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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

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Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

#bnha mermay #mermaid au #siren!shinsou #mermaid!hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha imagines #bnha reader insert #reader insert #trident tale

771 notes · View notes

twsty-lav · 3 years

Note

losing my shit at bodysnatcher yuu au thanks :)

Anonymous said: I can imagine body snatcher Yuu knowing some secrets, though. I mean, how can a conversation get any more private than literally inside your own head?

I live 2 serve <3

ok no thats a lie i live to eat ice cream but you get the idea 😔

Yuu does get to know the cast really well really fast lmaooo but it’s actually not that strange for them. even if they’re hanging out in their head, they don’t exactly (unwillingly) share thoughts or emotions or memories unless they’re like... SUPER strong. like overblot-flashback strong, you know?? but at that point they’re more liable to just be kicked out 😔 SO. luckily for the twst boy’s their secrets are safe 🥰 dw rook nobody’s gonna know ur a neige simp

the downside to this is unfortunately when yuu snatches a body there’s always like... a few minutes at least where they have, like, ABSOLUTELY no idea what’s going on. they can talk to the other person in their own head to get an idea of what’s happening, but the conversation actually has to have time to happen.

yuu hops into jamil and stares at a frying pan for a minute before leaving. deuce is out driving his motorized unicycle and nearly dies. vil starts researching how to eviscerate ghosts when they accidentally fuck up his eyeliner for the fifth time.

they swap into leona during the middle of a magift match and immediately gets fucking brained by a flying murder disc. amen hallelujah lionboy you’ll be missed 🙏

#twst bodysnatcher au #twst yuu #twst mc #MC/Yuu #twst au #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland au #twst #leona kingscholar #rip man #twst leona #vil schoenheit #twst vil #deuce spade #twst deuce #twst jamil #jamil viper

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maybedefinitely404 · 3 years

Text

For You Became My Lighthouse

Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

Pairing: romantic Prinxiety

Content: food/wine, Patton and Logan offscreen, anxiety attacks, argument, crying, fear of breakup.

Word count: 4k

Note: Not proofread. We die like men. Also part two is coming soon~

5:24

It definitely wasn’t every day that Virgil spent the early evening dancing around the kitchen while making dinner. But today was no ordinary day, and he was just too damn excited to stay still.

Figaro sat on the floor in the bedroom doorway, licking his paws and glaring disdainfully at the speaker system that had disrupted his nap. Virgil spotted the dark cat and grinned, dancing over to scoop him up. He hummed along to the music, bopping the disgruntled cat to the beat (much to his chagrin). Once upon a dream, Figaro might have fought tooth and nail at being used as a dance partner, but living with Roman for years had worn down his resolve. And after Virgil had entered their lives, he’d completely given up fighting their excuses for attention. Instead, the cat just yawned and went limp.

“Aw, did I wake you up, Figgy?”

The cat did not answer.

Virgil let him hop from his arms onto his scratching tower and went back to slicing spinach on the counter, humming along to the music. He wanted it louder, loud enough that it numbed the excited tremble in his hands and drowned out his internal butterflies, but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with noise complaints. Again.

Instead, he opened the drawer in front of him and ran his fingers over the small box he’d placed in there hours ago. As he’d done countless times since, he opened the lid to make sure that the ring inside was still there, still perfectly centered and shining as brightly as it had been when he’d picked it up earlier that morning.

Roman would never expect him to propose. Ask anyone who knew them and they’d agree that the romantic, outgoing, type-to-propose in their relationship wasn’t Virgil. Plus, he’d dropped no hints. Any time he met with Logan to plan, or went to the jewelers, and the million other things he’d had to do before this, he’d chalked it up to ‘having a bad day’ or ‘needing time alone’.

He felt… a little bad, knowing in the recent months many of Roman’s attempts at dates had been turned down, only half the time due to actual bad days. But it would all be worth it in the end. The plan was to start with dinner; the meal they’d had on their first real date, followed by Virgil suggesting a walk. As they put on their jackets, he’d sneak the ring box into his pocket, and innocently lead them past a cafe for dessert, “coincidentally” the spot where Roman had asked Virgil to move in with him. Finally, the park, strung up with fairy lights and electric candles Logan and Patton had set up just before. It was their perfect mix of solitude and ‘extra’. Virgil would propose, and Roman would hopefully say yes, and everything would be perfect and amazing and-

The oven timer beeped. There was fifteen minutes left for the dough to set; time to make the filling for the ravioli. But he’d barely started cooking the spinach when his phone chimed, alerting him of a text.

Hey V, dinner and a movie tonight? You can choose.

Virgil bit his lip and sighed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for a second. As old as the excuse was getting, he needed to side step Roman’s plans one more time. Just one last time.

not feeling well. anxietys been all over the place. sry.

He laid the phone back on the counter and returned his attention to the frying pan, flipping the greens and watching them wilt slowly. One eye on that, he pulled out his other ingredients from the fridge. He’d rather be ahead of schedule than behind.

Ding ding.

Yeah, shocker. What else is new.

Virgil felt his heart drop. That wasn’t… at all in character for his boyfriend. Yeah, he’d used the excuse more often lately, but was it that much? He stared at his phone, hardly breathing, trying to think of some way to answer that, when a burnt smell reached his nose.

