#syrup writing

[syrupsyche]

Instead of working on anything substantial, I've crafted an elaborate family and backstory for modern/teacher AU Enjolras....I bestow him my greatest gift (complicated relationship with his parents ❤️)

Read more about his family below! Warning for long post:

Maximillien Enjolras + Kim Eun-ji (김은지)

= Eun-bin (은빈) Enjolras ((<- this is our Enjolras))

Korean mother, French father. They met in Korea when Enjolras Sr. was sent to work as a military diplomat, and they raised Enjolras there for a few years.

Mother was an activist who fought for women’s and workers’ rights. To this day, Enjolras is still confused how his radical, leftist mother fell in love with a government official. (Spoiler: they fought. A lot.)

During his doljabi ceremony, he grabbed a toy gavel, though really only to smack another baby’s head with it. Still, that excited his parents, who thinks he will be a great judge or police detective upholding justice one day (Spoiler: upholding justice, yes, but very clearly not on the side of the government)

Loved reading and being read to. The earliest memories Enjolras had of his father are of him reading Palmer’s Twelve Who Ruled to him. Not to be beat out, his mother read Hwang et. al.’s Gwangju Uprising to him. This is why Enjolras turned out the way he is.

Family immigrated when Enjolras was 4. Mother wanted to keep Enjolras’ Korean name on his documents, but his father kept trying to dissuade her, saying that it'll just make life harder for Enjolras. Tried to downplay his mother’s arguments that cultural names are important by saying “no one looks at these stupid papers anyways”, to which his mother promptly stole and set fire to half of his father’s papers before he could stop her.

When Enjolras asked how she never got into legal trouble, she snorted and said his father knew damn well he'd never be able to raise him as a single father, and so let the incident slide. Enjolras remains Eun-bin Enjolras on his official documents ‘til this day.

Father was barely home, so Enjolras latched onto his mother. She basically raised him as a mini version of her, and embedded in him much of the values and beliefs he still holds onto. He helped to prep mutual aid packages, seal letters written to their local ministers, take notes for his mother while she was on calls, etc.

However, Enjolras and his mother began to butt heads more often once he got older and gained an actual personality that wasn’t just his mother’s. His views on queer rights, immigration, the incarceration system, etc. deviated from her more conservative stances, and when two very similar and very stubborn people begin to fight…yeah, it caused quite a rift.

Father suddenly died when Enjolras was 17. Too busy with his final year of school and college applications and liaising with external clubs and societies, Enjolras never found the proper time to grieve. ‘Til today, Enjolras can't properly articulate how he feels about his father, and wonders if his father would even like him the way that he is now.

With his mother, their relationship continued to be fairly rocky through university and took quite a dive when he had to spend some time in jail right after university. After that, he moved out and began working as a teacher so that he can have his own finances and space (“his own space” like he isn’t quite literally living with his boss and his boss’ family)

Over time however, he and his mother began mending their relationship, the distance and time apart helping them both. He calls her every week, she learns a lot more about Enjolras’ world through her own research, and they fight a lot less often.

Enjolras finally brings Grantaire over during Seollal and his mother LOVES him; she thinks he will help temper Enjolras (HAH…). Grantaire’s a little afraid because uh oh, now there’s two incredibly intense and strong-willed Enjolrai in his life, and oh no, she’s already roping him into helping with her causes…😨

[syrupsyche]

WOAH an Eros and Psyche AU?? Who would have thought of that.......

......and apparently it now comes with fic 👀 If you liked this piece of art, feel free to check out the first chapter!!

Toying with an Eros and Psyche AU, where Enjolras is married off to a monstrous being as punishment for his beauty, but instead of a happily-ever-after, he incites a revolution against the gods via his "marriage" to Eros (aka Grantaire...)

Or perhaps its just an excuse for me to draw Enjolras with a knife and butterfly wings 😶🦋

[lgbtlunaverse]

Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.

