#these people are surviving on microwave meals

[professorcocoa]

WHY THE FUCK DON'T THEY HAVE AN OVEN HERE??? AM I IN HELL???

[ozzyfromthecafeteria]

Okay so I had probably one of the funniest thoughts ever to date and.

Aurora teamwork cooking experiment.

[saudadeko]

ADHD tips from a girlie who was diagnosed in her late twenties and has had little to no support since and is being so brave about it:

1) Make it easy, make it accessible, and make it appealing. If anything this is the most important thing, all tips going forward are based around this concept.

2) That thing you think would help you but you haven’t bought/done it yet because you’re technically surviving without it? Buy it, you need it. It doesn’t matter if people around you might think it’s wasteful or that you’re lazy, you’re not, just do it, trust me.

3) Expanding on tip #2, if you’re like me and eggs are your main source of protein because they’re quick and easy and feeding yourself is a near insurmountable task- buy yourself an electric egg cooker, make a bunch of hard boiled eggs and keep them in your fridge for quick and easy protein to add to any meal (handful of crackers, a hard boiled egg and a banana? 5 star meal right there. Or mash them up with some mayo for egg salad sandwiches). Other easy proteins include: potstickers (put them in instant ramen), edamame (they have microwaveable snack packs), chickpeas (put in salads!), beans (can of beans microwaved with shredded cheese and some tortilla chips), peanut butter (with crackers, apple and cheese, adult lunchable style), and tofu (cut into cubes, throw them into a ziplock with some seasoning and potato starch, shake that shit up and bake it until crispy).

4) Spend a little extra (if you are able) on daily use items that excite you, it will make you more likely to remember/want to do said daily task. For example: the only reason I remember to use sunscreen is because I bought some fancy japanese sunscreen that smells like roses so I get excited to use it, same for laundry detergent and body wash! there’s a gajillion different body wash scents out there, switch it up!

5) If there’s a task you continuously struggle with take a moment to think about which part of the task is making it difficult, it could be something even as small as “I don’t put my dirty clothes in the hamper because my hamper has a lid on it and lifting the lid is one step too many-”, sounds a little stupid huh? But trust your gut, it’s not stupid if it works. See tip #2 and BUY A HAMPER WITHOUT A LID.

6) If you are having trouble starting a task, break the task down further, sometimes the way I start a task is just by going “Ok step 1) stand up-“ and so forth. Don’t worry about the task as a whole just take it one step at a time.

7) If you’re halfway through a task and have to stop, leave it out. All this, “Put things away when you’re done with them.” is bullshit. you will be much more likely to finish the task if restarting it is easier because you left it out plus it’s a visual reminder. You can also create faux deadlines like “I gotta finish this project before my friend comes over on tuesday because after I finish it I can clean off the dinner table.” etc.

8) It’s okay to outsource tasks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, humans are designed to ask for, and to require help (what do babies do when they’re first born?? cry for help!!) ask for help and receive help without shame, if it makes your life better, you are WINNING.

9) If you have one big overwhelming task that you think you need to get done before anything else, but you feel motivated to do other tasks, do those other tasks first, it’s okay. Otherwise in all likelihood (at least in my case) you’ll put everything off until the last minute and then have to do said overwhelming task and those other tasks won’t get done at all. Doing those smaller tasks also lowers the mental load and you can use them as a motivation launch pad to tackle bigger things.

10) If you notice you tend to not put something away/forget to do something, perhaps consider moving and storing the item closer to where it ultimately ends up or where you are more likely to see it. For example, my makeup, pills, and mail are all stored on my desk because that’s where I tend to do my makeup, take my pills and deal with my mail. I used to store my pills in my bathroom medicine cabinet but all too often I would forget because they weren’t in my line of sight. Now that they’re on my desk, I have multiple chances per day to pass by them, go “oh I gotta take those.” and take them.

11) Open storage, open storage, OPEN STORAGE.

12) Motivation can look like all kinds of things. sometimes the only reason I get out of bed is because I remember I have a fun snack and I get to go eat it if I get up. It’s okay to lean into those simple “animal-brain” type motivators, you’ll eat because then you can use that fun new kitchen gadget you got a daiso? Neat. you’ll shower because then you can paint your nails that fun new color you got? Fantastic. You’ll go to the dmv and do that annoying thing because you’ll take yourself out for boba after? Superb. Lean-IN to those small motivators, they aren’t stupid or childish, they are VITAL.

13) Don’t buy into the cult of “if it’s worth doing, do it properly” it’s guaranteed to set you up for failure. If it’s worth doing, do it in whatever capacity you are able to. I put sunscreen on once a day because that’s fucking better than not doing it at all and I sure as all hell will fail at reapplying it multiple times a day. If it’s worth doing, do it half-assed babieeee.

Go forth and prosper!!! xoxo ✌️🩵

[skbeaumont]

Scars – A Joel Miller/Reader Oneshot

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair. “Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel. “Show me.”

Summary: When Joel stumbles into the kitchen at 2am, restless and tense, he doesn't expect to find you at the table, nursing a cold mug of tea. He certainly doesn't expect to end up tracing the scars on your skin, explaining how he got his, your hands mapping the contors of each other's old wounds until something new emerges.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual pining, kind of angsty but also fluffy?, descriptions of old injuries, explicit sex, PIV, fingering, dirty talk, body worship, flirting, yearning, mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 3.3k

It’s late, and the rest of Jackson is asleep.

A single street lamp lights the dark kitchen, casting a soft orange glow over the table and your half empty mug. The tea is long-since cold, but you keep your hands wrapped around it anyway, trying to soak up the last of its heat. There’s a microwave behind you, and a coffee machine, and enough hot water to fill several baths, but after twenty years of surviving by fire light and camping stoves, these modern conveniences still seem like the technology of your childhood, distant and unrealistic. And so the tea remains cold.

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the normality of Jackson: the routine and order and kindness that seeps into every interaction, every town meeting and evening out. It’s been four months since you arrived – limping and half-dead, frozen almost solid by the bitter Wyoming winter – at the town’s gates.

And now you’re inside on a mild spring night, sharing a house with a man and his not-daughter, healthy and almost whole again. The town council were apologetic about housing you with Joel and Ellie: it was the only house with a spare bedroom at the time, but in truth it had been a relief. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being around other people again, sleeping only a thin wall away from another human being, sharing meals and chores.

Joel’s quiet and serious most of the time, but you see cracks appearing in his hard exterior when he’s with Ellie, or his brother Tommy. Something of the man that existed before the world ended. And more recently he’s started opening up to you, too; rolling his eyes at you behind Ellie’s back when she swears or insults houseguests, chuckling at your bad jokes, letting his guard down when he gets home from a hard day’s construction work, allowing you to make him hot drinks and massage his sore shoulders.

You’re careful not to push anything too far, but the slow roll into familiarity with Joel has bred something less familial, too. Something wanting and churning that settles deep in your belly when you’re around him. It makes you want to press yourself against him, settle yourself in the crook of his shoulder, lick the thick tendons of his neck. Whether he feels the same is a mystery. He’s older than you by a couple of decades, not that that matters to you – you’re both adults – but he maintains a distance. Lets you massage his shoulders but never makes a sound while you do it. Holds the door open for you but keeps a respectful distance when you walk side-by-side through town. Allows you to rest your feet in his lap in the evenings on the sofa, but doesn’t touch them, or acknowledge them. You’ve heard him moving around in the night, restless and fidgety, but he never comes to your room on those long dark nights seeking comfort or companionship.

He's been quiet since he went to bed several hours earlier on this particular night, which is why it’s a shock when the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating Joel’s broad silhouette in the doorway. You scramble out of the chair onto your feet, heart thumping. He holds a hand up, calmingly, doesn’t move as your eyes adjust to the light.

“Fucking hell, Joel. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” He takes a step into the kitchen, feet bare on the terracotta tiles.

He’s still in his clothes from today, dark jeans under a thin grey tee, both slightly crumpled as though he’s slept in them. He always does. Undoubtedly it’s the same ritual that makes him keep a pistol on his bedside table, leave a packed go-bag by the front door; the same anxiety that casts dark shadows under his eyes, fuels his insomnia and maintains his habitual whiskey drinking. He’s ready for anything, always, because he’s been through shit and he thinks at any moment it’ll happen again. You understand. It’s why you’re in the kitchen at 2am, cold tea clutched between shaking hands.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask, as he opens a high cupboard and pulls out a tumbler.

You move around him, tip the dregs of your tea down the sink.

“Something like that,” He replies, voice croaky.

He pours the whiskey out into the glass, swirls it in thick fingers and then rests back against the kitchen counter opposite you, eyes finally finding yours. They hover for a moment on your face, dark and penetrating, then flick to one shoulder, the other, down your arm.

