#and now i have several favorite green teas

[knightposting]

Pro tip: if you've had green tea and didn't like it, consider brewing at a lower temperature than boiling water (165f is my go to) and for less time than black tea.

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? Pt 2

Part one

It was almost 2 minutes before I realized I was still dragging the crown prince behind me. I quickly dropped his hand and looked at him, not able to hide the embarrassment on my face. Listen- I’m committed to the bit. I WILL be the crazy jealous fiancé. But… I’m still human ok. I just dragged a full grown man down several halls and a flight of stairs while I spaced out thinking about how I’m gonna buy my cat premium wet food once I get back home to her.

It’s fine, I’m not flustered at spacing out about my cat, my characters just flustered because she’s been holding the hand of the man she’s obsessed with, that’s all!

“Well…. Did you still want to dine and take that walk?”

I expected him to scold me for my mistreatment of Cressida, grow irritated from me dragging him along like this. Instead, he chuckles and threads his arm in mine, and begins escorting me down the hall.

“Absolutely, have you dined outside by the roses yet? There’s this lovely pavilion that I am eager to hear your thoughts on.”

And that’s how I found myself under an impressive array of roses, all trained up and around a cozy dining area, creating a canopy of green and pink over an intimate tea table. The food was equally impressive, I had to keep reminding myself that the other me is used to this lavish lifestyle, to not gawk at the fancy tiny sandwiches and deserts.

“Well? Is everything to your liking? ”

I’m going off script here, how am I supposed to know how the villainess would react to a romantic scene like this?? If my “evil crazy” side isn’t supposed to be directed at him, and she’s usually kinda distant and unsure around him…. That means I should probably respond pretty curtly, polite, yet not really engaging. But…. I’ve already messed that up…. I guess I can be more genuine when it’s the two of us like this. He can think that this version of me is the facade, that I’m pretending to be pleasant, and then will start to see what a jerk “I” truly am when Cressida’s around. Besides…. I almost feel bad for the villainess. She really just seems like she was shy. Who knows- maybe, if given the opportunity, she really would have opened up more. It’s clear she loved the prince, and just didn’t know how to show it. So, with that thought, I made up my mind.

“It’s breathtaking! Roses are my favorite flower, and I’ve never seen so many kinds in bloom at once…. Plus the food and company leave little to be desired.”

There you go- slip in some subtle flirting! I’m not quite sure what time period this is supposed to be, but I get the impression flirting as bit more high class here, and I think I can have some fun with that.

“I’m glad, to be honest I was a bit flustered asking you to dine with me… you caught me quite off guard today, but in a good way.” He reaches his hand across the table and places it on my own, “I’d like to do this more often, you and I. I feel like the confines of our current arrangement have left us practically strangers, despite being engaged for several months already. I’m enjoying just being companionable with you, even if it’s just existing comfortably in the same room.”

Ohhhh, I know I’m the villain in this story but I can’t help but root for him- what a sweetheart! It’s so obvious he’s been lonely, I can’t wait for him and Cressida to fall in love and have a couple of kids that they’ll spoil rotten. And in the meantime…. Maybe I do have a bit of evil in me, because I’m going to selfishly enjoy this handsome man treating me to lunches under roses and reading in cozy libraries while I can.

“I know exactly how you feel your highness. Now, you mentioned a walk?”

We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt nice to chat without worrying too much about my role. He asked me about that book I picked out earlier, and listened attentively as I caught him up with where I’m at in the plot. In turn, I asked about what papers he’s been signing, documents he’s been drafting, etc.

The only thing I had to do was send glares to any young ladies we passed, settling my hand on his arm possessively, and I saw their eyes widen and faces disappear behind fans as they whisper to one another. I can picture this illustrated in a manhwa- the nasty princess sinking her claws into the gullible prince… hopefully all these ladies will start gossiping and we can really cement this evil persona of mine now that Cressida’s here.

When we returned to our separate apartments, I explored my rooms a bit until servants came to get me ready for dinner, and I slipped back into the frigid bitch persona. The servant girls dressed me in a slightly stuffy gown, but I had to admit, I looked gorgeous. I sat stiff and straight as they did my hair, forcing myself to be the very picture of cold indifference. I then dismissively thanked them for their help, then sat there awkwardly as they stared at me like I was crazy.

Ohhhh shit…. The original story hadn’t prepared me for this. My character was a villain, yes, but a side character for the most part! How was she supposed to act towards her servants? I went over what I knew- the novel showed the villainess alone quite often, usually obsessing over Eric and plotting/stalking. It showed her with Eric, and how distant and awkward their relationship was when together. And then of course the numerous scenes with Cressida where the Villainess did all sorts of heinous things to the sweet girl. But… it never depicted her with servants, or even any friends or other nobles. Just… Eric and Cressida. Was other me not actually a bitch all the time? Am I being unnecessarily rude right now? Oh god I’m such an idiot.

The story is told through Cressida’s point of view- of course there’s more depth to my own character than I initially thought! The Villianess must be a misunderstood introvert! Unsure of how to act around her crush, she’s fiercely insecure and jealous of this new girl who doesn’t struggle the same way she does. When she notices the prince slipping from her grasp, she acts out against Cressida because she can’t bear to lose Eric!

As someone’s who’s worked minimum wage jobs and struggled with social anxiety most of my life, I try to be nice to the people just working to survive, but here I am acting like these poor women are the dirt beneath my shoe…. Ok. Um. Well they’re still standing there in shock, I can fix this….

“You really did a lovely job… my hair has never looked so gorgeous, you’re truly talented! And I think the prince will be very pleased with this choice of ribbon!”

There- I was nicer, and I brought it back to Eric, so I’m still the lovesick fiancé whose entire world is waiting for her in the dining room. I frowned as the servants scuttled out of the room with hurried excuses, all of them looking like they were about to faint. Damn it… I can’t believe I misread the relationship between us. I probably just ruined their night by being uncharacteristically rude. I’ve gotta learn their names next time…. Maybe ask them to help me eat some fancy pastries as an apology…?

I didn’t know it, but while I was lamenting how wrong I was about the Villainess’ character, the servants were all gossiping to the others about what had just transpired.

“You’re telling me she said THANK YOU!?”

“Yes!!! And then you should have seen how nervous she got! She just rambled, blurting out such a sweet compliment, and she even tied it back to the prince!”

“I had no idea how precious she was… I can’t believe I never realized she’s just shy! In a new place, all alone aside from her new fiancé…. Who I gather she’s got a bit of a crush on! Poor dear.”

“Ohh our sweet girl, I’m sure it must be hard bonding with the prince, when all you do is sit yards apart and hardly speak …”

“Well I may have some news about that… and it’s no wonder she was a bit flustered today, because I saw the two of them in the gardens today! They were both nothing but smiles- absolutely smitten with one another!”

“Such a lovely girl, and we never knew it all this time!”

Apparently, I had it backwards. The real villainess truly was a 2D, basic character. She was insecure and possessive over the prince, bullying Cressida half to remind her who Eric belonged to, half for the fun of it. But she didn’t let on to anyone about the true depth of her love for him. She didn’t gossip to her handmaid, didn’t ask the servants which dress he would like better. Simply acted as if they did not exist, hardly saying a word to them.

While I thought my blunt “thank you” was colder than they were used to, and then tried to smooth things over…. It was more words than they’d heard from me in the whole time I’d lived in the palace. They lapped it up and declared me their own shy little dove after that.

When I arrived to dinner, I realized why daily dinners weren’t exactly a bonding activity for the villainess and Eric. The table was massive, and only held two chairs, one at either end. It felt so…. Cold?

Eric had beat me there, and quickly stood up from his seat, waiting until I sat and a servant pushed in my chair to retake his own seat. He smiled at me and said,

“Good evening, princess.”

He had to project his voice slightly. It wasn’t like he was shouting or being loud, it was just the manner of speaking you use when talking to an elderly relative, clearer, and enunciating better so they could hear you.

I replied back, projecting my voice similarly, and found the conversation was, in fact, more awkward than it had been earlier. We ate our food mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would say something and the other would stop moving their utensils on their plate, listening closer as they ask,

“What’s that?”

By the time dinner was over and we each went to bed, I felt drained. I could have just been louder I suppose- but it’s so hard to keep up a conversation like that. I know we get along- we had chatted all afternoon after all. But some part of me realized it’s probably good to keep a bit of distance between us, even if I’ve rewritten things to be a bit chummier between the two of us. Cressida needs to swoop in and steal him from me… and my job is still to leave that room for her to do so.

It’s hard trying to be someone else, yet also making sure you lead the plot in the right direction- it’s exhausting! I feel like both director and actress!

It’s with this in mind that I launch myself into the softest bed I’d ever felt, and passed out. My first day as princess consort, the Yandere fiancé, complete.

While I was getting acquainted with my feather bed, Eric was speaking with the head waitstaff.

“Yes, tomorrow, would you mind adjusting the seating situation? I’d like for the princess consort and I to be closer together from now on. Yes, and ask my assistant to arrange my schedules like so, I’ve detailed it here. Thank you.”

At the same time, Cressida was recounting her run in with the prince and I to her handmaiden as she finishing unpacking and settling into her family’s guest apartments. Which, unbeknownst to me… was right across the hall.

Series discontinued- sorry my loves. Ik y’all wanted more but the good news is that I’ve seen several really talented authors picking up this idea and executing it wayyyy better than my sporadic mood writing ever could.

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #16

It started, as these things often did, with Clockwork showing up at 3:07 AM in Danny’s bedroom and dragging him out of bed by the ankle like a disappointed father dealing with a child who had failed Algebra. Again.

“Wha—Clockwork?!” Danny shouted, flailing in his space-themed pajama pants as he was unceremoniously yanked into a swirling portal of green and purple time goop. “I have school in four hours!”

