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#burn your life down

nolita-fairytale · 11 months

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Pastry Chef Luca of the Bear Masterlist

burn your life down: (pastry chef luca x fem!reader)

leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep. it's a story about learning how to fall in love again, about second chances, finding inspiration, and that sometimes, change can be really, really good. (completed)

don't you worry there's still time (pastry chef luca oneshot, from the world of 'burn your life down')

headcanon: new year's ever & day with luca

burn your life down bonus content

meeting pastry chef luca headcanon (teaser for 'burn your life down')

pov: you're the main character of 'burn your life down' and this is your instagram grid (moodboard/social media pov)

pov: youre the head chef of kokuore - the restaurant in 'burn your life down'

a behind the scenes look at 'burn your life down'

the secondary characters - the kimuras & the mikkelson twins

instagram profiles for the secondary characters by @translatemunson

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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moocowmoocow · 2 years

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youtube

You've been planning to remember this So nothing will be lost in the end And you burn, burn, burn your life down

#tonight's song #tegan and sara #burn your life down

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 months

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I love Farmtale Sans a lot. But also, living in the country isn't always sunshine cottagecore magicalness. It can suck. But... here's some unromantic country stuff that I think could actually be very romantic when you're with him.

As mentioned before, the two of you end up spending a lot of time in the car together. The nearest big store is a ways away, after all. On those long drives, the radio often cuts out for long periods of time... it can feel pretty lonely, especially at night. But when you're together, it's alright. You sleep with your head against the passenger window, your coat over you, holding his unoccupied hand through the quiet.

He gets a call in the middle of the night from someone else further into the village that there's a surprise rain shower coming through tomorrow, and they need to move a lot of kit indoors ASAP before it hits. He grumbles, but heads out anyway. ... An hour or so later, in the middle of a dark cold field, he sees your flashlight rushing over to him. You have a flask of steaming soup and a tupperware box with a slice of hot pie inside. Despite your fear of the dark and bugs, you made your way out to him. He feels himself fall in love even harder, and just like that, the task takes half the time.

When your home is as exposed as country houses can get, the wind can be really fucking loud. Especially if your room is on the windward side of the house. It can sound like a train is driving over your bedroom at night. You decide to sleep on the couch, both because you can't sleep and because you're nervous about how loud it is; it's difficult to rest when you can literally hear the roof rattling and the shingles jumping up and down. Sans, even though his room is absolutely fine, opts to join you. He lights the fire and gets comfy with you, then stays awake so you feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. You wake up the next morning snuggled up to his chest.

The weather is horrendous pouring rain, cold and damp and treacherously muddy. But the animals have to be fed regardless of the weather. You both go out into the early morning darkness, feeding the chickens and cows, checking on the crops, making sure nothing is leaking, hands almost frozen. You come home absolutely drenched in a thick mixture of rain and mud. And as much as Papyrus complains, refusing to let either of you past the porch until you strip all your dirty items... he's got hot lunch waiting for you both, dry pyjamas and thick socks hanging up over the stove, warm blankets on the couch. There's nothing like the feeling of sheltering from a tempest in someplace cosy. Even if the power does keep going out.

#llamagines #you probably think he wants a cute sexy partner who lives & breathes the country life with a smile #but hes the most in love with you when youre complaining about it all but doing it anyway #hes most attracted to you when youre wrapped in 5 layers and pouting about the cold #you: The next time I see a spider I'm burning the house down #sans: [deeply and viscerally in love] ahhaha yeah

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nethnad · 6 months

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thinking about time lords and their fucked up little society again and i just realized how devastating the revelation of the drums in the end of time is in relation to the master's character.

because of all the renegade time lords in the universe, i think it's the master who most exemplifies the philosophical outlook that the time lords have towards the rest of the universe. they're stuffy observers, administrators, yes - but this position is one they've decided for themselves because of this concept of supremacy over other life forms. imposed and upheld this idea that other species that lack a time sense are less-than, primitive. and the master buys into this hard.

