#Brown Sugar Market Share

[diigo123456]

Natural Brown Sugar Market is expected to offer significant growth at a CAGR of 3.8% during the forecast period 2023-2030 | Sudzucker, Tate & Lyle, Imperial Sugar, Nordic Sugar A/S, C&H Sugar, American Crystal Sugar

The demand for healthy foods is the main thing driving the growth of the global market for natural brown sugar. People in India and China are eating healthier foods like low-sugar desserts and drinks more and more. This has increased the demand for natural brown sugar in these countries. Unrefined cane sugar is another name for natural brown sugar. It hasn’t been treated with chemicals, so it still has the minerals that are naturally found in sugarcane juice. How each type of sugar was taken from the plant affects its color, taste, texture, and amount of moisture. Potassium (60 mg), calcium (18 mg), and magnesium are some of the nutrients in brown sugar (20mg).

Click Here For A Free Sample PDF Copy Of The Natural Brown Sugar Market Latest Research Before Purchase:

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

MUNCHIES!

Kelvin Harrison Jr X Reader

Summary: Your neighbor, Kelvin, invites you to the fair. After a night of fun you end up in his apartment.

Warnings: Short, Smut, Humor, Neighbors.

Part One.

Why does having a crush put you in a state of mental hell?

It happens too easily and too often because your crush is across the hall from you.

And his name is Kelvin.

A handsome man with a bright, magnetic smile and a sense of humor. You moved in two months prior to meeting Kelvin. He was the first to greet you, reaching out his hand to shake yours while you were on your way into work.

“I’m Kelvin, welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t be a stranger. I promise I don’t bite. If you need anything like…sugar, spaghetti, you name it, I got it for you!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

Funny thing is, you did end up needing sugar. You were currently making a batch of edible chocolate chip cookies for a friend. You confused the sugar bag for flour and there was no way you were going back out to the market after dealing with all that traffic and road rage. Slipping on your Stitch slippers, you head out into the hall and across to Kelvin’s door.

Raising a fist, you suddenly become aware of how naked you feel. Cookie Monster boy shorts on. A barely there tank top. A chill swept across your chest, causing your nipples to harden. Turning, you shuffle back towards your apartment, but the sound of a door knob twisting caught your ear from behind.

“I’ll catch you when you get back from your trip, Kel!”

“Got a lot of work to do within the next month with press and all—”

Silence. You do a slow and dramatic turn, meeting the stunned faces of Kelvin and a friend of his you didn’t recognize. Kelvin had a lot of friends. It was hard to keep up with names and faces. Kelvin stood within his entryway with a velour, emerald green durag over his head, a white tank top, and black ball shorts. The friend, a tall, lanky black boy sporting a grey hoodie and matching joggers didn’t hold back as his eyes swept over your frame.

“Y/N? Girl, where you think you goin’ dressed like that?” Kelvin questioned with a fold of his arms and an arched brow. The corner of his beautiful lips twitched, fighting the urge to laugh.

“So this Y/N? Dayum—”

Kelvin slapped his friend against the shoulder. They both share a look, communicating with their eyes. Y/N twisted her lips before a smile broke out across her pretty face. So…Kelvin talked about you to his friends?

Interesting. Definitely noted.

“My bad, love, I’m Roy. Nice to meet you.”

Roy held out his hand in greeting. You shake his hand before quickly releasing it. Your eyes linger on Kelvin’s face as the awkward silence stretched on. Roy cleared his throat, causing you to blink away from Kelvin’s hypnotic brown orbs.

“Nice to finally meet you. Be safe, bro.”

They bumped fists and Roy turned to leave.

“You didn’t answer my question, punk.”

You’d finally found your voice. You shove a foot towards Kelvin’s direction and he swatted it away.

“I ain’t no punk. And I was coming over to ask for some sugar. I got an edible order to make.” You finally reply.

Kelvin leaned against his doorway with a smirk and low eyes, “And none for me? What type of shit…”

“You got thirty dollars?” You quipped.

“I do. How fast can you make me some fruity pebbles?”

“As fast as that money is in my hand, Kelvin. Now, come on! I need sugar!”

You stomp in place like a spoiled brat. Kelvin’s eyes did a quick sweep of your shapely thighs and the peek of midriff that teased him.

“Take a picture! It’ll last longer!”

Kelvin gave you a skeptical look, “You wanted me to see you like this, huh? You ain’t slick.”

Kelvin took a few steps back, holding his apartment door open for you to enter. You give him a look and he inclined his head for you to come in. You’d never been inside of his apartment. He’d been in yours a few times to help you bring groceries in. As you walk forward, the smell of sativa titillated your nose. With a hint of hazelnut cream.

“Brown or white?”

You focus on his back. The dip in his back in particular. You could see muscle definition in his arms and upper back. You knew he’d been going harder in the gym with his personal trainer lately from his ig stories. Preparing for a role possibly. Whatever the case, you were pleased.

Huh?” You finally reply.

Kelvin looked over his shoulder at you with elevated brows.

“Brown or white sugar?”

“White.”

Kelvin snorted a laugh, “And here I thought I daydream too much.”

Kelvin opened his walk–in pantry. He reappeared two seconds later with a big storage container filled with sugar. He found a zip–lock and filled it generously with enough sugar to last you some time.

“You didn’t need to give me that much, Kel,” you accept the bag, holding it against your chest to conceal your nipples.

“I’m just tryna look out for you, girl. Plus, I want my fruity pebbles and my coochie—I mean cookies!”

Kelvin threw a hand over his mouth and you both burst into a fit of laughter. Kelvin doubled over with a hand against his stomach and you flew your body over his kitchen counter. Tears ran down your cheeks, and Kelvin’s boisterous smile and open mouth laugh didn’t help to contain your cackling.

“I had too much weed! Oh shit! Whew!” Kelvin used his thumb to swipe away tears, “Coochie sound good though I ain’t gon lie to you!”

“You make me sick! I’m leaving!”

You turn to leave but Kelvin grabbed you by the waist. You look back at him and couldn’t help but to laugh again. His touch against your skin sent signals to your nerves and your body did a jolt that you couldn’t control. He smelled amazing and his glassy skin looked delectable. Beyond his lashes you could tell from the whites of his eyes that he’d smoked some good shit.

“Who said you could leave me alone? Remember what I said happened the last time I smoked silver haze?” Kelvin whispered against your ear.

“I don’t remember nor do I give a fuck!”

You screech when Kelvin tried to tickle you. Your squirming became too much so he released you.

“I got a couple blunts left if you wanna chill with me?”

Kelvin tucked his chin and wagged his brows at you. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I have to get this order finished. If you want, come help me out and we can smoke.”

Kelvin tapped his chin in thought. Too long for your patience.

“It’s either a yes or a no, Kelvin!” You shout with a smile.

“Aight, I’ll come over. Let me grab my chips first.”

Kelvin opened his pantry again and you waited for him while walked back towards the door. Your curious eyes scanned his eclectically stylish apartment until your eyes came upon a painting.

“Honey Dripping. That’s the name of it.”

You jump slightly from being startled. Kelvin was amused with your response, eyes twinkling with mischief. You turn your attention back to the painting.

“Why this one in particular?” You question.

“It’s beautiful. It shows appreciation to the female anatomy. And I love coochie…or did you forget the slip of my tongue back in the kitchen?”

The playful edge to his voice sparked a horniness within you. Kelvin took his place next to you while munching on Lay’s chips. He chewed and admired the painting with wondrous enthusiasm.

“Anyway, you ready to head out? Them Cookie Monster shorts had enough fun for one night, ma.”

You shove him jokingly before leading the way out of his apartment. Kelvin grabbed his keys and slipped on some crocs along the way. Still, the painting and his words remained on your mind.

——

You allow Kelvin to add the chocolate chips before mixing the thick batter. The sound of Tyler The Creator playing from your Bluetooth had the two of you grooving. Kelvin cut some parchment to line the cookie sheet while you took a break to puff on a blunt. French inhaling the smoke, you pass it to Kelvin who accepted the blunt between his thumb and pointer finger, toting it before expertly blowing the smoke away from you.

You open the oven and Kelvin slipped the tray inside.

“See what team work can do?” Kelvin brushed his hands.

“Maybe asking you for sugar was the right thing to do after all.”

You wink at him while gathering your dishes to clean. Kelvin perched himself next to you with a towel to dry.

“Got any plans tomorrow?” Kelvin asked after placing a clean mixing bowl in the dish rack.

“No. Why?” You glance at him with bright eyes.

“There’s a fair…heard about it?”

“I did. Was gonna buy two tickets but that didn’t work out.”

Kelvin pouted his bottom lip with curiosity, “What happened?”

“…long story,” you huffed, “Shortened version? This dude I met on Hinge, found out he was seeing my friend.”

“OUCH. That’s fucked up,” Kelvin accepted a whisk, “Happy you dodged that bullet and here I am to save the day!”

You laugh, “Mr. Harrison, are you asking me on a date?”

You jutted your hip out and gave Kelvin a flirty look with a little smile. He licked his lips before chuckling. His eyes danced across your face and that look was doing things to you.

“I guess I am, huh?” Kelvin nibbled on his bottom lip, “Well? Can I take you to the fair, Y/N?”

You played it cool by giving him a nod in acceptance and a coy smile. On the inside, you were doing flips and cheers. After months of the back and forth, he made the first move. As he should. You’d dropped hints plenty of times. This didn’t mean anything yet. It could be a simple friend date. A date with Kelvin of any kind was enough for you.

“Then it’s a date. I’ll pick you up at three?”

“Three is good.”

You both finish up and head to your living room to smoke and watch a little TV. Kelvin made himself comfortable on the floor while you laid on your side on the sofa. Head propped up against your arm, you put on a random Marvel movie. Kelvin brought his knees up and draped his arms over it. You tap his shoulder with your acrylic french tip and he cut his eyes at you before accepting the blunt to keep the rotation flowing.

“You like roller coasters?” Kelvin asked.

“I do.”

“How about drop towers?”

“Nah,” you take the blunt, “Had a bad experience on one before.”

“You got stuck?” Kelvin turned his body fully, giving you a shocked look with his mouth hanging open.

“I did! Happened when I was eleven. Six flags. The ride started up out of nowhere and that drop almost made me see heaven. No more.”

Kelvin threw his head back and laughed. The fabric of his durag stroked your knee and it caused goosebumps to appear on your arms.

“I hate anything that spins. Shit makes me sick.” Kelvin revealed with a look of disgust.

“Let me guess, made you vomit?”

“Yeah! I hate feeling dizzy. That over and over again spinning drives me nuts!”

Bet, remind me to put you on the cyclone for torture when you piss me off.” You replied jokingly.

