Alright Vegaspetes, your excitement over my streamer chef Vegas idea has given me tentative inspiration for the first time in months. Here’s a taste of a rough draft I’m working on.

The camera basically looked directly down onto the cooking surface, as though it was hovering on top of the chef’s head, taking in the same view as (what Pete assumed were) the chef’s very beautiful eyes. The hands—which may or may not have made appearances in Pete’s fantasies—were both strong and delicate at the same time. There were callouses on the pads of the fingers, but the backs of the chef’s hands were pale in a way that emphasized the bone structure. (Did Pete ever stop to think that maybe it was weird the way he was obsessed with a stranger’s bones? No, no he did not.)

Without preamble, the hands got to work. A small yellow onion was selected, and it’s wispy outer layers peeled away. The chef reached out of frame and his hand returned holding a knife with a matte black blade. Far faster than Pete would ever attempt (which was saying something seeing as how he had to train with knives multiple times a week), the chef turned the onion on its side, sliced it in half, and then set to slicing the halves, cutting and cutting until all that remained was a pile of thin onion strips. The chef used the knife to scoop them into a red bowl and then set it at the top left corner of the counter, just barely in view. With finesse, the chef wiped the knife clean with a damp black towel and swept a cluster of scallions into the cleared work space.

As a bonus for me, my ideas about this fic are also motivating me to cook again, something I’ve been too depressed to do for months, if not a full year. Vegaspete: good for the mental health.

jiggety-jig | Kinnporsche

Summary:

Pete's back from his family vacation. He's not okay.

Notes:

How long has this been sitting mostly finished on my hard drive? Let's not talk about it. I think this was originally a Whumptober fic, at one point. The title was going to be temporary but then it stuck - from the nursery rhyme "To Market, to Market", specifically the line "home again, home again, jiggety-jig."

Thanks to my wonderful @ameliarating for cajoling, encouraging, and finally bullying me into posting this. Couldn't do it without you. Also for the editing work and everything else, that too.

it's wild how i a lot of the time forget that the way i feel towards my breasts is not, in fact, normal, lmao

i just have to think about the talks in the girls’ locker room where if asked i was the only one to say i’d like a breast reduction if i had to choose and then got incredulous looks for that answer, lmao