#dinner time

These are 4to2 food conversions from Somik&Severinka, medium poly. Available anytime from the fridge (banana bread in dessert section), same Layer Cake Cooking Skill required. Invisible plate is required and included.

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Dinner time !!

What’s everyone’s favorite dinner?

Dinnertime - Bernadett Timko , 2023

Hungarian , b. 1992 -

The servants of the Figarland mansion watched with quiet bewilderment as you, the Lady of the house, stood in the kitchen to prepare dinner for yourself and your husband.

It was unusual, even considered improper among nobles, for a woman of your standing to bother with the dirty work. As always, you ignored all these archaic societal laws and did as you pleased.

Garling sat at the dinner table, impatiently tapping his finger against the armrest of his chair, having gone hungry all day thanks to his work, he was starving. It deeply troubled him that you were too stubborn to allow the slaves to do their work. After all, he preferred your hands soft and your fingers unburned.

"How much longer will it be, darling?" He called out to you before mumbling to himself that you'd look much cuter sitting in his lap.

You walked into the dining hall only a minute later, carrying two plates with vegetable stew on them. A pair of maids followed closely behind you, serving mixed salad with a light dressing as an appetizer.

Garling was perplexed, not only at the sight of your beautiful body in an apron, but because he was shocked at the lack of meat on the table. You chuckled and sat down across from him, watching his face morph from confusion to anger.

"Surely this must be a mistake, or perhaps a terrible joke," he scoffed and shoved the plate away from him like a pouting child. "Where's my steak, love? I only see the side dishes."

Your smile turned into a grin. You had expected a reaction like that, but tonight you weren’t going to give into his demands. Instead, you picked up your spoon and began to eat.

"It's a stew, that's the main dish, love," you replied proudly, which only seemed to agitate him more.

Garling stared at the soup like it was some kind of inedible abomination. He saw the carrot pieces floating around, the potatoes cut up into tiny pieces — but no trace of meat.

"A stew? Looks more like the leftovers we feed to the pigs," he complained arrogantly.

Your smile faltered. You knew he wasn’t going to be enthused about the small change in his diet, but to have your cooking insulted still hurt.

"It's a family recipe, I didn’t mean to insult you," you mumbled out, your appetite slowly fading.

Garling suddenly changed his demeanor when he saw the pain in your eyes. Although hesitantly, he did pick up his golden spoon and scooped up a tiny carrot piece. It felt incredibly demeaning to eat a dish most commonly associated with labor slaves or livestock, but he couldn’t bear to see his darling cry.

So he did the unthinkable — he put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed.

It was hard not to spit it out at first, then he slowly realized that the taste wasn’t bad. Not at all. Sure, he would have preferred a bloody steak or a pig roast, but this was a special meal. Made by your own two hands. The hands he had grown to love so dearly. He continued to eat, hummed in approval from time to time and your smile returned.

"And? What do you think?" You wondered, kicking your feet under the table when you saw that his plate was empty.

Garling wiped his lips with his embroidered handkerchief, his expression as calm and collected as always.

"It was … good," he commented, the corner of his lips curving up before he reached out to take your hand, "You're a wonderful cook, but next time I'd like a roast instead. And a salad on the side, if you insist."

Your husband leaned forward to kiss your hand.

"Of course, a few too many vegetables might poison the great Figarland Garling, we don’t want that," you replied with a smirk and he gently let his fangs grace your knuckles.

"May I request something for dessert?" He purred.