#tiny pink macaron

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!�� You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[pinkiemachine]

Cute Little Town Designed by Some Creative People Right Here on the Internet :3

My shop is a bakery called “Heavenly Helpings” where I make the cutest cakes, and brownies, and macarons, and eclairs, and pies, and strudels, and everything always smells like freshly baked bread, frosting, and custard—and there’s an upstairs where I live above the bakery :)

At the top of that street is “Uncle Stubby’s Ammo, Liquor, and Tackle shop XD”

Next door, someone submitted “a bookstore called Good Buddy! A pet friendly store that you bring your pet (well trained of course) and where you can read the buy books of any genre! There is also a small coffee shop inside that sells both great drinks and treats for your pets!”

The shop below mine is, “A guinea pig cafe 🥰 tubes and little hideouts run a long the walls with a lower area where people can pick up, pet, and feed the guinea pigs. These guinea pigs are super friendly and love to get treats 12/7. The outside has windows so people can see some of the tubes inside. The back yard has a huge garden to provide all the vegetables and fruit for them. Up stairs is where the owner and his family live.”

And below that, “My shop would be a craft/coffee shop😋 Lots of windows and twinkly lights, and the shop’s colors would be sage green, coral pink, and cream! (Basically colorful but peaceful 😌) It would have all kinds of craft supplies (clay, paint, paper, and chargers for Apple Pencils), and the drinks served could be named after artists and famous paintings! I don’t have a lot of good ideas for a fun name, so I’ll go with Crafts n’ Coffee for now (but that can change)”

Finally, there’s the World’s Market, where you can buy all sorts of things from around the world!

On the other side of the street, we have a gas station for blimps called, “The Descent Diesel”

And below that, “NICKNACKS AND DOODADS!! An antique place where you can find nicknacks, doodads, and trinkets. Ranging from very very tiny things to very LARGE. Ancients, antiques, modern, magical, you name it! Items can be bought or traded. Run by a very organized cat :D bro is not very forgiving if you make the place crash and burn.”

And below that, “A little magical musical theatre. There is a legend that the theatre is haunted by the ghost of an opera singer who never finished her song in one play, so now she sings it every night when the theatre is empty. She's not scary at all though and some people say she helped them find their way back home on very foggy nights. By day, the theatre is a very warm place where everyone feels welcome. Outside it looks a bit like a miniature gothic castle, but its walls are covered with warm, happy posters. It's close to the river and the owner of the theatre is a great friend of the otters from the river that come to the theatre sometimes. There are a lot of flowers in the windows that are not covered with posters.”

Beneath that is the cinema! “I only ever have the good stuff playing in my theater, the bad stuff can premiere in some other theater. Concessions offers popcorn and candy and pizza and hamburgers and spaghetti-- Because why not? And I sell plushies of the movies currently playing. I do annual film festivals to showcase the creations of local movie makers, their film gets to play for a couple of weeks (*and of course they recieve the profits from the ticket sales*).”

Ending with a VHS store :)

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Want a taste?

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, August 2023 edition. 

prompt: cake, 311 words

rated: g 

content warnings: none

🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰

“Huh?” says Eddie, tearing his gaze from the display of cheerfully colored macarons decked in sugar blossoms. 

“I said,” baker boy repeats, still with that benign smile on his perfect face. “Want a taste?” 

Eddie blinks as he holds something out to him, some kind of … mini cupcake on a stick or whatever, complete with artful swirls of frosting and sprinkles. Like it’s a treat. Like he’s a hissing kitty and not a world-famous rock star. He snatches the thing. 

“This is lemon cake with raspberry frosting,” baker boy explains. There’s a tiny smudge of icing over his brow, half hidden by his glorious swoop of hair. Eddie wants to lick it off. “Flavors are entirely customizable, so-” 

“Yeah, anyhow …”, Eddie squints at the swirly letters on the guy’s apron. “Steve. My new record releases next month and the label thought an edible replica of my guitar for the party would be the icing on the cake.” 

He waits for the joke to land. Steve’s eyebrow arches in vague amusement. Fuck, why is he even here at all? This is Chrissy’s job usually, but of course she had to catch the flu and the stupid cake needs to be ordered by today. 

“My manager claims you’re the best-” 

“They’re right,” Steve drawls. Eddie wonders if he’s always this confident. 

“Not sure it’s up your alley, though …” Eddie gestures at the explosion of pink and pastels all around them and Steve shrugs. 

“I make Dungeons and Demons cakes for my brother all the time.” His voice drops. “Don’t worry. I can do whatever you like.” 

Eddie huffs and crams the cupcake-on-a-stick into his mouth to hide his flustered state. The taste explodes across his tongue, sweet and tangy and delicious, and a moan escapes him. 

“Oh, fuck me.” 

Steve winks at him. 

“Maybe let me bake that cake first.” 

Part 2

[lumiconic]

things they remember

❥  summary: things they remember ab u and ur relationship!

❥  characters: diluc ; xiao ; thoma ; cyno ; arataki itto ; albedo ; tighnari ; venti

❥ content: fluff, gn reader

❥ note: just some cute fluff hcs!

… diluc remembers the smell of your hair, the intoxicating scent of apples and grapes that leaves him heady and dizzy, your face presses into his shoulder and his gloved hands twist through strands of your hair in a brief second of serene calm, and he inhales the most wonderful aroma that he wishes he could save forever so that all that clouded his mind was the thought of you, when he thinks back to his quietest, happiest moments, he remembers softness and sugar and apples and you.

… xiao remembers a color that gives him comfort, pearly, iridescent white, like almond tofu, misty opals, like puffs of your breath in the morning cold, the shade of the clouds that surround liyue’s highest peaks as you climbed them with him slowing down to stay with you, a determined smile fixed resolvedly on your face and the way you whooped, your gleeful voice echoing through the mountains when you finally ascended to the top, and your hands clutching his, that shade of hazy white he loves so much.

… thoma remembers the first date you had, a picnic underneath a maple tree with leaves as red as windwheel asters, a bouquet of flowers wrapped with gold ribbons on the cloth. the first time he heard you, really heard you speak after admiring you from afar for so long, and what a beautiful voice you had, what a beautiful smile, how you were so dazzling it almost was blinding. and today he’s recreated the picnic for your fifth anniversary, and you’re still just as beautiful as you were, even more so.

… cyno remembers that your favorite color is blue, that your favorite food is sweets with apples in them, that your favorite flower is padisarahs and your favorite person is him, your birthday, the name of your pet dog, the sound of your voice cheerfully singing out his name, your laughter at a silly one liner he made (and stored a thousand more in his brain to hear that sound again), he remembers the exact shade of your eyes, he remembers the feeling of you in his arms and warmth in his heart.

… itto remembers that you like the taste of sweet melon, one of inazuma’s popular flavorings, and every time he sees anything flavored with it he swipes it off the shelf, never mind how much it costs, and brings it home to you proudly with stars in his eyes. you laugh, try a bite of whatever it is – hard candies or smoothies or macarons – and then pull him into a hug and thank him from the bottom of your heart, and when he kisses you he tastes sweet melon, almost as sweet as you.

… albedo remembers clutching a caterpillar in his palm and crushing it into starry dust before opening it again and revealing a tiny, perfect butterfly that fluttered away in a breeze of silver glitter, your wide eyed look of absolute delight as you begged him to do it again, starstruck by his expertise and wanting nothing more than to see him do a thousand more feats of what looks like sorcery to you, and how you still treat him as though he’s a wonderful magician, a gift from the archons themselves.

… tighnari remembers an odd dream of his that he was lying in a field of flowers, soft cushions of pink and yellow, and he felt weariness drain away as he stared up at the sky with its golden sun, relaxed in the silence for once with responsibilities so far away, and then he blinked awake and found himself with his head in your lap, your fingertips tracing along his forehead, and you smiled down at him and cupped his chin in your palms as you gave him a kiss hello and his face flushed red.

… venti remembers blowing wisps of dandelion fluff off the green straw, watching the white puffs float away on a breeze as he wished, clutching clusters of dandelions to his chest with slender fingers as he bowed his head and prayed to a more powerful god than he that you could be his, that you could see him the way his throat choked up every time he looked at you and was struck silent for once in his life by the power of the love he felt for you, that one day you could reciprocate his longing.

thank you so much for reading, and pls leave a like + reblog + follow if you enjoyed!!

[py-dreamer]

Yea so I finally got tired of making the canvas size so bloody small the damn banner has a higher resolution than the actual pic.

And oopsie doopsie! Looks like I posted over the time limit again!

