#spring medley

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Avon Spring Medley Bubble Bath

mid-late 1990s

Found on Ebay, seller 515-finds

[lieutenantpepper]

i couldn't include every release (eg magical mystery tour) due to limited poll options :( also tag if your favorite song is off your fav album (for me it's not!) and if u want what song it is!

pls rb for sample size i am very curious

[skinzchoerim]

I had a really weird dream tonight where, out of nowhere, OOO released a pre-comeback song which was just a cover of a BTS song that doesn't exist in our reality, and they kept the sound of the original without even turning it into their style, and the MV was a really ugly animation with two guys sitting on the floor of a convenience store. There was no plot, just that.

[genderkoolaid]

Somebody Somewhere actor and veteran comedian Murray Hill is set to host a drag king reality competition series, The King of Drag, which will air on the LGBTQ+ streaming service Revry this spring, Variety reports. Tucked into Variety’s announcement was the application to be on the show, for which the deadline is January 5. The King of Drag bills itself as the first drag king competition series. Kings looking to earn a spot on the show’s inaugural cast will have to submit a wealth of material, all of which is outlined on the audition site. Potential cast must submit five photos of their top drag looks, videos of themselves in and out of drag, and a reel of previous drag performances. Finally, auditioning kings are asked to submit a resume of their performance work in drag and film themselves lip-syncing to a song or medley that shows off their “drag essence.” King of Drag, according to the audition site, “will expansively represent drag while promoting inclusion, authentic self-expression, and diverse gender identities including trans masc, cisgender women, non-binary and more.”

I better see queers hyping this up just as much as the hype up drag queen shows!!!

[buffetlicious]

My youngest brother invited us to celebrate Mother’s Day (母亲节) with a meal at Fu Lee Seafood (富俐海鮮). This year, the tze char (煮炒) stall had came out with a set menu for the special occasion and we decided to go for it.

The very first dish to be served was this Premium Ocean Harvest Porridge (尊贵海洋珍馐粥). It is more like Pao Fan (泡饭) as it consists of rice soaked in broth brewed from pork, fish bones and prawn, served with seafood, and crispy rice. The seafood is just butterflied prawns and clams with crispy rice puffs sprinkled on top but everyone loves it, nonetheless.

This Fish Maw Egg Soup (鱼鳔蛋花汤) was an add on order and not part of the set menu. The starchy soup is choked full of sliced fish maw, mushroom and crab meat. The must have condiments to go with the soup are black vinegar and white pepper. The only complaint was that it was too gooey.

Wasabi Mayo Coated Prawn Balls (芥末脆虾球) are actually whole prawns dusted in flour and deep-fried in hot oil before getting coated in a mixture of wasabi and mayonnaise. The prawns remained crispy on the outside and succulent on the inside. The sesame seeds and wasabi mayo giving the shellfishes a nutty, spicy and savoury notes. The green and red apple salad added a refreshing finishing touch to the overall dish.

Seafood Yam Basket (佛钵飘香) was also a separate order. It is a mashed yam ring or taro basket deep-fried then filled with separately stir-fried ingredients. The prawn, fish, squid, cashew nuts and vegetables are overflowing from the top. Underneath the yam basket is a nest of crispy deep-fried rice vermicelli.

As the server placed the plate on the table, everyone’s attention was momentarily fixed on the stack of Strawberry Glazed Iberico Pork Ribs (黑猪草莓一只骨) pile on high in the plate surrounded by strawberry halves and an edible wafer flower. The sticky meat is tender and savoury sweet, well-liked by all of us. No strawberry taste detected on the ribs unless you ate it with the berries!

The Surf & Turf (富俐双拼) was a combination of crispy prawn fritter and smoked duck breast with sesame sauce. The fritter did not come with whole prawn but minced or chopped up prawn meat with other ingredients mixed inside. The filling itself is nothing to shout about but the extra light and crispy batter is to die for.

The next dish is Golden Silk Tofu with Pumpkin Velvet & Yam Crisps (金丝南瓜豆腐). Silky bean curds deep-fried sitting in a pool of pumpkin sauce and littered with crispy shoestring taro fries. I enjoyed the savoury sweet pumpkin sauce clinging to the soft and fragrant fried tofu punctuated by crunchy taro fries.

Wok Fry Yangtze Nai Bai with Truffle Mushroom Sauce (松露蘑菇酱烩奶白菜) came served with a medley of sautéed mushrooms over blanch nai bai which is a different variation of the bok choy. Also referred to as milk cabbage, it is mildly sweet yet crunchy with dark green leaves and milky white stems. That is how the name "milk cabbage" came about. There was supposed to be truffle in there but I don’t remembered tasting the unique flavour.

By the time the Crispy Chicken with Signature Glaze (风沙香酥鸡) was placed in front of me, I am already quite full. The glaze was not brushed onto the chicken but spread out on the plate. The chicken itself was crispy but bordered on the dry side. That signature sauce seems like a borrowed recipe from the roasted suckling pig’s sauce, popular in Singapore which isn’t bad at all.

When you have fresh fish, the best cooking style is to cook it with minimum ingredients like this Steamed Red Grouper with Garlic (蒜蓉蒸红斑). Steaming it let you savour the sweetness of its flesh and the superior soya sauce imparted it salty flavour to enhance the dish. Both spring onions and crispy garlic served to add flavour and texture to the already delicious fish.

