#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 ✌️🩵

[lechrts]

Dinner’s Ready. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Bestfriend!reader

Summary: Helping your bestfriend learn how to cook because his out of date freezer meals were a bit concerning.

Word Count: 2.1k

Disclaimer/s: Fluff fluff fluffff!! :3

Vera’s Voice! i liked this one tbh :3 wrote it during my lunch break today!!! hope u enjoy!!!

“Lando, you cannot be serious.”

“I am serious,” He replied, leaning casually against the counter as you stared at the horror show that was his freezer. “What’s the big deal?”

You turned slowly, holding up a frostbitten container of… something? You squinted at the label. Lasagna? Or… meatloaf? The date scribbled on top was from months ago. Possibly before summer.

“The big deal, you idiot, is that I’m pretty sure this thing is one microwave cycle away from mutating.” You held the container of mystery meat in your hand as you felt a gag creeping forward but you choked it down.

Lando scoffed with a grin, the dimpled, infuriating kind, like this was all a joke to him. “Survival of the fittest.” He shrugged.

“This is not funny!” You groaned, dramatically shoving the container into his arms like you’d caught him red-handed.

“You’re going to give yourself food poisoning one day. Like I’m honestly surprised you haven’t died already.”

“I’m built different.” He argued.

“You’re built stupid.”

He laughed loudly, unbothered by your scolding. “Okay, Mum, what do you want me to do?”

“You’re lucky I'm even here,” You shot back, spinning around to grab your grocery bag like some kind of control freak. “You’re about to learn how to cook a proper meal for once in your life!” A pause.

“God, this is what the rich does to people.” You muttered to yourself.

Lando groaned like you’d told him he had to run ten miles uphill. “Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?”

“Because you’re terrible at following instructions,” You teased, already digging out the flour, eggs, and the rest of your supplies.

He leaned over the counter to peek. “Wait. Are we making pasta?”

“Of course.”

“Why would we do that when the box version is right there? In the cupboard, I might add.”

You turned to him, jaw practically on the floor because he even suggested such a thing. “I’m gonna pretend you didn't just say that.”

“What's wrong with it?!” He scoffed.

“Because it won’t be made with love! And you, Lando Norris, need more love in your diet.”

Lando blinked, then snorted. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Very appropriate since you’re the corniest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.” You quickly shot back.

His jaw fell. A hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“Good.”

And soon enough, the two of you got to work and, somewhere along the way, the line between “teaching” and “flirting” blurred, though neither of you dared to point it out.

Standing shoulder to shoulder at the counter, the space between you shrank with every quiet moment. You guided his hands as he clumsily kneaded the dough, your fingers brushing his more often than necessary.

The air grew heavy with something unspoken, the sound of flour dusting the counter and soft laughter filling the silence. When you looked up to correct him, his gaze lingered longer than it should have, and suddenly the lesson felt like an excuse to stay close, to touch without reason, and to hide the butterflies neither of you could ignore.

“Like this,” You said softly, placing your fingers over his to press into the floury mixture.

“I am doing it like that,” He complained.

“No, you’re manhandling it.”

“It’s dough!” He laughed, twisting to look at you, his face unfairly close.

“Yeah, and it’s not going to trust you if you’re aggressive.”

Lando tilted his head, the grin creeping back. “Not going to trust me?”

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Clearly you do,” He teased, though he didn’t pull his hands away from yours. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth of his skin beneath your palms, the way his shoulder brushed against yours as you leaned closer.

Your gaze flickered up, and that’s when you realized he was already watching you.

“What?” You asked softly.

“Nothing.” Lando’s voice dipped, quieter than before. His eyes were still on yours, unreadable but warm—too warm.

You swallowed hard, pulling back just a little too quickly. “You’re hopeless,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you turned back to the dough.

Lando didn’t argue. He just smiled, like he knew something you didn’t.

Moving onto the sauce now at the stove, the pasta dough had been cut sloppily into fettuccine, now boiling on another burner. The kitchen looked like the scene of a food fight. Flour dusted the counters, your shirt, his hair—though Lando swore you’d put it there on purpose.

You were focused on stirring the sauce when he came up beside you, far too close for comfort. You could feel him there before you saw him: the shift of the air, the way the space seemed to shrink around him.

“Need something?” You asked suspiciously, refusing to look at him.

“I’m just watching,” He said, voice light but laced with something unreadable.

“You’re hovering.”

“I’m learning.”

“You’re distracting,” You muttered, stirring the sauce a little harder than necessary.

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “Distracting, hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You shot back, rolling your eyes.

When you finally glanced up at him, Lando was leaning against the counter with that insufferably lazy grin of his, arms folded, hair still tousled from where you’d flicked flour at him earlier. He looked at ease—too at ease.

“What?” you asked again, narrowing your eyes.

“You’ve got…” He gestured vaguely toward your face. “Something there.”

“Where?”

“Your cheek.”

You frowned, swiping at your face with the back of your hand.

Lando didn’t move, but the smile tugging at his lips grew. “Missed it.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Would I ever?”

“Always.” You said flatly, but before you could react, he leaned in—just enough to make your heart catch. His thumb brushed across your cheek, slow and deliberate, the contact feather-light but enough to make your skin tingle where he touched.

It wasn’t fair how something so small could make your breath falter. Your brain felt like it short-circuited, stuck on the warmth of his hand and how close his face was to yours now.

“There,” he murmured softly.

You swallowed hard, eyes locked on his as his hand lingered—his thumb now gently tracing the line of your jaw.

Your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.

“Stop looking at me like that,” You said, barely above a whisper. “You've been doing it all evening.”

“Like what?” Lando’s voice dropped to match yours, quiet but steady. His eyes never left you, his gaze softer now, something unspoken lingering in the space between you.

“Like you’re about to kiss me.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but you saw the shift in his expression. His smile faded—just slightly—as his thumb paused at the curve of your jaw.

“…Would that be such a bad thing?”

Your stomach flipped violently, and you felt rooted to the spot.

Every thought in your head went quiet except for the sound of your pulse thudding in your ears. Lando’s eyes searched yours, still giving you time to say no—to pull away—but you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he leaned in.

Your breath hitched as the space between you shrank to nothing. He hesitated for just a second, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. Close enough to memorize the exact color of his eyes and count the faint freckles across his nose.

And then his lips met yours.

Softly. Gently.

The kiss was tentative, like he was testing the waters, waiting for you to pull back—but you didn’t. The butterflies swarmed in your stomach, your heart a mess of frantic flutters as you leaned into him, your hands lifting to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt like you needed to hold on to something solid.

Lando’s other hand found your waist, warm and steady, anchoring you as he kissed you again—deeper this time, but still careful. His lips moved against yours with the kind of softness that made your chest ache, like he was memorizing the moment, like he didn’t want to rush it.

You could’ve stayed there forever, standing in his flour-dusted kitchen with the sauce bubbling behind you and the rest of the world falling away.

The kitchen was still for a moment—too still. Your lips tingled from the kiss, the air between you and Lando thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe properly. Your heart was still racing in a way that had nothing to do with the pasta you were supposed to be making.

Lando’s forehead rested gently against yours, but his presence, his warmth, was too close, making everything feel so very real in a way you weren’t sure how to process.

Then, slowly, with the faintest chuckle in his voice, he pulled away—just enough to look at you, but not enough to break the contact completely.

He was standing behind you now, just a hair’s breath away, his hands slowly finding their way around your waist again, pulling you against him in a soft but secure hug. You froze as his arms wrapped around your body, his chest pressed lightly against your back.

You could feel the steady beat of his heart, feel the warmth radiating from his body into yours. His chin nestled just above your shoulder, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

“Lando…” You mumbled, the words almost slipping from you without thought, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Mmm?” He didn’t move. His voice was low, soft—a stark contrast to the playful teasing from earlier. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard, your face growing warm from the closeness. “Think I’m having trouble breathing, if I’m honest.”

His lips brushed the back of your neck, a soft, teasing kiss that sent an electric shiver down your spine. “Not surprising,” He murmured, his tone now laced with a playful cocky edge. “I do have that effect on people.”

“Oh, do you now?” You replied, trying to sound sarcastic, but your voice betrayed you—weak and breathless.

“Definitely,” He said with a chuckle, squeezing you tighter, and you could practically hear the smug smile in his voice. “I mean, I’m not just a great driver, you know. I’m also pretty good at making hearts race.”

You let out a soft groan, hands gripping the counter for balance as you felt your heart actually race. “You are so cringe, it hurts.”

He grinned against your shoulder, his voice lowering. “Am I? I was starting to think you liked me.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “I don’t,” you muttered, though you weren’t entirely sure if you believed it.

Lando leaned in a little closer, his lips brushing lightly against the side of your neck. “Really?”

