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tippytopdays · 3 years ago

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Just a Typical Morning

literally slapped a fresh coat of paint on this little thing and did some proofreading, posting here because it's not really a story i feel like belongs on my Ao3

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A snap. A small flare of light. A hiss. The light goes out with a brief spike of pain. The scent of nicotine filling his lungs, sitting there for a moment before being lazily huffed back out. He rolled the cig between his teeth, canines catching the paper.

For once, it was a slow day. Quiet too, if the silent city ruins said anything about it. No howling of some crazy Zed in the alleyways, no rushing of cars; nothing. Then again it’s probably something like, 6AM if he thought about it, since the sun wasn’t high enough yet to count as day.

Well as close to day as it could get, he assumed. It wasn’t like he knew anything else, anyways.

Deimos gripped the cig between his fingers, watching the flecks of tobacco sprinkle over the railing. The balcony was small, granted, but it was enough. Throw on a piece of metal or two along the railing and it even made for some quick cover if there was an attack. Overhead assault was harder to avoid, especially from so high up.

The end of the cigarette glowed dimly as he inhaled, smoke trailing into the air.

He didn’t like being up this early. It was too quiet.

Normally by now he would probably be going downstairs to fetch some grub from the cafeteria with Ford, talk about their evenings or whatever else would come up. Sometimes he’d be scrambling to get his gear on to check whatever combusted in the lower levels. Of course if it was the mercs just screwing around and breaking whatever had gotten mixed up with their roughhousing then he’d get upset. Fixing that shit isn’t easy you know, but it wasn’t worth straining his voice anyways; Ford could do that for him in spades.

He sighed in a soft plume of smoke. Really, what else can you do when the hired help has to be a bunch of knuckleheads, anyways?

Whatever it was, he definitely wasn’t throwing any parties for them that’s for sure. Last thing anyone needed was those guys keeping everyone up all night by being loud as fuck.

Another drag, a slight shake in his fingers as they met his lips.

His arms hurt like Hell from having to spend so long rewiring that at this point he was surprised they were even remotely steady at all. And when he thought about it him waking up at the ass end of dawn because the comms had crashed again was probably a good reason as to why he was up so early. Digging around in cramped crawl spaces was not how he wanted to spend his day; and being tossed into a late night mission on top of it was even lower on that list.

Damn his bed seemed real inviting, early morning or not.

When was the last time he’d slept in? Or just had a day off? Sure they’d had low days along with the high ones, but when did they get an actual break where they could relax? The last time there wasn’t some kind of emergency or chaos outside their doors was at least a decade ago at this point, maybe less. He didn’t really have it in him to care much, since he didn’t keep track of the days anymore. No point to it.

More smoke filled his lungs. He really should just get some extra shut eye, rest until he felt better.

But, for some reason, he couldn’t.

He’d snapped to awareness with a cold feeling of dread weighing down his stomach. It had been so strong he’d shot up, halfway reaching for the pistol at his bedside thinking someone was there. But there wasn’t. It was dead quiet, like the moments after a bad mission.

Maybe that’s why he was outside right now. The casual air helped to mask the intent in his eyes as he scanned the skyline.

A glint of reflected light from a nearby rooftop nearly made him crush the cig in his hands as he tensed. Eyes snapping upwards he focused, but relaxed when all he found was a few familiar faces among one of the many teams patrolling the area. He snorted, smoke curling around his face.

Another pull, the cold wash of nicotine a nice cleanse to the tension in the air.

He was overthinking this.

And after all they’d been through, who could blame him really? Being constantly on the run would make anyone look over their shoulder or keep a gun within reach. Still, it wasn’t like the Agency knew where they were this time. To add to it nothing could get through the blast doors even if it tried. They’d tested those well enough for him to be certain.

It was just a very quiet night and he wasn’t used to it. That had to be it.

The cig smoldered between his lips in one last drag before he flicked the used butt over the railing. Arms raising over his head he stretched with a groan, “Damn,” He muttered, wincing at the series of pops going up his spine, “Ya’d think I’m getting old with how I crack like a handful of spaghetti.”

He was done with his morning smoke anyways.

Mobility returned to his spine Deimos rubbed at his neck he turned his back to the city, meandering back inside. Hitting the switch beside the glass door to slide it shut behind him he glanced at the clock on the comically cluttered bedside table he owned. Yep, too early for him to be this awake, if the glaring red 7:37 was anything to go by. Well mostly glaring, since his cap was haphazardly draped over it when he’d tossed it there yesterday. Or last night, he didn’t look at it then because he was too busy flopping face first into bed.

A healthy gurgling from his stomach brought him out of his thoughts.

That’s right. He didn’t eat last night either. Not really any time to when you’re face first into the ugly end of some bastardized wiring job done nearly half a decade ago. He hummed under his breath.

Was it too early to get something from the cafeteria? It was still morning he supposed; maybe some breakfast sausage would be left this time since he’d be able to get there first for once. The thought alone was tantalizing despite the exhaustion tugging at the edge of his conscious.

Did he even change after all that sweatshop work yesterday?

Pulling at the hem of his tank top he took a whiff. Yep, stunk of old sweat and probably a hint of grease; he didn’t. Pants probably didn’t smell too great either but who would check those and not come off like a weirdo? A quick sweep of the cargo pants half hanging off his hips proved them to be good enough with no obvious stains or rips.

Deimos shrugged. It was good enough. At least he didn’t stink of blood or anything, otherwise Doc would be on his ass hard. Though it wasn’t like anyone would be able to tell the difference in this sausage fest anyways. He’d be fine for a quick early morning bite.

Just needed to grab his jacket and boots and he’d be good to go.

Deimos scratched the stubble lining his jawline while he scanned the room. He’d taken off his jacket somewhere mid collapse but he couldn’t place where. He wasn’t one to lose things—most of the time at least—but sometimes it felt like they just up and disappeared. With his luck it would probably end up in a really obnoxious place like behind the bed or something. Not like that would happen since the thing was braced up against the wall in the corner so it had to be somewhere around here.

He paused when he noticed the distinctly leather looking lump laying on the floor beside said furniture.

Oh. There it is.

Approaching the bed he picked up his jacket off the floor. It still had some dust from when he’d been crawling through the vents last night as he swiped a hand over the shoulder. He grimaced at the sticky webbing that stuck to his fingers; a few cobwebs, too. Gross. Shaking it to clear out any excess dust he threw it on haphazardly, adjusting his pants once it was snugly over his shoulders. Belt tightened up again he’d turned towards the table and nearly tripped over his own boots.

Welp, at least those weren’t far either. Glad he’d had half the mind to take those off before crashing.

Cursing a bit under his breath he snatched his cap off the clock. With a quick sweep of his hand through his hair to straighten it a bit he put his hat on and sat on the bed, scooting his boots closer with a foot. Once they were laced up and buckled he got to his feet, ready for the day—or at least, the really early morning.

He glanced at the clock again. It blinked lazily at 8AM.

Eh, early enough. But the call of some sweet breakfast sausage was not to be ignored.

The moment he turned towards the door there was a series of firm knocks. He jumped, nearly tripping again as he cracked out, “Uh, yeah?” Damn that cig wasn’t enough apparently because his nerves must still be fried from that morning.

“Deimos, it’s me.”

His lips quirked a bit, confused. Normally, Doc only went after him when something broke or got jammed up again but a glance at the tablet resting on the table face up didn’t reveal a blinking light for a missed message. Unless something went wrong in the handful of seconds he’d been standing there then why was he trying to talk to him now of all times, “Hang on.” Tromping across the room he swiped his code in, the door opening with a hiss.

Doc was standing in front of his room, arms behind his back and head turned away as he kept his focus down the hall before turning to face him. He scanned him head to foot, “You look like shit.”

Deimos rolled his eyes with a huff, “Good morning to you too, Doc.” Leave it to him to state the obvious. Not like he didn’t already feel like crap in more than a few ways. He propped an arm against the door as he nodded towards him, “What’s up?”

2B stood a bit straighter, and just by his posture alone he had a feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn’t good, “Boss called in this morning, we have another assignment.”

Well he wasn’t wrong.

Deimos sighed, traces of smoke licking at his tongue as he tossed his head back, “Seriously? Now? Doc I haven’t eaten yet.” As if to prove his point his stomach made yet another unhappy glug. Both men glanced down, the tech sweeping a hand towards it with brows raised.

“I can tell.” Doc merely returned his gaze placidly, “Have you seen Sanford yet?”

He shook his head, “Nah. Haven’t left until now.” Though if he were to take a guess, he’d say the demolition’s expert would be working out somewhere.

It seemed they shared the same thought as 2B nodded, “I assume he might be downstairs at this hour. I did hear some commotion from one of the training decks.”

He chuckled a bit. Typical Ford.

“I want you to be ready within the hour, Deimos. You’ll get to eat when you get back. I’ll tell the staff in the kitchen to keep something in the oven for you.” He turned around, fully intending to leave before adding, “And also, get some washing done when you get back. You smell like a corpse.” With that he took his leave while Deimos scowled at his back.

Great. Of course it would be doc who’d notice.

Still he only sighed, punching the code into the panel to lock the door behind him. Getting his gear from the locker he had downstairs would only take a couple of minutes, and Ford should already be up if he was taking up a training room.

Just another day in Nevada, per the usual.

Things never really change.

#madness combat #Deimos #2BDamned #my writing #fun

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celestias-right-hoof-mas-au · 3 years ago

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WARNING: Although this particular chapter does not depict violence or cursing, future installments will. As this story is based on an adult parody of MLP called The Mentally Advanced Series. I would encourage that if you had not watched it to do so to get a grasp of the world in which this takes place. Many of the jokes, lore, and otherwise are in reference to MAS, not just simply My Little Pony. I have also made a supercut that includes every reference and appearance of Celestia in the series. In case watching the entire MAS series maybe too time consuming. If you find Celestia, or other canon characters, used in crude and unpleasant depictions offensive, this is your warning. However, I would appreciate that you take a look anyway with an open mind.

Celestia Supercut Link

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“And here’s your armor and weapons. You should be able to start working tomorrow, but take it easy when you can. Magic works wonders, but if you’re not careful you’ll black out from exhaustion.” The front desk nurse recommended sliding over Valiance her belongings.

“I will. Thank you, ma’am. It feels great to stretch my legs after being in bed all week.” Valiance chuckled as she quickly put her body armor on, hooking her helmet and weapon onto her side.

“I could only imagine.” the nurse smiled, “There’s a soldier waiting for you in the lobby. I’m sure it’s important, so I wish you luck.”

Just as the nurse had instructed, a soldier in royal guard uniform awaited for Valiance at the medical bay’s entrance.

“Valiance Ascalon?” he gruffly asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well come on, soldier. I’m here to take you to your quarters.” the soldier informed as he began leading away with Valiance in tow.

The walk was mostly quiet, but in time, Valiance noticed the regality of her surroundings. Banners and painted glass of the sisters’ various achievements adorned the halls with very little modesty. As they continued, one photo in particular caught Valiance’s attention enough to stop in her tracks. The photo contained Celestia wearing a suit with a leather overcoat hanging from her shoulders.

Valiance raised a brow dumbfoundedly. ‘Huh. Not the kind of attire I’d expect her to wear… but not bad at all.’ she thought to herself while gazing into the picture.

“Come on, you’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the scenery on your days off. Don’t fall behind!” the soldier called from further down the hall.

Snapping out of her trance, Valiance trotted back up to the soldier as they continued. Although, the scenery did spark some questions in her mind. After a moment, she finally decided to ask, “What does an acolyte do anyways?”

“That’s just a fancy name for a personal assistant. Though, judging by your particular skills, my guess would be being a personal bodyguard and just generally following her whim.” the soldier pondered as they approached a door and unlocked it.

Stepping into the room, Valiance softly muttered, “Wow, this is… lovely.” It was spacious with a large bed resting at its center, accompanied by a nightstand on each side. To the far left was a personal restroom along with a panoramic window with a beautiful view of Canterlot. To the right side of the bedroom rested her wardrobe and a bookshelf.

“I’d say I’m jealous of you, but in reality I can’t.” the soldier commented while handing the keys over.

“Why do you say that?”

“Acolyte’s are hard to come by. The last one that worked here was before I was old enough to get a job. Let’s just say he didn’t have the heart for it.”

Valiance was perplexed by the soldier’s warning. However, she knew that no matter the task, it would be done in Celestia’s name.

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Back at the medical bay, a small pink pony with a satchel and large tight curled hair briskly made her way to the front desk. In a soft spoken voice the little mare asks the front desk clerk, “Hello, Nurse Flatline.”

“Hello, Mentee. Can I help you with something?”

“Um, do you know of a large pale mare who was committed here recently after the attack? She wore a purple and gold set of armor, not like the castle guards.”

“I'm sorry to say that the patient you're looking for was released earlier today.” The clerk replied, looking the pink horse up and down.

“Oh, well, can you tell me where she is then?”

“No Mentee, you know I’m not at liberty to release that information.”

Mentee groaned, “Pleeease, I really have to talk to her. She saved my life during the changeling attack, can’t you just give me a hint where she might be?”

The clerk pony pondered momentarily, letting out a deep sigh, before firmly answering, “If I give you a hint, you didn’t get it from me, is that clear?”

Mentee eagerly nodded with a small smile as she leaned in closer.

“She’s a castle employee as well, if you ask around you could probably find her.” Flatline whispered.

Mentee gasped and shouted, “Thank you so much, Flatline!” Only to be shushed and shooed away.

After asking around, Mentee had finally made her way to Valiance’s room. Her body began to rattle as she grew ever closer to the door. Closing her eyes to compose herself, she finally mustered up the courage to knock on the door… nothing. Maybe she just hadn’t heard the knock on the door. Mentee tried again, this time louder… still nothing. She pressed her ear up against the door only to find absolutely no noise on the other side.

“No one is in there, miss. She left for a walk.” a disapproving voice slated.

Mentee flinched and quickly spun around to see a blue coated maid sneering at her. Rather than attempt to explain herself, Mentee panicked and bolted.

Sweat gathered on Mentee’s brow as she came to rest in an empty corridor. Running a cloven hoof through her bangs she uttered to herself, “This is ridiculous, I just wanted to thank her for saving me.” She glanced down to the satchel dejectedly, “Maybe I can find her tomorrow once my shift is over… I need to get some air.”

The cool evening air was a blessing that gently kissed Mentee’s face. She had made her way to the castle courtyard and basked in its soft serenity. Plopping on a nearby bench next to a batch of daffodils, she gingerly took off her satchel to lean back and relax. Their light aroma invited Mentee into picking one and absentmindedly twirling it around. Taking a light whiff, she smiled and placed the flower in her hair. Stars twinkled in the strawberry sunset while a few ponies walked the courtyard to head home.

‘Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.’ Mentee thought, as she scanned her surroundings. Suddenly, a glint caught her eye. When she focused, she could swear her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. Before her was her knight in shining armor, casually walking around the courtyard smelling flowers.

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Valiance took comfort in the beauty of the flowered and marbled plaza, having spent the entire day getting to know the castle’s layout better and what would be her new home. The giant fountain gently ran in the center, soothing all who heard it. Giant hedge sculptures, vivid red roses, and yellow daffodils were all perfectly nurtured to be a sight for even the sorest eyes.

“E-excuse me.” a small yet eager voice called from behind. Valiance turned and was greeted by a small pink pony, with thick ringlets for hair, and spectacles. The mare shuffled slightly closer and gently continued, “Uh, h-hello. I don’t mean to disturb but… um, well, you probably don’t remember me but-”

“Oh! You’re the mare that was almost carried off during the attack!” Valiance blurted out with a smile.

The little unicorn blushed, surprised that Valiance had even remembered her at all, “Yes, that was me. M-my name is Mentee, Mentee Prim.”

Valiance’s face softened further, “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mentee. My name’s Valiance Ascalon.”

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Valiance and Mentee were not alone, the God Princess, Celestia, too had wished to enjoy a stroll to revel over her recent success. True to her word, the Princess oversaw the remainder of the changeling hive eradicated and their maggots turned to fertilizer. With that, and the acquisition of a new acolyte, Celestia had almost considered relieving her favorite student of her friendship studies for the day. Almost.

Voices had tickled at Celestia’s ear from the courtyard. Since the sun had set, most ponies would have gone on their way to the dining halls, barracks, or home at that point so she had a small interest to inquire the purpose of the conversation.

