#turns out I do not have any Soy Sauce at home...

[horsechestnut]

If you ever want to have the grossest fried rice of your life a good place to start is by not realizing there’s a difference between Sesame Oil and Sesame Seed Oil. I then recommend following that up by mixing up the Soy Sauce and Worcester Sauce bottles... 

[lixzey]

Bf!Luke Castellan x Filipina child of Aphrodite!reader please? I haven't seen any of Filipina readers so I'm begging on my knees 🥺

In which she misses home terribly and decides to cook some of her fave food (preferably sinigang, adobo, or like something else! you can do some research, if you'd like 🫶🏻)

And she makes Luke try it! But he's so whiny bcs he hasn't even heard of the dish's name.

Anywaaay, I loved lovelorn!!! Waiting for the next update like 👀 Your writing is just so 🤌🏻 chef's kiss!!

late night cravings

summary: you miss home terribly, so you decide to cook your favorite ulam

warnings: filipina!reader x luke castellan! they're both 19 (set before tlt), they're like on vacation (luke and reader have an apartment in the east village, courtesy of reader’s dad who’s a filipino actor) away from camp duties for a while, swearing (both filipino and english), luke is a picky ass eater, making out, kinda suggestive content

a/n: i got so excited with this 😭 i'm a filipina and an aphrodite kid, so this was so fun to write! I hope you like it!

“What on earth are you cooking?” Luke asks, leaning against the kitchen door frame of the apartment the two of you own. “I woke up to the smell of that.” 

You immediately whip your head around to see your boyfriend, half naked and disheveled from sleep. “Well, hello to you too, sunshine,” You chuckle, blowing strands of your hair away from your face. 

“It's the middle of the night, princess, and you're cooking something that smells like vomit.” Luke grumbles as he makes his way towards you, still bleary eyed as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

“I just missed home,” You giggle, reaching to grab the tongs to flip over the daing na bangus so it doesn’t burn. “Something wrong, baby?”

“Yeah, it smells like shit.” Luke complains, burying his face in your neck. “It’s stinking up the whole place.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” You chuckle, placing the tongs down on a plate, escaping Luke’s grasp and making your way to the kitchen island, leaning against it. “It’s good, I promise.”

Luke stares at the pan. “I am not eating that thing.” He then turns to you, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Where’s the mac and cheese?”

“It’s just milkfish, dummy.” You roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s refusal to eat anything other than mac and cheese. “Also, you finished the last box of mac hours ago, remember?”

“Ramen?” Luke asks, hopeful that there’s still some left other than the fish that’s stinking up the whole apartment.

When you shook your head, literal fear crept onto his handsome face. “Anything else?” He asks, his voice cracking like a teenaged boy going through puberty for the first time, making you burst into a fit of giggles.

“There’s nothing left, you’ve finished everything.” You say through fits of laughter at your boyfriend’s food crisis. “Guess you’ll have to deal with the food I’m gonna cook.”

Luke’s eyes comically widen, like one of those cartoon characters you’ve watched when you were a kid. “There’s more?”

“Yeah,” You nod, jerking your head to the refrigerator littered with lots of printed photos of the dates you and Luke went on over the years you’ve been together. “I marinated some pork for adobo.”

“Ado-what?”

“Adobo, it’s a Filipino staple.” You answer with a chuckle. “It’s pork marinated in vinegar, soy sauce, and some garlic. I added some peppercorns too. My lola used to cook it for me when I was a kid.”

Luke makes his way to you, his large hands creeping onto your waist, lifting you up onto the counter. “As much as you love it, princess, I’m not eating any of it.”

“And why not?” You scoff, raising a brow at him.

“I don’t like it, that’s why.” Luke insists, kissing your forehead. “I’m gonna go and get some real food.”

You sigh, annoyed by your boyfriend’s pickiness in food. For as long as you’ve known him, he’s been choosing what he eats like a child. It was always mac and cheese, chicken, pizza, and burgers. It was a struggle to feed him, honestly. Since he won’t eat anything apart from what he’s used to. Luke was lucky that the dryads serve mac almost with every meal—which is mostly for the kids or a side dish. You’ve tried to incorporate vegetables in his meals but somehow he always notices. It was infuriating, to the point that you just wanted to shove a broccoli floret down his throat.

All of a sudden, the smell of burning infiltrates your sense of smell, triggering the fire alarms simultaneously.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” You frantically mutter, jumping off the kitchen island and running to the burning bangus on the stove. You grab the pan, forgetting it was on the fire for minutes on end. “Putangina!” You swear, abruptly pulling your hand off the pan’s handle.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, here,” Luke grabs the pan with oven mitts, placing it on the counter.

You sigh as you stare at the burnt fish, hearing the pan hiss against the cold surface.

Luke, being the best boyfriend that he is, pulls you in a tight hug, his body heat engulfing you. “It’s okay, princess. It was an accident.”

“I’ve been craving that,” You mumble against his chest. “Stupid fire.”

“You still have the first one you cooked,” Luke points out. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You raise your head, meeting his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.” you mumble, lower lip out in a pout.

“Don’t be sad over a burnt fish, alright?”

You glare at him, pinching his side. “It was a tasty fish.”

“Geez, princess,” Luke scowls playfully. “A fish is more important than me?”

“Shut up,” You hiss, rolling your eyes. “I paid five bucks for that.”

Luke raises a brow at you. “When did you even get time to get them?”

“You sleep like a lamb, baby,” You chuckle, turning to walk to the refrigerator. “I went to a Filipino store.”

“There’s one in New York?” Luke asks, brows furrowed in confusion. “I thought you said there weren’t any?”

“That was years ago, dummy.” You snort, grabbing the refrigerator handle, opening it. “Anyway, look what I got.”

An array of Filipino snacks filled the middle shelf of the fridge. You had gone all out. It wasn’t often that you splurge on food, but when a craving hits, it hits.

There were some Choco Mallows—chocolate covered marshmallows—your favorite treat as a child that your lola always bought for you. A jar of ube macapuno that you hated as a child but learned to love just recently. Some dried mangoes, pastillas, a jar of wafer sticks—stik o—a slice of brazo de mercedes, and many more.

“How the hell are you even gonna finish all of that?”

You shake your head, smirking. “You and I are gonna eat each and every item that I bought.”

Luke scowls, folding his toned arms over his chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Castellan,” You say, placing your hands on your hips. “You are going to eat whatever I serve you.”

Luke pouts, pairing it off with puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“That smells like vomit,” Luke complains as you seared the marinated pork for adobo. “And it looks like it too!”

“Quit it,” You say with a murderous glare. “Don’t yap at it until you’ve tasted it.”

“I think I’m going to puke all my guts out,” Luke gags, making his way to the sink.

“For the love of the gods,” You groan, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his childishness. It was just food, and he’s whining about it like there’s no tomorrow.

You turn your attention away from your picky eater of a boyfriend and back to the pan with the pork searing brown nicely. You then grab the remaining liquid from the marinade—which was not much, which it would have to do—pouring it in, causing the pan to hiss at the difference in temperature. You turn the stove down to medium high heat, before leaving it to simmer.

Much to Luke’s misery.

“You aren’t covering it?” Luke asks incredulously. “It’s smelling the place worse than the fish did!”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Luke.” You sigh, grabbing a pouch of dried mangoes before taking a seat on one of the bar stools over the kitchen island. “It’s gonna taste good, I promise.”

“Ugh,” Luke wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gag me.”

“Nah, you’d like it too much.” You giggle, popping a slice of dried mango in your mouth.

Luke scoffs playfully. “Damn right I will, princess.”

“Then stop whining,”

“You love me,” Luke grins as he walks towards you, capturing your lips in his, his hand cupping your face.

You hum as your lips mold with his, your shoulders relaxing as he kisses you.

You pull away from the kiss, pushing him slightly. “You’re distracting me, Castellan,” you sigh dreamily, a soft blush covering your cheeks as your boyfriend looks at you like you’re the only thing in this world.

Luke leans in, his lips brushing against your lips as he trails towards your ear. “Is it working?” he whispers, his breath hot on your skin.

“Luke,” You murmur, placing your hand on his chest. “Stop, I don’t want to burn the adobo.”

Luke chuckles, his fingers tangling with the ends of your hair. “Alright, but later?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “If you promise to taste the adobo and bangus,” You smirk at him, pushing him slightly away from your body as you stand up. “Maybe I’ll let it happen, you know? On this counter.”

“Do I really have to?”

“If you want to bend me over this counter, yes.”

Luke sighs as he reluctantly nods. “Fine, I’ll taste them.”

“That’s a good boy,” You coo, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Go and sit,” you jerk your head towards the bar stool you just stood up from. “It’ll be ready in a few.”

Luke obliges, sitting on the stool with his arms crossed over the other. He grins at you, a mischievous look you know oh so well in his beautiful browns. 

Luke was teasing you, the little shit.

You chuckle, shaking your head, before turning to make your way to the stove, swaying your hips as you did—earning a small grunt from Luke behind you.

As you check up on the adobo, you see that almost half of the liquids have evaporated, leaving you with a slightly oily adobo—just the way you liked it. You turned down the heat, grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer to check if the pork was tender.

You poke the fork through the meat effortlessly, making you smile. The perfect adobo.

You quickly grab a plate and load it up with the delicious ulam you’ve grown up with, hoping Luke would appreciate it as much as you did.

“Here it is,” You excitedly announce, serving the adobo with a spoon and fork in front of him with a proud smile etched on your lips. “It’s better with rice, but it’s good on its own too.”

Luke stares at the meat in front of him, as if the adobo was going to attack him if he wasn’t vigilant enough. “Is it supposed to look like that?”

You raise a brow at him. “Like what?”

“Like it’s burnt,”

You sigh, taking a seat beside him. “It’s supposed to look like that, but it isn’t burnt. It’s because of the searing, plus the soy sauce the pork has already absorbed.” You grab the utensils, shoveling a healthy amount of meat and sauce on the spoon using the fork. “Open wide, baby!”

Luke shook his head. “I think I’m okay.”

“Luke,” You growl, raising the adobo filled spoon up to his mouth. “Open your fucking mouth before I shove this spoon down your throat forcibly.”

Luke raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, geez,” he chuckles, opening his mouth up. “Be gentle with me, princess.”

You glare at him before pushing the spoon inside of his mouth. “If you spit that out, you’re sleeping on the damn floor.”

Luke chews the contents of his mouth, his eyes widening. “Fuck, this is good!” He grins as he pulls the plate in front of him and immediately takes another spoonful. “Mhmm, that hits the spot!” Luke says through a mouth full of the savory pork dish you cooked. 

“Good, baby?” You giggle, reaching to grab the fork from him to get a bite of your masterpiece. “Don’t finish it all, save some for me!”

“Losers, weepeers, baby,” Luke mumbles through bites. “You sure you didn’t use any love magic on this?”

You recoil, slapping his arm playfully. “I did not use gayuma, Castellan.” 

“Gayuma?”

“It’s love magic, in Filipino,” You answer, taking another bite of your food. “I have got to teach you more Filipino words.” 

“I’m in love with this—what is it called again?”

“Adobo,” You laugh, taking a bite of the said ulam. “Pork adobo.”

“Pork adobo, I love you!” Luke grins, like it’s the first time he’s ever tried food in eons.

You smile lovingly at your boy, looking all so happy and content. You could spend eternities just staring at him. Seeing Luke happy made you feel complete, like you’ve fulfilled a quest greater than anything the gods could dish out.

You could see a future with the man in front of you. You’ve honestly got nothing figured out, but Luke? He was the only thing you’ve got right in your life. You could see him, being the man you’d marry and spend the rest of your life with. You could see him being the father of your children, a little Luke and a little version of you, running around the front yard while you and Luke watch on the front porch with a multitude of toys sprawled around.

You fell in love with a careless god’s careful son, and he is the best thing that’s ever been yours.

“Princess,” You hear Luke call out to you, snapping you out of your daydreams. You look up, meeting his loving gaze, making your cheeks burn. Gods, it’s not fair of him to make me feel this much. 

“Yeah?” You hum, moving your chair closer to him, smiling as you did. “What is it?”

Luke cups your face in his large hands, pulling you in close, barely an inch apart. “I love you.” 

Your heart beats rapidly inside your rib cage, wondering how on earth does he manage to still make you feel like that giddy teenager who fell in love with him years ago. 

You stare in his eyes for what felt like eons. You could feel Luke’s breath hot on your lips, begging you to seal it inside of him with a kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, a small smile curling onto your lips. “I love you too, baby.” you whisper, before closing in the distance between the two of you.

Luke’s hands make their way down to your waist, pulling you onto his lap, making you gasp. He takes advantage of your lips parting, sliding his tongue in, eager to taste you—even though he’s done it more times than he could count.

His lips were soft, like a cloud grazing yours. He tasted sweet, like cotton candy, but with a hint of smoke and citrus playing at your taste buds. You should have been used to it by now, being in a relationship with Luke for almost three years and all. But his touch numbs you. His touch is like being dipped into the cold ocean, pulling you in—drowning you, until he’s bruised into your mind. 

Your hands creep around the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss—if it was even possible given the state of your tongues clashing with one another, fighting to assert dominance. You bite Luke’s lower lip, causing a groan to escape his mouth. You feel this familiar heat pool inside your belly, along with something hard poking your ass.

You pull away from the kiss, lips swollen as you catch your breath. Before you could utter a word, Luke lifts you up on the counter, making you erupt in a fit of giggles. He then presses his forehead against yours, you could hear his slow breaths as your noses bump into each other. 

“So, you lettin’ it happen, huh, princess?”

“You didn’t try the other one,” You feign annoyance, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t make an exception for me, princess?” Luke smirks, his fingers delicately brushing against your arms.

“I think I can squeeze you in,” You chuckle, pulling away from him with a teasing grin. “You good with that, mister?”

“I’ll take anything as long as it’s with you.” Luke grabs your waist, pulling you back close to him. “Gods, you are so beautiful.” he whispers, his hand cupping your face.

“I love you,” You murmur, placing your hand on his chest, on the place where his heart rests. “More than anything.”

“You are the best thing in my life.” Luke sighs before leaning in to kiss you again like his life depended on it, wrapping his arms around you like a vice. You run your fingers through his hair, pulling and tugging on his curls as if he was your lifeline.

Luke’s hands fumble with the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, momentarily breaking the kiss. He quickly reaches behind, unclasping your bra in one swift movement, tearing the offending fabric off of your breasts.

Luke takes his time to admire your body, as if it was the very first time he’d even seen your breasts out on full display for him, just for him. His cock strained painfully inside of his shorts and boxers, causing a groan to escape his throat. “You see what you do to me, princess?”

You look at him with innocence in your eyes, which at the same time looks sultry and inviting, driving him crazy every time you do. “Who, me?”

“Aren’t you just a little vixen?”

“So, to the room?”

Luke shakes his head, moving towards you, his hands just below your breasts as he smirks. “Here, over the fucking counter.”

tags: @lilmaymayy @ma1dita @sc4rl3ttdafoxx @hottiewifeyyyy

[egoistars]

instead of osatlas smau for ur 300 what abt i’m cooking witf samu but he doesn’t let mw do shit u pick tho idc 😻😻

MADE WITH LOVE osamu miya

cooking oyakodon with osamu because he loves you <3

written for my 300 followers event!

“I feel like a horny old man watching a stripper right now,” you dreamily sigh as you watch Osamu chop an onion with precise yet swift motions. In less than a minute, the chopped onion was placed into a pan and replaced with a handful of fresh herbs that Kita—his senior and high school volleyball captain—had sent him earlier that day. Beside the chopping board, were bowls of eggs and sauces all prepared for a meal of oyakodon.

“I really wanted to have a special moment cooking for you but you had to make it weird,” your boyfriend complained. You both knew he never found any of your commentary annoying, insulting you was his love language and you relished in the faux criticisms because only someone he felt truly comfortable with would receive such jabs. “I don’t trust you with anything in this kitchen but you can help beat the eggs I already cracked. I know you’ve cracked eggs before but I have a gut feeling you would somehow manage to explode the thing in front of me.”

“Why do you have zero trust in me?” you whined, grabbing a pair of long, wooden chopsticks to beat the small bowl of eggs. In the meantime, Osamu mixed dashi, soy sauce, mirin, and sugar, drizzling the sauces onto the onions in the pan. The two of you basked in the savory aroma, already feeling your stomach rumble for the hearty meal. You push the bowl of beaten eggs toward Osamu, grinning in pride at your work. “The eggs are done! Rate my work, chef.”

“Not bad, chef,” he mused before ruffling your hair and giving you a kiss on the forehead. “That’s all you need to do. Now sit back and wait for the meal to come out.”

With a heart full of warmth, you lie your head on the kitchen island as your boyfriend turns the stove on and stirs the simmering onions. Sizzling sounded through the spacious kitchen when chicken and eggs hit the pan, a cloud of steam rising from the stove, sending the mouth watering scent of oyakodon to you.

“I can’t believe I’m getting the full Onigiri Miya experience at home with the owner as my private chef, all for free too. I’m so spoiled,” you stupidly grin as Osamu laughs.

“Only the most special treatment for my dearest,” he responds. Turning his head toward you, a sparkle glimmers in his round, gray eyes. “It’s only the right thing to do for the person I love.”

guys i love atlas pls follow them they write the cutest stuff ever

[disneyprincemuke]

tis the season for mistletoasters

alternatively: this year she is unhinged with the decorations

in which they invite a select few of their friends over for the holidays and a particular holiday decoration catches them off guard

(series masterlist)

the door flies open, revealing the smaller girl with her friends standing in the hallway with boxes in their hands and confusion riddling their faces.

"couldn't you have just opened the door like a normal person? don't you have pets in your home?" george frowns, slowly following her inside the small apartment.

"what else do we expect from her?" max follows up.

"wait!" she screeches, arms held out to avoid them walking in any further than the entryway. she points down at their feet. "shoes off!"

"yes," sebastian mutters, already slipping off his shoes right by the door with a hand on the wall to balance himself. "on it."

"wow, very particular," lando teases, though he also slips off his shoes and kicks in towards the wall to keep it neat. he shoves the box into her hands and then pushes past her as he navigates into her apartment. "where is your child? i want to see kidnapper."

"oi, no way!" max screams, pushing past her to chase after lando. "i'm kidnapper's uncle! i suggested she adopt the cat!"

"no, this is the one cat that actually likes me! you've got cats of your own," lando scolds, shoving max to the side as they enter the living room. "i called dibs."

"doesn't matter what you guys say - i'm kidnapper's favourite." alex also pushes past her, chasing after his friends to try and race for the cat's attention. "he will ditch you no matter what."

"two of them are predicted to be future world champions. one of them's won three," she smiles, locking her jaw as she turns around. "thank you for coming over, by the way! happy holidays."

"well, i guess i'm interested if logan can really cook," george shrugs, finally stepping forward to pull her in for a quick hug. he presses his cheeks against hers. "when are you flying off to melbourne?"

she shrugs, frowning. "i haven't booked us a flight yet."

"you're travelling there by foot then?" sebastian raises an eyebrow to tease her with her last-minute planning. "tickets will be expensive if you don't get them now."

"max is lending them his private jet," mick speaks up, finally closing the door behind him. "don't be naughty in there - he won't ever let you use it again if you are!"

"i'm a very tame individual, thank you," she scoffs, leading them into the apartment. "logan's still making dinner, but the cookies finished baking right before you guys decided to all arrive together earlier than expected. i'll be right back out with the cookies."

"you baked cookies?" mick grins, following behind her excitedly. "chocolate chip cookies?"

"yeah, and butterscotch."

"butterscotch?" lando screams from his spot in the living room next to the couch. he's hunched over slightly, eyes darting all over the floor to find her beloved cat. "are those for me?"

"yes! i'll be right back out with them!" she steps into the kitchen, beaming when she finds logan chopping some meat on the counter. "hey, you. they're all here."

"i heard," logan grins, turning to look at her. "how come they didn't ring the intercom? i could have buzzed them up."

she hums, waltzing over to stand behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "i caught them at the lobby arguing because they forgot to assign somebody to buy alcohol."

