#I tried the syrup brush. Is cool

[artsysurvivor]

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Papyrus from Undertale in the fore-front with Will, beside him but more towards the middle-ground, trying to solve Papyrus's face Xs and Os puzzle. Papyrus, shown from the spine up, is holding one finger up and winking, saying, "I'll try not to give away the answer!" Will, ignoring him, is standing on a red circle, while in front of him is the tip of a green triangle. He has realized he messed up. /End ID]

Tomorrow's prompt is just me going, "Me drawing an Undertale character for a Ranger's Apprentice themed prompt list."

Also I always mess up this puzzle on run throughs. I can never remember how to solve it the first couple of times.

Also also, double whammy, here's me puzzling (ahahaha) over the layout to Halt's cabin for one of my other prompts (thank you to those in the RA discord I was low key going insane).

~Flashing Images~

[Video ID: A speedpaint of me drawing a square then adding other squares/ovals/circles inside it representing rooms and furniture over and over. There's some notes being written here and there. At the beginning I'm trying to draw a scene of inside the cabin with perspective. At the end there's confetti. /End ID]

... How do you imagine the layout?

[inkspiredwriting]

A Strand of Silver

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Y/n Hargreeves was having one of those mornings. You know the type: spilled coffee, mismatched socks, and the eternal struggle to find her keys. As she rushed into the bathroom to get ready for the day, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Normally, she didn’t scrutinize her reflection too much, but today, something shiny caught her eye.

“Wait, what?” Y/n muttered, leaning closer to the mirror.

There, in the midst of her hair, was a single, unmistakable strand of silver. She plucked it out and held it up to the light, squinting at it as if it were some foreign object.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, her voice tinged with melodrama. “I’m turning into my mother!”

Just as Y/n was contemplating her impending transformation into a full-fledged silver fox, Five Hargreeves walked into the bathroom, his shirt half-tucked and his tie in a state of disarray.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he asked, eyebrow arched in amusement.

Y/n turned to him, holding up the gray hair as if it were evidence of a crime. “Look at this!” she said, her tone a mix of shock and horror. “Gray hair! I’m only 35!”

Five peered at the hair, then back at Y/n, a smirk spreading across his face. “Welcome to the club, darling. Want me to dye mine gray so we can match?”

Y/n glared at him, though her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “It’s not funny, Five. I thought I had more time before this started happening.”

Five leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Oh, it’s hilarious. You’re acting like this is the end of the world.”

Y/n huffed, tossing the gray hair into the sink. “You’re supposed to be supportive, not laugh at me.”

Five’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “I am supportive. I support the fact that you’re still gorgeous, gray hair and all.”

Their playful banter was interrupted by a loud crash from the kitchen, followed by a muffled “Sorry!” Y/n sighed, recognizing the chaos as her brother-in-law Klaus’s doing.

“Maybe I should just let my hair go completely gray,” she muttered, “and scare the life out of Klaus.”

Five laughed, stepping closer to her. “Klaus would probably think it’s cool and start a new trend.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Five wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “Listen, I love you, gray hair and all. Actually, it’s kind of sexy. Makes you look distinguished.”

Y/n snorted, leaning into him. “You’re such a liar.”

“Nope, just a man with great taste,” Five replied, kissing the top of her head.

As they headed into the kitchen to see what chaos awaited them, Y/n tried to push the gray hair out of her mind. It was just one strand, after all. How bad could it be?

Klaus, Luther, and Diego were in the middle of a heated debate over who had the best waffle recipe when Five and Y/n entered the kitchen. Luther was holding a spatula like a weapon, and Klaus was dramatically waving a bottle of syrup around.

“Hey, guys,” Y/n said, trying to sound casual. “Do you think gray hair makes me look older?”

The room went silent as all eyes turned to her. Luther looked thoughtful, Diego just shrugged, and Klaus... well, Klaus being Klaus, decided to take it to the next level.

“Oh, honey,” Klaus said, rushing over to examine Y/n’s hair, “I think it makes you look even more fabulous. Very... royal. Like a queen!”

“Like the Queen of England,” Diego added with a smirk, earning a punch on the arm from Luther.

Five burst out laughing, shaking his head. “You see, Y/n? Nothing to worry about. You’ve got the whole royal approval right here.”

Y/n shook her head, trying not to laugh. “I’m going to regret asking, aren’t I?”

Later that evening, when the chaos had settled and they were alone again, Five and Y/n found themselves back in the bathroom. Y/n was brushing her teeth, and Five was leaning against the counter, watching her with a soft smile.

“You know,” he said, his voice thoughtful, “I used to think that life was all about big moments. Saving the world, traveling through time, stopping apocalypses.”

Y/n looked at him through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I know it’s about the little things,” Five continued. “Like finding a gray hair and freaking out about it. Or laughing about it with you.”

Y/n rinsed her mouth and turned to face him. “You’re surprisingly sentimental tonight.”

Five shrugged, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Just thinking about how much I love you. And how that won’t change, no matter how many gray hairs you find.”

Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart swelling with affection. “I love you, too, Five. Even if you laugh at my gray hair.”

Five chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Deal. Now, how about we find that hair dye, just in case?”

Y/n laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Guilty as charged,” Five said with a grin. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

Y/n smiled, leaning up to kiss him. “No, I wouldn’t. Now, let’s get to bed before Klaus decides to redecorate the kitchen again.”

With that, they headed to their bedroom, their laughter echoing through the house. It had been a day full of surprises and laughter, and as they curled up together, Y/n knew that no matter what the future held, she could face it all with Five by her side

[lalacliffthorne]

because it does have it's perks that Azriel is running cool sometimes

(brought to you by me remembering how awfully sick I was a few months ago, and how I wished for something like this. now you do too. you're welcome.)

“Ugh.” Burying my nose in my pillow, I slowly breathed out through my open mouth, feeling a scowl form on my face, even though it felt a little weak.

I hated being sick.

An awful scratch started forming in my throat, and I coughed, my body shaking with the force of it and tears building at the corners of my eyes from the pain.

Groaning softly, I pushed myself up on an elbow, still coughing lightly, the sound rattling my body as I reached for one of the many cups on the nightstand. The tea within was one of the things Feyre had brought yesterday.

She had appeared in the middle of the apartment out of thin air, cringing at the sound of the cough welcoming her, carrying two bags, one of which contained homemade chicken soup and the other supplies Madja had given her, including drops against the stuffed nose so that I could at least try and sleep at night, teas and syrups against the sore throat, paste for the fever – it felt like she had whizzed once through the whole infirmary.

It was clear Madja had not believed me a bit when I had told her I was fine.

But the whole of Velaris was currently plagued by a rather nasty flu, and she and the other healers had their hands full. It was the only reason I had been helping in the infirmary in the first place – and probably how I had gotten to where I was now: Sick and miserable.

Carefully taking a sip of tea, I pushed the cup back onto my nightstand, breathing against my closed up nose and carefully sinking back into the pillows, my head thrumming with the movement.

Ow.

Blinking, I felt my eyes begin to burn and scowled as I squeezed them shut, breathing through my open lips as I tried to blend out the way my body ached and how my head pulsed.

Help.

I felt a soft brush of air that should not have existed, because all the windows were closed, and when I furrowed my brows and cracked open an eye, my heart skipped weakly.

The last two and a half days, since I had locked myself up to not get anyone else sick, the only person who had visited was Feyre, mostly because when she had appeared in my apartment on the first day without prompt, I had first thrown a pillow at her head for risking to get sick before I made her promise to not let any of the others get in here.

Of course that had not kept him away.

Azriel's eyes moved over the apartment that was unusally dark even in the middle of the day, the curtains drawn because even the halflight made my head pound. His shadows whispered curiously, moving over the big carpet that was covered with tissues, the nightstand crowded by used cups and cans with tea, the sink full of unwashed dishes – and me, buried deep under my blanket and trying to glare at him.

“What are you doing here?”, I croaked, almost cringing at my own voice, hoarse from coughing and nasal from my stuffed nose as I slowly pushed myself up, wincing at the way my head protested. “Get out, you'll get sick.”

Azriel threw me a look, and even if the halflight, I saw the way he scowled back.

“I knew Feyre played this down.” His deep mumble caused my heart to skip weakly again, and I glowered at him.

“Yes, because I told her to, so that no one else would turn up here.” My voice broke with the last word, and a new fit of coughs shook my body, my eyes tearing up as I turned, but before I could reach for my mug, a gloved hand picked it up, and when my gaze darted up, Azriel crouched down next to the bed and handed it to me. A wrinkle had formed between his brows as his gaze moved over my face. His cheekbones were tinged pink from the cold outside, his dark brows were furrowed, his lips looked soft -

Maybe it was the fact that I was so sick, I felt a little delirious. But he looked so beautiful, it made my chest ache.

Forcing down a few sips of tea, I breathed out through my mouth, burying back into the pillows when Azriel took the mug and placed it on the bedside table. The crease on his forehead deepend, and then he slipped off a glove and reached out.

My breath hitched a little, something turning over in my chest, and in reflex, I pulled away.

Something shifted through Azriel's eyes, and his face froze over, his scarred hand stilling in the air.

My heart tightened as I realized what it looked like, and I breathed out in frustration at myself.

“I don't want you to get sick,”, I mumbled, my voice raspy as I dropped my head into the pillow, my lids heavy and eyes burning from being open.

I could feel Azriel's gaze, could feel it piercing the side of my face. Then something brushed my shoulder, and the next, he carefully placed the back of his hand on my forehead.

I sucked in a soft breath, because his skin was cool, even after being under his lined gloves, like it really was freezing outside and he had been flying the whole morning. It felt heavenly.

Which is why I blamed it on the fact I was sick and delirious that when Azriel pulled back his hand, my own shot out to catch it, and without missing a beat, I tugged it close, dragging his whole arm towards me as I tucked Azriel's hand, rough and far bigger than my own, against my chest, almost whimpering with relief when it pressed against my too hot skin.

I could feel the shadowsinger grow rigid. His fingers froze in mine, and I felt my cheeks heat a little more as I cracked open an eye, ready to defend myself. But the words got stuck in my throat.

Azriel was staring at me. His lips were a little agape, the crease still between his brows, but almost smoothed over, like what I had done had made him forget about the reason it had been there in the first place. His fingers twitched, and I already prepared for him to pull his hand out of my grip and away from my body – but then Azriel blinked, and his hand shifted, gently closing around mine as the back of his forefinger carefully stroked over my chest.

“You're burning up,”, he mumbled, and I was almost sure his low voice sounded a little raspy.

“Knew you think I'm hot,”, I mumbled back, my head thrumming as I blinked heavily and grinned weakly, and Azriel rolled his eyes, but for a second, I caught his lips curving.

For a second, his gaze moved over my face, then he blinked and dropped his head, and something flickered a little in my chest when he pulled his other glove off with his teeth, dropping it carelessly as he raised his free hand.

My eyes fluttered shut and a blissful whimper left me when Azriel pressed his palm against my forehead, his thumb slowly brushing over my cheek. I nuzzled my face into his hand, not caring about anything but the fact that his skin was cool, the fever made my body feel like it was on fire and this was the closest to being a little more comfortable I had gotten in days.

My eyes fluttered shut as the movement triggered another wave of pounding headaches, and I coughed lightly, the rattling sound making my own face pull into a wince as I sniffled against my blocked nose.