Another dumb dumb thing I realized is that last year me was actually right. And this year I got the countdown wrong. I was basically counting down including my birthday so I started on the goddamn 11th when if I did continue like this I would've ended up saying it was '1 day till my birthday' on my actual f*cking birthday.

So yea, love that -_-.

Regardless, quite happy with how Sandy turned out!

I think he was kinda easier to do cause since he's bigger, he fills up more space but I still think the cake is decently jam packed with enough decorations.

The cake itself is similar to a cheesecake but the top layer is like a jelly with fruits suspended in it, that being: a pineapple slice, an orange cutie and two star shaped fruits probably like mango or just something tropical and acidic.

(Also fun fact if u look closely there are scratch marks on the cake lol)

We have the magic flower from that one episode to decorate the corner.

Of course the kitties sprinkled throughout.

Sandy's boat might be the most detailed sugar cookie I've done thus far, would not do it again though.

Mans is sitting on an orange macaron, my dad thought it was a burger -_-.

Not much to say about the ribbon but I was scared if I gave him the pink beaded necklace thing, he'd look to top heavy so I draped them around the cake instead.

His weapon, the moon bladed thingy (I actually don't know what it's called) and that thing next to it that Mo's hanging off of is a spoon stabbing a cherry. The splash of red broke up the blue nicely.

(And if you're curious yes that is a tiny spider friend accompanying our blue subject ^u', seems he's quite fond of him don't you think?)

He has the most fruit thus far I think with: pineapple, orange, a cherry and more tropical fruits like I mentioned earlier.

And that's his cat teapot from his introduction! It was too cute! I had to use it!!!

As well as a very large teacup holding a cat, yes they're both necessary. Nothing much to say about the balloon though.

Sandy has a pink bow, cause I feel like sometimes we forget pink is his accent color and let him be cutesy for a bit!

Very cutesy. Very mindful. Very demure.

He also has a silver star cause he is best boiii!!!

[verfound]

FIC: "Cookie Teeth" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Read on Ao3

Prompt 19: Thief

“Hey!”

Luka jumped at the shout, the macaron tumbling from his fingers as he jumped back.  He looked up to see a girl with short black pigtails angrily stomping towards him.  Her face was red and puffed out in anger, her blue eyes sparking…kinda like Ma’s did when Uncle Roger came to ‘visit’.  She stopped in front of him, her hands placed firmly on her hips, and peered up at him.

…she was so tiny.  Like…tinier than Juleka, and Juleka was pretty tiny.  And yet…for as tiny as she was, he was fairly certain she could kick his butt if she wanted to.

She’d bite his ankles, at least.  She looked like an ankle-biter.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she asked, rocking forward onto her toes to make herself just a little taller.  He leaned back, but she just followed.  He held up his hands in defense, which might not have been the best idea: there was still a half-eaten macaron in his one hand.  “You’re only s’pposed to take one!”

“…I did,” he said, waving the one in his hand.  She puffed out her cheeks again and stomped her foot.  She pointed to the ground where the second one he’d been about to take was lying in crumbles.

“You was taking another!” she huffed.  “That’s two!”

Congratulations, you can count, he might have said, if she had been his sister and not a total stranger.

“But it wasn’t for me!” he said instead, hoping to get her off his back.  He pointed across the park, where his sister was still playing in the sandbox.  Ma was still sitting on the bench nearby, laughing with another parent.  “See?  That’s my sister.  I was getting one for her.  And my ma.  One for each of us.”

“The sign says take one,” the girl insisted, folding her arms across her chest.  Her white shirt had pink flowers on it surrounding a smiling cat.  He couldn’t help but think a shirt that happy didn’t belong on someone so…not.  “You was takin’ three!  If they want one, they gotta come get ‘em!”

He was about to argue – or maybe just agree and go get Juleka anyway – when a huuuuuuuuuuge man walked up, chuckling, and patted the little girl’s shoulder.

“Now, now, mon choux,” he said, his mustache twitching with his smile, “I think we can be a little lenient, don’t you?  He wasn’t trying to take them all for himself.”

“He was!” she insisted.  “Papa, he’s a teeth!”

…he was a what?

“You worked so hard on those, and he’s just stealing them!” she continued, and his eyes widened.

“Hey!  I’m not a teeth…thief!” he cried.  “I was just taking them for my ma and sister – honest!”

“Marinette, sweetheart, that’s enough,” the man said, sighing.  He knelt down and turned her towards him, frowning.  “It’s all right.  He can take more than one – we made them to share, didn’t we?”

“But…but…the sign…” the girl insisted, her voice warbly, but the man just shook his head with a smile.

“Maybe this time we go more with the spirit of the law and less the actual letter of it?” he asked, tapping her nose.  She looked back over at Luka, her eyes watery, and seemed to study him for a long moment before nodding.  She slipped out of the man’s hold and ran back over to the table where an older woman with short, dark hair was handing a box over to a super old guy with eyebrows as big as his mustache.  She swiped a long, thin box from the table and ran back over to him.

“Here,” she said, shoving the box at him.  She still looked uncertain.  “I’m sorry.  You can take these.”

The man smiled, nodding in approval, and she shoved them a bit closer.  Luka blinked as he reached up to take the box.  What the heck…?

“Thanks…?” he asked.  His eyes widened when he opened the box to find it was a whole box full of macarons.  “Oh, wow, you really don’t –”

“I’m sorry!” Marinette insisted, stepping back when he tried to hand the box back to her.  “…even if you are a teeth!”

She turned and ran back to the table where the woman – her ma, he assumed – was waiting.  She tucked herself into the woman’s shirt…dress…thing, peeking back at him when her ma laid a hand on her back.  The man chuckled and shook his head.

“…it’s thief!” Luka called, his brow furrowing.  “And I’m not!”  He looked back at the box of macarons, frowning.  “…I’m a pirate.”

“Enjoy the macarons, son,” the man said, chuckling as he patted a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry about Marinette.  She’s…a little particular about things like signs.  She really didn’t mean any offense.”

Luka nodded, but then he puffed his cheeks out as he stared at the girl still watching him suspiciously from where she could barely see over the table the bakery had set up for the neighborhood fair.

“…I’m not a tee…thief,” he said, looking up at the man.  “I’m not.”

“I know,” the man said.  He waved him a bit closer, and once Luka had stepped over to him he leaned in to whisper in his ear: “Marinette would never tell you, but she’s a notorious cookie ‘teeth’ herself.”

His eyes widened, and he leaned around the man to stare at Marinette.  When she saw he was looking at her again, she scrunched up her face and stuck her tongue out at him.  His eyes popped open, and the man laughed as he patted his shoulder.

“Go on, son,” he said, nodding at him.  “Enjoy your macarons.”

Luka nodded and turned to head back to his ma, but he gave one last look at the little girl by the table before he left.  She stuck her tongue out at him again, and he tried not to bristle.

…Juleka would probably love her.  They were both brats.

[airi-p4]

✨Fairy Misunderstood AU - Chapter Guide  🧚🏼‍♀️✨

Hi! I made this chapter guide to make it easier to follow my Fairy Misunderstood AU. I’ll update this as I post new chapters. I hope it helps 💙  

*Available on AO3 *

*Available on WEBTOON* (Updates every Friday)

________________________________

Introduction: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

First meeting: Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Rock’n’roll: Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | BONUS (14) | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

Juleka: Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | BONUS (24) | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31

Warmth: Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | BONUS (55) | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61  

Fun: Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70 |  ...

...

...

