#Ted talk with a heathen

[aheathen-conceivably]

Now that we know a little more, clearly Gio is pretty ticked off with the situation - considering the feelings that he has about his and Jo’s relationship already, combined with the guilt and likely irritation of her finding out about his lying, now also combined with her demanding part ownership of the ranch - he doesn’t have a lot of leg to stand on. He has to just, deal with it, because it IS all their lives’ on the line, and nothing he’s tried to do has worked. I voted for Zelda to be most pissed, but I think she and Antoine are really just sad for now, so Gio might run away with the title after all 😭

Oh HELLO my friend! I love that we’re still playing the game of “Who Will Snap First!” (Game show pending). You’re hella right about one thing, as things shift and move, everybody’s numbers start to kind of adjust don’t they? Cause ahem, yeah, Gio is ~not pleased~ at the moment, and like you said, he doesn’t even feel like he has the “right” to be angry (which is its own sort of compounding factor, isn’t it?).

Is it time for a Gio deep dive? Welp. Gather one gather round my darlings because you know I can never resist….

Ted Talk with a Heathen! (Obviously under the cut because I’m a madlad)

First and foremost let me say that for whatever else Jo may do or how she demanded it, she is damn right not to pay off a loan without some legal backing in return. Now does she know this? For sure. But does she also know that she did it to get under Gio’s skin in a way that nothing else could? Absolutely. I’ve talked about it a little here, but Gio’s entire mindset is wrapped up in this farmhouse. It is his American dream. We also need to remember that he did what he said he never would in order to get the money to buy it, which is involve himself in his family bootlegging back in the 1920s. He even admitted to Antoine that after their one deal he tried to get out, but “once they get their teeth into you, once they know where you are, they don’t let you stop.” So Gio saved up this money by going against his own moral code and then ran from it to a place he thought he could establish himself as a “legitimate” American.

And I know yall like to rag on him about “making bad choices,” and while that’s partially true, Gio is just horribly, horribly unlucky. Buying land in the American West was incredibly fortuitous at one point in history, and it’s these stories that prompted Gio to do this at all. He’s an example of how not only can we buy into propaganda with our money and our dreams, but how they intersect with historical circumstances in ways far beyond our control or predictions.

Now to add to this, Gio knows what Jo has just done. She’s essentially taken part of what’s incredibly personal and precious to him as “payment” for what he did to her: which was trying to control her into fitting neatly into his dream when she had told him no multiple times before. In doing so he took away what was most precious to her: control and autonomy over her own life. It’s why he’s not really fighting her, and that deep seated Catholic guilt is simply telling him that this is retribution. But you can only write off someone else’s actions as righteous for so long, can’t you? And to make matters worse, let’s not forget….

Gio is not stupid. He knows something is going on between Jo and Val. How much of him thinks it’s just flirtation? How much of it is genuine or is just Jo once again trying to “get back at him”? But he’s staying quiet about it for a reason, most likely the same reason he’s willing to roll over and let Jo take 1/4th ownership of his dream. He’s motivated by guilt and ideas of righteous payback, yes, but he’s also taking a gamble that Jo is working through his betrayal in a way that he has to let her get through, and he’s attempting to let go of control to show her that he won’t do it again.

Essentially, he’s overcompensating for his actions and using his own compliance as a sort of “play” in their game to keep the other person where they want them. Is this potentially more motivated by love and less problematic than him directly lying to her to get her to stay? Y’all can make the call on that, but now at the very least, he’s the one suffering for it rather than her.

Now with all that going on, how far is this man willing to bend? How intuitive is Jo to when she’s pushed him too far and how much of her even gives a damn? Welp. There’s your questions on today’s episode of 1930s: Arc Two! Who Will Snap First? with more info coming at you tomorrow! 🫡

[whos-tanya]

Very few things will be quite as chilling to me as when Will hides in Martha’s closet — only to emerge with “The name is Lila.” I cannot describe the amount of confusion and fear I felt hearing that voice during my first playthrough.

[uncreativebean]

Showering with someone kinda sucks bc I wanna bathe in a stream of lava and anything less is bitch behaviour ngl id rather die than be one degree short of melting

[apteryxparvus]

your ‘just a little bit’ suspicious roommate

Pairing — Jiaoqiu / Reader

Word count — 5,191

Content warning — drinking • Astral Express shenanigans

Summary — You’re just trying to survive university life. Your new roommate? Definitely not a vampire. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself—until a drunken, accidental makeout session definitely confirms some suspicions.

Now, you’ve got to explain everything to your friends... who are definitely not going to let it go.

"As we all know, garlic is a well-known vampire repellent," March rambles, her finger waving dramatically at the screen, the laser pointer dancing over a grainy image of garlic. "And as we've discussed before, your smoking hot but totally shady roommate, has yet to touch the stuff—evidence number... what, four? Five? But regardless, this undeniable truth, along with everything else we've gathered so far, solidifies our theory."

"And with that," Stelle chimes in, crossing her arms with a smug grin, "our TED Talk has officially concluded."

"Here are our references," Caelus says with exaggerated politeness, as he presents a final slide filled with sources no one’s going to actually check.

You stare at the screen, watching the poorly edited image of Dracula with pink hair and yellow eyes—somehow eerily resembling your roommate. You blink a couple of times, unsure whether to laugh or question your life choices.

“First of all, the fandom wiki page for Count Chocula is not a proper source,” Dan Heng says, voice flat. "Second of all—no. Just no. Now, can we please go back to the movie? You know, the one that doesn’t involve… whatever this is?"

"I can't believe none of you care about this!" March exclaims, throwing her arms up in frustration. “Our dearest friend is living with a bloodsucker!”

You roll your eyes, digging further into the pile of blankets you're buried under, one hand grabbing buttery popcorn from the bowl. "I don’t care. I just want to see how the movie ends."

"The ending isn't that interesting anyway," Caelus says. "The family’s all dead. They’ve been dead the whole time."

"Caelus!" you shriek, leaping out of your seat. Popcorn explodes into the air, scattering across the couch and floor. Dan Heng groans, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Without hesitation, you lunge at Caelus, who barely flinches as you grab a fistful of his hair and give it a solid yank. "You cannot just spoil a movie like that, you absolute moron!"

