#Saffron Exchange

[aricksaffron]

Saffron Exchange

The Saffron Exchange is a safe and secure way to trade virtual goods and services. It’s also a great way to meet new people and make new friends. So what are you waiting for? Sign up today!

[aj11back]

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[rockingbytheseaside]

Hiii I really love the one with the harbingers where reader calls them words of endearment from their homeland, can you do one where reader cooks for them food from their homeland? pantalone's part was so cute <33

✦ You cook them their favorite home meal, based on their homeland

(Or trying to guess what food the not-yet-playable characters might like based on their region, culture, or language. ) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ It is to no one’s surprise that Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, would easily drop everything to grant your needs. Just blink and the world’s spoils are at your feet, bestowed by your beloved. Expensive clothing, jewelry, art pieces, weaponry, or lavish dishes. With his money and status, plus being a connoisseur of the ancient lores of Teyvat, The Jester can easily acquire anything you require on a silver platter. 

But this time, it was you who tried to gift him something on a silver platter.

On an unsuspecting day, Pierro returned home only to be greeted with a strong scent of baked goods. The smell wafted all around the living quarters, warm and sugary. Glancing curiously, the Jester marched to the kitchen, where he found you grumbling to yourself. You stood with your oven mittens, a tray of voluptuous Kanelbullar presented in front of him; some were cut as you tried to take an analytical bite of the cinnamon rolls.

“Trying your hands at familiar recipes, my cherished?” - The man asked with a welcoming glance while you mulled and judged the taste of your cooked goods.

“Ah, Pierro, you’re right on time. Here, try this one for me. Does it resemble traditional cinnamon rolls?”

When the Jester took a bite, even his icy eye widened for a moment. A wave of nostalgia and warmth lanced his memories, ones he thought were long forgotten. The cinnamon rolls you baked were not the average confectionaries one could easily purchase, as the taste resembled traditional Khaenri’ahn Kanelbullar. A simple treat that all children and adults used to enjoy in their free time.  

“Well…? Oh no, don’t tell me it’s that bad?” - you awaited his response, but Pierro quickly shook his head.

“It’s rich and potent in taste, but not too sugary. Just like the ones in our Homeland… I didn’t think replicating such intricacies was possible. What did you add this time?”

Your eyes light up. Finally, some progress. “Really? I’ve been mulling over it for hours, I thought my taste pallet was going numb. I tried to find any local ingredients that might add the flavor of saffron and cardamon.”

“Like the golden Saffron…? They were a local specialty back in Khaenri’ah. Although some variants exist in Teyvat’s soil, they are not used as cooking ingredients here.” - Pierro pondered, amazed at your ability to combine other local spices to imitate the taste of the past.

As both of you mulled over how to achieve the most accurate results for these traditional Cinnamon Rolls, half of the tray was already gone.

“Although now that I think about it, my divine, I don’t think it would be an issue to send an expedition to obtain that rare spice for you. Especially if the result is such exquisite home pastry.”

✧ In this house, Il Capitano is the master chef. The man is proficient in the art of survival, thus, his skills in outdoor cooking are especially shown. From simple meat and vegetables, the Captain can come up with the best meat skewers you ever ate. Not to mention the topic of sustenance and growth is intertwined with a good diet. A man his size and capabilities puts immense care into outdoor survival and health.

But even a strong Captain deserves some spoiling for his hard work. 

After a wearying day spent honing the skills of his Fatui troops, a group of soldiers that will prepare for an upcoming expedition, Il Capitano was greeted with a surprise visit from you. You arrived right on time for their break, and as always, the Fatui soldiers couldn't help but eavesdrop on the Harbinger’s exchange with his beloved…

“I brought you your meal for today, Bife de chorizo. You need lots of protein.”

“Thank you.” - The Captain stood obediently, holding the lunchbox you brought.

“With Pico de Gallo and avocados. I also put some almonds and walnuts as a snack.”

“I understand.” 

“You are preparing for another important expedition. You must take care of your body after such intensive training, Cappy.”

“You are right, you are right.”

“And I don’t want to see anything left from the lunch boxes. Make sure to eat all of it, okay?”

“Understood!”

It sure was a sight. One would think the Harbinger was the student as he stood nodding vehemently while you scolded him. With one hand on your hip, you gave him an earful as you checked up on him, generously providing him a full-course meal neatly packed in a mealbox.

The Fatui soldiers were slightly jealous. Even they could easily tell that behind that pitch-black helmet, Il Capitano was absolutely joyous to have his beloved visit him and provide such mouthwatering nourishment. 

✧ Today, you were ready to tackle and kill Il Dottore. Why? Because that man barged into your kitchen and confidently announced himself as the culinarian for today’s dinner. A simple and kind gesture, right? You would rather starve than have The Doctor implode your kitchen again.

“Stop exaggerating as if I let your Serenitea Pot house crumble. It was just a little fire.” - Dottore defended himself, watching closely as you made him stand back from the stove. 

“I had to replace the whole walls, Zandik!”

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with the Harbinger peeking from behind your shoulders as you claimed dominion over the frying pan. The whole day, he was made watching you prepare Sumeru Kibbeh meatballs, since the last time he decided to dabble in the art of cooking, your house was put at stake.

He was a scholar, not a chef, unfortunately. But The Doctor is not ashamed to admit his impatience and lack of skill in the kitchen. Hence, he helped you as much as he could while you diligently taught him how Kibbeh is properly made. He remained silent but pleasantly subservient. The sight of your sleeves raised, hands tactfully molding the Kibbeh was oddly amiable. Especially when your face was so focused on the task, he couldn’t help but stare. 

Yet every time you fried the meatballs and set them aside on a pan lined with paper towels to drain, a sneaky hand would try to steal some. You’d slap his hand away.

“Nope. Hands off! Wait till dinner”

“They’ll end up being consumed anyway. I’ll just have a small tas-”

Slap!

And it continued for a long while, all the way to the end once you finished cooking. When the two of you finally sat down and began eating, Dottore would often remain silent. You were too busy relishing the dish, unaware of the Harbinger’s appreciation for your home-cooked meal. Sustenance is just a waste of time that the human body must go through to gain its energy. But it’s not the same when he is sitting with you casually, the warm afternoon sunlight wrapping the dining table, and the warm food steaming with an appetizing aroma.

For him, eating with you was different. It was simple, but it was home. 

✧ Scaramouche may huff and scoff all he wants, but when it comes to appraising your Unagi Chazuke, no master can compete with you. Perhaps because he is a puppet, but Scaramouche has a delicate pallet. He despises strong flavors and always preferred simpler dishes, to appreciate the unique flavor of a singular ingredient. He would never admit it vocally, but he would often crave your chazukes, and it was easily written on his grumbling face.

“Come on, just say it.”

The Balladeer lamented.

“Say it. My home cooking is the best, and you just want me to cook for you today.”

“...I won’t. I don’t have use in consuming any human meals.” - he mumbled in response, arms crossed. You sighed and with a wide smile, you turned away.

“Oh well. Guess you don’t want any, huh…? And here I thought I could prepare your favorite Unagi Chazuke today. But I guess it’s foolish-”

“No, Wait-!” - The Harbinger wished to bite his tongue but it was too late. He already called out to you in a moment of weakness, and your goofy grin only widened with his desperation. 

He gave up. With reluctant embarrassment, the Balladeer admitted your victory - “If you may… Can you prepare another one of your signature Chazuke? Please.”

And that’s how you two ended up by the dinner table. You couldn’t just deny him after such a heartfelt request. You prepared the unagi meat and rice diligently, showing him how to prepare green tea to add mild bitterness to the salted rice. Topping off with some dried Nori leaves, and sesame - two bows of Unagi Chazuke were ready and looking artistically grandiose.

Light and sublime, that’s what Scaramouche thought. A true definition of soul food, as he held his bowl and chopsticks close. A rare but sincere smile would always grace his features whenever he ate your cooking, but he of course would conceal it by clearing his throat.

“Hm, okay fine. Maybe your cooking is adequate after all. Especially when you don’t make it too sweet.”

You’d laugh at his reaction. At the end of the day, it was you who taught him how to cook what later would become his signature dish, even if his identity as a Harbinger was wiped away. 

✧ Being the richest man in Teyvat like Pantalone means dealing with lots of bureaucracies and business. Sometimes, after a prolonged day in the office, the sight of stacked papers becomes dreadful and negotiations with the Snezhnayan elites may go fruitless. Thus, The Regrator would often slum by his desk, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sigh in exhaustion.

Now what would the richest man in Teyvat do to relax after a bad day at work? Go to the most expensive five-star restaurant? Perhaps purchase a fancy drink that costs more than his subordinates' monthly salary? No. He would head straight back home, where he knows you are awaiting him with open arms.

A single look at him and you would know he is fatigued. Leaning up to embrace him, you plant a tender kiss on his cheek - “How about I make us a quick snack, hm? You can go and take a shower in the meantime.”

Pantalone would try to conjure up a faint smile and nod. As he winds down for the day, subconsciously he knows your home cooking is like a balm to his soul. No matter how many exquisite restaurants he tried, he’d easily sacrifice all of them for a bite-full of your culinary.

And here you are, merrily handing him his childhood favorite - Mora Meat Roujiamo. A simple meat sandwich, but a staple street food in Liyue’s culture. That’s all the Harbinger desires after a tough day at work, as he gobbles the sandwich wrapped with a paper towel.

“Made your favorites. I added some extra meat since I know you like it juicy.” - you gave Pantalone soothing pats on the back as he ate up.

“You’re a lifesaver, honey. You would not believe how frustrating work has been today,”

Pantalone would rant and confide in you about his work. He would rather do that than delve into the nostalgic feeling that Mora Meat sandwiches gave him. It was indeed his childhood favorite. Yet it also reminded him how in the distant past, when food or money was scarce, starvation and desperation were his only companions as a lowly child. Thus, on better days when he acquired some change just to purchase simple Mora Meat - these sandwiches felt like a king’s feast.

Such an unadorned dish, but one that brought warmth and sustenance to a starved child, telling him that everything would be okay. Today, this starved child is the richest man in Snezhnayan. Nevertheless, he still relished these sandwiches from your hands like divine wealth, telling himself once more that everything would be okay. 

✧ Tartaglia was bedbound for some while, bandaged heavily after a massive battle he faced during one of his missions. The young Harbinger would never tell his family where his scars hail from, except for you and his father maybe. But after an earful of scolding, you took care of your reckless boyfriend and sighed.

“You made me worried, you know. I don’t want to see you move a muscle around the house these days, are we clear? You must recover first.”

“Y-yes, captain.” - Childe chuckled humorously, suppressing the soreness his cuts provided around his body. “It’s just… there is only one remedy that could save a fallen soldier like me.”

“Hm? What is it? Do you need something, Ajax?” 

“Please, dear… come closer.” - he said with a pained expression. 

You did so he could whisper to you what he wanted. Your concern was only heightened, oblivious that his dramatic words were playing you - “The secret to my healing… is…”

“Yes?” - you leaned even closer.

“... Some yummy food.”

You blinked at him, and Tartaglia immediately gained a comically “passed out” expression on his face, as if your cooking were his last death wish. You let him plop to the pillow and gritted your teeth - “Why you little-...! Ugh, you’re lucky I am worried about you. You just want me to pamper you.”

“Oh, come on, is that such an unrealistic request? You told me not to move a muscle and I would receive your scolding no matter what. Please, sweetheart, just anything you would like - cook it and I would happily gobble it up!”

You crossed your arms. You hate to admit it, but his puppy eyes were working effectively and if his appetite was returning, that means he is on a good path of recovery anyway.

“Fine… I’ll make something nutritious and easy for your stomach.”

Tartaglia's eyes lightened up in an instant. He was a simple man - if you cooked him something, he would drop on his knees for you instantly. That day, you pondered whether you’d make him some Piroshki or Borscht, but he needed something light. His health was your priority, after all. Even though Childe fancied himself a master at concealing his painful whinces, you are no fool. You always notice them.

Thus, your beloved was presented with Ukha fish soup. A warm bowl with fresh herbs, imported calla lily, and nutritious fish.

“Easy now, I know you like Calla Lily Seafood Soup, since you often had it in Liyue… So I decided to go with the local version of it. Now make sure to eat all of it, or you won’t feel better.”

Like an obedient child, Ajax felt pampered and delighted. Lunch by the bed? His sweetheart feeding him? The injuries were worth it as he happily ate the Ukha fish soup.

“If getting injured makes me taste food more worthy than the gods themselves, maybe I should get wounded more often, haha- Ow!”

Your response was another fistful nudge to his shoulder.  

Kanelbullar - in Swedish, Cinnamon Rolls Bife de chorizo - in Spanish, Argentinian beef cut Pico de Gallo - in Spanish, Mexican salsa/dip Kibbeh - in Arabic, bulgur parcel stuffed with minced meat filling (in Genshin, they just called it meatballs lol) Chazuke - in Japanese, green tea poured over a rice meal (Scara's signature dish)  Mora Meat - had to look this one up, apparently Genshin is referencing RouJiaMo (肉夹馍) meaning “meat in a bun". Ukha fish soup - in Russian, also known as fisherman’s soup. Childe’s signature Calla Lily Seafood Soup is probably a variation made with Gēng found in Chinese cuisine. But there is a Slavic variation that reminded me of his signature dish. 

[flawseer]

Jade Mountain Academy students

#7 - Rainwing chapter

Ah yes, the Rainwings, a.k.a. "the ones where my friends will disown me if I get them wrong". I ended up making some changes here; particularly with Coconut, who is depicted as green in the graphic novels but described as lavender in the books. I tried to do something with elements from both. This had a bit of a knock-on effect on Siamang, because having two purples in the set seemed a bit lame for a group that's supposed to be really vibrant and colorful, so I went a bit off-script there. This is the result; I hope it is palatable.

Also, that makes 36. 36 dragons.