You keep them covered, normally. Wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer, never undress around anyone. You’ve avoided the swimming pond that opened three weeks ago, even though the water looked heavenly in the warm April weather, unwillingly to bear the scars that litter your body to the town, afraid they’ll show the community who you really are, reveal the terrible things you’ve done to survive. But unlike Joel you don’t have a habit of sleeping in your clothes, and the thin vest and shorts you’re wearing now reveals those long-hidden scars to him in the bright kitchen light.

The bullet wound is the worst one; a puckered, deep purple starburst across one shoulder, skin wrought into something alien and terrible. It’s this one that his gaze linger on, dark eyes making heat roll up your spine. His fist is gripping the whiskey glass so tightly that the tips of his fingers and knuckles are white with the strain of it.

“They’re awful, I know.” You say into the silence.

“What? No- God, no. They’re not.” A pause, his eyes flicking away from yours, over to the far wall, back across. “I’ve got ‘em, too. We all have.”

You scoff at this. Move your hand up, place it on your shoulder. His hand twitches where it rests on the countertop, but he doesn’t move.

“You cover them.” He says. It’s not a question, but you feel like you have to answer anyway.

“Yes.” A breath, shaky on the exhale. “They’re ugly.” “No.” His voice is firm, commanding in the quiet kitchen. Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling between your thighs and you fidget, pressing them together, crossing your feet. The movement makes his eye dart down to your bare legs. You watch the apple of his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes trailing up to the hem of your shorts. There’s a scar there, too, bisecting your upper thigh. Thin and white, a reminder of a long ago incident with barbed wire.

“They’re not…” His voice trails off, eyes searching your face. “Nothing on you is ugly. Not even the scars. Especially not the scars.”

“No?”

“No.” He shifts, puts the whiskey glass down on the counter behind him and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Fingertips trace the edge of the bullet scar, and you feel goosepimples rise in their wake despite the warmth of the kitchen. He runs his hand up past its end, to your throat, along your collar bone and to the other arm. The scars there are paler, older. Shrapnel and grazes from a fall. Each one his fingertips trace reverently, as though they’re a holy text written across your skin. When he reaches the last, the one that loops around your wrist, the indent of a handcuff, you’re sure your heart is thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, too. Slick is pooling between your thighs, hot and wet against the thin shorts you’re wearing.

“There are more,” You say, so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.

“Show me.”

It’s like a dance. You pull off your vest and Joel’s hand follows the curve of your waist, thumb dipping to press the small coin-shaped scar just below your rib cage. You sigh and he lets his hand run over your ribs, fingertips finding the spaces between like piano keys. When he reaches the curve of your bare breast he pauses, the weight of your flesh resting in the valley between his index finger and thumb. You don’t say anything, just lean into him, holding his eye contact, the pleasure and warmth of his hand making you bold. He moves slowly, carefully, rolling the bud of your nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching just so, pleasure blossoming in your chest, down your spine and to your cunt.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes flicking up from his hand to your face, tracking the pull of your eyebrows as they pitch together, the move of your mouth as you answer him with a shaky exhale.

“What about this one?” He asks, hand leaving your breast to trace across the scar that laces up your thigh under the hem of your shorts. “Can I?”

You’re not sure what he’s asking but you know that you want him to, want him to do whatever it is he’s asking so you nod. His hand grip your waist to lift you, setting you down on the kitchen counter. You grasp at his shoulders, the solid breadth of him hard under your hands. The counter is cold against the back of your legs, but before you can complain his hot hand is wrapped back around your thigh, thumb tracing the scar there again, fingertips inching up to the apex of your legs. He moves to stand between your open legs, still keeping a few inches of distance between you, the extra height of the counter making your eyes level. His burn into your face as he slips his hand higher still, fingers seeking out the wet heat of you, dipping inside, gathering slick and gliding it up to your clit.

“Joel,” You say into the aching gap between your lips and his.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He says, the words hot on your mouth, his breath mingling with your needy sighs. “All of you, you understand?”

You can only nod into his shoulder, head dropping to rest against the broad heft of it, his fingers thrumming a steady rhythm against your clit that has pleasure ratcheting up inside you. You’re still in your tiny sleep shorts, Joel’s hand forcing the crotch aside to palm at your drenched cunt. He slips two thick fingers into you, presses his thumb to your clit, and that tips you over the edge, pleasure coursing through you like fire.

He talks you through it, keeps up the firm press of his fingers, praises falling from his lips like prayers.

Good girl, that’s it, such a good fucking girl for me, taking what you need, so fucking perfect.

It’s only then, as you come down from the high, that he finally kisses you, tilting your head up with a gentle hand and fitting his lips to yours. They’re soft and dry, plush against your own. He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, into the wet heat of your mouth, pulls back, before driving forward again, breathless and frantic. You thread your hands into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him against you, teeth clashing in your mutual desperation. His pulls his fingers from your wet heat, smears your slick up your sides as his palms your breasts, his earlier gentleness gone. But when you slip a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard length of him in his jeans, he pulls back. His eyes are dark despite the bright kitchen light, pupils eating up the thin sliver of brown at the edges, but there’s a reticence there.

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.

“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.

“Show me.”

He steps back, out of the circle of your legs, pulls at the neck of his t-shirt and drags it up, over his head and off. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you as you take in the broad bulk of him, the sloping plains of his shoulders and chest down to a softer stomach. He’s all strength: hard where you’re soft, his scars stretched across thick muscle and tanned flesh. There’s one at his side that canters a jagged line across his stomach, and that’s where your hand goes, holding his waist to rest your thumb against its uneven edge. It looks fairly fresh, no more than a couple of years old, still red.

“What’s this from?” You ask.

“I was stabbed,” He replies, “while I was with Ellie.”

“It looks like it was bad.”

“Well, she stitched it up, so,” He smiles, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, growing bolder as your hands map his chest and stomach.

“And this one?” An old one, hardly noticeable in the light, to the right of his belly button.

“Appendicitis, when I was twelve.”

“These?” A collection of four or five small white gash marks, peppered across his shoulders and along his collarbone.

“Makeshift grenade.” He says. “Went off in my hand.”

You lean forward, press your lips to the first of the scars and kiss it, drag your lips along to the second, and then the third. At the fourth you let your tongue dart out, tasting the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, salty and warm. He stands stock still as you do so, hands resting at your hips, fingertips gripping the flesh there tight enough to leave bruises. He sighs at the feel of your tongue against his skin, the insistent press of your mouth to his collarbone, your teeth, scraping at the tendon that jolts in his neck.

This time, when you reach for the button of his jeans he helps you, pops the first button, drags the zipper down and pushes them off his hips, revealing thick thighs corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He kicks the jeans the rest of the way off, steps forward again into the circle of your hips, letting you knead the thick flesh of his ass, pull him against you so that his hot length is pressed to the crotch of your shorts, two pieces of thin cotton the only thing separating you.

You kiss up the column of his throat, press your teeth to his ear lobe, and are rewarded with a soft groan that sends pleasure sparking up your spine again, cunt clenching down on nothing. His cock twitches against you when you lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. You fit your lips back to his. This kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clashing, his strong nose pressed to yours, one of his hands fisting in your hair, gripping tight at the ponytail at the base of your neck, holding you to him. You shuffle on the counter, pull your shorts off and down to join his jeans and shirt on the tiled floor.

“Take them off,” You say into his mouth, needy fingers sliding into the waistband of his briefs, seeking the length of him.

He does as you ask, bending to push them down, cock dipping and slapping up against his stomach as he frees it. He’s big, thick and beautiful, veins standing out against the shaft, precum beading at the tip. He hisses into your open mouth when you wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly up and down, thumb seeking out his slit, spreading his arousal and yours over it and down his length.

“Jesus, darlin’,” He sighs against the side of your neck, stubble rough against you, his hands seeking out the weight of your tits again, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin.

You pull him back against you, press the blunt head of him to your slick entrance and watch him watch himself sink inside you, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn of it is intoxicating, his thick length opening you up, pressing inside deliciously, white-hot pleasure blossoming up through your body.

“Feels so good, Joel,” You tell him as he shakes against you, bottoming out and dragging himself out only to press back inside.

“Pussy’s so goddamn perfect,” He says, his voice almost cracking with the effort of it.

“Please, Joel,” you hiss, “harder, please.”

The sound he makes then is animalistic, something between a grunt and a growl, teeth clenched, jaw pressed hard to your neck. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchors you to the counter and starts pounding into you. The strength of him is something to behold, his hips snapping into yours, muscles of his back shifting and clenching beneath your grasping hands.

“So fucking good,” he groans, “wanna stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life, darlin’.”

You don’t know how he’s so articulate; it’s all you can do to hold on to his shoulders and let him fuck you, whimpers and moans pouring from your open lips as he does, the slap of his hips against yours filthy in the otherwise silent house. When he slows his thrusts again he pulls back from you to watch where you’re joined, eyes dark, perspiration beading on his forehead. There’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing visibly, a drop of sweat trickling down beside it, charting a course through patchy stubble. He reaches between your bodies, splays his hand over your mound and presses his thumb to your clit.

“Yes, Joel, please, God.”