Other comics: Snow || Rain || Pink || Missing him || Hiding spots || Cookie box || Brain freeze  

Special comics with Luka’s classmate OC Mike:  Sneeze ||  Broken Disguise || Project Partner || Cursed boy 1 || Cursed boy 2 || Cursed boy 3 || Cursed boy 4 || Cursed boy 5 || Cursed boy 6 || 

Special comics: Halloween || Pocky Day || Xmas knit (Christmas special) || Merry Christmas 2022 || Happy New Year || Happy New Year 2023 (Fairy Marinette pic) || April Fools’ Day 2023 || Fairy AU 1st Year Anniversary || Merry Christmas 2023 || Merry Christmas 2023 (full version) || Happy New Year 2024 || 2nd Year Anniversary 

How to fairy series: How to hold Fairy Marinette (+Part 2) || How to hold tiny Luka || How to feed Fairy Marinette (Part 1) (Part 2) | Fairy checkup | Fairy checkup 2 | 

Other fairy art: Luka lost Marinette in flowers || Summer 2023 hiatus || Angel (for LCAM 7 days of Luka’s Christmas week 2023) || winter 2024 hiatus  | Valentine’s Day 2024 | knifing fairy | 

Fairy AU stories by me: Style 

Collab/art by op:

@lukascafe ( @lllluka ) : - Pouty Fairy Marinette - Lukascafe Luka in Fairy Misunderstood AU

@blueberry-macaron : - Fairy Marinette with her adorable expressions  - Fairy Marinette and Luka having a date  

@ladyfreya123 :  - Luka holding Fairy Marinette on his hands - Marinette sleeping on Luka - Birthday present 2024 (art)

@verfound : - Fairy Marinette + Dingo

@/avramea01 (Instagram): - Clueless Luka + protective Marinette - Chocolate fairy

@/Jessica6697 (Twitter) @/Jessica.y.e.s (Instagram): - Marinette teaching Luka how to knit || (IG post)

Fics/stories written by op:

knitting fever by @fragileizy​ (AO3)

El hada y su humano by Natsumi Niikura (Fanfiction.net)

Incorrect quote by @blueberry-macaron 

Marinette searches for Luka in the snow by @generalluxun

💙💖✨

Thank you for reading! 

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

10. With Paul

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you like this!💜

My requests are still open, and if you want, you can use this promptlist!

10. "You can't order just tea when you're here. You can get a little fancy!"

---------------------------------

Strong winds blew over the almost abandoned boardwalk. Heavy, ice-cold drops of rain fell down to the ground, causing a low rumbling sound to echo through the wooden boards. Most people had opted to stay inside tonight or go somewhere indoors. Those people had been smart. The other people that still wandered around the boardwalk - just for the sake of wandering, since every ride was closed due to the weather - were dressed for the weather. Umbrellas, raincoats.

I shivered as I pulled my summer coat closer, silently cursing myself. I had seen the weather reports, I had known it would storm, and yet here I was wearing a thin jacket simply because it looked better. And all that because of a boy. Well, not just any boy, he was my boy. Big difference.

"Shit, babe!" Paul ran towards me. He was almost as drenched as me. His hair hung in ringlets, and his coat was soaked. "You could have waited inside, where its dry?"

I shook my head, shivering. "I wanted to wait for you. It's fine."

Paul looked at me, shaking his head, as he pulled me close. "Let's go in, alright? You need to warm up, or you'll get sick."

I hadn't really paid attention as to where I had waited on him, but now, as we walked in, I realised it was a lovely cafe. A soft pink brightened the walls, and along the walls were posters and paintings of flowers and forests. There were tables spread around the room, with comfortable looking chairs around them, and in the back, there were a couple of booths. The barista smiled at us as we entered, cleaning the counter. Underneath a glass dome were some freshly baked pies, some muffins, and some cakes. There were tiny treats, like macarons. You could order slices of cheesecake or red velvet. It looked wonderful. Behind the counter hung a chalkboard, with a very long list of all possible drink orders on it.

I loved the atmosphere, the brightness of it all. But, I had to admit, Paul looked totally out of place here. Luckily, he didn't seem to mind, and he walked straight up to the counter, dragging me along.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking at the list.

"Eh - I don't know? Just tea, I guess?"

The girl behind the counter smiled tightly as she looked at me. "Are you sure?"

I was about to ask her what she meant - I loved tea, so surely that was an okay order, right?"

"You can't order just tea when you're here. You can get a little fancy," Paul grinned, causing me to smile. He was uo to something, surely.

"If I do that, we'll be broke by the end of the night."

"Bullshit! But if you don't want to get a fancy order, I will!" I chuckled at his enthusiasm, and laughed even more when I heard his order.

"So, can I get a strawberry mach-ia - how do you pronounce that? - to thingy with caramel, chocolate, whipped cream, and some vanilla on top?"

The girl behind the counter nodded. "Sure thing! Are you sure you just want tea, hon?"

I thought about it and nodded. "Yeah. But I would like some cheesecake, though. Two slices."

Our order was made, and it didn't take long before we found a place next to the radiator. I laid my coat on it, hoping it would dry a bit, and quickly began to warm up. I sipped my tea and handed one of the cheesecake slices to Paul.

"How's your drink?"

Paul took a sip, pulled a face, and shoved the large cup away. I smiled as he continued to reach for my hand.

"Why did you order that? I thought you didn't drink coffee?"

"Oh, I didn't really know what I was ordering, I just wanted to shut that barista up."

"Awh, you'd do that for me?"

"For you, I would drink this whole cup of disgustingness."

"Is it really that bad?" I took the cup and took a sip, only to spit it out immediately. "How? The combination sounds pretty okay, and this is just - ugh!"

"The cake is good, though," Paul shrugged, and I nodded. I moved, from sitting across from him to sitting next to him. I leaned against him, sighing contendly.

"So, now that going on rides is out of the question, what shall we do tonight?" I asked.

"How about tormenting that barista?"

I giggled but still shook my head. "Nah, she's probably just tired after a long day."

"We can wait the storm out in here, I suppose."

"Or?"

"Go to the cinema?"

"You just want to not get caught making out with me this time."

Paul grinned. "Well, what do you suggest then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty comfy here," I smiled, kissing his cheek softly.

[latteseungs]

macarons : felix

macarons : lee felix

pairing: lee felix x f!reader genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint, culinary student!felix, baker!felix word count: 2.1k rating: sfw warning: light cussing

✦ 。description: you definitely suck at baking, but that was no excuse for you not to do it since you're literally in culinary school. you were just lucky that your (newly realized cute) friend and classmate offered to help you out.

📓 .ﾟ𓂃 masterlist | click here for my taglist feedback is always welcome! reblogs are extremely appreciated. likes do nothing, reblogs are everything.

author's note: this is inspired by this tiktok and kind of the your eyes music video. i was planning to make this short and simple but i was surprised that i already hit the 2k mark,, anyway,, if there are errors in the text timestamp, please ignore! anyway, thanks for being here and i hope you enjoy! <3

You were going for subtle. But it looks like you failed.

“Hey, is anything wrong,” Felix asked, eyes barely leaving the mixing bowl in front of him. “Did I miss something on the recipe?”

“Hey, is anything wrong,” Felix asked, eyes barely leaving the mixing bowl in front of him. “Did I miss something on the recipe?”

Blink.

You blinked and finally felt like you were back on earth, in the kitchen, with a slightly worried Felix as he kept stirring the batter.

“N—no! You’re doing great,” stumbling on your words, you quickly grabbed your notebook and shuffled.

You were trying to follow a recipe you both agreed might be the dish that will be involved in your activity. It was actually a dessert. It was a dessert you dread to make because you’re more of a cook than a baker.

To be fair, it was just in time for you to learn to bake. You know what you put yourself into when you enrolled in culinary school. Of course, you expected that there would be baking. You weren’t just prepared that you would start with one of the most challenging desserts to bake— macarons.

Luckily enough, your stove mate in class has a passion for baking, and he makes the most exquisite desserts, especially brownies. He probably saw the look of dread on your face when the chef announced the activity because he was the one that offered to help you.

“You okay?” He asked you then.

Answering him by shaking your head no, he gave you a reassuring smile, something that you remember so clearly.

He asked you that day if you had an oven back at your apartment because he was more than willing to teach you, and you never agreed to something as fast as you did.

You could say that you were friends with Felix— in a way that you’re comfy enough to invite him to your apartment so he could teach you why it’s crucial to use almond flour more than any other flour on macarons. But not as comfy as hanging out with him casually at any given time.

Now the both of you are in your small kitchen, slightly covered in flour because of your clumsy ass opening the bag the wrong way, and in cute pink aprons because that’s all you had. Felix didn’t bring his own, and there’s no way in hell that you want him to have stains on his white sweatshirt.

“Okay, I think you can pipe this on the tray,” he handed you the bowl, hands brushing with yours as he did, making you take a breath.

You’ve never looked at Felix more than a friend, so you don’t know what’s up with you today, staring at him and spacing off as you do, feeling breathless when he just gave you a bowl, and you can’t even really look into his eyes.

Maybe it’s the atmosphere.

Maybe it’s because it’s your first time with Felix alone. You’ve never really been together with him outside the cooking lab; if you are, some of your common friends are there with you two. Never like this. Never feeling this intimate.

Sure the guy is attractive, gives the best smiles, and is probably the sweetest and most thoughtful person, but you know about boundaries and lines you shouldn’t cross.

“Oh, you’re supposed to do it like this,” Felix demonstrated on his tray after seeing you struggle with piping as the batter inside kept falling to your arm for some reason.