Kinkajou

Tribe - Rainwing

Winglet - Jade

Color - Saffron yellow and pink (resting color)

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Moonwatcher (Nightwing), Carnelian (Skywing)

Favorite subject - "All of them"

Least fav. subject - did not disclose

Physical characteristics - kinked horns; triangular patterns along neck, torso, and tail; venom scars on right wing membrane; small size, slight build

Other characteristics - very energetic; good work ethic; has signed up for every extracurricular activity available (commendable, but maybe monitor, encourage proper rest); currently displays no immediate signs of post-traumatic stress, but continue monitoring on suggestion of Queen Glory (make aware of counseling options)

Tamarin

Tribe - Rainwing

Winglet - Gold

Color - Cobalt blue and yellow (resting color)

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Onyx (Sandwing)

Favorite subject - Anatomy

Least fav. subject - Literacy

Physical characteristics - light, oval-shaped patterns along neck, torso, tail, and limbs; medium to heavy scarring along ventral neck and torso; hatched blind, eyes are a milky blue; smallish size, plump

Other characteristics - good work ethic; inclined towards care of plants; appears capable of navigating premises by herself, has requested not to be offered aid unsolicited; has suggested a class/seminar about medicinal plants

Boto

Tribe - Rainwing

Winglet - Silver

Color - Lime green and light gray (resting color)

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Changbai (Icewing), Thrush (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Homeroom

Least fav. subject - Anatomy

Physical characteristics - splotchy patterns along neck, torso, tail, and limbs; freckles; average size, average build

Other characteristics - appears to have integrated well; average work ethic; no particular issues to report

Coconut

Tribe - Rainwing

Winglet - Copper

Color - Lavender and green (resting color)

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Marsh (Mudwing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - Exercise

Physical characteristics - circular patterns along neck, torso, tail, and limbs; smallish size, plump

Other characteristics - tends to forget about assignments often; falls asleep in class and hallway; appears to have trouble acclimatizing to academy life and school rules (currently in counseling, consider pulling from student body if behavior cannot be improved)

Siamang

Tribe - Rainwing

Winglet - Quartz

Color - Autumn leaves (resting color)

Relatives - none on site

Clawmate(s) - Arid (Sandwing), Garnet (Skywing)

Favorite subject - Cultural Exchange

Least fav. subject - Science

Physical characteristics - long, bent horns; dark patch on ventral side of neck; semi-circular patterns along neck, torso, tail, and limbs; small horn-like thorns protruding from center of forehead; tall size, slight frame

Other characteristics - mellow, seems to get along with most dragons; interested in locally available fruit; appears to enjoy experimenting with fruit juice to create drinks (encourage, make space available, but also monitor)

[uhbambii]

Hey, glad you are back! Hope you enjoyed your break☺️ I came across a prompt idea I think you’d write sweetly 😃 Rook and Lucanis are out in town, shopping, grabbing coffee, etc., when Lucanis bumps into an old friend (probably another crow?). She is super pretty and clearly into Lucanis, though he’s oblivious. But Rook notices and gets upset, feeling insecure about herself...then some reassuring. Totally okay if it’s not your vibe! 🫶

A Moment in the Sun

The afternoon sun bathed Treviso in golden light, the breeze carrying the scent of citrus and sea salt through the air. Rook adjusted the strap of her satchel, heavy with fresh produce and spices from the bustling market. Beside her, Lucanis Dellamorte strode with casual grace, carrying a basket full of their purchases. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he glanced down at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Still can’t believe you talked that spice merchant into giving us twice the saffron for half the price,” he said, his deep voice tinged with amusement. “Remind me never to gamble against you, Uccellina.”

Rook chuckled, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “I told you, I’m good at spotting weakness. Yours just happens to be overpaying for things when you flash that charming smile and they realize who you are.”

Lucanis leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Maybe I’ll save my smiles for you, then. They seem to work better on you anyway.”

Her cheeks warmed as she gave him a playful shove. “Keep dreaming, Bello.”

~~~~

As they approached a cozy café in the corner of a sunlit square, a melodic voice rang out. “Lucanis?”

Both of them turned, and Rook felt her heart drop slightly at the sight of the woman approaching them. She was breathtaking—tall and poised, an elven woman with cascading auburn hair and emerald eyes that seemed to sparkle as they fixed on Lucanis. Her elegant outfit clung to her figure with the kind of effortless grace Rook always found herself envying.

“By the Dread Wolf, it is you!” the woman exclaimed, her laughter light and musical. She stopped just short of throwing her arms around him. “Lucanis Dellamorte, of all people. Still alive and just as handsome.”

Lucanis blinked in surprise, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before he smiled politely. “Violetta. It’s been… years.”

“Too long,” she said with a grin, her gaze raking over him. “Still getting into trouble, I assume?”

“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” he replied lightly, though his tone remained distant.

~~~~

As they exchanged pleasantries, Rook felt herself shrinking back, her grip tightening on the strap of her satchel. Violetta was radiant, clearly comfortable in her skin and more than a little interested in Lucanis. It didn’t help that she seemed to command attention effortlessly, drawing the eyes of passersby with her beauty and charm.

Rook’s stomach twisted as she caught the way Violetta leaned ever so slightly toward him, her laugh lingering in the air.

Lucanis, of course, was oblivious to it all. His tone was warm but polite, lacking the intimacy he reserved for Rook. Still, it didn’t stop the nagging insecurities clawing at her chest.

She glanced down at herself—scuffed boots, scarred arms from all her battles, hair turned frizzy from the humidity. Standing next to someone like Violetta, Rook felt dull and insignificant.

“Rook?” Lucanis’s voice cut through her thoughts. He had turned back to her, his dark eyes softening as they met hers. “This is Violetta, an old… associate from my Crow days.”

“Rook,” Violetta said with a charming smile, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze. “A pleasure.”

“Likewise,” Rook replied, forcing a polite smile.

Lucanis’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked between them. “Violetta, we were just about to grab coffee. Care to—”