“Shit,” He hissed, trading his phone for a spatula and turning the spinach once more. It was just on the brink of being overdone, just the edges turning a tad too dark, but nothing he couldn’t save. He scraped the pan’s contents into a bowl to cool and dumped it in the sink. The hiss and steam of the hot pan in water made him wince (he’d been told a million times it was bad, but he couldn’t recall why), but he left it on the bottom of the sink to fill and soak. Scrubbing dried spinach off it tomorrow would really put a damper on the ‘recently engaged’ mood.

“Mrow?”

Virgil shut off the water and turned to the trill, cursing when he realized Figaro had abandoned his tower in favor of sniffing the food on the counter.

“Figgy, no! Get down!” He plucked him away from the bowl just as he looked ready to pounce inside, much to the cat’s annoyance. “You would just spit it out, you big baby. Don’t look at me like that.” It probably wasn’t safe to keep cooking with the cat around anyways, so he went to their room and left him on their bed with a soft order to behave. Figaro blinked once at him with indignation before the door was closed, and Virgil hurriedly pulled out his phone.

Real mature, not answering.

Virgil took a deep breath to push down the rising anxiety. He’s… probably just playing around, right? It’s probably meant in a lighthearted way but he was just misinterpreting the text harshly. It’s not malicious. Right?

sry, put figgy away

He paused for a moment, before shooting another quick text.

ur not actually mad right?

The typing bubble appeared.

And went away.

And popped up again.

And vanished.

That was enough confirmation to get Virgil’s heart pounding, all hope that Roman was just fooling around out the window. He was typing again, and this bubble was staying for longer, but now it was too long to be a simple affirmation.

I don’t know, Virgil. You used to actually contribute to this relationship, and now I’m the only one really trying. We barely ever go out, for like a couple months now. You always dodge my plans. I miss the old you, because right now I feel like I barely know you. I’m getting sick of it.

Now Virgil properly couldn’t breathe. That sounded like the beginning, if not the entirety, of a breakup if he ever heard one. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck his stupid ideas, his stupid plans, fuck all of it. This is his fault, and Roman’s about to dump him, because he took his overdramatic proposal too far and it was about to end their relationship.

I’ll be home late.

Okay, that wasn’t… a breakup? Unless, of course, he was going to do it in person, and needed time to plan how it was going to go.

Cognitive distortions, is that what Logan had called them? Magnifying? Is that what was happening right now? There was a solid chance that Logan would agree with him, say that he wasn’t actually sure what Roman planned, and it would probably be okay, but it was very hard to be objective when he was in the middle of it.

how late?

Another deep breath. He placed the phone next to his mixing bowl, screen up so he would be sure to see the notification, and absentmindedly added in the ingredients he’d pulled from the fridge earlier. Shit, did they have thyme?

Of course they did, he’d gone shopping for all the ingredients like two days ago. He needed to get out of his own head.

The final timer went off, signaling the dough was ready to be used. Before he unwrapped the ball and got his hands covered in the stuff, he checked the lock screen on his phone. Nothing.

It was fine, it was fine.

Rolling out the pasta into one thin sheet took far more effort than he would have thought, and it took embarrassingly long before he was able to lay it out on the big ice cube tray he was using in place of an actual ravioli mold. He checked his phone. Nothing.

Once he got the hang of filling the molds without making a huge mess, it was actually an easy process. He finished three and a half trays-worth before running out of dough and filling simultaneously, but that’s more than enough for the two of them. No answer yet.

ro?

He set a pot on the stove full of water but didn’t turn it on; it would just be one less thing to do when he was ready to cook the ravioli. For now, he placed the pasta in the fridge so it didn’t dry up. Roman generally got home from work at six, which he had prepared for, except on late rehearsal days when he was held back an extra hour. That’s what Virgil consciously chose to believe; he meant he’d be home late because it was a longer day. He wasn’t answering now because he was on stage. Technically it all made sense, but it wasn’t enough to relieve the icy grip around Virgil’s lungs.

romans gonna be late. push back an hour?

Logan sent back a thumbs up followed by his ‘-Logan’ sign off. Virgil sent a quick apology but didn’t bother to check the response when his phone lit up, focusing back on his plate of raw ravioli.

So, at five to seven, he’d boil the pasta and warm up the tomato sauce. It had been finished that morning and had been waiting in the fridge all day, because Virgil was a firm believer that it would taste better having had time to sit. Plus, he’d been excited, and had needed something to do with his hands.

But now he needs something to do with his hands again, but instead of excitement, it’s a tingling discomfort spreading through his limbs and curling in his stomach. Convinced that there was nothing else in the kitchen he could do, he untied the apron and pulled it over his head, pleased at the stark black button up he’d successfully kept flour-free. The satisfaction doesn’t last for long.

Now that he’d acknowledged his shirt, it was impossible to ignore the way it wrapped far too tight around his neck. It’s fine, he thought as he unbuttoned the top button, I still look okay.

He may as well set the table. Patton, similar to Roman in regards to going above and beyond, had insisted Virgil go all out for the dinner. Stark white table cloth, silverware set perfectly next to the plates, and a tall, white candle as the centrepiece. Virgil had cringed a bit at the idea, but after being assured that Roman would love it, he’d reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t his style but, well, the night wasn’t supposed to be about him, no really.

