#or perhaps in some kind of hearty soup

[waitineedaname]

Yo, friendo What's the best way to consume these funny doomed men I keep seeing?

( Didn't mean it literality, but I can't help but think that the answer is with spice )

depends on which ones!! there are two series I've been posting about a lot, both by the same author: SVSSS and MDZS!

Scum Villain's Self-Saving System/SVSSS is a book series, and you can read it physically (which I did through my local library for the first two books) or online on the Internet Archive or Anna's Archive (which I did for the last two books when I got too impatient to wait on my holds). It also has a ten episode long donghua called Scumbag System that covers most of the first book and it's terrible (affectionate). You can find that one on youtube or most anime pirating sites. In short summary, SVSSS is about a terminally online dude getting isekai'd into the villain of a webnovel he absolutely hates, and in his attempt to avoid the villain's horrible death he sends the story completely off the rails. It's unhinged, hilarious, and everyone in the series is a complete freak <3 It's only four books long (three of which are the main plot and the fourth is extras)

MDZS/Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation is also a book series by the same author! Similarly, you can check your public library or the Internet Archive and Anna's Archive. It also has a donghua (which I haven't watched) and a wildly successful live action drama called The Untamed (which is how I initially got into the series!). The Untamed is available on Netflix and Youtube and probably other places. It does make some significant changes due to censorship reasons and it is extremely cheesy, but I enjoy it. If you want more classical tragedy, I'd say start with The Untamed, and if you want more gay necromancy shenanigans, I'd say start with the books! In short summary, it's about the life and death and second life of Wei Wuxian as he goes from war hero to widely reviled necromancer, and it's quite fun. The book series is five books long, and The Untamed is 50 episodes long. I have a character guide for that one if you need it because the names do get confusing!

[meazalykov]

a day in my life

sydney lohmann x contentcreatorwife!reader (requested)

summary: you're a content creator who shares her life with her millions of followers

you open your tiktok app, the bright and colorful icon glowing on your phone screen, you yawn as you spend hours editing– or should you say preparing to share another piece of your life with your vast audience of 3 million followers. 

scrolling through your feed, you can't help but feel the warmth of your community surrounding you. every comment under your videos makes you smile, each one a reminder of the positive space you've created. 

viewers quickly praise how pretty and gorgeous you look while also expressing their admiration for the delicious meals you whip up, your hygiene hauls, your skincare and haircare tutorials, grocery shopping vlogs, and more. 

the positivity is intoxicating, and you thank them for contributing such joyful energy to your day.

the sun filters softly through your kitchen window, casting a golden hue over the space. it feels like the perfect day to create something cozy and comforting—a hearty soup, perhaps, or a flavorful stir-fry, something you know your followers will appreciate and be excited to try. 

you set your phone on the countertop, adjusting the camera and tripod until it captures just the right angle of your kitchen and you busy at work. the space is organized yet warm, with hanging herbs in the background, jars of spices lining the shelves, and an array of fresh vegetables waiting for your expert touch. 

as you gather your ingredients, you glance over at your pets lounging nearby in the spacious living room.

your three cats, each with their unique personalities, are nestled in their favorite spots—your tabby is laying on the windowsill soaking up the sunlight, your calico sprawled lazily on the kitchen rug closest to you, and the void kitty perched atop a wooden stool, watching you intently. 

your dog, an affectionate golden retriever, lays by your feet, occasionally looking up at you with big, adoring eyes as if to say, “what’s for dinner, can you drop something please?” 

these little moments bring you joy. you adore taking care of them, and they, in turn, seem to love being a part of your daily influencer journey, often making cameo appearances in your videos.

you begin chopping vegetables as you talk to the camera, the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board a comforting backdrop to your thoughts. 

“what’s your secret to looking so beautiful while cooking?” one comment might ask, while another expresses their desire to make cooking look as fun as you do. 

you know that sharing your passion for cooking, hygiene tips, and pet care not only showcases your lifestyle but also encourages your followers to embrace their own routines with confidence.

between chopping, you take a moment to wash your hands, the cool water refreshing against your skin. you make a point to highlight hygiene in your videos, explaining the importance of cleanliness in every kitchen as you scrub away. 

“keeping things clean not only makes your food better but also should give you peace of mind,” you say, glancing up at the camera with a playful smile and eyebrow wiggle.

that’s what this is about for you—creating an environment that feels secure and inviting, one that resonates with others who might feel the same way.

as you move on to your next ingredient in the video—a bright red bell pepper—you read the comments on your videos. you feel a rush of excitement. you know your followers are eager to engage. 

“what’s your go-to meal for busy weekdays?” someone comments. 

you pause, contemplating. 

“anything that has rice, vegetables, and some kind of protein!” you replied to the comment, explaining one of your favorite dishes.

the chopping and mixing continue in the video,giving some kind of asmr affect while you talked from the voiceover. each time you look at the comments, you see familiar usernames offering support, commenting on something silly that might’ve happened in your video (one of your cats knocking over the flour), and how gorgeous your meals look. 

it’s heartwarming to see names familiar to you—followers who have always been there, cheering you on. they ask questions about your daily routines with the pets, wanting to know how you manage your time, how you balance it all while fulfilling the role of a traditional wife. 

you realize your life might not resonate with many— but they still see themselves in your routines.

“this is my favorite part,” you say in the video with a smile as you hear the timer go off for the food you put in the oven, giving a little twirl in front of the camera. the laughter that fills your kitchen feels contagious as you channel your enthusiasm into the moment. 

every so often, you peek at your pets, which you do in the video. you held up your calico cat, who meows at the camera before you give her a light kiss on the head. you put her down and the clip cuts to you taking the food off of the stove and out of the oven. 

with your pets, you can’t help but share snippets of your pet care routine as well, talking about their feeding times, grooming, and little quirks that make them uniquely lovable. your content is filled with different stuff, which is how you attracted many people to your content. 

“my cats love to get into everything,” you chuckle, and you can see your viewers relating to those everyday struggles that come with pet families.

“off topic to the video but do you have any favorite fragrance scents?” you read one comment.

you nodded knowingly before typing to reply to that comment. 

“i have a video posted about that coming soon :)” 

you happily respond to some comments, knowing it would be unrealistic to reply to all of the comments you get from thousands of users. you genuinely enjoy helping others and answering their questions—whether it’s about your favorite recipes, store vlogs, or trad wife jokes.

as you dive deeper into the comments on your latest tiktok video, you notice a recurring theme: questions about your “husband.” 

at first, you chuckle to yourself. you can see why people might think that; after all, the shimmering ring on your finger is hard to miss. it’s a beautiful reminder of your commitment—a symbol of love and partnership. 

as you scroll, a sense of mild frustration settles in. many viewers comment on why you never showcase your husband in your videos or joke about him going “off-camera.”

living in munich and posting in perfect english can sometimes create misinterpretations. your followers likely pictured a traditional marriage between a man and a woman, and while a part of you understands the confusion, it feels strange to think that they have constructed an image of your life that doesn’t quite align with reality. 

your heart swells with pride knowing you're part of a loving partnership, but there’s a longing to set the record straight. you’re not married to a husband; you’re married to your beautiful wife, sydney.

sydney, a football player for bayern munich, doesn’t post much about her personal life on social media, opting instead to keep her professional and personal worlds somewhat separate. this could explain why your followers often don’t make the connection between the two of you; to most, she’s just an athlete in the spotlight who just cares about her club and her national team.

she works hard, dedicating herself to her sport, and while she’s known widely for her skills on the field, she doesn’t share the same kind of social media presence as you do. it was always you who took the lead in posting, sharing your daily life and exploring the joys of cooking, cleaning, and caring for each other.

as you set the camera up for another video, the ring glimmering on your finger catches your eye once more. you reflect on the day you exchanged vows with sydney three years ago, a small celebration filled with laughter and love among close friends and family.

it was perfect in its simplicity—just two women, madly in love, promising to navigate life together. while you take care of the cooking and household duties, sydney has her own passion and career, bringing balance to your lives. 

the dynamic you’ve built over the years is one that thrives on mutual support and respect.

picturing sydney’s infectious smile, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing for her to be part of your videos, sharing moments together with your viewers. however, you know she’s more private, focusing on her career and you privately with her friends and acquaintances. 

perhaps it’s time to find a way to bring her into your vibrant world online, to showcase your life together and dispel the assumptions that others have made.

waking up in the morning, the dog was snuggled beside sydney as your calico cat was laying on top of your left leg. the both of you still groggy and half-sleepy. however, sydney didn’t have anything football related so you decided to stay in bed for the bit longer before waking her up. 

later, after making breakfast and filming the sizzling sounds of bacon cooking alongside fluffy scrambled eggs, you brewed a steaming pot of coffee. the warm aroma filled the air as you took a moment to scroll on your latest post’s comments. 

you posted the video the night before and decided to not check the comments until the following morning. 

the reasoning why? you posted your wife for the first time on your page, blowing up the assumptions about you having a, “husband.” 

in the video, your “spend the day with me” vlog, you began to prepare lunch by chopping some bell peppers as sydney’s arms wrap around you from behind. relaxed in that clip of the video, you turned your head to see sydney, her playful grin lighting up your heart. 

“don’t cut yourself!” she teased, but the video couldn’t hear it since you were doing a voiceover. 

syd started planting kisses along your neck, moving from your temple down to your shoulders. it was a spontaneous moment, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, knife in hand, with the clip showing the love that was filled in your eyes. 

the unsuspecting viewers were treated to an endearing glimpse into your marriage, the warmth and tenderness so apparent even through the screen.

the comments exploded after you posted the video hours before: 

“is that a woman you were cuddling with?” 

“WOAHHH Y/N IS GAY TOO???” 

while many found joy in your representation, others were filled with disbelief. you could feel the surge of both surprise and excitement—when love is real, it knows no bounds. some expressed their admiration, saying “i love that you’re a lesbian trad wife!” 

the curiosity didn’t stop there. as the day unfolded, you posted another cute video of sydney playing with your golden retriever in the backyard. 

the sun reflected off her hair, illuminating her playful smile as she dribbles a ball with her foot for the eagerly bouncing dog. the clip was heartwarming, showcasing the simple joy the three of you shared—a family moment that anyone could relate to. 

however, it was this clip that sent the comments section into a complete frenzy: 

“IS THAT SYDNEY LOHMANN?” 

“I KNOW I'VE SEEN YOUR WIFE BEFORE WHY DOES SHE LOOK FAMILIAR?” 

“that's me in the background drowning in the pool (i’m jealous).”

while a faction of your followers were well-versed in european football, many, especially those from the united states, didn’t immediately identify the familiar figure. 

soon, the chatter erupted: 

“wait, is she a bayern munich player? i swear ive seen her before?” 

“OMG, I love her!” 

people started connecting the dots, and as they did, a wave of excitement washed over you. sydney was known in germany for her skills on the field, but now more than ever, they’d see her as a loving partner.

while your heart swelled with happiness at the support spiraling around you, you felt a familiar itch to address all the questions and assumptions. 

some of your followers were new, and you wanted to ensure they understood the depth of your relationship with sydney. so you made a decision; it was time to sit down for a more heartfelt conversation about your coming out story and the experiences you both shared navigating your lives together.

the following night, after a long tiring day filled with engagement and a repeat of that joyous exchange of laughter, you set up your camera for a “get unready with me for bed” video.

the lights were dimmed, and the ambiance in your bathroom felt cozy—slippers on your feet, hair pinned back by your pink headband, and your skincare products lined up on the counter cast in soft shadows. 

it was an intimate setting, one where you could be vulnerable and share your truth.

as you began applying your cleansing balm, you took a deep breath.

“hey everyone, it’s Y/N. I thought it would be a great time to address everything that’s been going on. I want to share a little bit about my coming out story and what it means to be married to the incredible woman that is my wife, sydney,” you began, feeling the familiarity of camera anxiety dissipating as you focused on the sincerity of your message.

you continued as you moved through your skincare routine, gently massaging the balm into your skin. 

“you know, coming out isn’t a one-time event. for me, it first began in high school. there were hints that i was gay around the age of 14 but i didn’t accept that until i was 16.. keep in mind, i was terrified, just like many others who start to accept that they’re gay. my school experience was not easy, and I had moments—cruel whispers, bullying, rejection. thankfully, my parents were accepting when i came out and i was able to lean on them for support along with my friends. i also found solace in art and creativity.” 

pausing for a moment, you looked down at your skincare products, lost in thought. 

“but then came moving to munich. it felt like a fresh start. that’s when I met sydney through my mutual friend, klara, who also plays with sydney and oh my goodness, she was captivating! so full of passion and life. she pulled me in with her laughter, and not to be corny or anything– but it felt like the universe conspired for us to find each other. loving her was just so easy; it felt effortless. her loving me felt so easy and loving her felt the same.” 

as your vulnerability unfolded, the likes and comments increased.

 

using a luxurious night cream, you gently applied it to your face while you spoke candidly, reflecting on your marriage. 

“syd and i have been married for three years now. we got eloped before having a ceremony a year later.. i’m not even kidding when i say that every day is filled with joy, support, and a deep respect for one another. it makes me so grateful because i thought my life was over when i first started to suspect that i was gay and catching feelings for women. with my wife, sydney inspires me with her dedication. she is so passionate when she is playing football on her club and national team– the way she pours herself into everything she does.” 

then came the part that had been weighing on your mind. looking directly into the camera, you took another deep breath. 

“I know there are some comments out there that reflect hate, misunderstanding, and a refusal to accept love in its many forms. to those hateful people, I say: disrespectfully, go fuck yourselves.” a smirk graced your lips before you laughed. you are never known for swearing in your videos, usually only swearing with your close peers while in casual conversation. 

“love is love, and if you can’t accept that, you have no place to be following me, a gay woman.”

the enthusiasm of your voice resonated with your audience, and you felt the weight lift. you began to share advice for those struggling with their identities.

“if you’re in a situation where you feel alone or scared, know that you’re not. find your community, speak your truth, and hold on to the love you deserve. don’t let anyone dim your light. being true to yourself is beautiful, and no one can take that from you.”

as you finished your skincare routine, the sincerity poured through your last words. 

“thank you all for being part of our journey; your support means everything. please continue to uplift love wherever it takes shape, and remember that we are all worthy of love, no matter what form it comes in.” you concluded with a genuine smile, and the warmth you felt radiated through the screen.

the video ended after that and a rush of fulfillment washed over you watching the video—a feeling of peace knowing that you had shared your story authentically and embraced the support from your community. 

the comments section overflowed with love, connections ignited among those who shared similar experiences, and others who were just here to celebrate who you and sydney were.

in the days that followed, your bond with your followers deepened. newfound friendships blossomed, and more importantly, the vocal support poured in from every corner of your online community. 

the journey continued to blossom as you shared snippets of your life with sydney, including her playful moments with your pets, cooking meals together, or even just sharing lazy afternoons on the couch. you came to look forward to posting every video, each one serving as a vibrant reminder of the love you both cherished, and nothing could ever take away that feeling.

masterlist

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 6

<- prev next -> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Will you always have to wake up in the middle of the night just to get to know Jake? Marc and Steven notice your yearning to see Jake again.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/notables: Fluff, complicated relationship stuff, cursing, angst, sex but the language is not overly explicit and nothing gender-specific. Let me know if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd we die like arthur harrow in the back of jake's car

Dividers by saradika

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

Wondering what he would ever do without you, Marc pulled you close, gently swaying with you in the silence of your flat. He had always felt so hard to love - his childhood had made sure of that. But you loved him hard.

One of the delicious advantages of being with Marc was that he liked to bury his angst, longing and inadequacies inside your body. Perhaps fucking through his feelings wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was better than drinking, and cheaper than therapy.

That's not to say Marc didn't see a therapist - he did, pretty regularly. But being inside you felt so much better than unearthing the shit from his childhood.

That's where you found yourself now, face down on the mattress, Marc's strong chest pressed to your back. Your sweat-soaked bodies writhed in tormented bliss as he thrust in and out of you - hard and almost frustratingly slow.

His thick fingers pushed their way through yours, intertwining, pressing your hands high above your head as he twisted his body deeper into yours.

You were helpless beneath him. And you loved it.

Marc was able to control so few things about his existence. The use of your body was one thing you happily and trustingly put completely in his control.

You and Marc did make soup together for dinner, but no matzah balls were harmed in the making of the soup. It was hearty enough for Marc, but also vegan for Steven. You made a mental note ask Jake what kind of food he liked.

"I don't think Jake's a vegan," Marc spoke up, reading your mind. "I think he's the reason my sandwiches are gone half the fuckin' time."

Marc and his sandwiches. He had sworn up and down, on more than one occasion, that either you or Steven had eaten his damn roast beef sandwiches. You always denied it, preferring turkey to beef. And Steven always fired back with, "Y'know I don't eat that shite, mate."

"Oh my god, I think you just solved a mystery," you marveled. The Mystery of the Roast Beef Sandwich and its thief.

Yeah, Marc wondered what else Jake was prone to stealing. Clothes? Money? You?

Then again, Marc couldn't really say anything about money at the moment. He didn't have a job, unless he counted the occasional times he fronted during Steven's university library shift. You were the breadwinner, at least for the time being, lovingly supporting Steven in getting a degree to actually match up to his intellect.