"aw, what? no alcohol?" logan frowns, turning slightly to look at her. "did you get the soy sauce from the store?"

"i did! it's all over there," she beams, pointing to the clutter on the other end of the counter. "also, we still have that stash of soju in my room - that should do while i order some drinks to arrive, right?"

"you and soju?" logan raises an eyebrow. "good luck."

"it's meant to be drank like juice if it tastes like juice!" she argues, taking a step away from him. "do you need help preparing dinner?"

"no, i think-"

"sorry to interrupt. hi, logan." their heads turn to the entrance of the kitchen, lando innocently popping his head past the wall to give them a sheepish smile. "where is kidnapper? we've looked everywhere for him in the living room."

"my room, i think," logan grins.

"cool! which one is your room?"

"no!" she screeches, chasing after lando at the door. "he is in the room because you guys always stress him out! leave my baby alone, please."

"no, we came for him!" max shouts from the living room. "which door is your room, logan? tell me or i'll crash into you in bahrain next year and you can't race!"

"i'll literally snap you in half if you do that!" she screeches, disappearing from logan's sight to run into the living room.

"you're like barely 165cm tall!"

"i will find a way!"

"where's the fucking cat, (y/n)?" lando screeches. "which is logan's room where the beautiful cat sits in?"

"he's not even in logan's room," george scoffs, rolling his eyes. he walks past the bickering trio and walks towards the other end of the apartment. "he's in the balcony right there."

"oh," alex grins, walking calmly past them to slide the door open. "hello!"

"wait," mick says. logan walks out of the kitchen, wiping his wet hands on his pants as he comes in to greet everyone. mick slowly lifts his head at the object - objects - hanging from the ceiling in the corner above their decorated christmas tree. "what is that?"

"that's nothing," she answers immediately, trying to brush off the question.

"no, what is that?" sebastian voices out, following mick's stare at the corner of the room with furrowed eyebrows. "is that a..."

alex walks in, kidnapper nuzzled into his chest as he follows their gaze. "are those toasters plugged into your ceiling?"

logan puts his hands on his hips, looking up at the questionable decoration that she decided to put up for a change. growing up, she used to decorate the house for christmas with appropriate decorations and bright colours that would get people into the mood.

however, she vowed this year to be a bit more lax with the decorations since they're not spending it in the uk. there's a mysterious pair of plugs on their ceiling, and she was scrolling on twitter when the idea hit her in the middle of the night about a week ago.

and logan knows better than to try and tell her off.

"and you let this happen?" sebastian says, slightly disappointed as he turns to the williams driver. "why would you let this happen?"

"hey, this is technically her apartment," logan shrugs, yet his face is flushed from the memory of him helping her plug it in at 3 in the morning just to see her smile and giggle. "she still makes the rules."

"i think they've got a word for people like you," lando whispers, dropping his gaze to ponder if he should insult the younger man. "in america, i think they refer to people like you as 'down bad'."

a pillow heads straight for the back of lando's head, the force that it hits him causes him to stumble a couple steps forward. "leave logan alone! no way you're coming into my apartment and openly hate on my boyfriend!"

"there's just no way he thought plugging toasters off the ceiling is a good idea," lando cries, arms flying up to bring attention to the absurdity of the situation. "explain yourself; why you thought this was a good decoration for the holidays."

"mistletoasters," she scowls, hands on her hips as her lips carve into a scowl. "i couldn't find mistletoe in the store, and i was scrolling on twitter the other night and saw that. it's funny!"

"it's a hazard," sebastian points out. "what if it falls on either of you?"

"that's a stupid way to go out," mick mutters, an eyebrow still raised as his stare lingers on the pair of toasters. "maybe you should take it down before it causes an accident."

she sighs. "i can't reach it."

"wait," max speaks out, stepping forward with his hands up. he has his phone in his hand. "let me take a picture."

kidy/n

liked by sabrinacarpenter, landonorris and 60,726 others

kidy/n mistle touch under the tree or something like that idk

view all 12,489 comments…

user1 that caption for a photo featuring logan is kinda

user2 that wasnt very just friends of u y/n

user3 any bets when they will realise theyre both hopelessly in love with one another?

user4 any bets when they will tell us they’ve been dating for YEARS?

user5 i’d hate to be either of their partners if they’re like this

user6 very gbf situation 💀

oscarpiastri you guys r so right, theyre so red flag coded

lilyzneimer oscar pls apologise

sabrinacarpenter ❤️

kidy/n NO SHOT do u WANNA GET MARRIED TO ME

logansargeant 👁️

landonorris the mistletoaster is so ???

charles_leclerc the what?

sebastianvettel worst holiday decoration i’ve ever seen

kidy/n no hating pls, im just trying to bring about the xmas spirit

maxverstappen1 took the fun out of christmas and for what

williamsracing did logan choose that decoration?

kidy/n yeah :/

logansargeant NO I DIDNT?

andrettiracing kiss me under the mistletoe 👉🏼👈🏼

logansargeant me? 🤪

andrettiracing sure!

taglist: @myxticmoon

[slyvieselkie]

Sweet As Apple - Fushiguro Toji

Check out my masterlist for more!

˖◛⁺⑅♡Lᵒᵛᵉᵧₒᵤ♡⑅⁺◛˖⁺⑅♡Lᵒᵛᵉᵧₒᵤ♡⑅⁺◛

When Toji first met you, you were as plain as an apple.

Just a regular girl that would never catch his attention on the street. The only reason why he even looked your way was because you were neighbours with the two things that he helped create.

You kept to yourself, never making life difficult for the two but also never going out of your way to help them. At least that's what he saw every now and then, across the street from the rundown apartment building.

So you can imagine his shock when he sneaks inside the place only to find you seated in the middle of the tiny room, carefully darning Megumi's shirt. Despite him not making a single rustle, your head turns to the unlocked door. Your eyes lock with the giant black haired man, and Toji watches as your expression becomes sour like a bad apple.

"Huh, so you're the deadbeat father? Don't even think about stealing money, they don't have any thanks to some one", you sneer.

And he shouldn't be like this, because you were a nobody, but a deep anger flares up in his stomach. How dare you look down on him like those bastards did, even though you were the one living in a moldy box? Toji never got a chance to express his fury because a mug flies to his head and he catches it with a scowl.

You're still on the tatami floor darning like a good mother, "Get out, find a ditch and rot in it."

What a bad apple, don't you know who is standing before you? He could kill you in a flash, tear you to shreds, crush your neck like it was nothing. Green eyes stare down at you and imagine your face distorting into fear, horror, desperation. And to his shock...he couldn't see it.

"Ow fuck!", he was too caught up with his thoughts to dodge the rusty alarm clock, "Fuck off, shithead! Next time its a knife!"

Toji leaves, not because of your threat, hell no! It was because he wouldn't know what he'd do if he were to stay any longer. Irked at losing to a plain apple, he goes off to relieve his stress. Maybe grab a hot chick or hide away in a casino...he doesn't have any money though, shit.

....

"We're home!", you turn to two children busy taking off their shoes, "Welcome back Tsumiki, Megumi", you answer softly.

Tsumiki beams and runs into your arms, Megumi trails behind and latches onto your side. You chuckle, use a sugary apple tone telling them to wash their hands before eating dinner. It was nothing special, some cheap meat stir fry and vegetable soup with white rice, but they eat it up like its the best meal on Earth. Afterwards, you coo at Megumi to bathe while helping Tsumiki with her homework. When they switch, the little boy sits in your lap and finishes his grammar homework with his tongue poking out.

A giant shadow watches you like a creep, with a strange feeling swirling inside. Apple sweetness seeps out of you for the children to soak up, children that had no relation to you. Tsumiki and Megumi looks at you like you were the perfect apple, just the right amount of sweetness and crisp along with that fresh aroma. They cling to you and try to take as much as they could possible get.

You rock them to sleep even though they should be old enough to sleep by themselves, humming a soft lullaby. They're tucked into bed and snoring away by the time you sneak back to your apartment. You stop at the entrance because he was inside, sitting in the middle like it was his house.

"I knew you'd come back", you sigh and head inside flicking the lights on.

He's covered in blood and dirt, piercing green eyes stare at you behind the grimy and red mess. Toji sees your face turn sour and he suddenly feels a dread, that's not what you're supposed to do. You didn't with them when Tsumiki spills the soy sauce all over your dress, when Megumi walked in completely covered in mud, when they fling food everywhere whilst trying to speak.

"Oi, at least use my shower if you're going to sneak in. Look at the mess you've made", you click your tongue and point to the shower.

You meet the pair of glowing green eyes, lighthouses looking for the right direction, "Go, I'll heat up some leftovers for you."

Toji stands in the bath allowing the water to turn a copper colour, he could stay there forever. But you would grumble about the waste, so the man gets out and wraps himself with the fluffy towel. He was about to go out bare when green eyes noticed the folded clothes next to the sink. Somehow in that time, you've already washed and dried his clothes.

Toji exits the bathroom and sees you watching something on that ancient TV, a little grainy with sound that glitches every now and then. Next to you was a small wooden table and food, steaming white rice with slices of egg rolls and a side of soup. He understands why the children eat the way they do, Toji finishes everything in minutes and for once feels full even though he could eat three more servings.

Green eyes finally glances up at you, to see you watching with a soft smile. The black haired man visualises the nectar leaking out of your cracks. And he wonders what a girl like you was doing in this part of town, why an apple sweet heart was living in this garbage area. The dishes are cleared and the giant sits there, amused and embarrassed by the way his fingers fiddle. What does he do now? Get lost and find somewhere else to sleep? Does he repay you with sex?

"Just sleep, dumb ass", you flick his forehead and he jolts spinning around.

Oh, you've already showered and the lights have been turned off. That's a no for sex then.

Slipping underneath the blanket, you snuggle into your futon. Toji casually just lies back and rests his head on his arm, this tatami has nothing on the other floor he's had to sleep on. In fact, this was on the better side of things.

You giggle, "Idiot, come here", the man turns over to find you holding the blanket to reveal the empty space on the futon, "Why would I make sleep like that?"

He gets drawn in by the pretty smile you have on, and carefully lie down beside you. How odd, Toji was known as 'sex on legs' and yet he was here barely breathing so he wouldn't annoy you. Straight as a plank so you two would never touch. He'll probably just stay up to make sure your hands don't graze.

....

It's been a week since that night. You woke up the next morning to find that he's vanished, you shrug it off since that was expected.

Life goes on without him, you get busy as travel season arrives and people start booking you for tours around the city. While its tiring and stressful, the money is completely worth it and the photos you bring back for the children always makes it better. On the days where you could be out from early morning to nightfall, you let the children into your place where they can microwave food. You tell them to go back to their apartment, but the two always says that they can't sleep without you.

It was on a rare free day, you spin the pen while calculating your expenses. You grin seeing the remaining zeros in your bank, maybe you'll take the two out to the zoo and some barbecue afterwards. Then the door clicks open and your head snaps towards it, a robbery in broad daylight?

"...I'm sorry, when did you start living here?"

The black haired man smirks, strolling in with a bag swung over his shoulder, "Miss me much?", you raise an eyebrow, "Shook off the prude act did you?", he scowls at the reminder, "Shut up."

Sitting across from you, he throws the bag onto the table and you hear the heavy thud. You narrow your eyes at him but Toji only motions you to open it with a smug look. Carefully unzipping the bag, you peak inside to see the stacks of bills. Your sweetness grows sour and rotten.

"Where did you get this money from?", "Working?", he frowns because why are you scowling, "Working as what? A thief, a drug dealer, an underground fighter, a porn star, tell me!"

Green eyes sharpen, "Don't raise your voice at me", you laugh and sneer, "Don't tell me a murderer...fuck off", you shove the bag his way, "Fuck off and don't come back, don't ever show your face back here!"

You stand up and he follows, towering over your figure, "What's your problem? I just gave you five times the amount you made this week, you should be thanking me", he growled and you glare back, "Did I tell you to do that? To kill someone and bring me the money? No, I didn't, so don't justify this shit using me! You're a killer, a lowlife, worthless shit!"

In an instant, there's a tight grip around your throat and he leans in hissing, "Don't fucking test me, I can kill you in a blink of an eye."

But you smile like you've won, "Like I said, worthless piece of shit. Is that something you should be proud of, brag to me? That you can easily kill someone? That's the kind of person, the adult, the man you want to be?"

Your eyes widen as you make him falter, "You're nothing, less than the dirt you sleep with. No love, no family, no true friends, you're a completely pathetic loner. Just a clump of muscle to die alone...is that what you want to be?"

Before Toji knows it, he's out of that place holding the bag of money and remembering your last words, "If you want to keep living like that, then do those kids a favour and plan your own funeral."

....

The days pass as you and Toji think about what happens now.

Like last time, life goes on for you. There are bills to pay, food to put on the table, someone else's kids to take care of. But he's always lingering in the back on your mind, the defeated expression haunting your sleeps. Maybe you went too far, pushed him over the edge and now another life has been wasted. Those two never got to know their mothers, and now they'll never see their father.

Toji on the other hand had been cooped up in some temporary hideout, wondering what the hell he should do. He knew you were right, that you hit every weak point without a twitch of a finger. However...he's too far in, has done too much, has made too many enemies, has too many scars to forget. Toji wasn't meant to stay by your side, because he would only sour you into a bad apple.

But he also can't forget that night. How good it felt to take a warm shower, have clean clothes, eat a home cooked meal, sleep on a soft mattress and fluffy pillow. To not be alone and miserable. It's been so long since Toji has felt this weak, all he wants to do is fall asleep next to you.

So he sneaks into your place in the middle of the night, and sees your sleeping figure under the blanket. He first sits down beside you, observing your peaceful expression. It was so delicate, too fragile to be around him.

"Are you just going to sit there and watch me?"

You blink waiting for him to do something, but he's frozen and stuck to the floor. So you take your chance and pounce on him, too little compared to Toji to even make him budge. You end up curled in his lap, the blanket loosely thrown around him. Perfect.

Your voice comes out in a soft tone, "Give it a go. This world is your oyster as long as you take the chance. Just try to live a better life, for your children, for the ghosts around you, for yourself. "

Toji never responded, but you got your answer from the way his arms wrapped around you tightly. He drifts off to sleep with his face buried in your neck and feels the tension leave his body. Maybe this could work out, if its you.

....

"What are you doing here, you deadbeat man?"

He looks up from the ground to see Megumi glaring at him, "Oi, I still have it in me to give you a good spanking", his younger clone snorts, "When did you ever have it in you?"

He hates how right the kid is. Even if Megumi were to swear at him like an Irish man, Toji would only go and sulk to you. It probably has something to do with him not being there for Megumi since he came into this world.

"What are you doing here?", Toji smirks and pushes himself off the Bentley, "What do you mean, I'm just a good father here to pick up his lovely son~", the latter gives him a disgusted look, "Like hell you'd do that."

It's absolutely true, as if he'd go out of his way to pick the ungrateful brat up from high school. Plus, its tiring the way he has to ignore all of the housewives drooling over his muscles. They're not even trying to be discreet, evening making their children befriend Megumi to reach him. Those brats also have their own motives, always asking Toji to get a signature from the A-lists he stunt doubles for. But it was your orders, something about picking the kid up and go clothes shopping for a family dinner.

"Come on, let's get out of here before their panties get wetter", the boy feels queasy and Toji cackles, "I'm telling Mum!"

As he drives off, the black haired man feels his heart flutter at the way the children refers to you. It's perfect family, you're the perfect couple with two gorgeous children on their way to becoming adults. Of course, it wasn't accomplished overnight. While Tsumiki had no problem calling you two her parents, Megumi was different.

He resented Toji for a long time. For abandoning him when he was only a small boy, for leeching onto you...for bringing her presence into the house. The small photo frame of his real mother haunts him, it's a constant reminder that you could leave him any moment because there was no obligation. Toji gave up after a week, hiding her away in his wallet. But you made him put it back up despite all of the boy's tears.

"B-But don't you hate it?", "What do I hate, love?", he sniffles as giant tears fall down, "T-That I'm not yours, that t-the deadbeat cares about her?"

A chuckle escapes you as Megumi hides away in your arms, "Didn't I tell you not to call him that?", "...He deserves it."

Letting out a sigh, you reach out to caress the young lady inside the frame, "Your mum seems like a wonderful woman, I'm not surprised Toji loves her...I imagine if she was still alive, your dad would've stayed on the right track. She would've been a loving mother and wife, it would be disrespectful of me to let her beauty rot away just so I could feel secure."

You pull away and nuzzle into his hair, "Besides, I'm getting a little too old to be playing games with ghosts. Maybe in my teens, but I have bigger things to worry about now. If Toji can't see me without remembering her, then I have no reason to entertain him. But you'll always be my Megumi, my adorable boy, my child."

In that moment, you were the apple of his eye. A gift from the world that he thought abandoned him. And somewhere in his heart, he feels the same as Megumi. He should've met you first, long ago before anyone else. You two should've been together and happier years ago, Tsumiki and Megumi should've been born from you. You would've set him straight ages ago, turn him into the responsible father he is today.

But he learns to let it go, you taught him that. To move on from his past, to accept his flaws, to feel compassion and love, to cry and bleed, to smile and laugh.

"Dad, Megumi!", the exact copies wearing matching black suits see a blue ball of fluff bouncing about in front of the restaurant.

It's Tsumiki and whatever that thing she decided to wear. You place a hand on her shoulder to calm her down and Toji's breath hitches when he fully takes you in. It was really nothing extravagant, just a pretty apple red dress and the cheap earrings he bought you with his first check.

But it's you, so he falls in love all over again for the sweetest apple.

Hi Lovelies, hoped you guys enjoyed this!

Even though I think Toji might be a little too out of character, I always imagined him to be this confused giant when it comes to receiving affection and love. I hope the apple metaphor and motif wasn't too annoying, it felt a little...cringe in some areas but I just thought apple and couldn't look back!

Anyways, see ya again ‿୨♡୧‿

[intotheseas]

I have a Stardew Valley fic in the works and wanted to post a little excerpt of the first chapter. CW: Drug use referenced, abuse, catcalling. Story takes place around 2006.

Sage is fucking soaked. Her t-shirt clings to her slight frame and her teeth chatter. A chilly February rain hammers Zuzu City. And as if Joja needed to give her any more “fuck yous”, someone stole her umbrella during her shift. The downpour drenched her as soon as she left the dingy mid-rise building.

So here she is, sodden, freezing, and miserable. Her back aches from hunching over a computer all day. But Yoba’s not done fucking with Sage yet. A car speeds by, honking. Tosses a wave of filthy water over her jeans, soaking into her sneakers. Super cool, she thinks. The air stinks of exhaust fumes, piss, and wet dog. Skyscrapers tower around her, like predators closing in. 

“Hey baby! You wanna have a good time? That shirt would look better on the ground!” Two men call to her from a dark alley. They’re much older, balding, with guts that hang out of their stained shirts. Hard hats and safety vests over top. Construction workers, but they’re not doing a lot of working. Keep walking, she tells herself. Look like you’re on a mission. Ignore them. The men jeer after her as she walks past, head held high. “Ehh, you’re not worth it, anyway! Be that way, bitch!” Sage runs across a crosswalk, dodging cars. The voices fade. 

It’s payday, which should cheer her up. But her already skimpy paycheck doesn’t stretch far. Rent’s due, and so are bills. After that, she’s left with around $100 for food for the next couple of weeks. She’s got a small savings squirreled away, one her parents don't know about, but that's reserved for emergencies.

Sage’s shoes squelch against concrete as she steps into her apartment building. From one shoddy mid-rise to another. Chips cover the brick exterior. The inside’s no better. Old, stained wallpaper, probably from the 60s at the latest, peels in the corners of the mailroom. Stinks of dirty shoes and smoke. The dark red carpet’s threadbare under her feet. She climbs the creaking stairs to her apartment, two floors up. 