"Ow, hey—it's a classic twist, not my fault you’re slow—"

"Get off him, you heathen!" Stelle rushes to the rescue, only for you to snap at her hand like an angry feral cat when she tries to pry you off her twin. "Did you just—did you bite me?!"

Moments later, the three of you are a tangled heap on the floor—Stelle trying to wrestle you off Caelus, you stubbornly clinging to his hair, and Caelus, smirking like he’s above it all despite being squished under your combined weight.

"Am I interrupting something?" The voice is smooth, sultry. You freeze mid-pinch.

Jiaoqiu is standing in the entryway, leaning casually against the doorframe that divides the open kitchen from the living room, his expression an elegant mix of bemusement and mild confusion.

"No! No, absolutely not!" you blurt, untangling yourself with record-breaking speed and shoving Caelus aside. Scrambling upright, you snatch the remote from March and begin button-mashing like your life depends on it. The TV stubbornly scrolls through several slides until one final image—the ridiculous Dracula with suspiciously pink hair and honey-colored eyes—flashes on the screen.

You freeze. The room freezes.

Jiaoqiu arches a single perfect eyebrow, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smirk. "Interesting taste in… presentations."

You can feel your soul actively trying to leave your body. "It’s just… uh…" You scramble for an excuse, words tumbling out in a panicked jumble. "March! March really wanted to, uh, dive into the intricacies of garlic and Dracula! For—um—for some very important in-depth cultural research!"

Stelle chokes on her soda, snorting audibly. "Oh, absolutely. Garlic research. Very academic."

You whip around to glare at her, betrayal etched into every fiber of your being. "Stelle."

She just shrugs. "What? I’m backing you up."

"Yeah, real convincing. You’re totally selling it," March wheezes, barely holding back another laugh.

Jiaoqiu clears his throat. "Well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your… research.” His tone is polite, barely concealing his amusement. "I have some client work to finish, so I’ll be in my room. Have fun."

He turns to leave, his footsteps unhurried, but just before he disappears down the hall, he glances over his shoulder. His golden gaze locks with yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "By the way," he adds smoothly, "that Dracula edit? A striking resemblance."

Your face burns hotter than the sun as he strolls away, leaving you mortified and very much on the verge of curling into a ball forever.

You bury your face in the nearest blanket, muffling a loud, frustrated groan. March leans over, whispering, "So… about that garlic test..."

The morning after, once your friends have cleared out—leaving behind only the faint smell of coffee and a suspiciously large pile of crumbs—you find yourself at the sink, scrubbing the last of the dishes. The kitchen is quiet now, save for the gentle clink of ceramic against metal.

You’re rinsing the final mug when Jiaoqiu steps out of his room. You don’t hear his footsteps— he’s always freakishly quiet—so when his raspy morning voice cuts through the silence, you nearly drop the mug into the soapy abyss.

"Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

You whirl around, and suddenly, all those memories from last night come rushing back—March’s presentation, and, most importantly, the fact that he saw it.

Your face heats up. Your neck burns.

You manage to croak out a greeting—something between a “good morning” and a choking sound—but the words trail off as you take him in.

Jiaoqiu has always looked unfairly good—but right now, it feels almost absurd. In the soft morning light, he’s effortlessly flawless, like he just walked off the cover of some magazine. His pale skin practically glows under the sunlight. His hair, messy from sleep, somehow falls perfectly into place, and his golden eyes catch the light, sharp and vivid, drawing attention without trying.

“I assume you had a good time last night,” he says, suddenly right next to you, voice teasing.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Sorry if we were too loud,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze.

“It’s alright,” he replies. “This apartment is as much yours as it is mine. Here, let me help finish this faster.” Without waiting for a reply, Jiaoqiu grabs a dish towel and starts drying the remaining mugs. The two of you work in a comfortable silence, the clink of the dishes the only sound between you.

When you’re done, you wipe your hands on a towel and turn to him. “We made some Songlotus cake. You just woke up, so feel free to grab some. And there’s fresh coffee in the pot.”

He gives you a small nod, eyes soft. “Thanks.”

What you definitely don’t mention is that March—with Caelus acting like her evil mastermind sidekick—turned a few of the crispy cakes into garlic landmines. Powdered, minced, pureed—she threw in every form of garlic known to mankind, probably hoping Jiaoqiu would take one bite, and dramatically burst into flames. Or, at the very least, recoil like someone slapped him with holy water.

After pouring himself a cup of dark coffee, Jiaoqiu sits down at the table. He takes a slow sip, golden eyes flicking to the leftover cakes in the middle of the table. In your peripheral vision, you watch him reach out for one, holding your breath as he picks it up. He inspects it, almost as if he’s solving a particularly tricky puzzle. He sniffs the air, and your stomach drops—does he smell the garlic?

(You’re pretty sure March and Caelus tried to mask the scent with an absolute overkill of vanilla extract. Or was it almond extract? You don't know, and frankly, you don’t want to know. But what you do know, it was probably a huge mistake, all of this.)

Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem alarmed. Maybe he trusts that your friends wouldn’t sabotage baked goods, or maybe he’s just so committed to his side-job as a nutritionist that he refuses to waste a perfectly good breakfast. Either way, he takes a bite.

You pretend to be extremely invested in wiping down the counter, sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

And then it happens.

Jiaoqiu freezes mid-chew. A split second later, he’s coughing and his eyes are watering, as if someone blasted him with a full can of pepper spray. Wheezes echo through the kitchen as he struggles to swallow. With the last of his dignity the can muster (not that much, by the way), he takes a massive gulp of his coffee, his expression somewhere between betrayed and horrified.

“You and your friends… seem to have… interesting taste in food, as well,” Jiaoqiu manages to rasp out between coughs, his voice strained. You shrink where you stand, guilt simmering beneath your skin. Was March right in her theory? Or perhaps, did you take things too far?

Awkwardly, you step closer and give Jiaoqiu’s back a light pat, cringing at your own inadequacy. The man is choking on a crime against baking, and all you can do is offer this sad little pat. Internally cursing your friends, you grab one of the cakes and take a small, cautious bite to see if they’re really that bad.

