#umami perhaps

[moistvonlipwig]

14, 17 and 20 for Supergirl?

SALT TIME 🧂

14. Unpopular opinion about your fandom?

Hm, I'm not sure, really. To speak about the SC fandom specifically, I think within the fandom there is a tendency to view the fandom as Amazing and Creative and Beset From All Sides by Vicious Homophobes and from outside of the fandom there is a tendency to view the fandom as Obnoxious and Whiny and Full of Racists and I think the truth lies somewhere in between.

17. Instead of XYZ happening, I would have made ABC happen…

OK -- here's my pitch for how to end the 100th episode, assuming the rest of 5A played out as it did (though you could also tweak this to fit a better 5A lol). Have the "plead the fifth" timeline be the last timeline, after the Metallo Lena timeline. (If you need Kara to try more timelines before the Metallo Lena one to justify the attempt to cut herself out of Lena's life entirely, that's easy enough to imply with a quick montage + cutting down the action sequences in that timeline.) Have it go pretty much perfectly. No kidnapping Lena to force Kara to reveal herself this time. Instead, things are just peachy, and Lena even shows up at Kara's apartment for movie night. Hooray! Friendship fixed!

But Kara realizes this new timeline is just another deception, of both herself and Lena. She tells Lena that this isn't real...and Lena says she knows. It is revealed that Mxy approached Lena as well with the offer to see what her life would be like if Kara had told her the truth sooner. Lena asks Kara why she had to lie and says everything could've been perfect. Kara says she knows, and she's sorry. Lena says she's sorry too, but so what? That doesn't fix anything. Kara acknowledges this; she says she wishes she could magically undo it and make the pain go away, but she now realizes she can't. Lena reluctantly concedes that she's right, confessing that that's all she wanted as well from Non Nocere, to make the pain stop, but she now sees it would never work.

Kara calls for Mxy, saying she's done playing around with alternate timelines, and Lena asks if they have to go back. Kara says she wishes she had done things differently, but the truth is that she didn't, and they have to face reality and what they've both done to each other instead of hiding in another lie. Lena says she knows. As Mxy's reality starts disintegrating around them, Kara holds out her hand and asks if Lena will be there in the real world when they wake up from the fantasy. Lena takes her hand and says she will.

At last, they disintegrate as well, and Kara wakes up back in her apartment. Alex and J'onn are there, but Mxy is not; they ask what happened. Kara hugs them and tells them she loves them and is glad they're okay, but that she has somewhere to be. She ducks out of the apartment and ends up on the other side of Lena's door. Lena opens it and Kara says hi. Lena says hi too, then steps aside to let Kara in.

...Look, it doesn't fix everything, they will need to have Conversations, but at this point in the season both Non Nocere and them not speaking to each other were well and truly played out, so this at least addresses those issues in a suitably dramatic fashion.

20. What is the purest ship in the fandom?

See now this is a fascinating question because how are we defining "pure"? 'Untarnished,' I suppose -- but by what? Unhealthiness? I suspect that the go-to answer for many would be Dansen, but given that their relationship's veneer of healthiness seems to largely be a result of Kelly not being given the space (or screentime) to have Inconvenient Emotions or to be a full person at all, I'm not so sure I'd call that "pure."

S1 Karolsen might be another option -- they're sweet and supportive of each other and they handle conflict much better than their sisters do, with James actually challenging Kara and Kara actually listening (again, in S1, before Kara decides that actually James should always do what she says and she never has to take his advice). Then again, they're afflicted by the tedious love triangle nonsense that leaves Lucy out in the cold and has the unintended consequence of making Kara into 'the other woman,' which is perhaps not so "pure."

There's Brainia, I suppose, who are very cute, although they suffer from persistent communication issues. Or Spheercorp, which is similarly sweet, although it does end with Lena being forced to literally kill Jack, leaving one half of the ship dead and the other traumatized for life. Reigncorp might actually be the best bet here; they're supportive of each other, good at handling conflict, and no one dies. Still, it strikes me as funny to call a relationship between a morally gray billionaire and her friend who she had to lock away in a kryptonite cell to contain her evil alter ego "pure." Mostly though I just think any answer I can give to this question is not nearly as interesting as the implications of the question itself.

[dirtbra1n]

kiri @aranarumei very briefly mentioned ssmy dating sim au and it’s here with me. haunting. do we subscribe to the power of free will or is it all decided by an all-knowing unfeeling god? does the protagonist get put in Situations of equal heart-racing feeling with everyone or is it cheaply biased in one particular “character”s favor? What does the protagonist miyano yoshikazu take enough issue with to die over?

protagonist miyano yoshikazu opens his eyes squintingly. die over? protagonist miyano yoshikazu finds himself in some nurse’s office—not the one at his school, but they all look the same anyhow. die over?

“Oh, hey,” says an ikemen with dyed blond hair, leaning with arms crossed against the open door, “you’re awake.” protagonist miyano yoshikazu directs his squinting more pointedly at him, squints hard enough to see holes in his ears where piercings would go, hard enough to notice how put-together his uniform is despite the everything else about him. hard enough to recognize him, and the everything else about him. so hard that he feels sick.

from the doorway, “Oi, don’t throw up again.”

DIE OVER?

protagonist miyano yoshikazu comes to enough to see, hovering helpfully over his own head, the word PROTAGONIST, and without any particular say in the matter promptly defies the request-slash-order-slash-helpless plea from hirano taiga, one of many love interests in a BL visual novel so unbelievably popular that it is miraculous that he did not, even by accident, learn its name.

don’t ask why he picked it up. don’t ask why he played through 98% of it in one sitting. don’t ask what his favorite route was. it’s not what you think. protagonist miyano yoshikazu—he swats at the title over his head and it disperses—is not a frequent player of visual novels, romance or otherwise, and he is not gay.

he’s maybe dead, though. or—uh. maybe not dead anymore.

another question worth asking: how does a non-gamer non-homosexual game a BL dating sim? followup question: “Do I get to keep my name?”

“…Huh?”

“Nothing.”

[dazzelmethat]

Had a creamy corn Chinese popsicle and it was good.

Both mung beans and adzuki beans in flavor remind me of navy beans (southern baked bean type of bean)

I wonder if you can cook mung or adzuki beans with hotdogs.

Or cold southern baked beans in a boba drink.

[powdermelonkeg]

Slowpoke Tails - Shed vs Chopped

Okay, so there's something of a discrepancy between how Slowpoke tails are treated by the Pokémon franchise. Initially, it was understood that these are a tasty, unethical luxury item, starting in Gold/Silver/Crystal and mirrored in Heartgold/Soulsilver:

The whole plot here is that Team Rocket has taken the Slowpoke in the Azalea Slowpoke Well and chopped their tails off to sell on the black market. These run for a whopping 1,000,000 PD a pop ($10k in USD).

But then, in later generations, it's said that Slowpoke tails fall off naturally. In fact, they're a crucial part of both Alolan AND Galarian cuisine:

The curry ingredient even sells for a measly 2,200 PD ($22 USD).

So what gives? Why is it a Million-Poké black market item when you can get a package off your local hiker?

Easy. Sweetness.

Slowpoke use their tails to fish for food. Typically, they do this by dipping their tails into the water, then letting the current catch the sweet sap they give off and bring it to hungry Water-types.

When a Slowpoke sheds its tail, it's because the tail's ability to generate sap has dried up. It's no longer useful as fishing bait, so the Slowpoke has to either get rid of the tail, or starve.

Shed Slowpoke tails, the ones commonly available for cooking, aren't sweet in the slightest—they're more like heavily-marbled tuna steaks, somewhere between beef and fish with a lot of fat dripping from them, and a rich umami flavor.

Chopped Slowpoke tails, the kind you find on the black market, are a completely different experience. The meat is more tender, the flavor a lot more delicate, with a sweetness permeating it that's a lot like the honey glaze on a ham.

Naturally, chopped Slowpoke tail then becomes a novel experience. Because you have to take it from a Slowpoke, you can't just find it lying around.