Watching TV did nothing to relieve the knot of uneasiness in his stomach, even when he unrolled his weighted blanket from the side basket and huddled into it. It brought a calm familiarity with it, and if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that someone was holding him. Patton’s soothing words, or Logan’s gravity, or Roman’s warmth or Roman’s safety or Roman’s gentleness or Roman-

6:53

Time to throw in the ravioli. He shut off the television, he hadn’t been watching it anyways, and turned the water on to boil. As it heated, he scuttled back to the table, some of his excitement returning. Sure, things had been tense on the phone, but Roman would be home any minute, and the rest of the night could go as planned. He pulls a small crinkle out of the white fabric and recenters the candle, stepping back to admire his work. It’s okay. If Roman had done it, it would probably look better, but who cared. It was fine.

7:01

Virgil sighed, looking over his final creation once again. A part of him was cringing with the cheesiness of it all; the lit candle, food already plated, a bottle of wine fresh from the fridge. Getting a new wine may have been too much of a giveaway, so the feature was a half finished bottle from their last date… a few months ago. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if it would pair well. He didn’t even like wine. But it was Roman’s favorite, so it would have to do.

He’d bitten three nails down to the nub by the time he figured he could add the tomato sauce over top. Roman was never later than seven, so the pasta wouldn’t even have the time to get soggy.

In a combination of unfortunate events unlike any Virgil had experienced before, the tomato sauce bubbled the moment he grabbed the handle, dozens of pinpricks of heat burning his hands. He yelped and dropped the saucepan in favor of grabbing his scalded hand, jumping back as the pot hit the side of the counter and sent tomato sauce flying directly into the open drawer next to it. In his search for a match to light the candle, he’d left open the drawer containing the ring box, and in moments, the velvety exterior was coated in a fresh layer of marinara.

“Fuck!” Virgil shouted.

Heat be damned, he grabbed the box from the steaming puddle around it and rushed it to the sink. Running it under water would just be asking for the situation to be worse so he tried to scrape off the mess with a dishcloth. Was this even salvageable?

No, it turned out. The white velvet had stained a shitty orange in a way he definitely couldn’t play off as the original color, and even though the interior (or god forbid the ring) hadn’t been touched, he found himself trying to fight off tears. This wasn’t fucking going well, and now…

7:28

Roman was never this late, not without telling him. Virgil checked his phone and, nope, only the previous message from Logan and a newer one, asking if they could set up yet. He sent a quick:

no, hes not home yet

Panicking was not a move he wanted to make right now, despite how his brain was trying to convince him otherwise. Roman was probably stuck in traffic, right? And Virgil was always getting on him for texting and driving, so that could be why he hadn’t said anything. Sure, the route from the theatre to their house was barely ever busy, and yeah, it was way too late for there to be real holdups, but there was a first time for everything.

He made quick work of cleaning up the disaster of marinara sauce, surprised that a decent amount was salvageable. Apparently in his panic he’d righted the pot before it had all spilled, so there was maybe just enough for the meals. The inside of the drawer was a stained, orange, mess, and the area under the burners was caked in dried sauce, and that was just too much work for right now. He slammed the drawer shut and threw a towel over the element. Out of sight, out of… well, not out of mind, but maybe it would take a backseat on ‘worries for the night’.

Might as well get a head start on dishes, he thought, since the thought of texting Roman is daunting and his whole body is aching for something to do. One second more of standing still and he may very well have combusted. He couldn’t even summon up the will to turn on music, the mood from before totally vanquished. If he could just get that burnt pan done, perhaps the tension in his chest would ease up a bit.

But he cleaned the pan, and the rest of the dishes, and scrubbed the sink, and Roman still wasn’t home. At some point when he’d decided to just finish all of the dirty cookware he’d rolled up his sleeves, which he quickly lowered and rebuttoned around his wrists. The dishes were drying; nothing left to do there.

He swallowed thickly. How was the shirt still too tight around his throat?

Virgil unbuttoned the next one down, hoping to ease the ball of fear in his throat. It didn’t help.

The food was lukewarm, at that point. It was still edible. It was microwaveable. It was fine. Again, the thought crossed his mind to text Roman, but what if he was driving? He might check it and get pulled over, and that would not help the uneasiness in their relationship right now. What if the phone’s light distracted him and he got into a car accident? He couldn’t lose Roman, not when their last words had been so strained, and it would be his fault on top? Not a chance. He’d be home any second now. He had to be.

Virgil quickly found himself under his weighted blanket once more, watching whatever sitcom was on with dissociated interest, arms wrapped around his waist in a vice grip and feet bouncing under the covers. This time, though, the television worked less as a distraction and more as grating noise in his skull and he muted it, but that didn't stop the sudden stream of noise. Water was running through the pipes under him, some of his neighbors were shouting, and the fridge was humming and the lights overhead were buzzing and it’s all so loud-

His sound blocking headphones were also in the basket next to the couch and he shoved them over his ears. The world went quiet except for the sounds of his shaky breathing; breathe in, and out, and in, and out…

8:07

With the thick padding over his ears, the only sound he could hear was his breathing. It was somewhat reminiscent of Darth Vader’s, seeming far too loud, but also a steady foundation for him to ground on. Without the outside distraction, it was far easier to focus on his breaths, to slow them down, to get into a rhythm of long inhales and longer exhales. Bit by bit, the swarm of butterflies that had clasped around his heart gave way, allowing the anxiety to morph into numb sadness.