You couldn't help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Think you and I already know the answer.”

The air between you both hung heavy with the playful tension, but just as you thought it was about to become too much, Lando pulled back slightly, his arms still around you as the sauce seemed to be finished.

“Come on, dinner’s ready.”

like, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated ^_^ !!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox

[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.

[gutsgrowingup]

klance hc because im tweaking over them rn .

lance and keith can both make food, but lance cooks better. ive seen so many people go “lance cant cook” “keith can cook lance hardly can” BLAU BLAH BLAH!!!!!! lance can cook legitimate food, shit that’ll make you want more like he is WIFEY material. this man is an angel, an absolute master of cooking. desserts? that… doesnt matter. he can make basic stuff, but the elaborate things? hardly. (hunk helps him out most of the time when it comes 2 that, he is a god send.)

keith makes STRUGGLE MEALS. this boy will grab a soft tortilla, slap some ketchup, cheese, and then microwave it and call it a “pizza wrap”. he genuinely thinks its the best thing ever. if ur ever in a survival situation and u need edible food, hes ur guy. hes got that. but he cant really cook legitimate food for shit. he will make a basic sandwich, serve it to lance, and then call himself “housewife material”. he microwaves his tea. makes his hot chocolate with water. drinks sink water. what is wrong with him, no one fucking knows!!!!!!

[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”

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

This is actually the first rough draft teaser chapter for a Bill Cipher/reader fic I’m possibly thinking of making, but I’m just gonna post this to see if it’s smth people would be interested in!

A Human’s Touch

Pairing: Bill Cipher/Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Colors.

The world was a flurry of colors.

Blues and browns and a flurry of greens collided with one another, meshing the woods behind your campus into a collage of different hues. It was funny how a place fuming with boredom could become such a mix of beauty and chaos under the right circumstances.

Before this, you would’ve said that your stomach was fairly durable. It had survived skirmishes against clearance section frozen meals and a hoard of cup noodles. However, it seemed to be no match for end-of-semester party frat food.

If only you had stayed where you had for most of the other parties this year, on the bed with a bag of Smartfood popcorn, but the FOMO of letting your final bash as a junior slip through your fingers was much too strong. So whether it had been the homemade potato salad or the peppermint fudge brownies you were ninety percent sure had been cooked in a microwave, you had left the dorm with an unfortunate case of food poisoning.

Of course, the symptoms hadn’t begun to show up until hours later, deceptively lying in wait until you were helping your upperclassman with a personal research project.

You had stumbled out of the building, the embarrassment only slightly overcome by the absolute battle rumbling in your stomach, and tried your best to run toward the nearest secluded area.

It was surprising that even after two years at Pineridge University, you had completely forgotten about the extensive forest fencing the Northern side of campus.

This little factoid, along with the dizzying headache that made your vision spin, left you far enough in the forest to obscure any view of the civilization left behind.

Thankfully, you couldn’t have gone that far and if you could just walk back the way you came, it would’ve been just fine.

That is not what happened.

Apparently, aimlessly wandering around in a haze for a place to suffer in peace left you horribly turned around. It had been at least thirty five minutes since your last ‘I’m almost there’ thought, and a good ten since the ‘if I just keep walking straight I’ll find something.’

At this point, a pit of nerves had replaced the ache in your stomach and the sun had passed its peak in the sky, painting the horizon with blues, purples, and pinks. An army of trees surrounded you, an endless array of different greens creating your prison.

You had tried calling someone half an hour ago, but the internet at your campus had been atrocious, so it wasn’t at all surprising that the connection out here was basically nonexistent. It would’ve felt more productive to just walk around with your phone in the air until a bar showed up, but with the battery under ten percent the last time you checked, you had made the decision to leave it off until there was an actual emergency.

What constituted an actual emergency, however, you weren’t exactly sure.

Being stuck out in the woods with nothing but books and some leftover papers seemed to at least come close. Regardless, thinking of it like that made you feel sick, again, so you tried your best to stay positive.

But no matter how many uplifting thoughts you forced into your mind, the impending doom and anxiety somehow wormed its way back in. Those worst case scenarios, bear attacks, ticks, or serial killers posing as hikers, began to cloud over any positive ray you attempted to bring in.

Dryness tickled your throat and an emptiness rumbled through your stomach. The evening only grew colder, wind grasping at your thin lab coat with its invisible fingers.

So it only made sense that when your eyes finally fell upon the clearing of space that spilled from the ocean of endless trees, you heaved a sigh of relief and ran forward, the throbbing in your legs momentarily forgotten as you trudged toward the promise land.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It was turning out to be a particularly shitty day.

The clearing was almost completely empty and surrounded by foliage, save for a small stream and dilapidated statue in the middle of the area.

Tears of anger and exhaustion nipped your eyes as you let out a whine of frustration, tossing your bag to the ground.

Aching shoulders free, you forced in a deep breath, after one more mandatory string of curses, and moved to sit down in front of a nearby tree. Unfortunately, the adrenaline had leaked from your limbs, leaving them sore and sloppy. A tiny divet in the forest floor had your ankle tipping to the side, gravity yanking you down to the floor with a groan.

With your back on the grass, you took a moment to let the pain subside and wallow in your misery, vision fixed on the sky above. The moon was almost visible now, its luminous beauty your only distraction from the sting. It hung in the sky, lonesome allure offering soft comfort as you gathered your courage and looked down at your leg.

It definitely wasn’t sprained, but dammit, that hurt.

Alternatively, it was also been a reminder of how absolutely abysmal it would be to walk all the way back with a broken ankle.

Surprisingly, the thought was able to simultaneously bring you some hope and piss you off.

The “it could always be worse” strategy never was very helpful.

You would know.

On the other hand, the fall had actually given you a chance to really take in your surroundings without a vail of emotions covering your senses.

It was peaceful.

That seemed to be the only kind way to describe it.

The wind seemed to subside slightly here, the only sound coming from your own haggard breathing and the small stream to your right. Come to think of it, you hadn’t heard any animals here either.

It was almost like the life had been sucked out of the picturesque clearing, leaving only the traces of whatever existence had once thrived here behind.

So, yes, it was peacefully unsettling, but peaceful nonetheless.

Sunlight filtered through the ever-moving leaves, shadows whirling around the forgotten thicket in their sorrowful dance, mourning whatever audience they may have once had.

You craned your neck over your shoulder, eyes catching on the statue that you had nearly cracked your occipital lobe on. You had yet to really take in its presence, much less take in how odd it was.

The statue might’ve once been gray, but was now overrun by the nature surrounding it. Moss snuck up its sides like an infection, grass sprouting from the cracks and crevices.

But that was the least of your confusion.

It was the statue itself, or the shape in particular, that was surprising. It was a simple triangle, with a large, reptilian-like eye right in its middle. The thin arm outstretched from the shape and small top hat above it made your eyebrows furrow.

Then again, there were quite a few pieces of modern art that you were unable to understand the appeal of.

Actually, the more you looked at it, the more interesting it seemed. You wondered if whoever made it knew where it was, knew that their creation was lost to the hands of nature and time.

You’d heard people say that life is short but art lives forever.

Apparently not.

Did it die if there was no one there to see it? No one to understand whatever philosophical message the sculptor had been trying to portray, words written with precise brushstrokes and chisels upon stone.

“Stuck here too?” You sighed, cradling your face in an open palm. “Yeah, I thought so.”

The rhythmic lull of the rolling brook tugged at your eyelids, the lethargy in your body slowly trailing up to infest your mind. You shook the fatigue off, quickly stretching your neck before reaching toward the statue.

“Well, wish me luck, I suppose,” your hand curled around its own, cragged rock scraping against your fingers as you used the leverage to pull yourself up. Pain shot through your legs as you stood, but it slowly ebbed away after a few seconds. You steadied yourself, brushing your dirty palms off on your jeans before turning to grab your bag.

It was just as you grasped the strap that you noticed how completely and utterly silent it was.

The stream, once bubbling and lively had come to a dull stop, the wind that once nipped at your skin wholly still.

That’s when you heard a crack.

Your first thought was that an animal had come for you, giant paws crushing a nearby stick. However, as you spun on your heels, you noticed that it was not a branch, but the statue.

It had cracked right down the middle, a soft yellow glow emanating from the decaying stone. If you held your breath, you could almost imagine a soft hum coming from inside.

The ground almost seemed to shake from underneath you, a presence somewhere below digging its way out. Your bag slipped from your fingers as the statue cracked once more, the golden rays glowing brighter with each second. Time came to a slow as you watch in horror as the sculpture continued to fracture, small pieces beginning to fall off entirely.

That’s when it exploded.

The first, panicked thought that entered your head was that you had somehow stepped onto a land mine while trying to run away, its incessant ring bringing you to your knees.