Kelvin sat up on his knees to face you.

“That’s if you can even force me to do it. Look at all this,” Kelvin flexed, showing off muscles and lifted his shirt to give you a glance at his abs, “Too strong!”

“Kelvin, we’re the same height. And last time I checked, your friend Aaron got you beat in that department—HEY!”

Kelvin had snatched your slippers off and started tickling your feet. You writhed on the sofa, kicking a squealing, trying to fight him off.

“OKAY! okayokayokay! I’m sorry!” You were blinded by tears and your laughter couldn’t be contained, “KELVIN! YOU WIN! OKAY!”

“That’s not what I want to hear, Y/N.”

Kelvin grabbed you by the ankles, your body tumbling to the throw rug. Kelvin climbed over you to hold your wrists above your head. You move your head to get your braids from your eyes and focus on Kelvin’s face. Your chest rose and fell with deep breaths and he blinked down at you with a condescending smile.

“Where’s the blunt?!”

“On the tray. Don’t try to deflect. What was that about Aaron?!”

“I was only kidding!” You replied.

“Mhm. Don’t let me find out you’ve been checking him out, punk.”

You liked this side of Kelvin. The way he had you trapped beneath him and the glint in his eyes with that sexy smirk had you a wet mess. You wanted to see how far he’d go.

“Can I share something with you, Kel?”

He tilted his head, gold chain dangling in your face, “Yeah? What’s that.”

“Well,” you look heavenward, “I always wondered what it’ll be like to…have Aaron do arm curls while using me as weights—STOP!”

“Keep it up! I can do this all night!” Kelvin said between laughter.

The timer beeped on the oven, alerting you that the cookies were ready. Kelvin sucked his teeth before releasing you. He helped you up from the floor, but suddenly he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You wiggle your feet while he carried you towards the kitchen.

“Put me down before you drop me!”

Kelvin sat you down on the counter and grabbed the oven mitts. He took the cookies out and sat them on top of the stove. The smell of the freshly baked treat wafted your nose and made your mouth water.

“Why must you act up, Y/N? See, I would punish you…but you ain’t ready for that.”

You fold your leg over the other and tilt your head.

“What exactly is a punishment from Mr. Harrison entail?”

“You ain’t ready for that, Y/N.”

Kelvin removed the mitts.

“I’m a head out. I gotta get up early to train and take care of some other shit before I come scoop you for the fair…”

You were too late at hiding your disappointment. Kelvin worried his brows and pouted his lip.

“Awww I’ll miss your annoying ass too.” Kelvin walked up to you and gave you a kiss to the cheek, “Get some sleep. I want you energized for the fair tomorrow. We got a lot of shenanigans to get into, ma!”

Kelvin snatched up his keys and slipped on his crocs. You were still stuck on the kiss that tingled your cheek. His lips were indeed soft like a Tempur-pedic mattress. Probably tasted good to. His mouth had to taste good.

“Come walk me to the door.”

You hop down from the counter and follow Kelvin. He opened the door, pausing with his head against it and giving you a dreamy look that had you giggling.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N. Take your ass to bed.” Kelvin grabbed your hand and kissed it like a gentleman.

“Dream about me like I know you will.”

He licked his lips slowly, hazy eyes falling to your lips.

“I just might.”

——

Stay tuned for part two! 😍

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[princesspetticoat]

The Muse of Her Ruin

Artist Modern AU: Chapter 1/? — Caramel

Summary:

Los Angeles was supposed to be your perfect canvas, but the struggle to make it leaves you feeling burnt out – until Agatha Harkness paints you into her world.

In her hands, you’re more than an artist, and she knows exactly how to mold you into her newest masterpiece.

Tags:

agatha!reader, age gap, mommy kink, slow burn, mean!agatha, possessive!agatha, AU: Art world of Los Angeles, portrait of a witch on fire, reader is babygirl, the witch wears prada, sugar mommy vibes, slight Rio/reader but only to make Agatha jealous, agatha can’t beat the AI allegations, dacryphilia, eventual smut, angst, MDLG, bratty bottom, BDSM, praise kink, degradation, strap-ons, anal, dub con, slight piss kink, squirting, power dynamics, possible memory loss and magic maybe idk, kitten play, electrostimulation, humiliation, overstimulation, exhibitionism for the art, let the bodies hit the floor, more tags later because i’m sure i’ll find something else to be foul about

Links: Twitter | AO3

Chapter 1: Caramel

It isn’t the first time a beautiful woman has stopped you in your doom scrolling on the internet. You’ve had your share of rabbit-holing through Instagram profiles, tagged photos, your finger hovering over the DM button with a wave of confidence that only comes when you’ve had a drink or two in your system.

But this woman, this one comes with an extension of discovery.

Just by googling her name, a thousand articles pop up. Art piece installations cascade every website, timeline, and city cultural journal. Jesus, then the red carpet photos multiply as the SEO of your web browser catches on to your sudden enthrall of dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

Oh, and the hashtags. #WitchyArt #HarknessAndDesire #CursedCanvas. Layers of art plummet before you, most requesting to select if you’d like to view the art or not because of its lewd nature, violating community guidelines.

#AgathaHarknessUnveiled

A public invitation to forbiddenness. You’re intrigued.

Then more pictures of her show up, next to her work, her models, famous celebrities that you never knew were part of the same circle. You realize you’ve been following her art closely for years, and had even gone to one of her art installations at the LACMA a couple years back.

She has no social media and you quickly piece together why you haven’t been able to put a face to the name until now. The Agatha Harkness.

You curse yourself for living and breathing on Instagram, reading little excerpts about her pieces here and there, never proceeding past searching her name up one single time after seeing her most famous artwork grace the official Broad Museum verified account:

The Unbound: Agatha Harkness - A Palette of Desire contemporary collection of ‘22.

Ask AI or Search: Agatha Harkness

…

However, you were met with the reflection of: ‘⚠️ zero search results found’ staring back at you on your phone screen, and that was that.

Now, you pull open your ‘Painting Inspo’ Pinterest board to see a piece of hers pinned neatly between other modern art you admire. The pin is plainly titled and paired with a now-purple hyperlink to an article, with one of the most commanding portraits of her in a suit, standing sharply next to her work.

It had all been right there, connected, laid out before you. You scold yourself again. You could’ve been in this woman’s circle the moment you moved to Los Angeles. Only now she’s magically moved from your subconscious to reality.

All it took was a simple Google search to be completely floored.

Right place, right time, you think, as it were. Originally, you were filtering through junior-level marketing positions, revamping your resume for the umpteenth time. Waitressing just wasn’t cutting it anymore, you needed a big girl job. Even if you didn’t have the experience.

And, to be honest, people really do act like that in Los Angeles. Customer service is nothing short of unbearable.

You’d huffed and slammed your laptop, tired of the almost-hour it took to submit one clean job application, flopped on your bed, and began the inevitable doom scroll.

And there she was, in all her glory. Featured in one major headline that caught your eye (apart from every photo ever of her maddeningly hypnotizing smile).

Grand Opening of the Harkness Collection, March 2025 — DTLA, Seeking Social Media Manager Position.

You could do it, you think.

The link to apply for the position already looks infinitely better than the bland, morose copy/paste templates thrown around every typical job website like a hot potato.

This just might get your foot in the door.

You’ve painted your whole life, always the kid doodling in the corner of your notebooks in class. You’ve done your fair share of moronically smacking people with your big art portfolio at the end of each year in high school when you rounded corners.

Art school in Portland had its ups and downs. Your father used every last penny he had to see your dreams come true, and your mother hated you for it. Blamed you, even, for sucking his wallet dry. But it was of his own accord to pay for tuition, and you had nothing else to show for it. You had a real talent.

At least, that’s what Mrs. Montgomery had told you.

Your art teacher for grades 11-12 was someone who was stern but had a mother’s touch. You really only knew the stern part back home, and then some, after the divorce.

But Mrs. Montgomery not only put you on a pedestal, she really critiqued you. She actually pushed you, improved your skills and adorned her Letter of Recommendation to your chosen college with accolades of admiration you couldn’t possibly achieve from your own mother.

If it wasn’t obvious already, you were completely smitten. And you know what else? You could trust her as far as you could throw her.

The after school meetings, the one-on-one sessions after class to help finish up an end of the year project. Anything to get a sliver of praise. Anything to prevent the bus ride home.

After college, though, you moved to Los Angeles in hopes of joining a gallery or an art community. You got sucked into the limelight, the overbearing and overwhelming nature of the city of angels. Everyone seemingly looks better than you, doing more than you, everyone trying to prove themselves somewhere. Nothing felt real.

You felt like a failure.

Email threads to galleries went stale and not to mention renting out studios could carve a hole into your credit card. It’s been three whole years since moving here after college, stuck in the same job you started with. The only real friend you made was from college, Oliver, who really was the one who dragged you out to California in the first place.

One friend, one lame job, one-room studio apartment, and no art to show for it. You start to think that this dream was meant to fizzle out and you’re supposed to become another cog in the wheel of Capitalism just like everybody else.

Whatever. You craft a partially-truthful resume, and an overzealous cover letter.

Somewhere in there you lie about managing a social media page for a cafe that doesn’t exist, and that you’ve worked with a few semi-recognizable artists in the industry as their interns. Right.

But for the record, this is working for Agatha Harkness. You’ve got to make it look like you’re somebody. You imagine yourself at her side on those red carpets, getting to pick her brain about all the art she’s created. You’ll get to show her the paintings you made, she’ll praise you, you’ll blush, and you’ll fall pathetically under her spell. Fuck.

Do you want the job or do you want her?

You suppose wanting both isn’t selfish. It’s ambitious. And you’re sick of circling around a realm that’s just out of reach.

You look at the unfinished canvases stowed in the corner of your apartment, the murky ‘mystery soup’ graying in several mason jars that scatter your work area. The dried paint, the tubes of acrylics strewn about. You can’t even remember the last time you painted.

If a hot, older woman was the motivation to be the artist you were always meant to be, then fuck it. You hit ‘submit’ on the application and sigh, closing your laptop with a better feeling of finality than the first time.

You never really get your hopes up about a job position, but for the rest of the day you find yourself tapping away anxiously, your mind scattered with the possibility of Agatha Harkness, of all people, becoming your boss.

————————————

The next morning you’re disruptively awakened by the buzzing of your phone. You begrudgingly hit ‘accept’ on the unknown number and pick up the line.

“Hello?” you answer and do your best not to sound utterly corpse-like.

“Hi!” a sweet voice greets you from the other end, “my name is Jennifer Kale, calling about the social media manager position for Ms. Harkness. Is this —?”

“Yes,” you shoot up, now seated in bed and exclaim before she can even finish her sentence. “This is she.”

