#teriyaki rice balls

[reportwire]

Vegan Yaki Onigiri with Mushrooms

Yaki onigiri are the grilled version of classic Japanese rice balls. Crispy outside and soft inside, they’re the ultimate comfort food, perfect as a snack or lunch box add-on. They’re super easy to make at home with our step-by-step recipe — so let us show you how! The word yaki (焼き) means “to grill” or “to fry” in Japanese, while onigiri (おにぎり) stands for “pressed rice”. While basic onigiri are…

[epiphanytear]

I made chicken teriyaki rice balls!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.

“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.

“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.

Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”

“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”

Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”

“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”

Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”

Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”

“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”

“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.

Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”

“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.

You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”

Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.

Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”

Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”

“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.

“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”

“Finless porpoises,” you say.

“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”

“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.

Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”

“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”

“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”

“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.

You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”

“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”

Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”

“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”

Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.

“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”

“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.

Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”

He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.

You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”

Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.

You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”

“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”

“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”

Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.

“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.

“Oh.”

“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”

“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”

“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.

A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.

Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”

“The sculpture?” you say.

“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”

Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”

“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.

Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.

“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”

Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”

“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”

“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.

“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”

There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.

“No luck?” Daeron asks.

“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.

“Seriously, dude, what was it?”

“Nothing!”

“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”

“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”

Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.

Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”

“We’ll find gas somewhere.”

“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”

“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”

Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.

~~~~~~~~~~

Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences��Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.

“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”

“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.

“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?

“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.

Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.

“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”

“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”

Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.

Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”

“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.

Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”

Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”

“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.

Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.

It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.

“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”

You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.

In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.

“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”

You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”

“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”

“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.

“I want to try too,” Daeron says.

Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”

“I want to try!”

“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”

“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”

You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.

“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.

You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”

“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.

“No scopes?”

“Not that I’ve seen yet.”

You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”

“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”

“Exactly.”

“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”

“Yeah, that should work.”

Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”

“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”

You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”

“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”

“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”

Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”

You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”

Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”

You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”

Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”

He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”

You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”

“Like throwing a football.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”

“What a formidable tree.”

“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”

Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.

“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”

“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”

“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”

Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.

“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”

Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”

“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”

More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.

You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”

He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you say.

“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”

“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”

“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”

“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”

“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”

“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”

You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”

“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”

“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”

“Exactly.”

“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”

“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”

You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.

What?? Who??

“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.

Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”

Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”

“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.

“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.

Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”

Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!”

“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.

“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.

“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”

Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”

“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.

“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”

You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”

“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.

He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”

There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.

“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”

“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”

There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”

“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.

“What?!” Luke exclaims.

“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.

Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”

“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”

“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.

“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.

“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”

“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.

“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.

Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”

“Fine, I think.”

