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souliebird · 8 months ago

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[[addict]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating Explicit

summary: Your life revolves around Matt. His does not revolve around you

Or: depression skews reality

wordcount: 5k

tags: depression, explicit sexual content, blood, angst, p in v sex, oral (male receiving)

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Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you, and you force yourself out of bed despite your desire to bury yourself into your covers and stay there.

You stumble into the kitchen, feeling bleary and still half-asleep, and start the process of making coffee. You dump still warm grounds into the trash before filling the basket with your preferred blend and starting the little machine. You wash the mug lingering in the sink, then start making your breakfast.

You don't need to think about your routine as you do it - you've done it hundreds and hundreds of times. You just do it.

Coffee. Bagel. Orange.

You watch the morning news highlights, listening but not taking in the various stories that flash on your screen. Fighting in Paris, all sorts of elections, Hollywood, and political scandals - it all washes over you without leaving an impression. None of it matters to you. None of it concerns anything Matt would be involved in.

Once you finish your small meal, you clean it up and switch your laptop over to your work VPN.

It is nothing glorious. You translate legal documents from English into Spanish as a contractor for a handful of firms around the city. Very rarely is it anything of interest - a majority of it is human resources based - but it makes good money, and you don't need to commute. You stay in the apartment most of the day, trying your best to make it into a home.

As you think over word choice, you do chores. Laundry gets hauled down to the basement, the sink and shower get a deep clean to wash away any trace of blood, and you write out a grocery list. You dust and air out the apartment between paragraphs. You don't exchange many emails. You don't get any calls.

The hours pass in silence until your phone alerts you it is a quarter after five. You shut down your VPN and return to the kitchen. Chicken, rice, and vegetables will be tonight's dinner - you know it is a favorite and you've worked out the unspoken schedule to know this is the ideal day to serve it. You work quietly, half focusing on your knife work and half zoning out.

Five minutes to the hour, the door to the apartment opens and Matt is home.

“That smells wonderful, sweetheart,” he says as a greeting, dropping his things off at the front door. You can hear his practical movements as he puts everything in its right spot.

“It should be done in ten minutes,” is your soft reply. That is just enough time for him to get settled in and drink about one third of a beer. It took you a few weeks to get the scheduling down right, but now you have it down to an art for various recipes. “How was your day?”

Without completely breaking attorney-client privilege, he tells you about the ongoings at the office and catches you up on whatever happened with Foggy and Karen over the weekend. As he does, he loosens his tie and takes a seat at the table. You place an ice-cold open bottle in front of him without fanfare, then flit back to the kitchen.

Dinner switches the conversation to Daredevil. Matt tells you his plan for the night and you silently convert his words into future actions for yourself. He's going out with Jessica, which means more surveillance than fighting. You'll need to have ibuprofen ready, as spying tends to stress his senses rather than his body.

You get a kiss before he goes to do his pre-Devil work out and another before he ascends the stairs to go into the night. He tells you not to stay up, but it's part of the script and you both know you'll be waiting for him right where he left you.

Tuesday

“Foggy isn't going to believe me,” Matt grumbles as you gently pat concealer around his eye, covering the blooming bruise.

“It's just absurd enough to be believable.”

“But it's the truth,” he huffs before his lips turn into a pout, “How does it look?”

You step back and examine the man in front of you. He has the start of a massive black eye and you can't help but feel bad for him. For once, this is not a Devil related injury - there was a freak accident with the shower. The water pressure in the building has somehow been cranked to maximum and your poor pipes are not equipped for that - the threads holding them together are barely there. They had no chance against suddenly being slammed into and there was no way Matt could have been prepared for the shower head to shoot off the wall and right into his face.

You frown and your mood must shift because he deflates, “Foggy is not going to believe you.”

You set the makeup you specifically got to cover up his nightly hobby aside and push Matt's coffee towards him. He takes a long sip from it before throwing his head back with a groan.

“I've been doing so well,” he complains. There is some sort of swear jar-esque deal the two of them have going on about Matt's bruises, but you don't know all of the details. You do know Matt's lost a fair bit of money from it, though.

You pat his shoulder sympathetically before getting up and heading towards the kitchen to finish packing up his meals for the day, “This doesn't count.”

“Will you tell that to Foggy?”

“I'll tell that to Foggy,” you promise.

You see him get up in the corner of your eye and disappear back into the bedroom to get dressed for work and you can't help but sigh. You'll give Matt's friends a heads up text so they don't freak out on him. Misunderstandings are bound to happen otherwise and they'll probably all have a laugh about it once the Devil's Pride is soothed.

You finish up packing lunch, a midday snack, and the ingredients for a hearty protein shake. Matt will be going to the gym right after work today, then from there will go out as the Devil. You aren't keen on him carrying his black suit around in his gym bag, but it's not something you're going to argue with him about.

With how busy the office has been lately; he's been a bit scatterbrained about the smaller things.

You've convinced him to at least drop off his bag on the roof as he starts his patrol, so he doesn't leave his day clothes at Fogwell’s overnight. You'll go up and collect them at some point, so they don't end up staying up there and getting forgotten about.

You won't see Matt again until he comes home to sleep.

You hope you'll be able to figure out how to fix the shower by then.

Wednesday

You put away the last of the clean dishes, then turn to face the apartment in front of you.

It's a beautiful day and light is streaming in through the windows, highlighting how stark everything is. Your laptop is waiting for you on the table, along with a mental list of things you need to get done today.

But you don't want to.

You don't want to do any of it. You don't want to do anything. You don't want to think. You don't want to feel.

You just don't want to.

So you wipe your hands on a dish towel, then make a bee line right back to bed and crawl in. You curl on your side, place your phone on Matt's pillow, close your eyes, and just Don't.

You drift in and out until your bladder starts to demand you get up, so you do. You use the restroom then return to bed, checking your messages as you settle back in.

There's one from Matt, asking if you would like Thai for dinner. You have no will to think about what you'd like to eat - honestly you don't want anything - so you tell him that Thai sounds great. You double check your alarm is set, then return to your nothingness.

It's easy to get lost in Blankness. It's nice to not feel anything. The crushing negativity you are so used to is gone and all your disgusting thoughts are silent.

You don't simmer in doubt that every action is wrong.

You don't question why your life revolves around Matt. You don't think about how you would crumble without him or how he'd be fine without you.

You don't consider what love is to him and how deeply rooted it is in just staying. You don't wonder if he just doesn't want to be alone again.

You don't feel completely consumed in your feelings.

You just are.

Sometimes, you wish you could stay like this forever - suspended in emptiness.

But then your alarm goes off and you have to be human again.

You check your messages to make sure you really did get a text about dinner, then finally drag yourself to go shower.

You have to be presentable before Matt returns.

He doesn't comment on your still wet hair or lack of conversation. You eat in mostly silence, occasionally commenting about the food.

Karen calls as you're gathering up leftovers to go into the fridge. Whatever she has to say to Matt has him swearing and going to the wardrobe to start getting his suit out. You don't ask what is wrong, you simply gather up the dress shirt he tosses towards the couch as he begins to change.

He doesn't kiss you as he rushes up the stairs.

He doesn't tell you to not wait up.

The door slams shut as he disappears into his own Darkness, and you sit on the couch to await his return.

There is no silence. The city mocks you with each siren, scream, and honk.

Thursday

You're putting away groceries when your phone alerts you to a text.

It's from Matt and simply states, “I hate baseball bats.”