It wasn’t until moments later that you realized that you hadn’t been hurt, much less killed, in the initial detonation of light and sound.

You must have gone mad, though, because the first noise that ripped through the silence was-

“Boy, oh, boy, is it good to be back!”

The voice was grating and loud, and most definitely not your own.

Slowly, you cracked your eyes open, pupils dilating in surprise as you took in the sight before you.

The statue was now completely gone, small pebbles and broken blades of grass the only whispers of its presence left.

Instead, a life sized replica was floating above it.

A soft golden glow emanated from the triangle, or, you supposed it looked more like a pyramid now that it was colored in a bright yellow. A once stationary eye was now shifting constantly, taking in its surroundings before stopping.

On you.

“Heya, toots!” The thing flew closer, its immediate proximity enough to shock you into falling back. “I’m guessing you’re the one who let me out?”

The only noise that came out of your throat seemed to be a gargled line of stupor, the pyramid rolling its eye in exasperation before sticking out a hand. “Name’s Bill Cipher! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

You blinked at the greeting, throat closing up as you awkwardly shuffled backward. The creature didn’t seem to mind, though, it buzzing around you in hurried interest.

“Wow, times have changed! Definitely don’t remember you guys having technology this advanced the last time I was here.” It nudged your phone with a foot, the device apparently having fallen out of your backpack in the commotion.

You watched in awe while it shuffled through your things, breaking out of that stuporous enchant as the thing, Bill, flit over to you and took a strand of hair between his fingers.

With a gasp, you smacked his hand away, blinking in surprise as you actually made contact.

“I’m…” you swallowed “I’m not really sure what’s going on. I-uh, what are you?”

I’m gonna puke again

Am I hallucinating?

Am I dead?

The creature floated in a lazed position, hand poised outward as he inspected nonexistent nails. “Take your time, doc, it’ll wear off.”

“Wha-“ you looked down, realization dawning in your eyes as you remembered the lab coat you were still wearing. “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I mean, I’m trying to be one someday, but I was just helping a friend and I’m just a student right-“

“Yeah, yeah, whatever makes you feel better.” Bill rolled his eyes once more. “But to answer your question, I’m a dream demon! And a pretty great one too, if I do say so myself.”

A gaped expression tugged as your jaw as he adjusted a small black bow tie. “Excuse me?”

“Exactly!” Although you couldn’t see any expression, the smile lacing his tone was evident. “So whatever your little heart desires, I can have done! Any more questions, toots?”

Like, a million.

“Yeah… and my name is-“

“I know what your name is,” he waved you off. “So what’ll it be? Riches? Power? Universal knowledge?”

“I’m, umm…” you swallowed, slowly getting to your feet. “I’m not really… interested in all of this if it makes sense? I’m sorry to disturb your…” pondering the correct term for a moment, you took a breath in before grabbing your belongings and continuing. “land, or whatever, but I really should be going.”

And with that, you quickly began walking away as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the feeling of a giant eye on your figure and the pit of fear in your stomach.

You had only made it a few feet before Bill zoomed in front of your vision, fingers perched upon would you would’ve guessed was a temple equivalent if he had a face. “You’re serious? You don’t want anything?”

“Not really?” You dipped around him, holding in a sigh of displeasure as he followed. “And I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but this whole thing is creeping me out and I would rather just go home honestly.”

And I’ve seen more than enough horror movies to know that this is an absolutely awful idea.

Still, outrightly running away felt like an unnecessary evil, almost like it might anger whatever figment your delirium-soaked mind had conjured up. The being didn’t seem to particularly mind, however, hovering next to your shoulder as he blabbered on about things you honestly didn’t have the mental capacity to wholeheartedly pay attention to.

Regardless, the constant blabber wormed its way into your mind, that grating voice bouncing around your skull like a jumping bean.

It was a wonder you lasted over ten minutes before cracking.

“Look,” you started, taking a breath and hoping it would soften the vexation coating your inner monologue. “I’ve been wandering around out here, lost, for what feels like hours, I just got through a sick case of food poisoning, my legs hurt, my head is killing me, and I’m 90% sure that I’m hallucinating right now, so if you could please just leave me alone with a few minutes that would be great.”

The silence that followed weighed your heart down in your chest, a boulder of nerves tethered to the organ as you pondered if the, completely acceptable, outburst had angered the creature.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so!”

“Wait, what?”

An arm slung around your shoulder and the world collapsed for the second time today.

The forest, once your solemn captor, melted in on itself for a split second before changing completely. Trees and grass fazed into one another, emerald greens quickly melding into the sky blues and concrete gray of a cityscape.

You fell to your knees, surroundings still spinning. Whatever had just happened left you reeling as well, mental state sucked into the world your senses still perceived to be twisting and turning.

“What the fuck…” you coughed, breath sucked out of your lungs and sticking to the edges of your esophagus. “what the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?”

“Oops! I forgot you humans are sensitive to that sort of thing. Oh, well.” He shrugged, watching you slowly gain your footing before making a dash for your building.

Final bouts of energy leaking away onto the pavement with each step, you heaved open the door, thankful, for once that you lived on the first floor. You nearly rammed into your apartment, slamming the door behind you. Shock and fatigue shivered through your hands, the lock slipping from your fingers before you finally got it shut, slumping back onto the wood and crumpling to a seated position with a sigh.

“Wow, not even a thank you?”

A shriek echoed off your dorm room walls as you scuttled backwards, away from the entity that had somehow wormed his way past your walls. Back hitting a coffee table, your hand blindly wandered upward for a weapon, finding home around a Bath and Body Works candle. You brandished the, thankfully oversized and quite substantial, object and vaulted to your feet.

“What the hell are you?”

“Pretty disappointed, that’s what I am,” Bill huffed, hands crossed over one another. “I take you home out of goodness of my heart and that’s what I get? I’ll let it slide just this once, but don’t get me wrong, do it again and we’re gonna have a probably. Got it, toots?”

He watched as you shifted your feet, the offensive position a disgustingly pathetic attempt to hide your fear. Actually, he could practically smell it.

Not that he was complaining.

“I feel like we got off to a bad start.” His form shifted, melting into something akin to a human.

Still, there was something completely not.

One of his eyes was completely black, the other a bright yellow with a slitted pupil, strikingly similar to that of his original form. Sharp canines poked out from a devilishly charming grin, the tie and top hat still present, but now sporting a matching golden suit. He stick out a gloved hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The pleasure was obviously unreciprocated.

“Ah, come on! I figured the new look would help. Almost always does… you guys are so jumpy,” he huffed.

“What-“ you swallowed the fear lacing your voice. “What do you want from me?”

“From you?” Bill snapped a finger and you felt the weight in your hand disappear, cookie-scented candle morphing into a house finch. The pure shock written across your features had him snickering as the small bird flit around the room, searching for escape. “You should be asking what I can do for you.”

You paused.

“For me?”

“Sure! But everything has a price! Probably isn’t worth it if you didn’t give something up in the first place, am I right?”

Tossing you a wink, he drew closer, the close proximity forcing you backward until your back hit the wall. From the corner of your eye you spotted the small finch tapping against your closed window with its beak.

“So,” With another snap of his fingers, the bird morphed back into the festive candle with a heart wrenching squeak, smashing against your floor. “Wanna make a deal?”

[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.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

The hand that feeds is the hand that's loved

Chapter 4: Curry not

Astarion's an aspiring lawyer, who's running from his past and suffers from a long list of food allergies. Gale's a former culinary prodigy, who's going through a nasty divorce and suffers from cooking fatigue. They meet in the snack aisle.

Trigger Waring (18+): Alternate Universe: Modern Setting, No Magic, No Vampire, No Wizard, Lawyer Astarion, Cook Gale, Astarion Has Food Allergies, Gale Is Depressed, Astarion Everything Is A Transaction Ancunin, Unnecessary Cooking And Food Details, This Is Basically A Culinary Show, Author Constantly Thinks About Food, Food As A Love Language, POV Astarion, Emotional Rollercoaster, Feelings, Overthinking, PTSD, Dissociation, Past Domestic Abuse, Past Non-Con/Rape, Unhealthy Coping Mechanism, Blow Job/Fellatio

Read on AO3

With a huff, Astarion banged open the door of his apartment, kicked off his shoes, and manoeuvred the shopping bags into the kitchen. He hated to go grocery shopping in the evenings. There were always too many people in the supermarket. Sighing deeply, Astarion sat everything down on the counter. It was time to meal prep.

Since he suffered from so many food allergies and food sensitivities, it was literally impossible to eat out or order in. He had to make every single meal he ate himself, or otherwise, he'd spent the next seventy-two hours in agony. Switching between curling up in bed in the foetus position, and hunching over the toilet, ejecting his entire stomach content one way or another. And all that while running a fever, breaking out in cold sweat, trembling like a leaf, and gripped by stomach cramps. Yeah, no thank you. He had had enough of that during his childhood and teen years. Never again.