The man trying to teach you laughed when you still didn’t get how it was done. He slowly placed a hand on yours from behind, guiding it properly. He reached his free hand to help you with how you’re holding the top of the bag and placed it firmly.

“You’re supposed to squeeze the top gently and let the batter flow on its own as you circle it,” with the proximity between the two of you, it was inevitable for you to feel his breath on your neck when he instructed you.

“Like this?” You whispered, hesitant after doing the other circle.

“Yeah, like that, you did great,” he still held on to your hands, face inches from yours when he looked at you and grinned proudly.

It was only when he checked on the filling from the other side of the kitchen that you could finally let out the breath you were holding the whole time.

After a few hours of prep, the macarons were ready to take out of the oven. You didn’t even notice how nervous you were about the results until Felix took them out and carefully placed them on the counter. They were soft green, and you couldn’t be happier because they had the signature “feet” well-baked macarons have.

The time came for you to taste them. To think the most nerve-wracking part was the baking and garnishing; it didn’t cross your mind that you actually had to eat and taste. What if they looked good but tasted the complete opposite?

“You go first,” you nudged the macaron to Felix.

He laughed, having no choice but to grab it from your hand.

“Ready?”

“Don’t ask. Just bite!” You covered your eyes, afraid to even see his reaction.

A few beats passed, and Felix remained quiet. You peaked between your fingers blocking your sight, seeing Felix was just there looking at you with a still uneaten macaron in his hand, a misty look on his face with his lips turned up slightly.

“What are you doing? Take a bite!”

“Alright! Alright!”

As Felix obeyed, you heard an instant “mmm” coming from him. Retaking a peak, you see him finishing the dessert. His eyebrows were knitted; he took another bite, tongue swiping a stray crumb on the side of his lips.

“So?” You probed, not wanting to wait any further for his thoughts on the first-ever macaron you made. Well… maybe first ever macaron you semi-made since Felix helped you a lot in the process.

“It’s perfect,” he grinned, licking his fingers.

“Oh, don’t you dare sugarcoat this, Felix. I’m serious! This could make or break my—”

He caught you off guard when he placed a macaron in your mouth. It instantly made you shut up, but you still looked at him in disbelief. Finally, taking a bite, you surprised yourself with how it tasted. It was sweet but not overly done, crunchy but soft inside. It was nearly perfect.

“See? It’s good, right?” He chuckled, proud of what you made with him.

You rolled your eyes in reply, trying to find a napkin to wipe off the filling from your lips. But the baker in front of you beats you to it, his hand on your cheek as he gently wipes off the chocolate flavor.

Silence enveloped the two of you. You could feel the tension in the air when he slowly inched his face to yours. A couple of his stray hair framed his face perfectly, his freckles looking absolutely unreal up close. Starting to flutter your eyes close; you mimicked his actions by inching closer, lips slightly touching his.

Ding.

The timer went off, making you jump up from your seat.

Felix cleared his throat, eyes widening and then blinking. He suddenly stretched his arms over his head, looking at the ceiling, the cupboards, and finally, towards the oven.

“The second batch of, uh, cookie— no, macarons are done.” You stumbled on your words. Wiping your hands on your apron, you took deep breaths as you walked towards the oven.

“I think I need to get going,” Felix announced. He carefully folded his apron and placed it on the top of the now clean counter.

The both of you were silent for the rest of the time you spent together after what ensued from earlier, only exchanging simple questions and answers regarding who would wash the dishes and keep the ingredients.

It was awkward.

With every minute of silence, you can’t help but think if he was starting to regret helping you out in the first place and if doing this was a mistake.

You nodded curtly, trying to give him a smile as best as you could.

He took a last sip of the coffee you ordered before he grabbed his car keys, eyebrows deeply knitted in thought.

You managed to let out a small “I’ll take you to the door” as you followed him outside. Wrapping your arms around you, you gave him a final nod of goodbye when he smiled slightly and waved at you.

He rolled his sleeve shirt to his forearm as you watched him walk to his car, not even looking back at you, even if you waited.

Thoughts were eating you up that night.

No.

They were swallowing you.

You fought with yourself if you should text him and check in to see if everything’s alright, maybe even say sorry for what happened even if there’s nothing that happened but an almost kiss.

After hours of rolling and tossing on your couch with a random movie left unwatched on your tv, you finally decided to text him. You erased whatever you were typing multiple times. Paragraphs turned into sentences, then sentences turned into phrases until you ended back to square one with a blank screen and you staring at his contact name.

Falling into a debate with yourself for the nth time that night, you decided with a simple “thanks for today.”

You threw your phone to the other side of the couch and shielded yourself with pillows as if your phone was going to explode any minute after you hit send on the text.

Holding your breath was not a good idea when waiting for a reply, but thankfully, you didn’t need to keep it for much longer when you heard the notification.

You sighed in relief after instantly getting a reply. Closing your eyes as you finally felt at ease. You sent a quick and safe response back, not even expecting anything from there. But after seeing him react to your message with a simple heart, something in you felt iffy.

You bit your lip, trying to imagine scenarios in your head that could possibly unfold if you sent something else.

Thinking that he wasn’t the type who would look at his phone and wait for the “typing” pop-up, you decided to feed your imagination by writing a new message.

Smiling in contentment, you stared at your screen.

Oh shit.

You fell asleep earlier. You must have left your phone unlocked and your fingers on the keyboard because you just saw that the message you typed earlier was sent.

To Felix.

And it was left on read.

Panicking, you quickly fumbled to unsend the message, but you knew it was too late.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, starting to think of a way out. Should you call him? Should you text him and tell him that you didn’t mean to send it to him? But then, he left you on read. And that was like fifteen minutes ago already. Was he creeped out? Maybe he left you on read because he didn’t feel the same way?

Your thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang. Standing up from the couch, you still grabbed tightly on your phone as if it would erase the message that way.

Not bothering to see who the person was on the other side of the door, you quickly opened it, eyes still glued on the screen in worry.

“Hey.”

Rubbing your eyes in disbelief, you look at the man in front of you. He was still wearing his white sweatshirt from earlier but wore sweatpants instead of jeans, and his glasses adorned his face.

“Felix?”

His dimples popped out when he pursed his lips in thought.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, breathless once again, still not believing he was right in front of you.

“Your text,” he answered simply.

Your mouth agape, you didn’t know what to tell him. You were thinking of an excuse or any words to say at this point, but before you could even form a coherent sentence in your head, Felix placed a quick but gentle peck on your lips.

When you didn’t react or protest, he steadily placed his hands on your waist and pulled you to him.

“I hope this is okay,” he whispered when his lips were inches from yours, “because I wish I had kissed you earlier too.”

Gently, he closed the gap between the two of you, kissing you tenderly and sweetly. Your hands made their way to his face and neck and gently held him there as you kissed him back.

You giggled when you pulled away, forehead on his.

“What?” he asked.

“I could still taste the macarons.”

Copyright © 2022. latteseungs on tumblr. reposts are NOT allowed.

taglist: @ckline35 , @suyesse , @idek-at-this-point-lol , @dionyseung-s , @skzpdf , @biribarabiribbaem , @http-ch1fuyu , @todorokiskitten , @Idontreallknow-12 , @som1ig thank you so much for letting me tag you! i hope you enjoy <3 feel free to leave an ask to be removed ^^

[wackus-bonkus-maximus]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

pick between 5 of my babies? 🥺 GLADLY

(these aren't necessarily my favorites btw. just the ones that i wanna boost!)

lies of attrition

my priority atm, and also a super fun collab with me and @ladyofthenoodle! if you want some post-s5 angst, action, pining, and ladynoir enemies, this is the place to be!

summary: The trust between Ladybug and Chat Noir is stretched to breaking point when a new butterfly holder emerges in the wake of Monarque's defeat. Chat Noir doesn't know who to trust until Chrysalis confronts him with a truth Ladybug had tried to bury: Monarque made the Wish—and she wants Chat Noir’s help to undo it. excerpt: “Chat,” Ladybug said, her voice coated with worry. “Did something happen?” He could tell her, now. He had come here to tell her, to show her his face after three years of partnership, to let her see why so much was suddenly wrong. If only he knew what she would say when he pulled off his mask. If only he knew whether she would stay or go. “I could tell you,” he ventured, turning to look directly at her. “But… it’s easier if I show you.” He saw the moment she realized; the way her blue eyes widened, her pink lips parting in a tiny “o.” They stared at each other, unmoving, the sounds of the parade fading into the night. A single firework burst overhead, shattering the standstill. Red blazed over her face, the fall of sparks raining down behind her. Then her features pinched, and in that moment, every hidden place within him was painted red too. “Oh, Chat Noir,” Ladybug whispered, her expression growing more pained by the second. “I… I don’t know.”