“You won’t need it where you’re going,” Clockwork said with the kind of deadpan that made you suspect he hadn’t laughed in several centuries.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

Next thing Danny knew, he was falling face-first onto a Persian rug that smelled faintly of incense, ancient secrets, and emotional trauma. He groaned and looked up just as a swirling portal closed behind him, revealing a tall, caped man sipping tea with the patience of a man who had seen God, mocked Him, and been promptly smacked in the face for it.

“Stephen Strange,” Clockwork said, materializing again because apparently he didn’t believe in exits, “meet Daniel Fenton. You’re going to teach him how to not accidentally vaporize the concept of space.”

“I what?” Danny blinked.

“Wait—this is the child you were talking about?” Strange said with a distinct expression of “I expected someone taller and more eldritch.”

Danny raised a hand. “Hi. Still in my pajamas. Please explain.”

Clockwork gave him a look. “You’ve been randomly tearing holes in the multiverse with your emotions. If you continue, you’ll accidentally delete the timeline where pizza was invented.”

Danny went pale. “That’s my favorite timeline!”

“That’s why you’re here.”

And that’s how Danny ended up training at the Sanctum Sanctorum instead of going to college like a normal eighteen-year-old. Not that Danny was ever normal. Or functional. Or even consistently corporeal at this point.

“Why is there a ghost teenager eating cold Pop-Tarts in my artifact room?” Wong asked the next morning, frozen mid-step with the sling ring still on his fingers.

“I live here now,” Danny said through a mouthful of Strawberry Frosted. “Clock Daddy said so.”

Wong stared at Strange. “We don’t even let you eat in here.”

“He’s technically a spectral demi-being empowered by quantum echoes,” Strange muttered. “I’m not sure he can be stopped.”

Danny quickly became the Sanctum’s chaos gremlin. The Cloak of Levitation hated him, loved him, used him as a chew toy, and then dragged him into a corner and cuddled him while he tried to watch anime at 2AM. Danny responded by naming it “Blanky.” The Cloak permitted this. Wong did not.

There was one particular week when Danny got stuck halfway between dimensions because he got emotional watching a Pixar movie. “I JUST—THEY FORGOT ABOUT BING BONG, STRANGE, THEY FORGOT—”

“Kid, I swear to the Vishanti, if you collapse another nexus realm because of children’s media—”

“HE SACRIFICED HIMSELF FOR JOY, OKAY?”

Training with Strange was like being punched in the brain repeatedly with Shakespearean insults and quantum theory. Danny tried. He did. But he was more of a vibes-based learner, while Strange was a “recite this 900-word incantation backwards while dodging metaphysical arrows” type of teacher.

“I can just blast it, though?” Danny argued, half-asleep, floating upside-down above the kitchen one night.

“No. No blasting. No phasing. No yelling ghostly wail and reducing my library to ash.”

“But I’m good at those!”

“You also set the Time Fractal on fire.”

“It had a face. It looked at me first.”

Clockwork would appear now and then, mostly to drop Danny cryptic warnings like “Avoid the one with the metal arm,” or “Never trust a raccoon with a gun,” or “Don’t play Uno with Loki. He cheats.”

“I don’t even know a Loki,” Danny protested.

“You will.”

Danny’s powers kept getting weirder. One time he coughed and spat up ectoplasm that turned into a sentient clone of himself, but with an Australian accent and a nicotine addiction. They had to banish him to the Mirror Dimension after he started flirting with Strange.

“Who made you like this?” Strange hissed, trying to undo the spell with rapidly twitching fingers.

“I think I made myself like this,” Danny whispered.

Somehow, the multiverse noticed. A portal opened on a Tuesday—because of course it did—and dropped in Peter Parker mid-panic with a half-dead demon strapped to his back and a terrified expression.

“HELP! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!”

Danny stared, eating a microwaved burrito. “Are you a spider?”

“Are you a ghost?!”

“Do you want a burrito?”

“Yes?!”

And that’s how Danny accidentally made a new best friend. Peter and Danny had exactly the same amount of brain cell(s), which meant Strange had to install magical barriers to keep them from combining into a singularity of disaster.

“Stop bringing the Spider-Child into my Sanctum!”

“He brought himself! Through a hole! In the air! Like me!”

“Oh god, there are two of them now,” Wong muttered, lighting incense aggressively.

The Sanctum slowly became a hub for the weird and unstable. Kamala Khan stopped by and declared Danny her new weird older cousin. America Chavez tried to punch him once and fell into his thermos. Loki found him and said, “Ah. You’re one of those,” and walked away very quickly.

One particularly cursed day, Tony Stark walked in, saw Danny floating above a bowl of ramen while casually moving furniture with his mind, and said, “Nope,” before immediately walking out.

Danny’s magic was…unconventional. When Strange taught him how to summon a shield, Danny ended up with a glowing neon green circle that said “NOPE” in ghostly cursive. When told to summon a blade, Danny pulled out a glowing halberd shaped like a Fenton Thermos with an axe edge.

“I call her ‘Big Suck.’”

“I hate you,” Strange said.

“I love me.”

Then came the Incident. Danny got bored, which, to be clear, is always the beginning of the apocalypse. He found a cursed artifact that looked like a snow globe with a tiny screaming soul inside and thought, this seems fun.

It was not fun.

He broke it open trying to use it as a nightlight and released an ancient chaos entity named The Unfathomable Carl. Carl had a god complex, seventeen mouths, and a Twitter account within four minutes of escaping.

“HOW DID HE EVEN GET A PHONE?!” Strange screamed while fending off a barrage of cursed pigeons.

“HE FOLLOWED ME ON INSTAGRAM!” Danny shouted from behind a sofa.

It took three Avengers, a packet of Mentos, and Danny screaming “YOU’RE NOT EVEN THAT SCARY, CARL!” to trap him back in the snow globe. Clockwork appeared mid-chaos, sipping ecto-tea.

“This was necessary for your growth,” he said calmly.

Danny hurled a shoe at him.

Eventually, Strange came to a horrifying realization: Danny wasn’t learning magic in the traditional sense. He was absorbing it. He was like a sponge that had been dunked in eldritch Kool-Aid and now radiated unpredictable power every time he sneezed.

“Do not, under any circumstance, let him near the Time Stone,” Strange told Wong.

“He already touched it.”

“WHAT?!”

“He said it ‘smelled like cosmic fruit roll-up’ and tried to lick it.”

“I HATE THIS CHILD.”

Danny was currently learning how to open a rift without screaming “YOLO” at the top of his lungs. Progress was…questionable.

“Did you just use Ebonic incantation slang to fold space?”

Danny grinned. “Magic, but make it ✨feral✨.”

“You’re going to give me an aneurysm.”

“I already gave Wong one.”

“You what—?”

At some point, Nick Fury showed up, stared directly into Danny’s glowing green eyes, and immediately called for backup.

“He’s a threat to national security.”

“I’m seventeen!”

“You’ve destroyed seven timelines.”

“Okay but they were minor timelines! Who needs a universe made of talking cats, anyway?”

“…I did.”

Even the Watcher started side-eyeing Danny like a nervous babysitter. Carol Danvers tried to spar with him once and ended up in a ghost trap he made out of duct tape and ambition. “I respect you,” she told him from inside the glowing cube. “But I hate you.”

“Get in line.”

By the time Danny hit six months of training, he’d accidentally absorbed a minor chaos god, reinvented ice magic as a form of dance-fighting, made friends with Mephisto (“He’s not that bad once you get past the brimstone”), and turned his hair permanently silver-blue from temporal exposure.

Strange sat in his chair, robes scorched, tea long gone cold.

“Wong,” he said softly. “I think the child is the apocalypse.”

Wong nodded solemnly. “And yet…I fear I love him.”

Danny phased through the wall with sunglasses and a churro. “Hey! Want to help me prank Odin?”

Strange sighed like a man whose karma had caught up with him.

“I’ll get the goat.”

And so it continued. Danny Phantom: Ghost Kid, Sorcerer-In-Training, Time-Space Menace, and unofficial emotional support chaos goblin of the multiverse. He may not have understood quantum geometry, astral projection, or taxes—but damn it, he had style.

And, apparently, a date with the Living Tribunal next Tuesday.

“I hear he’s into jazz,” Danny said. “Think I should bring cookies?”

“You’re going to destroy everything.”

“Yeah, but like—charmingly?”

[docjayfeather]

All of the Ren Lore i’ve compiled from his single player series and old streams

Favorite meal is roast lamb and roast potatoes

Has an ex-girlfriend

Hates One Direction

Was on a boating team in high school

His mother’s first cat’s name was Ebony

His single player world started in 1.2

Ren’s favorite language is Spanish

Ren has been to Spain several times

His brother had a dog named Rorschach

Ren’s favorite armor set in the original Diablo was the Moon set

Ren and his brother used to have to shower/bath together, then dry off infront of an electric fireplace. Through a series of events, young Ren got his butt stuck to the glass pane of the electric fireplace, and has had a scar on his butt since.