To summarize the dinner, everyone enjoyed it thoroughly and we are already considering coming here for our Chinese New Year reunion dinner next year. The only complaint would be that the dishes were served too quickly one after another and there isn’t space on the table to accommodate so we have to rush to finish the earlier dishes to make way.

[lazyjellyfish300]

𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 🌸 . ⿻ 🍨

🍦shiu kong x fem wife!reader

🍦shiu & your baby girl wait for the ice cream truck in an adorable snapshot of domestic bliss.

🍦words 1.1k

🍦cw: you have children together, fluff, shiu being a sweet, doting, father. 🖤

🍦a/n: apparently ice cream trucks in neighborhoods are not really a thing in japan so bear with me as this is extremely self indulgent. ice cream dividers: @/sweetmelodygraphics . sparkle dividers ~ @/anitalenia

🍦a continuation of this universe: first date | adopting a dog | trying for a baby

Some men are just meant to be fathers. Your darling husband, Shiu, is definitely one of them.

Sunshine spills across the charming hallways of your Victorian home, glowing with the rejuvenation that arrives with the spring time, cherry blossoms in full swing, little sparrows and warblers tweeting from the branches.

You stand in your kitchen, hair clipped back in your silk cream pajamas on a lazy Sunday, wiping down the marble countertop while you hear the soft cooing of your one year old baby girl and Shiu coming from the living room.

"Baba." Your daughter babbles as she sits in his lap, glossy eyes wide as she looks up at her daddy.

"Not yet, baby cakes. They'll be comin' any minute. Look." He moves the lacey curtain and turns her to give her a good view out the window.

"They'll drive down our street. Riiiight over there." He points and she slaps a chubby hand against the window as he chuckles, nuzzling his face into one of her piggy tails wrapped in a baby pink scrunchie.

"Should we listen for 'em?"

"Baba." Your daughter gurgles, folding her arms.

"Okay, okay. We gotta be patient." He playfully tsks as your baby gets restless, moving her away from the window so as not to leave any more messy fingerprints.

Next to Shiu, your basset hound, Stella, watches on peacefully with her chin on the windowsill where her flabby cheeks rest like puddles of caramel, the glass fogs up with her heavy breathing as she pressed her wet nose against it. Her permanent bored expression keeps silent vigil on the empty street as she too anticipated an afternoon treat, courtesy of the cash in Shiu's pocket.

Shiu gasps. "What's that?" He smiles patiently, waiting for your daughter to catch on.

"Baba?"

"No, princess. Shh, shh...what's that sound?"

Shiu leans in close, holding a hand to his ear like a secret between them while your daughter squirms his lap. Stella huffs blandly, lifting her head.

Finally, a distant piano ragtime medley breaks the silence.

"That's them! Are ya ready, pumpkin?"

Your daughter gives Shiu a chipmunk smile, unaware of what's happening and just happy to feed off of her Papa's energy.

"Find your shoes, babydoll."

"Baba?"

"No, your shoes, princess. Did Stella hide 'em again?"

Stella sniffs, jumping down from the window and waddling to the front door as if she was wiping her paws of all responsibility, impatient for the ice cream man.

"Ah, here they are."

Shiu helps your daughter put on her little flower sandals, wrestling as she tried to slip out of his hands like an adorable, chubby, mischievous bar of soap.

"Alright, there. Hold on, gotta go find Mommy. I'll be quick, I promise. We'll get your ice cream, cutie. Don't you worry."

Your daughter stomps her feet as she waits by the entryway, giggling as she starts messing with a pair of your high heels on the shoe rack while Stella groaned impatiently, seemingly displeased with being left the role of nanny in Shiu's absence.

"And then you and I..." Shiu announces in a huskier voice as he briskly walks past the countertop, offering a sly smile all for you.

"...will take some time for ourselves after the princess goes down for her nap." He gives you a kiss and your hip a heart-shaped squeeze, gazing over you. "You okay, dollface?"

"I'm okay, honey." You manage a weak nod, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Just...a little lightheaded."

Shiu looks to the small pile of dishes behind you. "Ah, don't worry. I'll take care of 'em. After I take care of you."

He winks, blowing you a kiss as he backs away before he puts the leash on Stella and takes your daughter by her little hand.

"Don't you go anywhere, Mrs. Kong."

"I'll be right here." You beam at him before your entire world walks out of the door, making the long trek down your private driveway to the approaching ice cream truck.

----

"Two mango peaches, one mango lemon...ah, heh...make that three." Shiu chuckles as your daughter double fists the ice creams in her tiny hands.

"Sorry. Kids." Shiu hands over the yen to the ice cream man who smiles politely, having witnessed this exact scenario too many times to count. "Oh, and a cup of ice, please. Thanks, man."

Stella has a neutral expression but her tail begins to wag ferociously as she eyes her special cup of ice, trotting happily next to Shiu and your daughter as they stroll back down your long driveway, the jolly music of the ice cream truck fading slowly into the distance as more residents from the neighborhood emerged to get their sugar fix.

You watch from the porch in the shade, tenderness bubbling in your chest as you watched Stella, Shiu, and your baby girl make their way back to you, stealing the kiss that Shiu has for you as soon as his feet hit the porch with your baby girl perched on his shoulders.

"Show mommy what you got." Shiu helps her down, and she proudly shows you the mango lemon ice cream like a found treasure.

"Ohhhhh, my absolute favorite! Thank you, babycakes." You give your daughter a smooch on the cheek, letting her sit on the bench in the front garden to eat her ice cream as Shiu wraps an arm around you.