[corviiids]

I'm sorry PLEASE elaborate or cap/link the story about you wearing the nightmare perfume to..... work? as a lawyer? Court work? Bad smell court work??? Rook,

i did post the story here at some point but sure i'll retell it with more context. anyone who doesn't know, im a lawyer and my favourite character is goro akechi from persona 5 whose face i have been wearing since 2017. ok we proceed

the perfume is followed by kerosene, which is slightly infamous. i encountered it when i was first trying to find a decent gourmand fragrance which actually smells like coffee. (i still haven't found a good one so if anyone has any recs...) that tumblr post about its fragrantica reviews shows off some of the funnier ones, but the actual fragrantica page shows the response is a bit more complicated. followed is a very divisive fragrance. those who love it absolutely adore it. everyone else thinks it's a curse on all of humanity forever. i read those reviews and instantly decided i had to try it so i bought a sample.

the thing that makes followed by kerosene most controversial is that it has really unreasonably strong staying power. the other notable thing about followed is that despite being advertised as a coffee and vanilla forward fragrance, it actually has an INCREDIBLY strong smell of maple syrup. perfume depends really heavily on the individual, since the same perfume will act differently on different people's skin, which is why some people insist this smells of a lovely pleasant coffee and, while lasting, generally fades okay, and other people insist the maple syrup demons live in their vents to this day. i actually adore followed. i'm pretty sensitive to strong fragrances and i don't love sweet things, so i was really apprehensive, but i ended up really liking it? it IS strong, but i use a very tiny little amount and to me it smells of a pleasantly burnt caramelised maple followed (hehe) by a nice jaunty undertone of espresso. everyone i've asked irl also thought it was very pleasant.

i was wearing followed to work and needed to run to court for boring BAU reasons. i was NOT there for a hearing. this did not happen while phoenix wrighting my way through actual fucking advocacy. just making this extremely clear for my own mental health. anyway i was in court wearing my little perfume having a normal day talking to a court officer about documents or whatever and they stopped dead mid-conversation and went, "do you smell pancakes?"

anyway that's why i don't wear the fragrance anymore. not because it's a nightmare perfume from hell. just because i absolutely cannot repeat the experience of standing inside a fucking courthouse having to politely giggle and fib my way through an interaction with a completely innocent court officer who had no idea the amount of psychic damage they'd just dealt me by asking me so politely with their real human voice if i smelled sweet pancakes while i stood there knowing and dreading the true reality, which was that the pancakes, after all this time, was me

[foxtrot91]

sweet like syrup

The batter sizzles as Tommy pours it into the pan, the scent of the pancake batter wafting up and filling Tommy’s senses. Evan is still sleeping in the bedroom, having arrived home late last night after his shift ran over. He’d showered at the station and had practically collapsed onto the bed next to Tommy, barely managing to grunt out a greeting before being pulled under into a deep sleep. From the messages he’d received throughout Evan’s shift, it had been a rough one.

Which is why Tommy is out here now, trying his hand at pancakes made from scratch. He takes a moment to mourn the loss of his store-bought pancake mix that he used to have before Evan had taken one look at it, shot Tommy a look of disgust and declared it sacrilege before tossing it in the trash. So now Tommy has to troll Google for pancake recipes and thank whatever god might exist that Evan has also taken to expanding the ingredients Tommy has on hand even if Tommy barely touches them himself.

The Canadian Pure Maple Syrup has been a wonderful addition, actually, – “Bobby has it shipped in from Montreal, so you know it’s legit.” – and while he wishes he had the convenience of a premade mix to go with it, he accepts the trade-off. He still hasn’t figured out the whole maple syrup grading colour system, however, but he’d enjoyed listening to Evan discuss the merits of each grade and their best uses in the kitchen.

If he’s completely honest, Tommy doesn’t notice much of a difference between the light or dark syrups and is halfway convinced that the Canadian government is involved in a conspiracy with the maple syrup companies to hoodwink Americans into spending more money for their pretentious, robust flavoured syrup. Jokes on them, Tommy decides, because he would’ve bought it regardless of some made-up grading system just for the way Evan lights up whenever Bobby brings over their portion of his latest order. Also, and he is mature enough to admit this– it’s a thousand times better than the thick, artificial table syrup he’d grown up with as a kid.