She goes on to tell you how impressed she was with your resume and your expert copyright. You did always have a way with words, you forget how powerful they are as a way to get you exactly what you want.

“I saw in your CV that you have your work displayed at a cafe in Echo Park, is that right?”

You tell her of the few pieces you have displayed there and how you’ve made good friends with the owner. Jen mentions she’s relayed your portfolio, website, and resume to Agatha already and your breath instantly hitches.

She then goes to say that Agatha would like to personally meet you at that cafe for an interview. Tomorrow.

You nod and stutter a quick ‘yes’ into the speaker, forgetting you were on the phone at all. Lost in the possibility — no, actuality — of meeting Agatha.

After exchanging times and contact information, the line clicks blank and all the roaring thoughts begin to pour in. The anxiety, the expectations, the thought of being examined, let alone perceived by this powerful woman.

Your stomach kind of flutters at the thought, though. Her domineering presence picking you apart until you tell her exactly what she wants…and then she’ll hire you.

The confidence you feel mixed with the sheer horror of pretending you’re more than you say you are. You hope she doesn’t see through the lies.

But then again, so many people in the world have jobs they aren’t qualified for. They don’t even know what they’re doing, especially bosses and CEOs. So you’re sure Agatha can appreciate a little ‘fake it til you make it’; particularly from someone who really wants this.

————————————

You arrive infinitely early to the interview in the car you never use since everything in Downtown LA is right outside your apartment door.

The parking was the biggest hurdle but you gave yourself ample time to prepare.

The sun beats down on you as you exit your car, despite the crisp air of the early Spring morning. You shuffle down the hill to the sprawling city strip of hipster cafes, vintage thrifts, and mom ‘n pop shops. Your favorite cafe is squished between them, a true hole in the wall.

One of your favorite baristas greets you from behind the counter when you walk in. It looks like you beat the morning rush, everyone already taken to their seats, noses pressed to their laptops in concentration.

You order your favorite iced latte and wait at the bar, albeit with impatience. The barista questions your nervousness and you lean in with excitement.

“I have an interview,” you smile.

“Here?!”

“Yes, here, well — not here here, but yeah. It’s with one of the most well known artists. She’s…fascinating.”

And you gush over her for a moment, her art, her looks, the job position, while periodically checking the clock that sits behind the espresso bar, like, every five seconds.

You notice their smile grows wider as you wrap up your story, handing you your latte. But what you don’t notice is the person who just walked in, approaching the next spot in line.

“Have a great interview,” the barista dazzles in a cheeky whisper, eyes flitting to someone behind you.

Your realization hits when you turn and your latte hits her, square in the chest.

The cold liquid clashes between you two as you bump into each other, the cap coming clean off, with bits of ice clattering to the floor.

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you babble, reaching for napkins and grabbing a fistful from who knows where.

You scramble to wipe up the mess, avoiding eye contact as Agatha steps back to examine the huge spot now staining her crisp white shirt. She can’t even get a word in before you scurry to the bathroom.

How stupid can you possibly be?

You beat yourself up in your thoughts as you gather yourself, and, clumsily, several ice cubes that managed to fall into your bra.

With a wet paper towel you clean the coffee off your front as much as you can before taking a deep breath, fixing your hair in the mirror and hoping when you step out of the bathroom, she’ll still be there waiting for you.

The bathroom door teeters and squeaks awkwardly as you push it open. You survey the cafe lobby and find Agatha opening a notebook and pulling out papers, and your resume.

You don’t think she realized you’re the one she’s supposed to interview. And you can’t even weigh what scenario would be more embarrassing.

You slide into the chair across from her, snaking your bag down to the floor and pulling out your own resume copy. You notice her blouse is completely drink-free and it catches you off guard. The coffee stains on your shirt are terribly evident despite your efforts in cleaning yourself up.

“You should’ve written your name as Caramel at the top of your resume,” she states while still looking down at the paper. Oh, of course she knows it’s you.

Looking down at yourself you realize there’s a streak of caramel syrup dripping down your cleavage.

Your eyes flick to hers, and she’s looking at you now, for the first time. There’s a long beat that clenches your throat and you forget how to speak.

You know her eyes are blue but holy shit, they’re palpably blue. And they hold yours in suspension, her gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to her paper.

Your cheeks warm with a feverish blush, and you take a napkin to wipe the syrup away, leaving your skin sticky and shiny.

Her eyes move to your cleavage again as she shifts slightly in her seat, adjusting her stature. She scans over your resume agonizingly slow now and this long gap of silence has your nerves bubbling.

Maybe it’s a good thing the coffee spilled, because you’re sure the caffeine would give you a panic attack right about now.

“It doesn’t state in here that you use condiments as a painting medium, so, tell me your process,” Agatha jokes, but her tone is blunt.

You breathe a laugh and smile anyway, wanting to squash the awkwardness and tension so badly. Taking a second, you muster up an ounce of courage. You have to prove yourself now after this train wreck.

“I could probably use caramel as a medium,” you shrug, meeting her stark gaze again.

Agatha quirks one brow, egging you to go on.

“It’s got a similar consistency to a fast dry. Could probably even be worked into a glaze too. It could make a really nice maple color over some oils. I work with acrylics, watercolors, too, but it probably would leave paintings like that,” you take in a ragged breath, your mind catching up to just how stupid you sound, “…sticky.”

She smiles for the first time, a wicked smolder perking the corners of her lips. Amusement flares in her eyes, and you swear you can almost see them darken.

“Your skills?”

You take a deep breath before you begin, grounding yourself. “Time management, organization, I’m ambitious and work well with others. I also have really good memori –”

“You know,” she dawdles, “none of your references called me back,” she states, practically disregarding the answer to her last question.

Your mouth parts in silence.

“Oh,” is the only pathetic word you can assemble. “That’s weird,” you breathe, thoroughly fucking failing.

“I’m sure they’re all busy artists.”

And you just know she’s seeing right through you.

“But…your copywriting is very good. I’ve seen your social media, your website, you’ve got a way with words, hon.”

Your neck and chest must be as red as your face now. But the way she looks at you, blue eyes dark yet twinkling with intrigue, you’re blushing for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” you manage, and you give her a truthful look that you really need this, that you really want this. Because you just want something to go right for once in your life. You need to find your purpose again.

It’s like she can hear your thoughts as she studies you. It’s hard to look away when you meet her eyes again. As if she’s holding you in the palm of her hand, weighing you, rolling you between her fingers, testing to see if she should clench and squeeze the dream right from your heart.

“You know, I don’t normally meet with artists in this circumstance, or even in such a…sticky manner.”

And you blush for the millionth time.

“But I’d like to test your writing skills. I’m hosting a live painting session this weekend that I want you to come to and write a little mockup article for. If I dig it, you get the job, sweetheart.”

Her words drip like honey, the opportunity laid out before you, sounding sweet to your ears. It’s almost unbelievable.

“Wow, thank you so much Ms. Harkness,” you fawn, beaming a smile.

“Agatha,” she says warmly, holding out her hand for you to shake.

You hesitate for a moment before taking her hand in yours, her slender, delicate fingers just barely grazing the inside of your wrist. Something flutters in your stomach at the contact, like a chemical reaction right in your core.

The embrace is subtle, but it carries the weight of something more than just a job, more than just a task she’s asking you to complete. You tug your hand away, but the air between you stays charged.

“I won’t let you down,” you exhale earnestly.

Agatha blinks at you slowly, that smile never faltering, “good girl.”

She rises now, collecting her papers and notebook, storing them inside a black tote bag. “My assistant will be in touch.”

You absentmindedly nod to her, feeling her presence leave, with the click of the cafe door echoing in your ears. You’re completely dumbfounded. What just happened?

Did you actually manage to fake your way to the top? You have a real shot now at getting this position. And the way she looked at you, like she just knew what you were capable of?

Her request is simple, just a mockup article. Nothing truly serious. The significance of her words, though, make your heart race. The heady mix of exhilaration and nerve wracking anticipation makes you dizzy at the thought. And her praise.

Good girl.

You’re completely slack-jawed at the thought of it again. You just know you’re in for something more than just a mere task.

Whatever she wants from you, you’ll give it – willingly, completely, without question.

[cailinsblog]

Mistletoe Magic-Luke hughes

Luke hughes x reader

Masterlist

Snow fell softly in the small New Jersey town, blanketing the streets and trees in a sparkling layer of white. The air was crisp, and the smell of pine lingered from the Christmas trees lining the shop windows. Luke Hughes and his girlfriend, Y/N, had decided it was the perfect day for a winter stroll, wrapped up in warm coats and scarves, ready to enjoy the festive charm of the season.

Y/N adjusted her knitted hat, pulling it snug over her ears as she looked up at Luke, who was grinning down at her, his cheeks already rosy from the cold. "You look cozy," Luke teased, tugging gently on her scarf. "Are you sure you're not going to overheat?"

Y/N laughed, her breath forming little clouds in the cold air. "Says the guy who's always freezing," she shot back. "If anything, you'll be begging to borrow my scarf by the time we’re done."

Luke chuckled, sliding his gloved hand into hers as they began their walk down the snow-dusted path. The town looked like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie—twinkling lights strung between lamp posts, wreaths hanging on every door, and a light dusting of snow covering everything in sight. It was magical.

They wandered past the ice rink where families skated hand in hand, stopping briefly to watch as children giggled and stumbled on the ice. Y/N smiled, leaning into Luke. "Doesn't this just make you feel like a kid again?" she asked softly, her eyes sparkling as she took in the scene.

Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on her. "Yeah," he said, his voice warm. "But honestly, I think being with you makes everything feel more magical."

Y/N blushed, nudging him playfully. "You're such a sap."

He grinned, squeezing her hand. "Only for you."

As they continued their walk, they came across a small market set up in the town square. Booths were lined with handmade ornaments, holiday treats, and steaming cups of hot cocoa. The smell of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts filled the air, and Y/N couldn’t help but stop at a stand selling festive cookies.

“Want one?” she asked, holding up a snowflake-shaped sugar cookie dusted with glittery icing.

Luke nodded, but before she could pay, he quickly pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got it,” he said, handing the vendor a few bills.

“Such a gentleman,” Y/N teased, taking a bite of the cookie and holding it up to Luke for him to taste. He leaned in, taking a bite and grinning as the sweetness hit his tongue.

"Not bad," he said, licking a stray crumb from his lip. "But I know something that’ll taste even better."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"

Luke smirked but didn’t answer, instead tugging her gently toward a nearby booth selling hot chocolate. They each ordered a cup, topped with whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. The warmth of the drink seeped through their gloves as they stood together, sipping and watching the snow continue to fall.

