One of the best things about Chrysalis is that each chapter is named after a food item. And since I’m obsessed with food in fics, this is my interpretation in menu form! Please click on the image for a better reading experience. 🤣🤣🤣
Thank you @bewires for writing this awesome story. Definitely one of my all time fav TOG comfort fics!
joke’s on darcy, lizzie happens to be besties with mrs collins so do you know what that means? visits. do you know who mrs collins will inevitably bring WITH her???
mr collins. buckle in for some one-sided conversations on the grandeur of pemberley and how there is but one estate only marginally finer, he thinks you will no doubt agree, which can only be, of course, rosing’s park, which can be viewed by his own very humble abode
they’ll all have their dinner and the women will retreat to another room and darcy will stare very, very imploringly to his wife to please, stay. like, please. this man doesn’t shut up. surely you want to talk to him. let’s tag team. please lizzie. he will ask of nothing from you for an entire fortnight if you please actually stay in the same room so mr collins will have SOMEWHERE ELSE to direct his onslaught of ass kissing. lizzie. lizzie.
So @boudoirwriter popped up out of the blue to ask my opinion on irn bru (my lifeblood) and the chat devolved into me explaining the difference between eating a burger with a doughnut for a bun drunk (revelatory) vs sober (revolting). This obviously inspired her to demand a fic on this topic, and somehow, the stars aligned and I managed to write the scene.
The following burger is real, but I tried a different, older iteration, and therefore can’t vouch for the new one. If you’re near a bread meats bread but, give it a try. (Don’t get onions but. Onions are foul.)
LUTHER BURGER £9
A must have! Caramelized glazed ring doughnut toasted and filled with a cheeseburger topped with candied bacon, gochujang mayo & crispy onions.
‘Mmm,’ says Joe, through tight and thin lips. “s delicious, Nile, thank you.’
He chews methodically, slow rolls of his jaw and none of his usual murmurs and gestures of delight. He looks like he’s trying to chew without ever letting what’s in his mouth touch his tongue.
'Yes Nile,’ agrees Nicky, calmly dissecting his already-fragile burger, unsticking a slice of gherkin from the upper doughnut bun. There’s visible icing on it, and when Nicky puts it on Joe’s plate, as he’s done with all kinds of pickles for almost a thousand years, Joe looks more like he’s seeing a live scorpion than his favourite crunchy sour snack. 'This is certainly a new experience for us.’
Andy has put away two already, and is eyeing the one Joe’s holding gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as he takes tiny bites.
'Yes,’ says Joe after swallowing heavily and downing half his glass of water immediately after. 'New experiences are so rare now, I’m glad we could share this one with you.’
'So you like it?’ asks Nile sceptically, watching with a raised eyebrow as Joe tries to be subtle about holding his breath as he takes another bite. Nicky isn’t even pretending to eat the bun anymore, just the inside of the burger in little carefully picked bits.
'Of course!’ Joe’s voice is jovial. His bite of burger is visibly bulging in his cheek. 'It’s delicious!’
’… Sure,’ drawls Nile, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. 'You know, I thought you’d take a bite and then make a big fuss about how disgusting it is, and how wasteful. It was going to be funny, but you had to ruin it by being so nice. Stop eating Joe, you can order a veggie burger instead. My treat.’
They all share bank accounts, so really it’s their treat, but it’s the thought that counts.
'What are you talking about?’ Joe flashes her a big grin. There’s burger sauce and doughnut glaze on his lower lip. Contrary to centuries of flirtatious habit, Nicky makes no move to wipe it off. 'This is fine, I don’t need a veggie burger. It’s part your culture, of course we like it. Thank you for sharing this with us!’
It’s sweet that even when it’s a blatant lie, Joe still speaks for himself and Nicky both. Nicky nods at his plate, not missing a beat. Andy reaches over and steals the plate from him shamelessly. He makes no move to stop her.
'This not my culture,’ says Nile, dropping her head in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at his big shiny eyes anymore. 'My culture is deep dish pizza. This is an atrocity.’