“Hurts?”

“Just a little.”

“Dizzy? Double vision?”

“No, nothing like that.”

He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.

“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”

He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.

“Are you serious?”

“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”

“I’m fine!” Luke insists.

“Great. Then pick a card.”

“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”

“Pick it with your mouth.”

“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.

“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.

Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”

“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”

“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”

“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”

Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”

“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”

“Then stop picking bad cards.”

“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.

“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”

Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.

“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”

“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.

Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.

A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”

You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”

Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”

“Experience with what?”

“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.

[milaisreading]

Crossdressing!Player!Reader×Blue lock pt 2

Warnings: Reader uses she/her while narrating. The players see reader as a boy tho. Requests are open for this au

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Pt1

'I don't want to go back home... I don't want to see them again.' (Y/n) chanted as she kicked the football back at the boy, causing him to kick it back at her. The rest of the group watched in a mix of anticipation and confusion, while Barou was a little annoyed.

'Why isn't he trying to target anyone else?' The black-haired boy thought, looking at (Y/n) who was getting more and more frustrated with this cat and mouse game.

'10 more seconds left!' She looked at the timer as the boy kicked the ball at her again.

'8... 7... 6...' She panicked and ran at the football, quickly kicking it back at the boy. The other player had no time to react, and as soon as the timer hit 2 seconds, the ball hit him in the chest. (Y/n) flinched as the boy stumbled down, and the siren buzzed to signal the end of the first challenge.

'I... I did it... I won't go back home. I am safe!' She thought happily as Ego announced to the boy that he was out.

After the room was left with only 11 players, Ego announced the start of their week long training, and (Y/n) grew mortified at all the challenges they needed to start.

'Is he a sadist?! Oh well, better than being with my parents.' She thought, then looked back at her team, tensing up when she saw Barou glaring at her.

'What's with that glare?!' (Y/n) gulped.

'He is so weird... just like that hairstyle. But I need to ignore him for now. My main focus should be surviving this project and making sure nobody finds out I am a girl...' She hummed. While (Y/n) ignored the rest, Barou kept inspecting her figure, unsure why he was getting a weird vibe from her.

'He is so weird... but he does have a cute face.' The taller thought, nearly slapping himself for the last thought.

Later that day, (Y/n) went to the restroom and dressed in the blue shirt and sweats the team was given. She them went off to the cafeteria to get some dinner.

"I am so hungry... what's for dinner?" She thought, putting her rank number on the scanner.

'Nice! Rice and teriyaki tofu!' Her eyes lit up as she saw her food, and took it to her table.

'Hmmm I wonder if that guy from today is here in this building.' (Y/n) thought, looking around the cafeteria to find the blue-eyed boy, but to her disappointment, he was nowhere to be found.

"What are you looking so stupid for?" (Y/n) jumped, startled by Barou's voice as he sat across from her.

"Oh? Barou, I am surprised you sat down with me." She commented, taking a bite from her food as the boy raised his eyebrow.

"And why are you surprised over that?" He asked, a little annoyed as he took a bite from his food.

'Boiled eggs? Why is he eating that with rice?' She raised an eyebrow and answered.

"You seem more like the type of guy who acts too cool to be around anyone."

(Y/n) answered truthfully, watching as he chocked on his food a little.

"What's with your bluntness?"

"I am just being honest." She shrugged, taking a sip from her drink.

"And why are you eating boiled eggs? Isn't that weird with rice?"

Barou stopped eating for a moment, looking at her in disbelief.

"Our food is based on our ranking. You are the highest ranked one in our team, so you got the better food. Didn't you listen to Ego's explanations?" Barou's question caused (Y/n) to blush and laugh nervously, stuffing her food with the rest of her tofu.

"I did! I did! Just wanted to check if you knew what was going on!" (Y/n) lied.

"You lie horrendously." Barou said, sounding bored as he watched (Y/n) stop eating for a moment.

"Can I ask you something?" The girl asked as Barou nodded his head.

"Why did you want me to stay?" There was a short silence between the duo, and she watched as Barou contemplated on how to answer the question.

"Easy, you are the only player around I see worthy as an opponent. After you and those 2 friends of yours beat me, I made sure to study all your plays. I still can't figure out how you are so precise with your goals..." Barou started explaining, oblivious or purposefully ignorant to the embarrassed blush on her face.

'He studied my goals?!'

"How do you know where to aim?" Barou questioned.

"Huh?" She wondered, finding his question odd. Nobody really questioned it.

"I don't know.... it's just a feeling I get while I am in the possession of the ball." She shrugged. Barou stayed silent for a moment, nodding his head as he observed (Y/n) a little more.