The door’s stuck again. Something the landlord promised to fix. Years ago. She slams her hip against it, forces it open. Sage toes off her sodden shoes. Her stomach’s screaming at her, but there’s nothing in the fridge but a container of baking soda and some expired soy sauce. The cupboards are even emptier. She sighs. Does that a lot, especially lately. The lights are dim in the living room. She glances in, scowls at the scene waiting for her. Like rag dolls, Sage’s parents drape over the ratty couch. Passed out, like usual.

Shattered bottles litter the scuffed wooden floor. A dark bruise blooms around her mother's eye, but she’s too out of it to respond when Sage asks if she’s okay. She already knows what happened. It’s the same old story. Her parents took too much of their drug of the day. Her father always gets violent when he’s drunk or high. She’s been at the receiving end enough times to know by now. 

Used needles lay with the bits of glass, carelessly discarded. Plates of half-eaten food litter the old coffee table. Flies buzz around them. The stench washes over her like a wave. Sage holds her wet shirt over her nose. Her stomach roils. Nothing new at home. This is how it’s been since Sage turned 14 and her parents decided work was less important than drugs. She’s supported them since then.

It was disgustingly easy to find a corporation to hire an obvious 14-year-old lying about her age. And that’s how the past eleven years have passed. Sage considers herself lucky - she at least graduated from high school. Not everyone who lives in this part of Zuzu has that privilege. It got easier after that, after she didn’t have to balance both work and studies. So here she is again. Same shit, different day.

She tiptoes into her room, eases the door shut. She’ll mail the rent check while she goes back out to find food. Sage digs around in the drawers of her desk, looking for some spare bills and change. An envelope catches her eye. Old birthday card? She grabs it. Maybe there’s money inside. A letter falls out. The handwriting is flowery, meticulous in its tidiness. 

Sage, 

There may come a time when the world is too much for you. If that happens, use this. 

I know your life isn’t easy. If you’re ready to start over, I’ve left my farm in Pelican Town to you. Use it as you see fit. 

I love you,

Grandpa Charlie

Sage stares at the letter, hazy memories coming into focus. Her grandpa died about three years ago. She didn’t even go to his funeral, couldn’t get time off of work. Couldn’t afford to lose her job. They were never close, but she remembers visiting him on his farm a few times as a kid. Before the drugs completely took over her parents’ lives. She frowns. How could she have forgotten this? Inside the envelope is a deed, signed with her name.

Minutes pass as Sage stares at the paper. You know what? Fuck this. She grabs her bag, tucks the papers into it. Scrounges up a few dollars in cash. She tiptoes back into the living room. Her father snores softly. Sage pries open the front door and takes the steps down two at a time. 

Outside, the rain’s let up a little. It’s a light mist now, little droplets hovering in the air. Still stinks of piss and fumes. Sage jogs a few blocks down the sidewalk and hails a left, ducking into the library. She walks to a computer and types in the address from the deed into Google. Pelican Town is a few hours away by bus. There’s even a website. It’s quaint. Looks like someone made it in the mid nineties and hasn’t updated it since. There’s a phone number for a “Mayor Lewis” at the bottom of the webpage. Sage punches it into her phone and leaves the library, presses the call button. It rings for almost a minute. She’s about to hang up when a gruff voice answers. 

“This is Lewis. Who am I speaking to?” 

She almost drops the phone. Her hands tremble. Adrenaline’s coursing through her. “Uh, hi. My name is Sage. Sage Sandoval. I found your number on your website. Um, I have a deed to a farm outside your town? It belonged to Charles Sandoval. He left it to me in his will.” 

Lewis grunts. “Ah! Old Charlie. Was awful sad when he passed. Well, if you have the deed, the land’s yours. Are you looking to sell it?” 

“No! Er, no. I want to live there. Is the house still standing?” Sage drums her fingers on the back of her phone. She can remember bits and pieces of the farmhouse. It’s simple, one room with a large bay window and a kitchen and bathroom. But it’s away from here.

Lewis clears his throat. “It is, though not in the best condition. The land’s pretty overgrown, too. Are you sure you want to live there?” 

“Yes. When’s the soonest I can arrive?” She shifts from one foot to the other, glancing around the litter-filled streets.

There’s a pause. “Tomorrow, I suppose. I can send our resident carpenter over the day after to make sure the wiring is still sound.” 

Sage lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Great, thanks. I’ll arrive tomorrow by bus. I’ll call you when I’m close.” She snaps her phone shut. This is happening. She’s getting the fuck out of Zuzu City.

On her way back, she grabs an energy drink and bag of chips from a vending machine. Her fingers twitch against the can as she downs her paltry meal. She’s never done something like this before. Run away. It feels kind of silly to think of it like that. She’s twenty-five, after all. If not for her miserable excuses for parents, she would have had a place of her own years ago.

Sage almost feels like a kid again, about to walk into trouble as she steps back into the dingy apartment. Her parents haven’t moved a bit since she left. They’re out cold, probably will be for the rest of the night. Good. She begins to pack.

just wanted to post a quick WIP! It'll be farmerxSebastian focused, but also a story of moving on, healing from trauma, and learning to love and connect with people. Each chapter will also be titled after an indie song from the era - music will have a central theme through the story, sometimes overtly, sometimes more behind the scenes. :)

[thespiritssaidso]

Shawn Ruins His Food

Summary: The dysfunctional poly group has finally moved in together. But that only means they are now getting introduced to Shawn’s strange eating habits.

It was a sunny Tuesday morning, and Shawn and Gus were spending it inside.

Currently, it was only them in the house, as it was a work day for both Juliet and Lassiter. Gus would have worked today as well, but he had lots of vacation days he still had yet to use. So there they were, sitting side by side on the couch, munching on tortilla chips and salsa.

Gus reached into the bag and was met with crumbs. He was disappointed, of course, that there wasn’t any more to snack on. But that didn’t change the fact that there were no more chips.

“Well, this bag is done for.” He made to grab the bag and throw it out, when Shawn stopped him.

“What are you talking about?”

Gus set the bag back down. “It’s just crumbs left, Shawn. There’s no point trying to dip them.”

“That’s what you think.” He upended the bag into the jar of salsa, and quickly jumped up to grab a spoon. He sat back down and, not even bothering to mix it in, started scooping small bites of the new chip/salsa concoction.

Gus just stared at him for a minute before saying, “I can’t tell whether I should be impressed or disgusted.”

“Impressed.” He portioned another spoonful. “Here, have some.”

Gus made a tsch sound, and turned away. “Come on, son.”

—————

It was Wednesday afternoon. Gus was doing rounds, and Juliet had taken the day off to visit her parents.

Lassiter had come home from the station, wanting to spend his lunch break at home with one of his partners. He was now enjoying a homemade sandwich while Shawn rifled through the fridge.

“Hey Lassie-babe, where’s the sour cream?”

“I just got some more, it should be behind the milk.”

Shawn shuffled the milk aside, and sure enough it was there. He wordlessly peeled it open and licked the excess sour cream from the cap liner before throwing it away.

Lassiter’s nose scrunched a bit in disgust at Shawn’s act when he asked, “Why did you need the sour cream, Shawn?”

He just held up a finger. “Observe.” Taking a spoon, he scooped a small dollop onto it and set it aside. Then, he grabbed… an Oreo, and twisted it apart. He grabbed the spoon again, and-

“Oh, sweet lady justice, Spencer.” Lassiter’s face contorted into a grimace as he watched Shawn spread the sour cream onto the inside of the Oreo before smushing it closed.

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it." He took a bite, and a small bit of sour cream oozed out of the sides. "In fact..."

Lassiter caught on very quickly. "No, I do not want to try that monstrosity."

Shawn pouted. “Oh c’mon, Carlytown! Just a little bite! It won’t kill you.”

He looked at the Oreo, then at Shawn, then back at the Oreo, and then back at him. “I’m not entirely sure about that.”

Shawn didn’t give up that easily, though. He gave Lassiter his best puppy dog eyes he could, until he finally gave in. “Okay fine. Just give me the damn cookie.”

Shawn grinned and handed the rest to him. “Although I should warn you: it’s a bit of an acquired taste.”

Lassiter just rolled his eyes and took a very small bite. He immediately made a face at the taste. “Oh dear lord.” He stood up and practically ran to the trash can to spit it out.

Shawn huffed. “Really? It’s not that bad, Lassie-”

“I am never trusting you again when it comes to food.”

—————

It was Thursday, late enough to be dark. Both Gus and Lassiter were at their respective jobs, filling out different kinds of reports.

Juliet had been able to leave early, at Lassiter’s insistence that someone be home with Shawn — like he was a kid they couldn’t leave alone for more than 5 minutes.

Anyways, it was getting close to dinner. So Shawn made them both some instant cup ramen.

Juliet had already settled and started eating from her cup, but Shawn had gone off to the fridge. When he came back, he had a bottle of soy sauce and a jar of peanut butter.

Oh, he’s just going to flavor his ramen, okay. And Juliet went back to eating her food. But she paused when she noticed he hadn’t stopped pouring the soy sauce.

“Oh my- Shawn stop! You’re going to get a heart attack if you have any more sodium!” The bowl of chicken flavored ramen now resembled a bowl of beef ramen, which was slightly disturbing.

“Wha- Jules, I wasn’t done yet!” He tries to reach for it but she stands up and puts it back in the fridge.

Juliet didn’t hear him get up after her, however, and looked back at him and saw that he had scooped a hefty amount of peanut butter and was currently mixing it all in with the now soy sauce flavored ramen. She just sighed and sat down to resume eating.

“You want a bite?”

She hesitated. There was a lot of- well, everything, in that ramen. But how could she say no to that face? “…Sure.”

Juliet took a bite, and realized just how much soy sauce was really in there. Shawn had also failed to completely stir the peanut butter into the broth, so now there was a small clump stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Her mouth puckered slightly, in a reaction to the high levels of salt. Putting her hand to her mouth delicately, she rushed to the sink to spit out her mouthful of Shawn’s ramen.

“God, Shawn. How has your heart not given out on you yet?!” Turning on the faucet, she attempted to wash out the remaining peanut butter that was still stuck.

Not having an answer for that, he just shrugged and went back to slurping up his noodles.

——————————

Yeah that’s it lol. Also, completely off topic: I run a Psych discord, and if you’d like to join just dm me and I’ll send the link

ao3 link

[sorrownotsexy]

Hi yall !! Thinking about Alejandro in the states. And he meets the love of his life there because she burns his mouth. 

He's homesick. He’s usually away from home but at least he’s in Mexico most of the time. But the states suck and they’re nothing like home. 

He's hungry too. And he’s sick of MREs fast food and hotel breakfast. But a starving man would dirt so he’s walking to the nearest McDonalds when he sees the truck. 

A big ol p30 painted black with rainbow calaveras and a luchador eating a taco. There’s a mom and four kiddos and the truck is bouncing from the people inside? 

The door opens up to a girl looking like a 50’s Cola ad in a long black skirt to her calves and hair braided with a bandana catching sweat in the hot truck, bounding out of the truck to get tackled by the youngest two. She hugged the babies who danced with her to the music that got louder when the door opened. 

La Chona filled his ears and he smiled. That explained the bouncing of the truck the people had been dancing inside. 

The family had been distracted when the girl caught the handsome soldier smiling at her teaching the babies how to step with the music and she burst into embarrassed laughter. 

She got back in the truck and mom moved to let the young man place his order. He stepped up to the window and greeted her with a smile and a “hola señora, buenas tardes-” to be interrupted by her stepping back and giving him a hand motion that said wait.

“Daddy, he speaks spanish” 

“So do you.” the dad replied not giving her any help

“No-”

“Take his order mija he’s gonna leave”

She knew her dad wasn’t going to help her so she turned to the man and smiled apologetically. “Uh lo siento soy no sabo?” she said, searching for the proper response. She was pretty sure she apologized incorrectly.

“Right?” she asked her dad who shrugged and laughed at her struggling. 

“Um qué quieres?”

“I’ll take a number seven” he smiled

The men of the truck roared in laughter “Oh of course” she huffed, frustrated she should have just asked in the first place if he spoke english. She smiled anyway though and asked him about sauces. 

“¿Qué es el asesino?” he asked with a snort

She smiled and leaned down as if it was some big secret “The hottest salsa in the west. Me and my Lita make it ourselves. Supposedly it’s the cause of death for John Disp, a grown man.” she giggled as she finished telling how it got the name.

“Oh now I have to try it.” he grinned

“Ya sure? Don’t wanna ruin your day.”

“I can handle it.” she laughed at him. 

Her brother packed the man's five tacos, rice, beans and fork with the killer salsa for him. She gave him one last warning and he laughed it off so she traded him the dish in exchange for twelve dollars. 

He sat down to eat his food feeling less homesick seeing a big family when he felt eyes on him. All eight members of the family were watching him waiting for the first bite with salsa, the girl standing with an extra large cup of horchata over ice. He laughed to himself and took the bite. 

Just to be cocky he piled a lot on his first bite “¡CHINGADA MADRE!” and the whole family cackled. The girl went up to him holding the horchata which he all but snatched to drink down. 

Still laughing and wiping tears the girl asked if he’d like some sour cream “Yes! Fuck, now!” he was breathing through his mouth and had tears rise. 

One of the babies came up with a small lidded container of sour cream which he snatched to let melt on his tongue. Another one of the babies brought him napkins. He wiped his nose and took another swig of horchata. He was fine after that but the sting was still there. 

The mom took the kids back in the car after and the brother and dad went back to the truck. “What in the fuck do you even put in that? Jesus.” 

She laughed, wiping more tears “I grow the serranos and cilantro” she said a little proudly.

“Oh so they’re bred to kill?” 

“Something like that” she smiled but had to head back to the truck as a new customer appeared. 

The colonel finished his meal being mindful of how heavy he placed the salsa on his food. When the other customer was sitting eating their food he placed a put in the tip jar. “Para la horchata.” and left back to his hotel with a full stomach and a smile.

[aranciafiamma]

Boy in the Ice pt. 3

1:26 p.m.

"Hail, fair maidens!"

Ochako stops mid-stride, sharing a look with her friends. They turn in sync to take in the stranger approaching them. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a black blazer paired with jeans. Overall, he looks average save for the touch of foreign in his features. Except the definition of foreign gets more and more abstract these days, with all kinds of folk immigrating to Japan, and all the ways a quirk can mutate someone's looks. So maybe this guy is Japanese. Ochako can't say for sure. But he definitely feels out of place.

"Is he talking to us?" Ochako murmurs to Jiro. She gets a clueless shrug for an answer. Biting her lip, Ochako feels her stomach squeeze, as if she was attempting to levitate a heavy load.

School let out early today and with the long weekend starting tomorrow, they now have a chance to go shopping. Everyone is missing some kind of necessity - shampoo, soy sauce, socks, etc. And with all the craziness lately, they agreed that something normal and boring would be nice.

The plan was to head downtown, snag a few snacks, check out any new stores, maybe even play a couple rounds of dress up. Even if they never bought a single shirt, they always had a good laugh trying on new outfits. Ochako had been looking forward to that. But one look at this stranger and she knew that things are about to go sideways.

They're halfway across campus when this guy calls out to them. So he got past the gates somehow, and sure, he could have been invited in by someone. Except it's after school on the eve of a long weekend. There aren't even any makeup classes or club meetings because of the holiday coming up. The campus is deserted except for the handful of staff to supervise the dorm students (and their new guests). If Ochako was a gambling kinda girl, she would bet good money that their guests have something to do with this random dude walking around their campus.

"How goes the day?" The stranger asks, and wow. He sure sounds like an extra from those ancient samurai movies. Seriously, no one talks like that.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Good ol' Yaomomo, always on top of things - they would be a wreck and likely dead without her.

"Pardon me, I have been far too forward. I am Basil, at your service."

"Basil who?" Mina pipes up, hands on her hips.

"I am a friend of Lord Sawada. He is currently enjoying your hospitality."

"Sawada?" Ochako echoes, frowning. "So you're friends with Tsuna-san?"

"Aye."

There it is. She totally called it.

"Pray, may I know if you reside on these grounds?"

"Why you asking?" Jiro lifts her chin and pins Basil with a needle-point glare. "And why are you here? Did Tsuna-san call you? Do the teachers know that you're here?"

"Peace. Peace. I mean not to offend." Basil smiles ruefully, holding up his hands. "I am a stranger in your lands, and I call upon your aid to find my way."

"Okay… That didn't really answer Jiro-chan's questions," Tsu-chan points out. "And do you have to talk like that? It's a little hard to take you seriously."

Basil chuckles, eyes pinching in the corners. "Doubt me not, good lady. I only seek to escort Lord Sawada back to his home."

"Boss isn't here."

Ochako flinches. She whips around and finds Chrome standing a few steps away. Her hands clench into fists as she forcefully calms her startled heart. Someone needs to put a bell on Chrome-san before she induces cardiac arrest. Honestly, Ochako is reluctantly impressed. As a hero-in-training, with considerable experience in combat, her senses are keener compared to most of the general public. But somehow, Chrome-san always manages to spook her. This time, Ochako didn't even hear her coming or see her coming - as if Chrome-san appeared out of thin air. Toru-chan could learn a lot from her.

"Lady Chrome! Good fortune blesses me with your presence."

Chrome-san blinks, slow and almost sleepy. She's hard to read as always, as if her mind is out to sea, as if her body is a wisp of smoke. And okay, Ochaka has an invisible girl for a classmate so the absence of facial cues is not new to her. But it's not about what she sees and more about what she believes. The truth is that Chrome-san stands right in front of her and Ochako can't believe that she's there. Something in her brain is telling her that Chrome-san does not exist even with visual and auditory proof. It's tripping her up.

"Boss left."

"Wait, you guys can do that?" Mina cuts in, scratching her head. "Weren't you guys stuck on campus or something?"

Chrome-san shrugs.

"Would you know where he went?" Basil asks, and he sounds earnest. He must have been looking forward to seeing Tsuna-san.

Huh. Well, it has been six months - that's half a year - since Tsuna-san crash landed in their school. If Ochako had disappeared for that long then miraculously returned, her parents would have been a wreck. Nothing would have kept them away from her.

And now that she's thinking about it… Where are Tsuna-san's parents?

A sigh from Basil drags Ochako out of her head. She must have missed Chrome-san's answer or maybe Chrome-san just didn't answer. Either way, Basil looks none too happy, with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumping. An air of absolute exhaustion seems to envelope him. And oof, maybe Ochako's been getting paranoid from all the stuff that happened recently. She had no good reason to be so weird about Basil. Yeah, sure the guy talks funny but apart from the possible trespassing (which okay, that's a pretty big deal actually), Basil seems pretty polite and soft-spoken. He hasn't made threats or demands or anything to show that he's some kind of danger to her or her friends. Ochako should have been more welcoming, especially since he seems to have missed Tsuna-san terribly.

"We can help you find him, if you'd like." Ochako offers a friendly smile. "You don't know the way around, right? And we were just about to go downtown anyway. Maybe you'll find Tsuna-san there."

Basil shakes his head. "I have depended on your patience for long enough. Please excuse me."

"Are you sure?" Tsu-chan chimes in. "Because we really wouldn't mind, kero."

Basil looks them over, pursing his lips. Then his eyes drift up, locking onto Chrome-san behind them. There's a split second of something, Ochako isn't sure what. It's over before she could really think about it, and then Basil is smiling nice and wide with a lot of teeth.

"You have my sincere gratitude, gentle ladies. I am in your care."

"Sheesh," Jiro snorts. "You talk worse than Fumikage. Let's hope you two never meet."

"Chrome-san, would you like to -" Yaomomo's gasp cuts off her question.

Ochako turns and flinches hard. Chrome-san is glaring at them. For once, emotion colors her face, transforming her delicate features into something sharper, more vicious.

"Chrome-san?" Tsu-chan murmurs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Chrome-san squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in deeply. All at once, her expression flattens out, returning to its usual neutral state. She shakes her head once.

"I am not feeling well. I will be heading back to my room." Chrome-san tells them, speaking more words than Ochako has ever heard from her. "Have a good time… Stay safe."

Then she walks away, never looking back. What just happened? Something happened. Ochako considers chasing after Chrome-san, just to make sure that she's really okay. But a hand drops on her shoulder before she could make a move.