and i mean... compared to the doctor, the master is good at being a time lord. he buys into these supremacist concepts, this idea that every other species (and especially humans) is practically a meaningless ant in the grand scheme of the universe. takes it to the extreme, yes, but its the same underlying principle. he's a good student (despite whatever chibnall might think) - that one time lord from terror of the autons (identity forever a mystery) (its brax) even says "he did receive a higher degree of cosmic science than you." the master could play their game if he wanted to. he's remarkably comfortable with being on gallifrey/the idea of gallifrey(in eot/tlotl) than the doctor ever is. where the doctor avoids the subject of the lord presidency like the plague, the master is like "well if you kill the president you ARE the president! and then you have all of gallifrey!" and when the doctor destroys gallifrey (nominally), the master tries to rebuild it in the sound of drums/last of the time lords. tries to emulate their society. honor them in his little fucked up way. he brings them back from the time war!

and what does he get for it? how did the time lords treat him in response?

they decide to implant the sound of drums in his head, stretching back until he's a child. puts this insufferable noise, this splitting headache, in his head for his entire life. all so that they may live while he dies. because he is diseased, because of them. he has swallowed the pill, bought their propaganda, he has followed the rules, he tried to rebuild them he tried. and in response he is chewed up and spit out like trash so that rassilon's god complex can survive while the universe crumbles.

how crushing must that be to someone? to have your whole worldview - that you are better, you are chosen, you are special - come crumbling down in a few short moments? to see the revered founder-god of the civilization you have so desperately tried to revive look at you and say "you are diseased," even though he was the one to poison you in the first place?

and as his heart is torn to pieces... when rassilon says "no more," and charges his gauntlet, the master - who has spent countless lives fighting death with his bare hands - does not move.

part of me thinks he does not want to.

#and this is why i think if the master didn't get vacuumed into the time war in eot he would have had a mid-mid-mid-life crisis #and then probably just traveled with the doctor to do some gay soul searching #you gotta hold on to something when your entire worldview just got smashed to pieces. might as well be your sad wet cat of a boyfriend #he burns down a small village one day and ten is like finally... nature is healing...#i have an essay due uhhh negative a week ago but this thought grabbed my brain and would not let go #simm!master #the master #doctor who #dw #time lords #tensimm #<- mentioned in tags #may be lowkey incomprehensible i wrote this at one am

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dollya-robinprotector · 2 months

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Whitney accidentally burning a bowl of cereal... And Alex's kitchen while everyone is gathering eggs & milk outside

Counterpoint: He was holding a baby while making that cereal bowl, he got distracted. You can't blame him, or question him how the fuck a bowl of cereal and milk can cause fire. Nope.

He'll get better at it eventually I promise.

#At least he and the baby got out okay #a kitchen can be rebuild but not human life you see #and that's good enough #besides who doesn't burn down a kitchen or two while learning to cook? It's called learning from your mistakes!#dollya ask #dollya art #dol: Homestead AU #dol pc #robin the orphan #dol robin #whitney the bully #dol whitney #alex the farmhand #dol alex #degrees of lewdity #dol

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extraaa-30 · 2 months

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broke: crowley tempted the senate to stab caesar

woke: crowley tempted the senate to stab caesar because aziraphale was upset about the library of alexandria

bespoke: aziraphale was in rome as part of the arrangement. he's the one who tempted the senate to stab caesar (and ten billion burned books cried out for vengeance) 😇📚😌🔪

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*yes i know this was pre-arrangement but for the sake of unhinged delight no it wasn't

post inspired by this art

#baroque: it wasn't even az's turn to tempt. crowley got a commendation & went to investigate like #what human nonsense am i taking credit for now?#only to find aziraphale chilling in rome #eating oysters. living his best life #crowley: oh hey angel. did you hear they stabbed caesar?#az: ah. how terrible #random senator: here's your knife back mr. fell! thanks again for letting me borrow it!#az: ...#crowley: ...#az: lOOK if anything it was a SMITING who tf burns down a library???!?#go #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #ides of march #happy ides of march #belatedly #extraaa

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nolita-fairytale · 11 months

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burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter one

summary: leaving your old life behind, you move to copenhagen to follow your dream of opening a restaurant. almost a year after opening, luca's quest for inspiration brings him right to your doorstep.