A small noise of sympathy comes up from your chest. He had gotten a few good whacks with one last night to the point he let you wrap his chest. Luckily, nothing had been broken, but it had not been a pretty sight.

You've already put the ice packs in the freezer for when he gets home. You don't think he'll be going out tonight if he's actually admitting he is in pain.

Maybe you can listen to the next few chapters of the audio book you've started together instead. The thought makes your stomach turn in a nervous hopeful way.

You return his message with an inside joke of sorts, typing out the words, “Baseball bat emoji. Heart break emoji.”

He replies back seconds later with, “Sad face emoji.”

It pulls a little smile to your lips, and you think about Matt dictating the text to his phone for the next hour.

Friday

“You smell so good,” he purrs as he nuzzles against your neck, his scruff scratching you just lightly.

You tilt your head to the side to give him better access and you can practically feel his pleased hum in your chest. His fingers dance at the hem of your shirt, pushing under to barely just feel your skin. He's got you crowded against the front door, so all of him overwhelms you while he teases.

He's been like this all night. As soon as you stepped into Josie's, he had his hands all over you - your thigh, your lower back, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He's only had two beers, but they have loosened up his tense shoulders quite a bit.

You know what he wants and you're more than happy to indulge. You've been craving his touch. His attention.

You don't care if it's a quickie before he leaves you to belong to Hell's Kitchen again, you just need something from him.

Anything.

You dig your nails into the shoulder of his suit jacket and whine out your inner desires, knowing he'll give in when he's like this, “want to get on my knees for you.”

He moans in response, grinding against you to let you know how much he also wants that, and you lower yourself down to be trapped between him and the door. Skilled hands make quick work of his belt, and you don't bother to push his pants and briefs down. You get his half hard cock free of its confines only to swallow it.

Above you, Matt throws his head back his head, gritting out a long low, “Fuck.”

You give him no time to adjust, knowing exactly what he likes in these moments, and begin to work him over. One hand grips his tree trunk of a thigh and the other loosely circles around the base of his cock - the first keeps you steady and the second from him slipping out of you.

You focus on his head, pushing your tongue up as he slides out of the depths of your throat, then swirling it before you begin to suckle. He buries his fingers into your hair, swearing more, as you do so. That only encourages you and you begin to pump him as you work to get him to full hardness.

His musk is dotted with the saltines of precum, and your mouth begins to water. You do nothing to stop the drool gathering in the corners of your mouth and let it spill out as you enjoy yourself.

Self-control is out of the question - the moment Matt’s hips begin to twitch, you encourage it, tugging at his thigh. He doesn't need to be told twice.

You close your eyes and relax your jaw as he starts to fuck your throat.

All of you becomes encompassed in him. He's all you feel, all you smell, all you taste, all you hear.

He grunts and groans as he thrusts in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady so you can't chase him as you want to. You want to be held down; his cock buried deep in your throat until the heaviness of him is imprinted on your tongue. You want him to coat your insides with him, so you never forget his taste.

You want him to use you and that's exactly what he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck,” he chants, and you don't want him to stop. He's not ruthless, but he isn't kind with it, barely giving you a chance to breathe between each movement, and making your brain start to blink in and out of awareness.

You feel him start to twitch and pulse along your tongue and you whine in distress around him.

You don't want this to end so soon. You need him. You need this.

Before you can process what is happening, Matt is pulling you back up into standing and directly turning you to face the door. Your brain automatically clicks with what he is doing, and you scramble to undo your pants. You barely get them unbuttoned before he is yanking them and your panties down your thighs.

You arch your back with anticipation as he lines himself up. You expect him to tease you, to rub the head of his cock over you to spread around the juices you've soaked your panties with, but he doesn't. He pushes into you in one smooth motion and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He grabs you by the throat from behind, just under your chin, and turns his hand so he can also stick two of his fingers into your mouth and continue to make you drool. You're practically pinned to the door as he slams into you over and over, hitting that sweet spot each time.

“So fucking wet,” he growls into your ear, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision go spotty. “About to cum from just sucking on my cock. Don't even need to touch you, do I? You'd be happy being my little cock warmer.”

You would. You yearn for it - sitting under his desk while he works, keeping him happy. You just want to be with him. You need him.

You need him.

He breathes your name, then demands, “Cum on my cock.”

Saturday

Matt has taken the spot at the dining table while you've curled up on the couch. You both have your respective workstations set up and have been buried in reading for hours.

A strange, pleasant calm has washed over you and wrapped you up in a lightness.

These are the days you dream of.

Soft, quiet mornings where you can just be with Matt - there's no distractions or chaos or vigilantism. It is just the two of you, together.

Whenever he has gotten up to get something, on his way back to his seat - he always makes sure to check in on you all and it sends your brain into an absolute tizzy. Acknowledgement from him makes you feel warm in so many ways. You don't think you could ever get enough of the way he says your name when he wants your attention. It's like an angel’s song - or the Devil's.

You know it won't last long - he has a meeting with Foggy after lunch to meet some people who can't meet during the week - so you bask in what you have. You've been stealing glances all morning because you love to watch him work. He gets this little crease between his brow when he's listening to a transcript, and it really is the cutest thing. You just want to go over and kiss it and remind him to relax his forehead.

But you know he's so very busy and you don't want to distract him with something so silly. He barely has enough time in the day as it is, between all the ways he helps the people of Hell's Kitchen, and lately he's just been adding more and more to his plate - more clients, more patrols, more everything except you.

You aren't jealous. You know how needed he is and you are grateful to be in his life at all. You get to be the one to take care of him and be in his bed at the end of the night, even if you spend many of those nights alone.

It just makes moments like these so much sweeter.

So, when he gets up again and heads to the kitchen, you can't help but turn and watch him. He starts another pot of coffee, and your eyes just go heart shaped as you admire how his shoulders move under his shirt.

“Anything interesting?” He asks with a bit of cockiness, and you know he's aware you aren't focused on your work.

You place your chin on the back of the couch and hum, “This company has one of the best sick leave policies I've ever seen. Think I might quit my job and go raise plants in Arizona.”

Matt snorts at your answer and teases, “Do you know anything about raising plants?”

“For three weeks guaranteed paid vacation and two paid sick days a month, I'll learn.”

He turns to face you, tilting his head to one side in disbelief, “Two paid sick days a month? What is the catch?”

You nod, then pretend to huff, “You have to live in the middle of nowhere Arizona.” Matt makes a face of disgust, and you laugh into your hand, a smile blooming across your face, “That's why I'm only considering.”

“I'm glad, I'd prefer it if you stay here. I'd miss you too much if you were in the middle of nowhere Arizona.”

You spend the rest of the day practically glowing over Matt admitting he'd miss you. The words will live in your heart and head forever.

Sunday

You've never been stalked and hunted by a wild animal, but this is what you imagine it would feel like.

The Devil has come home earlier than expected and it looks like he crawled his way out of Hell. He's in his black suit, or what's left of it, and is covered in his own blood. His nose is dripping, probably broken, staining his mouth red. His shirt is barely hanging together and various fresh shallow cuts litter his torso. His Muay Thai ropes are dirty with grime and what you expect to be others’ blood.

He slowly came down the stairs from the roof then began to circle around the couch, each step deliberate and calculating, and he has not let up.

The air in the room is so heavy. You can't breathe because you don't have a protocol for this. You can't tell if he's angry or upset - he hasn't said a word and he's not expressing himself in any way, but Danger is exuding from him.

