(っ－＿－)っAM N. NOT.
Maki watched them pass the chocolate between their lips, feeling no judgment or discomfort. The thought that crossed his mind was simple: this must be a tradition of their culture.
Back in his hometown, such things were not strange at all. The elders had passed down their ancestors' teachings through generations—customs that might sound unsettling to outsiders, but were the very roots of who they were. To question them was like questioning why life existed at all. These traditions were not meant to be mended by those who did not understand; they were to be respected as the backbone of their people.
First: The belief that "we are eating our ancestors".
In Maki's Inuit tradition, animals were seen as former humans or kin who gave their bodies so that others might survive. Hunters believed the animal's spirit lived on through the people who consumed it—among the Inughuit of Greenland, food was even called something akin to "a former human being". The act of eating was not just sustenance; it was a way to carry the ancestor's power and spirit in one's blood. To outsiders, it might sound macabre—but at its core was respect. Nothing was wasted. Every piece of the animal was used, treated as a gift rather than mere meat.
Second: The tupilaq—revenge monsters forged by shamans.
Greenlandic shamans were said to craft these creatures from animal bones, skin, hair, and sometimes fragments of human corpses. Rituals would breathe purpose into them, and they were released into the sea to hunt down enemies. A practice born of desperation in a harsh land.
Third: Kayak angst—hallucinations on silent waters.
Hunters fishing alone in kayaks across the Arctic's still expanse sometimes fell prey to sudden panic, visions, or glimpses of sea spirits. The vast emptiness could play tricks on the mind, blurring the line between world and spirit.
Fourth: Fermented meat stored for months—or years.
Preservation in the Arctic was a brutal art. Take kiviaq: hundreds of small birds sealed inside a sealskin bag, coated in fat, and buried under rocks to ferment for months. When opened, the birds were decomposed, eaten whole. To locals, it was a delicacy; to outsiders, the smell was like a crime scene.
Fifth: Cutting open seals while still warm.
After a kill, hunters worked quickly to slice into the seal before the cold froze everything solid. Fresh blood and raw organs were eaten on the spot—not out of savagery, but practicality. Warm blood and liver meant instant calories, iron, and heat in a place where freezing to death was always just a breath away.
Sixth: Feeding blood to sea spirits.
Tied to the goddess Sedna, old beliefs demanded respect for sea animals. Break a taboo, and Sedna would trap seals and whales beneath the ice. Shamans offered blood or parts in ritual to calm her wrath, releasing the creatures once more. The logic was simple: if the sea gave life, you gave something back.
Seventh: Corpse exposure in the snow.
Frozen ground made burial impossible in many places. Bodies were wrapped in skins, laid among rocks, and left to the elements. Animals or the land would reclaim them, returning the person to the cycle of life. It was why Maki never cared for his own looks—handsome or not, nature would take everyone in the end.
Eighth: Whale hunts that turned the ocean red.
Entire communities gathered for these hunts. When a whale fell, the water would run crimson as people worked fast to butcher it before it sank or froze. The gore was intense—but every part was used: meat, blubber, bone for tools, oil for fuel. Nothing was wasted. And the taste? Like beef mixed with venison, with a faint salt of the sea. Whale blubber was soft, oily, and rich with oceanic flavor—a taste Maki still craved.
These were the traditions he knew. So when he saw Nemuri and Tsunade sharing food mouth to mouth, he only saw another culture's custom—no judgment, only curiosity.
"Is this a tradition of yours?" he asked, his expression neutral, his eyes bright with interest.
Nemuri and Tsunade stared at him, their minds racing. This man thinks this is a tradition? But then Nemuri smirked, playing along. "Of course it is, Maki-chan! A sacred one, too."
She meant it as a tease—but neither of them could have guessed how far this "tradition" would weave into their lives later.
Maki just nodded, turning back to his work. He picked up a carrot, sliced through it cleanly—and the pieces transformed mid-air into rich, dark chocolate, falling neatly onto a tray.
They stared, all teasing forgotten, shock clear on their faces. Tsunade recovered first, leaning forward slightly. "You still haven't told me who you are."
Maki didn't look up, his knife moving steadily through another carrot. "For you, Little Sister, you can call me Big Brother. Or angajora—or just angaju."
Tsunade frowned, her lips tightening as she tried to process Maki's words—but the meaning, even without understanding fully, was clear enough. Then a spark lit in her eyes, and she grinned. "If you want to be my Big Brother, then first you must answer my questions truthfully. Do you understand?"
"Hmm… consider it done," he replied smoothly.
Tsunade smiled at him, a calculated curve of her lips. She didn't yet know what to ask or how to proceed, but priorities were clear: she wanted answers, and she wasn't about to waste this chance. Or maybe she wanted more than just his answers… something more than what could be named.
Maki stood and walked back to the kitchen counter, returning to the Suaasat Noodles he'd been carefully preparing.
Nemuri watched Tsunade and teased, "Sis-Tsuna, you move fast… met him barely an hour ago, and you're already plotting something inappropriate."
Tsunade shook her head with a sly smile, her eyes catching Nemuri's amused gaze. She brought her cup to her lips, letting the tea swirl in her mouth without swallowing. Then, leaning forward, she cupped Nemuri's face in her hands and used her fingers to pry Nemuri's mouth open fully. Nemuri obeyed, letting her teeth, tongue, and the slick flesh of her mouth be exposed, twitching and pulsing under Tsunade's command.
Tsunade inserted her index and middle fingers together, sliding them into Nemuri's wet, stocky mouth. Nemuri's tongue immediately began circling the two fingers, tasting and exploring them hungrily. Slick, wet noises filled the air.
Slowly, Tsunade withdrew her fingers, strands of saliva stretching between them and Nemuri's mouth. Nemuri's mouth remained wide open as Tsunade leaned closer, puckering her lips in a whistling shape. Instead of sound, she expelled the tea in her mouth directly into Nemuri's waiting mouth. Nemuri swallowed eagerly, letting the warm liquid flow through, the wet sounds of gulping and swallowing echoing—guck… guck… guck… guck… guckkk…
When the tea was gone, Tsunade stopped, surveying Nemuri's wet, flushed face. Nemuri breathed heavily but smiled at her, lips glistening, eyes shining with heat. "Tasteful," she murmured.
Tsunade returned the gaze, slow and deliberate. She placed her index and middle fingers—the same ones that had just invaded Nemuri—into her own mouth, sucking hard, lips sealing around them as slurping sounds filled the room—slurps… slurps… slurrrp… Their eyes locked again, charged and unbroken, a silent exchange of daring desire.
Then Maki's voice cut through the intimate tableau. "That's a fetish for sure."
Both women turned, catching him placing the pot on the table. They smiled at him knowingly.
"Baby… want to join us?" Nemuri asked, her voice teasing, low, and provocative.
Maki's expression remained deadpan, but his words carried their own weight. "Later. After we're done eating… and I want to taste what this new recipe will be."
Both women paused, staring at him. They had heard him clearly. He had agreed.
(っ－＿－)っAM N. NOT.