“I should be going,” Violetta interrupted smoothly, raising a hand. “Perhaps another time, Lucanis.” Her emerald eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned and walked away, her steps as graceful as a dancer’s.

~~~~

As she disappeared into the crowd, Rook turned sharply and busied herself with inspecting a nearby stall. She hated how obvious her discomfort felt, but the knot of insecurity in her chest was impossible to ignore.

“Rook.”

She didn’t turn around. “What?”

Lucanis stepped closer, his presence warm and steady. “Talk to me,” he said softly, his tone edged with concern.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, though her voice betrayed her.

“No, you’re not,” he said gently. He moved into her line of sight, his dark eyes searching hers. “I can see it, Rook. Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She hesitated, looking away. “It’s stupid.”

“Try me,” he said, his voice low but firm. He cupped her chin, coaxing her to meet his gaze.

Rook sighed, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “She’s beautiful, Lucanis. And confident, and perfect. And me? I’m just—”

“Stop.”

The sudden steel in his voice startled her, and she looked up to find him gazing at her with a seriousness that made her heart ache.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his hand moving to cup her cheek. His thumb brushed against her skin, his touch achingly tender. “Don’t you dare compare yourself to her. She’s… she’s a footnote in my past. You are everything to me.”

Rook blinked, stunned. “Lucanis—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I look at you, Rook, and I see strength. I see kindness. I see the only person who’s ever made me believe there’s more to life than shadows and death.” He stepped closer, his forehead resting gently against hers. “You’re not just my partner, Rook. Sei la luce della mia vita.”

Her throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I just… she was so…”

“She’s nothing,” Lucanis murmured, his lips brushing her temple. “And you? You’re everything. Understand?”

She nodded, her breath hitching as a soft smile tugged at her lips. “You’re too good at this, Amore.”

“Only for you,” he said, his voice warm with affection. He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling back slightly. “Now, let’s get that coffee before you make me cry in the middle of this square.”

Rook laughed, the last of her insecurities melting away as she laced her fingers with his. “Deal.”

———————————————————————————

Hi! Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy!

Fun Fact: Violetta is the name of my Crow!Rook

———————————————————————————

Sei la luce della mia vita: You are the light of my life

Amore: Love

Bello: Handsome

Uccellina: Little Crow/Bird

———————————————————————————

[eemamminy-art]

My gift to my friend Pear (lampcatdraws on bluesky) in the estimeric server holiday exchange! Saffron has many cherished friends, I wanted to draw as many as I could! They all want to see him grow and bloom!! 🥰 Happy Starlight, my friend!! 💛💛

[rachalixie]

a/n: eid mubarak! i hope this reaches the people that i want it to :) i tried my very best as i don't celebrate personally, but i think that eid is an absolutely beautiful holiday and deserves to be appreciated by all. special thank you to @astraystayyh and @lino-nyangi i love you two so much i hope your celebrations are magnificent and that your tummies are full of good food and you eat lots and lots of sweets <3

chan arrives in a flurry of excitement, giggling as your younger cousins and siblings flock to him and hang off of his legs. he ruffles their hair, telling them how much they’ve grown since he last saw them, and finishes it off with folded bills that he presses into their hands along with a gentle kiss to the crowns of their heads. one by one, he gains their favor and they squeal about how he’s their favorite uncle - a thought that makes him blush and intertwine his fingers with yours. 

minho helps you cook dish after dish, porcelain and ceramic serving plates stacking up as you cook together. the air in your kitchen smells absolutely divine, spices and saffron and nutty rice steaming away as the two of you flirt around each other and exchange kisses over the sink. he always enjoys learning how to make new recipes, but learning the foods you used to make with your mom as a child is something dear to him.

changbin takes the time to learn things - asks your father what he’s supposed to do because he wants to make sure he’s doing things perfectly. he cares less about the formalities and more of the hidden things he can do, wanting to surprise you just to see that pleased look on your face. you’re making that look now, as he approaches you after having coffee with your father and uncles, and he hands you his empty cup. it’s full of gold chocolate coins, and he sheepishly admits that he didn’t have real gold but he thought it would do. the way you lean up to kiss him, keeping his body between yours and the door so no one can see, tells him that he did just fine.

hyunjin revels in your beauty; though he thinks you’re gorgeous all of the time, something about seeing you in traditional clothes with threads of gold woven into colorful fabrics makes you glow in a way he can’t get enough of. he puts on the finishing touch, sliding intricate jhumkas into your ears, the weight of them a comforting reminder of his fingers brushing against your lobes. he tells you how beautiful you are countless times, whispering it to you so only you can hear, but everyone knows from the blood that rushes to your cheeks in turn.

jisung spends weeks after weeks in secret learning arabic, or rather trying. he stumbles upon his letters, syllables that make no sense to his tongue, but he practices over and over until he can say one thing that he whispers to you just as the clock strikes midnight. eid mubarak, he mumbles as he brushes his fingers across your brow, his eyes shiny in the moonlight as he keeps his gaze fixed on you. he’ll repeat the phrase to your family and friends later, but his clumsy pronunciation and small smile make this first one so special to you.

felix revels in the act of charity always, but sharing it with you brings a lightness to his heart that he can’t get enough of. he’s more motivated than you are, dragging you to homeless shelters and daycares and wherever he can find to volunteer and give back. on the last day, he shyly shows you a list of charities he’s donated to all month, in your name, and you tackle him into a hug with tears in your eyes.

seungmin fits in like he’s been celebrating with you for years. he stuffs his belly full with delicious food, chats with your parents with a wide grin on his face, plays with the children like he raised them himself. he does everything perfectly, knowing when to greet people and when to participate in prayer and where to go. it surprises you in a delightful way, in the same way that he always does when he knows something about you that you don’t even know yourself. you discover later, when you unlock his phone to take photos of him laughing across the room, the extensive research on eid traditions that he has open in his browser.

jeongin is so nervous to meet your extended family for the first time. he fiddles with his hair for an hour, making sure that not a single strand is out of place. he smooths down his clothes when he gets out of the car, and stares at the front door of your parents’ house with wide eyes and an open mouth, and you have to press his jaw up with gentle fingers as your mother opens the door. you watch the nervousness fizzle out as he’s greeted with warm welcomes from everyone, treating like he’s part of the family already. 

[vulpixisananimal]

[A:4 C:66.5] (Siffrin) {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| +Rosmarinus+ [Loop] [(Saffron)] 

(Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa you felt so sooooooore.)

(It was late evening, and you, Isa, and Alex just got back from visiting Ark at her watchtower. She offered to help you train, and Null really wanted to. And he went hard with it! Pushed yourself to learn every little thing you could! Unfortunately, he dipped out right as the pains and aches kicked in.)

(Luckily Isa helped you home, and by helping you meant you had to beg him not to pick you up for the whole trip. This was not helped by Alex, who had very, very quickly learned the best ways to tease you, and was quickly rising in the ranks of “who’s the best at bullying Siffrin.”)

“Tea for you!” (You open your eye, Isa’s placing a cup next to you.)

“Mmm thanks, Stardrop. . .” (You giggle softly as Isabeaus face turns a deep shade at the nickname.)

“Y-you’rewelcome-!” (He sits down next to you.) “L-love you, Sif.”

“I love you too, Isa.” (You take a sip from the cup.) “Mmmmm. . . What kinda tea?”

“An herbal tea, I strained it and everything!”

“Hehe, thought so.” (You stuck your tongue out.) “It’s really helping with my muscle strain.”

“HAHA! HAHA! YES!!”

+. . . PFFTHehehehe.+

(??? Who- Oh! Rosmarinus? I-is, that you? Taking a peek at the favor tree, there’s another person here. A bit like you, but not really, dark clothes, a loop-like star chest, and stary hair.)

+O-oh! Uh, right! We haven’t met! Yeah I’m, Rosmarinus. I showed up. . . I think a few days ago?+

(Seems about right. You take another sip, then put the tea to the side so you could lean on Isabeau. Uh, well, welcome!)

(Isa leans down and kisses your head, speaking softly.) “Oh cute little wish, what’s going on in that cheeky head of yours.”

(You smile up at him.) “Meeting the new not-guy-”

+not-girl+

“-Not-girl.” (You correct. Right, they/she, right?)

+Mmhm! It felt, more right?+

(Haha, that’s fair. Isabeau strokes your hair as he talks.) “Oooh! Right, you told me about that the other day. Hi Rosmarinus!”

+Hi Isabeau!+

“They say hi.” (You stick out your tongue.) “It looks like you have more eyepatches to make, Stardrop~”

“F-for you all? I’d do anything.” (He kisses your head again, and you blush.) “. . I-is Rose okay with that ki-”

“Yes! Isabeau.” +You roll your eye, reaching up to pull him down for another kiss, and holding it for just a second.+

(You shudder, then let him go, you felt very, very hot. S-stars. .) 

(Isabeau covers his face with a hand, before mumbling out,) “Y-you’re all, so, cute. . .”

“H-hey!” (You reply.) +You reply.+ “Y-you are too!”

“Sorry, you guys out number me. So you win!” 

“That’s not how that-”

“Hey, lovebirds.” (Alex interrupts, poking their head from around the corner.) “Do you k-”

“Odile’s out with Nille Bonnie and Mira.” (You give them a Look.) “You’ll have to wait, lovebird.”

“I wasn’t-” (She starts, before huffing and heading upstairs.)

(You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Altiare had spilled the beans a day or two ago and you were STILL riding high off of it- oh stars you forgot to ask them about the cloak again.)

+It’s alright, Asterion asked them the other day.+

(Oh thank stars. Isabeau kissed your head again.) “Someone’s gotten their teeth back!”

“Maybe~” +You sit up and stretch.+ “A taciturn I am; no longer!”

“Huh?” +Isa scoots next to you.+ “Taciturn?”

“Someone who doesn’t speak up very often.” +You say almost automatically.+ “First floor, right side, second door on the left. Openphrase is “stostorage roomoom.” there's an open dictionary on the table.”

“Oh! You remember the specific room?” +He chuckles.+ “I’m always surprised you can remember specifics like that.”

“I can do better than that, ahem.” +You wink, and speak in an exaggerated rendition of your family's voices.+ ““Taciturn, What does "taciturn" mean?” “It's someone who doesn't speak up very often, Boniface.” “Oh, like Frin, okay.” “Yes, just like Siffrin.””

“YOU REMEMBER THE WHOLE EXCHANGE?!?”

+You do a sitting bow.+ “I’m here all week! Or until someone else takes over.”

(Stars, showoff. How do you remember that?)

+I just. . . Do?+

(That’s weird. Isabeau looks at you, amazed.) “Wow that’s, amazing!”

(You smile softly at him, and rub your neck.) “W-well, actually uh, Mari remembered most of it. It was really weird actually!”

“Because you remembered something?” (He’s smiling smugly at you)

“Shut uuuup.” (You whine.)

+Speaking of, Journal!+

(Oh right! You sit up and dig around your endless pockets for your journal.) “Whaaaat day of the week is it again?”

“It’s friday!” (Isabeau hands you a pen as you find your journal.) “Has that been helping? Writing stuff down?”

“Mmhm!” (You open the journal and flip to today.) “I-it really has! It’s really hard to keep track of how fast everything goes by b-but, but I think I’ve been remembering a lot beeee. . .”

+You’re staring at the entry from the other day. Oh, I didn’t tell you?+

(NO!?!!?? You squint at the entry from the other day. It was just one line, short, and a bit messy. ���VERY GOOD DAY!” - Socks.) “. . . Who, uh, who’s Socks?”

“Socks?” (Isabeau leans over your shoulder.) “. . . Oh! That explains it.”

“Explains what?” (You turn and give him a suspicious expression.) 

“W-well uh, the other day, you were, uh. . .” (He sinks down into his shoulders.) “R-really, really, really cuddly.”

“H-HUH?!?!?” (HUH?!? WHAT?!?!?)

+Hehe, alright alright g-gimmie a second. You shake your head and close your eye for a second, drift to your room, step inside. . .+

+You walk across your room, a stage, and to the rows and rows of plays. Drifting to one, you pluck it out. Ah yes, here's the memory. With a motion, it was shared. Oh don’t worry, Sif, it’s not THAT embarrassing.+

(You shake your head again, that was- WH- Memory, you, cuddling Isa, being pat, no cloak, wrapped in blankets, puh-PURRING?!?!? a-and- o-oh stARS ABOVE--)

“. . . U-uh, you, alright Sif?” (Isa asks, putting a hand on your shoulder.) 

(Your face feels so hot.) “I-I, just, R-rosmarinus just shared the m-memory a-a-and.”

“Awww.” (Hair pat.) “W-well I guess you got a kitty in there now!”

“Hhhhhhh. . .” (You rub your face, and take a deeeeep breath in, and, out.)

(Looking through the rest of the entries, there weren’t any other surprises. But there was one entry from Saffron from a few days ago. Saffron never writes in the journal, never wants to be seen, never wants to talk, even. He’s a persecutor, an embodiment of all the pain you’ve gone through. But that entry. . .)

(“PLEASE DON’T LET THEM FORGET ME.”)

(Loop refused to talk about it, but they saw it too. Whatever ‘it’ was. You and Null talked about it, that maybe Saffron finally snapped. Or maybe Loop had someone new. Or Saffron just had a nightmare.)

(The front door opened as Mira, Odile, Nille and Bonnie came in from visiting the old Wolworth keep. You smile and wave.) “Welcome home!”

“Heya Isa, Siffy!” 

“Hello!! Did the training go well?”

“Very!!” (Isabeau beams.) “Ark knows her stuff!”

“Oh good!!”

“Excuse me,” (Odile interrupts.) “Do you kn-”

“Upstairs~” (You stick your tongue out, but Odile was already heading up.) “And there she goes.”

“Off to do some very important research I imagine.” (Isabeau pulls you back into a hug.) 

“Oh very important.” (You chuckle.) “How was the keep?”

“It looked so cool!!” (Mirabelle beamed.) “Ooooh I want to go back as soon as I visit here again!!”

“Yeah it was alright.” (Nille shrugged, she had a bag over her shoulder that she took to the kitchen.)

(You were turning to ask something else before Bonnie interrupted.) “Hey.”

(You turn back.) “Yeah-?” 

(Bonnie shoved a tiny, lightless, toy crown into your hand. It was a novelty thing, meant to be pinned in your hair, if worn at all. You look at it, then back up at Bonnie.)

“. . . Still don’t wanna talk to him, but he’s. . .” (They grumbled.) “. . . He’s ok. I just, ‘snot his fault, ‘m just, being. . .”

(. . . You tilt your head, curious.) “Y-yeah?”

“YEAH!” (They yelled, and started running off to the kitchen.) “JUST GIVE HIM THE STUPID CROWN! STUPIDFACE!!”

(You watch them go, Mirabelle sits down, she and Isabeau start talking about winter clothes. You look down at the tiny crown in your hands. Cute, harmless, a copy of the original. You close your eye. . .)

(A copy of your greatest enemy, a shadow of yourself, a copy from a play, a guide, and the person they used to be. A part of you who remembered, a cat, and now, maybe, a sadness. . .)

(And. . . You.)

(Who even are you, anymore. Are you still Siffrin? You are, and you’re sure you’ve been the same Siffrin for a long time, but. . . But who were you before that? Who were you before meeting your family? Who were you before washing up on Vaugarde? You don’t even remember that anymore, you just, know that it happened.)

(. . . You flip back a few pages. A few weeks ago. An entry marked with a star. You made sure to mark important entries with a star. This entry was a rare day where you remembered something, remembered running away.)

(. . . Who was that little Siffrin who wouldn’t eat their veggies? Who took a boat and ran from home? Who memorized each star and constellation and where they were? Who slept in the day and looked to the stars at night. Who wanted to. . . . .)

(. . . You hurriedly flip back to today's date and scribble that down. Stardust, that’s what you are. What’s left, a piece of a whole.)

(Or, maybe. . . Maybe you’re just one of the many pieces that formed this protostar named Siffrin. . . Will you still be here in a few years time? Or will it be another Siffrin holding Isabeaus hand. Eating Bonnie's food. Listening to Mirabelles rambles. Going on secret trips with Odile. Will it be another Siffrin going fishing with Nille? Or another Siffrin teaching Ramos and the other Groundskeepers about the stars?)

(. . .)

(That’s a problem for future you. But for now, you close the book, and put your head in Isabeau’s lap.)

[telomeke]

THE SIGN EPISODE 7 – NAGARUDA AND THE VISUALS OF SEX

The coming together of the naga and the garuda in The Sign was long foretold (since Tharn has the power of clairvoyance, and the series already showed us his sexually-charged premonition of Phaya and him coupling in the shower, in Episode 4).

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 19.47

This post isn't about narrative analysis or the significance of any plot development though; I'm just noting down some of the visual details resounding rhetorically in the scene where Phaya and Tharn finally give in to the swelling sexual tension and get it on. 👀

The prelude (foreplay?) to their first sexual encounter (at least in this lifetime) was by the pool in Phaya's home. And the subtitles also tell us that the background music is echoing their fated bond through time:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 13.04

‌

By the pool of Phaya's house though, Tharn is already part-way in the water (his comfort zone) even as Phaya offers him liquid refreshment:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 13.21

While the pool may represent the naga (and his watery origins), the glowing lights on the trees and statuary in the background are symbolic of the garuda (given his alignment with the sun, flames and light). There is a respectful distance between these symbolic elements, even as there is still a respectful distance between garuda Phaya and naga Tharn.