Ren has said “I always think about [Ren’s brother’s username] when I think about my butt”

Ren knows how to do a cats cradle

Ren used to have frosted tips

Ren’s favorite commander deck is Kraum/Tymna

Ren got kicked in the literal butthole by a horse

Ren likes burning things

Ren created a rigged marble slot machine in high school

Went on an introspection journey, visiting all the places he lived and all his jobs pre-YouTube

Did the insane thing of asking the lady who was now living in his first house if he could go inside and check out his old room

Ren had a patreon tier where he’d sent his patrons a “Ren Crate”, a lootcrate full of stuff

Ren doesn’t drink (anymore)

Officially has OCD

Ren loves apple juice

Ren loves driving games

Event manager for The Deftones once

Plays MtG on Sundays

Ren wants to retire with Doc

Ren’s wants his spirit animal to be a shark

Ren’s favorite book series is LotR

Ren is “below-average hairy”

Ren’s favorite season is Autumn

Ren’s birthday is October 11th

Ren is a slut for tiramisu and ice cream

Ren wants to open an LGS/tabletop cafe

Ren is not a religious person

Ren worked in a seedy pool bar

Ren almost got an upper back tattoo

Ren loves green tea

Ren is Left Handed

Ren was at one point a vegetarian for several years

Ren has lost his wallet multiple times, once leaving it on a train

Ren eats a whole lemon every day, and drinks lemon juice straight from the lemon

Ren got in trouble at boarding school for “trying to summon demons”. He was just playing MtG.

Ren has had a pair of lucky underwear since he was 18

Ren’s favorite ice cream is strawberry

Ren loved getting aggressively physical in rugby

Ren loves cinnamon buns

Ren used to have super long butt-length hair

Ren really liked playing with fireworks when he was younger. They’d bury huge ones in the sand near their house to make craters.

Ren loves Love Island

Ren can only sleep on his arm

Wears exclusively Star Wars socks and has matching pajamas

Beat Gabriel Nasif in a Magic Grand Prix

Ren hates Oysters

Ren’s favorite dog breed is a chihuahua??

Ren’s favorite dnd class is bard

Ren enjoys cleaning the bathroom the most out of any room

Ren’s favorite musical is Les Miserables

Ren has a favorite kitchen knife, and used to cook a lot.

Ren’s favorite tool is the hoe (of course)

Ren and Iskall used to play League

Never farts irl

born in the same city as J R R Tolkien

Ren named his first car Maximus

Ren is a bath person

Natural Mace Race runner

Ren really likes pet rats

Ren has a very consistent shopping day of tuesday

Ren has an extremely strict sleep schedule

Ren has 7 pairs of the same pajamas to wear 24/7

Ren has a BA in English

Ren does 100 push-ups a day

Ren does a 15k bike ride every day

Ren had a max weight of 110 kilos, is now down to 80

Ren uses youtube in light mode

Ren has seen Metallica live

Ren wore fake glasses in college

Ren has 20/20 vision

Ren has been in plays during school, and blinded the lead with glitter accidentally during one of them, trying to spice up his one line.

Ren has a “black book” of atleast 9 board game ideas

Ren gets pretty motion sick

Ren enjoys mosh pits

Ren really likes competitive monopoly and risk

Ren burned his eyebrows off with a bunson burner once

Ren still cries at The Lion King

Ren plays Ornn, Urgot, and Tristana in League

Ren was allegedly born in 1982

Ren drunk-puked into his shirt in a german taxi the night he met Doc infront of the people sponsoring them

Ren drives stick shift and loves it

Ren thinks he might have a gluten allergy

Ren puts butter in his coffee

Ren tried to write a YA fantasy novel, got 80k words in before scrapping it

Ren would like to live with Keralis hypothetically out of any of the hermits

Ren’s favorite superhero is wolverine

Ren has tinnitus 

Ren convinced Cleo to start streaming, partially leading to her going full time 

Ren once barbecued on radio in the studio 

Ren stayed on his ex-girlfriend’s floor for the first six months of him moving to england

Ren got kicked in the balls trying to sell tickets to musicals in Leicester Square 

Ren loves playing golf and tennis 

Ren hates soccer

Ren loves queues, maybe ironically maybe unironically

Ren drinks four cups of tea a day 

Ren’s favorite season is 3rd life

[into-fiction]

bc so many liked my gelphie as parents headcanons and i couldn't get the idea of them out of my mind- here's one way in which our favorite witches could've acquired a tiny human:

///

It’s just past midnight when Glinda gets the call, Elphaba already sound asleep on the other side of the bed. She had just been finishing the last of her work when her phone buzzes on the table, and she’s up from her desk in a flash, pressing a soothing kiss to Elphaba’s forehead as she whispers to her to go back to sleep. 

She had already dressed down for the night, so she hastens to pull on some proper clothes and has just enough time to get a mug of tea prepared when the bouncing beams of a car’s headlights flash through the front windows. There’s a police officer walking up the porch steps when Glinda gets to the door, hoping to avoid the harsh call of the doorbell. 

“Hi,” she greets, a bit breathless as she takes in the sight. They were supposed to have more time. Significantly more time. 

“Are you Glinda Upland?” the officer checks. He’s holding a backpack in one hand while the other is resting on the shoulder of a small boy, no more than five or six years old. 

“Yes, that’s me. My wife and I were cleared for emergency foster care.”

The officer nods, nudging the boy forward a step. “This is Liir,” he introduces. The boy--Liir--looks up at Glinda with a frown, eyes narrowed with childish suspicion. It’s all too easy to see the fear that lurks behind the show of bravado. 

Glinda gives him her warmest smile. “Hello, Liir,” she says. “I’m Glinda. Would you like to come inside?”

Liir looks between the police officer and the open door several times before he finally steps forward. He’s wearing a bright green cast on one arm, his left cheek dusted by a purple bruise, one of what is likely many to be found peppering his small body. 

It isn’t fair. Glinda knows that abuse is a common reason for children to end up in foster care, but it still hurts her to see the signs. Children are so small. So vulnerable. Who could do such a thing to them?

The officer hands over the small backpack, asking Glinda to sign a few papers before letting her know that she’ll receive more information in the morning. All she knows for now is that Liir is six years old and was removed from his father’s care. 

“Don’t worry,” Glinda finds herself saying. “I’ll take care of him.”

She looks down at the little boy as he watches the officer leave. His hair is a tangled mess that falls around his face, his clothes worn and dirty. He must be so tired, so confused by what is happening. She has been told this is the hardest part- full of tears and questions and pleas for things that Glinda cannot give. 

“Alright, Liir,” Glinda says, trying to be as upbeat as she can for nearly one in the morning. “It looks like you’re going to be staying with me and my wife, Elphaba, for a little while. She’s asleep upstairs right now.”

The boy turns and looks up at her with deep green eyes, a mossy color not unlike her wife’s. They shift after a moment to take in the house, lit by lamps that cut golden circles of light into the shadows. It must be terrifying being suddenly dumped in the arms of strangers. 

“Hey,” she says softly. She crouches down so she can meet the boy face to face. “I know it’s scary. But you are safe here, Liir. No one here will ever hurt you.”

She holds her hand out slowly, letting it hang in the air patiently as she waits to see if Liir will initiate contact. The little boy looks utterly exhausted, and she’s sure he’s had a very long night. All she wants is to gather him in her arms and tuck him into bed, clean and warm and cozy. 

Several long seconds pass, Glinda’s arm growing tired being held out like this, but she waits, expression open and smile kind. She’ll wait as long as he needs until-- there. Liir takes a tiny step toward her, hand reaching out to slip into Glinda’s own. 

Glinda closes her fingers and runs a soothing thumb across Liir’s knuckles. “Tell you what,” she says. “How about we get you a bath and some warm jammies, and then you can pick out what bed you want to sleep in. How does that sound?”

Liir nods, not saying anything as he shuffles a little closer. He sniffles slightly, eyelashes wet when he blinks, and Glinda gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” Glinda promises. “I’ve got you, Liir.”

[alexanderlightweight]

could you do something with alec not being a morning person?

it has been a bit, but here we go. this is in the petals vs and I hope you enjoy it

<3 lumine

in his wake petals fall

Magnus wakes, warm sun settling over his face and against his chest Alexander grumbles and moves closer, tucking himself tightly to Magnus.

It’s adorable and Magnus twirls his pointer finger and lets the shades fall to protect his boy from the sun.  It’s mid-morning and Alexander hates getting up before the afternoon unless it’s an emergency.

Thankfully, there is nothing on the agenda for today which means Magnus can go dabble while also letting Alexander sleep as long as he likes.

Magnus has long since learned to set up a small and simple ward, one that will let him know when Alexander wakes up.  It’s necessary, or Magnus will suffer a sulking Alexander who is wondering and complaining of where his cuddles have gone.

The rectangular glasses Magnus is wearing are several moveable layers in various shades of green as he examines the seeds in front of him.

Vitality is an important step in magic and if Magnus is going to bother to hand nourish these plants from seeds, then he is going to make sure they even have a chance to begin with.

It may seem like tedious work, but the unviable ones are still useful for potions or rituals and it’s actually rather soothing.  It may be something Magnus has put off for several months, but that doesn’t mean now that he’s doing it, it isn’t something simple and methodical.  

It’s a break from the hustle and bustle he and Alexander have been caught in and Magnus gets out his favorite record and slips on some music as he summons some tea and snacks. The music steadies the mood as Magnus sorts.

—-

Alec’s fingers slap against empty, lonely and cold sheets and a hollow ache resounds in his chest even as warm, calloused and strong hands rub up his side and arm.

“You haven’t even been awake a full minute and already you’re pouting.”

“Missed you.” Alec manages to grumble out, fingers greedily motioning through the air until finally Magnus slips back into bed and curls up against Alec.

He’s too happy not to shimmy closer and wedge himself tightly against Magnus so he can breathe in his scent of sandalwood and magic and also the smell of Magnus’ apothecary.

Magnus can call it sulking or pouting all he wants but it’s not Alec’s fault that Magnus presence is so big that it fills every room he’s in, even when he’s asleep.

Alec misses him when he’s gone.

“It’s almost three in the afternoon, are you sure you don’t want to get up yet?”

Alec shakes his head, tucking his brow against Magnus’ neck and rubbing his cheek against Magnus’ warm skin.

“Even for plants?”

