Modern Huts In Various Parts Of Africa. These Eco-friendly Dwellings Have Modern Amenities While Maintaining

MHA Wild AF for calling this man a villain when really he was just activating for basic human rights

Ms.NotSoIndependent

Stack Moore(Sinners2025)x black reader:

Genre: smut with very little angst

Summary: once stack comes from chicago. he realizes how independent you've become and the tension you have towards him

Preview: “I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

Word count: 1,192

Warning: the content with in this story contains sexual themes of aggressive conversations, fingering, smut, cunnilingus

It had been about two weeks since Stack came back into town after he and his brother's unannounced trip. He returned thinking the same sweet, charismatic, and loving girl he left behind would greet him with hugs and kisses. Instead, he was met with a cold, nonchalant, and independent woman who wouldn’t even give him a passing glance.

He knew leaving without telling you was wrong, so he had been trying to make up for it by helping you reach dishes on the top shelf, fixing the leaky sink, even offering to carry your groceries home. But every time, he was either ignored, brushed off, or straight-up told you didn’t need his help. Stack had been trying to keep his cool, hoping you’d eventually break out of this bratty phase. But today... you pushed him too far. And he snapped.

You were already having a rough day. The chores around the house stacked up as high as the dishes in the sink. Your mood was on edge when Stack decided to stop by.

“What you got planned for today?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

You didn’t even bother responding to the man whose voice irritated you every time he spoke.

“Okay… still being a brat,” he mumbled under his breath. You turned around and shot him the dirtiest look you could manage.

Leaning lazily against a chair in the kitchen, he stayed unfazed. “Me and my brother are having the grand opening of the juke joint tonight. I want you there for me.”You immediately responded, almost cutting him off, “Not interested. I got too much to do around the house anyway.” You went back to scrubbing the dishes without giving him another look. Stack took it as another chance to lend a hand. “Well, then let me help you. I really wa—”, “I don’t need your help, Stack!” you snapped, swinging around too fast. The dish in your hand slipped and shattered across the floor. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath. You dropped to your knees to pick up the broken pieces carefully. “I don’t even know why you’re here. You left me. I’ve moved on. You need to do the same.”you said coldly.

Stack’s face dropped. His patience finally ran out. “You know I’ve been tryin’ to be nice to you,” he said lowly, the tension in the room thickening. The house grew suffocatingly silent.

Stack started walking toward you, the crunch of porcelain under his boots echoing off the walls.

“I knew you’d be mad... but you been treatin’ me like I'm just any other normal ass nigga. Like I don’t mean nothin’ to you,” he said, squatting in front of you so you were eye level.“Obviously, you forgot who the fuck I am... so let me remind you real quick.”

You stood up just as he did, trying to hold your ground.“I don’t know what the hell you talkin’ about.”He stepped forward, closing the space between you, backing you into the kitchen counter.You could feel the heat radiating off his body.“Boy, move,” you warned, trying to slip past him, but he grabbed your wrists, holding you in place. He leaned into your ear. “You forgot what it felt like when daddy was here to take care of you. But I'm back now... and I ain't goin’ nowhere.” His words made your breath hitch.

Your eyes scanned his face, trying to tell if he was serious. He started kissing down your neck, rubbing your curves, slowly lifting your dress. You gasped at the way his hands roamed, but you had longed for his touch for too long to push him away. “Stack... move,” you tried to protest, your voice trembling with hidden moans.His mouth found your sweet spot near your jawline, making your knees buckle. Stack noticed immediately, smirking against your skin.

“See? All that 'I don’t need you' bullshit...” he murmured. “But your body can’t lie to me, baby.”

You hated how your body betrayed you.But with Stack... you couldn’t even fight it.You barely registered being lifted onto the counter until you felt the cold countertop on your skin, making you gasp. Stack ran his hands up your thighs, giving small squeezes, reaching your panties.The rough pads of his fingers and his husky cologne made you melt.

He stopped, looking you directly in the eyes as he rubbed you through your panties.

Your moans slipped out despite yourself.He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough. He leaned closer, only inches away from your face.

“Tell me you want me to leave... and I'll go.”You wanted to slap him. Push him away. Cuss him out for the pain he caused when he left. But no words came out, only breathless moans. Because deep down, you didn’t want him to leave. And he knew it.

Stack smirked, feeling your surrender.