Like Smoke from a Furnace

one of my personal favorites! this was an experiment for me in present tense and internal conflict, and i really like how it turned out!

summary: Marinette and Adrien give up their Miraculous. Ladybug and Chat Noir never meet again. excerpt: Giving up the Ladybug Miraculous was supposed to unshackle them both. If she had done so earlier, it could have been different. If Adrien had spoken up later, it would have been different. But Ladybug knew nothing about Chat Noir except the heart he had always laid bare, and that was of her own doing. If Marinette passes him in the street, they will both keep going, none the wiser, the culmination of all their self-imposed secrets. She has nothing to go on. No name, no circumstance, no poorly-disguised hint, as she suspects he has tried to leave before. Chat Noir had become better at following her rules than she, and Marinette had so recently been simultaneously proud of him for it—and resented him too. It doesn’t sink in until several quiet nights later, when she and Adrien are tucked together on his couch, the soft blues and grays of his chosen film flashing across his screen. She is never going to see Chat Noir again.

rest your head (upon my shoulder)

i love this one so much. sometimes i go back and read it to myself because it gives me the exact toe-curling pining i always crave. i like to think of it as one of those "so close but so far away" stories - one of my favorite brands of angst.

summary: Ladybug can save Chat Noir from anything, except what he doesn't tell her. excerpt: “I don’t think there will be any Akuma attacks for a while.” She frowned, but he leaned back, staring up at the starless sky through the leaves of the tree hanging overhead.  Something was wrong. She could feel it lingering over him, heavy like suspended rain. “Chaton?” “I had this dream the other night,” he said, gazing over the roof of the Musée. “We grew wings without needing anything—no macarons, no magic words, no Miraculous. And then we just…took off. I don’t really remember where we went, but it was beautiful.”  His eyes slid to hers once more, unnaturally bright. Her blood rushed with unbidden heat and she reminded herself why she had stopped sitting in dark, quiet places alone with Chat Noir. 

borealis green

a feligami oneshot! this covers the time between "pretension" and "representation" and is probably one of my only canon-compliant au's. i really like writing kagami's pov so this was super fun!

summary: Getting to know Felix is easier than Kagami anticipated, especially as he keeps following her. excerpt: “Goodnight, Félix,” she whispers, though she does not need to. Nobody is around to hear them. No one is watching them. It is only a taste of the freedom he promised her, and yet it sinks into her with the softness of the street lights and the prickle of the night air.  “Can I see you again?” he asks, just as softly.  She has exactly nine minutes to walk back to the ikebana studio where Tatsu will be waiting to transport her home. She can make it if she walks fast. She can linger a few moments longer if she runs. The vertigo crescendos as she remains in place, watching the gleam of headlights flash in his eyes as cars speed past.  “You should go home,” Kagami tells him, holding his gaze. “It’s not safe for you in Paris.” Félix tilts his head in acknowledgement, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”

mirror image

another post-s5 fic centered on adrien & felix, but with a twin telepathy twist. it's kind of like my r&r time for fic, easy and cathartic and a fun break for me between other projects!

summary: The voice in Adrien’s head is strangely familiar. It also tells him the truth (when no one else will). excerpt: You are hearing things, the voice said as though in answer. Doesn’t mean I’m not real. Adrien reached for the silver chain around his neck, his fist closing around the two rings resting warm against his sternum. “As real as me?” Yes, idiot, the voice replied with a bite. As real as you. “That’s not what some people would say,” Adrien replied, not caring if the voice was annoyed. It was his head, after all. Well, what would you rather be? The voice plowed on, unbothered by Adrien’s ire. Born of magic, or born of Gabriel Agreste?

ty for the ask kayla 💛 love me some self-promotion. hope y'all enjoy!

[eddiemunsonappreciationsociety]

MY WORD IS MY BOND

Part Nine: All gilded and golden, yes, I'm your girl

I take Chance home, get her settled and promise I'll be back in a few hours. Eddie sends a cab for me and I slide into the back seat, excitement buzzing inside me.

The cab pulls up outside a cute bubblegum pink café, with white awnings and delicate garden furniture outside. Eddie, still clad in black denim and combat boots, is a stark contrast sitting on a pink iron chair, the legs and feet curled into hearts and flowers. When he sees me he puts his cigarette out into the pink ashtray on the table, standing up with a grin on his face.

I go to pay but, of course, Eddie has taken care of the fare and tip and the driver refuses anything from me. I thank him and go to get out of the taxi, but Eddie already opening my door, taking my hand and helping me out. He closes the door behind me and stands for a second grinning at me, my hand still in his.

"I saw this place and thought of you a few weeks ago," he beams

"Ok, that's too cute." I laugh, shaking my head.

"Are you hungry?"

"Eddie, look at me, of course I'm hungry." I grin, gesturing to my chunky frame.

"That's what I like to hear." his eyes run up and down me slowly, I feel the heat from him checking me out and it makes me flush.

He still has my hand and he leads me to the door, opens it for me and I head in and I feel an almost burning as he checks out my behind. The waitress, a gorgeous woman blonde woman, dressed in an all-pink uniform, shows us to our seats: a pink couch with little hearts all over it.

"Do you have this exact couch?" Eddie asks me, sidling up close, and draping his arm behind me on the top of the sofa.

"I actually have one that's incredibly close."

"Knew it."

I pick up the menu and my mouth waters at everything. Eddie leans in close, I can feel the heat of him.

"See anything you want to eat?" After a minute or so.

"You should be more precise with your questions." he laughs, and his breath tickles my ear.

The blood rushes to my cheeks and he chuckles again.

"Can you hear my heartbeat?" I ask even though I already know the answer.

"Of course, I can, and I enjoy how much I spike yours."

"Shut up, is there anything on the menu you want?"

"How about we get an afternoon tea?"

"It's not even midday."

"Excuse me, can we have afternoon tea in the morning?" Eddie calls to the waitress, confidence radiating from him.

"Erm, yes, of course." she half stutters, flushing as pink as her uniform as Eddie winks at her.

"Afternoon tea for two then please."

We sit in the quaint cafe and eat cakes and tiny sandwiches and drink from pink teacups and I take a second to take in the outright absurdity of the situation.

"I can't believe I'm sat in a pink cafe, with a metal vampire."

"I think I fit in quite well." He picks up a macaron and pops it into his mouth. "So, do you like metal?"

"I do, I like most music. Along with nature, music has power."

"How does that work?"

"When I perform music, and people enjoy it I can feel it, it charges me. When you listen to music you enjoy, it can do the same, certain music has more power behind it."

"That's amazing," he says with such a sparkle in his dark eyes

"Certain music has more power behind it, metal, punk, hip-hop and grime. Anything that can cause massive waves of emotion or..."

"Revolutionary music?"

"Exactly. And songs by witches charge me incredibly well, songs with, like history and depth. Paris Paloma is a great example."

"You're incredible." he grins at me, and it's such a statement that I don't even respond.

"So, obviously you like metal, what else do you like?"

"I've been around a while, life is too long to not enjoy all music."

"I suppose I get that,"

"So music can charge you, anything else?"

"Erm, being in nature, sleeping, being with my animals or people I love, good food, good sex."

His eyes don't leave mine as they narrow and darken at my words.

"Oh my, can vampires blush?"

I place my hand on his, out of pure curiosity, and all I feel is a surge of heat that makes my legs clamp together. Blood rushes to my skin everywhere and I gasp, breath coming fast. He takes his hand out of mine.

"No fair," he murmurs, and his own breath is ragged.

"So, you smoke - do you partake in anything else?" I see his eyes watching me slowly.

"Drugs?" I ask and he nods. "More natural forms of drugs don't impact my powers as chemicals do, but things like coke and ket impact my powers for a few days."

"So what can you take that doesn't

affect you?"

As he asks me questions his arms are on the back of the sofa we're sitting on, almost draped across my shoulders. His head is leant on his arm and his dark eyes watch me intently.

"Shrooms and weed are okay, I do dabble in the others but I haven't as much as when I was younger, I used to have an issue with... moderation" I try to choose my words carefully.

"I know the feeling," he says and his tone is not as playful as before.

"Rebellious teen reacting to trauma?"

"Pretty much." He smiles weakly.

"Since I have taken a more central role in the other covens I try not to be caught off guard."

"That's probably a good idea." he nods before taking a big gulp of tea.