You sit straight backed on the couch as the Devil continues his path around you, his head tilting in different directions ever so slightly. You don't know if he's tracking something or waiting for some sign. You can't tell when he's like this.

Finally, he stops in the spot halfway between the couch and the bedroom, only partially angled towards you. He begins to undo the ropes stabilizing his wrists, letting them drop to the ground without acknowledgment. You watch them like they are snakes, ready to slither at you with an attack. His gloves quickly join the pile, but then he raises a hand towards you, palm up like he wants you to take it.

He confirms his intentions with a low, “Come here.”

You're worried and confused with how he is behaving, but you don't dare disobey the Devil.

You slip out of your seat and make your way to him in silence, reaching to take his hand when you get close enough. To your surprise, he brings it up to his face and places a light kiss to your wrist, over your pulse point.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks, voice low and laced with an unsaid promise.

A shiver runs up your spine and you manage to answer, breathing out, “Matt Murdock. Daredevil.”

He pulls his lips back into a snarl and you fear you've got the question wrong somehow.

Keeping your hand in his, he steps towards you, one achingly slow step at a time, until you are practically chest to chest. He dips his head and brushes the tip of his nose against your neck. You can hear him inhale.

“I hear their frightened little whispers. I hear what they call me - not just the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. King of Hell - this is my territory and I protect it with a ferocity,” he whispers into your skin. You close your eyes and try to keep your breathing from going shaky.

It is not just fear and confusion coursing through you now. His words, his rasping, is going straight to your cunt. You haven't encountered The Devil in so long you've forgotten what it does to you.

He presses his free hand against your lower back, moving you so you are flush against him. Your hand goes to his chest, just under his shoulder where his shirt is still intact and not sticky with who knows what.

“Do you know what that makes you?” he growls against you and all you can do is shake your head.

You don't interact with many people, and you doubt anyone in Hell's Kitchen is talking about you.

You are of no interest to anyone.

The Devil bumps his nose against your earlobe before giving it a light nibble and telling you, “My Queen of Hell.”

Air catches in your throat and it feels like your entire being short circuits. What does he mean, you're his Queen?

You've never done anything to deserve such a title, but you aren't going to disagree with him. If he wants to call you this, you will relish in it.

As you are still trying to process things, you are suddenly lifted into the air by your thighs, and you have to quickly wrap your legs around the Devil so you don't start flailing. Like you weigh absolutely nothing, you are carried to the bedroom and with care you do not expect, laid out on the bed.

The Devil, mask, boots, batons, and all, crawls over you, going straight for your throat. He starts with his lips but quickly dissolves into dragging his tongue and teeth wherever he can get. It's slow, methodical, like he has a goal with his lavishing.

You don't care about his intention - you are melting into the bed under him, desperate for him to not stop. Whatever he is doing, whatever has got him in this mood, you want more of it.

Hesitantly, fearing you might disrupt the atmosphere, you wrap your arms around the body above you, one hand going to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to silently encourage more attention to your neck. He obliges and teeth scraping against you turns into biting. He wastes no time in leaving his first mark on you, then another, and another.

“You're mine,” he tells you as he starts on the other side of your throat, “Belong to me. You're mine.”

You arch at the words, cunt clenching around nothing. He is correct. You are his - you've belonged to him the moment you met, and you will until the day you die.

He is your everything.

“I'm yours,” you agree, barely above a whisper.

The Devil drags his lips from your neck only to crash them into yours. It's like being pulled under by a wave - a force you can only just accept and go with. He tastes like smoke and copper, but you don't care. You only want more.

You want to be consumed.

And it feels like that is what he does. You kiss until you feel like you can't possibly breathe any longer, then he is pulling away to start moving down your body. He pushes your shirt up to start a trail of kisses and bites towards your stomach.

“My Queen,” he growls, and you can only throw your head back with pleasure at his words, his actions, “My Persephone. Mine. Whatever you want, it's yours. Anything. Give you Fisk's head on a platter. Or do you want his heart? I'll rip out his throat with my teeth for you.”

You want to comment it looks like he already has, with the state he came in in, but all you can manage to say is the truth.

“I just want you.”

Your shirt is pulled off and tossed to the side before he is on you again, biting at your lips as he does what you want. He grinds his cock into you, and you can feel just how hard he is. You tug at the remains of his shirt, and it is also quickly discarded.

You can feel him moving over you, probably trying to get out of the rest of his armor, but you don't pay attention. All your focus is on the way his mouth is moving with yours - dominating and controlling and firm but in no way actually hurting you.

Nothing to ever hurt you.

When he pulls back, he does so enough to sit up.

You whine at the loss of his touch, but it is balanced when he finally removes his mask, and you can see his beautiful face again.

It's a little sick, but you like him like this - bruised and battered and bloody. You like the physical reminders of who he is and what he is capable of.

You reach up to press your hands to the mottled skin around his ribs, still healing from the baseball bat. He hisses at the contact, but his now free cock gives a violent twitch. You know which reaction to trust.

Your sleep shorts and panties are unceremoniously removed, and you and the Devil are left nude. You are hauled up to be on your knees with him and once again you are held against his chest. He cups your jaw with both hands and kisses you firmly.

“Take such good care of me,” he mumbles between nips and bites, “Let me take care of you, my Queen.”

You want that.

You want him to take care of you - to focus on you - to be his everything. You desperately nod against him, shaky whispers of “please” coming from you.

He lays you back down and guides himself into you with far more care than you'd expect in the moment. It's steady until he's fully sheathed in you, then he is over you again, burying his face into your neck.

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

He starts moving then, slow, steady, and deep, like he's trying to savor every roll of his hips.

It's heady and with the way he's back to worshiping your neck, you're quick to sink into a place of pure bliss only he can send you.

He starts to mumble against you as he devours you. You hear catches of your name and ‘my Queen’ and ‘mine’, but you hear something about Sin and love and need. Your brain refuses to link the words together and you don't need it to understand them right now.

You just need Him.

You roll your head to the side so he can dig his teeth into a new spot and through half lidded eyes, you spot the mirror you've added into the room. Using it, you watch the Devil make love to you, his body half shrouded by shadows.

He's so fucking beautiful.

As your thighs begin to tremble and pressure builds up in your core, you notice smears of darkness on your face, your neck, and your arms.

It is the same darkness that the Devil is drenched in.

He's covered you in his blood.

You're coated with him.

Inside and out.

The realization sends you over the edge and you scream his name for all your subjects to hear.

Monday

You wake up alone.

This is of no surprise to you.

a/n:

I see this with multiple interpretations ;)

a/n2: theres not a baseball bat emoji

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #gently places this down

259 notes · View notes

lale-txt · 3 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 (𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫) ❦ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟒: 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞

♫ Adrienne Lenker - Angels

I don't really like you, I just wanna kiss you I don't know how to love you, but somedays, I miss you Oh I just wanna see you there, sleeping on my floor With the ache inside to ride the mighty wind and nothing more

✰ 𝐜𝐰: discovering more y/n lore in this one. implied child neglect (no detailed description), brief death mention but in a more lighthearted way (if that still squicks you skip the 8th slide of the convo between Makki & y/n) written part between the handwritten collage and SMAU parts.

⭅ back to m.list

Another sold out night. The lively sea of voices is slowly quieting down, familiar and new faces going either home or out dancing for the night. Onigiri Miya attracts all kinds of people, there’s a plate for everyone. He wouldn’t want it any other way. At the end of day, everyone needs to eat, no matter their background or story. And if they all collide in the tiny universe of his shop, even better.