Joe’s affronted gasp echoes through the restaurant.
'I like it,’ says Andy around a massive bite, already reaching out her hand for Joe’s. 'Salty, sweet, lots of onion–what’s not to like?’
'How could you, Nile?’ Joe’s voice is wounded. Nile slouches deeper in her chair, rolling her eyes and praying for strength. 'I ate so much of that!’
'You ate a quarter of it, at best.’ Andy’s voice is dry as a bone, even as she chews.
'My beloved ate it also! You let us both suffer!’
Nicky rolls his eyes affectionately at Joe, handing him a serviette for his greasy hands.
'Nicky ate even less than you,’ says Andy, stealing Nile’s glass of juice with an intimidating amount of eye contact and a shit-eating grin. 'And he’s not complaining about it.’
'He’s still recovering.’ says Joe, so deadpan that it finally breaks Nile, and she can’t help but tilt her head back and laugh, loud and fond, at her ridiculous new family.
the meaning of life is summed up in the story elmer bendiner tells about how when he was a pilot the second world war, his plane was hit with a barrage of anti-aircraft fire from the nazi forces but the crew survived. and how everyone was saying it was a miracle until they investigated the shells that got in the fuselage and found there was no explosive charges in any of them. in one they found a note scribbled in czech, written by the person who had been forced to manufacture the shells, and it just said ‘this is all we can do for you now’.
every time i see someone acting tough online about how harm reduction is pointless and in some convoluted way worse than doing nothing i think about that person in some soul-destroying nazi factory in occupied czechoslovakia removing all of the explosive charges from their anti-aircraft shells and writing a note that they must have known would probably never be read, just to say ‘this is all we can do for you, and we’re going to do it’. they are trying to make us kill you and we refuse. i do think that maybe it’s all going to be okay.
as much as the concept of Jesus being a fairly normal lad has its charms, im personally very intrigued by the idea of him being just… extremely weird. not even in a mystical sense, just…….staggeringly BIZZARRE.
you go to the well to get some water, and here’s Miriam’s boy, staring at the sky, completely still. his expression is unreadable. you hazard a hello and ask how he’s doing, and he slowly, unblinkingly, lowers his gaze on you (he’s 8 and is missing his frontal teeth, not that this is making you any less uncomfortable) and says “I cannot speak of the state of my being, Nathan son of Saul, my brother, but rejoice for the water you shall take today will be as pure as the soul of the children of Heaven”
…you start sweating
normal person in 1st century Nazareth: making my way downtown, walking fast
*sees J boy, 8 yo, staring at you from across the street*
normal person: walking faster
even funnier, the only person 100% on board with his Prophetic Kid Talk is his mother Miriam, an otherwise placid, absolutely normal woman around 25 or so
kid JC, coming home at twilight, a single white dove following him and chirping with weirdly human-like precision:
moth̫́er,̦͌ ̮̉i h͙̉av͔̽e ͓͗b̘̃r̞̓o̮͘u̲̒gh̟͒t̺́ you a do̗͐ṽ͙e̢͘ ͈̾m͒͢a͈̽dē̝ ỏ̘f ͈̓c̆͜l͔̂aỷ͇ aṋ̑d̳̿ g͢͞i̹̾fted̖͡ ̻͐it ͓͂w̖̿it̎͜h t̥̃h͙͒e ̨̒m̧̂i̡̍ŗ͒â̫cḷ̔è̤ ̛̻of̞̅ l̘̈i̛̦fè̳
Miriam: ! that’s my little boy :) now let’s go get ready for dinner :)
her husband Yosef, a carpenter who only marginally got signed up for this:
This post is so Christian, but it’s the spicy kind of Christian that gets you murdered by other Christians for heresy, so I’m torn.
literally biggest form of compliment i’ve ever gotten
that means the angels are babysitters then
here have more
You guys really need to read Christopher Moore’s Lamb, if you haven’t.