"Let's give her some space," Yaomomo whispers, barely loud enough for Ochako to hear. "We can check on her later."

Ochako bites her lip, pinching her brow. Yaomomo is right - of course, she's right. Chrome-san didn't seem to want any company, the exact opposite actually. Ochako should leave her alone. But… The hero-in-training couldn't shake the dread curdling in her gut.

"Shall we hasten to the market?" Basil asks them. "Daylight is fading and I would not like to burden you for too long."

Ochako sucks in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nods at Yaomomo. Together, they face Basil with polite grins.

"You aren't a burden, Basil-san."

"Yep, yep. C'mon now, let's head on out!"

The group makes their way off campus, strolling down the side streets, making idle chatter. They learn that Basil taught himself Japanese, studying the language through classic Samurai films. He tells them that his boss helped somewhat, but only encouraged his archaic way of phrasing. At this point, Basil is fully aware that he sounds funny but in truth, he prefers old-fashioned speech. He feels more distinguished and sophisticated - completely unlike how he speaks in his native tongue.

Of course, this confession prompts all the girls to ask for a demonstration. A blushing Basil obliges them with several phrases in Italian. To their clueless ears, Basil sounds polite and soft-spoken, nothing unusual. But he assures them that if he had said this to a fellow Italian, they would be throwing punches before the last word left his lips.

Their chatter is cut short when they reach downtown. A thick layer of tension blankets the main street as agitated shoppers skirt around a massive crater embedded in the road. Police tape already surrounds the affected area with a few officers nearby, taking statements and offering assurances. Making note of all that, the girls tug Basil towards their favorite café where their familiar faces encourage the waitress to share all the shocking details.

A fireball fell from the sky. Everyone ran. But before a hero could arrive at the scene, the fire died out, revealing a boy without any clothes. Wisps of smoke rose from his bare skin as he kneeled in the crater. No one dared approach except for a loud, angry blond. Mean sparks danced between his fingers as he yelled at everyone to stay back and mind their own business. He had jumped down and crouched next to the boy, exchanging a few words, before he hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The two didn't wait for a hero or even police to help, simply walked away and out of sight. A few tried to stop them with well-intentioned queries, but the blond had a glare that could cut through metal. As for everyone else, well… they didn't want to buy trouble, not even in a shopping district. The boys were long gone by the time police showed up.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut. At her side, Tsu-chan lets out a long, belabored sigh. Yaomomo requests for a table.

Once they were all seated, the girls share a look the way only intimate friends could. Jiro lets out a chuckle. Tsu-chan slips out a giggle. Mina barks out a laugh. When Yaomomo and Ochako join in, they're in full blown hysterics.

Of course! Why wouldn't Bakugou be involved? It just had to be someone from their class. Honestly, 1-B does not find half the bullshit that they seem to crash into on a weekly basis. They're all such problem children, ergo problems keep finding them. If Aizawa-sensei survives this year without losing his sanity, he would accomplish a miraculous feat.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Basil raises his hand, like a student asking a question. "I aim not to shorten your mirth. I simply wish to know about this Bakugou fellow."

"He's a crazy tough guy!" Mina tells him.

"His default volume is loud, and he only gets louder," Jiro adds.

"Bakugou Katsuki is one of our classmates," Yaomomo explains. "He is another hero-in-training and one of the best in our class. He does get angry often but he isn't the dangerous sort. Let's just say that he can be difficult at times."

"Well, he has enough goodwill to aid that other boy," Basil replies. "That is to his credit."

Ochako blinks. "Yeah… What's up with that? I mean, I'm not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid. But I'm also not not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid."

"So then… Bakugou musta known the guy." Jiro drums her fingers on the table. "Right? That's why he went through all that trouble."

"Does Bakugou-chan know anyone with a fireball quirk? I mean, not counting Todoroki-chan, of course," Tsu-chan asks with a tilt of her head.

"Who knows…" Ochako sighs.

"Where would this Bakugou fellow take his friend - if we are to presume that the unknown boy is a friend. It seems hasty of him to leave before peace officers could intervene."

"Yeah… But Bakugou does his own thing, yanno?" Mina replies. "Especially when he thinks that he's right. Which is most of the time, bee-tee-dubs. So… huh. Where would he take the guy?"

"If I was gonna guess," Ochako chimes in. "I'd say that Bakugou would take him back to school. But we didn't see him on the way here, unless he took a different route. Except that wouldn't make much sense, since any other route would just be longer and more inconvenient."

"That is strange…" Basil hums, pursing his lips. "And… I may have the explanation."

"Oh, please share your thoughts." Yaomomo nods at him.

"Kindly note that I only have theories and nothing that can be confirmed without additional evidence. With that said, I believe that your peer came to aid Lord Sawada."

"Tsuna-san?" Ochako frowns, folding her brow. "So, wait… You think that… The guy who fell from the sky - the guy on fire - that was Tsuna-san?"

"That dude's makin' a habit out of falling from the sky." Jiro shakes her head. "This would be what? The second time he's done this?"

"It would be imperative to know Sir Bakugou's location, so that we may confirm if Lord Sawada is in his care."

Ochako studies Basil's heavy frown, the hard-set fold of his brow. She pulls out her phone and starts texting Bakugou.

"Are you messaging him?" Mina asks. "Tell him the teachers are gonna freak when they hear about this."

"Like he'd care," Jiro scoffs.

Ochako doesn't get an immediate reply but that doesn't mean anything. Bakugou isn't very responsive usually, unless he's pissed off then he sends a text every second. If he's not in the mood, he could leave someone on "read" for days. Right now, Ochako can't even tell if Bakugou looked at her message yet. Maybe he's just not on his phone. She'll have to wait a little longer to find out for sure if he's with Tsuna-san.

She tells as much to everyone around her. Mina groans. Jiro rolls her eyes. Tsu-chan shakes her head. Yaomomo orders them a round of drinks.

Basil hums a flat note. "Mayhaps, he has simply gone home."

Ochako perks up. "Oh, you're right! He doesn't live too far from here, just a few train stations away. Back when we weren't living on campus, he and Deku-kun never had so much trouble getting to school."

"He lives up north, right?" Jiro asks, crossing her arms. "He and Midoriya live close to each other. That's how they met, I heard."

"Well, I don't know how close. But they both grew up in the Orudera district and went to the same schools. That's what Deku-kun told me, at least."

"Yanno, rumors say that Bakugou's pretty rich. He's got some fancy, modern-looking house. His dad's a designer or something, right?" Mina adds.

"How do you know that?" Jiro furrows her brow.

"Oh, just gossip. Honestly, you guys should keep your ears more open. We have the biggest busybodies in our class." Mina waves her hand.

"Tooru-chan isn't a busybody!" Tsu-chan protests.

"I was talking about Aoyama," Mina cackles.

"Nevermind that now," Yaomomo speaks up. "We should focus on helping Basil-san."

"But that gives me an idea…" Ochako quickly taps her phone, sending a second message. "Maybe Deku-kun can help."

Mina peers over her shoulder. "Hey, why did you star Midoriya's message thread? Hmm?"

Ochako immediately pulls away from Mina, heat flushing her face. "No, I didn't! Shut up!"

Jiro cackles. "You're so red! You look like a tomato, Ochako-cha~an!"

Ochako balls up her napkin and throws it at Jiro. Her so-called friend dodges, continuing to laugh.

"Do you really like-like Deku-kun?" Tsu-chan asks, tilting her head.

"We will stop if you wish," Yaomomo nods. "Admittedly, teasing you is quite enjoyable. You react so cutely. But we will stop at your request."

Ochako pouts. "No, it's fine. I'm not really bothered. As long as Deku-kun doesn't hear about this, then it's fine. And honestly, I'm not that sure about… you know… feelings. We're good friends, and all that."

"Well, I ship it," Mina says. "You would make a great couple. So when you get your stuff figured out, shoot your shot girl! We're in high school! We're at the height of our hormones! We gotta maximize that teenage experience!"

There's a round of giggling agreement as Yaomomo, Jiro, and Tsu-chan express their support. Basil politely keeps quiet, studying his drink as if cola held the universe's secrets.

Ochako groans, dropping her head on the table. "You guuuuys! Somehow, I'm both incredibly embarrassed and super happy? I can't tell if you're the best or the worst!"

"Why not both?" Ochako can't see Jiro's face but a smug smirk was somehow implied in her words.

"Then what about you, Mina-chan? Do you have any crushes, kero?" Tsu-chan, officially Ochako's best friend, turns everyone's attention on someone else.

Mina clicks her tongue. "I wish! Everyone's my bro. No one has swept me off my feet. But I guess that's too much to ask from a high school boy."

"What about a high school girl?" Jiro asks.

"Same difference."

Ochako lifts her head, just in time to see a devious smile curl Jiro's lips.

"Is that a challenge?"

Inherently incapable of backing down, Mina sits up straight and slams her hands on the table. "What? Are you gonna romance me, bro?"

Jiro leans forward. "What if I did, bro?"

"Just name the time and the place, bro!"

"Tomorrow, 4pm, at that new cafe, bro!"

"Oh it's on, bro!"

"Yeah, bro!"

"Good heavens," Yaomomo murmurs. "Once those two get started, there's no stopping them."

Ochako breathes out a laugh when she hears her phone buzz. She taps the screen and finds Deku-kun's response with Bakugou's address. At her side, she notices Basil shift closer. She turns to look at him but his gaze is firmly on his drink. Again, something twists in her gut.

"-ko-chan!"

Wincing, Ochako whips around to face Tsu-chan. "Whoops, sorry! Did you say my name?"

Tsu-chan nods. "Did you hear back from Deku-kun?"

"Oh, um, yeah! I got the address right here…" The knot in her guts tighten. "But, you know, maybe Bakugou will reply soon. We haven't ordered any food yet. So why don't we eat first and then make our way to his house? I mean, dropping by without letting them know - that's a little rude, right?"

The words rush out of her with all the urgency of a flood. She can't explain the goosebumps dotting her skin, or the way sparks seem to dance down her spine, like she's in combat or taking a practical exam. But she's not. She's sitting at a cafe, surrounded by her friends. They're all her friends, right? Her eyes shift to the left, where Basil sits next to her.

"That… seems like a fine idea," Yaomomo agrees. "It would be unseemly to…"

"Exactly!" Ochako barely restrains herself from yelling. Honestly, Yaomomo is an angel.

"Mmhmm, and that way, we can walk Basil-kun to Bakugou-kun's place," Tsu-chan adds. Bless her. "He's new in town, so he might get lost if we only give him the address."

"I offer gratitude for your generosity." Basil nods with a serene smile, getting to his feet. "Indeed, I wish not to impede our feasting. Please excuse me as I must visit the lavatory. Kindly request delicious fare on my behalf. This will take but a brief moment."

He slides by Ochako and in that second, she notices a hard shape behind his jacket. Nowadays, with quirks so common, hardly anyone carries weaponry of any sort. But as Basil leaves, she could swear on her great-grandmama's grave that he was hiding a gun in his jacket.

But surely not, right? That's ridiculous! Guns are highly regulated in Japan, even if most people don't use firearms anymore. There's no way a visiting foreigner could come into the country with a gun on hand… No legal way at least…

"Ochako?" Mina grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No… No… I'm just - I was seeing - My eyes were playing tricks on me."

"Wait," Jiro holds up a hand. "Did you actually see a ghost?"

"What? No!" Ochako shakes her head, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine! It's fine! Let's just get our orders going, yeah?"

The girls exchange concerned looks. Ochako ignores them, focusing on the menu. It must have been something else - some other L-shaped thing. She's jumping to drastic conclusions. It could have been a square ruler or some kind of hardware tool or hell, it could have been a boomerang! She doesn't know! She's going crazy!

The waitress stops by. She orders on autopilot - fries or whatever. The girls continue to talk, hushed now, clearly concerned about her. She offers single syllable responses, nodding once in awhile. But everyone can tell that she's not really paying attention, and she should. They're her friends! She wants to have a good time with them! But her eyes spot a wall clock on the cafe wall. And she can't stop watching the minutes tick on by and tick on by.

The food comes. Basil doesn't. They begin to eat. Ochako can see everyone is now equally on edge. They take small bites. They chew slowly with great care. Basil's seat remains empty. Ochako feels the familiar sensation of nausea, as if she tried to lift something far too heavy, far too big, far too much. She stands up.

"I'm gonna ask someone to check on Basil-san. I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response. She runs to the counter, nearly tripping over her feet. She finds someone on the staff and asks if they can check the men's restroom.

"You see - um - that is, I have a friend - he's… you know… new in the country. And I'm worried that he… doesn't know the way… toilets work?" Wow. That sounds beyond stupid but she can't think of anything else to say.

The poor, confused cashier wrinkles her forehead, tilting her head to the side. "Ma'am, our restroom has been out of order since yesterday."

In a single, brutal second, Ochako knows - maybe not fully, maybe not truly - but she knows the same way she knows that gravity pulls everything down and down and down. Something terrible has begun.

[jennay]

I'll Keep Trying

Request: Jamie helps the reader through the first day of period pains. Enjoy!

Master List

Why on gods earth did periods have to be this painful? Why couldn't you be one of the lucky women with light cramps and bleeding? Instead, you were cursed with cramps that felt like you were dying and bloating that made you feel like you would pop at any second. You often saved sick days from work for moments like this, though you thought workplaces should be more sympathetic and allow you to take these days off if needed. They compare period pain to heart attack pain, and you wouldn't work through a heart attack. You couldn't wait for Jamie to get back from the store. You knew he would help you through this, and sometimes it helped just to have someone near you willing to rub your legs or cuddle you and play with your hair till the pain passed. Jamie was empathetic, and you wished more people were like him.

For now, you would lay curled in bed with a heating pad close to your body and daydream about everything you could do after this cycle. "I'm home," Jamie calls from the other room. "I got supplies!" He sets the groceries on the kitchen counter and begins putting things away. Your favorite ice cream will be placed in the freezer as a surprise for later, and he will make sure all your favorite snacks would close to you for when you get your random cravings. When he arrives in the bedroom, he holds the bags in his hands and takes your pads and tampons to the bathroom. "Oh, darling." He rushes back to you and sits on the edge of the bed next to you. "You poor thing. I hate this for you." He brushes your hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. "How can I help?" He quietly asks. "Can you cut my uterus out, please?" You groan, closing your eyes. He lightly chuckles. "No, you might need that somewhere down the road." He grabs the plastic bag filled with goodies and places them on the bedside table. "I got all the pharmaceuticals I could." You open your eyes and reach over for the Ibuprofen. "I love you." Leaning forward, Jamie helps you sit up and hands you a Gatorade. "Thank you." "Of course, love. Are you hungry? I can make us something." He offers, but you aren't quite feeling up to it yet. "Or we can watch a movie, and I can rub your shoulders. Whatever you need, you have my full attention." You sit up feeling exhausted by every single movement. Jamie takes his shoes off and slides in bed next to you. He wraps his arm around you, and you fall onto his chest. "I hate everything, babe." "I know." He runs his fingers through your hair, grabs the remote with his free hand, and turns the tv on. "Do you want to watch anything in particular?" You nuzzle your face in his chest, "I think I want Chinese food. Can you order Chinese food? I think that will make me feel better, oh and maybe we should watch The Mandalorian. Baby Yoda always makes me happy." "I can absolutely do both of those things." He knows he can't make the pain disappear but will do everything he can to make your day easier. "I have ice cream downstairs for later." You pull the blankets up your body and lay a pillow across Jamie's lap; you lay your head down and enjoy the soft touches of Jamie's fingertips running down your arm. "You're the best. I'm sorry I'm such a baby." "Hey," He squeezes your bicep, "You're not being a baby." The doorbell rings, and a burst of excitement pulsates through you. Food. Delicious food. Jamie taps your shoulder, signaling you to move, "There's the food. I'll be back." You smile as you flip through the apps on your TV. How you got so lucky was beyond you. Maybe in a past life, you were a saint; that's the only way you could rationalize getting Jamie in this lifetime. "I'll be in shortly. I will dish up the food so we don't make a mess." Jamie calls from the kitchen. "Don't worry, I'm bringing soy sauce!" You smile and giggle before pressing pause on The Mandalorian. When Jamie arrives in the room, he hands you your food. "My love, extra sweet and sour for you. Your soy sauce and hot mustard." "Thank you." You say. "You know, you're pretty perfect." He laughs and presses play on the show. "I don't know, Din is pretty perfect, and I'll never compare to baby Yoda." He teases. "I've got a long way to go to be your favorite." "Well, you're getting close." You reach to him, signaling you want a kiss, and Jamie doesn't hesitate to fill that need. "Well, I'll keep trying 'cause God knows you deserve it."

[atomicwinnerdreamland]

Do you have any silly hc’s and ansgty hc’s for NY?

**it’s fine if not lol**

Hii! Ooo thank you for the ask, and I may have a few of both kinds of hc's for him :D

New York's silly hc's:

-He has tried ice cream and soy sauce together because he read about it in a book and surprisingly, he doesn't hate the combination. (the book is King of Wrath by Ana Huang, which is set in New York)

-I like to think that he tries on the shoes of the bigger states in the statehouse because he finds fun in doing so. New York was wearing Texas's huge dress shoes and tripped on them, and Alaska so happened to be nearby and helped him up, which got Alaska to be the one to first notice this habit of his.

-He and Louisiana read picture books together on nights when they can't go to sleep. Sometimes they're picture books that New York himself wrote, other times they're picture books that New York finds in his local bookstore that he thinks Loui would like.

-Whenever he's angry at a certain state, he paints a portrait of them that portrays them in the ugliest way possible. It could be a painting of the state's face with the ugliest color combos and/or purposefully messed up proportions or he may paint a part of the state that the state considere to be ugly or unattractive (ie. if here were mad at Texas, he'd paint Austin bc TX thinks that Austin is ugly, California w/ Bakersfield, Michigan w/ the border shared between him and Ohio, etc)

-He sometimes likes to wear his coats on his head like a wig and walks around the statehouse as he's doing so. And he likes to style it too: sometimes the coat looks like a whole ass muffin on his head (think of how people with long hair wrap a towel around their hair after a shower). Everyone else thinks he looks insane, but he's happy doing it for some reason.

-He hides candy in his beanie and nobody knows.

New York's angsty hc's:

-He has a terrible relationship with sleep. He can't sleep because of flashbacks of his past, he can't sleep because of his workload, and sometimes he doesn't sleep on purpose just to punish himself.

-He likes to lock himself in his room when the statehouse gets too loud. It reminds him of his past again (with all the wars and stuff) and he prefers not to interact with anyone at all for a few days to deal with it.

-[TW: self-harm] Whenever he does something that doesn't reach his own standards, he hurts himself in many ways. He indulges in his never ending workload, he stays up all night, he doesn't eat, and he can't talk to anyone without screaming at them (which hurts NY bc he doesn't like hurting his loved ones).

-He likes to cook for others but rarely finds the will to cook for himself sometimes, much less eat. It's the same way with comforting others: he always is the first to try and uplift somebody yet he can never uplift himself when he needs to.

-He likes to disappear whenever he gets too overwhelmed. The fellas in the Northeast always try and look for him whenever he does so, but New York always finds a spot where he knows he can't be found (usually in Wyoming and Iowa since they're usually forgotten, and both states seem peaceful to me), so they just wait for him to return home hoping he's okay. There was an occasion where he came back with cuts and bruises all over his body to the point he was hospitalized, and though the northeast states thought it was bc of a fight, it turned out to be self-inflicted injuries. The northeast now keep an eye out for any sign that NY's stressed out/overwhelmed so they can go talk to him before he decides to disappear again.

-[TW: suicidal thoughts] He likes to think about not being immortal & what life would be like if only he were to be able to die like normal humans. Sometimes he doesn't have the will to live and finds it so hard to accept that he can't just die. This fic by @xechoecho88x is a great story that ties along with this specific headcanon if you're interested in reading something like this :D

-He has a severely damaged wall designed for when he needs to let out some anger. To go along the lines of this, he likes fire and burns random things to keep himself at ease. The only thing that he regrets burning is an old necklace given to him by a friendly old lady he met & befriended in upstate. Her death took a toll on him and he burned the only thing that reminded him of her so he wouldn't mourn as much, but all he feels now is regret.