You win this one, Canada, he thinks, eyeing the can of syrup with the proud maple leaf emblazoned on the label.

He's nearing the end of the batter by the time he hears a faint shuffling coming from the direction of the bedroom. By the time Evan joins him in the kitchen, Tommy has turned off the stove and has moved to set the table with two plates, cutlery, butter – real butter, not the margarine Tommy used to carry which was another quick casualty once Evan had moved in – a stack of pancakes, and of course, the can of syrup.

“You made breakfast?” Evan says, barely suppressing his yawn long enough to get the question out. He’s sleep rumpled, wearing one of Tommy’s slightly too big sweaters and a pair of sweats that he’s yet to tie up, and Tommy knows that if the sweater weren’t hiding it from view, he’d get a delicious peek at the sliver of skin and trail of hair that leads into Evan’s pants.

Small mercies, he thinks, because if it weren’t for the bulk of the sweater, Tommy is certain they wouldn’t make it to breakfast, and he’s spent way too much time putting this together to not eat it with Evan.

“I did,” Tommy says, smiling as he pulls Evan into his arms and gives him a soft, lingering kiss before pulling back. “Thought I’d surprise you… are you surprised?”

“You hate cooking,” Evan says in lieu of an answer, smiling when he looks over at the table. “It smells amazing.”

Laughing, Tommy ushers Evan over to the table and pulls a chair out for him. “Hopefully it tastes just as good,” he says with a wink as Evan sits down.

Tommy takes the seat to his right and serves up the pancakes onto both of their plates. Once adequately buttered and drenched in syrup, they both dig in. They’re definitely not as good as Evan’s – he really should ask him for the recipe he uses – but they’re still good, if Tommy does say so himself. And by the look on Evan’s face, he’d say they’re at least good enough to pass his muster. They’re quiet as they eat, the sounds of their utensils clanging on their plates the only real noises filling the dining room. It’s a comfortable silence, and given Evan’s rough shift the previous night, Tommy imagines it’s a welcome one as well.

Once they finish, Tommy stands to gather their plates, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Evan’s head before he turns to wash up. There’s a certain domesticity to this that Tommy has never felt in any of his previous relationships. Evan isn’t the first boyfriend he’s lived with, not by a longshot, but he’s the first who’s ever made the kind of effort for Tommy that he is. The first to speedrun a sexuality crisis for the sheer fact that it was Tommy he wanted to be with, the first to cook him meals outside of any special occasion just because, and the first to make room for Tommy in every aspect of his life, to seamlessly fit Tommy in amongst the people he values most without a second thought.

He’s the first to make Tommy want to match his effort.

When he finishes cleaning up, he turns back to see Evan staring at him over the back of his chair. His elbow is rested on the back with his chin perched on top and he’s gazing at Tommy in a way that has a warm prickle starting up in his chest.

“What?” Tommy asks as he wipes his hands on the towel hanging off the oven handle.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He trails off, but Tommy doesn’t try to interject. “Nobody’s ever made me breakfast before.”

That can’t be true.

“What about Bobby?”

“That-he doesn’t count,” Evan says, like it should be obvious. “I mean like… in a relationship.”

“Oh,” Tommy says, a little stunned at the thought. Evan has had many partners; surely at least one of them would’ve–

“Yeah,” he says, smiling as he stands from the chair to join Tommy where he’s standing near the counter. “Usually it’s me,” he waves a hand vaguely towards the counter before looking back to Tommy. “It was nice, being on the other side for once.”

“Well, you better get used to it,” Tommy says, “Because I’ve got Google at my fingertips and a whole host of new ingredients, kitchen appliances, and fancy pots and pans at my disposal.” Evan laughs, ducking his head at the reminder of how absolutely batshit insane he’d gone overhauling Tommy’s kitchen when he’d moved in. “I hope you’re prepared for a lot of terrible meals,” he adds, because cooking the kinds of meals Evan is capable of has never been in his wheelhouse. Pancakes are about as good as it gets. Evan giggles and shakes his head, shoving lightly at Tommy’s shoulder in response.