So why, then, is it illegal enough for Rocket to move in on? Why is Slowpoke farming or hunting for those sweet tails not a thing? They still grow them back afterwards, so what's the deal?

The problem with chopping a Slowpoke's tail off is that, even though it regenerates, its body wasn't ready to do so. This can cause a whole lot of complications for the poor thing.

A tail doesn't regenerate from nothing, for starters: every time you cut a tail off unexpectedly, the Slowpoke's body rushes to make a replacement, using up its body's fat reserves. This causes VERY rapid and dangerous weight loss, and a frankly ridiculous amount of stress.

Incorrect cuts can cause deformities, like a tail growing back too short, not being able to make enough sweetness to bait fish Pokémon, or even Espeon-tail syndrome, where the tail splits into two at the end.

And, perhaps most egregiously of all, a cut too high might mean the Slowpoke never regrows its tail at all. If you cut into anything that's not specifically tail tissue, the body will begin the scarring process over the wound, removing the Pokémon's ability to fish and evolve. And while it can learn to survive by fishing manually, like its evolutionary counterpart is required to, oftentimes, Slowpoke will just sit by the water and starve, not realizing that they aren't getting a bite because there's just nothing to bite.

In short: Shed = ethical, chopped = unethical, possibly lethal.

Slowpoke responsibly, guys.

[pseudowho]

How well do you think Nanami Kento would handle eating spicy food? What would his reaction be towards his girlfriend/wife who LOVES spicy food?

Domestic Bliss: Nanami Kento #6, Spicy

"Hey, Kento," you whispered conspiratorially into his shoulder, nuzzling him from behind, "that new ramen place just opened round the corner. I hear they have the biggest range of hot sauces going. Big. Huge. International."

Your bad impression earned you a scowl.

"And you want to try them," Kento intoned, flat as he flipped through his newspaper, "I assume."

You draped yourself over the armchair, pushing his newspaper away with your feet. Kento grumbled, trying to avoid their push, until his newspaper crumpled, and he rolled it up, hitting you with it while you laughed.

"I'd love to go," you sighed, dramatic, "but I know you can't handle spicy food." Kento's eyes narrowed.

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, I never see you eat it."

"Because most extra spicy food relies on it being hot as its main point of attraction. I prefer my flavour palate to be a bit more sophisticated." Kento's eyes narrowed again, swiping over you. "Like my women."

"Ouch, Kento."

Kento reached into his pocket, the ghost of a smile on his mouth. "Silly games win silly prizes." He tapped on his phone. He was silent for a moment.

"Table's booked for 7pm. So you can eat spicy food, to your heart's desire...my love."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Pushing through the chest-level curtain, you and Kento were greeted by a bustling restaurant, vibrant, and enjoying its early success. Your mouth watered as a hot, umami rush of air hit your nose. You smiled, excited, not noticing how Kento read your every move, fizzing with your joy.

Perusing the menu in your intimate corner booth, you noticed the dishes were arranged in order of spice. You leaned over, pointing to Kento's menu.

"This is your side of the menu, darling..." You gestured to one side of the booklet, "...and this is mine." Kento pinched the sides of your knee under the table, smiling lightly, ungoadable.

When the waiter arrived, you requested a bowl of the spiciest ramen listed.

"We have extra hot sauces, too," offered the waiter, "if you like a challenge."

"Perhaps your top five hottest?" You requested, handing the menu back to the waiter, teasing Kento. "And a big glass of milk for my boyfriend."

"That won't be necessary." Kento replied, clipped. "I'll have the same as her, thank you." Your nose flared; a competitive edge.

"You don't have to buy it just because I do, Kento."

"I know that." He hummed, leaning back into his chair, his hands clasped over crossed legs. "But it seems we have some...misunderstandings to address."

Your ramen arrived. Its colour cried Danger. Tree frogs of its exact hue were known to cause certain death, and the hot sauces arrived in a rainbow most often seen in government-approved public warning announcements. Kento gave you a warm smile, chuckling as you snapped and rolled your chopsticks with gusto.

You took a noisy slurp of your noodles, Kento following suit. The heat was slow to build, but by your third slurp of noodles, your mouth thrummed with fire, climbing up your nose and filling your sinuses. You sniffled, laughing and dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

"Wow, they really weren't joking," you laughed, burning from the inside, in a way that was almost too much, "that really is spicy." Kento raised his eyebrows, seemingly unaffected. He reached for the first hot sauce.

"Is it?" He asked, mildly. "I think it could use a little something, actually." Kento splashed his ramen with hot sauce, enthusiastic, and offered you some. With a smile, and a nod, he did the same to your ramen.

"I don't see much difference, to be honest," you lied, the ramen now significantly spicier. You blinked the tears from your eyes as Kento patted your hand sympathetically. With a wan little smile, Kento reached immediately for the third hottest sauce, splashing it onto his ramen.

"Let's cut out the middle man, shall we?" Kento joked, squeezing your thigh affectionately under the table. You were starting to consider that you may have fucked up your last upfuck. You didn't stop Kento as he offered you the hot sauce, splashing a thin, acrid red glaze into your ramen.

The fumes hit you as you leaned over your bowl, and you coughed involuntarily. Kento shook more hot sauce onto his egg, slurping it up with a delighted hum.

"Eat up." He pressed. "It'll get cold." You took a hesitant bite of pork that didn't seem to have too much hot sauce on it. You were wrong. You must have swallowed lava, you thought, your eyes flickering over the restaurant as you chewed, as if someone could help you. Spluttering and praying for escape, you knew you would never live this down with your new lover if you threw in the towel.

"In fact, mine does seem to have cooled down a bit." Kento reached for the hottest of the hot sauces, in an unassuming little bottle with a skull and crossbones on the front. You were on fire, and nodded with tears flowing down your face, sweating, red, and coughing, when Kento offered you some. He was ever the gentleman, never pouring the sauce on your food until you accepted.

Kento was exceptionally uncrumpled, his navy dress shirt still just as pressed as it had been in the morning, his hair still neatly parted. Strands of yours stuck to the sweat in your forehead, and in a delirious haze, you lifted your bowl to slurp the broth, desperate to end this hellish ordeal.

You briefly saw God, before plummeting to the deepest circle of hell. There was no heaven. Life was a lie. Existence was meaningless. You felt the flesh melt off your bones, knowing death was nigh. Your hands shook, your smouldering lips puffy, mascara on your cheeks. You sat with your head in your hands, having just drunk acid. You dared one look up towards Kento.

...who seemed delighted by his meal, paying the waiter, and rubbing your thigh with those warm, gentle hands.

"There are people waiting for our table, darling. We'll go, hmm? My place, or yours?"

Your mouth numb, slurring, you babbled; "Me at, er-- mine...you at-- at-- yours--" You would surely be spending the evening in a bath of milk, retching into the sink. Kento pressed a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

"You're right. I'm always tired after a good meal, too."

After being driven home, you spent the night in an oven, wondering if you would ever get over challenging Nanami Kento to such a stupid, unwinnable fight.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"How's that new girl of yours, huh, Nanamin? Managed to impress her yet?" Gojo called from outside the toilet stall, tapping away in his phone with that everfixed smile. A low, nauseated groan rumbled out from the stall.

"--I...think she might dump me actually." More groans of agony sounded from the toilet stall, with Kento within, trapped in Satan's grasp.

Gojo had your number, of course. You and he had been chatting for weeks. Gojo held down the Record button outside Kento's toilet stall, ready to send you Kento's anguished moans.

Nanami Kento couldn't stand spicy food. He'd never let you know that. Thankfully, he had a friend who would sell him out at any given opportunity.

[neil-gaiman]

Two poems by Roz Kaveney:

No matter what. My people will endure.

Kill us. Imprison us. Carve up our brain.

Out of your children we are born again.