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 2500

a/n: remember when i said we'd get pastry chef luca fanfic whether we liked it or not? well, it seems i can't be normal about anything bc i have an outline of (potentially) 10 chapters right now based on this headcanon. while i try to keep reader characters pretty neutral so that you can picture yourself, i have this reader creating food from her own life experiences/cultures so do what you will with that. also, i tagged some peeps from my headcanon post, but please let me know if you'd like to be removed.

masterlist | part two

He’s in search of inspiration when he finds the restaurant – your restaurant.

It’s an American stagiaire and a single conversation that makes him realize that he’s missing something – that he’s been in need of something fresh, a new perspective– setting him on his quest.

The best things are inspired.

Luca stares at a blank piece of paper for what feels like hours, writing a few things down, sketching up an idea, before viciously crossing them out, hopelessly stuck on new ideas for the new menu. After a few half-baked ideas that go nowhere, It occurs to him that he may be in need of a little inspiration himself. He can’t think of the last time he’s taken his own advice, mulling over the carefully-chosen words of wisdom imparted to Marcus a couple of weeks ago, and he’s determined to change that.

A review in the paper, an old colleague’s recent trip there, and a glowing recommendation from a close friend are what bring him to the restaurant.

He’s not sure what to expect – having forgone any interest in cuisine described with the words trendy or fusion a long time ago – but Luca reminds himself that it’s the writer’s word choice, not the chef’s, when writing the article.

When Luca steps into the small home-turned-restaurant, he’s immediately inundated with a warmth, a homeyness, that takes him by surprise. From the open kitchen, to the golden lighting, it feels vastly different from the classic Danish-style, fine dining establishments that have swept the country.

But Luca reminds himself that the announcement of noma’s 2024 closure, has shifted the conversation around dining culture in Denmark, and already, he can feel that this is the breath of fresh air that he’s been looking for.

Luca’s seated quickly with care and hospitality by a highly-attentive host, which he only assumes is a symptom of the fact that he read somewhere that you’re an American. While Danish, the host is boisterous, as if he’s known Luca since childhood. Luca smiles politely in response, graciously thanking the man and his chocolate brown curls.

The menu is small, indicating that each dish receives enough care to be excellent and he likes that, despite being described as trendy and fusion-focused, your menu is creative. It’s different. It’s inspired.

He chooses the special of the day: the mapo tofu bolognese – a traditionally Italian concept done from an Asian perspective – and the suggested wine pairing.

It doesn’t take long for him to receive his glass of wine, or his food, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how efficient service seems. Stealing glances through the open kitchen, he watches as you and your sous lead dinner service with a kind of compassionate leadership and playfulness that warms him from the inside out.

“We recommend mixing the whipped tofu into the dish for a creamier sauce. Skal,” his waitress greets, with a warm smile on her face as she sets down the bowl of noodles.

“Cheers,” Luca replies, his eyes savoring every single detail of the dish.

It’s somehow elevated, thoughtful, and elegant, yet comforting all at once.

Luca picks up his fork, using it to collect a little bit of everything – a perfect noodle twirl with just enough sauce, and ground pork before running his fork the whipped topping – raising the fork to his lips for his first bite.

As the flavors hit his tongue, he closes his eyes, and it’s as if time has stopped, just for a moment.

The wheat noodles are perfectly al dente while the whipped tofu is almost ricotta-like, transforming into a silky smooth addition to the dish, cutting the tingle and heat of the Sichuan chili peppercorn-based sauce.

The corners of his lips turn up as he takes a breath, opening his eyes as he savors the delicate layers of flavors. With a crooked smile on his face, he decides that he’ll most certainly be back next week.

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You make peace with the fact that tonight is one of those nights – a slow night – as you finish washing your hands. It being a slow night, you’d encouraged your staff to up the hospitality at the pre-shift meeting. Treating guests with the utmost personal touches in an effort to build genuine connections would be the focus of tonight’s slow service. In fact, you and Mathilde, your sous chef, had been running dishes out this evening – something you rarely had the luxury to do.

“You should go say hello,” your sous encourages, nodding towards the dining room through the expansive window of the open kitchen.

“Thought it was your turn,” you reply in a casual tone, paying no attention to who she’s referencing.