"And thank youu, Shiu darling." You hum as you lick your ice cream, letting him have a little taste off your lips as you two watch Stella munch on her ice and your baby girl make a mess of her ice cream all over her button nose.

"Anytime, dollface." Shiu offers you some of his, brushing a wisp of your hair out of the way and tickling your nape as a mild breeze flutters by.

"Mmm...yummy. Peach?" You ask as you lick some of the sticky vanilla off your fingers.

"Mhmm."

"I'll have to try that one next time." You sigh as you lean back, taking a short breather as the sun soared overhead and disappeared behind a pillowy cloud.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Shiu." You smile at him and he smiles back, knowing what you need without asking, merely bringing you impossibly closer to seek more of his devoted touch that you could never go too long without as you close your eyes and let the crisp air of spring time relax you.

You leaned against your husband, in the sunlit garden of your dreams that didn't remain the kind that stayed behind your eyelids when you rested your head at night. A happily ever after next to Shiu Kong scorched in fog and smoke, immortalized in moonlight that only you two could make sense of the true meaning.

And a new beginning is fast approaching just over the promising horizon, like the rapidly budding cherry blossoms surrounding you as the huge rock on your ring finger sparkles iridescent glimmers of a trillion different stars over your soft tummy.

Once your daughter falls asleep, you can't wait to tell him.

[torueater]

SWEETEST EXCHANGE ♡.ᐟ

Florist!Nanami who’d had the choice between early retirement from a too draining, absolutely soul-sucking job as a salaryman -- that he was sure took days off his lifespan every time he went in-- or pursuing some new endeavor so he could feel like his life had some sort of purpose again. He’d been teetering on the edge of a burnout for years, working to make the wealthy wealthier. Calling it tiring is an understatement.

8 hours work days, client calls and work all days of the week. back to back, in almost mind-numbing repetition. An out was desperately needed and the ‘For Lease’ sign on a quaint little building seemed like that exact thing.

The space needed work -- a paint job, new shelving--sure, but at least he didn’t feel the energy draining out of him when he walked through the door. The light poured through wide front windows just right, warm and golden on dusty hardwood. He’d put down a downpayment before he thought better of it. Rent was cheap, he liked the ambience – what more could he ask for?

It’s an easy fix with the funds in his account, 2 months or so of hired help and his own grueling work to end up w/ a neat little flower shop. Floral Vault wasn't exactly the most creative of floral shop names but it worked well enough and it was to the point.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Florist!Nanami has his shop open on the first day that spring rolls in. Vibrant medleys of colours from newly blooming flora and the songs of avifauna waking from the icy blanket of winter just months prior welcomed him, and the customers came with them. It doesn’t come without mistakes, of course, though few. Bruised some petals, ordered too much stock. But he kept showing up, learning, and researching. Getting into the rhythm. There’s something oddly comforting about clipping stems and arranging neat little bouquets, connecting them with twine. The stress isn’t diminished 100 percent, but the tension in his face and frame eases, finally a chance to slow down.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

You show up at the beginning of summer, bringing the glow of sunrise and warmth along with you. Coming with flurry of activity that has him peering out the front window more times than one. You with your cardboard boxes and handwritten chalk signs for outside. A cute little graphic of a smiling teacup as your logo.

A café right next to a flower shop, how fitting.

His eyes catch yours as you look up mid-hauling a box in and you smile, all wide and bright, waving. He looks away.

The first time you show up is in a cute café ensemble, neat box with a bow tied around the frame in your hold as you wait at the counter of the floral shop. He materializes from the back, surprised, greeting you politely -- voice low and lulling. There’s this sort of wide-eyed wonder to you, giving a friendly smile on spotting him. “I hoped you’d like these. I had extra in the batch.”

His gaze drops to the box you’re extending, then you…then the box again. Accepting a cookies from a stranger?

“I’m next door. The café that just opened?” you interject to break him out of his pause, rocking gently on your heels, angling a thumb to the side of his shop that yours was nearest to. “Figured I should pop in to say hi. With free cookies.” Emphasis on free. “For my new neighbor..”

“Ah.” Baked goods that smelled like heavenly sweetness with no strings attached. He can’t exactly say no. "Thank you.”

You don’t stick around too long after his acceptance, leaving him with a cheery wave and a smile, cookies in his hold. No small talk, no asking for anything in return – just warm brown sugar cookies, smiles, then a goodbye.

The cookies are soft and still slightly warm like you’d only gotten them out a while ago. They’re good. Ridiculously so. Eat the whole thing in one sitting good.

Which he does. Unfortunately.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

There’s a small fresh blended bouquet of alstroemeria and freesia wrapped in brown paper greets you with the sunshine of the early morning moments after you open the doors, put there while you’d been distracted, no chance for thanks.

That’s how it begins really, this strange sort of unofficial barter system between you and your next door flower shop buddy – Nanami as you’d come to find out.

A batch of fresh cookies or coffee for a simple set of roses, perfectly fluffy souffle pancakes for a couple carnations. You’d bring trial goods you’d yet to put on display to have him as your test dummy, he’d come over to your shop to knock a loose shelf back into place. It’s not official, you don’t name it – but you both participate in this building ritual day in, day out. The ring of the bell above his door and a sing songy ‘Nanami!” every time. He starts to welcome it, anticipates you coming in with a box or baggie that would be a mystery up till you were handing it over.

Then it’s a little past just bartering – like showing up to keep him company during slow hours or your lunch break. Cross legged on his seat behind his counter that he’d give up because he ‘preferred to stand’, making random pairings of flowers using his paper clippings just to see how they’d look together, maybe flipping through books on flower care he’d have back there.