“This is perfect,” Y/N murmured, leaning against Luke as they shared a quiet moment. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in their little bubble of happiness.

Luke glanced up, his eyes lighting up as he noticed something hanging from a nearby tree. “Hey,” he said, nudging Y/N. “Come here for a second.”

She followed his gaze, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to figure out what he was looking at. When they reached the spot, Luke stopped and pointed up. “Look.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging above them, tied with a festive red ribbon. She laughed softly, looking back at Luke. “Did you plan this?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Luke grinned, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink—not just from the cold. “Maybe,” he admitted, stepping closer to her. “But if I did, would you really mind?”

Y/N shook her head, her heart fluttering as she looked up into his warm, brown eyes. “Not one bit.”

Luke didn’t waste another second. He leaned in, his hands gently cradling her face as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft and sweet, the kind that made the world around them melt away. The snow continued to fall, landing softly on their hair and shoulders, but neither of them noticed. All that mattered was the moment they were sharing.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “That was pretty perfect,” she said softly.

Luke chuckled, brushing a stray flake of snow from her cheek. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment all day,” he admitted. “And I couldn’t let a mistletoe moment pass us by.”

“Well,” Y/N said, looping her arms around his neck, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

They stood there for a while longer, basking in the magic of the moment before deciding to head back to the warmth of their home. As they walked hand in hand, Luke couldn’t help but steal glances at Y/N, his heart swelling with love.

Later that evening, they curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over them, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lighting up the room. Y/N rested her head on Luke’s chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his sweater.

“You know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “today might just be my favorite day ever.”

Luke smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Mine too,” he said. “And there’s plenty more where that came from.”

With the snow still falling outside and the warmth of their love filling the room, it was clear that this was just the beginning of a holiday season they’d never forget.

Tags: @mialikeshockey

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

[chuuyrr]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO — DAZAI OSAMU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𐙚₊ CW(s): f! reader, exes to lovers, angst to fluff/comfort, christmas/holiday setting, he still calls you pet names like baby, love, and sweetheart

𐙚₊˚⊹ SYNOPSIS: underneath the twinkling christmas lights, you and osamu embrace the promise of a love rekindled

𐙚₊ NOW PLAYING: santa doesn't know you like i do by sabrina carpenter && new years day by taylor swift ᝰ.ᐟ

in the heart of yokohama, where the winter winds whispered secrets and the city adorned itself in festive lights, you find yourself wandering around in a deep sigh, clutching yourself with your coat adorning you.

the city exuded warmth, and the scent of roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, and an open fire from christmas markets and stores mingled with the laughter of children and adults enjoying the holidays.

as you strolled through the festive scene, you couldn't escape the echoes of your shared past with dazai.

you then stop in front of a familiar bar which was decorated with bright christmas lights and wreaths, and at that moment, you find yourself lost in a sea of memories, reminiscing about the shared moments with osamu, before the inevitable drift that led to your breakup.

among those recollections, two particular scenes painted themselves vividly in your mind, haunting yet bittersweet.

one memory that lingered like a gentle melody was the night you and osamu ventured into the same dimly lit bar, saying that you two deserve a treat.

the air hummed with the soulful tunes of saxophones and pianos as you two nestled into a corner booth. the ambient glow cast a warm aura, reflecting in dazai's brown sugar eyes as you and him clinked glasses of your high-ball whiskeys, toasting to the beauty of the night.

your laughter resonated with the rhythm of the music, creating a symphony of shared joy. osamu, with his enigmatic smile, leaned in to whisper secrets that only you could understand amidst the jazz-infused atmosphere.

it was a night where time seemed to suspend, and your connection deepened through the language of music, laughter, and stories which lead to a shared kiss that became your first.

another memory that tugged at the corners of your heart was the night you spent at osamu's apartment. the air was thick with familiarity as you found solace in the haven he had crafted, even if it was quite empty and rather mininalist, considering how he didn't have much.

either way, you and osamu talked about everything and nothing, the conversation weaving effortlessly between trivialities and profound truths—some even about his day at work, how annoying working on reports was. you even find yourself dancing with him around his kitchen in the middle of the night.

as that night unfolded, osamu's clothes became a comforting embrace, wrapping you in the scent of familiarity. wearing his oversized shirt, you found a sense of closeness, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you once shared.

the cityscape outside his window faded into the background as you and him reveled in the simplicity of being together in his futon, you in his warm embrace, head tucked beneath his chin as you lay on his chest, and he hummed a peacefully melody with his fingers running through your hair to lull you.

the quiet hum of his apartment became a sanctuary in those stolen hours, and even he thought it became a place he could call home when it was previously simply a scarcely filled space, and now it felt more than that. that is, until the fall arrived.

it was a night where the barriers between you and him melted away, leaving only the echoes of whispered confessions of "i love yous" and sweet nothings, along with the soft rustle of borrowed clothes.

now, you stand alone with the weight of these memories, you couldn't help but wonder if those moments were fragments of a love that had slipped through your fingers.

the bar and the borrowed clothes became artifacts of a time when you and osamu reveled in the magic of each other's company, a magic that time, circumstances, and perhaps your own choices had dimmed.

and still, you held onto those memories, recognizing them as delicate fragments of a past that was, in its own way, a testament to the beauty of what you two once had.

the air was crisp, and the city bustled with the festive energy of the holiday season, and you were about to turn away from the bar only to walk and bump into a familiar figure.

there, in the midst of the bustling crowd, stood dazai, and time seemed to freeze for an instant as your eyes met his ever same, warm brown sugar eyes, and the weight of unspoken words lingered in the air—a moment suspended in the delicate dance between past and present.

"osamu," you murmur softly, the name escaping your lips almost as a reflex. his gaze, once distant, softened with a recognition that mirrored your own.

a tentative smile played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the shared history that bounds you both, "hey, fancy meeting you here," he remarks, his voice carrying the hint of a memory you both couldn't escape.

as the crowd flowed around you and dazai, you find yourself standing in a pocket of stillness, a space where the weight of your past lingered.

"what are you doing out here? looking for presents, dear?" dazai strikes a conversation, but you can tell he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. you can tell he was very much ecstatic to see you again despite before.

"no, i was just going for a walk," you respond, rubbing your arm as you blink softly at him.

"just going for a walk this holiday, huh?" he narrows his eyes, a small chuckle escaping his breath, and his gaze soon draws towards the bar where you two would go for a drink, dine, and date.

like a canvas of unread stories, his eyes then hold, a mix of emotions, "funny how memories have a way of catching up with us," he replies, his gaze tracing the invisible threads that connected your past to this chance encounter.

"you know, sometimes, i do wonder if our memories are trying to tell us something," dazai muses, his words resonating with a quiet introspection as you two stood there, grappling with the unspoken question of what these chance encounters meant.

dazai's eyes, once filled with the mischievous sparkle that characterized him, now furrows in a subtle frown as he observed your quiet and somewhat awkward demeanor. the cheerful and festive background chatter of the city around you seemed to fade, leaving only the palpable tension between you and him.

"so," dazai began, a playful lilt in his voice as if attempting to break the uneasy silence, "you've become the epitome of quiet contemplation, i see. is this a new tactic to throw off my deductive skills?" his words were accompanied by a teasing smile, a familiar attempt to coax you into banter.

however, your response remained trapped in the awkwardness that seemed to have enveloped you. reminiscing memories had resurrected emotions that you struggled to articulate, and the weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

his playful demeanor faded slightly, replaced by a genuine concern mirrored in the subtle downturn of his lips. "heh, you're usually more... animated," he mutters, his gaze searching for clues in the quietness that now defined you.

"i guess i've changed, dazai," you mumble, attempting to offer an explanation for the unspoken shift in your dynamic. the words, however, felt inadequate, like leaves carried away by the wind before they could settle.

dazai's eyebrows knit together in a mild frustration, especially when you no longer address him as such, "change, my love, is a curious thing. but this quiet version of you doesn't quite suit the narrative i had in mind," he teases, yet the tease carried an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

as he continued to speak, the air between you two seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. his attempts at light banter fell against the backdrop of my quiet contemplation, creating a dissonance that neither of you anticipated.

a sigh escapes him, a subtle acknowledgment of the unforeseen awkwardness, "i thought we could maybe reminisce and laugh about old times, but it seems like i've stumbled upon a different scene altogether," his frown deepening.

in that moment, the vulnerability beneath dazai's usual charm became apparent. the frown on his face reflected not just confusion but a genuine longing for the familiarity, the connection that once flowed effortlessly between the two of you.

"hey, since we're already in front of the bar we used to frequent, do you mind sharing a drink with me tonight?" he asked, his tone carrying a mix of nostalgia and vulnerability.

your eyes widen a bit in shock. you know you shouldn't, but it just feels so right to say,

"no, i don't mind at all."

memories of laughter, music, and stolen glances resurfaced, painting a vivid scene against the backdrop of the night in the bar of cozy glow of christmas lights and laughter and merriment, yet the weight of those moments hanging in the air.

dazai's gaze became more introspective, his words chosen with care as the two of you sat together by the bar on the cushioned stools with your usual high-ball whiskeys.

"you know, i've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about us and everything that happened," he starts quietly after taking a sip from his drink, "there are words left unsaid, and i think it's time to address them."

as dazai spoke, a rare sincerity colored his voice, unraveling the layers of complexity that often shrouded his emotions, and the night now became a stage for a conversation that held the potential for healing.

"i suppose so," you say back quietly as you swirl your drink around, holding it by the rim and making the ice cube clink against the glass.

you turn to look at dazai, and you see him a take a deep breath as he places his hands in the pocket of his sandy brown coat.

"i want to say sorry," dazai continues, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, "sorry for the moments i let slip away, for the words i said and didn't say, and for the distance that grew between us, and i never meant for it to end like that.."

the rare vulnerability in his admission hung in the air, a bridge between the past and the present. the ambiance of the bar now stood witness to a moment of genuine confession.

"and i miss you," dazai confesses, his gaze never leaving yours, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice, "i miss the laughter, the shared silences, and the way you understood the chaos within me, and if i can be completely honest, i still love you."

the weight of those words settled in the air, carrying with them the echoes of a love that had weathered storms and yet lingered in the recesses of the past. the quietness between you two even seemed to amplify the significance of the moment, as if the universe itself conspired to create a space for the honesty that had long been overdue.

your heart, a mosaic of emotions, responded to his words, caught between the scars of the past and the possibility of a future rewritten.

you, too, couldn't deny the resonance between you and him, "i guess, christmas has a way of making even the coldest hearts nostalgic," you say in a quiet giggle, your gaze meeting his.

the chilly night seemed to warm however.