God, he thinks, I fucking loves this man.

“I love you,” Evan says, eyes bright.

I love you too. He thinks it; goes to say it in return as he takes in the bright blue of Evan’s eyes.

“I want to marry you,” is what comes out instead.

Evan’s eyes go wide as saucers and Tommy has a split second to think – fuck fuck fuck… before landing on, fuck it. – as Evan sputters in shock, “T-Tommy, you can’t mean-”

“There’s a ring in my sock drawer,” he says on a slightly panicked breath, “I had it all planned out for our trip next month.”

“Wait, what trip?”

“It was going to be a surprise, Bobby put the PTO in for you,” this was the one piece that Tommy had been somewhat anxious about, but Eddie had been adamant that Evan would be very much on board with Tommy’s surprise. “I’m flying us out to a private lodge a buddy of mine owns. Just you, me, and a whole lot of forest to hike through.”

“Fuck,” Evan says, eyes wide in disbelief and Tommy feels a curl of anxiety forming in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help worrying that he’s stepped wrong here, that maybe it’s too soon. Sure they’ve been together for nearly two years now but really, what’s two years in the grand scheme of things– “Yes.”

Tommy’s brain goes abruptly offline as he processes, “What?” he asks, like an idiot.

“Yes, I will marry you,” Evan is grinning, chest shaking with barely suppressed laughter as his arms loop around Tommy’s neck and tug him in for a bruising kiss.

Groaning as they pull away, Tommy lets out a dry chuckle, “I had a whole plan,” he laments, shaking his head.

Evan isn’t having it; he takes Tommy’s face in his hands and draws him in for another heated kiss before pulling back. “Whether in some private lodge or here in our kitchen, my answer is still the same,” he says, and Tommy feels breathless.

“God I fucking love you,” he confesses, resting his forehead against Evan’s, noses brushing together.

“I know,” Evan says, and then, eyes sparkling with a little bit of mischief; “Wanna find out if engagement sex is better than normal, living-together sex?”

Tommy doesn’t have time to answer in the affirmative before Evan’s mouth is on his again, his lips still sweet with maple syrup. He feels a hand snake up his shirt as they start maneuvering towards the bedroom, losing articles of clothing along the way. He has more words to say, a whole speech he’d planned out that would show Evan just how much he means to Tommy. He’ll say them sometime, later, he thinks, when the desperation has worn off and they’re laying in the afterglow, sated, and happy.

Ao3

[taraxippos]

Saying 'sex and food and gore are variations on the same concept so you can write them interchangeably' is so crazy because like you are fundamentally missing the point of theme, it's meaning Assigned to concepts that don't necessarily have intrinsic meaning beyond what they fundamentally describe.

Like you Can write sex like food effectively if it's serving a purpose (to communicate about the nature of the sex, the emotional stakes, the character's personality and their relationships, etc) and using eating as a metaphor effectively communicates this purpose- ie to evoke that the sex is an act of consumptive indulgence (maybe at the expense of the other? is it self-serving for one or both? do they treat it like mindless snacking? is it like binge eating?), or that it's an attempt to satiate a feeling of starvation (does it? are they still hungry?), etc. It Can work very effectively if you're using the food connection to convey additional layers of meaning that are not implicit in the act itself.

It does NOT work if you're operating on the basis of 'sex and gore and eating actually all the same thing as an act consumption and love and violence and sensation and cannibalism dog motif take me to church'. Like just first of all you are Wrong, these are meanings you've attached to (mostly) neutral human behavior. Having sex, eating food, and grievous bodily injuries are, shockingly, not the same thing (hence why juxtaposing/connecting the concepts to create new meaning is the way you make it work!) You can't even write variations on Sex Itself interchangeably, sex is not all the same, sometimes it's boring and routine, sometimes it's affectionate and emotional, sometimes it's self harming and ugly. Much less writing every act of human bodily sensation interchangeably. This will not make your writing better but instead lead you to crafting the most garbage sentences known to man. Tread carefully.