It didn’t take long for Celestia to find the source of the whispers. She easily spotted her new acolyte talking to one of the castle’s library assistants, Mentee Prim. The conversation itself was harmless, with small talk abound and a few thanks sprinkled in. However, when Mentee pulled her gift out of her satchel, Celestia’s cold stare stabbed at Mentee’s glimmering eyes. Celestia scrutinized deep into Mentee’s heart, seeing through her feeble façade. This was no mere thanks, the pink mare’s soul pounded with infatuation. The way she kicked the dust and tugged at her hair all the while coyly glancing at Valiance left no doubt in the Princess’ mind; and it filled her with vile intrigue.

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“I, uh, wanted to let you know how thankful I am for saving me. I really thought that I was gonna be a goner until you came along.” Mentee said, rubbing her neck. She tapped her hooves together in thought then reached for her satchel, “This isn’t much, b-but I hope you still enjoy it well enough.” Encased in periwinkle blue magic, Mentee unlatched her satchel to reveal a small pink box tied in a red laced ribbon.

“Oh! Well thank you, Mentee. You really didn’t have to do that.” Valiance assured, gently taking the gift.

“You know, I’ve been working at the castle for a while now. There've been plenty of acquaintances I’ve made… but no one to really call my friend. I was just wondering… if you would… maybe…” Mentee sheepishly stalled.

Valiance chuckled heartily, “Of course we can be friends. It’d be nice to have company with someone who knows their way around here, not to mention someone so sweet.”

Mentee’s stomach twisted into a knot, her already flushed face was now blistering red. In an act of feverish joy, Mentee sputtered, “T-t-thank y-you! Y-you too!” With nothing holding her back she sprinted away, nearly tripping over herself as she spun around a corner and out of sight.

Perplexity gripped Valiance’s thoughts, ‘I wonder where she ran off to, I hope I didn’t say anything stupid. That would be embarrassing.’ Turning her attention to the box, Valiance pulled the ribbon and peered inside. Her benign smile graced her lips again. Inside, were cookies in the shapes of flowers, hearts, and bunnies. Each one was carefully decorated in a shiny pastel colored frosting, some were adorned with cute smiles to top it off.

As Valiance innocently popped one in her mouth, a sudden chill ran up her spine when she felt the looming presence of some wicked soul behind her. “And what have we here?”

Valiance twisted around to see the owner staring down at her through biting amethyst eyes. The moon’s rays illuminated the roses in the garden, bathing Celestia in the color red. Although initially shocked, relief washed over Valiance as she sighed, “Oh, Princess Celestia, it’s you. This is just a little thank you gift from a friend I saved.” Valiance passed the gift box to her majesty to see personally.

The Princess shook the box slightly with a sneer, and with her magic, pulled out a heart shaped cookie. “How sweet.” she hummed as she jaggedly pulled the cookie in half. Without giving Valiance time to think, Celestia jammed one of the halves into her acolyte’s mouth before turning and walking away.

Bewildered by Celestia’s actions, Valiance chewed her half and absentmindedly reached for another cookie, but was only met with air. It was then that she snapped back to her senses, realizing that Celestia had taken the entire box for herself. Conflicted, Valiance chose to keep her mouth shut. It was Celestia’s will, after all. But that doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it.’ Valiance huffed to herself, having really wanted to enjoy her gift. “Forget it.” Valiance groaned, throwing her hooves into the air, “I’m just gonna go to bed.”

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knightofameris · 5 years ago

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jar of stars - peter parker (p. i)

Setting: After homecoming, but during the sophomore year of high school Gender: Neutral Contains: Kinda fluff, mentions of a parent passing away, cursing Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: (Y/n) has a thing for paper stars. They also have a thing for Peter Parker but then an itsy bitsy spider comes ‘round and practically plays matchmaker.

a/n: Just a random idea. Also kinda has a lot of those cliches but we love the cliches lbr. Also, I highkey suck at writing romance but I’m getting back into the hang of it. If you’re more of a platonic type person, you can expect LOTS of platonic readers in the future c:

Finally finished this series after 3 months (even though it’s only 3 parts) I just didn’t want to post anything until the series was done. c:

[repost from old account]

Let me know if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes or if I accidentally say ‘she/he’ instead of the gender neutral ‘they’.

here! || p. ii || p. iii

Enjoy!

❝ if the stars fell out of the sky one day they’ll only make more hoping that they’ll appear once again ❞

Your fingers danced around each other as the strip of paper you held started to fold into the shape of a pentagon. Your ears drowned out the voice of your physics teacher as you focused on puffing the pentagon into a star. It was one of the simpler origamis and barely required work. Though your nails would occasionally hurt from puffing it, or the sides of your fingers would start to get a bit dry but nothing that lotion couldn’t fix.

You dropped the finished star into a box that practically had thousands (that’s an exaggeration but it’s a lot) of other stars; shades of blue, purple, red, green, and patterned ones. There were an array of stars held in that seemingly small box that’d you’d only have to sort by color and shade into the countless jars you had at home.

You glanced up at the board seeing new notes to be taken down and you picked up a pencil to quickly jot it down. Little did you know, a few seats behind you Peter Parker was watching you as your fingers carefully reached for another strip of paper and began to nimbly move to create another star. He was wiggling his pencil back and forth between his fingers, a habit created out of boredom, wondering why did you pick up this time of the school year to make stars.

But then you were jolted out of your focus when your teacher promptly called you by your last name. All eyes were on you.

“You want to pass the AP exam, right?” Mrs. Warren asked you, clasping her hands together.

You smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then either you figure out a way to focus while making those stars of yours-” cue Flash snickering (and Peter glaring at Flash) “-or you put them away and focus on my lecture.”

With an apology, you quickly shoved the stars and strips of paper into a box and then your backpack. Your eyes rested on the teacher in front of you for the rest of the class period.

You sat out on the stairs fire escape. It was one of the chillier nights but you had your Midtown sweatshirt on with one of your pajama bottoms. The evening sky had hues of yellow that turned into orange into pink and then purple which all began to morph into the dark night sky. Of course, the New York skyline that decorated the sky made it seem like it was out of the movies. And with how the wispy clouds were sprinkled here and there, it was a sight to behold. But even so, it won’t be soon until the night sky would appear, vacant of stars.

Peter sat perched on one of the buildings of Queens, his legs swinging about as he people-watched. It was one of the quieter nights. Not much crime was being done, thankfully, and he finished his homework so he was just out relaxing a bit. He enjoyed watching the sunset alongside the people below him, even if it was a way to push down the stress of AP exams.

It didn’t take him long when he noticed a certain somebody sitting in their fire escape. He always saw you there and always wanted to say something as Spider-Man but never had the courage.

“You should talk to them,” Karen suggested in his mask. His eyes widened.

“What?” He stammered. “No! No way, I can’t do that to my friend. My voice is pretty distinct, I’d-I’d have to cover it up if I wanted to or..” He began to ramble with all the reasons why he couldn’t talk to you.

“I can disguise your voice, Peter,” Karen cut him off. “You should know that, are you sure you don’t need to go through go through the refresh-”

“No! No I’m good. But,” Peter trailed off, looking at you from the distance. He was still able to see that you were putting stars in a jar. He never knew what they were for. “Yeah, can you disguise my voice?” And in an instant he began to swing over towards you. He was surprised that you didn’t see him but then again, you were always so focused on your stars. So when he landed above you, quietly of course, and greeted you he didn’t expect you to be calm.

“Holy shit!” Your hands fumbled around with the star you held but you dropped it, only for it to fall down into the streets. Your eyes widened at the sight in front of you, adrenaline slightly pumping through your veins in a fight-or-flight sense.

“Oh,” Peter chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was slightly altered by a sound in his mask. Probably to disguise his voice.

“It’s fine,” you breathed out, looking down at the fallen star in the streets. “I just didn’t expect the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to come out of nowhere.” You laughed a bit before reaching into one of the boxes you had, grabbing a handful of dark purple stars. The panic you felt seconds earlier had quickly dissipated.

“Well, I saw you out here,” Peter sat down next to you and grunted a bit as he adjusted, “and I wanted to, you know, say hi.” You nodded your head.

“Yeah but, don’t you have-uh-I don’t know, hero business?” You poured the stars into a mason jar that was already filled with the colors of the evening sky.

“Eh, it’s a quiet night. Plus I’ll be notified if something goes down,” Peter replied. You nodded in response.

“And your voice?” You asked, looking into the eyes of his mask. Which only caused Peter to slightly blushed as the light from the sunset reflected in your (e/c) eyes. Thank God for his mask.

Peter tilted his head in confusion.

“I mean, it’s obviously slightly… different.”

“Oh!” Peter exclaimed. “Well, just in case I see you in the street as my civilian-self. You know, secret identity and all.”

“That’s pretty cool, smart actually.” You nodded your head with a slight smile, impressed at him. He then asked for your name and you gave it to him with a grin. The two of you guys began to talk for awhile, even after the sun set and the night sky had few scattered stars. Exchanging stories, laughs, anything you guys could think of. Of course, Peter was careful about what he told you to not give away his identity.

“You know, you remind me of my friend,” You mentioned after you finished laughing at one of his stories.

Peter quirked his eyebrow, and hoped to God that he didn’t give his identity away. “Oh? How?”

“I mean,” you held up a finger, starting to count, “you both like Star-Wars, you’re both extremely awkward at times, and have a thing for Tony Stark.” Peter’s heart began to beat faster. “I think you’d get along with them well; Ned and Peter.” You continued folding a few more stars as you talked.

“That’d be cool, you should introduce me to them,” Peter said out of slight relief. You hadn’t brought up anything that hinted you knew. But the frown that was etched on your face caused him to be slightly concerned.

“Yeah, well I wish,” You said, downstrucken. “Peter’s always off doing something for his Stark internship, I barely see him as much anymore. Just at school and our very occasional hang outs with Ned and MJ.” To see your downcasted face, it broke Peter’s heart. But then you laughed. “Though, Ned would freak out if he met you, so I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Huh, maybe not then,” Peter laughed. The two of you sat in silence for a while, just watching the cars in the distance. Well, you were focused on filling up the mason jar in front of you.

You were surprised at how well you were holding a conversation with the Spider-Man. But it seemed as if he was a teenager who was just as awkward as you. Plus, everything just seemed so natural between the two of you.

Peter watched you grab a bottle and spray it in the jar. Whiffs of lavender invaded his senses but it soon went away as you closed the jar. That probably explained why you constantly had the scent of lavender following you around.

“So what’s up with the stars?” Peter inquired, something he wondered but never asked as Peter. He was in awe at how the jar you held had the same exact colors of the sky a few hours earlier when they first started talking, but more so because of how you’re able to make so many.

“Oh, uh,” You looked down sheepishly. “It’s kinda silly.”

“Nah!” Peter exclaimed. You looked up at him in curiosity. “I’m sure it’s not, I mean have you seen my first costume? Man, kinda cringey now that I think about it.”

You laughed out, “Mood, big mood.” Peter laughed at your response as well. He couldn’t help but adore your smile as well. And the way that your eyes crinkled in the corners? Not that he’d ever tell you.

“Well,” you began to explain, reminiscing about your childhood. “It started out when I was younger.”

***

Your twinkling eyes looked up into the night sky through your window. The new city you moved into was exciting. You were too young to be in school, so it didn’t upset you to move. It just made you excited for new adventures.

But the night sky here was different than your hometown. There were barely any stars, there were no constellations. Your small mouth frowned and as your mother tucked you into bed, she asked you what was wrong. You shuffled your arm out and pointed out the window.

“Where are the stars?” You asked. Your mother took a moment to think as she tried to admire the empty night sky. You expected her to respond but instead she got up from your bed and went to your desk, which was messy with arts and crafts. Your mom picked up a pair of scissors and a piece of (f/c) paper, knowing it was your favorite color. You watched her with wonder and when she came back with a single thin strip of paper, your face was furrowed with confusion. Her fingers, however, held the strip of paper in place in front of you.

“Do you want to hear a story?” Your mother asked. “About the stars?” With a nod she continued. “On the Island of Japan, there was this little girl who adored the stars in the night sky. Each night she would set off to watch the stars but then there was a night when they started to fall out of the sky. And each night they continued to fall until there were none left in the sky. So the young girl had an idea that if she created enough stars-” her fingers began to nimbly move as she created a paper star “-and put them in a jar, she could hold the fallen stars inside of it. But she couldn’t make enough so she got her friends to help her and soon enough the stars appeared in the night sky once more.” She held out her hand and in the palm of it was a paper star. You couldn’t even comprehend how she made a star but you were beaming and looked up at her.

“I don’t need my friends’ help!” You exclaimed. “I’ll make all the stars by myself! Can I try mom?” She only laughed as she rose up from the bed once more. Your mom grabbed a clear jar off your desk that was filled with pencils and put it in another. Dropping the star in the now-empty jar and setting it next to your bed on the nightstand, she kissed your forehead.

“Of course sweetie, but in the morning, that way you can see a few more stars tomorrow night.” You smiled happily, staring at the single star in the jar. If all the stars fell out of the sky one day, you’d only make more, hoping that they’ll appear once again.

***

You smiled fondly at the memory as you gripped the jar tighter. Peter noticed that it was not the same smile that made the corner of your eyes crinkle. Rather, the corner of your eyes began to gather with tears and you quickly swept them away as you reminisce the times you could no longer have with your mother. Peter wanted to comfort you, hold you tight to tell you he was there for you, but he wasn’t Peter. He was Spider-man.

“Yeah so,” you broke the silence, thankful Spider-Man didn’t say anything as you recollected yourself, “when I was younger I thought I could make enough stars for them to appear in the sky. Course, I was disappointed early on. But since then, I’ve just made a bunch of stars for a while. It helps me relax in times of stress, and with AP season beginning soon, this helps. Otherwise, I just make them to give to friends and family or just ‘cause.”

Peter parted his mouth about to respond but then Karen told him of a robbery happening a few blocks down. The sounds of sirens filled the two teenager’s ears, causing both to look in the direction they were coming from.

“Ah, that’s my cue,” Peter said. You could’ve sworn that his voice was laced with disappointment, but it was probably in your imagination. After all, why would Spider-Man want to talk to you?

The masked hero started to stand up from where he was sitting. “Those stars of yours are pretty cool. And that story of yours is cute too. I hope we can still talk sometime in the future, maybe?” You were taken aback by his words.

“You still want to talk to me?” You sputtered.

“Well, yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’d be really cool to get to know you.” You knew he was smiling under the mask, or at least you hope he was (Peter was grinning). You were smiling with him as well.

“Then sure, yeah,” you breathed out in awe. You glanced at the police cars that drove past the intersection in front of you. “You should probably go.”

“Oh, yeah, I should.” He started walking towards the edge of the fire escape.

“Hey Spidey?” You called out. Peter turned his head to face you.

“Yeah?”

“Be safe.”

“Thanks,” He replied with a smile. It wasn’t often that Peter was told to be safe (except from Tony, May, and Ned but that was as Peter). It made his heart burst to know that you were always so caring.

He jumped off the escape and went off swinging. You watched him disappear as he swung around a corner in the same direction as the police cars. Getting up from your spot, you grabbed the boxes of stars and the finished star jar in your arms. Then you climbed in through the window and set everything down on your desk before grabbing a specific jar off your personal set. The jar held the black Spider-Man symbol in the middle with a red circle and then specks of red in a sea of blue for the rest of the jar.

You let out a heavy sigh and then stared the spot you were sitting at moments earlier.

Did Spider-Man really just talk to you?

#peter parker x reader #marvel x reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x neutral!reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #peter parker imagine #gender neutral #jar of stars series #a.writes

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voidwalkwithme · 6 years ago

Text

Wasted Youth

Even the lightest of footfalls echoed in the ruins of what was once a lighthouse, dampened only by the roar of the waves outside and the steady dripping of water from somewhere above her onto the cracked floor below. As if triggered by her footsteps, gritty bits of stone rained down from the eroding edges of the spiral staircase. The woman briefly pondered its integrity, faintly glowing blue eyes surveying the ground floor.

It had been plundered many times over the years, the evidence plain in overturned, tattered furnishings and the waterlogged remains of smashed wooden shipping crates. There was no movement, save for the sprinkle of water droplets and crumbling stone. She would have to venture up. With the toe of a stylish but weathered leather boot, she tested the stairs beneath her weight, assessing what she could see of them from her vantage point. The crumbling edges aside, there were gaps to mind, but the path to the next level appeared navigable. A strong southerly wind joined the rhythmic crashing of waves against the exterior wall, both enhancing her cover and making it harder to discern whether or not she was alone.