There’s only around a handful people left when Osamu starts his nightly routine of cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. Ever since he opened his own shop, he understands his old captain a little better. Repetition, perseverance, and diligence–it does feel good. Helps him to unwind after a long day of shaping rice balls, mincing ingredients and ringing up orders. Wherever a hand is needed, he is there.

“It’s on the house,” Osamu says smiling, placing two cold bottles of ramune on the counter where Bokuto and Akaashi are sitting, huddled together like two lovebirds.

It’s the same spot where he saw her crying, her hands jittery when she wiped her cheeks, obviously flustered but unable to stop the tears from falling either. He could see how hard she tried to hold them back, the small wobble of her bottom lip, the clenching and unclenching of her fists. How she still took photos of her plate, clearly knowing which angle and lightning was best, practiced. The small gleam of excitement despite everything in her glassy eyes. Her palms pressed together in a silent gesture of appreciation after she finished her meal. Osamu couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t her first time holding her crown up like this, when everything inside of her was cracking.

He hasn’t stopped thinking about her ever since.

Not when he ran after her to find her on the empty playground, dimly lit by the light of the vending machine. Not when she hesitantly accepted the brown paper bag he shoved into her still trembling hands. Not when she kind of magically pulled out a box of the tastiest sweet treat he ever had in his entire life, her voice suddenly more calm once she started rambling about the process of making it.

Osamu felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t fathom in words, like an invisible pull inside of him.

Had he been upset over her bad review? Maybe a little. But whatever hint of annoyance he felt when reading it over his morning tea quickly vanished once he dove deeper into her blog. There was so much love between every line she wrote. She was witty and smart and always a little hungry; for life and the next plate in front of her. He found himself nodding along when she shared about her experience in culinary school and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of deep admiration for her openness about mental health and the cruel sides of working in food service. Osamu knew best how grueling it can be, striving to do better.

Three whole days. That’s how long it took him to read through her entire blog, more than ten years of her life. He read it over breakfast, in between short breaks at work, leaning against the backdoor while waiting for the daily delivery, at night when he brushed his teeth. Several times he told himself that he should just close the damn tab, that it was just a drunk and petty review and that they’ll never cross paths again.

Here lay the problem though–he wanted to see her again.

Preferably when she was not upset over something (or worse: him), but honestly any scenario would do. The cap she forgot at his shop is now hanging from his coat rack at home, silently greeting him every night after work. He can’t help but wonder if she’ll really come around again one day to pick it up. Osamu was no dick, just a little petty himself, and he'd send the cap off with her roommate Akaashi if there was no way in hell that she’d ever return to Osaka again. But when she unblocked and followed him on Twitter the other night, that must have been a glimmer of hope, right? Even though she’s been mostly hostile so far in her replies.

But they’d get there.

Some day.

Probably.

“Samu? Saaamuuuu?”

Osamu blinks out of his daze and realizes that not only has he been polishing the same glass for five minutes straight now, but Bokuto is also leaning over the counter, shoving a phone under Osamu’s nose for him to see. He throws the kitchen towel over his shoulder and takes it, eyes on the bright screen.

“Look, look,” Bokuto urges him with a grin while Akaashi next to him smiles a bit more subtle, but knowingly. “Keiji just talked about how they were having a barbeque a few days ago on their rooftop. Y/N prepared a feast for them, see?”

The photo is bright and colorful, a whole arrangement of various small plates assembled on the table, each holding some delicacy. Dips, grilled veggies, pita (which looks like it was handmade), olives, stuffed peppers, a small cheese platter, cut fruit, pastel purple drinks (lavender syrup, Osamu remembers)... but what Osamu ends up zooming in is not the food but her, sitting at the table with the sleeves of her oversized shirt rolled up casually and smiling brighter than the late summer sun–wearing his cap.

No. No, no, no.

His heart did not just skip a beat, no fucking way.

Oh, he was in deep.

“She won’t admit it, but she likes it,” Akaashi says as if he read Osamu’s thoughts. He hands the phone back to him and a small voice in the back of his head is tempted to ask for the photo, just so he can stare at it a little longer (for the food, he lies to himself), but he knows she wouldn’t want that. Osamu is not sure if he wants it, either. It doesn’t feel right. Maybe he can get her an Onigiri Miya shirt as well as a matching apron and snap his own photo one day, and then…

Fuck.

What was he even thinking?

But the stupid, wide smile on his face just won’t falter.

✽ 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫…

like i said, this chapter is a love letter to Makki in disguise

y/n would spend all big holidays at the Hanamaki family home, even her own birthday would be celebrated there lovingly

she has gone no contact with her birth family after she graduated from high school

the cooking TV show has been one of the most stressful events in her entire life and she still can't watch clips from it without wanting to die from cringe (she did really great though)

her approach to anything in life is a constant "oh shit oh no oh bad bad bad" and "fuck it we ball" and it amazingly works for her. most of the time.

y/n always leaves some money on the table when she's gone for longer than 24h because she is afraid the food in the fridge might not be enough (it's always enough)

no one of the roommates knows where the Hello Kitty condoms came from but they've been a staple in this household ever since

also a first Osamu POV!! i was waiting to finally write this

Akaashi is PLOTTING isn't he

y/n was very tempted to deep fry the cap but then came to the conclusion that it would be a waste of oil probably

or maybe she's just lying to herself. we'll get more into this later

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

@brithedemonspawn @gigiiiiislife @yuminako @notverymarley @krissiekris

@wyrcan @kentocalls @simp-simp-no-mi @uncovered-mad-man @honey-deku

@yukichan67 @dailyakira @nu-suave @zq13 @morgan-lowell

@ellouisa17 @toges-cough-syrup

send me an ask or dm to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

#haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq smau #osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #hq fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #hq x you #osamu miya

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 5 months ago

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My "Batter" Half

A/N: Written for @tsukimefuku's foodies and goodies challenge. Coming out of a bit of a writing slump with everything going on atm, so I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Pairing: Nanami x Fem! Reader (Desi reader coded)

Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute

Word Count: 897

Nanami sits on one of the barstools at your kitchen’s island watching you bustle around getting all the grains the recipe called for.

“Sweetie, I only asked if it was possible sometime this week. You don’t have to make it for me right away.”

You shush him, pushing your hair out of the way as you measure the Sona Masoori rice, flat rice, and fenugreek, throwing them all into a large baking bowl and hefting the bowl towards the sink, adding in enough water so that a thin layer covered all of it. You cover the bowl with saran wrap and place it away on the countertop.

There was no question that you loved cooking for Nanami, but something in you glowed when he asked for South Indian food. There was a regular rotation in what the pair of you cooked but when he asked for masala dosa, you melted inside, all of your senses kicking into high gear to feed him what he craved. It was comfort food for you growing up, and it meant the world to you that he had grown to love it too.

He knew the effort it took, an almost 2-day process just to make the batter, so he didn’t normally ask for it. The first step was done, letting the grains ferment overnight in water. You wash your hands and join him at the island.

“It’s no trouble at all Kento. Anything for you.” You rest your head against his shoulder, a soft sigh emanating from him as he puts an arm around you. “Hopefully it’ll be all nice and soft tomorrow. Then I’ll run it through the grinder to make the batter and it’ll have to sit overnight in the oven, so don’t plan on baking anything tomorrow.”

