#Fried Dough Stick

[buffetlicious]

Rojak (罗惹) means an “eclectic mix” in colloquial Malay. It is a local salad of mixed vegetables, fruits, and dough fritters that is covered in a sticky black sauce and garnished with chopped peanuts and finely-cut fragrant ginger flowers for a piquant taste. But the Youtiao Rojak (S$3) from Dough Culture (小麥家) uses only youtiao (油条) or fried dough stick with sweet and tangy sauce made from fermented prawn paste, sugar, lime and/or chilli paste. Sprinkled with crushed peanuts and sesame seeds to give it the nutty fragrant. I added a wedge of pineapple to give volume and texture to the mix.

[anachrosims]

Chanukah Sameach to the Jewish simmers on my dash <3 <3 <3

[anon-apple]

Hot Soup and Soft Bread 13

Table of Contents and Synopsis <- Chapter 12 Read on WordPress

Chapter 13: Soymilk and Fried Dough I

T/N: New chapter title! One of my favorite breakfast combos~[1]

The next morning, Zhou Cunqu woke up before Zhong Qiuyan. He dug himself out of Qiuyan’s arms and took a deep breath. With one finger, he grazed Qiuyan’s face, then he rubbed his ear, and then he leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips. Qiuyan, still half-asleep, laughed and said: “Some people act like a pervert first thing in the morning.”

Cunqu said: “The alarm’s about to go off.”

Qiuyan opened his eyes, looked at the clock, and sat up. Then he lay back down, drew Cunqu into his arms, and started messily kissing him. The alarm then really went off.

Qiuyan got up once again. He stood amid the piles of books and stretched. Cunqu suddenly stretched out his leg and lightly pressed his foot against his underwear. Qiuyan almost fell on top of the books. Cunqu started chuckling.

Recently, Da Yu did actually go to study hairdressing at a trade school. He spent the money to buy a fake head; he heard that from long hair to short hair you could cut it 300 different times. When he was on break, he went to find Qiuyan at the bus station to get lunch together. Qiuyan sat under the shade of a tree deep in thought. Da Yu hit him and asked: “What are you thinking about?”

Qiuyan bluntly replied, “About things that happen in a bed.” He asked if Da Yu had any experience. The latter rebuked, “How could I have experience on what it’s like between two men.”

Qiuyan grumbled, “I knew I couldn’t depend on you.”

After a bit, Da Yu cleared his throat and asked a bit awkwardly: “How far have you two gotten?”

Qiuyan also cleared his throat. He replied with a red face, “Not telling.”

A couple of days ago, when Qiuyan stayed over, he and Cunqu were kissing against his bed. And he got hard from the kissing. Cunqu laughed as he said, “Really impressive.”

Ever since they started dating, Qiuyan had only gone as far as feeling around underneath Cunqu’s pajamas. That day he pressed Cunqu beneath him, bit the side of his neck, and grinded against him. Cunqu slid his hand under his underwear. Qiuyan immediately stopped moving; he didn’t even dare to breathe. Cunqu stroked him, his head pressed against Qiuyan’s chest. Qiuyan couldn’t last for long. Cunqu pressed his lips against his ear and said: “Little virgin.”

Reminiscing to this point, he suddenly said to Da Yu: “It was oddly exciting.”

Da Yu yelled: “Who asked!”

After meeting up with Zhou Pianyan, Qiuyan asked Cunqu if they wanted to move the time of their walk to earlier and try to go outside when it’s still day. Liu Xiaoying had a calligraphy class at the school for the elderly in the afternoons twice a week. One of those days was coincidentally Qiuyan’s day off from work. They had lunch together. Xiaoying went back to her room for a midday nap and then headed out right after. Qiuyan had recently bought two new outfits for Cunqu that fit better. He hugged Cunqu’s waist and said, “Our family's kid needs to eat more. And be less picky. Or he’ll get beat.”

Cunqu laughed. Nowadays even if he didn’t have an appetite he would force himself to eat something.

Qiuyan tugged Cunqu’s hand and said: “It’s really hot outside in the afternoon. Just listen to those cicadas.” He stuck a small fan in Cunqu’s hand. And so Cunqu held that pink mini fan and walked slowly downstairs with Qiuyan. The new resident on the fourth floor was a family of three. The child was a chubby little kid around four or five years old who was attending a kindergarten nearby. 

That day, teacher Zhuang’s place on the third floor had its door open. A few people were talking inside. Cunqu was a little nervous. Qiuyan squeezed his hand and said, “Look at me, don’t look over there.”