Or alternatively, watching him work, pretending to browse the almost overwhelming catalog of floral finery. He quickly finds that your company is something he looks forward to just like your baked goods. Apparently, he has a type for bubbly café owners with aprons messy with puffs of powdered sugar. Or just you, maybe.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

“Okay. I sort of made this blindly,” You open up the box for him with eager fingers, holding it in his direction, “Fair warning, the reviews were unbelievably mixed. Maybe…70/30?” “70 percent good and 30 bad?”

“Well…”

That tells him more than enough. “The opposite then.”

“You’re the first to try them.” “Oh, that can’t be good.” He jokes dryly, reaching in for one, taking a good bite at one corner. You eye him all the while of course, mostly for his reaction, a little because he’s just nice to look at honestly.

“So?” He rubs his finger to rid it of crumbs, humming lowly. “It’s good. Try adding nutmeg maybe. Adds a nice touch.”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Who started off the barter after you two had gotten into the rhythm bounced between the both of you, but he’s the one to start it off today.

Warm sunlight streams in through the front windows of your establishment, long shadows spread on the hardwood at it begins its descent into the horizon – you’re surprised to hear the ring of the bell, glancing up mid end of the day number crunching. “Kento, hi! I was just about to message..” Your eyes trail down to the bouquet, blushing tulips and a pretty little baby breaths, “Huh. You gave me flowers earlier, silly.”

“I’m aware. I wouldn’t just forget giving you flowers.” It carries traces of amusement that makes the corners of your mouth lift in response, rounding the counter to get a proper look at your 2nd bouquet for the day.

“It’s pretty,” You bend into his space, nose lowered to the tulips to breath in the subtle sweetness. “The last of my stock sold a little earlier though.” You add disappointed, raising to full height again. You’d have saved a couple if you’d known there would be a 2nd exchange right when you two closed. “I could make you quick parfait if you want? Or something else.”

“Well,” He eases the bouquet in your hands, paper crinkling ever so slightly in your hold, “Letting me take you out for dinner would work just fine.”

Your mind doesn’t seem to register the words properly, blinking up at him, head tilting. Then you laugh, more of a surprised huff really.

He wonders if he’d messed up, read this entire thing between you two incorrectly, but you follow up after your laugh, “Dinner? Like a date?”

“If you’d like to call it that, yes.” 100 percent a date, but he’s wondering if letting you label it as that instead of him ups his chances of success here. “...Trade accepted?”

Dinner, a date. With Nanami.

“Are you buying me dessert as well?” How you’d be up for dessert after being surrounded by it all day is beyond him, and yet he answers, “If you’d like it, yes. I’ll buy you dessert.”

Part of him hopes you don’t know his tells well enough to spot the slight shows of his nerves as he waits for confirmation. Or you turning him down.

Well, there's no harm in going on a date with a cute florist. You shrug, turning away from him to get back around the corner to handle trimming and placing the flowers in a vase.

“Trade accepted.”

notes: sweet divider by @/uzmacchiato, flower one by @/bbyg4rlhelps ꩜ .ᐟ

[hananoami]

[Lanternet Gift] Messages & Mail Gifts

💫Check-in Rewards

Event Duration: 5:00 AM, Feb. 10 - 4:59 AM, Feb. 20 (Server Time) Check in on the event page, receive His Lanternet Day Messages. Check in for 8 days to claim free rewards: [Diamond300], [Chocolate2,400], [Stamina*200], Photo Stickers [Lanternet Wishes], [Spring's Window] and enhancement materials!

📱His Messages

00:00, Feb. 12 - 23:59, Feb. 14 (Server Time) Log in to receive and claim his Messages and enjoy the Lanternet Day together. *Messages will be unlocked after you complete Main Story [Under Deepspace] 2-15.

🎁Linkon City Hall Gift

00:00, Feb. 12 - 23:59, Feb. 14 (Server Time) You can claim the heartfelt gift from Linkon City Hall in Mail, which includes [Diamond*200], and Sticker [Festival Medley]. *Mail system will be unlocked after completing Main Story [Under Deepspace] 1-9.

Celebrate Lanternet Day and reunite with the one you love.

[architeuthis3]

"After the sorts of winters we have had to endure recently, the spring does seem miraculous, because it has become gradually harder and harder to believe that it is actually going to happen. Every February since 1940 I have found myself thinking that this time winter is going to be permanent. But Persephone, like the toads, always rises from the dead at about the same moment. Suddenly, towards the end of March, the miracle happens and the decaying slum in which I live is transfigured."

George Orwell Sage Francis, Wheels of Steal (prod. Buck 65). colorful language, medley 2025. adam sturch paintings and drawings from march 2024 to march 2025 by, adam sturch thank you. happy spring earth. 🌱 HD youtube link. https://youtu.be/FIg3-jMQug8

new paintings. gold. 24x30''. oil on canvas. @adam sturch happiness. 20x24''. oil on canvas. @adam sturch gold is an allegorical painting, meditative on human value. happiness is an improvisational painting symbolic of the title's feeling.

painting and drawings by, Adam Sturch available originals only. any accounts using scripted comments or NFT will be blocked and reported for fraud. thank you. WhatsApp. 15757403403 🌌 this link goes to my available art album. all materials, sizes, and prices are listed on each work under the title. no nft. feel free to browse. message if any questions. https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.4622309137849048&type=3

[y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff]

Avon Spring Medley Bubble Bath

late 1990s-early 2000s

Found on Ebay, seller 515-finds

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Lightning-Bolt - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

The "Oh" strikes without mercy.