That's all I have, I hope you like it :D Thank you sm again for your ask, I appreciate it so much <3

[fanfic-recs-01]

MHA Fics

This is a list of MHA fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Most of these are focused around Deku, so I tried to categorize as best I could. Also some have ships and some don’t. 

I have a separate post for tododeku here.

I have a separate post for bakudeku here.

Updated 5/15/24

Vigilante Deku

the Quirkless Vigilante: Seishin by Tired_And_G4y

~When Izuku Midoriya becomes the vigilante Seishin and ends uo running into a injured Erasure Head what will he do? And what will he do when he keeps running into the hero in and out of uniform? Will the hero help or arrest him?~

Green Lightning ReachingForStars152

~After the emergence of quirks, the official definition of 'vigilante' changed to match it.

"Vigilante: Someone who illegally uses their quirk to fight villains without a hero license."

...So, then, wouldn’t it technically not be illegal if you didn’t have a quirk?~

Vigil, Ante, and their Vigilante Antics  by BelleAmant

~What happens when you knock Izuku to the ground and take away all of his hopes and dreams? The boy will get back up, clawing his way to the top if it's the last thing he does.

Featuring Vigilante Izuku, his partner-in-heroism Hitoshi, and some Parental Aizawa as a bonus!~

A deadman's gun by NohaIjiachi

~“I—“ Izuku hesitated, gaping wordlessly, before admitting softly. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to go home. There’s nothing for me, there.”

“So you filled this hole by playing detective— And how long is that going to last, I wonder?” Stain replied, still massaging his chin. “But you— You have potential.”

Izuku blinked at Stain’s chest, before looking up. “Excuse me?”~

Pied Piper by Blackholeca

~If they wouldn’t give him a chance then the solution seemed simple, he’d give himself one. He’d force the world to see him, force them to recognize his hard work. He wasn’t missing a quirk, it was simply that everyone else had been given an advantage. He wasn’t broken, or useless, or incapable, and he’d prove it by outrunning all of them, he who was quirkless, he who had started in last.~

Desperate Measures by GlowingArrowsInTheSky 

~AU in which Izuku stays quirkless and finds his own way of becoming a hero~

Oracle: Weak by orphan_account

~Izuku Midoriya couldn't become a hero. Everyone in his life told him he couldn't. But they never said anything about becoming a vigilante, and after one life changing event, he might just take up that offer. All he needs is someone in his corner. If he can't become a hero, then he sure as hell can become a vigilante!~

Tightrope by EloFromMars

~Sometimes, your life can be changed forever because you don't have any soy sauce left.

Or where Izuku never meets All Might, never attends to UA but being a stubborn problem child, he ends up doing hero stuff...more or less...~

The thin gray line by A_ToastToTheOutcasts 

~The beauty of the era of quirks wasn't the amazing abilities; it was that nobody sane would even entertain the thought that Kuroko, the most wanted vigilante in all of Japan, was Quirkless.~

Support Strategist Deku

That Strategist in Support  by AnitaArainai

~When Izuku jumps, a hero-to-be is there to save him. Focusing on his analytical skills, Izuku joins the support course and sets out to prove he doesn't need a quirk to make a difference.~

Oil, Rust, And Burns  by cinnabananamon

~Midoriya Izuku, 14 years old, never want anything in life beside being a Hero. But life seems to like to punch him in the face because, in the era where quirks define the worth of a person in a society, life choose Izuku to be quirkless. His dream as a Hero was turned to ash after All Might, his childhood hero and the one he look up to the most, give him a slap to reality.

After losing his only goal in life, Izuku met Mei Hatsume in the midst of explosion and fire. 'Support course in UA??'~

Blank Canvas by jokeraddicto

~All his life, nobody truly believed in Midoriya Izuku's dream of being a Hero. Not his mother, his childhood friend, his classmates or teachers...not even the Number One Hero believes in him. What is a Quirkless boy to do?

Show the world it's wrong, that's what. Finally, after years of no one believing him, there was one man who did. After All Might left Izuku on a roof with the answer of 'no', one man who was not a Hero finally told the boy, "I believe you can become a Hero." Izuku wants to prove the man right.~

Cheat Code: Support Strategist by Clouds(myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown)

~After All Might gives Izuku a much needed reality check, he has to find a new dream. When he learns that the support course at UA offers an emphasis in Intelligence and Analytics, it sounds like the perfect new passion for him to throw himself into.~

Villain Deku

One May Smile, and Smile, and Be A Villain  by AvaRose

~(Canon divergence where Midoriya Izuku never meets All Might, never inherits One For All, never attends Yuuei.)~

One Wrong Turn (and everything fell apart) by Ashtonthefabulous

~Left on a rooftop as his idol walks away, Izuku is left lost and hopeless. But, then, a strange man presents an offer that Izuku can't refuse.

Almost a year later and Bakugou is angsty, All Might is still without a successor, and the new class 1-A at U.A. is being plagued by the appearance of a strange villain amongst the crowd.

With one last shot at redemption, Izuku struggles with his morality, memory, and loyalties as he's forced to question everything he thought he knew.~

Twisted Crown of Villains by RandomFanfictions

~Izuku Midoriya is the only one who knows how to take down the League of villains, but in doing so, he has to become one of them. Or at least pretend to be one.

He can only hope to complete his mission without anyone finding out his true intentions until it is complete so he can regain his reputation as a hero or face the fate of dying while being thought of as a villain.~

Even Heros Need Saving by Diana_Zephyr

~In a world where All Might never found the sludge villain before it got Midoriya. It took over his body to hide, bringing him back to the League of Villains without thinking.

Midoriya knew too much for the League to let him go. They found his mother and held her life over his head. Either he complied or they killed his mother and then him.~

Little Izuku and the League of Villains by ATiredAndDeadWriter

~In a world where Midoriya Izuku does only one thing differently at the mall, he ends up being hit with a Quirk that leaves him in his seven year old body with no memories.What happens when Shigaraki Tomura finds that Midoriya Izuku at the mall?~

Misc.

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A  by lesbianclerics

~Mina waits until Aizawa’s well out of earshot before muttering a teasing, “Okay dad” under her breath. Kirishima’s eyes go wide. Midoriya chokes on air and the soap he’s spraying goes wide, hitting the wall as well as the stove. Kaminari freezes halfway through tiptoeing across the kitchen. They all stare at her, frightened for a moment that Aizawa heard her somehow. Then, when nothing happens after a moment, Kaminari cackles, loudly, and doubles over laughing.~

Toward A Bright Future by LazyRainDancer

~You wake up at UA, the highest ranked hero school in the country, with no recollection of how you got there. Unfortunately, those aren't the only memories you're missing. Still, you can't let a little amnesia get in the way of you warning the school about the attack you know will happen during Class 1-A's field trip to the USJ. ~

Not Broken, but a Little Bent by FriendlessAnimeLover 

~Kaminari Denki ends up leaving the hero course after a certain incident takes place and enrolls in general studies where an unlikely ally reaches out to him, slowly helping ease his pain. But even as Denki tries to heal and starts finding a new path with Hitoshi Shinsou, he can't help but think of those he left behind.~

Guildy Pleasures by Mysecretfanmoments 

~As the only son of a powerful politician, Todoroki Shouto's life is just one big boring cutscene—except when he logs on to Land of Heroes, where he plays as ShoutO, slaying foes and keeping his fellow guildmates alive. It's enough fun that it almost distracts him from the fact that he's falling for two of those guildmates. Almost. But he's got to stay in stealth mode, because Bakugou and Midoriya are mega-popular streamer duo ZeroDeku… and they're already dating each other.~

don't you just want to go apeshit? by kkachis, MargaritaDaemonelix

~Midoriya jokingly says, "Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit?" Everyone's too focused on Iida telling him off for swearing to notice Shouto in his corner of the lunch table, mulling over his words.

He is tired of being nice. He does want to go apeshit.~

You're My Foe. Rival. Idol. Enemy. Nemesis. Dork. by bernard_greybridge

~5 times Midoriya's friends see him distressed and Bakugou intervenes, and 1 time Bakugou's friends go to Midoriya when he gets distressed.~

Not All Who Wander Are Lost by Chuthulhu (Mangaluva), Mangaluva 

~Touya should have run away on his own and left them behind. But he didn't. (AU in which all four Todoroki siblings ran away together.)~

(our fables) tell our truths by youareoldfatherwilliam

~In one universe, Todoroki Touya runs away from home and becomes the villain known as Dabi.

In this one, he takes his little brother Shouto with him.

This is their story.~

Chapstick, Chapped Lips And Things Like Chemistry by Dreamweaving 

~Shoto Todoroki is determined to have friend time with both Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugou at the same time. An operation he has deemed "Operation Threesomes". Unfortunately he may have misjudged what a threesome is.~

no rest for the wicked by crossroadswrite

Midoriya has absolutely no filter when he's sleep deprived. That's it. That's the fic.

Izuku's Project by redanick

~“Midoriya? It’s half past four in the morning, what the hell do you want?”

“Oh, is it really? I hadn’t noticed. Anyway, if I told you I had a way to majorly fuck up your dad in the public eye, would you be okay with it?”

He paused in shock that Izuku had sworn. “...Yeah, sure, whatever. Go nuts.” Todoroki hung up.~

A Sucker for Pun-ishment by Gotcocomilk

~Shoto gets hit with a quirk that forces him to tell jokes. They are all bad, but the pick-up lines are worse.~

Clothes Make The Man by PotterheadAvengerDemigod 

~The one where Baku models for his parents' fashion company and his classmates find out.~

Katsuki Bakugou has No Goddamn Chill (But It's For The Best That He Doesn't) by Sif (Rosae)

~Izuku and Bakugou had a long and complicated history, but most of the school was pretty sure that they understood where the two currently stood as rivals. Then Izuku's dad showed up on campus and everyone's preconceptions were mercilessly thrown out the window. In which Bakugou tries to murder a man, has a soft side and convinces his entire class the twilight zone is real.~

Bakugou and Todoroki's Foolproof 5-Step Plan to Fuck with Mineta Minoru by Anubis_2701   

~It was a simple enough idea; screw around with the resident bastard of Class 1-A to let him know that his medieval ways and perverted behaviour weren't going to be tolerated by even the most career-focused of UA's students.~

If We’re Being Honest by thequeenofwhump

~Class 1-A is hit by a very powerful truth quirk, and lots of things come out. Some things are quite harmless - quite the opposite, really - others are quite funny, and some open wounds that never really healed.~

Halfway to the Moon (But the Sun is So Bright) by Catisred

~Izuku doesn't know how to handle being depressed, his middle school bullies, the rigorous training All Might has him on, and the burden his mother is under trying to provide for a kid all by herself.

So he doesn't. Not well, at least.~

Tomorrow by MabtheWinterQueen

~In a universe where All Might does not tell Midoriya Izuku that he can become a hero, he becomes one anyways, because if there's two things Izuku does have, they are spite and a plan.~

Engraved in your Mind by Hejter

~Kacchan is still a stubborn prick while suffering from face blindness. Also, quirk discrimination is a thing.~

The kids are gonna be alright by tsumoo

~Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright along his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”.~

pater proelium by unexpectedchair

~“Sadly, we won't be able to get justice right away,” Present Mic admitted, a melancholy note in his tone.Inko glanced down at her wedding ring, eyes widening. She then chose that moment to open the door, and proceeded to step into the room.“You might not be able to, but I might,” Inko's determined stare fixed on everyone in the room. “But you need to do exactly as I say. Excuse me while I make a call.”~

Tango for Two, Electric Boogaloo by Maxine

~Five times Bakugou and Kaminari were absolutely not dating, and one time they maybe actually were? Possibly? Somehow?? Don't ask, because Bakugou sure has no idea how the hell it happened.~

Love Sick by Jacksonofabitch

~Following an accident in training, Kaminari has little choice but to confront his own feelings for Bakugou Katsuki. Especially when he accidentally confesses.~

Just Say When by Bounemr

~Denki is shocked to find himself tutored by Todoroki. Will he finally rise from last place, academically, in class? Will love shenanigans happen? Probably. They're not mutually exclusive.~

The Right To Be by Strawhat_Pirate

~Shoto wants to marry a boy. Unfortunately, that isn't legal in Japan... at least, it's not yet. Enji has his work cut out for him.(Or: Enji Todoroki is determined to be a better father. And that means supporting his kids in any way he can. Put on your rainbow shades: this ignorant straight man is about to get his pride on, and he's about to make it everyone's problem.)~

i have been in love with love (and the idea of something binding us together) by Drhair76

~Midoriya develops a latent quirk that pulls people he has an mutual affection for towards him with just a thought. Class 1A thinks it's cute. Midoriya does not.~

Wisdom Teeth by Markovia

~Kirishima takes care of a very spaced-out Bakugou after he has his wisdom teeth pulled.~

I did it all for a Switch (both the device and the boy) by hardknockliv

~Denki should know better by now, he really should. But when Mineta makes a 400 dollar bet that Denki can't get a boyfriend AND keep him for a month, he just can't help himself. He really wants to buy a Switch after all. So now Denki needs to find himself a boyfriend, and a certain purple haired classmate may be able to help.~

Letters to the Headitor by Ischemia 

~Hitoshi's heart sped up as he imagined how they'd respond to his earlier rude complaint. To be fair, he wasn't prepared to inform them, "I have the emotional maturity of a sponge, and your dreadful blonde sex clown made me feel things I haven't felt in years," so an insult was the next best thing.~

Sports Festival: Lost and Found by RogueVector

~14 year old Izuku gets lost at the UA Sports Festival!Luckily, Pro Heroine Midnight knows where he can wait until his parents can come collect him; the announcer's booth with her best pals Eraserhead and Present Mic.~

In Which Midoriya Confuses A Lot of People, Starts A Manhunt, and Becomes A Hero by legal_kidnapping

~Midoriya needs a new outlet for his hero research and accidentally creates a viral YouTube channel.~

[smolwritingchick]

The Bangtan Gal Chapter 22- American Hustle Life Episode 5

Chapter Summary: Finding out that she won't be able to use the Bangtan Boys for the American Version of Boy In Luv, Jennie attempts to use her charm to grab a guy to film with her

Words: 4,000+

-----

'After meeting Warren G for the first time, BTS decided to throw a party with Warren G'

Walking inside Warren G's place, Jen and the guys look around in amazement. "Wow~"

"The inside is really pretty," Jimin said in a cheery tone.

In front of them, they see Warren G with his hands full of food. Getting right to work, Suga and Jin work on the meat, while the rest are inside. Jimin and Jennie work on washing the veggies. Turning her head, she sees Rap Monster and V around with the red cups and eating some of the food.

"Ahem. Aren't you two supposed to be helping?" She put her hands on her hips.

"Aish, really!?" Jimin scolded, while V opened the cupcakes.

"No, don't touch the sweets. Leave them in the plastic. Don't put them on the plate, they'll dry out. Leave it." Jennie closed it, shaking her head.

"Hey, why are you guys already on break?" J-Hope and Jungkook approach them.

"These two are playing around. Jimin and I are trying to get things straight." She declared.

Jennie (We're partying with Warren G! It doesn't get any better than this. It's been so long since I've had any sort of Barbecue. My family has a lot of cookouts. And now I'm missing all of them, haha. One day, I would love to invite the boys to one of my family cookouts. If we ever have free time, off our schedule, I'm sure they'll have a lot of fun.)

After the food was all done, Jennie and the guys sat around on Warren G's red couch, with all the food in front of them. 

"Thank you for the meal!" They thanked him and dug right in.

With her appetite getting the best of her, she grabbed one of everything, chowing down in delight. She missed this, the meat was so juicy. It reminded her of home.

Jennie (Look I don't care, if I'm hungry, I'm going to just eat...a lot.)

"Do you know kimichi?" J-Hope asked.

"I mean, I heard, it sounds familiar." Warren G answered, and then Jimin presented him with a plate of it, so he could try it. Suga joked about his expression darkening as they watched him try it out. "That's aite."

"Ohhh~" The boys say in surprise.

"It's spicy." He laughed and got some more, to put on his plate. "That's some good kimchi. I need to find out where I could buy that kimchi around, here."

"Ah, really?" Rap Monster asked in English.

"It's so good, it should be around at some Asian markets," Jennie replied

'Warren G fell deep in love with kimchi'

"It's spicy but it's good. So how does it feel? Do you guys miss like your family and friends? You know, what are the types of the food you guys eat, when you at home in Korea?" Warren G asked.

"For me, I put sesame oil and soy sauce over fried egg and I mix it up. My grandma made it for me a lot." V answered

"That sounds good! I need that! I need somebody to make me some."

"I miss my family and friends. Being in another country while they're home in the USA, it's tough. I try to contact them as much as I can when I have the time." Jennie mentioned with a smile.

In English, Jin spoke up, "I miss them and I want mother's cook."

"Mhm, you miss her cooking?" Warren G asked.

"Yeah. I like...them very much."

"Oh, you love 'em? You love 'em, very much? And you like her, you miss your mom's cooking. I'm not mad at that. Are you guys homesick?"

"Yeah." The group answered.

"I heard that my family moved and I still haven't been to our new home," Jin added. Nodding, Rap Monster agreed with him.

"How long have you been away from home?" Warren G asked.

"I haven't been home since my parents took me to Korea, so I can work with Big Hit. Since 2013." Jennie answered.

"The last time I went home was about 2 years ago." Suga answered.

"Yeah, but at the same time, you have to take out time to see your family. That's one special thing about me, I always take my time to be with my family." Warren G said.

"Who's the person you miss the most, right now?" J-Hope asked him.

"Well, I miss my mother. She passed away in 1999. So, I'm, I'm motherless, you know, but I was very young. Uh, I was in my 20s. early 20s. Actually, about 2 weeks ago, I just went and visited my mother's grave. And put some flowers."

'Everyone becoming connected by talking about their families.'

'A meaningful time spent with Warren G while sharing each other's deep stories'

'Next morning'

Staying up all night, Jennie slept in more than usual, instead of waking up early like she's used to. With the noise, next door, thanks to the house being constructed, and Tony & Nate shouting to wake up, she groaned, stirring in her sleep.

"Five more minutes..." She murmured.

"Let's go! Let's go! We got a long day." Tony announced, while Jungkook squirmed on the couch, but continued to lay across the couch. "Jennie! Wake up, girl! You're always the first one up, what happened!?"

"Her and Jungkook were gaming last night." Jimin giggled, while Tony shakes her.

Effortlessly picking her up in his strong arms, Tony put her over his shoulder and walked over to the couch. Suddenly, she's placed right on top of Jungkook's spread out body, on the couch.

"Wake up, Jennie! And wake up Jin!" Tony shouted, trying to make them wake up.

"That's Jungkook." Jennie let out a sleepy laugh. Looking down, she saw herself sitting right on his back and shifting to the edge of the couch.

Voice slightly hoarse from sleep, she shook him. "Sorry, for sitting on you, Kookie. Kookie! Get up!"

Jungkook sat up, groggy from sleep as he heard her giggle at his bedhead. 

"BTS, what's poppin'?" Tony greeted, walking up to Jungkook to finally wake him up.

Sitting next to Jennie and still tired, Jungkook tilted his head to the side, resting his head on her shoulder, trying to go back to sleep. Drowsy herself, Jennie rested her head against his, attempting to get some extra Zs.

"You two are always so close. Give the skinship a break!" Jimin teased but got no response from the teenagers.

"I think they're ignoring you." V said with an amused grin.

Finally, more awake, the members look at the next mission.

'BTS! Make the music video full of hip hop spirit and swag!'

"So we're gonna teach you guys a new work, right? It's called Stuntin." Tony informed.

"The purpose of stuntin', two reasons you stunt, alright, is to get attention and is that when you get that attention, girls like what they see. The people like what they see, you know." Nate added.

"We just wanna make sure that, when y'all come to Los Angeles, when y'all come to America, y'all gotta do the rap video the right way."

"Your videos are dope. But, there's one thing that we never really saw a lot of and that was girls."