Astarion took out his phone and logged into the GobblingGoblin online store to place his usual order of items he couldn't buy at GlutMart: dried wakame seaweed, toasted (with olive oil instead of sesame oil) nori seaweed snacks, vegan chocolate bars with cherries, dried porcini mushrooms, orange-flavoured rooibos iced tea sweetened with agave syrup, and gluten-free, vegan saltine crackers. He winced at the price, but nonetheless paid via PayMate. With that out of the way, Astarion started meal prepping. He washed, halfway peeled, and sliced the fresh cucumbers. He filled them into five glass containers with airtight lids, of which each one could fit exactly one sliced cucumber and a small jar of salad dressing. Astarion whipped up the latter in a bigger bowl, mixing together apple cider vinegar, olive oil, salt, and black pepper, before dividing it into the five small jars. He sprinkled some frozen, pre-chopped chives and caraway seeds over the cucumber slices before adding the little sauce jars on top and snapping the lids shut. Astarion placed his weekly ration of salad in the fridge. He cooked a fresh batch of white rice to store for later use as well. Meanwhile, he prepared his dinner with the last bit of what was left over from the last portion. In a microwave-safe serving bowl, he created a soup base with vegetable bouillon powder, pepper, and some boiling water from the electric kettle. Then, he added some dried wakame seaweed and the leftover rice, mixing it all thoroughly before topping everything off with some more boiling water. Dinner was served. With a sigh, Astarion slumped onto a chair at the kitchen table and started eating. He didn't cook to woo and wow people with fancy creations. He cooked to survive, using his scarce ingredient options to make meals that were tasty enough to eat every day without triggering his gag reflex when smelling them. He and Gale were not the same. Unenthusiastically, Astarion supped the too-familiar soup and was grateful as it warmed his body from the inside out. When he'd finished it, he hunted down the second-to-last chocolate bar in his pantry and munched it while his mind drifted off, once again occupying itself with thoughts about Gale. Groaning, Astarion ran a hand down his face. He had kissed him in the park and agreed to a goddamn date! Falling for a client was an absolute no-go, especially when their case wasn't closed yet. Thankfully, he'd been professional on Monday during their meeting and had shook Gale's hand instead of kissed him again.

"Get your shit together, Ancunín," Astarion scolded himself. The last thing he needed was getting into trouble because his dick did the thinking instead of his head. As if to taunt him, his phone vibrated to notify him of a message from his favourite client.

Gale Dekarios: Good evening, Mister Ancunín, I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I have a couple of questions. Do you like chocolate? Can you eat freeze-dried cherries and berries? Do you also have a negative reaction to pickled onions? Can you eat garlic if it's cook for over an hour? I'm looking forward to hear from you :) Sincerely, Gale

For a moment, the lawyer stared at the message as if it could bite him. What the hell were these questions? He finally unfroze from his paralysis and typed out a reply.

Astarion Ancunín: Hello, Mister Dekarios. Yes, I like chocolate. I can eat freeze-dried cherries and berries. I don't know about the onion and garlic thing because I've never tried it before. Also, no one ever cooked garlic for so long, just the normal amount of time? I don't know how to answer that question. Why do you want to know anyway? Are you thinking about me while you're cooking? ;) Have a nice evening.

Stop flirting, you idiot! Astarion cringed inwardly about his own stupidity. Thankfully, his phone vibrated before he started spiralling.

Gale Dekarios: Okay, great! Thank you for answering so quickly. I'm doing some experimenting in the kitchen, so, yes, I'm thinking about you while I'm cooking. :)

Astarion Ancunín: Sounds fun, but please don't treat me like a lab rat, and don't serve me some fancy shit either. What about that Halruaan rice you promised me?

Gale Dekarios: Worry not! I always keep my promises. I just got inspired and started to think about tweaking certain recipes to fit your needs. For example, my mother's infamous chicken soup. I also got a few other ideas and theories. If you'd humour me, I'd be very curious how your body will react. Nothing dangerous, of course. I don't want you to get sick. Just rather harmless chemistry experiments.

Astarion Ancunín: Like what? Using laughing gas to force-feed me with your creations?

Gale Dekarios: Good heavens, no! D: I'd never do anything without your consent! Plus, I'll write down every single ingredient that I'll use to create our dinner. Nitrous oxide is commonly used in whipped cream canisters and cooking sprays though.

Astarion Ancunín: I was merely joking, darling, stop clutching your pearls. Also, I know about whippets. They're a rather popular party drug in the Lower City.

Gale Dekarios: God... The only thing I'm addicted to is my work.

Astarion Ancunín: I'd drink to that if I could. To us workaholics!

Gale Dekarios: Touché!

The house looked odd. Astarion double-checked the address, but he seemed to be at the right place. The grey stone building had a square, raised ground floor and first upper floor. The other three floor were a literal, round tower with a conical roof.

Since moving to Waterdeep three years ago, Astarion had never seen this building before – granted, he usually didn't hang around in the Dock Ward neighbourhood. The chilly wind tousled his silver curls, the smell of saltwater, fish, and algae were in the air. Seagulls screamed and fought over a few soggy French fries in a puddle. Astarion flinched when a cargo ship honked somewhere behind him, and he hurriedly rang the doorbell. When Gale opened the door and greeted him, Astarion couldn't help but ogle him. The cook was dressed in a dark purple polo shirt and dark blue jeans. He wore his brown hair in a half-updo and his beard neatly trimmed. As Gale showed Astarion around, the light caught a dangling, silver earring. A star with small amethyst gemstones. The man was stunning, and Astarion couldn't look away.

"So, how does one acquire a tower?" the latter wanted to know. "I didn't expect such an eccentric, humble home for a famed star chef like you."

"Oh, really? What did you expect?"

"Something sleek and modern. Boring and sterile, with loads of chrome. Like a restaurant kitchen."

Gale laughed amused and replied: "Not my style at all, but to be fair, it's exactly what my wife likes. You pretty much described the apartment I shared with her."

"Ugh, sounds dreadful," Astarion retorted. To his surprise, Gale agreed.

"It was. I never felt at home there – which might explains why I only went there to sleep and nothing else really. I poured myself into work instead. But enough of that."

He led Astarion towards the table in the living room and pulled the chair out for him. Astarion sat down and accepted the offered glass of water with a smile. He watched as Gale hurried to the kitchen to plate the first course of their dinner and served it, before sitting down. Astarion inspected the salad in front of him.

"A multiple-course meal? Oh, my! What did I do to deserve this?" he joked, and Gale smiled bashfully.

"I... I suppose I'm trying to impress you, Mister Ancunín. You're a rather fascinating specimen."

"Charmer," chuckled Astarion. "And let's drop the honorific form of address. This is a date, after all." Blushing a tad, Gale nodded. How adorable. "Tell me about your grandiose dinner plan, and how and what you came up with."

Unsurprisingly, the addressed's face lit up and he started rambling happily.

"Well, as you can tell, we start off with a beetroot salad. After cooking them, I diced and tossed them in a balsamic vinaigrette. The addition of caraway seeds gives it a distinctive flair that reminds me of the national dish of the North: borscht. For an extra kick of freshness, I added a few filleted orange slices as decoration. That pleases the eye, the tastebuds, and the health. Bon appétit!"

"Bon appétit," smirked Astarion and took the first bite. The earthy flavour of the beetroots harmonised well with the caraway seeds and the citrus flavour. "It's lovely."

"Yes, but nothing special, I'm afraid," Gale retorted, completely ignoring the praise. "Salads are one of the most versatile dishes, but if you can't use any raw vegetables, it's much more challenging to make it colourful and interesting."

"You could have gone for the safe option: cucumber salad. It's the only veggie I can eat raw without any issues," Astarion remarked "But you didn't. You wanted to surprise me with something different, and that's rather thoughtful."

"Yes. Well." Gale cleared his throat awkwardly. "I cannot resist a challenge when one arises. A constant folly of mine, I'm afraid."

"I don't mind. It's a charming folly."

Astarion watched amused as Gale turned the same colour as their salads, and quickly finished the first course. The brunet carried the plates back to the kitchen and returned with the promised Halruaan rice. The smell alone had Astarion salivating.

"Voilà, the famed Eastern dish, as promised!"

"Honestly, I've been waiting for this all week," admitted Astarion. "I even fantasised about the rice in my sleep."