It’s tempting, but no.  

Alec is too tired to go somewhere else when he can have Magnus and plants both at home.

Without needing to leave bed before dusk arrives, which is the preferably time to get out of bed when one has Magnus in it.

[crystallizedtwilight]

🎃 LSBC Questions: Part 20! 🎃

Part 19 here!

She wants to adopt every dog she meets honestly 🥹

If Oogie was in a gambling mood it usually wasn't a good thing.

Something equal parts dangerous and hilarious apparently! [x]

They already have their skincare routines down!

There's a couple of those in the lb tag 😚 Barrel is very romantic and Lock loves to be showered with affection as long as it's in private.

Thank you! And yes! They do prank each other on occasion. Gotta keep each other sharp! [1] [2] [3]

He did at first (and was too "cool" to tell anyone) but now he's an expert at capturing them.

Mike Cachuela, who helped design the trio, stated how he spoke with Henry Selik, the director of the movie, about who the trio could be. The initial concept was that that they were tasked with keeping Oogie Boogie imprisoned and feeding him bugs. However, this concept was later changed so the trio would be Oogie's henchmen instead.

No, all three of them love their natural hair colors! (Which, lucky, I've been dying my own hair for 10 years lol)

She gets up, makes herself some tea, and reads her potion book to clear her mind. If that's not enough, she'll go for a flight.

No. I'm aware he returns in several spinoffs—Oogie's Revenge, Kingdom Hearts II, one of the novels—but this AU uses the movie as the sole source material. Resurrecting Oogie is an easy way to reintroduce peril and doesn't require writers to explore who the trio are without him. That separation, freedom, happiness, and concept of the trio stepping into their own identities is exactly what I want to explore!

(Zero's Journey is my favorite tnbc book because the trio are shown carrying on happily without Oogie for once and I love that!)

❗️[SENSITIVE: TOPICS OF ABUSE]

The trio state that they believe they will be harmed for failure / displeasing Oogie across multiple media:

____

"We can't say, the boss'll whomp us if we do!" (whomp, verb: to strike heavily) - Lock [source: game, The Pumpkin King]

The trio tremble visibly at Oogie's feet, holding onto each other as he reveals his plans. [source: game, Kingdom Hearts I]

Q: "It always felt like they were scared of Oogie Boogie as well. They would help him, but out of some sort of fear." A: "Oh, totally." [Source - Interview with Mike Cachuela, Lock, Shock, and Barrel's character designer and storyboardartist]

In an interview Stephen mentions that, out of the three of them, Oogie might be meanest towards Lock or treat him the worst. [source: Stephen Buckley, one of the main animators on the movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

"If I were on his Boogie list, I'd get out of town." / "We do our best to please him and stay on his good side." - Lock, Shock [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

"Jack will beat us black and green." - Lock, Shock [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas] Through Jack has never shown himself to be physically violent, the trio assume all authority figures show their displeasure in this way.

"Don't hurt us, Jack! She's with Oogie!" - Lock [source: game, The Pumpkin King]

"'Stead of treated we get tricked. 'Stead of kisses we get kicked!" [source: stage performance, 2003 Disneyland "Haunted Mansion Holiday" wherein the trio perform an excerpt of "Hard Knock Life"]

"Looks like my no-good henchmen thought they'd cool their heels in Halloween Town 'stead of helpin' the boss man do his job...well, I can decide which of 'em I want to eat later." - Oogie Boogie [source: game, Disney Magic Kingdoms]

The camera pans out, displaying the masks of several previously devoured trick-or-treaters on the treehouse walls. None of these fit the trio's faces, revealing that Oogie has eaten several children in the past. [source: movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas]

[lloydlings]

new and updated theory on the source of lloyd’s power!

in dragons rising there definitely has been lore dropped here and there but more than anything I find ammunition to power my long winded theory that lloyd’s powers come from his heart, in theoretical and just elemental sense.

doc wyatt has established there isn’t a set explanation (YET) in show, but he did like one of my tweets regarding my claim that Lloyd’s power resonates within the heart and soul.

starting out, lloyd’s power has never been defined. it is hinted by the writers that lloyd has no idea what it is, though what we do know is that it—-

1) can create life and destroy it (the book of elemental powers)

2) draw energy from the elements

3) shield oneself / very powerful in attack

4) does not belong to the source dragon of energy but belongs to the source dragon OF LIFE

5) has some sort of connection with the FSM

and lastly, by LEGO GROUP’s definition.. it’s ENERGY.

energy can have have different meanings. energy in lightning’s case seems to be the electrical sense, but energy can .. power up things, it makes things work -

energy is also used as a synonym for life force, this is demonstrated when referring to the act of draining source dragons and the whack-rats.

what i am getting at, is I believe that energy in the sense of lloyd’s powers is that he holds the essence of life itself. his power works hand in hand in his survival as well as keeps him alive.

now to connect him to LIFE , a source dragon, was very interesting but made a great deal of sense. Life is in everything, energy can create life.. who created life?

THE FSM used elemental powers to bring Garmadon and Wu into existence, he also holds the ability that past his death, he could steal lloyd from the mortal world to speak to him in the grasslands.

the elements of creation can be drawn from in their energy for lloyd, but the elements of creation were the core four.

LIFE = Lightning, Ice, Fire, Earth

so….

that also makes sense as to when he was dying in mystake’s tea shop that they had to use their elemental powers of creation to revive lloyd or heal him.

now jumping into the theory that will always be my favorite, and the show itself actually jumped into it was elemental powers being felt or drawn from different places depending on the elemental powers, ie nya with veins, zane with his mind, etc etc etc—

lloyd’s power comes from his heart in my opinion.

firstly, life—- energy is what makes the heart beat, you cannot live without that.

mentally, lloyds power has always been his true self, his heart, the way he cares so deeply for people (even if they do not deserve so)

green in spirituality also represents the heart chakra, it is very similar in description.

but as someone so close to his mortality, and who i believe is always aware of such, it makes so much sense.

in s8, when his element is fighting for him as he’s succumbing to his wounds in the fight in krytparium it sparks on his chest,

following this— the elemental master figures that were released in the SOG wave depicted different elements and where they were located differed on the ninja, lloyds was insanely insanely obvious—

overdrawing from his element has caused him great sickness multiple times. we see this with golden power, then we see this with him fainting while using his element against griefbringer in MOTM (something very opposite to his element— death)

the fact that his power kept him alive but also left him for a bit after he almost was on the brink of dying in s8

now with dragons rising and the conduit putting him in a semi coma for several days because of his mortality

he puts his hand on his heart when he approaches the imperium source dragon when saying “this place, i feel weird”

him believing he’d die from conduit power…

it’s justttt…

but that being said there is so much they could discuss about lloyd in show, whether discovering his powers, or seeing the actual scope of what they do

lloyd is very hesitant and he out of anyone never talks about his powers or how they work

but there’s so much there, like what if his elemental power could heal people or bring people back to life (other than himself LOL)

[sleepynoons]

Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant. 

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!” 

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

“We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them. 

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate. 

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce. 

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence. 

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin. 

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient. 

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks. 

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar. 

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!”

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens. 

“The texture’s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

[yourfinnhudson]

Dinner date, tonight?

Melissa Schemmenti x nb!reader

Never in a million years you would’ve thought that the redhead would agree to go on a date with you. Crushing for over two years, being in the same workplace together makes you feel head over heels for the Sicilian woman. And now, she’s in front of you, enjoying her food, laughing at your jokes, and kissing you several times.

You felt sick in the stomach the day you asked her out. Halloween was around the corner and you knew how much she loved the spooky season, so instinctively, you thought it was the right time to invite her for a small halloween themed dinner. Although being a teacher doesn’t necessarily give you the salary that can afford some fancy dinner, you did save money to be able to reserved at the local fancy restaurant for this halloween.

After you reserved that morning, you went to school. You aimed for the best outfit you had on your wardrobe. A simple white dress shirt, black, long trousers, and black leather boots. Completing your outfit, you grabbed your oversized leather blazer. To top it off, you did your “natural” make up, making sure your cheeks were extra pink. You sensed that Melissa would love your style today.

School day went by pretty amazing; no shouting, no drink-spilling on the carpet, no cries, it seems like the day was perfect. Then, you saw Melissa walked past your classroom. Immediately, you got off your chair and ran towards her, not forgetting a cup of green tea you bought for her at your favorite cafe nearby.

“Melissa! Wait!” you shouted. Melissa stopped on her track.

With a confused face, she said, “why are you running? Everything’s okay, hun?”

After a long, reliefing sighed, you took a good look at her. “Well, I-“

Nothing came out of your lips. She was too breath-taking. She did her hair, her cute green shirt hugged her body perfectly even though she wore her infamous black leather blazer. Her pants was… wow. The heels? even better.

“Yes?” She answered.

“Umm… Green tea? This. For you,” That’s all you can say while handing her the tea.

She smirked, a small laughed came out of her lips. “Thanks, hun.” Sipping the tea, she continued, “is that all? I’m heading to music, my kiddos are finishing their class. Want to come?”

“Sure,” you walked along with her to the music room. You bowed down your head, hands fidgeting. Not until you both were outside the door when Melissa noticed your anxiousness.

“Hun, are you sure everything’s fine?” She asked in worry.

“Yeah, yes. Everything’s fine. It’s just- I wanted to-“ It was hard getting all the words out. You never thought this was hard. You did asked several women to dinner or hung out but it was smooth. This one was challenging, or maybe it’s because the woman you about to ask out is the most gorgeous woman in the world.

“You’re cute. There’s something you want to ask me, right?” Clocked.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. “Dinner with me. Tonight?” You blurted out.