"i'm sorry too. i'm sorry for giving up on us," you sigh, taking sip of your drink for liquid courage as the unspoken words became spoken now, "i just, it felt like there was no other way, and that this is for the best for us, osamu."

"you called me osamu again," a smile now tugs on his lips, his eyes lighting up with hope.

"oh, shut up," a smile, too, breaks on your face but you sigh softly once more as you look at him once more, "but i mean every word, osamu."

"i know you do, sweetheart," dazai says with a nod before he raises his glass to you.

"yeah," you hum softly as your raise the glass in return to his, toasting to him.

amidst the snowflakes and the soft glow of christmas lights outside, dazai and you find yourselves in the midst of an unexpected reunion, the chilly air echoed with warm memories, and beneath the twinkling stars.

this festive season really had a peculiar way of unraveling emotions, and as you crossed paths with dazai and it was evident that the connection between you two was more than a mere coincidence.

after a heartfelt conversation of unspoken words between you two with a few drinks at the bar, dazai offered to take you back to your place since it was quite late despite the holidays.

however, in a quiet corner just near your place, away from the laughter and merriment, dazai's eyes met yours as he walked right by your side.

"what is it?" you ask, looking up at him.

a subtle smirk plays on his lips as he pauses his tracks, and so do you, "you know, santa doesn't know you like i do."

it was a statement layered with memories of shared secrets and intimate moments.

as you exchanged glances, the familiarity of your history danced between you two, like a delicate snowfall. you genuinely smile nonetheless at his words, "maybe we've been on the naughty list for too long," you teased, a hint of nostalgia in your voice.

dazai took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, "and santa may not understand us, but perhaps we can rewrite our story," he suggests, his gaze holding a sincerity that transcended the mask of indifference he often wore, "yeah?"

surrounded by the symphony of the season, you can't help but feel a little emotional as a genuine smile tugs on your lips as you nod and whisper, "yeah."

the clock struck midnight, time reaches its crescendo, and the world around you both seemed to pause in reverence to the magic of christmas, and just like that, coincidentally beneath the mistletoe that was hanging on the street light, his arms wrap around you and pulls you to him.

dazai's lips then meets yours in a kiss that spoke in volumes—a reunion of past and present, a bridge between shared memories and the promise of a love rediscovered.

as you two pull away, breathless, the quiet acknowledgment between you two lingered in the cold air of christmas eve. snow falls as he leans in again, and dazai holds you in his embrace like he always does.

"merry christmas, my sweet girl. i love you," dazai softly whispers in your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek this time around.

𐙚₊ A.N.: advanced merry christmas from yours truly my lovelies ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ hope ya'll enjoy this christmas dazai fic i cooked in the kitchen—this is also my first time writing an exes to lovers fic, especially with dazai, so yeah !!

𐙚₊ TAGGING: @anqelically (here's ur food <3), && @dazaiyohane @lovedazai @osaemu (my dazai lover moots too ofc hehe, i think you guys will like this- ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ )

[the-seas-song]

Stony & Natasha Moments in What If Happy Hogan Saved Christmas?

I’m not usually a fan of What If?, but this episode is everything I never knew I needed. So for its 1st anniversary, I thought I would make a few posts!

Disclaimer: This post won't make sense unless you've already seen the episode.

I've been screaming into the void for years about how Natasha has been Steve and Tony's co-leader since A1, and this episode subtly reaffirms this!

It starts with these close-ups of Tony, Steve, and Natasha. We also get an additional shot of Tony and Steve together - a pattern that will continue!

We next see Natasha starring as the Sugar Plum Fairy in a special performance of The Nutcracker. She is hyper-competent and the first person Happy calls for help:

Happy: "Natasha? Natasha! Natasha: "Hey Happy, not a great time. I'm being held at gunpoint by a former Hydra agent with 17 kills." Agent: "18 kills. You forgot Nigeria." Natasha: "Oh that was you? Show off." Happy: "Uh... you want me to get you help?" Natasha: "Oh no, I've got this. See you at the party!" [gunshots] Happy: "Yeah, she'll be fine."

Happy then calls Tony, who is playing Santa and getting annoyed with the kids love for Steve: "Perfect timing. Happy, can you tell Timmy here that a replica Cap shield is nothing but a patriotic frisbee?"

Happy responds, "Tony, it's an emergency!" But Tony isn't paying attention - he has stopped glaring at the kid and notices Steve is being swarmed, "Whoa! Trouble here too. Soccer moms are cornering Cap. Gotta go!"

(Also, it's interesting to see that they made Tony's eyes blue - like they are in the comics - instead of brown - like they are in the MCU, Avengers Assemble, etc)

Poor Steve is just standing there, mentally suffering, while women yank him around.

There are no words big enough to describe how much I love Steve being the Elf to Tony's Santa! This scene checks all of my Stony and bottom!Steve boxes. I love it so much! (I even made a pic post celebrating elf!Steve)

Despite all his bluster, Tony is extremely worried about Steve.

Also, it turns out that Tony's public gift for Steve is Iron Man socks. He wants to see his man rocking his merch!

I'm including these shots of the (marketing?) office because 1) I NEED replicas of these posters, stat; and 2) it proves that having Natasha, Tony, and Steve be the only Avengers making public appearances on Christmas Eve was a choice that was planned long in advance. This is more proof that Natasha is Steve and Tony's co-leader.

A nice group shot, with Tony, Steve, and Natasha standing next to each other. Steve and Natasha are still in their costumes, even though they're about to enter a fight!

Recreation of the iconic moment in Age of Ultron's opening sequence, with Steve in-between Tony and Natasha.

Tony and Steve get thrown backwards. Tony ends up in the fireplace, while Steve ends up in a very compromising position. 👀

Hulk!Happy roars, and Steve turns to Tony and asks, "Is that Happy?" Tony responds with a disgruntled, "Umm, no."

Group shot, with Natasha and Clint on one side and Tony and Steve on the other. The difference is that Steve and Tony are standing extremely close together.

Natasha zaps Hulk!Happy, who manages to say, "Natasha! It's me!"

Shocked, Natasha lowers her arm. "Oh my god. Happy?"

Then,

Steve chuckles, saying, "I was right!"

This is another subtle Stony moment - Natasha was alone in her close-up, but Steve shares the frame with Tony.

A few moments later, Tony talks and gets a close up. Steve is still in the fame, even though he's not saying or doing anything.

~*~

I hope you enjoyed this post!

[twst-drabbles]

Lilia 9

Summary: Tracking down a pack of stealing faeries, General Lilia finds their path ending on a lone human being forcibly bathed.

(A reminder that I am not a spoiler-free blog. I tend to read ahead and skip around for my entertainment. That being said, time travel shenanigans with the Janitor who gets caught up in all this. Is it canon to the Janitor AU? Probably not but the thought is fun.)

Soaps. Since when has Lilia ever heard of those little faeries, those pixies sneaking into stores and flea markets for the sake of stealing soaps? It’s not unusual for them to pick and take what they like. He’s had a number of sugar cookies stolen right from his hand just as the grateful citizens stuffed them in his palm. The faeries love for sweets would rival that troublesome princess’s love for her egg.

Lilia usually isn’t one to deal with smaller problems such as these, as they resolve themselves, but pixies are unusually sensitive to scents, to the point of avoiding cities and villages alike. For them to go out of their way to steal these scented soaps tells Lilia that something was wrong. Off. While the signals are usually more subtle, often the little faeries are the first to know of incoming danger.

Lilia only hopes this wasn’t the case.

Hiding his presence among the leaves in this forested area was second nature to him. He didn’t have the hollow bones of birds, but his steps would tell one otherwise. If even the pixies can’t tell he’s tailing them, then who was he to deny the claims?

Ahead of him was a light in this dark night, and in his ears Lilia heard the rush of a river. He took a deep breath in just as the water pixie dipped out of sight with their hoard of coin-like soaps. However, rather than the crisp scent of midnight grass and river water, Lilia was hit with the sharp smell of roiling magic.

It was the likes that Lilia has only witnessed when the princess was well and truly fed up.

“Ah, that’s too hot!”

In his concentration, the blunt sound of voice nearly made Lilia’s heel slip from a branch.

“Oh, these next? Alright, hand them here. Let’s hope it gets the smell out,” landing on the nearest tree, Lilia spots an immaculate white tub with clawed feet right below the gaze of a tree house that may as well be mansion. Inside the mess of bubbles that covered everything except for the face was you, a lone human surrounded by faeries with their little arms hauling the soaps they’ve stole.

A human? Here? You’d basically be a sitting duck in this location, and yet here you are, unmarked, cursed by no one, and actually being bathed by them?

The water pixie Lilia was tailing dropped the silver soap into the tub. Another surge of bubbles came forth and overflowed the tub, blue in color. A triplet of wood faeries carried a brown bucket over your head before dumping water to rinse you off.

You wiped the water from your eyes with a sigh, “Nope. I still stink of magic. Let’s try the next one.”

The water faerie jingled out their tune of frustration, a quick and harsh number. You picked up a handful of bubbles before blowing them at their feet.

“I’m sure I’ll get back to smell like my old self eventually. It was a crazy reaction of spells that interacted, so it is going to take some time.”

The water faerie landed on your palm, sneezed and flew right back to the branches, only to come face to face with Lilia in his mask. The poor little thing screamed.

It’s easy to come to the belief that the smaller the fae, the less powerful they are. To the ignorant, it’s the truth, but for people such as Lilia, with their small size comes a certain amount of finesse that not even the princess would be able to replicate. It’s why they can combine their forces so well to make the forest yawn open to expose his location and manipulate the river current to aim right at him.

Too bad Lilia’s dealt with his fair share of angered pixies. With a leap, soared over the water and landed the tips of his toes on the edge of your tub.

“Never would I see the day,” Lilia leaned down to your stiff face, “that a human would receive the favor of the faeries. How did you do that, Human?”

Perhaps this was trick, or a mistake of some kind. Humans would have to resort to such things, of that Lilia wouldn’t be shocked by. Creatures with lives as short as yours are often so protective of their own flesh, so, one would have to forgive Lilia for being caught off guard when you kicked his feet and had him land face first into the water.

“At least let me get a towel first,” you grumbled out as you reached over a pulled it off the grass, “I don’t need anymore stress. Things are already tiresome and confusing as they are.”

It seems that General Lilia has found himself in the company of rather interesting human.

[k-vanity]

Why don't you come and grab a bite to eat?~

Look at the menu and choose something delicious to hit the right spot! We have something for the writers and the content creators because we want everyone to have a treat.

Open from Sept 22 to Nov 22, the Fashion Team's 'Fall For You' Cafe's menu is available to our members.