He chuckles, the soft vibrations felt against your hair. “Roger that. But you still didn’t have to get started so immediately.”

“You rarely ask for anything. I couldn’t resist.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next day morning, you check the bowl, pleased to see all the components have fluffed up and taken in as much water as they could. You begin to set up the little grinder that would change the grains into batter, carefully placing the rod mechanism attached to two 5-pound stones into the apparatus. Once in place, you switch it on, and carefully begin adding the grain mixture in between the two stones, adding water to help it along and adjust the thickness. Once all the rice has been put into the contraption, you sit and wait, watching the batter form, checking it for smoothness and ensuring the grain wasn’t clustering into lumps.

You salt the mixture well and then cover it again with saran wrap, then place it inside the oven, where the added humidity would help the batter thicken and rise, making for the fluffiest dosas.

Kento wanders downstairs, ready for work in a crisp shirt and tie, eyes taking in the scene in the kitchen. “Someone was up early today,” he observes as you start disassembling the grinding machine. You give him a pleased smile and carefully set the heavy stones back into the box they belonged in.

“Had to. The earlier I start the process, the quicker it’ll ferment. Who knows, maybe even by tonight if we get lucky.”

Nanami smiles tenderly and pulls you into a hug. “Whenever honey. I’m just glad you took the time to make it.”

You kiss him tenderly before he leaves for work.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day has finally arrived. You check the oven and almost giggle from the delight of seeing the fluffy batter resting in the large bowl. It was ready.

As Nanami slept in, a rare luxury he could only afford on weekends, you begin prepping the dosa filling, throwing the potatoes into a pressure cooker, while chopping onions into half-circles. Once the pressure cooker whistles 3 times, you take it off the flame, waiting for it to cool, before mashing the potatoes. Deftly, you heat the oil in a large wok, tossing in mustard seeds, green chilies, and black lentils for tempering. Once they start to sizzle, you throw a few curry leaves on top, the pleasant crackle bringing a smile to your lips.

The onions and potatoes are tossed into the wok and mixed with a pinch of turmeric, and some cilantro. A fragrant scent fills the kitchen as you set it aside and get ready to make the dosa. A ladle dipped into the fluffy batter, then spread thinly on a greased pan, going in concentric circles from the middle until it starts to heat up and harden, becoming crisp. You scoop some of the onion potato filling and place it in the center, allowing the dosa to harden a little longer before folding it in half and placing it on a plate.

You’re about to start the second one when Nanami wanders into the kitchen, still in his pajamas.

“My nose woke me up,” he says good-naturedly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sigh contentedly, laying down the batter for the next one as Nanami breaks off a piece of dosa and tucks into the filling. He chews and swallows, savoring the spice.

“Delicious,” he whispers, and your heart swells with joy, his appreciation the only thing you needed.

Nanami masterlist | JJK Masterlist

Stars divider by @/ saradika. Support banner by @/ cafekitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @whatshernameis @byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82 @soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

#foodies and goodies challenge #nanami #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #nanami kento fluff #desi reader #nanami kento x desi reader #desi writers #desi women #nanami kento x indian reader #desi tag #nanami kento x you #nanami kento jjk #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento fanfic #vee writes

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sant-riley · 2 years ago

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Okay yk what idc I got alot of thoughts of Puerto rican! Reader with the boys, I am not sorry, I need to get this out of my system. so I'm giving her the codename of Teddy :) sorry if that ruins the immersion!

General hcs/thoughts I have with the boys from mw2:

Ghost could destroy an entire pernil by himself. He actively looks forward to it every single Thanksgiving despite him literally not being American and thus doesn't celebrate it. "L.T, don't tell me you're going over to her house just for some pork." "Why yes Johnny, I am." He is not sharing with a single soul, he will break someone's fingers. (Teddy makes him his own at this point so the others can have a try)

Soap fucking chugs Coquito like it's nothing, bc technically it isn't compared to the stuff he has back home. At first he was apprehensive but now he usually goes home with a bottle. He will share but if he sees someone wasting it he will be pissed. It is hard as fuck to come by in Scotland if not the base.

Price very much enjoys the cleaning playist Teddy has, she told him how growing up that that was how her mom told her it was time to get her ass up and do chores. He finds himself playing it early in the morning while he does documents to wake himself up.

Everyone's favorite song round let's go

Soap's favorite - Suavemente

Ghost's favorite - Anhelo (totally not bc he danced with her to this one)

Price's favorite - Danza Kuduro

Gaz's favorite - La Vaca

Alejandro being surprised when he sees a short Hispanic woman with two big ass European men. "Tu con estos dos? de donde eres chiquita?"

Soap fucking pushes himself in and answers for her, a smug little smile from all the little Spanish he picked up. Ghost just rolls his eyes and tries to not groan. Soap being a showoff.

The solidarity between the Vaqueros and Teddy 🤝 different countries but there's alot to have in common.

Teddy cursing in Spanish at the top of her lungs and Alejandra and Rudy snorting. "You kiss your grandmother with that mouth?"

The boys have in fact danced with her when she's feeling homesick, each one. Soap and Gaz don't mind doing it in public where as Ghost and Price rather do it in their rooms/her room. Ghost and Price will say its good exercise but we all know the truth.

When fresh food is available, they'll ask her to make the food she eats off duty. It's different combinations of rice and beans, along with meat always.

Everyone fucking devours tostones btw. Literally they have to buy so many plantains to make sure everyone has their fill or there will in fact be a fight.

SHE MAKES THEM HELP MAKE PASTELES!! It's a whole assembly line. Christmas is a war zone in of itself trying to make the shits.

Ghost drinks Cafe bustelo straight out the machine. No one else can stand the stuff bc it's too strong.

When sofrito has to be made, everyone makes Soap cut the onions lmfao, the worst part of the entire process.

Everyone starts to saying spanglish around base, Gaz switching from English to accented Spanish is a interesting sight 😭 Teddy mocks him as if she isn't to blame.

THE WAY GHOST SAYS NUEVO IN RESPONSE TO LEAVING ALEJANDRO AND HE GETS FLAMED FOR IT BC THATS NOT HOW YOU SAY OF COURSE.

"Really? Nuevo? Do you know what that means?" "Oh for fucks sakes."

Okay I'm tired and my fingers hurt from typing all of this lol I'll add more probably at some point!

If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!

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copperbadge · 2 days ago

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If you have the spoons for it, can you share the rice cooker mac and cheese process? I have a rice cooker and I like mac and cheese, but I haven't figured out quite how to get one from the other.

Well, bear in mind this is a recipe that came with the machine so it's tailored for the machine, which is a mini cooker with a fairly wide base. I would be extremely cautious putting milk into a rice cooker unless you either know it's okay or are willing to risk the pan finding out when the milk burns.

Recipe behind the cut!

For the Dash mini cooker, the recipe is:

1 cup uncooked macaroni

3/4 cup chicken stock

1/4 cup milk

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese

1/4 cup part skim mozzarella cheese

(I just used 3/4 cup mixed cheddar-jack shreds for this, came out fine)

1/2 tbsp butter

Place the pasta, stock, milk, and salt in the cooker and stir; cover with the lid and start the cook cycle. Because I am wary of milk in an automated cooker situation, I did this when I knew I could keep an eye on it.

Cook until all of the liquid is absorbed. I gave it one or two stirs throughout the cooking, and you will note it's "until liquid is absorbed" not "until the cooking cycle is done". As soon as the liquid is absorbed, remove the lid and add cheese and butter and stir well.