Oh, Melissa was in shock. But, she warmed with her sweet smile. “Is that what you want to ask me? Why so nervous?”

“Well, I’m asking you on a date, Melissa. Of course I’m nervous. You’ve been rejecting all dates and guys,” you said as suddenly the anxiety was vanishing.

“If it is you asking me on a date, I wouldn’t say no. So, yes,” she put her hand on yours, rubbed it so gently. “You have to pick me up though. I want a princess treatment.”

Melissa winked at you and went in to the classroom as you stood there, outside, alone, processing everything. She didn’t even let you speak after she said yes.

You went back to your classroom to end the class when the bell rang. Opening up your phone, you texted Melissa.

You: I’ll pick you up at 6.

Ms. Schemmenti: Sure, hun. What should I wear?

You: All black? Sticking to the halloween theme I have here.

Ms. Schemmenti: I know it’s not because of halloween you wanted me to wear black. I know I look good in all black.

You: 😆

You did not regret asking her out. It is a perfect night with her. The food was amazing, but she was brilliant. She’s sitting in front of you in all black outfit, her chest was too bare you think that she did that on purpose. Her hair is perfect, falling down so smoothly. You’re trying your best to make this date an unforgettable night. Maybe she’d agree to go on the next date? You’d definitely asked her to be your girlfriend, if you’re not such a coward.

[irithiadourden]

Your love speaks, your hands love

Well, here we go. This is my one-shot to the @sjmprideweek!

I chose prompt 6: Love Language.

Pairing: AzrielxEris

All comments and reblogs are appreciated and you can also go follow me on ao3 and leave kudos if you liked this! I have some more Azris coming soon. Also, please excuse any typos, english isn't my first language.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Tags: @applerubyy @constantsins

They had always walked the fine line between being enemies and something else, but that line had become more and more distorted with every year that passed between secret meetings and whispered moans.

At first it had been something small, a simple detail like Eris putting a cup of his favorite tea in front of him in the morning, when they stopped leaving each other's house right after sex. It was no surprise that he knew Azriel preferred green tea, since the fireling was too smart, always observing everything around him.

Then came the Winter Solstice, and after drinking and celebrating, away from the world in Eris's private cabin, Eris had placed a carefully wrapped package on Azriel's hands. The Shadowsinger was stunned when he opened it: they were leather gloves that felt slightly warm to the touch, as if some small part of Autumn's magic had enchanted them to always protect his fingers from the cold.

"Don't let Cassian and Rhysand know, or they'll say you're cheating," had been his complicit comment, with a smile that for some reason made Azriel forget whatever it was he was going to say and kiss him until his lungs ached from lack of air, and maybe a little more after that.

Several years had passed and much had happened since then. Azriel had rescued him from the clutches of Koschei; Eris was no longer the Crown Prince, but the High Lord of the Court of Autumn, and in this new reality, to which they had adjusted as easily as if it had been like this all their lives, their meetings were no longer hidden in the darkest hours of the night. Azriel had taken Eris to Velaris and to every corner of the city he loved, even showing him the best bakery on the bank of the Sidra. Eris, for his part, had ordered a larger bed, one that would comfortably accommodate the wings of an Illyrian —and the occasional smokehound that had the audacity to sneak in with them while they slept— knowing that his partner had often ended up with stiff muscles after resting on an ordinary mattress.

And now that they existed in a calm, unhurried state, Eris had decided that he was tired of Azriel stealing his favorite shirts and of him having only one outfit to change into, since they spent practically every day together. Besides, if Azriel had more clothes, he could just rip them off when it was inconvenient, when his fingers weren't fast enough to undress him.

"You spend more time here than at your home, it's the least I can do." That was all he said before showing him his modification to the wardrobe, which he had made twice as large, with one part clearly designated for the Shadowsinger.

On the other hand, Azriel might as well have continued to wear the clothes he kept in a drawer. But Eris had cared enough to give him practically a whole damn closet in his own room. Azriel's side of that dresser was full of the typical clothes he used to wear: dark tunics and pants, Illyrian leather pieces, and even...

A dark blue coat in the style of Autumn's court, but carefully designed so that he could wear it despite his wings. No, not despite, the entire garment was made specifically for a Fae with huge wings like his.

Azriel was speechless, staring at the garment as if it could disappear if he took his attention away for just a second. The next thing Eris felt was the jolt of lips that pulled him far away from reason. It was a kiss loaded with so many words he would have needed hours to classify them —love, gratitude, awe— only he didn't need to, he knew it, deep in his chest where his heart was beating wildly. Azriel embraced him without holding back even a little bit of his strength, perhaps even stealing his air away, or that is the reason the High Lord chose as an excuse for not being able to breathe, so intertwined that it was impossible to discern where one began and the other ended.

Eris smiled against his mouth and reached up to caress his cheek, arranging a lock of black hair. Azriel always has been better with his body than with words.

*******

Since Eris had become High Lord, there was not so much time for lazy mornings spent tangled in the sheets, chatting quietly as if that could keep the sun at bay, prevent it from finally peeking over the horizon and forcing them to wake up from this space between dreams they had woven for themselves. And that, oh that was a serious loss, but one they made up for whenever they had the chance.

Like now. A ray of light sneaking through the window made Eris frown, unwilling to wake. Azriel chuckled softly and moved closer until he was on top of him, sitting between his legs. His journey began on milky thighs, leaving kisses like butterfly flutters, a touch so subtle it could only come from a lover's mouth. When he was satisfied with every inch covered by his lips, he moved to the stomach, his hands tracing meaningless patterns on either side of the chest he was worshipping. Eris' freckles were a story he never tired of retelling.

Azriel finally finished the tour in his mouth and then kissed him without haste. The Illyrian was a strategist and therefore had planned carefully. His litany of kisses was his master plan to convince Eris to stay in bed with him for a while longer. If he could make him forget the rest of the world for a few minutes, the strategy had worked.

"I have to get up and you know it..."

Of course, he wasn't above employing dirtier maneuvers, which were valid in desperate times. So Azriel used his agility and strength to invert their positions, leaving the fireling on top of him, leaning against the expanse of his chest, and used his arms to hold him in an embrace that allowed no buts or exceptions.

Music in the form of Eris' laughter was his reward. By the cauldron, how he wished he could record that melody. It was like the sound of leaves dancing in the wind, the birds singing above the great maples that surrounded the Forest House and the warm crackle of a log in the fireplace. He had no precise words to describe it, he was just certain that it made him happy in a way he had never experienced before. When Eris laughed, Azriel's whole life lit up and the shadows danced happily around the flames of this fire of life and passion that was the man above him.

"I have excellent reasons to dissuade you from getting up." The illyrian sought his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Eris settled against his chest and sighed, feigning annoyance but making no real effort to escape from between his arms.

"And what are those reasons, Shadowsinger?" he asked, raising a copper eyebrow. His hands unconsciously stroked Azriel's shoulders. A reflex.

Azriel's smile widened, his eyes dancing full with a mischievous gleam that Eris caught too late, and he really wanted to protest, he wanted to tell him that there was a long list of things to do, but the objection died on his tongue as Azriel, in another precise movement, shifted them both so that they were now sitting on the bed.

Like moved by instinct, Eris's legs wrapped around his waist so he wouldn't lose his balance. Azriel didn't miss the opportunity to hug him tightly, hiding his head in the space between Eris's neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of wood, cinnamon, and petrichor. Being so close that their chests touched, Azriel allowed himself a moment to savor the intimacy, noticing how their hearts pounded to the same rhythm, a tune just for the two of them.

Eris instantly relaxed. The High Lord had apparently been persuaded enough by the arguments of the illyrian warrior.

*******

The light of the golden hour illuminated the temple through the large windows, tinting everything with an orange hue, along with the hundreds of candles lit around the altar. As was the tradition of the Autumn Court, a mating ceremony began with the first blush of twilight. There was a special aura in the air, as if the combination of this sacred hour, the inherent reverence of the ceremony, and the wild magic of the High Lord had made it all ethereal.

The High Priestess smiled in deep affection as Eris and Azriel approached to stand before her, both dressed in their finest formal attire. Azriel wore a suit of the Night Court's typical cut, a blue so deep it almost looked black. His jacket was embroidered with delicate silver thread and autumn motifs. Eris also wore a similar outfit, but it was garnet, except for the collar of his overcoat, where star patterns woven in gold stood out.

Eris took a deep breath to calm his pulse. After so many years, he had seen this male in more situations than he could count. Angry, covered in blood and ready to attack any threat head on, scared like the time he had saved him from Koschei, happy, excited... smiling in such a beautiful way that Eris could have spent hours watching him, studying every little wrinkle around his hazel eyes or memorizing the dimple that only formed on the left side of his cheek when he laughed truthfully. Probably an eternity would not be enough to soften the desperation to hold him in his arms, to listen to him breathe and press him against his chest as if they could melt in an embrace.

The sound of the priestess speaking brought him out of his thoughts as she began the ceremony, giving a short speech about love. How it was the Mother's blessing, the intertwining of two souls that were both parts of a whole, and the complement of each other. And there was no doubt that if their souls could find the way to each other after what they had been through together, it was impossible to question fate.

Azriel's grip on Eris tightened slightly when it was time to exchange their vows, his nerves on edge. He had never been good with words, they tended to be unnecessary when his hands could show so much more, when his mouth on Eris' was a statement in itself. But this time was different. He needed to say it, to push the words into existence.

"If I ever dared to wish for anything, watching the stars at the foot of Ramiel, it was to have a mate." His voice sounded strange to his own ears. It was too full of emotion for him to contain. "My highest honor is that that person is you, Eris. My greatest blessing is to know that you are a part of me as I am a part of you. And I will love you until Carynth bathes the sky with her light for the last time, and even after that, in the eternity of this life or the next."