“I can feel how close you are, darlin’” He says, “can feel you gripping me so tight.”

He strums his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves, drawing small, tight circles that have you seeing stars within seconds, tension coiling inside you, ratcheting up until it breaks on a hard thrust of his hips, his cock hitting that spongy place inside you that sends pleasure right down to your toes. You come hard, fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders, Joel’s mouth clamped to your throat, teeth worrying the skin there, repeating the same phrase over and over as you come down.

There it is, there it is, good girl, I’ve got you.

He thrusts lazily into you as you slowly relax again, little aftershocks continuing for several long minutes, the blunt head of him hitting that same spot inside you again and again. You can tell he’s close now, his hands shaking where they’re gripping your hips again, face set in concentration, squeezing his eyes shut every few thrusts as though he’s desperately trying to hold himself back.

“Let go, Joel. Please,” You whisper, and he hisses through his teeth, pulls you bodily forward on the counter so that the angle changes and he can drive up into you, his pace quickening again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’” He rasps, thrusting into you once- twice- three more times.

He pulls out then, fist gripping the base of his cock as he paints your stomach and cunt with his cum, hot and thick. His face is a rapture, eyes pitch black, teeth bared with pleasure and need, the strong set of his jaw holding together what little restraint he has left.

He kisses you again after, drags kitchen roll from the holder to clean you up, presses sweet lips to your cheeks and temples, down your neck, across your chest, like he’s trying to taste the ecstasy that’s written across your heated skin.

Outside, dawn is quickly approaching. The weak rays of sunlight that filter into the kitchen illuminate the tan glow of Joel’s face and paint the scars on your bodies in pale yellow light. You don’t think anything’s ever looked more beautiful.

[syrupfog]

AU where Sanji can’t go to college because his dad is way too rich for him to qualify for FAFSA, but Sanji’s estranged so he can’t go to him for financial assistance. 

He wanted food science. Still does, someday. But in the meantime he works at Zeff’s restaurant. 

He meets Luffy because Luffy and Ace are notorious dine n’ dashers, and the Baratie is about the only place that doesn’t ban them, because Zeff’s secretly got too soft a heart, and because Luffy and Ace at least TRY to work their bills off, although they never last long.

Ace and Luffy drag him back to “their place”, which is a four person dorm room that’s technically home to Chopper, Usopp, Franky and Zoro. 

At six, it’s a squeeze. And it stinks. Sanji complains the whole time he’s there, forces them to open a window for godssake.

But he comes back every time they invite him. He brings food. 

He’d bring food anyway, but he noticed that Zoro’s clearly an athlete and he’s surviving on JUNK. Slim Jim’s and microwaved eggs and unseasoned chicken. Sanji’s disgusted, and he voices that disgust loudly.

He and Zoro get into arguments about it, but Zoro doesn’t complain when Sanji brings meals. 

Sanji’s also really satisfied when he sees Zoro eat everything without even attempting to turn it down with a “you shouldn’t have” or “I’ll leave some for someone else”.

He eats everything Sanji gives him, without comment, and Sanji gets a thrill from that. A bit because he can recognize someone else who also must have gone through food insecurity. 

Ace and Luffy also clearly have, but their trauma manifests in stealing right off his plate.

Which Sanji allows, of course. He’s a pushover. 

When the group of six come to the Baratie, plus two new people (Nami and Robin), Zeff initially turns them away because “I can’t afford for eight people to skip out on their bills you lunatics”. 

Nami pays for them in advance.

Sanji hears her telling Zoro she’s adding it to his bill. 

The few high school friends Sanji had disappeared off to college at the start of the semester, so he’s happy that he seems to be adopted into this group, right up until he comes to serve their table and hears Nami call the “meeting” to order. 

Sanji looks over her shoulder as he’s pouring waters and sees spread out call logs and texts and letters. Threats. Nami’s words go in one ear and out the other but Sanji hears the key; Vinsmoke. They come from Vinsmoke.

They’re all getting them, he realises. His hands shake as he listens. They’re being targeted, threatened. They don’t know why. 

HE knows why. 

How long has his dad known where he is? What he does, who he sees? 

He backs up. Gripping the jug in a vice grip. Runs for the kitchen.

He tells Patty to cover him because an emergency has come up, and he runs out the back. 

Runs for a long time. 

Just runs.

He stops responding to Ace and Luffy’s attempts to contact him. He can’t talk to them. He’s going to cause them trouble— HAS caused them trouble. They’re his friends. They didn’t know what they were signing up for. 

He calls off as many shifts as he can while still making rent

(which honestly isn’t a lot) and if Ace and Luffy show up he demands to be on dish duty. 

Zeff sees this, but he doesn’t say anything. Sanji’s grateful. And ashamed. 

He’d liked having friends. Liked that terribly crowded stinky dorm room.

It’s almost two months of hiding, although the texts from Ace and (especially) Luffy don’t stop coming. 

And then, one day, he gets a pounding on his door. 

Pulling it open, expecting a pissed of neighbor maybe, he finds— 

“Zoro?” 

Zoro looks at him flatly. “Come on,” he says.

“Uh,” says Sanji. “No?” 

Zoro grabs his wrist (when was the last time someone touched Sanji?) and veritably drags him out the door. 

“Shit, Mosshead, stop!” 

“No,” says Zoro. “We’re tired of you hiding.” 

“I’m not HIDING,” Sanji hisses, at least pulling the door closed behind him

“Yes you are,” Zoro says. “You think I don’t know hiding?” 

Sanji would be surprised if Zoro knew hiding. The man is nothing but bold. “How did you know where I live?” 

Zoro, dragging him down the stairs, says “Your old man told me.” 

“WHO?” 

“That cook. The grouch.”

“ZEFF?” 

“Stop shouting, dumbass.” 

Sanji fishmouths. “I can’t believe he told you,” he says eventually. 

“He’s not an idiot,” Zoro says. “He knew you were hiding for dumb reasons.” 

Sanji was hiding for legitimate reasons. He doesn’t say that.

Zoro drags him all the way out of the building and to an idling old van with painted windows. Oh, is he going to MURDER Sanji? 

He pulls open a back door and throws Sanji in. 

Sanji kicks him as he goes. Zoro curses at him. 

There are no seats in the back of the van.

There’s a lot of pillows. It smells like the dorm. There’s also several six sets of eyes staring down at him from where everyone else is apparently just chilling in the back of the van. 

“Uh,” Sanji says, from the floor. “Hey, guys?” 

Zoro jumps in and pulls the door closed.

The van is thrown into reverse and everyone curses at Ace. 

“Hey,” says Luffy. “You’re back!” 

“That was the plan,” Nami says. 

“Took you long enough,” Usopp says. He’s looking at Zoro though, not Sanji. 

“Couldn’t find his floor,” Zoro grunts. 

Sanji lives on the second floor.

“Uh,” says Sanji, still lying down. Shifting with the turns of the van. “Am I being kidnapped?” 

“That would piss off your dad, wouldn’t it?” Nami muses. “Especially if someone files a missing persons report and he gets dragged in.” 

Sanji gulps. They know he’s a Vinsmoke, then.

“I still say we just fight him,” Luffy says. 

“We’re not fighting an ADULT,” Usopp shrieks. 

“Usopp, buddy, we’re adults,” Ace says. 

“Except chopper! Chopper put your seatbelt on!” 

“It’s on!” 

Sanji’s spiralling. They know who his dad is. Do they want to blackmail Judge? Or—

“So we’re planning a party tonight and we want you to cook for us,” Luffy says. 

Sanji splutters. “Wh—“ 

“Yes, we were planning on driving to the store first before going back to the dorm,” Robin says. 

“Here.” Zoro throws a dirty piece of printer paper and a pen at him. “List.”

“You want me to… make a list.” 

Zoro settles back against the van wall, unfazed by the sharp turn. “Yeah.” 

“You guys want me to… cook for you.” 

“Duh,” says Luffy. 

“You don’t… care that my dad was sending you death threats? Or have you just not gotten to that part in this discussion?” 

Luffy laughs. Bright. Free. “Yeah that was annoying,” he says. “But my guy Jinbei’s on it! He used to work security.” 

“Uh… huh.” Sanji feels sceptical. It feels too easy. 

“Come on, cook,” Zoro says. “I don’t want to have to talk to your old man again. He’s mean.”

Sanji’s never had anyone refer to Zeff as his old man. He doesn’t want to object, though. “Is this not just… too much work? For just me?” 

“Oh, Franky says he can help with dinner if that’s what you’re worried about,” Luffy says. 

“SUPERRRRR.” 

“No,” Sanji shakes his head. “I mean like. I’m not worth all this trouble. You guys were getting threats just for KNOWING me. My dad’s…” 

“Just some bastard you happen to share blood with,” Zoro says, arms crossed. “Who gives a fuck? Chopper’s dad is a reindeer.” 

“He WORKS WITH REINDEER!” Chopper squeaks.