But the lights are reflected in the water, and Phaya and Tharn have already exchanged colors (Phaya is in a murky sea-green top whose color reflects the naga's homeland, while Tharn is wearing a saffron t-shirt that calls to mind the warm glow of the fiery garuda). So we know that in this scene they are already inextricably in each other's business.

When they give in to their primal urges though, we start to see the various naga and garuda elements become more enmeshed and overlapping, even as the two breach their boundaries and unite physically.

They start things off in the shower, and the water is unmistakably a reference to the naga's overflowing passions.

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5]

But all around them are candle flames, a sign of the fiery lust overpowering garuda Phaya for his fated lover Tharn:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 18.53

Even as water (symbolic of the naga) showers down upon them both, we see orbs of light (a reference to the garuda) flickering and overlapping the action. (I only recently found out that this out-of-focus effect with the lighting is called bokeh – a term of Japanese origin – from this super-excellent breakdown of the parallels between PhayaTharn's imagined and actual lovemaking by @wen-kexing-apologist, linked here; please do read it for more information on the lighting and its significance. 👍🤩)

Now a bit more about the lighting color though: many have noted that when Phaya and Tharn interact on a more elemental level, the lighting seems to turn very pink.

In my opinion, their previous encounters where more primal instincts held sway (e.g., at Ep.2 [4/4] 10.36 and Ep.4[3‌/4] 15.51) were actually lit with an interplay of blue light (calling out to the marine colors of the naga's homeland) and red light (a nod at the fiery garuda's alignment with the sun and flame). And the lighting was blue and red in the main, and only turned pinkish on occasion when the hues overlapped, just as moments of sporadic intimacy happened only randomly between the star-crossed but still separate Phaya and Tharn.

However, here in PhayaTharn's sex scene, we're not seeing separate blue and red lighting dancing around – the two colors have been blended, just as Phaya and Tharn's lovemaking has united them physically.

And technically the color is not pink. When blue and red light come together, we get magenta lighting, and that truly is the blended hue that bathes the conjoined PhayaTharn (nagaruda), as their bodies come together as one. The separate blues and reds are nowhere to be seen now:

(above) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 19.56

So The Sign then ends this sequence with an illuminated little flourish, at the climax of the scene (and presumably that of PhayaTharn's lovemaking too). As the naga writhes ecstatically on a bed of aquamarine, the garuda tenses and thrusts, and we see a brilliant flare of light, his elemental life-force, flash above the curve of his naked rear:

(top) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 20.04; (bottom) The Sign Ep.7 [5/5] 20.05

As always, the props, art direction and lighting have come together to tell a visual story in The Sign, and here they've strongly echoed the passionate and emotionally authentic coupling between Phaya and Tharn, fearlessly brought to life by Billy and Babe. 💖👍 I thoroughly enjoyed this scene, and not just for the reasons one might think. 🤩

‌

[treason-and-plot]

[previous]

Connor re-enters the main school building five minutes before the end of lunch, and ten minutes after Saffron stormed off and left him sitting alone on a bench next to the basketball courts. He feels cold, and rebuffed, and frustrated. It doesn’t enhance his mood to see Laura and Wesley laughing with each other in front of the lockers.

“Hey, baby!” says Laura when she sees him. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he scowls.

“Because I thought I saw you and Saffron having what looked like a little bit of an argument earlier? Just after assembly?”

He narrows his eyes at her but she exchanges a glance with Wesley and continues.

“And then when Wes saw Saffron a few minutes ago on the stairs, he said ‘Hi’ to her she told him to fuck off!”

“So? What’s unusual about that?” says Connor.

“Well, she looked like she was crying,” says Wesley.

[thedarkcircuswritings]

Saffron Buffalo Cookie x Female Reader Cookie

Who they used to be best friends until Saffron Buffalo Cookie betrayed Reader and even if He betrayed Reader they saved him from the collapsing Temple and kissed them and confessed to them that they love him >:3

(PS: There still angry at him though for betraying them)

You were still furious at the half-buffalo cookie for the betrayal he had caused you... and yet, the look in his eyes that he gave you when you had saved him from the temple... Just a bit ago, had somebody told you that you would be kissing the one who had made you so mad, you would have laughed right in their face and swore to kill the guy the next time you saw him. That was just about thrown out the window the moment you tasted the spice on his lips. That fury was still bursting out of your dough, even with words exchanged, some of which you could no longer remember... but maybe another kiss wouldn't be so bad to ease the anger a little, right?

[naka-jiiii]

Obey Me! Original Lesson 81 Script [FANMADE]

A project a friend and I have been working on for a while. All characters other than Matthias and Saffron belong to NTT Solmare.

YouTube video here: Obey Me! Original Lesson 81 [FANMADE]

Artist for Matthias and Saffron: ti ★ (@sae.yr2997)

81-1

It’s been around a month since MC returned to the Devildom…

[Student Council Room]

Lucifer: Ah, there you are.

Lucifer: You must be wondering why I’ve called you here so suddenly.

Scenario 1

MC: I’m pretty busy.

Lucifer: This is part of your job as an officer now. There are more tasks than you may believe.

Scenario 2

MC: I would like to know.

Lucifer: And you will. Very soon.

End scenario

Lucifer: This has been a particular concern of ours as of recent…

Diavolo: Ah, I wouldn’t say that in such a negative tone. But you are correct, Lucifer.

Barbatos: I am afraid I have to agree.

??? 1: Now, now…you are all so serious. What’s with the atmosphere?

Raphael: It’s normal to be formal in these situations.

??? 2: Raph, you just rhymed.

Raphael: Oh…I suppose I did.

Diavolo: MC, we would like you to meet two of our newest exchange students.

??? 1: That feels good to be recognized. But I have a question: why is RAPHAEL here?

Raphael: Hey, Saffron said she was nervous to meet MC. I thought coming along might ease her a bit.

Lucifer: That loud one there is Matthias, a vampire. The one on Raphael’s back is Saffron…another angel and close to Luke’s age.

Scenario 1

MC: A vampire?

Matthias: As vampire as you can get! My, my, MC…you’re just as cute as I imagined!

Scenario 2

MC: An angel?

Saffron: Hi, MC. I heard lots about you from Raphael and Simeon and Luke.

End scenario

Barbatos: Ahem…as to respect the Young Master’s goal of bringing harmony, it of course does not only refer to the more common species of the three worlds.

Matthias: Are you saying I’m uncommon, Barbatos? Thank you!

Matthias: But I have lived in the Devildom my entire life. It’s not like I’m a reaper.

Barbatos: …And Saffron here is a lower ranking angel, being accompanied by Raphael.

Matthias: Hey…don’t ignore me.

Raphael: But don’t get the wrong idea. She claims she isn’t here to play.

Saffron: Uh…that’s what Luke told me to say. He said we gotta report back to Michael without no intrusions.

Raphael: You know you don’t always have to go by what people say to you, right? Luke may not admit it, but he’s taken a liking to life here.

Saffron: It’s okay! I want to help.

Matthias: How young and naive…

Raphael: You hush.

Lucifer: We expect you to welcome these two and keep an eye on them while they settle in. Unfortunately, it is likely that one of the two parties will be trouble. So do with that what you will.

Barbatos: …

Matthias: …Why are you all staring at me now? Shucks, you guys! You’re going to make me blush ♡

Barbatos: Unfortunately that was no compliment.

Diavolo: Well, aside from that…I take it that having new students will be an exciting and fun time. Be sure to make yourselves at home, Saffron and Matthias.

81-3

Two new exchange students…

Now it’s my job to watch them? Why? Surely Lucifer was overexaggerating the supervision they need…

[Hallway (RAD)]

Matthias: Boo!

Saffron: EEEK!

Matthias: Ahaha! You young ones are so easily spooked, huh? How fun!

Saffron: You aren’t being very nice.

Matthias: Oh, cheer up. You’ll live, I think. Or maybe angels really are more fragile than I thought? Unfortunate…

Saffron: Wha…wait, no! Angels are super duper strong! You don’t know what you’re saying.

Matthias: I’m sure I do. You’re so scared because angels are frail, right? But that’s okay!

Saffron: Hey…

Scenario 1

MC: What’s going on?

Matthias: Oh, hello, MC! I was here just introducing myself to Young Saffron. Isn’t she adorable?

Scenario 2

MC: You guys stop.

Matthias: Dear, me! MC, please don’t misunderstand. We were simply having a fun chat.

End scenario

Saffron: Don’t listen to this bad guy here! He scared me!

Matthias: Aww, you’re cute, huh? Kids and their made-up stories…

Saffron: I’m not lying. Lying is a sin, you know!

Saffron: And MC totally saw you, right?

Matthias: Don’t bring dear MC into this, silly.

MC: I did see. You should leave her alone

Matthias: …! W-Well, I…

Matthias: Truly, it was a mere playful intent. I meant no harm! Promise…

Saffron: I heard bad guys always lie.

Matthias: Oh, Young Saffron? Is that what you believe?

Saffron: It’s what I KNOW.

Matthias: Then you must be mistaking me with someone else. I, Matthias, a truly beautiful specimen, am not a bad guy.

Saffron: Hmph. You’re native to the Devildom, aren’t you? Why did you only come to RAD now?

Matthias: Wouldn’t you like to know?

Scenario 1

MC: I had the same question.

Matthias: Well, don’t get yourself too worried about it! I’ll explain, my dear ♡

Scenario 2

MC: Because he would scare the other angels?

Matthias: Isn’t that a bold assumption? How cute.

Saffron: It’s a likely assumption.

End scenario

Matthias: The truth is, I wanted to think I had so many fans that it would be too much of a hassle to have me here at the beginning of the year…but it turns out Barbatos needed me to eat a certain amount of rats at the Demon Lord’s Castle before he’d even think about letting me attend. He said, “The Royal Academy of Diavolo is not for horseplay. Perhaps it’d be wise to reconsider your wishes if you are unwilling to change your comportment, Matthias.”

Saffron: It sounds like he knows you pretty well. Also, that was a scarily accurate impression…

Matthias: We’re only the bestest of buddies!

Saffron: I meant the horseplay thing. I would know. I like horses.

Saffron: Why is he making you eat rats though?

Matthias: It’s not particularly an issue for me. I like the flavor of rat blood but I do prefer cow or pig blood if you guys were wondering!

Saffron: Not really…

Scenario 1

MC: What about you, Saffron?

Saffron: Me? Oh…it’s like I said before. I’m here to make reports.

Scenario 2

MC: Is Saffron really here to spy on the Devildom?

Saffron: …! That’s a weird way of putting it. It makes it sound like a bad thing.

Matthias: I think that would make Young Luke a spy, too!

End scenario

Saffron: When Simeon and Luke came back after the first exchange, I was less scared of the Devildom after hearing all the good stories they had to share.

Saffron: I was pretty hopeful after that. That maybe I could get to learn about the Devildom firsthand and maybe everyone here isn’t as bad as I used to think.

Saffron: Here I am now, though. But this vampire hasn’t really made me think any higher of this realm than before I got here…

Matthias: Wha—you brat!

Saffron: Sorry?

Matthias: Oh, uhm…I mean, there’s no need to say such things, young one. I can assure you the Devildom is full of lots of fun and you’re free to do whatever you want here! It’s less strict.

Saffron: Whatever I want? I don’t know if I should be trusting YOU to tell me…

Saffron: MC. Is he being honest?

Scenario 1

MC: He’s right about it being less strict, but there are still rules.

Saffron: I see. So I shouldn’t do whatever I want.

Scenario 2

MC: The Celestial Realm has way more rules.

Saffron: Really? But…that’s not a bad thing, is it?

Matthias: It totally is.

Saffron: I wasn’t asking you!

Scenario 3

MC: Nope. A total liar.

Matthias: Ouch… For someone as cute as you, you certainly are brutal, MC…

End scenario

Matthias: I don’t typically lie unless I have a reason to.

Matthias: And plus, it’s not always a bad thing.

Saffron: It is! It’s a sin!

Matthias: A sin it may be, but what if telling the truth got you in trouble, Young Saffron?

Saffron: W…well, then you deserve the punishment.

Matthias: Is that what you believe? Do you think that even the most honest people in the world deserve punishment?

Saffron: If they told the truth for a bad reason…then it must mean whatever they did was bad! So, yes!

Saffron: Wait, I don’t know now… Ugh. You’re making me confused!

Matthias: I’m only saying, young one. What if you had to lie to protect yourself or others? Would you tell the truth and potentially get someone hurt?

Saffron: …I don’t know what you’re saying. 

Matthias: Figures. How young and naive…

Saffron: I heard you the first time you said that!

81-6

[Classroom]

Satan: You seem awfully on edge today, MC.

Asmodeus: Aww…stress isn’t good for the baby sheep! What’s the matter, hmm?

Leviathan: …You have a gift for rubbing people the wrong way, Asmo.

Belphegor: I could guess it’s probably those new students. MC was put in charge of them for their first day, right?

Scenario 1

MC: They don’t seem to like each other.

Leviathan: Really? That sounds entertaining loool.

Beelzebub: But what if they broke out into a fight?

Mammon: Eh, just more entertainment for us!

Scenario 2

MC: It’s been tiring.

Satan: That’s unfortunate.

Belphegor: *sigh*...You’re always getting the tiresome jobs, aren’t you?

Satan: It’d be more evenly spread out among us if certain people actually did their work…

End scenario

Beelzebub: This is actually our first time meeting the new angel.

Leviathan: Yep. Heard she’s doing the same job as Luke but yaps a lot less LMAO.

Asmodeus: BUT they’re both equally as adorable, of course ♡

Mammon: But that ain’t the point. At least we don’t got two Fidos!

Belphegor: Matthias, on the other hand…

Satan: He’s a terror, simply put.

Belphegor: We had known about him for some time now. Apparently he broke into the Demon Lord’s Castle and was almost sent to the dungeon for an eternity.

Belphegor: He might give Mammon a run for his money when it comes to their schemes…

Mammon: Wha?! He ain’t takin’ ANY of my money!

Leviathan: You dummy. That isn’t what he meant lol.

Asmodeus: I can’t help but agree, though… Matthias truly has a talent.

Satan: Which, I assume even you don’t mean as a compliment, Asmo.

Asmodeus: Unfortunately…*sigh*

Beelzebub: But he tries to be nice. It just never usually works that way.

Mammon: Oh yeah, he’s totally obsessed with Beel.

Leviathan: TOTALLY LMAO! He’s like a mega fan!

Beelzebub: You think so?

Belphegor: Don’t listen to them, Beel…

Scenario 1

MC: Any advice you guys?

Satan: Well, the most I can say for now is that make sure they don’t kill each other.

Asmodeus: Yep! The new students have a long way ahead of them!

Scenario 2

MC: I’m already ready to go home.

Belphegor: Yeah, me, too.

Mammon: Same here.

Leviathan: Same…

End scenario

Satan: No matter whether the new exchanges get comfortable or not. 

Satan: MC still has to prepare them for next week’s “problem”. Just like the rest of us are preparing as well.

Leviathan: Riiiight. Next week we’re all getting assigned a room at RAD to decorate for the Ornament Contest.

Asmodeus: Oh, I already know how pretty my assigned room will be! Cute is never impossible when it comes to Asmo ♡

Mammon: Not everyone is gonna vote for cute! Ya gotta be cool with it!

Beelzebub: Or fill the room with a bunch of food so that everyone can eat while they’re voting.

Leviathan: That’s only something you would do, Beel. Lmao.

Ornament Contest? This is the first I’ve heard of it…

Belphegor: What’s with that look, MC? Don’t tell me you didn’t hear the news.

Mammon: I can tell what they’re thinkin’ just by that look on their face. It’s screamin, “Oh, no! What am I gonna do?!” Right?

Satan: In that case, it’d be best if you started planning as soon as possible… You’re an officer now, thus meaning everyone will have higher expectations of you.

Asmodeus: Calm down, Satan! Our poor sheep doesn’t need all this pressure.

It’s true that I’m feeling a bit pressured now…

But how will I help the new exchanges, too?

81-9

[Student Council Room]

Diavolo: Good morning, everyone!

Diavolo: As you may know, starting next week is the Ornament Contest, and each of you will be assigned a room at RAD to decorate to your liking. There will be three winners depending on who gets the most votes.

Diavolo: I know you all are preparing hard, but I have come to inform you that you will be put into groups for this contest.

Satan: Figures…

Asmodeus: *sigh*...

Mammon: Well…as long as I’m in MC’s group!

Leviathan: Hey! Nuh-uh! I’m totally gonna be with MC!

Belphegor: You guys are bold. Obviously I’ll be working with MC.

Lucifer: Shut up. All of you.

Lucifer: It frankly isn’t your choice, and you will be assigned a group without grievances.

Lucifer: *sigh* It is quite embarrassing that my own brothers do not fathom the idea of cooperation…

Satan: Look the other way when you say that.

Beelzebub: I don’t know. It sounds like he means all of us.

Barbatos: We have each group assigned for the council members by now, and everything is almost set in stone as a whole.

Barbatos: Lucifer and Belphegor, you two will be a group. And then we have Satan and Mammon—and Beelzebub, Asmodeus, and Leviathan as a trio.

Belphegor: …Hmph.

Leviathan: Stuck with a normie extrovert…and Beel, too…

Asmodeus: Excuse me?

Mammon: Hey, wait! What about MC?! They should totally join MY group if they don’t got one!

Satan: I hate to agree with Mammon on anything, but he’s right. I thought every member had a team at this point.

Lucifer: MC is going to be working with Saffron and Matthias.

Leviathan: …!

Mammon: ?!

Lucifer: Don’t act so surprised… MC has been looking after them since yesterday. I don’t need those two going off the rails unsupervised just because they’re new.

Belphegor: Can’t say I didn’t see that coming, but…is it really okay to pair Saffron and Matthias together? Like, shouldn’t one of us take one of them and MC takes the other?

Lucifer: I already said you will all learn to cooperate. That does not mean just you boisterous six.

Leviathan: Yikes…good luck, MC. I’ll just be imagining all the time we didn’t spend working on this contest together… *sulk*

Barbatos: …

Barbatos: You will all be assigned your rooms first thing tomorrow. 