"Do you have to go home?" Eddie asks, swinging our hands as we stand outside the cafe.

It's late afternoon now, the sky seems washed with watercolours of pinks, oranges and yellows. The dwindling sunlight hits his dark eyes in a way that they radiate gold. He reaches up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear and sighs.

"I do, I promised the dog."

"What about Elphaba?"

I smile as he remembers my cat's name.

"She is a strong, independent woman, she does not need me."

"But the huge mastiff does." he laughs.

"She may look scary, but she's the soppiest of animals. I got her after my hair turned white. But I think even if I tried to enchant her to be more vicious she'd just roll over for belly rubs"

"You can do that?"

"I can do anything, Eddie." I reach up on my tiptoes and plant a kiss on his cheek and I feel him shiver from the sparks. "I need to go now, you can't keep paying the taxi driver to wait longer whilst we hold hands."

"I absolutely can."

"Are you sure you don't want me to remove my-"

No." he interrupts sternly.

"I need to go home and take a nap before tonight."

"Tonight? Do you not have the shop tomorrow?"

"No, it's a full moon, and I've got lots to do, so I close the day of and the morning after."

"Ah, witchy stuff." there's a beat of silence where I feel him getting ready to ask something

"Do you want to come on my errands with me?"

"Yes. "

Part One:

Part Two:

Part Three:

Part Five:

Part Six:

Part Seven:

Part Eight:

[gachagon]

Today was my sisters birthday so we went to The Color Factory! Which is like this immersive art place where each room is a different interactive exhibit that features a color. It was pretty fun over all, and I really enjoyed myself! The first room was a confetti room which was super fun. You could lay down and throw confetti everywhere.

I took a lot of photos of just kicking the confetti with my shoes. And there were some fake plastic flowers but I'm not sure what they added to exhibit other than just looking kind of pretty.

We also had to enter through this long multicolored corridor which was pretty trippy I took a lot of photos of my sister and her friends. This experience while colorful was also kind of dark because a lot of the rooms are either just pitch black or incredibly dimly lit so that you can focus on one singular color.

Side note it looks like we're walking in a bright orange haze in this photo and tbh that's what it felt like as well. After this room was one of my favorite rooms, the "Silent Dancing" room. It was also very purple and pretty cool to just hang out and take photos.

There was a disco floor which reflected all the disco balls above us and because of the neon purple lighting it really just made a cool effect on the ground. I really liked the way my outfit looked in this room lol so I took a lot of photos of myself and my sister.

There was a pink room but imo it was the most disappointing since you put these glasses on to make the whole room look pink (it's like looking through "rose colored glasses" essentially) but it's not the lightest pink color and is very reminiscent of shrimp or flamingos. So I didn't take a lot of photos here.

Lastly, we went into this ballpit and oh my lord I feared for my life several times while I was in that ballpit. I thought I would meet god on the bottom of a carpeted art house ball pool, but luckily my sister was there to pull me out (she was taller then me) for fear of losing my phone I didn't take it with me while I was in there. But even this image alone shows how terrifying and liminal it was. I did have a lot of phone in it however!

All in all, a wonderful experience. If there is a color factory near you, perhaps you should also go give it a visit I enjoyed myself. My only gripe is that it's expensive to get in there, and then all of the gift shop stuff is super expensive for no reason (20 dollars for a little truck with a cupcake ontop of it and 30 for a kids t-shirt???? no thanks) I brought some snacks anyways and they gave us snacks while we explored the Color factory.

However, a lot of the snacks were just plain nasty tasting. I brought a 5 dollar soda that was supposed to taste like "coconut" that was really like drinking a bottle of perfume. They gave us Macarons at the start of the exhibit, and they were also nasty. Imagine biting into a bar of fragrant strawberry scented soap. That's what it tasted like.

The only really tasty food that the Color factory had was their chocolate bar I got the salted caramel which is true to its name. It was very delicious and even my dad kept going back for more lol. And their Saltwater taffy which had different flavors. I had chocolate, vanilla, caramel, and some other fruity flavors that were super good (i had to chew a lot though.)

And at the end of the exhibit they gave everyone a little ice cream. You could pick between two flavors "Lavender or Deep Space" (they're both coconut flavored but one has a fruity taste and the other is a chocolatey one).

The lavender ice cream was the best thing I had there. Too bad it was small and tiny and not something I could just buy a regular cone of :(

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

Quiet acknowledgments, and yells of the kids running around between tables, expelling some of the excited energy of running between streamers, balloons, all sorts of spooky Halloween decor

Flickering pumpkin heads below and slowly flapping bats overhead filled the space, with silly shaped spiders and critters bopped and hung from silly string

Floating lights and fluttering moths and stripes and skeletons aplenty - a dream come true of a spooky goofy halloween

Odette’s eyes were transfixed however, on the giant, towering, strawberry tower in the middle of the room, with a fondue lake around it

Farid grins bright in his silly zombie chef outfit “Hello boss!”

“STRAWBERRIESSSSSSS” Odette shrieks in reply, making Farid cackle as xe absolutely zooms for the spot “THERES SO MANY”

“You like it?”

“STRAWBEBIES”

“You love it” he replies cheekily, laughing as Odette vibrates “What would you like first, VIP? We have macaron coated strawberries, cake filled ones, pink chocolate dipped here, berry mix-“ listing off the different strawberry and tiny shaped treats lining the middle tower behind him as the other kids piled around Odette, ready to join in the treats finally

A certain green fluffy feathery orb is hovering around the tower, waiting for Odie to give the go-ahead.

[lgctaeha]

╭  ✿ NAILED IT  ! ╯

Prom Excitement and Baking Disasters with @lgcxminji

It might've been impossible for there to be a single student on LGCU's campus more excited for prom than Park Taeha. Taeha who never got to attend her high school prom back in Hawaii due to an ill-timed dance competition the day before. Taeha who makes at least four mood boards at even the slightest mention of a formal event. And the same Taeha that had spent weeks practically begging the alumni to let her join the planning committee. Unfortunately, there just wasn't enough room in the budget ( or enough patience... ) for whatever extravagant plan the second year would've had in mind. On the bright side, at least a few of her promtastic ideas wouldn't be going to waste.

What began as a sweet gesture for a small circle of friends had somehow grown into an entire production. After a few hours of putting together their 'mini promposal' gifts, Taeha's tiny dorm kitchen had become littered with bowls of brightly colored batter, piping bags filled with buttercream, and random card stock strewn all about the counters.

Taeha hovers over a baking tray, tongue pinched between her teeth with an intense focus as she adds a few finishing touches to her masterpiece. A pink macaron decorated with the question prom? and what was supposed to be a 'majestic unicorn.' It may have looked more like a polar bear in a clown wig - but at least it would still be a tasty snack. Taeha places the treat in the palm of her hand and holds it out for her partner-in-spirit to judge. “What do you think?! Cute right? I just feel like it's missing something… Oh! We forgot to open the edible glitter! Can you grab it?” She beams, pointing over Minji’s shoulder to the bag of supplies at her side.

[sacredsanguine]

5 Times Amer Doux Dreamt of Killing Nicholas Remington, and 1 Time He Didn’t

Little wonder that later that night, he dreams that Remington blood is as bitter as that chocolate.

Thank you @saviolum-sanguineus for beta-reading this fic for me! @kittenishdelights hope you're onboard the Nicholamer train too! Your pistachio chocolate scene suggestion was so scrumptious, lol!

He haunts Amer’s dreams: a figure of spectral black trailed by the cloying, metallic scent of blood. Nicholas Remington is a reaper whose scythe swings with the flash of his teeth, bared brilliant, searing white after softly swung whispers to a faceless throne. The blood spills whether Nicholas smiles or shouts—and his hands never bear the stains themselves. In his dreams, Amer steps out of the invisible, shadowed line that staff exists in, forces the Imperial Advisor to look at him with that poison-green gaze (not through him, at), feels his blood boil in his veins, and squeezes that black-collared throat until the poison flickers and fails. His scar stings like it’s been torn open when Amer wakes, breathing hard. His hands are clenched into fists in the sheets, crescent moons marking where his nails dig into the swell of flesh. The roar of the kitchen fires is never enough to drown out the screams of his past or the souls he knows will join it soon.

2. Lord Daddano always tests Amer’s patience, but (unfortunately for the chocolatier) he’s grown too accustomed to the sight of Andrey’s tongue swirling wetly around sticky fingers and the sound of entirely too enthusiastic exclamations of gourmet appreciation. It’s the sound of the Imperial Advisor’s voice and his sudden, unexpected appearance that makes Amer wonder if he’s finally tipped over the edge into hallucination.