“Luffy’s grandpa has tried to get us arrested, like, ten times,” Usopp says. “It’s all good.” 

“Uh,” says Sanji. That doesn’t sound good. 

“Don’t worry, we can outrun him,” Luffy says sagely. 

“Plus he’s a bitch,” Ace yells from the front.

Sanji looks at the dirty piece of paper in his hands. There’s a boot print on it. He starts writing a list. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I don’t think you guys would leave me alone even if I tried.” 

“Obviously not,” Luffy says. “Zoro’s been moping for weeks.”

Sanji’s head snaps up to meet Zoro’s. 

Zoro shrugs. “I don’t like having to count macros,” he says. 

“Right,” Sanji agrees easily. “Makes sense.” 

He takes note that Zoro’s the one who talked to Zeff. Zoro’s the one who dragged him out. Zoro’s the one who eats everything Sanji gives him like it’s a gift from the gods. 

When they arrive at the store, haphazardly parked in the loading dock, Sanji follows Zoro out. 

He grabs onto Zoro’s sleeve. “You’re pushing the cart for me.” 

“Whatever,” Zoro scoffs.

He does, though. 

And he sits on the kitchen floor while Sanji prepares the food for this so called party. 

The party is the same group that’s always there in the dorm. Sanji finds out, when he’s done cooking, that they’re celebrating his return.

He cries in their bathroom, briefly. 

Then he sits next to Zoro and watches everyone make fools out of themselves as they fill him in on everything he’s missed. 

It’s good.

[bowsnstrings]

Ony SFW Headcannons

Had to scratch this lil itch that was in my 🧠. Hope ya’ll enjoy it! - Baby Bow🎀

Ony is the type to be nonchalant to the world but very lovey dovey to his partner.

Ony likes his girls thick with a pudge to their bellies, and if you don’t have one going into the relationship, you will once you find yourself comfortable.

Ony is most likely a producer/rapper who’s very famous but doesn’t act like it.

Ony likes you to share your location with him always, he likes to keep you safe even when you aren’t around.

Ony is such a lover boy he bought a ring as soon as you mentioned what you liked. He just knew he had to lock you down.

Ony is such a feeder, one of the first things he always asks you is “did you eat?”.

You quickly finished cleaning up the house, wanting to get done before Ony came home so he had clean clothes to change into and a nice home cooked meal to enjoy after a long day of work.

Before you could even get done with wiping off the counters your phone began ringing, Ony’s contact photo flashing on screen bringing a smile to your face.

You sweep your hair over your shoulder as you pick up with a sweet “Hi Baby!” That brings a smile to his face as he replies.

“Hey Babygirl, did you eat yet?” Your eyes rolled playfully as you imagined Ony sitting in his car prepared to drive to get you food.

“No Baby, come home and I’ll feed you for working so hard today.”

Ony smiles brightly before reminding you, “You didn’t have to cook, I could’ve brought something home for us.”

“No you didn’t, you deserve all your favorites, which I cooked for you. So drive safe and get home soon!”

Ony loves to take pictures of you, his phone only consisted of your face, body, and smile everywhere.

Ony loved your contact photo, which he took while you were sleeping, wearing nothing but the jewelry he bought you.

Ony has such a tight relationship with your family, especially your grandma who is his number one supporter.

Ony grew up by himself, his mom gone and his dad abandoned him, all his life he’s been hustling and doing everything to survive.

Ony doesn’t know how to cook, he tried to learn but it’s just not one of his strong suits, he basically ate cup of noodles and microwave meals all his life so don’t blame him too heavily.

Ony would kill for you. No ifs, ands, or buts, he would do it gladly if it meant you were safe, happy, and protected.

Ony be toting a Glock G19 with him wherever he goes, tucked into his waistband under his hoodie so people can’t see it.

Ony grew up struggling a lot, so he’s pretty cheap when it comes to splurging on himself, all his jewelry and chains were gifts from other people, but mostly you.

Ony doesn’t like to argue, reminds him too much of when his dad would come around while his mom was alive, so don’t expect him to cuss you out or raise his voice at you.

Ony does show his anger in other ways though, usually through a deep calm tone that has you scared for your life.

“So,” he began, his voice steady and heavy with bubbling anger. He steps closer to you as you watch him, your eyes flickering to look down. You never felt more embarrassed under his gaze, like a child being chastised.

“You turned off your location and left the house cause you were pissed off?” It sounded silly when he put it like that, but in the heat of the moment it felt like good payback since he was getting on your nerves.

Before you could open your mouth to respond Ony’s hand gripped your chin to lift your face to meet his. Your eyes met and you could see the storm brewing behind them, making you squirm under his gaze.

“I- Ony-” You wanted to plead your case, but all that happened next was Ony picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder, making you scream out a surprised, “Onyankopon!”

“Nah, Baby, you’re about to get the spanking of your life.”

Ony loves the sound of your voice, and always wants to put it on a track in some way, when he got an award for the song he made for you, you got one too for backing vocals.

Ony loves doing small things for you, rubbing your feet or tummy when they hurt, running errands with you, anything to help your day go easier.

Ony is a big gift giver, he buys weekly flowers, gifts you jewelry regularly, pays for your nails, hair, and lash services biweekly too.

Ony loves to eat, so his favorite dates are when you and him are together with a plate nearby, doesn’t matter if it’s in or out of the house either, just as long as you’re there too.

Ony loves taking baths with you, not even in a sexual way (well… 😏) he loves the intimacy of it, loves to wash you down and lotion you up.

“Baby, stop that tickles!” You squeal as Ony rubs you down with your lathered up loofah, the smell of vanilla and strawberries floating throughout the room.

The steamy scene left both of you sweating, Ony’s low taper fade with waves looking heavenly as water dripped down his chest. Your hair was tied up in a clip to keep away from the water, your lips locking briefly before Ony pulled away to admire you more.

“Can’t help but make you laugh, Babygirl. Sound so pretty.” He said making your heart flutter in your chest.

“Ony, you spoil me too much.” You say as he continued to wash you down, your body wash smelled so good to him that he was resisting the urge to put it up to his nose and take a whiff.

“I spoil you just enough girl, you deserve it for being so good for me.”

Ony loves to tell you how much you deserve everything you get because of his success, what’s his is yours.

Ony always needs to have a hand on you, when walking, when sitting, when sleeping. He just loves to hold you.

Ony is a big provider and protector, he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, he drives you wherever you need to go, he sleeps closest to the door, and isn’t shy about doing his duty.

Ony tells you that he loves you whenever he has the chance, he never grew up hearing it from anyone, so he loves to say it and hear it back from someone who genuinely loves him.

Ony just loves you with all his heart. 💖

[monayen]

how about something sfw for a change? can you do a ranking of who’s best at cooking?

Cooking Headcannons

➷ Paring - Multi x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - very light mention of consuming blood and cannibalism. that’s about it !!

a/n - i feel like im a bit rusty at pure sfw stuff… but i will try for NNN ~_~ this isn’t a ranking, since a good chunk are either just bad or barely cook. mostly just hcs about food they like, what’d they’d make you, and habits etc. ratmen are excluded cus you know those boys scavenge rather than cook !!! also ignore any mistakes i wrote this really fast

Sebastian

While Sebastian did work at a pizza place for a bit before becoming Randal’s pet, it was just as a delivery boy

I like to think he was in the training process of learning how to make the food, but he got lost before he learned anything skillful. He does have half the recipe for garlic knots memorized though 

A personal hc is that his parents were semi-absent with him (which probably helped lead him to being in the adoption center in the first place), so he survived a lot on sandwiches and microwave meals since they were easy and available

He wasn’t a big fan of it then, but now he craves them a lot. His favorite were the microwaveable kraft dinner mac & cheese cups. Foods like that are a comfort for him, and he’ll love you forever if you manage to get some for him to eat

Luther doesn’t trust him in the kitchen, so even if Sebastian wanted to cook, he wouldn’t be allowed. Deep down, he doubts his cooking skills anyways

Randal

A terrible cook. He has no idea how to properly prepare a meal and his attempts often end in disaster

Randal doesn't understand the concept of recipes or following instructions. He just throws random ingredients together and hopes for the best. “How to Basic” levels of culinary skills

Despite his terrible cooking skills, Randal still insists on trying to make meals for people (or you) to try. Truly believes he's good and everyone else just can’t handle his exquisite tastes

Once, Randal tried to make surprise pancakes for breakfast. He used baking powder instead of baking soda and the pancakes turned out hard as rocks. He still ate them anyway, breaking a couple of his teeth in the process. Don’t worry, they grew back by supper

He used to try to cook at least a couple times a week, but Luther banned him after he 

somehow managed to set water on fire on the stove. Now he’s restricted to just the microwave. Which is alright, just remind him to add the water in his instant noodles before they explode

Randal will also eat almost anything if it's covered in enough sauce or condiments. He's been known to put ketchup on his cereal and maple syrup on his pizza. Swears by it, will probably make you try all his weird food combinations

Satoru

This little show off!