But sharing you? Was it even sharing if it was the same body? And was it even his business if you wanted to be with Jake? He had no fucking clue. All he knew was that you were about to be his spouse. Steven's too, really. But you barely knew Jake. How could you marry someone you didn't know?

"I can hear you thinking," you teased, slathering some fresh-baked bread with butter. "Wanna talk about it? Cause I don't think I can go anymore rounds today - between you and Steven." Meaning Marc wouldn't be able to bury his worries inside you until your body got a damn break.

"Do you mean between me and Steven and Jake?" Marc pointedly asked.

You dropped the butter knife. "W-what?" You squawked. "I haven't slept with Jake."

"But...you want to." Easing beside you, Marc leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Do you?"

You reallly should have spouted off a quick 'no'. But you hesitated.

"Shit," he groaned. "I shoulda known."

"I didn't say anything!" You protested, a little too innocently.

"Exactly," Marc huffed. "You didn't deny it."

"You kind of put me on the spot," you defended, retrieving the knife and returning to your task, furiously coating a slice of bread with five times too much butter. "Besides, Jake drives me crazy. If he climbs in the damn window again, I think I might shove him right back out."

"Ah, hell, it's worse than I thought," Marc grumbled, folding his toned arms over his chest in a distinct, defiant pout.

"How is it worse?" You scoffed. "And...what is worse?"

"You... him... shit," he sighed. "He got to you."

"He didn't," you protested. "Nothing happened. N-not really..." your voice trailed off as Marc's eyes flashed with possessiveness.

"Not really? I thought you said he didn't touch you. What the hell..." He paused, glancing at his reflection in the microwave.

"Is that Steven?" You interrupted, barging in to what you usually respected as private conversation between the boys. "What is he saying?"

Fixing his eyes back on you, Marc smirked triumphantly. "He's saying you look 'a bit flustered,' which would make sense, since you wore those black satin pj's and set your alarm just to see 'that mysterious bloke'."

"Steven, you are such a traitor!" You whined. "You guys are ganging up on me! I just wanted to talk to him."

"Mm-hmm," Marc hummed, caging you in against the counter with one arm on either side of your body. "So that's all you did - talk? In black satin? In the middle of the night?"

Narrowing your eyes, you called his bluff. "You guys are really obsessed with those pj's. Maybe you would have preferred I only wore your t-shirt? Or, I could have slept the way I sleep with you half the time - in nothing."

"Sure, mm-hmm," Marc playfully nodded down at you, mockingly agreeing with every word out of your mouth.

"Besides," you added, giving his chest a playful shove, "who knows how many times Jake has come home and found me like that - then slept beside me anyway?"

Marc went dead silent.

"I'm gonna kill him," he decided, waiting just a beat before scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, spinning you around the kitchen playfully. "First him..." you squealed as he tickled your side, feeling a mixture of giddiness and dizziness as he manhandled you, "then you. And then him again."

"Marc, put me down, put me down!" you giggled delightedly, banging your fists on his back.

After a few more twirls, and howls of laughter from you, he conceded, steadying you back against the counter. The two of you were smiling, breathless... his strong arms caged you in again as he wet his lips with his tongue.

Ducking down, he pressed his body into yours, breathing hotly against your open mouth.

"Promise me something..." he murmured, sucking on your bottom lip and swiping his tongue inside your mouth. He pulled back just a little, teasing you.

"What?" you impatiently demanded, chasing after his lips.

Sliding one hand around the back of your neck, he crushed his lips to yours, giving you what you really wanted. Gripping your jaw, he slid his tongue over yours, licking hotly as you groaned in satisfaction. You could never get tired of kissing this man.

"Promise me," he finally whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. "Promise you'll tell me if something does happen - with Jake, I mean."

Easing back, he stared down into your eyes - his own warm, brown gaze pleading. "I know you don't have to. It-it's not my business, really, but..."

Sighing reluctantly, he poured his heart out to you. He knew he was safe with you - safe to show you what he really felt inside. "It's not like Steven," he admitted. "I don't know Jake. I just...I don't want anything to happen to you."

Nodding quickly, you reached up to caress his face. "Marc, of course. You're going to be my husband - of course I would tell you that."

"Really?" His eyes sparkled with relief and love.

"Yes, really," you sweetly whispered. "And I know there's no part of you that could ever hurt me."

After all that fuss with Steven and Marc, and the damn black satin pajamas, you actually thought you might see Jake again soon - particularly since he had finally introduced himself to his alters.

You thought wrong.

Jake went back to being Jake, not interacting with you or Marc or Steven, and the three of you were none the wiser about how he spent his time.

You couldn't wreck your entire sleep schedule just to look for him every night. He clearly had no intention of interacting with you during waking hours. You tried very hard not to take it personally. After all, you barely knew one another. But Steven and Marc could tell you thought of him...worried after him.

"I think you should wait up for him one night, love," Steven suggested one evening as you sat cuddled on the couch, reading together. London was being London again. The heavens had opened, dumping cold, wet rain for hours, and creating the perfect, candlelit night in for you and Steven.

Glancing over at your fiancé, so adorable in his oversized jumper, your eyebrows knit together questioningly. "You mean, set my alarm? 'Ambush' him again?"

Reaching up to pull his reading glasses off his nose, Steven shrugged. "Don't think it's much of an ambush, really. Just lovely you wanting to talk, is all. No harm in that."

Smiling warmly, you reached for his hand. "I don't think he sees me quite the way you do, my love."

"Not very bright then, is he? Running 'round at all hours for the old bird, missing the chance to come home to a wonder like you."

"Steven," you gasped, grinning at him. "Talking like that is going to bring an end to our night of reading very quickly."

"Fine by me, darling," he chuckled, tossing his book aside without even bothering to mark the page - something Steven never did. "Because I'm not the dimwitted bloke ignoring what's right in front of me." Scooting closer, he pulled you into his arms. "His loss is my gain, I'd say. Have you all the more to m'self."

So it was decided.

You would wait up for Jake (or wake up -whichever) to see if he wanted to interact with you, and ask how he was doing. It was possible, and in your mind, likely, that he didn't want to be a part of your life. But you wanted to hear it from his own mouth, especially since he slept beside you - in your bed, in your home.

Despite your general apprehension, you decided to be your most normal self and sleep (or in this case, stay awake) in one of Marc's white undershirts - they were so soft and smelled so deliciously like him. Steven's fuzzy goldfish socks found their way to your freezing feet.

You took a long nap and drank a huge cup of coffee (made perfectly by Marc) before bed. You were determined to stay up and see how Jake typically began his nighttime routine. He always ninja'd around like some sort of Father Christmas - waiting til everyone was completely asleep before darting in and out of the flat.

It would be your luck that Jake probably wouldn't even front tonight, and your caffeinated body would stare at your sleeping fiancé for the next several hours.

At first, it was difficult to resist cuddling up with your sleepy Steven. He did manage to adorably whine that he needed you, but you quickly reminded him that this was his idea.

"Just miss you 's all," he murmured, drifting off to dreamland.

You got bored very quickly. Steven had recommended a podcast called, 'Welcome to Staying Awake.' Finding some headphones, you tried it out, following the directions it suggested - reading, solving a puzzle, and so forth.

You were just starting to doze in the comfy chair in the bedroom's corner when your fiancé stirred...only to roll over and fall back asleep.

"Ugh..." you huffed, pushing off your chair to head to the kitchen. After a quick splash of water to the face and a long drink of water, you stumbled back to your bedroom...

...where you saw Steven? pulling a pair of tailored black trousers up his legs - his cozy pj's nowhere in sight. Fastening his pants, he turned around - shirtless - nodding once to acknowledge you.

"Jake?" You tentatively greeted, breaking the late-night silence.

"Hola, mi amor," Jake's rich, deep voice greeted you smoothly - his chocolate eyes flickering down to your bare legs. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Jake," you exhaled shakily, easing toward him slowly. "You didn't wake me up. I was waiting for you."

Warmth bloomed in his chest, but he simply reached for his white dress shirt, quickly easing his arms into the sleeves and fastening the buttons.

"Where...do you keep your clothes?" you cautiously asked, inching closer.

Nodding to the closet, he remained quiet, knotting his tie and sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shoes. Khonshu had awakened him. Time to get to work.

"Where are you going?" you questioned after a few quiet moments watching him getting dressed.

Finishing the lacing of his shoes, he stood, reaching for his leather jacket. Realizing your question was not rhetorical, he granted you a slight smirk. "You know where."

"Can I come with you?" You blurted, already flustered. How did he manage to do this to you?

Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head, tutting a bit condescendingly. "You're not serious."

"I am," you insisted, scurrying over to the drawer to find some joggers for your bare legs. Of course, in this state, compared to Jake, you would be way underdressed. He looked head-to-toe incredible.

The faster you moved, trying to get dressed in enough presentable clothing to go out into the frigid rain, the slower Jake moved. But each action was nonchalant, as if he barely noticed your effort.

Why was he so damn infuriating? Then again, those were the exact words he'd said about you...

Pulling a leather glove over his long fingers, one dark eyebrow shot up inquisitively.

"Almost ready," you huffed, feeling like a child asking to go to work with a parent.

Realizing you were serious, Jake yanked on the second glove, giving his knuckles a crack. "Mi corazón..." he warned, pulling his flat cap over the lustrous curls on his head, and wondering what had gotten into you. You couldn't possibly think he would let you anywhere near his night life.

You were dressed now, in a weird mixture of your clothes and Marc's, but your goldfish-clad feet still poked adorably out of your joggers. Glancing all around the room, your eyes frantically searched for the nearest pair of shoes.

Approaching you confidently, Jake reached for your elbow, bringing you to a standstill. "I have to go. You should sleep."

Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you huffed. "I told you I don't respond well to orders."

Rubbing his gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, he nodded, "Goodnight," and turned to walk out of the bedroom.

"No, I'm coming with you, Jake, wait--"

"No, mi corazón. No." He whirled around, his gaze burning into yours.

"Why not?" you shot back, your hands landing on your hips. "You're going to work, right? I need to talk to you. And I want to see what you do."

He scoffed. "No. You don't."

"Stop telling me no," you snapped, realizing this whole stay-up-and-talk-to-Jake thing was already an unprecedented disaster. You simply could not keep your cool around this man.

"Ah, I see - I can't tell you what to do, but you can give me orders." Stalking back over to the night table, he reached for Marc and Steven's phone.

"I-I'm not giving you orders...I just- why can't I come with you?" You were desperate. You realized, at that moment, that alll this was not a good look on you. What happened to cool, calm and collected you? What happened to the you who respected the hell out of Marc and Steven's autonomy and choices?

You went so far as not even trying to dictate to Marc whether or not he should drink. It was his choice, always - it had to come from him. So why couldn't you do the same with Jake? You knew the drill - people were going to do what they decided to do. Arguing the point was only arguing with reality itself.

Sure, you could explain your fears or needs, and Jake could take that information into account. But ultimately, every person in the world always chose what they were going to choose - period, the end.

"I'm not taking you out there. You know it's not safe," he explained with infuriating calmness. "I'm not exactly working a normal job here."

"You mean...you mean Moon Knight. Like...saving people. Like you did with me that night."

His eyes flashed - you couldn't decipher if it was anger or surprise. "Marc told you."

"Yes," you answered softly, taking a moment to breathe in deeply. You had to calm down and stop sounding so desperate. "I just don't understand why you can follow me - why you can watch over me and save me, but you won't just talk to me." Your lip trembled as you started to realize he just may not ever want to be in your life.

"I thought you said that I was your family," you whispered, moving close to peer up into his eyes. "But you haven't talked to me in a week. I've been worried...I've been thinking about you."

Wetting his lips, Jake swallowed hard and shifted from one foot to the other - the first inkling that you were having any effect on him whatsoever. His dark eyes flickered down to yours. "I told you I can take care of myself," he gruffly responded, his resolve beginning to crack. "So stop worrying about me."

"Stop telling me what to do," you fired back, refusing to shrink away. "You're driving me crazy. If you don't want to talk to me, or know me - if you want to sneak in and out of here every night and never see me again, then just say so."

Your chest heaved with emotion. "I won't like it and I won't ever stop worrying about you, or wanting to know you, but --"

You didn't get to finish because Jake roughly pulled you into his arms and crushed his mouth to yours.

@stormydaysxx laaundromat @kindlover @spxctorsslxt @deezisnotreal

@rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra this--is--music @i-still-dont-like-your-face 

idk if all the tags work. I tried!

[lazyjellyfish300]

The flufftober!! The prompts are so cute omg...

You know what they say about when men having fever, they'd act like they're at the end of their life?😭

I think Atsuya would be one of those men lol. Acting like its the end and pushing us away when he's sick, because its rare for him to get sick, poor guy cant even get up to eat porridge... so... may we get that with the ended up falling asleep together, please? Thank you!

Hi Nonnie!! Thank you so much! 🥰🥰 Omg yes the man cold 😂 he so would, huh? I can definitely imagine Atsuya being one of those men lolol. This is so cute!! Thank you for requesting my love!! 💕

a sick day with atsuya

CW: XFEM!READER, FLUFF, CRACK SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE, MINORS DNI

words: 721

"Atsuya?" 

You call into your quiet apartment as you shrug out of your coat, shed your boots, and hang your keys. You got off work after a slightly concerning text from your boyfriend. Usually a sparce texter, you didn't take notice something was wrong with his one word answers until he mentioned he was home from the school already. 

"Kusa?" You try again, walking down the hall, heart racing slightly if this was some kind of sick practical joke or the worst really did happen and you were about to walk in on him dead on the floor with his tongue hanging out.

You approach the cracked door to your bedroom and push it cautiously, shoulders relaxing at the sight of your Atsuya, shirtless in his boxers, hairy chest and stomach to match in all his manly glory on display for your viewing pleasure with an arm covering his eyes, tissues, and a mangled box of NyQuil on the nightstand. 

No doubt about it, your boyfriend was on the verge of death. 

Well, at least that's what he would've lead you to believe with the inhuman groan that left his throat a moment later. 

"Jus' kill me, it'll be less painful..." He grumbles, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Oh, Kusa..." You shake your head and pout your lips sympathetically. "Baby's got the man flu?" You climb into bed next to him. 

"Not the flu, doll." He grumbles. "Baby has a disease. The godforsaken black plague. This is the same shit that killed healthy strong young men like me back in the day." 

"Ever the drama queen, my love." You kiss his stubbly jaw and he sighs a little. "Well, did you eat anything, drink water, perhaps?" You run tentative fingers carefully through his spiky dark tresses, taking note of his increased temperature. 

"Nah. Didn't wanna wait for the goddamn noodles to heat up in the microwave."

"What the...Kusa! You're killing me." You shake your head. "No wonder you're knocking on death's door. We need to hydrate and get you fed immediately."

"Nnnggghhh." 

"Chop, chop, mister, no exceptions."

-----

The apartment grew warm and cozy eventually as the freshly chopped vegetables stewed in the broth alongside the boiled chicken. Atsuya sat on a stool at the counter with a blanket around his shoulders with a large glass of water and a curly straw, gazing at you like the sun stopped and started with the breath you planted in his lungs. 

Three hearty bowls of bubbling chicken noodle soup and a begrudging 32 oz of water later, color had returned to Kusakabe's face. He looked at you with weary, grateful eyes as you lay curled up next to him on the couch as your favorite show played, heart aching at the adorable sight of your cheeks and your hair squished against a pillow with your legs in his lap. 

"Thanks for saving me, cutie." 

"Mhmm, don't mention it...." You smile lazily and go back to watching, keenly aware of his hands that became a little more daring as they worked into a tantalizing massage on your thighs and hips.

"Atsuya..." You sleepily chastise him. "Thought you were too sick..." A breathy low chuckle as he leans over you, playfully nuzzling his face against yours. 

"Yeah, I'm sick, doll, not on hospice..." he purrs suggestively, brushing his lips against yours "The day I turn you down for sex, just g'head and pull the plug..." He captures your lips in a soft peck. "'Cause I'm obviously not of sound mind..." 

"Mmm...you might get lucky in the morning. I'm exhausted, sweetheart." 

"Hehe, no worries, doll..." Kusakabe lets out a yawn, laying his head on your stomach as he feels himself also being pulled rapidly under the increasing spell of sleep. 

"Haha, Atsuya Kusakabe, grade one sorcerer, is a formidable opponent against any and all curses, but let him catch a cold..." 

"Hey, now..." Kusakabe murmurs. "This doesn't leave our apartment... S'far as everyone at the school is concerned, I'm still unstoppable... I'm only weak for you..." He pauses then drowsily hums, "Don't tell Panda." 

"Mhmm...of course of course... your... *yawn* secret is safe with me, darling..." You manage to get out before you drift off to dreamland. 

"Thanks, baby..." Before he follows right after you while holding you close to his chest.

[somethingclevermahogony]

Now that you're back, I can toss some more asks your way! What sort of spices are common in which places? Is any region known for especially spicy food?

Finally actually getting to this! As per usual I will not be answering this in any sort of concise or short manner, so get ready for a long read. Just so this isn't too long, I'm only going to focus on Kishetal and I will discuss the characteristics and some of the more popular ingredients, spices, and dishes in 8 different Kishite cities, each representing a different region of Kishetal.