And oh. Oh no. You immediately regret it. The flavor assaults your senses with all the subtlety of a brick to the face. It’s salty, sweet, sour, and umami all at once—a culinary abomination that defies all natural laws. 

You gag as minced garlic chunks battle for dominance against unmelted sugar granules, creating a texture so horrifying you nearly spit it out on the spot.

You can’t believe you made Jiaoqiu eat this. All because your friends had convinced you he might be a vampire. A vampire. And for a split second just now, you’d actually believed them. Why? Because he choked on the garlic cake? Anyone with a functioning palate would choke on this monstrosity.

"Shit—I'm sorry." Without a second thought, you snatch the plate of cakes and chuck it straight into the trash, refusing to even look at it. You’re already composing a furious text to March in your head—because if you’d taken a bigger bite, there’s a very real chance you’d have keeled over on the spot. "I can make you something better," you offer hurriedly. But Jiaoqiu just waves a hand, his expression tired, his face somehow even paler than usual.

"Can you pass me the medicine bottle from the fridge?" You nod quickly, opening the fridge to reveal a shelf lined with identical small vials, each filled with a thick red liquid. You grab one and hand it over.

"I think I’ll take this in my room," Jiaoqiu says, holding the small vial as he turns toward the hallway.

"I’m sorry for ruining your morning," you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, hot and unwelcome.

"It’s—" Jiaoqiu pauses, his expression softening just enough to ease the weight on your chest. "It’s alright." He reaches out and pats your head gently, ruffling your hair. "I’ll be fine."

The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time you return from a grueling day at university. Between March’s relentless pestering—complete with even more outlandish theories—and the soul-crushingly dull lectures from your professors, all you want to do is crawl into bed and hibernate until the semester ends. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. Three assignments loom over you, their deadlines inching closer.

The apartment is eerily quiet, but Jiaoqiu’s shoes are neatly lined up by the entryway. The guilt from this morning rears its head again. Is he still locked up in his room, recovering from the monstrosity of a cake you let him eat? You shake the thought away. No spiraling, no distractions. Tonight is for coursework.

With a tired sigh, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, leaning your back against the couch and setting your laptop on the low coffee table. The university’s digital platform greets you—an overwhelming grid of assignments and unread announcements. You skim through the options, settling on what seems like the easiest one: “Cultural Analysis: Xianzhou Alliance and the Legacy of the Abundance Wars.”

You plug in your earbuds, selecting a relaxing playlist, and settle into the task at hand. Hours slip by without you even noticing. The topic—the Third Abundance War—seems endless, each paper you open just a little more confusing or irrelevant than the last. You only get up once to restock on energy drinks and snacks, fueling yourself for what feels like a marathon of academic misery.

Groaning, you slam your laptop shut after yet another fruitless attempt to find a decent source. The deeper you dive into the history of the Xianzhou Alliance, the more it seems like you’re wading through layers of conspiracy theories and folklore instead of actual research. Despite the importance of the topic in Xianzhou history, finding proper sources seems impossible.

The amount of nonsense you’ve had to close—websites dedicated to the monstrous Borisin creatures, the mystical Foxians, and other equally questionable topics—is ridiculous. You’re pretty sure if you handed in a literature review about that nonsense, not only would you be the laughing stock of the class, but you’d be expelled on the spot. 

They're just legends, and there’s nothing scientifically sound to back them up. But here you are, wading through a swamp of unreliable sources, praying for anything that remotely resembles actual history.

A hand suddenly pats your head, and you nearly jump out of your skin, heart leaping into your throat. You yank your earbuds out, startled, only to find Jiaoqiu grinning at you, looking far too pleased with himself.

"You scared me," you grumble, swatting his hand away. 

You take a second to really look at him. He seems better now—the sickly paleness from earlier has faded, replaced by a touch of color in his cheeks. His golden eyes are bright again, brimming with that quiet amusement that always makes you wonder what’s going on in his head.

"Were you working on something?" he asks, leaning towards you, his curiosity piqued.

You nod, slumping slightly as you glance at the time. "A stupid assignment... due in—" you squint at the clock, the reality sinking in, "—in two hours and a bit." You let out a long, defeated sigh. You’re done for. There’s no way you’re getting this paper done in time. No proper sources, no coherent thoughts, and you’re still a million words short of the required word count. You're cooked, completely and utterly cooked.

"What is it about?" Jiaoqiu asks, settling down beside you on the floor, his presence warm and close.

His proximity catches you off guard. The faint scent of jasmine fabric softener lingers on him, mingling with something subtler, something metallic that you can’t quite place. It’s faint but distinct, enough to draw your focus for a moment. You shake it off and try to redirect your attention to your laptop.

An idea suddenly strikes you, and you swivel your head toward Jiaoqiu—only to freeze when you actually realize how close he is. Your faces are mere inches apart, close enough that you can make out every flicker of gold in his irises.

“You’re a Xianzhou native,” you blurt, your voice rushing to fill the sudden silence. “Any chance you know something about the Third Abundance War? Because I’ve been wracking my brain trying to find proper sources, and—well, I’m sure you can see how that’s going.”

“Let me see,” he says, reaching over to take your laptop. You freeze, a wave of secondhand embarrassment crashing over you as the screen comes to life.

It is utter chaos—over fifty tabs open, grouped and color-coded in a system that only makes sense to you, with labels ranging from “Decent Source” to “Probably Fiction” to “Absolute Nonsense, but Fun.”

He clicks on your assignment draft, and your soul momentarily leaves your body. A grand total of 400 words stares back at you—two solid citations, a lot of filler, and way too many angry swear words sandwiched between half-baked sentences.

He spends a few minutes reading through your draft, face scrunched up in concentration. Every now and then, he clicks his tongue or tilts his head, eyes lingering on certain sentences for far longer than you’d like.

“It could use some work,” he says finally, in a tone far too gentle for the absolute travesty he’s just witnessed. Some work, he says, as if it doesn’t need to be exorcised and erased from existence. You’re too terrified to reread any of it yourself, unsure of what kind of unhinged caffeine-fueled nonsense your brain had conjured.

“Yeah, no. Better to start fresh,” you mumble, already highlighting and deleting the entire document before he can respond. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring intently at the now blank page, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

 “Perhaps you could focus on the Lux Arrow?” Jiaoqiu suggests scrolling through a couple of tabs.