Erase our past and future but be sure

We are among you añd will find a way

To know ourselves in fragments from the past

Constructed truths. You think you have locked fast

The doors of memory. Your world is gray

Lacks savour. We umami of the soul

Palate remembers taste it never knew

Your angry grand children will stare at you

Carve us from world and you will leave a hole

Negative space describes all that we were

They fill it with new flesh. He him. She her.

#

When they have killed us all, or maybe most

Of us, because some fragment will escape.

We are quite good at hiding. When they rape

Some young guy on your street and later boast

Taught it to be a woman, when they shave

That blonde's head bloody slash her by mistake

Across the cheek for being tall. And make

Pyre of our books. And in an unmarked grave

Neighbour or niece. Legitimate concern?

Will you still sleep at night? Will you forget

You sort of wanted this...perhaps not yet...

But soon you'll stand and cheer and watch us burn.

Then later say it was not in your name

You never meant it and are not to blame.

(Twitter links follow.)

[alexanderwales]

Alright, here's my dream Stardew Valley style game, designed for my own tastes.

You come to a small town with the usual twenty to thirty people. It's in the middle of nowhere. It's a fantasy town, and no one actually farms anymore, partly because it's only questionably profitable, partly because a lot of the knowledge has been lost. Instead, everyone uses these magic doodads which are very powerful but also very limited. The tavernkeeper has a doodad that makes him a single kind of weak ale and a single variety of off-tasting wine. The clothier has basically a square mile of linen to work with, and everyone wears her drab clothes. Tools are made from a doodad that the blacksmith owns, not even made of any actual metal, just a material that wears away after a month and needs to be replaced by a new copy from the blacksmith's doodad. People get their meals from the doodads. They get their medical checkups. It's all a bit shit.

Because I'm a worldbuilder at heart, I would have this all exist in the wake of a large-scale war that depleted the town of its fighting-age population, with the doodads being a sort of government program to ensure that more of the lifeblood of the town could be drained away. And for there to be some reason for the town to continue existing, perhaps the government is harvesting some resources necessary in the creation of doodads. That's enough for a pro-doodad faction and maybe some minor drama with them, though I do like the idea that the only reason things are Like This is because there was a war and things got bad. It's not necessarily a bleak town, but there's definitely a listlessness to it, a "what's the point".

So you're a farmer, but no one is really a farmer anymore. Maybe there are a few books, but you don't learn farming from books, you learn it from practical experience; that's a lot of what this game is about. When you start, there's no one to buy seeds from, there's just a bunch of wilderness where farms once stood, now all long overgrown.

So you go out and forage, for a start, and you clear the land, and you pay attention to the plants and how they can be used, and you start in on making recipes with them, maybe with the help of your grandfather's old, partially incomplete books. You find some wild corn that's a descendant of the old times. You find some tomato seeds in an urn. You discover potatoes because you see them dug up by a wild boar, which itself was once a domesticated animal.

In my ideal game, you need to pay attention to the soil quality, to how far apart things are planted, to what crops work well together. Farming is a matter of companion planting and polycultures. You get some chickens by giving them consistent feed, and you keep them around because they're natural pest control. Your climbing beans climb the stalks of your maize. You're attracting pollinators. (From a gameplay perspective, yeah, we probably put this all into a grid, and you have crop bonuses from adjacencies, and emergent gameplay that comes from all that, some plants providing shade, others providing nitrogen fixing.) You're a scientist making observations about the plants, maybe with your incomplete book giving you confirmation on the nature of all your crops once you hit certain production goals or a perfect specimen or whatever.

Cooking is the same. There has got to be a system that I like better than just "combine tomato with bread to get tomato bread". I'm pretty sure that it's some variant of the actual process I use when cooking, which is making sure that things are properly cooked, balancing flavors against each other, adding in a little salt or acidity or umami or whatever. Time in the kitchen, in this game, is often about making meals, ensuring that if you have a fatty piece of meat you have some asparagus that's coated with lemon to go with it. (From a gameplay perspective, I think building the dish once is probably sufficient and it can be automated after that, and building the meal is the same. I don't want to play this minigame every time I'm cooking a dish, I just want to play it a single time until I have good knowledge of the best way to grill a BBQ chicken breast with a homemade sauce.)

But if we're having a little minigame here where we pay attention to how long we're cooking the kale to make sure that it's the right texture, and we're paying attention to abstractified mouthfeel and palette, then we can get something else for free: variation. See, you're not just cooking to get an S grade, you're cooking for people with different tastes. The cobbler has a sweet tooth, the librarian loves fruity things, the mayor cannot stand fish, that sort of thing. From a gameplay perspective, maybe we represent this with a radar graph with some specific favorite and least favorite individual flavors, and maybe it's visible to the player, but the important thing is that player gets feedback and have a reason to strive for both "good" and "perfection" and some of this is going to depend on the quality of the ingredients.

And this is, gradually, how the town is brought back into the fullness of life. You're not just cooking for these people, you're also selling them food, and they're making their own recipes, and all the stuff that's not food is making their businesses not suck anymore. After the first test keg of ale goes swimmingly, the tavernkeeper wants more, a lot more, and puts in an order for hops, wheat, grapes, anything he can use to make things that will improve nights at the tavern. The clothier will skeptically take in wool and spin her own yarn, and then eagerly want more, because how awesome is it to have a new textile? There's a chemist who is extremely interested in dyes and paints, and wants you to bring him all kinds of things to see what might be viable for going beyond the ~3 colors that the doodads can provide.

So by year two, if you're doing things right, you're the lynchpin of the revivalist movement. People are now moving to the town, for the first time in decades, because they hear that you're there and doing interesting things with the wilderness. Maybe there are other farmers following in your wake, but maybe it's just new characters who are specifically coming because a crate of wine was shipped to the capital city. Maybe some of them bring new techniques for you, or a handful of plants from a botanical garden, and there are new elements for the minigames, or maybe some automation for the stuff that's old hat.

I think something that's important to me is that there's a reason for the crops you plant and the things you do. I always like these games best when it feels like I'm doing something for someone, when I can look at a plot of cabbages and think "ah, those are the cabbages I owe to Leon". Where these games are at their worst, everything is entirely fungible and I've planted eight million blueberries because they have the highest ROI.

And yeah, in most of these games, there are other minigames like fishing and mining and logging and crafting, and since this is just a blog post and not a game, I definitely could massively expand an already sizeable scope.

I think for mining the player would use doodads of their own, and maybe you could make a mining minigame out of that, using the same planting tile system to instead create an automated ore harvesting machine that plumbs the depths of the earth (possibly dealing with rocks of different hardness, the water table, and other challenges along the way).

Fishing is a question of understanding the different fish species, what they eat, where they congregate, and then setting nets or lines, since I have never met a fishing minigame I really enjoyed. Again, there's some idea that the player is gaining information over time, building up a profile of these fish, noticing that some of them go nuts when it rains, understanding the spawning season, that they go to deeper water when it's cold, etc.

Crafting really depends on what you're crafting, but if you're reintroducing traditional artisan processes to this town, then people are going to need tools and machines and things. I'm not sure I know what a proper crafting game looks like. The only experience I have to draw on is wood shop, where I made wooden boxes, cutting boards, and picture frames. Since this is an engineering-lite puzzle-lite game, you could maybe do something in that vein, e.g. defining a number of steps that get you the correct thing you're trying to make, but ... eh. I love the idea of designing a chicken coop, for example, or building a trellis if I want my climbing beans to not need maize, or whatever, but I don't know how you actually implement that. There are definitely voxel-based and snap-to-grid games where you build bases, and I tend to find that fun ... but it's mostly cosmetic, for the obvious reason that doing it any other way than cosmetic requires programmatic evaluation, which is difficult and maybe unintuitive. The closest I think I've seen is ... maybe Tears of the Kingdom? Contraption building? But I don't know how you translate that to a farming game. Maybe I should ask my wife about this, because she's always doing little projects around the house (an outdoor enclosure for our cats, a 3D-printed holder for our living room keyboard, a mounting for our TV).

Making an interesting crafting system is difficult, which is why pretty much no one has done it.