Barbatos: Already make sure to keep in mind what you may want to plan for the contest. It is usually best to discuss with your group confidentiality.

Mammon: Why?

Satan: So that no one steals our idea, idiot…

Mammon: WHAT’D YOU SAY?!

Satan: Do you really want me to repeat myself?

Belphegor: You probably wanna do something boring, right, Lucifer?

Lucifer: …I will not speak a word. And that was rude.

Belphegor: *yawn*...

Leviathan: …

Beelzebub: …

Asmodeus: …Oh, lighten up, you two! I can’t be the only one coming up with ideas here.

Leviathan: Yeah, well, you can be the leader… You’ll just think all my ideas are lame anyways.

Beelzebub: I’m hungry…

Asmodeus: Oh, for goodness sake, Beel!

Barbatos: Are you alright, MC? You’ve been rather quiet.

Scenario 1

MC: It’s hard to think with all this noise

Barbatos: I can understand that.

Barbatos: These brothers really are a handful, aren’t they?

Scenario 2

MC: I wonder how my group will do.

Barbatos: You needn’t worry about that too much. Try to relax your mind.

End scenario

Barbatos: …*sigh*

Barbatos: I do hope for you to watch over Matthias for me especially.

Barbatos: He hides many things he does not show on his face. Remember that.

81-11

[Cafeteria]

Mephistopheles: Never did I think more of you would show up. Or, maybe that was just wrong on my end. I SHOULD have known…

Saffron: …

Mephistopheles: Shy, are you? Or are you just intimidated by the demon species in general? Figures.

Saffron: …

Mephistopheles: …

Mephistopheles: I am only speaking from honesty. It’s not like I’m trying to scare you or anything.

Saffron: Do you…

Mephistopheles: Pardon?

Saffron: Do you…do you like horses?

Mephistopheles: …Horses? That was an unexpected response. But at least I know you can speak now.

Mephistopheles: But to answer your question, yes. I do in fact like horses.

Saffron: Really? You like horses?

Mephistopheles: I am not repeating myself.

Saffron: That’s super cool, Mister! I really like horses, too!

Mephistopheles: I…

Saffron: I think horses are super pretty and cute and…

Mephistopheles: Here.

Saffron: Huh? What’s this?

Mephistopheles: Come by the Newspaper Club room sometime. You might like it.

Saffron: Oh…thanks! I will!

Scenario 1

MC: Making friends already?

Saffron: Oh, MC!

Saffron: Do you think that was a friendly invite? He seemed sorta mad…

Scenario 2

MC: Well, that was nice of him.

Saffron: Oh, hey, MC!

Saffron: Is he normally not nice? Is that what you mean?

End scenario

Saffron: I want to make friends, but…demons are hard to approach.

Saffron: Not that I don’t like them or anything, though! They’re just…I guess it’s what that mister said, right? They’re intimidating…

Saffron: But I trust what Barbatos said…that mostly everyone is loyal to Diavolo.

Saffron: Mostly everyone…

Saffron: …

Saffron: …Anyway, did you come to talk to me?

. . .

Saffron: What? Really? Me, you, and the vampire mister got put into a group for a contest?

Saffron: That’s…well, I guess there’s no alternative, right? Is that the right word? Luke uses it sometimes.

Saffron: *sigh*...

Saffron: I’m not mad at you, okay? I know it wasn’t your choice. But that vampire mister really knows how to push all my buttons.

Saffron: Luke always said that the demons would be the pesky ones, and I didn’t even begin to think about vampires!

Saffron: I shouldn’t take it out on you.

Saffron: You know what? I’m gonna confront him about his badness! When I see him again, I’ll…I’ll tell him off for being mean. Trust me!

Scenario 1

MC: That’s right, Saffron! Put him in his place.

Saffron: …Hehe. Thanks!

Scenario 2

MC: But remember you still have to work with him eventually.

Saffron: Yeah, I know…but for now this is all I can do to stick up for myself.

End scenario

Saffron: Don’t worry, MC. I’ve got this!

81-14

[Common Room (RAD)]

Thirteen: Man…

Matthias: I haven’t even been here that long…

Thirteen: And you’re in detention? That sucks.

Matthias: Hey! You’re in detention, too!

Thirteen: But this isn’t my first time being in detention. You, however?

Matthias: Is that supposed to be… Wait, how OFTEN are you in here?

Thirteen: Dunno. Lost count.

Matthias: That’s actually…kind of a power move.

Thirteen: Cool? You think so?

Matthias: Duh! If I was in here everyday it’d be clear to me how much attention they’re giving me! Like, are you obsessed or what? Hehe!

Thirteen: What a weird way of thinking. But I like it!

Matthias: Thank you, thank you.

Thirteen: Thirteen, by the way.

Matthias: Thirteen? That feels familiar. But I’m Matthias!

Thirteen: Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. You’re one of the new ones. It’s nice to meet you.

Matthias: You, as well!

Scenario 1

MC: Matthias?

Matthias: What a wonderful surprise! Hello, MC!

Matthias: I suppose it is rather embarrassing for you to see me in such a place, huh? Hehe…

Scenario 2

MC: Why are you in detention?

Matthias: MC! You almost startled me, dear~

Matthias: I’m afraid if I told you I’d have to kill you afterwards…

Matthias: Just kidding! Ahaha, the look on your face!

End scenario

Matthias: I happened to steal some things from the garden, and unfortunately I was caught… They sent me here as punishment.

Thirteen: Geez, you’re bad...

Thirteen: Hey, MC. I heard you had to look after the new guys while they’re getting settled in.

Matthias: It’s the dream! Unless you’re that young angel.

Thirteen: Saffron? Does she not like you?

Matthias: Oh, please. Everybody likes me, dearest Thirteen!

Thirteen: Okay, calm down. We aren’t that close.

Matthias: It’s only an endearment.

MC: Actually, I came to tell Matthias that us three are working on the Ornament Contest together.

Matthias: Oh! Is that so?

Matthias: How fun! They chose me, the lovely Matthias, to be part of MC’s group. Saffron is lucky, too!

Thirteen: I got put with Luke and Raphael.

Thirteen: As long as I get to eat while we work. Luke makes good sweets.

Matthias: Luke? Hmm…I’ve only ever eaten things Barbatos makes. But if Luke is also a baker, I’m definitely going to ask him sometime!

Thirteen: But you can’t go stomping into Purgatory Hall demanding he bakes for you.

Matthias: Don’t worry! The lovely Matthias has a way with his words. I have a talent!

Thirteen: Ooh… I wanna see how that ends up playing out…

Scenario 1

MC: Are you picky?

Matthias: Hmm…I suppose you could put it that way. I’m a blood drinker, so it’s just sort of natural for me to prefer things that give me proper nutrition. The food you guys eat is not that pleasant.

Scenario 2

MC: Why do you only eat Barbatos’ sweets?

Matthias: He knows what I like. It’s hard for me to trust anyone else with my food, you know? But anything that isn’t sweet is a big no for me. Besides, I really only need blood or else I’m weak.

End scenario

Thirteen: Ahaha. You sound like a little kid!

Matthias: Eh? I am not quite sure how I’m meant to take that…so thank you!

81-17

[Garden]

Matthias: Hmm…we’ve been waiting for a while now.

Matthias: You don’t think Young Saffron bailed on us, do you?

Scenario 1

MC: I’m sure that’s not the case.

Matthias: Optimistic, I see. That’s a good mindset!

Scenario 2

MC: She’s probably just running a little late.

Matthias: Running late, huh? I didn’t think angels even understood the concept of that…

End scenario

Saffron: Sorry, you guys! I’m here!

Matthias: Oh, dear! Aren’t you all out of breath?

Saffron: Yeah, I ran…

Saffron: I’m super sorry. I just came back from the Newspaper Club room and I totally lost track of time!

Matthias: Hehe. Are you in the Newspaper Club, Young Saffron?

Saffron: Uhm…not yet, but I’m thinking about it.

Matthias: If you join you should totally write a story about me! I’ll even pay you.

Saffron: Really?! I mean…wait! No! I can’t be driven by money!

Saffron: And why would I even write a story about YOU anyways?! All this time you’ve been mean to me!

Matthias: All this time? It’s only the second day…

Saffron: Yeah! That says a lot, doesn’t it? I…

Saffron: Uhmmm…

Scenario 1

MC: You okay?

Saffron: …

Scenario 2

MC: Tell him what you want to say.

Saffron: …!

End scenario

Matthias: You’re awfully pale, aren’t you?

Saffron: …Never mind. It’s nothing.

It looks like Saffron’s still too scared to confront him…

Matthias: Ah. Well, then, I shall take your word for it.

Matthias: But never be shy to tell me anything! Hehe.

Saffron: …Sure.

. . .

Saffron: Now, if we set it up like this, we can make a lot more room for whatever we want to put in our room.

Matthias: That’s a bit of hopeful wishing. Keep in mind we don’t know which room is ours yet. It could be any size and shape.

Saffron: Are you even listening? I’m clearly saying this will be good and leaves options open for a lot of areas in RAD.

Matthias: Hm, I suppose I wasn’t listening then. Could you explain one more time?

Saffron: …

Scenario 1

MC: You should pay more attention, Matthias.

Matthias: Aw, you aren’t going to back me up, MC?

Saffron: Why would they?

Scenario 2

MC: Saffron, explain again.

Saffron: …Alright. Only because you asked and not the vampire mister. We have to set it up this way and it will give us more room to work.

Matthias: I have a name, you know…

End scenario

Matthias: I, in fact, also have my own ideas. Wouldn’t you two care to hear them?

Saffron: What is it?

Matthias: Well, I wanted to go for more of a scary theme! Like, wouldn’t it just catch people’s eyes? We’d be sure to scare everyone into their votes!

Saffron: That sounds…forceful.

Matthias: But you agree that it would work, yes?

Saffron: I don’t know. We gotta go with something that touches people’s hearts, I think. That’s how Simeon always words things.

Matthias: Ah, so something motivational, huh? 

Matthias: Well, you’d SO be motivated to run away if we had a scary room! Right?

Saffron: But that’s not a good thing!

Saffron: We gotta have people’s hearts and souls in it when they vote for us. Like, they really, really, want to! That’s what matters.

Matthias: Oh, Young Saffron…is that truly what you think? What’s important is that we win!

Saffron: I want to win, but…I also want everyone to actually like our room. It’s not worth winning if everyone feels forced into it.

Matthias: *sigh*...How young and—

Saffron: Naive! Are you going to say that every time? Do you really think that about me?

Saffron: Ugh! I’ve had it with you!

Matthias: Oh, my! Young Saffron, where are you going?

Matthias: …

Matthias: She’s gone. Was it something I said, do you reckon?

Scenario 1

MC: You were too harsh with her.

Matthias: Harsh? Me? I didn’t think…

Scenario 2

MC: You need to apologize to Saffron.

Matthias: Oh…you think so? But what did…

End scenario

Matthias: …

Matthias: I kind of had a feeling she was upset with me.

Matthias: I wasn’t going to admit it at first, but now that she’s gone…

Matthias: Yeah…maybe she really is hurt.

Matthias: I guess I should talk to her tomorrow, huh?

Matthias: And…I’ll apologize. *sigh*...

81-19

[Living Room (Purgatory Hall)]

Simeon: Hello, MC. I might have a hunch at what brings you here.

Raphael: Worried about Saffron, huh?

Raphael: I honestly wasn’t expecting her to come in crying right after school, but she’s feeling a bit better now.

Simeon: Correct, indeed. And I was about to meet with Mephistopheles for our room consultation…

Raphael: Ah, right. You got paired with him.

Scenario 1

MC: Where is she?

Raphael: She’s eating cake with Luke in the kitchen. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you went to go talk to her.

Scenario 2

MC: I want to talk to Saffron.

Raphael: Go ahead. She’s in the kitchen with Luke.

End scenario

. . .

[Kitchen (Purgatory Hall)]

Saffron: This cake is good, Luke!

Luke: You mean it?!

Saffron: I do!

Luke: Wow…thanks. I’m glad!

Luke: Hmm? Oh, MC! You scared me.

Saffron: MC?

Luke: I heard everything that happened, trust me! I can’t believe that vampire!

Saffron: Well…

Scenario 1

MC: How are you feeling?

Saffron: Better. Thanks for asking…

Scenario 2

MC: Matthias wants to apologize to you.

Saffron: …

Saffron: It won’t mean anything if he tries something like that again.

End scenario

Saffron: …

Saffron: I really don’t care if he says sorry or not. Or maybe I do.

Saffron: Ugh…I don’t know what to feel! I think that the vampire mister is wrong, but then why am I so upset?!

Luke: Saffron, it’s okay to be upset!

Luke: I’m upset too, to be honest…

Luke: And it would be nice of Matthias to apologize if he really meant it. You wouldn’t want him to apologize not from the heart, right?

Saffron: Yeah…I guess that’s right.

Saffron: *sigh*...I don’t get that guy. And it’s hard to stay not mad when he’s always making me so mad. I just want to decorate our room and have fun…

Luke: I guess we can only wait until tomorrow. Cheer up in the meantime, okay? Don’t let him get you down!

MC: You’re strong, Saffron.

Saffron: Really? You mean that?

Saffron: Hehe. Thank you. Makes me wish I was strong enough to actually tell him that he’s so mean to me.

Luke: You know…it’s possible that he knows. What if he’s just doing it because he knows you’ll react in the way he wants?

Saffron: But isn’t that what everyone does to you, Luke?

Luke: Wha, hey! This isn’t even about me.

Saffron: Hehe! I just did it to you!

Luke: W-Welll…I knew that!

Luke: Hmph. At least you’re feeling better now.

Luke: MC, do you want to try my cake? Saffron said it was good, so hopefully you’ll enjoy it!

Luke: Here, I’ll cut you a slice!

Scenario 1

MC: Thank you, Luke.

Luke: Of course!

Scenario 2

MC: What kind of cake?

Luke: Red velvet! I hope that’s okay…

End scenario

Saffron: I think Luke makes the best cakes ever.

Luke: Really? I-I mean! Thank you! Humbly, of course!

Saffron: Hehe…

81-A

[Hallway (RAD)]

Mephistopheles: …

Thirteen: You’re always standing and frowning.

Mephistopheles: …

Thirteen: Okay, then… I wasn’t looking for you anyway. I think Matthias already went home…

Mephistopheles: You’re interested in the new exchanges?

Thirteen: Matthias and I actually share a lot in common. Not that you would understand what that’s like.

Mephistopheles: Wh…are you implying that I can’t relate to anyone? The assumptions!

Thirteen: Okay, then spill.

Mephistopheles: Why do I have to tell you?

Thirteen: So that we know you're not bluffing.

Mephistopheles: Who’s “we”?! And that doesn’t mean I’m bluffing.

Mephistopheles: *sigh* I’m currently just hoping that I’ll be able to recruit a new member for the Newspaper Club. I think she was pretty amazed when she came by to see earlier.

Thirteen: Sounds boring, so I’ll leave you to that.

Thirteen: I gotta go schedule a time to meet up with Raphael and Luke.

Mephistopheles: Oh, right… Simeon said he would meet me today. I nearly forgot.

Thirteen: You should really stay on top of it.

Mephistopheles: I…that’s a LOT coming from you…!

81-C

[Hall (Demon Lord's Castle)]

Barbatos: I had a feeling you would be here already.

Matthias: Of course, Barb! I can’t have you missing me too much.

Barbatos: *sigh*...I could have sworn all the entrances were locked, though...

Matthias: Oh, yeah, they were. I came in through the floor.

Barbatos: Well…it’s actually convenient that you’re here now. I needed to discuss something important with you.

Matthias: Ooh, important, huh? You can tell me anything, Barbatos!

Barbatos: How I wish I could…ahem…

Barbatos: Anyway, it has come to my attention that Solomon will be coming back to the Devildom very soon. But since he’s coming during the middle of the Ornament Contest, he will not be participating.

Matthias: Wha…huh? THAT’S the important news?

Barbatos: It is important if you wish to prepare to keep your sanity, yes?

Matthias: I guess you were thinking about me by telling me, but…

Matthias: I wanted to come now because he wasn’t going to be here! That’s not fair.

Barbatos: You must compose yourself, Matthias. *sigh* I really do not understand the issue you have with him. You two are more similar than you may think.

Matthias: Don’t ever say that!

Barbatos: It was a simple observation. But I cannot change the fact that he is coming.

Matthias: Yeah, I know… Thanks for telling me, Barbatos.

Matthias: I’ll be sure to greet him with the biggest smiley face I have! Hehe…

Barbatos: Oh, dear…

[luckyroll3]

Chef's Kiss: Part 1

Masterlist and Summary

Story inspired by this TikTok.

The Job

Your phone buzzes, a jarring vibration against the calm of your sunlit office. You glance at the caller ID—Marcus Williams. One of your richest, but most demanding clients. You straighten in your chair, already tensing at his potential request.

"Good morning, Marcus," you answer with a practiced calm.

"Morning," he replies curtly. "I need you to organize a dinner event. It's crucial. Sixty high-profile guests. Can I count on you?"

His voice is all clipped edges and impatience. You open your notebook app on your ipad, scribbling details as he rattles them off—a date less than a month out, a list of VIPs, his expectations clear and, as usual, excessive.

"Is that all? I thought you’d want me to host your next event on the moon this time,” you say cheekily, hoping to soften him a bit.

“Ha! Maybe for the next one,” he says with a chuckle. “Your sense of humor is only one of the reasons I rehire you. But it’s mostly your ability to pull off miracles. Can you take care of this one for me?”

“Absolutely. I'm on it," you assure him. He hangs up without a goodbye; the typical Marcus efficiency that you have learned to accept. “Bye to you too,” you say to the dead line.

You exhale, then hit the speed dial for Natalie. She answers on the second ring, her voice bright and expectant.

"Nat, we've got a big one," you say, leaning back into the comforting embrace of your leather chair.

"Spill it," she urges, eagerness threading through her words.

"Marcus just tasked us with a high-stakes dinner event." You feel the weight of responsibility settle on your shoulders.

"Oof, when's the event?" Natalie's question is a soft tap on the drum of your anxiety.

"In about a month," you reply, eyeing the calendar. The days look too few, the timeframe mocking you.

"Yikes. But hey, we've got this," she says, confidence buoying her tone.

"Right." You smile despite yourself. "You know how Marcus is. We'll need to be meticulous. No room for error."

"Story of our lives," she chuckles. "I'll start prepping a timeline. We can tackle it first thing tomorrow."

"Thanks, Nat," you say, grateful for her unfailing support. "You're a lifesaver."

"Anytime," she replies, and you can almost hear her grin.

"Okay, let's circle back in an hour and set our game plan," you suggest.

"Will do, boss lady," Natalie sings out before hanging up.

You drop your phone on the desk and stare at the notes on the tablet. You take a deep breath, readying your nerves to turn chaos into a masterpiece once again.

You fire off an email to Daniella at Saffron & Thyme, fingers flying over the keys. Your mind thinks back to her restaurant's capabilities, the way they've never let you down. The cursor blinks back at you as you hit send.

"Done," you murmur, leaning back. "Dani should be getting back to us soon."