You frown, tilting your head at him. “Lan’s Sky-Shattering Lux Arrow? Isn’t that just a myth?” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. You’d stumbled across mentions of it earlier—both in academic papers and in… less-than-reliable historical mythology blogs. From what you’d managed to piece together, it was either a groundbreaking piece of artillery technology that changed the tides of the war or an overblown legend with zero basis in reality.

“I can suggest some sources,” Jiaoqiu offers. His fingers swiftly fly across the keyboard before he pauses, scrolling through a list of results. “Here,” he says, pointing at the screen.

You lean in to get a better look. It’s a book by Zongguang, a renowned cultural anthropologist from The Xianzhou Luofu’s Grand Virtue Academy. The title alone makes your brain hurt with how dense it sounds, but it has piqued your interest, nonetheless. You’ve studied several of Zongguang’s papers throughout your courses in Xianzhou history, though you’ve never even heard of this specific book.

“It has firsthand accounts from the last battlefield,” Jiaoqiu explains, scrolling through the summary, “and covers topics like the Borisin and the Merlin’s Claw—though back then, General Feixiao was simply called Saran.”

“Wait, seriously? I thought the Borisin stuff was mostly folklore.”

“Perhaps some of it is,” your roommate replies, but there’s a shift in his tone. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the way his voice dips, the way his words slow just slightly. There’s something heavy there, almost like... anger? It’s faint, but unmistakable; and it seems to sharpen when he mentions the Lycan beasts.

You blink, caught off guard by the change. “You okay?”

Jiaoqiu’s eyes flick away from the screen, his features smoothing out like nothing happened. “I’m fine,” he says, voice calm again. “Just... the Borisin aren’t mere legends to everyone. Their methods were brutal, and their impact left scars—literal and otherwise.”

There’s something in his words that makes you pause, like the weight of them belongs to someone who was there. Which is ridiculous, obviously, because he couldn’t have been. Right?

"Alright, March, I’m not saying I believe you," you start, lying sprawled out on Stelle's plush carpet with a giant teddy bear clenched tightly to your chest. You stare blankly at the ceiling, the words barely forming in your head before spilling out. "But something strange happened, and I cannot explain it to myself."

“Oh?” March and Caelus call out at the same time from over by the fridge. You turn your head, and you’re momentarily at a loss for words. March is busy scooping homemade ice cream into bowls, while Caelus... well, Caelus is sniffing and biting into a jade-colored cloth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You shake your head, deciding to ignore his antics. At this point, you've seen stranger things.

"Tell us!" Stelle pipes up. Meanwhile, Dan Heng is across the room, calmly trying to wrestle the cloth out of Caelus’s grip without much success.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe you’re grasping at straws.

“You know that assignment on cultural analysis of the Xianzhou wars?” you finally say, sitting up to better face your friends. "I was having trouble coming up with a good topic and finding sources, so I asked Jiaoqiu for help."

"Go on," March says.

"I mean, I asked him because he’s a native, right? But it’s weird—he knows way more than I thought. And—"

“What’s weird about him knowing history?” Dan Heng interrupts, looking up from where he’s now holding a defeated-looking Caelus. March swats him, shushing him with a glare.

“It’s just—he wasn’t just talking about history. It was like he was living it," you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest. "When he mentioned Borisin, he completely changed. He looked... upset, like he was actively repressing anger."

“Borisin might just be a myth, same as the Vidyadhara," Dan Heng replies, shrugging. "But some people are passionate about their cultural history. Maybe Jiaoqiu is one of them."

“Sure, Dan Heng, but his recounts were too elaborate,” you argue. "It didn’t sound like some history buff talking—it sounded like he was remembering it. And when he talked about General Feixiao, it wasn’t like he was describing a famous figure from history. It was like... like he was talking about a close friend!"

“Oh, my Aeons,” March gushes, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. “So do you think he used to be a warrior in the war? Like, was Jiaoqiu out there with a sword, fighting Borisin and stuff?!”

“March,” you deadpan, “that’s literally insane. He’d have to be hundreds of years old for that to even make sense.”

“And?” she counters, completely unfazed.

You open your mouth to argue, but honestly, what’s the point? Logic has never been March’s strong suit, and you’re too tired to debate with someone who just last week tried to convince you she saw a Vidyadhara in the campus library.

“I’m just saying,” she continues. “It’s not that far-fetched. Maybe he was in the war. Maybe he’s like a retired general or medic or something. Or—or maybe he’s secretly General Feixiao! Wouldn’t that be wild?”

“March.” Dan Heng’s voice cuts through her growing enthusiasm. “Stop filling their head with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense! It’s a totally plausible theory!” she protests, crossing her arms. “Right, Stelle?”

“I mean... it would explain why he knew so much, right?”

You groan, burying your face in the teddy bear. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Too late,” March says, grinning wickedly. “We’re already planning the movie adaptation. I’m thinking: Jiaoqiu—secret immortal of Xianzhou, haunted by his dark past. Directed by me, obviously.”

You groan even louder.

You’re staring at the Google Doc sent in the group chat, eyes glazed over. The words blur together, swimming in and out of focus. Caelus and Stelle had relentlessly begged you to try and outdrink them—and you never back out from a challenge. But now, as you stumble home with your phone clutched in your hand, you're definitely regretting your choice.

Your head swims as you fumble with your phone, squinting at the document like it’s written in a foreign language. The room spins, and you find yourself swaying slightly, leaning against the doorframe for support.

The title stands out, bold and impossible to ignore:

March 7th’s top secret investigation protocol 🔍🔴

You blink. Twice. Slowly.

It’s time to face the facts. Your roommate is 100% a vampire. I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion. I’ve been observing for weeks (because, duh, I’m a professional), and the evidence is everywhere. I’m not saying this lightly, but, I’ve seen enough weird stuff to know. And the guy’s practically a walking, talking vampire stereotype. Here’s the definitive checklist. Foolproof.