And if I'm talking pie in the sky, without concern for budget or scope, I want the villagers to all have a mammoth amount of writing for them. I want petty little dramas and weird obsessions, lives that evolve with or without my input, rudimentary dialog trees that let me nudge things in different directions. This is just an unbelievable amount of work on its own, it would be crazy, but I would love having a tiny little town game where sometimes other people would fall in love. I would like to be invited to a wedding, maybe one that happened because I encouraged the chemist to hang out with the clothier, and in the course of working together on dyes, they fell in love. With twenty people in town and another ten that come in over the course of the game if you hit the right triggers, I do think this is just a matter of having a ton of time/budget. You write tons and tons of dialogue so there's not much that's repeated, you have some lines of conversation between characters that are progressed through, you have others that trigger off of events, and then you have personal relationships between NPCs that can be progressed through time or with player intervention. Give single characters a pool of love interests, have their affections depend on their routine which depends on what's changed in town ... very difficult to do without spending loads and loads of time on it though.

Anyway, that's one of my dream games. No one is ever going to make it, it would be a niche of a niche, and as scoped here, is too much for a small team to ever actually finish, let alone polish. But it's the sort of thing I'm imagining in my head when I think about playing Stardew Valley and its successors.

[akazzzaa]

concept: if all the demons, lower & upper moon and muzan were able to cook, what would they make & bring for thanksgiving, if they celebrated with their s/o?

Sorry for being late! I'm unfamiliar with Thanksgiving day so I tried to do some research to make it accurate, Not a lot of American style food will be included cause they are from japan, but they try

A/N- I'm no chef, I had to look for a lot of recipes that would be 'demonic' and thanksgiving too ?

Characters- Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, Tamayo, Emnu

Summary- What they would cook for you on Thanksgiving

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None really just a mention on blood once

Muzan

Muzan knows languages and understands a lot of cultures from around the world. He is interested in how different counties have such different taste in food. All human food is gross to him but he is the only demon who can actually eat human food without throwing up. He only eats human food to blend in. A very good cook otherwise.

I think Muzan would likely choose a high-quality turkey and he might incorporate a deep red cranberry sauce that reflects his demonic side while still being suitable for a Thanksgiving table. Carrots glazed with a blood orange reduction could be a visually striking and flavourful side dish. For dessert, a dark chocolate pecan pie could be Muzan's choice for you, combining sweetness with a hint of darkness. For a drink, Muzan would craft a special cocktail with dark fruits, red wine, and a touch of something more sinister. blood

Kokushibo

Given that Kokushibo lived during the Taisho era in Japan, he might appreciate traditional Japanese cuisine. If he were to celebrate Thanksgiving with his significant other, he might choose to prepare a special Japanese meal with a touch of elegance. He knows nothing about American cuisine and doesn't care to learn about it. He's the one cooking. You are the one eating. If you don't like it, make it yourself. He didn't cook a lot as a human but he knows his way around a kitchen.

He would cook sushi rolls with fresh fish, vegetables, and perhaps some unique ingredients to showcase his culinary skills. Light and crispy tempura made with seasonal vegetables and shrimp, served with a flavourful dipping sauce. A delicate Chawanmushi (Steamed Egg Custard)with ingredients like chicken, shrimp, and ginkgo nuts, steamed to perfection. Skewers of grilled chicken, perhaps with a teriyaki glaze, showcasing a balance of sweet and savoury flavours. For desert, a unique dessert that combines the rich flavours of matcha green tea with the creamy goodness of cheesecake.

Douma

Douma is an amazing cook, just under Muzan, he has chefs that cook for the followers but he has cooked many dishes for people during his lifetime. He's unfamiliar with American food but he will try for you.

Douma might appreciate a unique twist on the traditional Thanksgiving turkey. The glaze could be made with blood orange juice, honey, and spices, giving it a rich and flavourful coating with Truffle Mashed Potatoes. Then Douma may choose a red wine reduction sauce to enhance the flavour of the meal and tie the meal together. Douma is better at baking but doesn't think humans should eat to much sweets. But today is a one off for you both, he would create a visually striking dessert, perhaps with dark chocolate and exotic fruits.

Akaza

Not a bad cook, has never cooked until he met you and he's gotten better at it. He respects you and your culture so he will want to cook a Japanese-American dish for you.

Akaza could marinate the turkey in a special teriyaki sauce infused with cherry blossom flavours, giving it a unique and sophisticated twist. Instead of traditional sweet potato dishes, Akaza might opt for sweet potatoes glazed with a miso-based sauce, adding a savoury and umami-rich element to the dish. Fresh green beans cooked to perfection and tossed with a sesame dressing, providing a crunchy and nutty complement to the meal. For dessert, Akaza might choose to make a matcha-flavored tiramisu, combining the traditional Italian dessert with a Japanese green tea twist. To accompany the meal, Akaza might select a high-quality sake, demonstrating his refined taste and appreciation for Japanese beverages.

Tamayo

Given her background and the fact that she is knowledgeable about herbs and medicines, she might prepare a unique and exotic dish that incorporates flavors inspired by her extensive knowledge. Perhaps she would create a dish with rare herbs and spices, combining them in a way that showcases her expertise.

Tamayo might infuse traditional Thanksgiving turkey with a Japanese twist by using a miso glaze. Miso adds a rich, savoury flavour that complements the turkey. A stuffing made with Japanese mushrooms like shiitake and maitake, along with chestnuts, could be a flavourful side dish reflecting Tamayo's expertise with herbs and ingredients. A selection of pickled vegetables, such as daikon radish and carrots, could serve as a refreshing palate cleanser between bites of the richer dishes. For dessert, a matcha-flavored treat like matcha cheesecake or matcha-flavored mochi could be a delight to the Thanksgiving feast. She has modified her body to drink human tea, so she will watch you eat all the food she cooked but the only thing you two can enjoy together is a cup of tea. And she makes a good cup of tea.

Enmu

Will give you food poisoning. Do not eat his food

[the-raven-lady]

Saccharine

@bispecsual wouldn't let me rawdog the kelp straight from the ocean so reader is doing it for me

this is a random snippet after the last part of Ebony Coasts

________________

Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Reader

Song recommendation: Every pet owner (bispecsual) asking their cat / dog (me) what's in their mouth (kelp)

Warnings: Icky textures, eating ocean flora, fluff

Word Count: 514

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

You look down at the yellow-brown leaf in your hand with repulsion, appalled at the slimy texture. It was one thing to handle these things from a scientific perspective, but it was another entirely to actually put it in your mouth.

“It is delicious, pearl. I am certain you’ll enjoy it,” Corvus pipes up. His sharp teeth crunch into his own blade of kelp and suck at the gelatinous substance within. Once more, he runs a soothing hand over the back of your shoulders, careful of his claws. You sit back further into the soft muscle of his tail.

Saccharina latissima. Sugar kelp. Corvus had been kind enough to cut a piece off of his, adamant that you try the filling. Your normally understanding partner would not take no for an answer. Internally, you knew that it was him feeling insecure about his inability to provide for you on land. Being locked to the ocean when his little lover was land-dwelling affected him deeply. You didn’t have it any easier than he did, with the pressure of protecting his habitat and keeping him a secret. Eventually, you conceded to his demands and took his offering.

That had been ten minutes ago. You still have not tried it.

Corvus was a patient man and would wait until the end of the earth for you, but even he had begun to get restless. You poke a finger into the oozing sugary splooge, then hold it closer to get a better look at it. The mostly clear substance smells sweet and salty. The mer at your side’s attention focuses solely on you the moment you get the gusto to press the fresh kelp to your lips, tongue darting out to sample it. The taste of the ocean hits you first, followed by a wave of sugary and umami. It reminds you of the taste of Corvus’s soft lips, and you feel brave enough to take a small nibble of the central vein.

…and promptly spit it back out at the absolutely rancid texture. Gooey, rubbery, vile. If this is how he was getting back at you for the warheads, it was working.