'Why is he looking at me like that?!' She wondered.

"I will figure that out, then." (Y/n) heard the boy say.

"Mhmm... if you want to, we can train together. It might help us later." She suggested, watching as Barou thought about it for a moment, and then nodded his head.

"Sure. A training buddy on my level is a good idea."

(Y/n) nodded her head, and with that a duo was unofficially created. A very unlikely one.

Later that night, (Y/n) laid on her bed as everyone else was sleeping. The girl was lying on the futon, unable to fall asleep from all the thoughts plaguing her.

'This whole plan will blow up in my face eventually... one way or the other, they will find out I am not a boy. What will they do then? Will they disqualify me? Will I be publicly shamed for this? Will I have to go home?!' She gulped athe last idea, and put a hand over her racing heart, while the other one played with her (h/c) hair, hoping to find any form of comfort in it.

'I will hide this as long as possible... nobody can know. For my own happiness and freedom, I will pretend to be someone I am not for a little bit longer... I can do that.' She nodded to herself and closed her eyes, curling up on her side.

'I can do that. I will survive this. If I can't become the best striker... I will become (L/n) (Y/n) one day.' She smiled at the idea, sleep slowly consuming her form.

[paldean-sandwich-rater]

A sandwich.

It contains ice cream, whipped cream, sponge cake, meat balls, broccoli, pineapple, strawberries, tomatoes, lettuce, rice, noodles, mac and cheese, bacon, beef jerky, dried fish, seaweed, one of every Pokemon berry, jam, olive oil, lotus, dragon fruit, ravioli, ramen, tempura, teriyaki chicken, macaroons, escargots, mint, pepper, salt, sugar, croquettes, pickles, apples, avocados, sausages, bell peppers, grapes, pizza, a donut, cheese, more cheese, even more cheese, mushrooms, mustard, olives, a fried egg, a scrambled egg, blueberries, a poached egg, chawanmushi, a red bean bun, mochi, bbq sauce, chicken nuggets, french fries, takoyaki, pancakes, mackerel, salmon, coffee beans, spinach, a tiny bit of corn cream soup, ramensanga, fettucine alfredo, a plain bagel, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, sweet potato, yam, potato, scallions, scallops, squid, crab stick, fish balls, fish cakes, oyster sauce, silken tofu, barley, cereal, paprika, oysters, red snapper, sea bass, plums, bean sprouts, garlic, string cheese, camembert, swiss cheese, mozzarella, parmesan cheese, yogurt, brinjal, a macdonald’s happy meal (without the toy and the packaging of course), truffles, caviar, tapioca balls, fried chicken, century eggs, cake sprinkles, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate, milk tea (just a tinge), coffee (also a tinge), pudding, pumpkin, honey, mutton, mashed potatoes, bananas, icelandic fermented shark that they bury in the ground for months, raisins, dried mangoes, a drop of water, jelly, nata de coco, prunes, roasted pork, rosemary, bee pollen, peas, deer meat, rabbit meat, fish maw, ham, turkey, m&ms, chub, fufu, watermelon, winter melon, rock melon, coffee jelly, cacao, carrots, blueberries, black tea, dumplings, carrot cake, beetroot, purple cabbage, corn, celery, edamame, red beans, black beans, green beans, kidney beans, cashews, peanuts, pecans, sunflower seeds, walnuts, chickpeas, almonds, daikon, MSG, tamales, anchovies, tabbouleh, lions mane mushroom, chicken of the woods, kelp, octopus, durian, kimchi, crème fraîche, popcorn, cotton candy, everything bagel seasoning, capers, pears, marinara sauce, bittercress, butter cream, every single iteration of galarian curry, sushi, sashimi, kale and a very very specific ramen bowl (without the actual bowl) from a very particular shop located in Iwatodai.

And the top and bottom buns are somehow made from 50 different kinds of bread in a checker box pattern.

It comes with a picture.

Ingredients: I am not typing all of that out again. What the fuck.

Smell: You’ve taken an entire food court’s worth of food and made it into a sandwich. This isn’t even possible. Why am I considering this. 3/5

Taste: How do you eat this. 2/5

Texture: You get like 5 different foods every bite. This is not balanced. There is no harmony. This sandwich is the embodiment of disorder and chaos. 1/5

Presentation: The fact that this even looks sandwich adjacent is a fucking miracle. You don’t get full points though. Because I don’t like you. 3/5

Would Chunk Eat It?: He would eat maybe 1/50th of it. So no. 1/5

Final Score: 2/5

Critic’s Notes: Why would you waste this much food. Just host a party. Donate it. Something fucking anything I am begging at this point.

[sew-much-to-do]

DIY Spam Musubi Onigiri

This recipe for Spam musubi onigiri is easy and can be made in less than 15 minutes. These Japanese-style rice balls are stuffed with delicious teriyaki spam — making them the ideal snack or quick meal.

✖✖✖✖✖✖✖✖

sew-much-to-do: a visual collection of sewing tutorials/patterns, knitting, diy, crafts, recipes, etc.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: a small bowl filled with toasted sesame seeds and diced kombu. end ID]

Vegetarian furikake / 振り掛け (Japanese seasoning)

Furikake is a Japanese dry condiment which may be added to rice, used as a filling for onigiri (rice balls), used in pickling, or used as a topping to rice dishes such as chazuke (ちゃづけ). You might also try it for a sweet, savory, or spicy kick on noodle dishes and salads (such as my Japanese-style carrot salad), in soups, or on popcorn.

Minimal recipes for furikake may include sesame seeds, chopped seaweed, bonito flakes, salt, and sugar. This recipe also includes soy sauce and shichimi (Japanese 7-spice) for added umami and spice; you could play around with ingredients and proportions to get something you like, or make it a little differently each time!

Recipe under the cut.

Patreon | Tip jar

Ingredients:

For the furikake:

1oz used kombu (left over from making dashi), thawed if frozen

1 sheet Japanese dried laver / nori (海苔)