"Oh, my God!" Suga exclaimed.

"But we have Jennie!" Jimin pointed out. "Miss Bangtan!"

"He said girlS." She emphasized the S. "Not girl."

"So today, we going out, we're gonna find girls. Y'all gonna talk to 'em. Get them in the music video." Tony announced.

Jennie laughed at the guys' reaction as they oh'ed and covered their faces.

"Is that possible? We can't even speak English, is that possible?" Suga doubted. "We're not using Jennie?"

"Nope. For the music video, you guys are not going to use Jennie. You know her too well, you gotta find some other girls." Tony answered.

Curious, Jennie asked, "So what am I going to do?"

"Jennie, you are going to find a guy for your part of the music video." Tony pointed out.

"Oohhhhh." The guys exclaimed, looking at her as she let out a soft chuckle.

Jennie (Eh heh heh...come again?)

"Do our tutor hyungs have any friends?" Jimin asked.

"I could bring you some ladies but it's up to you to woo those ladies. I mean, make the ladies feel like, 'Wow, I really like V.', 'I really like Suga.'" Nate explains. "Alright so, these skills that we're about to teach y'all, these should not be used for personal gain. These are to be used to catch girls for your music video."

"First we're going to start with Jennie." Tony gestured.

"Yay! Ladies first!" Jimin cheered.

"Jennie, you're cute. You're down to earth, and you have a pretty smile. You can use that as an advantage." Tony told her as she smiled and gushed over his kind words. "Now, I want to know how you would approach a guy if you saw him playing on the basketball court."

"Okay, I'll try." She said while Nate stood up to get out of her way. On cue, she walked up to Tony, shooting him a sweet smile. "Hey." She said in a confident voice.

"What's up, girl?" He played along.

"I'm Jennie. What's your name?"

"Tony."

"Nice to meet you, Tony. I saw you playing over there, at the basketball court. I wanted to tell you that I was impressed. Your skills are A-1." She nodded in approval.

"Thanks, do you play?"

"Yeah, I play a little basketball. You want to play a round?"

"Ight, let's go play."

The guys look on, impressed

Jennie (Approaching a guy to talk is fine, but I was tongue tied about how to approach the guy for the music video. I dunno, I think I should talk a lot first, get to know him and then bring up the music video. I don't want it to be too sudden.)

"Before you even talk to a girl, the first thing is, you gotta go after the right kind of girl. Okay, we're trying to cast a hip hop video, okay? So, what do we need? We need girls that care about how they look, just like how we carin' about our chains and we know we flashy. You need girls that are on the same tip." Nate informed the guys. "The nails. They need to look good."

"If they take care of their nails, they take care of how they look, too." Rap Monster translated in Korean.

Jennie (Oh! So, you taking shot at my chipped nails, now? Well damn. I take care of myself, although my nail polish isn't on point today!)

"Let's see Jennie's nails!" Jimin grabbed her hands.

Snatching them back, she hid her nails. "No, don't look at them, the nail polish is chipped." She warned.

"Second thing, when you approach these girls, it's great, you gotta have, what is called an ice breaker. Like a point of entry to get a conversation going. What I think is the best approach is to compliment something that you see on them. Best to compliment something on instead of her body, her face or you know, like her earrings. Like something, a small detail on them." Nate advised.

"I like your nails, and I~ love you," Jimin said in English, holding Jennie's hand as he tried to hug her.

"Boy, bye!" She playfully shoved him away, earning laughs from the guys.

"Chimchim, your English is bad." Tony declared. "So, we gonna find something that will help you get the girl, right? I think you're charming, I think you're funny. I think you're nice, okay? You go up to a girl, maybe dance, wink while dancing."

Jimin demonstrated and sat next to Nate, asking him what was his name. "I'm Natalie." He answered. 

"Nerullie?" Jimin repeated with hesitation, as a chorus of laughter filled the room

"Rap Monster, you can speak in English. That's good for you cause like, you can have a conversation with the ladies, right? One of the things that I notice is that you don't do good, you kind of look down on the floor when you think of your English. You gotta work on your eye contact." Tony advised.

"What's up?" Rap Monster approached Nate and sat next to him. "Your hat's dope. You're lookin' fresh, what's your name?"

"Natalie."

"I'm Rap Monster. How you doin'?"

"Good, how are you?"

"Ah..." He hesitated and buried his face into his hands, freaking out that he stuttered and lost his train of thought.

'Even in front of Natalie, a fake girl, Rapmon gets nervous'

"Jungkook! You're a really good singer, right? You can sing." Tony pointed out.

'Jungkook's charm is that he's a human jukebox.'

"You can sing like Chris Brown. Chris Brown's a big deal in the U.S. Right, so if you walk up to a girl, I can't sing, but if you sing a Chris Brown song, they can be like..." He acted like she was wooed.

"Oooh! Chris Brown~"

After laughing at Tony's gesture, Jungkook stood up and strode up to Nate.

'I am Chris Jungkook!'

"And I need you boo~" He started to sing.

'A sweet voice that's melting Natalie's heart.'

"Oooh!" The members of BTS look on.

Jennie (Okay, Jungkook. *Nods in approval*)

"I gotta see you boo, and the heart's all over the world tonight, said the heart's all over the world tonight~" He continued to sing and sat next to Nate.

"I like your voice." Nate complimented, portraying Natalie.

"I like you."

"WAAAAHHHHH!" Jennie and the guys yell out of shock.

Jennie dropped her jaw, shaking Jimin while he shook her, laughing out loud. "Yo! That was so bold!"

Applauding his efforts, Nate shot him a thumbs up with Tony. "That was good, that was good! But you can say, I like your style, okay? So like, yeah, cause I like you, is a bit too much like, I wanna be your boyfriend."

Turning to V, Nate called him out. "Now, the thing that you have going for you, you're like the dumb blonde of the group, okay?"

"I think everyone sees him that way." Suga teased

"I think you're the pretty boy of the group so it's like you gotta use your strength. You have broken English, so you know a little bit of English. Not a lot but use that as your strength, okay?" Nate pointed out.

"It's cute." Tony added.

"Yeah, it's cute."

"So, your thing is cute."

"Hello!" V greeted, sitting next to Nate.

"What's poppin?" Nate asked.

"My name is V. Your name is?"

"Natalie."

"Oh! Nice watch, how much?"

"How much is my watch? Ahh...I don't know, it's a gift."

"Give me your time, please."

"Like, what time is it?"

"No, your time."

"Oh, you want my watch?" Nate pointed to it, while Jennie giggled at them going back and forth.

"No, your time!"

"My number?"

"Oh! No, no, no, no!"

"Suga! Sweet Suga!" Tony called out. "So, I think Suga's the smoothest like he's laid back, he's cool. Y'know, so we're gonna play to his strength. Just be a smooth guy, just be yourself, okay?"

Suga walked over to Nate in his sunglasses and a phone in his ear. "I have chain." He said in broken English, sitting next to Nate.

"You have chains, that don't mean nothing to me."

"You like this?" Suga touched his chains

"It's alright." He shrugged.

"You like this, you like this chain? Three dollars."

"PFFFhahaha!" Jennie laughed out loud with V.

"J-Hope! What's your strength? What are you good at?" Tony asked.

"I'm dance." J-Hope replied in Broken English.

"You dance, then give her a rose." He suggested.

'J-Hope's charm is being a romanticist dancer'

"Hi, excuse me." J-Hope approached Nate, sitting next to him. "Have you heard my song?"

"Nope." He replied.

"Uh no? Good, good music."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nodded and stayed silent, making everyone make a beeping noise, signaling that he was done.

"Jin, something tells me he's the more shy towards himself." Tony pointed out and stood up.

"Walk up like this. And say, 'Can you tell me how to get to so and so?"

"You understand, you're like the third best in English, in the group." Nate went on.

Jin acted like a tourist and approached Nate. "Ah, hi." He sat down next to him. "I'm Jin, can you speak Korean?"

"No."

"You don't know, annyeonghaseyo?"

"No."

"No? You know coffee?"

"Yes."

"I want coffee and where is the coffee shop."

"There one down there, on the corner of the Hollywood & Wilshire." Nate pointed out. "Like it's this way, two blocks."

"Uh, you can't speak Korean? I want to go coffee shop with you. Let's go."

"Oh dear!" Jennie laughed as she watched Jin grab Nate by the wrist.

"Especially with the language barrier, you guys are all doing very well." Nate complimented them after they settled down.

"Remember your skill, okay?" Tony reminded them.

"All right, let's go!"

------

In the van, Rap Monster asked, "Hey, have you guys done this before? To a girl, you don't know?"

"Not even once!" Jimin replied.

"You guys never tried, even once?"

"How do we suddenly try to talk to a girl that's just passing by?"

"Have you talked to any guys in America? Guys you didn't know?" Rap Monster turned to Jennie.

"I've had a few crushes, but I never really approached them." She shrugged.

"Jennie, this is your stop." The producer told her.

"All right, peace out guys." She got out of the van with a small camera crew.

"Bye, Jennie! Good luck!" J-Hope grinned.

"Smile!" Jungkook encouraged.

"Use that charm!" Suga added.

"You got this, Ennie!" V cheered.

"Don't end up getting a boyfriend!" Jin warned.

She rolled her eyes playfully and waved her hand at them, brushing the goofy comment aside, before the van leaves. "Okay...looks like we're at a skate park. Interesting."

Jennie (A skate park. I gotta find a guy at a skate park. On this nice sunny day. Wish me luck!)

Walking around, she looked like she was lost. There were a bunch of guys there, of different ages. Even a few girls that were skating around. She wanted to find someone that was near her age.

"Look out!" A guy shouted as she quickly moved out of the way. He skateboarded right past her, getting off to approach her. "Sorry about that, are you all right?"

Checking to see if she was hurt, she nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, thanks." 

"You don't look like you come to the skate park often if you're standing around in the middle where people skate." He let out a soft laugh.

"Eh heh heh, yeah..." She shrugged.

"What's your name?"

"Jennie. And you?"

"I'm Ryan. You know, you look familiar...I can't help but think I've seen you before."

"I get that a lot."

"No, really. Weren't you a part of a group?"

Jennie (You know...It still shocks me that people remember me from those days. I mean, it wasn't that long ago, but it's nice to know that I'm remembered.)

"Yes, Amity."

"Yeah, I thought so. Wow, you're way prettier in person, that's for sure."

"Thank you, I'm actually shooting a music video. I'm in a K-Pop group. I'm looking for people to shoot, with me. Would you like to join?"

"Really? Sounds cool. My girlfriend would love to meet you, she's a fan of yours."

Jennie (Of course...he has a girlfriend. Ahhh the last thing I need is some girl to be wallin' out because I'm around her boyfriend. Seen it too many times. My patience will thin if I'm around it and if she's the jealous type.)

"Wow, really? I'm so flattered. Thank you." She shot him a small smile.

"I may have to work but if I can make it, I'll come. Can my girlfriend come, too?"

"Yeah, of course. Can we take a picture?"

"Always!" He shot up the shaka sign and took the picture with her.

Jennie (One guy. Let's see if I can find another. Someone I can approach.)

Later, she saw a caramel skinned guy, who looked around her age. He was sitting on a bench, taking off his helmet to reveal his wild, curly hair. With his skateboard, next to him on the ground, he opened up a bottle of water to take a few big gulps.

"Hm. Why not." She decided to approach him. "Hey! Nice skateboard!" She pointed at the cool designs on the board.

As the sun shined on him, she could see the sweat glistening off his skin. He looked up at her, staring at her in his hazel eyes, he flashed her a grin, giving her a friendly vibe.

"Thanks." His voice was deep, yet kind.

"I'm Jennie."

"Kevin." He stood up to shake her hand. He was a few inches taller than her. "Do you come here, often?"

"No, this is my first time, I was just observing, seeing if I like skateboarding. How old are you?"

"17."

"I'm 16. Since it's my first time, do you mind showing me the basics? You look like you know your stuff."

"Yeah, sure." He gestured her over to his skateboard. Standing on top of it, she grabs onto him. "What made you interested in skateboarding?"

"Eh, I've been seeing it everywhere, I wanted to know what the hype is."

"I'm sure you'll like it after I teach you a few moves." He guaranteed. He grabbed her hand and guided her while she moved around on the skateboard.

"I'm not gonna fall, am I? You'll catch me, right?"

Letting out a warm chuckle, he nodded. "I won't let you fall. Don't worry."

Jennie (This guy is chill and so respectful. I never got into skateboarding, I just said what I said to start a conversation. But he makes skateboarding interesting. I might want to try it out and get into it, in the future.)

After being taught the basics and sharing a few laughs and corny jokes, she sat down with him, on the bench. "Is skateboarding all that you like to do?" She asked.

"Nah, I like music."

"Sweet, me too!"

"You do? What do you do?"

"I sing and dance. I can also play the guitar."

"That's ight. I play the drums."

"Wow. Very interesting. You know, I'm a part of a group. We're filming a music video. I was wondering, would you like to be a part of it?"

"Music video, huh? What genre?"

"K-Pop."

"What's K-Pop?"

"Korean Pop. I can let you listen to some songs!" She took out her phone and played a Big Bang song.

"Yeah, I heard of this! Oh, so this is K-Pop. They're good. I find their music catchy."

"I know right. So what do you say?"

Jennie (Please say yes, PLEASE)

Kevin shrugged. "Why not."

Sighing out of relief, she happily cheered. "Awesome! Thank you! Let's take a picture, together." She pulled up the camera on her phone.

-----

'Music Video Set'

Walking in the place, BTS and Jennie were in awe, as they were all dressed up for their music video. Jennie wore jean shorts with a flannel around her waist, along with a loose tank top. While they check out the pool, they think about 50 Cent's We Up music video and how he shot the music video at the same place.

'Today's shooting set is full of hip hop style'

Jennie checks out the view around the poolside. So many buildings and a beautiful blue sky with scattered clouds around as she felt a breeze, against her skin, it was a pleasant day.

As she admired the view, Jungkook approached her, with his camera. "Jennie! What are you doing, right now?"

"Checking out the amazing view! Ain't it pretty?"

"It sure is. How are you feeling about the shoot?"

"Nervous. I hope everyone comes. I wonder what might happen if no one shows up."

"We'll use our staff, then!" He suggested.

"Hahah!"

As Jungkook went back inside, he and the rest of the guys were patiently waiting for their casting girls to come. "Someone's coming!" Jimin shouted.

Suddenly, the same guy Jennie was hanging out with yesterday, Kevin, arrived.

He looked cleaned up from the sporty outfit he wore yesterday. He had his hair cut with waves, wearing a clean pair of jeans and a black blazer under a white tank top. He arrived with his parents who wanted to support him

"Hey, is this where the music video is?" He asked, looking around as Rap Monster nodded. "Is Jennie, here?"

"Oh! It's Jennie's guy! Jennie! Come inside!" J-Hope gestured to her.

Turning around, she saw Kevin waving at her. "Ah!" She screamed and speed ran inside, making the guys laugh at her enthusiasm. "You're here!" She pulled him in for a big hug. 

"Told you, I would."

Pulling away, she checked out his outfit. "Oh, wow, you really cleaned up for me. You look good."

She turned to his parents. "Hi, I'm Jennie. It's nice to meet you." She shook their hands. "Thank you for having him, here."

"Of course. And I wasn't going to let him look any ol' type of way for a beautiful girl, like you. My son knows better." His father put a hand on his shoulder.

"I hope he looks okay for the shoot." His mother mentioned.

"He looks great. Thank you." Jennie reassured her.

With the Bangtan Boys, they watched as Jennie happily talked to Kevin and his parents. 

"Of course, Jennie's guy comes first. You never keep a girl waiting." Jimin pointed out. "He's handsome,"

"He is. Jennie picked a good one," Hobi grinned.

After waiting, Jin and J-Hope's girl, Jewel, with the green sunglasses, arrive. Then V, Jungkook and Suga's girl, Victoria. And lastly, Jimin and Rap Monster's girl, Christina.

Afterward, Warren G approached them and greeted them. "We're here, Los Angeles, California, man! But before we go any further, I wanted to congratulate you guys on picking some very beautiful ladies, and to you, Jennie, picking out this fresh looking, young man. We're gonna shoot this Boy In Luv, video shoot. And let everybody know how we're supposed to do it. I'm gonna give you guys some pointers, on certain things. Check you guys out, make sure y'all doing it, right. Let's get it in!"

'There are a total of 3 places where they will film at'

'Sofa, kitchen and swimming pool'

'With three areas to film at in the luxury mansion, shall we now start filming this swag filled music video?'

Team trouble was first while Jennie watched them prepare. She couldn't help but giggle at Jungkook's shyness as he began to fan himself. Later, she overheard Victoria say, "Jimin is pabo." when V asked her to.

"Pfff!" Rap Monster stiffed a laugh.

"What the hell!" Jimin looked on, dumbfounded.

"HAHAHA! She unintentionally called him dumb." Jennie laughed with Kevin.

When it was time for Jennie to film, she sat on the couch while the song was playing.

He wants to be my oppa. Shall I call him oppa?

Sliding to sit on the couch, Kevin presents her with a rose and she happily accepts it.

What should I do? Why is my face getting so hot from his intense stares?

Glancing at him, she looked away, pretending to be shy while he wrapped an arm around her, getting closer.

The next filming sessions went successfully, with gestures such as him coming up behind her, presenting her with a rose, wrapping an arm around her and even kissing her on the cheek, which caught the guys' attention.

"Ah! He kissed her!" V pointed in surprise.

"What!?" Jungkook and Jimin shouted, turning their heads to where Jennie was filming.

Kissed her?

Who?

What?

Where?

How?

WHY?

"I hope he asked for permission," Jin spoke up as he watched the two like a hawk.

Jimin whined. "Why is he kissing my Jennie? Ennie, why have you betrayed me? She's cheating on me, hyung." He grabbed onto Jin, in despair. "What am I going to do?"

After getting some pointers to add more gestures and have more eye contact, Jen and Kevin head to the pool to film their last shot. For the shot, she took off his sunglasses and put them on her eyes instead, while attempting to ignore his advances. 

"Hehehe, remember when Jennie was so nervous when I got so close to her as we filmed a shot for Boy in Luv?" Jimin teased. "She seems more comfortable, now. I wonder how comfortable she'll be when we film our new music videos for our upcoming album."

Sitting at poolside, on one of the blue lounge chairs, Jennie and Jungkook sat next to each other. "I just want to hurry up and become an adult," Jungkook mentioned on camera.

"Oh really? Why?" She asked as he turned to face her.

"When you're an adult, you can like, smoke cigarettes and stuff but my dad smokes and I really hate it. Can I send a video message to my dad?" He turned to the camera. "Dad! Please stop smoking. Yeah? It's not good for your liver! Either buy an e-cig or quit smoking. All the bad stuff is piling up, inside of you, right now. So, when you see this, I hope you, I want you to quit smoking."

"With me, I'm kind of looking forward to being an adult. Get to try out new experiences that teen me can't do at the moment."

"Whenever Jennie and I are around the staff, they don't drink alcohol because of us."

"Jungkook will be drinking before me though. I'm not drinking until I'm 21 in America. Because my parents will obliterate me if they catch me drinking underage, even if I'm 21 in Korean age."

"I want to learn how to drive."

"Me too, I should already be learning, but oh well. One day." She shrugged.

"Driving and a tattoo. I want to get a tattoo."

Surprised, she stared at him. "You serious?"

"Yep." He shot her his trademark bunny smile.

"Where do you want a tattoo?"

"I'm not sure, yet."

"What are you two mumbling about?" Suga walked over to them

"I saw that one of the girls has a tattoo behind her neck. So, I want one, too." Jungkook explained.

"You're saying you want a tattoo on TV?" Suga scolded.

"Why? When I become an adult!"

"I think he's out of his mind, right now."

"What? I don't think so. Tattoos are cool." Jennie spoke up. "Jungkook is going to look awesome with tattoos if he chooses to get them,"

"You want one, too?" Suga asked. "So many of our fans are being sad, right now."

"Hahaha, I didn't say I want one. Never crossed my mind."