If Roman had come home on time, would they be in the park already? Would they be engaged? Maybe they’d already be back home, sharing the news to their families. Roman would probably already be gushing about wedding ideas as Virgil nodded along in amusement. They probably could have convinced Patton and Logan to come home too, and they could have had a great rest of the evening, finishing the bottle of wine and reliving the past and…

Were they even going to get engaged at this point?

He fumbled for his phone and sent a text to Logan.

plans off. sry

The headphones were overly effective in silencing the world, now amplifying his thoughts too much, so he slid them off. He took a deep breath, the sound now camouflaged in the rest of the apartment’s noise. A lump formed in his throat as he took in the arrangement of the dining room, and the more he pushed it down, the harder it was to stem the tears that were steadily filling his eyes.

Virgil didn’t like feeling helpless, but that was all he felt at that moment.

Fuck.

Without forethought, he rubbed at his eyes, and instantly froze.

He drooped his head with a sigh that bordered on a groan, reluctantly lowering his hands from his face. Mixed in with his intercepted tears were the smudged remains of his makeup smeared across the web of his hands.

Might as well; everything else went to shit anyways.

Usually, Virgil didn’t spend more than a minute removing his makeup. But that day, he spent an inordinate amount of time scraping off every streak of color until his face felt raw, watching his hard work be erased. He’d spent forever getting it perfect.

Even after he finished, he couldn’t get himself to move. That familiar weight of anxiety was settling again into the pit of his stomach as rushes of adrenaline, but he found it impossible to tear his eyes away from the mirror. As he stared into his own eyes, he vaguely remembered reading somewhere that looking at yourself in low lighting could trick one’s brain, causing the face to morph into something totally different, oftentimes not human; monstrous. Something about the brain trying to find faces everywhere, and creating them where it can’t see one properly.

This didn’t happen to Virgil.

All he saw in the mirror was someone who had messed up his hope for a future.

Huh. So maybe a ‘monster’ wasn’t too far off.

He laughed humorlessly and finally flicked off the bathroom switch, reentering the living room. The candle was still burning strong on the table, a good half way down. Virgil blew it out.

9:12

The state of apathy Virgil had sunken into was violently replaced with sharp anxiety when he finally bothered to check his phone, realizing it was past nine o’clock. Once more he considered asking Roman if everything was okay (heh, as if anything was okay) but he was quickly reminded why he hadn’t in the first place. Light distracts a driving Roman, bad things happen, it’s all his fault…

Instead, he replied to Logan’s response.

Why? Virgil, what happened?

-Logan

we had a fight

His feet led him by their own will, pulling him to the wall so he could flip off the lights, dousing the apartment in darkness. Using the light from his phone screen, he stumbled to their room- or was it just Roman’s now? Would he have to move out? Oh god… where was he going to live?- ignoring Figaro’s mewls for pets.

What did this fight regard?

-Logan

idk. a bunch of stuff.

He stripped out of his formal shirt, hands shaking so bad he could barely undo the buttons, and exchanged it for his favorite hoodie. It may be too hot to sleep in, but he felt the need for comfort more than he was concerned about heat.

Virgil dropped onto the bed next to the clothes, finally relenting to Figaro’s complaining and stroking down his back. In the stillness of a silent apartment, it was suddenly harder than ever to not completely break down. At least he wiped off his makeup.

This was over dinner?

-Logan

no. over text. he never came home.

He allowed the first tears to fall.

Maybe this had all been building up for a while and Virgil had just been too dumb to see the signs. Was this the night he lost everything? Would the one person he never grew tired of, the only person he had truly loved, leave him? He didn’t know what he’d do without Roman and somehow, he didn’t think he’d have a hope of ever finding someone like him again.

The tremors and blurry vision made it difficult to type.

i think romans going to break up with me

It took barely half a second after it sent for his phone to start ringing, Logan’s name showing up on the caller ID.

Later, Virgil wouldn’t even remember pressing the answer button. The moment he heard Logan’s voice over the phone, his unusually concerned voice overlapping with Patton’s questions, the dam broke. He sobbed his way through an explanation the night, the text messages they’d swapped, and his snowball of anxiety.

To no surprise, the two on the other line immediately offered to come over, but Virgil declined. There was still the tiniest part of him, the littlest hope, that Roman was still going to walk through that door any second. If (when, when, when) he came home, they would need to talk, and it would complicate matters if Logan and Patton were there.

When he eventually yawned in the middle of a sentence, he was encouraged to go to bed. He really didn’t need to be convinced; he was more than ready for this evening to be over. After promises that he’ll update them first thing in the morning, and multiple reminders that Patton loved him, he was left alone in the apartment once again.

He curled into a ball on his side of the bed and cried himself to sleep.

Part two HERE!

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #angst #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #virgil sanders #roman sanders #romantic prinxiety #prinxiety

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soft-ris · 3 years

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🔩 Risotto Nero HC 🔩

I feel like he’s a mix between talkative and quiet. It really depends on who he’s with & the situation & the mood he’s in.