“I still don't want to get you sick,”, I mumbled, my voice hoarse, and Azriel's hand shifted in mine, his fingers carefully linking with mine as his deep voice gently rumbled over me.

“You won't.”

“I think you're overestimating yourself.” Tipping my head slightly, I stared at him in exhaustion, feeling my lips curve as I raised an eyebrow tiredly. “Even big bad Illyrian warriors can get the flu.”

Azriel's eyes flickered over my face, and the shadow of a crease formed in his cheek. Then he blinked and straightened up, his hands slipping away from me. Something tightened a little in my chest, but when I opened my eyes that had already started to droop again, my heart jumped so high, it got stuck in my throat.

Azriel was stripping out of his chest armor, the winter leathers heavy as he peeled them off and dropped them to the ground with a thud. Muscles shifted under his skin, causing his tattoos to shift as well, like they were moving over his shoulders like his shadows, and suddenly, breathing felt even more difficult than before as my eyes dragged over his torso, chiselled like carved from marble, the dip of his shoulders where they met his neck, the planes of his chest over his lean, muscled middle -

Azriel's thigh holsters with his knives hit the floor, then he kicked off his boots and moved towards me, and I felt my lips part, my voice so croaky I couldn't even blame it onto the flu anymore as I mumbled: “You know, I'm not sure I'm in the shape for that right now -“

Azriel huffed, and I was almost sure to see a twinkle flash through his eyes when he glared at me.

“We need to get your temperature down.” The mattress dipped, and I could just stare with hitching breaths when Azriel climbed over me, dropping onto the mattress and propping himself up until he could spread his wings comfortably. Then he raised his eyes, and something started fluttering weakly against my ribs when they met mine, twinkling just a little bit as he held out his arm. “Come on.”

I felt my lips part, my head thrumming as I stared, stared at the male that just had to be so godsdamned gloriously perfect, and one corner of Azriel's lips twitched a little. Then he softly arched an eyebrow, like a silent challenge.

And maybe it was because there was pain thrumming under my temples and my skin was burning up and I was just utterly exhausted, or the overwhelming urge to be close to him had just finally gotten too much – but I just breathed a soft grumble and turned around, simply flopping onto his chest. My cheek met his skin, my arm wrapping around his middle as I curled into his side, and I almost purred at the sensation of his cool skin against my own, way too hot and flushed.

I would have been completely content like this, my eyes already drooping, ready to doze off to hopefully get a reprieve from the thrum in my head – only the shadowsinger had other plans.

His arm snuck around my back, sliding under me, the other wrapped around my waist, and smoothly, like I weighed nothing, Azriel pulled me up onto his chest.

I almost groaned at the sensation of his cool skin pressing against mine wherever it was exposed. I had long shed any shirts I used for sleeping and was only wearing underwear and a soft bra under a short flimsy thing with thin straps, and I had never been happier about little clothing before.

Draping my arm over his chest, I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, feeling my eyes flutter shut when just for a second, the pulsing pain in my head seemed to subside a bit. I thought I could feel Azriel shudder a little when my nose brushed over his throat, then I shuffled a bit, pulling up my leg and draping it over Azriel's waist, almost shivering blissfully when my bare thigh pressed against his cool skin.

Azriel's muscles shifted under me. I could feel it ripple through his body as he grew still, his hand tensing where it was pressed against my hip, my top ridden up far enough for his skin to be flush against mine, and my heart stumbled a little.

Suddenly, the pounding in my head was back, only it had transferred to my chest, the ache growing as I felt myself grow stiff, because maybe I had gone too far, crossed a line –

Quickly, I raised my head, almost wincing at the way the movement caused my head to swim, and my eyes found Azriel's, only inches away, so close I could see the golden sprinkles in his honey-colored iris, so close I could count the shadows of the few freckles on his nose.

Azriel blinked. Then something shifted in his eyes, and a deep exhale left him. His head dipped forward, and I simply lost my breath when his arm wrapped tighter around my waist and hauled me up, up until my whole body was completely draped over his, his rough hand slipping under my top and up my back until his whole arm pressed against my spine and his other hand – his other hand grabbed my blanket and threw it over us before it slid under my knee, pulling it up further until his arm slipped under it and his whole forearm was curled around my thigh.

And again, maybe because I was delirious with fever and pain thrumming through my head and whole body, my heart just fluttered softly and warmly as I curled deeper into his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck and closing my heavy eyes.

And when Azriel pulled me closer, dropping his nose into my hair as his thumb started to gently brush over my spine and I began to slowly doze off, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this stupid flu had turned out to have some perks after all.

[earthlybeam]

May I ask for something platonic? A human child reader with elves? The human child reader who loves causing chaos, often getting into trouble, and is very playful but tries to act innocent. For example, provoking Thranduil's elk. The elves can only pray that the human child reader doesn’t get hurt—or worse. Featuring Elrond, Gil-galad, Thranduil, Celeborn, and anyone else you’d like.

Omg yess, I’ve always wanted to write something like this! The idea of a human child causing chaos among the elves is so fun and full of potential for mischief!

Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celeborn version below.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The kitchens of Lindon were an architectural marvel, with high, vaulted ceilings and intricately carved stone walls. The air was filled with the warmth of the ovens, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread, and the delicate fragrance of Elven pastries—each one crafted with precision and care. The stone counters were spotless, the gleaming surfaces reflecting the sunlight that poured through large windows, and the Elven cooks moved with a grace that seemed to make the kitchen a place of serene order. But today, there was no serenity in sight. There was only chaos. And at the very center of that chaos stood you.

At four or six years old—Gil-galad was never quite sure of your age, but it didn’t matter—you were a tiny whirlwind of mischief and curiosity. You had spent the morning listening to the adults speak of matters far too serious for your tastes, and your mind had wandered toward more pressing matters—like the trays of pastries that were cooling on a long wooden counter in the kitchen. They were golden, glistening in the sunlight, their surfaces dusted with powdered sugar, and you could see the faint glimmer of jam inside each delicate bite.

How could anyone resist such temptation? With a giggle, you snuck past the distracted cooks, eyes wide with delight. The kitchen, usually the domain of skilled hands and quiet, focused energy, was entirely at your mercy. A small stool stood in the corner, its legs slightly worn but perfect for a child your size. Without hesitation, you climbed up, the edge of the counter now just within your reach. Your eyes gleamed as you surveyed the treasure before you—pastry after pastry, sitting so innocently.

You grabbed the first one with both hands, the flaky layers crunching under your tiny fingers. The first bite was like a burst of heaven—sweet, buttery, and warm. You didn’t even pause before biting into another, and then another, each bite sending crumbs flying in all directions. Soon, your hands were sticky with jam, your face dotted with sugar, and the delicate pastries were disappearing at a rapid pace.

But no! One pastry was not enough to be certain of their safety. Oh no, you would need to test every single one—just to be sure. Surely, an innocent one would be poisoned and no one would notice if you didn’t intervene. You took another and then yet another. Crumbs scattered across the countertop, and your tiny hands left sticky marks on the surface.

As you continued your inspection, your elbow knocked into a bowl of flour, sending it tumbling to the ground with a loud crash. A puff of white powder exploded into the air, swirling like smoke and settling over your tiny frame, creating a ghostly aura around you. Not one to be deterred, you giggled and continued your inspection, oblivious to the mess you had already created.

That’s when the syrup bottle came next—its glass body tipped over and rolled with a slow inevitability, toppling and spilling its golden contents across the counter. The syrup pooled around the pastries, dripping slowly down the sides and staining the once-pristine counter. The sticky sweetness clung to your arms and hands, making you laugh with abandon as you swiped your fingers through the mess and licked them clean.

But the best was yet to come. In your absolute dedication to the task at hand, your hand brushed a basket of fruit on the counter, and with a great crash, apples began to roll in every direction, clattering to the ground like clumsy little soldiers retreating from a battlefield. The floor was now a mix of syrup, flour, jam, and fruit, with you at the heart of the storm, smiling and humming as though everything were perfectly in order.

It was at that precise moment, however, that Gil-galad entered. The High King of the Noldor moved with his usual elegance, his robes flowing behind him in a perfect sweep. The circlet atop his brow glinted in the sunlight, and his demeanor was always calm, always composed. His eyes took in the scene before him—the flour drifting through the air like snowflakes, the apples scattered across the floor, and you, standing amidst the wreckage, a sticky mess of crumbs, jam, syrup, and honey.

You froze, pastry halfway to your mouth, the sticky sweetness dripping down your chin. Your wide eyes met his, and the silence was deafening. The kitchen staff, who had begun to murmur and peek from the doorways, fell quiet as they waited for the High King’s reaction. Gil-galad’s sharp gaze shifted from you to the mess around you, and for a moment, his usual regal composure faltered. His eyes twinkled with barely contained amusement. “I see,” he said finally, his voice calm and even. “And what, may I ask, are you doing here, little one?”

You swallowed the half-chewed pastry with a quick gulp, your hands raised as though in defense. “I was just… testing them for poison!” you proclaimed, holding up the mangled remnants of a pastry like it was evidence of your grand sacrifice. You nodded sagely, crumbs falling to the floor. “You can’t be too careful, right?”

Gil-galad tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile. He crossed his arms, standing tall and proud despite the utter destruction surrounding him. “Testing them for poison, you say? Such bravery,” he mused, tapping his chin with a finger as if considering your words seriously. “But tell me, did you need to test all of them?” Your small form nodded earnestly, crumbs falling like snow. “I had to make sure, Your Majesty. What if someone important ate a bad one? What if you ate one? What if you were poisoned by mistake?” You blinked up at him, the gravity of your words hanging in the air.

Gil-galad let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and admiration. “Indeed, we must commend your dedication to your task. But perhaps, next time, you could test these pastries with my permission?” His smile was playful, though there was a glint of affectionate amusement in his eyes. You blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Would you have said yes?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Gil-galad paused, his smirk returning in full force. “Probably not,” he admitted with a dry chuckle. “But perhaps, little one, we could avoid this next time by following the rules.” You sighed dramatically, wiping your sticky hands on your shirt, completely unconcerned about the mess you were continuing to make. “Then I had no choice!” you declared. “Someone had to do it!”

Gil-galad sighed, a warm, fond chuckle escaping his lips. “No choice, indeed,” he agreed. He stepped forward, lifting you from the stool and placing you carefully on another one, away from the mess you had wrought. “Now, little one, I suppose it is time to clean up this ‘necessary’ chaos. The cooks will need some time to recover from this disaster.”

“But—” You pouted, crossing your arms and looking up at him with a mixture of defiance and innocence. “Can I have one more pastry if I help?” Gil-galad raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Only if you promise not to spill more flour or syrup.” You grinned widely, holding up your sticky hands. “No promises!” you chirped, grabbing a towel with your gooey fingers and starting to smear jam across the counter as though you were cleaning.

The High King sighed, shaking his head, but his smile never wavered. “Valar help me,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing another towel. “You’ll be the death of us all.” Though the kitchen would take hours to return to its pristine state, with the cooks gently but firmly guiding you through the cleanup process, Gil-galad found himself unable to truly mind the mess you had made. You had brought a spark of chaos into the otherwise orderly world of the Elves—and he couldn’t help but enjoy it, just a little.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm were quiet, save for the low murmur of Thranduil’s voice as he discussed matters with his guard. The king, regal and commanding, sat upon his throne, the soft light of the torches glinting off the golden accents of his robes. Beside him, on a carved wooden table, sat his goblet of Dorwinion wine, untouched for the moment as his attention remained fixed on the discussion. His back was turned, the sleek braid of his hair falling over one shoulder, giving no indication that he was aware of your antics.