Salty, kelp-laden air and stale earth filled her nostrils, her heart rate rising with each treacherous step up the winding stone. Drawing slow, tremulous breaths through painted lips, she edged her way up, pressing her back against the wall as she ascended and the next landing began to come into view. The decay and disarray of the second level matched that of the ground floor. Her eyes roamed hastily for potential caches, and found none, but a shimmer of metal caught her eye: a candlestick, oxidizing but not yet fully corroded - salvageable. She cautiously stalked through the rubble, one hand opening the flap of the leather satchel secured to her person by a crossbody strap, and the other reaching to grasp her find.

No sooner had her fingers wrapped around the scrap than she was thrown against the stone wall with a reverberating slam, pinned by cold, sharp steel at her throat. When her eyes refocused, her field of vision was consumed by a Wretched man, unfathomably ashen for something still alive, and reeking of stale bloodthistle. Eyes blue with fading arcane energy burned into her own, and must have found something familiar in that void, because he spoke her name: “Jaeness, you greedy whore” he cursed, thready and gasping.

Every muscle in her body tensed in preparation. She did not recognize the Wretched, corrupted by unclean magic and withered by withdrawals. Was he a client? A man whose advances she’d rejected? Or one of the ones who’d muttered curses at her in the street, looking at her like she was dinner all the while? “Oh, come on,” she murmured, “it's just a bit of silver. I'll trade you” she swallowed, “for mana.” Bony fingers threaded themselves through thick, sapphire tresses, and a pale nose buried itself there, sniffing like a dog. “Put your blade away, and we'll trade: trash for treasure” she insisted, voice scarcely above a whisper.

There came an indignant snort that echoed through the tower, and the creature withdrew just enough. Swiftly, she launched the sole of her boot into his pelvis, causing him to stumble backwards. Committing before he could recover, she cocked her elbow back and drove it into his head in a rapid two-step, sending him over the edge. Fuelled by adrenaline, she hadn’t felt her booted calf ensnared by his gnarled hand. The swoon of vertigo overtook her as they plummeted to the ground floor, landing with a resounding impact that knocked the wind out of her. His body - now truly a husk - had broken her fall, and a frosty blue shimmer coated her skin for a fleeting moment. Her own hand still held fast to the candlestick. Feeling it in her grasp, she bludgeoned the corpse in the head with it before struggling to her feet.

After dusting herself off, she gingerly brought her pendant to her lips and kissed the dark blue stone that no longer shimmered with her magic. Her eyes turned upwards once more. Jaeness didn’t doubt that there was more scrap metal to be found within the lighthouse, but opted to leave it behind - she had another place she still needed to visit.

A mile down the shore, the scuffed soles of her boots scraped along dust and rubble coated wood floors that groaned beneath her weight. Glistening strands of spider silk were draped between the legs of overturned tables and barstools, reflecting the anemic sunlight that streamed through shattered windows. Outside, the wind yawned and the waves lapped lazily at the shore, a peaceful accompaniment to the soft crumbling and creaking and cracking she created with each reverent footfall.

So this is all that's left. Shards of broken glassware and so much dust beneath a crumbling ceiling - all exposed metal corroded or stripped, no steel eating utensils or copper mugs to be found. Jaeness breathed in the smells of kelp and decay, catching an unexpected whiff of ozone.

Thirteen years ago, she had stood in this very spot as the last of the patrons filtered out, smiling and serving up good night wishes. Something about standing there, in the remains, brought it all back. When the heavy wooden door closed behind the last straggler, quiet had descended on the dining room, and the small sounds became everything: the metallic scrape of coins shuffling in the palm of the guitar player as he counted out his tips in a gravelly whisper, the distant clacking of plates and slosh of water coming from the kitchen sink. Closing her eyes, she could hear it as if it were happening now.

She had hurriedly scooped up plates from abandoned tables and stepped into the kitchen with her haul. She checked her reflection in the blade of a chef’s knife, freshly cleaned and sharpened and laid out for tomorrow. Dewy skin and vibrant sapphire eyes looked even more comely with a hint of a rosy flush at the end of a busy night. She smoothed a wild strand of platinum silk that had begun to curl over her brow, then carried her tray to the wash basin, where her mother was finishing up her own work.

Madam Brightwater called herself a simple woman, but carried herself with the same poise and spent as much time with her wardrobe and vanity as any noble lady, never faltering even with the passing of centuries. Her hair, once silky and white like her daughter's, was more slate than platinum now, rolled up into a low chignon. Her skin had not aged at the same rate, but the phantom of crow’s feet and smile lines loomed. Jaeness would count herself lucky to age so gracefully.

She’d had no idea that tomorrow it’d all be gone.

A FORTNIGHT LATER...

Brisk, briny air carried the invigorating scent of mountain pine with it. At the docks, the odors of fresh fish and kelp overwhelmed, but there was much to smell throughout the port town: grilled and baked fish dishes, fruit tarts and tiramisu, coal, newly cut lumber… Jaeness sighed in satisfaction as she walked, led by a portly local merchant who spoke with an accent she had never heard elsewhere. As they slipped through a crowd, his broad hand slid carelessly from the small of her back to curl around the soft, pale blue flesh of her hip. When she carried on as if he had done nothing, he gave it a testing squeeze and an idle stroke with chubby fingers.

He was a swarthy and hairy, middle-aged human who smelled of whiskey and tobacco, not unlike the harbormaster from Sunsail Anchorage half a century ago. Boralus dwarfed her hometown, and had a much different kind of beauty and texture, but nevertheless reminded her of the home to which she could never return.

“Thank you so kindly for showing me the way, Mr. Ames” she purred, twirling on her toes to lean on his soft chest and belly and plant a kiss on his ruddy cheek, the length of her sapphire waves swishing around her like a curtain. “I do believe I can manage from here.” She tapped on his chest with a squared off, lacquered nail before slipping away without waiting for a response.

The Tradewinds Market was a gorgeous, bustling district. Packed end to end with little shops, restaurants, bakeries, taverns and inns, the street lined with market stalls and carts, it was barely navigable during busy hours. She chose the smallest, least conspicuous building to rent a room in: a cozy tavern with only a few bedrooms on the second floor. The proprietor looked down his nose at her disapprovingly and quipped “no guests,” which she answered only with honeyed laughter.

The room was quaint: small, and basically clean, but a bit dusty, which she felt contributed to its charm. A single lantern cast an orange glow over the space. It had a bed, with a trunk at the foot of it that she wouldn’t use, a small wooden table with two matching chairs, and a little bookshelf garnished with small trifles: a ship in a bottle, a shallow bowl filled with sea glass, and a miniature ship helm carved from wood. It held few actual books, which all pertained to local history and customs.

After acquainting herself with the room, she went out, leaving nothing behind. It was a space in which to work, and to sleep, evidence of her legitimacy should she be questioned by the authorities. It was not a home, although it smelled a bit like one. Later, she would have dinner at the tavern, by all appearances absorbed in her fish and chips and pint of ale, all the while listening in on the other patrons, hoping to pick up an intriguing rumor. Then, she’d get started on a new piece before bed - but none of that would come before she found some excitement: a card game, a trinket worth pilfering, perhaps even a pretty boy.

As luck would have it, she found all three, but only partook of one. Instead of working on a new piece by lamplight, she sat at the table with her elbows braced upon it, letting a brilliant red gem on a platinum chain dangle from her hand. As it slowly spun, it flashed between expertly faceted crimson gleaming with enchantment and its precious metal setting.

“What am I gonna do with you?”

#my writing

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janleaper22 · 2 years ago

Text

The Clubhouse at Temple Drive: A Comfy Stopover in Quezon

Ever wanted to hang out somewhere that feels like it was plucked out of Fort Bonifacio and placed close to EDSA? You’ll want to check out The Clubhouse at Temple Drive in Quezon City.

Much like Megaworld’s Arcovia at Pasig, this small community area is snuggled between a temple and a village in Corinthian Hills. If you love the idea of cozying up somewhere tranquil during the weekdays, this location might be for you! Here's a list of things you can immerse yourself in when you decide to visit!

The Comfy Coffee Shop Experience

It's a cliche at best, but no one can deny that coffee shops rely on atmosphere to attract stay-in customers. Thankfully, the Clubhouse at Temple Drive's two shops, Starbucks and UGC Coffee provide this kind of tranquility – thanks to their thoughtful store designs and interesting menu variety. Aficionados of caffeine drinks and on-the-go laptop workers will no doubt enjoy their stay here whether they visit in the morning or late at night.

Premium grocery shopping for cultured cooks

Rustan's The Marketplace provides food items that cater to cooks, gourmands, and casual shoppers. Premium ingredients await those willing to spend a couple of extra pesos for quality.

You should also expect a variety of excellent meat options and other special products when you visit its neighboring deli store, Santis! Imagine going through the entrance and getting a whiff of that wonderful deli smell, enhanced by hints of spices, vegetables, and cheese in the air. That's the kind of aura you'll get if you visit Santis on a good day.

And if you're not looking for anything fancy, don't worry! You can also shop for affordable, quality grocery items in the Marketplace available if you're just looking to refill your kitchen goods and wares.

Apir at Apéro

Speaking of premium, why not dine with the family over at Apéro? This little restaurant cafe is sprinkled with a bit of European charm with its atmosphere and featured menu items! Customers of Apéro will find themselves spoiled for choice, with dishes ranging from pastries and breakfast specials to dinner meals to help make anyone’s stay a memorable occasion!

Amazing baked goods at Purple Oven

When people think of Purple Oven, they immediately think of fantastic comfort food packaged safely in a purple box, promising shoppers quality that they can only find in this fine bake shop. One taste of their delectable bars, cakes, and rolls, and you’ll find they’re all worth the price.

Purple Oven stands by the quality of its goods, which is one of the reasons why the brand is popular. This is one store you won’t regret supporting with your wallet.

Of course, a couple more stores are hidden inside the Clubhouse at Temple Drive, but we’ll spoil the fun if we tell you everything. Best to leave the exploring to you so you’ll be just as surprised as the travelers who happened upon the place during the drive.

The Clubhouse at Temple Drive: The best stopover for cafe lovers and gourmands alike. You won’t regret visiting!

#temple drive #quezon city #comfy stop over #comfy stop over in QC #purple oven stands #purple oven #Premium grocery shopping

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surfingthesealand · 7 years ago

Text

Vancouver & Victoria’s Christmas Date: Chapter 3

Vancouver and Victoria stepped inside a warm and comfy log cabin out of the biting winter cold, doubling up as a hot dog shack. They made their space in a corner decked with plump ruby red-leather sofas and armchairs, and embellished with fluffy down cushions of various shades of red from dark to light.

“Hot dog, Van?” Victoria asked her peckish boyfriend.

“Yeah.” Vancouver nodded, breathing hot air into the palms of his gloves.

Victoria approached the queue, but quickly turned back to him. “What sauce do you want?”

“Tomato.”

“Alright, two hot dogs coming up.”

Vancouver stuffed a cushion under the seat of his insulated trousers and behind his back for extra comfort. He slipped off his gloves, fetched his phone from his jean pocket and began tapping away at the screen, checking up on his social profiles.

“Could I have two hot dogs, please? And put tomato sauce on my boyfriend’s. He’s over there.”

“Right on.”

The cook squirted a thin, wavy bright red squiggle of ketchup onto Vancouver’s hot dog. Victoria shovelled the dogs off the counter in the cups of her gloves and lay them down on the table.

“My favourite.” Vancouver stowed his phone away and hastily snapped up his saucy dog. “But it needs a bit more ketchup.”

He grabbed the bottle of ketchup from the centre of the table, squeezing it just a little too much. A jet of ketchup splattered against the front of his shirt, and he gasped with shock.

“Oops.” Vancouver flushed almost the same shade of scarlet as the ketchup on his shirt. Victoria tut-tutted and handed him a tissue.

“Eh, it’s red. It won’t show up on my shirt, honest.” Vancouver grinned awkwardly, scrubbing the stray ketchup off.

“Vancouver, don’t rush things so much,” Victoria admonished him, then she smiled. “Alright, time to get eating.”

Vancouver carefully shot some more ketchup out onto his dog, and blissfully chomped down one tomato-flavoured and meaty bite at a time. Victoria kept it simple, eating her dog fresh and ungarnished from the fryer. Vancouver reached down to his lap and swept off some wandering breadcrumbs with the side of his glove.

“Vancouver, are you itching down there?” Victoria looked a little suspicious at her boyfriend.

“No.” Vancouver innocently tilted his head aside, blinking in a gaze.

“Vancouver…” Victoria turned to the other diners. “He’s crazy, my boyfriend is. You wouldn’t understand unless you get to know him.” She gave them a little wink.

Vancouver gobbled up the last morsel of dog, wiping the ketchup around his mouth with the dab of his tissue.

“Let’s go get a hot drink to warm our mouths and hearts,” Victoria suggested as she picked up the empty holders and tidied them away in the bin.

“Always love cocoa on a cold winter’s day – or night.” Vancouver noticed the aquamarine sky rippled with cloudy streaks of amethyst, cinnabar and amber, despite it being only one in the afternoon.

“I’d like marshmallows and whipped cream in mine.”

Vancouver cupped his deluxe hot cocoa in his gloves, the heat radiating through the wool insulating his hands. The barista sprinkled in some mini pink and white marshmallows, finishing off with a spray of whipped cream on top. Victoria took a small sip of her vanilla cocoa, linking her arm around her boyfriend’s as they strolled towards the market.

“Ooh, better lap up the cream quick, or it’s gonna melt.” Vancouver rather noisily licked the mountain of cream off the top of his cocoa, getting some of it on the tip of his nose and around the corners of his mouth.

“Vancouver, Vancouver, Vancouver.” Victoria had kept a spare tissue from the hot dog shack for times like this. She dabbed at Vancouver’s face to wipe the dashes of cream off. “This is a date, remember?”

“Well, it’s not really a formal date, is it? We’re just out here to enjoy the festivities.”

Vancouver sniffed out something roasted, meaty and gamey in the frosty air, distracting him. “Speaking of which…”

“Turkey tonight,” Victoria smiled.

She and Vancouver both sipped on their cups of cocoa, making the first step into the market. Ruby and emerald baubles decked every one of the many stalls, with aromatic wreaths of holly, rosemary and cinnamon gracing the roofs. The holiday scents of turkey, mulled wine, Christmas pudding, orange with cloves and mince pies all blended together into one conglomerated perfume of the festive season.

“Hello Victoria!” Kitchener’s delightful voice came from the turkey stall.

“Oh, hello Kitchener.” Vancouver stirred around, his cocoa almost spilling over the brim.

“These turkeys are freshly roasted, so it’ll save on all that hard work in the kitchen – and you’ll get to spend more of Christmas with your loved ones.”

Kitchener slipped on his heatproof gloves and slid a tanned turkey out of the oven, sprinkling some sprigs of rosemary over it. Vancouver came closer, the rosemary fragrance flowing over his scalp and relaxing him. He took a deep sniff.

“Man, I love herbs… Especially rosemary and mint.”

“Oh, the stuffing’s got a hint of mint in it, actually. Gives it a bit of flavour.”

Kitchener rolled some fresh mint leaves into some balls of onion and sage stuffing. He caught a slight whiff of tomato from Vancouver.

“But I didn’t add any tomatoes.”

Victoria also approached the counter. “My silly boyfriend splattered himself with ketchup. He cleaned it off, but now he’s going to smell of tomato for as long as he’s wearing that shirt,” she giggled.

“I told you, it’s red, so it doesn’t show up.” Vancouver tugged down the front of his shirt slightly in front of Kitchener, patting the back of his head sheepishly.

“Well, get yourself a freshly-roasted, lovely juicy turkey for tonight, and a stain on your Christmas sweater will be the only thing you’ll have to worry about,” encouraged Kitchener.

Victoria picked up the turkey which was bronzed the deepest shade of tan. “What will you take for this one?”

“Ten dollars. Great deal, isn’t it?”

Victoria handed him a note, and he ripped off a sheet of tinfoil just wide enough to wrap around the whole turkey. It felt pleasantly toasty in Victoria’s cupped hands, and she stuffed it into a weaved seagrass basket. Vancouver placed his cold face close to the turkey to warm his cheeks.