"Well, then I'm glad I can satisfy this urge," Gale told him, before they dug in. The long grain rice was fluffy and firm to the bite. The mild yellow curry was elevated by sweet bits of raisins and dates. On the side, Gale had served a juicy chicken breast, marinated with the same yellow curry mixture and a drizzle of honey, and had garnished it with a fresh sprig of rosemary. Holy shit, it was delicious. Astarion couldn't help but moan at the taste, making Gale blush once more in the process.

"I apologise for ever doubting you. You really are a culinary wizard!"

Gale huffed a laugh, sounding relieved.

"I'm glad you like it, Astarion."

They lapsed into comfortable silence while they ate, until Gale spoke up again.

"I haven't actually answered your question from earlier. About the tower?" Astarion hummed encouragingly, shovelling another forkful of addictive rice into his mouth. "Originally, it served as a harbour tower since the middle ages, but has lost its importance one hundred and fifty years ago."

"And then it was just offered for sale?" Astarion asked in disbelief. "Not turned into a museum, or something? This city's so obsessed with its history otherwise."

"Ahem, well..." Gale grinned sheepishly. "Both sides of my family are deeply rooted in Waterdeep, and my maternal ancestors weren't cooks but fishers."

Astarion's eyes widened in realisation.

"No... Don't tell me that..."

"Guilty as charged, I'm afraid," giggled Gale. "This tower belongs to the Aumar family since the thirteenth century. My great-grandfather was the last harbour tower guard before the industrialisation, and since the tower lost its use and value, my family was able to keep it. My grandparents lived here, and after their death, the property went to Elminster." Gale had a fond look on his face as he smiled. He was beautiful, Astarion thought once more. "I've made a lot of good memories in here. After... after the scandal, Elminster encouraged me to move in long-term." He sighed as a shadow past his face. "You know, even before all of that, we had marital problems. Occasionally, Mystra got so mad at me that she changed the locks of the apartment and refused to let me in. During these times, Elminster allowed me to hunker down in here. The tower was empty anyway, so he told me to make myself comfortable and make it my own. I never had a say in the apartment’s furnishing and decor. Mystra hated how our tastes clash. Well..." Gale shrugged, smiling apologetically. "It's not my fault I like my home to be cosy."

He seemed so tired all of a sudden. So much older than thirty-five. Astarion suppressed the urge to stand up, walk over, and stroke the other man's hair. Instead, he remarked: "Well, darling, in my opinion, your home's nice and cosy, and I like it a lot. It feels warm and safe."

"Not cluttered?" Gale asked, the corners of his mouth ticking up.

"I think that's part of the charm, darling," teased the addressed, and they laughed about it.

After polishing off his plate, Astarion couldn't resist when Gale offered him seconds. When he was done with it, the cook prepared the dessert in the kitchen. It gave Astarion time to thoroughly look around and find out more about the other man. The plentiful, overflowing bookshelves gave away Gale's love for reading, the many pots everywhere proved his green thumb, and the old-fashioned furniture made of dark wood and velvet revealed Gale's taste. Astarion's head snapped back to attention when the brunet walked in, carrying a serving tray. Maybe he could continue his snooping later on.

"Ta-da! Tiramisu and a Myratma Fog!"

"Gale..."

"Listen, I know what you're thinking, and I'm aware it looks like the real deal, but it's not, I promise! I brew organic lavender from the Purple Hills region and steamed almond milk, which I've sweetened with vanilla sugar before. I gently stirred it all together, placed some almond milk macrofoam on top, and garnished it with a sprinkle of dried lavender flowers. It's safe for you to drink, I swear it on the lives of all my ancestors."

"What about the tiramisu?" Astarion asked quietly. "That's biscuits, coffee, mascarpone, and egg. I'm not an idiot, Gale."

"I know, yes, but I - I changed the recipe! I bought vegan mascarpone, and it consists of coconut cream, rape seed oil, and guar gum flour. I double-checked the ingredient list, I swear!" Gale was stumbling over his words in the haste to explain himself. "I used gluten-free, vegan ladyfingers and soaked them in Amaretto and chicory coffee substitute. I left out the eggs and simply fluffed up the vegan mascarpone with sugar, and orange and lemon zest. I topped it off with a light dusting of a cocoa and powdered sugar mixture."

Despite Gale's words, Astarion stared and poked at the dessert as if it could jump off the plate and bite him. Gale sat down with a heavy sigh.

"It's safe to eat, I promise. I'm not trying to hurt you and make you ill. Quite the contrary, actually." A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he nervously rubbed his nose. "I believe more chefs should cater to people with food allergies. It was rather challenging to hunt down all the ingredients I needed, and if food companies and cooks would focus more on that problem, new products would be invented, the variety would increase, and the prices would be less exorbitant."

"That's exactly why I try to stay away from products that are specifically labelled as allergen-free," Astarion ranted. "All those breads, cookies, and snacks are at least twice as expensive as the 'normal' products, and, as the cherry on top, usually, they taste like shit!"

Gale laughed, good-naturedly.

"I think you're onto something."

"Naturally," quipped Astarion, winking.

They lapsed into a pleasant silence. It was never fully quiet in Gale's tower though. The grandfather clock was ticking slowly, the fridge hummed in the background, the fireplace – which apparently was the building's heating system – crackled, and outside the windows screeched a colony of seagulls.

Finally, Astarion cut off a piece of the tiramisu with the spoon and, with a pounding heart, put it in his mouth. ... Fuck. He closed his eyes as long-forgotten but still familiar flavours exploded over his tongue, and his tastebuds sang their praise. Despite being a coffee substitute, the chicory offered the typical roasted flavour and harmonised perfectly with the nuttiness of the almond liqueur. The vegan mascarpone had a thicker, less fluffy texture than the real stuff, but still provided the required creaminess. The zests gave it a fresh kick, which would cut through the heaviness of the dairy, but in this case, they served to enhance the taste of the vegan mascarpone. The bittersweetness of the cocoa/sugar powder brought it all together. It obviously didn't taste like 'real' tiramisu, but it was easily the best dessert Astarion had ever had since he'd cut out all the allergens. Fuck. He swallowed another bite.

"Is it to your liking?" Gale wanted to know, sounding anxious for some damn reason. Was he actually nervous? He? The culinary prodigy, who could do magic in the kitchen? Astarion opened his eyes, horrified to feel the sting of tears in them.

"Gale... this is the best thing I've eaten in fifteen years. Not just the tiramisu but the entire dinner. I... I don't know what to say." Astarion barked a laugh, furiously blinking away the unshed tears. "There are no words that could describe my gratitude, so, I'll make it simple. Thank you, Gale. This is a gift, you know, and I'll never forget it."

The addressed beamed at him, replying: "Anything for you, Astarion."

After finishing their dessert, Astarion followed Gale into the kitchen. He knew what naturally came next. They were on a date, after all. Usually, Astarion made sure to keep some room in his stomach, but he'd had no self-control tonight. Gale's cooking was too delicious to deny. So, there was no way he could be fucked without the risk of puking. A blowjob then. Yes, he could do that. Astarion observed Gale, who was yapping about the little experiments he wanted to involve the lawyer with. The latter hadn't really been listening, too distracted by the thoughts of repaying the cook for his generosity. When Gale was drying his hands on a kitchen towel, Astarion took it as his cue. He moved closer, trapping the other man against the kitchen counter.

"You know," he purred, "no one has ever cooked for me specifically before. What I like or what I can eat never mattered. I just had to make do with what was given to me. So... thank you, Gale. For everything."

He leaned in for a kiss, sighing when their lips met. Gale's were soft, plush, and warm, and the cook brought his hands up to cradle Astarion's face between them. The lawyer liked it. He gently sucked on Gale's lower lip, and when the brunet gasped, Astarion slipped his tongue into the other's mouth, making him moan. It felt so good. Kissing Gale was a revelation. Astarion liked everything about him: his personality, his looks, his scent, his taste. Gale was the first person in years, who didn't put Astarion off. With a happy, little sigh, the brunet drew back to gasp for breath.

"Astarion," he whispered, reverently. The addressed felt a pleasant shiver running up his spine. Kissing Gale felt great, but he knew that was not enough for payment, and he wasn't sure if he'd enjoy the next part of it.