Replace the lid and cook until the cycle is complete. I didn't do this -- I watched it until I started to smell toasting cheese and then gave it a stir and quickly pulled the pan out of the cooker. If I'd left it until the cook cycle finished, it would have burned the cheese to the bottom of the pan.

So yeah, it's not necessarily more convenient than just doing it on the stove, though I think it is a little bit faster. The problem is just...dairy's heat sensitivity combined with the uncertain temperature level and regulation of a rice cooker.

#food #sam cooks

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fuck-customers · 4 months ago

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Sorry this is WAY longer than I thought it was gonna be, but I apparently have a lot more to complain about than I thought.

I have this coworker, T, who just fucking hates me for literally no fucking reason ?? The only thing I can think of is that I'm engaged to someone else she doesn't like in the store, and I ask her to take like. a single step more so I know that the dishes she's sometimes fucking THROWING at me are actually dirty and not going to be reused.

It started with my fiance (whose a manager, taking a demotion soon but still gonna be higher than regular crew) like. having to go wash his hands before serving a customer, and he looked over to T, who wasn't doing anything, jerked his head back at the line, and was like 'can you take over that?'. he only jerked his head because his hands were covered in soap and water, and he's not gonna be flinging that towards food?

BUT APPARENTLY him asking her to DO HER FUCKING JOB was SO Horrible that she literally went into the hallway by the office and started SOBBING at another manager about how he's SO mean, and SO horrible, and she's just gonna quit because everyone hates her (true but we're pretty fucking nice to her considering the shit she's pulled)

And she's just hated him since. Hated a manager for telling her to do her fucking job. It's stupid.

And now, I'm here, I'm the nighttime dishwasher, and there is literally only ONE FUCKING THING I ask of my coworkers to make my life easier: take two extra fucking steps and put your dishes on my dish cart rather than on the middle prep table. And i'm being literal with two extra steps. Maybe two.

People put shit on the prep table they're planning on reusing all the time, so I can't be sure if it's ACTUALLY dirty of if they're gonna put more fuckin beans into the bean pan. So I ask of this ONE FUCKING THING in order to make it sure in my brain (autism moment lol) of what is clean and what is dirty. Some other people go above and beyond and pre-sort my dishes a bit so it's easier on my when I come in (like my fiance, who tries to pre-sort, and do some dishes himself before I get there, since technically the store is 'supposed' to run without my position at all)

One ask. It's really, genuinely, not that hard, and EVERYONE else seems fine with it. The exchange often just goes like this

they put a pan on the corner of the prep table. I glance over as they go to leave and go 'all the way over on the dish cart please'. they stop, look back, then go 'oh yeah okay' and put the dish on the cart and then DO IT EVERY TIME AFTER. it's so fuckin easy.

There are exceptions to the rule ! the dish cart isn't huge ! the hotel pans and the rice pots (and some bowls) are too damn big. I give the exception to that, ebcause if the rice pot is on the middle prep table, then it's def dirty. it never goes there otherwise.

T however just. refuses. She's so fucking bitchy about it. Like, she just walks away, and flat out ignores me when I ask. And I leave the fucking dishes there. I've gotten that okay from managers to leave it there, because I don't fucking know. It usually ends up being someone else coming back and putting it on the dishcart when they notice it's out of place. She just refuses.

She's thrown shit. at my fucking dishpit. Not from the other side of the room, but she doesn't put things down, she tosses them onto my dishcart, I hear them fucking slide. And she never says a word to me. She refuses to even ask me to move out of her way, she'll throw things around me rather than ask. I've literally been in the process of moving out of her way, ebcause I saw her coming around the corner, and she's tosses a squeegee past me rather than wait another fucking SECOND for me to squish up against the dish machine so she could get the fucking squeegee in it's right spot.

And even ! one time ! i wasn't doing dishes, I was marinating steak (a process that involves three layers of gloves, and apparently should involve goggles but we don't have those) and she came by and fuckin. tossed a lid down the prep table (where i am MARINATING UNCOOKED STEAK, AND YOU THREW A FUCKING DIRTY LID, THANK GOD IT DIDN'T TOUCH ANYTHING OR WE'D HAVE TO THROW AWAY THE FUCKING STEAK(mexican fast food build your own resturant is very strict on health things)) and I was like 'on the dish cart please!' and she looks back at me (covered in fuckin sauce, raw meat in a bowl in front of me, i literally CANT touch anything else because it's either gonna get this spicy ass marinade on other shit or contaminate my fucking gloves) and goes "You've got it :) :) :)"

and like. I was already frustrated because I wasn't even supposed to be doing steak and that just got dropped on me. and I'm a frustrated crier. So I'm crying in my fucking dishpit. Not sobbing, just angry, tears down the face, silent shit, right? And one of my managers notices, tries to ask if I'm okay, tries to help calm me down, whatever, and she asks if there's anything she can do, and I just 'Get T to respect me even the tiniest fucking bit'

and I assume that the manager went up to talk to her? because she came back at some point and was like "I don't have a problem with you, I dunno if you do, I used to with your girlfriend, but I don't, we talked it out, you can just say something to me if there's an issue" like girl have I not been doing that this whole time? and also peep the fucking misgendering of my fiance there, that I couldn't even fuckin correct cause I was so fucking overwhelmed I was nonverbal.

then same day, she somehow 'forgot' to count me into tips and didn't even offer to recount them. I missed out on tips that fucking day, because the other guy left before I could ask him, and she just :) at me about it. Laughed in my fucking face about 'forgetting' me. And the manager (same as before) doesn't even think she forgot me, and that manager is the only one that fucking LIKES T. Literally the only one. And she's sure that T did it on fucking purpose.

What's worse is managers aren't allowed to touch tips, they're not even really allowed to handle disputes about it. They're not allowed to even MENTION them. Which is stupid as fuck, but rolls my eyes, whatever. It's why I'm kinda glad my fiance is taking the demotion, cause then he's gonna be crew and he can call her bullshit tf out whenever.

Like going into work with her, I'm so fucking vigilant that she's not gonna count me in tips. I'm fully gonna be like 'well alright, let's go gather them back up and I can recount them then :3 it's alright, don't you worry your pretty little head about it, i can do it :3 I need tips after all !!!!!!!'

i hope i'm the next person she goes into the hallway and sobs about and threatens to quit. GOOD. QUIT. THE GENERAL MANAGER IS LITERALLY WAITING FOR THE OPPORTUNITY TO FUCKING FIRE YOU. GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY AND MAKE OUR LIVES A MILLION TIMES EASIER.

sorry for the length again, I just. rolls my eyes forever. T is a fucking bitch. we have like so many people eyes on the fuckin ball staring at her whenever she comes nears the tip jar. This isnt' the first time we've had problems with it, and it's to the point the GM might have to take the tip jar away from shifts she's on. Bitch.

Posted by admin Rodney

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apeekintothepantry · 9 months ago

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Happy Pokémon Day! February 27th is the anniversary of the first two Pokémon games’ release in Japan, and it’s a minor holiday in my house, as a fun excuse to make Pokémon inspired food, watch some Pokémon shows or movies (we’re going to watch Netflix’s new Pokémon Concierge this year!), and get excited about upcoming games and releases. This year, we’re making a Pokémon Sword and Shield inspired burger-steak curry and I’m making a dessert from the Pokémon Cookbook by Victoria Rosenthal. It’s one of my favorite fandom cookbooks – all the recipes are vegetarian or vegan, to get around the awkward question of where does the meat in the Pokémon universe come from?