“No, I think you should take this one,” Mathilde nudges you, causing you to look up. You shoot her a funny look, your eyes flickering over the mischievous expression she has on her face, to where she’s gestured towards.

“To-?” you begin to ask, before seeing exactly who she’s talking about.

“Ehm. Tall, blonde, and tatted!” she emphasizes in a whisper yell.

You don’t really need the description as you glance over at the dining room, easily spotting the man seated at a two-seater near the front window.

“You’re right. He’s become a bit of a regular,” you agree with a curt nod that means all business, no pleasure, as you move a few things as you walk and talk around the kitchen, tidying up.

“That’s not what I meant,” she scoffs with a playful eye roll.

“You know, Jesper thought he was Swedish because… look at him… but he’s apparently a Brit,” she gossips with you, her eyes stealing a glance his way. “We’re slow tonight. He’s here every week. Sure he’d appreciate a direct thank you from the chef!”

“I-,” you hesitate, wondering why she’s so damn insistent on this. “... yeah, alright. I’ll go.”

“That’s my girl!” Mathilde cheers, in a sing-song voice, she hands you the beautifully plated bowl of pasta to take out to the dining room.

As you walk over towards his table, you make a note that it seems as if the mystery man has made this a bit of a routine. He shows every Saturday at exactly 7 pm, week after week, for the past month or so, as if it’s a standing date he has with himself. After his first visit, you half-expected him to bring a date when he returned, or bring a group of friends, or for something different to happen.

But it hadn’t and you’ve watched him come in, week after week, with a different book each time. He always orders the special of the day and whatever suggested wine pairing Jesper’s recommended that week.

Most Saturday nights you're busy leading a kitchen or cooking on the line – having little to no time to fixate or wonder curiously over your weekly diner – but tonight’s pace affords you the luxury to spend more time at the front of house. Truthfully, you know it’s the thing that sets you apart. Sure, the hospitality here in Copenhagen is excellent, but you bring an American hospitality-style to this restaurant – and above and beyond mentality – that feels welcoming, personal, even, as if your restaurant itself is just an extension of your home.

You’ve heard your staff – front of house and back of house – whispering about him, all seemingly enamored and enchanted by the charming Brit. All any of you knew about him was that his name was Luca and that he’s always more than kind to your front of house staff.

He doesn’t say much when he comes in, you’ve noticed, but every Saturday at 7 pm, he’s pushing his way through the front door with punctuality and a gentle ease.

The whisperings from your staff had all revolved around who your mysterious regular must be: whether he was Danish or Swedish, that someone that good looking must already have a partner, that he doesn’t wear a ring.

You hadn’t paid much attention to the gossip (or at least that’s what you’ve told yourself) more focused on running dinner service then trying to piece together the story of your handsome, mysterious regular.

“Hello,” you greet him warmly. “I just wanted to come introduce myself and say thank you for becoming one of our regulars. Your support means a lot to all of us.”

“Hi, I’m Luca.”

You share your name with a smile as he shakes your hand.

Luca turns his attention down to the bowl you’ve put in front of him, his eyes taking in the beautiful presentation hungrily.

“Wow, this looks… incredible,” he marvels, returning his gaze back to you.

“Thank you. I’m sure my front of house already walked you through this but if you’d like for me to-,” you begin.

“Yes, that’d be great, thanks,” he interjects, a crooked smile on his face that makes your heart skip a beat.

You have to pull your attention away from him, hoping he doesn’t notice that you’re quite possibly gawking at him.

He’s kind, charming, and he’s easy on the eyes (easy on the eyes, really being an understatement here).

“Today’s special was inspired by a childhood favorite of mine,” you begin, walking him through each component of the dish.

Crispy Rice. Caramelized marinated trumpet mushrooms and charred broccolini. Your mom’s sauce approached with classic French techniques, courtesy of your sous, Mathilde, a classically French-trained chef.

It’s a marriage of your story. Of the people around you. It’s your heart and theirs, put into a dish.

“You’re the chef?” he asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Yes,” you answer, trying your best to get a read on him.

He balks, and you’re unsure of how you’re supposed to respond. Was he surprised that you’re a woman? That he’s been eating your food the whole time and expected a male chef? Before you can overthink it, Luca clarifies with:

“I’m sorry. It’s just-, I can't think of the last time I saw a head chef work front of house, let alone with this much care.”