They walked down to the first floor. Perhaps because it was too hot out, the Go table of the “Double Yolk Egg” grandpas was there, but they were not. Qiuyan and Cunqu sat down at their chairs. They didn’t speak for a while, and instead blankly stared at the garden in front of them. A few dragonflies flew by in the garden. It was an incredibly ordinary scene, but Cunqu suddenly felt like he was in a dream. A dream where he didn't shut himself up for two years. A dream where this was just any other summer day of the 29th year of his life.

Qiuyan spoke up from the side, telling him that the city’s art museum had a large glass lotus pond. These few days were the last days of their flowering season, and a bunch of people were there to take photos. He asked Cunqu if he wanted to take a look.

Cunqu was still watching the dragonfly in front of him. He lightly said, “That was designed by our team.” Qiuyan turned to look at him. He leaned against his chair and said with his head lowered, “It was designed by me…”

--

Teacher Zhuang passed away. When one did the math, she was even younger than Liu Xiaoying by two years. Xiaoying went to attend her funeral at noon. Cunqu sat at the dining table eating a set meal that Qiuyan had ordered for him. When Qiuyan called him, a lot of noise and bustle came from the other end of the call. He asked, “Are you eating?”

Cunqu replied: “I’m eating right now.”

It sounded like Qiuyan ran to somewhere more quiet, and he continued to ask: “Does it suit your taste?”

Cunqu said: “It’s not bad.” He made an effort to finish the majority of his bowl of rice. Right now, he didn’t just want to persist for Xiaoying’s birthday celebration. He also wanted to try his best to become a lover worthy of Zhong Qiuyan. 

After Qiuyan heard Cunqu say that, he suddenly flicked Cunqu’s forehead, saying: “‘Obsessive try-hard disorder’, get away from my ge’s body. Ge is already the most perfect person in this world.”

Cunqu held his forehead and laughed.

When Xiaoying returned back home, she was visibly fatigued. She sat down on the couch and massaged her own leg. Qiuyan eagerly ran over and helped her massage her shoulders. Xiaoying rambled on about her and Teacher Zhuang’s revolutionary friendship. The two of them both started off as teachers in a small rural town. Then they were transferred to the city’s First Elementary School. After that, the school was renamed Experimental Elementary School. One became the academic administration director, the other the vice principal, all the way until retirement. 

Teacher Zhuang had a loud voice. She was very serious and didn’t date until pretty late. Her husband was the younger cousin of  Qi Wenxian, Xiaoying’s husband. The two men passed away one after the other. Teacher Zhuang and Xiaoying had joked that they had “returned to the single life.”

The first year that Cunqu isolated himself, Xiaoying headed over to Teacher Zhuang’s place to cry every time she felt down, then she would return to her place and make food for Cunqu with a smile. When Teacher Zhuang was diagnosed with dementia and was sent to a care facility, Xiaoying stood outside the building and watched her old friend get taken away by the facility’s vehicle. In mental confusion, Teacher Zhuang kept crying. She reached out a hand towards Xiaoying and asked through her tears: “Didn’t mom say it was time for dinner? Where are they taking me? Go tell my mom that I’m being taken away.”

Xiaoying had held her hand with red-rimmed eyes.

Xiaoying came back to her senses after losing herself for a bit in the memories and suddenly said to Qiuyan: “After people get old, they turn into useless baggage.”

Qiuyan said: “Who said that? Liu Xiaoying you are a very useful, very extraordinary lady.”

Xiaoying started laughing and placed her hands on her hips: “Of course.”

She turned her head and saw Cunqu standing at the door watching her. She smiled and said: “Grandma is fine.” She stood up and slowly walked to Cunqu and hugged him, repeating: “Grandma is fine.”

-> Chapter 14

Footnotes

[1] There is no agreed-upon translation for 油条 (Yóutiáo) (wikipedia). I’ve seen “fried dough”, “fried dough stick”, “oil stick,” “fried chinese donut”. Essentially, it’s a large stick of airy dough that’s deep fried. It’s oily, crispy on the outside, chewy on the inside from the gluten. It’s an extremely common and popular breakfast food especially in combination with (and dipped into) soy milk or congee. [2] Qiuyan jokingly referring to Cunqu as the “kid” here. Qiuyan has this habit of tacking on “our family’s” (我们家) when he’s talking about Cunqu. Rather than its literal meaning, it’s an affectionate descriptor which conveys a little bit of possessiveness too. And it’s not odd to address in third-person someone you are directly talking to in Chinese. [3] Cicadas are louder when it’s hotter. Not sure why or if it’s actually scientifically true, just something people including me have observed lol