People he trusts? He’s gonna talk if it’s the right moment or if he feels like it. A bad day? Will vent if you (his partner) offers to listen. People he dislikes? Quiet & will shut u down if u ask him ‘whyre u so quiet?’ Or ‘are u shy’. Polite strangers? Simple answers & he won’t really put in an effort to keep the conversation going unless you’re a lovable elderly or a sweet little kid who is fascinated with him. His partner/lover/you? Talkative, but when it’s a topic he’s not very sure about/informed on then he’ll alternate between listening and asking questions. But he’s quiet (or well he’s actually actively listening) when you need him to lend a listening ear.

I also think he has a habit of thinking out loud/monologing when the situation gets interesting/tough 🤔 like the doppio/diavolo fight, when ur in bed and things heat up, or when some of the garlic he’s pan-frying begins to turn blue, etc.

#risotto #risotto nero #risotto x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jojo #jjba #not/sfw #jjba_stuff

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lilsweetiecake · 3 years

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~ goblin pistach panache cake ~

yogurt pistachio cake w/ black tea

buttercream & orange pomegranate drizzle

recipe below!

~goblin pistach panache cake~

a perfect cake to impress your goblin lover, happy valentine’s day <3

luv,

lil sweetie

gluten free, low lactose

ingredients

cake

9in cake pan

1 cup pistachios

1 tsp cornstarch

½ cup gluten free flour (highly recommend bobs red mill 1 to 1)

3 eggs

1 cup plain greek yogurt

½ cup sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

½ tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp cardamom

½ tsp baking soda

frosting

1 stick lactose-free butter (4 tbsp), divided into 2 halves

2 tbsp greek yogurt

half a tea bag of loose black tea leaves

2 bags of black tea to steep - or earl grey or chai or anything that floats ur boat

1 - 2 cups confectioners sugar

1 tsp cardamom

a few pinches of black pepper

a sprinkle of salt

drizzle

1 cup pomegranate juice

1 - 2 tbsp lemon juice (to taste)

1 tbsp orange zest

4 egg yolks

½ cup sugar

pinch of salt

2 tbsp butter

toppings

pistachios

raspberries

honeycomb

za’atar spice

sprinkles, salt, sugar, flowers, whatever!!!!!!!

how to make it

cake

preheat oven to 325 degrees

grease a 9inch cake pan with lactose-free butter/vegan butter/oil

in a food processor or blender, combine 1 cup pistachios + 1 tsp cornstarch. pulse on high, stopping to scrape down edges, until you have a fine meal/flour (like almond meal). careful not to over-blend, or u will end up with a paste from the pistachio oils, which is gross, unless ur into that sorta thing.

combine pistachio meal with ½ cup gluten free flour (or a lil more for less dense texture)

in a new bowl, whisk together 3 eggs, 1 cup plain greek yogurt, ½ cup sugar, 1 tablespoon vanilla extract, ½ tsp salt, 1 tsp cinnamon, 1 tsp cardamom. whisk it good, babe!

combine wet & dry ingredients

mix in ½ tsp baking soda

pour into cake pan & bake for 30 min, or until toothpick comes out clean

cool it! in the fridge/freezer/on ur countertop

frosting

in a saucepan, combine ½ stick of lactose-free butter (4 tbsp), ½ tea bag of loose black tea leaves (yes, dump ‘em in there & trash the rest), 2 bags of black tea to steep - or earl grey or chai or anything that floats ur boat.

melt butter & simmer while stirring for 10 min, until butter smells like a strong cup of tea

pour into bowl & chill until texture of room-temp butter, about 20 min

once chilled & hardened, remove from fridge

in a new bowl, combine the tea butter (start with half and add more to taste) with the other ½ of your butter, 2 tbsp greek yogurt, 1-2 cups confectioners sugar, 1 tsp cardamom, a few pinches of black pepper, a sprinkle of salt. whip with an electric mixer until buttercream-y.

drizzle

in a saucepan, reduce 1 cup pomegranate juice and 1 -2 tbsp lemon juice until syrupy

add 1 tbsp orange zest, stir for a couple min

remove from heat

in a bowl, whisk together 4 egg yolks, ½ cup sugar, then slowly add orange pomegranate syrup and salt and whisk again

pour mixture into double boiler until it thickens (no longer runny)

stir in 2 tbsp butter

chill in fridge

assemble cake (create beautiful masterpiece for attention)

gently remove cake from pan, place right side up on a stand or large plate

dust with confectioner’s sugar if u wanna idk!

pipe or spread buttercream on top

drizzle the drizzle and don’t b shy, dumdum

top with pistachios (toast em in the oven or in a fry pan for extra flavor), raspberries, and chunks of honeycomb

sprinkle on some za’atar spice and pink salt and some sugar or sprinkles or literally whatever!

FIN!