And oh, you were up to something. Peeking out from behind one of the tall wooden columns, you squinted at the goblet. It sparkled under the torchlight, practically begging to be touched. Your small hands twitched with excitement as you stepped out of your hiding place, careful not to make a sound. The king’s voice droned on in the background, and you decided this was your moment.

Your little feet padded silently across the stone floor as you approached the table. You cast one quick glance over your shoulder to make sure Thranduil’s attention was still focused elsewhere. He wasn’t looking. Perfect. Your tiny fingers wrapped around the stem of the goblet, and with a quiet giggle of triumph, you lifted it from the table.

It was heavier than you expected, and the liquid inside sloshed dangerously close to the edge, but you didn’t care. Your heart raced with the thrill of mischief. Still grinning, you turned toward the doorway. But before you took your first step, you paused. You wanted him to know. Tilting your head just enough, you made sure Thranduil could see you out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t even try to hide your grin, and when his sharp gaze flicked toward you, widening slightly in recognition, you ran.

“No you don’t-.” Thranduil’s voice, low and commanding, rang out behind you, but you were already halfway across the hall. The goblet wobbled in your hands as you sprinted, the rich wine spilling over the sides and leaving a trail of red drops on the polished stone floor. Your giggles echoed through the chamber as you weaved past chairs and columns, your little legs carrying you as fast as they could.

Thranduil rose from his throne in a single fluid motion, his long robes sweeping behind him as he turned to face the chaos. His expression was a mixture of disbelief, irritation, and… was that the faintest hint of amusement? He placed a hand to his temple, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before striding after you, his long legs covering ground much faster than yours.

“Put it down before you hurt yourself!” he called, his voice firm but not unkind. You didn’t listen. Why would you? This was too much fun. You were unstoppable, a whirlwind of tiny chaos. But even you had your limits. By the time you reached the far end of the hall, your legs were burning, and you were gasping for breath. Your pace slowed to a halt, and you turned back to see Thranduil advancing, his piercing gaze locked on you like a hawk spotting its prey.

Grinning mischievously, you held the goblet aloft like a prize. “Ha! I win!” you declared, your voice high and triumphant. Before he could close the distance, you made your final move. With a dramatic flourish, you flung the goblet to the ground. It hit the stone with a loud clang, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. The remaining wine spilled out in a dark pool, and you clapped your hands together as if you’d just completed a masterpiece. Thranduil stopped in his tracks, his expression shifting to one of stunned silence.

For a moment, the entire hall seemed to hold its breath. Then his eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. He closed the remaining distance between you with slow, deliberate steps, his robes trailing behind him like a stormcloud. “You…” he began, his voice soft and dangerously calm. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

You blinked up at him, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “It was an accident,” you said, though your grin betrayed you. Thranduil sighed deeply, his hand coming to rest on his hip as he gazed down at you. He was torn between annoyance and a grudging sense of admiration for your audacity. “An accident?” he repeated, one elegant brow arching. “You mean to tell me that your accident involved taking my goblet, spilling half its contents across my halls, and throwing it to the floor?”

You nodded earnestly, your wide eyes gleaming with mock sincerity. “Yes.” The corner of Thranduil’s mouth twitched, as if he were fighting the urge to smile. But he shook his head, kneeling down so he was at your eye level. “You are a menace,” he said, his voice softening. “A tiny, chaotic menace.” You beamed at the unintended compliment. “But you’re not mad, right?”

Thranduil let out a quiet chuckle despite himself, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Mad? No. Exasperated? Beyond measure.” He stood again, gesturing toward the mess on the floor. “Come. We shall clean this together, since you are clearly in need of a lesson about responsibility.” Your nose wrinkled at the idea of cleaning, but you followed him nonetheless, your little hands grabbing a nearby cloth as he summoned another elf to assist.

Despite his stern words, there was a gentleness in Thranduil’s actions, a patient understanding that reminded you of why you liked him so much—even when you pushed his limits. For all his grandeur and authority, Thranduil could never truly stay angry at you. You were too small, too full of life, and perhaps just a little too clever for your own good.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond had always cherished his study, the space filled with ancient scrolls, delicate parchment, and shelves upon shelves of knowledge passed down through ages. It was his sanctuary—a place where he could immerse himself in the histories of Middle-earth, unravel the complexities of the world, and find a moment of peace amidst the chaos of life. Today, however, peace was a fleeting concept.

He had just placed a few books back on the shelf, their contents irrelevant for now. He was tidying up, collecting what he no longer needed for his current research. The soft hum of the quiet study was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of paper or the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet. His back was turned, the momentary silence giving him a false sense of order.

In the corner of his eye, he could see you—a small human child, no more than four or five, playing with one of his old tools. You were harmless enough, for now. His lips curved into a quiet, patient smile. You were always full of energy, full of life, and though you had a tendency to get into mischief, Elrond couldn’t help but find your antics somewhat endearing. After all, it was rare to see such joy in his otherwise serious, quiet home. But when he turned away again, to return the last of the books to the shelf, he failed to notice just how quickly you moved.

But when he turned away again, to return the last of the books to the shelf, he failed to notice just how quickly you moved. As soon as his back was turned, you saw the perfect opportunity. You scampered up into his chair, your small feet barely making a sound on the floor. Your eyes darted to his neatly arranged desk, and with an impish grin, you began your work.

The important scrolls that lay before him were neatly written, the fine elven script elegant and precise. But to you, they looked dull and boring—nothing like the bright, colorful drawings you loved to make. You reached for a quill, dipped it into an ink pot that wasn’t quite the right color, and began to scribble, your tiny fingers moving quickly across the parchment.

You drew spirals, zigzags, and wavy lines, your small hands leaving traces of ink across the pages that should have been untouched. Then, seeing a blank spot, you switched to another ink pot, one filled with water—there was no need for anything as dull as ordinary ink. You poured it onto the parchment, watching as the colors bled across the surface. It wasn’t long before you had spread ink splotches, water rings, and colorful doodles across the scrolls that had once been pristine and orderly.

In your excitement, you knocked one of the ink pots over, spilling the black ink across the desk with a small splash. The liquid spread quickly, seeping into the wood and dripping over the edges, threatening to ruin the beautiful surface. You gasped, quickly reaching for a cloth, but instead of cleaning, you accidentally smeared the ink further, making it worse.

At the same time, your tiny hands rearranged the quills in a haphazard pile, and your little fingers moved the ink pots around like toys, none of them where they should be. You giggled to yourself, pleased with your “improvement,” unaware of the growing chaos around you. When you finally leaned back in the chair, admiring your work, you looked up at the doorway, only to find Elrond turning back toward the desk—his calm face now frozen in surprise at the sight of the mess you’d created.

His study—a room that had once been neat, organized, and calm—was now a scene of chaos. Ink pots had been switched, their contents unfamiliar and in hues he did not recognize. Some had even been filled with water, leaving puddles of liquid to soak into delicate parchment. Several quills had been scattered about, none of them where they should be, and his precious scrolls, once orderly and precise, had been unceremoniously tossed aside. But the worst part? His desk, his very workspace, was covered in doodles.

And there you were, standing on his chair, caught red-handed, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you innocently tried to balance on the seat. Your tiny hands were stained with ink, and your face held an expression of mock seriousness, as if you had just accomplished something grand. Elrond’s eyes closed for a brief moment, his breath steadying. He could feel the usual shift in his heart, that moment of hesitation where he knew he needed to find patience—not just for you, but for himself as well. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm, though there was no hiding the faint amusement behind his words.

“Now, what is all this, little one?” Elrond’s gaze never left you, watching carefully as your fingers flexed, leaving more inky prints on his precious chair. “Did I not tell you that my work is delicate?” He could feel the corner of his mouth twitching, but he kept his composure. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you?” You tilted your head, clearly pretending to think, though you could not hide the spark of mischief in your eyes. “I was just making it… better,” you said, as if the chaos was somehow an improvement to his work.

Elrond sighed, though his voice remained warm, a quiet reprimand. “Better?” He stepped closer to the desk, his eyes scanning the scattered scrolls and smeared parchment. “Do you think your doodles will help me finish my studies, or do you simply enjoy causing trouble?” You giggled, clearly not understanding the weight of your actions. “I thought it would be fun!” Elrond allowed a slight, fond smile to play across his lips. “I can see that,” he said softly, a touch of warmth creeping into his tone despite the mess. His gaze shifted to the spilled ink, his mind already working through ways to salvage the papers. “But fun does not always mean harmless, my little one.”

You were still standing proudly on his chair, looking down at him with wide eyes that spoke of both innocence and the gleam of someone who had just discovered the joy of mischief. You placed your hands on your hips, as if daring him to scold you further. Elrond’s expression softened, and he reached out, gently lifting you off the chair. He sat you down on the floor beside him, though he had to suppress the smile that tugged at his mouth. “I cannot have you destroying everything in sight, can I?” His tone held a touch of playfulness now, despite the chaos around them.

“I didn’t destroy anything!” You protested, crossing your arms over your small chest. “I just… rearranged it.” Elrond let out a soft chuckle, though his voice still held that gentle reprimand. “Yes, well, rearranging things that are meant to stay in one place can cause problems, little one. I’ll have to teach you how to respect the boundaries of others’ work. You wouldn’t want someone coming in and rearranging your things, would you?” You stared up at him, blinking innocently. “But I didn’t mean to make a mess,” you said, your voice soft and slightly apologetic, though the mischievous twinkle never quite left your eyes.

“I know,” Elrond said with a small, understanding smile. He began carefully gathering the scattered scrolls, returning them to their rightful places. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But you must understand that some things are very important. Your curiosity, while admirable, can sometimes be a little… overwhelming.” You nodded, watching as he worked. “I’ll help clean it up,” you said earnestly, though you were still far too young to understand the full consequences of your actions. “I don’t doubt that you will,” Elrond replied, his tone now warmer. “But I think you owe me something first.” You blinked up at him. “What?”

“A promise,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “That next time, you’ll ask before rearranging anything of mine. Even if you think it’s fun.” You nodded solemnly, eyes wide and earnest. “I promise!” Elrond smiled, and this time, it was more than a small quirk of his lips. It was a full smile, though still tempered with that protective patience he always showed.

Elrond couldn’t truly be angry—not with you. You brought a spark to his otherwise serious world. And as much as you caused trouble, he would never change that. “Good,” he said, standing up and offering you his hand. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up, together.” And despite the chaos you’d caused, Elrond knew this moment—this child, so full of life and curiosity—was something he would cherish.

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

The forest of Lothlórien was alive with its usual serenity. Sunlight filtered through the golden leaves, and the soft rustling of the wind carried the faint sounds of Elven melodies in the distance. Celeborn sat at his desk, reviewing maps and records, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration. His dagger, ornate and razor-sharp, rested beside him on the edge of the desk, its polished silver blade catching the dappled light. You, the small human child who had found your way into the company of the elves, were supposed to be drawing on a piece of parchment near the corner of the room. At least, that’s what Celeborn thought.

Instead, mischief glimmered in your eyes as you glanced at the dagger. With his back turned, deep in thought, you saw your chance. Quick as a squirrel, you darted forward, snatching the weapon in both hands. It was heavier than you expected, but that didn’t deter you. No, this was your moment. You were an Elf-Warrior, just like the ones in the songs!

