rockwell hardness scale. This renders the type 301 knives harder than most of the non-Japanese knives and among the hardest knives within their price range. The increased hardness allows the knife to maintain its sharpness longer and also to slice better.Even though the Chroma type 301 knives are mass produced, they are carefully razorsharp sharpened by the hand of a master. Quality control is performed on one-to-one basis and not through random sampling. And by the way…did I mention the extraordinary design.

3. Kai Shun Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Before Shun Cutlery was established in the western market, most people were used to heavy European-style kitchen knives. With Shun’s entry into the marketplace, home cooks and professional chefs alike were introduced to the lightweight precision of fine Japanese cutlery. Thinner blades, sharper edges, and lighter weight gave Shun a high-performance edge that the heavier knives couldn’t match. Each Shun still takes at least 100 handcrafted steps to complete and Shun remains true to its ancient heritage of quality. At the same time, Shun takes advantage of thoroughly modern, premium materials and state-of-the-art technology to provide that traditional quality to millions of professional chefs and avid home cooks throughout the world.

Today, Shun has become one of the most well-known names in kitchen cutlery. It has won awards for innovation and quality. It has been admired and emulated. With new styles, new materials, and an ongoing dedication to the spirit of innovation, Shun will continue to provide Japanese kitchen cutlery of outstanding beauty, impeccable precision, and the very highest performance.

4. Global Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Global G Series knives are typically put together in what's called a three piece construction. The blade is stamped out of sheets of steel of a proprietary stainless steel alloy, while the two handles are created and welded together separately. The blade and handle are then welded together into one solid piece of stainless steel.

What makes these Global knives a bit unusual is that they start off empty. The blades are welded on without a tang and the handles are actually hollow. Instead, to maintain balance, they are filled with a very precise amount of sand.

Now it's quite unusual and you might just write this off as Japan being Japan and doing things differently because...well, they're Japan, but it seems to work very well for them.

The ability to inject a precise amount of weight (sand, in this case) as needed directly into the knife has led to them getting a reputation or having very precise and excellently balanced knives across their range of products.

That said, ergonomics are always personal.

Global G Series knives tend to feel very lightweight and evenly balanced. Some people tend to prefer a knife that is more weighted to the back for a firmer grip, or to the front for chopping action. This is the classic global knife version, but of course there are various other series one can discover. Unfortunately I am not able to tell the exact version Hannibal uses in the show by just watching...if anyone has an idea let me know!!!