He reached up to the High Lord's face to wipe away with his fingertips a single tear that had just rolled down the pale cheek. He hadn't realized at what point he had started to cry himself, the emotion tightening around his neck. But a look into those eyes, like two pieces of shimmering amber, made him smile and breathe again. Eris smiled back before he started to speak.

"There was a time when I thought I was unworthy of a mate, but the Mother, in a gesture of divine grace, made it so that not only did I have one, but that it was you." The complicit chuckle between the two helped Eris calm his heart enough to continue. "There's not a single thing I wouldn't live through again, good or bad, as long as I knew you were the reward for every sacrifice. I love you, Azriel. With the intensity of a fire that will never stop burning, with the certainty that I would do anything to keep that flame alive."

Both of their families watched them in silence with the exception of a few small, tearful weeps. Every person there loved them and had supported them from the beginning, when their escapades were nothing more than a stolen sigh at midnight and a lonely morning. Now they had the honor of witnessing their union.

The High fae officiating began the ceremony by wrapping their hands, as was the tradition of the Night rites, with a ribbon threaded with the colors of both courts, burgundy, gold, black, and silver, a beautiful contrast. And as Autumn's custom dictated, the ribbon burned in a bright reddish flame, scorching the fabric but not burning them. A tingle of magic crackled on their forearms, as if responding with joy.

Next came the mating promise, which they both spoke with such clarity and certainty, as if the words came not from their lips but from their hearts, from some instinctive corner beyond consciousness.

I promise you the first taste of my wine,

the first bite of my hunts,

I promise you every night,

and even the last of my days.

I shall be a shield for your back

as you are for mine,

and my body and spirit are yours,

I place them in your hands.

I promise you every beat of my heart,

until my horizon turns dark.

The kiss Azriel gave him when they finished talking could have brought him to his knees. And his mate smiled at him, the happiness in his body too much to contain, because finally, after so many years, everything felt right.

I'm so happy to have finished this piece! It was a long time since I've writed something more than a drabble so this feels special. Also my love language is acts of service too so it was a delight to write that.

[betty-fran]

Catch-up game!

I was tagged by @alderaan-babe—thank you! 🌿

Last song I listened to: Run or Hide by Run River North (I also keep I Followed You Home by Eliot Sumner on repeat, and very unexpectedly Plantasia by Mort Garson, which reminds me of TOS, haha)

Favorite color: for me today it's probably terracotta, but in general I love most warm earthy shades, from ivory to mahogany, all kinds of ochre yellow, forest green, burnt reds, auburns and browns + black/white, pale pink, gold and pearls.

Currently watching: since N and I are learning Italian, we regularly watch old black-and-white Italian films from the 50s released by Titanus Distribuzione, which are actually particularly charming in their naivety, and unexpectedly good speaks quite well about the limited place of women in society, the religion's oppression, and post-war poverty, all in a completely frivolous way. Genuine delight! We also continue to rewatch our favorite episodes of TOS, the most recent being Who Mourns For Adonais?, one of those episodes that you can watch just for Kirk's concentrated gender-ambivalent theatrics, and of course one of his best lines /We're the same. We share the same history, the same heritage, the same lives. We're tied together beyond any untying. Man or woman, it makes no difference. We're human./

Last movie: in addition to our retro Italian marathon, I recently watched Mathias & Maxime, objectively my favorite film by Xavier Dolan, the director of my heart.

Currently reading: I'm currently in the middle of my completely non-reading period (I'm a pretty chaotic reader, and periods of binge reading are replaced by complete avoidance of any bookshelves except for ao3), the last thing I read was a few thick books about narcissism and ego trauma, but I have Somerset Maugham's Theatre from my sister, and In Memoriam by Alice Winn which I've been wanting to read for a long time, so let's see what happens next!

Coffee or tea: tea is my personal taste, but for many years now, I can't do without coffee. When I was in the second year at university, my then-girlfriend got me hooked on it, and besides, my sister, with whom I now live, is an avid coffee lover. I drink black coffee, often adding citrus fruits to it.

Sweet/savory/spicy: salty! Let's say a salad with feta and garlic, red fish, and wine.

Relationship status: single, my last relationship (very stuck in heterosexual stereotypes) was a real roller coaster ride, and made me think a) what is the reason in me why I attract similar people and situations and b) that I need to figure myself out first, take care of my life, and understand what I really want from a relationship

Looking forward to: my upcoming move from northern Germany with N. It keeps getting delayed and complicated, but it's the only thing I'm really looking forward to.

Current obsessions: Star Trek TOS & K/S, that's, well, obviously, haha. I'm also constantly in my "first half of the last century" retro phase, from my periods of fascination with Miyazaki's anti-war steampunk to my WWII brainrot last year. In real life, I also talk an awful lot about politics and movies, sometimes at the same time, and it's unbearable. My original stories and all the other hyper-fixations and OTPs obviously exist in a dormant state as well, and I just hope I have a lot more energy for it all. I also remain a passive manga reader, but I rarely read anything new these days.

Last Googled: finger wave clips and hair roller, which I want to buy for my experiments with 30s-40s hairstyles, don't ask, I can talk about hair for hours!

Last thing you ate and really enjoyed: huh, this is difficult, for the last two years I've been unable to eat almost anything due to constant severe ulcer attacks, besides, Germany is probably the worst choice for delicious food, somehow absolutely everything here is tasteless, even tea, so the last time I ate something really tasty was before Germany. Lately here, the most delicious thing was, hm, the salted salmon with mashed potatoes that I had when we were at Ikea last month, and tiramisu that my sister and I somehow managed to buy once, because here in the north it is simply impossible to find in cafés or stores.

Currently working on: I probably have more projects than opportunities to work on these days, and most of my time is much more focused on existential questions of what to do next in life/work/master's degree plans/etc, but I also have quite a few personal art projects, and it's just oh... a lot. Besides, I obviously have chronic depression right now, which I can't do anything about, because where I live, there's simply no sun or warmth, absolutely none, it's like you live in a damn February/early March all year round.

I have two important original writing projects. One is my very old, almost lifelong, intricately constructed, ever-changing epic story in the rhythm of magical realism, which touches on all my personal philosophical and existential questions, and which is actually my biggest wip project. The other is a rather small, intimate story about growing up in a world of constant war, which I've been passively working on for the past two years.

Besides my unfinished drafts about Kirk as a character, K/S, and TOS in general for this blog (which only get more and more as time goes on…), I sometimes think about getting back to my fanfiction projects. I have a draft of a redemption arc—a pretty ruthless psychological analysis of Anakin Skywalker—that I started this winter. I also have a LNSB-inspired major project on an absolute AOS AU about humanitarian service amid a major galactic war, with obvious allusions to the present day. Several ideas for f/f Kirk/Spock (including my TOS favorite, and several fun options for AOS), and a rather unexpected f!McCoy and m/m Kirk/Spock brotp concept (McCoy as a character actually gives me quite mixed feelings, but this idea works well in my head), as well as an idea for a series of chamber psychological episodes of Kirk's POV in TOS. I still have a few more pretty raw AU ideas for K/S, but not for today.

I'll tag @holdy-caulfield, @wildplaceouterspace, @balalaijka, @missanthropicprinciple, @captainjanewaylovespuppies (you are free not to join this, or vice versa, to join even if I didn't tag you, if you feel like talking a little)

[autisticdiluc]

YANSIM INCORRECT QUOTES

in no particular order i present YANDERE SIMULATOR INCORRECT QUOTES WOOHOO,, enjoy :3

contains random ships (not a lot though!)

----

Pippi: I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. Someone asked me what the Spanish word for "tortilla" was once, and now I dream of kissing them under the moonlight.

Ryuto: What kind of animal is the Pink Panther?

Pippi, already taking off their clothes: God, Ryuto, you’re so fucking stupid.

----

Musume: Here's two facts about me.

Musume: 1. I hate hot people.

Musume 2. I'm a hypocrite.

----

Osoro: That was so hot, Megami.

Megami: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Osoro: I'm so in love with you.

----

Ajia: Why is Shoku making me do the dishes again? You haven’t washed them in a week, Seiyo!

Seiyo, who is bribing Shoku: It’s because I’m Shoku's favorite.

Ajia: I hate you.

----

Shoku, to The Cooking Club: None of you know what propaganda is, do you?

Ajia: I think it’s when a British person takes a good look at something.

----

Ayato: Do you want to play 20 Questions?

Taro: Sure!

Taro: Whats your favorite color?

Ayato, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Do you like men?

----

Budo: Did you study for the marine biology test?

Taro: Of course I did! Listen: fish are remarkably well adapted to water. What’s more, they can swim.

Budo: You are so lame.

----

Kaga, wearing shades: Rule one of destroying the world.

Kaga: *does finger guns* You gotta look good while doing it.

----

Itachi: When you've been on the internet for as long as I have, you develop thick skin.

Asu: Green isn't your color.

Itachi: Green brings out my eyes you prick!

*Chases after Asu*

----

Ayano: Do you want some tea?

Osana: What are the options?

Ayano: Yes or no.

----

Murderer: Any last words?

Musume: Do you think I'm cute? Be honest.

----

Hoshiko: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

----

Budo, reading a recipe: Beat three eggs?

Raibaru: It means like in hand-to-hand combat.

Budo: Ohhhh-

Amai: Both of you get out of this kitchen.

----

Kaga: That’s a crazy idea. Insane. It doesn’t make sense.

Megami: You’ll do it?

Kaga: Of course.

----

Taro: I owe you one.

Ayato: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

----

Kizana: But who gets which pencil?

Tokuko: Since they're my things, I get the good one, Kokona gets the broken one and you don't get one because fuck you.