You raised the blade, holding it awkwardly but with all the dramatic flair you could muster. “Fear me, foul orcs!” you declared, swinging the dagger clumsily through the air. “I am the great warrior of Lothlórien! None shall pass!” The nearby elves froze, their eyes widening in alarm. One dropped the bundle of arrows he was carrying, his hands instinctively reaching for you, but hesitating—who dared to touch Lord Celeborn’s little human charge without permission?

Celeborn turned at the sound of your triumphant shout, his silver hair catching the light as he moved with the grace of centuries. His sharp, discerning gaze landed on you immediately, his calm demeanor not betraying the flicker of worry in his chest. “What have you done now?” he thought as he stepped toward you, his long strides purposeful but unhurried, his face an unreadable mask of calm authority.

You held the dagger out in front of you, both hands gripping the hilt as you waved it wildly. “Look, I’m an Elf-Warrior! I’m fighting the bad guys!” You swung the blade again, and Celeborn’s sharp eyes caught the way it almost grazed a chair. “Put the dagger down, child,” Celeborn said, his voice gentle but firm. “No!” you said, stomping your foot. You tilted your chin defiantly, gripping the weapon tighter. “It’s mine now! I’m winning the battle!”

Celeborn’s lips twitched, threatening to form a smile, but he quickly suppressed it. “That is not a toy,” he said, kneeling slowly to meet your gaze. His tone remained even, though his outstretched hand was ready to intercept any dangerous movement. “But I’m the hero!” you insisted, taking a step back, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. “And heroes need swords! Orcs are coming!”

“The only thing coming is a sharp edge too close to your fingers,” Celeborn said softly, his hand still extended. “Give it to me, now.” You hesitated, eyes darting between the dagger and Celeborn’s calm but unyielding expression. Then, as mischievous as ever, you smirked. “Make me!” The elves watching from the sidelines gasped in unison, one even muttering under his breath, “Valar preserve us.”

Celeborn arched a single elegant brow. “Child,” he said in that measured, steady tone that made even the bravest elves pause, “this is not a contest you wish to win.” Your grip on the dagger tightened, and you took another defiant step back. “I’ll fight you for it!” you challenged, holding the blade in front of you like you’d seen the warriors do.

Celeborn sighed, an exasperated but faintly amused sound, and rose to his full height. “Very well,” he said, stepping forward in a way that felt both like a negotiation and an unspoken warning. “But I should warn you—I have fought wars older than your entire village.” You blinked, momentarily distracted by the thought of how old he must be. That distraction was all he needed. Celeborn moved with the swift precision of a seasoned warrior, gently but firmly grasping the blade by the hilt, twisting it out of your small hands with practiced ease.

“Hey!” you yelped, stomping your foot again. Celeborn turned the dagger over in his hand, inspecting it briefly before tucking it safely into his belt. He crouched down in front of you, his face now softened with quiet understanding. “You are brave,” he said, his voice low and warm, “but bravery is not the same as wisdom. And wisdom means knowing when something is too dangerous for you to handle.”

You pouted, crossing your arms. “But I was winning the battle!” Celeborn leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Even the mightiest warriors must choose their battles carefully. And they must never swing a blade without purpose—or training.” You tilted your head, considering his words, though your lips still formed a small, defiant pout.

“Come,” Celeborn said, offering his hand. “Let us find a safer way for you to learn the ways of an Elf-Warrior. Perhaps we begin with a wooden sword, hmm?” For a moment, you looked at him with suspicion. But the promise of more “training” was too tempting to resist. With a reluctant huff, you took his hand.

As Celeborn led you out of the room, his calm demeanor firmly back in place, the watching elves exchanged glances, some hiding smiles behind their hands. One whispered, “If this is what the child is like now, I fear for us when they grow older.” Celeborn, overhearing, allowed himself a small, private smile. “Indeed,” he murmured under his breath. “The Valar have gifted me with a trial disguised as a child.” But when he glanced down at your eager face, already imagining your next act of chaos, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of affection.

[jjkamochoso]

Imagine… Making Lemonade for Levi on a Hot Summer Day

Fluff

Postwar!Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

Warnings: none

The summer heat was scorching down on you as you stretched out on a lounge chair in your backyard, soaking up some sun. You were enjoying your lazy day, getting some much needed Vitamin D. You flipped through a magazine, your mind still blown by the fact that the glossy pages had entertained people for much longer than you had even known they existed. There were many things in Marley that were completely new to you and every trip to the market was filled with enchantment as you learned of all the wonders that had been held from you in your previous life in Paradis. Now, you and your boyfriend Levi were living it up together in your cottage and you couldn’t be happier. Speaking of Levi, you had a fantastic view of the raven haired man while he was hard at work, tending the garden. His white shirt was clinging to his sturdy back as he dug the spade into the dirt, his arm muscles flexing with each movement. When he was finished planting, you saw him lean back a little as he wiped the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. The extra moisture made his whole body glisten; he looked absolutely divine and you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. He cocked his head, finally acknowledging your unbridled interest in his figure.

“Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s rude to stare?”

“There’s no harm in admiring the spectacular view in front of me,” you said, cheekiness apparent in your tone. Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes, getting back to the task at hand, but you could tell that you flustered him a bit with your flirting as the pink tinge that now graced his face wasn’t just from the heat. You tried putting your focus back on your magazine but you started to feel quite parched. You decided to go inside and make some lemonade for yourself and your handsome boyfriend. You gathered everything you needed and began to squeeze the lemons. When you got enough juice, you made a simple syrup on the stove, then poured both of those and lots of water into a giant pitcher, mixing it all up. Taking out two tall glasses, you filled them up to the brim with ice and the lemonade, enjoying the relief of the cold that seeped onto your hand. You left your glass inside so you had an empty hand to open and close the back door and headed into the warmth of the outdoors.

“I got something to cool you down, hottie,” you greeted Levi, this time earning a groan and an eye roll.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he chided, shaking his head when you attempted to wink at him. Though he found your antics silly, he also thought you were completely adorable with the way you showed your affection toward him. Putting words to his feelings was never his forte so having a partner like you, comfortable in expressing your attraction to him, was something he was extremely grateful for. You reached out your unoccupied arm to help steady Levi as he stood up from the ground, his legs shaky from exertion. You held up the glass of lemonade for him to take a sip from, hoping he wasn’t dehydrated from his time under the sun. He put his lips around the straw and took a long drink, eager to quench his thirst.

“Y/n, that’s really good. Thank you,” he said, giving you a close lipped grin.

“Of course,” you replied, brushing a stray piece of hair from his face. He suddenly got shy from the intimacy of your gesture, opting to study the ground instead of your face, though he still leaned on you as you helped him walk over to the patio where a chair in the shade was waiting for him. You sat him down and retrieved your own drink from inside the house before sitting in the chair next to him.

“Thank you for all your work,” you told Levi, a kiss lovingly placed onto his cheek. “The garden is beautiful. The flowers are going to look phenomenal this year.”

“Not as phenomenal as you look now,” he observed, meeting your eyes once more as you gasped.

“Levi! How uncharacteristically suave that was!” you exclaimed, playfully holding a hand over your mouth in faux shock.

“Tch. I can be romantic, you know.”

“Wow, I can’t believe I got the Levi “Loverboy” Ackerman to fall for me. How lucky am I?” you asked, swooning. “Ooh, maybe next time you can garden shirtless and give me a real show. It’ll be like those romance novels Hange always told me about.”

“Just drink your damn lemonade,” muttered the man, failing to hide the tenderness that appeared on his facial features at the sound of your laughter. You couldn’t contain your giggles, trying your best not to choke on your drink and Levi wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer and enjoying this carefree moment with you. The lemonade was the perfect drink for the perfect day with the perfect love of your life.

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Summer is a time of fun and carefree days for those who are fortunate enough to not work within the food industry. You however have found yourself back in that world and so long were the days you could spend doing nothing. Along with the shift back to a world you once left behind is the figure of Joel Miller, who is as magnetizing as he is irritating that is now a part of your daily life.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: smut piv smut, unprotected piv, dirty talk, joel miller's filthy mouth, kinda enemies to lovers?, degrading language, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry

A/N: this...this is a scary thing for me to share. this is so closely drawn from my life and the things i've experienced in my twenties (as far as the restaurant stuff goes, i was never fortunate enough to catch the eyes of someone as alluring as our dear joel). i'm fully aware that i don't need another WIP but this has been comsuming me lately and i wanted to share despite the trepidation. c'est la vie, no?

ao3 link || series masterlsit || main masterlist

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, something shared in moments of spiking passion and deep kisses between you and the man who enraptured you beyond anything you had experienced before.

Thoughts swirled and your mind took you back to the events that transpired to allow this type of pleasure to be something that you owned, that you took, that was given to you by the man whose hands were holding you so tightly and pounding into you so deliciously.

“I think a play on mint would be a good idea, for the paired cocktail. I could whip up a batch of simple syrup infused with it or order a case of crème de menthe. But I’ll mess around with it and get back with y’all in a few days before the order needs to be placed.” You jotted down what glasses you were thinking of, a choice between a martini glass, a coup, and a tall rocks class. You pushed your reading glasses back up your nose, the frames having slipped down the bridge as you scribbled half ideas down in your small notebook. “Chef, will the mash be sweet potato or more like the topping for the Shepard’s pie we did last fall? And the balsamic, will it be a glaze over the brussels or will they be cooked with it?”

Joel Miller’s eyes seemed to snap to you, he had offered his new rotation of dishes for the fall menu and promptly spaced out. He never seemed to pay attention to anything else in the higher up meetings for the restaurant you worked at. You had been here for a year now. Having been hired as a general bartender and then bumped up to manager around two months in. You had to do an order on the fly for the bar when it was revealed that the manager had made a faux one and pocketed the money for themselves. To say they had been fired would be an understatement. They were no longer allowed to work for any part of the company.

You don’t think you had ever met his eyes before and you were beginning to think that was a blessing in disguise. His eyes were such a warm, chocolate brown that lit up into an amber wonderland that you could find yourself getting lost in when they caught the light. It took you a moment to realize that he was answering your questions. This was the first instance of a menu change that you had the chance to ask questions. His gaze wandered over what he could see of you as you sat across the table from him, further down by the barback you had chosen to help out with keeping the tickets flowing well and running drinks when the servers were busy.

“Was thinkin’ of sweet potatoes, to compliment the lamb. It won’t be a traditional mint jelly, more of a yogurt based mint sauce topped before leaving the line.” He glanced down at the menu he had provided for the meeting. It was simple and to the point. Underneath one of the new dishes, the special due to the cost of sourcing the lamb was simple descriptors. Special: Lamb. Mash. Brussels. Mint. Balsamic.

“Sounds yummy, and the balsamic, chef?”

“Haven’t decided yet.” He grunted out, not sure what to think of you asking after the dish. Sure, he knew you needed to know the components properly for each dish of the special in order to pair it properly with a house made drink. But you were so…something he wasn’t used to seeing. You had a good balance of professional and personable, both on the clock and off. He noticed some of his cooks offering you tastes of stuff they were working on during prep hours and returned dishes that came back to the kitchen. The other servers often mentioned you helping them with rowdy or difficult tables, were more than willing to help them if they didn’t know questions asked after the drinks offered and wine selection.

