Soulmate AU - You taste what your soulmate tastes ゜✧*̣̩☽⋆゜
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Eight weeks.
It had been eightfuckingweeks of tasting instant ramen noodles.
Don't get her wrong, she loved Maruchan and all it's MSG goodness, but eight weeks straight and you'd think her soulmate would be pure sodium. Worse yet, Akana had no tolerance to spice. And her soulmate just so happened to love the spicy Sichuan malatang flavor.
It all started eight weeks ago when she had kissed a girl from a party. Having been dragged out by her friends, slightly drunk, and mourning the fact that she was 21 and hadn't even had her first kiss yet; one thing led to another which led to a girl's cherry flavored lipstick on her tongue.
The pounding headache she'd woken up with told her the universe, and her liver, were none too pleased with her.
And, ever since then, Akana had tasted nothing but malatang instant noodles, Chinese takeout, and microwaveable pizzas.
She felt like throttling her soulmate.
Throughout it all, Akana started drinking as much milk as she could humanly manage. Trying to get the message through that she could not handle spice, but no, her soulmate had even had the nerve to eat an incredibly hot chicken feet one time.
She had honestly contemplated cutting her tongue out.
But, as her third grade two week romance that ended with her boyfriend eloping with her ex-second best friend had taught her; revenge is a damn fine dish to serve—piping hot or freshly frozen. Which, is how she found herself looking at the meatloaf to end all meatloaves. Gordon Ramsey, eat your heart out.
She had dug up a cookbook from the 1950s—one of the few Betty Crocker's that her grandmother had left. Within those faded, crinkled pages, were the recipes for an assured sensory assassination. Lard, mayonnaise, cool whip, sauerkraut, unholy amounts of Jell-O, a joe so sloppy it wouldn't be allowed in hell; you name it, we've got it. You think pineapple doesn't belong on pizza? Fool, before pineapples, marshmallows had long staked a ruthless territory in savory foods. And, don't think that pizza with ham and pineapple is the worst it can get, here in the era of nuclear weaponry, cone-shaped bras, and rampant polio; there was nothing to stop Betty Crocker and the National Housewives Cooking Club. Pineapple with sardines, in your tuna casserole, in egg salad, with Worcestershire sauce, you can even have it frozen in Jell-O with cheese.
She was going to give her soulmate hell, served with a marshmallow kiss.
As Akana looked at the abomination, she almost felt pity for her poor soulmate; who lay unknowing of her machinations. The monstrosity that sat politely on her kitchen countertop was an ugly thing; a thick crust hid the pork, pineapple, cheese, and Crisco weaponry.