"Great! Their wild mushroom risotto is to die for," Natalie chimes in from across the desk, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Think it'll make the cut for the menu?"

"Let's hope." you grin, imagining the savory flavors, the impeccable plating.

The ping of your inbox pulls you back. A swift reply from Dani; she's always on the ball. You schedule a call with her for later in the day.

"Phone meeting's set," you announce, catching Natalie's gaze.

"Sweet," she replies, popping a bubblegum bubble. "We're on track."

Hours slip by, a blur of preparation and checklists, until the appointed time arrives. You press the speaker button, and Natalie leans in, pen poised.

"Hey, Dani," you greet as her voice fills the room, all business and warmth.

"Good to hear from you two," Daniella responds, her tone laced with a smile. "Let's talk about this dinner event of yours."

Natalie and you exchange a glance – it's go-time. You dive into the details, outlining Marcus' vision, the high-profile guest list, the atmosphere he’s aiming for.

"Got it," Dani interrupts, brisk yet excited. "I'm thinking something seasonal, maybe add a twist of elegance to each dish?"

"Exactly," you affirm, relief flooding through you. Dani gets it, like always.

"Count us in," she declares. "I'll clear the date. Chef Jax will be thrilled to brainstorm some ideas with you."

"Perfect," you say, and your pulse steadies. One major task checked off the list.

"Can't wait to work with you again, ladies," Dani adds, and you can almost see her managerial nod through the phone.

"Likewise," Natalie pipes up. "This one's going to be epic."

"Definitely." you echo, and after a few more confirmations and well-wishes, you end the call.

You flip open your laptop. Natalie perches on the edge of the glass desk, her fingers drumming a staccato rhythm.

"Timeline," you say, your voice slicing through the silence. "We need precision."

"Got it." She leans in, her curls bouncing with each nod. "Let's break it down, hour by hour."

You dive into the heart of logistics, crafting a timeline that reads like a symphony score—every note, every beat mapped out to the second. Your fingers dance over the keyboard as we assign tasks and set deadlines, our words weaving together until a coherent plan emerges from the chaos.

"Florist," you mutter, scanning the list. "Linens, A/V setup..."

"Who do you want for florals? The usual?" Natalie asks, chewing on her pen.

"Rosa's Garden. They've never let us down."

"True. Their orchids are art." Her eyes glint with approval.

You pick up the phone, dialing the familiar number. Rosa answers with her husky, laughter-lined voice, and you pitch our vision—a cascade of white blooms, elegance in every petal.

"Darling, for you, anything," Rosa purrs after a brief haggle over price. "I'll make sure it’s all there, fresh and fragrant."

Relief washes over you. "This is shaping up."

"Like we'd let it do anything else." Natalie grins.

You both sit back, your gazes meeting in quiet triumph. The foundation is laid, the groundwork solid. It's a waiting game now, the calm before the storm of execution.

You move on, the guest list sprawling before you like a challenge. Names, titles, companies – they blur together, a sea of significance.

"Adams needs to be near the bar," you say, remembering his penchant for networking with a drink in hand.

"Far from Johnson though." Natalie taps her lip. "Their last merger talk didn't go well."

"Right." you circle their names, drawing a line between them. It feels like defusing a bomb, a delicate operation where one wrong move could spell disaster.

"Helena will want a view of the stage." you envisage Helena's keen eyes, missing nothing.” Natalie nods, scribbling away. "And check dietary restrictions again," you remind her. "Last thing we need is an allergic reaction."

"Already on it." She grins, confidence a bright spark in her gaze.

"Good." Your shoulders ease a fraction. The details matter. They always do.

"Think he'll be happy?" she asks, a lilt of mischief in her voice.

"Marcus? He doesn't do happy," you smirk. "But satisfied? Maybe."

"Then we're golden." Natalie winks.

You see an email come through from Dani. She’s arranged a date and time for you and Chef Jax to meet and you add it to the calendar.

"We’re the best damn event planners in the city. We’re always golden." Your confidence surges as you send the confirmation reply. You shut down the computers, the screens' glow fading into darkness. “Let’s call it a night.” 

The Meeting

The crisp air of the early evening bites at your skin as you approach Saffron & Thyme, the five-star restaurant nestled in the heart of the city. Leaves rustle underfoot, a whispering prelude to the bustle inside. You're here to discuss Marcus’ event.

A sudden rush of wind signals an intrusion into your thoughts. A man on a bike, all athletic build and tousled hair under a baseball cap, clips your shoulder as he whizzes by. "Sorry, mate!" he calls out, his voice tinged with an Australian accent that curls around the words like smoke. He swings back around and heads towards you.

“You okay?” His warm brown eyes meet yours, before performing a silent appraisal of your body. “I underestimated the distance between us. But you’re good, yeah?”

“I’m good,” you respond. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay!” He grins broadly, two dimples appearing. It’s one of the most gorgeous smiles you’ve ever seen. “Sorry again.” He winks, then starts pedaling and disappears down the alley. Your heart skips a beat, but you brush it off. Time is ticking.

Inside, the familiar scent of herbs and freshly baked bread welcomes you. It's comforting. You smooth down your blouse and ask the hostess for Dani and Chef Jax.

Dani emerges a few seconds later, her face both apologetic and reassuring. “Hey!” She greets you with a quick kiss on both cheeks. “So good to see you.”

“Nice to see you again Dani. Thanks so much for taking on this event with such short notice.”

“Of course. So I have some bad news. Chef Jax left a week ago to become the private chef for a big celebrity.” Her tone suggests this is more gossip than disaster. She sees concern cross your face and quickly adds, "But don't worry, we've got someone even better."

That's when he steps into view. You blink quickly as Dani ushers forward the new chef. It’s the biker from the sidewalk. His entrance is nothing short of magnetic; the kitchen's heat seems to have followed him out, adding a shimmer to his tanned skin. Chris' smile, complete with its playful dimples, radiates confidence. He strides towards you, the embodiment of every culinary fantasy you didn't know you had. You wonder if you’re developing a chef kink. You feel warmth flooding your cheeks.

"Chris has taken over the kitchen," Dani says, proudly introducing the man whose hands, strong and skilled, once deftly navigated a bike handle, now destined to craft your event's menu.

Chris steps forwards, a grin tugging at his full pink lips. "Sorry again for bumping into you. Nice to properly meet you," he says, his grin spreading wider and his rich brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Seems I’ve made quite the first impression, huh?”

You swallow, forcing a smile. “It was quite the entrance. Would have been more impressive if you were doing some tricks,” you quip, aiming for light-heartedness. “But water under the bridge.”

Chris chuckles as he extends a hand, his large palm enveloping yours in a firm handshake. His skin is warm, the touch sending an unexpected jolt of electricity sparking up your arm. You stare at your joined hands, acutely aware of his lingering gaze.

“Christopher Bahng, but everyone calls me Chris.” You introduce yourself. “An absolute pleasure.” Chris lifts your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

A shiver dances down your spine at the sensation. You're drawn to him, undeniably so. But this is work. You nod, your mind stamping down the attraction, forcing professionalism to the forefront. You clear your throat, slipping free of his grasp, but the tingling remains. “Shall we discuss the event?” you ask, looking between Chris and Dani.

Chris chuckles again, the sound warm and throaty. "Straight to business. I like that."

The three of you sit at an empty table near the back, Dani taking her place at the head while you and Chris flank her sides, sitting across from each other. Every inch of air between the two of you is charged with unspoken tension.

"So, let's talk about the dinner," you start, opening your folder. Your voice is steady, all business now. "We're looking for something that makes a statement."

"Ah, I love a good challenge." Chris leans in, his forearms on the table, and you're acutely aware of the muscles beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The scent of spice and citrus wafts off him towards you, clean and intoxicating. "Tell me more. What do you have in mind?" His gaze on you is intense.

You glance away, heart pounding. Get a grip, you chastise yourself. You smooth a stray curl behind your ear, summoning your most confident tone.

"An upscale six-course tasting menu to impress our guests." You outline the specifics, including the ambiance you're aiming for. Chris nods along, his eyes never leaving yours, as if every word you say is vital. It's flattering and a little unnerving. You find yourself leaning in too, drawn into his orbit.

"Ambitious. I like it. Sounds like we've got some exciting work ahead of us," he says once you finish, his dimpled smile returning full force. You can't help but return it, despite the warning bells in your mind.

You clear your throat again. “Will the kitchen be able to handle this? Given the sudden changes in staff?”

“My team can handle anything.” Chris smiles, sending a thrill through you. "I'll make it an evening you won’t forget."

You swallow hard, tearing your gaze from his. This chemistry is dangerous. Off limits. You straighten, smoothing your expression into cool professionalism.

"Wonderful. Shall we finalize the details then?" You flip open your ipad, poising the stylus over the screen.

Chris leans back in his chair, regarding you through half-lidded eyes, studying your face. You raise a brow.

After a long moment, Chris chuckles again, content with whatever it is he’s discovered. "Details it is." He folds his hands on the table, giving you his full attention. "What do you need from me?"

You go back and forth discussing the details. Dani chimes in as necessary, but the conversation is mainly between you and Chris. Dani excuses herself to deal with something in the back.

"Imagine this," he starts, "a deconstructed bouillabaisse, each element a surprise on the palate."

You nod, intrigued. The idea is bold, inventive. It's exactly what Marcus loves.

"Seafood sourced locally?" you ask, thinking of freshness, sustainability—the buzzwords that please your clients.

"Of course." Chris' smile is confident. "Nothing but the best."

You move on to presentation, discussing plating styles. Rustic elegance versus modern chic. He sketches shapes on a napkin—curves, lines, a swoop here for sauce, a stack there for texture. You watch him work. The way his brow furrows in concentration, the occasional bite of his lip.

"Guests eat with their eyes first," he says, locking eyes with you. His enthusiasm is infectious.

"Absolutely," you agree, feeling the pull of his passion. You turn back to your notes. “Marcus also has a love for theatrics, so keep that in mind too.”

Chris nods, and makes a few additional suggestions.

You glance up from your notes, meeting Chris's gaze. His eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners as he smiles. Your heart stutters at the sight.

"I think we have everything covered." You pretend to scan your notes and hope your voice sounds normal. "Unless there's anything else you want to discuss?"

“Dietary restrictions?”

“I’ll have my assistant Nat send you notes on that once we finalize the guest list by the end of the week.”

“Perfect.”

“Just be prepared. The requests from these rich folks tend to border on ridiculous. We’ll need to figure out how to incorporate them without sacrificing the menu's integrity. It might be a bit much given our timeline. Given the potential complications, does the end of the week still work?”

“I’ll make it work,” he says confidently.

"Great. Thank you." You breathe easier. Your eyes connect with his and neither of you look away.

"All set?" Dani asks, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and breaking the spell.

"Yup! All set," you confirm, finally looking away and standing as you slip the tablet into your bag. You feel lighter, energized by the collaboration, by Chris' fervor. The event looms large, but so does the excitement. And maybe something more. “Thanks for meeting with me today.”

Your gaze drifts again to Chris, as he rises as well. You watch the way his hair curls just slightly under the edge of his baseball cap, how his eyes glint with life and laughter. Your heart thuds harder. You're not supposed to notice these things. He rounds the table to stand next to you.

“The pleasure was all mine.” His voice is low and husky, catching you mid-stare. A knowing smile plays on his lips—the dimples teasing you. "Got your phone?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah." You fumble in your bag, your cheeks warm. You trade phones, fingers brushing, lingering. Numbers are exchanged, a necessity cloaked in possibility.

"Call me if anything changes," he says, handing back your device. His eyes hold yours, a silent conversation you're both too aware of. Time stretches until you come to your senses.

"Will do," you manage, voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "Thank you, Chef," you say, turning to leave.

Chris grins. “Until next time.”

Out on the sidewalk, the city buzzes around you. You tuck into the stream of people, lost in thought. The quickening pulse at the base of your neck is hard to ignore. Chris. His talent, his charisma, his looks —dangerously magnetic.

You're drawn to him, undeniably so. But this is about work. You’re wondering how you will resist him. The questions loop in your mind, chasing each other like shadows as you navigate back to the office.

Still, his smile lingers. The plump lips. The twinkle in his eye. The fucking dimples. There's no denying the chemistry between you, a dangerous attraction that threatens to derail the event if you're not careful. Still, you can't ignore the thrill his heated looks ignite within you or how his passion for cooking sparks your own enthusiasm.

You take a deep breath.

Back at your computer, you find several emails from Marcus, each terser than the last, demanding updates. You don’t have time for fucking romance. With a sigh, you settle in to respond, pushing all thoughts of Chris from your mind.

The Recipe Tasting

The brass handle is cold under your touch as you push open the door to the restaurant, a sanctuary of calm in the early hours of Saturday morning. Chris’ message said to just come on in when you arrived. A thrill dances up your spine, mingling with the anticipation that's been simmering since you set this meeting with him. The moment you step inside, the rich tapestry of scents wraps around you—garlic, fresh herbs, a hint of citrus.

"Good morning," Chris greets. There’s a hint of fatigue in his eyes, but his dimpled smile radiates warmth against the cool backdrop of the quiet dining room. His chef's whites hug his athletic frame, a stark contrast to the dark, tousled curls peeking out from beneath the gray beanie he's donned today. You follow behind him, and can’t help it when your eyes drop to take in how well the pants highlight his perfectly round ass. You glance around the pristine kitchen, noticing the organized chaos of ingredients and tools laid out for the tasting.

“How long have you been here?” you ask.

"Since four this morning," he says over his shoulder, with a shrug. The motion accentuating the breadth of shoulders beneath the crisp white shirt. “There’s a lot to prepare, but I wanted everything to be perfect for you.” His tone is laced with pride.

"It’s just a tasting. No need for perfection. Yet," you respond, admiring the dedication.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he replies.

In the kitchen, stainless steel surfaces gleam under the fluorescent lights. A pan sizzles on one of the stoves, punctuating the symphony of aromas. Chris removes the pan from the heat before leading you to a prep table, ingredients arrayed like paint on an artist's palette. He pulls out the stool for you. As you sit, you feel his thumb graze lightly across your side. You’re unsure whether it was intentional or accidental. You don’t react outwardly, but inside, you start to feel fluttering in your belly.

"Let me show you what I've got planned," he says, gesturing towards the display with his broad, strong and veiny hand.

"Surprise me," you challenge, your voice steadier than your racing heart.

One by one, he lifts lids from pots, unveiling the dishes. Each carries a story, a piece of his soul: braised short ribs that hint at his Korean heritage, vibrant vegetables speaking to his Australian upbringing. He talks, hands painting the air with his passion, eyes alight with creativity.

"Each dish is a chapter," he explains. "A narrative in flavor."

You nod, captivated not just by the food but by him—by the fervor in his voice, the spark in his gaze. Today, Chris isn't just a chef; he's a storyteller, and you hang on every word.

Chris approaches with the first dish, his stride confident. The steam curls upward as he sets it down before you, the aroma a prelude to the flavors awaiting discovery.

"Try this," he urges, the dimples in his cheek deepening with his encouraging smile.

The fork feels cool against your fingertips. You spear a tender morsel, and it succumbs to the gentle pressure. Brought to your lips, the flavor blooms across your tongue—earthy, rich, with a whisper of spice that tickles your palate.

"Wow," escapes from you. It's more than taste; it's emotion, memory, a dance of textures and aromas that resonate with something primal within you.

Chris leans on the stainless steel table, eyes locked on yours, searching for more than approval. "What does it remind you of?" His voice is low, inviting.

"A bonfire during sunset on a secluded beach. That moment when the sky's ablaze and you're caught between day and night," you say, the image so clear you can almost hear the waves lapping at the shore.

"Perfect," he breathes out, satisfaction lighting up his face. "That balance is exactly what I was aiming for."

"Chris, this is... incredible." Your words are honest, stripped of pretense by the genuineness of the experience.

"Good, because there's more to come." He stands straight, the professional veil slipping back into place, but the lingering look he gives you is all warmth and shared secrets.

"Bring it on," you reply, the challenge in your tone softened by a playful smile, eager for the next act in this delicious play.

You watch as he plates the next dish and walks back to you. He slides the plate in front of you, the vibrant colors of the dish popping against the stark white. Your nostrils flare slightly, taking in the aromatic fusion wafting from the arrangement.