More often than not, people from both the front of house and back of house would sit at the bar with you after their shifts. Idle chit chat and horror stories of the night told between laughs and knowing looks. Bonding in ways that could only happen as a result of working in such a space, of being able to handle working in such a space.

He shook his head, the thoughts of you disappearing with the movement and he shoved off from the table to slink back into the kitchen. He stopped at the threshold of the dining room, your gentle voice in his ears and he stifled a shiver at the thought of your lips close enough to whisper into them. What kind of things would you be brave enough to say in hushed tones just for him? Would you whisper filthy desires into his ears and cause heat to spark down his spine, or would you beg him for the things he wanted to say to you, the things he saw flash before his closed eyes when he would see how effortlessly you knocked out a line of tickets, or helped to expo his line during the times in which spacing out tables was only a wish.

“Gotcha. Thank you, chef.”

Despite his better judgement he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, just in time to see you smile softly at him before turning your focus back to the meeting. He almost hadn’t, unsure of where the sudden salacious nature of his thoughts had sprung up from. And his heartrate picked up as he crossed into his kitchen space.

The manager of the restaurant was pacing back and forth in front of the host stand, phone held tightly to her ear as she listened to the voice bleeding from the other line. It was summer, the season of call outs and no call no shows. As predictable as the looks of glee on servers and cooks faces alike as checks hit their accounts on a weekly basis, the tip out rate through the roof with the influx of tourists and lively people of the city. The manager prided herself in being able to provide a good base pay for everyone, ignoring the cheap cop out of matching the other establishments of the area and the country in general.

None of that $2.13/hour nonsense, she had smiled genuinely at you in your interview, the softness of her excitement allowing you to seriously consider the industry you had left a few years previously in favor of going back to school, of taking the monumental step of becoming a teachers assistant at your alma mater. But grad school was around the corner, something you needed in order to pursue your dreams.

But even that wasn’t a good enough allure to keep the younger members of society committed to their shifts, especially after a particularly busy week. The restaurant world wasn’t for everyone, and it was quick to humble people in ways that still took you off guard even after having been entrenched in it for a good chunk of your twenties.

With a long sigh, a worn-out thin smile, and the harsh placement of the phone back into the charging station atop the host stand, that’s how you found yourself in the kitchen you only drifted through previously.

“You know anythin’ about preppin’ food?” The calculating look aimed down at you as Joel stood beside you in front of a prep station was sharp, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The sleeves of his chef’s coat folded up to expose the thickness of his forearms.

“Of course, we prep the-“

“Not fruit. Food. Actual food.”

The fact that he cut you off mid reply made your jaw clench and you had to hold your tongue back from spewing a bad comment. You had never been treated like that at this job, in the entire year that you’ve been here. Everyone had always been polite and friendly and professional. Things you were in return, the kitchen even going so far as to offer you the rare dead plate or extras from staff meal you were always unable to snag any of due to your schedule. People would stay and hang out at the bar after their shifts ended, often bringing you treats on their off days to share as you frequently brought stuff for the front of house to have snacks and rounds of their favorite drinks to stay hydrated during busy hours. This often extended to the back of house as well, if you had the time and means to.

The divide seen so cleanly in other restaurants was something that you tried to eradicate here, not play into the ‘this versus them’ ideology that plagues too many establishments and allowed for more errors and unhappy customers.

That’s not to say there was the odd throwaway comment in the heat of dinner rush or particularly challenging event, but those were brushed under the table as they were harmless. But this, this animosity for someone willing to help out when it was desperately needed, was uncalled for and sparking annoyance in your chest.

You hadn’t really interacted with Joel directly. Just in passing and hardly for longer than a professional acknowledgment during staff meetings when a new dish would be rolling out and you needed to make a cocktail or wine pairing for it. To be honest, you hadn’t spoken to him out of the childish daydream of not wanting the image of the handsome man to be shattered in your mind’s eye. Guess you were right to worry about something being wrong with him to warrant him to spend what seemed like his entire life in the damn kitchen. He had a superiority complex, it seemed.

But for him to be rude and cut you off after already making it clear he didn’t want you in his kitchen?

Game, fucking, on.

“Oh, no,” You adjusted the fit of the black gloves around your right wrist before you carefully picked up the chef knife and tapped the tip of it on the cutting board. Joel’s eyes were heavy and judgmental as you did so, he probably disliked the way you had needed to get the feel of the knife before using it. But he stayed silent, the furrow of his brows and the turndown of his plush lips deepening as you quickly and efficiently broke down the chicken. Once you were done, you placed the knife along the edge of the cutting board beside the line made up of a pair of breasts, thighs, legs, wings, and the severed spine of the chicken. “I don’t think I’m any good with actual food, chef.”

The controlled expression you were holding didn’t break, even when one of Joel’s eyebrows seemed to rise without conscious thought as his sharp eyes danced from the cutting board atop the prep station to you standing at attention in front of it. The tick in his jaw was garnering your attention, an obvious show to what the man was really feeling at your little display. Despite his less than kind attitude toward you, you couldn’t help the flash of heat that flared up in your middle at the thought of sucking kisses into the cut of his jaw, right where it was showing is ire. The surrounding kitchen staff were all peering over toward your new station with wide eyes, unbelieving that you were deliberately feigning innocence in a cheeky manner toward the head chef.

He may be an asshole, he may be loud, he may be particular, and he may have high standards: but no one argued with him because of his skill set and how effortlessly he displayed it day in and day out.

“Now, I believe we prep a total of 56 for the night shift. After dissembling them, they get placed into a salt brine to allow the skin to brown and crisp easier when braised or pan roasted. With an extra 4 just in case of dishes going to the wrong table or mix ups with servers not paying attention to the available par, is that correct, chef?”

Your lips turned up in a small grin and you knocked your gaze up to catch the man’s eyes. There was a fire behind them, one you were sure he was about to unleash on you in front of the entire staff. He was known for his outbursts when really upset, whether it be from someone not listening to clear instructions or a count gone wrong and messing up the rotation of dishes that could be offered that shift. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and told you to complete the prep by time the doors were to open and walked briskly away.

You spent the rest of the evening prepping the necessary things for the dinner service. You could’ve just done what had been asked of you, but you peeked at the long list of things that needed to be done by the person who had bailed on their shift, on the job and decided that the bar would be okay on a weekday night without you.

You prepped the chickens for the evening and the chickens for tomorrow’s service so the kitchen wouldn’t be behind like it had nearly been today. You had diced in perfect cubes the pickled beets for the panzanella salad and the components for the egg salad to be combined. Portioned out the ingredients for the brine and brought them to a soft boil atop a hot plate for a new batch of pickles and prepared the cucumbers with a mandolin. Sliced and portioned out the bologna and pancetta used for sandwiches, and even sliced the other components like the provolone cheese, cucumbers, and tomatoes used on them as well.

You neatly organized and legibly dated everything before breaking down the station at the end of the night. Even taking everything out of the banes and running them through dish and drying them before placing them back in their respective locations underneath the hood. Going as far as to deep clean the cooler shelves down below, wiping them down and sanitizing the entire station before putting everything back according to FIFO etiquette and wrapping it all up for the night.

The next day, your schedule was updated with two hours of prep before your typical shifts for the bar.

next chapter

[butchreg]

pleaseee cg adult nat hcs 🙁🙁🙁 there’s never any daddy!nat content

yes of course , you ask i deliver (￣^￣)ゞ here you go !! i luv him hehe . :3

cg (adult) nat headcanons !

if you're sick he puts a drop of chocolate syrup in the icky medicine in an attempt to make it taste better . ( my mama used 2 do this 4 me :0 ) he's always bribing you with little sweets . if you're refusing to eat your dinner it's "aw guess daddy'll have to eat all the ice cream tonight if baby doesn't want any ." he picked out your favorite flavor just for you but you can't have any if you're too full to eat your food .

always giving you head pats or tousling your hair when he's proud of you . he does it a lot as sometimes he struggles with physical affection like hugs or kisses but he wants you to know how awesome you are . someone was mean to you && you stood up for yourself && said something back ? lottie is sure to let you know it's not okay to be mean back && nat will act all serious when lottie's talking to you , nodding along quietly but as soon as she leaves he's tousling your hair with a little smile on his face . "there's daddy's kiddo ." following up with a little "just don't do it again , yeah?" && giving you a little wink when lottie comes back .

he buys you a matching leather jacket because you think his is so cool . he saved up for it for a long time but he doesn't tell you that he doesn't want you to worry or feel guilty . he's super excited to give it to you but tries to play it cool . he tries to act all tough but he's a little shy giving it to you , worried you won't like it . "cool , huh?" he can't help but grin watching you light up as he helps you put it on .

has a bad habit of swearing in front of you && can't keep himself from laughing when you repeat it . he tries to catch himself but it takes a second for him to get his face straight again . "shhhhh , don't tell mama ." he's super embarrassed putting a finger to his lips . "that's a bad word , okay ? i shouldn't have said it ." he's flushed && you giggle at him .

you keep a swear jar for him much to his embarrassment && fill it with pennies . when it gets full he has to have a talking to from mama && owes you a little treat . sometimes you can decide a little "punishment" for him — maybe it's daddy's turn for time out or you get half of his dessert .

he's so soft with you . he loves playing with you soooo much . he loves playing hot wheels with you especially ! he knows a lot about cars && is always telling you about his favorites . he can't keep himself from always buying you one when you go out . he's always holding your hand when you go out && he can hardly bring himself to say no to you . sometimes lottie will have to be the one to say no to both of you if you want to get an extra treat . sometimes it might end up in the cart "by accident" && he'll give you a little wink when lottie finds it .

he's always helping you pick out your outfits && helping you get dressed . he'll brush his teeth with you && brush yours too if you need a little extra help .

most protective papa bear ! not afraid to stare back if someone is being rude or to flip them a middle finger when your head is turned . he would do anything to protect && defend you .

his favorite nickname is "daddy" but if you're super small you call him "dada" . he pretends like it's nothing but he can't hide his smile .

you're super curious about his top surgery scars . he lets you ask questions && trace his scars with your fingers . sometimes he makes up silly stories about how he got them .

super conscious about your stuffies && favorite toys . he's always trying to include them in your conversations && tries to pretend like he doesn't know all their names . still if someone else forgets he'll always "coincidentally" remember && remind them . if you need a hug or want something he'll always ask about your friends too . "how about beary , hmm ? does beary want one too ?"

[newtthetranswriter]

Dayquil, Curses, and Soulmates

Paring: Toge inumaki x gn! reader

Summary: In a world where soulmates are real, you get a bond that is quite annoying per say, you feel each other's pain, and your soulmate happens to be the one guy in the world that has a lifetime supply of throat medicine.

Word count: 1698 

Warnings: talk of explosion, talk of medicine, talk of pain, putting these just in case cause you never know

A/n: thought this was a fun idea, let me know how you like it, and big thanks to @just-jordie-things​ for the bit about bumping into each other buying cough medicine. Also if you catch my reference you get a cookie. please ignore any typos, i might come back and fix it later. If I mention school I mean college.  MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

 For as long as i could remember i have always got random pain in my throat. I couldn’t explain it but I would describe it as if I swallowed sandpaper. When I was younger it used to happen all of the time. One moment I was fine and being a happy kid and the next I was coughing like I hadn't had water in days. Around the age of five though my parents took me to the doctor to see if they could figure it out. Turns out that out of all the soulmate connections I could have, I’m stuck sharing pain with my soulmate. I couldn’t help but wonder what my soulmate was doing at such a young age to cause such pain so often.