He ripped your panties off, slipping two fingers inside you, massaging your breast with his other hand.“I know you’re mad at me for leavin’,” he growled, “but daddy’s back now. And I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?”He slowed the movement of his fingers to an agonizing pace, waiting for your answer.“O-Okay,” you finally whimpered out, desperate for him to keep going.

He chuckled lowly. “...Okay what?” he teased, stopping again.“Okay, Daddy!” you cried out. Proud, Stack laughed in your face, cocky as ever. “There’s my girl.”

He slipped his fingers out and pushed them into your mouth.You sucked eagerly, happy to have your man back. Then he kissed you, a long, heated kiss that felt like a lifetime of waiting poured into it. When he finally broke away, he stared at your swollen lips, the hickeys blooming on your neck, the sweat forming on your skin.“Let me take care of you. Make up for lost time.”

Stack dropped to his knees between your thighs, kissing you everywhere until he reached your pussy. Without hesitation, he started devouring you, like he had been starving for you.You almost lost control instantly, gripping the back of his head, moaning his name.When you started grinding against his face, chasing the high he was giving you, he locked eyes with you.The sight nearly pushed you over the edge. But just when you were about to cum, Stack abruptly pulled away.

“Wait—Stack, please,” you whined, desperate for more.

He smirked, standing up, adjusting his suit while your juices still coated his face.

“And you said you didn’t need me,” he teased. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small wad of cash and tucked it between your breasts, brushing your skin just enough to make you shiver. “Now go get you a new dress, shoes, and get pretty for me. Cause we're going dancing tonight” He kissed your lips one last time before heading to the front door.Before closing it behind him, he turned and shot you a wink with his signature smirk. You couldn’t help but smile, still aching for the touch you swore you didn’t need.

~ first post I hope yall like it!💫

Sorry for not being on in, like, forever. Life’s just gotten in the way.

Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about today. What I really wanted to focus on is something I’ve been thinking a lot on lately, and that’s the idea of asshole characters.

Obviously asshole characters come in all shapes and sizes. Each have their own motivations for being an asshole and/or unfriendly individual. Katsuki, Shota, and Hitoshi are asshole characters themselves, but why is it that I dislike them so much?

At first I thought I didn’t like asshole characters in general. However, I then remembered that there are several characters people would classify as assholes/unfriendly individuals that are characters I adore. Lysithea from Fire Emblem 2 Houses and Natsuki from Doki Doki Literature Club are characters who are rough around the edges and aren’t nice to people immediately. The reasons behind their behavior aren’t too far off from why Shota and Hitoshi act the way they do, that being trauma, so why am I able to look past their behavior and not that of Shota and Hitoshi? With Katsuki, it’s obvious, but the other two had me scratching my head for a bit.

The answer, outside of the fact that Lysithea and Natsuki are multi-layered characters written far better than Shota and Hitoshi, is that the girls are REACTIVE assholes while Hitoshi and Shota are ACTIVE assholes.

What do I mean by that? Well both Lysithea and Natsuki for the most part keep to themselves. Something that someone does ends up causing them to snap. For Lysithea, it’s when she feels that her time is being wasted after someone approaches her about something irrelevant. For Natsuki, it’s a defensive mechanism triggered by a perceived attack on her character. Now, is that an excuse for their behavior? No. There are better ways to defend yourself and to get people to stop talking to you, but it’s at least understandable that they’d snap due to their traumas.

Katsuki, Hitoshi, and Shota aren’t like that. When they’re an asshole, it isn’t because they’re provoked into being one by someone else’s actions, but because they’re the ones doing the provoking. Katsuki’s rude and aggressive to everyone around him, choosing to make the life of another boy absolutely miserable without any provocation. Hitoshi decides to mock 1-A and issue his “challenge” not because anyone approached him, but because he himself is looking for trouble. Yeah, Katsuki gave off a shitty first impression, but Hitoshi already was planning on challenging 1-A from the beginning. Shota’s the one who controls his teaching style and is a position of authority. Rather than do his job, he’d rather tear someone down.

Am I supposed to sympathize with these so-called heroes? I for the life of me can’t seem to do so. Meanwhile, with characters like Lysithea and Natsuki, I can because they don’t mean to be an asshole, it’s just that they want to be left alone.