"Try this," he encourages. "A little adventure on a plate. Octopus carpaccio with chorizo crumble and saffron aioli."

You lift your fork to your lips. The first bite is a revelation as the medley of bold, yet harmonious flavors explodes on your tongue. A soft moan escapes you before you catch yourself.

Chris smirks at the sound, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction at you’re reaction. “Glad you like it.” He slides a glass towards you. You take a sip, surprised to find that it is white wine, but it’s perfect as it accentuates the flavors. “The saffron provides an interesting contrast to the the brininess of the octopus.” He picks the glass up and brings it to his own lips.

"It's amazing." You gesture at the dish with your fork. "The blend of textures and flavors is incredible." You place another forkful into your mouth, closing your lips around the silverware before pulling it out slowly to get as much as the flavor off as possible. You notice his eyes focused on your lips. "Your skill... it's exceptional." You speak between bites, each word sincere.

"Cooking is an art form. The ability to blend flavors and culinary traditions from different cultures is fascinating to me." He leans forward, his gaze snapping back up to your eyes. "But the real joy is in sharing the experience with someone who appreciates it."

"I love cooking too, but it’s more of a hobby for me. There's so much joy in exploring new tastes, new techniques."

"Exactly! For me, it began with my grandmother's recipes. She brought Korea to our Australian kitchen." His hands animate his words, the story bringing a dance to his fingers as they mimic chopping and stirring.

"Family recipes are treasures." You pause, the memory of your dad's jerk chicken seasoning your words with nostalgia. "My dad's Caribbean roots spice up our meals. It's like every dinner tells a part of our story."

"Food is our connection to heritage, to family." Chris nods, a grin spreading across his face, softened by the dimples that carve into his cheeks. "It's amazing how it brings people together, isn't it?"

"Absolutely." You smile, lost momentarily in the shared understanding, the common ground blooming like the herbs in a well-tended garden. With each shared anecdote, the connection deepens, roots twisting around a budding possibility.

You reach for the next plate, not sure what it is, but eager to taste anyway. Chris reaches for the plate at the same time, his intention to guide you through the flavors of his latest creation. Your fingers graze his, light as whispers, as you simultaneously grab the plate and a shock of warmth surges up your arm. You freeze, caught in the unexpected intimacy of skin against skin.

His gaze locks with yours. It's a silent conversation, a question posed in the depths of his brown eyes that beg for an answer. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm, betraying the calm façade you struggle to maintain. The air crackles with the energy shared in that fleeting touch, the undercurrents of attraction swirling like steam from the hot dishes scattered across the counter.

The moment stretches, awareness growing between you both. You want nothing more than to close the distance between your bodies, to discover the taste of the full, sensual mouth that has been tempting you all morning. His gaze dips to your mouth then returns to your eyes, and you wonder if he's imagining the same thing. You wonder if he'll act on the desire simmering in the air. But after a long moment, he straightens and clears his throat, looking away.

"Sorry," he murmurs, but there's no real apology in his voice, only a low timbre that resonates somewhere deep within you. His smile is a half-formed thing, laden with meanings you're not sure you should decipher.

“It’s fine," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "What is this?" you ask, referring to the plate still held by both of you. You release it, allowing him to set it down in front of you. You sit back in the stool, trying to calm yourself.

“Taste it.” He picks up your fork and scoops up the perfect bite before guiding it to your mouth. You open wide, your eyes locked on his as the fork enters your mouth.

Rich flavors explode on your tongue—spicy chili, fresh lime, and tangy fish sauce with coconut milk, redolent of Chris's Korean-Australian heritage.

"My halmeoni—my grandmother—taught me this recipe." His eyes soften with affection. "It's one of my favorites. A fusion of Korean and Australian flavors."

"It's incredible." He fills up another forkful and offers it to you. You close your eyes as you accept it, savoring another bite. "The blend of spices is perfect."

"I'm glad you appreciate it." His smile is warm and genuine. He uses the same fork to take his own bite. You bring the glass of wine to your lips for another sip and watch as he chews, then swallows slowly. When his tongue darts out to lick his lips you feel your vagina clench. His eyes haven’t left you either.

The air seems to vibrate between the two of you. His eyes drop to your lips again, you start to lean forward, closing the gap between you as if drawn by an invisible force. Chris mirrors you, his breath beginning to mingle with yours as you both move closer to each other. In this charged space, time seems suspended, waiting for one of you to shatter the delicate balance with a single, reckless act.

As you start to close your eyes, the kitchen door bangs open, shattering the moment. You and Chris spring apart as Dani strides in, her confident steps resonating on the tiled floor. She pauses, taking in the scene with a knowing tilt of her head. "Morning, you two," she says, a hint of amusement coloring her words. "How’s the tasting going."

You sit back in the stool, the bubble of tension popping in the wake of her arrival. Chris clears his throat, a flush creeping up his neck and the tips of ears turning bright red as he busies himself with adjusting the placement of the dishes. "Good, good," he says, the casualness of his tone not quite reaching his eyes. “We’re almost done here.”

“Cool.” Dani raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment further. She moves past the two of you to the office in the back of the kitchen, her motion sweeping away the remnants of the moment you and Chris almost shared.

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as Dani delves into her pre-opening routine.

You catch Chris' eye once more. He smiles warmly and begins to explain the last few dishes he’s prepared, sharing them out on small plates. He lets you feed yourself this time. The two of you easily slip back into your roles as you discuss how the dishes fit together and what makes the most sense for the event. You both busy yourselves with taking notes as you work together to finalize the menu. Although tension still lingers in the air, thick and heady as the aromas wafting through the kitchen, neither of you acknowledge it.

[soufcakmistress]

Temptress

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

The intricate oil painting hanging on the wall threatened to fall by the incessant pounding of the bed frame. “I wonder what they’re serving at the pub tonight…” Sybil Freeman pondered as this sad soul rutted away between her legs. The Viscount Peters was one of her frequent visitors, and always tipped well. A lackluster lover, but always super sweet. The viscount shuddered and finally expelled into the sheepskin condom, with sighs of much awaited relief. Her corset has her abundant breasts grazing her chin, which have now spilled out from the romp that just ensued.

This is the part that the men come for. “Ooooh, the Viscount is feeling very frisky this evening. I’ll be sure to put those juniper berries in your wine every time we meet, sugar.” The short and dumpy nobleman always moseyed down her street for a bit of loving. Black and white men alike patronized the house—a house of nothing but Black bawds and whores.

~

London is a long way from colonial Charleston. Sybil Ravenel was one of eleven children to an enslaved couple working the indigo crop on Edisto Island. Keen on her surroundings and fierce about her family, one particular overseer would always harass her. She was very shapely and purposely wore baggier clothes to conceal her body. She’d managed to make it this far without getting whipped or separated from her family. The overseer was tired of Sybil spurning him. Easter Day came and the slaves were able to take the day off for once. While everyone was congregated by the fire, Sybil was caught off guard and gagged and pulled around the tobacco barn. Little did that overseer know that Sybil had been preparing for that day.

She sharpened this stick every day and hid it in the waistline of her skirt. Today, she made good on her intentions and shoved the stick into his neck. “I the last Negro woman you try to push up on. Bastard.” Blood drenched her apron and bonnet, and she wrenched them off and hid them under her skirt. Scrambling to the slave quarters, she gathered up the few clothes she had, tied them up and ran towards the harbor with all of her might in the dead of night.

Sybil understood sex and how easy men were guiled once it entered a dynamic. Men had few motivations and if it didn’t involve money, food or sex, Sybil found they didn’t have much use past that. She wasn’t entirely sure of her age, but she was a woman full grown. She had no education but she had the will to live and extremely limited means to do so. Offering what she had between her legs was how she was able to convince the captain of a nearby merchant ship not to ring the alarm for a fugitive slave on the run. She sucked his pecker so good as a matter of fact, he gave her her own cabin, left to be undisturbed until the ship docked.

The manifest was set for London Harbor, with a large store of indigo posed for shipping to the British Isles. England outlawed slavery years ago and all Sybil can remember being in awe of how Black folks roamed so freely. London was expansive, a different feeling versus Charleston. Attempting to navigate the streets, she bumped into a striking woman, with incredible cheek bones and dwarfed almost every man. “Careful, darling. Yuh ‘ave to actually look where yuh walk in this city. Before yuh get trampled.”

Needless to say, her life was changed from then on out. Bellemere Almodovar. Born in Jamaica, she was purchased by Spanish spice traders in exchange for bushels of saffron. She was so beautiful that she was whisked away from the auction block to accompany a lord in the Spanish court in the Spanish royal seat in Madrid.

Bellemere took Sybil under her wing. Showed her the ropes, how to keep herself safe, how to articulate herself, and recognize what the means to the end was. Fuck the frogs until you find the prince. A marquis or a lord having you for his mistress meant security and stability. A binding contract between the two of you kept the relationship mutually beneficial at all times. You provide the cunny and ego stroking, he provides the lifestyle. It’s plain and simple as that.

Until then, Sybil would stack her money. Her and Bellemere have expanded their stable, with an extremely diverse group of Black women with various treasures to offer. Lola and Liza Ibeji, the Sierra Leonan twin Amazons liked to play with the kinky politicians on Downing street on every bank holiday who liked to be tied up and degraded. Sarah Macenroe was a biracial beauty from Ireland, looking for a new home since her last bawd kicked her out. She was a contortionist, and petite like a nymph who loved to stick her finger up a John’s bum. And Sybil’s best friend Janie Smith from Trinidad, always quick to cuss her in patois. She was plump and shaped like you and that brought you both closer. Janie learned that she did not have a gag reflex, allowing any man to aim his prick down her endless throat with no resistance.

And Sybil. Sybil’s prized possession was between her legs. It was wetter and tighter than anyone around, and was guaranteed to make any man lose his pride before he wanted to. Her blue fingertips were a marvel to gaze upon and added to the fantasy. These English nobles ached for the chance of sleeping with a liberated Negro woman from the colonies. Her life was easy now. Fuck her regulars, and live good. She was free. Free to eat in any cafe of her choosing. Led her girls into any social gathering with their heads high and guaranteed to garner whispers and gasps. Music to her ears.

As of late, Sybil had been bored to tears of the social scene. Janie had just snagged her keeper, and she’d been whisked to the northern countryside for the next month. On this particular occasion, Sybil’s carob skin emitted radiance unknown to this world with the midnight blue gown hugging her body close. Her scalp itched under the powdered wig, and she daintily threw back her 6th drink of the night. Her girls worked the room as always, prowling for the next kill, and yet Sybil couldn’t give a fuck about any of these men.

She grabbed her sachet, picked up the ends of her dress and sashayed to the terrace. Some fresh air was needed. A cigarette she already rolled was pulled out and heavy footsteps lurked behind her. “Is this seat taken?”

A puff of tobacco smoke billowed in front of her cherubic face. A pleasant surprise that a Black man with a familiar accent met her. “Do as you like.”

The strange man quietly observes Sybil’s appearance. Their eyes finally meet and she’s enraptured and forgets to mask her intent. He’s very handsome, with a sterling smile and dashing garments. And an American accent. Interesting. “What’s a southern Belle doing mingling with English society?”

“I could ask the same of you. You’re like a fly in a glass of milk with this crowd. American?”

The gentleman wore his own hair out, a beautiful tangle of curls, and an emerald green suit that was immaculately crafted. His scent was alluring, and made Sybil want to know how deep his pockets went. “Yes. I was formerly enslaved, just like you. My father was African however and fell in love with my mother on a trip to the colonies. He bought us and we went back to his country to live. I grew up and wanted to explore this world. So for the moment, here I am..”

He took her cigarette out of her hand and began to puff on it himself. “And how would you know that I was enslaved? I could have been born free for all you know.”

The gentleman blew out the tobacco smoke, and gently placed her hand in his. The indigo dye. Permanently marking her as a piece of chattel. A former piece of chattel, for that matter. He kissed every fingertip on her left hand, and Sybil gulped. Her eyes became glassy, and she pulled away. She adjusted her dress, and stabilized her towering wig. “I didn’t catch your name, miss.”

Sybil took the cigarette back from him, taking a harsh pull. Why did this man make her feel like this? “Sybil. Sybil Freeman.” She had to get out of there. As seemingly progressive as London purported itself to be, Black men were almost never gentlemen and of the ton. He exuded high levels of breeding and class. His skin was gorgeous and he had piercing eyes that never left her….and roamed all over her body. He was clearly different.

“Good evening, sir.” Sybil gave the stiffest curtsy and zoomed away, flustered and confused. Something told her that that wouldn’t be the last she saw of him..

A/N: I totally forgot that I had most of this written up already LMAO. Please let me know if you want me to continue this story. Pleaseeee reblog and comment, love yall!!!

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[hand-written-dreams]

CRIMSON SHADE

Chapter 07

Behind Closed Doors

You tell me your secrets

You keep your life between your lips.

- ( The song of the chapter is "Eyes Don't Lie" by Isabel LaRosa)

The door to her walk-in closet creaks open, revealing the warm, smiling face of Buaji. She hands her the matching glass bangles she loves, along with a jewellery set to go with the saree she’s wearing. Buaji is the most constant presence in her otherwise volatile life. Her presence as familiar as the air in the room.

She lets her eyes run through the room she has known all her life. Her room on the second floor is more than just space, it is a fortress, one that holds her in both comfort and captivity. A large bedroom, a private bath, and a walk-in closet, everything is hers, as it always has been.

Growing up, nothing was denied to her. A mere mention, and whatever she desired would arrive at her doorstep, from the latest gadgets to racks of designer dresses. Clothes would line up like soldiers awaiting her approval. For a while, she equated it to love, believing her father’s way of caring was through giving. Thought his love was measured in possessions, wrapped in indulgence.

But she uncovered the truth early.

Slowly, Painfully.

She isn’t placed in this luxurious space to be cherished. No, she is stationed here, high above, to be observed, like a rare bird in a golden cage. Her every wish is fulfilled not out of affection but as a tether to keep her grounded in his world, so she’d never feel the need to fly beyond it.

The gifts, so beautifully wrapped, are chains in disguise.

She stops wishing for more.

She begins to carve out her own choices as much as the invisible chains around her wrists allow. Quietly, carefully.

Each decision is a whisper of defiance in a world built to silence her.

As she stands before the mirror, draped in the saree Mr. Jha gifted her, a sinking realization washes over her.

Choice is a luxury.

She never truly possesses.

No matter how much she yearns for it.

The fabric clings to her.

Beautiful yet suffocating.

Delicate yet unyielding.

Either this or termination of her life.

She always thinks ending her life can never be any answer to anything.

She still strongly believes that.

There's hope as long as she is alive.

She breathes deeply.

She needs to come out of her melodramatic bullshit.

It's time to wear her well-crafted mask.

The soft hum of conversation swirls around her, punctuated by the clinking of cutlery against porcelain, while the city below looks both close enough to touch and miles away.

Saffron, perched atop a tall skyscraper, stands as one of the most exclusive and luxurious restaurants in the heart of Delhi. It offers a breathtaking view of the city, its glittering lights stretching endlessly beneath the night sky.

The walls are dressed in rich shades of deep navy and gold, accented by deep velvet couches in midnight blues and soft greys and rich mahogany tables with golden accents. Low-hanging chandeliers give off a gentle, amber glow, casting soft intimate shadows that make you feel both at ease and on edge, like you are a part of something important just by being there.

This is where power quietly dines.

This is where every glance feels like it carries more weight than the words exchanged.

This is where whispered secrets linger in the air like smoke, while the hum of the city below is nothing more than a distant murmur.

She casts a glance at Mr.Jha, who is sitting across from her, animatedly discussing politics with his colleagues. His passion is palpable, shining in his eyes.

She sighed.