 At around the age of ten or so it stopped happening as often, but when it happened it sucked. I got used to always carrying around a bottle of cough medicine for when it happened so I could at least talk with less pain. I still have no clue as to what my soulmate does to give us such terrible sore throats but I'm at least glad they slowed down a bit. 

  Today was a normal Saturday which means going out to check the shops for any cool trinkets I might want and get some snacks. Even though I was going out to get fun things, my first stop was the corner store to pick up some more cough medicine as I ran out last week and forgot to get more. 

  I swear when I meet my soulmate they are paying me back for all this cough medicine I have to buy. I thought to myself as I entered the store I have been a regular at for the past two years since starting school. I waved at the shop keeper as I walked off to the medicine aisle to grab my usual travel bottle of cough syrup and an extra just in case. As I reached for the medicine my hand bumped into someone else who seemed to be reaching for the same thing as me. 

  “Oh, I’m sorry you were here first; you can go ahead.” I said looking up at the stranger. Looking at them I would guess that they were a boy about my age with fluffy white hair and beautiful purple eyes. I also noticed he was wearing a school uniform with what looked like an extra-long collar covering the lower half of his face. Even though I was confused by it, I tried not to stare at the handsome stranger in front of me.

  He looked almost shocked when I spoke to him. He gave me a small nod, grabbed the medicine and walked away. I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t said anything but brushed it off as him being shy. After he reached the register, I finally snapped out of my trance and grabbed my own bottles of cough medicine and headed to the front.

   “Hey, there Y/n. Soulmate causing trouble again?” asked Ukai, the owner of the small business who is used to me coming in every couple week.

   “Yeah, I wonder what they keep doing to cause this cause it's so annoying not being able to talk for an hour because of the pain.” I responded not noticing the stranger from earlier freezing up for a second before leaving the store.

  “Well kiddo, I hope you find them soon so you get some answers.” He responded as he handed me my bag. “Have a good day and good luck with the soulmate.”

     After waving goodbye to the man behind the counter who was always kind to me I made my way towards the shops for the day. I was ready to just enjoy my time alone with my thoughts, mostly plotting revenge on my soulmate for this pain, but also just enjoying the fresh air.

  After a few hours I noticed it starting to get dark and decided it was probably best to head home before my parents get concerned. I also don’t really enjoy being out when it gets dark. I don't know how to explain it but other than the annoying soulmate connection, ever since I was kid I could see these weird creatures. As I got older I started ignoring them but whenever I go out at night it seems like there's a lot more, and they give me the creeps.

  As I was passing an alleyway I heard rustling and paused to look and see if it was an animal or something, boy was I wrong. As I looked down the alleyway towards the sound one of the creatures, that I feel like only I can see, lunged towards me. Long dark claws stretched out towards me, right as it was about to sink its claws into my arm I heard what sounded like someone running up from the side, and a voice yelling to move. I’m not sure what came over me, it was like my feet had a mind of their own and I jumped out of the way.

 “EXPLODE” was the next thing I heard the voice say before the creature did just that. It exploded in a large cloud of smoke. Almost immediately after that thing exploded, I was thrown into my own terrible coughing fits, but what was even weirder was I could make out the sound of someone else coughing as well. I reached for the cough medicine I bought earlier and drank half of the first bottle, as large amounts were the only thing that helped.

  “What the hell was that?” I rasped out as best I could waiting for the medicine to start working. The person who had saved me looked up at me with a look of shock on his face. It was at that moment I recognized that it was the same guy from earlier. I could tell it was him from his white hair and uniform jacket that now had the collar unzipped, with the collar no longer hiding the lower half of his face. I could make out what looked like strange tattoos on either side of his mouth. 

  I probably also had a look of shock on my face as I pieced everything together. One this guy could see the weird creatures as well, two he somehow made me move and that thing explode with just words. Last and most important, this guy is my soulmate, it just makes sense it can’t be a coincidence that my soulmate would get a throat pain right as this guy saves me, causing his own coughing fit. I was sure of it and judging by the look on his face he figured it out as well.

  I waited for a moment as I watched him scramble for something in his pocket, and he let out a sound of triumph as he pulled out his phone and walked closer to me while typing out a message. He motioned for me to look at the screen. Sorry for making you spend so much on cough medicine, It's part of my job kinda. I looked at him slightly confused as he started typing again.

  “Why do you keep typing, why not voice what's up instead?” I asked, not understanding fully why this guy who just made something explode with his voice is now refusing to talk. I watched as he shook his head at me and pointed to his phone again. My throat is still messed up, but I also can’t talk like you do. I could explain more over dinner tomorrow if that's ok with you? He asked me using his phone's note app. I looked at him skeptically for a second, but the agreed and gave him my phone number to text me the details.

  “I’m Y/n, by the way, if we’re soulmates I figure we should probably know each other's names” I said as he started typing again. It's nice to meet you Y/n, I’m Toge Inumaki, but you can just call me Toge. After I finished reading the message on his phone I looked up into his kind purple eyes and knew that this was the start of something great. “I can’t wait to go out tomorrow, and also find out whats up with that thing that you blew up.” I said with a chuckle 

  “Salmon” I heard the boy next to me rasp out, his voice sounding more messed up than mine did when I first spoke a minute ago. I looked at him confused for a second before I felt my phone go off in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a message from an unknown number. Hey, it's me, your soulmate, what I mean by salmon is I can't wait for tomorrow either. I also promise to explain everything, I bet this is all kinda weird :)  I read the message and smiled back at him as his face lit up with one of the brightest smiles I had ever seen. 

  “Well it's getting late, I should be getting home. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye Toge.” I said waving to him as I walked off hearing a small “salmon” and catching him waving before zipping his collar and walking the opposite direction.

   I was a few blocks away and almost home when my phone went off again: get homesafe, if you need me text please. Have a goodnight.  I smiled at the message and responded with an ok, you too. After the small text exchange I finally made it home, I went up stairs and went to bed happy with how the day went. I may have been almost attacked by a weird creature that most people apparently can’t see, but I finally met my soulmate. I can’t wait to get to know him and maybe find out why i was saying salmon so much but hey that's a problem for tomorrow.

  I drifted off to sleep with the thoughts of my soulmate and some slight planning on how to get revenge for the non stop sore throats without causing pain, cause that would be counterproductive.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #41

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Names and locations have been changed to protect the identities of the fictional. Please enjoy.

I haven’t been sleeping lately. The voices keep me awake. I don’t remember what they said, usually, but one stuck with me last night:

“Goodbye.”

These voices come when I am half-dreaming, in a sort of contradictory way where I know I’m in bed. I can feel the sheets, the pillow bunched under my neck, the weird position I have my left arm in that I know I’ll regret later. But I can also feel the stocky waitress touch my waist as she brushes past me behind the counter of a diner, a tingly sensation like sharing space with a ghost.

I sit down, still well aware I’m laying. “What’s the cheapest thing you’ve got on the menu?”

She leans on the counter. “A big ol’ plate a’ hash browns, I reckon. Two ninety-five. I can throw a couple eggs on top if you like, for a dollar each.”

I shudder. My stomach is upset. “Maybe just a cup of hot tea.”

“Sure thing, hon’.”

I lay my head down on the cool vinyl countertop, nearly aligning my astral form with my physical one. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them again, he’s there. I can’t take my eyes off of him, even to blink, but I couldn’t bear the thought of eye contact either. I don’t want to know his face.

He whips his newspaper in the air as he turns the page. “Hm.”

I’m not sure what section he’s reading. I never touched the newspaper unless it was the comics section. But he reads intently. Something in there has caught his attention. He turns the page toward me.

“You see that?” He says. I squint to look but I just barely can’t read it. Part of me knows whatever news it is is only a figment of my subconscious anyway.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Silly question.” He responds, and brings the paper back to himself. “It isn’t.”

“It has to be some time, doesn’t it?”

“It has been.”

I still won’t look at his face.

“You didn’t read the article, did you?”

“You didn’t give me much time to look at it.”

“You never read anything I ask you to.” He takes a sip of his coffee. Two red stirrers swirl around in the mug. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Maybe it would if you’d give me a chance.” I take my head from the counter, disorienting myself with misaligned senses. “Hand it here.”

He pulls the page out and hands it over to me. I can see the newsprint on his fingers. I take the paper, careful not to touch his hand.

The letters are hazy, but I swear they’re shaped like words. I run my finger along them, trying to make something of it. But I can’t. I put it down.

“I tried.”

“No you didn’t.”

“How would you know?”

He growls. “I was there.”

“Where?”

“Where it happened. And it happened right here. Don’t you remember?”

I look around me at the clock on the wall, the rotating display case with assorted pies, the Americana decor spread on every surface. He leans back, and behind him I can see out the window across the street to the old grocery store.

“That isn’t there anymore.”

“It might as well be, if you’re not going in.” He takes a syrup dispenser filled with cloudy white liquid and begins pouring it on the counter, forming a river that ends in a waterfall into my lap.

A drip hits my khaki shorts and for a moment I can remember all of it. The tears start pouring out uncontrollably and I fall from the stool to the floor, weeping. He gets up from his seat and stands over me, his face obscured in shadow by the bright lights of the ceiling. He had only one more word to say, and it came from outside my bedroom door.

“Goodbye.”

I woke up in a panic, though I wasn’t truly sleeping. I haven’t been sleeping lately. I don’t remember why.

[3-frogs-in-a-trench-coat]

Selfshiptober Day 7 - Rain/Infection

The rain could be heard gently pattering against the window from outside. Light shadows dancing across the walls from the dark clouds in the sky.

A light rain storm was happening. And in the middle of it, 1 sick elven bard.

Phoenix was stuck in the bedroom, blankets pulled up to their chin, sleeping restlessly. Their body was cold, but their face still shone with a light coat of sweat.

Thimble sat on the edge of the bed beside them, lightly wiping Phoenix's forehead with a cool damp washcloth.

Aza was in the kitchen, cooking some food and preparing some medicine.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Phoenix's body jerked and they awoke with their eyes wide open, before relaxing their body again against the soft mattress.

Thimble gently shushed them. Taking the washcloth off of Phoenix's forehead and replacing it with her hand to test their temperature.

"It was just another fever dream. You're ok." He reassured them.

Suddenly Aza came in. A slight limp in their step while keeping a steady hand as they carried over a tray full of various items.

Kneeling down upon the opposite end of the bed across from the 2 partners, Aza presented the items before them all.

"Here, take this. It should help you feel better for a little bit." He said, holding up a small plastic medicine cup full of a thick looking liquid in it.

Phoenix's head rose up weakly, Aza propping up another pillow behind their head soon after seeing them struggle to keep their head up.

Taking a single gulp and finishing all of the liquid within the cup, Phoenix shuddered slightly at the strong taste of cough syrup. Their head hitting the pillows soon after. Whatever little energy they had, now fully drained.

Aza and Thimble gave each other a concerned glance.

"You have to eat something hon. You haven't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday..." Aza spoke in his usual soft-spoken tone of voice.

Phoenix groaned lightly before speaking, their voice faint and scratchy. "I don't think I can Azzy... I-" they stopped to cough. "-I don't think I can handle anything right now..."