(@frostybearpaws It begins >D)

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

tw: panic attacks, PTSD

cw: sex

Snippet:

Jubilee's dying glow filters through the blinds

Sevika’s flat is quartered into corridors of light and dark. The radio is on, a lilt of low-key jazz serenading the empty livingroom. The piano medley plays out in lazy triplets that don't quite conceal the soundtrack of cramped mattress springs and throttled cries echoing off the freshly-painted walls. The flat is in its usual order: spartan to the point of austerity. But on the floorboards—waxed to a high sheen—a trail of clothing meanders with haphazard dishabille towards the bedroom: an exquisite silver gown laying pooled, silk glimmering, like a discarded chrysalis; an elegant red wrap flung like a battle standard; a black serge suit jacket discarded unceremoniously next to a gleaming pair of boots;  a cravat like a ghostly streamer stretched between the leather rungs of suspenders; and finally, the gutted remnants of undergarments like sacrificial offerings felled before the altar of lust.

In bed, Silco's spine, surfacing from under the sheets, curves in prelude to what comes naturally:

Take.

Beneath him, Sevika shudders. He is canted between her widespread thighs, deep in pulsing heat. She keens as he rocks, her own hips twisting demandingly to find the perfect angle, ankles digging into his tailbone. Each sound, lower in pitch but deeper in register, cuts a fresh notch up his vertebrae. But his movements stay languorous, deliberate. Drawing out every tiny spasm, every micro-flutter of muscle, until her fervor gives way to a ravenous full-bodied grip that dares him to try and escape.

He has no such plans.

During downtime, he and Sevika have usually begun to withdraw to her Oldtown flat. Most of the time, they're content to spend the shank of the night in cards and conversation.

Mostly though—they fuck.

In fact, they fuck nearly as often as during those choking months after Nandi's funeral. Not just all over her flat, either. He's had her propped against the gritty bricks of his steel mill during an inspection, the din of machinery crowding out their gasps. Or against the fogged glass at a cultivair's hothouse, breathing in her smoky scent and the sweeter perfume of orchids in the laden air. Or a few times on the roof of Headquarters, under the shadowed atrium, beneath the hazed pinprick of stars, where any of the lookouts in his network might glimpse them.

The sex feels different. The roughness hasn't abated. They still go at it half-starved, with little discussion beforehand. But lately, it is like he sinks his teeth into her, savoring her in small bites. Sometimes, mid-fuck, he'll run his fingers through her hair and murmur, "I do like it better long." Or he'll kiss her from breasts to cunt with the hungriest touch of lips and tongue and teeth, over and over, until her fingers thread into his hair and her gaze goes unfocused as if against the ghostly prick of tears. 

He's never stayed the night at her flat. But from time to time, too many relentless days and nights crammed together, she'll let him drowse with his head buried between her breasts, the way in another lifetime he'd fallen asleep absorbed in a good book. Her fingers will card cautiously through his hair as if stirring pages of a taboo text. 

It feels surreal. Not because it disturbs the natural order of the universe, but because it feels exactly that.

Natural.

Everything inside Silco is knotting up together—Jinx's absence, Zaun's future, his drive for a lasting legacy. In Sevika's company, the knots smooth out. He feels… not safe. Steady. It is a truth he's typically kept smuggled behind a boundary in his mind. Now he is breaking the boundary, brick by brick, to feel the warmth it gives off. 

He doesn't understand it. He doesn't even know why it is there. 

He just knows he wants it close.

"Silco—" His name, sawing out of Sevika's throat. "Godsdamnit. Faster. C'mon—"

"In time."

"Bastard—"

"Ssssh."

He subdues her with a slow roll of his hips. She sobs, baring her throat.  Her skin is sheened with perspiration.  The pretty crenellations of bitemarks stipple her skin wherever he's laid siege: under her left breast, on her belly, the crest of her pelvis. The hunger's nearly disembodied: some foreign chemical saturating the bloodstream.  His entire thalamic system stands at attention, nerve endings ablaze.

If he didn't know better, he'd suspect his wineglass spiked by aphrodisiac.  Except he's barely had three sips since committing assault on the Stonewall ambassador. 

He doesn't need the drink.

There's enough heady stimulus in Sevika sprawled beneath him. All hard-packed muscle, softening into scar-notched curves just begging to be traced by tongue and teeth.  Deliberately, his cheekbone rasps against her damp throat. The jugular throbs beneath his lips. He bites into it, a pattern of crescents that well up with the faintest red. 

Sevika bucks, a groan pushing its way out from the very pit of her belly.  Her good hand slides up the naked line of his back. The copper one bites into the solid jut of his hipbone, coaxing his thrusts to a more demanding speed, a faster friction. When he refuses, her whimper—low, rough, gorgeous—verges on hurt.

Like the promise, forever unkept, is closer to heartache than torment.

The sound pulls Silco's eyes to her. Her expression steals his breath. Usually, Sevika's not one to show emotion. Even in bed, she hides behind closed eyes, clenched jaw, thunderous brows: a monument fiercely guarding her own impending doom.

Tonight, every shudder is a deeper wound exposed. Every gasp is another secret bleeding free. There's a dewiness to her eyes he's never encountered before.

It should alarm him—that glisten. But she's not uttered the safeword. Not shown any sign that she needs him anywhere but deep inside her.