Now, am I saying reactive assholes are better characters than proactive assholes? No. Proactive assholes can have great character development. The problem is that proactive assholes are tougher to warm up to, especially when they’re meant to characters the audience is meant to root for. MHA’s writing does nothing TO make people want to root for these guys. They’re just assholes who wanna throw their weight around and never receive punishment for it/are called out for it. Hell, MHA seems to think these characters ARE in the right for being the way they are and/or doesn’t take the fact that they are assholes seriously (looking at you Katsuki).

Anyways, I thought I’d write this up to really explain more of my thought process and why Katsuki, Hitoshi, and Shota bother me so much whereas I find myself adoring characters such as Lysithea and Natsuki.

I’m gonna pretend he’s alive and they eventually get along and become mates, Ok? Ok

↳ Nanami x Tiana

↳ After Nanami's return to jujutsu society, he is tasked with an overseas mission, one smack dab in the center of New Orleans, a place with magic, curses, culture...And a woman who mirrors him far too closely, but with enough spitfire to challenge him and a smile sweeter than the beignets she makes. With an eleven day countdown and the safety of New Orleans on the brink, can Nanami differentiate between magic and voodoo, curse and love?

↳ Genre: Romance, Slight pining, Modern AU

↳ Warnings: None ↳ Word count: 4K

↳ Notes: Tiana's story occurs in the 1920's, but I took the liberty of bringing the timeline to the present, aka the 2010's. This also means that Nanami is in his early twenties, when he just quit being a salaryman and went back to jujutsu society.

| Series masterpost | Next chapter. . . |

This place reminded Nanami of Tokyo a lot. Loud, crowded, hot and humid. Human.

The air was more muggy here than in Tokyo actually. It was more dense, hanging in the air and weighing down the suit that now seemed too unnecessary and cumbersome.

‘No’ , he adjusted his tie, and weaved his way through the outskirts of the crowd. He was a sorcerer, and wherever he went he had an image to maintain.

A sorcerer. It felt strange to call himself that again, after four years as a salary-man. Strange but right. It was the only path that seemed right to him, the only one where he felt he could make the smallest differences. It was the only reason he came back.

It was the only reason he was here, six thousand nine hundred and five miles away from Tokyo, in the heart of New Orleans, creeping up on mardi gras season. Music blared from the balconies and in the streets, and Nanami sighed, sticking to the edge of the crowd, as best as he could.

He wouldn't be here exactly if he wanted to. But he hated owing debts, to anyone, much less the insufferable Gojo Satoru.

_ _ _ _ _

“It's a yearly mission for grade 1 and above sorcerers,” Gojo Satoru laid on the couch, his too long legs dangling off the edge. “There aren't many sorcerers in America, but there are plenty of curse users.”

“Then why aren’t we sent to get rid of the curse users and then the curses? It seems like we’re attacking a symptom rather than the root cause.”

“Ah, my dear junior, see? This is where you need my expert knowledge and guidance,” He shot up like a cartoon character, lanky and exuberant.

“Curse users are identified as anyone who uses cursed energy against civilians, with the intent to cause harm. Or, are able to use cursed energy but are not labeled as sorcerers by jujutsu society. But, in the port city of New Orleans there's a special phenomenon. Almost the entire populace are labeled as curse users.”

Nanami's eyes widened behind his glasses. “How does that make any sense? People who are able to use cursed energy are already rare as it is, but an entire populace ?”

“Crazy, right? Even ordinary folks who stay there for an extended period of time are able to see cursed spirits, a general skill that's been lost to most people since the time of the Heian era,” Gojo supplied.

“Maybe it's due to the rich history of the land and the people that came before it. Maybe it's their longstanding voodoo and spiritual practice; though to call voodoo cursed energy is not really accurate, and kinda racist, you know? Anyways, your job is to take care of all the cursed spirits that arrive during the mardi gras season.”

“...And that's all?”

“Now don't think this will be easy kohai!” The idiot grins.

“Due to the highly superstitious and spiritual beliefs of the people, the curses grow strong and unnatural. Due to varying cultures and influences we don't know what kind of curse it'll be, just that it’ll be strong.” He points to Nanami.

“You will take care of all the curses, and the semi special grade that will appear sometime during the end of the season.”

“...This is going to be a very long term mission, isn't it?”

“Oh, don't be like that, Nanamin!” in a blink Gojo is draped over his shoulders like an annoying shawl.