You grimace, pushing the remainder of the blade in your hands into Corvus’s chest. Your mer chuckles as he takes it and wipes the corner of your lips. “Perhaps it isn’t for the land-walking palate,” he chides, humor in his tone. A rare smile graces his face.

“I’ll stick to protecting it, thanks,” you reply, shuffling the remaining pieces of kelp to the front of your mouth and spitting them out onto the stones. You brush yourself off to soothe your frazzled nerves and relax back against ebony scales. Corvus runs a tender hand through your hair, careful not to catch on the strands and cause a mess before returning to his sweet treat. The warmth of adoration blooms in your chest as he silently devours it, and for once you didn’t feel so bad about not liking something that had been offered to you.

It was more fun to watch Corvus enjoy it anyway.

[mariacallous]

It’s remarkable how just a handful of ingredients — celery, onion, carrots, mushrooms, barley and water — can truly transform into something hearty and nourishing. This isn’t unlike other Jewish foods, like cholent or chicken soup; Jews are masterful at transforming the ingredients on-hand into dishes that feed bellies and souls.

I am sure you have heard of mushroom barley soup, maybe enjoyed a bowl at your local deli or diner, or perhaps your grandmother made it from scratch. But did you know that mushroom-barley soup, or krupnik, is even more Jewish than matzah ball soup?

As Joel Haber explains in this piece, krupnik is a simple and hearty Polish soup made from barley and various root vegetables. Eastern European Jews had a strong affinity for mushrooms, since they were rich, nutritious and, best of all, they grew abundantly in local wooded areas, making them free.

Making this soup without meat also allows it to be pareve, so it can be eaten with either dairy or meat meals according to kosher dietary laws. While non-Jews may have made a vegetarian version if they couldn’t afford meat, most Polish recipes stress the importance of both meat and bones to create the proper consistency, making the vegetarian version distinctly Jewish.

This soup is ideal for so many things: a comforting meal train meal, paired with crusty bread and a salad; easy to make as a big batch to enjoy all week for lunch; or when you want to hear your kids complain “I don’t like mushrooms,” and then eat the barley and carrots all around those carefully sautéed mushrooms.

Notes:

Anyone who has watched “Julie & Julia” knows you don’t want to crowd your pan when cooking mushrooms. I cook this quantity of mushrooms in three batches to allow them enough space to caramelize slightly on each side.

I chose to make this recipe with a combination of white mushrooms and baby bella mushrooms. You can absolutely mix different types of mushrooms based on your taste (or what you have on hand), as long as the total quantity is around 1 lb.

If you want to turn the mushroom flavor up even more, you could add some rehydrated porcini mushrooms as you sauté the mushrooms. You can also add some of the hydrating mushroom liquid into the both for extra umami.

To make this soup pareve (non-dairy), just omit the butter.

This soup keeps well in the fridge for 3-5 days and can be frozen; you may just need to add some additional water or broth when reheating.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Degustatión

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: You, an aspiring food critic, are introduced to Doctor Hannibal Lecter by one of your professors. The two of you bond over good food and perhaps... a mutual attraction. Then, Will Graham -- Hannibal's closest friend and confidant -- is added into the equation and things get a lot more complicated... but let's be honest, a whole lot more interesting as well.

Word Count: 4,464 words.

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ only, minors dni), p in v, light knife play, oral sex (f & m), threesome, lmk if there's anything I missed!

A/N: Yep, not much plot, we are going straight to it. We all know what we came here for right? HEAVY ON THE SELF-INDULGENCE

———

The night air was crisp and cool, seeping all the way to your bones despite the layers you wore. Fall was coming to a close and winter was quickly approaching, icy claws bared. You stared up at the house – his house – admiring the impeccable but austere architecture. It reminded you of a more modern sort of palace and, my word, was it fitting of the man you came to see.

As you locked your car and began slowly walking up the driveway, you shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature.

This wouldn’t be the first time you’d dine with Doctor Hannibal Lecter, the most refined palate in all of Baltimore. In fact, the first time you met him – a favor from your creative writing professor, who knew of your dream of becoming a food critic – he’d taken you out to dinner. He was always happy to meet people who loved food as much as he did.

It’d been at a fancy restaurant, glittering diamonds and expensive perfume and the cold sneers of the wealthy surrounding you. It was way out of your budget, to say the least. But you hadn’t been surprised at his choice; he was a little eccentric, after all.

You’d felt bad, but he’d insisted on taking care of the bill, so long as you gave your honest opinion on the dishes he ordered for you to try. You were definitely not a picky eater, but you’d been a bit hesitant to relent all of your control. In the end, your own promise to give everything a chance at least once convinced you.

And boy, did Hannibal know how to eat. Not that you thought all word about him was a rumor, but you simply had not known the depths of their truth.

In just that first meeting, he expanded your palate considerably, presenting you with things you’d never even thought of. Perhaps not to the level he was on, but it still felt like a whole new world was yawning open for you to explore.

Sometimes you still dreamed of the lingering umami of caviar, the richness of a good Malbec wine, the sweet and creamy croquembouche he’d fed you spoonfuls of for dessert.

But you had felt a little embarrassed afterward, like you’d been a mere imposter before that night. What the hell had you even known about food?

You had a couple of exotic meals under your belt, but you were only truly starting your career journey, and money wasn’t always permitting.

On the other hand, you’d also felt slightly reassured by the way he watched you, appraising and unrelenting, with a certain curiosity that made you feel completely exposed. He had delighted in your deep hums of approval, the soft glaze of bliss in your eyes. He hung onto your every word as you described flavors, textures, scents. He’d smirked slightly throughout the entire ordeal, hazel eyes shining with amusement, and you found yourself squirming slightly in your seat.

He hadn’t failed to notice that either. In fact, unbeknownst to you, he had a very keen sense of smell, and he seemed to get hooked on yours.

So yes, you had bonded over food, and every subsequent meeting had brought something new and positively groundbreaking. The way he could make you experience such wonders seemed to entice him to continue seeing you, and you certainly were happy to oblige.

But tonight was different in more than one way. He’d bestowed upon you the great honor of inviting you to one of his famous dinner parties, to finally get a taste of his cooking. The idea of eating something put together by his hands – so elegant, with such long fingers, like a pianist’s – felt incredibly intimate, but also monumental. It was anticipation that had you quivering, your whole body tight and seemingly buzzing with electricity.

Especially as you heard a car door shut behind you. Ah, there was the other reason you were so anxious. You whirled around to face him and his steps slowed as he found himself pinned under your gaze.

Not necessarily a rival, but someone who definitely seemed to want to compete with you for Doctor Lecter’s attention. In his own subtle way, of course.

You had heard the name Will Graham a couple of times in your meetings with Hannibal and it was very apparent that they were close. Very close.

When you two had finally been introduced, you did not know what to make of one another. Will was tense and awkward for the most part, avoiding eye contact as much as he could. He was definitely more reserved, letting you and Hannibal do most of the talking, but chiming in with dry remarks whenever he thought it was necessary.

But he also seemed intrigued by you, often looking at you at least from the corner of his eye, like he wanted to see for himself what your appeal to Hannibal was. Not many got close to the Doctor, it seemed, even as popular as he was.

Will studied you in return and smiled almost imperceptibly. It felt like a truce, which you readily accepted.

“What a coincidence,” he said. “We’re both so punctual.”

“Anything else would be rude.” You said, your tone light, even if you firmly believed it to be true. Especially when it came to Hannibal.

He stepped toward you, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

You linked your arm with his, immediately getting a whiff of his strong aftershave. You understood why Hannibal hated it, but you didn’t voice your opinions. You wished you could smell his more natural scent – pine needles and petrichor and musk – as it fit him much better. It made you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck, fingers intertwined with the curls at his nape.

Perhaps he also did not know what to do with the fact you seemed to be drawn to him as well. It was that quiet, mysterious air about him, always assessing, poised to strike. In a way, he sort of reminded you of Hannibal, though not quite as eased into that darker, more primal nature.