“Not too close, Van, you’ll burn your face.”

“Let him, he’s your boyfriend after all,” laughed Kitchener. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you too,” said Victoria, and she and Vancouver set off deeper into the market. They skimmed each one of the stalls, testing out the festive wares and eats with their gloved fingers. Vancouver stopped by a stall selling homemade mince pies by the masses, sniffing out the buttery shortbread pastry and orange-infused mincemeat mixture.

“Don’t get a whole dozen, Vancouver. There’s only two of us.”

“But we gotta keep some for Santa too, right?” Vancouver picked up a mince pie, trying to resist munching it down.

“And his reindeer.”

Victoria gave in to Vancouver’s insistence, buying a whole box of mince pies. He tried to tear the flaps open to pilfer one, but Victoria gave him a light slap on the hand, shaking her head jadedly.

A scent even stronger than the fruity mincemeat tickled Vancouver’s nose. He could catch faint notes of pine, cinnamon and apple, those classic Christmas fragrances. He jerked slightly onto Victoria’s scarf trail, dazed by the aroma.

“Vancouver…?”

Victoria felt herself being hauled along with her boyfriend.

“Don’t pull so hard, my scarf’s going to loosen itself.”

Vancouver slunk by the candle stall, his eyes gazing upon the stacks of candles in holly green, berry red and snowy white. The scents strengthened inside his nose, letting go of Victoria’s scarf as he inhaled a deep sniff.

“Candles? How romantic.”

Victoria picked up a few samples of each of the varieties of candle, glancing at the labels. Vancouver studied the candles more closely, sniffing each one. From the green, he picked up on the earthy yet lush hints of a fresh Christmas tree. The red emanated a delicious perfume of apple and cinnamon, while the white imparted a silky vanilla tone.

“Ooh, sniff these,” he told Victoria, and she also sniffed each of the candles.

“Don’t mind a couple to light up our Christmas dinner.”

Vancouver selected one out of both the apple and vanilla candles, which Victoria promptly purchased.

“This’ll be enough for today, okay? We’ve got everything else back home.”

He glimpsed up to the sky, which was now dimming to dark sapphire marbled with jasper. “We’ve got a little more time to enjoy the fairground rides before the early sunset.”

Vancouver and Victoria were secured into their seats on the spinning chairs. Vancouver, with his head down, rattled the chain and brushed his feet back and forth against the ground, as if in apprehension over how high they would be towed up.

“Vancouver, it’ll only go up a few inches. No need to worry about heights this time,” Victoria assured him.

“But I’ve just eaten, and I might get dizzy again.” Vancouver felt a little sweaty despite the December cold.

“Remember what I told you – don’t focus on the motion of the ride.”

A small metallic clunk and whirr sent the chairs onto their cycle of spins. Vancouver grasped onto the chains.

“Vancouver, your arm’s on my head!”

“Sorry, I just need to hold on to something.”

“Well, hold onto your chain and not mine.”

Victoria gently coaxed Vancouver’s hand off. With each revolution, the chairs lifted themselves slightly off the ground until everybody’s feet were airborne enough to wave around freely. Vancouver’s stomach dipped, and he could still taste the ketchup-flavoured pork sausage from his hot dog inside.

“I can feel my lunch coming up.”

“Close your eyes, Vancouver.”

Vancouver slowly closed his eyes and tried hard to hone his focus onto the blackness instead of the whirling of the chairs. He inhaled short but deep breaths to calm his racing heart, inclining his head up to the sky.

“Good boy.”

Vancouver’s mindfulness seemed to be doing the trick. His stomach eased, and the warm sweat on his bared flesh dried up. He blinked his eyes open for a short moment to see that they weren’t really that high above the ground, just a few centimetres above it.

“I think I feel better now,” Vancouver smiled to his girlfriend.

“See, it works when you stay calm,” Victoria smiled too.

“That went by quickly,” remarked Vancouver.

“You had your eyes closed pretty much the entire time,” giggled Victoria. “So I guess you’re a bit more confident with riding high now.”

“Emphasis on ‘a bit’…” Vancouver chuckled rather tensely. He glanced towards the sky, now midnight blue with an aura of azure. “I think we can do a couple more rides before it gets completely dark.”

“The city looks a whole lot more spectacular at night, doesn’t it?” Victoria commented on the thousands of emerald, amber and ruby lights of the blackened skyline while she and Vancouver waited their turn for the helter-skelter.

“Guess so.” Vancouver’s heart was tickling a little due to the height.

The attendant beckoned Victoria on, and she sat at the peak on top of a bristly mat. Vancouver stared down the length of the slide as his girlfriend rode downwards, spiralling around the centre pillar and cheering the whole way.

“I’m coming, Vic!” he called after her, swiping a mat and pushing himself down. He slid so fast that he bumped into her while she was still at the end.

“Vancouver, you should’ve waited your turn so I could get out of the way on time!” she reprimanded him.

“Well, sorry, I was thinking too fast…” Vancouver palmed the back of his head apologetically.

“Oh, you foolish boy. Let’s go down the slide again, and this time you wait.”

The couple retrieved both of their mats and re-ascended the steps, where they were quicker for their second descent. Victoria sat back down on the summit, holding a stretched-out palm to Vancouver to stop him rushing, and promptly glided down the helter-skelter without a hitch. Vancouver waited a moment for her to move out of the way, and he pushed himself again. Halfway down the slide, he came to a sudden stop.

“Oh, uh… I seem to have hit a sticky spot…” he giggled nervously, tossing back to the bemused riders back at the top. “Eh, don’t worry, I’ll just get myself going again.”

Vancouver budged himself from side to side to get himself unstuck, but he misjudged a tiny manoeuvre and ended up slipping down the slide headfirst, clutching onto tiny straws off his mat and hollering out. Victoria flipped around and gasped in shock as he shuttled down the rest of the slide and landed facedown in the crisp crystalline snow, shovelling it aside.

“Vancouver! Look at you, you’ve got snow on your scalp!” she exclaimed, lugging him up off the snow and dusting him off with the palm of her glove.

“Well, at least it’s not dandruff,” Vancouver tittered, shaking his whole body vigorously to get rid of the snow Victoria hadn’t brushed off.

Victoria mollified herself. “So since you were so calm on the spinning chairs, and the city’s much more beautiful at night, shall we ride the Ferris wheel again?”

Vancouver’s dark hazel irises dilated, but he remembered his relaxing technique. “Alright.”

Vancouver and Victoria clambered back into the carriage on the Ferris wheel they rode in the last time.

“So just keep calm this time and you’ll be okay,” Victoria reassured Vancouver. “And you’ll also get to see all the lights of the city.”

Vancouver restarted his sequence of inhaling and exhaling deep breaths while Victoria held tightly on to his hand. The wheel once again ground itself into action, and Vancouver’s breathing deepened. Even while trying to relax himself, his legs trembled on their own instinct.

“Keep still, Van.”

Vancouver fought against the tremors in his legs as he continued breathing in and out.

“Come on, look at the lights.”

The carriage swung across the peak, and Vancouver managed to keep his eyes open just in time to see the amazing display of rainbow lights amongst the midnight-blue winter sky and the white sprinkles of snowflakes.

“Isn’t it magical?” Victoria’s eyes widened in admiration at the scene.

Vancouver’s heart leapt, not out of anxiety, but out of awe. “It sure is.”

“Home now, Van? I don’t want this turkey to get cold.”

“Yeah. It’s cold, anyway. Our house is warm.”

Vancouver and Victoria, hand in hand, made their way out of the fair, being careful to not get swallowed up by the crowd. They returned to the spot where they’d arrived that morning, but switched to the opposite side so as to go home. As before, they huddled up to each other for extra body warmth. Vancouver tucked his head into Victoria’s chest to prevent another mildly embarrassing episode of snowflakes on his scalp being mistaken for dandruff.

The bus came quicker this time around, as if the driver was concerned about all the people waiting out in the bitter chill. Vancouver and Victoria were first on board, taking up a couple of seats at the very back for maximum heat and comfort.

Feeling a little heavy-eyed, Vancouver rested his head upon Victoria’s shoulder, his eyelids slowly shuttering. He slept deeply for the entire journey home, hazy apparitions of rainbow Christmas lights dancing in the darkness behind his closed eyes.

#surfing the sea #canadian boys #canadian boys: vancouver #canadian boys: victoria #vancouver #victoria #date #christmas #christmas 2017 #creative writing #writing #story #story chapter #chapter

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thewhisperedwish · 7 years ago

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The Whispered Wish

Invites you to join us for our grand re opening! We recently moved from our old plot to a large, don't worry, not too far... we're now at Ward Nine, plot Forty Three! To celebrate our tremendous success, and in an effort to thank you for bringing it to us, we're hosting a Picnic Basket Auction!

When? 6PM PDT, 9PM EST Saturday September 16th!

Where? Ward 9, Plot 43 of The Goblet! The new location of The Whispered Wish!

What? Well you heard me, a picnic basket auction! You’ll get a chance to come bid on a picnic basket, without knowing who exactly MADE that picnic basket... See, several of our wonderful staff here at The Wish made these baskets with their own desires and hearts in mind, so if you like a basket enough to bid on it, bid on it! If you play your cards right, perhaps you’ll even get to take the basket -maker- with you on an illustrious picnic date.

Who? YOU!

Keep reading below the break to see some of our wonderful picnic baskets that are going up for auction!

BASKET NUMBER ONE!

A small, plain basket contains two desert ponchos wrapped around its contents. Inside the ponchos are three bottles of sparking water, various brightly colored fruits (dragonfruit, papaya, limes, coconuts), sprigs of mint, rock salt, an assortment of tender jerky, coconut oil (good for the hair, dry skin, massages, and anywhere you might need a little extra lubrication), and a bottle of snake and scorpion tequila for the adventurous soul.

BASKET NUMBER TWO!

A basket of brilliant crimson with a golden brocade pattern painted over the weave of wide wicker strips, with the edges of a scarlet blanket with another gold broacde worked into the soft fabric as it concealed the basket's contents. A bottle of fine spiced Limsan rum and two sparkling rocks glasses. A sweet red Gridanian dessert wine and the appropriate glassware came out next. The aroma of tender golden brown fried dodo pieces rose out of the shiny black box pulled from the basket’s depth. As a finale two more boxes were pulled from the basket. Two dozen chocolate truffles in several combinations and toppings from plain chocolate to ones coated in coco powder and others still drizzled with caramel, white chocolate, or even sweetened strawberry syrup graced one box. While a red velvet cake dense and moist covered in cream cheese frosting and drizzled with chocolate sat in the other.

BASKET NUMBER THREE!

A tastefully rural basket, gridanian style, brimming with home-made food, and drink. There's a quiche loraine resting inside, fragrant and delicious under a cute little floral-patterned cover, as well as fresh, home-made blueberry muffins, and assorted cookies. A few apples, bananas and sweet pears lay to the side, loomed over by several flasks of home-brewed mead. A bottle of water, with tasteful slices of cucumber in it to add freshness can also be seen, and to top it all off, is an elegant pet's collar.

BASKET NUMBER FOUR!

Kittens mew and play inside of a wicker basket, while next to it rests a larger wicker basket. Once the larger one is opened one would see such delights! Sweet strawberry wine, cookies, rice balls made to look like pandas, fruit skewers to resemble a rainbow and cupcakes galore! This basket is a reminder of what it means to be a child.

BASKET NUMBER FIVE!

Inside this wicker basket rests a smaller vessel of straberries, with bits of nevermelting ice to keep the fruit fresh. Beside it rests a bottle of champagne inside it's own container to keep it chilled. Both items are nestled on top of a fluffy silver blanket for when it gets chilly when the sun goes down, and to offer comfortable cuddles. And below that is a sturdy sheet to be laid out on the ground to protect clothing and to prove some comfort. Also tucked away in a side pocket is a nice, small wheel of brie cheese.

BASKET NUMBER SIX!

The small, plain wicker basket has a neatly tied red bow on the handle. The basket is well worn, a little dirty on the bottom, but obviously cared for otherwise. Opening one of the two lids reveals a small, stainless steel pan sitting on top of a hot plate, a deactivated fire crystal waiting on the pan. There are several bowls, one filled with raw strips of auroch steak, one filled with raw strips of dodo meat, and one with diced, assorted vegetables. There are four bottles, each filled with a sauce. One sauce is dark, and smells heavily of tomato and beer, one sauce is a light orange, with a sweet, yet spicy smell, one is a hot red, which burns the nose with just a whiff, and the last is a dark, near black liquid, smelling heavily of salt and soy.

BASKET NUMBER SEVEN!

Within the basket are several objects, several odd whirring magitek boxes, of simplistic design, designed to keep heat or freshness contained within the food, even the drink has it's own matching thermos, as well as bottle of Doman wine. However, once opened, one would find a feast of both exotic and typical delights: skewered fish on little spikes with some citrus fruit to soak into the meat. Doman tea, heated just right, with some herbs within the water to enhance the flavor. Some hand made cookies sprinkled with cinnammon, as if straight from the oven. In the next container, is a platter of various fruits and vegetables, decorated with an edible flower! The final container is layered, at the top of one is a simple sponge cake, however deeper within is a shortbread-esque cake adorned with rasperies and cream.

BASKET NUMBER EIGHT!

A fairly standard picnic set up, with a mixture of snacks, main course, and dessert. It comes in a decently sized woven basket which opens outward from the center, one flap containing straps to secure plates, while the other can comfortably hold two full sized standard glasses. On the inside is contained a small platter of assorted fruits (rolanberries, plums, orange slices, etc.), along with a small pot, several bars of chocolate, and a packet of fire shards to make for a chocolate dipping sauce. Another platter contains a few half-cut sandwiches, triangle style, of buffalo milk cheese and sliced ham, lightly toasted over a fire, with a light dusting of ground garlic and a touch of salt and pepper. A small chocolate cake is found in the corner, enough for two, and is extraordinarily light and fluffy, with a smooth and creamy icing and a few small cookies acting as decorations on top. To top it all off is a bottle of standard red wine, not too cheap, but not overly expensive and fancy: not the best, but a decent substitute.

BASKET NUMBER NINE!

The basket would appear to be simple at first glance, the exterior not providing much in terms of appeal but that was only for the real goodies were within. Upon opening one would find their senses pleasantly struck by the aroma of natural, fruity scents. An elegant bouqet would then be the first thing to catch their attention, a powerful blue colour, tied in a gold lace with embroidery and details in black.A swirly, nearly floral pattern. A note attached below that would read- "For whoever it may land upon, I hope you enjoy. With great care I have made this and with great hope I wish for enjoyment to come out of it." A plush fashioned from a moogle could be found, silky and soft. A companion for many a night. A small box would contain a slice of chocolate cake, fork complimentary and neatly tied to the box. A chocolate bar with a rich colour and scent and cupcakes just as appetizing. Scented oils would be found in small vials, perfect for massages and the skin, holding a moisturizing, rejuvaniting nature to them and lastly a batch of scented candles, useful to both set the atmosphere and give a wonderful smell to any room they might find themselves in up to the very last drop of wax.

BASKET NUMBER TEN!

A book of classic poetry poked out of the simple, woven bamboo backet. It was adorned with ribbons the same dark blue as the landtrap leaves in the salad, and flowers twined around it's handles. It would make a decent container for flower-picking as well as for picknicking, perhaps hinting at an intended future life for the container.

AND BASKET NUMBER ELEVEN!

What could be more delightful than snuggling under a blanket and catching snowflakes on your tongue? Get ready to be cozy as you're sitting in front of a fire with your mystery picnickeer dipping rich chocolate truffles and succulent strawberries into creamy brie as your appetizer. For something with a bit more bite, an artisan baguette with hand picked eggs that can be prepared any way you like. To top it off, wrap a hand knitted blanket made by your mystery guest while sipping from bitter-sweet hot cocoa spiked with, as an option, emerald creme-de-menthe. Whether you're building a snowman or indulging in chocolate trickling cheeses, we're sure you'll enjoy this Winter Wonderland Picnic.

#Mateus RP #FFXIV RP #Mateus RP Events #The Whispered Wish #Picnic Basket Auction!