“You just came back to us after four years of no contact, you have to prove yourself! And anyways, it's a very famous tourist attraction so you’ll have lots of fun there, a full week and a half of leisure, pretty much!” he sighs, frowning under that blindfold.

“Honestly, besides the curses it's a very fun, relaxing trip, you should be grateful I'm handing it off to you. Anyways, who else besides you can speak English so well? We need you Nanamin!”

That at least had some weight, a long term mission in America would need a sorcerer who had at least an intermediate level in english. He’d take the job, it seemed simple enough.

_ _ _ _ _

He understood exactly what Gojo meant when he entered the city, a peculiar wave of cursed energy flowing over his senses. It shocked him, how potent it was- the only times he felt energy this vivid and strong was when he was surrounded by other sorcerers, particularly in battle with other cursed users, both spilling cursed energy like blood, giving it their all.

But this was not a place of gloom–it was bright and cheerful and loud and colorful, there was the scent of something delicious in the air, and the people all around him looked self assured and content. The problem lay deeper into the city, and would show itself soon enough.

For now, he needs to find the place he's going to stay. Lodgings had been provided for him at a decent hotel, and after a long plane ride and bus, a full twenty hours of traveling, he was tired and irritated.

The crowd jostled along as he tried making his way, so that he could get to the hotel and rest already. He thought to ask for directions, but the was still getting used to the sounds here.

The language was thicker, richer; the accents ranged vibrantly and almost seemed like its own separate lingo, which he supposes it could be. He could make it out if he focused, so this was good practice for him.

His maternal grandfather had been Dutch, and insisted Nanami learn to speak it, as well as English, as he had with his mother. And just like the heritage he passed down, so too did he pass down the cursed energy; a carrier like his mother, curling softly in their core like the blonde shade of their hair until it at once bloomed in him. He was the only sorcerer in the entire family. They still think that he's a salary man.

There was a loud commotion further down the street, a large crowd of people moving his way, and he sighed hard, moving off the curb so he could let the crowd pass.

A lady suddenly fell not too far from him, landing right on the edge of the curb. And while people stopped to help her up, it was much too crowded, and they kept being accosted and jostled.

Nanami moved, forming a barrier between himself and the crowd so the lady could be helped. She was an older woman, and fixed her skewed hat as she was helped to her feet and the crowd started to thin.

“Oh goodness, If only I was young again to go charging through a crowd and carry on my way, yeah?” He held out his arm so she could straighten herself. She was tiny, brown eyes and a wide mouth, set in a warm smile. Her skin was dark and weathered; she looked kind, but also tired.

“Are you a tourist? Here to enjoy the last of the mardi gras season are you?”

“Something of the sort.” The words felt clunky on his tongue, but manageable. She patted his arm and smiled wider.

“You're not from around here are you? You must have come a long way.”

“From Tokyo ma’am. Are you alright? Are you heading somewhere?”

“Oh my lord, that's a long ways away. Are you-oh!” she took a step and stumbled, wincing as she leaned on his arm.

“Goodness, must of hurt my ankle in the scuffle.”

“Are you going anywhere? Let me escort you.” He couldn't leave this lady injured in the midst of this crowd. He could get her to sit somewhere, and phone someone to come to her aid.

“I’m heading over to that restaurant a couple streets down, my daughter works there and imma pay her a visit. She is always so busy, and never has any time to visit her poor ma.” He helped the lady, letting her lean onto his side he went down the street she gestured towards.

“So what brought you all the way here from your Tokyo young man?”

“I’m taking a vacation from work; I decided to go somewhere far away.”

“Well you certainly got the far part down. Did you just arrive? Forgive an old woman but you look a fright.” He's sure he does. After quitting his job he was finally able to get some decent sleep, before his missions started up again in earnest. He hasn't felt this tired in weeks.

“I’ll be going to my hotel after I drop you off ma’am.” She chuckled, and Nanami could smell her perfume, floral and powdery fresh.

“Well, thank you for helping out a frail lady. My name is Eudora. Eudora Breaux, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Nanami Kento. Likewise ma'am.”

She led him to the street and pointed him inside a bustling restaurant; despite the amount of people inside the servers and waitresses shouted out greetings to the lady as they stepped in, obviously familiar. Immediately a waiter ushered them to a table, where a large robust man sat with a pink clad lady, both the same shade of blonde.

They all greeted each other warmly, and Nanami was ready to leave, until they managed to drag a seat and pull him down, setting a plate of powdered beignets in front of him.