Silco nuzzles the damp corner of her eye.  A query disguised as a kiss.

"...all right...?"

"Yeah." Her heels dig into his kidneys. "M'good."

"You sure...?"

"Yeah," she husks. "Just fuck me."

He heeds the order. Gathers her in close and swivels his hips—deep and fluid. She jackknifes off the mattress. Two sets of nails—copper and cuticle—bite into the wings of his shoulderblades. The sensation's excruciating: pleasurepain bordering on profane. He angles into it, picking up the pace, grinding a wavering keen from between her gritted teeth. Then she arches against him and it's all he can do to meet the undulating waves of her need: stroke for stroke, breath for breath.

Sweat drips between them. The mattress springs shriek in unholy symphony. The hot slapslap of flesh-on-flesh echoes across the room. 

Somewhere, Silco registers his fingers threading hers; his teeth closing over the throbbing tendons of her neck.  The haze is like bloodlust, and yet he is sharply grounded, sunk wholly into the flesh. Sevika's, but also his own. It's an alien sensation, being entirely present in the moment without keeping a vital facet of himself locked away to mete out the usual measure of judgement, logic, lucidity.

Nothing short of pain has ever felt so real.

Not since—

(Not since Vander drowned me, and rage was the only lifeline—)

Reality returns in a visceral crash, stealing the air from his lungs. Sevika thrashes urgently, pinned between him and the pillows, and he knows she's on the verge of climax.

Except his own mind's gone haywire. His muscles follow.

Reflexively, he rolls off, his cock going soft, the harsh backed-up ache in his groin blunting all residual lust. There's only the phantom pressure: in his throat, in his lungs, in his skull. He shields his bad eye, fingertips numb, as Sevika shudders into stillness on a strangled cry:

"—what the hell?"

No breath for a reply. No breath for anything.

"...Silco?" 

She is looming over him. He shoves her aside, and sits up. There's a sense of vertigo crashing in, but he can't tell if it precedes or follows the epiphany. Only that it jolts through him—hot-cold. A lightning-bolt.

At its heels: freefall.

Then he is stumbling from bed to bathroom, retching his guts up.

___________

Revolution is like love.

It brews quietly, building momentum beneath the surface of habit. We do not notice the warning signs: the subtle shifts in temperature, the quickened pulse, the elevated tension. We rarely foresee the violent upheaval brewing on the horizon.

Then, one morning, we wake up to a life swung upside down. A new world order: a new paradigm of devotion. And only in retrospect can we trace the exact chain of events that led to that fateful tipping point.

Revolution is like love.

But when the match kisses the fuse, it detonates, taking all in its path, sweeping all else away.

All other desires. All other dreams.

All the best laid plans: undone.

And in the aftermath, we ask: what comes next?