[apartmentstead]

Homemade Beef-Jerky

Good morning my little pierogis

This is my favorite home-made jerky recipe

Use as much or as little beef as you want to make - I personally bought a beef brisket that was on sale for about $40 that yielded roughly 10 pounds of jerky.

Now - I am not perfect. My very first batch I made a couple mistakes, and I’ve made this recipe before. I should have trimmed more of the fat off, and I should have sliced it thinner.

Don’t get me wrong, I still ate the fuck out of them, but I just couldn’t preserve them or hang onto it longer term. Learned my lesson though 😊 keep in mind even people with experience can get it wrong too.

Recipe

1 cup of soy sauce

2 tablespoons minced ginger

2 garlic cloves

Salt - hella (I measure with love)

Juice from half a lime

Cracked black pepper - measure with love (1 tbsp is fine)

1 pound of sliced brisket

So here’s the beauty of beef jerky; It’s completely customizable. You can add things into your marinade, take them out, change the amounts, the world is your oyster.

After you trim down your preferred slice of meat (I’ve found that tougher cuts like brisket or chuck do well as jerky because they’re full of collagen and keep their shape well), pop it back into the freezer for about 30 minutes or so. The reason for this is that when you’re slicing it, you’ll be able to achieve a thinner more consistent cut because it will be on the solid side - something I forgot to do when I made this first batch. Oops.

Hang onto those fat trimmings by the way, mamas gonna show you all how to make some lovely tallow with that

You’ll put your sliced beef into a bag or bowl (ziploc or otherwise, as long as it’s water tight) and add your misc. seasonings (see above). Leave the salt out - the soy sauce has got that taken care of initially. Leave that to marinade for at-least 2 hours. Personally, I leave it over night so the acidity of the lime/soy sauce and the saltiness in the soy sauce can break down some of that elasticity that tougher cuts of meat generally have. Like I said though - the worlds your oyster. Yolo.

Once the meat is done marinading go ahead and pull it out, and dry any excess marinade off the slices of beef using a towel or wipe.

Once the beef slices are dry, sprinkle salt on either side of the slice. This isn’t necessarily required, but I’ve found it pulls more of the water/moisture out and can speed up the dehydrating process.

If you’re using a dehydrator go ahead and set your racks up, try to space them out as much as you can do ample air flow can circulate - if you’re using an oven, preferably you should have a rack sitting on a sheet pan so drippings if any can flow away from the meat.

As is with any meat product, it needs to be cooked to an adequate internal temperature to kill any bacteria or disease. You’ll want to start with your oven or dehydrator set to 165 degrees. Once the meat has reached 165° Fahrenheit, promptly turn the oven/dehydrator down to 140°.

After the heat has been turned out now you get to wait, and suffer while you smell delicious food you can’t eat yet. Sorry. The drying time can take anywhere from 8-12 hours, depending on the meats thickness, oven/dehydrator type, etc. honestly you’ll have to play it by ear a bit. Once it’s done though, you can keep it on your shelf for up to 3 months with silica packets or something similar to keep out moisture in an airtight container. I personally put it in jars and pressure cook them to sterilize and seal the jars, but that’s another convo for a different day.

If you keep it in the fridge - 1 to 2 weeks

If you keep it in your pantry - maybe 1 week

Freezing - 3 months + however long the storage method after thawing is.

Keep in mind it’s still meat - she can go bad

Happy hunting, and remember to do a sniff test if you forget it for awhile lol.

[embossross]

From His Mind to Yours

Chapter 5 >> Chapter 6 >> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: Exhibitionism (Hanma), Voyeurism (reader), oral (m receiving – not with reader), conversations about drugs (meth)

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 7.5k+

Diners line up outside the door of the ikazya, only to be turned away. You were lucky to secure a low table for two with tatami mat seating. On a Tuesday at seven in the evening, the bar hums with office workers sharing an obligatory after-work drink. The dim lights force a strange kind of intimacy among colleagues that could not survive under the artificial LED lights of the office. You hoped some of that intimacy would possess you and your companion, but you are disappointed.

Half-empty dishes of gomae-ae, kushiyaki, and hiyyayako litter the table. Sake and beer sweat through glass cups to leave wet rings on the wood. There is a bunched-up napkin from where you spilled soy sauce earlier.

The meal is ending, but you have yet to bridge any of the distance between you and your companion: Miyasato Rie.

A senior of just one year at university, Miyasato has existed at the periphery of your existence for over a decade. In school, your classmates considered her a conscientious senior if a little disingenuous. She purposefully sought out all the first-year psych students, offering study tips, the best spots for a cheap beer, a sympathetic ear for the homesick. She helped you find your first apartment. With her advice, you survived the first few years of university. You are pretty sure she detests you.

“You didn’t finish your dinner,” Miyasato chastises, gesturing at the dishes you picked at earlier.

“I don’t have much of an appetite,” you say.

“Hmm, I suppose that was always true. Remember in school? You would never accept invitations to go out with everyone to dinner,” Miyasato says.

“I couldn’t afford it,” you say.

It was true then, when every yen you earned was shuffled straight into tuition or rent payments. With a full bank account, it’s no excuse now. You lost your appetite ten days ago along with your dignity in the back of a town car. You can’t eat. Coffee and chocolate parfaits are all you can manage. Like your stomach will only accept the very sweet or the very bitter.

“Well, I was surprised when you called me, but we should do this more often. We live so near each other, and it’s lovely to talk to another therapist. My husband tries, but he just can’t understand what it’s like to listen to patients’ problems all day! I don’t want to come home and listen to his next,” Miyasato laughs.

Angular cheekbones and premature sunspots age Miyasato by at least ten years, and you think the lovely young woman who would bully you into attending social get-togethers is gone. You feel sorry for forcing your company on an old acquaintance, not sure what you hoped to get out of this encounter.

Following your brush with death, the emptiness in your life echoes. The unlived in apartment, the cold office, the uncelebrated weekends. You want to regain some connection with the outside world. During university, at Miyasato’s prodding, you were almost a person in the world with acquaintances that bordered on friends.

Now, when you reflect on your life, you feel like you are at an airport, helpless as everyone whisks by you on a moving walkway. No matter how you hurry to catch up and join them, they glide further out of reach. Some people were born on the moving walkway, but you were born on the cold, hard ground. No father, a mother who refused to love you, no money to survive. How could you hope to ever join the moving walkway and its inhabitants, loved from the moment they were born?

The bill paid, you exit onto a quiet street. The red paper lantern above the shop casts Miyasato in a flushed glow.

“Remember what I told you,” Miyasato says. “About Dr. Kasai. If he doesn’t immediately have any openings, tell him that it’s at my referral. He’ll definitely book you then.”

Dinner was not a complete failure, and you thank Miyasato sincerely for sharing Dr. Kasai’s contact info. He is a therapist specializing in the treatment of other therapists. With no appetite and insomnia that stretches the night into little eternities, you recognize that you need help.

A car door slams, loud enough on the quiet street that you glance up and freeze. There is Hanma. You look away and back, but he is still there, looking at you. No illusion. No coincidence.

You make your excuses to Miyasato, who blinks in offense at the abrupt dismissal before heading in the direction of the subway station. Then, you hurry across the street to where Hanma waits for you.

He is dressed down for the heat in a white t-shirt that highlights the easy flex of his arm muscles and black jeans. The tail of a tattoo peaks from the collar, curling at the base of his throat. He isn’t wearing glasses either, and you wonder whether he is currently blind or wearing contacts that so eerily resemble his own natural shade. One side of his lip is red, too full, a little bruised.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” you demand.

“You cancelled our appointment,” Hanma says, eyes trailing your figure. Dressed up in a little black dress that ends a few scant centimeters above your knees, you are exposed.

“I did,” you agree.

Hanma sighs. “Look, I wanted to give you something.”

His head and torso disappear into the backseat of his car, and then he returns with a bouquet of flowers tucked into a tall porcelain vase painted with red and gold flowers. Your face must show your skepticism because Hanma forcefully places the offering between your palms. It is heavy.

You aren’t well-versed in flowers or their meanings, preferring to grow herbs and vegetables on your balcony garden, but you can pick out several in the overflowing bouquet. There are sprigs of deep purple lavender, blushing hydrangeas, and most of all, there are rich blue morning glories that look clipped straight from the garden.

“You got me flowers?”

“I’ve been taking the lithium as prescribed for eight days now, and I’ve been filling out your little app, and I’ve even made plans with Hakkai for later this week,” Hanma says.

“So, what is this supposed to be? An apology? A peace offering?” Your nose grazes a petal, seeking a sniff of morning glory, but you rear back at the feeling of plastic. “These are fake. They aren’t even real?”

“Exactly. They’ll last longer,” Hanma says.

The dead thing – no, not dead, because dead implies they were ever alive – weighs heavily in your hands. You don’t trust Hanma’s act of contrition. Every piece of this act is calculated to some purpose, most likely to convince you to resume your sessions.

When you reach for a kernel of the rage that drove you before, you can’t find the spark of it. All your anger towards Hanma was used up when you fucked him like a thing possessed, lapping at his blood like milk. You thought of him in the days since, wondered at your next step, but mostly you moped about your unfulfilled life, not much energy spared for Hanma’s place in it.

“This is not appropriate. I cancelled our session for a reason. Now, please call my office during business hours, and my receptionist will help you reschedule,” you say.

“But we’re both here now,” Hanma says, and he smiles in a way that is likely meant to charm, but only makes your stomach twist. You remember he smiled when he pulled the trigger, too.

“I cancelled because I have plans, Hanma-san. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You move to step off the sidewalk and cross the street, but a bike hurtles past and stops your progress. That one moment of pause is enough for Hanma to try again.

“What plans do you have now?” Hanma argues. “Your only plan was to get dinner with your friend. If you leave now, you’ll have hours with nothing to do but sit in your empty apartment and wait for the sun to rise. Why not come with me instead? At least that way you won’t be lonely.”

There are no pedestrians on the secluded street, but you can hear the low rumble of conversation and laughter slipping through the cracked door of the bar. You live on the tenth floor of your apartment building. The only sounds that reach you there are car horns, sirens, and the roar of an airplane drifting overhead.

You know that you and Hanma are not alike. Not really. The differences stack up like used plates at a sushi bar. He is mercurial, dangerous, uncaring. He feels strongly and acts just as strongly in turn. But, beneath those differences lies a camaraderie, a shared emptiness. You are both life’s window shoppers, looking in through dirty glass at the lives you can’t afford to lead.

Nothing waits for you at home.

“Besides, I have questions about the lithium. Surely, you don’t want me to get lithium toxicity. It sounds dangerous,” Hanma goads.

“You want to discuss your medication?” you say slowly.

Hanma bends at the waist until his face is level with yours. “Yes.”

“I suppose I could accommodate you this once.” Seeing Hanma’s smile tilt too close to satisfaction, you rush to add. “But you’ll need to pay me double for this session. Out of your pocket, not Kisaki-san’s, as it’s your fault I cancelled the session.”

Hanma thumbs a stack of bills, so crisp and pretty you salivate, from his wallet. “This should do it.”

“And I have conditions,” you add, though you wait to pocket the money before continuing. “First, you will never again so much as indicate, no insinuate, that you have a gun while you are with me. If I see it, we’re done. If you gesture to it, we’re done. And I mean completely. Failure to meet these conditions, and I will call Kisaki-san myself to terminate our arrangement for good.”

“A gun? How would I even get a gun in Japan?” Hanma jokes, a tacit acceptance.

“Second, I have a safe word. And get that look off your face. A safe word for our sessions. If I say…Anpanman the session is immediately over. No discussion, no debate. You leave, and I call you to reschedule not the other way around.” You wait for Hanma’s solemn nod before continuing. “Third, no following me around like a stalker. I don’t know how you knew I’d be here today, but that’s the last of it. We meet at my office or a previously agreed upon spot. No finding me on the streets like a creep.”

“It’s really just a coincidence,” Hanma argues.

You shift the vase onto your hip so that you can point a finger at him. “And finally, and most importantly, you do not touch me.”

“Without your permission, yeah, yeah.”

“No. You do not touch me. Period. Ever. Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” Hanma agrees.

He opens the passenger door with a chivalrous flourish, and you worry that he accepted your deal far too easily. Today he drives neither the Bentley from Hell or the town car from Hell…and actually, why do you keep getting in cars with this man when nothing good ever seems to come from it? You wonder if he isn’t running a chop shop with the number of vehicles he flaunts.

Hand on the top of the door, you pause. “Wait. Are you wearing contacts? Or are you blind right now?”

Hanma smiles widely. “Just get in the car, Doc.”

Against your better judgment, you do.

--

There are two Tokyos. During the day, one hides beneath the other, but at night they converge. The intersection where Hanma belongs squarely to the seedy underbelly when the sun goes down, the Tokyo of nightmares. Touts throng among the crowd, waving flyers and promises of pussy. Every face is underlit in neon, a sinister glow to their features.

Hanma leads you towards a storefront with blacked out windows. Hanging on each is a poster of women in bathing suits, posing with their tongues out or eyes crossed. This is the pleasure district.

“Absolutely not,” you say, stalling to a halt outside the entrance. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I refuse.”

“Oh, come on, Doc. I don’t mean anything by it. I just have business with the owner. We will be in and out,” Hanma says.

“In and out,” you warn.

Hanma slips away to speak to the owner, leaving you seated at the bar. You have never been in a strip club before, and the interior provides a feast for your eyes. Arranged in the western style, there is a single stage at the center of the room and table seating for patrons around it. The only other place to sit is the bar, where rows of liquor hang in glass cabinets. Panels of mirrors surround the stage, so that as a woman toys with the hem of her slip, drawing the fabric higher and higher, the mirror reflects her image out in every direction.

You should have refused Hanma at the door. Already, you are slipping back into the pattern of conceding too much to this man. Despite his claim that he needs therapy today, you barely spoke on the car ride over, merely discussing his recently improved sleeping schedule. Now, he has left you to fend for yourself at a strip club.

The woman on stage shimmies out of her slip entirely, revealing a lithe body and two impossibly large breasts. You don’t consider yourself a prude, but you find yourself staring hard at the bar, anything to avoid looking at her bullseye-shaped nipples.

A shadow appears at your side, tall and lean. You glance up expecting Hanma, but this is a stranger. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit and towering over you at well over 180 centimeters, he looks like a model. How else to explain the hair-dyed violet?

“Can I buy you a drink?” the man asks. There is a special mortification in being propositioned at a titty bar.

“I can’t. I’m working,” you say, and then cringe when you realize what that implies. “I mean, I don’t work here…I’m a…never mind. I just can’t drink right now.”

The stranger motions to the bartender, who drops the customer he is actively serving to hurry over.

“A bottle of water for the lady,” he orders.

The gesture of respect is ingratiating enough that you shift on your bar stool to open up your space a bit. He slots into the opening without hesitation. It is the subtle language of flirtation, and you can tell he is fluent.

“I saw you come in with a man. Who would leave a woman like you all alone in a place like this?”

“An asshole,” you mutter under your breath, and then louder for this man’s benefit. “We’re not together, and we’re not staying. He has business with someone here. He’s going to be in and out.”

“What kind of business would a respectable man have at a strip club?” he laughs.

You shrug. The intricacies of Hanma’s work are interesting, but you make it a point to know as little as possible about the incriminating details.

“Is this your first time here? You seem…uncomfortable,” the man says.

“You can tell?” you ask dryly. Your fingers dance up and down the side of the water bottle, painting patterns in the condensation. “This isn’t much of a place for a woman. I feel sorry for the girls who work here.”

The man turns around, so that his elbows lean against the bar and casts a surveying eye around the club and the stage where a woman is now griding her panty-covered crotch into the hardwood. Sweat and glitter cover her body in a filthy sheen. Her eyes are closed, and you can only imagine what she thinks in moments like this.

“It’s true that many of the women here are exploited. But there’s something raw, something free about their work, isn’t there? To strip away all of society’s pretenses and reveal the base animal underneath? She knows the truth about men, about people after working here. She knows who the devoted family man truly is, who the buttoned-up businessman hides beneath his tie. And that knowledge equals a kind of freedom, a kind of power. It’s up to her how she wants to use it. That’s freedom.”

“Maybe for some women, but not for me,” you say coldly. This stranger is a honeyed devil in your ear, promising that at the other end of abandoning self-control and dignity lies paradise. It is a convenient myth, and he makes it sound dangerously convincing.

He smiles at you, eyes hooded and attentive, no different than when he trained on the stripper’s naked body, but then he nods. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink next time.”

The man leaves, and you watch him walk right through the front door and out of sight. Very charming, you think, but off somehow. He reminds you of someone, but you can’t quite place it.

No one else approaches you in the five minutes you wait for Hanma to conclude his business. You polish off the water bottle in four, grateful to the stranger as you gulp down the final drops.

When Hanma returns, he doesn’t even meet you at the bar, beckoning with his head for you to join him at a table near the stage. The silent nod, disrespectful, arrogant, sets your teeth on edge. He is so confident that you will participate in your own shame, let him make a mockery of your work, that you won’t ever pull the trigger on him, the way he will on you. You don’ want to go home to your apartment, but you know you can’t stay here any longer.

“This is not in and out, Hanma-san,” you say through gritted teeth as you approach him.

“The owner is getting something for me,” Hanma says. “We just have to wait. Sit down and enjoy the show.”

A new woman saunters on stage to jeers of appreciation from the crowd. Hanma grins wickedly at her legs as they strut by.

“Anpanman,” you blurt out.

The club doesn’t quiet at your invocation of your safe word, but the turmoil in your chest does. You have the power to set your own boundaries. Like a child, Hanma may hurtle himself bodily at each one to test for weakness, but you can reinforce yourself like a castle and stay tall.

“Fair enough,” Hanma says, and the easy submission sends your mind reeling. You thought he would kick and scream and break your conditions. “Do you want a ride home? Or can you make it to the subway alright?”

“I can make it to the station,” you say slowly.

“Alright, I’ll wait for your call to reschedule,” Hanma says.

Already, his eyes return to the dancer on stage. Without his glasses, his scrutinous eyes are twice as intense. You can see the stage reflected in the black pupils; there is no reflection of your own face.

“Why…why do you want to stay so badly?”

“Like I said, I have to wait for the owner. Plus, believe it or not, but this place serves good food. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday.”

Once you watched a documentary that compared pre-modern and modern hunting styles. The trick of trap hunting, it explained, is to camouflage the trap so well that the animal stumbles straight into its death with a smile. Your stomach rumbles from days of fasting. You see the trap, yet you still edge closer.

“I’ll stay but only if we sit over there,” you say, gesturing to the empty table furthest from the stage and its performer. “You need to face away from the stage, too…and you’re buying dinner.”

Hanma snorts, genuinely snorts, a puff of sound from his chest expelled from his nose and says, “Have you considered a career change, Doc? Because you would make a hell of a negotiator. I’ll even put in a good word for you.”

“You can’t afford me,” you sniff.

Stuffed into the corner, you can almost pretend you aren’t at a strip club. The flashing lights are no different than any club you would find in Roppongi, and if you fix your neck in place and focus on Hanma, you can’t see the stage. The music breaks your immersion somewhat, a low, griding bass that settles in your stomach, but the little table where you sit is innocuous.

Hanma orders a plate of chicken wings to share, a beer, and steamed vegetables. He is right that the food here is delicious. Fried and greasy, so that flavor drips onto your tongue. Your hunger must finally be getting the better of you because you find it simple to eat your half of the wings.

“So, you said you wanted to discuss how you’re feeling on lithium,” you prompt as you pick a piece of meat from bone.

“Yeah, or rather, how I don’t feel on lithium.”

“Is it numbing you out?” you ask.

“No, I don’t feel any difference. It’s like you gave me sugar pills or something. I’m going to the damn lab and getting stuck like a pig for bloodwork, and all the while, I don’t feel a damn change,” Hanma says.

“I know you’re used to popping a pill and feeling the effects within the hour, but lithium isn’t like that,” you say. “It takes a month for it to take effect for most people. We want to monitor in the meantime because the difference in dosage between what’s prescribed and lithium toxicity is so narrow, but I don’t expect you to have any real benefits to report for a few weeks yet.”