Aza lightly tsked under his breath, as he lifted a bowl of soup up to his face. It was full of noodles, chopped chicken, and softened vegetables. A faint smell of chicken broth could be smelt throughout the room.

They grabbed a spoonful of the soup, brought it to their lips, and gently blew on it. Making sure it wasn't too hot, before bringing it to Phoenix's lips. Giving them a silent look that said "Please at least try... For us?"

Phoenix sniffed. Whimpering lightly before opening their mouth. Their jaw along the rest of their body aching from every little movement they made.

Aza placed the spoon into their mouth, gently removing it and placing it back to Phoenix's mouth once it was once again full of more soup.

Phoenix gulped, coughing lightly as the soup went down their throat, causing them to choke a bit due to the difficulty of swallowing anything.

Phoenix gave their partner an exhausted glance, only wanting to sleep but knowing that their partners would worry a bit less if they ate something to help nourish their body.

This process of Aza feeding them spoonfuls of soup, with Thimble lightly brushing their face with a cool damp wash cloth in between every few mouthfuls, repeated for several minutes until the bowl was halfway empty. Phoenix suddenly passing out from exhaustion, unable to be woken up. (Not like their partners tried hard. They both knew Phoenix needed their rest.)

The rest of the day was spent with Aza and Thimble caring for the young bard, who stayed in bed in between moments of passing out and eating warm soup. Taking medicine every few hours before sleeping some more.

The constant steady beat of rain hitting the house a calming presence throughout the day.

Taglist:

@faerie-circle-ships

@sennamybeloved

(Feel free to comment on here or message me, if you want to be added to the taglist! ☺️)

[wesperbrekkered]

Decided that for Wip Wednesday from now on I'm gonna post my favorite snippet so far from each one of my *many* wesper wips that im working on. Tags under the cut ♡

-------

Tangled In Your Web > Spiderverse AU Part 2

Crossing the room so that he could loop his arms around Jesper’s neck and give him a kiss. “Do you want to come over to my universe?” Wylan asked softly, lips brushing against Jesper’s as he spoke, “my government likes to profit off their superheroes and they just released a Spiderman movie, I need to laugh about the inaccuracies with you.

Jesper chuckled, kissing Wylan again. “Sounds fun,” he said, already feeling the coil in his stomach loosen.

-------

To Capture Perfections Muse > Domestic wesper fluff

“You love me,” Jesper managed through his laughter, somehow managing to wrap Wylan up in his arms again.

“I am questioning all my life decisions right now,” Wylan complained, voice muffled where his face was shoved into his hoodie.

“You knew what you getting into,” he said smugly, kissing Wylan’s hair and rocking them side to side.

“Hence the questioning my life choices.”

_________

Of Latte Art and Sweet Suggestions > 5+1 coffeeshop au

“Just a caramel mocha for me please,” he said slowly, “with extra cream. And extra caramel syrup. Please.”

The barista raised a judgemental eyebrow, “that is far too much sugar,” he said stubbornly, the fake smile falling away to Jesper’s delight.

“It’s good!” Jesper tried to defend, leaning against the counter.

“You are going to rot your teeth out,” the barista said flatly, but he turned his head to the side anyway to type Jesper’s order into the computer, putting the elegant lines of his crooked nose on show. And that jawline, saints.

--------

50 Ways To Kill A Man > Detective AU

Jesper slammed the phone down with a triumphant grin.

Across the table from him, Inej raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s got you all excited?” She asked somewhat sceptically, pausing on her report. Leaning back on his chair, Jesper crossed his arms behind his head, grinning. “My darling Inej,” he said, ignoring her eyeroll, “Councillor Hoede is dead!”

---------

The Longest Hour chapter 7 > cowboy au

Jesper barely had a chance to register the fact that Wylan’s side of the bed was empty the next morning before something decidedly soft whacked him in the face.

Jesper spluttered, “wha—” whack.

Scrambling with his right hand, Jesper managed to locate one of his revolvers, fingers curling around the pearl handle just as a voice yelled, “Jesper get up.”

The sheer panic was what spurred him into action, startling him out of his drowsiness.

--------

To Love Like A Lie > Fake Dating AU

So here he was, at the wedding, with Wylan Van fucking Eck hanging off his arm as a very much unhelpful, very much fake date.

Jesper could only curse whatever ungodly deity was residing in the sky that seemed to have a perverse thrill in making him suffer.

Wylan bit his lip anxiously, eyeing the large crowd of people at the afterparty. “So maybe I was a bit hasty,” he admitted, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. A bit hasty was an understatement.

_______

Rose Tinted Glasses > Post - Canon Fluff

On these nights, Jesper liked to watch his boyfriend.

He hoped it wasn’t creepy, because he never intended it to be creepy, it was just that Wylan had that weird way of always being able to ground him in the moment, no matter how restless or jittery he may have felt.

It didn’t always work, some nights everything was just too much and Jesper would inevitably slink out of bed with a sigh and go run laps up and down the stairs to cool himself down.

He had a feeling this would be one of those nights, the soft light from the moon was painfully bright and his skin itched and burned with such an intensity that Jesper was half tempted to see if he could simply scratch the feeling away.

-----------

Of Hidden Truths and Drastic Actions > show!wesper tackling key book!wesper scenes

The coin his pocket burned like a hot iron, reminiscent of the way the other coin had heated while he shaped it into a coin, completely at ease with the icy hot pain that surged through Jesper like a shockingly cold river.

Everything was muddled and confused and it hurt, and Jesper didn’t fully understand what was going on.

All he knew, was that when Kaz Brekker said ‘meet Wylan Van Eck,’ his whole world had come to a sudden, screeching stop.

-----------

Of Gunslingers and Journey's Home > omalh epilogue

There was an odd sense of regret when Wylan finally put his last item of clothing into the bag. Six weeks he’d spent in Novyi Zem with Jesper and his father, and yet it had felt more like home then anywhere else.

More then the Slat, more then the boarding house, more then his father’s giant mansion for sure.

He found he didn’t want to leave, not yet.

Tagging some peeps with some pretty cool wips: @crowpricorn @darjeelinh @heypax @jackwolfes @littlelcvestory @mezlymils @sunfl8wer @thesacredlore @violets-and-books

[moon-jellie]

Tomgreg below the cut. Is this anything

The air crackles between them for a moment. Tom clocks the buglike stutter of Greg's eyelashes before Greg descends suddenly, collapsing on the ottoman beneath him. From a seated position he comes up to Tom's chest.

"What's the matter?" coos Tom, keeping it cool but distantly ready to act if Greg should actually need something.

"I just got really dizzy all of a sudden," says Greg, shaking his head slowly, staring blankly at the space in front of him.

Tom thinks of the proximity, the wording of the moment before. "Oh, Greg," he tsks, reaching a hand down to lift Greg's chin with a hooked finger. "Dizzy? What's the matter with you?"

Greg's eyes are big and round, and his face is pliable as Tom adjusts his hand to clutch Greg's chin between thumb and forefinger. "I don't--I don't know--"

Tom turns Greg's head to the left, then to the right, appraisingly. "You don't look pale. A little flushed, maybe." He lets his voice lilt in just the way he starts being unable to explain when he's talking to Greg like this. Something warm uncoils in his stomach when Greg tries to break eye contact, glancing bashfully downward. It isn't any movement of his head, but when Tom jerks Greg's chin upward, Greg's eyes follow, and the thing in Tom's stomach clenches.

"Do you feel hot, Greg?" Tom drawls, and the halted movement of Greg's throat as he tries to swallow is like a magnet to Tom's core. Hand still holding Greg's face, he kneels, ignoring the way his knees crack on the way down.

Tom notes with interest that Greg is actually sweating, the sick dog, a clear sheen on his forehead betraying that something, certainly, has strayed from the typical Hirsch homeostasis. Tom raises his other hand from the floor to inspect, then finds he needs the balance and settles it instead neatly beside Greg's thigh on the ottoman, bracing himself and Greg both. Slowly, Tom draws his hand from Greg's chin, skirts up the side of his face, and lays it with a softness just short of condescending on Greg's temple. He brushes a thumb over Greg's forehead and vaguely processes that from this position, he is the one looking up at Greg now.

"Greg," he says, dragging the syllable out with all the viscosity of cough syrup. "You're not coming down with something, are you? Sick dog," he adds, finding his own thoughts worth echoing out loud.

Greg halts for a moment, and it's as if his full body stutters, eyes halfway between open and closed, body halfway between fight and flight and, if the fluttering in his neck and the flush riding its way high onto his cheeks is anything to go by, a secret third thing. When he remembers his autonomy, he tries to shake his head again. "No, I don't think it's that--"

"Then what is it, Greg?" Tom purrs, not tuned into much beyond the yawning warmth in the base of his stomach, twisting itself into something pointed and pleasurable, and the curve of Greg's cheekbone beneath his palm.

Greg tries to swallow again, and Tom hears the click of his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth. He fails to say anything that Tom can interpret as words.

Boldly, houndishly, Tom leans in. Greg's ear is thin and delicate beneath his lips. "Could it be that you're aroused?"

Greg pushes Tom away, wrapping a hand around Tom's forearm, disguising what Tom swears is a shiver. "Tom, I don't think we should be--" He seems to wait for Tom to cut him off, floundering with a lack of words after his initial reaction.

[lazyrants]

Defeeted (prod 103)

Original airdate: August 16, 2004

Story by Scott Gray

Written by Noah Zachary, Mani Svavarrson, Magnus Scheving, Scott Gray

Directed by Magnus Scheving

Executive producers - Magnus Scheving, Ragnheidur Melsted, Raymond P. Le Gue, Mark Read, Brown Johnson, Kay Wilson Stallings

Starring Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Steffanson, Julianna Rose Mauriello

Puppeteers - Ronald Binion, Gudmondor Thor Karason, Jodi Eichelberger, Heather Asch, David Matthew Feldman, Julie Westwood, Sarah Burgess

This is the second episode of LazyTown that aired on the same day as the first one. All in all a very early and flawed episode.

The episode begins with some amazing aerobics from Sportacus while he.. tries to brush his teeth. My lord, he is so extra. And it is so cool! How everyone can see those jumps and flips that Magnus, Joe and Dyri did and not like them is beyond me.

Anyways, it's a new day in LazyTown and everyone has seem to forgotten everything Sportacus had tought them in the last episode. They take him for granted and don't care. Anyways, Stephanie is in her room writing in her diary, bored. Milford asks what is wrong and Stephanie tells him that nobody is playing outside. Milford knows what just to do (rely on Sportacus). He gives Sportacus a letter saying 'I need your help'. Sportacus rides the airship to LazyTown, but not before doing a flip into his chair.. and landing the wrong way. LazyTown is the pinnacle of comedy.

Milford talks to Sportacus, telling him something terrible has happened. Sportacus tries guessing four times what has happened, and all his guesses are lethal natural disasters. LOL! This is funny. Anyways, Milford tells him about the whole thing with not wanting to play outside and he asks Sportacus to get the kids excited with a sport like he did last year at the Sportacular Spectacle Day. Now, excuse ME, but didn't Sportacus arrive in LazyTown, like, one episode ago? The continuity of this show's first season kills me sometimes, like when a clip from Soccer Sucker (episode 24) is played in Dear Diary (episode 16).