The headache pounding in your skull intensifies as you scroll down to March’s “definitive” checklist:

Aversion to garlic ✅ Gagged at the garlic cakes. Suspicious. Dietary restrictions ✅ Weird-looking "medicine" in the fridge. Super normal. Definitely not vampire-y. Listen, I’ve seen blood. It’s the same color. Supernatural senses ✅ Remember that time he overheard us talking about him from the other side of the house? Yeah. Explain that. Remembers super old stuff ✅ Talks about the Abundance Wars like he fought in them. “Good times,” he said. GOOD TIMES.

You’re about to scroll past, when your gaze lingers on the final item:

Vampire canines? 🚨 Priority check!!! Report ASAP.

Your half-drunken brain latches onto the challenge. You stumble into your apartment, shoes clattering noisily to the floor, and head straight for Jiaoqiu’s room. 

Logic? Gone. Boundaries? Absolutely not. 

Fueled by a potent cocktail of curiosity, adrenaline, and alcohol, you throw open his door without a second thought.

You don’t bother knocking. You just slam the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. Inside, Jiaoqiu is sitting on his bed, casually flipping through a book. His eyes flick up at the sound of the door, but there’s no surprise, no alarm. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he knew you were going to barge in, unannounced, with no warning whatsoever.

He closes the book with an exaggerated sigh. "Something I can help you with?"

“I need to check something,” you announce, voice wobbling as you stumble over to him. Without waiting for a response, you drop onto the bed beside him, far too close, and lean in.

His brows raise in amusement. “Do you, now?”

“Yeah,” you slur. “Your teeth. Lemme see ’em.”

“My teeth?”

“Yes.” Your hand wavers near his face, trembling slightly as you poke at his cheek. “The canines. Open your mouth.”

He doesn’t stop you. If anything, his grin widens, and he leans in just enough to make your heart skip. “You think you’ll find something interesting?”

“I know I will,” you murmur, your drunken determination unwavering. Your thumb brushes against the edge of his lips, and you swear you see his eyes darken.

His mouth parts slightly, and you squint, leaning closer—a bit too close, perhaps. Your eyes zero in on his teeth, scanning for anything remotely sharp or suspicious. And then you see them.

The soft light catches just right, revealing a pair of faintly elongated canines, sharp and glinting like tiny daggers.

Your breath catches. “No way,” you whisper.

Before you can respond—or think—your hand moves on its own, fingers brushing against his teeth. His smirk deepens, and he leans into your touch. Then, without warning, his mouth closes gently around your fingertip. It’s deliberate, teasing, and before you can pull away, you feel it—a quick, sharp prick. You yelp, jerking your hand back, staring at the tiny bead of blood pooling on your skin.

Jiaoqiu watches you, unbothered, his gaze steady as he slowly licks his lips. “Interesting,” he murmurs, his tone almost lazy.

Your head spins. You stare at your finger, then at him, then back at your finger. “You—you bit me,” you stammer.

“Did I?” His smirk sharpens, his fangs catching the light again.

“I—I knew it!” you shriek.

“And now what?” He tilts his head. “Does your little investigation end here, or…?”

You don’t think. You lean in before you can think better of it, your lips crashing against his in a messy, impulsive kiss. The faint taste of blood lingers between you, but you don’t care.

When you finally pull back, gasping for air, there’s blood on his lips—your blood. He licks it away lazily.

“Well?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. “Satisfied?”

You’re definitely putting a checkmark on March’s last list item.

But that’s a problem for future you. For now, you dive back in, ignoring the faint sting on your lips and the little voice in your head screaming that this is a terrible idea.

"Thanks for inviting us," March gleefully says, her voice full of her usual energy. The whole group is sitting around your dining table, chatting and eating.

Jiaoqiu nods casually, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Of course," he replies smoothly. "It’s important to get to know my partner’s friends better. I’ve seen you all around, but it’s nice to connect properly.”

You nearly choke on your drink at the casual mention of “partner”. But Jiaoqiu doesn’t even glance your way, his expression unreadable as he takes a sip of his own drink.

March is the first to react. Her fork clatters against her empty plate as her head snaps up. "Partner?"

Stelle and Caelus exchange a knowing glance, trying and failing to hide their smirks. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh, as though he can already see where this is heading.

March leans forward, elbows on the table. "Did I miss an announcement? Since when are you two a thing?”

"You know how it is," Jiaoqiu says. "When you live with someone long enough, you get to know them better. And… sometimes things happen."

"Things? What kind of things, exactly? Spill. Now."

You bury your face in your hands with a groan. "March," you mutter, voice muffled, "please don’t."

Before March can push further, Jiaoqiu rises from his seat with a faint smile. "Excuse me for a moment," he says, gesturing toward the kitchen. "I’ll bring out the rest of the dishes."

When he returns, he sets a dish in front of March first—a well-done steak, neatly plated and still steaming. "For you," he says lightly. His own serving follows, the steak so rare it looks like it might moo if you poked it.

"Apologies if my preference for steak so rare makes anyone uncomfortable," Jiaoqiu says, his golden eyes flicking briefly to March. "I just can’t resist the flavor. There’s something… primal about it."

March freezes. Her expression wavers for just a moment before she forces a tight-lipped smile. You can practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she remembers her checklist.

You shoot him a glare, mouthing, Why are you like this? He simply raises an eyebrow, as if to say, Because it’s fun.

March clears her throat, clearly trying to regain her composure. "You know," she says shakily. "you’re awfully… specific about your preferences."

"Not everyone enjoys their food well done," your roommate-turned-boyfriend adds casually. "Sometimes, a little blood adds that extra something."

A groan threatens to escape you, but you manage to hold it in. "Guys," you mutter, sinking deeper into your chair. "Please, don’t even start."

March swallows, eyes darting between you and Jiaoqiu. Her lips part, but no words come out, just a breath of disbelief.

Jiaoqiu, however, seems completely unfazed. “Cravings, preferences... they’re just part of who you are, aren’t they? No point in pretending they don’t exist." He continues to eat, taking another slow bite of his steak, his smile creeping wider as he watches her, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s getting.