Cooks and bakes purely to give it away to you or Randal. He doesn’t even eat them himself, always insisting you try his new recipe

The reality is that he steals most of his ideas from cookbooks. While he has the skill to execute them, coming up with his own dishes and perfecting them is a bit beyond him—but that’s a secret he keeps to himself!

He’ll sit there, watching closely as you eat his carefully prepared food, studying your reactions and asking if it’s good, like a chef waiting for feedback

But he’s memorized what you like already, and he makes sure to tailor his dishes just for you, hoping to earn your praise when the flavors hit your tongue

Exceptional at chopping, so fast at it you worry he’ll cut a finger off or something if he’s not careful enough. A part of him doesn’t mind if you taste something that has a little bit of his blood in it…

Doesn’t exactly have a favorite meal or food, he likes whatever you like :) is a bit partial to Japanese cuisine though, especially sashimi

Nyon

Nyon's cooking skills are quite limited. As a catman, his preferences lean more towards raw meats and simple  foods. Or whatever Luther gives him

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like a good home cooked meal, but if you put him in a kitchen with every ingredient and tool that could potentially make something avant-garde or delicious… he’d probably just end up making hard boiled eggs

He does have an odd skill of picking though. Pickled cucumbers, onions, beets, all in unlabeled, merky, mason jars. Has a goal to pickle everything that can be pickled, just to try

Keeps a stash of it in the pantry and munches on them when he gets high. Will share if you ask (he kinda wants you to, pickling takes practice!) 

Nyon has the stance that he’d much rather wash the dishes and put away the ingredients than actually prepare the food, as it’s a lot of effort and stress on his part that’d he’d rather avoid

Nyen

Really only ever cooks for himself. Not a fan of sharing and to be honest… you probably wouldn’t like what he makes anyways

Lots of slabs of undercooked chicken and beef, barely seasoned because “it doesn’t need that.” Protein buff, but not keen on eating beans… or eggs… or fish… Okay, usually just eats chicken to maintain his muscles

Unironically picky, doesn’t eat a lot of what isn’t what he usually eats. If you give him a plate of pasta or something, he’ll just stare at it like you handed him a severed cow head. Even Luther knows this, making sure he keeps the fridge stocked with Nyen favorite foods so he’s in the best condition to get through the day!

Does have a small sweet tooth, so you can coax him into baking if he’s in a good mood. His favorite are raspberry muffins :)

You still might have to do most of the work, but he’ll mix shit and keep track of the dessert in the oven for you. Don’t ask him for anything else—just hand him a muffin and clean up the mess, okay?

Luther

Quite the chef! 

He’s domestic, and even though Randal always begs him to get fast food to eat, he always prefers to make something at home

Uses “passed down” recipes. Passed down from who? Who knows. He keeps them all in a little old notebook, pages yellowed and worn out. The last ingredient in all the recipes is always “love ♡”

He’s also a big fan of those southern mom baking shows, especially during the holiday season, he’ll bake like a madman!

Likes nature, so he does have a small garden in the backyard of the house he’ll tend to when he has the time. Specializes in exotic vegetables you probably aren’t used to eating. Ask him how his kohlrabi harvest is going, he’s quite proud!

The type of humanoid to surprise you with your favorite meal after a long day. Makes enough for everyone, of course, but Luther puts in effort to see the smile on your face when he presents you with it at the dinner table

He does expect compliments after you eat any of his food, even if it’s something as simple as scrambled eggs. It means a lot to him, so don’t forget to do so. He might take it the wrong way if you don’t 

Luther swears up and down that he’d never eat a human. Cannibalism is wrong! But he did get very close to once… just to “expand his pallet”

[hurricanebreeze]

Batfamily Cooking Headcanons

I was thinkin about it, so have some Batfamily cooking headcanons. They are as detailed as I could get them and in age order. I also included Steph and Barbara, even though they aren't in the main seven.

Alfred - The family cook and the best cook in the family. He distrusts American processed foods because he knows that many of the more chemical ingedients have been banned in Europe, but he deals (and gets as much food imported from Europe as is practical).

Bruce - Has a very mismatched set of cooking skills. He can sort of cook... on a camping stove or a campfire. He can cook beans and boil water. However, he cannot use an oven, nor a microwave, and his knowledge of spice or baking is nonexistant.

Barbara - Can cook. She knows the basics as she learned growing up, so she didn't have to buy takeout every time her dad was working late. Her dad would've been fine with the takeout, however as she became Batgirl, she became very aware of the nutrition needed for vigilante and decided to learn instead. Admittedly, she fell into using microwaves a bit more as Oracle, especially before her flat was adapted, but once her kitchen was adapted, she was relieved to go back to cooking properly as she hadn't realised how much cooking was a hobby for her until it was blocked by inaccessibility.

Dick - Can cook. He has the basics down, as Alfred forced him to learn how to boil an egg and put something in the oven, and a few learned recipes, some learned from his early childhood. He takes comfort in cooking for other people, especially when it's a recipe he learned because he grew up with it. However, if he's on his own and doesn't have anyone to cook for, he is not cooking. He'd rather have something microwaved or some cereal, and he is the king of nutriotionally balanced cereal.

Jason - Second best cook in the family. He spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Alfred between being adopted and dying and most of that time was learning how to cook creatively. Even if he can't be bothered to cook, there are probably leftovers in his fridge. He had some skills before then from having to cook for his mom, but when he started learning from Alfred he was pleasantly surprised to find he enjoyed the process, so it became more of a hobby than a survival skill.

Cass - Queen of snacks. She can cook, don't get me wrong, because Alfred taught her, but she much prefers snacking throughout the day. She often learns new recipes for more variety in her snacking, because sometimes it's nice to have an onigiri instead of a sandwich or put together a really nice charcuterie board with homemade butter. Her snackboards are usually also great for her to eat while training or dancing because it isn't too much and can sometimes remind her she's human, not a weapon, when she gets in her head.

Steph - Can cook. She knows how to make a healthy and cheap balanced meal, but the most she goes beyond is for sweet treats. For her cooking was a survival skill, especially after her dad was finally in jail. Baking and desserts, on the other hand, she enjoys making. She often bakes for friends, family, and herself, and sometimes learns new recipes to try with Cass. While she was pregnant, especially in the late term, baking simple things like cupcakes was one of the hobbies she still felt like she had the energy to do and helped take her mind off of it, even though she had to sit while stirring.

Tim - Can cook. He knows how to make a healthy balanced meal, he lived alone long enough as a teen to know. However, he cannot go beyond that. Alfred tried to teach him a couple of times in the early days of Robin, but it simply didn't go in and after a few too many faraway looks after he burned something he decided that maybe it was time to stop trying. He, canonically, has the worst taste of the family though, so no one asks him to cook anyway.

Duke - Can cook. His parents taught him basic cooking skills and he enjoys going beyond and playing with spices. He's a bit nervous of joining Alfred in the kitchen as first, but eventually he learns that most of the others have found similar solace in spending time cooking with him, so he starts to join too. He also happens to have a cookbook his parents had stashed in their kitchen, even if they didn't use it while they were still at home, so he sometimes spends time learning the recipes from that.

Damian - Has a very mismatched set of cooking skills. Similarly to his dad, Damian learned a very strange set of cooking skills. He cannot use an oven or a microwave but he can appreciate Alfred's kettle for its practicality in a tea-centric household. He can, however, make a relatively simple meal on a camping stove, beyond what Bruce can make on a camping stove. He does occasionally allow Alfred or one of the other cooking-competant family members to teach him a skill every now and then though.

[doggoboigaugau]

Stray dog (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader

Long story short: my old acc got terminated for no reason so I'm reposting all this💀👍

Summary: Soap invited Male Reader to join Ghost and his favorite documentaries about dinosaur fossils :D (Ghost very loves dinosaurs y'all cannot tell me otherwise).

Word count: 1950

Warnings: Nothing. It's all fluff this time.

You lost track of time and ended up stopping only when your whole body screamed at you to rest. Looking up from the training gears, you realized that there was no one left in the room. It was a habit of you to ignore everyone and everything surrounding you when it is not necessary, or maybe it’s more like a coping mechanism, since this little tricky skill prevented you from taking in redundant information, such as a close group of men joking around with each other.

This very common sight in the military and especially in the training ground always succeeded in rendering you uncomfortable, and a vague but stingy feeling prevails over your chest, sometimes so badly that it even made breathing difficult.

No matter how hard you tried to brush it aside, dismissing it as something trivial and irrelevant, you knew damn well the cause of it: You once wished to belong to a group of friends that were so close that you all would spend time doing everything together, going on mission, training, drinking, and getting drunk together at the bar. Obviously, it had never happened. It never would, judging from how every time it was only you who got left behind, drowning yourself in overpriced alcohol and your own overwhelming emotions.