For those who are writers, order from the Meals/Drinks options and if you're a content creator, why don't you look at our Desserts menu? You can upgrade to a set menu by choosing one meal, one drink and adding some side dishes OR how about a couple set? Wouldn't it be nice to be able to share a meal with your special other half?

*ೃ༄ 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵𝓼

𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒔:

Brown Sugar Sweet Potatoes — ‘You go to this cafe every time you visit your hometown and for the first time since leaving high school, you see the boy you had a crush on… or should you say, man.’

Apple Slaw — ‘You’re strolling through a busy fall farmers market enjoying the aroma of apple pies. What happens next would make for an unforgettable autumn.’

Pumpkin Ravioli — ‘You get lost at night in a pumpkin patch and a kind, handsome stranger helps you.’

Autumn Salad — ‘You need a lot of help to harvest this year’s crops for the fall festival, so you hire the new stranger that recently moved into town.’

Butternut Squash Soup — ‘You got invited to Friendsgiving but I your friend group is insisting they set you up with a date for the event’

Mummy Brie Bites — ‘There's a haunted house at the end of your street that your friends insist always holds the best halloween parties. You're the only person who seems to remember that the old house didn' t even exist yesterday’

Wild Mushroom Risotto — 'There's a full moon coming and your best friend has dragged you out into the middle of the woods to perform a ritual that changes your life entirely. '

Slow-cooker Beef Goulash — 'It's just a little cut, you don't know why your new neighbour is making such a big deal out of it. (think vampire)'

Squash, Chickpea and Coconut Curry — 'There's a halloween party happening in your house, a party you never wanted to happen but none of your housemates listened to your complaints. While you're standing at the side of the room sulking about the noise and strangers in your home, a stranger approaches you and compliments you on your ghost costume. You're too shocked by being talked to that you don't manage to correct him that it's not a costume and you've been stuck haunting this house for the past three years.'

Satay Chicken Noodle Soup with Squash — 'A cosy night in with a book and a mug of hot chocolate by the fireplace turns into something you could've never expected.'

Rarebit Toasties with Sticky Marmite Onions — 'It's a brand new romantic relationship and you're baking together for the first time.'

Roasted Beets, Plum and Pecan Salad — 'You call the police when you see  someone with an axe and covered in blood approaching your new neighbour's door. Turns out, that person was your neighbour coming back from their shift at the halloween fair where they work as a scare actor.'

Beetroot Soup — 'You must be paranoid, there's no way the scarecrow watching over the corn maze has been watching you. Right?'

Root Vegetable Rice — 'Thanksgiving is at your parent’s place every year and every year, you drive home to visit. What happens when your car breaks down and the mechanic who comes to save you is none other than your best friend’s smoking hot brother? You haven’t seen each other since you were in that awkward phase in high school'

Cauliflower Crust Pizza - 'A bad day got even worse when a stranger spilt their coffee on you and you forgot your umbrella when it rained. A bad day got even WORSE when you get dumped over text and now have to find a date to this stupid wedding. Maybe the bad day gets a little better when your cute coworker says they’ll be happy to escort you.'

𝑫𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔:

Red Maple Cinnamon Mocha — “Is being stuck in this cabin all day while it rains a bad thing? I think it’s perfect.”

Apple Cider — “I’m not scared…as long as you’re here with me, everything is okay.”

Pumpkin Spice Latte — “Excuse me, but is this seat taken?”

Caramel Apple Latte — “Ugh, I forgot my umbrella,” “You can share mine,”

Witches Brew — "I dare you to ask that ugly zombie for their number" (at a zombie run or haunted house or something)

Masala Chai — “I vote we ditch the others and just do our own thing tonight.”

Horchata Chai — “Can you stop licking that lollipop like that? It's so hard to concentrate.”

Earl Grey Hot Toddy — “Okay, I get it. You had a bad day, and life sucks, but don’t take it out on me! I’m just trying to help.”

Peppermint Matcha Latte — “On a normal day, I’d prefer snow over rain, but right now, I’d rather it rained.”

Hojicha Latte — “You keep saying that you know how to get out of this [corn maze/escape room/haunted house/etc] but I think we’re lost.”

Nutella Coffee Latte — "Don't you sell just normal coffee without all these themes and flavour? I just want coffee to get me through the day."

Butterbeer — “Don’t be silly— werewolves and wizards aren’t real.” “But vampires could be…”

Perfect Poison Punch — “Are you a vampire? Because this is feeling a bit like love at first bite.”

Hocus Pocus Milkshake — "I can see into your mind, I know what you want and lucky for you, I can give it to you."

Pomegranate Cranberry Mocktail — “Alright, party’s over. Let’s get you sobered up.”

London Fog — “You said what to who now?! Why?!”

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒔:

Pecan Pie — Cafe aesthetics

Apple Pie — Apple picking

Pumpkin Pie — Pumpkin carving

Cranberry Cheesecake — Warm colours

Candy Apple — Halloween colors/vibes

Caramel Pear Blondies — Baking together

Toffee Apple Bread and Butter Pudding — Raking leaves

Banoffee Pie — soft colours

Almond and Apple Tart — haunted house/corn maze

Pumpkin pie Smores — gothic/dark 

Pear and Blackberry Crumble — sweet tooth/trick or treat

Pear, Pecan and Caramel Crumble — rainy days

French Apple Tart — monochrome with one dominant colour

Apple Fritters — matching costumes

Feijoa, Honey and Pistachio Strudel — [idol] as [horror character]

𝑺𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒔:

Mistakes Happen — Mistaken Identity + Supernatural!AU

Kiss in the rain — Kissing as a distraction + Magic!AU + Best friends to lovers

Hunter Paradise — Hurt/comfort + Tending to their wounds + Confessions

Eat well everyone and enjoy the season!

Rules

Must be a member of the net

Writers - must be at least 500 words

Visual artists - can be moodboards, gfx, gifs, icons, etc.

Include prompt(s) in some part of your work

Tag #kfallforyou and #kvanity

Net rules and regulations apply to the event

Event Timeline

Sept 22th-Nov 22nd

M.list posted Nov 27th

[aevallare]

if auri and neve had 2 share a meal at arbys what would they get and who would pay

hello not @again-please

i think auri would order the magnificent Arby's King's Hawaiian Brown Sugar Bacon Turkey Meal. this would appeal to her sweet tooth as well as her preference for Light Meat.

neve, of course, would order a Greek Gyro Meal off the Market Fresh Menu, sponsored by Arby's. she's a much more conscientious eater than auri i think, who has no etiquette or manners.

they would of course share these meals romantically and then i think they would have a Jamocha Shake together. in an erotic sense.

[ligbi]

Now that we are in a dungeon meshi lull, I want to share the bread recipe I have been using every single week to have Saturday morning bread with my mother. It's essentially this recipe [x] but for people who have not yet tried their hands at baking, I'd like to break down the process so everyone can have a delicious treat.

To start you will need on hand:

Oven that can get to 425° F

Refrigerator that seals and stays cold

9x13 baking pan- glass or other

Salt- table

Sugar- normal

Flour- all purpose (normal)

Olive oil

Yeast

Either drinkable tap water that can get Hot or water and a microwave

Measuring spoons (teaspoon specifically)(the bigger but not biggest one if you have four)

Measuring cup

A large ceramic bowl

Spatula- the kind for scraping

Hand towels or tea towel- kitchen towels. Cheap towels

Pam or another spray oil (buttered flavored if you have that on accident) - optional but useful

Salt- big and crunchy - optional but useful

A piece of twine you can measure and cut, or a rubber band

Big spatula- flippy kind- optional but useful

Plates, napkins, cooling rack, oven mitts, sponge, dish soap balsamic, dipping bowl(s) - your call on what you need for eating and cleaning

Bread knife - or rip it with your hands like an animal. Or use a normal knife

I always start Thursday night- it takes about 20 minutes to prep, and then do the rest Saturday morning- 5 minutes of prep part 2 + 5 minutes of pre oven prep + 30 minutes of cook time. So the entire process is about 30 minutes and a lot of waiting.

To start, you will want to put two teaspoons of yeast into the ceramic bowl (clean). The glass jars of Fleishman can be found at most grocery and big box stores. If you do not want to buy a whole jar, one of the packets they have is about the right amount (they usually come in 3 packs).

Measure 2 cups of hot water. We want about 110° so too hot to touch comfortably but not scalding. You need your water hot to activate the yeast, but too hot will kill it.

Slowly pour the hot water over the yeast, and sprinkle in a pinch of sugar, and mix this brown water with a spatula (scraping kind) for about 10 seconds before letting it sit for 10 minutes. The yeast eats the sugar and the time allows the years to proof. After 10 minutes you will see a type of foam on top of the water, which is proof the yeast is active.

Measure out two cups of flour and add them to the yeast+water. King Arthur all purpose flour is just fine and dandy, you do not Need bread flour and King Arthur is employee owned.

On top of the flour, add two teaspoons of salt. You can use any salt, and can experiment with different flavor profiles. If you go to spice shops or even Renaissance Faires, you can find flavored salts that add a nice kick. You can also use regular normal table salt.

Use the spatula to mix the flour+salt into the water+yeast until you have a goo.

Add one more cup of flour and mix it in with the spatula. Add the last cup of flour and finish mixing it into a dough.

Make sure to scrape the sides of the bowl and that everything is mixed in. The dough should be unable to hold shape well when pushing it into a ball, and there should be no visible white flour left in the dough.

Pour some olive oil around the dough into the bowl. You can eyeball this (1 tablespoon minimum)- you are not drowning the dough but you do want enough to cover the dough and then some. You can easily swap out olive oils for flavored and infused ones. There are a lot of bootleg oils on the market, but whatever you probably have on hand should be fine for your first bake.

Roll the dough around in the oil with the spatula to make sure it is fully covered. While you are not adding in olive oil properly, you can mix it in a little when oiling it up to make it nice.

Drape a kitchen towel over the top of the bowl so it is fully covered. Take your twine or string and tie it tightly at the top of the bowl and cut it it. This can be reused with this bowl in the future. If you do not have twine, a rubber band will also keep the towel in place. We just want to keep the breathable piece of fabric tight over the top of the bowl.

Stick the bowl in the fridge for like. A day- day and a half. If you started at 10pm Thursday night, it should now be about 10:20 with a spatula, measuring spoon, and measuring cup to clean up. The dough will slowly rise in the fridge and you can move onto the next steps after 24-48 hours.

I wake up at a stupid time like 6am on Saturday.

Spray the pam or other oil on the sides and bottom of the 9x13 pan. You can also just use a paper towel to rub olive oil on the sides. We just want everything greased.

Pour some olive oil on the bottom of the pan and tilt it around to cover the entire bottom. Start with a little and add more if needed. More is not bad- it will give the bread a nice crunch while still being soft inside.