2 Tbsp ground dried shiitake mushrooms

1 1/2 Tbsp white sesame seeds

1/2 Tbsp black sesame seeds

1 Tbsp Japanese soy sauce, such as Kikkoman's

1/2 tsp kosher salt

2 tsp vegetarian granulated sugar

2 tsp Japanese 7-spice (七 味 唐辛子 / shichimi togarashi); optional

Pinch MSG (optional)

You will need reconstituted, not dried, kombu for this recipe. To reconstitute dashi, follow the instructions to make cold-brew (水出し / mizudashi) or hot-brew dashi (煮出し / nidashi) in my teriyaki udon soup recipe; the dashi can then be used to make Japanese soups and dipping sauces. I like to use a couple tablespoons in a cornstarch slurry with soy sauce, mirin, and rice vinegar to coat fried tofu, to which it adds a delicate, umami, vegetal taste.

Dried shiitake mushrooms can be found in an Asian grocery store. They may be reconstituted to make shiitake dashi, then used in stir-fries and simmered dishes. They may also be ground and used to add savor and umami to any dish. Here, they are used as a substitute for the katsuobushi (bonito flakes) in okaka / おかか (bonito flakes flavored with soy sauce), a common ingredient in furikake.

Instructions:

1. Dice reconstituted / thawed kombu into small pieces and set aside. Cut nori into a fine dice by folding and cutting with kitchen scissors. Coarsely grind dried shiitake mushrooms in a spice mill or food processor.

2. In a small, dry pot over medium heat, toast white and black sesame seeds until they are fragrant and a shade darker. Remove from pot.

3. Add kombu and ground shiitake mushroom and toast, stirring frequently, for several minutes until the surface of the kombu is dry.

4. Add soy sauce, salt, and sugar. Simmer until dried, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pot more frequently as the furikake dries out.

5. Stir in nori, sesame seeds, shichimi, and MSG. Taste and adjust salt, sugar, and spice.

Theoretically, dry furikake may be stored in a cool, dry place such as a pantry. If you're not confident that your furikake is completely dry, you can store it in the fridge. It should keep for several months.

[undersero]

At the End of The Day

note: this work primarily centers around food and eating together

MINORS DNI

The day weighs on your shoulders despite the cool cover of nightfall. What would be inky black skies cover Tokyo, and you imagine that somewhere up there, millions of stars dot the heavens, but are hidden by the lights of industrialization. If exhaustion hadn’t seeped into your bones so deeply, you’d be annoyed about it.

Maybe you’ll ask Satoru if he can see the stars despite the lights.

Distantly, you realize the hunger pains in your stomach have grown stronger and harder to ignore. Memories of salmon and mayo onigiri slide into your mind, making your stomach growl, and further memories of salty SPAM onigiri and creamy, sweet yogurt drinks only worsen the sensation.

Initially, you planned to wait until you got home to eat something, which probably would have been instant ramen, but you can’t wait any longer, and like beacon in the night, shining forward to keep your hunger at bay, is a convenience store sign.

The automatic doors chirp as they welcome you inside, swallowing you up in a fluorescent haven of sweet smelling warm bread and crispy breading on chicken and savory sauces.

As you’re dropping two spicy salmon Onigiri into your basket, you notice the sandwiches out of the corner of your eye. The strawberry ones look pretty fresh, you think, and you grab one for your husband, slipping it into the basket. If you don’t see him before bed, you know he’ll be delighted at the treat in the morning. After some consideration, you grab a second one before heading over to the refrigerated drinks section.

Before you even make it there, though, a familiar figure turns down the aisle from the direction you’re headed. You would know his tall, thin frame and his white hair anywhere.

You and Satoru stop at the same time, tired smiles on both your lips.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you say reply, stepping forward and pressing yourself against him in greeting. One long arm slides around your body and gives you a squeeze, and you notice in his basket that he’s collected several things, too: a warm bento, two packages of his favorite little cakes, some fruit drink, and your favorite strawberry yogurt drink.

Once he releases you, he shows you the drink, a silent indication that he picked it for you, and you do the same for the strawberry sandwich in your bag. A soft blush creeps up his cheeks, and your face feels warm. Neither of you knew the other would be here, and yet you still thought about each other.

In silence, you check out and sit together. Satoru, in true form, opens one of the cakes before touching his bento. You swear it takes less than a second for you to open your first onigiri, biting off most of the entire thing in one go. Spicy, creamy, salty, and just what you’d been dreaming of since you couldn’t ignore your hunger any longer.

For the next twenty minutes, you eat in silence across from Satoru. Your brain is finally calm and quiet and able to disengage from the days events, and you can tell by his slightly sloped posture that Satoru feels the same way about his own day. You’ll have to ask him about it tomorrow, you decide, holding out your second onigiri for him to have a bite of.

Wordlessly, he bites the rice ball, a small hum of approval leaving his throat. He reaches across to open your yogurt drink for you, knowing fully well that you’re capable of doing it, but wanting to do it for you anyway, and you appreciate it.

The only sounds around you are opening plastic, the hum of the refrigeration units, and the whine of the fluorescent lights above.

Satoru, though his mask is still on, looks tired. You don’t need to see his eyes to know that. It’s written all over in the way he holds his body, how it looks like anything he lifts to his mouth weighs a thousand pounds. Before he finishes his bento, he captures some chicken and holds it forward for you to try, and you do. Teriyaki, and perfectly done, too.