But that’s not all we’re making! Ever since Nicki and Isabel were released, I’ve been dying to do a post about them and Pokémon’s infamous “Jelly Filled Doughnuts”, better – and more accurately! – known as onigiri.

Pokémon was released in the United States in 1998 via two Gameboy games: Pokémon Red and Pokémon Blue. The games quickly caught on to be one of the biggest pop culture phenomenon of the late 90’s and early 00’s, and as a kid at the heart of this explosion, I can’t overstate how much of a big deal it was. One of the great things about Pokémon – and probably why it has such lasting, widespread appeal – is that there are so many ways to interact with the franchise, and the marketing doesn’t skew hugely towards one gender or the other. Cool, tough Pokémon like Charizard got pretty similar billing to cute, pink Pokémon like Jigglypuff, and there were so many options for potential favorites that it was easy for any kid to find some creature to attach themselves to.

One of my petty complaints with Nicki and Isabel’s collection and books is the almost complete lack of mention of Pokémon and other anime that was really popular among kids in 1999. I know AG probably didn’t want to shell out for licensing deals with Nintendo or The Pokémon Company, but their stories just don’t feel accurate without discussing their prized binder of Pokémon cards or begging their parents to take them to see the Pokémon movie in theaters. Maybe the authors were just a little too old to get caught up in Pokémania?

I’ve also always thought its close overlap with the Beanie Babies crazy helped get millennial children like me very into the “gotta catch ‘em all” aspect of the franchise. Is this why I’m such a crazy toy collector as an adult? Who knows.

The Pokémon anime was one of the main ways kids like me got hooked on the franchise, because not everyone was allowed to have a Gameboy of their own (me), and not everyone liked video games, but even if you didn’t like video games, the cartoon might appeal to you. Although it was far from the first Japanese cartoon to air on US television, Pokémon was one of if not the first truly mainstream favorites of the 1990’s. 4Kids, the company in charge of dubbing the show into English, decided that American kids wouldn’t understand or be open to certain aspects of the show that reflected its Japanese roots, and so made a lot of strange choices in rewriting the script. One of the most notorious was deciding Brock’s rice balls were actually jelly filled doughnuts:

Onigiri – also known as omusubi or nigirimeshi – are balls of rice with a variety of fillings inside. They’re often compared to sandwiches, as an easy, quick, cheap meal or snack that combines carbs and other ingredients. While the concept of taking a rice ball and stuffing it full of other tasty treats goes way back to ancient Japan, the triangle shape became popular in the 1980’s thanks to a new machine that automated the filling process. Further developments over the last 40 years have created unique ways to prepackage onigiri without making the nori wrapping sticky. The ones we made were an attempt at recreating the “Hawaiian” (spam and pineapple) rice balls from our favorite food hall back in DC. One of my favorite pandemic indulgences was getting take out from the food hall, which often included a sampler of some of my favorite onigiri, and I haven’t been able to find anything close to similar where we are now. One of the many reasons I’m excited to move!

Even as a kid, I wasn’t convinced the food in the anime was fried dough with fruit jelly inside, because they sure look like rice. I also think 4Kids didn’t anticipate that Pokémon’s widespread popularity would inspire many of its fans – including me – to become absolutely obsessed with Japanese food and culture. I would’ve been more excited if they’d just been straight with me and shown more Japanese food on the show, and then probably begged my parents to make it or take me to a restaurant that made it. While I can’t confidently cite numbers of how many other people were first exposed to Japanese culture and food through Pokémon and franchises like it, I do think it’s a bit of a missed opportunity to highlight how things like this exposed kids like Nicki and Isabel to parts of a culture outside their own!

#ag doll #ag dolls #agblr #american girl doll #american girl #nicki hoffman #isabel hoffman #food history

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sona-machinery · 2 months ago

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#sona machinery #turnkey rice mill solution #grain processing machine

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lilyginnyblackv2 · 2 years ago

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Buddy Daddies - Becoming a Family - Episode 9 - SPOILERS!

Episode 3: Kazuki and Rei deciding to keep Miri.

Episode 6: Rei, Miri, and Kazuki crossing the finish line/goal together as a family.

The pacing and buildup in this series has been excellent, and we really see that here, with these two pictures.

Episode 3 is when the series really “starts.” The very initial step-up stuff is out of the way, and the exploration of them becoming a family can begin. Kazuki has already become emotionally attached to Miri by Episode 3, but Rei has not.

The colors and tones in the Episode 3 picture are dark. It’s winter. The sun is setting. There is still a long and cold road ahead of them when it comes to learning how to be a family. It isn’t just smooth sailing, they have a lot of learning, growth, and roadblocks along the way.

Now, in contrast to this, we have Episode 9′s image. It’s mid-day, sunny and bright. Lots of pastels. They’re all holding hands, running, and smiling together. It’s a (seemingly) bright future ahead of them (of course we, the viewers, know that there is danger ahead, but more on that later).

It comes at the end of the 2nd act (Ep. 6 - 9), which is where we really saw them growing closer as a family and starting to feel like an actual family. Rei makes a lot of strives when it comes to connecting and forming that emotional bond and attachment with Miri that Kazuki just seemed to naturally have (though, he likely overcompensated a lot at first too, and even a bit now). Most of that growth and development, of Rei learning to emotionally connect with Miri, is done in the Act 2 episodes.

So this episode is just an compilation of all of that, which is why the episode focuses so much on Rei learning how to cheer Miri on and provide her with emotional support. Cheering is a huge aspect of Sports Day (here they use Field Day, which makes sense to use as well, especially for younger kids).

During this episode, Miri is doing physical practice for her events, learning how to run fast, etc. Rei can help with the practical stuff here, like wiping her brow, but he doesn’t really know how to emotionally support her like Kazuki does. Instead, he starts talking to Miri very technically:

Usually Rei is able to speak on Miri’s level, explain things easily to her. But this is an area where it is very clear that he was trained how to amplify the physical output of his body. He’s used to viewing his body more like a tool - a killing machine. This doesn’t help Miri though.

So, throughout the episode we see Kazuki guiding Rei through the process.

At the beginning of the episode he states: “C’mon, cheer her on with me!” and he kind of just jumps right into, expecting that Rei can too. Speaking a little harshly about how a parents job is to be excited for their child. Over the course of the episode, I think around the time Rei takes the initiative to try making rice balls for Miri, we see Kazuki start to understand that Rei wants to do things for Miri, wants to emotionally connect, and cheer loudly for her, but doesn’t really understand how and seems a bit insecure about it too. He never got any training for this.

Once Kazuki and Rei get there, we see how easily Kazuki can just blend into the mood, atmosphere, and pace of the other parents and events - while Rei is always just a little bit behind.

The show vs tell storytelling in this week’s episode is so good! We have all of Rei’s facial expressions as he tries to cheer Miri on:

There’s these little details around his eyes that make it so you can tell that Rei wants to loudly cheer Miri on. He’s been observing all of the other mothers and parents at the event, watching what they are doing. He even finally seemed to understand Kazuki desire to keep Taiga away from Miri (I’m not a fan of that, but I appreciate that it shows Rei’s growing emotional attachment to Miri and viewing her as his daughter).