T/N: Is grandma fine though...is grandma fine?? Reading this, I cried. Translating this, I think I cried again. Editing this, I'm about to cry the third time! Something about the thought that Teacher Zhuang and Xiaoying had been friends ever since they were girls, young women, working together in the same place for decades, marrying men who were cousins, settling down and living just one floor away from each other, being close friends, confidantes, practically sisters...and then Xiaoying having to watch her lose herself to the inevitability of dementia, brought away because she couldn't take care of herself, and then eventually passing away. Like, just, fuck. Maybe that's just something that people get used to at this age, but just as a reader I feel so much pain, but also so much fear, because it's not just that you're losing someone so near and dear to you, you're also seeing a version of how you might end up in a few years, a few months.

[icewindandboringhorror]

It always seems a bit unbalanced on The Great Food Truck Race when there will be multiple teams who are cooking a wide variety of complex dishes with 10 different components and a bunch of prep work, and then there's that one team who like... exclusively serves plain crepes with some premade nutella on them, or plain waffles with just some whipped cream and cut up strawberries lol...

[caoimhe-from-hoenn]

Been busy over the last week with the rangers too bc im being shipped over to Alola soon for some invasive species shit

If you read ranger journals and have heard of the mutated sapphire Starmie that's the one

[foxghost]

Lately I've started swapping breakfast with dinner

The heaviest meal served first thing in the morning, lunch stays the same, then something light for dinner.

I had some cucumbers, tomatoes, and shredded red cabbage so i made a salad and served it with coconut rice and jerk chicken. Everything was cooked within 20 minutes. You can turn any combination of raw vegetables into a great salad with a pinch of salt, a spoonful of sugar, half a lemon's worth of lemon juice, and curry paste or plain crisp lao gan ma no please don't be like me and put lao gan ma in everything

[inaweofmytism]

I’ve known that swords like these from sawfish snouts were made and have been made for a while, but I love the idea that an American sailor would see that and think “holy shit a cool sword! I want one!”

Scrimshawed Sawfish sword with Sailor’s Rights and a whale, America, 19th century

[oni28]

August 2024 Recipe_Mexican Recipe 03

[Recipe Information]

※ Need Recipe Pack Mod Latest Version (24.08.08 version) ※

Churros

1, 4, 8 serve

Category : Desserts

Cooking Level_03

Vegetarian-Safe. Lactose Free. Churro is a cinnamon and sugar-topped fried pastry dough stick.

Required Ingredients for 1 serve : Flour(1)

Required Ingredients for 4 serve : Flour(1), Sugar(1), Chocolate Syrup(1)

Required Ingredients for 8 serve : Flour(2), Sugar(2), Chocolate Syrup(1)

Lots challenge 'Simple Living' Compatible

Group Cooking Compatible

Marquesita

1, 4, 8 serve

Category : Desserts

Cooking Level_05

Vegetarian-Safe. Marquesita is a dessert native to the state of Mexico. It consists of a crepe, rolled like a taco, filled with condensed milk, jam, chocolate or edam cheese. It is sold in squares, parks and streets.

Required Ingredients for 1 serve : Any Cheese(1)

Required Ingredients for 4 serve : Any Cheese(1), Flour(1), Any Chocolate(1)

Required Ingredients for 8 serve : Any Cheese(2), Flour(2), Any Chocolate(2)

Lots challenge 'Simple Living' Compatible

Group Cooking Compatible

All ingredients are optional

[Language]

Korean (by_oni)

English (by_oni)

📌T.O.U

-Don’t re-upload

(Latest patch compatible)

👩‍👩‍👧‍👦 Public Released on September 3rd, 2024 (KST)

Churros_DL

Marquesita_DL

[buffetlicious]

My ramen dinner wasn’t filling so I picked up a bowl of Youtiao Rojak (S$3) from Dough Culture (小麥家). The slice of pineapple I got it separately from the fruit stall. Cut up the pineapple into small bite size portions and add into the bowl, pouring the prawn paste based rojak sauce all over it. I am happy with my savoury sweet & crispy youtiao (fried dough fritter) with tangy sweet juicy pineapple for the after-meal snack.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Congratulations on the well-deserved 900 followers.