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years ago

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chapter seven (whole lotta love)

dark, cold, dreary, delicate, morbid, haunting, ethereal, heavy, gritty, spooked, gloomy, sinister, unsettling and filled to the brim with dirty thoughts, our lovely indian and gentleman from denmark have an accompanying infinite playlist (x)

⚠️ Risqué content warning ⚠️

“We'd be so lost, in our mouths, the best, I feel it everyday (every way), You feel so wrong, be alone, if you just follow somebody someday.” -”Soft and Wet”, Prince

The girls had gotten Lars and me several small square shaped cakes, half of them glazed in chocolate and sprinkled with jimmies, and the other half in Swiss meringue. Mrs. Hamilton arrived in time from behind one of those snow plows, the ones covered in a fine layer of plasma to protect the shiny steel from rusting: she handed out a bottle of ginger beer to Lars before she ducked into the kitchen in order to make screaming orgasms for the girls, and a virgin screaming orgasm for me.

Lars himself meanwhile had taken off his coat and lay it on the bench in the nook. As I wait for my drink, I watch him step into the room with bit of a satisfied expression upon his face. He adjusts the hem of his shirt and then the hem of his vest over his full, round waist. His clothes look a little too snug for his body.

I lean back in the chair, again with my hands resting in my thighs and my right leg crossed over my left.

Lizzy sidles over to me with a small black porcelain plate with four of those cakes in question, two chocolate and two meringue. The tattoos on her body flash right before my eyes as she pulls away from my face.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she tells me.

“But of course,” I retort with a smirk. She sets a hand on the right side of my face, and I gaze up into her eyes. She had put on rich mahogany lipstick to better emphasize the full shape of her lips. I’m resisting looking at her chest: the bare skin and her cleavage are hanging right there right before me. No, I can’t, even as she shows me a little smile.

“You’re so sweet,” she says to me in a husky voice. But little does she know, I’m resisting the urge to ask her to stick one of those cakes right into my mouth. “Such a sweetheart. Your drink is coming, big boy.”

She lets go of my face, and strokes around the table, and heads into the kitchen. I pick up one of the chocolate ones but I don’t take a bite. Instead, I turn my head to look at Lars, who’s standing right before Louie with his hands upon his hips. I lick my lips: I’m so thirsty.

But there’s one question I need to ask Lars before he goes any further with her.

I clear my throat but Gwendolyn steps out of the kitchen with a bulbous hurricane glass of what resembles a vanilla milkshake with a cherry on top.

“Virgin screaming orgasm for the birthday boy,” she announces in such big bold fashion; she again has golden stardust embedded in the hair on the top of her head: it glitters under the milky light bathing the whole front room. She’s also wearing red again. I swallow down the tightening sensation inside of my throat because I know how she feels about me.

Lars lets out a little giggle right behind me.

“You’re so—full,” I hear Louie tell him, “so lush and plump—”

I pay no attention to them but instead fix on the drink before me. Gwendolyn looms before me with one hand pressed to her hip.

“I don’t understand you, Joe,” she confesses, leaning closer to my face.

“H-How so?” I sputter out: it’s amazing I can even breathe with such a dry feeling inside my throat.

“Baby, you’re in a strip club. Everyone that walks in through that door is a dirty dog waiting to come out and--”

“And?” I finish in a near gasp.

She leans over the table with her hands on either side of the plate in front of me. Her tongue slithers out of her mouth, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. I feel my bottom lip trembling.

“Drink up, brown eyes,” she commands in a near whisper. I swallow again as I pick up the hurricane glass for a swig of the drink. I’m met with chocolate and coffee and something else, something creamy. It’s like I’m drinking another thing entirely, an entity not from a cold glass but from beneath Gwendolyn’s belt. I set down the glass on the table as she hands me the first of the chocolate cakes. Never taking my gaze off of her, I lean my head forward for a bite. It’s almost delicate.

I take it down in three large bites before she touches my other hand resting on my thigh. I don’t move as she slips forward and onto my lap. She’s straddling me right there in the chair.

“Kiss me,” she pleads to me in a hushed voice. Her fingers glide over my chest to the edge of my collar; for a second, I think she is going to completely rip off my sweater, but she only drops her hand down to my waist. She puckers her lips right before me. I nibble on my bottom lip. “Kiss me, Joe. Kiss me.”

“Get down, honey pie,” I whisper to her; her hands drop even lower, down to the waistband of my jeans. I could feel her undoing the button.

“Get—down—” Her fingers caress down the front of my jeans and follows suit with a light squeeze.

“My goodness... so big and full,” the words leave her lips like a soft breeze, “Mr. Stallion. Just what I expected.”

“I’m so what again?” I recall her remark from last night as the tips of her fingers fondle me: two thin layers of denim and cotton are the only things separating me from a full fledged erection for her.

“Sexy. You’re more than sexy in fact. God, you’re so hot. Mmm—I want you.”

I relax my hips and thighs so as to let her tongue and her hands do the talking. I feel her undo my jeans and stick her fingers down the front of my shorts. She’s handling me, and with nothing more than the flick of her wrist and stroking of her fingers. Meanwhile, her other hand slides up my back to the ends of my hair. I hold her close to me for a second before I reach under her shirt to unhook her bra.

“Fuck shits, you’re such a stud,” she gasps in between kisses. “Mmm—such a naughty, naughty boy—”

I don’t say anything, but rather I caress the smooth surface of the skin on her back, as smooth and gentle as melted butter. Her lips taste like meringue with a hint of ginger from the screaming orgasm she had had before. She breathes harder and faster with every touch of the lips against mine.

“—mmm, hot, sexy Italian boy,” she breathes into my face.

“Italian and Indian, baby girl,” I retort once her bra unhooks and she runs her hand through the hair at the back of my head.

“Mmm—oh, Joey—” Her chest pushes even closer to me. She’s so soft; I’m partially inclined to take off her shirt for her to parade around topless.

“Gwendolyn—” I gasp. She releases her lips so to look at me right in the face. The stardust glitters from the roots of her kinky black hair.

“I--I--” I can hardly think of anything.

“Yes, baby?”

“--I need to ask Lars a question,” is all I can stammer out.

“It can wait, big boy,” she whispers into my face, the lust dancing upon her tongue. Well, she’s not wrong about that: I take a glimpse to my left only to find Lars and Louie had gone into another room down the corridor behind the stairwell. I catch the sound of metal on metal, metal bars creaking over nuts and bolts: it’s a sound that makes me think of all the times I heard a bed frame in my parents’ room, and I make out the sound of a woman breathing heavy. It’s then followed by a broken voice:

“Louie—Louie!”

Oh. Oh God. Don’t tell me—

Gwendolyn sets her hands on either side of my face and shoves her tongue deep into my mouth. Oh. Oh God. Okay, this is nice.

I close my eyes and hold her close to me, although I want her to reach down my jeans again. But I never say anything to her about it. I can’t. She has her hands on my slim body and every light touch is enough to make me want more of it.

There’s a splash and a break of glass in the next room.

“Gwen!” Lizzy shouts from the kitchen.

“Gwendolyn!” Mrs. Hamilton follows suit. She lifts her mouth from mine and I gasp for air.

“Yes?” she calls out.

“Come in here and help us!” Lizzy replies. She returns to me for a light pat on the lips and a tap on the nose with her finger.

“Later, big boy,” she whispers into my face, and she climbs off of me and heads into the next room.

My chest is heaving. My heart is pounding. My mouth feels dry and parched, and riddled with the taste of coffee liqueur and hooch. Her perfume is still right up my nose. But I can only wonder what Maya is doing at the moment.

Not Lars: he has his hands full right now from what I can tell by the gasps coming from Louie. I need to see her, the girl upstairs.

I pick up the hurricane glass and the plate of cakes, and bolt out of the room. Careful not to spill, I run up the stairwell to the second floor where I see her, sitting there at the table before the stage. I pant from the feeling, or from running up the stairs. I don’t know.

I take a seat next to her, my chest still heaving as I set down the dish and the glass on the table. Her eyes sweep in my direction: her expression never changes as I struggle to catch my breath.

“Is everything alright?” she asks me in a gentle voice.

“I--I dunno,” I confess.

“What do you mean?”

I take a good look at her and those hazel irises staring back at me. I lift my gaze to better eye that peculiar scar on her forehead: Lars was right, that does look like a surgical scar, right smack in between the matted waves of black hair flowing off of her head and part of the way into her face. Her skin is pale, too pale in fact. One can only imagine how hungry she must be feeling at the moment. I lift myself upright for her to better see me, and then I pick up one of the cakes with meringue and offer it to her.

“No, thank you,” she says, the tone of her voice never changing.

“Are you sure?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows at her.

“Positive. Food nauseates me.” She swallows and I see the muscles in her throat contracting. Gosh, I thought I was thin.

“I have a headache,” she confesses to me.

“You might feel better if you eat something.” But she shakes her head. I stick half of the cake into my mouth for a particularly large bite. As I’m eating it up, my heart calms down and I relax right there in the chair next to her. Mrs. Hamilton, Lizzy, and Gwendolyn’s voices all float up the stairwell: at least the bed stopped creaking. Once I swallow down the bite of cake, I return to her with an idea in mind.

“Would you like to come home with me?” I offer her. “I have a very comfy couch back at my place. I’ll let you use my shower, if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she admits, fingering the crease on her forehead. “I must find my sister, though.”

“What’s her name?”

“Candace.”

“Candace?”

“Candace Bradley. But I don’t know how to come in touch with her.”

“I’ll help you find her,” I promise to her. “Besides, I’d rather you come home with me than stay here at a strip joint. As beautiful as this place is--here, let me finish up my cakes and my drink and I’ll fetch Lars...”

I cram the other half of the cake into my mouth, but I take my time with the other two and the rest of the virgin screaming orgasm. I offer the rest of the second chocolate cake but she again refuses. I stick the last half of it right into my mouth when I realize the bed stopped creaking downstairs.

“Joey?” Lars calls out.

“Hm?” I turn my head and reply back with my mouth full.

“Where are you?”

“Uhere.”

“Come again?”

I swallow down the bite.

“Up here!”

There’s a pause, and then I catch the view of the disheveled hair upon the crown of his head. He’s fixing the buttons on his vest as he enters our view.

“There you are,” he greets me, “I was just about to ask you if I could take you back to your place given there’s so much snow outside--” He stops.

“What?” I turn my head to look at Maya, who’s shrinking down in her seat at the sight of him like a timid cat.

“What’s wrong?” I gape at her and then return to Lars, who knits his eyebrows together at her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again.

“Is--everything alright?” he follows up, reluctant.

“It’s just Lars. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“Yeah. I’m just going to use my arrowhead here and--” She gasps and follows it up with a whimper. I nibble on my bottom lip as I climb to my feet. I lift her up out of the chair and hold her against my chest. She whimpers in her throat like a wounded animal. Lars holds onto the arrowhead pendant with a hurt look upon his face.

“Look,” he points at the pendant with his eyebrows raised and his face soft. “Look--watch me.”

He holds the pendant at the base out from his neck and into the space over the stairwell. He moves it in a horizontal direction, followed by vertically and then in a circle. It’s as if a thin veil of lace emerged out of thin air right before him, one covering a black hole that grows wide enough for him to step through, but not big enough for me.

“Follow me,” I coax her. I let go of her and take a step for the lacy veil over the gaping darkness above the stairs.

“So I just get in?” I ask him.

“Yeah, just put your hands in first, and then bow your head,” he advises, “the holes are always just big enough for me, but since you’re taller, you might want to duck. You’re thin enough, too, so you don’t have to suck in your gut like me.”

“Okay.”

I breathe in deep before pushing in through the veil and bowing into the hole. It’s like someone’s pressing on my head and my hips with a heavy sledgehammer. I wriggle my way inside: this time he’s wrong, I do have to suck in my stomach. Total darkness surrounds me: it’s like burrowing through an underground tunnel. I feel something wet on my back, and then on my hips and thighs. The hole is filling with water to carry me. Or so I think.

I hold my breath given the water in the wormhole smells of something rancid, but I crawl my way through the hole and land onto hard ground, on my back. I open my eyes to the thin sliver of gray sky over me. I blink several times and I recognize the awning over my front step. I’m home!

There’s a thud on the floor next to me and I roll my head over the porch to see Maya laying on her side. She groans inside of her throat.

I hoist myself onto my elbows to look at her meager body, at the tattered dark clothes upon her. At least Lars or Cindy, somebody in Black Orchid managed to take the rope off of her, but I still have another question. She lifts herself up onto her left elbow and stares at the wall next to my front door.

“What in God’s name happened to you,” I wonder aloud.

“God left me for dead in the gutter,” she replies. “But then I was saved by death.”

“Let’s get you inside...”

#after the watershed #now it’s dark #chapter 7 #fanfic #fanfiction #thrash metal #heavy metal #heavy metal fanfiction #joey belladonna #lars ulrich #noir au #dark sci-fi #dark 80s #steampunk #writeblr #amwriting #anthrax #metallica #text

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theshatteredrose · 8 years ago

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What would be everyone's (From both ALE and CtS) favourite food?

CtS –Guardians

Lynus - enjoys light food. Honestly, though, a plain salad with a few pieces of chicken is his favourite. He’s very simple and doesn’t really like to cause too much of a fuss. He does tend to eat more if someone else prepares it rather than if he did himself ^^ His all-time favourite fruit is something he doesn’t get all that often; passionfruit. He also likes honey tea, anything with tea actually

Axel - likes his meat, any meat - pork, beef, chicken, whathaveyou. He’s definitely a meat man. Grilled venison topped with a tangy sauce with potatoes and he’s in heaven. He does like sweets, though, like milk chocolate. And, yes, he does eat vegetables, too XD Partial to a drink of ale every now and again, but he knows his limits

Jhon - likes his meat, too, but also enjoys his vegetables. He’s a good boy. He grew up with a poor adopted father, so was happy to eat whatever was given to him. He’s not extraordinarily fussy at all. He, however, will admit that there is nothing he enjoys more than a big ol bowel of spaghetti and meatballs in a tomato based sauce. An incredibly lightweight when it comes to alcohol though and will only ever drink in Axel and Tobyn’s company

Tobyn - surprisingly, though he prefers light food like Lynus, he likes anything with a dash of chili, especially if its shrimp. He also enjoys grilled fish, especially if he managed to catch it himself. Has a soft spot for red apples, the sweeter the better. Absolutely loathes sour food and hates the taste of alcohol

Shen - a very simple person with a simple diet. Will eat whatever is given to him, though he prefers food that isn’t a hassle to make and drinks green tea by the gallon. He likes his rice, though, which is probably unsurprising. Is also a heavy-weight when it comes to drinking alcohol. Sake is his secret favourite, but he’d rather drink alone (in fear he might do something embarrassing ^^)

Magnus - has a rather limited diet due to some of the foods causing him headaches. He’s not allergic to anything perse, but is sensitive. Anything with a high content of nuts, onions, or dairy causes him headaches. Loves sweet fruits like berries, especially strawberries. He also enjoys green tea and is happy to have a drink with Shen. Absolutely forbidden from drinking anything with alcohol in it.