You waited as Will rang the doorbell, arm still holding yours. You weren’t sure if he was leading you, or if he had captured you, not letting you escape. The idea of either was titillating, though it wasn’t like you wanted to leave.

Then, the door opened and there he was, that familiar smirk already on his handsome face.

“Well, well,” Hannibal said. “It’s a pleasure to see you both. Please, come in.”

As you stepped over the threshold, Will took the bottle of wine you brought – a Shiraz, which you remembered Hannibal mentioned liking – as Dr. Lecter stepped behind you.

“May I?” He asked, referring to your coat.

You nodded and his hands slid over your shoulders lightly as you shrugged your coat off. His fingers were warm, almost teasing, and you momentarily wondered how they’d feel on your exposed flesh.

Hannibal inhaled deeply, scenting your perfume – Amber, smoky cedar, bergamot – and that chemical change in your sweat at his nearness.

“Your home is so lovely.” You breathed, taking in your surroundings-- The pastoral art on the walls, the dark glaze of the hardwood floors, the almost surgical cleanliness. It was all just so him. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Hannibal nodded in appreciation, leading you both to the dining room. Will, who was at your side, leaned in close to your ear. “Be careful not to let your jaw fully unhinge, it’s bad for the muscle.”

You scoffed, half amused and half offended. Was he accusing you of being a brown-noser, or did he dislike simply dislike you currying Hannibal’s favor?

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” You said, your voice a husky whisper. “We were playing nice just now. Though I have to say, I do like that little fire of yours. It tells me you can still burn, if you so want.”

Will said nothing, and you knew that in some way, you got to him. Yes, you’d had just a little bit of liquid courage before you got here, but just enough to warm the blood; If only so they might not confuse you for a trembling fawn, surrendering to its fate. It had certainly loosened your tongue a little, letting your desires slip through.

As Hannibal pulled your chair out for you, his smirk grew a little as he sensed the sudden tension between you and his coveted Will Graham. Oh, things were already getting so interesting.

Hannibal poured three glasses of the wine you brought, reaching over to squeeze your hand upon reading the label. You felt a swell of pride in your chest, hid it behind a demure smile. He eyed the column of your throat as you swallowed your wine.

“Forgive my forwardness,” Hannibal said, setting his glass down. “But I must say, you look quite… delectable tonight. Did you go through all that trouble just for me?”

“Doctor Lecter–” You breathed a small, shy laugh, cheeks flushed.

“Careful, Hannibal.” Will cut in, looking right at you. “She might put your dinner to shame.”

“No, I don’t believe she would.” Hannibal leaned forward slightly. “In fact, I have some slightly regretful news. I apologize for waiting until now to bring this up, but I thought we could have a different approach to tonight’s dinner.”

You tilted your head to one side, just now realizing that there were no enticing scents of a cooked meal. You’d been so occupied with his presence to notice. Disappointment curled in your stomach, but his tone made you straighten your spine.

“Oh?” You prompted, suddenly very curious.

“In the continued pursuit of new experiences for you, I was wondering… How would you like to be tasted?”

There was a moment of silence in which you didn’t even move, unsure if you were dreaming or he’d actually just said those words. Oh, what cruel torture it would be, if it turned out to be the former.

But then he went on. “Will and I spoke of it. He was the one to suggest the idea, actually.”

Your eyes immediately drifted to Will Graham, who was looking intently at Hannibal’s profile. That was a time he decided to stay quiet, but you didn’t fail to notice how his Adam’s appled bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Did he now?” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, sultry, coaxing. “And did Mister Graham go into the specifics of how this would go about?”

“Well if I did or not, wouldn’t it be better for you to find out?” Will said, terse, as if he could still not admit his desires to himself. Like he was ashamed of wanting something to keenly. “Or did you want me to tell you?”

You held his gaze for a moment, shaking your head almost imperceptibly.

But then, looking at both men, a sort of awareness made your skin tingle. A field mouse between two mighty serpents, not fully concealed in the tall grass. You wondered how their fangs might feel as they sunk into you, how their venom must sting.

Well, you did say you would try anything at least once, didn’t you?

You cleared your throat, crossing your legs. “Will anyone else be joining us for dinner?”

Hannibal arched a light brow, just as Will finally looked at you, a little taken aback. To Hannibal, this wasn’t so much of a revelation, but more of a confirmation. You secretly loved the theatricality, the rapturous looks of spectators. Most of all, you loved when the spotlight was on you, baring everything – your soul included – for examination. It was what drew him most to you.

Perhaps eventually, but that night…

“No, just us.” Hannibal said finally. “Only with your consent, of course. I do not want to make assumptions. It was just a thought, a mere… unbecoming desire.”

“Perhaps it is mutual.” You admitted, breathless. “We are only made of flesh and fault, after all.”

“Yes, and how tender seems the flesh.” He trailed a finger lightly down your arm, and goosebumps followed in its wake.

Hannibal’s easy smirk returned as you squirmed, thighs rubbing against each other, heat pooling in your stomach and even lower. Will adjusted in his seat, clearing his throat, swallowing hard once again.

You wondered what it would be like to see him break; to see him without restraints, free, surrendered to his basest instincts. You wondered if Hannibal had seen him that way, and if he was just about to share that with you. Or do the same to you.

You weren’t sure which you wanted more, but you were sure you would lose your head if you got neither. Were you beneath begging? It was yet to be seen…

You worried your bottom lip with your teeth, unsure of how to proceed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing, dearest. Leave it to me – to us. You’ll be in very good hands.”

That sultry promise in his words – purred to you in a way only he seemed to know how – melted you completely. You had never believed in anything more.

-------------------------------

The first slow lick of your open mouth had your breath catching, but you couldn’t do much more than close your eyes. Hannibal held your face with one hand, and you were sure it was the only thing grounding you to the Earth; tethering you to your own body.

But then his tongue dragged over yours a second time, and a soft mewl escaped you, your head spinning.

“I’m not sure which I like more,” Hannibal said, voice husky. “Those sounds you make, or the taste of good wine on your tongue.”

The three of you had moved to the kitchen, with you sitting on the dark granite island. The kitchen was opulent and in pristine condition, though there were small details that showed it was well lived in. Out of all the rooms in the house, you knew this was where Hannibal spent most of his time.

Not that you were really paying much attention to your surroundings at that very moment.

“I think you’ve rendered her speechless.” Will commented, an edge of amusement in his voice.

Your eyes fluttered open just barely as Hannibal chuckled. “And we’re barely getting started.”

He slowly trailed the back of his hand down the sleeve of your blouse. “I don’t think we’re going to be needing this, do you?’’

Hannibal took a step back, fingers pensively dancing over the handles of the knives that were stored in a polished wooden block. You immediately moved to start unbuttoning your silk blouse, hands shaking.

But Will, in a sudden act of confidence, stepped forward, between your legs.

“Allow me.” He murmured, eyes downcast.

You watched him closely, how his patient hands slowly finished undoing all the buttons. Your chest heaved as he gently pushed it off your shoulders, pooling at your back. He gazed intently at the lacy bralette you wore, barely concealing anything. Your nipples were two hard peaks that pressed against the thin fabric, demanding attention.

But he did not give it to you. At least, not yet.

Then, Will and Hannibal switched places, your eyes closely trailing the glint of the chef knife’s edge. Your pulse began racing, both in exhilaration and a slight tinge of fear.

Hannibal took a moment to look at you, his hand coming to rest on the flat expanse on your stomach. His hand inches upwards, fingers just barely grazing the soft underwire of your bralette.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here, shall we?” He purred, holding your gaze. “Lean back for me, sweetness.”

You oblige without a doubt. In the next moment, his finger curls, pulling the underwire forward, the knife following close behind. You gasped and in a quick, expert slash, the measly excuse for a cover falls apart, baring your breasts. Your back arched instinctively, attempting to get closer to him.

Hannibal hummed in approval, his smirk positively devious. “Take a gander, Will.”