“Another tourist for the mardi gras season, huh? Welcome to New orleans! I'm the mayor of this town, you can call me Big Daddy La Bouff.” He wasn't going to call him that, ever. Mayor La Bouff hooked the lady next to him under his arm, near suffocating her in his affection.

“And this princess right here is my daughter, Charlotte La Bouff.” She was an elegant woman with bright eyes and a cheeky smile, as she introduced herself and held out a hand for him to shake. Her grip was surprisingly strong, for those dainty hands.

“Nice to meet you Sir, how's your stay been so far?”

“I just got off the bus, so I couldn't tell you, miss.”

“Oh!” She covered her mouth, her hands covered in delicate lace.

“You just got here? Goodness, do you have a place to stay?”

“This young man was on his way to his hotel when he stopped to help me, after I hurt my ankle,” Breaux cut in, wiping the powdered sugar from her lips.

“And what hotel are you staying at son?”

“The Peter and Paul hotel. If you could give me directions I could be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” La Bouff waved his hand.

“Guess what, I own that hotel! Its near booked with tourists now, so I'm not sure if you’d be able to get a room any time soon, son.”

“A colleague of mine booked me a room there, so I should be fine.”

“Well that's well and dandy then. And, you already met the owner,’ Miss La Bouff said conspiratorially, with a sneaky grin, “So if you have any problems or want a better room just speak up, ‘kay? I'm sure we can hook ya right up.”

“Charlotte! Just what are you saying? Is this how I taught you to do business?”

“'Buy cheap sell high', I know Daddy! But look at him, he seems like an honest, hardworking gentleman; I only want him to enjoy the last few days of Mardi gras in comfort! As a thank you for helping Mrs. Breaux, of course.”

He’d be comfortable if he could leave and get some rest before working tonight, but it would be rude if he just got up and left. He would have done it to anyone else, said his polite farewells and left, but he was in the presence of the mayor and his daughter, so it was best not to.

He reached out and took up one of the beignets in a napkin, biting into it. Immediately, the texture of the treat stunned him, and he swallowed. It was good. The slight crisp on the outside, the soft buttery layers of the inside, the sweetness of the powdered sugar. Like, really good.

“Are these the best darn Beignets you've ever had or what?” Mrs. Breaux rested her chin on her hand. “They’re made fresh here everyday and sell out fast, so lucky we came in to a fresh batch.”

He had to admit, these were incredibly good. Almost like they came from an actual bakery, and not a dime a dozen restaurant in this port city. And he’s traveled a bit and gone to some truly extraordinary bakeries. These were on par.

Memories of a brunnette baker flooded his mind, a heartfelt thank you, but he let it slip away to the back of his mind.

“Who made these? They’re delicious.”

“My baby girl, Tiana! I tell you, she's the best cook in this whole spot, and when she gets her own restaurant, people are gonna come here from everywhere .” It was easy to see how proud she was of her daughter, pride and love gleaming in her eyes.

“Ever since her daddy handed her a cooking spoon when she was five, she's been in love ever since.”

Hm, perhaps then…Maybe it’ll be alright to stay for a meal, if the beignets were this good.

“Then I’ll have to give my compliments to the chef.”

“That you will, and I’d like to see you fed before you go off your way. Look at how sharp and gaunt your cheekbones are!” His face was not gaunt, he just had a shaped face. Nevertheless, Mayor La Bouff chuckled jauntily.

“Those eastern types don't put on weight that easily miss Breaux. Strong and lean types I tell you. But I agree, let's get some food in this man's belly! Where is your daughter Breaux?”

“Right here folks, can I take your order?” Nanami turned and a young woman stood behind him. Her skin was dark, covered in a layer of sweat from all the humidity, a dark curl of hair escaping from her hair net. Nanami could recognize her, she had the same face as the woman he brought in here.

“Tiana!!” Miss la Bouffe shot up from her seat, rushing around the table to throw her arms around her friend. She quickly let go after noticing the sweat sheening her skin. She smiled bright at the lady, before taking stock of her mother, the way she kept her injured ankle raised.

"Oh, ma! Are you alright?!” She set down her notepad and came around to her mother, who raised her hands to wave her away.

“I’m fine, I'm fine girl. I fell and hurt my ankle a little but this man right here helped me.” She turned to him, and Nanami met her gaze.