A Brief Introduction to Kishite Cuisine

1. Shared Traits

Across the Seven (Technically 8, but I'm skipping the Makorian Colonies for now, I might return to them later if people are interested) Kishite regions there are a number of features which remain constant among Kishite culinary traditions. The most immediately recognizable of these features is how food itself is served. Kishite food is always served in bite-sized pieces, whether naturally or whether it is cut up before eating (soups and liquids are the exception to this). Food is eaten with the fingers or else with a spoon. There are no forks or chopsticks or similar utensils. Knives are a rarity as well, as typically it is expected that the food will already be served in pieces or that it can be broken into small pieces with the fingers.

Another shared trait is the "triad" which refers to three types of food which form the bulk of the average person's diet, these being Grain (Wheat, Barley, or Rye), Legumes (Lentils, Chickpeas, Peas, Vetch, Beans, Etc.), and Fat (Most typically olives/olive oil with sheep fat/lard and butter also appearing). The Makurian steppe is unique in that grain does not form the majority of the diet for commoners, with dairy and fats taking precedent.

The last similarity is a heavy reliance on condiments, whether these be seasonings or sauces or something else entirety. It is typical for a Kishite table to have several different kinds of toppings available at any time, what exactly these are will vary by region.

2. Regional Cuisines

(I honestly can't remember if I put a cut here, Tumblr isn't letting me put a cut, so I think I did....sorry if I didn't.)

1. The Red Cedar Mountains : Labisa

The Red Cedar Mountains stretch from the Shabalic Sea in the north nearly to the Sea of Agitu in the south. This region is home to cities like Labisa and Kepfis.

Labisian's are famed for the love of and skill in producing fried foods. The food of Labisa, and in the mountains in general, is viewed by other regions as hearty and heavy. Breads and cakes, sausages, and heavy sauces are well known from the region. Foods are often drizzled with fat. Olives are a popular snack. Compared to other regions the people of Labisa eat relatively few vegetables. Per capita, the people of the mountains including the commoners, eat more meat than in any other region of Kishetal (typically in the form of sausages (Arashuki) and offal) while eating far less saltwater derived fish. Most meat comes from sheep, with horned-rabbits, goats, and pigs coming close behind. Cattle are largely reserved for the nobility. Game is common fare, though only for those with the time to hunt it or the money to buy it. Insects are very rarely consumed, particularly in the city. Rodents and other small animals, with the exception of the Cedar Squirrel, are rarely eaten. Aside from a tendency towards rich textures and flavours, Labisan cuisine shows a strong preference for black pepper, which appears in almost all dishes, including desserts. Labisans, perhaps as a way to to counteract the fatty nature of their cuisine, are infamous for their love of vinegar, even more than other regions. It is not unusual for morsels to be dipped into first vinegar and then into various herbs most typically a mixture of parsely, mint, and salt. While herbs (mint, parsley, thyme, basil, coriander, rosemary, etc), aliums (onions and garlic) and acids (vinegar) are common aspects of Labisan seasoning, for the common person, spices are a relative rarity, with the exception of black pepper. Cumin is used at times, as is imported cardamom and cinnamon. Lisikip (Tickling seed), which is similar in nature and effect to the Szechuan peppercorn, is used on occasion. However on the whole Labisan food is not known for being "spicy" and while rich, has a reputation for being relatively bland. You're unlikely to find much in the way of soups/broths in Labisa, though stews are relatively common. A common stew is Olibiha (aka Hot blood water) , which consists of boiled meat (this will vary but will regardless likely contain organ meat and other less expensive cuts), beets, onions, garlic, and fat of some sort. Traditionally this soup was sold by butchers and at markets at the end of the day as a way to use up unpurchased products. Though its name is typically in reference to the color imparted by the beets, it is not unheard of for blood to be added to the broth, though this form is less popular.

Similar to Olibiha, Chakun, are a popular butcher snack, typically made from pig or lamb skin, fried in its own fat and then seasoned. This is somewhat comparable to "cracklins" or chicharrons. Labisian cuisine in general holds an appreciation for crispy or crunchy textures that other regions do not tend to show.

Fried dough and fried cakes are a popular festival food somewhat similar to what we might associate with a doughnut. These doughnuts or Hasolikipun are typically fried in olive oil or sheep fat. Typically these are then split open and stuffed with a variety of fillings, including fish, offal, and nuts. Another popular dish is Kipsha, a dense barley cake typically drizzled with honey and citrus and served with toppings like nuts and cheese. Kipsha is both sold on the street and made in houses, often for celebrations. Deserts, aside from fruit, are a relative rarity in Labisa, with Kipsha being perhaps the most well known kind. Labisa's position on the shore of Lake Shebali, means that the city has access to lake fish, and thus freshwater species are consumed more here than in other regions. Trout and eels are particularly cherished by Kishite consumers, both are typically roasted. The most commonly consumed fish are various species of minnow and shad, which are caught in bulk and often served fried. Labisan cuisine is strongly influenced by the cuisines of pre-Kishite tribes which existed in the mountains before the arrival of Tamel.

2. The Felic Plain : Seha

The Felic Plains primarily consist of grassland with occasional patches of deciduous forest. The plains are split by the Aratshin River, and most large settlements can be found on the edge of said river.

The region experiences hot summers and mild but wet winters, which makes the region ideal for farming. As such, the Felic Plains act as the bread-basket of Kishetal. In comparison to the mountains and other regions, the people of Seha eat far more vegetables, and considerably less meat and very little marine protein.

Compared to Labisian cuisine, Sehaic shows a far stronger affinity for spices, with cumin, garlic, lisjir, coriander, cardamom, cinnamon, fennel, and black pepper all appearing regularly in the diet. Felic cuisine in general is the "spiciest" variety, though it is in contention for that tightly with the Kipsian Desert. Mustard and mustard seeds are common ingredients as well, and in the rare instances where meat is eaten, mustard is almost always present.

In addition to their love of spices, Sehaic consumers are infamous for their general disdain for many textures. Sehaic foods have a reputation for being soft, often boiled or stir-fried or else pounded until quiet easy to chew. The cuisine shows an aversion to the crispy, crunchy, and chewy textures.

Sehaic cuisine is known for its heavy use of green vegetables such as lettuce and cabbage, as well as its preference for broths as opposed to thicker stews. Fried food is a relative rarity in Sehaic cuisine, with boiling or else "stir-frying" being far more common.

Cheese is a large part of the diet and is often the condiment of choice, with several different varieties of cheeses being used, all with their own distinct purposes. One variety of heavily salted cheese, is added on to savory dishes as a way of imparting salinity. Sehaic's are known for drinking their wine and beer with cheese, that is to say they are known for crumbling a particular variety of sheep's cheese into their beverages. After the beverage has been consumed, the resultant cheesy sludge left at the bottom of the bowl is then mixed with honey and nuts and is eaten as a desert. This particular dish is called Birafepaha (Fepaha's Joy).

A common dish is Keriha or "hot green" a dish consisting of dark green leaves, typically spinach boiled with garlic, onion, coriander, and lisjir, in a broth or stock (typically made from fish bones). This may be mixed and cooked down until the liquid has all but evaporated, producing a thick substance which may then be used to dip bread, or if the liquid is not boiled out, it may be eaten as a soup. While meat is rare it is not entirely unheard of. It is not unusal for a family to keep one or two horned-rabbits, raising them both for meat and for fur. Sheep and cattle are both quite common, as evidenced by the Sehaic love of cheese. Mutton and lamb are often consumed at celebrations. Jirbaha, is a beloved dish consisting of strips of lamb or mutton, cooked with a variety of herbs and spices as well as mustard. This is then wrapped in a cigar like fashion, along with various greens and cheese, in a thin dough and is either fried or baked. This is then typically cut into pieces or else is held in the hand.

Sehaic cuisine shows a deep reverence for freshwater fish, with eels, trout, and sturgeon being reserved for either special occasions or the diets of the wealthy/powerful. Smaller and less valuable fish act as occasional supplements to the common diet. Insects and gastropods are eaten quite regularly. Locusts, cicadas, grubs, and snails are all common parts of the Sehaic diet, often added to other dishes. The favoured preparation for insects is fried in sesame or olive oil, and then heavily spiced and seasoned. During the harvest season, locusts with lisijir are a popular snack. Other agricultural pests, such as field rats and moles, may also be eaten, typically cooked over a fire. Kipnakili is a comfort food, often eaten by farmers and river boat drivers, including pirates. It consists of soft cheese, nuts (typically pistachios or walunts or a mix), fruit (typically figs, with the addition of raspberries and sometimes pomegranate), and honey. This mixture is pounded into a fine paste, which is then spread onto flatbread or small round barley cakes, the Felic equivalent to kipsha.

Sehaic cuisine, and Felic cuisine in general, exhibits a strong influence from both native populations and ancient Shabalic cuisine, with some dishes, such as Birafepaha, having roots as far back as the time of Tamel.

3. The Western Coast : Chibal

Pictured Above: The Western Coast near the city-state of Chibal

The Western Coast borders the Green Sea stretching from Bura in the north to Bisabal in the south. The climate here is warm and wet, defined by arid summers and stormy winters, similar to the Felic Plains but more intense on both counts. This has resulted in a culinary tradition with strong seasonal trends. Room temperature of even cold dishes are popular in the summer months while more hearty soups and broths are popular in the winter and fall.

Chibal, the second largest city in Kishetal after Labisa, has become the most culturally and demographically diverse city in the region, thanks to its prominence as a major trading port. This rich diversity is reflected in Chibalian cuisine, which incorporates elements from Korithian, Apunian, Ikopeshi, Baalkic, Shabalic, and Makorian culinary traditions. This post will focus specifically on dishes which were developed and created in Chibal and not imported.

Due to this sheer variety of influences and sub-cultures it is hard to make any sweeping claims about the nature of Chibalian food. However in general Chibalian food puts an emphasis on the quality of individual ingredients, with Chibalian cooks and diners earning a reputation as being pretentious. As a result, generally Chibalian dishes tend to be less complex, while being fresher. The same applies for seasoning and spice. While not bland like Labisian cuisine, Chibalian cuisine in most instances lacks the complex melanges of spices and seasoning seen in Sehaic food. Rather it should be expected that a Chibalian dish, in most instances, will rely primarily on only one or two items as seasoning, aside from salt.

While legumes and grains(particularly the massive paper thin flatbread known as lakibi) make up the majority of the Chibalian diet, fish and meat also make a significant contribution. Unsurprisingly a far larger portion of the diets of the people of Chibal and the Western Coast in general are composed of marine elements. Alongside fish and shellfish, the coast is home to many varieties of edible seaweed which appear in a number of dishes, particularly salads and soups. Chibal is additionally famous for its salt, produced in salt beds. This flaky salt is shipped around the entirety of the Green Sea, however the best is kept in Chibal and used to top a variety of dishes. Other popular condiments include cumin seeds, vinegar, olive oil, and a variety of Korithian fish sauce called wydram.

Bikerebi (water-leaf water) is a traditional soup, often served as a starter or side dish. It features a broth typically made from small fish or shrimp and various types of green sea algae. While the broth can be enjoyed on its own, it is usually enhanced with additional ingredients like salt, lisijir, vinegar, black pepper, and dill. A popular variation, known as Kibikerebi, involves crumbling stale or dried bread into the broth, creating a paste-like porridge. This heartier version is commonly eaten by fishermen and laborers as their first meal of the day. Ovens are typically reserved only for bread, with roasted or baked dishes being relatively rare (though roasted meats and seafoods may be eaten on special occasions). Rather the majority of Chibalian food is boiled, pickled, sauteed, fried, or dried. Chibal is one of the only places in Kishetal with a penchant, particularly in the warmer months, for eating raw foods. This includes fruits and vegetables along with fish and shellfish. One famed, though expensive dish is Sibizu aka "cold-fish" typically made from white flesh fish, such as sea bass, flounder, mackerel, and scallops. Tuna species and swordfish are considered more luxurious, and are preferred by the wealthy. Fish meat is cut into thin pieces and covered in salt and herbs, typically dill. This can be done either in a bowl or pot or spread onto a tray or flat stone. This is then allowed to sit, typically for around 2 hours. After this the fish is removed from salt and rinsed in a mixture of water and vinegar, typically three times. After this the fish is served with a olive oil as well as various other toppings. In certain circumstances the fish may be served ontop of ice or snow as this is believed to improve the freshness and flavour. Uncooked fish more often takes the form of pickled fish, left in a mixture of vinegar, salt, and herbs. Oysters and clams are regularly eaten raw, though they may also be shucked and added to soups or stews or on rare occasion baked.

Chibalian cuisine is defined by an intense interest in texture with the perfect meal preferable containing elements which are soft, slimy, creamy, crunchy, and chewy. For the last category cephalopods such as octopus and squid as well as stewed cartilage are popular ingredients. Vegetables are typically served as sides, favored for their textural components rather than their flavor. Crisp lettuce or crunchy asparagus/cabbage often appear as part of broader meals, but are often ignored. Salads composed of lettuce, spinach, cabbage, and other greens including seaweed are often served at the end of the meal, after fruit. Chibal is one of the only cities where pigs are consumed at a greater rate than sheep or goats, though still not as much as the horned-rabbit. Sausages, tripe, offal, and chops are all eaten regularly along with products made from the skin and blood.

4. The Northern Coast/Sheprian Forest: Shepra

The Sheprian forest in the northern part of Kishetal is primarily composed of deciduous trees with occasional conifer patches at areas with higher elevations. Common trees include oak, chestnut, birch, hornbeam, black pine, cedar, juniper, and beech. 

The city of Shepra lies on the northern coast of Kishetal at the Delta of the Pesha River. The surrounding area is heavily forested. For this reason, Shepra is famed for the quality of its hunters and of its game. Sheprians are additionally famed for the quality of their wheat, said to be sweeter and more delicate than the more abundant Felic varieties. Sheprian bakers are famed for their fluffy yeasted breads, typically favouring wheat rather than the barley which reigns supreme in southern regions. As a result, Sheprian wheat bread has been called, Kipchilu or Bread of the Gods. Sheprian bread is so popular that it or at the very least, Sheprian wheat flour, may be shipped hundreds of miles by foot, donkey, and ship to the courts of cities like Labisa and Chibal where it is treated with great reverence, often as a desert. Sheprian bread is often added to sacrifices alongside meat and fat meant for Great Spirits and Gods, either left outside on special alters (for Great Spirits) or burnt (for Gods).

Shepra boasts a vast collection of communal ovens, located near the town's center alongside the central grain store. By paying taxes, serving in the city guard, or fulfilling other civic duties, a Sheprian household earns a clay tablet that grants them the right to use one of the ovens for the season. However, a persistent issue plagues the town: a group of counterfeiters producing fake tablets. If someone is caught using a counterfeit tablet, they face punishment through debt slavery for up to three years, usually tasked with cleaning and maintaining the ovens. The problem is so significant that the Sheprian King has established a dedicated bureaucratic office, the Chief of Ovens, to address it (not to be confused with the Chief of Bread, who oversees the baking of bread and the storage of grains within the Palatial Complex). Those found guilty of intentionally damaging an oven or stealing an oven tablet receive death.

Some families also own smaller ceramic ovens or braziers, which can be used inside the house or, more commonly, on the flat roofs. In addition to these, there are professional bakers who either own their own ovens or petition for special tablets that designate them as bakers, granting them unrestricted access to the communal ovens. The abundance of ovens, along with ample timber and coal, has shaped a cuisine centered around braising, roasting, and baking. Sheprian food often involves long, slow cooking times, resulting in dishes celebrated for their rich flavors but often criticized for their lackluster colors and textures. Stews and gravies play a central role in Sheprian cuisine.

Unsurprisingly, bread is a staple of Sheprian meals, with 126 distinct varieties produced in the region, 42 of which are entirely unique to that region, and 13 exclusive to the city of Shepra. One notable variety, ruyi (literally "plate"), is a large, dry, and dense flatbread typically made from a mixture of wheat and barley. Families usually bake ruyi in bulk every four to five days. To prevent spoilage, it is cooked to a cracker-like consistency, making it hard and tasteless in its natural state. The flatbread is then wrapped in cloth and stored for use as flatware during meals. Food is served directly onto the ruyi, accompanied by vinegar, oil, cheese, and various sauces and toppings, including a chickpea and garlic paste known as Babilkipi. After the meal, once the bread has absorbed the liquids, it is either cut or broken into pieces and eaten. Ruyi is a common presence at most Sheprian meals, and it is not unusual for families to consume multiple types of bread, including ruyi, in a single meal. Perhaps due to their preference for hearty, fatty meals—possibly to counter the cold winters—Sheprians, along with Labisians, are often stereotyped as being somewhat heavier than other Kishite groups. This trait is not viewed negatively; in fact, many consider both Sheprian men and women among the most attractive in Kishetal.

As previously mentioned, game such as venison and boar is consumed regularly in Shepria, alongside goat and pork. However, horned rabbits are rarely kept, making them a minor part of the Sheprian diet. Cattle and sheep are similarly uncommon, largely due to the dense, ancient forests that dominate the region, which are not well-suited to pastoralism. For this same reason the people of Shepria have historically had little use for horses and cavalry.