#cake #cakes #cakeoftheday #baking #homemade #pistachio #gluten free #glutenfreecake #glutenfreebaking #pistachiocake #blackteafrosting #earlgreyfrosting #blacktea #mediterranean #pomegranate #dessert #glutenfreedessert #lowfodmap

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dromaeocore · 4 years

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Food Opinions:

- STOP putting Unnecessary Pork in things

- seriously if you put bacon in a recipe that Does Not Need Bacon i'm closing out of it

- always roast or stir fry ur veggies. boiling is not an option (unless you're literally making a soup)

- chicken is a HOLDER for sauce and/or spices. chicken by itself is Disgusting fuck you

- always marinate ur chicken. Please

- cheese is good actually. Fuck you

- mix onions and garlic and shit into your burger patties it's fucking good

- medium rare is the most "done" a steak should be

- if your dish is 80% meat i'm not interested

- salt your got damn pasta water i should not need to say this twice

- YES put a pinch of salt in your cookies too it's a flavor enhancer u cretins

- recipes by mommy bloggers are almost always shit

- bay leaves. use 'em. don't actually know what they do but i've been using 'em my whole life and am too afraid to find out what happens otherwise

- if you have extra bread you don't know what to do with. toast em a bit. get some olive oil. get some herbs and garlic. congrats you're now sitting down in a nice italian restaurant

- add veggies to ur ramen. make a fuckin stir fry. don't use the packet it's gross use ur own spices instead

- sautee some diced onions/garlic/peppers/tomatoes and then add your bottled spaghetti sauce. also garlic/rosemary/red pepper/italian seasoning mix/salt/pepper and sugar and cocoa powder. simmer for a bit. makes it taste like homemade spaghetti sauce except it only takes 1 hour instead of 10

- white bread is only good for cinnamon toast and other sweet desserty things. please don't use it for savory sandwiches i'll cry

- you're not gonna soak those dry beans. splurge on the cans instead. (unless, of course, you DO soak your beans, in which case, can i have your patience???)

- vegetarian chilis are infinitely better than meat chilis. sorry but this is just fact

- cut up some sweet potatoes into fry shapes. olive oil. chili powder. garlic. paprika. cinnamon. salt. pepper. space em out in the oven @400 for 15 minutes. turn. 15 more minutes. (theoretically you "should" dust 'em with cornmeal or smth before all this so they get "crispy and not soggy and gross" but i like my fries soft. fuck you) BAM sweet potato fries

- soften some butter. add cinnamon and honey. BAM cinnamon honey butter for your sweet potato fries (you can also dip them in bbq sauce it's Good)

- i know i said this before but please roast your vegetables. if there's a vegetable you hate (or even all vegetables) try them roasted with some olive oil/salt/garlic/pepper/herbs/whatever other shit u want and I PROMISE u'll probably like them now

- MAC N CHEESE: THE RIGHT WAY. sautee a bit of finely diced onion + garlic. add flour. milk. salt. pepper. paprika. mustard. BAM u have a roux. sharp cheddar. monterey jack. gruyere? bit of parmesan. idk man just use whatever. melt. pour it on the noodles, al dente. into a big pan. u can use macs, i also like shells but cavatappi are super fun too. try to get a pasta with ridges. (i've heard some ppl put sour cream in at this stage but i haven't tried it yet.) sprinkle some more cheese on top. sautee some breadcrumbs in butter. put those on top too. bake in the oven @350 for 20 min.

- either that or just use some box mix. i like Annie's. but if you're gonna make mac n cheese from scratch make it RIGHT goddamnit

- this stopped being me complaining about food and started being me giving weird tips and recipes

#personal #cooking tag #food #sorry lads i got back into cooking and am infodumpinf

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melmonquartelz · 4 years

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Get ur high spray or nightquill or a frying pan/bat that should prob make u sleep unless ur in a coma for a few weeks or years