So when Rei finally cheered loudly for Miri, we felt it just like Miri did! T-T <3

He felt so much emotion and it 110% reached Miri. Yeah, it caused her to trip and fall, and we could tell with one single image of Rei’s face that he felt he was to blame for that. But it was also probably this moment, right here:

That solidified the fact that her two Papas are her family. That’s why, she comes back upset, not that she fell per se, but because she felt she let them both down. Of course, she didn’t though. (Also, side note, the worry in Rei’s voice when Miri fell! <3).

Of course, it all worked out in the end, for all three of them. We had Rei being in an environment where he was basically surrounded by warm, loving families. Likely a first for him, and we slowly saw him adapting and getting caught up in the pace of the event (like he ends up doing with both Miri and Kazuki all the time). His smile when he sees the word “family” written on the paper, his smile at Kazuki’s praise over how well he tried cheering for Miri - I think Rei learned a lot about families and an important way to verbally express love, support, and care.

And all of this is so vital for the 3rd Act of the anime (Ep. 10 - 13), because these last four episodes are where they are going to be challenged as a family. In this episode, we learn that the date is October 15th.

Miri’s birthday is soon (November 8th). So, will we see the return of Misaki, Miri’s mother, alongside everything that is going on with Kyutaro, Ryo, and Rei’s father? Quite possibly. I can see all of these different aspects converging together (I think Rei’s VA also mentioned something similar to that in the interview up on the official site).

By the end of Act 2 they are a family. All three of them know it. All three of them are happy about this. They’re hopeful. But you can see a bit of worry in Rei’s eyes at the end of the episode too. It’s a reminder to the audience as well. They are a family now, but now they are going to be facing their toughest challenges that are likely going to try and tear their family apart.

Here’s to hoping that doesn’t happen!

#Buddy Daddies #BD #Kazuki Kurusu #Rei Suwa #KazuRei #Miri Unasaka #BD spoilers #Buddy Daddies spoilers #long post #image heavy post #meta post #analysis

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bokujou-monogatari · 11 months ago

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So about this series and localization;

Ok, to start this off let me say I do not work in localization. It's not my department. I -do- work in video game development, but in production management and quality. That said, I work -with- loc teams, know people outside of my workplace that do loc, and have mad respect for the localization profession within the industry.

And, this is all a personal perspective again! I mean no ill intent in what I'm about to say. It's merely observational, and I could have an incorrect understanding and I own up to that in the circumstances!

This is probably going to get a little long, and it's a bit of a nuanced conversation. I appreciate everyone who reads to the end though!

Well, where to begin?

The 90s and early 2000s produced media in which culturally relevant aspects were largely changed to suit the audience taking in the media....but in some cases, that didn't hit the mark at all.

Are you familiar with jelly donuts? A long time example in infamy, Brock Pokemon's Jelly Donuts were a product of a time when localization efforts in western media were wholly focused on providing a digestible media experience to a western - rather, American-focused - audience. (Another example that was shown on the big screen was the original Digimon Movie!)

"But wait! Isn't the point of localization to make things relatable to the target audience?!"

Yyyyes! But there's an asterisk here.

In this case, breaking it down:

Bad localization = "Jelly Donuts", and the art remains unchanged.

Good localization = "rice balls", and the art remains unchanged.

Good localization = "Jelly Donuts", and the post processing changes the art to jelly donuts.

Bad localization in this example strips the intent of the media by pigeonholing a westernized regurgitation without respect to the origin and attempting to call it by another name -- erasing the cultural significance that it provides. Let me explain; A food item that may be a staple in many American (specifically Asian-American) households for ages... Do those households call them jelly donuts? Of course not!

90s and early 2000s media was largely at fault of bad localization with a movement based around the idea that a western audience needed those westernized concepts for the audience to be able to fully relate and immerse themselves in what they were digesting.

In essence, it was easier at the time for someone depicted drinking ramune to actually be "drinking a Coke" in dialogue, because everyone knows coke is a soda/fizzy drink. (That's only an example, and I hope it's understandable!)

On the other hand, -Good- localization either provides an equally significant replacement (such as replacing the art with actual jelly donuts) or calling things what they are outright as they represent a culture portrayed.

To reiterate, good localization does justice to the original tone, atmosphere and intent by either substituting an audience society-based equivalent that makes sense contextually OR by telling the audience exactly what is going on in the media's world context using words that can explain it to the audience while preserving that cultural significance.

"OP I'm not seeing how this relates to Bokumono..."

Well, this series was created in 1996, and localization began in 1996-7. And unfortunately, California-based Natsume Inc. was not exempt from those weird "sanitize it for the American audience" views. In their attempt to "make everyone happy...", there were many things that contributed to a less than ideal localization per game from Natsume.

For a long time, Natsume localization was done largely in part through an outsource localization company called Pole to Win. If you're in the light novel and otome venn diagram of fandoms, you'll know that Pole to Win is pretty damn infamous for its bad loc, cheaper labor based on underpaid and over exploited workers (largely based in SEA), and the heavy usage of and reliance on Machine Translation. Some loc work on games leading up to 2012 was done in-house, but a large reason why we have so many Natsumeisms is due to lack of quality and care in the localization process.

Alongside poor localization efforts and the drive to sanitize content for an American audience, there was extra effort in making the content "family friendly" by removing anything that was "out of the norm" for the time. I don't think I need to explain what that means, but it's what led to things like the removal of the Best Friends system (girl x girl marriage) in DS Cute and Julius in Animal Parade being "a man of average height" in the English dialogue. This family friendly movement applied to other media as well in the same time period, but for the sake of being on topic it largely applied to Natsume's approach in localizing the series.

"So what was lost?"

Well, in addition to what I just said above...

Names which were meant to reflect specific cultures referenced in the games based off of existing world cultures were changed.

For example, a Chinese-based character in Sunshine Islands; English Players know her as Lily. Her true name is スイレン Suiren. (Suiren is the name of a famous Chinese hero of legend, as well as the name of a species of Water Lily!) The name was derived literally, instead of staying as Suiren to reflect her heritage; Lily was the "easier" and "more digestible" translation.

I recently posted translations of Grand Bazaar characters with their true names. Grand Bazaar is VERY largely Danish, with Nordic/Baltic influence from Poland, Lithuania, Belarus, and some bits of Mexico, Greece, Austria-Hungary, and France sprinkled in.

As a result, the names given to characters were from those particular regions. Ivan's true name is Juris (the J is Germanic, pronounced with a Y like You) for instance. The average American isn't going to meet someone called Juris often, however, so the name was changed to "fit".

I'm largely of the opinion that names are sacred and innate parts of the Character Core. A name was given to them for a reason, and it would be like going up to Sasuke from Naruto/Boruto and saying "hey man, I'm just going to call you Steve, ok? Cool."

Since we have changed Localization companies to XSEED, Marvelous' English subsidiary, the quality and care put into the localization has drastically improved.

Names are (usually!) 1:1 counterparts - as in romanized - or their very closest equivalents.

Examples being: Cam from Natsume's Tale of Two Towns loc, who is actually カミル and was localized properly in Story of Seasons 3DS with his true name as Kamill / Dudley from the Friends of Mineral Town remake - whose original name is ダッド (Dadd) and was Doug in the Natsume Loc.

Dialogue throughout the game now reflects original tones and intent with some embellished flair here in there, but never to remove - only to add!

I'm not going to get into a conversation about censors and ESRB ratings at this time (Blue Bar to Cafe type of example), but I'm so glad that we have reached a point where we no longer have totally misrepresented cultural aspects in the games.

#its real “and in this essay I will” hours #story of seasons #bokujou monogatari

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