Despite being located right next to the Shabalic Sea, seafood plays a relatively minor role in the Sheprian diet. Ironically, most of the prized Sheprian catch is sold to merchants and traders from cities like Chibal and Seha. The exception is shellfish, which the Sheprians consume in large quantities. The outskirts of the city are dotted with massive shell middens, some of which have become homes to various spirits and, on occasion, even monsters.

Sheprians use a wide range of spices and herbs, but their cuisine is particularly known for its heavy reliance on oregano, garlic, juniper, turmeric, and even imported ginger and cinnamon. To add heat to their dishes, Sheprians favor both horseradish and radishes, especially a specific breed of radish renowned for its intensity. This radish is often sliced thinly and used as a condiment. In other Kishite regions, bards and comedic poets like to tell exaggerated tales of Sheprian children wandering the streets and hills, gnawing on mustard seeds, radishes, and whole pieces of horseradish. While these stories are clearly hyperbolic, there is some truth to the Sheprian preference for this type of heat. Interestingly, despite their love for pungent flavors, Sheprians rarely use black pepper or lisijir in their cooking.

Kilakela, or "Field and Forest," refers to a category of layered dishes that might best be described as casseroles. These dishes typically involve finely chopped meat—often pork or various game birds—combined with additional fat, usually lard or olive oil, along with root vegetables like beets and parsnips, onions, an array of spices, wine, and sometimes honey. The mixture is placed in a special clay vessel and buried under coals at the back of the oven, where it cooks slowly throughout the day, allowing the ingredients to become tender and flavors to meld. Once the day's baking and other cooking tasks are complete, the vessel is retrieved, and the resulting stew or casserole is served atop ruyi. A variation of Kilakela, known as Kilala, excludes meat and is instead a vegetable stew, often fortified with chickpeas or lentils to add heartiness.

Northerners are one of the few groups which consume mushrooms on a regular basis, evidently not holding the same fears and superstitions as their southern cousins. One dish banalligu, sees mushrooms, doused in vinegar and olive oil, cooked on a skewer often with various other ingredients, depending on what is available such as whole cloves of garlic, small onions, vegetables including carrots, beets, and cabbage, game (most often duck or venison) or pork belly, and sometimes figs. This is cooked directly on the dying coals of the oven, charring the mushrooms and other components. After cooking the ingredients are removed from the skewer and may either be eaten as is or be wrapped in thin flatbread similar to Chibalic lakibi before being topped with a variety of ingredients.

Sheprian food shows strong influence from more recent Shabalic trends, with both favouring stews and hearty meals typically composed of many ingredients.

5. The Southern coast: Kotsa

The Southern Coast consists of three regions; the southern deciduous forest, the scrubland, and the plains. The climate in the south is quite warm, with summers being hot and dry and winters mild in both temperature and rainfall. On rare occasions, the southern coast may experience heavy snowfall. 

Major cities are sparse however, many villages dot the southern coast, many of these villages rely on piracy, preying primarily on Apunian and Jezaani ships traveling to and from the Western Coast. The largest of the southern cities is Kotsa, founded on the ruins of a pre-Kishite civilization.

Kotsa is famed as the primary home of the Shobiashkun, a particular brand of priests and sages. While these priests are superficially said to serve the Deity of Writing and Knowledge, Shashuma (They are a minority, the largest temples in Kotsa belong to the storm God, Kotomah), in actuality this small collection of scholars and philosophers focus their interests on the Shobiash, the River of Creation and Time, thus looking behind the Heavenly Gods. A Shobiashku looks for patterns in existence, and seeks meaning and purpose in these patterns, typically through meditation or sometimes through drug assisted trances. The Shobiashku forgo sex, meat, and honey, save for in those instances in which those things may help with their musings. Numerous treatises pertaining to the nature of the universe, death, magic, and civil order have been produced by this small sect. Despite the fact that the Shobiashkun are a relatively small group, little more than 50 individuals at any time, they have had a major effect on the cuisine of Kotsa and the surrounding region. As a result Kotsa is one of the few regions with a significant vegetarian population, particularly among the learned elite.

Kotsa has one of the most defined elite cuisines, separated from that of the commoners not only by the ingredients used, but also by how that food is prepared and presented. Particularly among the nobility of Kotsa, eating and food is viewed with a level of spiritual and medicinal reverence. At the palatial court for example the supposed symbolism and medicinal boon of each dish is announced each time one of the many small courses is presented, with some courses comprising of only a couple of bites of food. At a Ceremonial Kotsian Banquet, bread is always served first, unseasoned and alone. Most often this is a dense barley bread, its hearty nature meant to represent the soil and stone. Next comes water, or more rarely, beer. This is followed by a number of dishes with various representations; A charred onion spiced with lisijir and ginger (Hagugura) to represent fire, a small cake made from sheep’s cheese and wheatberries to represent the fields (Jiribikip), a piece of roasted turnip spiced with cardamom and salt to represent the walls of the city (Elmuhi), etc. Wine is drunk sparingly throughout the meal and often watered down to an extreme level (sometimes to the equivalent of 16 parts water to one part wine.) In these particular dishes, spice is used sparingly as it is believed that using too many additional ingredients may in some way dampen the medicinal properties of the dish. Of course, such rigid dining is mostly indicative of ceremonial affairs or of the most rigidly traditional nobles, it does not represent all cuisine.

Outside of the world of ceremonial dining, Kotsian cuisine is known for its freshness and its love of spices, though its relative disdain for heat (lisijir, horseradish, radish, etc.) Cardamom, ginger, garlic, bay, turmeric, and saffron all appear regularly in Kotsian dishes. The South of Kishetal is famed as being one of the only places west of Sinria to have successfully planted and cultivated the cinnamon tree, with five small groves near Kotsa, accounting for nearly all Kishite Cinnamon. Cinnamon features in both savory and sweet dishes and may even be added to wine and beer. As a result, cinnamon appears in much of Kotsian cooking. One popular dessert, Jakeresha consists of a cake made from dates, cheese, and flour, wrapped in several layers of thin dough. This is then heavily seasoned in a mixture of ground cinnamon, honey, and sesame seeds. The savory version of this dish, Jakereshu replaces the dates typically with a mixture of mashed chickpeas and fava beans, and replaces the honey usually with oil, while retaining the heavy use of cinnamon.

Kotsian food is noteworthy among Kishite cuisines for its fragrance, due to its heavy use of aromatics. It is said the ruler of the country of Apuna, the Fapacha, once hired Kotsian cooks to work in his kitchens, only so that the smell of Kotsian food could perfume his halls.

Kotsian food doesn't seem to demonstrate any particular tendencies or preferences when it comes to cooking styles, with baking, sautéing, frying, and boiling all appearing. Aside from the Makurian Steppe region, and is the most distinct from other Kishite styles. In terms of preparation and ingredients, Kotsian and southern cuisine in general seems to have more in common with that of foreign lands like Jezaan and even Apuna, than it does with places like Labisa or Seha.

While vinegar does appear, it and its use in pickling and preservation are far less common than in other regions. Dried foods are common however, with fruits and vegetables and fish often dried on reed mats as a way to intensify flavor. For the purpose in general the treatment of meat within the Kotisan diet is similar to that of Seha, with meat being eaten only on rare occasions. When meat is served, it is typically done simply, roasted or boiled and cut into thin pieces. Sheep are the most common form of livestock, with significant cattle herds also being present. Horned-rabbits are relatively common, though not to the extent of the mountainous regions. Pigs are all but absent. Due to the relatively arid environment, game is also a relatively rare part of the diet, with the exception of gazelle.

Kotsians, and the south in general are famed for their love of yogurt, or Ishjir, often eaten as a mid-day meal, mixed with fruit or honey. Yogurt may also function as a condiment of sorts, with a variety of sauces comprised of yogurt mixed with various herbs and spices, utilized depending on the circumstance.

Fish is eaten regularly, particularly fish like seabream, which is often salted and left to dry. This dried fish is then stored and may be rehydrated in soups or else used as a travel food.

One dish that is unique to the region but that is quickly spreading both to other regions of Kishetal and to other parts of the Green Sea is Talakili which while its name literally translates to "flat bread" is actually more comparable to pasta, typically made from wheat flour mixed with water and oil, rolled flat, cut into either small squares or circles and then boiled and served with a variety of sauces. Talakili with salt, cheese, and cinnamon is a popular comfort food among Kotsian children.

6. The Kipsian Desert : Kipsa

The Kipsian Desert, with its rocky terrain and sparse vegetation, is the least populated regions of Kishetal, and is also the region with the largest pre-Kishite genetic and cultural influence. As a result, the Kipsian dialect of Kishite, is often quite difficult for other Kishites to understand as it is heavily influenced by other languages such as Mageryu and Duluqi. Despite these challenges, the city of Kipsa, the largest in the region, has cultivated a distinctive culinary tradition that reflects its unique environment and cultural heritage. Kipsa is well known for the ferocity of its warriors and as the center of rakeshim production. Rakeshim is a fabric, woven from thin strands of gold interwoven with either linen or silk. Its construction is incredibly complex and the secret to its creation, a jealously guarded secret among the five families which produce it.

Central to Kipsian cuisine is the use of local herbs and spices, hearty grains, and a pronounced affinity for sweetness. A defining feature of Kipsian cooking is the use of large subterranean ovens called Bahasayu. The Bahasayu enables slow, even cooking, ideal for preparing the region’s staple dishes. These ovens, essential for traditional cooking, are found in nearly every home, typical appearing either in courtyards or in front of homes. On rare occasions two or more homes may share one Bahasayu. When a couple marries, it is customary for them to dig a Bahasayu as part of claiming their new home. Additionally, in some cases, the remains of deceased ancestors are interred beneath these ovens, after their customary exposure to the elements, linking the living with their ancestors. Because these ovens are so central to domestic life, they are often the target of curses. A disgruntled Kipsian may place a or crack a curse tablet over a rival’s Bahasayu in order to bring them misfortune.

Kipsian cuisine uses many of the same spices and herbs as their Kotsian cousins, though with a distinct preference from cumin and coriander over cinnamon.

Due to the arid environment and lack of major irrigation, vegetable cultivation is relatively sparse, and what vegetables and fruits are available are often preserved in some way. Fresh vegetables are a luxury typically reserved for the wealthy. Rather Kipsian cuisine has come to rely on a particularly robust strain of barley. While it is able to withstand the dry and hot climate, this barley produces an often chewy and unpleasant product. As a result, Kipsian cuisine is often maligned for the poor quality of its bread and those that can afford it prefer to import wheat from the Felic Plains and Kotsa. One use of this otherwise unpleasant barley is Takuriha (stemming from the Duluqi language, meaning “beer soup”), a soup made from fermented grains mixed with yogurt and herbs and spices. The resulting dish is served cool or room temperature and is typically eaten after the sun has set. The soup is mildly alcoholic. Kipuhi, is a salad also featuring barley pearls mixed with chopped herbs, olive oil, and regalu juice. This may be supplemented with dried or shredded meats as well as chickpeas or other vegetables in order to create a more complete and hearty meal.

Kelami, a local variety of flatbread, is historically baked on hot stones or now more commonly, on the roof of the bahasayu. To counteract the quality of the barley, it is typically served with various dips and spreads, such as Muhamara, a rich paste made from roasted chickpeas, walnuts, and olive oil.

Cucumbers are beloved as a snack, particularly during the hotter season, as they are thought to cool the body. They are served typically in salad composed of cucumber, mint, vinegar, and garlic. When fresh cucumbers are not available, they are pickled in vinegar, alongside various herbs and spices. Pickled vegetables and meats, as well as bird’s eggs and fruits, are integral the Kipsian diet. Pickled vegetables and herbs often act as condiments of sorts, placed on the table to be added to other dishes. Pickled foods are so common that they typically act in place of vinegar as a topping.

Meat, though not a daily staple, is carefully prepared when used. Goats are the primary source of protein. One dish, Ishukjiraru, is a dish made with intentionally spoiled meat. Goat meat is packed in herbs, vinegar, and fat (typically rendered goat fat) inside of a large jar and is allowed to sit, sometimes for weeks at a time. The resulting product is cleaned and then utilized in a number of dishes, including stews and as a shredded meat added to salads and on flatbreads. The taste is quite sour and funky and can be an acquired taste. Kipsiansalso raise a unique breed of horned-rabbit well-suited to the desert environment. Heards of these wiry creatures can be seen roaming from bush to bush, guided by desert shepherds. Gukeki (from the Mageryu for “gift”), is served for special occasions, as its use of fresh vegetables make it a relative luxury. It is a vegetable stew made with ingredients like eggplant and onions, which is cooked in large clay pots and may also include the shredded goat, spinach, and other ingredients.

Honey is a prominent ingredient in Kipsian cuisine, the Kipsa itself being famed for its many hives. It is used as a condiment in various forms, including Habazibi, a salted and spiced variety with a hint of Lisijir for subtle heat. One result of this abundance of honey is the Kipsian love of mead and honeyed wine or beer. Kipsians have a reputation as heavy drinkers, drinking more of these beverages than any other Kishite people. The god of beer, Fepaha, is honored, and many banquets are dedicated to celebrating this drink.

Kipsians have a notable sweet tooth, with foods often heavily sweetened with honey or date syrup. Desserts such as Kepechi (the Kipsian equivalent of kipsha), barley cakes soaked in a honey and regalu syrup, and Gelukepi, a sweet treat made from slow-cooked fruits (primarily dates and figs), are popular and enjoyed with a strong tea made from mint and coriander, with “laughing leaf” a mild intoxicant, also occasionally added.

Kipsian food shows a heavy influence from indigenous cuisines.

7. The Makurian Steppe: Shebal

The Makurian steppe is massive, spreading over most of western Macia. Only a tiny sliver of that vast extent falls in Kishetal. Trees are almost entirely absent. Vast expanses of grass-covered hills define the area. To the north of the steppe is the Shabalic forest, and to the south is the Jezaaic desert. The largest of the Makurian cities is Shebal, once the homeland of the Ugri Tribe, the city still is the target of many repeated attacks by Makurian tribes. Despite its remoteness, silver mines and soil rich in gems, have made Shebal uncharacteristically rich, particularly considering that it is the least populous of all the regional "capitals".

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Shebalian cuisine takes heavy inspiration from that of the western Makurian tribes. This translates to a cuisine heavily built on the consumption of meat and dairy, and a prevalence towards soups and stews. It is said derisively of the Shebalians, that they eat horse meat stew for dinner and horse bone soup for dessert. It is true that the Shebalians, and the people of the east in general, are the only region of Kishetal in which horse and donkey/ass are eaten regularly. Meat, cheese, and milk from these animals are eaten in large quantities. Despite this the Shebalians are known for their deep connection with the horses, famed as charioteers and riders. The slaughtering of a horse is a sober affair, typically attended to by a priest of the god Ikeshpaha (the God of wealth and the steppe) and undertaken with the utmost care. The first dish to be prepared from the horse or ass, is Jabolibi a thick porridge consisting of blood as well as either wheat berries or rice. This is typically consumed by warriors, kings, and pregnant women.

Shebalians and eastern Kishites in general eat more dairy than any other Kishites, with cheese, yogurt, butter, milk, and various fermented curd products accounting for much of the diet. Jiraba is a variety of curd, first heavily fermented and then dried until hard and crunchy. This is then crushed and sprinkled on other dishes.

Fresh vegetables are rare as the environment is ill-suited to agricultural, as a result most vegetables are imported from the west or from lands to the south. As a result of this, green vegetables with short shelf-lives are highly rare and are seen as a delicacy. Root vegetables like carrots, beets, turnips, and parsnips are common and appear often in Shebalian dishes or may be served as a side. Shebalians cuisine does make use of lentils as their primary legume of choice.

One food item unique to Shebal and the surrounding area, is rice. Rice is an import from the east, typically carried over vast miles by traders from Sinria, Mu, and other places. The palace buys vast quantities of rice and use it often as a form of payment. Rice is steamed and served with meat, butter, and spices, or else may be added to broths to make them hearty and filling.

The Origins of Rice in Shebal According to legend the origins of rice in Shebal come from not long after the foundation of Kishetal by the demigod Tamel. The first king of Shebal, then a vassal of Tamel, was Haman the Thrice-Bearded. Haman had one son, Hiru the Brilliant. Said to be blessed with all the radiance of the silver of the steppe, it is typically agreed among scholars and poets that Hiru was the most beautiful of all Kishites. His statues and images can be found throughout Kishetal, and particularly in the east. Said to have the strength and size of a great warrior, and the face of a lovely maiden, many flocked to see Hiru. Men and women alike from countless nameless land, travelled many miles, bearing gifts of gold and silver, perfume and spice, to marry or just to sit with the beautiful prince. Even spirits and forestfolks came before him, the dragon, Eker, offered the entirety of the land of Ukat just to have the beautiful prince in his home. Those that were not cowed by his beauty, plead and promised him wealth, love, and many children. They sang of his beauty. Hiru, however refused all gifts, and turned away all suitors, for all they could see was his beauty.