It was pitch black outside as you left the training centre. You dragged your fatigued body back to the base of your Task Force, but surprisingly, in contrast to your current physical state, your mind felt empty for now. In a good way. No burdening streams of thoughts, not a single fuck given about how others saw you. You felt kind of free.

‘Guess it’s a good point for not being around people.’ On your sweat-strained face drew a genuine smile. Some people would think that it was weird to smile over something like this, not having any close people around you and just spending your entire day loitering around, doing something you considered to be productive but by no means enjoyable. To them, you were not living a life. You were only surviving through it.

Not that you would complain though. Nor were you in the position to be able to complain about it.

Your blurred vision and the dull pain in your chest reminded you that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, which was almost 10 hours ago. Slowly making your way to the kitchen, you decided to turn a blind eye to the kitchen sink and approached the fridge, hoping that they’d be kind enough to leave you some leftovers.

What greeted you in the fridge confounded you as you looked at a carefully prepared dish wrapped in aluminum foil with a sticky pink note on top of it.

‘want to call ya 4 dinner earlier but ya seem to enjoy the training a lot. plz eat this when ya done with the training~’ was written on the piece of paper together with a little ugly and distorted heart shape, which made you chuckle. It was not difficult to guess who left this for you. You shook your head in amusement while putting the dish into the microwave oven.

Sitting down at the empty table in the dimly lit dining room, you slowly enjoyed the meal that Soap had saved for you. Then again, amid the quiet atmosphere that was free of any stimulations, your mind began to do the thing that it excelled in, drifting away. Your unusually calm thoughts appeared like a grainy film rolling before your eyes, replaying every delightful moment that you had shared with the Scottish and other team members, like when you, Soap, Gaz, and Roach pulled a whole prank on Price during your team’s vacation while Ghost sat behind and watched with amusement in his eyes. Or when you and Roach hid one of Price’s hats unknowing that it was a piece of memorabilia of his old teammate, and as result, making that poor old dad all stressed out finding it everywhere. Or when Price decided to catch you two and make you face the consequences of your actions that time and you were so scared that you never run that fast out of battle before. Or when you had no choice but to hide behind Ghost as he was watching his favorite boring documentaries, and he looked down at you obviously contemplating whether he should help you or not as you tried to convince him with your big puppy eyes. Or when you disobeyed Price’s orders to turn back and save Soap when he fell into the enemy’s trap and was pushed into the corner.

You laughed to yourself at this point, remembering vividly what a mess that time was. You two almost blindly fired your guns at the swarm of enemies circling you. As you barely escaped, Soap cursed very loudly in Scottish while his hand threw bombs toward your enemies. It was a mission that you would never forget, a piece of memory that you’d take to the grave, not only because of how badly injured you were and the prolonged period of time you had to spend in the hospital, but also because of how Soap looked at you. After that near-death experience, whenever your eyes and his met, his eyes evidently softened, and you enjoyed every little second of it. It made you feel like, eventually, you were special to someone, like you weren’t just anybody, but someone unique that was closely linked to a hardly forgettable remembrance. It raised your hope–something that you had thought to never regain, since at least when you died, there would still be one person who would keep the image of you inside one of their billion fragments of memory.

Of course, after the certain mission, both you and Soap were heavily reprimanded by Kate and Price, you for the obvious reason of disobeying orders, and Soap for his stupid addiction to blowing things up, which worsened you two’s already horrendous injuries because at the time of the explosion you were still too close to the spot.

“What are you smiling about?” You jumped at the sudden voice that broke the room’s silence.

Soap laughed at your reaction, “Why are you so tense?” He sat down, being so near to you that your thighs touched each other. He threw his big muscular arm over your shoulder, grinning broadly, “Temme, what is so fun that you smile like that?”

“It’s nothing.” You blushed at how close you two were, silently praying that the light of the room was too feeble for him to notice.

He pinched your face, causing you to grimace, “I don’t believe ya. It’s so rare to see ya smile so cutely like this. Must have some special reason.”

Definitely you could not tell him that you were thinking of the team, and especially him, so you decided to keep silent and enjoy your meal. Maintaining eye contact was like torture to you, so your eyes were just glued to the plate until you finished. Therefore, you also missed his eyes, along with how he looked at you.

From Soap’s point of view, all that he could see at that moment was how lovely his boy was. The way his big puppy eyes widened when he suddenly talked. The way his body which was athletic but so slender when compared to Soap’s trembled slightly as he jumped. How the faint blush quickly deepened and then spread from his handsome adorable face to his delicate neck. The nice and warm feeling that Soap’s fingers felt when he pinched the boy’s cheek. And also how his long eyelashes shadowed his eyes as he looked down at his plate of food. It was so lovely that Soap volunteered to be trapped in this moment forever.

As you’d done eating and washing the dish, you came back into the dining room and saw Soap still sitting there.

The Scot chuckled at your expression, “What is that face, Y/n? Are you that annoyed because I’m still here?”

You unknowingly pouted, which only made you look even cuter in his eyes, “No.”

“Ghost is watching his stupid boring documentaries again. Wanna join?”

“You came here from the TV room?”

“Yeah. Now do you come or not?”

You scoffed, “Are you inviting me nicely or just gonna coerce me into it anyway?”

Soap didn’t reply, just amusingly shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine, I’ll come.”

“That’s my boy!” The older man approached you, then threw his arm over your shoulder again. Judging from how you barely kept up with his pace in this awkward position, he definitely coerced you into this by all means.

When you two arrived, the light in the TV room was turned off, and the only source of light left was the TV screen. Ghost was sitting on the sofa alone, eyes glued to the screen that was playing some kind of dinosaur fossils, while Price was sleeping in his favorite spot–the single couch. You swiftly looked around to see if Gaz and Roach were here or not, only to find the two idiots hugging each other on the carpet, drooling and snoring loudly.

Ghost turned his head to look at you and Soap as you were literally pushed into the room by the Scot. His out-of-nowhere eagerness strangely made you laugh.

“Daddy chill.” You jokingly said and sat down beside Ghost, completely overlooking how Soap’s flippant expressions froze for brief seconds.

“Finished your dinner?” Ghost suddenly spoke up.

You were taken aback simply because the masked man hardly ever cared what others were doing with their life outside of missions, particularly for some trivial things like taking care of your daily needs.

“Y-yes, Sir!”

Soap burst into laughter, so hard that he fell to your side, hugging his belly.

“LMAO! What was that, Y/n??? You’re scared of Ghost that much???”

“What? What???” You frowned in confusion. You were even more confused when you heard a soft chuckle from the masked man that was sitting on your left.

“Why are you two laughing? There’s nothing funny!”

“It is funny! Do you see how you shudder like a puppy under Ghost’s glare? I wish I had recorded it!”

“Gosh! I hate you Soap!” You growled under your breath as you launched your whole body into him while Soap was still barely able to put himself together from his stupid sense of humor.

You two soon began to fight each other, giggling like two mischievous kids, completely forgetting that there was Ghost right next to you, who probably got accidental punches and kicks continuously by the unaware manchildren. However, the masked man was not mad at you two for disturbing him from enjoying his favorite show at all; instead, he often stole glances at you two with pure delight in his eyes. Seeing you finally being able to relax among the team was a sight that he wanted to witness all his life. It would take more time for you to pull down the walls you had built around yourself and let them come inside, but for now, this was already enough.

After a while, the giggling and fighting noises abated. You were sleeping soundly, face on Soap’s broad chest and arms around his waist. Soap’s eyes softened as he looked at how peaceful you were at the moment, before looking up to meet Ghost’s. The two men stayed in their position, didn’t move an inch, until Soap fell his eyelids become heavier and fell asleep as well, and Ghost turned off the TV, thereby extinguishing the only source of light in the room. He rested his head on your lower back, slowly drifting off.

To be continued...

[rainintheevening]

🍁🍁Comfy-vember🍁🍁

Day 1: New Day

Grant Ward & Phil Coulson, Agents of SHIELD, AU

-----

"Old habits die hard."

Grant smiled involuntarily, inhaling the steam rising off his coffee. "Speak for yourself." He glanced up, watching Coulson select a mug bearing the red and blue Captain America shield and pour his own drink, add the one sugar, the dash of milk.

Routine, comforting.

I missed you, burned on the tip of his tongue, but he'd already said it enough.

He had woken at take-off, and Agent May had already come and gone with her morning beverage, apparently preferring the solace of the cockpit, even with the Bus on autopilot.

"What are you reading?" Coulson sat next to him at the galley bar, glanced over.

Grant flipped the front half of the book up so he could see the cover. David Grossman's On Combat. "Re-read. Think I'll make it Skye's first required read."

Coulson's eyes flicked up to hold Grant's, a probing look, before a smile flickered across his face. "Good idea. Maybe balance it with Jane Austen though?"

Grant snorted a laugh. "There's a reason I hated English, you know."

"Really?" A raised eyebrow. "And here I thought you liked reading."

"Come on. I only survived senior year Shakespeare because we got to put on our own version of Julius Cesar, and I got to be stabbed."