"You took care of me, now, let me take care of you in return, darling," he purred and unzipped Gale's jeans. The latter's breath hitched, his eyes widened. Oh, he was totally into this. Of course he was. Astarion was beautiful, and they both knew it. The lawyer went down on his knees, pulling Gale's trousers and underwear down. The half-hard cock sprang free, uncut, and nestled in a neatly trimmed bush. At least, he wasn't gross. A small mercy. Astarion licked his lips. He could do this. He'd done it countless times before. This was Gale, not a random stranger, and he would be gentle. Wouldn't choke him on his dick until he gagged and threw up. This was Gale, with his soft eyes and warm hands. He wouldn't pull his hair and push him down. Wouldn't call him derogatory terms while fucking his throat raw. Astarion took a deep breath to calm himself and glanced up to see a look of awe and adoration on the other man's flushed face. Gale wouldn't hurt him. Determined, Astarion took him in his mouth, deliberately slowly, running his tongue along the underside of Gale's dick. It wasn't so girthy that it caused lock-jaw, and it smelled clean and faintly of lavender. Gale's dick was perfect – and so were the noises he made. Little hitches of breath and high-pitched whimpers. Delicious. His surprisingly dextrous fingers were in Astarion's curls, not griping or pushing, but lightly massaging his scalp, which was rather pleasant. Astarion focused on sucking the cock in his mouth, he was a professional after all. He drew back to lick the tip, tasting the pearly precum. It wasn't too bad. With closed eyes, he sunk down again, twirling his tongue, while his hand stroke the base. He had an intense fear of deepthroating ever since that one very specific incident when –

"Astarion... I'm close. Please..."

Ah, alright then. The addressed hummed in understanding and kept going. Gale's panting sounded loud and harsh in the otherwise quiet room.

"Astarion."

There was a sob and a hitched breath, and then, Gale was coming. Astarion swallowed it all down dutifully – too afraid of the punishment if he wouldn't – and was surprised that it didn't even taste too bad. Other than HIM, Gale didn't drink coffee nor alcohol, nor did he smoke, so, maybe, that explained the difference in taste. With a gasp, Astarion popped off the softening dick, slightly dazed. The gentle fingers in his hair wandered down to his cheek to tilt his head up.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, Astarion. I didn't mean to - to - But you didn't stop."

"What's the problem, darling? Didn't it feel good to come in my mouth? Isn't it what you wanted?"

The lawyer's voice was raspy and his speech slightly slurred as he peered up through his long, black lashes.

"W-well..." stammered Gale, turning crimson. "It – It felt good."

Astarion hummed in acknowledgement. Of course, it felt good. He'd been praised for his skills often enough. He knew he was a talented cocksucker.

"Was it... good for you too?"

Okay, that was new. Astarion blinked a couple of times, dumbstruck, and found his way back into his body.

"Of course, darling," he lied, coquettishly. – Was it a lie? Astarion suddenly wasn't sure anymore.

"Oh." Gale let go of the breath he'd been holding. "What a relief. I have no intention of making you uncomfortable, or getting you into a sticky situation."

"Sticky, eh?" Astarion smirked, his brain fully online again, as he stood up with feline grace. "It's fine, darling. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself so thoroughly."

To his utter surprise, Gale placed a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips despite the fact that he'd just sucked his dick and reeked of it.

"I'll gladly return the favour," the cook told him, still flushed. "I - I can do that for you, if you wish."

"That's not necessary," Astarion replied quickly. "The pleasure was all mine, and it's getting late."

"But..." Gale frowned. "It would be rather ungentlemanly of me not to –"

"You can be a gentleman next time," Astarion interrupted him smoothly. Gale kept frowning, but thankfully didn't object. Astarion was relieved when the brunet turned around and started stacking food containers with leftovers into a cooling bag, together with his experiments.

"Here you go," Gale smiled. "Again, you don't have to indulge my curiosity if you fear it'll be unsafe for you, but I'm curious about the results nonetheless."

"I'll see what I can do," replied Astarion smoothly.

"Spoken like a true lawyer," teased the cook.

"I am a true lawyer."

Laughing, they moved towards the front door, and Astarion took the cooling bag from Gale, before pecking him on the cheek and stepping outside.

"Thank you, Gale. I had a lovely time," smiled Astarion. He meant it. The addressed smiled back.

"Me too. Goodnight, Astarion. Be safe."

With a curt nod, the lawyer turned around.

As he walked along the wharf beneath the yellow light of the streetlamps and lulled by the sound of the gently swaying sea, he could still taste Gale on his tongue. For the first time in forever, the lingering cum didn't make him want to retch. How peculiar.

[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 ♡

[schrijverr]

I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 33

Chapter 33 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Buck and Eddie try to bridge the three week gap of Eddie’s suspension the best they can. However, Buck needs to heal and Eddie feels responsible. On top of that, no one is talking to them. When they do finally get a visitor, it all changes.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn)