One day the Sinrian King, Jiparitu (Juparvi in his own tongue) came to play his own card, wishing for Hiru to be his lover and cupholder. Jiparitu, who the called The Mount of Rendigra (A Sinrian Thunder God), was the son of the Demigod, Ranaya. He was broad as an ox, the hands like bear paws. He was great warrior who had killed his 5 older brothers in battle for the right to sit upon the throne of his father's city. He presented the youth with the three elephants, ten rolls of silk, five pounds of saffron, and three golden statues, each as large as a man. Yet, Hiru refused. Enraged, Jiparitu stormed from the palace, only to return later that night, along with his plantbrew. They drugged Hiru and ferried him away, over the steppe and the high mountain, to his palace in Sinria. There he bedecked the prince in flowers and silks, and cherished his beauty, and made him his lover, though unwilling. But soon he grew jealous as he saw the looks of awe and lust on the faces of his servants and court. And so he had Hiru's face, bound tight in cords of silk and wool, locked with chains of bronze and copper, so that none could look upon his face but he. He ordered that his body be covered in filth and dressed , save for when it came time for the king to look upon him, so that no other could see his treasure. He then locked the prince in a tower of white stone and gold.

When King Haman heard of his son's abduction, he marched, joined by his brother's the rulers of Bur and Kutar, and 67 of Hiru's former suitors and their men to the lands of king Jiparitu. There they laid siege to the castle for 67 days, and on each day, it is said that one of the suitors was killed. While the siege raged outside Hiru remained trapped in his tower, his only company being wicked Jiparitu and the slave, Safeniri (Savanri in her own tongue). Both could enter the tower only by an entrance, hidden so that none but they could find it. Safeniri, a peasant girl, born of two rice farmers, fed him scraps of the jungle fowl (chicken), crusts of bread, and green leaves, for these are all that Jiparitu permitted he be fed, lest the beauty of his body be marred by fat. And yet, in secret, she also brought to him, a porridge, made from rice, cinnamon, milk, waweshi (sugar, native to the kingdoms of Sinria, but quite rare in Kishetal) and coconut which she called kerumipiya (Kerumpaja in her native tongue) as well as bowls of rice and butter, for this is all that she, a slave, could afford. She had never seen Hiru's face, and knew nothing of his famed beauty. Hiru longed for her company, and though he had never seen her face, blinded as he was by the cloth around his face, he began to fall in love with her, and she with him. When word of the siege reached the ears of Hiru and Safeniri, together they concocted a plan to free Hiru and to return him to his father. Outside of the tower, in great bunches, grew "laughing leaf" which dulls the mind and weakens the balance. Its effects are strong but its taste is bitter. When next Jiparitu came into his tower to gaze upon his treasure, Safeniri waited there with Hiru. As always Jiparitu insisted that his guards wait outside of the tower, lest they recieve the pleasure of gazing upon Hiru's beauty. It was only as Jiparitu ordered the clothes removed and the filth wiped away, that Safeniri finally saw him truly. And though she was awed, she had already long since fell in the love with the imprisoned prince.

Though still handsome beyond measure, his face had been marked by seven cuts where the cloth had been bound too tight, and from then on he was known as Hiru of the Seven Scars. While Jiparitu marveled over his captive, Safeniri approached him and offered him a bowl of the kerumipiya, one which she had tainted with the laughing leaf, its bitterness covered by the sweet sugar and milk. The king ate and as he ate, he became joyous and wild. So wild that he spilled the rice upon his fine clothes. Safeniri then suggested that the king undress, less his expensive clothing be ruined by his rice. And so he did, undressed down to his undergarments, his heavy robe falling at his feet. And Safeniri sang and pounded upon the bottom of the clay pot like a drum. Saferniri then opened the door, beyond which were the stairs which spiralled up the tower. Jiparitu danced, entranced by her beautiful voice. His feet became tangled in his discarded robe, and his mind too clouded to stop himself, he fell, tumbling down the hundred stairs of the tower, until he lie at the bottom, dead. Saferniri then took the kings discarded robe, and tore the jewels and gold from it, she smeared it with filth and grime, until it looked like a beggars cape. This she covered Hiru in and guided him down the tower and through the secret entrance. When they people looked, they saw only a peasant woman, guiding a beggar, his face hidden.

She lead him past the city walls, to where his father and uncles sat in their camp, bereft, for the last of the suitors had been slain by arrow and sling. King Haman was so joyous upon seeing his son that he fell to his knees and sang praises to the gods of Kishetal and the Steppe. And yet he was shocked, when the first words that Hiru spoke to him, were to say that he had found a wife. Haman was scandalized by the suggestion that his son, the prince, would marry a slave girl. He demanded to know what Safeniri’s family could possibly offer to warrant such a union with one as magnificent and beautiful as Hiru when all other suitors had offered gold, silver, and land. Love and rice, was all that Safeniri could offer. Haman was unimpressed by this seemingly simple answer.

Determined to prove her worth, Safeniri crept back into the city, and returned to her home. With the help of her parents, prepared a pot of kerumipiya, the finest ever made. They used fruit plucked from the trees, milk fresh from the cow, and sugar as white as snow. When she presented this exceptional dish to Haman and his brothers, they were astonished by its exquisite taste, unlike anything they had ever eaten. Haman, along with his brothers, was deeply moved by the dish and by Hiru's story of Safeniri's cunning and dedication. Relenting, he agreed that a spouse capable of creating such a remarkable meal deserved to be wed to his son. However, he imposed one condition: Safeniri was to see that Hiru was presented with a bowl of kerumipiya every day until he was guided into the next life. The wedding that followed was a grand celebration. To meet Haman's stipulation, rice and other eastern goods were brought from distant lands to Shebal. Soon, rice, and particularly kerumipiya, became symbols of wealth and love, often featured at weddings. When Haman passed away, Hiru ascended to the throne and ruled with wisdom and kindness, particularly towards slaves and captives. Safeniri honored her promise, and upon Hiru’s death, it was said that she joined him on the very same day. Many stories of both Hiru and Safeniri now fill Kishite Folklore, with the wisdom of Safeniri being particularly renowned. Many queens and princesses, particularly those in the east of Kishetal may take the title Lusafeniri or "Of Safeniri/ Safeniri-Like" in order to emphasis their wisdom and prowess.

In Shebal today, while still reliant on imported rice, kerumipiya has adapted to local ingredients. Instead of sugar and coconut, it’s sweetened with honey and flavored with dried fruits such as figs and apricots, and often uses horse or donkey milk as opposed to cow milk. A sprinkle of ground cinnamon might be added for extra flavor. Kerumipiya is commonly eaten as a dessert, or during special occasions. It remains a popular dish at weddings and many lovesick youths may try to woe potential partners with a steaming bowl. Rice is often used a sacrifice to the god of wealth, Ikeshpaha, its many grains believed to represent plenty. Rice sprinkled around the house is believed to ward of wicked spirits, and disease as it is believed that it "absorbs" evil.

One benefit of its eastern location is that Shebal and the surrounding cities are often the first to receive exotic spices carried from Mu and Sinria, often at far less cost than their western cousins. This is led to a cousin, which well simplistic at first glance, is highly complex in its flavors. Soups such as the goat-based, Habisichiarsoni (The Soup that Awakens the Sleeping God) may use dozens of different spices including turmeric, cumin, pepper (long and black), mustard, cardamom, lime leaf, etc, in a complex and masterful way. Easterners who journey to the west, well excited by the access to wheat and vegetables, often bemoan the perceived blandness, with only Sehaic food being seen as "properly spiced". Shebalian cuisine's heavy use of lisijir and other spices make it perhaps the only cuisine which could be considered "spicy" by Earthly standards.

Another quirk of Shebalian cuisine and of the steppe is that it is the only region which prefers butter as its primary fat, this has earned easterners the somewhat derogatory nickname "butter-eaters" by their western cousins, where the use of butter is often viewed as barbaric. Butter is often used as a condiment, melted and added to soups, bread or other dishes.

The diet of the Shebalians is the least reliant on bread of any Kishite culture, with some families going several days without eating bread. When bread is consumed, it often uses rye, rather than the barley or wheat preferred on the other side of the mountains. The result is dense and nutty and works well with the fatty and meaty cuisine of the steppe. Errikili is a knotted bread made from rye flour, often noted for its somewhat phallic appearance. It is typically used to dip in soups, or else may be eaten with butter and imported spices.

Talakili has become increasingly common in Shebalian cuisine, imported from Kotsa. In Shebal it is often added to soups and broths and is thicker and heartier then its southern equivalent. One particular rendition of Shebalian Talakili called Irkipikiki (literally "pregnant thing") is stuffed with meat and cheese, somewhat similar to a ravioli.

While still identifiably Kishite in its presentation and cooking styles, the components of Shebalian cuisine are largely foreign. Its base ingredients are of the Makurian steppe, while its use of spice shows heavy influence from the lands of the Great Southern Kingdoms (Baban and Ukkaria), Sinria, and even lands far to the east like Pya, Mu, and Xianti.

And that's that! A pretty barebones explanation of the differences between the cuisines of different parts of Kishetal. Let me know if you have any other questions about any of these cuisines/dishes! Maybe one day I'll do something similar with the regional cuisines of places like Korithia, Shabala, Pyria, and Apuna.

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[linksystemfailure]

Build a headspace series

A mountainous forest region

images from unsplash, used free canva templates

Name ideas: Woodland/misty/foggy basin, Forgotten Woods, Veiled Woods...

About: A woodland wonderland, hills surrounding a forested basin, various rivers winding down to meet at a central lake. Cabins are scattered about the area, typically connected by accessible pathways, however some remain disconnected. Zip lines and gondolas bring people up and down the mountains, mainly for entertainment. Caves and crevices dig deeply into the mountains.

Climate: Cool, misty most mornings and nights. Snows in the autumn and winter. Rains often throughout the year.

Services: cabins, well-made paths, bathrooms, hot springs, lake ferries, cafes, restaurants, a tavern or two, gondolas, zip lines, white water rafting, kayak hire, library/book swap.

Senses:

Smells of pine or other woods, rotting leaves and wood, coal and wood fires from the cabins. The fresh smell of the earth after rain, moisture from the mist filling your lungs.

Sounds of birds, perhaps woodpeckers (depends on what kind of birds you want here. Bellbirds are a nice one), wind rustling the trees, branches creaking in the wind, the occasional footstep and crunch of leaves or snow. People cutting wood in the distance.

Lighting is not too bright, dark in the deeper parts of the woods. Mist can make seeing difficult, dull lights light the walkways. The sun filters through the treeline.

Blackberries are sweet and tart, earthy mushrooms, the air is crisp as you breath in. Hot drinks of your liking, pine cone candy, hearty soups or stews.

Ground soft beneath the feet, wooden pathways slippery, stay on the safe parts. In winter the wooden walkways are frozen over, fun slides. Tree bark rough against the hands, cold air prickling the skin. River's waters are freezing year round and refreshing.

Aesthetics: dark naturalism, gloomcore cabincore, dark paradise, cryptidcore

Sub-area ideas:

Cafe and book swap

A cozy cafe where you can read and have food and drinks of your choosing. There may be several of these in the area, or just the one, depending on the size. There's a good hangout spaces for quieter people wanting to get out of the house.

Central lake

The lake in the center of the region. May be dotted with cabins, with a ferry across. Surrounded by woods. In full winter lake may freeze over enough to skate on. Perhaps in the depths of the lake, underwater species could make their home. Plenty of nice picnic spots.

Hot springs spa

A great place to relax, natural hot springs outside along with indoor private ones for those who want it. Sauna rooms and massage rooms also a good idea, with a place to get something to eat and drink as well. All sort of aromatherapy items and soaps are available.

[figuring-out-witchiness]

Recipe- High Protein Strength and Protection Soup

Recently in Hong Kong we had a level Typhoon 8 (really bad storm) come our way. Since I moved into the new apartment and I was by myself I wanted to add a little protection to myself and my place. Ultimately the typhoon ended up not hitting so bad and my area was fine other than some heavy rain and wind. This is the recipe I used as the first storm warnings were put in place.

PLEASE NOTE: Do not only use a spell to protect your house. I also taped my windows and was prepared with resources in case I would be stuck or needed to leave the apartment. Listen to your weather authorities for the proper info. This spell is only to give a little boost to your existing precautions.

This recipe is intended to give you an added boost of protein to help strengthen your body while using the herbal power to infuse your home with peace, strength, and safety.

Ingredients

Bay leaf

Rosemary

Thyme

Salt

Black pepper

Cumin

Basil

Onion

Garlic

Pepper

Potatoes

Beans (any kind) I used white kidney from a can

Vegetable (preferably local and in season) I used Chinese cabbage

Chicken (meat is completely optional)

Cooking instructions

Heat your pot. Then add some oil.

While waiting for your pot to heat, chop up all your sauteeables (garlic, onion, pepper)

When the oil is hot add the chopped garlic, onion, and pepper to the pot and turn heat on low. Stir occasionally until softened and onions are translucent.

Also add in your seasonings. Cooking your aromatics in the oil first will ensure the flavor can bloom. The smell and taste will be more intense.

Chop up the chicken into the desired size pieces.

Season the chicken with the salt and pepper. The. Add the pieces to the pot.

Wipe down your surface and sanitize immediately after handling the chicken to avoid salmonella risk.

Chop your remaining veggies. ( Potatoes and cabbage in this case)

Since in my case I used cabbage, when the chicken was about 50% cooked I added it in to give it a little extra cook. If you're using something less hearty like spinach you can wait to add in later.

When the chicken is about 70% cooked through, add water (or stock if you have that on hand)

Add in the chopped potatoes (and veggies if you didn't add with the chicken)

Simmer on low heat and continually stir to make sure nothing sticks to the bottom. Make sure you taste along the way. Let the seasonings guide your instincts and add whatever you feel is lacking.

When the potatoes are cooked through (can easily poke them through with a fork) then the soup is ready!

Casting Cooking Intensions

I laid all my ingredients out and focused on what I wanted to receive from each of these ingredients. I also acknowledged how they got to my kitchen or the life that went into providing me my meal (chicken in this case since I am flexitarian)

Acknowledged the storm starting outside. I opened a window and listened to the sounds of the nature and city around me. Focusing on the strength and power that comes from the thunder storm.

I organized all of my cooking utensils, pots, and bowls to be used. I sanitized them with boiling water while saying a positive words about the utensils ability to help me cook my meal.

Used my favorite cooking utensil. Many witches lean towards a wooden spoon that they are drawn to, or perhaps add their sigils on. But for me I use my favorite pair of wooden chopsticks! Same intent but different cultural variation based on what I'm drawn to use.

When stirring I stir in a clockwise position to draw in my intentions and counterclockwise to banish negativity or worry thoughts.

It may sound crazy but I speak to my soup. I think about being strong and visualize my house having beefy gym arms to push against the storm. I acknowledge the actual protection my home gives me daily and thank it. I ask my house to use the smells and energy from the soup to give it a little extra strength. I also visualize myself in the gym hitting my prs. And visualize eating my soup and it giving me strength. I also say things like "this soup is going to be so tasty and make me feel so comforted safe and warm while giving me all the protein and vitamins I need to be super strong and healthy" I kinda just say and think these positive things doing what feels right.

When I finally eat the soup I think of it powering me up and I focus on the flavors and all the energy that went into the ingredients that are now being passed on to me!

I save my scraps. The food worked hard to make it to my table and I believe every part should be utalized as much as possible. To reduce waste and show a little love to the earth I collect all the scraps for my freezer and make it into a veggies stock when it's full.

[caliconekouniua]

The Man Behind The Mask

Y/n’s POV

I scribbled in my journal awaiting Princess Zelda to return to her study. Link swung by and whisked her away. Something to do with the Yiga clan or something. I heard footsteps and turned my head to find her walking towards me gracefully in her heels.

“You won’t believe this! We’ve finally got our hands on Master Kohga! My father has arranged for him to be unmasked in front of the entire Kingdom, it’ll be a warning for anyone dumb enough to follow in his footsteps!” She laughed.

“Isn’t that a little overkill? He keeps his identity hidden for a reason, whatever it may be.” I said softly setting my pencil down. “It’s what he deserves, that man is a monster, Y/n. Hell, he’s tried to assassinate me dozens of times. Albeit not by his own hands. He’s too cowardly to do things himself.” She scoffed.

I frowned but kept my thoughts to myself and simply nodded. “Where is he being held?” I asked. “In lockup, he’s heavily guarded. He won’t be going anywhere.” She said before turning to address a guard.

I looked down at my doodles along my notebook, I know Master Kohga isn’t a good man and his clan have done many bad things but this isn’t right. Perhaps I could do something?

“Sorry, Y/n. I’ll have to take a rain check on your study session. I have other duties to attend to in light of the new situation.” She said. “It’s fine, I’m not feeling very good anyway.” I lied.

“Go get some rest and I’ll have some hearty soup sent up to your chambers.” She smiled warmly at me before turning around and leaving with the guard. I took in a deep breath as I made up my mind.

I’ll wait till shift change before I free Master Kohga. Then I’ll quickly head to my chambers so nobody knows I was involved. Yeah, this’ll work.