"That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Carnival Date

Don't ask me how, but this turned into 600 words

It had taken a little convincing, and maybe a few well placed bribes, but you had managed to get Jason Todd to join you at the Gotham City fairgrounds.

You had planned it all, carnival games, pig races, greasy, fried fair food, and rides that made you want to puke all that food back up.

It was nearly perfect, even if Jason didn't seem completely excited, he still won you a prize at the shooting game. (Stunning the worker who had seemed so sure he would lose) He still indulged in milkshakes, chili dogs, and enough fried dough you nearly went into a food coma.

But for as fun as it all was, it wasn't perfect enough. You wanted him to have a good day. A day he could look back on as a fond memory. A memory with you.

And you had almost done it! Almost created the best, most wonderful day. Until it started to rain, just before you got in line for the ferris wheel.

Jason had been quick to usher you both undercover, watching as the busy crowds practically disappeared to seek shelter from the impending storm.

The dark, rolling clouds made your heart drop. It wasn't supposed to rain today. You had checked the weather, found the one day Gotham was supposed to have sun, planned incessantly, done everything you could to make the day amazing, and now it was ruined. And you had barely managed to make him smile.

Your shoulders slump, trying to hide the defeated look on your face as the sky starts to downpour. Which was sooo great, of course. You're sure Jason will love getting soaked to the bone.

Who are you kidding? You shift your weight, certain he'll never go anywhere with you again.

"This was the most fun I've had in years," Jason's easy tone cuts through your self-deprecating thoughts, and you snap your head towards him.

He can't be serious. You narrow your eyes slightly, almost offended he would lie, "It's raining."

He nods sagely, holding his hand out to catch some droplets on his fingers, "That it is."

"It doesn't look like it's going to stop," You point out.

"No, it doesn't," he agrees idly, eyes finally meeting yours.

"We're going to get wet," you try, uncertain why he seems so calm.

"We can use my jacket as cover if it bothers you," he drawls, already moving to tug his arms out of the sleeves.

"No," You say quickly, grabbing his arm to stop him. He goes still, and his lips quirk up in a half-smirk.

"Then what's the problem? We can handle some rain," he asks, catching your fingers when you move to drop your hand. He rubs your hand between his palms, and you didn't realize how cold they were until he starts sharing his warmth.

"I just– I wanted today to be nice," you mumble, a little embarrassed.

"It was, still is," he says, voice as soft as his eyes.

You fall quiet for a moment, biting back most of the arguments you want to make as he continues to warm your hands, "The fair's going to close."

"We can go to that restaurant down the street instead," he suggests, tugging your hand into his pocket. He does it so casually, you almost don't even register it, "the one you like to get takeout from?"

You stare at him, one hand in his jacket pocket, and the other on the prize he's won for you. He always seems to find a way to catch you off guard, to shut down every negative thought circulating in your head.

"Yeah. Okay," You agree, almost knocked breathless by the smile that spreads across his face.

"Good. C'mon," he tells you, and soon enough, you find yourself giggling and running from cover to cover with him.

Your clothes stick to your skin, your socks are soaked, and your hair is completely unsalvageable, but his eyes are just as bright as yours. And it's perfect.

[peridot-tears]

Ngl all my Chinese ass can think of is this:

I'm screaming.

I'm swimming through Chinese side of Assassin's Creed fandom rn, and one ship name I've seen for Arno/Jacob?

Well, in English, we call it French Frye. That's self-explanatory.

In Chinese? 油炸法棍。Fried baguette. Fryed Baguette.

Have fun with this knowledge.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Dealer.

Yan Dabi x F Reader.

Synopsis: Your date at the bar doesn't go so well. While crying, a scarred hand passes you a cigarette without a word.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, violence, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 600.

*~*~*~*

“How did you know?”

The stranger makes no move to answer your question that is laced with slurred wording and sniffles, instead opting to lean against the telephone booth’s door. He holds a mere box of cigarettes, but to you, he may as well be holding your world in his gloved palm.

After a while the man shakes his head, placing the tip of his thumb just beneath the edge of the unlit cigarette. In the blink of an eye, it was lit just like yours was seconds ago.

There are plenty of sounds to be heard tonight in this crowded city – cars revving up to undisclosed locations, people leaving and entering buildings, bright lights that come with little beeping sounds every time they change color. The City of Angels is what it is called, despite it attacking your dreams every evening you decide to give a man a chance.

What you will never forget though, are the sounds of ignition and the man’s grunts as the already dirty air begins to decline in quality. 