Macerio - will literally eat whatever is placed in front of him. Surprisingly adventurous when it comes to his food. Though he’s not at all fond of sour food; the sweeter the better. Chocolate is his weakness; anything chocolate. Hot chocolate is his favourite beverage. He has absolute no interest in alcohol though; watching the drunkards is more interesting ^^

Lirit - has a limited diet as well, but one he chose for himself. He doesn’t drink something like orange-juice or dairy as it can interfere with his singing. So mostly salads and soups, anything light. He does have a soft spot for freshly baked bread, though, with loads of jam. He also enjoys ginger or mint tea

Hamza - doesn’t eat meat products, though does enjoy dairy. Hearty soups and vegetable casseroles or vegetable stir-fries. He eats a wide range of vegetables, though crispy baked pumpkin or stuffed potatoes with sour cream is his all-time favourite. Likes a good drink at the bar, allowing him to loosen up and either brag or complain about his guild’s exploits to a few selected people

Chi-hung - as you can probably guess; meat. But boar mostly. Wild boar roasted on a spit roast and glazed in a tangy bbq source he will literally fight anyone for. He also likes meaty sandwiches, especially if they were Macerio’s ^^

ALE – Phaedron

Varuna – really doesn’t have an absolute favourite. With his ability to sense poisons, anything that isn’t poisonous he can eat. He does like his peaches, though he can easily live off of bread and water (not that anyone would actually let him)

Nitish – really enjoys nothing more than a light vegetable soup and flower or herb based teas. Doesn’t like coffee or anything with caffeine. The fresher the vegetables the better he feels in the end. He has to be cautious with the food he eats, after all. He greatly enjoys the many different types of produce found in the four lands

Bryce – a good ol’ fashion hamburger with all the extras, the bigger the burger the better. Other than that, he’s not fussy. Anything with meat and potatoes and he’s good. Despite what a lot of people would assume, he doesn’t drink anything with alcohol, has no interest in the stuff

Blayden – despite his small, slender stature, he can eat like a horse. Anything edible is dangerous with him around. Isn’t afraid to be adventurous with his food, much to the chagrin to his brother and guild XD Though the person who invented pizza changed his entire world

Falkner – anything with poultry or eggs, surprisingly. Scrambled eggs with ham are his favourite meal at any time of the day. Has a surprising abhorrence toward alcohol and refuses to allow his brother anywhere near the stuff, though won’t say why. He’s a coffee man, though he doesn’t really need it as he’s a morning person anyway (which pisses Fletcher and Bryce off to no end)

Fletcher – the youngest of the guild and still doesn’t like his vegetables :I Likes his sweets and food that has no nutritional value whatsoever. He surprisingly likes his sour food, too, and can eat a lemon on its own, much to the revulsion of his guildmates. He does secretly like mushroom soup, though, especially since Nitish made one for him when he was ill

Roxbury – pretty simple with his food, and much like his personality, he doesn’t like to cause a fuss. He does enjoy a good a roast chicken with seasoned vegetables baked in the oven. He also likes hearty meals, anything wholesome and filling. Much like Falkner, he is strongly against alcohol in it’s entirely, and he won’t say why either. Herb infused teas are quickly becoming his favourite beverage ^^

Mahalah – is very fond of herbs and spices. Cover any kind of vegetable or meat in a light dusting of seasonings and he’ll eat anything. He doesn’t like overly complicated meals, though, the ones that take over fifteen different ingredients. In a guild as big as his, you need to keep things simple. He also greatly enjoys pasta, though he doesn’t make it often. Before he met the researchers, he preferred to drink simply water, but now is becoming fond of flower infused teas

Achyuta – has had a pretty strict and limited diet before he moved to Tharsis. Now he’s simply enjoying the many different types of food that can be found. He’s becoming quite fond of fish products, though, especially grilled with a hint of lime and chili. Honestly, though, he’s willing to try anything, especially in the company of Nitish or Varuna as he knows the food given to him won’t contain anything poisonous whatsoever

Zesiro – unlike his brother, he is still quite cautious with what he eats. He likes his food well prepared before he eats it to ensure that if there was anything toxic about it, it had been removed during the cooking process. So meat/poultry that is well done and mostly broth-based soups. Again, cook to beyond boiling point. And will only drink water after it has been boiled.

Isiah – anything that is easy to eat with one hand. Seriously, place a sandwich in his hand while he’s working and he’ll eat it. His brothers are constantly trying to get him to actually enjoy his food, but old habits die hard. Would live off tea if his brothers would let him. He knows that he should eat more nutritional foods, but he’s a workaholic and hypocrite. Though the smell of a side of pork roasting with mint and herbs in the oven is enough to entice him from his office.

Kalan – soups and broths, mostly, and is sometimes grateful that he can’t visibly see his food. If he doesn’t like the smell of it, he won’t eat it, and no one will make him. And he won’t eat cold or room temperature food. He eats surprisingly quickly as well, though with small bites. When he’s eating, he doesn’t do anything else. He eats only three times a day

Miach – despite his airy appearance, he enjoys overly hot and spicy food. The type that makes a passerbyer’s eyes water at a mere whiff. And he can eat it with a completely straight face. Blayden and Fletcher first wanted to see how hot the food could get before Miach stopped eating, but they had to stop because they were the ones getting scared XD

Zoran – had a pretty limited diet of fresh fruit and mints found in the labyrinth. But now he’s more inclined to eat whatever is offered to him, much like Achyuta. He still enjoys his fruit greatly, and a salad made up of many different types of fruits is his absolute favourite. However, he is becoming quite fond of the vegetable potato, especially the ones that are baked golden brown with a light sprinkle of herbs. He enjoys sitting in the garden with Nitish or Biast and drinking tea

Biast – actually enjoys the taste of turtle meat, like the ones found in Golden Lair, though he is becoming fond of wild boar as well. He’s a good boy, though, and likes his vegetables crisp and golden, either grilled or baked, it doesn’t matter. He, too, had a somewhat limited diet, but unlike Zoran and Achyuta, he doesn’t really have the desire to expand it. He’s quite happy eating what he has always eaten.

Telem – prefers food that he had gathered or cooked himself as he knows how it was harvested and prepared. He is starting to lighten up, though, allowing for others to prepare food for him. He’s still a little wary about root vegetables like potatoes or carrots, anything that was grown under the soil.

Durriken – terrified of food due to past experiences and what he had to endure before he was chosen as part of the Emperor’s fleet. He can’t bring himself to eat food if he doesn’t know where it came from or how it was prepared. The only person he trusts not to poison him is Telem. He is starting to slowly trust Mahalah, Biast and Zoran, though. And Isiah as well. He prefers simply food, something he can easily see. He hasn’t graduated into adding any flavouring or seasoning to his foods, yet. And can only drink water. He is getting better, though ^^

Whew, I think that’s everyone ^^

#Etrian Odyssey #cease the suffering #A Learning Experience #I may have gotten carried away?

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marshmallow-phd · 7 years ago

Text

The Beauty and The Tragedy

Genre: Angst, romance, Mafia!AU

Pairing: Sehun x OC

Summary: Wren was an American girl who just wanted to see a new part of the world. All she was looking for was a slight change of scenery, but when she befriends the wrong person, her whole life will change in a way she never could have expected.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11

There’s always a slight panic whenever you wake up in a place that isn’t home, that isn’t the typical mattress that your body has come accustomed to. Your mind has to play catchup with the other senses that have already gone into a frenzy. Eventually, memory kicks in and panic subsides.

Waking up in the bright white bedroom in the house of a supposed mafia member caused that panic to stay a few moments longer, even after I remembered where I was and how I got here. As soft as the mattress was and as nice as the furniture pieces looked in their designated spots, this place was still as dangerous as when I first gained consciousness on the couch downstairs. That sense of worry, that teetering on the edge of fight or flight - it would be what kept me alive.

Slipping slowly out of the bed, I glanced at the jeans I had thrown in the corner before falling asleep. With any luck, I would have my night clothes in time for bed again tonight. The horror of any one of them coming into the room while I wore only a shirt made my skin crawl. I narrowed my eyes at the door. There was a lock.

Good. One minor point on my scoreboard. Still down by twenty.

Still stiff from waking up, I stretched out my back and arms before noticing two duffle bags laying just inside the door. Cautiously, I walked over to them, crouching down and unzipping the larger black bag. It was overstuffed with recognizable shirts, jeans, and even a few extra pairs of shoes. The second bag was filled with underwear, socks, and the oversized sweater that I had been sleeping in lately due to the colder weather. A smaller toiletry bag was squeezed into one of the corners. Oh, thank god, someone even remembered that I had a uterus.

With the toiletry bag in hand, I made my way to the bathroom, desperate for a shower. I’d caught one whiff of myself and I was sure not even the cartel would come near me. Besides, the idea of scrubbing away where the men had carried me the previous day felt like the ultimate cleansing ritual. The hot water dotted wonderfully against my tense shoulders and neck. Occasionally, a fews suds of shampoo made it in the wound on the side of my head. It stung and I sucked in air through my teeth in response, but I would consider it worth it in order to get rid of any trace of that alleyway from my body.

I found a blow-dryer under the sink and once I felt that I was presentable (and brave enough), I left my room to venture downstairs to the kitchen, my stomach urging me along. Whenever I passed by a window, there always seemed to be a different man dressed in a black suit walking along the perimeter. It looked like even if I wanted to escape, I wouldn’t make it five feet without being snatched up again.

Leaving wouldn’t really do me any good anyway and, besides one particular host, the boys seemed... decent enough. Mafia members they may be, but they didn’t act like the Godfather, at least not towards me. They were dangerous, no doubt about that. Each one had carried a gun on them and, despite their smiles, had a coat of red dripping invisibly from their hands.

The kitchen was empty when I entered, surprising myself with the seed of disappointment that planted itself in my stomach. Kyungsoo was decent in the kitchen and, even if he didn’t actually live here, I was hoping breakfast had been laying in wait. However, it didn’t seem like any of the others were here in the house and Sehun seemed to imply that I was mostly on my own. I searched the cabinets, finding plates, bowls, and bread, among other normal kitchen supplies that I logged away for later. I swiped the bread, along with a plate and cup. In the fridge was plenty of butter and orange juice. While the bread was crisping up in the toaster, I searched for cinnamon among the spices.

“Gotchya.” Three rows in was a small canister of cinnamon. A nice sweetness for the morning.

While waiting for the toast to finish, I noticed the plates from last night’s dinner still lying out on a mat on the counter. Shrugging to myself, I began to put them away, a sad yet odd attempt to make myself somewhat useful.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Shoot!” At the sudden voice, the plate in my hand slipped. It hit the corner of the counter, but I was able to catch it with my other hand before it shattered on the tile. Wouldn’t that have made Sehun like me even more.

Jongin laughed as he stepped further into the kitchen. “Nice reflexes.” He stopped and leaned on the counter to my left, now barely a few inches in between us. Though he wasn’t quite as tall as Chanyeol or Sehun, he still towered over my small five-foot-three frame. His eyes were… strangely kind as he stared down at me, but there was definitely a hint of mischief in them. “I’ll finish this up. Sehun should have done it earlier. It's his house.”

I didn’t let go of the plate as his fingers wrapped around the rim, unable to look away from the amber spiced eyes. The toaster went off, breaking the trance.

Jongin motioned me away with his head. “Go eat.”

Untrusting of my voice, I nodded and walked over to the toaster. With too much concentration, I buttered the toast and sprinkled on a small coating of cinnamon. Jongin frowned at the action, but I ignored it.

When he was done with the rest of the dishes, he joined me at the island, leaning on his elbows to close the gap in between us. Normally I would have hated my bubble being exposed like this, but for some reason, with Jongin, I didn’t mind so much. My heart was still pounding hard in my chest, but it wasn’t from fear. At least, it didn’t feel like fear. Not entirely.

“Is that all you want to eat?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I picked up the second slice of toast. “Yeah. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around all of this so my stomach can only handle so much.”

“I know this seems scary,” Jongin said, softening his voice, “but ultimately we are trying to protect you. It’s not your fault that you got dragged into this. We can be reasonable and we know that you’re not involved in this.”

Finishing off the slice, I took a sip of OJ before asking, “How did you all believe me so quickly?”

“Kyungsoo,” he smirked. “He’s like a human lie detector. There’s something about his brain that lets him pick up on small clues that give away the lie. His observation skills are amazing, if a bit scary. He could tell you weren’t lying about what you knew, how involved you were.”

I let out a deep breath, thankful for Kyungsoo, but also a bit worried. Now that I’d found the chip, if they asked me again, I might not have been able to hide it.

“You know,” Jongin leaned in closer to me, causing me to look at him, “you have really beautiful eyes.” Blood rushed to my cheeks, sending a heat wave through my body. I scratched the back of my head, too embarrassed to say anything back. He laughed, “What?”

“Nothing,” I shook my head, my eyes falling away from his face.

Jongin bent his head, putting himself in my line of sight again. “What is it?”

“It’s, um-” I cleared my throat. “It’s just, no one’s really commented on them like that.”

His thick eyebrows pulled together at my words. “Really? That can’t be true. Stormy eyes like that aren’t found here, typically. Surely someone has told you before?”

I shook my head again. “Nope. People just usually stare at them. It makes me uncomfortable, actually when they do that.”

Like a switch, Jongin straightened, his eyes darting for anything to look at that wasn’t me. “Sorry.”

“No, no, no,” I waved my hands frantically, nearly knocking my glass over. I caught it just as Jongin reached out for it as well, our fingers grazing against each other. I pulled away first, occupying my hands with my hair. “You’re fine. Other people don’t talk about my eyes when they’re staring. It’s usually some dumb pick up line or other nonsense that’s coming out of their mouths. They all think since I’m a foreigner I should be easy.”

“The easy ones are never fun.”

I turned to see Jongdae smirking in the entryway. He leaned against the frame lazily, his hands in his pockets. The handle of a gun peeked out under his jacket. Pushing off, he strutted towards the two of us.

“Yixing needs to see you, Wren,” Jongdae removed one hand from his pocket to point at me. “He said he wanted to check the stitches. Kai, Suho needs to see us.”

Confused, I glanced at Jongin. “Suho?”

“It’s Junmyeon’s official name in the organization,” he explained. “Only the inner circle calls him Junmyeon.”

“Oh.” I stood up, draining the glass of OJ and picking up my plate to take it over to the sink.

Jongin quickly swiped both dishes out of my hands. “I’ll take care of this,” he volunteered. “Go on.”

As I passed Jongdae, he said with a cheeky grin, “He’s in the infirmary.”

Yixing’s back was to me when I arrived at what would probably be my least favorite room in the house. He didn’t seem to realize that I’d arrived, continuing to tinker with whatever tools were laid out on the steel bench. I cleared my throat to get his attention.

“Oh, Wren!” He smiled after looking over his shoulder at me. The dimple in his cheek made it impossible not to smile back. It didn’t feel like it belonged here, in this room or in “Sit down on the bed, please.”

I obeyed quickly. With the thin blankets wrinkling under me, I felt a bit like a child waiting to get their annual shots at the doctor’s office. Snapping on a pair of gloves, Yixing carried over a chrome tray holding cotton swabs and alcohol.

“Is it hurting you?” he asked gently.

I answered honestly. “No.” He pushed back my hair and readied a Q-tip. “It stung a little bit when I took a shower this morning, but besides that it’s fine.”

He nodded, concentrating on the task in front of him. I hissed as the alcohol hit the still mostly open wound. “Sorry. Don’t want you getting an infection. Just take extra caution when bathing. It shouldn’t do any damage, but better safe than sorry.”

“Alright.” I chewed on my bottom lip, curiosity eating at me. Yixing seemed to be the most open. “If I had a question or two, would you answer them, Yixing?”

His hands paused for a moment before he looked down at me. “If they’re something I can answer, then sure.” After throwing the Q-tip away, he removed his gloves and sat down on the stool in front of me. “What are your questions?”

Unable to look him in the eye, I stared down at my intertwined fingers. The tips were turning red, but I couldn’t loosen my grip. “You guys really are some sort of… underground criminal organization? A… mafia?”

“Just one among a few,” he answered honestly, without hesitation. “We’re arguably the strongest, though. One of, at least. Most others answer to us, ask us permission before moving anything through our territory. But of course, that means we have plenty of enemies.”

“Like the Chinese cartel?” I guessed. He nodded. “So, how come you’re with the Korean mafia? You’re Chinese, aren’t you?”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “What makes you think that?”

I giggled awkwardly. “Your name kind of gives it away.”

“Oh,” he laughed, showing that dimple again. It was a higher pitched laugh, almost childlike. “I guess that is obvious. Outside our circle I go by Lay. Hardly anyone knows I’m Chinese.”

Too curious for my own good, I couldn’t help but continue my search for answers. “How did you end up here? I mean, how did any of you end up here?”

Sitting back, Yixing ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “Most of them grew up in it. Junmyeon’s family has run things for about five generations now, Minseok’s family right along with them. Kyungsoo and Jongdae were plucked out of the orphanage. Junmyeon’s father found me in the streets while on business in Beijing. I’d witnessed a deal go down and, having mercy on a ten-year-old kid, he took me in, paid for my education. I guess he figured it’d be useful to have someone like me around.”

It took a moment for me to soak this all in, to keep the new names and backgrounds straight in my head. Out of these nine men, none of them had a choice in this life. Having that information made it really hard to hate any of them.

The watch on Yixing’s wrist beeped. When he checked the message, he sighed. “They need me at the meeting. I doubt you’ll really see any of us today. Last night’s events are bound to have some big repercussions.”

“That’s all right,” I replied, slightly relieved. “I think I need the space.”

“Understandable.”

We left the room together, but parted ways in the hallway.