His eyes were still covered by his glasses, but it seemed that didn't matter because her eyes immediately knew where to look. Her gaze was direct and scrutinizing, and he felt himself being evaluated. For a moment, he felt a fluctation of cursed energy, a slight waning, like opening a window to let in a breeze; But before he could really remark on that it slipped from his grasp. It was for no more than a second or two, and La Bouffe spoke up.

“We wanna get him a nice meal before we send him on his way, so give us the best you have to offer. Can you do that for us, Tiana?”

“Who do you think you're talking to?” She hadn't drawn her gaze away from his face as she took back her notepad. but she smiled at Nanami, analyzing him for a moment more and nodding.

“It can be a little hard to know what you want, but I got just the thing for you, A perfect taste of New Orleans. Don’t worry, you helped my mama so it's on the house.”

“I couldn’t possibly accept. I’m fine with paying.” Despite the trouble with changing currencies and how expensive things were in America. Damn their economy. But she shook her head, scribbling in her notepad.

“It’s fine, I insist. And I already know what you folks would like. I'll be out in just a minute.” She turned and left, disappearing past a door leading to the kitchens.

“Your daughter works as a waitress here as well?”

“Waitress and cook, when they’re short staffed like this, honestly she does it all,” Miss La Bouff sighed, fond and tired.

“She's trying to save up for her dream, owning her own restaurant. That girl’s a heck of a cook, and she's got a great head on her shoulders.”

“Which she all gets from her mama.” Mrs. Breaux flushed a little, bashful.

“It’s been hard on that girl. The towns never fully recovered from Hurricane Katrina, so there's been less jobs and less money to make. Still, she doesnt stop.” Mrs. Breuax sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Seriously, even if she's got free time she's either budgeting or meeting with realtors or cooking up new recipes; Charlotte girl, why don't you take her dancing or something?”

“I’ve tried Mrs. Breaux! We all have! She never wants to go!” The table burst into loud, playful conversation that only those close could, and Nanami zoned out.

He’ll go to his hotel and rest for a few hours, before he heads back out again to go curse hunting. There was another foreign sorcerer that he could meet up with, in case anything went wrong. They were ranked as a special grade, and according to the report, kept to themselves in the swamp, only leaving to help if the situation was dire. Introverted, but not unfriendly.

But he could deal with things for now, the way they were. In the meantime, he’ll dig for intel on this town, to help him parse out what kinds of curses he’ll be dealing with. It’ll take a few days to get an idea of what this semi special grade will be, since he doesn't know what kind of cursed energy surrounds this place.

Even now, he can feel it like a second skin, a film that won't dissolve on his tongue. There was something strange about this town, and it wasn't the strange amount of cursed energy either. Despite being in such a large crowd of people, he hasn't seen a single curse. Not even a single third grade, or flyhead or anything.

It was suspicious.

Miss Charlotte tapped on the table to get his attention, and he slipped out of his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Oh, you looked like you were lost in thought. I was asking what it's like up there in Tokyo? How different is it compared to here?

“...Not much, it's just as crowded, though not nearly this loud. And it's only ever this hot in the summers, which unfortunately is when I'm at my busiest.” Summers were notorious in jujustu society, people were hot and agitated, and it was an apt time for those with seasonal depression to have those feelings flare up, birthing more curses.

Miss Charlotte tilted her head. “Huh. What kind of salaryman is busy in the summer?”

“The kind that are in tokyo.”

“Hm, you dont look like a typical salaryman. I tell you though, that white suit is snazzy! Though you could have chosen a different tie. Was that one a gift maybe?” His tie was custom made, so it could match the wrapping around his blunt sword. It was perfectly fine.

He opened his mouth to maybe tell her that, but in a rush the young miss Breaux came bearing a platter of dishes, setting them around the table to their respective peoples.

“And for the mister, a plate of creole gumbo, it doesn't get more authentic than that,” She grinned at him, the same warm smile as her mother.

"I hope you enjoy.”

“It's your cooking Tiana, who wouldn't like it?” Charlotte rolled her eyes, already starting to dig in.

“If anything, you're gonna ruin him for any restaurant in this city!“

“Don’t be silly Charlotte.” She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure there are other restaurants he will want to try. It’s Mardi Gras season, everyone is creating new specials for the people to try out.” As they were talking he spooned some of the gumbo and rice, with an Itadakimasu, tasting it for himself.