This time was no different – your date never showed up and you drank all alone until you could hardly walk.

“How did you know… I smoke?” You ask, inhaling the refreshing scents of smoke and alcohol. If only you had some of the latter to wash down all that overpriced bar food; you can swear that some of the fried dough is stuck between your back molars.

“Seemed like the type, honestly.” The company replies. Your opinion of him is at a standstill – he is both unwanted and wanted, all because of the nicotine-filled sticks in his jacket pocket. If it weren’t for that and you were sober, you’d call a cab faster before he even had the chance to speak to you.

“Am I supposed to be insulted?”

“No. Just an observation of mine.” He then resumes to not looking at you and instead to the inside of the telephone booth. Putting the sole reason you’re talking to him back to where it came from, he takes out a single small coin. It disappears into the slot as he picks up the phone, dialing away. Despite him not saying anything, you cannot hear anything else aside from how his fingers slide back and forth on the rotary dial like a carousel. “Can’t believe they still make these, huh?”

“Oh.” 

You didn’t realize you were staring for a bit too long, but he still hasn’t looked at you since passing along one of his cigarettes.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I get them sometimes. Used to it, you see.” He picks up the phone, leaning it on his shoulder to support it. “Your boyfriend dumped you?”

“He wasn’t really my boyfriend,” You answer, still drunk and not seeing the bigger picture. You’ll see it soon though, after this first encounter. “We were matched online, and this was supposed to be an introductory date.”

“That’s what I hate about those sites,” The man sighs. “They always pair up someone good with someone not good enough for them.”

“I suppose…” You respond, looking up at the smoky sky. With your hazy vision, the stars seem so close – like they can burn you if they want to. “Thanks for the cigarette.”

“Anytime, [First].”

You didn’t hear the other word, but Dabi didn’t care much that he slipped up. You’re drunk, after all. Soon enough ripe for the picking.

[lunachy]

New Limited 6★ Defender: Yu

Primal Protector Defender

Illustrator: 1000_Kangk

Trait: Blocks 3 enemies, and can inflict Elemental Damage

Talent 1: The Golden Rule

Whenever Yu blocks an enemy, he gains Shelter. Enemies blocked by Yu take Arts Damage/second and ATK% Burn Impairment/Second.

Talent 2: Hidden Clouds

If there are a certain amount of deployed Operators or more, heal health and Elemental Impairment every second.

Skill 1: Today's Host

Passive: +1 Taunt.

Active: +DEF, +HP. Whenever Yu is attacked, deal Burn Damage to that enemy.

Skill 2: Generous Gifts, Distinguished Guests

+2 Block, +Max HP, +ATK. Yu's attacks deal Arts Damage. When You activate this skill, deal Arts Damage to all ground enemies in range, then teleport them into Yu's tile.

(Note: Yu only teleports enemies whose pathing would be lined up with where Yu is. So you can not yoink enemies from entirely seperate paths, like say in 1-7.)

Skill 3: All The World's a Stove

+ATK, +DEF, +Max HP. Yu gives Talent 2 to all deployed Operators. When You activate this skill, create a firewall in front of Yu, that spans across the entire width or length of the battlefield. Whenever an ally attacks an enemy across the firewall, they also deal Burn Damage. Whenever an enemy projectile would cross the firewall, it has a chance to be deleted.

Translated Weibo Introduction:

"Hello, you must be the doctor. I'm here to visit my brothers and sisters. Is this where visitors register? Okay - Logistics Officer Entry Contract? Sister Nian! You lied to me again!"

__________________

At dawn, Yu set up a breakfast stall in front of his store.

The first batch of customers had already been waiting on the street. As usual, they asked for a few steamed buns, left coins, and hurried to work. Some of them left their things in a hurry, and Yu had to run a few steps to stuff them into the hands of the customers.

As the sun gradually rose, the elderly who were exercising in the early morning and the residents who went out to buy vegetables came to the stall in groups to buy breakfast for their families. Some wanted the fried dough sticks to be older, some wanted salty paste with spicy sweet paste and less sugar, five or ten portions were all different requirements, but this did not prevent Yu from chatting with the neighbors while turning the fried dough sticks over and putting them into the oil pan. Soon, they carried large and small bags to their homes.

The hawkers were calling out from all around, and the bells and horns were ringing on the street. Students were rushing to class, but they didn't mind spending a few minutes watching the chef, who was about the same height as them, making pancakes or rice balls. Those accompanied by their parents would occasionally be nagged by gossips like, "Look at the young chef", so Yu had to quickly smooth things over and hand the breakfast he had just made to the customers. After they opened their mouths and took a bite of the food, they had no time to criticize or refute.