Author's note: i wrote some of this while procrastinating a lab report awhile back, and the amount of revision i had to do because the fic started sounding like a full-blown research paper... yikes 🤧🤧

but yes, here’s my silly attempt at humor. now, if you'll excuse me, i’ll go cry about my resit tomorrow and hope the universe decides to take pity on me and let me pass

[huckleberrykai]

berry if i can remember correctly, i swear i saw you write something about dad bod kai😩i was trying to find it bc i was crAVING those thoughts but i couldnt find it so maybe it wasnt you idk so if not can we talk about that plz😵‍💫

IT WAS ME IT DEFINITELY WAS ME I HAV E BEEN SAYIN THIS FOR CENTURIES OH MY GOD DO I HAVE SOME THOUGHTS FOR U MY SWEET KIRBY

fuck frick frack aaaaaaa wait hold on lemme get my composure back ahem~

okay lets go !

dad bod kai my beloved. i believe it was @bibibinnie who started the thoughts on hairy chest kai and then that just got me thinking abt like.. big kai.. hairy chest squishy belly strong arms oh my god

absolute best pillow. laying on his soft warm stomach or chest would be absolute heaven, strong strong arms cuddling you so tight and holding you right where he wants you <3

okay the big ass arms got me thinking about manhandling again i'm sorry i'm a heathen but like... man i just want him to throw me around !!

but like we all talk about how he Likes squish but .. what if he IS SQUISH !!!!

it has me thinkin abt like... an older version of kai like maybe his idol days are over and he's just kinda chilling with his pretty wife and not doing millions of dances a day and having more home-cooked food and staying comfy and cozy with you so he just embraces the little pudge he's put on because he's happy yk?

but he embraces it even more when he sees you absolutely drooling over his dad bod at any given opportunity. like he's just so big and warm and HOT OH MY GODDDD his chest hair grows out a lil and he's just so ✨man✨ like he still takes care of himself but he's just.. less strict. comfy and pudgy and feels so good about himself since you still wanna jump his bones every 5 seconds >_<

i think we as a society should talk about dad bod kai more thanku for coming to my ted talk

[fizzigigsimmer]

On Eddie x Jason.

This post is literally me just admitting that in my Harringrove Family Legacy save, Eddie and Jason have their own household and about a million babies. Feel free to keep scrolling.

This is a “deep dark” secret admission because the character of Jason Carver makes me Ted Talk Mad and everything to do with his role in S4 steps on my black girl trauma. It is what it is and like I said, I could give a Ted Talk on it, but that’s another post. This post is about me creating virtual dolls and making them play happy families because that’s something my soul needs. I’m here to verify that humans are complex and contrary individuals, because the ex-evangelical in me hungers for the very public, very messy, very gay awakening of this character. Church mouse to proud heathen stories are my jam. So I made toast in the sims and put jam on it just to see how i’d feel. Picture me crying into my toast because it’s delicious with jam, just like every other time. 😂 The betrayal!

Jokes aside, I don’t know if I will ever be able to comfortably engage with the rest of fandom enough to go all in with shipping this pair, cause to be frank that’s just asking for more black girl trauma and we’re not about that in this house. But their sims are hella cute and it makes me feel good, creating a story where Jason gets to grow up and change for the better instead of being sliced in half by a monster. I guess I am just a solid believer that teenagers deserve the chance to change no matter how bad you think they are.🤷🏾‍♀️

[darknessillumina]

Criminal Minded

[Verse]

I replace teeth for fangs Commit lyrical arson spittin' flames Straight basketcase, you can't pace with my DNA It don't matter, we did it many times, many ways There's no going back! You want to kill? Kill today An dark world you will never return Got me lookin' for Heaven on Earth but What's the word? Gotta stomp on his neck to the curb Gang vet turf, there's no cure for the illest on Earth For real! Turn him a star, I'm ready to kill Dissolve it in acid just like Dennis Nil Known to execute pigs, no remorse what I feel Thugs and pigs love the mud, you're just a imbecile Suffer much embedded illusion I'm a Ted Bundy–Ed Gein demented fusion Known to put a tag on the toe of Bigfoot's missing link Mister Sinister of imagery and wizardry, I hate the drums Perforate your eardrums, but motherfucker, keep listening Yo, I find knowledge in the silence, you just pray I don't prey Flame pace change the pace to exchange the space As I fall abyss I crawl insist to go back to at least appreciate My smallest things, the tall swings in the ring like Nikolai Valuev I won't care for size, jab lips, they make big caskets When they cremate you, you're a grain like everyone else Too much pain in my dome make the headache burn like Hell I can't represent my folks, chinese culture is full of so much holes I shapeshift to a smoke, I invoke Zozo with the board and provoke Split figures disfigured, whenever I go I am followed By a huge swarm of crows (Oh) Interrogate wack rappers Like MIB with dark glasses past what the masses Pre-suppose the subjects of what we're rapping In my dream I am a lion or wolf, in reality my eyes Keep drippin' tears of foul mold, often never softened Like viral TikTok's, I am the virus and cough The castle of Holmes, Sherlock Holmes fucking uranium bombs Won't rest until we have at least one million songs Yeah.. Kickin' down Heaven's gates Eating lobsters over eleven plates Never safe as I love hard with the clever hate Then I infestate, trust me Consume the sun and the moon The gun and the tomb I wanna permanently change my human shape Close my eyes in Hell and wake in unpleasant place Legislate for me to never wake tired and feeling so laze I may be addicted when I masturbate and ejaculate To feel an temporary trance of satisfaction over constant hate (We talk about hate too much, man) Supreme beam, Grim Reaper, nice to meet ya Odds and heathens, gods and demons, icebox on heaters I'm a five-head-red-demon, keep it beneath your feet heated I'm the kind of nigga to slap Snoop Dogg's weed reefer Ghost phantom, roast Charles Manson, we're some fiery rhymers And if you snuck up under my bed, there's a bunch of hairy spiders Check my footsteps in the ground, you bastard It's like 9/11 crashin', gave brain damage Leave your frame smashed in due to lame fashion You must live in Atlantis, pop your average cabbage And kick your ass like Jackie Chan the drunken master I hate you babblin' while you cappin', nigga stay maddened Chop they mothafuckin' head off, cut his beard off Pour the Smirnoff, I rock a mask here like the Phantom of the Opera Circumstances gave me no options, I arson niggas proper When these cops go home, wanna kill some Black man nigga? I ain't the one! Drop 'em off a fuckin' rollercoaster Or smack 'em with my own PS4 controller (Oh shit) The scene gets bloody like Kangals fighting hyenas You niggas gangrenas (Gangrene) Gang green Grove vs. Ballas, I had plenty but not much Too much Henny in your guts, I promise I can Get you touched by one of these zombies on the corner Who squeeze you like the anacondas, run up on us And get crushed to utmost dust, the explosive about to erupt You see I barely started, but goddamn nigga, I think I had enough The villain of the slums (What the fuck?) I'm tryin' to keep my sanity's edge Whatever's left of jazz effects and Das EFX But that's what they said, the wicked never rest