Oh.

You let down your guard, wondering why you’d assumed the worst when the man’s been nothing but kind to you and your staff so far.

"We're a little short staffed tonight. And I love getting to talk to diners… especially on nights like this,” you explain, trying your best to sound like you hadn’t just assumed that he was a sexist asshole.

He shakes his head in disbelief, looking down at the picturesque bowl, then back to you.

Luca is impressed, and he has no intention of hiding it.

He picks up his wine glass by the stem, raising it to you.

"Cheers,” he says. “And thank you. This is a really beautiful dish.”

“Of course. Enjoy,” you reply, giving him a polite smile, before heading back into the kitchen.

-------------------------------

“Good service tonight, everybody!” Jesper, your front of house manager, announces while clapping a few times to signal to staff that it’s time for a post shift meeting.

As you all gather in the pristine front of house space. Some of your cooks have taken their aprons off, others haven’t had a moment to unwind from the shift yet – business picking up in the last hour or so of service.

Jesper goes through his nightly wrap-up notes, celebrating the wins of tonight, and making sure to celebrate how everyone rallied to pick up pace when business spiked. He’s gregarious, larger-than-life, the kind of person who can talk to anyone about anything, making him an excellent front of house manager, and even better sommelier. You really lucked out with the twins, you think to yourself – with Jesper and Mathilde – when they were more than eager to work with you on opening this restaurant.

“Oh, and before we go, a client left a gift… table number four,” Jesper says, in reference to Luca’s table. He pulls a tan-colored pastry box from another table, setting it down on a table where everyone can take a look.

“As a thank you. He requested for me to share. So have it and let’s make a note next time he’s in to really treat him like a VIP.”

One of your most-talented servers opens the box, eliciting a chorus of gasps, giggles, and excited whispers as soon as the assortment of croissants and pastries are revealed.

You and Mathilde exchange a look as everyone else busy themselves with unpacking the pastry box. Mathilde raises an eyebrow and you’re not sure what to say. Witnessing your silent exchange, Jesper makes his way over to the both of you, before extending his arm to reveal the card he’s holding.

“And this, my dear…” he begins, exchanging a look with his sister. “...is for you.”

“What do you-, just me?” you ask as you take it, hesitantly.

“I think so, yeah,” he nods, confidently.

To the Chef, the front of the card reads.

“Jesper, let’s check out some of these pastries, yeah?” Mathilde suggests, not so subtly hinting towards her brother.

He nods, giving you a little space so that you can read the card Luca’s left for you.

As your staff divvy up the box of laminated pastries, sighing with joy as they taste the decadent, hand-crafted sweets, you take a few steps away to open the note. His handwriting is pristine – perfectly neat in every way, like he’s written over carefully measured invisible lines.

Chef,

Thank you for all of the great meals. I'd like to return the favor, that is, if you're open to it.

Tomorrow. 5 pm. Dronningens Tværgade 2, 1302

While Luca’s gift has been more-than-generous, you find yourself overwhelmed by questions. Was he a chef too? And why had he not said anything? And what was this gesture all about anyways?

You read the card a few more times, turning the words over in your head as you try to make sense of it.

Mathilde can see your overwhelm, your eyebrows knitted into one confused expression as she saunters back over to you.

“What does it say?” she asks, curiously. “A love confession perhaps?”

“Mathilde, you really have to stop reading all of those French romance novels!” you tease her. “It’s giving you too many ideas.”

“It’s the only way I keep up with my French!” she defends herself with a lackadaisical shrug, earning a laugh from you.

“Uh no… it’s actually a thank you card… only I think he… wants to feed me,” you share with her, holding the card out so that she can take a look.

“He’s a chef too?” she asks, taking the card from your hands.

“I think so, yeah,” you reply, letting out an exasperated laugh.

“Oh shit!” Mathilde exclaims, as soon as she sees the address that Luca’s written down.

“What?” you ask her, wondering if there’s something you missed.

“The address… that’s AOC. I think he’s a chef at AOC, babe,” she gasps, shaking her head as she hands the card back to you, sending a ‘you lucky, bitch’ look your way.

Oh shit, is right.