Stop the chattering mouths and feed the hungry stomachs, whether it is the morning market, afternoon tea or dinner, this is what cooking is all about.

The food delivery cart stopped in front of the store, announcing the official end of breakfast time. After Yu sold and gave away the remaining meals to several latecomers, he took the stall back to the store. The waiter Lao Jiang got off the car and helped his small shopkeeper chef to move the dishes into the back kitchen, cleaned the shop, set up the benches, and lit the stove.

Thus Yuweiju was officially opened.

[grimsonandclover]

The diner booth is comfortable enough, the red vinyl cracking and exposing veins of yellow foam that have probably soaked years of spilled drinks and dripped sauce into them. You think about it every time you sit on them.

"What," Patrick clears his throat, adjusting himself in the seat opposite you as his eyes glance at fingers that play with a simple gold pendant around your neck, "Do you want to order anything?"

The menu is the same it always has been. Shrimp cocktail nobody ever has or ever should order, cheeseburgers that could send you into a coma, mozerella sticks and onion rings that taste like hollow dough. The food is lackluster but that's never why you came here, not for those. No, Patrick and you would always order-

"Just fries."

He swallows thickly. Patrick always asks, or always did, more out of habit than necessity. It was always a basket of fries split between the two of you here. The only thing that has felt normal to him in a lifetime. Those are the first words you've spoken to him since you'd told him to leave.

How many words ago was that? How many basket of fries lost since? Immesurable.

They're eaten in silence, which had never happened before. Years before, the meal would be filled with chatter and laughter, drama and gossip, bickering and jabs. No smart remarks were launched from one end of the veneered table to the other, no side-long glances or words of praise or scorn. Just the shuffling behind the diner counter as Marta wipes the laminate down and Billy finishes the night's dwindling orders in the kitchen behind. Forks scrape against ceramic, cups clank, someone coughs. Neither of you speak.

Patrick clears his throat for a second time. Looking over through the window beside you, one that faces the snowy parking lot, he asks you a silent question.

"Let's go to mine." You answer, knowing you're sparing him the shame of explaining his situtation if you offered his.

He's sat on your couch while you're on the floor, your head leaning back against the cushion while he crosses his arms across and Patrick props his feet up on your coffee table.

"Fuck, just... I don't know, say something."

You can tell the quiet is stressing him out, it always has. Quiet was either filled with judgement and strain, or it was filled with his ramblings. It never just existed. "Don't know what to say." It's the truth, you don't.

"Well, then... how are you doing?"

You shrug. He's still your Facebook friend, and you know he checks it. According to that, you're thriving.

"Jesus, man..."

Thirteen years has put distance between you, so much so that the invisible string tying you two together must look worn and frayed. It's been hard for you lately, a fact not broadcasted on your Facebook (where the only thing posted there now are updates you'd care for extended family to see). Patrick can see it, though. He saw it the moment he saw you on the court.

Your knuckles are red and scraped like your knees, creases now appear at the corner of your eyes and mouth when you talk and smile or frown, new and old scars litter your shoulder and chest. When you were eleven, the two of you were running in his backyard and you cut yourself on the shin with a jutting out bit of rock on a nearby fountain you'd circled, threatening Patrick that you'd jump in and through it to catch him. He can still see that scar now, skin bare as you sit in your same tennis shorts and tank.

Patrick could smell your sweat and perfume, and feel your hair tickle his thigh, and breathe your air, and see you, but he couldn't hear you. A pack of Camel Blues is pulled from his pocket. Same ones he's always smoked.

You'd scold him for smoking in your apartment, but that's too many words you'd care to spare him. At least the balcony doors are open.

He pulls two out, placing them both between his lips and grabbing the lighter you're suddenly handing him, your empty fingers now given one of the two lit cigarettes. A habit picked up as kids.

The cigarettes dwindle in your novelty ashtray, and now Patrick stands at your front door, pulling a threadbare coat over tired, cold muscle. Your fault for not turning on the heat. You think the years did him good. A part of you hopes they have, one that's lied dormant since it all ended. That part of you is old and sleepy, quiet as it's awoken, but you can still hear it. You really hope he's alright. The stubble looks alright.

He's looking down at his shoes, then yours, then to the golden pendant that he gave you exactly thirteen years ago, then to you.