He’s never known if the presence of Nicholas makes his dreams nightmares or the other way around. Either way, Amer has to lean into the familiar exasperation of watching nobles ignore him in favor of indulging in each other to ground himself. It’s a struggle not to pick up the sweet little knife beside him and drive it into the Advisor’s heart, exposed as it is; instead Amer clenches his jaw and rearranges his features into a smile he knows neither Nicholas nor Andrey will take notice of.

His palm is flat and pointed as the blade he wishes it were when he motions at one of the new pistachio-nougat confections. Its layers are robed in dark, glossy chocolate that’s almost as bitter as Amer feels when he lets himself think too much. Nicholas nods at the recommendation and Amer imagines that pale throat flexing under his grip as Andrey presses the little bite to Nicholas’s lips. Exposed heart indeed.

Nicholas watches—studies—Andrey with a singular intensity that makes Amer’s scar itch. It’s almost enough to make Amer believe his station’s invisibility would last if he lunged across the table and tore Nicholas’s throat out with his teeth.

Little wonder that later that night, he dreams that Remington blood is as bitter as that chocolate.

3. The macarons come out beautifully: smooth, evenly domed tops and tiny, clean feet, not a single crack to be seen in the airy pastel shells that hug rings of velvety buttercream and jam. They take two and a half hours to make, bake, and fill, and a day to mature in a temperature-controlled resting room before Amer hand-wraps them individually in pastel tissue paper and totes them over to the Remington estate in an enchanted silver box worth more than his rented room and the few possessions that fill it.

The cats enjoy them almost as much as Samael does. Amer, robbed somewhat of the perpetual invisibility of his station by his responsibility to introduce each course, despairs quietly in the corner of the room as the friskier of the little white kittens manages to dye himself and half the table pink with ruby chocolate sauce.

He half-expects Nicholas to be as harsh on his son as he is to everyone else in court; the Advisor’s unexpected, radical gentleness is so jarring it slips somehow back into the realm of terror. The same hands that have turned living beings into shapeless, broken bags of blood and bone wield a silver dessert spoon with the careless elegance of a hummingbird feeding from honeysuckle. Samael beams up at Nicholas, showing him some silly thing that the kittens’ pawprints have melded into on the tablecloth, and Nicholas smiles back with the fond, indulgent expression of a stained glass saint.

Amer focuses on the ruby chocolate pawprints until the light makes them gleam red as blood and he tastes his own from where he’s bitten his tongue.

That night, he pins Nicholas to the floor of his own dining room, hands tight around his neck and growing tighter; Amer realises it’s a dream not when green light bursts around him and his blood begins to flow backwards in his veins, but when Nicholas meets his eyes and croaks, “You’d murder a father in front of his son? Very righteous.”

Samael’s eyes are huge and watery, green just as piercing as his father’s magic as he stares at Amer from the doorway. His lip trembles first, followed by his shoulders as he wails, fat tears rolling down his thin face. Amer’s grip loosens, but Nicholas doesn’t move; instead, he begins to laugh—harsh and mocking, more crow-like than the songbirds his son takes after.

Amer’s stomach churns. Beneath Samael’s sobs he can hear the cries of children with dead eyes, the ones he tries to lay out extra blankets and smuggle a few sweets from the kitchens for at every meeting in the teaching hospital basement. Some of them cry at night, others scream in their sleep, and every single one of them would have a fuller family tree if the man laughing on the ground beneath him hadn’t whispered something in the monarch’s ear. He doubts Nicholas doesn’t know—he just doesn’t care.

It isn’t fair. It never has been. It never will be.

Good chocolate snaps when broken, with a loud, clear crack and a clean edge; Amer could identify it in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s why the wet crunch of Nicholas’s neck snapping wakes him up screaming.

4. The Ward trial is a catastrophe. Amer reads the summary of events in the morning paper, launches it into the wastebin furiously, and almost immediately fishes the crumpled ball back out to reread the article in a desperate bid to convince himself that the Butcher of Seraphine Estate would face more than a tap (calling it a slap is too generous) on the wrist.

His despair follows him like smoke billowing out of burnt sugar; it’s only when he shouts at Kezia for a split ganache undeserving of such wrath that he realizes the rest of his kitchen is staring warily at him much like he’d stared at any noble when his scar was still a wound. Amer sets his bowl of frangipane down—it smacks harder than he intended on the counter and he winces—and wipes roughly at his face with the towel at his waist.

“I’m sorry.” Amer can feel the heat of the kitchen fires pressing sweat from his skin, but the pounding dizziness in his head comes with a sensation of being frozen in place. “Send the commis and the dishwashers home for the day—”

“Already did, Chef,” Kezia says flatly; her face is taut with understanding straining at its limits. She’s already chopped the chocolate to fix the ganache; it scrapes off the board and hits the oil layer with a quiet rustle. “Figured it’d be worse for you to see them cowering.”

Amer exhales noisily and nods. Kezia is a better sous-chef than anyone could ask for. Her voice is quiet when she speaks next, still carrying the clipped urgency the kitchens demand. “Go home, Amer. You’re a danger here.”

She could mean anything: distraction around knifes, fires, and the latter two in crowded spaces is all too easy to trip into greater injury, but Kezia pins Amer with a gaze that’s just this side of knowing. She’s a better sous-chef than anyone could ask for, and a better observer too. He’s lucky they’re on the same side.

Amer walks home feeling like he’s fallen into a pale waking nightmare. When he finally falls asleep on a pillow that can’t take much more punching, he sees Nicholas on the stand in the courtroom. There’s blood everywhere; the judge is a headless thing slumped and oozing over a gavel.

There is a sword in Amer’s hand and he can wield it as easy and precise as a dowel spinning sugar for croquembouche; he flies from the benches up to Nicholas, screaming names of people who will never answer him again. The sword finds its target like a lost child running home; there’s a breath of startled resistance before the flesh and muscle parts for Amer’s blade, length sinking in with a wet squelch.

The taste of bitter chocolate interrupts Amer’s litany for the fallen; there’s a moment of silence, sweet as raw sugar, before those green eyes flutter back open and Nicholas bares those scythe teeth at him. It’s soulless, the Advisor’s polished face of personal war, and it burns in Amer’s chest like it’s going to tear him apart—Nicholas clenches his fingers and Amer stumbles forward as the hand buried in his chest rips aorta and vena cava asunder, then plunges deeper and bursts from his back, bloody heart clutched like a pearl; there’s a soft grunt that Amer only knows is his because of the way his lungs ripple around the air driven from them, and Nicholas smiles. It’s a soft in the way moonlight off even the deadliest of poisons is soft, and fixated in a way Amer recognises by the itch that prickles along his scar.

The sword in Amer’s trembling hand sinks in to the hilt, grinding against some fragment of rib when Nicholas squeezes his hand again; Amer’s face is close enough to his that the wet plop of Amer’s heart as Nicholas drops it to the floor is drowned out by his raspy whisper: “My beloved spoke the truth. I’m holding everything else against you.”

Amer wakes violently, hands pressing frantically at his chest as he sucks in air.

5. It would be wise to get to sleep early the night before the Day of Metamorphosis Parade, but Amer’s obligations are apparently dedicated to folly. He isn’t able to leave the kitchens until nearly two in the morning, visions of pastry cream and chocolate butterflies blurring over his vision as he stumbles home through dark streets. He falls into bed and sleep almost instantly, but the peace of a dreamless night escapes him.

It begins in the kitchens: cocoa butter melting while he scrapes pigments into powder with a curved knife, the smell of chocolate making his mouth and eyes water as he works. It tempers easily, eagerly popping out of the molds in glossy, perfect curves, and Amer smiles.

Nicholas is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, when Amer turns around; the tray of quenelles clatters to the ground, painted white chocolate shells rattling like chips of bone. Nicholas doesn’t so much as blink at the mess, boredom carved harsh and haughty into his face.

“Two dozen dolorosas,” he says; his voice is as strident as ever, demanding in the way of a man who’s seldom been denied and accustomed to making examples of those who do.

He watches Amer work, green eyes hovering over his shoulder like the fangs of a beast as he whisks and melts and whisks again. It’s enough of a reminder of Daddano that Amer’s dream shifts around him for a moment, melting into slick shades of grey and pearly white before he finds himself at the dark, cool shelves of extracts and herbs kept away from the fires. Nicholas hasn’t followed him; Amer’s heart pounds in his chest as his fingers close around an unmarked, dark glass bottle. The liquid inside glimmers clear; even in his dreams, Amer knows that poison is rarely as obvious as storybooks make it out to be.