"You were good at that." Coulson blew on his coffee, smiling a little, gaze unfocused as if remembering.

A sudden ache in his throat, and Grant had to look away, down at the page he could no longer read. Sure, it had been almost a week since the man he called "Dad" had returned from the dead. But it had been an incredibly hectic week, with Rising Tide hackers and exploding people, and even now they were bound for Costa Rica to assess a good old 0-8-4. This was the first time they'd had a morning like this, slow and easy, coffee and a book and quiet banter.

He wished it could last forever, the way it had seemed to when he was 17, and the summer sun was barely up, and he was raring to be off to his job at Bell's Hardware. But he wasn't 17 anymore, and this wasn't Klamath Falls, and much as he loved his job he never knew what might happen in a day.

"Do you think Skye's settling in alright?"

He blinked back his surge of emotion, focused on Coulson's question.

Skye. Right. "I think so." She could be annoying and juvenile, but Grant had started to respect her smarts, and she could be funny too. "She has no idea how to cook though," he added. "Other than boxed mac and cheese, and microwave meals."

"You can teach her."

The confidence in Coulson's voice warmed Grant as much as his first sip of coffee.

He'd had some good teachers—Coulson, of course; Agent Huff in his first year at the Academy; and his own SO, John Garrett. But he'd never been in the position of passing on that knowledge to someone else. What if he got it wrong? What if he got her killed?

That thought had him swallowing harder than necessary. "You sure, Dad?" It came out quieter than he liked.

"Of course." A hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezed gently. "I wouldn't give you the job if I didn't think you could do it." An old familiar phrase, and Grant couldn't answer, merely nodding his head a few times.

He would never be able to express his gratitude for having his dad back, never.

"Alright, son?"

Grant cleared his throat, turned his head away to knuckle some moisture from his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered. He glanced at Coulson, summoning a little grin. "You're on breakfast duty, you know. When was the last time you made French toast? Or do I need to teach you that?"

A snort of laughter, before Coulson cuffed him gently on the head. "Young punk," he muttered.

The smell of cooking pulled the others from their bunks, and Coulson quickly found himself swamped in the tiny galley.

Grant found himself laughing at the near-chaos, and met Coulson's gaze with a little salute of his mug across the room, before he polished off the last mouthful of coffee.

Sure it was a different morning than the ones they'd once had. But that didn't mean it couldn't be good.

[cod-dump]

Cooking/Food:

Ghost: Man has a iron stomach and has been surviving off anything he can get his hands on. He doesn't cook because he simply doesn't care and food presentation means nothing to him. If something needs to be cooked to become edible he will but he doesn't go beyond instructions. Salt and pepper is the most he's willing to use to season. One of the only people who isn't afraid to eat whatever Alex makes.

Roach: More of a food thief rather than a cook. He knows the basics about cooking and normally just lives off microwave meals. Will steal someones food unless he has a reason to not want to. Anything made by Ghost is out of the question and he ignores Alejandro/Rudy's homemade meals because they might kill him.

Graves: Doesn't cook much but actually is a very good cook. Southern comfort/soul food is his specialty. Man knows how to make the crispiest, juiciest fried pork chops you have ever had. Has made food for people that he liked in the past but now only cooks for himself and that rarely happens. The stars have to be aligned for him to be in the mood to cook.

Soap: Fantastic cook. Roach tries to steal from him the most even though Soap is not above killing someone for his food. He loves to cook and loves to cook for people he cares about. If you're hungry, ask and you will be satisfied. Soap is all about fresh ingredients, has a variety of spices, the most expensive cookbooks and cookware-- Used to dream of being a chef but had a change in career paths in his late teens.

Price: Is a very good cook and is the master of making gourmet meals out of scraps and poor choice ingredients. Can make a five course meal out of a 'empty' fridge. The quickest way to his heart is a home cooked meal, doesn't matter if it's good or not. Absolutely will feed anyone if they ask him to cook. Loves to cook, much like Soap.

Farah: She knows how to cook pretty well but she doesn't do it often. Tends to only cook for special occasions and for certain people. Food is her love language and you know where you stand with her if she offers you a plate. Farah doesn't shy away from spice and loves buying exotic spices when she's traveling. Has multiple different kinds of the same spice because she can't help herself.

Alex: Commits food crimes on the daily. Makes unholy concoctions and has been banned from the kitchen on multiple different occasions by various people. Has actually made Graves cook by simply being horrible at cooking. No one knows if he's trying to purposely burn water or if he's just shit in the kitchen. Food is also his love language but because of his inability to cook he just buys expensive food for people.

Alejandro: Like Alex he is shit in the kitchen. But, unlike Alex, he doesn't commit atrocities or accidentally summon demons when in the kitchen. Alejandro will eat anything and his high spice tolerance means almost nothing scares him. Has a very diverse palette and can pinpoint ingredients with ease.

Gaz: Man is spoiled by Price and Laswell's cooking. He doesn't eat frozen meals and usually makes himself simple meals. He isn't the best cook but he makes edible and alright tasting food. Gaz loves to watch others cook and also loves helping. If his presence is unwanted in the kitchen he will leave but if no one tells him he can't stay he will watch the person cooking's every move.

Laswell: Is full of culinary secrets and loves to cook. She loves making everyone fresh homemade meals. Sends care packages to those closest to her whenever she can. Laswell knows secrets that Soap has been trying to pry out of her for the last couple years. Her recipe book is hidden for a reason.

Rudy: Has taken culinary classes once upon a time plus learned from his grandmother before she passed. Loves cooking and cooks to relieve stress. Makes meals big enough to feed a village so he keeps his kitchen stocked. Loves spice and food made personally for him will melt your face off. Doesn't mind cooking for people as long as they directly ask him. Food thieves have learned to fear him.

Nik: Don't let him cook. Everyone who knows better makes sure he's not in the kitchen without supervision. He doesn't see what the problem is. He's only summoned a demon one time.

[yourpenpaldee]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ A BRIEF WIPS OVERVIEW.

Hello! I am not good with deadlines, especially when I set them myself. This post was supposed to be up three days ago, but it’s finally here! I’m very excited to share these projects as they were all created from different periods of my life, going back four years at the most.

These will be very short intros, but each WIP mentioned here will have a proper, detailed post when it’s time. The projects also aren’t listed in sequential order of when I’ll post about them with the exception of the first WIP.

A heads-up, most of these are romance since I used to write only romance. It was only about two years ago since I decided to finally branch out, and those stories will be coming soon! For now, I still have to figure out how to write characters that have a way higher IQ than I do…

On we go to the WIPs!

WHEN ART TALKS

— currently undergoing the first draft. — first person — a college romance where a reserved poet who is afraid of public perception connects with an outspoken musician due to their preference on using words as their art medium. — contains late night walk convos, cigarette smoking, passionate rambles, and microwaved meals. — “‘Why do we care about them when it’s our story to tell? We live our truth, we speak our truth, and we have to trust that it’s good enough because it’s all we got. The message will be received by those who are meant to hear it.’”

BLIND SECOND CHANCES

— currently undergoing the first draft. — dual first person — an adult romance in which ex-friends turned (unofficial) ex-lovers from high school decide to explore the old feelings that resurface when crossing paths eight years later. — lots of reminiscing, betrayal, weekly wine nights, and fancy dates. — “‘You’re holding onto a love from a situation where we didn’t even know our place in the world yet. We spent nearly eight years growing into the people we are now, so you need to be prepared for our dynamic to look and feel different because we aren’t the same kids we once were.’”

TO NEW BEGINNINGS

— brainstorming complete, drafting to begin soon. — third person, still deciding on the type — an adult romance story of a woman who decides it’s time to start over on a blank canvas, and meets a booked and busy workaholic along the way. — roller skating, painting, solo adventures, and plant shopping. — “‘It’s scary to deviate from your current life and start anew when your life no longer serves you or your purpose. But I’m not equipped for misery, so I’ll be damned trying to save a life that lost the chance of saving forever ago.’”

UNTITLED ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — pov to be determined, leaning towards third person limited. — an apocalyptic fiction where a teenage girl fights everyday to survive in an ongoing zombie apocalypse with hopes of finding her younger sister. — found family, zombie slaying, survival vs. morality, and, uh… death. — “She looked at every colorless home she walked by and wondered what stories could be told. What every stored memory that slipped through the cracks consisted of and the emotions they’d provoke. If the lives that once occupied these spaces were unfortunately fortunate enough to make it out like she did. If they constantly watched the memories flash before their eyes as they realized those would be the last batch of joyful, painless memories; how remembering became torturous and insufferable, but is all they have to remind them of their own humanity.”