"You've spoken exactly eleven words to me." Patrick can't look you in the eye, a weak smile on the corner of his mouth as his gaze darts down again. "Almost one for every year."

You hesitate for a moment before you reach up and behind your neck. You almost don't.

Grabbing his hand and pulling his fingers apart, the only contact you've made with him, you can feel the same callouses on warm, distantly familiar skin. His nails are in the same sorry state they've always been, bitten down and beaten for a good thirty-one years. He's confused by what you're doing, and then you're making his heart stop, head spin. When he looks into his palm, he sees the gift.

"Goodbye, Patrick."

[thetxtdevil]

Ok hear me out, festival yeonjun taking his significant other and being so dang horny cause she dressed cute & couldn't wait for it to be over so they have a quickie in one of the tents he rented 🥴 I'm in deep with this man.

I hear you, and it sounds like summertime is in the air~

---

Bright color tents matching the brightness of the sun. Bells chiming as a sign of winners, sounds of laughter and joyful screaming. You were with your boyfriend, Yeonjun, when someone bombarded you to play their tent game. Reluctant at first, you observe the game and saw the possible prize, the cutest plush fox. You nod at the game host, given darts you throw them at the balloons. Yeonjun watches you throw horribly at the balloons he laughed, but couldn't help but to check you out. He focuses on you biting your lip in concentration, then down to your tight pink crop-tank, down to your flared jean skirt.

You pout at your loss, winning a tiny monkey keychain. Yeonjun laughs again and gives the host another dollar to play. This time he presses his body against yours, letting you pick up the dart, he leads your arm to aim at a balloon. Your hot body felt nice against his, and once you won your fox plushie, Yeonjun had one thing in his mind.

Continuing your journey through the festival, you get a whiff of funnel cake. Looking for the source, you see the booth automatically running and dragging your boyfriend with you. Yeonjun says he's going to find a table, while you wait for your plate. Once a plate full of fried dough and whipped cream is ready, Yeonjun leads you to a tent with one table.

"Oh,,, this is very nice" you smirk as you sit down, "now open wide."

You dig into the dessert shoving it into his face, then you do it again this time leading it into your mouth. The bite was too big, whipped cream was sticking out of your mouth. You were giggling innocently until Yeonjun licks it off your lips. Widening your eyes, you weren't in the mood until you saw his lustful gaze. Realizing the environment, the tent was quiet and dark, looking back at the man you forget the fork and cup his face to your lips.

Yeonjun's hands immediately on your waist deepening the kiss. However, the sitting position was getting uncomfortable, Yeonjun disconnects from you "Get on the table, baby." Pushing the dessert to the side, you slide your bottom on the surface. The man slots himself in between your legs, back to making out, licking up the remnants of the fried dessert. Both of you grinding into each other like horny teenagers, it wasn't long until you felt the man's hard dick brush against you.

Thankful that you chose to wear a skirt for the occasion, Yeonjun simply flips the flared material up. Palming your delicate center before discarding your panties with the discarded dessert. Yeonjun was ramming so hard into you, the table started to move. Biting your lip trying to keep quiet, but it didn't matter. The festival was at peak hours too loud to notice what type of activity that was happening in the tent.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Place in the Sun 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Summary: Trouble in the big city follows you back to your sleepy village home.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You have your prize; a limited edition and a surprise! With all pre-orders, the bookstore gave gift card. Now you have to come back. You giddily carry off your book into the vast mall and trace your way back to the food court. You only have to walk in circles a few times before you figure it out. 

You join the line at the pretzel stand, perusing the many different flavours and toppings you can add to the classic twisted treat. You settle on the cinnamon bun pretzel before it’s your turn to order. You wait patiently near a group of teen boys using words you don’t understand. 

As you rock listlessly, you peer around the food court. It’s getting loud in there. The tables are filling up as the heat of cooking food and bodies warms the space. You don’t think you’ll stick around. You’ve never been anywhere so full of people, it’s kind of scary.  

As you turn back to the pretzel stand, you wince as you sense a speck at the edge of your vision. Dark blue and gone before you can look. You squint at a woman with several children clustered around her as you try to track the strange flicker. This place is chaotic, that’s all. 

Your order is called and you step up to take the container. The smell of cinnamon makes your stomach growl. You hurry between the tables, sidestepping children and dodging around parked strollers. You finally get to the other side and recognise the same entrance you came in through. 