ah haaaaaaa okaaay lol

High time

weeeeeeeeee

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pokeheros-drama · 3 years

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Ooo apparently I didn’t scroll down enough. I’m blind lol. “No Taavi, I'm gonna disrespect your religion if it includes being discriminatory towards minorities Deal with it lmao.” Honestly you should do your research first. My religion was the first religion who was against discrimination. We gave women their rights before anyone else. We made slavery a sin before anyone else. We gave black people equal rights before anyone else. My religion is against discrimination. We were the first to treat people outside our religion as equals. So don’t you bring this discrimination thing to me. We believe there is a difference between choices and things which he have no choice over. Caste, colour, creed, sex etc are things you can’t choose. Our religion and in some cases sexuality are things we can choose. We do not disrespect. We do not force you to become Muslims and start believing in what we believe In. We do not force our practices on you. In a Muslim state a Christian, a gay, and everyone of the minorities can live with security and with respect as long as they follow the law. That is Islam. That is my religion. Im not denying Muslims have done hate crimes in the past. But don’t forget Christians have too. There are black sheep’s who show extremist behaviour everywhere. But that is not our religion. If besides all that you continue to disrespect my religion and judge it based on the extremists. Then that just shows who you are as a person and you should be ashamed. “If your religion told you to jump off a bridge when you turn 50 would you still do that? If your religion told you black people were a mistake would you still believe that? If your religion told you in order to go to heaven you had to kill somebody would you still follow it?” As stated earlier my religion was the first one to give black people their rights so them being a mistake is out of question. I doubt my religion would ever tell me anything like this. But for questions sake. No I won’t kill the person. At least not without knowing why they want me to kill the person. But unless it’s not anything major no I won’t kill him. Again as stated before I don’t just blindly follow my religion. I have been given a brain to differentiate right from wrong. So I use it to decide if I want to do something or not. About the jumping from bridge. I believe enough in my religion to know it won’t just ask me to do something for no reason. But to be honest unless they tell me that reason I won’t jump. Again as stated before I don’t just blindly follow my religion. I have been given a brain to differentiate right from wrong. So I use it to decide if I want to do something or not “Taavi shut the fuck up already, no one cares about ur long ass replys.” You cared enough to write this. Just don’t read them if you don’t want to. “Her age was never specified on the feed. Age and sex aside, nobody owes it you to be nice. By posting that feed publicly, it shows that you're still salty over their actions despite you "understanding and not insisting anymore".” Yeah I never mentioned her exact age. True. But I clearly remember saying child/girl and not women. So don’t spin my words please. I wasn’t salty about her not being nice, I was salty about the things that drove her to be like that. I was salty about the world we live in, in which kids have to afraid of other people offering help. Whether that is the fault of society or the way this stupid world works. And honestly if you can’t understand that then there’s no point in continuing this. “I don't even know Taavi but honestly if you defend homophobic/transphobic/racist/sexist/bigoted people you're no better than the people you're defending. People have been murdered for this. Killed in the fucking streets. Executed in their own homes. And even if they're not killed, you cannot fathom the mental and emotional abuse these people face every day just for being "different from the norm." Any religion that says "turn a blind eye to bigotry uwu" is a shitty-ass religion. Trans rights.” Ok so first the people you are mentioning are extremists. I’d like to make it clear I am against all kinds of extremist behaviour. Sadly there are extremists in every religion and society. let’s just say for a second that person A is trans. Person B is transphobic. They are against trans people. They hate them, don’t respect them and believe they shouldn’t have equal rights. Person C is not transphobic. They respect trans people. They treat them as equal and believe they should have equal rights. They just don’t support them. They don’t believe being trans is the right thing to do but if someone is they got nothing against it. Now Person A is in the white zone. Person B is in the black zone. You guys automatically put person C in the black zone too when in reality they are a shade of grey. So does person C deserve the same witch hunt person B gets? No they don’t. Yet they are treated the same. Does everyone has to support you to be a good person and if they don’t see eye to eye with you they are automatically a bad person? Then explain the difference between you and the person B? Why is it just not ok to just like not support anything. I treat you with respect as much as I treat the straights. I don’t judge you. Why can’t just not be enough? You guys want equal rights? What more equality you need? We literally treat you the same. “Taavi listen man I try very hard to understand where you're coming from and I don't believe you deserve hate at all, but I really don't understand what you want to sway your opinion on the subject at hand. Truth be told, you arent lgbtq, so you have No idea what the oppression and hate we face is like. So of course some of us will get rightfully upset when you say homophobes don't deserve the witch hunt. I personally try to educate before berating someone but even then some people aren't homophobic because they're uneducated, they are like that because it's safe for them to be that way in the eyes of Society(3). So to other lgbtq people the first resort is to make homophobia something to be ashamed of, so that, you know, less hatecrimes are committed. Obviously you wouldn't understand this though, or at least not as much as we do, because you arent lgbtq. You have talked to me and my friend and we try our best to help educate you so I dont get why you haven't changed your opinion really. Just because some others get mad at you, from years of repressed oppression? I just don't understand it. - pokeheroes dot com user Riordan-“ First of all I respect you a lot for not hiding behind the mask of anonymity. More then anyone on here at least. As mentioned above all I want is for people to not treat us people in the grey zone the same way they treat the people in the black. Yes sure we aren’t in the white. But we aren’t in the black either. We don’t deserve this witch hunt these people start every time. My friends aren’t even transphobic but they just labelled them as one and continue to spout hate about them. I honestly myself believe that the people who harm others deserve the criticism yes, but me or my friends never harmed anyone. Name one person I disrespected, or treated badly just cause they were not straight. I’m sorry I can’t agree with everyone on the matter that it’s perfectly alright to be gay or whatever. I won’t force my opinion on you. I won’t ask you to stop being you. I won’t judge you just cause of that. I will respect you as much as I do others. All I want it you do the same. I’m not harming anyone. So why do you force your opinions on me. Why can’t you respect me? Why do you judge me? As to the part of you guys educating me. Trust me that is seriously very much appreciated. Maybe one day I will change my opinions. That day isn’t here yet sadly. Also I do understand the oppression they feel. Trust me I know it a lot more then you would think. (Maybe one day you will but that day isn’t t near) I also understand the hate you are talking about. It isn’t much different from the hate islamophobics give to Muslims. Just for being a Muslim I’ve been hated in the past. Just for being from Pakistan I’ve been hated in the past. That’s why I’m saying. There are people who just don’t support your views. I have seen aethists, Christians, Hindus and many more who don’t meet eye to eye with me on my views. They don’t consider my beliefs right. I don’t consider theirs. But we respect each other’s beliefs. You know? It wouldn’t be fair to categorise those who don’t look eye to eye with me but still respect me and treat me the same way they treat others in the same category as people who are against my beliefs and just wish Islam would disappear from this world. Who don’t respect me and my beliefs. Get what I’m saying? Honestly I could care less if people start getting attracted to their cars or their frying pan. It’s their choice. Sure I won’t support it. I won’t be like it’s perfectly alright to be like that. But I won’t be against it either. If someone is that’s their choice. I don’t care. I will treat them the same I treat any other person. End of story. ~~~~~~~ Love Taavi

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mochees · 4 years

Text

"𝗱𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰"

-> headcanons, they do be gettin domestic out here huh

characters: daichi, sugawara, asahi, bokuto x gn!reader

warnings: SFW & slight NSFW gender-neutral headcannons

wc: 1.2K

a/n: my second ever fan material is dedicated to vanessa and valerie i love u both thank u for being my personal hypewomen this is for u, a little POUR of domesticity <3