Take the bowl out and use that spatula to gently pull the dough away from the sides of the bowl. The dough will have risen and will seem stringy when pulled away.

Slowly pour the dough into the greased pan until it plops out.

Shake it around a bit and maybe poke at it with the spatula to get it centered and not flipped over on itself. The dough will be expanding for the next 4 hours and you don't have to worry about spreading it in the pan.

Cover with a/the same tea towel and try to get it taut over the pan to keep the towel from touching and sticking to the dough. Trying to get the covers of the pan on top of the edges of the towel may work depending on the towel.

Set that aside for four hours. I go back to bed. At some point between here and the next step you should put some dish soap in your bowl and fill it with water. After a 20 minute soak its easy to wash it clean with a sponge.

9:30 or 3 and a half hours later- pre-heat the over to 425° F. If you want Celsius or other measurements this whole time, its about 280 Celsius, 2 teaspoons is about 10 millimeters or .35 oz (dry) and 2 cups is 16 oz fluid.

MAKE SURE THE OVEN IS EMPTY FIRST. Other trays or pans will take some of the heat and the bake will be off.

Once the oven is done pre-heating (it should beep or have a light indicator for this) wash your hands really really well, and pour some more olive oil on top of the dough. You will carefully cover the top of the dough with oil by rubbing it over with your hands. Make sure it is fully covered. There may be bubbles on the top now- that means you've done it right till now. If not, that's fine it will still be good.

Take your big chunky salt (sea salt works well or chunky kosher salt) and sprinkle it on the dough. You do not want to go too heavy, but it will add a nice texture. If you have a salt container with the cracker thingy you turn to get it out, i do about 6-8 cracks while trying to move it up and down the dough.

Take your clean hands (because you washed after the oil and then again just now after the salt) and spread your fingers out and down like shitty claws. Dimple the bread with your fingers by just poking it a lot. Try to avoid the bubbles if you can for a nice look.

If you ever want to put something on top like rosemary or sliced tomatoes or whatever, now is the time. Not me though.

Stick that baby in the oven roughly center and set the timer for 30 minutes.

While it bakes, get your cooling rack/big plate/serving board out, and your oven mitts. And a bread knife/whatever knife you want to use. And a really big spatula (flipping kind).

When the 30 minutes is up, use the oven mitts to pull out the pan and put it on a heat resistant surface like the top of the oven. Take your big spatula and slide that bad boy down a side and try to wiggle it around until it's under the loaf. If you don't have a big spatula, you can always flip the bread out of the pan by dumping it out onto your rack/board/plate.

With the oven mitts, move the pan to your cooling rack and with one hand tilt it up and with the other use the spatula to slide the loaf out onto the rack.

Set the pan and spatula aside to wash later.

Take your cooling rack and put it amongst friends with the knife. Get some plates. If you have any balsamic vinegar and/or more olive oil for dipping, set that out too. Napkins. Drinks. Delicious in Dungeon on the tv. Live. Laugh. Love. Eat.

[lionheartapothecaryx]

Hoodoo 101 - Jezebel Root

What is Jezebel root & why is it used in Traditional Hoodoo & Vodou?

Jezebel Root is a feminine root used in traditional Hoodoo & Vodou for dominating a wealthy man, sugar daddy or powerful person and is sometimes used for hexing or cursing. This root was named after a mythical biblical figure Queen Jezebel who belonged the Omri dynasty of the Kingdom Israel in 852 BC. As a controversial figure, she was known to be extremely cunning and ruthless, using her power to gain the upper hand by any means necessary. Historically this plant has been used by ADOS who practiced Hoodoo & Vodou, for a variety of reasons. The Jezebel stereotype was an oppressive image that was used for the sexual assault and servitude of black women during chattel slavery in the US. This root was typically associated with brothels, working girls, vaudeville/showgirls and mistresses who needed to keep their bills paid and food on their tables, by attracting abundance and docility from rich clients to better their lives as a means of survival.

Today this root is still very potent and extremely beneficial for anyone who works in any type of service industry but is typically used by women seeking a luxury lifestyle via wealthy boyfriend or sugar daddy. Typically, these roots are fed or dressed in a variety of ways and placed in mojo bags, candles or other spells to manifest their intention.

Unfortunately, in modern times authentic Jezebel root has been extremely hard to come by and the majority of Jezebel root being sold on the market is actually common garden variety mulch or cherry bark. To the untrained eye it might resemble an actual root, especially when ground up. Here is a common example of fake jezebel root that you’ll typically see being sold in spiritual shops in person or online below.

Real jezebel root should not resemble bark or any type of mulch. Depending on the maturity of the root, the main root will always have multiple smaller roots sprouting from it, unless they have been clipped or shaven off. It should always look like a root! Fake jezebel root is also easy to snap and like most bark, has a dark brown center. Real jezebel root should be somewhat flexible and have a white center, when broken open.

While this is an easy to mistake to make, many trusted shops are STILL selling fake jezebel root to their clientele. I’ve always been passionate about collecting and providing authentic high-quality goods for myself and my patrons at an affordable price. So I’ve been working on a way to provide REAL Jezebel root to the public for the past few years.

I’m pleased to announce my shop will finally be offering in limited quantity plant shares of Jezebel root to purchase during the upcoming spring season of 2023 under our new indoor grow system.

Click HERE to Shop authentic Jezebel Root

Limited to one per person. We also offer Shop Installments via Affirm and accept PayPal & Apple Pay.

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Would you tell us more about your pets someday mayhaps? 🥺👉👈 I love reading your stories about Rascal (precious puppy), but did I understand right that you have More pets?? ❤️

Awww this is so sweet anon. I'd love to tell you about my little jerk babies! <3 Doing this in age order! :3

Rascal- a 16 year old black english cocker spaniel. aliases: Razzy, Mr. Baby, bear, pookie, Sir (when he's in trouble) - came from a flea market 16 years ago. best $150 anyone ever spent -he's very sweet, my soul dog, love of my life. but also he is evil to me sometimes, as is his nature. - he's deaf and can't see well but his nose works! he could sniff out a hot dog (his fave snack) from across town. :') - he also has a sixth sense for when the fridge opens? i don't know how he knows. - sleeps next to me most of the time TwT - does NOT like to be held but is so holdable - has a docked tail so he has a little bear butt - is currently laying on the wheels/ legs of my desk chair so i can't escape. he does this constantly T-T - sometimes displays symptoms of dementia where he doesn't want to eat/ acts confused. :( and that makes me very sad. - has a heart condition and a problem with retaining fluid so he's on two different diuretics. - basically he has every illness but i love him so much. even when he accidentally bites me. i would kill for him and i am not joking. <3

Charles- an 8 year old tabby cat aliases: Charlie, auntie's girl (i'm her auntie), asshole - found her in the garage, her mom took her brother but left her :( - is trans! - we thought she was a girl and gave her a Grown Man's Name to piss my dad off but then she turned out to have a penis. we use she/her for her. - wicked princess from hell. <3 - dumb - has freakishly long whiskers? - sometimes doesn't look like herself. jess and i joke that she's a shapeshifter and forgets what she looks like so she gets it wrong :o - lets me hold her like a baby but then gets mad about it. :/ - doesn't like wet food but likes the gravy of it? - YOWLER

Thomas- a 7 year old calico cat aliases: Tiny, aunty's girl (i'm her aunty), jerk - found her in the weeds outside my house! she was screaming like a banshee. her mom also left her! :((( - FAT!!! she weighs 14lb and we don't know why! her pouch is LORGE - constantly being bad to get attention. :/ - scratches jess's desk chair, rips up curtains, tries to eat any and all string (yarn, my HAIR, shoelaces, etc.) - chases the (50lb) dog around, but lets charlie beat her up? (charles is only 11ish pounds) - looks like a lil alien sometimes - annoying baby! - will climb onto your lap and demand pets as soon as you're trying to do something (jess constantly falls victim to this, rip jess</3) - youngest child energy :/ (jess is the cats' mom so... it tracks)

Daisy May- a ??? year old tan pit bull mix aliases: brownie, brown sugar, wifey (she thinks that her and jess are married), brown susan, (i got confused), beth (??) - was our neighbor's dog but they abandoned her! >:( then she was ours. - escaped containment one day and came back preggers >:( - had 8 puppies and hated all of them but one. - very sweet, wants to live in jess's lap - heavy! - likes being danced at, loves to WAG, will jump on you to give kisses - criminal mastermind. maybe.

Buford- a 5 year old black and tan pit bull mix aliases: Boofy, stinky, skunk, dickhead, BEEF SUPREME, beefy - the one puppy brownie liked. - NEVER SHUTS UP - brain the size of a pea. a small pea. - is afraid of Thomas but not afraid of Charles - velcro dog. cannot pee without her. - constantly chewing on her feet??? nasty! - has very soft ears <3 - HEAVIEST! - makes me wanna die a lot T-T - will steal food from old men (rascal) with no remorse

anyway!!! that's all my stupid babies i love you for asking about them anon. if any of them were photogenic i would share pictures but alas...

[meklarian]

Gooseberries

This post has been sitting in my drafts for over a decade, left behind after I stopped posting new fruit finds on tumblr. Since then I’ve had a lot of new fruit encounters, but never again have I dared to sink my teeth into a gooseberry.

It’s been a long time but I remember I bought these at the market in Granville Island in Vancouver, BC; knowing that I had to finish the fruit before crossing back over the US border and yet optimistic that these were going to be sweet. I bought about a 1/3 of a pound / .25kg. This was a severe overestimation.

Dear reader, I don’t do particularly well with sour things- and these were especially sour for reasons unknown to me. I don’t think I finished the bag.

In my lifetime I have encountered aperitifs designed to reset the palate, and these are a potent cleanser. I would rate them more sour than a lemon, maybe not as sour as your drugstore malic-acid-laced candy, but certainly of a class where one might feel like one should be concerned for the integrity of one’s teeth after a few bites.

I didn’t recognize a distinct flavor profile out of the gooseberry; this is probably because their potency is beyond what I’m able to taste. In the time since then I’ve had indian gooseberries as well (aamla), which were similarly sour but still had a faint cucumber-like note straining behind the acidity.

The texture of the gooseberry, fortunately, is not too far off from a grape; once one accepts the slightly burred and veined skins. It’s always a little comforting to have familiar-looking things present and provide an experience to their presumed counterparts. In the explorative world, a grape-like thing should taste and have a texture like a grape; a brown sapote tastes and feels like a brown-sugar-laced apple or pear; and a gooseberry does feel like it is in some wilderness between a grape and a berry. Sad to think that the gooseberry is a sort of betrayal too; a very sour thing that could almost masquerade as a grape, yet no grape would ever be as churlish.