He trailed the flat part of the knife — featherlight, barely a whisper – down your sternum, through the valley between your breasts. You dared not move this time, not wanting to distract him from this deliciously slow torture. You kept expecting even the slightest nick of the blade, and that fearful anticipation made you even more aroused.

“I must say, I’m not quite sure where to start. Such softness… Such supple skin.” Hannibal mused. The tip of the knife stopped at the hem of your skirt, and he tilted his head to the side with the curiosity of a predator sizing up its’ meal. “We should free you of this too, hm?”

“Yes.” You breathed.

Will tsked in disapproval. “Don’t forget your manners, now.”

Your eyes were drawn to him, your pupils blown wide with desire, the darkness swallowing your iris. You briefly wondered if they could hear the jackhammer pace of your heart; Like a war drum against your ribcage.

“Please.” You added, just as low, your voice somewhere out of reach.

The knife retracted and Hannibal offered you a hand so you could stand up. As soon as you did, he pressed you against him, your bare chest against his woefully clothed one. Will came up behind you, intent on unzipping your skirt, but you stopped him with the arch of your back, pressing your ass against his crotch.

He sucked an audible breath through his teeth, a groan threatening to escape his throat. Hannibal chuckled as Will gripped your hands behind your back with one hand and finally undid your skirt. Roughly, he pulled it off of you, stepping back as Hannibal quickly spun you around to face him.

You gripped Will’s arms tightly as his lips captured yours in a ferocious kiss. He held you up as Hannibal ripped your stockings apart – both with the knife and his hands – jostling you a little against Will. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as your panties fell to the same fate.

When you broke the kiss – an obscene string of saliva still connecting your lips – you looked into his eyes, breath catching at the intensity of them; Like a pure and holy – or perhaps unholy? – blue flame. He was getting more and more beautiful by the minute, unraveling before your eyes.

You felt Hannibal’s finger trail up your inner thigh, capturing your wetness. “What a delightful mess you’ve made.”

You squirmed in Will’s embrace, slightly embarrassed at his discovery. How were you so wet already?

Actually, you knew the answer to that question.

Hannibal’s fingers trailed further up, precariously close to that aching spot you really wanted him to touch. But he stopped, almost expectant.

“What do we say?” Will said, voice dangerously low.

“T-thank you.” You gasped as Hannibal grazed his teeth against your inner thigh, chasing away the sharp sting with his tongue.

Involuntarily, you pushed your hips back, closer to his face. You heard Will’s belt clink slightly as he undid it, along with his trousers. You reached down, wanting to touch him, to savor him too, but he only smirked devilishly.

“Greedy thing, isn’t she?” Will purred, taking a hold of your hand to stop you.

“So it seems.” Hannibal said, standing up. “But with such delectable honey, how can we deny her?”

From behind you, he stretched his hand out towards Will, offering his fingers slick with your arousal. Without a second thought, Will leaned forward and captured his fingers in his mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits.

And that taste of you, saccharine on his tongue, sticking to his palate in all its glory, snapped something in him. He let out a low growl and pushed your hand away, his trousers and boxers soon falling to the floor in a heap.

Hannibal crouched once more behind you as Will pulled you forward, your eyes widening and mouth watering. At the same time that Hannibal buried his face in your cunt, you grasped Will’s erection, a glistening bead of precum on the tip.

Will leaned back against the kitchen island and you bent lower, sticking your tongue out and lapping up the precum. The taste of him was a bit sharp, but not unpleasant; salty and slightly musky. You hummed in approval, giving the underside of the head a teasing lick. His hand buried in your hair, guiding your head gently.

As you took him in your mouth, you moaned around his length. Hannibal was licking you in long, languid strokes, hands spreading you further open. Your legs twitched, but you were too wrapped up in the feel of Will’s cock sliding over your tongue. He shuttled it in and out slowly, reaching a little further every time. You hummed your pleasure continuously, the vibration of it adding to his own pleasure.

Will’s hips bucked and he grunted, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back in ecstasy. Then behind you, Hannibal picked up the pace, his tongue circling your clit as he inserted a finger into your cunt. Your whole body tensed, the movements of your head momentarily halting, and Will snapped to attention.

“Don’t make her come yet.” He snarled, a startling possessive edge to his tone.

Much to your chagrin, Hannibal acquiesced, pulling back, though his finger was still pumping in and out of you at a much slower pace. With a loud pop, you released his cock, drool sloppily dripping down your chin.

“Apologies, I got too carried away.” Hannibal panted, sounding quite smug at how he got you dripping for him. “I’ve seldom tasted something quite so divine. Sweet ambrosia, a feast worthy of the Gods.”

He withdrew completely, pulling you up with him. One hand came up to grip your neck just tight enough to keep you pinned; The other came up to palm your breast, thumb teasing your nipple. You growled in frustration, wiggling your hips.

“What’s that now?” Will taunted, stroking his length slowly – flicking his wrist just so… oh sweet torture! – his breath ragged. “Didn’t we agree to play nice earlier?”

“Oh, she’s being nice. Aren’t you, sweetness?” Hannibal purred, tilting your head to the side to meet his gaze. He looked much like you, lower half of his face glistening with an artful mess of your own creation. “Perhaps she deserves a taste.”

And he kissed you, tongue immediately parting your lips and tangling with your own. You tasted yourself on his lips, mixed in with his saliva, and it had an almost narcotic effect on you. Warmth spread throughout you, oblivion just at your fingertips. You were simply, utterly hooked.

He pulled away to toss his jacket to the side and then bound your hands behind your back with his tie. You heard him undo his trousers and you suppressed a shiver of anticipation. You kept your eyes on Will, the steady rhythm of his hand stroking himself hypnotizing you.

Then, you felt Hannibal’s cock line up with your entrance, the head of it barely slipping in. His low groan was in your ear and he dipped his head to nip your shoulder. You held your breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he plunged further into you, making sure you felt every inch.

When he was fully sheathed in you – your head swimming and barely able to tell where he ended and you began – your mouth slackened in pure, unadultered ecstasy.

“How angelic,” Will breahted, awed. “Look at the rapture in her eyes, gazing directly into Heaven.”

“How lucky… she had us to show her.” Hannibal panted.

Hannibal fucked you with a near surgical precision, his thrusts deep and unrelenting, knowing exactly what spots to hit to make you cry out. In fact, he guided himself by the sounds you made, adjusting quickly to whatever seemed to make you respond the most. His hand snaked down to your clit, stroking in time with his thrusts.

And he had to admit, you really did look like an angel in that moment, rosy cheeked, eyelashes thick with tears of overstimulation. Those undignified moans of yours were like a melody he would remember for days to come.

By the tight clench of your cunt, he knew you were right there, but as much as he wanted you to come all over his cock – anointing him with your cream, forever marking him – he knew he’d already been quite greedy with you. He wanted Will to have it; A gift to him.

The swap was almost seamless; one moment you were achingly empty, ready to claw the walls if you didn’t get your release soon. But then you were bent over the kitchen island, legs kicked apart, and Will filled you up in a single thrust.

The way he fucked you was wholly different. Will was more frantic, almost feral, all bared teeth and low growling. His hips slapped against yours loudly, his thrusts quick and almost punishing.

Your body was pure fire, a pillar of all consuming flame. You worried you would slip through their fingers if you weren’t held together tight enough.

Hannibal watched through the whole ordeal, stroking himself, though a part of you wished you could be doing it for him.

And suddenly, with a slight tilt of his hips, Will hit a certain spot inside of you that finally unraveled that tight coil in your stomach. With a keening wail, you stumbled into oblivion, shooting stars streaking in the darkness your eyelids.

Will was right there with you, the tight clench your cunt milking out his pleasure. He painted his design inside you, a messy, unabashed masterpiece.

After a couple more heartbeats, in which you listened to his grunts and ragged breathing, he pulled out of you, sticky warmth trickling down your inner thigh.

Hannibal undid the tie holding your hands, massaging your arms gently and kissing down your spine. He’d already cleaned himself of his own release, now intent on taking care of you. He turned you around and embraced you, wiping your damp hair away from your forehead.