[pixelpaladin24]

|| ...following up on my post from yesterday we woke up to rain and cool weather and I've been literally begging for rain and cool weather earlier this week in my little prayers because I really can't tolerate 30°C anymore hahaha yeah heathenism works okay thanks for coming to my ted talk bye

[blind-band-geek]

My work here is complete

Thank you for attending my TEDtalk :)

[varinsson]

I'm just going to add a thing onto this, though I know few will likely read it: I rarely get religious online, I've made it a point to keep my religion (my actual lack thereof) off the internet due to the very nature of religion and the reactions to.

I was bought up Christian (look how that turned out), but, the way I was bought up was that if "God is speaking to you," it's going to be in a quiet, calm way. It'll bring you comfort and peace.

It's not going to be chaotic, it's not going to sow seeds of malcontent and it certainly isn't going to be seeds on how to fuck millions of people over. That's not how God does things, maybe the Old Testament God but not the one that I hope is lurking about in some sense.

(Go ahead, ask me why I'm not religious and/or why I say I'm a heathen. Ask me. While looking at the news. Ask. And know that I lost most of my religion wandering the halls of an ICU ward when I was ALONE in the halls of the ICU ward. No church "family" or family really at all and the family that DID come to me about things later are no longer my family. Go ahead. Ask.)

So when I say that this, I mean...

This is evil incarnate. No one in their right mind is going to be saying that God spoke to them and told them to be evil to someone else. If there was ever taking "the Lord's name in vain," here you go. This is it.

I won't say "Anti-Christ" or what have you because the way I figure that bit, it's not going to be US-centric. It's not going to be some doddering old fool and his cronies blathering on about a stolen election when the said old fool is likely to drop over dead from a coronary because he lied about everything concerning his health. It's not going to be some old guy with a stutter and a penchant for aiding a gen-cide. It's not going to be limited to just the US. It might be but I really doubt it. It's like trying to fit the square peg in the round hole to me. Not to mention, again, that it doesn't line up with the whole verse of "No one knows the day nor the hour" and a thing about if someone says a specific day or whatever, supposedly, it gets moved back or something. Idk, it's been a hot minute.

Yes, I know, it's rich coming from someone who seems to be a raging juvenile idiot for all things online. Especially with my avatar and the sidebar picture on my Tumblr theme, I don't care, it's mine. But. I hate getting drowned out by an onslaught of comments that essentially sum up to "Here's why you're wrong." So, I just simply don't post half of what I want to and even then, it's normally less.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

The House GOP is a circus. The chaos has one source.

Republicans spent two years sabotaging the U.S. House. Another two years would be ruinous.

Dana Milbank does a masterful job of describing just how dysfunctional the House GOP members have been in the past two years.

This is a gift🎁link for the entire article. Below are some highlights:

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Six weeks after his improbable rise from obscurity to speaker of the House in late 2023, Louisiana’s Mike Johnson decided to break bread with a group of Christian nationalists. [...] “I’ll tell you a secret, since media is not here,” Johnson teased the group, unaware that his hosts were streaming video of the event. Johnson informed his audience that God “had been speaking to me” about becoming speaker, communicating “very specifically,” in fact, waking him at night and giving him “plans and procedures.” [...] Today, Johnson’s run looks anything but heaven-sent. In the first 18 months of this Congress, only 70 laws were enacted. Calculations by political scientist Tobin Grant, who tracks congressional output over time, put this Congress on course to be the do-nothingest since 1859-1861 — when the Union was dissolving. But Johnson’s House isn’t merely unproductive; it is positively lunatic. Republicans have filled their committee hearings and their bills with white nationalist attacks on racial diversity and immigrants, attempts to ban abortion and to expand access to the sort of guns used in mass shootings, incessant harassment of LGBTQ Americans, and even routine potshots at the U.S. military. They insulted each other’s private parts, accused each other of sexual and financial crimes, and scuffled with each other in the Capitol basement. They screamed “Bullshit!” at President Joe Biden during the State of the Union address. They stood up for the Confederacy and used their official powers to spread conspiracy theories about the “Deep State.” Some even lent credence to the idea that there has been a century-old Deep State coverup of space aliens, with possible involvement by Mussolini and the Vatican.

The above article was adapted from Dana Milbank's (2024) book: Fools on the HILL: The Hooligans, Saboteurs, Conspiracy Theorists, and Dunces Who Burned Down the House.

[See more below the cut.]

And this is on top of the well-known pratfalls: The 15-ballot marathon to elect a speaker, the 22-day shutdown of the House to find another speaker, the routine threats of government shutdowns and a near-default on the federal debt that hurt the nation’s credit rating. They devoted 18 months to a failed attempt to impeach Biden, which produced nothing but Marjorie Taylor Greene publicly displaying posters of Hunter Biden engaging in sex acts. One “whistleblower” defected to Russia, another worked with Russian intelligence and is under indictment for fabricating his claims, and still another is on the lam, evading charges of being a Chinese agent. As soon as Biden withdrew his candidacy, they promptly forgot their probe of Biden’s “corruption” and rushed to launch a new series of investigations into Kamala Harris (over her record on border security) and Tim Walz (over his military service and “cozy relationship” with China). After a number of failed attempts, they did impeach Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas (the first such action against a Cabinet officer since 1876) without identifying any high crimes or misdemeanors he had committed; the Senate dismissed the articles without a trial. House Republicans created a “weaponization committee” under the excitable Rep. Jim Jordan (R-Ohio), but it was panned even by right-wing commentators when it produced little more than a list of conspiracy theories from the likes of Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Tulsi Gabbard. They lapsed repeatedly into fits of censure resolutions, contempt citations and other pointless acts of vengeance. In all of its history, the House had voted to censure one of its own members only seven times; in the two weeks after Johnson became speaker, members of the House tried to censure each other eight times. [...] In lieu of consequential legislating, they passed bills such as the Refrigerator Freedom Act, the Gas Stove Protection and Freedom Act and the Stop Unaffordable Dishwasher Standards (SUDS) Act. On the House floor, the Republican majority suffered one failure after another, even on routine procedural votes. Seven times (and counting), House Republicans voted down their own leaders’ routine attempts to begin floor debates — something that hadn’t happened once in the previous 20 years.