Daichi Sawamura

housework is generally split 50/50, but when one of you has had a long day more often than not the other will do more to make it 75/25

is an AMAZING chef

you cant fight me on this he's a whiz in the kitchen

you take turns setting up date night and one of his favourite things to do for you is cook

on weekends he sleeps in and you use it as time to make him breakfast and work on your cooking skills but as soon as he smells it or hears you hes up and on you

he'll stand behind you and wrap himself around you trying to help or guide you in any way he can while simultaneously kissing your head and telling you how much he loves you serving as more of a distraction than praise

after breakfast he'll INSIST on doing the dishes so you have to settle for helping each other before it turns into an all out WAR

avid pet name user likes to call you: honey, sweetie, love, babycakes, and babe

grocery shopping? COUPLES ACTIVITY

BUT ALSO A RACE/COMPETITION TO SEE WHO CAN GET THE PRODUCE AND MEAT/DAIRY THE FASTEST

when everythings been done in the house or you're both just tired he'll lay down on the couch and pull you down with him and you could stay in his arms like that for literal hours especially when he puts a blanket on the two of you and a movie's playing or even if you just straight up nap together 🥺🥺🥺

full on hot and heavy make out sessions

like literally anywhere

this man LOVES you

common knowledge at this point that daichi sawamura is a dom and a kinky MF

is open to trying anything in the bedroom before he makes a final decision

but is also very concerned about your comfort and consent!!! safe respectful sex people !!!!

gives strong dog lover vibes, probably would want to get a big dog with you something like a dalmation, retriever/lab, or german shephard

would absolutely LOVE that dog and you would have to fight the dog over your man before you lose him forever

Asahi Azumane

lisTEN UP Y'ALL CAUSE THIS IS IT the beat that im bangin is delicious 🤪

this MF is SOFT for you

like we already been knew hes a big teddy bear but this man? this man STARES at you 24/7 in absolute AWE

he goddamn LOVES YOU

would probably have proposed like no sooner than a year into your relationship (if marriage is ur thing if not NICE yall cool AF LIVE THAT NO GOVERNMENT INVOLVED LIFESTYLE)

anyway, when you go grocery shopping he will not let you carry any heavy bags. you can carry the bread and like maybe a bag of potatoes but thats it.

also loves to cook for you

hes no whiz in the kitchen but god damn he puts his heart and SOUL into cooking for you

but he loves it when you cook for him because "anything you make is amazing sweetheart"

doesn't use a variety of petnames especially baby and babe because he feels they're too objectifying so he only really uses sweetheart and love

unless you're in the bedroom, then baby and babe are free real estate.

is shy at first but after a few times knows EXACTLY how to treat you RIGHT

definitely wants kids probably 2, MAYBE 3

ideally wants a boy and a girl but oh boy, if he had two girls, spoiled little babies, daddys girls

this man he drinks tea. real men drink TEA.

hes got that earl grey with two teaspoons of sugar vibe goin on

you have multiple TV shows on the go together and you love to sit down at the end of the day or on a free weekend and just straight up BINGE until your eyelids are heavy

afterwards you'll cuddle in bed and fall asleep within minutes and just hold each other all night 🥺🥺🥺

Koushi Sugawara

he BABIES you

like not in a "i view you as incompetent" way but in a just genuine love and affection "my s/o is baby" way

like Asahi, he watches you in awe like you're a newborn baby just developing motor and speech skills

cooking is like a split evenly thing and u both love it just as much when you cook for each other so its not really a huge part of your romance

HOWEVER food COULD be part of your romance ;)

im talking like whipcream maybe some body shots ;) who knows! not you! suga is like johzenji in bed! crazy and a little confused he's unpredictable!

anywho, also enjoys the mundane things like grocery shopping what else do adults do i dont know im only in twelfth grade and i still sleep in until 11

pet names!!! uses!! pet names!!!!! LOVES pet names!!!! honey, sweetheart, love, he likes the more affectionate, mushy ones

although if other guys are flirting with u and he gets jealous he will NOT hesitate to call u babe/baby in front of them

you call him sugar. if you don't you're lying.

he's not super built like some of the other guys but he does still have a bit of muscle obvi, and the best part is because hes not super built he SQUISHY

SO HIS CUDDLES ARE JEJEJEWJ THE BEST

likes to go on walks together as frequently as you can, weather not really dependant and he WILL hold your hand and he WILL kiss it

if its really hot that day on your walk he'll buy you icecream and if its colder probably hot chocolate, or coffee or something

idk why but,,, i feel like he gives the best massages?? like maybe its because he's a setter and he's got those good hands ;) but just,,, i need a suga back rub :((((

Koutarou Bokuto

bokuto drinks his RESPECT MY S/O JUICE DAILY

is BAD AT COOKING DO NOT LET HIM IN THE KITCHEN

your cast iron frying pan will CHIP

he will confuse salt and sugar and probably flour and icing sugar

so just either bokuto-proof your kitchen or put a goddamn steel door with a retinal scanner

suspiciously good at cleaning

like everytime you see him clean your face visibly makes a ???

because this man has approximately no braincells???

what the fuck is he??? a male cinderella????

BUT u dont complain when he does

1, because it helps evenly divide the basic domestic needs of eating and cleaning