——Later That Night during shift change——

I hid in a dark corner as the daytime guards filed out of lockup. Once the coast was clear I snuck through the dark caverns and looked through the cells until I came across the man I was looking for.

I glanced around before spotting the keys hanging on the wall. I walked over to them before realizing they were too high for me to reach.

“Crap.” I mumbled to myself before spotting a box. I pushed it underneath the keys before climbing on top and pulling the keys off the hook then jumping down.

I walked over to his cell. “Psst!” I whispered. Master Kohga let out a low groan and I quickly realized he was injured, blood pooled around the cot he said lying on.

“Oh Hylia. What have they done to you?” I mumbled as I unlocked the cell and entered it cautiously. I approached his cot but in the blink of an eye I was pinned to the wall.

Master Kohga’s mask stood inches away from my face. He had me lifted and pinned against the wall with his hand around my throat. “No! Please, I’m trying to help you!” I squeaked wrapping my small hands around his wrist.

He remained silent and starred at me through his mask before setting me down and releasing my throat. “Why? What kind of trick is this?” He asked. His voice sent a chill down my spine.

It was low and raspy. I stared up into his mask. “It’s not a trick. As much as I don’t agree with what you or your clan stands for, what the King is doing isn’t right either.” I told him.

A series of masculine voices filled the cavern. “We’re running out of time. Quick, follow me.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the cell.

He stumbled slightly as he followed after me, obviously gravely wounded. I rushed past the guards office and pushed in a loose brick opening a secret passage.

The wall swung open and I quickly pushed him inside, “Just follow the torches. It’ll lead you to the reservoir. You should be able to teleport home from there.” I stepped back.

“Wait, what’s your name?” He asked raspily, I blushed lightly at the sound. “Y/n, Y/n L/n. Now go, quickly.” I shut the passage and looked around for another exit but it was too late.

The night shift arrived and I looked up at them wearily. “What have you done, you insolent little girl!” I was slapped so hard I hit the ground and cried out as I was dragged into a cell by my hair.

——3 days later at the Yiga clan hideout——

Master Kohga’s POV

I laid on my bed as the nurse rewrapped my bandages when my door suddenly burst open. I sat up much to my nurses displeasure. “Shit, Sooga. Where the fire?” I teased my close friend and second in command.

“Sir. The woman who saved you, Y/n. She was caught and charged with treason. Tomorrow she will be paraded through Castle town as she is led to her public execution.” He quickly informed me,

“Fuck!” I tossed my legs over my bed and stood up. “Master. You are in no shape to walk much less rescue some damsel in distress.” The nurse said trying to push me back into my bed.

“I can’t let her be executed. Not after what she’s done for me. Sooga, gather our best men. Meet me in the boardroom. I’ll think of a plan.” I ordered. Sooga nodded before swiftly leaving.

The nurse sighed as I ignored her wishes and shooed her out and headed to the board room.

——The next Afternoon—-

Y/n’s POV

The cuffs dug into my skin as I was dragged through my hometown. Those I used to call friends and fellow villagers threw old Hylian tomatoes and other things at me as I was paraded towards the execution site.

I couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down my cheeks as I was forced down into my hands and knees. I lifted my head and let out a sob as my best friend, Princess Zelda stared down at me on her throne with pure hatred burning in her eyes.

“Off with her head!” “Traitor!” “You deserve to burn in hell!” Multiple threats and insults were thrown my way as metal shackles locked around my neck and wrists.

I let out another series of sobs as I watched the executioner sharpen his axe. “Silence.” The King’s voice boomed through the town square. His eyes were hard as they landed on my trembling form.

“Have you any words?” He asked. I just shook my head as my vision blurred from my tears. “Very well. I won’t waste anymore time then.” He nodded to the executioner who approached me and rested his blade in my neck.

I closed my eyes tightly as I felt him lift the blade into the air. I tensed and awaited the fatal blow but instead all I heard was a snapping sound and a series of gasps.

I opened my eyes and looked behind me see the executioner’s axe was snapped in half and looked down by my knees to find a knife with the Yiga symbol engraved.

Suddenly the crowd began screaming and chaos erupted as Yiga’s of all shapes and sizes appeared fighting against the guards and keeping them from getting to me.

“Lady Y/n.” A deep husky voice spoke behind me. I lifted my head to see Sooga, Master Kohga’s second in command. He kneeled down and unlocked the shackles binding me.

“Can you stand?” He asked. I sniffled and shook my head. He was quick to slide one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my shoulders before picking me up bridal style.

I weakly gripped into his armor. “Fall back, I’ve got her.” Sooga announced to the others before my vision blurred and warm tingles ran down my spine.

My vision returned and I found myself and a new environment. “I-I don’t understand.” I mumbled looking up into Sooga’s mask. “The entire clan is grateful for your kindness in rescuing Master Kohga and aiding In his escape. We couldn’t let you be punished for your actions.” He explained.

“Is he okay? He was really hurt.” I asked. “He is recovering. You’ll see him shortly once your wounds are tended too, he is the one who ordered us to rescue you.” He explained as he carried me into a large room with medical supplies and gently laid me into a cot before stepping back as a few doctors and nurses rushed to my aid.

The adrenaline pumping through my veins began to wear off and my eyes grew heavy. “Rest, dear. We’ll take good care of you,” one of the female nurses assured me as my eyes fluttered closed and I passed out.

——The next Morning——

I heard steady breathing in my ear and slowly opened my eyes. A familiar mask rested inches away from me causing a sudden sensation of Deja vu. “Mhh. Master Kohga?” I asked softly.

He jolted slightly and I realized he had been asleep. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” I said quickly, looking around to find myself in a bedroom. “It’s fine. How are you feeling?” He sat up and stared down at me through his mask.

I felt tears well up in my eyes. “Hey. It’s okay, you’re safe now.” Kohga gently cupped my face and stroked my cheek wiping my tears with his gloved thumb.

I nuzzled into his hand. “I’m sorry. None of this would have happened if you didn’t free me.” He apologized. “It wasn’t right what they were going to do.” I said as he released my face.

I looked up into his mask. “I’m thankful for your assistance. I believe you have earned this.” He lifted his hand towards his mask and my eyes widened as I realized what he was about to do.

I quickly grabbed his wrist. “You don’t have to do that, Master Kohga.” I said. “I want to. It’ll be nice to have someone else other than Sooga who can I be around without my mask.” He said and I released his wrist.

“I can stay here?” I asked. “Would you like to?” I nodded. “Yes, I’d like to stay here, with you.” I said. He removed his mask and slid back his hood. My eyes widened as I looked into his sharp red eyes.

Master Kohga was incredibly attractive. He was Sheika with tan skin and short fluffy black hair. He had black stubble along his jawline and deep sharp red eyes. I blushed lightly and reached up cupping his face.

He did the same to me before leaning down. I could feel his warm breath against my lips. “May I?” He asked. “Please.” I pleaded breathlessly. He grinned at me before our lips collided in a fiery and passionate kiss.

[frauleindermorgen]

@justices-blade sent:

"Micaiah!" Clarion clear, like jolly bells — In fact, Edward does jingle over to her, the bell on the hat he's donned tinkling with every step. There's a considerable bag of various stuff slung over his shoulder, calling to mind a particularly festive Nevassan paperboy if you look at him at the right angle — The illusion dispersed mostly by his still decidedly in school uniform, though, save his usual blue sash that he's traded out for a red and green one, bought for the occasion. Once he comes to a skipping skidding stop in front of her, he reaches to rifle in his bag. And rifles. And grumbling a little, rifles a little deeper, before: "Aha!" Grinning from ear to ear, he produces a little package, though it's hardly packed; A pair of short black fingerless gloves pulled over eachother, fashionably stitched with red thread, with a very rotund crocheted bird nestled into them, its sleepy face peeking out of the opening. (It's occurred to him, sure that he's never seen her hands wholly bare before, no matter how much blood or muck was on them, no matter if she's handling oil or water. Her fingertips are gentel, soft-seeming, but he doesn't know what's beneath. If you asked him honestly, he doesn't really care, even if she ended up having fur on her forearms or something. Or, well, he cares, but not like that. Her secrets are hers alone to give, to share, and if she ever does, he'll take hers to his grave.) "These don't stain easy, so you can get into all kinds of gunk without having to take 'em off! Also," He plucks the bird out of its little hollow, squeezes it a little, then trills, before laughing and handing her the gifts. "From me to you, for the season! Happy Winter Festival, Micaiah!!"

Before she had met the Brigade winter had been her least favorite season; it had forced her to mingle with people far before she felt ready to, just to have some warmth, but she could never explain why the hearty soups even given with the best of intentions made her sick or why the prying eyes and thoughts of men beyond the bonfire made her shiver.

With Sothe, it had been better; though he was an entirely new person to be concerned over, she found he worried about her too in turn, and the knowledge of that most times was enough to warm her by proxy and drive away the unwanted feelings of others that seemed to so often crowd her.

Together, with Nolan, and Leonardo, and Edward was the first time Micaiah had danced on bonfire night, even if it was only a tiny fire lit for the five members of their brigade; and it was in that moment, insisting Nolan come let loose with the rest of them that she first started to appreciate the merits of winter.

Now, especially at Garreg Mach, she could not hate winter if she tried.

Particularly not when it is Edward of all people acting as its emissary at her quite literal doorstep, she giggles as he digs into his bag and wonders idly how many other stops by dorms and offices he might be making.

“Oho?” She responds to his exclamation of triumph, her own curiosity replaced by swelling affection as she takes the soft packet from him as soon as its thrust upon her though carefully so might truly have a chance to look at it as she turns it over in her hands.

“Oh Edward, they’re wonderful… and whenever I look at them now I can think of you. Why, I should put them on now!”

It had been said without thinking, at first; but as the words fall from her lips they feel right. Edward had not hated her for whatever she had done in that horrible dream, and perhaps too he will not hate her now – that she has to trust.

She has to trust.

“Come in for a moment?” Micaiah asks, stepping backward so he can enter her room. The lamp at her desk is still lit, and she steps over to it, package still in hand; she carefully places the package next to it on the surface there before slipping off her right glove. The curled edge of the brand there on her hand stands out starkly in the candle light, but Micaiah makes no attempt to hide it; merely nodding at Edward again.

She picks up his package once more and walks over to him in the quiet of the moment, placing her bare hand on the little bird there as he had; she has to remind herself he won’t be cursed.

“Thank you,” she says, leaning into Edward, hand brushing up against his bag of gifts as she does so, “it’s so warm.”

[emcscared-whumps]

WiJ 2023 - 27: Unstable (2/10)

WiJ 2023 Navigation Post

I'm finally back in the swing of writing! The exchange over on WLC was honestly super fun, and I very much enjoyed making my gift :) (You guys can expect to see that after the creator reveals on 29/08)

While the deadline was approaching, I chose to focus on that rather than continuing my WiJ miniseries, but now that's all done, we're back off hiatus!

(I still have some treats I want to make, but I'm gonna have a lot more balance between the art and writing now).

Enjoy the continuation :)

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CONTENT AND WARNINGS: Hypervigilence, mentioned disordered eating and references to being underweight, not a lot else yet lol, just angst lol

wc: ~1k

The nearby restaurant Cole chose was... homely.

No, it was run down; the cloudy windows were so covered in torn old menu posters that they barely counted as windows, and the bricks which seemed to previously be white were stained a dull grey, and covered with creeping weeds. One panel of the door had a piece of graffitied ply where glass would’ve been.

Wonderful.

The inside appeared only marginally tidier, but the aromas that drifted from the kitchen made the unappetising façade appear charmingly dishevelled. Cole still would’ve preferred somewhere else, maybe an alley café, but this was the nearest shelter that seemed quiet and somewhat private behind the screens of the booths.

Pete’s breaths still came shallow and laboured, but they slowly improved since they had been seated and ordered drinks.

The silent tension between the two had not, and quickly became too much.

“Feeling any better?”

Whether out of embarrassment or shame, Pete didn’t glance up for more than a second before nodding and returning his gaze to the floor. He barely acknowledged the waiter when they delivered a tray laden with cups and saucers, and a steaming teapot swaddled in a plain cosie, not even to thank them. Instead, his shaky hands fidgeted in his lap.

“Thankyou,” Cole said and sent the waiter off, “we’ll take a moment to look over the menu.”

A small bubble of guilt sparked in Cole’s chest; Pete’s coldness was a testament to the stress he was under. Maybe bringing him so far into the city was a mistake, maybe it was too much for him to handle yet— he’d only just begun venturing out of Kate’s terrace again, and even getting him off the island took a lot of convincing.

Cole took the pot, watching the warm, rich tea flow from the spout.

He’s just shaken, he thought. Maybe he’ll loosen up after he’s eaten and rested.

He slid a steaming cup toward Pete, “Please have some, it’ll help warm you.”

“...Th... thanks...”

Pete finally raised his gaze from the table and briefly met Cole’s before surveying the restaurant, and finally, his tea. Each movement he made was lined with tension and practiced precision; from his ginger grip on the cup to the slow, calculated delicacy of his sips which he took only after careful inspection.

His guard was up. Perhaps, even more than before, and it was coming down for no one.

Cole shrivelled inwardly, and worked on his own tea, adding a splash of milk and dragging the menu closer before wrapping the cup in his palms. He let the warmth seep into his gloves. It had an odd flavour. Briefly, Cole wondered what kind of tea it was before turning his attention back to the menu. It seemed simple, containing mostly hearty dishes. Some were curries, some were heavy pasta dishes... Oh, the boule soups looked nice...

“Yes,” Pete murmured suddenly, seeming to relax marginally into the bench, “a bi—a bit. B-better, I mean.”

It took Cole a moment to recall his earlier question that he’d thought Pete had ignored. He gave an approving hum; “You’ll feel better again after we get some food into you... How do you feel about a soup boule?”

Cole could tell he had Pete’s full attention, even though he tried to hide it. He could faintly hear the young man’s stomach gurgle.

Pete wet his lips, “Y—yes please, it... it sounds n-nice.”

“Would you prefer onion, tomato, or beer cheese soup?”

As if dumbfounded and overwhelmed by the options, Pete hesitated, struggling to answer before perusing the menu himself.

“O—onion... p-please,” he said.

The smaller, cheaper option.

Cole was sure he’d want something more than that—he was as skinny as the day he left the House’s prison, and he had to be ravenous, especially after his ordeal just minutes ago. Cole was about to insist until he noticed the sudden reversion of Pete’s body language; his gaze was fixed on the table again, and he seemed to make himself smaller.

Cole sighed inwardly and thought better of forcing the matter. Clearly, something here was a sensitive topic with awful implications, but any approach would demand the utmost delicacy, so he decided against asking anything overtly.

When the waiter came back to take their order, Cole made sure to also request generous amounts of sides, and when the food arrived, even though it took many coaxing invitations, he was pleased to see Pete take advantage of the extra food.

He really must have been hungry to even try, because despite the obvious effort to eat more, as Cole instructed, he looked glum and guilty, seemingly addled by restraint. Cole could feel his eyes carefully observing the amount he ate, as if he were worried he wasn’t going to get enough.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Cole said, “I’ve almost had my fill, please, have yours.”

Pete paused.

There was fear in his eyes, well beyond their usual anxiety. Cole’s heart ached. Truthfully, he hadn’t eaten as much as he usually would, maybe he would’ve finished the bread of the bowl and the rest of the sides, but he couldn’t refuse Penny and Mel’s offer of their special glitter slice. He said, “It’s your right not to go hungry. No matter what you say, you don’t deserve to starve. No one does,” Cole said, “least of all, you.”

“I—I’ve had—h-had my f-fill,” Pete said firmly, clearly adhering to some unknown harmful, standard that had been set for him.

“Okay then, as long as—”

A deep boom rocked the ground, rattling their dishes and the already flimsy panes of glass. Shouts rose on the street outside, and Pete stood suddenly, on the edge of panic, prepared to run. Dust streamed from the ceiling with a hiss.

The building’s very core groaned with the stress of the shockwave, the whole building seemed to sway around them.

“Wh-what’s—what was th-that—”

“We need to leave. Now, it’s not stable,” Cole said urgently, laying down credits on their table and standing, but before they made it to the door, another explosion rocked the building and a deep, terrifying crack sent its own shockwaves through their chests. Agony shot through Cole’s entire body and sudden darkness overtook his world before he could scream.

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Taglist:

@a-crumb-of-whump

@dang-i-like-whump

@gem2117

@nowjustanothermain2notjudge

@painful-pooch

@pigeonwhumps

@whump-cravings

@whumplovers-collaborate

@willowtreewhump

If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know <3 More info [here]

(I'm no longer tagging the WiJ archive because I'm posting outside of July, and I'm 90% I shouldn't?? Unsure lol)

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 22: Hallucinations & Hauntings

SUNDAY - SUMMER 14

When Achilles woke, it was to the smell of soup and the—blessed be—warmth of sunlight grazing his face. This was the only time he was grateful all bedroom windows seemed to face east in this town. The sun after a storm was always a special kind of sun, something more… precious. Something a little more kind. 