You sagged against him, smiling beatifically, breathing heavily still. Your body still responded to his touch, but you were exhausted.

Will soon returned, already clean himself, with a soft towel in hand. He kneeled in front of you and cleaned you with the utmost care. Both of them looked at you reverently, like someone to worship.

“Well, out of all our times dining together, I have to say… this has been my favorite.” You sighed dreamily, voice still tremulous.

Hannibal chuckled. “Trust me, sweet angel, this won’t be the only time.”

And you were more than okay with that promise.

———

[mistermuscles]

My analysis of the first dish of Dungeon Meshi! (more so the monsters used)

The first food really consumed by the party is a standard hotpot, a mix of veggies, meat and noodles. The veggies aren't very note worthy but when it comes down to the monsters used in this dish that's where it gets interesting.

The Huge Scorpion

The huge scorpion really doesn't differ much from a regular scorpion from an outside perspective. It tends to hide in small spaces, uses it's claws to stabilize it's prey before stinging it's prey with it's tail harboring venom for hunting purposes or as a self defense mechanism, and I'd like to interpret it as a monster that prefers dry spaces (makes me wonder if they previously inhabited the 6th floor of the dungeon.) however it does seem to start differing when being treated as food. Marcille is the first to point out Laios kills it "like a crayfish." which could be a translation thing however when Senshi begins to prepare it as you would a crustacean, more specifically a decapod and even more specifically a lobster of sorts this comment begins to make more sense. During the cooking process the huge scorpion seems to shift to a red hue which indicates it's shell contains astaxanthin. astaxanthin is a chemical that's responsible for some animal's and plant's natural coloration. This fact would imply that, similar to a lobster, the huge scorpion also harbors the same proteins that create yellow and blue hues that fall apart in high heats and leaves the astaxanthin (which remains stable in heat) to get it's coloration when cooked. Unlike regular scorpions, huge scorpions seem to be much more akin to ocean crustaceans. sidenote: it seems that it's venom is likely not lethal to humans if it's edible. I assume it only mildly irritates the skin and perhaps causes sickness for a day or two but nothing incredibly serious.

Slime

Slime's are more on the fantastical side of anatomy and behavior, though if I had to compare it to anything anatomy AND preparation wise I'd say that slimes are akin to to jellyfish. When Senshi prepares the slime he begins by scrubbing it down with citrus juice (I assume salt will also work in this case), this is a process commonly used with salt on oceanic animals like octopus that have a mucus coating to break down and thin the mucus to wash away all the grime that may be stuck to the creature, in this case Senshi is removing the bile on the slime. Then, just like a jellyfish, the slime is dehydrated then rehydrated when ready to be eaten. Pretty cool right?

In Conclusion!

I assume this dish would taste very similar to a Seafood hot pot. The scorpion's taste close to something sweet, umami, and buttery with texture that is springy and firm like a lobster paired with the Slime that doesn't add flavor but instead absorbs the broth's, however with what is lacking in flavor makes up for with it's springy, yet crunchy texture like that of a jellyfish, plus I'm sure you can assume the taste of common vegetables used that also absorb and add flavor to the simmering broth.

Hey thanks for reading, these are my thoughts as someone who's only watched the anime so far! Feel free to add onto or correct anything you'd like! I love talking about monsters!

[viatrixtravels-a]

Poor xiao really needs to eat more. He's so skinny even short lumine can carry him.

"Well, Almond tofu isn't exactly the most protein-packed dish out there. Unfortunately, most meals which provide a lot of calories and nutrients are also fairly heavy so I can't imagine he'd enjoy those."

The blonde put one hand underneath her chin.

"Hm...Perhaps I could make my own spin on the Adeptus' Temptation dish and substitute the fatty ham for something like plain tofu which still has the protein but isn't as heavy on the stomach."

"Eeeeh~~? But the ham is the best part! It gives off so much umami flavor!"

"It's for Xiao, remember? Not for you..."

[nethhiri]

1(food),10(object),4(appearance) for killer or kid or both

I’ve been falling behind on the kid/killer/reader series but hopefully I’ll have more time to read soon! : D

You are gonna be in for a treat when you have time to catch up! 😁

What flavor would your character say their personality is?

Kid:

Spicy! Like a crazy hot pepper.

Killer:

Savory and perhaps a bit umami. Like a juicy meatball.

Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

Kid:

Anything that isn't metal because it inconveniences him.

Rusty tools. If something in his workshop has even the smallest speck of rust because someone improperly put it away or left it in the rain, god help them.

Killer:

Flat irons. First of all, the heat is very damaging. Second of all, Kid has burned him by accident way too many times.

Pre-made dough/noodles. What's the point of cooking if you aren't going to make it from scratch?

Does your character have a favorite material they like to wear?

Kid:

Anything that adds texture to the outfit: feathers, fur, leather, studs, spikes, etc.

Metal for obvious reasons, but also because he likes the cool metal against his skin when it shifts.

Killer:

Good old-fashioned cotton. Breathable. Sweat-wicking. Soft. Practical.

Loves denim. It brings out the blue in his eyes. Not that you can tell.

[deadwooddross]

i’ve wondered, are the ocs you show all main characters ? or are some of them more side or background characters ??

oooo fun question, I have thought of this before and the answer is generally: Both! I think a lot of my characters are something like...side characters who are Main characters to Me. It really all just depends on when I end up focusing the lens on them one or two at a time. So like. Cookie literally started out as an NPC. In any other story they would be a Saucy Side character for Sure. Same with Umami, who is basically just "the mysterious Resident Evil Merchant" in any other more typical story framing. Ish would be a protag in the way Shrek is a protag (trust me on this) and so on so forth, a lot of my ocs start as side flavor and slooowly creep to the front depending on the circumstance (like margot is trying to do)...or sometimes in reverse, where i try to make "main" characters and they get sat back on the background bench for later perhaps the one maaaybe exception is Thavu, who has a lot of Shonen Protagonist energy....but even THEN, she's actually more like the "failure" example. You know, that one character who's just like Main Guy Peppy Lad, except their Resolve and Optimism got crushed a long time ago and now theyre a Bad Guy (TM) That's Thavu, except she manages to make friends instead of going total sicko mode on everyone in a grand display of self destruction. That's Grendels niche So in short the answer is Yes

[bettermiya]

IF OSAMU MADE A BENTO FOR YOU...

You decide Osamu is the more terrifying twin. When you begin to unwrap the exquisitely patterned furoshiki themed with a twin pair of foxes trudging through the snow, he gives you the kind of stare you witness on the volleyball court. A sharp-eyed glare that hunts for any form of weakness, a moment that suggests you can’t stand what you ate. If you say anything less than constructive criticism, he’ll inflict the disgusted look perfected by the Miya twins. The pulled-back lips and the tiny wrinkle on the nose that indicates you’re engaging in scrub behavior.

“The tuna-and-mayo is a little too salty,” you start, wetting your mouth, “It goes well with the onigiri rice, though. The kombu is better because there’s more umami, while also being mellow. The fried tofu is a pleasant touch, and the cherry tomatoes are colorful.”

“If ya keep usin’ ya tongue like that, I migh’ always make it salty,” he teases, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. There is nothing more important to him than flavor and the acknowledgement that you enjoy what he cooked for you. You can already see the plans he’s made to adapt his dishes waltz behind his gaze.

This is a familiar game as you respond, “Gross.”

[ Osamu’s Bento: He packed the components of the bento he gave to you neatly into his bag. As he cleaned up, you scribbled down the next day’s requests. The choice of kombu and tuna-mayo onigiri, and fried tofu had been yours, but you left it to him to fill in the details. He and his calloused hands have spent a decade patiently sitting by his obaachan's side learning how to create tasty dishes. Perhaps a western-themed dish for a better challenge? The decision doesn't seem to matter much because he's already planting delicate kisses against your scrunched-up brow. Your choices will have to wait until later. ]