UNTITLED TWISTED BONNIE & CLYDE

— currently a 3am one-liner, brainstorming begins soon — first person peripheral or third person limited — a dark and twisted romance where two toxic lovers are at the beginning of an inevitable end and play fire with fire the entire way through. — manipulation, heists, lies, and expensive jewelry. — “The venom drips off of every word she says. She watches every last drop seep into my skin and become one with the blood that runs through my veins. How it attempts to shut down my body in hopes that I’ll beg for mercy in my final moments of weakness. That I’ll surrender my life into her hands as those soulless and apathetic eyes beam with some sick and twisted excitement. But I am sick and twisted too. We are two bodies wrapped in the same snake skin, and a snake cannot get poisoned by its own venom.”

PAST LIFE LOVER

— redoing the brainstorm process — first person or objective third person (quote will be in third person) — a soulmate, young adult romance in which a girl who no longer believes in love suddenly gets pulled in by the new barista at her favorite hangout spot. — love at first sight, breakfast deliveries, denial, and baking. lots of baking. — “Then there it was. The locking of the eyes where the inability to look away grows more and more intense with each passing second. They didn’t even know each other, but something in their eyes told them that there was a home waiting for them within each other’s souls.”

ANGEL AND KEN*

— currently on the backburner, brainstorming resumes once past life lover is complete. — prequel to past life lover. — *very much a temporary title — first person or objective third person — a 50’s historical romance where a pessimistic single mother is convinced to see the greener side of the grass by a jazz musician who looks at life through a rose-colored lens. — jazz clubs, slow dancing, tea parties, and red corvettes — “‘Why shut yourself out from the world when there are people like me that have waited for you to waltz right into their life? I know, the modern day world is frightening and filled with so much hatred that it’s hard to find happiness through it all. But people find a purpose to wake up every morning because of that one person that casts the brightest light. You’re my sun in a world full of darkness, and I hope to be the moon that reflects your light when you’re no longer visible in the sky.’”

I know I keep saying it, but I truly can’t wait to properly share these projects. I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it all and find comfort within these characters :)

I will post the the detailed summary for When Art Talks either on Monday or Tuesday (please yell at me if i don’t follow through omg), and the character intros should follow closely behind!

divider creds to strangergraphics ♡

[jellybeanium124]

I know we saw diego crack a raw egg into his mouth one time but I believe with my whole heart that that man is a great chef. he's the cook in the family. he's cooking homemade mexican food for his wife and kids every damn night. he loves hosting the fam because it's an excuse to cook a shitton of food and try new recipes or little kitchen dealie-bobs. I think he struggles with baking though because it's less free-form.

you know who the baker of the family is? luther. dude's an astronaut. he's accurate and precise and can follow instructions to the letter. dude can bake.

I think the rest of the sibs are absolutely helpless with cooking. look at viktor's s1 apartment and tell me that man doesn't live off of microwave meals. five never had a chance to learn and I don't think he'd like it. also we know he puts vodka in cereal. klaus has never touched a frying pan. allison survived on pb & js until she got rich and famous and had people who could cook for her. she learned a little bit in the 60s because she had to, but she still isn't great. u!ben never got the chance to learn and s!ben would rather die than attempt cooking. when it's lila's turn to cook the kids dinner it's beans on toast. sloane's half decent at cooking and does a lot of the decorating for luther's cakes and pastries.

[homosexuality-and-morphine]

Before Michael died he survived off of copious amounts of alcohol and microwave meals most people that know that are surprised he survived that long enough to die from the scooper

[rocksandaces]

Some tips for surviving uni (especially for people with bad mental health) from someone who had depression during the first 1.5 years of uni and recently finished their thesis:

1. If you are able to cook, learn easy and cheap one-pot recipes that you can make several portions of - like pasta. Take lunch with you and if possible reheat it (many unis provide microwaves). Hot lunch is so much better than cold, especially in winter and can really lift your mood. Try to make the food you enjoy eating (it may seem obvious, but it's easy to forget it). Avoid only eating sandwiches if you have a long day.

2. Talk to your professors. If you know you won't be able to finish project on time the best thing you can do is talk to your professor. Often they are pretty chill about it and will let you deliver your project a week or two later. If you want to take a photo of something and don't know if it's allowed you can also ask.

3. Talk to older students. They know many things - which professors are chill and reasonable, old exams photos and notes. Sometimes they know where you can print something for a reasonable price or eat cheap.

4. Take notes and share them with the other students. Also ask them for their notes. Don't be afraid to ask for help when you don't understand something and offer help if you can give it.

5. Find a place to study. If you can't focus in your room, try a library or any other space your uni offers to study. If you can't focus on it, try parallel studying with other people. Just sit in one room, each person learning their own thing. You will feel more motivation to study if there is another person around you that will notice if you start scrolling your phone insted of studying

6. Use scihub and anne's archive to get to the literature you need. No, it's not stealing.

7. Sleep! It's very important to have a decent sleeping schedule.

8. If you don't pass an exam it's not the end of the world. You always have a second chance and if this also doesn't work out, go to your professor and ask for another one. You won't always get it but some of them appreciate the effort and will let you rewrite the exam for the third time.

9. Always have pasta and some easy instant sauce at home. And some ready-made meals. If you have a freezer, use it. Don't rely on them but in case of an emergency you will not be left with nothing to eat

[pillow4t]

These are just my favorite/main headcannons tbh

• HEAVY on the they/them Moria

• Cassidy is a girls girl™ If he's out on a mission with (insert literally any woman in ow) and some creepy guy is hitting on her/touching her, he'll go over and defend her, pretending to be her boyfriend so they'll back down

•Trans Junkrat!!! Trans Sombra!!!!

•Roadhog had a wife and kids before he joined the AFL idc what anyone says

•Baptist calls lifeweaver "Flè mwen" which means "my flower" in Haitian Creole (I used a translator so let me know if I'm wrong <3)

•Pharah stole one of Cassidy's hats back in his blackwatch days when she was 13, she still has it (and sometimes wears it around the bass)

•Genji has a drink named after him at the bar he used to frequent when he was younger

•Junkrats mom spoke Arabic so that's why he gravitated to Ana when he was first around her, he hasn't told anybody tho

•Mercy loves to harp on Cassidy about his smoking habits like she isn't living off of coffee and cigarettes (and sometimes a bagel bc of pharah😌

•Cassidy got Ana a "I love my lesbian daughter" shirt for Christmas, he bought it as a joke, she wears it regularly.

•Junkrat can swallow something then bring it back up, it's a great party trick, he thinks, but it usually grosses people out. It's come in handy on missions tho

•When Sojourn brings Murphy to the watchpoint, she gets SMOTHERED with pets, kisses and love from everyone. The same thing happens when Brigitte brings Mitzi around.

•Symetera and Lifeweaver have completely opposite tastes in music so they were CONSTANTLY arguing about who gets to put on music when they shared a dorm (sym usually won)

•When Hanzo laughs he snorts

•Lúcio has real bad arthritis and his skates are more braces than anything, he also has knee, hand and back braces at the ready

•Tracer gets Emily a souvenir from every place she gets deployed to

•Zenyattas favorite color is Yellow

•JunkerQueen carries around hamster treats in her pockets when Wreaking Ball is with her "For when the champ gets hungry!" She always says(in reality she just thinks it's cute how hamsters eat)

•Torbjorn sometimes brings his (older) kids around if the original group of Overwatch is there, he trusts the others...just not with his kids and is really reluctant with Brigitte

•Roadhog has been teaching Junkrat how to properly write and read and it's really improved how Junkrat functions when they're not fighting for survival in the outback

•Illari is a jewelry girl, but she cant wear to much because it gets in the way of training/fighting, but her collection of gold accessories is off the charts

•Sombra took the username D.va on social media and finds it SO funny that Dva has to use a different variation of her gamertag

•I feel like Reaper still has the same sense of humor he did in over/blackwatch and will constantly make witty jokes to Widowmaker or Moria who just give him a blank stare, Doomfist usually finds them funny tho

•Kiriko and Genji literally cannot cook to save their lives and usually takes two of them to make a small microwave meal

•B.O.B had his voice box removed when he was working for Ashes parents and even after all the years of her offering him to get his voice back, he chooses to use sign language instead but the offer is always on the table, Ashe says

•Lúcio has a 10k DJ set up in his room, and gets violent if anyone tries to mess with anything, literally almost took Cassidy's other arm off when he moved a bunch of dials, he'll show you around the soundboard if you ask tho!

•Kiriko is Hanzo and Genjis Cousin (Asa is their mom's sister <3)

•Reinhardt snores. LOUDLY. Brigitte had to get him a sleep apnea mask so she was able to sleep in the same vicinity as him

•Reaper is from Michigan🫶🏻

•Soldier76 gets made fun of by D.va for being old, but the second he's like "me and Ana are practically the same age" D.va gets all defensive "you just called a woman old!"

•Mei and Tracer share a room, they both sleep better with company

•(Blackwatch)Moria and Genji had an anime night where they would watch 10-20 episodes of any given series they were on, but

---

RAHHH OKAY I LITERALLY HAVE MORE LINER UP BUT I FEEL LIKE ITS ALREADY A SUPER LONG POST

But yeah :) I'm incapable of liking something a little bit so yeahhhh