A blurry glance at the digital clock told him it was nearly 11am. Yoba, he hadn’t slept this much in years. But his body had clearly needed it. Every limb was a tightly coiled spring—stiff, unable to stretch even the slightest amount. His nose was running; he managed to spot the tissues on the nightstand just in time before a quick series of five, obnoxiously loud, sneezes spewed from his nose. Moving even the slightest bit felt like trying to bend steel, but with a groan, he managed to sit himself upright. 

“Morning!”

Had he been sitting for a minute or an hour? Achilles slowly raised his head to see Alex walking towards him with yesterday’s clothes, warm and fresh from the dryer, and a bowl of scrambled eggs and pancakes.

“How ya feeling?” 

“Miserable.” The word had been lodged in the depths of a scratchy throat. 

“Yeah, heard you sneezing.” Alex placed the items on the desk and, biting his lip, held the back of his hand against Achilles’ forehead. A near-nauseating swoop rushed his stomach at the cool touch. If he wasn’t hot before, he must’ve been now. 

“Well you don’t have a fever…” Or apparently not. “That’s good news, right?” 

“Hmm…” 

“You can eat in here, no rush. It’s Sunday so I gotta head down, just wanted to make sure you were ok. Snored almost as bad as Dusty last night with that stuffed nose of yours, I thought you’d suffocate.” 

Achilles burned even redder, if that was at all possible, but he didn’t have the energy to fight it, managing to choke out, “Thanks again for letting me stay the night.” 

“Yeah, no problem. It’s Dusty you really have to thank, he knew something was up, didn’t you, Dusty?” Alex gave the old beagle a hearty scratch behind the ears. “Hey, I’ll try to stop by later—but maybe visit Dr. Harvey if you don’t feel any better?” 

“Do I look that bad?” 

“Nah, you look great. But you never know, better safe than sorry, right? I’ll see you around, okay?” 

It was an unceremonious goodbye, but then again, what did Achilles expect.

He managed to finish the pancakes and the eggs—they were awfully good—before slowly changing and shuffling out the bedroom and down the hall. 

Looking to his left, he saw George determinedly ignoring his hello—you’d think the old geezer thought being gay was contagious—as he watched some black and white western on the TV. To the right he found Evelyn in the kitchen, watering some houseplants. 

“Evelyn, thank you so much for breakfast and for letting me stay the night.” As difficult as it was to force his arms above his waist, courtesy demanded he move to wash his dishes in the sink. Perhaps part of him hoped Evelyn would take the bowl from him, but if so, he was disappointed. 

Instead, she turned from her mixing bowl to pat his lower back and said, “Oh that was all Alex, my dear, we’re just glad to see you safe! I do hope Shane is doing all right…” 

“I’m sure Harvey’s taking good care of him.” Achilles placed the dishes in the drying rack right before delivering another rapid succession of sneezes. 

“Oh dear.” Like Alex, Evelyn placed her cool hands against his forehead. “Perhaps you should see Harvey yourself.” 

“I’m sure it’s just a cold,” Achilles said, taking a rapid step back. Best not risk getting Alex’s grandparents sick, even if it was just a cold. “But I’ll not trespass on your hospitality any longer, thank you again.” 

“Of course, dear! You let Alex know if you need anything, now.” 

After receiving a very Shane-like grunt from George in lieu of a proper goodbye, Achilles left River Road and made the slow walk back to the farm, managing to (thank Yoba) not bump into any of those pesky overly talkative townsfolk. Really all he wanted to do was get straight back and sleep in his own bed. 

But lo and behold, as he passed the “Strawberry Farms” sign Leah had painted for him what seemed like ages ago, he made out a squat little someone slouched on his porch. 

Shane waved—small, halfhearted. Embarrassed. 

“Been waiting all morning for you,” he mumbled as Achilles drew closer. The dark bags under his eyes and scraggly, unshaven beard were aging him more than ten years; his face was still slightly bloated. 

Achilles raised an eyebrow, and would’ve scoffed had his stuffed nose and increasingly sore throat allowed it. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

“No, agh, sorry, that’s not what I meant…” Shane looked at his beat up sneakers, his hands visibly fidgeting in his pockets. “Buh… oh man… how do I say this… 

“I wanted to um… I’m really sorry about what happened at the cliffs. That was… embarrassing…” 

Achilles sighed, softening at the apology, and sat down on the porch steps, laying his head in his palms. “Well. I’m just… happy you’re still here, man.” 

“Huh, it was that serious? I can hardly remember…” Shane shuffled his feet, his hands still in his pockets. “Harvey told me you carried me through Cindersap through the rain and stuff… thanks…” 

Achilles shrugged and sighed again. He wasn’t capable of much more in his current condition. “Of course. Right place, right time. Couldn’t just leave you there.” He of all people was familiar with that sentiment. Yoba, this whole situation was hitting a little too close to home… but at this moment, he was (perhaps thankfully) too exhausted to dwell on it. 

Shane nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “It all just… sucks, you know? My hours got cut again… forgot Jas’ birthday last week… and yesterday… seeing Alex…  you know what I’m talking about, so I can say this, but…” A pink tinge flushed across Shane’s cheeks. “He’s just everything I’m not, ya hear? Everything I once wanted to be. All those friends. Athletic. Nice. Good looking kid. Tall… and doesn’t need a beer to have a good time…”

Achilles did get it. There was something about Alex—his enthusiasm, his confidence, his laid-back attitude—it wasn’t difficult to see why it’d inspire envy. 

“I got to change, I know it.”

It was Shane’s turn to sigh, a heavy one through his nose. With great effort, he continued.

“I’ve decided I want to see a therapist. Harvey got me in touch with a colleague of his.” 

This made Achilles look up. “Oh. That’s great, man.” 

Shane grimaced and turned to go. “Should be… good. Anyway… I just wanted to thank you for taking care of me. And I… want you to know that I’m going to take things a little more seriously from now on. Want you and Emily to uh… hold me accountable, if you can. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone…” 

“You’re not a burden to anyone, Shane. Your family and friends care about you.” 

Shane nodded slowly, as if digesting the words that tasted so bitter to Achilles even as they came out of his mouth. 

“Well… thanks, again. Time for the daily soul crushing at Joja now…” he said with a weak attempt at a joke. Something in his choice of words rang a bell in Achilles’ brain, but it was still far too clouded with exhaustion for him to make sense of any greater meaning Shane’s phrasing may have contained. 

Once Shane’s blue hoodie had disappeared to the south, Achilles gathered his strength and stumbled into his cottage. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed that Alex’s assessment of him “looking great” had been nothing but a lie—the circles under his eyes rivaled Shane’s, not to mention the dried rivulets of snot and crusty ass tumbleweed on his head. Man, this was as Shane as he could get. Definitely not a look he wanted to emulate.

Why can’t you ever look hot in front of Alex? Fuck. 

But this wasn’t the time for vanity. He sloshed some water on his face, before deciding there wasn’t energy for anything more, and collapsed on his bed. He’d order delivery from the saloon later… 

*****

Sometime in the early afternoon, he woke atop the covers in a cold sweat. Shivering and dazed, he stumbled out of bed to his bathroom cabinet, desperate to find some medication he vaguely knew, in his hazy mind, wouldn’t actually be there. Of course—he hadn’t bought a first aid kit, or any medication really, like the idiot he was, but was it medicine he needed or something else…

Panic was rushing through his veins as his fingers stumbled over boxes of bandaids and bottles. Something was coming… he could feel them whisper at the back of his mind… he should’ve known, he should’ve been more prepared. He had to stop it, fast. 

Finding nothing—as he knew he would—he staggered over to his cell phone, forgetting it had all but seized up in the downpour. 

He was on his own. There was no way he was going to make it to Harvey’s, and besides, as the logical (or perhaps, illogical) part of his burning mind thought, Harvey deserved a day of rest after having to deal with Shane. The real question was why Stardew had only one doctor… 

There was a sudden knock on the door. Firm, hard, a single crack of knuckles against the heavy frame. It echoed, and a shiver ran up his spine, like the feeling of cold, dripping rain. 

He teetered back to his bed, desperately hoping it was the wind, or maybe an errant bear—he needed a dog. Maybe he’d borrow Dusty. What was he doing, living out in the semi-wilderness completely and utterly alone. But he knew it was something else. Something worse. 

The knock came again. This time sharper, higher, but similar to the first. A singular sound against the wood. 

Achilles crouched under the covers. Eyes closed tightly, a low cry just escaping from his lips. 

The post-knock silence gave way to a heavy pounding. Thunderous, like horses galloping, he could feel the vibrations snaking from the door along the wooden floors, shaking the bed ever so slightly with each thunk against the frame. Whispers began to creep through the walls, whispers in his head, in his mind. 

His aching fingers were shaking as he struggled to grab his pillow for something to clutch on to. Cold sweat rapidly transformed into an inferno as his fever switched tactics. 

Someone (or something) continued to pound on his door. He strained to keep the noise out, hands plastered against his ears, but even still, he could make them out… voices, low, angry… An avalanche of coughs from deep within his chest was clamoring to spew out, but he kept them down, silent tears and sweat streaming from his pores in their stead. On and on it went, for what could have been an hour. What could have been a minute, 

And then. All was silent. Just the scratch of a tree blowing gently against his window. 

But this was not the time to surrender his guard. 

There was the slightest whine. A creak. Then a cool breeze that shimmied its way under the covers where Achilles was hiding, grazing his clammy skin. 

And in the moonlight that now seemed to be streaking through his room, he could see illuminated the shadow of a hand, coming closer and closer. A face leaning towards him, passing through his comforter just as he knew, deep inside him, it would. Long and wrinkled and smiling with bloodshot, blacked out eyes and giant, pointed teeth. Worms wriggling out from holes in dry, grey skin. 

Even with his eyes closed, he could see it. The face lying next to him. Horrific shadow figures melding through the walls, circling his bed. Slime oozing through the windows. Serpents screeching as they wrapped their tails around his arms, pinning him to the bed frame. And all throughout, that multi-layered whisper tickling from the back of his mind. 

Achilles, they said. 

He had to get out. He wrenched the covers back, hands slick with sweat, and staggered blindly to his feet. A box—he had to find the box, where were they coming from—if he could just find it, destroy it, he could stop it all, he could end this, where was it, where was it? He could see it, there in his head—a metallic, lilac little thing, but where was it. 

The whispers turned to screams. He was paralyzed—make it stop, why wouldn’t it stop—

And then he woke up. 

*****

He felt his own forehead. Drew no conclusion, but figured, from his sore throat, chills, and massively aching muscles, that he must still have some degree of fever. A lower grade one now, for sure, but still perhaps a cause for concern… 

His phone—lying on his nightstand—was still useless. 

But just as he had resigned himself to his pathetic fate, there was a knock at the door. 

He painstakingly shuffled over to unlock it, pulling it just a smidge open to find, with the smallest modicum of delight, Dr. Harvey standing on his porch. The sun was still shining. He must not have been asleep for long. 

“You,” Achilles said thickly, already making his way back to bed, “Are just the man I wanted to see.” 

Dr. Harvey chuckled. “I thought so. Alex stopped by earlier to tell me you weren’t looking too good this morning, he shared you weren’t answering your door. I thought it’d be a good idea to check in on you. Here, let’s take a seat…” He unfolded a stethoscope.

Alex had stopped by? Perhaps that had been the knocking in his dream… 

*****

“102.3 degrees,” Harvey popped the thermometer out of Achilles’ mouth. The last procedure, Harvey had been quite thorough. “I’m glad I came.” 

“Must’ve been even worse earlier this afternoon.” Achilles coughed. “I was hallucinating.” 

Dr. Harvey frowned, making a note in his little pad. “Tell me more about that.” 

“I’ve always hallucinated with bad fevers, though,” Achilles quickly added, though never had they been this vivid before. “That’s not anything new, just, like, nonsensical shit… ” But at Harvey’s urging, he shared the details of his horrifying encounter earlier that afternoon.  

“—of course looking back you’re always like ‘you were hallucinating.’ But of course you forget that at the time. Think it’s all real…” 

“The brain is a remarkable thing,” Harvey nodded, finishing up his notes. “For better or for worse… Now I believe you may have pneumonia, but I won’t be able to confirm until the blood results come back—you must have been hypothermic being out in the rain for so long. It likely weakened your body, and may have made you more susceptible.”

Yeah and whose fault was that, ya bastard. 

“I’ve got some antibiotics for you here. Be sure to drink plenty of fluids. You may want to give Gus and Pierre a call, I want you to take it easy.” 

“Phone’s dead, doc.” Achilles erupted into another coughing fit. “Tried charging and it didn’t work.” 

“Ah. Well I can pass on any requests if you’d like.”

Harvey handed him a pen and paper, and with an unsteady, dragging hand, Achilles wrote “I hate cucumbers.” 

“Not too picky, are we?” 

Achilles shrugged, crawling back under the covers. 

Harvey tucked his notepad into his front pocket and stood, his work here done for now. “Now, a hot bath may also be good, it can help open up your airways.” 

“Perfect,” Achilles mumbled from his pillow. 

“Take care of yourself, Achilles. I’ll be back with additional medication—perhaps we can leave the front door unlocked and I’ll leave it on your nightstand if you’re asleep? The Valley is a safe place.” 

“Mmhm.” 

Achilles’ hacking cough felt oddly more comfortable sleeping on his side, arms clutching a pillow for dear life, and with his back against the wall, he managed to just catch a glimpse of a trio of junimos scurry inside as Harvey opened the front door to leave. They planted themselves squarely in the corner of his bedroom. Another hallucination? In his condition, he couldn’t bring himself to care…

*****

His sleep was, mercifully, untroubled this time, and he woke that evening to find, as promised, a few bottles of medication on his nightstand, as well as some instructions and recommendations. Steamy baths? Hot beverages? That’d be easy enough. 

Also on his nightstand was a paper bag, fragile and damp with steam. The handwriting on the note was smeared—Alex was a lefty—but impressively uniform and straight, despite the slightly distorted sloppiness of the individual letters that spelled out “Get well soon : )” 

Charming, really.

He stomached only a quarter of the chicken pot pie and half a snickerdoodle cookie—hallucinating rarely left him with an appetite—before stumbling into the living room, pausing by the portrait of two root vegetables to catch his breath, and into the kitchen to shove the rest in the fridge. He was still exhausted—mind, body, spirit—and hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to sleep peacefully through the night. 

Tucking himself in, he managed to make out in the moonlight a new trio of junimos marching in, straight through the wall this time. So it hadn’t been a dream earlier, huh? They gave what seemed to be a salute to their compatriots who had been, for lack of a better word, standing guard the past few hours before switching places. 

“Thank you?” Achilles found himself saying to their retreating figures. Thank you? For what? For just being there? 

The junimos merely bounced. 

[stickyllamaturtle]

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[rusteddreamsstories]

Soup-er Power  Stella Campbell had been laughed out of her city’s League of Heroes’ Hall long ago when she’d attempted to join. She’d been interviewed by Ten-Ton Man (whose power was that he could lift anything and everything up to ten-tons in weight) and he’d suggested that she’d go work in a charity kitchen - that her power wasn’t impressive enough to become one of Metrovania’s stalwart protectors.   So, that’s what she did.  It was doing good, right?  After all, Metrovania still had impoverished people on its hands - people who hadn’t quite benefited from Truth, Justice and the American Way.  She suspected it was because most of the American Way involved Capitalism, which, in excess, always guaranteed freezing bodies coming in from the cold into the city’s soup-kitchens for a hot meal - provided that they were not too ashamed of their lot in life to do so.  It’s not like the kitchens didn’t serve more than soup, but it was the age-old claim to a name and Stella’s specialty, ever since she’d learned how to boil down a picked-over poultry-carcass into a fine broth by her mother.  Perhaps it was a superpower enough to know how to cook and to feed one’s family and friends, and because she was so community-minded, to apply her skills to a charity.  She’d thought of joining one of those mobile chefs’ organizations, the ones that went to war zones and disaster areas to provide hot meals.  She certainly had great skill in taking simple and inexpensive ingredients - a few potatoes and a little milk, perhaps, and making the “best soup I ever had!” according to people she’d fed.   Campbell had discovered early on that she’d had a genuine superpower, too - the kind that could be registered among “Emergent Anomalous Properties” as they were being called on a census-list.  It had happened when she was ten years old or so.  She’d been helping her mother make the family-recipe for stone soup.  Anyone who’s ever heard of it knows that it’s generally a vegetable stew made with just about anything one can find in one’s garden or pantry (an old country recipe) and that the special ingredient is a smooth, clean stone - preferably one from a river - to be cooked in the soup.  The idea of it is that the stone has some magic in it and will impart a special flavor.  (No one expected to eat the actual stone).  It was a way for a poor family to make a pot of soup look bigger, she supposed, or to give a child a special role in making dinner.   When little Stella had added the freshly-scrubbed stone into the pot of broth bubbling with carrots and turnips, an amazing thing happened:  The stone itself had melted and incorporated itself into the soup!   Both her mother and her father had screamed and shouted “Don’t eat it!” but she had already grabbed a large spoon to taste the results.  Instead of getting some kind of mineral-poisoning or broken teeth... the soup was good.  Really, really good!   Stella Campbell’s subsequent experiments with making little pots of stone soup yielded actual meals.  She could get anything out of the stones.  Sometimes they turned into beef meatballs when thrown into the pot.  Sometimes they’d turned into a hearty grain, such as rice or a pasta.  Her parents arranged for her powers to be tested.  Anything she threw into a pot with a little water - scraps of wood, rusty nails, bits of plastic... it all turned into food - actual, real food - usually a protein of some kind, meat or beans.   Her tire-chunks and broken glass chili was to die for.   It wasn’t entirely predictable what bits and bobs would turn into, but it was always, always delicious.  And it always seemed to turn into whatever soup someone wanted.  She could feed vegetarians and omnivores alike out of the same kinds of trash thrown into different pots!  Her family was never hungry, although they did get rather bored of soup.   As she grew into a young woman, instead of seeking college, she thought that she might just join the League right away.  After all, didn’t she have a power that could solve world hunger?  It turns out that they valued the flashier powers - things that were more marketable.  Ten-Ton Man had marketing deals for a cleaning-products company and frequented commercials where the carpet-shampoo and dishwashing detergent were “as strong as he was” and “as tough on dirt as he was on the bad guys.”  Monsoon Mike always provided good shots for the local news when he streaked across the sky. He movie and fashion deals.  The same with Rocketeer, although she didn’t even actually have any natural superpowers!  She was just a wealthy engineer who made a lot of flashy inventions!   Making soup out of trash was just...unglamorous, she supposed, but Campbell grew to enjoy her charity-work.   And then the reports of the Meteor came.  It was, supposedly, a world-ender, like the Dinosaur-Killer. It was headed straight for the central park of Metrovania! The DART-project had detected it too late to deflect it.  The League had been called in to deal with it, but none of their powers would suffice.  Ten-Ton Man was too weak, ironically - the meteor was estimated to weigh in-excess of ten tons.  None of Rocketeer’s rockets, including the jet packs she flew around on had enough thrust to get rid of it.  Monsson Mike could only electrocute the thing with his lightning, which would have done nothing at all.  Everyone else assessed their powers and all came up short.   Until Stella Campbell stood alone in the estimated Ground Zero of impact, an enormous cookpot full of fresh water carried in both her hands. Bags of pasta, beans and spices were at her feet.   The only thing she saw was a nice, spicy meatball, perfect for a pasta soup!   The entire city of Metrovania was going to love it! 