I headed back to my room, wondering how I was going to occupy myself for the rest of the day. The duffle bags containing my clothes seemed like a good place to start. Since I didn’t know how long I would be stuck in this mansion, it seemed like the best thing I could do was make this place feel like some version of home, however minute that feeling could be.

The walk-in closet was stocked with rows of empty hangers. So, one by one, I started filling them up, even going so far as to coordinate the shirts based on color to stretch out the time. Then I moved on to hanging up the pants, feeling a bit foolish as I typically put them in drawers, but since the hangers were there might as well use them. A waist high white dresser sat against the right wall of the closet, perfect for the rest of my clothes that couldn’t be hung or wouldn’t fit in the closet. Setting everything up like that felt as if I was permanently setting myself here. A proverbial nail at the beginning of the road.

I took extra time organizing the bathroom, separating the makeup from the cleansers from the shower supplies. The walls of the bathroom were white with gray accents on the trims and tile backsplash. It felt different from the rest of the dark wood aesthetic in the house, but I liked it. Almost as if this was my own little world, separated from the rest of the mansion and the dangers it possessed.

Unfortunately, even after making the bed and laying out my clothes to sleep in later tonight, the whole process only killed about three hours. Another two were spent just lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, unmoving, trying not to think. Then, I remembered Yixing said they would all be out for most of the day and Sehun had said I could go anywhere as long as the door wasn’t locked.

Jumping up, I left to make my way down the hall. I stopped at every door, tugging on the handle to see if it would open. So far, the only ones that did were merely extra, unused bedrooms, each with a different color scheme. Though the temptation was certainly there, I didn’t dare open the one Sehun had pointed out as his.

Down on the first floor, I found a formal dining room with another door that led to the pantry, acting as a connecting hallway. It seemed an odd set up, but could also make for a quick getaway.

Two doors in a row were locked, making me curious but with no way to satisfy it. The room I really wanted to explore was blocked by two large dark wooden doors. The keypad that kept me out was high tech, mocking me with its shining screen and box full of wires. Though still achingly curious, I gave up and moved on to the next door. It opened up to a home gym. Three of the four walls were covered in mirrors and the ceiling dotted with bright fluorescent lighting. There was everything from treadmills to free weights to a punching bag. Now it made sense why the boys had packed some of my work out clothes as well. I logged into my brain the location of this door and wandered around some more.

Eventually, I ran out of places to explore so I stopped by the kitchen, threw together a sandwich and headed back to my room. Scrawled out on top of the comforter, I finished off my pathetic dinner and stared at my dead phone. No charger had been packed, which was unsurprising. I didn’t see one lying around, either, so there was no way to power it back up. The black screen seemed to mock me. I wanted to know what on the chip was so important and if that’s what my captors were after. I couldn’t even be sure if I’d be able to see it on my phone.

Jongin’s face entered my mind. What if I could somehow get the information out of him without being too obvious?

No, I wasn’t that good of a liar or manipulator. I’d feel too guilty and would probably slip up. He would figure out what I was doing in two sentences.

Tossing the phone to the side, I sighed heavily and closed my eyes. I was in a dangerous place. I had to remember that. I mustn’t let go of that.

I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the day.

A week went by and I was starting to get used to my new surroundings. Every morning was a battle to even leave my room, but once I was out in the hallway, I was able to relax. I still kept that mentality of this place being dangerous, but the lack of interaction or life-threatening situations made my initial arrival seem like an odd fever dream. Most of my time was spent wandering around the halls, trying to find any resemblance of an activity to curb my boredom.

Though they were constantly in and out, whispering in hushed tones as they passed me in the hallways. Their eyes would flicker over to me, following me as I walked on. It was uncomfortable, but ignorable. Until the day I was nearly run over by Baekhyun as I exited the kitchen.

“Whoop, sorry,” he laughed as he helped me restabilize my balance.

I stared at him, confused as to why he was laughing rather than scolding me for being in his way. He was so much like a little kid, it was hard to figure out how he could possibly be part of this dangerous life.

Baekhyun snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Yeesh, did I cause brain damage? Or am I just that pretty?”

I scoffed as I shoved his hand out of my face. “I’m just trying to figure out how someone like you is considered dangerous.”

“You’d be surprised at the chaos Baekhyun can cause.” Chanyeol walked up to the two of us, towering over all of us, including Minseok and Jongdae who followed closely behind. The former frowned at me, keeping his distance. Jongdae, however, closed the space between us fairly quickly, trapping me in as he leaned his forearm against the doorframe above my head.

“We’re all more frightening than we look,” he smirked down at me. I shrank back until the wood was digging into my spine. Trapped. I refused to look around and let him know that I was terrified. “But you seem like the type to be able to handle that.”

“Bad boys have never really been my type,” I snapped back. That’s right, Wren. Snap like a cornered puppy. That'll really show them.

Baekhyun snickered. “Aw, why not?”

My eyes flashed to him. Here I was, surrounded by men with guns and completely cornered. I crossed my arms. “My father’s a prosecutor. I was raised to obey the law. I have a general dislike of people who enjoy breaking it.”

“Prosecutor’s daughter?” Chanyeol laughed. “Then you should love bad boys. Bring the danger to your life that being the good girl leaves out.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet,” Jongdae added.

I rolled my eyes. “Life’s not a love story. In reality, falling for the bad boy will get you killed.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a stick--”

“Jongdae, back off now!”

All four of their heads whipped around to the sound of the order. Junmyeon, like a dark-lit savior, came stomping down the hallway with Sehun closely behind. The guys obeyed without question, shuffling back to give me space.

“Wren is a person we are protecting from our enemies,” Junmyeon growled, his face hard with irritation, “not a girl in the club. You will treat her with respect and not a mouse in a trap. Got it?” They nodded, the smiles wiped from their faces. Junmyeon moved his gaze over to me. “Any of them give you more trouble like this, you report it to me.”

I also nodded hastily, relieved that at least someone had my back. My eyes jumped to Sehun, who simply watched the scene with boredom.

“You all have something you should be doing. Get going.”

Without protest, they hurried down the hallway, leaving me alone with the leader and my handler in silence. I expected a sort of pseudo apology from Junmyeon, but I guess I expected a little too much. Instead, he gave me the once over and then continued down the hall. Sehun threw an unreadable look in my direction and followed suit.

After that, the boys were less... evasive. Around Kyungsoo and Yixing I was most the comfortable and didn’t feel the need to press against the wall every time I passed them. Jongin put me on edge in a different way. I wasn’t scared of him, but my mind told me to proceed with caution.

The one person that eluded me, however, was the owner of the house. Desperate for some sort of connection that I had no need for, I decided to take my explorations one step further.

I’m not sure what exactly I was looking for - if anything at all. In the bedrooms that I had barely glanced at earlier, I now went back and searched them deeper. I felt silly looking under the beds and opening the empty closets. Maybe, I decided, I was trying to find some sort of evidence that Sehun wasn’t an emotionless robot.

Each time I ran into the owner of the house he either glared at me or completely ignored me as if I didn’t even exist. While I wasn’t expecting four star customer service, it would have been nice to even be able to hold a five second conversation with him. But alas, the rooms that he clearly didn’t need gave way to no indication of who he was under the scowl.

Bored and having given up, I went back to the living room and sat down on the couch, unsure of where to proceed from there.

The house was quiet. I didn’t deal with this kind of absolute silence very well. It forced me to hear my own heartbeat in my ears, setting off a strange feeling of over self-awareness. Locating the remote, I switched on the giant TV that was mounted on the wall, not caring what channel it was turned to. The news flickered on, the weatherman talking about the outside temperature for the week.

After tossing the remote down next to me on the cushion, I pulled my knees up to my chest to rest my chin. I hardly paid attention as it went from the weather to a humanitarian piece to something political.

That is, until the anchor announced a double homicide near the café. The camera barely got a glimpse of John and the unidentified man being zipped up in body bags before a police officer shoved it away.

“So far there are still no solid leads from last week’s homicide. One of the victims has been identified as Korean-American business man John Park. While the identity of the second man has not been released, it is believed that he is a member of the Marge, a notorious gang famous in the area. If they are involved, one can only assume the possibility of the involvement of the mafia group Ex-”

The TV went black, cutting off the reporter. I looked down to see the remote was gone. Standing behind the couch, Sehun frowned at the reflective screen.

“Reporters are always jumping to conclusions,” he murmured.

“So was she wrong?” I asked sarcastically.

“No,” he said matter-of-factly. “But there’s no evidence of our involvement at the scene, we made sure of that.”

I went back and forth on the next statement that sat on my tongue. Finally, it forced itself out.

“Which one of you killed John?”

Sehun silently stared down at me with narrowed eyes before putting his hands in his pockets and letting out a low whistle. “None of us. It was the other man you saw. He shot John. Chanyeol’s actually in a bit of trouble because he killed the man in reflex instead of bringing him back here. I wouldn’t say they were friends – not even close – but they’d worked a couple jobs together, so he had a soft spot for John. He shot the other guy without even thinking it through.”

I wrapped my arms around my legs tighter, staring down at the floor. “Why did he kill John? Do you know?”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t have a clear answer, but I suspect John knew something they didn’t want to get out. Or maybe he betrayed them. With John, it could be anything. He played all sides.”

I didn’t want to, but I believed him. I didn’t know enough to contradict him.

“Come on. Kyungsoo’s made dinner.” He didn’t wait for me as he turned to leave, which wasn’t surprising. I slowly stood and followed him from the living room. My stomach roared at me, feeling neglected.

Undermining expectation, Sehun passed through the empty kitchen and into the dining room. The rest of the men were already sitting around the table, waiting. Jongin saw us enter and waved me over to take the empty seat next to him. The plate was already full of food so I hardly paid attention to my surroundings, focusing on the food entering my mouth, until Baekhyun poked my shoulder.

“How was your day?” he asked with an innocent smile. The question was so ordinary that it threw me off guard. It was a very different persona than the one from the other day.

I shrugged. “It was a day, I guess. There’s not really much to do around here.”

Baekhyun’s smile faltered. I wasn’t sure what kind of answer he had been expecting. “Well… what would you normally do?”

He caught me as I was taking a bite of a spoonful of rice. It took me a moment to chew and swallow without choking. “Um, I don’t really do a whole lot. I mostly just go to work and stay home. I watch a lot of movies and re–” Realization hitting me, I dropped my spoon onto my plate. “Shit!”

Jongin’s fingers wrapped around my arms protectively. “Wren, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“My job!” I groaned. “Since I’ve stopped showing up, it could cancel my visa and then soon I’ll have a warrant out for my deportation.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Jumyeon cut in. I stared at him in confusion but he kept on eating as if he’d only commented on the weather forecasted. “Your supervisor has been… contacted. Your position will be there for you once this is all done.”

I stared at him in disbelief. I didn’t want to think of how my supervisor was contacted or how Junmyeon was able to secure my job without a timeline of when I could go back. “Th-thank you.”

To my surprise, the corner of his lip twitched, as if he was fighting a smile. “It’s the least we could do since you got dragged into all of this.”

The table remained quiet, the only sound being from the scraping of bowls and clinking of glasses.

That is, until Jongdae decided to break it. “Hey, Baek, heard from Tae Hee recently?”

Baekhyun grabbed a roll from the basket in front of him and threw it at Jongdae while sending a panicked side glance at me. “Shut up!” The bun bounced off of Jongdae’s forehead.

“Don’t you dare even start that!” Junmyeon ordered with such authority that Baekhyun slid down a little in his seat. Jongdae dropped the retaliating bun that he picked up from his own plate.

“Who’s Tae Hee?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking as I looked around the table.

Jongdae started laughing, along with a few other snickers from some of the other boys.

“Tae Hee is the perfect example as to why you don’t just pick a random girl out of the crowd to take home,” Minsoek explained vaguely.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, was not finding this funny. “I had too much to drink. I didn’t think she would stick to me like this!”

“So you have heard from her?” Chanyeol guessed.

“Not since I changed my number,” Baekhyun replied. “She was never supposed to have it.” He turned and looked down at me. “Do you know how frustrating it is to change your main contact number when you're the head of a major division in a very complicated underground organization?”

It was a rhetorical question. Of course I would have no idea, but I answered him anyway. Just probably not how he would expect.

“You guys just bring random girls home all the time?”

Shock fell on almost every single face around the table. It was a very naive statement for me to make. They were grown men and it happens all the time. I wasn’t sure if I expected them to be a bit more secretive about their homes or that maybe they all had significant others. A sudden horror ran over me. Would I be forced to see Sehun bring random girls who were free to leave once he was done with them?

Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Jongin looked down at their plates, playing with their food with an awkward air. Sehun scoffed, shaking his head. I could feel my own face turning red at my question. I tried to determine if sliding under the table to hide would be a good escape or be just as embarrassing.

“S-sorry,” I stammered out. “I, um, I just–”

“Formal attachments are dangerous,” Yixing answered. “For us and for the other person. Not to mention it’s hard to find someone who can accept our line of work.”

“It’s not an every night thing,” Jongin insisted. “We’re people, too, and we get lonely sometimes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” I wanted to run up to my room. Jongin had been the nicest one to me here and now looked like a kicked puppy. “It’s just that I… well, I mean….”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Junmyeon interrupted, understanding what I was trying to say. “We’re on high alert right now and liaisons like that are off limits. It’s too dangerous. And you never know what stalkers someone might take home.” He smirked at that last comment, staring straight at Baekhyun.

Baekhyun threw his hands in the air. “One crazy! I accidentally get one crazy and you guys never let it go!”

Rolling his eyes, Sehun stood up and left the dining room, taking his dirty dishes with him.

“You know,” Jongdae mused, “as our maknae, you’d think he’d be able to laugh more.”

Jongdae’s words ringing in my head, I watched over my shoulder as Sehun cleaned his dishes, rinsed them off, and set them on the drying rack. I never would have guessed that he was the youngest, just from the way he carried himself and his tall stature. He seemed to have the world on his shoulders from the way he took everything seriously and never really loosened up.

“He hasn’t been the same since–” Chanyeol started but was cut off by one scary look from Kyungsoo. I didn’t realize that such a terrifying glare could come from the chef. That urge to ask what Chanyeol meant burned on my tongue, but this time I was able to hold it back. It very obviously wasn’t my place. And I didn’t want that look directed towards me.

Gradually, they all finished their food and left the dining room table, following Sehun in cleaning their dishes before disappearing all together. Soon, the only two remaining were Jongin and me.

“Do you guys eat here every night?” I asked to fill in the silence. Jongin’s plate was empty and was merely waiting for me to finish in my slow-eater ways.

“Not typically,” he answered after taking a sip from his glass. “With all the chaos going on, we’re having to conjugate a bit more. None of us are complaining, though, we love Kyungsoo’s food.”

I nodded, moving the leftover bits of food around on my plate with a chopstick. “And when you guys do have to get together, do you always meet at Sehun’s? Jongdae said he was the youngest, so I would assume--”

“No, usually our meetings take place at Junmyeon’s.” Jongin picked up my dishes along with his and went into the kitchen. I followed, not bothering to protest his gentleman-like actions. “His house is more convenient since it’s in the middle of the compound we all live on.” He turned on the faucet after rolling up his sleeves and started to rinse off the plates. I tried not to focus too much on his exposed, toned forearms, a constant weakness of mine.

“I can do that,” I offered, feeling guilty that this was the second meal he was cleaning up for me. Gentleman or not, I could still do things for myself. I started to reach for the plates, but Jongin pointed the hose at me threateningly.

“Stop. It’s not a big deal,” he chuckled, squeezing the nozzle just enough for a few drops to jump out. “You’re the guest here.”

Giving in, I leaned my back against the counter, crossing my arms. “If Junmyeon’s house is more convenient, why do you guys keep meeting here? Not that I don’t enjoy the break up the company brings, it just seems weird if you all of a sudden change your meeting place.”

“Since you’re here, it keeps you better protected with us around rather than no one but Sehun’s men.” Jongin put the plates on the drying rack. “They’re good, but we all feel better with us around too.”

“Okay, then,” I pursed my lips. “Why don’t I just stay with Junmyeon?” That made the most sense to me. Leader equaled absolute protection.

Jongin held up his index and middle finger, water dripping from his tanned skin. “Two reasons. The first being that, though Junmyeon’s place is heavily guarded by his men, Sehun’s place is actually more secure. He’s a big technology buff, so this place is wired up and locked down. I’m sure you noticed all the different locks on the doors.”