As you’re eating your strawberry sandwich, a deep feeling of satisfaction crawls over your being, one brought on by the food in your belly and the company across from you. While the food on its own was good, your husband’s presence made it scores better.

Satoru clears the trash after finishing the last quarter of your sandwich that you offered him, feeling too full to continue, and you leave together, hands loosely laced between your bodies.

After that, it feels like the walk to your apartment takes mere moments, and it just might. Walking home is always much nicer with Satoru with you. But now, the bright red numbers on the nightstand clock read four past midnight, and your bed has never looked more comfortable.

You pull off your uniform, barely having enough energy to pull a shirt you find somewhere over your bare chest. You don’t even bother to take your socks off before sliding into bed, and Satoru, who stripped to his underwear, isn’t far behind you.

The blindfold is off, and you see deep purple bags under his eyes as he lays on the pillow, pulling an arm over his head to rest above him. You scoot closer, sleep crowding your vision, the events of your day becoming more and more distant as you take in the familiar intimacy.

In his last moments before sleep, Satoru touches your wrist delicately, giving you a loving squeeze, and leaving his hand connected to you as he drifts off.

A sleepy smile pulls at your lips, and your last thought before sleep is that sleeping next to your husband makes all those exhausting days survivable.

[youlosethings]

Just got back from an hours run/incline walk at the gym and some shopping. I came on my period yesterday and have been in so much pain with cramps and so lacking in energy that I really had to push myself. I also kept going shaky and dizzy af but we ball.

Int@ke today:

oats with oat milk and cinnamon and strawberries with juice: 400

w0rk0ut - 60 minute run/incline walk on treadmill. Walking around shops.(-800 - 1000)

two rice cakes: 80

Dinner is teriyaki noodles with vegan chicken, peppers, broccoli and maybe some gyozas: 800

Will also take the dog for a walk too before driving home to my house.

I want to stop eating before 10pm so I can get back to my 16 hour f@5ts and <1000 a day this week.

Total in: 1280

Total out: 1100

xoxo

[chaos-cousins]

Pelipper mail!

A sandwich.

It contains ice cream, whipped cream, sponge cake, meat balls, broccoli, pineapple, strawberries, tomatoes, lettuce, rice, noodles, mac and cheese, bacon, beef jerky, dried fish, seaweed, one of every Pokemon berry, jam, olive oil, lotus, dragon fruit, ravioli, ramen, tempura, teriyaki chicken, macaroons, escargots, mint, pepper, salt, sugar, croquettes, pickles, apples, avocados, sausages, bell peppers, grapes, pizza, a donut, cheese, more cheese, even more cheese, mushrooms, mustard, olives, a fried egg, a scrambled egg, blueberries, a poached egg, chawanmushi, a red bean bun, mochi, bbq sauce, chicken nuggets, french fries, takoyaki, pancakes, mackerel, salmon, coffee beans, spinach, a tiny bit of corn cream soup, ramensanga, fettucine alfredo, a plain bagel, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, sweet potato, yam, potato, scallions, scallops, squid, crab stick, fish balls, fish cakes, oyster sauce, silken tofu, barley, cereal, paprika, oysters, red snapper, sea bass, plums, bean sprouts, garlic, string cheese, camembert, swiss cheese, mozzarella, parmesan cheese, yogurt, brinjal, a macdonald’s happy meal (without the toy and the packaging of course), truffles, caviar, tapioca balls, fried chicken, century eggs, cake sprinkles, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate, milk tea (just a tinge), coffee (also a tinge), pudding, pumpkin, honey, mutton, mashed potatoes, bananas, icelandic fermented shark that they bury in the ground for months, raisins, dried mangoes, a drop of water, jelly, nata de coco, prunes, roasted pork, rosemary, bee pollen, peas, deer meat, rabbit meat, fish maw, ham, turkey, m&ms, chub, fufu, watermelon, winter melon, rock melon, coffee jelly, cacao, carrots, blueberries, black tea, dumplings, carrot cake, beetroot, purple cabbage, corn, celery, edamame, red beans, black beans, green beans, kidney beans, cashews, peanuts, pecans, sunflower seeds, walnuts, chickpeas, almonds, daikon, MSG, tamales, anchovies, tabbouleh, lions mane mushroom, chicken of the woods, kelp, octopus, durian, kimchi, crème fraîche, popcorn, cotton candy, everything bagel seasoning, capers, pears, marinara sauce, bittercress, butter cream, every single iteration of galarian curry, sushi, sashimi, kale and a very very specific ramen bowl (without the actual bowl) from a very particular shop located in Iwatodai.

And the top and bottom buns are somehow made from 50 different kinds of bread in a checker box pattern.

What the actual fuck.

It has whipped cream on it. Disgusting.

THAT'S WHY ITS DISGUSTING????

No it's just the first thing I saw that grossed me out and you know I hate whipped cream

[reportwire]

Vegan Yaki Onigiri with Mushrooms

Glazed with soy sauce and fried until crusty, yaki onigiri are a deliciously crispy version of classic Japanese rice balls, and so easy to make at home! Source link

[ziodyne-amax]

Pelipper mail! (To kotone)

A sandwich.