I am writing this because I feel like it’s time to reclaim the empty space of my drafts, even though there is no trophy nor award to be had for maintaining an orderly house in an online dwelling. Maybe I will resume writing and sharing more of these food adventures again someday; but for now this is the end of the road for these culinary adventures.

[hippolotamus]

get to know your fic writer

tagged by the lovely and talented @stereopticons @jesuisici33 @heartshapedvows @wikiangela Thank you mwah! 😘

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

July 24, 2021

First character(s) you wrote for:

I had always written for OCs and never considered writing for established characters until I met David and Patrick from Schitt's Creek. After a few months of reading SC fics I finally wrote something of my own.

Main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

Currently Buck and Eddie, but I also write for Alexis/Twyla and David/Patrick

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

I’m not sure I have any? Technically I’ve not really written Lucy before so exploring that currently is interesting. Does that count?

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

911, Schitt's Creek

Platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Currently Buck and Lucy but I also love writing David and Stevie.

Romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Buck/Eddie, Alexis/Twyla, David/Patrick

Your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Fluff, First kiss, POV David Rose

Your current platform where you post your works:

AO3

Snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

This is a future scene that I don’t think really spoils anything. But I love it and what I’m not sharing made me ugly cry so…

Buck cups his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss there. He gets a grunt in response that makes him chuckle under his breath. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Stiff, achy joints make getting out of bed much more of a process than it used to be. Eventually he swings his legs over the mattress and puts on his slippers. After relieving himself, he shuffles to the kitchen for breakfast.

The routine hasn’t changed much in the years since they retired. A few more prescriptions have found their way into the medicine cabinet, and neither one of them eats a hearty meal like they used to. But Buck still starts by turning on the radio and getting coffee ready for when Eddie wakes up, the same way he has for decades.

While the coffee maker gurgles, dripping the precious liquid into the pot below, Buck gets his own breakfast ready. He pulls out a container of plain yogurt, then some berries Chris brought from the market yesterday. Slowly, steadily Buck assembles a small bowl with his ingredients, topping it off with honey and granola. Before he takes it to the table he fills a mug with coffee, cream and sugar for himself, and sets an extra mug out for Eddie.

An old country song he can’t remember the name of anymore plays on the radio. The singer croons about a Mexican maiden and a young cowboy, wild as the Texas wind. Buck looks to the doorway and smiles to himself thinking about the young cowboy who swept him off his feet so long ago.

Eddie’s hair has turned completely gray, coffee brown eyes have dulled, surrounded by wrinkles and crow’s feet, and there’s nothing quick about his movements anymore. Not that Buck’s any better. It doesn’t stop him from seeing the ruggedly handsome man with the devastating smile that could always stop Buck in his tracks.

I’ll call on @blackandwhiteandrose @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @disasterbuckdiaz @giddyupbuck @vanillahigh00 @monsterrae1 @buddierights @statueinthestone @spotsandsocks @pirrusstuff @apothecarose @rmd-writes my love @lizzie-bennetdarcy @your-catfish-friend @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @hoodie-buck and anyone else who wants to

[inkykeiji]

3 with flawless Tomura please 🙈

prompt: strawberry moon series: flawless AU warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, female reader, daddy kink, lots of saliva, lots of sugar, little bit of public indecency, blowjobs + cum swallowing words: 1.4k

Laying on the sand with a thick fringed blanket, you’re the only two left on the beach, most of the other patrons having packed up and left the moment the sun began to sink. Waves tenderly lap at the shore behind you, the scent of artificial strawberry twining with the sea breeze, making the air salty sweet.

It’s nice. Despite being out in the open, something about it feels intimate; cozy, almost, scene backlit by a strawberry moon, stained pink with the glow of the sun emanating from just beyond the horizon—a hazy cloud that shimmers gold and magenta, it’s brilliance reflected on the gently wavering water. 

“The moon looks like a strawberry,” you sigh out dreamily, arms tightening around Tomura’s waist as you hug yourself closer, a leg hitched over his hip.

“Strawberries seem to be a theme lately,” Tomura murmurs as bony fingers pick at the wax paper enveloping a piece of salt water taffy—strawberry, his second favourite, since they were out of watermelon—voice vibrating against your ear. “Maybe it’s a sign.” 

“A sign? A sign of what?”

“That we should go strawberry picking,” he shrugs, popping the pink candy in his mouth and speaking around it, hard taffy clacking against his teeth. 

“Really?” your head lifts from off his chest to peer up at him. 

“Sure, why not?” 

“Maybe we can bake something with them after.” 

“Me? Bake?” he snorts, like the concept is downright preposterous. “Baby, I don’t even know how to use the fucking oven.” 

“Alright, maybe Kurogiri can bake us something,” you revise. 

A hum of contemplation vibrates on his tongue, soft and melty. “Yeah, maybe that’d be nice.” 

You do, in fact, go strawberry picking during the next week, at a family owned and operated farm your father used to take you to when you were a child. 

It’s a beautiful June day, deep blue sky embroidered with puffs of white cotton as the sun’s rays play between them. You and Tomura spend an absurd amount of time inside the little market at the front of the farm, diligently picking through all of the sweets—homemade fudge and freshly baked cookies and maple sugar candies—leaving the small shop with armfuls of treats, to fuel your berry picking expeditions, he reasons. 

And, really, who are you to say otherwise? Daddy knows best, so what Daddy says goes, always. 

It’s romantic in a sense, the ten minute wagon ride spent sharing a block of double chocolate caramel swirl fudge between the two of you, taking turns eating pieces from each other’s fingers, the hot June sun leaving thick smudges of it on your fingertips. 

Tomura’s hand cuffs your wrist just as the final piece of fudge is melting on your tongue, bringing your fingers to his mouth and wrapping his lips around your index, slowly sucking the remnants of chocolate and caramel from it, and each and every one after it, mouth puckering and cheeks hollowing as his tongue curls in a wet embrace around the digits.

By the time he’s finished licking your hand clean your fingers glitter with a syrupy slave of saliva, spit tinged brown from the cocoa, viscous drops of it rolling down your palms to settle in the lines. 

“Your turn,” he says with a cheeky smirk, holding his large hand out to you, fingers caked with soft fudge wiggling a little in enticement.

And you, good little girl that you are, wrap two hands around his wrist, steadying his hand before taking his index finger down your throat, mouth clamping over it with dedicated earnest and sucking hard. Your tongue wreathes around it, slurping the fudgy residue clean from his skin and swallowing, the sudden constricting of your throat pulling a soft little sound from deep within his chest, unblinking eyes staring at him with such pure devotion it almost hurts. 

But Tomura isn’t looking into your eyes, his own eyes gaping at your lips, shiny and slicked with spit, watching the way your lips swell with each bony knuckle that passes through them as you slowly pull off his finger.

You do the same for every other one, too—middle, ring, pinky, thumb—and by the end of it he’s exhaling little pants through slightly parted lips, glazed eyes fixated on your mouth, cock half hard and twitching pathetically in his jeans.

That’s when it starts.

But it doesn’t stop there. Oh no.

Because why would it, with you? Because when does it ever, with you?

You aren’t even modest with it, legs kept straight as you bend, back perpendicular to the muddy ground and ass stuck out, to pick through one of the strawberry bushes, the hem of your cute little dress hitching with the motion, material fluttering in the perpetual soft breeze and gifting Tomura with glimpses of the pink silk clinging to your cheeks beneath.

No, there’s nothing modest about the way you look at him as you bite into a particularly large, particularly juicy strawberry, eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun and lips shimmering, glossed with strawberry juice that collects in the corners of your mouth and runs down your chin in glistening drops to drip onto your cleavage, gathering in the divots and streaking your skin with glimmering pink trails, mouth curling into a playful little smirk, giggles sticking in your throat.

Nor is there anything modest about the way your strawberry-soaked tongue keeps stealing little kitten licks, laving over the self-inflicted scars crisscrossing on Tomura’s neck with hot, strawberry-steeped breath, traces of the sweet scent clinging to his skin, tickling his nose and watering his mouth.

God, he’s too fucking easy.

God, he fucking loves you.

Really, he should punish you; that’s what any good Daddy would do, would drag your bratty little ass from the strawberry fields without bringing a single berry home, wicker basket spilling its crimson guts on the dirt floor as a large hand encircles your wrist and yanks, hard, hard enough to have you yelping, hard enough to have you stumbling over your own ankles, and reprimand you for such tasteless, disgraceful behaviour. 

And he will. 

But he lets you have your fun first, lets you romp and frolic through the bushy green fields as you give him little teases and tastes—because he loves it, too—mentally tallying up your punishments with playful growls in his chest and a predatory grin spread across his cheeks.

It’s the sweetest torture—literally and figuratively—and by the time the sun is setting and your wicker baskets are overflowing with ruby berries, he’s nearly about to crawl out of his sugar-stained skin. 

“You are fucking unbelievable,” Tomura’s muttering into your neck as you await the wagon to take you back to the entrance, arms twined tightly around your waist with his chin resting on your shoulder, his hips subtly rutting against you, hard cock grinding against your ass.

“Hey, you started it,” you’re giggling, pushing back against him and reveling in the muted groan it pulls from his throat.

“Yeah, and I’m gonna finish it, too, you little brat.”

And finish it, he does.

Because at the end, after all of your teasing, your strawberry stained lips and strawberry-tinged kisses with strawberry flesh in your teeth, Daddy finally takes what’s rightfully his, on the side of some dilapidated, seldomly used country backroad, in his pretty candy apple red Maybach. 

And he finishes with his cock shoved in that pretty mouth of yours, thick cum spilling down your throat, it’s bitter mixing with the strawberry’s sweet, creating an intoxicating concoction. 

He stuffs your mouth full of it, so much so that it collects in crevices of your cheeks and the creases beneath your tongue, so much so that when he pulls his cock from your lips, after you’ve swallowed several times, there’s still thick cords of ivory, webbed and viscous, connecting your tongue to his cock. 

Cum dribbles from the corners of your lips in the prettiest pale pink, dyed by your strawberry infused spit. His thumb swipes through it messily, smearing it across your chin in a stroke of glistening cream, and pushes the substance collected on the pad of his finger back into your diligent mouth, lips closing around it automatically, dutifully, and sucking it back into their heat, tongue curling around the stout digit to sop up any remnants of cum it can, licking it clean. 

“Such a good girl for Daddy,” he murmurs, repeating the action again, eyes dark and blown with a morbid fascination as he watches you eat. “Maybe we should go fruit picking more often, huh?” 

If it ends like this, you’re drooling out, gazing up at him so dreamily, so devotedly, you’ll do anything.