It will do nothing more than perfume the air with almonds until the chocolate crystallizes and turns its fragrance into fatality. This Amer knows in the watertight, ineffable way of dreams; it’s that same logic that presses him forward against Nicholas, holding the open bottle up between them as fire burns in his gut. He will slip his hand into the mouth of the beast to watch it choke; dignity is a small price to pay.

“Does this please you?” Amer asks, voice low and raspy—partially a conscious attempt to mimic Andrey’s forwardness but mostly thanks to histamines.

Nicholas’s face is still, a mask sculpted out of ice and disdain; he doesn’t bother inhaling before his words are sliding over Amer’s skin like the burning thaw of icicles. “You’ve forgotten yourself.”

But he doesn’t push Amer away; Nicholas raises a hand, looking rather like a cat toying with some bird trapped in a corner, and lets his fingers crawl up the edge of Amer’s jaw, gripping a little too tight for comfort. His eyes are clear, green boring into green like a candle held between two mirrors. “Get back to work.”

The hunger in his voice is cold enough to raise goosebumps on Amer’s skin, even with the heat of the kitchens.

Death, it turns out, dreams of itself wrapped in the delicate scent of almonds and a glossy coat of chocolate so dark it’s nearly black. Amer rolls out twenty-four perfect spheres of bitter chocolate—how fitting, that they’re already in mourning colors—and holds one up between thumb and middle finger.

Nicholas doesn’t part his lips; he raises a brow imperiously until Amer lifts the dolorosa to his mouth, then smiles that scythe-like smile, malicious in the way of a beautiful thing meant to hurt. His tongue is warm, teeth blunt but unforgiving as he holds the tip of Amer’s finger between them and rolls the chocolate deeper into his mouth; the tip of his tongue flicks against Amer’s fingertip, oddly whip-like, and for a moment the dream imagines that the skin there splits, blood sizzling.

Amer draws his hand back and smiles at the sharp crack of chocolate; there will be an instant of smooth pistachio and salt on the Advisor’s tongue before the bitterness blooms into eternity—Nicholas lunges forward, one hand curling harshly around the back of Amer’s neck, dragging him down so Nicholas can slant his mouth over Amer’s, fingers digging in enough to force a gasp out—

His tongue is hot, slicked with chocolate that tastes of blood or blood that tastes of chocolate; Amer bites down and tastes bitter iron and smoke, swallows down Nicholas and his death as they fall together to the floor, hunger and rage twitching between them.

Green holds its reflection captive until both mirrors shutter, emerald candle between them snuffed out as suddenly as waking from a nightmare—Amer jolts upright in bed, every breath and muscle in his body throbbing hard.

That afternoon, when he crunches the detonator in a sweaty fist, he can’t help but think of the way Nicholas laughs—sharp and splintered.

+1. Amer has never been particularly devout, but it does strike him as a sign that it was the third dream of his in which Samael appeared, and that it’s Samael who saves him, even if his life is paid for by the blood of those he’s torn from and a batch of pastel macarons. Kezia’s mutterings about what kind of man names his child “Poison of God” flash through his mind and Amer’s scar screams from its silent throne beneath the curve of his eye.

He pours himself into work as much as he can, hoping that exhaustion will be the end of the specter in his dreams: Amer’s nights know no such kindness. Every night, he finds himself on his knees with the taste of blood in his mouth, looking up at Nicholas and Samael like some corrupted version of La Pietà in Kezia’s church. The scent of gore holds him down, green burning into green; Amer finds himself in a wretched loop of looking up and meeting Nicholas’s dry gaze—to be seen by him in waking life carries only a dilute cousin of the satisfaction it does in dreams, the majority of its power turned to the induction of pitiless, fathomless rage.

Samael gazes down at Amer but does not speak. Amer is impaled by matching green gazes, his own rendered useless in the face of destruction; Nicholas is impassive as he looks down the bridge of his nose at Amer, and for a moment, monstrous, ravenous hunger roars above the pounding of blood around them. Amer cannot move. He cannot speak. All he can do is wait for the reaper to bring his scythe swinging down.

It never comes.

[twstchaos]

Original Character: The Bouquet

Introducing: The Bouquet!! Got lazy and decided to use a picrew I made of her a loooooong time ago.

Technical Information

Name: Bouquette de Rosario

Japanese: ボクエット・デ・ロサリオ

Romaji: Bokuetto De Rosario

Nickname(s): Kelp/Seaweed (Floyd), Mademoiselle Fleur (Rook)

Biographical Information

Gender: Female

Pronoun: She/Her

Age: 17

Birthday: June 13

Starsign: Gemini

Height: 160cm

Eye Color: Chartreuse

Hair Color: Rose Pink

Homeland: Queendom of Roses

Family: Mother, Father

--

Professional Status

Dorm: Heartslabyul

School Year: Second

Class: 2-E (No. 7)

Occupation: Student, Groundskeeper of Heartslabyul

Club: Light Music Club, Science Club, Dance Club

Best Subject: Biology, Music

--

Fun Facts

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Honeysuckle Macarons

Least Favorite Food: Cilantro

Dislikes: Students messing up the rose garden

Hobby: Gardening

Talents: Floral Arrangement

--

Appearance:

Bouquette has rose pink, long hair tied neatly into a large rose bun. Her hair is pulled back so as to not cover her face, save for a single curled strand on the left side of her face. She has chartreuse green eyes. Bouquette dons the standard Night Raven Academy female uniform consisting of a black blazer over the red, gold-lined vest, short skirt with black stockings, and black and white striped tie. She wears the Heartslabyul armband with pride. As a respectable resident of Heartslabyul, her Heartslabyul dormitory uniform includes the standard black, red, and white overcoat, white, pleated skirt with yellow hemming, the yellow and black sash tied around her waist, and black stockings. Clipped on her lapel, instead of the standard painted rose, Bouquette wears a boutonniere with a tiny flower arrangement. Both of her school outfits are worn with her pair of black, heeled Mary Janes.

--

Personality:

Bouquette is a very bubbly and excitable girl–wanting to please everyone–with many passions. She is always seen bustling around the campus of Night Raven College albeit for classes, electives, or any errand that the Housewarden asked of her. She spends much of her time busying herself with work. A very diligent person yet unwise. Her constant commitment to work leaves her little time to relax–to breathe–causing to overstress herself very often. During those rare moments when she allows herself to relax, Bouquette enjoys indulging on Trey’s pastries, hitting up cafes with Cater, or enjoying tea time with Riddle. Whenever she is in her fits of stress, Bouquette accumulates blot quickly which is worrisome for the other residents of Heartslabyul.

--

Background: Growing up, Bouquette had always been surrounded by blooming blossoms. Her parents are the shopkeepers of the local florist, The Queen’s Bouquet. The Queen’s Bouquet has been in her family for many generations. She grew up learning the vast knowledge of florae, focusing mainly on flowers.As a child, her parents expected much out of her. Because of her parents’ ambition for their daughter to succeed in everything, Bouquette was taught violin at a young age by a world-class musician. She excelled in her classes. After a while of taking only violin lessons, she was signed up for ballroom dancing–the dance of nobility–and ballet concurrently with violin. Bouquette continued to excel in everything she did. But, after some time, the stress of doing everything began to take its silent toll. Once the daughter of the de Rosarios was old enough, her talents were recognized, and she was promptly whisked away to Night Raven College. There, she was assigned to Heartslabyul. In her first week, one of her classmates rose to the position of Housewarden. Bouquette signed up for the Light Music Club, the Science Club, and founded the Dance Club in her first year.

--

Abilities and Unique Magic:

From her lifelong education of gardening, Bouquette is very adept at caring for and tending to plants, often looked to for advice by most in the Science Club.

Bouquette’s Unique Magic is called “All in the Golden Afternoon”. Her spell, aided by her knowledge of plant life, allows her to control plants, being able to affect the speed in which a plant grows, blooms, and physical appearance. As of right now, she is only able to affect one plant at a time, but the effect is permanent. “All in the Golden Afternoon” is most effective on flowers. A weaker application of her magic is that she can materialise petals out of thin air. Due to how simple her magic is, Bouquette runs the additional risk of developing blot faster than most.

Incantation: “All the flowers have very extra special powers. May everybody chime in tune. You can learn a lot of things from the flowers. All in the Golden Afternoon.”

--

She is twisted from the singing flowers from Disney’s Alice in Wonderland.

More information will come out in the future~