----

Taro: So, what’s Osana's type?

Raibaru: Gray eyes, kind, oblivious, good sense of humor, reads books.

Taro: Sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends.

Raibaru: Did I mention oblivious?

Taro: Yeah, why?

Raibaru: Okay, just making sure.

----

Daku: I’ve invited you here because I crave the deadliest game...

Borupen, nodding: Knife Monopoly.

Daku: I was actually going to play Russian roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

----

//not an incorrect quote but GOD i yearn for the mix interactions of clubs LET THERE BE FRIENDSHIP OUTSIDE OF CLUBS

----

Meka: What do you think Yaku will do for a distraction?

Horo: He'll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That's what I would do.

*Building explodes and several car alarms go off*

Horo: ...or he could do that.

----

Midori: *venting endlessly to Kuu about her week*

Kuu Dere, every once in a while: *in a monotone* Wow, that is so wild.

-----

Genka: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it.

Osana: …I was hungry.

----

Midori: What's your most controversial video game hot take?

Gema: The pursuit for photorealism in games is a fruitless endeavor that only results in bloated file sizes that take too much space.

Mai: Mario is a woman and just really butch.

----

Hayanari: So don't panic but one of us is possessed by an owl....

Gaku: ....

Umeji: .....

Dairoku: ......

Hokuto: ..Who?

Hayanari: That's the thing we don't-

*Everyone stares at Hokuto*

----

Toga: Just trust your gut!

Hazu: Dude, I have anxiety. My gut is literally always telling me to abort mission.

----

Maka: Hey bro, what do you want to eat?

Borupen: The souls of the innocent!

Maka: A bagel.

Borupen: No!

Maka: Two bagels.

----

Enpitsu: Maybe the true treasure was friendship all along. But I hope not, because I can’t spend friendship on new portraits of me

----

Hanako: Every zoo is a petting zoo unless you’re a coward.

Taro: I’m worried about you.

----

Osana: Guys, my friend here is bilingual.

Raibaru: Yes.

Osana: Which means she likes both boys and girls.

Raibaru: Ye- wait, what-

Taro: Osana, that's not what bilingual means-

Osana: Shhh, it's okay Raibaru. I still love you, girl.

Raibaru & Taro: ...

Osana: bUT NOT LIKE THAT-

----

Oka: I wanna sleep for 40 hours.

Shin: You know that's called a coma, right?

Oka:

Oka: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.

----

Ayano: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Taro: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

----

Miyuji: Uptown Funk would've made it into the Shrek Soundtrack.

Gita: That's the truest statement I've ever heard.

----

Enpitsu: Are you sure Otohiko's even gay? He barely even looked at ME of all people.

----

Aoi: Do you love Shiromi?

Kuruko: Yeah, I do.

Aoi: Akane! I told you I knew it! You owe me 100 bucks!

Akane: We all love Shiromi. You should've asked if they were IN love with them.

Kuruko: I thought that was implied.

Akane: ...

Aoi: ...

Kuruko, looking straight at Akane: Congrats Aoi, you just won 100 bucks.

----

Infochan: If you ever feel stupid or weak or powerless, just remember that I am not. I am out there, very dangerous, and I am looking for you. Good luck.

----

// ALRIGHT YEAH THAT IT hope you enjoyed!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

[yumikitten]

Character(s): Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluffy goodness.

Summary: After almost a year of being friends with Noah, you learn that he says "I love you" pretty casually in any situation. One day, you learn what it really means when he says he loves you.

Author's Note: Just some fluffy drabble to help your day! 💕

Nearly ten months ago you'd met Noah and your life seemed to change upside down and make a weird one-eighty. Not only was he a force to be reckoned with, but he was part of a band you happened to be a fan of. Talk about being in the right place at the right time.

It started out like this. You were a bartender at the House of Blues they were performing at when Noah and Jolly came up to purchase a few drinks before the show. Apparently, they were entirely out of drinks backstage and wanted something for the green room as they waited to go on. Obliging, they went on their merry way moments later.

After the show as you were cleaning up and organizing for the next day, Noah came back and really seemed to enjoy your company. So much so that he sat there talking to you as you closed up your station. It was mindless chit chat, but he made it so easy. You had almost forgotten he was famous and one of your idols. As you stood there with nothing left to put away an hour later, you thought of all the ways you could stall till Noah suggested you hang out with him and his friends. Obviously, he wasn't done talking to you just like you weren't done with him.

The rest was an inevitable history as you noticed for some time now how he showed emotion to his friends, and now you. For someone who was normally private about their life, hiding everything behind an indifferent mask, he was outspoken and true to himself when it came to those he was close to.

The first time he said he loved you, it was because you'd brought him his favorite tea on your way to his house. It was a casual, thank-you-for-thinking-of-me type of tone. You were flustered, but took it with a grain of salt. He was thanking you in his own way.

The second time it happened, you'd said something stupid and totally like you, but he laughed along at what you were trying to say. It was the 'you're adorable' tone he used often with you. Honestly, that was the one you heard the most out of all of them. It always came down to you being adorable in some way or another. You were relatively average in height and build, but standing next to him made you seem much more miniscule.

Each time you heard him tell you he loved you, it was always nonchalant and in a friendly manner. And yea, you loved him too. As a friend, and as so much more. You weren't fooling anyone, that was for sure. By the second month of friendship, you were so head over heels with him, it was hard to contain. That was, until you found a considerable loophole. He already asked you to hang out a lot, and there were several functions he'd invited you to that made it seem as if you were a couple. You weren't acting in your friendship, but you certainly put more of yourself into it. If you couldn't date him, you could be the best friend he could have.

And apparently he loved you for it. The notice was significant as you slowly did more and more in your friendship that others wouldn't go the distance for. You were more aware, you cared about the small details and the big picture of things. You preformed small tasks that he wouldn't have thought of but you were one step ahead at every turn. You cared, and it showed.

He reminded you all the time that he loved you and you'd nod along and reply back with "I love you too, dork" because you didn't want to sound too serious. If it was serious and he caught on, it could potentially ruin whatever dynamic you two shared. Things were going good and it was enough for you to never speak on your feelings. This was enough.

Until one day—today—where you were watching movies before he went on tour. Nicholas was supposed to join, but he was caught up with something and said for you two to keep your plans. It wasn't abnormal to have a movie night alone, so you didn't suspect the universe was trying to finally pin the two of you together. On your way to Noah's house, you'd picked up things for his favorite dinner and some items he would need for tour but definitely would forget to pack extra of certain things. The man was busy, his mind running in a hundred different directions. He would definitely forget to pack extra toothpaste since he said his was running out anyway. Now, he didn't have to because you remembered for him.

"You finally made it!" Noah exclaimed when he opened the door, noticing the bags in your arms. "Holy shit, did you buy the whole store? You were just supposed to buy wine!"

Instead of stopping, you waddled to the kitchen to set everything down. "And I did, but seeing as you leave soon I wanted to make you dinner—your favorite, don't worry—and then I picked up more toothpaste because you said you were out. Oh! And some deodorant because honestly, you can't ever have too much when traveling." You continued to list off other smaller items as Noah's expression changed to bewilderment.

"You're right; I totally forgot to grab some of this." He stated sheepishly, hand going to the back of his head to scratch it. "Thank God I have such a great friend to take care of me."

"Damn right you do," you agreed even if a small part of you still wanted to be more. He took whatever items to put in his bag as you began cooking. When he came back downstairs, he poured two glasses of wine and sat on the kitchen counter watching you. This was a normal Thursday for you guys. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

Not until he said, "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course, I do." Giggling at his question that no longer made you spiral, you turned the burner off and grabbed some plates from the cabinet. "I love you too, doofus."

Noah shook his head, which you hardly saw as you continued moving around the kitchen. Finally, he threw his leg out to hook you to him so he had your attention. His gaze was firm, serious.

"I don't think you actually do, but I'm willing to explain so we can move past the barrier."

"What the hell are you talking about?" You noticed the way his tone held no joking nor hint of anything comical. It was soft but held firm as he still held you to him with his legs as a cage. "You remind me all the time, Noah."

"Yes," he conceded, "but I think you're missing a few pieces, Y/N." Well, that had you second guessing your entire friendship. "When I tell you 'I love you', it isn't just because you take care of me and remember certain things that I don't. It isn't because you sometimes fumble over words and get flustered. It's actually because I'm inevitably in love with you." He looked hopeful as he spoke, but that made you spiral down into emotions you had kept hidden for so long.

"You—what?" Already you could feel your eyes grow slightly larger with astonishment.

"I'm in love with you. I say it a lot to make sure you don't forget about it, but also because it's true." He shrugged, taking a sip of his glass before setting it down again. His hands moved a strand of your hair as you stared up at him like you were a deer in the headlights. "I'm in love with you, and I'm slightly tired of hoping you'd catch the hint."

"You—you tell me you love me for everything. How was I supposed to know?" Your voice rattled, but it wasn't out of any sort of irritation. The opposite, really. Your emotions were turning to mush just as your brain was. Never did you think this would happen.

"Because I love everything about you." Noah stated simply as if it were common knowledge. "And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I kinda want to think you might love me too."

"I do!" You nearly shouted, covering your mouth in surprise over your own outburst. "I love you too, Noah."

Satisfied with your answer, he loosened his legs that were caged around you to let you finish what you were doing.

"So, then tonight can be our first date? It took a lot for me to get Nick to do something else, and if he comes back and realizes nothing happened, he'll be upset."

"You kicked Nicholas out?" Your eyes popped open as he grinned to himself.

"Well yea, I was hoping tonight would be special."

"And if I didn't feel the same?"

"Then my ass would have been handed to me, but I had a gut feeling things would turn out in my favor." Kissing the top of your head like he usually did, he got down and began preparing the plates. "This was an added bonus. I was just going to order Chinese."