Warnings: internalized misogyny, internalized homophobia, insecurity, injury

~~~

Chapter 33: The… Revelation

Eddie is the one to drive them home from the hospital after Buck is discharged. He’s not a stranger to being behind the wheel, far from it actually, but it’s still odd to be the one driving when Buck is in the car with him. A new thing to get used to, as many new things the revelation of their marriage to everyone has brought.

No one came to visit and Maddie still isn’t answering Buck’s calls. They haven’t talked about it yet – since Eddie is admittedly using Chris as a human shield, because he doesn’t know what to say – but it’s clear it’s weighing on him.

If Eddie knew what to say, he might ask about it, but in a way, he isn’t sure he wants to know. It feels like his fault that their entire support system disappeared while their lives fell apart. He is the one that didn’t divorce Buck before they got caught, he is the one that proposed the scheme, he is the one that wanted to work at the 118, he is the one that wanted to move to LA, he is the one that agreed to marry Buck, he is the one that said yes to Buck babysitting that first time after Shannon left, he is the one that couldn’t do it alone… And now Buck is facing the consequences of his incompetence with him. Can he survive hearing that from him?

Still, seeing Buck upset makes him want to do something stupid like drive to Maddie’s house and yell at her, or drive to Bobby’s to punch him in the face. However, he can’t do that.

With their jobs hanging in the balance and them both unable to work – Buck because he can’t, Eddie because he isn’t allowed – they have to take a step back from Carla, who luckily understands. This makes him primarily responsible for Chris and the rest of the household while Buck is immobilized. Eddie is once more the man of the house, he can’t go around yelling and punching people, even if he wants to really bad. He isn’t his father.

So he reigns in this murderous anger he feels and pushes it down deep, before putting a lid on it, instead choosing to focus on what he still has. On Buck.

It’s partly guilt fueled, partly because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself, but Buck’s recovery has to go perfectly. Eddie knows he isn’t responsible for him getting hurt, but he is responsible for how he recovers. He is the one that made the final call after all.

He still isn’t a great cook and that first week they eat take out they might not be able to afford soon and microwave meals after Eddie ruins the food that Buck helps him prepare by calling out instructions from the couch. However, he gets the hang of pasta after a few days, so they proceed to eat that for the entire next week.

They don’t celebrate Chris’s birthday with family, luckily managing to keep up the illusion of Eddie still having his job, but citing Buck’s injury as that being too much.

The conversation he has to have with his mom before she lets him go is draining and he isn’t sure how long he can do keep this up. At some point, something has to change. But that is a worry for later, there is too much happening now.

Of course Chris still has his birthday party with his friends. It’s not as epic as it would have been and Buck feels absolutely crushed that he isn’t much help, but Chris turns eight with a smile and without any mishaps. It’s not the best birthday, but definitely not the worst he’s had either. Still, both Buck and Eddie hope his ninth birthday will be perfect. He deserves at least one perfect birthday.

By the start of the third week without any word, Eddie is stressed, deep cleaning their entire house from top to bottom. Medical leave pay is not the same as regular pay and there is a clear gap between having two incomes and having one income. They have some savings, but this can’t last forever. If this goes on, they’re going to have a serious problem.

He also still hasn’t asked Buck how he feels about it all. He wants his input, knowing he can always rely on Buck to help view things from a different angle or to have a tidbit of random knowledge to help, but this time is different. He can’t ask this time.

Buck is healing and Eddie shouldn’t be bothering him with this stuff. When he came back injured from Afghanistan, Buck also did all this while he recovered, he should be able to do the same. He’s not even working like Buck was (nor does he have anyone to babysit like they had or the same kind of money troubles looming, but he ignores that detail).

Eddie can do this. He needs to be able to do this. So, no, he doesn’t ask Buck, just waits on his needs as much as he can, trying to be himself, Maddie, Carla and the 118 in one. It feels like an impossible task that only serves to highlight how much he is lacking. However, he has to do it. He has to make sure Buck doesn’t have a reason to leave too.

Today, he shampooed the couch, having run out of things to clean. Buck has smartly retreated to his own room to escape him, but Eddie knows he doesn’t mind his climbing up the walls behavior too much. It would be a little hypocritical anyway, since he isn’t fairing much better. His whole cast is a Christopher Diaz original art piece, which is the only reason he hasn’t been picking at it, and he has never before been so far in any of the video games they own.

There is a knock at the door right as Eddie places the last pillows back on the couch. He looks an absolute mess, but he practically flies over there, hoping it’ll be news from the LAFD, or even a friend who changed their mind.

On the porch, there is Maddie.

Out of everyone, she isn’t who he expected and he wonders for a split second why he didn’t as he tries to come up with a reaction to her sudden appearance.

“I had to get the address from Abuela, Pepa refused to give it and Chimney didn’t know it,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Can you believe that? A year I’ve been here and I never even realized I didn’t know where my own brother lived.”

“I’m sorry?” Eddie replies, unsure what sort of response she wants from him.

She sends him a withering look in response. “Yeah, I sure hope you are. He lied to me, because of you. Do you have any idea how that looks?”

Eddie knows exactly how that looks, but he’s been gearing up to get mad at someone for almost three weeks now, so he just snaps: “Well, he was also heavily injured and I was the only on there in the hospital with him. Do you have any idea how that looks?”

Maddie flinches as if slapped and on another day, Eddie would feel bad about it. She defends herself: “I needed space.”

“Over two weeks of space?” Eddie says incredulously and judgmentally. “Face it, Maddie, you ran from this. From him. Like you always do.”

“You do not get to accuse me like that,” Maddie hisses.

“I don’t?” Eddie asks in a bitchy manner. “Do you have any idea how much Buck misses you? Of course not, because you aren’t here. And guess what? I am. Back in the hospital you said I don’t know him, but I know him well enough, I spend nearly every day of the past four years with him or in communication with him. I’ve seen him send you dozens of cards and I’ve seen him open the mailbox with that disappointed look on his face over and over. He called you so many times since he woke up, he asked after you. And I was the one, who had to tell him that you weren’t there. Again. So, yeah, I feel like I do get to accuse you like that.”

That shuts Maddie up. For a moment, they’re just looking at each other, standing on the porch of Buck and Eddie’s small home.

Eddie isn’t sure if he should say something to soften his words, since he doesn’t want to scare her away again. Buck loves his sister, he’d want her in his life, the last thing Eddie should be doing is arguing with her. But at the same time, he has all this anger inside him, which is definitely also directed at Maddie and some things are hard to keep to himself right now.

Before he can think of something else to say, Maddie says: “I don’t get you, you know. What do you want with him?”

“What?” Eddie isn’t sure if he’s surprised, offended, or confused.

“You marry him, because he helps take care of Chris and it’s convenient, then you claim it’s his idea to lie about it, yet it’s an accident that you got in so deep and you just didn’t get around to divorcing him. And then, here you are, living with him and defending him. So what do you want from him, Eddie?”

Her outburst makes him pause. Eddie realizes that everyone probably has a pretty warped idea of what exactly went down to get them here, because no one stuck around for a better explanation than the one Eddie could give in that moment. He wonders if that’s the reason everyone left. Still because of him, but not because they think he’s a hot pile of garbage – though they might still think that even with the proper explanation – but because he couldn’t even explain it right.

“Maddie,” he says slowly and cautiously, “the only reason I was ever in a position to marry him, is because we’re friends. Best friends. Yes, it was a marriage of convenience and he helped with Chris and that’s the reason we became friends and why we got married, but we’d been friends for a year already by the time I married him. I didn’t marry him only to leave immediately.”

She looks at him as if he’s an alien, before doing a double take. Suspiciously yet curious to a point he doesn’t understand, she asks: “Friends? Nothing else?”

“No, nothing else,” Eddie sighs. “If we’d actually been married, we would have filled out those stupid forms and not gotten into this mess.” He pinches his brow, then says: “Look, why don’t you come inside? Buck is in his room, but I don’t think he’s napping, so I can go grab him for you. He is better at explaining anyway and he missed you.”

Suddenly Maddie looks hesitant and quietly she asks: “Is he mad at me for staying away?”

Eddie wishes he could tell her a hard yes, that Buck is angry and she should grovel and doesn’t deserve his love anyway. But if Buck was that kind of person, he probably never would have let Eddie stay in his life after the damage he caused, so he can’t.

“He’s not mad. Just sad, honestly. I don’t think he can be mad at you. Pretty sure he was already making a list of everything he ever lied about since he was a little kid, so he could tell you when you talked to him again,” he says, stepping to the side to let her in. “But a sorry can’t hurt,” he adds to be a little selfish.

“Course,” Maddie says, looking around as she enters. Eddie is now glad he cleaned in a frenzy, because now that she is here, he wants to make a good impression on her, though he can’t place why exactly and doesn’t want to examine it too closely either. Enough is happening already.

To distract himself, he half gives a tour, saying: “We got a living room and a kitchen, the bathroom is over there, Chris has a room, that’s my room and Buck’s room is there. We got lucky with the house, the sellers needed it gone, because they were moving to Europe and they had a soft spot for Chris, I think. Buck did most of the communication, he probably charmed them.”

Maddie gives him a look that he can’t decipher and he suddenly feels very awkward. “Uhm, do you want something to drink? Or should I get Buck first?”

“You can get Buck,” she says with a small smile after she looked around. “I’m pretty sure Buck had input on the kitchen, it’s the same way of organizing we used to have back home. I’ll find myself something to drink.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course,” Eddie nods, a little weirded out at how connected they are.

He quickly retreats down the hall, knocking on Buck’s door. Buck calls back: “Are you still cleaning, because I’m good then.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, feeling more comfortable again the second he hears Buck’s voice. “No, I’m done.” Then thrilled that he finally has some good news, he says: “You have a visitor.”

“I do?” Buck sounds excited, but also like he can’t believe it.

“Yeah, buddy,” Eddie says, pushing open the door, because he can hear Buck trying to get out of bed alone and like hell is he going to let him fall after all that.

Buck tries to wave him away, grumbling that he can do it, even if he falls against Eddie to steady himself once he’s up. When he has both crutches solidly under him, Eddie steps back. Buck grins at him, then eagerly asks: “Who is it?”

“Maddie,” Eddie smiles, unable to stop the warmth flooding through him at how Buck lights up at the news, even if he’s a little annoyed with her himself.

“Did she say anything?” he asks immediately, nerves creeping back in as he bites his lip.

Eddie looks at it for a second, then blinks. “She asked me what I wanted with you, seemed ready to defend your honor. She also has questions about how all this-” he gestures around vaguely “-happened. I don’t think I explained it well in the hospital.”

“But she- she didn’t seem… mad?”

“Nah, she actually asked if you were mad at her.”

“Pff, that’s ridiculous.”

“And I told her you’d say that. Now, go greet your sister. I’ll give you two some room to talk. It’s nearly time to pick up Chris anyway.”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck nods, taking a deep breath, before making his way to the living room on his crutches. “Maddie! Hi,” he exclaims with a big grin when he sees her.