Anyways, Robbie is as usual, angry about Sportacus, so he looks into his periscope and finds the sign Milford has put up. Robbie reminisces about how Sportacular Spectacle Day was a day full of pie eating contests and diving into chocolate syrup. He then admires his newest invention - "THE FEET CRAZER MAKER 6000!!" Then he plays with the remote control, calls it beautiful until it kicks him in the face and he falls onto the ground. I. Love. This. Show.

He then gets up from the floor and wears his newest disguise - Rob U Blind, a salesman with ridiculous ways. Now we are in Pixel's house with Ziggy and Stephanie. Ziggy is hyping the event up. He is ridiculously excited. Steph is curious. And french fry hair boy is playing a video game and insulting Ziggy in between rounds.

Sportacus is on the soccer field practicing his amazing move (kicking a soccer ball while doing a backflip). Robbie is walking to him and almost gets hit in the face by the ball. Anyways, he walks up to him and plays the funniest sequence of this episode.

Robbie asks Sportacus if he has ever thought "Boy, my shoes are sure full of slimy smelly goo!"? Sportacus of course says no. THEN Robbie pours slimy smelly goo all over his shoes. Robbie then (pretends to) cleans the shoes with the Shoe Cleaner 6000, and once he is finished, he swipes the shoes and gives Sportacus the Feet Crazer Maker. What's funny is that Sportacus is not having any of it (and Robbie is also pretty hilarious).

So, anyways, after that, it is time for Sportacus to perform his epik move!1!111!1!1!!, but Robbie has the remote control and plays with Sportacus, making his "feet go cuckoo!" -Sportacus. Everyone is worried and confused, except Robbie who is enjoying every single moment of it. It's so unintenionally funny. Sportacus just looks insane. I also love Milford's "reaction" to getting kicked in the head. Could be the cause for his stupidness in the later seasons?

Now Sportacus is on a bench trying to get his feet to go back to normal while Milford and Bessie are just sitting there and questioning if that was supposed to happen. It's so funny. One of the possibly craziest events in LazyTown just happened and they're so quiet about it, especially the man who got KICKED IN THE HEAD. Anyways, back to Stephanie and the gang, who are using multiple methods to try and get him back to normal while performing "Always a Way", a.k.a ONE OF THE BEST LAZYTOWN SONGS IN EXISTENCE. THIS SONG IS A TREASURE AND I WILL GO BRUCE LEE MODE ON ANYONE WHO DISAGREES. It's inspirational and a head banger (well at least the radio edit).

Now Robbie shows up on stage in his LazyCus costume and performs an amazing move (attempting the splits and falling down and failing terribly)! Milford and Bessie aren't really all that impressed, but LazyCus convinces them by saying that they don't have a superhero anymore.

Cue Sportacus coming on in stage with the gang, doing a handstand. He then fails and flails his feet around. Fortunately, french fry hair boy is behind Robbie while he drops his gadget off the stage and turns it off, and the shoes go flying off.. and Robbie runs off stage in such a cartoony way it is hilarious..

Sportacus stands up normally, but he doesn't know where his shoes are. Robbie runs back on stage to give him the Feet Crazer Makers, but french fry hair boy stops him and tells him to put them on. Robbie declines but Pixel comes back with the classic 'unless-you're-afraid' argument. Ooh, snap! He ends up putting them on, acting like everything is fine, but then Pixel turns the gadget on.

Then his feet go cuckoo and everybody laughs at his pain as he falls down and gets his foot stuck in a bin.. I would too. Anyways, somehow Stephanie gains hold of the real shoes and cleans them up. He puts them on and Bessie throws him a ball to do his epik !!111!!!!111 trick. He performs it, the ball almost hits Robbie again, everyone is impressed, they sing the Bing Bang song (both verses), the end.

I must say, for the third episode of the TV show that LTE filmed, this is an amazing episode. Of course, the puppeteers screwed up visibly like four times in total, but it was an amazing episode with an amazing song. But there was no Robbie sequence at the end, possibly because the two verses of Bing Bang were sung instead of one verse.

THE END

10/10

[sanitizedsubject]

The Fright Begins (Or: The Mod Of SanitizedSubject Tries Her Best To Participate In An RP Event Like The Cool Kids)

Laughter, screams of delight, and screams of what Pistachio hoped was the kind of terror that didn’t come with danger filled the air. All those lights had been a little overwhelming the last time she was here, but knowing all she knew now, she supposed everything was overwhelming… Four stretched, the glittering costume she was wearing shining in the light. “Libby and Aleena should be catching up with us soon. Aleena’s just caught up in not looking like a coward again…” Pistachio nodded, though her attention was far from any haunted houses or other frightening things in the area. She wasn’t even really paying attention to the rides, or the food stalls selling treats so sugary she was pretty sure they’d turn her ink into syrup.

No, for some reason, Pistachio’s attention was on all of the little corners, the spaces in between where the shadows stretched out far too long, where all the fake darkness of the event gave way to the real dimness of night.

A tap on her shoulder almost made her superjump at least a good ten feet in the air. Four chuckled as the octoling turned towards her.

“Your eyes are glowing. They make you look even spookier, you know?” she said, raising a hand and gesturing towards her face. Pistachio scrunched up her nose, shaking her head. “They don’t glow in the movie. I wish I could turn it off…”

Four pulled her hand away, eyebrows furrowed in slight concern for just a moment. Any difference between her and someone “normal” upset Pistachio greatly, no matter how much she tried to encourage her to be ok with things like that. 

After all, in a world like this, who was really to say what was normal and what wasn’t? “Ah… Stachi, I got an idea. I’m gonna go get us a treat, you pick out something fun for us to do! Meet me back here in a few minutes!” “You trust me enough for that?” She folded her hands behind her back, grin widening as she nodded. “Of course I do! You’ve got your phone if you need help.” Before Pistachio could say anything else, the inkling turned, and trotted off into the crowd.

Well, she was… brave. Pistachio had no doubt in her mind that she could easily find something fun for them to do without getting into too much trouble… That was, until something brushed against her leg. With only a little bit of a startle, she glanced down to see a certain fuzzy cat staring up at her. “Judd?”

He didn’t answer as usual, instead bounding off… towards the edge of the fairgrounds? “Kinda rude…” she muttered, then took a deep breath. Pistachio cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted out into the crowd. “Hey, Judd! Wait for me!” Four had told her not to go too far, but she was pretty sure the edge of the fairgrounds didn’t count as too far from where they were standing, so she ran after the cat— maybe despite her better judgment, but who could blame Judd’s apprentice for not making good choices when he hardly had taught her anything yet?

As the lights cleared away and gave themselves to moonlight, Pistachio finally found her furry friend sitting on a rock, against a small groove of trees. He licked his paw once, and glanced over at her. “The veil is thin this time of year, you know. I thought it would be best to warn you.” “And you couldn’t do that five minutes ago because…?” Judd’s eyes seemed to glow in the dimness, much like her own— though she couldn’t help but feel a bit creeped out by how yellow they were. “I thought you would appreciate me telling you away from prying eyes…”

Pistachio froze, opting to tug on her jacket instead of just looking totally freaked out. “Are you trying to scare me?! It’s not working!”

…Well, it was working a little bit. What the shell did “prying eyes” mean?

“If fear will keep you out of trouble. I can’t help but feel a little bit responsible for you seafolk…”

“Wha— I can take care of myself!” Pistachio lied. She knew very well that she relied on quite a bit of help from her friends, but at the current moment, she figured it would be better to look like the cat’s clear attempt to scare her was failing. “And what are you talking about? What's a ‘thin veil’?”

The cat gave no answers, simply taking his leave towards the night— though he did spare her one last glance.

“You might not be the only ghost around here.”

“I’m not a ghost!” Pistachio shouted back, though no one was around to hear it. She huffed quietly, and then turned back towards the fairgrounds.

“...Thinking I am is just bad for me in the long run…”

[sohushygrayness]

Project Number 21: Baklava

Introduction: (Project Number: 21; Project type: Task; Goal: to produce a successful baklava).

Planning: (Materials: ingredients, food processor; Time: 1 hour+; Budget: £10).

Learning: (Research: how do you make baklava; Skills: cooking, baking).

Execution: I start with 2 bags of pistachios which I purchased from my local supermarket.

After peeling them, I then have a plate's worth of pistachios.

I then add these to the food processor to ensure that they resemble something akin to breadcrumbs.

I then melt butter in my pan and use it on the base layer.

Then I begin by adding one filo pastry at a time, I then brush it with the melted butter and once I’m half way through, I add in a layer of crushed pistachio.

I then finish up the syrup which is made by combining 250g caster sugar with 250ml water and the juice of ½ lemon which I pour over the top after I’ve cut diamond shapes into the baklava and then I add it into the oven for 25 minutes.

I take it out of the oven and allow it to cool down before I try some of the slices.

Reflection: (Outcome: a successfully made baklava; Lessons: next time I think I will allow it to cool down overnight next time. As nice as the dish is, it doesn't have a consistent consistency. When I've tried store-bought baklava before, the pieces themselves have held together relatively well, that isn't the case with this dish and I'll need to investigate why).

[briochebread]

You can make caramel and candy????? Are you a wizard?? Candy wizard????

I tried makin caramel with my mom once and we ended up with a casserole dish of caramel colored rock

hohohoho! yes, i can and i am! 🥳 homemade caramel is amazing, so if you ever want to try again, here are a lot of tips from the wizard!

making caramel is like medicating a cranky old cat, or like glassblowing! it can be very rewarding, and it can also hurt you quite a lot. be prepared, and move carefully but decisively!

the ideal caramel pot has a small capacity (3 qt-ish), but is relatively tall and heavy for its size! a heavy pot helps distribute heat more evenly and avoid burning, while tall sides help protect you and your stove from the inevitable splattering.

get all your ingredients and equipment ready ahead of time. for the pan where the caramel will sit to cool, line it with greased foil or parchment paper.

be mindful of temperatures. The caramel itself needs to be cooked to a specific temperature in order to get the texture you're going for (hotter final temp -> harder caramel), but also, be aware of the temperature of ingredients as you add them in! cold butter/cream/milk can shock it and cause it to separate. it's best to have those at room temp, or for cream/milk you can pop it in the microwave for 30 seconds to warm it up.

learn when to fuss with it and when to leave it alone. when it's first heating up, you really do have to just leave it and not touch it. if it's a sugar-water caramel and you're worried about crystallization, put a lid on it and set a timer to check every couple of minutes until it's evenly melted! in my experience, this works way better than trying to brush the sides or anything like that.

when you do need to act, act carefully but decisively. adding liquids will make it bubble up dramatically, so watch your fingers! once you take it off the heat, it hardens quickly, so have your prepared pan ready and waiting.

do not let hot caramel touch your hands. it is so so so hot and will stick and burn you badly. i know the caramel left over in the pot is very enticing, so here's what you do: scrape up a nice glob of it with your spatula, leave it on your spoon rest to cool for five minutes, then go for it!

for cleaning solidified caramel out of a pot: put a little bit of soap in there, fill it up to the brim with hot water, and then just leave it in the sink for as long as you can. at least 4 hours, but overnight works great! dunk your spatula and any other caramel-covered cooking tools in there too.

there’s a few different kinds of caramel, and some are easier to make than others. for a higher chance of success, i recommend trying a recipe that has an invert sugar in its sugar base, like reduced apple cider, honey, or corn syrup. my favorite apple cider caramel recipe is here!

good luck! i hope that delicious homemade caramels are in your future ✨✨✨