Winking, he took the plates out to the living room where you'd have your movie night. Shaking yourself from your thoughts, you grabbed the wine bottle and your glasses. It was safe to say you and Noah were together now, and it was best not to question it. Fate had a strange way of moving things along, after all.

[starlightandmusings]

newsies fic recs (from an english major):

no hate to those who like the 5+1 and just one bed tropes, but they're just not my cup of tea. (i have been called a hater.) instead, here are my favorite ao3 newsies fics, ones with intense originality, lyrical prose, and in-depth character studies. (;

canon era:

among the roses green by TheBarkeep. a jatherine retelling of the ballad of tam lin, featuring a gentle davey, tumultuous katherine, and poignantly-drawn jack. and, of course, whump, always. word count 66k.

Sacrifice by Efstitt. this fic is my roman empire. mayer jacobs and jack kelly have a history riddled with pain, and jack has to battle his demons to let himself be loved. oh, and the refuge has a fight club. word count 15k.

keep the earth below my feet by scarlettroses. i'm a sucker for race & jack friendship, and here, race is a prizefighter. jack is there to drag him out of trouble, forever. word count 2.6k.

tryin' to talk with a fist in ya mouth by Somanywords. jack kelly's full backstory, chronicling his grief, his darkness. featuring intense PTSD, art as a form of therapy, and emotionally charged prose. word count 15.5k.

Jack's Self Portrait in Apologies by Em_313. a different angle on jack's backstory, captured in snapshots of regret. meticulous period research in this one, as well as a whole lot of bloodstains and death. word count 3k.

cardboard crown (jack kelly, a life) by stars_and_sunflowers. this is my own take on jack's story. featuring a fight club, a debt-riddled race, and irish catholicism. in-progress, current word count 16k.

Escapes by Efstitt. jack has just broken out of sing sing, and he lands smack dab in the middle of the pulitzers' summer estate. cue savagery, a pretty heiress, and a compassionate spot conlon. word count 30k.

On the Road by Efstitt. sequel to escapes! ever more whump, this time in the context of a road trip. jatherine is endgame, and the plot is dazzlingly engaging. and, as always, brilliant characterizations. word count 56k.

Just Hold On Kid by flyinghome21. another jack kelly backstory (do you see a pattern?) flashes of years gone by; i was really captured by the way the plot moved, the highlights of what made jack tick. word count 27k.

melt your headaches, call it home by floodlights. latino jack kelly. jatherine. classism/racism, violence, startlingly lyrical prose. do i even need to SAY more. i want to eat this fic. one of my all time faves. word count almost 5k.

Best Laid Plans by TheBarkeep. ashkenazi jewish jacobs family rep! this one features a soft davey jacobs falling in love with a sex worker, jatherine sweetness, and teenagers bearing the weight of the world. word count 128k.

Jack and the Baby by tuppenny. cute one-shot told in jack's vividly unique, endearing voice -- he steals a baby in the summer of 1891. carefully researched, wonderfully executed. word count 5.6k.

of cowboys and princesses by TheBarkeep. little jack and charlie meet each other in an orphan asylum. jack is a fierce protector, charlie a wistful dreamer. this one made me cry. word count almost 3k.

honorable mention: for you are my fate, my sweet by TheBarkeep. cupid & psyche retelling featuring organized crime, meticulous period piece research, and a villain more horrific than snyder. this is one of my favorites, but i skimmed so much of it because it gets very dark. word count 149k.

(now would be a good time to get up, stretch, drink some water. will i ever stop yapping? eventually.)

modern au

No Way by Efstitt. this and the sequel have my brain in a stranglehold. foster care au ft a severely traumatized jack, charlie and jack gorilla glue familial love, stunning plot twists, horrific whump, mayer jacobs for king of the universe now and forever. this one made me cry like a baby.

Just Hold On, Kid by Efstitt. the sequel. i am getting these two as bound books by the end of the year. davey is doing an investigative report on the refuge just as jack gets sent back, and mayer won't let something like trauma or distance stop him from loving his boys. in-progress. current word count 56k.

Medda Crusade by sunkissedstar. this series is the perfect blend of fluff and angst, focusing on baby jack and his trauma in foster care, and medda showering him with mother love. series word count is 10k.

to be updated! i am currently reading Hell Is a Sober Crawl by glitter_ink, rereading for you are my fate, my sweet (TheBarkeep), and beginning Five (stress), all of which came highly recommended. thanks for coming to my ted talk enjoy <3

[apteryxparvus]

Request for the 100 follower event!

Scaramouche/Wanderer (Genshin Impact), fluff! :^

If you don't have any ideas, maybe Scaramouche taking care of sick reader? (I'm caught a cold recently, lol)

But feel free to write it as you want to.

Congratulations on 100 followers!

Hello! And thank you for the request 😊 Hope you're feeling better now, anon!

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ that ran from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Scaramouche / Reader

Word count — 942

Content warning — none

“Back to bed, now,” Scaramouche orders, his stern expression flickering between you and the stack of papers you’re desperately clutching against your chest. You manage a sheepish grin, hugging the documents closer.

“No.”

“I’ve already told you more than once. Go back to bed.” Your boyfriend argues, taking a slow step towards you. “You’re unwell, running a fever, and you need to rest.”

“These papers won’t grade themselves, you know?”

He mutters something under his breath, mild annoyance crossing his face. In a split second, he’s in front of you, swiftly taking the papers from your grasp. You let out a gasp, attempting to reach them. It’s a futile attempt — the paper’s too high to reach.

“Give them back!” you exclaim. He gives you a deadpan stare.

You shift around, trying to outmaneuver him, hoping to somehow gain the upper hand, but your body is too fatigued. The fever rages through your body, and not even a minute later, you’re panting, feeling the heat course through you. The room suddenly feels a bit too stifling.

“Back to bed,” he repeats. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” you challenge. But deep down you know he’s right, you know your stubbornness is unnecessary, but the idea of the ungraded research papers looms heavily on your mind. The deadline is too close for comfort. And if you didn’t complete the task, you’d face (yet another) lengthy and harsh reprimand from your supervisor — an ordeal you dread, not looking forward to the sight of the long, curly stray hair on his chin, nor the spittle that leaves his lips as he yells out a variety of insults.

Scaramouche pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing yet another sigh. “Bed. Right now.”

“Fine, fine,” you relent, dragging your feet towards the bedroom. You shoot him a nasty, annoyed look and let out a humph.

He trails after you, ensuring your cocooned comfortable in bed, a blanket wrapped snugly around your feverish form.

“I’ll be back with some medication,” he announced, heading towards the bathroom. You hear him rummaging through the cabinet and you frown — Bimarstan’s fever-breaking medication has a bitter, earthy taste that you heavily dislike. And sadly enough, none of the Amurta students seem interested in trying to sweeten up the recipe, claiming it’s good enough as long as it does the job.

A sneeze echoes around the room, and you rub your temples, attempting to alleviate the headache wrapping around your head. You sniffle, sensing another sneeze on the way, and you brace yourself for the burst of pain that will follow.

“Here,” Scaramouche mutters, thrusting the herbal-smelling pills towards you. You grab them, feeling the rough texture as you stare at the dark green circular tablet. ”I’ll bring you some water to help you swallow these.”

“Can I have some tea instead?” you ask, grinning meekly.

“The usual?” You nod, heart warming at the way your boyfriend is taking care of you — despite his prickly personality and tendency to be blunt and sometimes downright mean, he cares a great deal about you.

You leave the pills on the bedside table and snuggle your face into the blanket — it smells like Scaramouche, a woody and grassy scent, mixed with the bitterness of his favorite green tea.

You close your eyes for what feels like a second, the room's peaceful silence coaxing you closer to slumber. Moments later, the bed dips as your boyfriend sits down, a steaming cup of fresh tea in his hands. He helps you sit up, arranging several pillows against the bed frame.

With a grimace, you take the herbal medication and swallow it; of course, it gets stuck in your throat, and you take a few gulps of the hot liquid, coughing at the burn. There's some residue of the pill down your throat, and you take a few more desperate sips of tea, hoping to rid yourself of the taste.

"Idiot," Scaramouche scolds, taking the mug away from you. "Do you want to choke on the tea?"

"'m sorry," you mumble, pouting.

He gently brushes a strand of hair that's sticking to your slightly moist forehead, and you nuzzle into his tender touch. "What am I going to do with you," he mutters under his breath, cupping your cheek, his thumb caressing your bottom lip softly.

"Kiss me to make me feel better?" you joke.

Scaramouche shakes his head, but heeds your request. He moves closer to your burning body, cupping your face with his two hands. You stare at his eyes in astonishment, feeling vulnerable and exposed under his gaze.

"Wait, wait! No! I was just joking," you try to push him away, but he doesn't budge. "You'll get sick too!"

"Idiot," he chuckles. "This puppet body of mine does not suffer from illness." With that, he dips his head, his soft lips meeting yours.

The kiss is unhurried, tender even. You freeze for a moment, then melt into it, savoring the sensation of his body close to yours. His fingers thread through the back of your head, tangled in your tousled hair.

You gingerly nip at his lower lip, and he responds by parting his mouth, allowing the kiss to deepen. Breathless, you're intoxicated by the sensations, the rush of the kiss enough to give you the energy to continue.

You're on the verge of wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, when—

"ACHOO!"

Scaramouche recoils, a mild disgust and disbelief etched on his face.

"Sorry," you mutter sheepishly. "Maybe I should just lie down and nap. Care to join me for a cuddle session?"

"On one condition — never sneeze on my face again."

Author's note: not really proofread, my brain is too fried from uni classes and work 😫