“And when it does kick in, what should I expect? Because I read through the side effects, and they’re a doozy, Doc. These things better make my dick rock hard and help me grow wings, or I’m going to be disappointed,” Hanma says.

There is a spot of sauce staining his upper lip, which he seems unaware of. He chews on without a care, smearing it further with each bite. You wonder if you should tell him. Decide it’s not your place. Discretely, you wipe your own lips with a napkin.

“The point is to moderate the wild swings up and down that you have in any given day. I looked at your log, and you are all over the place. My hope is that they will help you achieve a more manageable average. Most people remain at a steady baseline from day to day without all these big variations.”

You assigned Hanma the daily log before he threatened both your lives, so you had not expected him to actually follow through. For the past ten days, however, he has steadily logged his moods with little notes to indicate the source of the shift. Favorites include an eight on Friday with the note, ‘pussy,’ and a ten on Sunday with the note, ‘good pussy.’ Other sources that trigger a high or manic episode appear to be hearing a song he likes on the radio, seeing a middle schooler trip on a curb and eat asphalt, and evading a speeding ticket. There are just as many dramatic valleys in his log. Causes range from something as simple as running out of beer or missing a boxing match on TV. What concerns you is how often a peak of ten is followed mere hours later by a craterous one.

“Most people, huh? In my line of work, you don’t see a lot of steady. We must have gathered up all the neurotics in Tokyo,” Hanma says. “What about you though, Doc? Are you most people here?”

“I would say so. I spend most of my day at a steady five with some minor dips up to a six or down to a four. Unless there’s a big exception, I’m not going to leave that zone,” you explain.

A half lie hides in your answer. If you were honest, your baseline dropped to a four recently with a mere papercut pushing you down to a three. Good exceptions are few and far between to the point that you can’t quite remember the last time you were as happy as a six.

Time with Hanma breaks the scale entirely. You can’t say that you are happy or enjoying yourself in his company, but neither can you say that you sustain a bland four like you do throughout the rest of your day. You find your time with him exists in a completely different universe, one with reverse gravity where up is down and north is south.

“Sounds pretty fucking miserable if you ask me,” Hanma says. “Yeah, I sometimes hope a truck takes me out, but I also get to feel the opposite, like the world was made for me. Don’t you wish you spent more time at a ten? Or even just a seven?”

“I guess you’re kind of edging up against that age old question: what is the meaning of life? You actually sound like the Cyrenaics.”

You explain that the Cyrenaics were a Socratic school of thinking in ancient Greece that believed the meaning of life was to maximize the pleasure of every single moment. They argued that because the future was not guaranteed – you could die tomorrow, the unpredictable could tear your best laid plans asunder – it made no sense to do anything but live in the moment.

“It makes sense on paper,” you continue. “If I die tomorrow, don’t I wish I enjoyed every moment of today? But…my mom kind of lived that way, and it ultimately ended with her dying in poverty and agony. The future makes me too anxious. I need to prepare for it, even if that means denying myself something in the moment. Otherwise, I’ll get too worked up to enjoy anything in the present. So, sure I would like to be at a ten more often, but I can’t get there if I’m risking a future one. My brain just doesn’t work that way.”

“I think you just haven’t experienced true pleasure,” Hanma purrs.

“You might want to think that through,” you tease and then remember that you don’t want to remind this man of the pleasure and terror he inflicted upon you.

“I mean it. Real pleasure…it’s addictive. Pain and pleasure have a lot in common. They’re the only two forces in this world that make you exist fully in the present. And I’m talking about true pleasure here, not just a little jolly here or there. True pleasure wipes out everything else. If you have any room in your brain to worry about the future, then you’re feeling something different,” Hanma says.

Once upon a time, you would have dismissed these pretty, seducing words altogether, but you know what he means now after the mind and body games of your last session. There was no moment but the present when you rode his cock, no fear of what came next as you bit through skin to return a fraction of the hurt you felt to him. Thinking back to that time, you don’t remember it being pleasurable in any sense of how you would normally describe the term. Rather, it was transcendent. Not all good, but all-encompassing instead.

“If you never mitigate risk, you will find yourself in a situation where you can’t experience pleasure anymore. Say tomorrow, I quit my job and blow all my money on a shopping spree, that will feel good for a day, and then I’ll be living on the street when rent comes due.” Another example of this philosophy crosses your mind. A necessary reminder that despite the multiple men who have urged you to throw your inhibitions to the wind tonight, there would be consequences to dropping your professional mask. “I think the Epicureans had the right idea of things. They were another school of thought, said that one should maximize pleasure and minimize pain. Though even that I struggle with. No human being could ever get that equation right. Only an omniscient god could aspire to that.”

“You have a tiny, and truly, Doc, I mean miniscule, point there. Delayed gratification is only worth it if the prize is big enough. If I did what I wanted most right now because I might take a bullet tomorrow, that would stop me from getting something one hundred times better in the days to come. Sometimes we have to work for our meal,” Hanma says.

You catch a glimpse of the stripper on stage as she lifts one of her breasts to her mouth and suckles on the nipple. A cacophony of hoots rises up at the lewd act. Heat blossoms in your chest. Hanma’s mouth looks wet from where his beer lingers on his lips, sauce licked away.

“And I plan to eat well,” you toast him, tipping your can of grape soda in his direction. Sometimes you look at Hanma, and all you see is zeroes in your bank account.

“Is that your meaning of life then, Doc? Enriching yourself? And then one day you finally relax and enjoy it?”

“Maybe. I’m more interested in what your meaning of life is,” you counter.

Hanma picks around the bone of a chicken wing, teeth precise as they tear through flesh. A man of endless appetites, he reaches for another.

“I haven’t studied any fancy ideas like you. I don’t know the Epicureans or the whatevers. I don’t know the meaning of life. What I know is what gets me out of bed in the morning. And that’s that there is no alternative. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die. I can’t stay in bed all day, or I’ll die of boredom. Even if getting out of bed offers nothing better, I have no choice. I don’t think there is a meaning. People just are. We live because we have no choice but to live unless something kills us. And then, we’ll be dead with no choice but to remain dead, same as living.”

You are less studied in “fancy ideas” than Hanma imagines, only taking one elective philosophy course in university. One of your professors suggested you dabble in that side of the human condition as patients often require a grounding purpose to guide their recovery. Still, you recognize in Hanma’s musings the shadow of a real philosophical framework.

“That sounds like pessimistic naturalism. Some nihilist thought considers boredom the inevitable foundation of life. They say nothing humans do is ever meaningful enough to matter, so we suffer from boredom as a result. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but it’s definitely not helpful. So many things already bring you joy, so isn’t it better to recognize that those things are inherently meaningful because they matter to you? That goes back to the mood stabilizers. I want to get you to the point where you can suffer a low period because you know that a high – which is the whole meaning of your life – is around the corner,” you explain.

Inconsiderate of everyone around him, Hanma lights a cigarette. He nods along as he puffs a plume of smoke that dances erotically overhead before disappearing into the neon lights. There is no ashtray at the table, so he dabs the stub into a table napkin.

“Sounds good to me. I know good things are coming,” Hanma says with a nerve-inducing smile.

“What is your goal exactly?”

“Oh no, Doc. That’s classified information,” Hanma tuts. More seriously, he adds, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do after I finally…get what I want. If I still have years of life ahead of me, I can’t picture myself old. I look around at other people and how they define their lives around money or success or family. I already have money and success, have had it since I was young. Nothing left to do there. And, I never had a loving family. Once I’ve done everything there is to do…I don’t know what’s next.”

Sharp pain slices through you, and you realize you were picking the skin of your cuticles raw. A bead of blood wells on your ring finger, and you pop the wound into your mouth. The bleeding stops, but the wound sits open and red. Pointedly, you fold your hands in your lap.

Without a family as a template for how to interact in the world, you often feel formless. There is a very clear schedule that women are expected to follow: it’s okay to worry about your career in your twenties, but your primary responsibility is to become a wife. Then, your thirties and forties are defined by the role of mother. Maybe a short break in your fifties to focus on yourself as a person, but then you’re hurtled back into the role of grandmother to wait for death. Even more career-minded women, like Miyasato, capitulate to the template and tell you their families come first.

Every choice you make is dedicated not to family but the accumulation of a fat nest egg that will keep you secure in your advanced years. Never mind that you don’t know what you will actually do with yourself once you retire and money is no longer the motivator.

Would you find a hobby? You love to cook, already dedicating two hours every evening to the preparation of multi-course meals, researching new recipes, and shopping around for rare ingredients. In retirement, you could embark on some kind of cooking challenge, like learning a dish from every country in the world. And then, you could set those scrumptiously prepared dishes out to a table of one, eat a few bites, and watch the garbage consume the rest.

You are aware that you are feeling sorry for yourself, but it is hard not to when even the bartender at the titty club is laughing and bantering with customers who know him by name.

“Well, I think you’re in no danger of doing everything life has to offer,” you say after too much time passes. “Focus everything you have on your goal for now, and then, if you achieve it, you’ll find something else to look forward to.”

The conversation draws naturally to a close. Good timing, as you see a man moving in your direction. He is dressed in a white button-down and gold jewelry, limp black hair combed to conceal a receding hairline. A waitress smiles solicitously as he passes, and you know he must be the owner.

“Hanma-san,” the man greets with a blow. To you, he gives a half nod, like he is unsure what courtesy you merit. “I spoke to my colleague about the situation, and we are in agreement. Thank you for trusting us with this. As a token of our appreciation, please enjoy your time here to the fullest. On the house, of course.”

He passes Hanma a folded-up napkin. Inside is a baggie filled with white crystals, almost pretty in the light. You have never seen drugs in person, but you can recognize crystal meth from your textbooks.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hanma says.

“Um, I mind,” you say immediately. The owner starts like he’s heard a gunshot. “You absolutely cannot take that while on lithium. You are going to overdose and die, and then where will you be?”

Hanma rolls his eyes. “Ten feet under, I suspect.”

“We just had an entire conversation about how you have to live to achieve your goals,” you snap, and then turning to the owner. “Thank you for your…generosity but take it back.” The owner is so pale his black eyes stand out like bugs on his face. He does not move to confiscate the meth.

“You have a point. How about a quid pro quo? If I can’t have my fun now, you need to help me have my fun some other way,” Hanma suggests.

“Not just tonight. All the time. You absolutely cannot take any drugs while you’re on lithium. I shouldn’t have let you even drink that beer, but I allowed it because it was just one. You need to be careful,” you snap.

“Let me…” Hanma rolls the words around on his tongue consideringly.

“Let you,” you restate firmly.

“Well, then, if my life means so much to you. I’m sure you’ll agree to a little something in return.”

Disastrously, you do.

--

There are nine beautiful women working the club tonight. Every one of them is paraded before Hanma for his selection. Each woman is as beautiful as the last, one for every imaginable type: curvy, lithe, glamorous, oxymoronically demure. Hanma picks a woman with long dark hair, dressed more like an idol than a stripper in a frilly multi-colored dress, who calls herself Naomi.

Officially, the club offers lap dances in a row of cubicles partitioned by black curtains that are mere bolts of fabric. Naomi confidently leads you past these seedy receptacles to a private backroom.

The room is dark, lit up by the same pink and purple lighting as the rest of the club. There is a small stage at the front – presumably for private shows, but you suspect is really covers for the illegal activities conducted here – and a three-cushion couch opposite it, where Hanma immediately seats himself. You demure from joining him, choosing instead to sit on the stage. The platform is raised, so your feet dangle off the floor.

“How should we start, Doc? What would you like to see first?” Hanma asks, voice battling the loud EDM music blaring from a TV in the corner.

“I want no part in this. I’m here per our agreement. That’s it,” you say.

“Why did I figure you’d say that?” Hanma laughs.

“Pretend I’m not even here.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t even look at you?”

“Yes.”

Hanma agrees easily, which surprises you, makes you wary. You wrap your arms around your body protectively to ward off the cold. A fan winds listlessly above your head and an HVAC blows cool air directly onto your skin. Dancing must be sweaty work.

With no regard to the cold, Naomi shimmies out of her garish dress, revealing a pair of panties and no bra. You try not to look but instinctively catalogue the curves of her exposed body and judge it against your own.

You look up, anything to avoid leering at the two of them. But, above their heads, is a mirror mounted to the ceiling that reflects the action back to you. From this angle, you can’t see the expression on Hanma’s face, but you have an unfettered view of his dick, hard and wet.

Naomi lowers to her knees in front of the couch, so that you are presented with her back. She unbuttons Hanma’s pants. This is the first time you’ve see the cock that was inside you. Hanma’s cock sits tall and curved against his stomach. Black hair, the same color as what trails down his stomach thatches at the base.

The head of Hanma’s cock is red and angry, more inflamed than Naomi’s pink tongue as it strokes along the underside.

Long, wet brushes of tongue. Barely started and strands of thick saliva already cling to Naomi’s chin as she slobbers all over the shaft. The impressive length of him becomes glaringly obvious when Naomi holds his cock against her cheek. The tip extends beyond her forehead, the cock taller than her entire head. And that fat, angry, red cock, had been inside you.

As Hanma receives a professional grade blow job, he leans back like nothing is happening. He lights yet another cigarette. The smell of smoke is eaten up by the air freshener that pumps away from an outlet near the stage.

Even as Hanma’s cock is worshipped, you are undeniably aroused.

Naomi moves to suck on Hanma’s balls, face tilted upward, so that you can make out her features through the ceiling mirror. Now that you look closely, there are some surface-level similarities between the two of you. Something in the line of her jaw, similar age. Glancing down, you think the way her ass sits, dimpled as it rests on her high heels is similar as well, the shape of it.

The similarities are enough that if you squint, you can almost imagine that is you on your knees. That you are seated before Hanma like a supplicant.

Naomi abruptly swallows half of Hanma’s cock, making space for something that should not possibly fit.

You touch the base of your neck carefully. Feel the hard cartilage beneath the flesh.

Hanma is different than you might have imagined. Not that you did. Somewhere instinctually, you simply envisioned that he would be rougher with a lover, forcing a woman’s head down and ignoring the choking. The kind of thing you see in porn. Instead, he dominates Naomi’s movements with a casual certitude that doesn’t require roughness. He makes little corrections to her technique with a tug of her hair or a push on her head. Never enough to make her gag, just a signal to adjust.

Your earlier conversation about the pursuit of pleasure returns to you. Perhaps it’s his confidence in the value of pleasure that grants him this effortless ability to pursue it now. You remember nights in the dark, when a lover missed your clit over and over, mashing uselessly at your labia, and you simply let him. Too detached to correct his form.

The intensity of the blow job increases by degrees. First, Naomi’s throat opens up, more of Hanma’s length caressed and sucked with each bob of her head. Then, her hands join in a sticky rhythm to massage the base of him. A line of spit dangles off his shaft every time Naomi returns to the head and is then swallowed up again on the downward descent.

Throughout, Hanma never glances in your direction. His eyes stare to the side and the door, or they study the woman on her knees. He follows your instructions to pretend you’re not there to the letter, and you desperately wish he would stop.

For the first time since you saw him on the street tonight, you feel a yawning distance, like there’s a glass wall, between you both. He is having an experience completely separate from you that you can’t hope to touch. You can’t reach him. You hate it. No different than if you were alone in your living room, scanning through cable TV for lack of anything better to do.

Because he is not looking, you don’t think too carefully as you uncross your arms, and let your fingers trail down the exposed skin of your arms. It tickles a little, a tease that chills your body and heats the spark in your stomach. You shouldn’t do this, vowed that you would not let him touch you again, but you deserve pleasure, too. Don’t you?

Again, you rub tenderly at the flesh of your neck, the shell of your own ear. You watch Naomi as you do. No matter how bored he looks, Hanma must feel good with Naomi laboring over his cock, and now you do too. You feel the distance between you shrink a little, a crack in the glass that separates you from him.

The look on Naomi’s face galvanizes you. Shimmering in her eyes are unshed tears, a furrow to her brow as she forces past her gag to satisfy him. Hanma’s cock must be a battering ram in her throat. You wonder if she is soaked through at having such a big cock inside her. If you were in her place, you would be.

You can’t resist escalating when such simple touches light your blood from within. You rub your bare thighs together to put pressure on your cunt. You pinch your nipples through the fabric of your dress. They are painfully hard, and you bite your lip to contain a gasp at the excruciating contrast.

If Hanma looks at you now, honest and shameless in your feelings, you will combust.

He doesn’t look. Emboldened by his continued obedience, you ruck your dress up over your hips, revealing your panties. They are damp, hardly a barrier as the fabric presses into your folds. You search for your clit and find it peeking (and peaking) through your clitoral hood. Sparks fly in your stomach at the barest graze of your fingertips over the fabric. Greedy, you rub it firmly.

Already, you are close to an edge and desperate to tip over. You imagine Hanma might be as well. You imagine that you are on your knees with that hard cock battering the inside of your throat. He was piercing in your cunt, and he would be in your throat, too, no matter how gently he treated you. He wouldn’t pull out. He would blow his load down your throat, and you would swallow him down with a smile. He would return the favor, drinking from the source of you, eating your pussy with no mercy until you cried.

You couldn’t stop your orgasm now if you wanted to. It approaches with terrible certainty. Your thighs quake before the crest and you close your eyes against the demand it makes of your body. Heat flares, and you whimper pathetically. When you cum, it will damn you.

Your eyes flutter open at the height of the peak and find Hanma’s staring you down. Not through the mirror. Direct eye contact as he strokes his own cock while Naomi mouths at his balls. You cum on the spot.

Your whole body seizes up with it, pussy begging as it flutters around nothing. Waves of euphoria wash from your stomach to your cunt to your fingertips as you buck and moan and continue to rub your aching clit through it. Just as you think the waves are weakening, Hanma grunts and cums on Naomi’s face. The sound incites you, and two more waves of pleasure burst unnaturally from your clit.

Later, you will castigate yourself for your choices today. If only you showed more self-control. If only you remembered your responsibilities as a therapist. Using your body has worked to a degree in capturing his interest and maintaining his focus, but it is not sustainable. You can’t sell your body and pleasure to Hanma in exchange for cooperation.

But, for now, as you slump backwards on the stage, back cold and chest heaving, you can only think that you are doing a damn good job at maximizing your pleasure.

And a damn bad one at minimizing your pain.

[amethystsoda]

Easy (low-ish spoons) Ham Fried Rice

This is the easiest way I know to make fried rice and it’s not super expensive and you don’t have to chop anything!

(You can also do a more traditional spam fried rice if you need cheaper meat and can spare energy for cutting it up)

The biggest key to this recipe is making 2 cups of rice (measured uncooked) in a rice cooker or pan and chilling overnight. You need it to be chilled for the fried rice texture.

When I got home from work, I pulled all my ingredients:

-1 container of chilled rice

-1 pack of cubed ham

-1 baggie frozen peas and carrots

-soy sauce (preferably low sodium) and oyster sauce

-sesame oil/butter/cooking oil of choice

-sesame oil and sesame seeds for garnish (optional, but delicious)

Directions:

Put your ham into a large pan (that has a companion lid) with your oil or butter and brown on high heat.

When it starts popping, dump half the bag of veggies in and mix. (Save the other half of your bag for another time). Once they turn a deeper, glossy color, you can add your rice.

(This time around, I added a little water into my storage container and microwaved the dish without a lid for 1 min.)

Pour into pan and break apart any clumps.

Add your sauces—soy first, and make sure the rice is mostly saturated, then oyster, drizzled on top—and mix everything together until evenly combined.

Less is more here because you can always add more sauce, but you can’t take it back out. (Taste test to get to your preferred flavor).

Finally, pour a little water into the pan and top with your lid to steam the cold rice. You can stir this every minute or two to make sure it doesn’t burn and to check temperature.

Serve half (or your desired portion) drizzled with sesame oil and topped with sesame seeds!

Use the same storage container you cooked your rice in to store the leftover fried rice!

Congrats, you have made a delicious comfort meal with minimal dishes and less energy🤝🤝