Eddie is right behind him and sees how Maddie puts down a mug as she turns from where she is wandering about, inspecting the room. On her face is the exact same smile that Buck often wears on his own face. She sounds relieved, which Eddie finds a bit ironic, as she says: “Buck,” wrapping him in a hug.

She steps back and takes him, in studying him critically. “Are you taking care of yourself? That cast is pretty big, are you making sure it’s clean? Not getting it wet?”

Buck looks a little embarrassed by her overbearing, though also pleased. If that pleased edge weren’t there, Eddie would have been more cutting when he says: “The entire house is accessible.”

“Yeah, and Eddie’s a medic, you know. I’m in good hands, promise,” Buck quickly jumps on Eddie’s assurance, giving Maddie a short wink and a grin as he does to ease the tension that’s still there, despite their best effort.

Maddie gives an awkward smile that is really trying to be supportive, but still looks a little like a grimace. “Of course. I’m sorry. Go sit. Do you have a pillow to put your foot up?”

“Yeah, it’s that one,” Buck points at one of their throw pillows, before going to lower himself on the chair. “Though you should maybe grab a kitchen chair, Eddie shampooed the couch. He’s been cleaning the whole house. Antsy, you know.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says ears burning, before turning to Maddie. “It’s already pretty dry.” Then he turns back to Buck, helping him get his foot on the pillow. “I’m grabbing you something to drink, then heading out. Want me to take Chris to the park, before heading home?”

He doesn’t really care that Maddie can 100% pick up on the actual question, which is: ‘Do you want me to give you time to rehash everything with your sister and have a possible fight without fearing the interruption of an eight year old?’

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Buck grimaces apologetically.

“Cool.” With that Eddie makes the tea Buck’s been into lately, since he had to divert from his usual coffee with the pain meds he’s on. After handing it to him, he gives Maddie a polite smile and nod, trying to ignore her quirked brow, before heading out to pick up Chris.

Chris is thankfully more than happy to go to the park after school, seeing it as a valid excuse to not do his homework. Eddie tries not to encourage the notion, even if he was a much less diligent student when he was Chris’s age.

Still, he doesn’t care that much whether or not Chris does his homework today, he cares more about if he’s having fun or not. By the looks of it, he is.

Eddie will never tire of days like these. He misses Buck being there with them too, but pushes that away, same with his anxieties about if they can still provide this life for Chris next month, or his anxieties about how Buck’s talk with Maddie is going. For an hour or two, he just tries to enjoy hanging out with his kid, seeing him smile.

After a little over two hours, he gets a text from Buck saying it’s all good and that Maddie apologized, which according to him she didn’t have to, but makes Eddie nod satisfied to himself, since that means he can somewhat forgive her too. For Buck’s sake. Plus, she also offered to make dinner tonight, so if he and Chris can please pick up these ingredients before they come home.

Without his permission, Eddie smiles at the phone, relieved it’s gone okay and happy at the familiarity of the text. It’s very domestic, and amused Eddie thinks, ‘hopefully they’re not going to request our texts to investigate if we’re lying about not being together, because that looks pretty married.’

The reminder of how it can all go bad for them sours his mood and he scowls at his phone for a second. He sends back two thumbs up emojis, then stuff it back in his pocket, telling Chris to wrap up.

When they get home, Chris walks out ahead of him to the kitchen, while Eddie toes of his shoes while wrestling with the too many grocery bags he carried in one trip that he refuses to put down before reaching the kitchen.

He hears Chris say: “Hello, papi.” Then gasps excitedly: “Tía Maddie!”

Eddie whips his head around, seeing both Buck’s and Maddie’s expression shift as they realize again, or maybe for the first time, just how true the name Eddie first called Maddie is.

“Yeah,” Buck is the first, whose expression turns into a smile, “that is tía Maddie. She’s going to make us dinner, so we don’t have to eat daddy’s pasta again.”

Chris giggles at that and conspiratorially tells Maddie: “Daddy’s not good at cooking, pasta is all he can make. We’ve been eating it for a week.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Eddie says, coming in behind Chris and dumping the groceries on the counter so he can ruffle his hair.

“I don’t know,” Maddie says, mischievous look on her face. “I think I’d like to hear more about our food critic here. What do you say, want to be my taste tester?”

“Yes,” Chris cheers.

“Good, come stand here. I’ll chop and you can tell me about what foods you like,” she says, gesturing for Chris to stand with her at the counter, while she goes and grabs the grocery bags.

“I like lots of foods,” Chris informs her proudly. “Papi likes to experiment, we’re his test subjects.”

“Yeah? Do his experiments fail often, or is he good?” Maddie asks.

“He’s pretty good, but he burned the brussel sprouts. That was gross,” Chris says in that unabashed manner kids have.

Maddie giggles. “That doesn’t surprise me. Did you know that your papi hated brussel sprouts when he was your age? I had to hide them in the soup just so he would eat them.”

“You knew papi when he was my age?” Chris asks, as if he can’t believe it. He’s grown up around people that had childhood stories about Eddie, but none were ever told about Buck. Eddie half thinks that Chris was under the assumption Buck sprang into existence when Chris was three.

At the question, Maddie pauses for a second, then she just smiles: “I did. I’m his big sister, did I not tell you that? That’s why I’m your tía.”

Chris easily takes the information in stride, nodding as if that makes sense, before asking if Maddie knows how to make brussel sprouts, because they never really ate them afterwards.

While they get caught in a conversation as Maddie cooks, Buck watches the two of them. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, leg propped up. His expression can only be described as fond and awed, like he can’t believe how lucky he is to witness this. Eddie realizes this is probably the first time he gets to see his two families meet and merge like an actual family while not having to hide or think about it.

As Buck watches them and Eddie watches Buck, taking in his expressions and posture, seeing what he thinks. He wants this to go well for him and he’s glad when it does. Having Maddie back in their corner is a massive win for all of them.

Finally they’re catching a break in all this. Eddie isn’t carrying it all alone right now anymore, he doesn’t have to try and make up for Maddie’s absence at least. For tonight, he has a respite of feeling bad and guilty and he allows himself a moment of peace as he observes Buck.

Eddie thinks that Buck looks a lot like what he probably looked like earlier today at the park. He looks so happy to have this moment, to have this time with Chris. With family. He’s always been so happy to be Chris’s other parent and right now, Eddie can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

When Shannon divorced him, he thought that was it. He’d never find anyone, who he could do this with, he’d never find another person that he could share this with. He thought he’d have to awkwardly share it with her, never getting to fully enjoy co-parenting due to their own issues hanging over every moment. Yet here Buck is, here Eddie is, and he still gets to have that.

It takes a moment, before he realizes what he’s thinking, that he has placed Buck in the spot Shannon was supposed to have. That his wife was supposed to have.

He tries to justify it to himself, tells himself that it’s just because he is co-parenting with Buck and that doesn’t have to be romantic. Argues that the whole business with their marriage getting exposed just confused him, because he’s been talking about it so much, calling Buck his husband at the hospital and such. However, a part of him knows that that’s not it.

Dread starts to pool in his stomach, because for a moment, it feels like he loves Buck. Then that moment doesn’t go away. Thinking about it, he recognizes the feeling as something that has tugged at him before, but it always left. Eddie was always better than it. Always beat it.

But now the feeling lingers and, alongside it, an anxiety creeps up.

He was never meant to love Buck, he was never meant to stick with him for this long. He was supposed to leave Buck years ago and he suddenly gets the creeping feeling that he knows why he never did, even if it would have been easier.

Eddie is in love with Buck. He’s in love with him, romantically. He wants to be Buck husband for real, raise Chris with him, do all the things they already do, but take him on dates, kiss him, hold his hand, fucking hell, even send a little heart emoji along with his thumbs up.

This is bad. Really bad. He can’t be in love with Buck. He can’t. Eddie isn’t that kind of person, he’s not- he’s not gay. Eddie can’t be.

Panic crawls up his throat and he finds himself spinning on his heel and fleeing the room. Fleeing the house. However, he doesn’t leave. Instead he just stands outside for a moment, hands shaking as he wonders what the hell he is supposed to do now.

Just to have something to do, he walks over to the mailbox. They closed the one they have in the door, not wanting piling mail to be a tripping hazard for Chris. Since his suspension, it’s become a habit to check the mail every night, hoping to have news about his job. He hasn’t had any news yet and he doesn’t think it’ll change tonight, but having something useful to do will ground him.

As if to taunt him, he opens the letterbox to find a letter with the LAFD logo stamped on it.

Again anxiety goes through him and he doesn’t know if he’s happy to have a reason to act weird tonight, or if this will be the final straw that breaks the camel’s back. Faintly he thinks that it’s no good to have a freak out when trying to prove to Maddie he can be a good brother-in-law. But the thought can barely be heard over the rushing in his ears.

With clumsy fingers, he opens the letter, nearly ripping it in half in the process. When he finally does have the letter in hands, the words swim for a second, before his eyes can focus on what it reads.

Dear Probationary Firefighter Edmundo Diaz,

We hereby inform you that you will be allowed to continue to work as a firefighter for the Los Angeles Fire Department and finish your probationary year.

Due to the still ongoing investigation into possible fraternization between you, Probationary Firefighter Edmundo Diaz, and Firefighter Evan Buckley at station 118 of the LAFD, it is decided that working there is not possible until that investigation is wrapped up. Therefore you are requested to report to station 136.

Further information about possible disciplinary action or other consequences of the investigation between Probationary Firefighter Edmundo Diaz and Firefighter Evan Buckley is yet to be released. You and Firefighter Evan Buckley will be notified when such information is available.

Eddie just stares at the letter for a moment, his eyes getting stuck on the words: ‘possible fraternization between you, Probationary Firefighter Edmundo Diaz, and Firefighter Evan Buckley’ keep playing on a loop.

No one can ever know Eddie was actually in love with Buck the whole time. Especially not Buck. It is so inappropriate of Eddie. It is wrong. Buck will hate him should he ever find out.

He has half a mind to destroy the letter, as if those words alone will reveal what Eddie has only just learned. Then he realizes that is an idiotic thing to do, because the letter doesn’t say anything. They can’t know. He never did anything. Only God will know Eddie’s thoughts and he really hopes He doesn’t tattle this time.

Besides, by now the rest of the information has registered. The letter is good news. Eddie is going to work again. He didn’t fuck up everything. He can still do this. He can still be good. He can work and be there for Buck while he recovers and no one needs to know that Eddie is failing, that he did what he wasn’t supposed to do.

He just never has to think about it, suck it up and move on. He beat those feelings before, he can do it again. Yeah, he can do that again. He can totally do that. No one has to know. No one.

~~

A/N:

Happy new year everyone! What a way to start it out, right xp? I hope everyone had a good year switch and there weren’t any firework incidents :D

Bc ahhhh, Eddie finally knowsss!!!! I’m so thrilled for him, even if he is clearly being a dumbass about it, however it wouldn’t be our Eddie without some heavy repression and internalized homophobia <3