What do we make of ourselves, now that the epilogue's ours to write at last?

~~~

"...Silco?" A single rap at the door. "You okay in there?"

"Fine."

"I heard you throwing up."

"Just the foul grub from the gala."

"...You're sure?"

"Positive."

He's at the sink, head bowed, shoulderblades spasming.  His knuckles are bone-white as they grip the porcelain rim.

He'd not realized he was going to puke until the boiling stuff had spewed into the sink. But the urge to vomit has passed. Now it's just dry-heaves.

Those, he's adept at subduing.

Under the cold shower jet, he lets himself be doused, water beating down on his bare scalp, sluicing down the rigid nodes of his spine. There's a headache's brewing at his temples; he's in for a rough night. But he can already feel a semblance of equilibrium descending, as if he's excised a poison.

Now the antidote's taking effect. The high-pitched pressure's receding from his skull; the five fingerprints at his throat fade to ghostly throbs. At length, he finds his breath, and his balance. By degrees, he straightens. His spine cracks audibly, each segment shifting minutely into alignment.

Something is dead, and buried. Something else is resurfacing, transfigured.

"Silco?"

The steadiness of Sevika's voice hides a spur of unease. He hears the scrape of metal across wood. Her mechanical fist poised over the handle, ready to rip it off its hinges should he give the word. Not even an event horizon would bar her from bursting in if she felt his life were endangered.

With it strobes the epiphany. The monster, purring a ruminative rumble:

Mine.

The clarity sears; the shock cuts deep.

For a moment Silco just stands there, rooted. Water sluices off his body, drops hitting tile with dull plinks.

Finally, he drags in a breath. "Sevika?"

A hitched pause. "...Yeah?"

"Could you put the kettle on?" A beat. "Please?"

The 'please' gets a loaded silence. Then, "...Sure."

A moment later, her footsteps retreat. In the kitchenette, cabinet doors slam open and shut. 

Left alone, Silco twists off the tap; towels himself dry. A spare toothbrush from the cabinet; a gargle of mouthwash into the sink. His reflection, under the florescent bulb, is etiolated but far from emaciated. He's left off the old rawboned pallor; the weeks in the Deadlands, full of sun and toil, have restored a taut vigor to his features. Even the scars cut less jaggedly across the left side of his face. In its lidless socket, his bad eye stares out: incandescent, edgy, dazzled within the blackness.

But his good blue eye is bright as déjà vu.

Calm settles in. An old comrade returned.

(What the fuck comes next?)

[lemarideleclerc]

The Hardlaunch

Charles Leclerc x famous reader

Summary: you and Charles have been dating for about 7 months now and have been keeping it a secret from everyone except your tight-knit friends and family. After he wins the Grand Prix in his hometown, you guys decide to nothing in in the world mattered except one another.

It was almost like any other Friday morning, Monte Carlo’s warm spring air waltzing through your window in a mindless manner. You had awoken comfortable and warm in your bed, the mattress only slightly distorted and your hair splayed over your pillows in a messy fashion. You unplugged your phone, lying next to you, excited as ever to dress up and sneak your way past the paparazzi into the Monaco GP. Your assistant entered your apartment, first making her presence known by two quick and prominent knocks. “Good morning, have you decided what you wanted to sport to the race today?” She quickly asked as a metal rack of pre-picked designer outfits was rolled into the entryway by one of the clearly underpaid apartment staff. Glancing at the outfits, you deciphered that some were too gaudy and chic, while others were too casual and plain. You ended up picking a medley of vintage channel from the 90’s, as well as some of your signature black sunglasses. To your ensemble, you placed one of your boyfriend’s rings on your finger, a reminder of safety and comfort for an otherwise unfamiliar situation. Your boyfriend, Charles, was the only reason you were going to the race anyway. You two were so happy together, feeling like home to one another. Although you two were going on only your 7th month of dating, you had known each other for much longer. Ever since he went backstage to find you after your headlining Coachella performance 2 years ago, you hit it off instantly. You were both nervous around each other in a timid and embarrassed manner, which still sometimes lingered around you to this day. Your relationship with Charles was quite healthy and passionate, although not public; not even to his own teammate or fellow drivers. The only people who knew about your relationship were both his and your family, and your guys’ tight-knit friends. Putting on your baby blue sun hat, you made your way down to the car, where your driver awaited you, with the help of your assistant and security detail.

After arriving at the venue and seemingly making it past the press, you flashed your padock pass to the guard, your own security guard following you. You made it front row in your own quiet little section of Ferrari’s garage, outside to see the race in the golden sun but secluded from any main cameras or tv casters. The race was tight, Your beloved Charlie fighting with Max (who you’ve actually become quite close friends with) for first position. By just a mere 1.3 seconds, Charles Leclerc had crossed that finish line first. Your heart pounded with excitement, nervousness, and an overwhelming eager causing you to shuffle his ring around your finger. Meeting him at the podium, he fought past other fans and even some relatives to get to you. The two of you exchanged glances at each other, the busy crowd coming to a mute at each other’s presence. Almost instantaneously, he wrapped his toned arms around you and picked you up, spinning you in the air. He set you down ever so delicately, and kissed you so passionately it felt like he had been gone at war for years. All of the major cameras and news outlets captured the moment live, the crowd erupting and the press having a field day. But you two didn’t care. You were happy with one another, happy with the loud and public lives you both live. “Mon Cheri” your boyfriend whispered under his breath whilst holding you to his chest. “We did it”.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

here have a medley of miscellaneous timeskip pro team headcanons bc WOW i haven't posted in a while and this is my only stress outlet other than binging new series <3333

starting off strong with ejp raijin LET'S GOOOOOO

washio 🫱🏼‍🫲🏼suna 🫱🏼‍🫲🏼komori: being EXHAUSTED from carrying the pro team world on their backs

no no i'm kidding. mostly

they keep a tally of other pro team matches in which their former teammates go up against each other and are REALLY smug if their respective teammate wins. which means you get shit like this

komori, cheerfully: "so how about that hornets v falcons game last night, huh?" suna: "oh shut UP tell iizuna tsukasa that aran-san could kick his ass any day of the week you little SHIT - "

they ARE united on the jackals front tho. all three of them want the adlers to go down HARD.

is suna nursing a grudge against ushijima from high school? yeah. is he ever going to get over it? probably not.

only komori feels bad bc he is fond of kageyama, but, hey, family's family

they ask washio why he hates the adlers and he looks them dead in the eyes and goes "hoshiumi kourai . . . he is a man that requires constant vigilance"