Onion, bell pepper and okra simmered in a light roux, with spiced ham and shrimp mixed in, and served over white rice.

It was amazing.

“It's amazing. It tastes delicious.” The best thing he’s had since the airplane food, and the rushed onigiri he had on his way to the terminal. And honestly, it was the perfect first meal in this city. Maybe he didn't really need to visit another restaurant if this one here already seemed like the best one. The flavors weren't too heavy and everything was balanced--fresh and savory and a hint of spice.

‘Oh, I'm so glad you like it, Mister! Remember, it's on the house so no worries.”

“I’m going to pay for my food, it’d be rude otherwise.” He took a spoon and spoke again when he swallowed.

“This reminds me of a home dish, Hayashi rice. It's more of a beef stew though, served beside short grain rice.”

“There's no better compliment to a chef than when their food reminds someone of home. A beef stew, hm? What kind of beef? Could you make that with Wagyu beef, maybe?”

“If you’re feeling especially decadent, yes. Though it's more of a home meal.” He fed himself another spoon of the gumbo, the flavors delightfully balanced and rich. He had heard the food was good here, but this exceeded his expectations.

“Sir, might I ask where you'll be staying? I had heard that you might need directions.”

“He’s staying at one of Daddy’s hotels–The Paul and Peter Hotel specifically.”

“Oh, that's just northeast of the french quarter right? Well sir if you’d just head…” The directions were actually simple enough, and the food was also gone quickly. He wiped his mouth with a napkin , and as Mrs. Breaux gathered his plate, he stood and slipped a few bills into the side pocket of her apron.

“Hey, sir?! I told you said–”

“And I appreciate the sentiment, but there's no need. You're working hard and I simply want to pay my fair share. I left you a tip as well.” He set his napkin down, and before he remembered his manners he bowed his head towards the people at the table. Oh well, a mishap.

They didn’t seem too perturbed though, having charmed smiles on his face when he rose.

Miss Breaux had too many platters to hand the money back to him, so she just sighed and shook her head.

“I can see you’re a man of principle. Oh well, I’ll just have to owe you a meal then.’

“And you’re a rather stubborn woman. I assure you, there is no need.”

“Well, I said I'd like to repay you for helping my mama; foreign stranger from a strange land. I’ll pay you back before you leave this town, I promise you.” A playful challenge lit up her eyes, and he shrugged.

“You can certainly try. Anyways, the directions seem easy enough to follow, so thank you for your meal and time.”

“Come back again sometime, before you leave! We’d be glad to see you.” Miss La Bouffe waved enthusiastically, nearly tipping her father’s glass over. Mrs.Breaux set it right before it could fall.

“Preferably when it's less crowded. Early mornings are best, when the coffee and the bread is freshest. Have a good day young sir.” They waved him off, and he left the restaurant. It was hot outside, but compared to the restaurant it was just the slightest bit cooler.

He wasted a lot of time, but he didn’t feel it was a complete waste. Knowing the mayor and being on cordial terms with him could prove useful; He didn't forget the importance of building connections from his old job. It was an important thing not just for work but for life as well.

And the food was actually really good. He heard food was one of the many reasons people traveled so far to get here, and honestly, his hopes were lifted a little. It would at least get rid of some irritation over taking on this mission.

The restaurant was loud, crowded and hot, but quaint. And if Miss Breaux was a frequent cook there, it would be worth it to make another visit sometime soon. As long as she didn’t insist on giving him a free meal again.

Now if he could find a decent bar somewhere in his time here this mission might just become bearable.

love when this happened

lil sketch between commissions, have my take on muzan in the heian era

Muzan and Chronic Illness: an Essay of Sorts

Part of why I love Muzan in KnY is because I relate to him. While his objective actions in the story are obviously evil, I think he’s a lot more sympathetic than the writers want him to be. This essay explores Muzan’s backstory, his treatment by the narrative, and my feelings toward the use of his character. As such, it contains MAJOR MANGA SPOILERS. THIS IS YOUR WARNING. This piece is not trying to “cancel” KnY for ableism or to say anything about the views of the mangaka/anime screenwriters/etc. I enjoyed KnY, and if you’re thinking about giving it a shot, I do recommend it. This is just a self-reflective piece that I wrote to process my own experiences with chronic illnesses in my own life and analyze the nuances of a piece of media that I love.

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Dating Muzan Aesthetic