[werepuppy-steve]

eddie rubs his hands together as their waitress, cindy, sets his breakfast sampler and strawberries and cream crepes in front of him. he's already reaching for the ketchup and maple syrup to drown his food in.

steve thinks it's too early for him look that gleeful in the middle of an ihop. it's barely nine in the morning.

"give me a shout if you boys need anything else," cindy says as she sets down steve's smokehouse combo and new york cheesecake pancakes. "i'll be over to top your coffee off in a minute."

"thank you, cindy," they call as she walks away.

steve takes a sip of his coffee and watches eddie pop open the ketchup to smother his eggs and hashbrows with, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his lips.

he resists the urge to lean across the table and kiss him, only because they're in public and steve also doesn't want to risk getting food all over the front of his shirt.

but when eddie squeezes the bottle, it makes a farting noise and all the comes out is a watery splash of red.

"aw no." eddie's face falls into an adorable pout. "not the ketchup pre-cum."

steve sputters and almost sucks his coffee back up his nose. he catches his breath and gives eddie a bewildered stare, but the other boy is focused on smacking the lid of the bottle against his palm.

"i'm sorry—the what?"

eddie finally looks up at him with round eyes, completely clear of any of the confusion that is definitely showing on steve's face currently.

"the ketchup pre-cum," he says, like steve should know what that is. "you know, the watery bits that squirt out if you don't shake the bottle good enough? kind of looks like pre-cu-"

"i know what pre-cum is," steve cuts him off with a sigh, casting glances around to the other tables to see if anyone else overheard him. "but do you have to call ketchup that?"

eddie only snickers at him. when he's satisfied that it's been shaken to his standards, he snaps open the cap and tries again–

–and lets out a high pitched moan when ketchup comes dribbling out of the bottle.

steve chokes on his spit. they're definitely getting stares from other tables now, and he hides his burning face in his hands while eddie just laughs harder, like the teasing little asshole he is.

"jesus christ," steve murmurs under his breath, dragging his fingers down his face. "can't fucking take you anywhere, i swear."

eddie just gives him a little hum and nudges his foot under the table, looking every bit pleased as goddamn punch.

taglist (ask to be added!):

@yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboygareth @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

@tangerinesteve @stevesjockstrap @steddie-island @spectrum-spectre @pearynice

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

uhh uh really fuckin horny thought from last night I just want to get down:

supernatural creature with such addictive, delicious cum that makes you fat and empty headed so all you can do is beg to taste it while drooling like a dog

bye

[biblicallyaccuratestiles]

STILES: "Well, shit on a waffle and call it syrup, she just—"

DEREK: "Don't ever say that again."

[cottoncandystims]

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ Kunikida Doppo

↬With related stims ↬Requested by: @vntys ↬Credits: x x x | x x | x x x

[syrupsyche]

Combeferre had cursed, standing to grab a bedsheet to gather the glass shards, when Enjolras’ eerie stillness stopped him in his tracks.

“Sébastien?” He murmured. “Sébastien, are you hurt?”

Enjolras, still sitting amongst the sharp and sticky mess, lifted his head and stared at Combeferre, his blue eyes wet and rimmed red.

“I…I—” Enjolras choked, his face crumpling. “I’m sorry!”

And he burst into tears.

Or; Enjolras has never drank, not since his disastrous first drink with Combeferre as children. That is, until years later, where Combeferre finds him stumbling back drunk, brimming with emotions left unsaid.

—

A fic, and accompanying quick sketch, for @logic-and-philosophy week! :3

[erosyrup]

J/B/M

—I am wild over her.

Reference pic below, though I'm sure all the gay ppl on this site has seen it before:

[fromsupernaturaltof1]

is this a known k*nk 🤨

[radiojamming]

I'm on cold meds because I am a sickly waif and pain meds for my wrist sprain and for like a solid ten minutes I sat staring at a half-written fic chapter before realizing I wrote the sentence, "Imbibing unfortunate syrups give us qualms." Like what does that mean. What does any of that mean.

[deadinthelake]

sigh. thinking about willspero college au again. kill me 😞

[ro-sham-no]

God is a complex carb. A poem by me.