actually wait i know we all saw everyone watching and talking about the game (which makes me wanna cry SO bad) but god. how fucking funny would it be if players from monster gen convinced everyone else on their very professional and very mature teams to take sides

ejp raijin captain, who's been friends with hirugami fukurou for like ten years: "okay so explain to me again why we need to blow our entire team budget on jackals merch when we're not even going to the goddamn game?" komori: "well, it started on a cloudy but beautifully crisp spring day in 2012 - "

SPEAKING OF TACHIBANA RED FALCONS

hakuba joins the team, sees aran, and IMMEDIATELY starts texting the old kamomedai group chat

altho tbh i don't think there's no way that the "who-from-where-made-WHAT-pro-team" news never breaches the high school circuit. like come ON you know everyone's keeping up with the third year stars when they graduate

by the time the first years are third years they've got everyone pinned down on a fucking MAP. they have a shared file where they update each other on EVERYTHING. it's way less creepy than it sounds they're just a really passionate bunch okay!!!!

well that AND they can't help but brag about their amazing upperclassmen

okay sorry back to it. so it really goes more like

hakuba: "HOLY SHIT OJIRO ARAN FROM INARIZAKI IS HERE" suwa: "hakuba, we already knew that. i linked the article when it first dropped, remember?" hakuba: "yeah but it's still so WEIRD like it's OJIRO ARAN from INARIZAKI" hoshiumi: "lol atsumu told me he talks in his sleep, go find out if it's true"

aran actually does recognize hakuba mostly because gin paid him a compliment ONE (1) time and then aran had to listen to atsumu complain incessantly about the "stupid wall of muscle with stupid hair and his stupid height and stupid arms" ever since

ALSO. i think people get hakuba and hyakuzawa mixed up a lot. they've both got a similar height and build and hairstyle and play the same position

(not to mention the similar backstories)

it becomes a running joke throughout the pro leagues and makes for a fun time with falcons v warriors matches

in the event of a hyakuhina hookup (which i feel like actually could happen) they somehow get onto the topic of "haha it'd be even harder to tell them apart with your eyes closed!" and hinata, without thinking, goes "well, i probably could" and everyone is like "WHAT"

he digs himself an even deeper hole by saying "no, i just meant - i know hyakuzawa's body really well!!!" and everyone immediately starts screaming

poor hyakuzawa is dying on the inside

i think shibayama (MY BELOVED) kind of occasionally forgets that he also has his own fanbase and is sort of semi-famous as the libero of tokai heavy industries esperanza bc. he knows kenma and yaku and lev and komi and yamamoto and fukunaga and, in general, a bunch of people that he believes are much more well-known than he is

he's always so flattered whenever someone stops him in the street to ask for a pic or when he sees posts online gushing about him

this is extra funny bc he never talks about his friends like they're famous so all of his teammates don't really know that shibayama is friends with all these other famous people

and then one of them, an avid kodzuken fan, spams their group chat when kodzuken's newest video is released and shibayama shows up in it

they're like "SHIBAYAMA!! HOW COME YOU NEVER TOLD US THAT YOU'RE FRIENDS WITH KODZUKEN??" and shibayama is like "i have?? i talk about kenma-san all the time??" and they're like "YOU'RE TELLING ME KODZUKEN IS THE SAME KENMA-SAN WHO RIPPED HIS HIGH SCHOOL JERSEY TRYING TO JUMP OVER A FENCE???"

(shibayama's second year. they'd been dealing with things. it worked out, in the end. even if they had to lie to nekomata and naoki about why all their jerseys ended up with holes in them.)

i love the pro teams you guys they're so fucking funny

[buffetlicious]

Nephew didn’t want steamed rice and he asked for the Yang Zhou Fried Rice (扬州炒饭). We got him a medium portion (S$10) to share with those who may preferred a little more carbo. The savoury fried rice has got that wok hei (breath of the wok) and is packed with quite a few other ingredients like char siu, crab stick, peas, egg and spring onion.

Everyone loves fried chicken so we had the Prawn Paste Chicken (虾酱鸡). The appearance is not really Instagram worthy but the umami flavour of the crispy and succulent wings won us over.

Instead of the usual sweet and sour pork, we order the Sweet & Sour Sliced Fish (酸甜鱼片). Would have been nicer if the batter coated fish is still crispy and the flesh is too firm for my liking.

Cereal Sotong (麦片苏东) was a letdown with too thick a batter and rubbery texture. Sotong is Malay word for squid. My brother also commented that the cereal was on the sweet side and I have to agree with him. Maybe we should have opted for the prawn instead.

The Yam Ring (佛钵飘香) is deep-fried separately then filled with a medley of sautéed vegetables and seafood like prawn, squid and scallop. Normally, there would be crunchy cashew nuts added but I don’t see it anywhere and sis said the colour of the yam basket is too dark a colour though still tasted decent.

This Claypot Superior Pot (砂煲一品锅) is the most expensive of the dishes coming in at S$50. But is chocked with plenty of seafood like fish maw, prawn, scallop, sea cucumber and mushroom. The brown thickened gravy goes well with the bowl of white rice.

A large plate of stir-fried Sambal Sweet Potato Leaf (参巴番薯叶) is up next. The tender leaves and stems of the sweet potato plant is cooked with sambal chilli which give the vegetable a spicy kick.

The last dish of the night is this Salt Egg Prawn (咸蛋虾). Everyone was looking forward to it but it turned out to be the worst disappointment that night. The prawn fritters were supposed to be crispy but it came smothered in the salt egg sauce and ended up mushy. Moreover, there isn’t enough salt egg yolk in there so it is more milky sweet than savoury fragrant.

Compared to last year’s Reunion Dinner (团圆饭), the overall standard of the food at the restaurant had deteriorated a lot. Not sure if it is because different chefs are manning the kitchen or some other reasons but we have decided to patronize another restaurant next year.

[transbookoftheday]

Wound from the Mouth of a Wound by torrin a. greathouse

“Some girls are not made,” torrin a. greathouse writes, “but spring from the dirt.” Guided by a devastatingly precise hand, Wound from the Mouth of a Wound—selected by Aimee Nezhukumatathil as the winner of the 2020 Ballard Spahr Prize for Poetry—challenges a canon that decides what shades of beauty deserve to live in a poem. greathouse celebrates “buckteeth & ulcer.” She odes the pulp of a bedsore. She argues that the vestigial is not devoid of meaning, and in kinetic and vigorous language, she honors bodies the world too often wants dead.

These poems ache, but they do not surrender. They bleed, but they spit the blood in our eyes. Their imagery pulses on the page, fractal and fluid, blooming in a medley of forms: broken essays, haibun born of erasure, a sonnet meant to be read in the mirror. greathouse’s poetry demands more of language and those who wield it. “I’m still learning not to let a stranger speak / me into a funeral.”

Concrete and evocative, Wound from the Mouth of a Wound is a testament to persistence, even when the body is not allowed to thrive. greathouse—elegant, vicious, “a one-girl armageddon” draped in crushed velvet—teaches us that fragility is not synonymous with flaw.

[ecfandom]

I’m in Colorado Springs for work and I have a feeling an Individual Medley update may be imminent…