It contains ice cream, whipped cream, sponge cake, meat balls, broccoli, pineapple, strawberries, tomatoes, lettuce, rice, noodles, mac and cheese, bacon, beef jerky, dried fish, seaweed, one of every Pokemon berry, jam, olive oil, lotus, dragon fruit, ravioli, ramen, tempura, teriyaki chicken, macaroons, escargots, mint, pepper, salt, sugar, croquettes, pickles, apples, avocados, sausages, bell peppers, grapes, pizza, a donut, cheese, more cheese, even more cheese, mushrooms, mustard, olives, a fried egg, a scrambled egg, blueberries, a poached egg, chawanmushi, a red bean bun, mochi, bbq sauce, chicken nuggets, french fries, takoyaki, pancakes, mackerel, salmon, coffee beans, spinach, a tiny bit of corn cream soup, ramensanga, fettucine alfredo, a plain bagel, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, sweet potato, yam, potato, scallions, scallops, squid, crab stick, fish balls, fish cakes, oyster sauce, silken tofu, barley, cereal, paprika, oysters, red snapper, sea bass, plums, bean sprouts, garlic, string cheese, camembert, swiss cheese, mozzarella, parmesan cheese, yogurt, brinjal, a macdonald’s happy meal (without the toy and the packaging of course), truffles, caviar, tapioca balls, fried chicken, century eggs, cake sprinkles, dark chocolate, milk chocolate, white chocolate, milk tea (just a tinge), coffee (also a tinge), pudding, pumpkin, honey, mutton, mashed potatoes, bananas, icelandic fermented shark that they bury in the ground for months, raisins, dried mangoes, a drop of water, jelly, nata de coco, prunes, roasted pork, rosemary, bee pollen, peas, deer meat, rabbit meat, fish maw, ham, turkey, m&ms, chub, fufu, watermelon, winter melon, rock melon, coffee jelly, cacao, carrots, blueberries, black tea, dumplings, carrot cake, beetroot, purple cabbage, corn, celery, edamame, red beans, black beans, green beans, kidney beans, cashews, peanuts, pecans, sunflower seeds, walnuts, chickpeas, almonds, daikon, MSG, tamales, anchovies, tabbouleh, lions mane mushroom, chicken of the woods, kelp, octopus, durian, kimchi, crème fraîche, popcorn, cotton candy, everything bagel seasoning, capers, pears, marinara sauce, bittercress, butter cream, every single iteration of galarian curry, sushi, sashimi, kale and a very very specific ramen bowl (without the actual bowl) from a very particular shop located in Iwatodai.

And the top and bottom buns are somehow made from 50 different kinds of bread in a checker box pattern.

I’m. I’m not even sure how you managed to fit all this. This is beautiful in its monstrosity…

[sudachirecipes]

Simple Japanese rice balls wrapped in tender and crispy pork belly coated in a teriyaki-style glaze. This is an addictive onigiri recipe like no other!

[foodies-channel]

🍥 teriyaki chicken, spinach omelet, and seasoned rice ball bento

🍔YouTube || 🍟Reddit

[rpwithroxy]

@equiuszahhak hey ive got all these peanut butter cookies and brownies and whiel ive given a lot away ive still got plenty you want any?

also i have teriyaki chicken filled rice balls if you want?

ive been cookin

[margridarnauds]

I was tagged by @lesbianelinordashwood (Thank you!)

5 foods: 4 you love, 1 you hate

I am a NOTORIOUSLY picky eater (combination of autism + picky eater gene), which makes me a pain in any food environment I’m not used to (though I’ve been working on broadening my palate and, I want this emphasize, will always be polite when I’m staying at someone’s place. Guest hospitality trumps the picky eating gene every time.)

4 I love:

    1. Rice, my beloved. Especially in teriyaki chicken recipes. Cheap, easy to make, filling. Who’s doing it like Her? 

    2. Pork belly -- I developed a taste for it when I was in Ireland. There’s a restaurant chain there called “The Spitjack” that serves pork belly, and it’s in most of the major cities which makes it an ideal stop for me at the end of a long conference (I’ll probably actually find an excuse to go when I’m in Ireland this week, actually). I’ll also eat pork belly in ramen; there’s a nice ramen place where I live that sells a relatively cheap pork belly dish for $8 with rice and quail egg that I love. (Paired, because I’m a Classy, Refined Bitch, with strawberry Ramune soda.) Something of a luxury food, given...well. Grad student. But so, so worth it. 

   3. Hot Dog Lattice -- My beloved. Speaking of foods I’m very likely to get while I’m in Ireland this week, no trip to Ireland’s complete without Her. (I actually found out the reason why most of my Irish friends look at me like I grew two heads when I bring up hot dog lattices -- they are actually Dutch. Hence why you can get ahold of them mostly at places like the Dutch brand Spar, even though you can sometimes find them in, say, Dunne’s, but not Tesco. God bless the Dutch for that one, honestly) 

   4. Ziti with meat balls -- When I was a child, my mother worked in a town about 45 minutes away. We were financially secure, we were happy, and sometimes, she would bring back ziti for me from an Italian place that was about an hour away. For me, ziti always tastes a little bit like love, as I still associate it with my mom coming home and those early days when it didn’t feel like we had any problems. My ziti uses a different sauce than the one they used at that restaurant, I don’t think I could replicate it if I tried, but baked ziti became one of my favorite dishes to make when I was in Ireland, since the noodles were cheap and it was easy to stick the pot in the oven, put on the cheese, and stick it back in again.  (Yes, I’m aware that most of these are things I had in Ireland, but consider: They have happy memories attached to them.) 

1 I hate:

    1. Pickles -- I have hated them ever since I was a child. Hated, hated, hated. “Just remove the pickle from the cheeseburger!” “But you don’t UNDERSTAND, I can *still taste it.*” 

Honorable mention to:

Easy mac, pulled pork (especially with Sweet Baby Ray’s sauce), lemon sugar crepes, garlic bread, chicken rice casserole, Cadbury creme egg ice cream (’tis the season), Sesame chicken, toast with a light scraping of grape jelly or orange marmalade, the fried chicken from the restaurant near where I grew up, Wendy’s chicken nuggets with fries and fruit punch, bacon (also, for once, I’m specifying American bacon here), mashed potatoes that still have a little bit of the chunks in them with butter, pork chops, garlic naan bread (sometimes with meat inside), mango mousse cake, potato pancakes, fried oysters, European chocolate (Cadbury is one of my all-time favorites, especially the popping Cadbury bars, but I’m not THAT precious about it...so long as it tastes like chocolate), s’mores, Cornish game hen, Kerry Gold butter, challah bread from the bakery near my old apartment

Tagging: @fallenidol-453 @mossadspydolphin @nastasyafilippovnas @claradwor @violetcancerian