The monstrous bronco isn’t hard to find in the parking lot. You secure your things in the passenger seat and climb up on the driver’s side. You feel almost like a child behind the large steering wheel, sat up so high on the axle that you look down on all other cars. In Hammer Ford, you walk more than you drive, more often, your dad is behind the wheel of the truck he’s had longer than he’s had you. 

You roll down the window to let the air in and wipe the sweat form your hairline. You didn’t realise how sweltering you were. You balance the container in your lap and pop it open. You tear off a piece of the pretzel and nibble on it. You don’t want to rush back home, you don’t know the next time you’ll have this chance, even with the gift card as an excuse. 

As you chew, your eyes flick up and more teen girls approach the mall’s facade. Or maybe they’re older. You can’t tell. Not with their highlighted hair and fake lashes. There weren’t too many people in Hammer Ford that went all out like that. One girl you know but mostly for selfies. 

It’s both fascinating and intimidating to notice the difference between the city and the village. The more you do, the more you feel completely out of your depth. You watch after the group of girls, wishing you had some pals to bring you, and your eyes catch on a figure. You recognise the smooth stride before the blue suit or his vibrant eyes. It’s the same man as before; the one who caught your keys and growling in the bookstore. 

As you bite into a particularly gooey morsel, his gaze flits over to you. You blanch, eyes rounding, and you quickly look down in embarrassment. You grab a napkin and hide your mouth. Look at you, the bumpkin in the ancient farm truck chewing on fried dough. It's kind of funny. You smile and swallow. 

When you look back up, he’s gone. Oh well. He’s just a stranger. 

You take your time and enjoy each bite. When you finish, you get out to toss the napkins and box in the nearby bin. You don’t want the truck to smell of cinnamon when you get back. As you get back behind the wheel, you pause. You wish you could bring something home for your parents. You suddenly feel very selfish. 

You try not to dwell on it. You turn the engine into a roar and it settles to a rumble. You check your mirror and crane to see beside you. You shift and back out, angling slowly between the rows of car. The truck might be colossal but it handles well enough. 

You roll through the lot slowly, waving other drivers ahead of you, not so eager to be back on the country roads. A honk blasts from the car behind you. Unlike the baritone blare of the bronco, it’s higher, almost tooting. You try to see the car but only see a sleek silver blue roof in your rear view. 

You take your chance to exit and join the traffic towards the highway; from there, you’ll take the exit to the back roads. It’s busy. Lunchtime has cars clogging the lane way. It doesn’t break up until you head off onto the highway and you’re the only one signaling toward Hammer Ford. The sign itself is half obscured with overgrown vines. 

You roll your window further down and let the country air blow over you. The smell of the field and the crunch of gravel gives you a sense of nostalgia. Not like the smoky, rubbery atmosphere of the city. It was an exciting visit but after all that, home is a welcome reprieve. 

You yawn over the wheel and glance over at the bag with your book in it. You might be too tired to start it today. Ah well. You want to savour it just like the pretzel. 

As you relax into the seat and your mind falls into autopilot at passing the familiar gnarled tree, a sudden rev makes you squeak. It’s definitely not the bronco. If you lean to heavily on the gas, it starts to huff and puff and shake so much you think it might explode.  

A streak of silver blue appears at your right, just visible along the lower edge of the window. Another car you hadn’t noticed until then. You’re so used to the backwoods being empty, you hadn’t bothered to check your mirror. 

The car keeps pace with you and you try to lean over and see without veering. Their windows are tinted. Again, they rev and their tires speed ahead, zooming off as you keep your lazy pace. Even so, you barely have a chance to react as they turn suddenly and block the road ahead of you, setting their car perpendicular to your path. 

You slam both feet on the brakes and brace the wheel, barely keeping your chest from hitting the rigid leather. You grip it tight and push yourself back against the seat with a huff. You blink at the car idling in front of you, confused and nervous. That’s strange.  

Cars like that don’t come around here often. The Odinsons have a few vintage cars that outshine the locals, and that new resident with the bristly mustache zips around in his shiny red corvette, but you don’t recognise this car. 

You could try to drive through the fields but you’d do more damage to the truck and the crops without getting very far. You just sit there and watch and wait. You have a bad feeling in your stomach. You check the lock on your door and crank up the window. 

You remember that shade of paint. That honk back in the mall lot. Your father did say that city folk can hold a grudge, but for what? For letting another driver ahead of you? 

You gulp and wring the slender steering wheel. There’s a tire rod in the back, on the floor. You can reach it if you need it but could you really use it? You weigh the question, the car ominously still as you wait for something, anything to happen.