I nodded, tapping my finger against my chin. “And the other reason?”

Jongin cringed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Well, it’s kind of his punishment.”

“Punishment?” I screeched rather loudly.

“Shh,” Jongin hissed. “No need to be loud. But yes, his punishment. You see, it was Sehun’s idea to go after John during the meeting rather than grabbing him before. Junmyeon let him be in charge of the whole thing, but since things didn’t really go as planned, you got stuck here.”

Sighing, I picked up the linen towel and started fiddling with it. “That explains why he’s been so cold to me, I guess.”

“No, that’s just Sehun,” Jongin corrected before taking the towel from me. He dried his hands as I opened my mouth to ask a question, but he stopped me. “Don’t ask. I know what you want to know, but that’s where the honesty stops.”

I threw my hands up, palms out in defeat.

“Now,” he hummed, checking his watch, “it’s still pretty early. You said that you liked to watch movies, so why don’t we watch one real quick? None of us will be home at all tomorrow, including Sehun, so you should probably get quality time while you can.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Quality time with Jongin. “Sure. Why not?”

We made our way back to the living room. It seemed like everyone else was gone and the house was back to its eerie quietness. Jongin sat me down on the couch and turned on the TV, switching it over to one of the many apps installed on its drive.

“Anything you want to watch in particular?”

“Not really,” I yawned.

“Romantic comedy?” he offered, a cheekily gleam in his eyes.

I shrugged, sinking down into the couch and ignoring what he may or may not have been secretly laughing at. “Honestly, I’ll watch almost anything.”

“Random button it is.” Jongin clicked on the little wheel in the corner and the streaming service brought up a movie at random. From the opening credits, it seemed to be some sort of Hong Kong gangster movie. I choked back a laugh at the coincidence. Even Jongin let out a chuckle as he sat next to me, leaving several inches of space between us.

Unfortunately, the subtitles were only in Korean and, while I could read it without too much effort, they were going by too fast for me to read them and then translate in my head. Combine that with my exhaustion and I hardly paid attention to the plot of the movie. About half an hour in, I fell asleep.

I woke up again to little jolts rocking my body. For a moment I ignored them and dug my face deeper into the couch cushion. Until I realized that it wasn’t the couch that I was snuggling up against. My eyes flew open and I looked up to see Jongin’s face only a few inches from mine. He didn’t look down at me even as I tried to squirm out of his arms.

“It’s okay, we’re almost there,” he whispered. The hallway was dark, the sun long gone and moon barely making its appearance in the sky.

“You could have woke me up,” I gurgled.

Jongin laughed quietly. “You were too cute to wake up. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s this one, right?”

I looked over at the door, my tired eyes squinting at the door. “Mhm. It’s this room.”

Again, I tried to squirm out of his arms to walk into the bedroom, but Jongin held me tighter as he opened the door with the hand that had been cradling my back. He walked straight to the bed and laid me down on top of the blankets.

I propped myself up on my elbows and look at him as he headed back to the door. “You know, that was kind of pointless since I’ll have to get back up to change.”

“Not to me,” Jongin said softly. Without waiting for a reply, he closed the door behind him.

#exo #exo mafia au #beauty and tragedy #oh sehun #sehunxoc #sehun #jongin #kai #exo fanfic

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maaliwalli · 7 years ago

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CHUCK THAT KIWI : CHECK THESE NATIVE FRUIT INSTEAD

From the Himalayas to the tropical south, we are lucky to be blessed with a variety of climatic conditions that allow fruit from all over the world to find a home. India holds the distinction of being the world’s second largest producer of fruit, and are now the world’s top producer of several fruit, including guava and banana — neither of which are indigenous to India.

Sure, we are lucky to have the 'King of Fruit' be native to our country, along with the coconut and even the pomegranate, but we (and the plant kingdom) accepted globalisation a long time ago. Neither the onion, garlic nor chilli are native to this country, having *only* reached some 5000 years ago.

And so it is with our fruit.

Our world was a mash-up of food, culture, plants and people centuries before the Internet and 'neo-globalisation'. The idea of a 'pure' race, species or culture is, at best, imaginary. Nonetheless, we have a treasure chest of indigenous fruits that are often, too 'inconvenient' to be mass produced, due to either a short shelf life, annoying seeds, or a long gestation period. But they hold within them the stories of our ancestors, of our land and our culture. They need to be saved, if only to maintain the intricate cycles of biodiversity that we, and our planet, thrive on.

PHALSA Grewia asiatica Phalsa is a small berry in a gorgeous plum colour, with a hard shell that hides white, grape-like flesh inside. The berry is sweet, but balanced with astringent, acidic and sour notes, or the flavours of cranberry, grape and jamun. Unsurprisingly, given the fruit’s arrival during the scorching months of summer , it acts as a coolant and is used to treat dehydration.

Peak season Phalsa is a summer fruit, and is readily available from March to June acorss the country. The harvesting season however, is short, lasting only three weeks.

How to cook it Phalsa sherbet is a legendary summer drink employing its tart flavour and anti-coolant properties to full effect. It is, however, exceptionally difficult to de-seed. Traditionally, the fruit is soaked overnight in a shallow bowl of water, squished by hand, and then passed through a sieve. Once juiced, it is easy to make the delicious syrup that has long been a delicacy in northern India. It is often used as a substitute in recipes that call for black currant.

Flavour complements Cranberry, strawberry, mulberry, cherry, jamun, tomato, mint, bananas, lamb/game, pinot noir, chocolate, salt.

Growing the fruit at home The phalsa tree is a drought-resistant, hardy plant that can grow in most kinds of soil. Because it is more of a shrub, and the flowers are beautiful, it makes for an excellent house-plant.

WATER CALTROPE (SINGHADA) Trapa genus Contrary to popular belief, singhada is not the water chestnut. Though they look and behave extremely similar, the true singhada is far more sinister — winged like a bat, it is extremely poisonous when raw.

Though not of the same family, the water chestnut could be called a close 'family friend'. Fresh chestnuts are flavourful: sweet, nutty and tart, flavoured like a cross between coconut and apple. Water chestnuts are a staple in Chinese cooking, often found in stir-fries and wantons. Seeds of some species of these nuts are preserved in honey and sugar, and candied.

Singhada or water caltrope however, is darker, and has a nutty flavour, reminiscent of chestnuts, brazil nuts and peanuts, with a hint of sweetness. Its texture is starchy and crumbly.

Peak season Not unlike other shelled nuts, caltrops are an autumn and early winter treat. They are most often planted in June, and bear fruit in November.

How to cook it They are either boiled or slow-dried and roasted before opening. Be warned that opening and extracting the meat is a time-consuming task. Traditionally, the fruit is dried and ground to a flour called singhare ka atta, used in many religious foods and ubiquitous in the phalahar (fruit diet) during the navratas. There are also several versions of a singhada ki sabzi made around the country, putting its starchy fullness to good use.

Flavour complements Star anise, mango, pepper, bacon, Indian masalas, soya, garlic, vinegar, mayonnaise, spinach, green onions, asparagus, onions, oyster sauce, prawn, chicken, beef, pork.

Growing the fruit at home Water chestnuts are easy to grow in any container that holds water. Seed tubers directly into soil and fill with water. You will have to uproot the plant to harvest, since the nuts are the root of the plant.

STARFRUIT Averrhoa carambola

Green and firm when raw, and a subtle yellow with 'burnt' edges when ripe, this fruit is named for the star-shaped discs it yields when sliced. The fruit is fragile but crunchy to the bite, a watery hybrid between grape and pear. Ripe starfruit are mildly sweet, with sugar content that hovers at about 4%, and a tart, sour undertone. Unripe starfruit are firm and sour, and taste very much like green apples.

A variant of the starfruit is the Indian variety of bilimbi. This fruit is far more acerbic, and without the five ridges that lend its cousin a visual edge. Bilimbi lemonades are famous and the fruit is often used in chutneys, pickles and jams.

Peak season Star fruit season is year-round, although they flourish during two particular times of the year: September through October, and January through February.

How to cook it The starfruit has travelled far and wide, and both raw and ripe varieties are used all over the world. They are used in relishes in Australia, consumed dried in Jamaica, and used in Thailand and China to cook alongside shrimp and fish. Many in India use raw star fruit as a substitute for tamarind, even using it to make a starfruit rasam. Both ripe and raw starfruit are great in salads, particularly on Asian-inspired menus. They also make for great desserts when stewed. The starfruit is presently going through a renaissance on the cocktail front, and many bars in India have wholeheartedly embraced the fruit.

Flavour complements The duality of starfruit is in its mild flavor. Although too subtle on its own, the fruit's delicate flavour lends itself to pairings very well. See: Bilimbi, kiwi, pineapple, orange, banana, strawberry, cacao, cashew apple, guava, citron, coconut, cucumber, kokum, kumquat, lemon, lime, lychee, mango, mangosteen, nungu, papaya, passion fruit, pomegranate, pomelo, rambutan, amla, sweet lime.

Vegetables: Tomato, cucumber, bell pepper, celery root, celery stalk, cabbage, radish, shredded raw papaya, shredded raw mango, kimchi, onion.

Herbs, oil, and spices: The star fruit is well complemented by most nuts and seeds, apple cider vinegar, soy sauce, rice wine vinegar, lemongrass, chilli, turmeric, coriander, cumin, black pepper, basil, mint, liquorice, anise, clove, nutmeg, cardamom, saffron, vanilla, black tea, green tea, sugar syrup, jaggery, agave, vodka, rum, white wine, champagne, ginger, sesame oil, coconut oil, coconut milk.

Growing the fruit at home The ‘Maher Dwarf’ variety bears small to medium-sized fruit on a three-foot tall tree. Its beautiful pink flowers make it a pretty addition to any garden, even when the fruit is not in season.

BAEL (WOOD APPLE) Limonia acidissima As the name suggests, this fruit literally looks like an apple made out of wood. Its hard, wood-like exterior conceals a creamy orange pulp.

Its flavour is sweet, pungent and lemony, with a pleasantly fermented aftertaste. When raw, it can be compared with the tamarind. The texture of its flesh is granular and fibrous, yet damp and sticky. Its numerous tiny, hard seeds require no spitting or removal. You will know the fruit has ripened when you catch a whiff of its unique aroma: a fermented sweetness, similar to raisins or blue cheese!

Peak season India’s bael season is February through May.

How to cook it A few soft, consistent blows with a heavy knife around the middle will help open the fruit. Raw wood apple is often used as a substitute for tamarind in chutneys, and in a delicious Andhra pachadi with yogurt and chillies. The ripe fruit can be used in a variety of desserts — from pancakes to custard, panna cotta and ice cream.

Flavour complements Tamarind, orange, lemon, lime, kumquat, vanilla, coconut milk, dairy products, chilli, fennel, pepper, nuts.

Growing the fruit at home The wood apple tree, grown from seed, can take up to 15 years to fruit. They grow into large, shade-giving trees — perfect for the dry plains that they are native to.

KARONDA Carissa carandas A nutrition-heavy wild berry, the karonda is an olive-shaped fruit with tiny seeds at its core. These pinkish-white berries are sour with the dry astringent taste of jamun. They do have a slight, almost-salty taste that lends it the depth of umami. Extremely addictive when sprinkled with a bit of rock salt.

The natal plum (Carissa spinarum), bears close resemblance in name, appearance and lineage, and cause many to mistake karonda for its sweeter cousin.

Peak season Fruit harvest is August through October, though unripe fruit gets plucked from May to June.

How to cook it In India, karonda has traditionally been relegated to the pickles-&-chutney aisle. However, in its ripe form, the karonda has now become commercially viable as India's answer to the maraschino cherry. They are also a great substitute for recipes that require cranberries, turning a tender, luscious purple as they ripen. A great source of natural pectin, these berries also make for great jams and sweet pickles. When sweetened in brown sugar, clove, and cinnamon, karondas can substitute apple in tarts and pies. For a more modern riff, they are great addition in salsas; their flavours balancing well with avocado and lime.

Flavour complements Cranberry, raw mango, amla, orange, lemon, pear, ricotta, almonds, tamarind paste, turmeric, chili, garam masala, parsley, fenugreek, asafoetida, coriander, lime, mustard seed, garlic, vinegar, salt, curry leaves, white wine, nutmeg, anise.

Growing the fruit at home Karonda is a perennial evergreen that is often used as spiny ornamental plant with beautiful jasmine-like white flowers. It grows well in most parts of India.

BUDDHA'S HAND Citrus medica var. sarcodactylis India is one of only three countries in the world that grow this fruit, and we must start putting it to good use. This intriguing fruit has no pulp, juice, and or seeds. It wholly consists of rind – but oh, what a rind it is.

On her website, chef Julie Logue-Riordan writes about cooking with the zest, describing overtones of ‘coconut, macadamia nut, banana, light caramel and cinnamon.’ Buddha’s Hand also trumps other kinds of citrus in that it lacks bitterness, and the zest can be used whole.

Peak season Buddha’s hand season is in the winter, from November through January.

How to cook it You can substitute this fruit in any recipe calling for a lemon zest, but its complexity carries it far beyond the call of duty. A teaspoon of finely ground rind can go into tea, smoothies, juice, or even plain water. Same with alcohol infusions (Buddhacello!). It also makes for delicious vinaigrettes, marinades for tofu and fish, in soy dips, tamarind pastes and date-based sweet glazes.

Flavour complements Fruits All citrus fruit, passion fruit, apricot, peach, fig, pomegranate, cacao, bel, date, wood apple, kiwi, kokum, tamarind, kumquat, sea buckthorn, mango.

Vegetables: Bell pepper, tomato, bamboo, asparagus, fiddlehead fern, beans, raw papaya, leeks, cucumber.

Herbs, spices, and oil: Vanilla, cocoa, jasmine, orange blossom, mint, honey, coconut oil, white wine, vodka, amaretto, rum, olive oil, mustard, wasabi, thyme, lavender, lemongrass, green tea, black tea, miso, ginger, coriander, chilli.

Growing the fruit at home The Buddhas Hand is often planted as an ornamental tree in gardens, patios and terraces. It grows best in temperate conditions. Trees can be grown from cuttings of branches that are two to four years old.

TAARGOLA Borassus flabellifer This coconut-like fruit has a tough, black shell. It cuts like a coconut on the top, to reveal three translucent, sweet, jelly seed sockets, like lychees with no pit. Inside, this pod is a refreshing, sugary liquid similar to coconut water.

Peak season Palm fruit season is perfectly timed for the hot summers in South India from May through August.

How to cook it Its sweetness and gelatinous texture makes it a popular choice for sweet dishes from around India — it is delicious deep-fried in flour or rice batter. Thai pancakes are made from its flesh; it is also used in milkshakes, smoothies and juices. The jelly part of the fruit is covered with a thin, yellowish-brown skin that can even be eaten raw, boiled, or roasted.

Flavour complements Coconut, lime, mango, pineapple, papaya, jackfruit, sweet lime, orange, pomegranate, lychee, longan, kiwi, apple, pista, guava, dairy, avocado, rice, almond, cardamom, rose water, saffron, jaggery, pistachio, basil.

Growing the fruit at home Taargola grows on large, beautiful palm trees, which will be difficult in a balcony, but do very well in even a tiny garden space.

MYSORE RASPBERRY Rubus niveus The Mysore raspberry grows rampantly, but is hard to find in markets because of its high perishability. They do freeze well though, and will keep up to a year.

Unlike other variants of raspberry, the Mysore raspberry is red when unripe, and slowly shifts to a gorgeous, deep blue before settling on a rich purple hue. Taste-wise, they are more delicately flavoured than their more famous siblings, the raspberry and blackberry.

Peak season Mysore raspberries grow year-round, but the berries peak from May through July.

How to cook it In India, they are mostly just eaten straight off the plant. Mysore raspberry can be used as a substitute for any recipe calling for red raspberries and blackberries.

Flavour complements Apricot, cherry, fig, grape, date, plum, pomegranate, balsamic vinegar, basil, sage, mint, citrus, cinnamon, clove, ginger, cardamom, rose, port, red wine.

Growing it at home Mysore raspberries can easily be grown in your balcony garden, and often grow so profusely they will have to be constantly pruned to prevent overgrowth. Watch out for the spiny thorns, that are sometimes even on the leaves.

As appeared in Goya Journal and Scroll.in

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