Pie & warm coat (if you have it lol) for the fall ask game? - @void-botanist
october-themed writeblr ask game
🥧 pie: let’s talk about food in your wip. are there any special recipes or traditional meals? do any of your OCs cook or bake?
very sad to say that i can't really cook myself and therefore it just like, doesn't come up often in my work. in an older, abandoned wip, i remember drawing up a short comic where the characters are making Grandmama's Kielbasa Recipe but there were no actual details or anything. a lot of the food that *does* come up in my writing is take-out or, like, eat-in or whatever. i've written about spaghetti pretty often because even i can manage to swing that and that's nothing to write home about.
the most stand-out food fact in wolf's tooth rn is that lovise can't cook for shit but loves to try anyway. this is i think the most food-heavy wolf's tooth is ever going to get, frankly:
Large serving dishes and entire pots are rolled out of the kitchen on a serving cart. When Santo leans past Brionna to set a salad bowl in the center of the table he jostles her head with his bicep; she snaps her teeth at him, and he laughs. A wide pot of vegetable stew finds its way between empty plates and glasses and silverware onto a worn potholder. Brionna holds her breath when Lovise lifts the lid away, but when Jacqueline leans in to take a whiff of its heavy steam she risks her own curious inhale; the stew’s beef broth is overpowering, but it doesn’t smell burnt, and if she focuses Brionna can smell the sweet carrots and cabbage, the nutty, meaty potatoes.
Jack catches her eye. ‘Did this woman learn to cook while we weren’t looking?’
Brionna shrugs, turning to the head of the table where Ronda is turning a casserole dish crosswise to its length. She’s optimistic when her mother’s fingers alight on the lid’s round handle. She’s crushed when the lid rises and exposes the gnarled, blackened crust of what must have been macaroni in another life, and she watches Kirby’s face screw up as the sharp scent of it hits his nostrils.
“There’s plenty more of that,” Lovise assures the horrified, balking masses absently (as she’s occupied revealing the next of her abominations), “because I know how you all can eat.” (It’s a turkey, and its skin is flaking like parchment onto its platter, stuffed with and leaking something blessedly store-bought.) Brionna is calculating how politely she can eat only Lovise’s passable stew when her father sets a tray of bread loaves beside the stew pot that smells so overwhelmingly of butter that every head turns to follow it, to inhale deeply and expel each other bitter scent. Santo had baked this, himself; he’s positively radiating with pride, having outdone Lovise and saved the meal. He had to have known that he would, bragging to Ronda while he’d made a mess of their kitchen. Fuck, but there are basil leaves crowning the crust. He’s earned one hell of a birthday present.
i think i ought to consider food more often because i think that little elements like this can add a lot to a character, it just doesn't really occur to me to try because i find cooking personally very frustrating
🧥 warm coat: share a happy or fuzzy scene from your wip!
no fuzzy scenes written yet for my current wips because they're all about agonies, but i'll dig one up from wips past. [minutes pass] ok so these are also about agonies, but i have some sweet shit in my fanfics lol
Red wraps Frank's hand up in his, squeezing the meat of it so firmly there isn't an ounce of space left. "I've never had any reason to be afraid of you."
"No, you don't."
Frank tries to sound tender and reassuring, and Red takes the opportunity to break the tension.
"You can barely land a roundhouse." He teases. "Your footsteps are so heavy they can feel them down in the subway tunnels."
A grin breaks out across Frank's face and he rounds the counter to pull Red (bearing his broken arm in mind) to himself. "Piece of shit."
Red presses his cheek, more his ear, flush to Frank's chest, light smile on his own face while he slows and listens, lets his grip on Frank's hand loosen only for Frank's hold to tighten. He hums, and it radiates warmly between the two of them.
"You might know me."
Frank may not have Red's bat ears, but he finds that where Red's voice is soft it's heady with emotion. Tinged with bitterness, exhaled across Frank's heart. Crawling up his throat, settling sweetly at the back of his skull.
Frank mirrors that feeling, winds his free hand up Red's shoulder to his throat and only stops when his fingers meet short hair at the back of his neck. "I know everything I need to know t'know that I--"
He trips before the finish line; he can't make himself say it, feels like an ass for it. Like if he only tries hard enough he can give that to Red, like the way it sticks in his throat is a personal failing.
Frank flattens his palm to the nape of Red's neck, half surprised that he doesn't tense or lean away, wait for the rest. That's the important part, right? The words, the surety of them.
Red speaks again, the side of his mouth still moving over the thin shirt Frank wears so that it can be felt as well as heard. "Me too, Frank."
"What?"
"I love you, too, Frank."
Red says it so easily. Just like that first time, when he pinned Frank for a sucker. 'I like my chances' , he'd said. Cocky son-of-a-bitch.
He was right, though. Red's had Frank wrapped around his finger from the very start.
Frank trails his hand up into Red's hair, cradling his skull in his hand. Red pushes back against it like a satisfied cat. Frank clears his throat, "'S'at what I was gonna say?"
"I don't mean to dispute your ability to self-reflect," Red lowers their still-clasped hands to Frank's hip and then a bit farther, behind his back, "But I'm pretty sure you've been saying it for a while now."
Overconfident, self-righteous, cocky motherfucker. Perceptive son-of-a-bitch; pain in the ass.
Frank hides the surely embarrassing expression on his face in Red's hair, doesn't stop until his lips meet his own knuckles. What he asks next is muffled. "Yeah?"
"Unless you were trying to keep it a secret," Red amends, "In which case, I've never noticed anything beyond the platonic. Professional, even."
Frank's laughter, full-bodied, making his shoulders shake, is likewise muffled by soft, bright hair.
(that excerpt looks SO long on tumblr my god)