You are constantly mocked for having such a weird superpower by all the other heroes. “The power to make anything into perfectly cooked soup”… One day, a massive meteor is barreling towards earth. As all the other heroes are panicking, you wait perfectly calm, at the impact zone, bowl in hand.

[flavorjunction]

"Shred Cabbage: A Versatile Ingredient for Healthy Eating"

Cabbage, a cruciferous vegetable known for its robust flavor and impressive health benefits, often finds its way into our meals in various forms. One of the most popular ways to prepare cabbage is by shredding it. Whether you're making coleslaw, stir-fry, or even sauerkraut, shredded cabbage is a versatile ingredient that adds both nutrition and texture to your dishes. In this blog post, we'll explore the many reasons why you should incorporate shredded cabbage into your culinary repertoire.

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Cabbage, in any form, is a nutritional powerhouse. When you shred cabbage, you're preserving its nutrient content while making it easier to incorporate into your meals. Here are some of the key nutrients you can benefit from when you add shredded cabbage to your diet:

Vitamins: Cabbage is an excellent source of vitamins like vitamin C, which boosts your immune system, and vitamin K, crucial for bone health. Shredded cabbage retains these vitamins in their entirety.

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Antioxidants: This vegetable contains a variety of antioxidants, including flavonoids and polyphenols, which help combat oxidative stress and inflammation in the body.

Minerals: Cabbage provides essential minerals such as potassium and manganese, contributing to overall health and well-being.

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Shredded cabbage's versatility in the kitchen is truly remarkable. Here are some delightful ways to incorporate it into your meals:

Coleslaw: Perhaps the most well-known use of shredded cabbage, coleslaw is a classic side dish. Mix shredded cabbage with a creamy dressing for a refreshing and crunchy addition to your meals.

Stir-Fries: Add shredded cabbage to your stir-fries for a satisfying crunch and a boost of nutrients. It pairs exceptionally well with a wide range of proteins and sauces.

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Salads: Toss shredded cabbage into your salads for extra texture and a mild peppery flavor. It pairs wonderfully with a variety of dressings and toppings.

Wraps and Tacos: Use large cabbage leaves as a low-carb alternative to tortillas or wraps. Shredded cabbage makes a great base for all kinds of fillings.

Soups: Add shredded cabbage to your soups and stews for a hearty and nutritious addition. It softens as it cooks, adding body and flavor to the dish.

Conclusion

Shredded cabbage is an underrated gem in the world of culinary delights. With its impressive nutritional profile and culinary versatility, it deserves a place in your kitchen. Whether you're aiming to boost your vegetable intake, add crunch to your dishes, or explore new recipes, shredded cabbage is your go-to ingredient. So, the next time you're at the grocery store, be sure to grab a head of cabbage and shred away for a healthier, more exciting culinary experience. Your taste buds and your body will thank you!

[lihikainanea]

I miss the horny pills blurbs from the beginning of this account. It was so funny and cute.

 Anonymous asked:lei i sent an anon ab loving the horny pills blurbs from way back, and i’ve expanded. bill has just had the most intense, frustrating shoot of his LIFE. he’s been going on ab it and tiger knew he’d be wanting to dominate when he got back, he didn’t say it, but she knew. when bill gets home, he sighs with relief at her, still pent up but says it’s not working down there. usually she smiles and helps him unwind and they do their uniting tomorrow. but now? she’s a sobbing mess, hormones on over drive. she shamefully admits to taking the horny pills so she’d be able to keep up with what he gave her and now she’s in physical pain from how pent up she is. bill knows he needs to scold her about doing stupid shit FOR him, but his poor heart, shes wearing the cutest little panties and when he glances at how it’s soaked through? he debates just popping some of the male ones she had left over from before. (does he take it? does he just let her sit uncomfy to prove a lesson? or does he just help her out with his hands and mouth?)

Omggggg baby, you're an OG! you been here for a long time. Thank you so, so much for sticking with me throughout the years, and for still being around. I think that is just so cool.

And indeed, those little blue pills--oh my god, it was a fave of mine too. Poor Bill and his terrible hay fever, and he probably considers it more than he's willing to admit when tiger absolutely breaks his biology, because Bill is a good due and he wants to give his girl what she needs.

SO LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS. Allow me to perhaps take some liberties because horny pills are a bit of an unknown area for me.

So one delicious thought I had is like, what if Bill took a little blue pill because he had to?

Hear me out.

We all know that sometimes, Bill is just so tired. It’s after a long shoot, when his body is beat up, his mind is toast, he’s a walking zombie. His most basic brain functions don’t even compute, let alone any ahem, extra curricular activities. He sees tiger and he just kind of collapses into her arms, hugs her as tight as he can--but then he’s practically snoring on her shoulder. He needs rest, lots of it, he needs proper food, he needs to reset his circadian rhythm.

And listen, it usually only takes him a few days to catch up on his sleep to the point where he feels human again. He sleeps for hours at a time, but every time he wakes up tiger is fluffing his pillow, pulling him so he’s sitting up, and putting some delicious smelling thing in front of him--soup, stew, pasta--anything nourishing and hearty, that isn’t the jar of peanut butter he’s been known to eat when he’s on set during his 18 hour days.

“You look like you gave yourself fucking scurvy,” she grumbles, “All thin and gaunt and shit. What is this? Look at this.”

She pokes at his rib sticking out, and Bill whines--loud and exaggerated. Then he pouts.

“I’m sorry big guy,” she placates, giving him a kiss.

And like, after about two days he’s all caught up on sleep and on good food. After about two days, suddenly he’s noticing the tiger is just puttering around the apartment in booty shorts, and Bill? Bill loves the booty. Suddenly he’s becoming painfully aware of just how long it’s been since he's been with her, since he’s had her moaning for him, since he’s felt that delicious wet velvet grip around him. His mind is all in, the filthiest fantasies running through his head, but right when he’s supposed to feel blood rushing to his groin--he doesn’t.

There’s nada. Nothing. Not even morning wood.

It’s fine for another day or two, but then he’s just starting to get pent up. That warm body pressed to his at night, those soft lips sucking on his thumb, the sheer weeks it’s been since they’ve been together. And tiger, bless her heart--tiger never pushes. She knows that sometimes he’s ready to pounce her the minute he walks through the door, and some days he needs a bit more time to get back right. She’s ready whenever he is--but she doesn’t push. And when she wakes up one morning to him rutting against her, his soft and sleepy moans in her ear, she smiles and sighs in relief--she’s pretty goddamn pent up too. He smells so fucking good, he’s so warm, and it’s been too long since she’s felt the delicious stretch of him filling her out.

There’s only one problem. She scoots her ass back into him and grinds down, but there’s....nothing. The morning fog clears from her brain and she opens her eyes.

“Just keep doing that,” his gruff voice in her ear commands, “God I need you.”

She moans, reaching back to run her fingers through his hair as she grinds her ass into him again. His hands snake to her front, cupping her breasts as he rolls his hips into hers. But after a few minutes, there’s still....nothing. And suddenly his soft groans in her ear turn into a frustrated huff, and he pulls away all too abruptly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, throwing himself onto his back. He presses his palms into his eyes.

“Easy Billy,” she soothes, rolling over.

“No,” he says petulantly, “I need you. I need you so fucking bad kid, and I’m...I’m broken again.”

“You’re not broken,” she eases over, putting a leg over him and settling on his waist, “You’re exhausted. And you’re more of a visual guy anyway, so let’s see if this works.”

She pulls her shirt over his head, taking his hands and placing them back over her breasts. She steadies herself, and then she grinds down on him--hard. He moans long and deep, his hips jutting up automatically.

“There we go,” she sighs in pleasure, “Just like this.”

She cups her hands over his, gazing at him as his jaw slackens.

“I need you big guy,” she purrs, “Only you can make me feel good like this.”

And like...it should be working. For all intents and purposes, she’s hitting every single one of his bullseyes. But while he should be harder than a rock, there’s still just...there’s nothing happening south of the border for him. And after a few minutes, his face goes from slack with pleasure to worried, concerned--and then angry, all over again.

“Oh come on!” he cries, lifting her off of him and sitting up in bed, “Seriously?!”

He lets out a frustrated cry, his head in his hands.

“Alright,” tiger says, “You’re just not ready, bud. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh I’m ready,” he snaps, glaring at her, “I’m so fucking ready. And this is a very big deal, tiger!”

She sighs.

“I’m broken,” he flops back onto the mattress dramatically, but tiger pulls him back up.

“You’re not broken,” she says, “You’re exhausted. You’re beat up. You’re a mess. Give yourself a break, bud. Your mind says yes but your body clearly has some catching up it still needs to do.”

He whines again, but she swats at him playfully. He grabs her, moving her so she’s straddling his waist again.

“I can...” he offers, hooking a finger into the waistband of her panties.

“No,” she says immediately, “I want it with you. It’s been so long, bud. It’s better when it’s with you.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, but he’s silenced with a kiss.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” she says, “We’ll try again in a day or two.”

She lets it go for now. She needs it just as bad as he does, but there’s no sense in dwelling on it--she knows it’s the worst thing to do. And she knows that the more he obsesses over it, the worse it’s going to get.

But like, here’s the thing. Maybe this time Bill’s biology is legit broken and just needs a bit of a push--because by the third or fourth day, Bill is so pent up that he’s in legit physical pain. He’s walking funny. And tiger giggles a little, as he glares.

“My balls are full tiger,” he snaps at her and he palms his crotch for emphasis, “Full, alright? I’m dying here. It actually hurts.”

“Bill, why don’t you--”

“No.”

“Why not? It’ll help.”

“No.”

“Come on, don’t be a drama queen,” she sighs as she goes to loop her arms around his waist, “Bill, plenty of guys have this problem.”

“I don’t have a problem, tiger.”

“And it’s an easy fix. One pill. The most prescribed pill in the entire world. Just to give your body the little push it needs,” she reasons.

“No.”

She thinks for a moment, and then she changes her approach.

“Please, big guy? Just think about it,” she says, her voice much quieter now, “I...I need you, too.”

And like, that’s the thing that gets him. Knowing that she needs him, and that he’s not giving her what she needs. He hates that thought, and it’s the small kick he needs to drag his mopey, impotent ass to the doctor. The visit takes all of 5 minutes and is far less traumatizing than Bill imagined. The doctor barely examined him. Just asked a few questions--30 years old, smoker, under lots of stress--then the doctor scribbled the prescription without even another glance. Bill makes tiger take it to the pharmacy for him, which she understands--fans lurk everywhere, and she knows it makes him uncomfortable. When he finally has the small packet of pills in his hands, he heaves a heavy sigh.

“We are not to speak about this ever again,” he glares at her, “Promise?”

“It’s really not a big deal bud. But yes, I promise,” she holds out her pinky and he loops his through hers.

“For you,” he sighs, and then he pops open the pack and dry swallows one.

It takes about half an hour to kick in. Tiger is in the middle of cooking dinner when it does, but Bill just runs in and frantically shuts off all the burners on the stove, picks her up and throws her over his shoulder.

“I’m hard!” he announces, “I’m hard as a fucking rock, kid.”

“Amen,” tiger says.

But like, the problem is it doesn’t go down for like, 4 hours. Which is fine, because they have some catching up to do--but 3 hours in and tiger is begging for mercy. Bill’s on overdrive, his stamina never ending, and tiger already can’t feel her legs. Bill decides the little blue pill ain’t so bad after all.

(a massive, huge, colossal THANK YOU to @ilovetheideaofu for finding this blurb that I literally SPENT HOURS TRYING TO FIND)

[soapkaars]

How good are the members of the medical malpractice gang at cooking? If they aren't cooking the food themselves, what kinds of dishes do they like to eat? Imo, alot of them seem like steak and wine kinda guys, but again this is just me?

(Also, thank you for answering all these asks about these characters! Even if pictures aren't included I love hearing your thoughts on them and think this idea of them is pretty neat tbh, so please keep up the good work and I hope you have a good day)!

I am glad you like me wildly speculating about these characters! I enjoy them a lot, and I just find it neat how Lorre played quite a number of doctors - enough for me to call them the ‘medical malpractice gang’. The name, by the way, is inspired by @medical-malpractice-malewife ‘s handle - I read on one of his posts that he made it to refer to Herman Einstein, and I just love that description so much!

So anyways, what would they cook? What would they eat? Starting with Gogol, because the film actually goes into quite amount of detail as to what he likes and what his interests are. He’s got a maid, so I think that kind of answers that - he doesn’t cook, probably doesn’t like to either. What would he eat? A nice hearty soupe a l’oignon after a day of sawing bones? Maybe a warm boeuf stroganoff because it sort of reminds him of some of the stews he ate from where he came from (Rural Ukraine, probably, considering the name and how he refers himself as a peasant). Perhaps he keeps that maid around because she’s the only French person he’s met who knows and can make nalesniki? (Crepes stuffed with a sweet filling of smetana and cinnamon) Which opens up another interesting question - would Gogol be in touch with other Ukrainian immigrants? It seems to me he does hang around other immigrants - considering dr Wong works for him in his clinic.

What about Karl Fenninger? The Man of Culture. That’s not even his real name, but we’ll roll with it - he’s impersonating a German professor, so we’ll assume he’s German too. Or at least German-speaking. Being a Man of Culture, I like the idea that he’s actually Austrian, from Vienna. He seems the type! So what would this Man of Culture eat? A spicy Hungarian goulash (with paprika), some Turkish coffee in the evenings, on cold evenings a good tafelspitz? (Tailpiece of beef cooked in broth with root vegetables, slices of apple, and potatoes) He would probably be like my great grandfather - another Man of Culture who knew exactly the best places he could buy certain foods he liked (he’d actually travel all the way to Gouda from Rotterdam to buy a pack of stroopwafels). If anyone of these cook, it would be Fenninger, and he’d take great pride in it. But he’d also know exactly which restaurant, which bakery, which patisserie to go to for that One Thing.

Herman Einstein seems to be someone with a huge sweet tooth. I think he likes brioche. Does he cook? Funnily enough it seems more like something Jonathan’d do. I can see Jonathan cooking, but he’d probably leave the kitchen looking like a crime scene. What would they eat? Simple, good stuff. Beans ‘n sausages. A nice steak with potato mash. Grits.

Finally Arthur Lorentz and Nathaniel Billings. It’s my firm belief that Arthur and Nathaniel can both cook. At irregular intervals, because neither of these two are really good at taking care of themselves. Arthur is probably a little better than Nathaniel, but will spend whole evenings reading up on his interests before he remembers to eat something. What would he make? Nathaniel would eat simple stuff, English food like lamb - mild, not too challenging for his palate. And Lorentz? Oh, he’d try anything new! Goulash, Chinese food, Cajun, TexMex… Nathaniel would try along but be a little bit upset at the rich flavours perhaps?

Anyways, thank you for indulging my little fantasies! Don’t take anything I say for gospel, I just really thinking about these characters but I always love to read what other people think about them!

(Edit: credit for this illustration goes squarely to @countdeville because he sent me a cool poster and that inspired me)