She hates being here.

She hates the small talk.

She hates the looks the men are giving

She hates the way the city pulses with energy while she feels frozen.

She pushes her food around on the plate without really eating, offering a fake smile at the woman sitting beside her. She is well-versed in the art of mindless conversation. She can entertain anyone from world leaders to a discarded piece of tissue paper.

Her skin is humming,

It's burning,

And tingling.

She lets her eyes glance over the restaurant, taking in the well-dressed waiters and the animated crowd, to find out a possible reason.

Maybe it's the air, or the clothes, or the food.

And then.

She sits up straight.

Ice needles prick her flesh.

Akash Singh Rathore sits a few tables down with two women, one is boredly typing on her phone, while the other is giggling, hanging on his every word.

She looks away quickly, her brow knitting together. What are the probabilities of having dinner at Saffron the same night as an Eagle? But then again, it wouldn't be unusual. It's a renowned restaurant and Delhi is their turf, after all.

Her blood quickens, the image of caramel-brown eyes flooding her mind.

He can't be here.

She discreetly glances at the Eagle's table, a wave of relief washing over her when she notices that no brown-eyed man is present nearby.

Not for miles.

He is not here.

The tension in her body begins to dissipate slowly. Quietly, she excuses herself from the table, giving a nod to her companions as she rises to go to the ladies' room.

The quiet hum of the restaurant is muffled behind the closed door of the ladies' room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her reflection. She washes her hands with the cold water running from the faucet. It helps, if only slightly.

"Get it together," she whispers to herself.

On her way back, she bumps into an old friend from college. “Friend” feels like the wrong term. They never spoke a word to each other back then. Yet here, the girl is chatting animatedly as if they’re long-lost buddies. Perhaps it’s the effect of graduating, everyone feeling nostalgic.

Her skin is humming,

It's burning

And tingling.

Not again.

And then.

The air catches its breath.

Thunder growls in the distance, shaking the quiet night, as bolts of lightning tear through the dark clouds. The glass of the building vibrates faintly with each rumble.

He is here.

The murmur grows as everyone marvels at the spectacle unfolding in the night sky.

While she is trapped in a pair of caramel-brown orbs.

They are trained directly on her, as he emerges from the opposite direction, clad in a charcoal black suit, walking toward the table junior Rathor occupies. A small part of her can’t help but admire his lethal, powerful stride. Yet the larger part instinctively raises her defences, on high alert.

The tension in the air coils like a drawn bow.

He slides next to junior Rathore and leans back, draping his arm over the back, as if he owns this place, as if he commands every breath in this room. He probably does.

And

His eyes.

His eyes are never not on her.

She doesn't look away.

She can't look away.

She is drawn like a magnet.

Her heart pounds so loudly she is sure everyone can hear it.

And yet.

She refuses to give in.

She will not give in.

She can stare too. As hard as he can, maybe even more.

She will stare forever.

She won't even blink if it means to win this war.

Without breaking eye contact, she bids the girl she has been talking to, goodbye and starts walking back toward her table, aware of the way his eyes hold her and hers hold his with each step, with every sway of her saree.

She is aflame from head to toe.

Her blood sings in her ears, drowning the sounds of laughter and clinking of wine glasses to nothing but a distant static. She is floating underwater.

His stare is raindrops, sliding down her body.

She feels his hands around her wrists in his stare. She feels his hand sliding up her neck in his stare. She feels his body pressed tightly against her in his stare.

A silent threat wrapped in a promise.

She sits down. It is foolish of her to think she can stare forever. She answers a meaningless question asked by one of the wives, the entire time feeling the weight of caramel-brown eyes. She is not going to look back.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

Her eyes find his.

A bead of sweat trickles down the curve of her spine. Her hair ends stand on high alert, sending a shiver through her skin, something he notices from across the room.

His eyes flare up.

Her mind screams,

'stop touching me with your eyes.'

A dangerously arrogant voice whispers,

'Make me'

The caramel-brown ones look unexpectedly amused as if he hears the conversation she is having in her head. A slight lift of his lips forms a crooked smirk, marring his finely chiselled face.

His evil calculated smirk.

Oh, how she hates this man.

She hates him so freaking much.

For making her feel so powerless.

For making her sweat.

In this thoroughly air-conditioned room

Only with his eyes

Sitting across the room.

'Fuck you.' her hate whispers.

'You wish,' his voice in her head whispers back like he did a few days back.

He gives her an air toast as he lifts his glass to his lips.

The glass touches his lips.

His throat bobbed.

And, she is an avid watcher.

She averts her gaze, forcing down the knot forming rapidly in her acutely dry mouth.

Mr. Hazard is bad for her health.

And her body.

And her brain.

And her heart.

And, she hates him.

"Khushi?"

She blinks, pulled out of her thoughts as Mr.Jha calls out her name. He stands with the rest of his colleagues. She nods a distant farewell to the faces she knows she won’t remember tomorrow. But it’s that gaze,

Intense and unrelenting.

That keeps her rooted in place.

"I'm heading toward the bar. It's going to rain soon. You should go home," Mr. Jha states in a low voice. "My bodyguard will take you home."

With that, he leads them toward the bar, his bodyguards trailing after him, except for one who lingers, waiting to follow her.

That gaze is still on her.

Piercing and unwavering.

The air between them has thinned out.

She exhales slowly.

Hazel eyes meet caramel-brown ones.

Eyes cut through the dim light.

Eyes pin her in place.

Unsettling and sharp.

Without another glance, she picks up her purse and turns, heading toward the elevator, eager to escape, eager to breathe in the cool night air.

The thunder strikes again.

The elevator doors ding as they open, revealing a middle-aged man with a very homely appearance. He smiles politely at her. She smiles back as he steps aside to let her in.

The doors are about to close.

A hand shoots out.

The doors ding open.

A man in a charcoal-black suit stands before the doors.

The guard beside her springs into action and steps out, “You’ll need to wait for the next one, Sir.” he says firmly and then panics pointing a gun at him. She bets the guard never expects him to be in the vicinity of them.

He arches an eyebrow at the guard, not even glancing at the gun pointed at him. With an almost casual demeanour, he grips the guard’s wrist suddenly and in a move that nearly drops her jaw, he twists the wrist, applying pressure and bending it backwards until the guard falls to his knees with a sharp cry. The gun in the guard's grip, is now pointed back reversely, yeah... at the guard.

The tables have turned.

His eyes never sway from hers.

She clutches the fabric of her saree, while willing for her heartbeat to slow down. Her nail digs into her palm, hard enough to draw blood.

The doors ding open, stopped by his hand.

She waits raptly to see what he will do next. The soft light of the corridor casts a dark shadow over half of his face, while the light from the elevator illuminates the other half of it, making him look lethally dangerous, predatory.

He takes the gun from the guard and pulls it apart, piece by piece. With a flick of his wrist, he delivers a sharp backhand to the guard's face, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Unconscious.

The doors ding open, caught on the guard's feet this time.

Show-off, she mutters in her mind.

Then it dawns on her, how easy it must have been for him to kill her at any moment.

She gulps.

This is a knowledge she doesn't relish having, especially when she is completely and utterly armless and defenceless.

Kicking the guard's foot, that is stuck in the elevator door, he steps inside. Pulling out his phone from his slack pocket, he unfolds it to make it a tablet and swiftly types something on the screen.

The doors ding closed.

The elevator starts moving.

He leans on the wall, crossing his ankles, as if he will be in this elevator for a long time, except for a few seconds.

"Mr. Roy, is it?" his voice rough, as he asks the man beside her. He snaps his phone shut, making the poor man jump.

"...ummm..yyeess, sir."

He slides his phone back into his pocket, alongside his hands. "Your floor has arrived." The doors open two floors below. The corridor is empty.

".... but sir, I need to go to the basement."

He stares down at the poor soul. Silently.

The man gulps, "....yes, sir, my floor has arrived, " and he steps out of the elevator.

The doors ding closed.

He crosses his arms over his chest.

Eyes back on her.

Him and Her.

Trapped in a box.

She mimics him, crossing her arms, while refusing to break the silence or the eye contact.

Every interaction with him feels like a risky download.

Thrilling yet potentially hazardous.

She has no idea what he wants. Following her as he has, knocking out the bodyguard as he has, it sure as fuck wasn't just to stare at her.

The door of the elevator is not opening,  not even in the basement. The elevator started to ascend.

Fuck.

"What all one has to go through just to meet you, Miss Gupta," he states quietly.

All of a sudden, fury blooms in her chest at the sound of his voice. The anger magnifies at his words but she forces herself to calm down.

"So gracious of Mr.Raizada. Why the formality, especially given the kind of liberties you take?" Her tone is cool, chilling.

"I haven’t taken any liberties," he replies, arching an eyebrow, "yet."

"I should have known you would corner me in an elevator. So many walls for you to execute your special hobby," she says casually.

His lips curve up further.

One heartbeat.

Two heartbeat.

Three heartbeat.

"Have you decided yet?"

"What?'

"About my offer."

"Really?" exasperated, she rolls her eyes, while he stares, silent, waiting.

"It's not possible."

"You haven't heard the full details yet."

"I am not interested."

"Ahh..I see..so what are you interested in? Raising snake babies, perhaps?"

Condescending, Egoistic, Asshole.

She clicks her teeth together to stop herself from lashing out at him.

"Are you sure, I can't offer you a deal you can't resist?" He shrugs, tucking his hands back in his pocket.

"Huh...Really? how?" Her tone's suspicious, doubtful, challenging.

"Ever heard of Paragon Tech company? I bought it recently. You can work there as an IT expert. You will have access to whatever you need.......And your father won't know. The company isn't registered in my name." He studies her, the eyes searching for something. "You work for me. I'll provide you evidence equivalent to what you lost, maybe even more."

Her eyes shower fires at him for making such a dangerous yet irresistible offer. He has her all figured out, doesn't he? For an unknown reason that angers her even more. She isn't that easy to figure out. Damn it.

She wants to lash out and tell him he is absolutely wrong. His offer doesn't impress her at all. Instead, she bites her lower lip to keep mum.

The caramel-brown orbs glint with something, she doesn't dare to name, "I suggest you to reflect on the offer."

Is that a threat?

"Or what?" She snaps in response. His fire's burning her as well. Her eyes spark like moulted fire, barely contained. The elevator touches the basement again and starts its ascend. "Why is the elevator not stopping?"

"You always ask the wrong question. The elevator won't open until we are done here."

"I can’t help but wonder,” she says, faking a smile, her body simmering with anger. “Was all of this supposed to scare me?”

He straightens and steps up toward her. She glues herself to the opposite wall as he stands in front of her. Even in her heels, she barely reaches his chin. Her head tilts back to keep their eyes locked.

Brown eyes are holding her hazels captive, "You'd be quite naive if it didn't. "

"I don't think the eagles will hurt her." her father's voice floats in his mind.

She smirks, “I’m a lot of things, Mr. Raizada, but naive isn’t one of them. That’s precisely why I know you won't hurt me.”

The caramel-brown eyes ignite, the embers and oranges in his brown catching flame. His eyes are blazing lava, simmering beneath the surface of calm. He tilts his head to the side while he rests one of his hand on the wall beside her head.

And she steps closer, unsure where her boldness to provoke him is coming from. She doesn't care. She just needs to.

Craning her neck, she leans in until her chin nearly brushes his chest. She says softly, “Did you really believe, that whole 'I despise you' act Or this elevator fiasco would scare me? Not at all. It didn’t scare me one bit. It just pissed me off.”

He doesn't say a word or move a muscle. He merely gazes at her with those eyes and her heart races.

Yet, she continues, "There are four walls right there. Why don’t you just get it over with?" her gaze unwavering. "Pin me down. Invade my territory. Or if you despise me that much like you say you do, hurt me. Go ahead. What's stopping you?"

Her whole body shakes.

Her hazel burns into his brown.

Bodies nearly touching.

Her heart threatens to jump out of her rib cage. She controls her breathing to keep her chest from heaving.

Slowly, after what feels like an eternity, he lifts his other hand to slide over the back of her neck. His massive hand swallows her. His thumb glides along her jaw, the roughness of his skin contrasting with her softness.

Rough & uneven like a cracked leather.

Like he has callouses on his palm.

Like there are scars underneath.

He holds her head in place as their eyes remain locked. A shiver courses through her, involuntary and unwelcomed, his lips barely curving in a sardonic smirk.

The stubble on his jaw appears more pronounced at this distance, guarding his lips. And his eyes. They are abysses, ready to swallow her whole.

He presses his thumb against her frantic pulse. It has gone out of control. Her breath hitches.

“Your pulse is running too quick," His voice a low, dangerous whisper, brushing against her skin. The faint scent of his cologne, mingling with his own scent and something raw, invades the air around them.

Every detail imbeds in her mind.

The striking orange and green flecks in his eyes, the way his long lashes frame his piercing stare.

Everything.

His mouth's mere inches from hers, "I warned you. Don't fool yourself into thinking that you know, what I will do or won't do." he whispers.

Softly, lethally.

His thumb sinks a little deeper.

“And I warned you,” she whispers back, her voice low, yet feral, “not to underestimate me.”

A cold chuckle escapes him.

"When the time comes, Miss Gupta," His Eyes are alive, a dangerous glint sparking within. ".. mark my words....I will ruin you."

A chilling promise.

Under his thumb, her pulse runs wild with the heavens that grumble outside.

And inside.

His eyes are thunders

And she is the lightning.

Author's note: Hey, lovely readers! I hope this chapter made your day a little brighter. Until next time.

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[smudgingpumpkins]

Yule

The Winter Solstice

When is Yule?

Being one of the oldest winter celebrations in the world, it occurs on the day of the winter solstice, which falls on December 21st, 2024. Other times it will fall on the 22nd or 23rd.

What does Yule mean?

"Yule" is a celebration of the darkest day or longest night of the year, where one awaits the return of the sun. It is a liminal period; a time of reflection and introspection, and a time of expressing gratitude.

Who does Yule celebrate?

One might worship sun or wintertime gods and goddesses. This includes "Old Mother Winter" (Frau Holle), Germanic Goddess of winter, death, and regeneration; Frigga, Norse Goddess of love, marriage, and motherhood (who sacralized mistletoe); Cailleach, Greek Goddess of cold and wind; Skadi, Norse Goddess of winter, mountains, and skiing; and Demeter, Greek Goddess of agriculture who refused to let anything grow in the winter season.

YULE TRADITIONS

Utilize gemstones that will cleanse and renew your sacred space for the upcoming year, such as selenite, black tourmaline, tanzanite, amethyst, and clear quartz.

Work with wintery spices and flowers that promote healing and longevity, like cinnamon, cloves, ivy, saffron, and poinsettias. These are traditional "holiday cheer" flora that can be used, gifted, and appreciated regardless of religion/spirituality. Spices like cinnamon and cloves are also antioxidants/analgesics that help fight off pain and infections - so load up your hot cocoa!

Enjoy the comfort of warm, hearty foods to prepare for dark and cold days, like porridges, root vegetable stews, and bread. If you eat meat, enjoy smoked salmon, ham, or duck as a good source of protein and warmth.

Decorate and dress yourself in elegant greens, whites, silver, and gold.

Incorporate animal imagery (e.g., figurines, photographs, drawings, et cetera) of goats and boars - traditional animals of sacrifice - and reindeer and cats, clever animals associated with magic, with the latter representing punishment and reward.

YULE ACTIVITIES

Sip on a hot drink. Peppermint tea, hot cocoa, warm cider, spiced chocolate, anything you desire!

Take a ritual bath. Add mint leaves, citrus peels, a dash of cinnamon, a bit of balsam essential oil, and powdered milk to your bath.

Burn candles. Objects aflame represent gratitude for the sun and its warmth, so relax underneath the candlelight.

Decorate an evergreen tree. Traditionally a pagan custom, adorn a real or artificial tree with soft lights, pinecones, candles, fruits, and other ornaments.

Decorate and burn a yule log. Make the yule log(s) 12 days before, and burn it for 12 days starting on the evening of the solstice. Carve in runes and adorn it with mistletoe and holly!

Wassail. Drink from a wassail bowl or cup, dance around, carol, and merry-make! Traditionally performed in an orchard with a large gathering, you are free to just simply enjoy yourself and perform wherever you see fit. This is usually done on the final night of Yule.

Give gifts. Preferably handmade or locally made . . . or at least a meaningful purchase . . . exchange gifts with your loved ones.

Make a Yule altar. Center it with a yule log (before the burning) and icons of a yuletide god/goddess of your choice. Decorate around with candles, holly, mistletoe, poinsettias, dried fruits, and green and silver decor.

Get creative with recipes! Carlota Santos, who is the author of Magika, has a recipe for a chocolaty sponge cake. Here is the recipe down below!