[aheathen-conceivably]

I voted for Antoine pretty quickly, and then considered, well dang, Zelda could also very easily snap. I just read your response to lgl, and I finally stopped second-guessing my vote. Your question wasn’t ’who will snap’ it’s who FIRST? I think the pressure and the guilt will get to Antoine pretty fast, but Zelda I think will cling to the notion that things always work out, they always have and she loves Jo and Jo will come around, and everything will be okay, right?? Just as long and as hard as she can until she’s too frantic to function.

Ohhhh Antoine pretty quickly? 👀 I mean you’re not wrong in that he succumbs to pressure and guilt rather quickly, or that Zelda can absolutely get too frantic to function. But honestly, I think we can untangle some treads with two questions: what is everyone’s real pressure point, and what helps mitigate that? For Antoine and Zelda at least, you can see the latter at the end of that post. The answer is one another. Zelda cools his anger and guilt while he keeps her from spiraling. But Gio and Jo? Welp. It’s a little harder to find what mitigates them, isn’t it?

Now the other question is real interesting to me, especially when you consider that they’re all under the same financial pressure and guilt now (except swap out guilt for anger for Jo). So if we look at their past behavior, you can kind of draw some understanding of what really makes them snap - of doing something so rash or foolish it endangers or upends their whole lives.

For Antoine, its about protection. Specifically, protection of his wife or his sister (which gets real tricky when they’re at odds, doesn’t it?). For Zelda, it centers around loss, and the detachment of self through grief. For Gio, it’s about need - more specifically the need to feel loved or needed and to have something that feels is his own. And finally for Jo, it centers around control. Now we can start spinning off theories on how these pressure points cook under the current situation, but since Jo is so much in the lead lemme ask yall…

Does the reveal of the loan and everyone’s lie make her more or less in control? Yes, she’s angry. But anger isn’t all it takes to snap, especially if you have another way to channel it, is it?

[canon-notcanon-warriorcats]

new family tree: “whitestorm is ashfur’s and ferncloud’s father!”

Me:

[kimcheolwoon]

VIXX are going to be the most senior idol at sbs super concert and if they are not given senior screen time I will personally fly to sbs and burn their building down

[arobyanyothername]

Now that I’ve sold out to the supernatural fandom for internet points, I think my new move is to become an absolute heathen for no reason other than my own personal gratification. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[marmoraskeith]

if y’all really loved keith you would NOT be out here talkin about the fact that this Literal Human Man was birthed by fucking egg on his birthday of all days

[lokilickedme]

Would you mind ranking your characters on how much you would or wouldn’t trust them to put a holiday dinner together?

Thank you for this @meri47  <3

I suppose, if I was ranking them all, I would start at the top with the most reliable dinner organizer and finish with the absolute dead last person I would ever want setting a plate in front of me, and that list looks something like this:

1.  Chem!Tom.  This one’s a no-brainer, the boy is a natural born nurturer and he runs a freaking pub.  He feeds the homeless.  He made sandwiches for Anja every day at lunchtime for what, two years after Sam died?  Homeboy knows the way to just about anyone’s heart is through their gastrointestinal tract and he’s got the skills to be beloved by everyone who’s ever set foot in his establishment.  He can cook, he can mix a drink, and he’s all about presentation with that cute ass and seductive wink.  Definitely #1.

2.  Rachel and Lani, aka the Puma Club girls.  These ladies are in their early 50′s, have raised kids and kept husbands alive for decades, they’ve got something like 40 holidays under their belts.  Old gals will pop a bottle and hit the kitchen and come out shitfaced drunk with a four course meal on the table two hours later, just go watch your damn football, they’ll yell when it’s ready.

3.  Molly McClary.  Sis has got the skilz with a pie and can bake circles around Martha Stewart without going to jail for tax evasion even once.  We’re talking about the woman who put 20 lbs on the King of Claighe in their first ten years of marriage and fights tooth and nail for first prize at the Womens Institute Village Faire every Spring, you don’t go up against the Queen when dessert bragging rights are on the line.  Plus she’s mastered the tenuous art of feeding King’s heathen cousins.  She’s got this.

4.  Kevin and Ted.  Weemeetwa’s Merry Thankschristmas festival is a success every year thanks solely to these two - Kevin can shove a beer can up a turkey’s ass like nobody’s business and Ted’s Blueberry Fairies are Minnesota’s answer to psychadelic tiramisu (don’t ask, he’ll never tell...and no that wasn’t Wilson you saw sneaking down the alley behind the bakery.  But it probably was).  This is the day the Chief turns a blind eye to literally everything because goddamn the fixins are good so who cares what’s on the ingredients list?

5.  Pete.  Hear me out now - the big guy may swing a mean hammer and run his construction biz loose and questionably legal, but those aren’t his only talents.  Turns out he’s a grillmaster extraordinaire and starts smoking turkeys in the backyard coal pit days ahead, so by the time the 24th rolls around he’s got a massive spread for his entire found family and all of Jake’s sisters.  A feast fit for Valhalla indeed.

6.  Bragneire of Tarses, also known as Bragneire The Previously Undefeated But Now Solidly Stripped Of That Title Due To Having His Ass Beat (Metaphorically Speaking) By Loki And That Goddamn Ugly Redheaded Wife Of His.  Dude’s a king, he’s got some damn fine cooks and bakers at his disposal.  He’ll tell you some good stories (all lies and exaggerations) while the castle staff lays out the feast.

7.  Loki.  Not Jack Montague’s Loki - this slot belongs to Lyra’s husband, TheKingsHeart!Loki, and it’s basically for the same reason as Bragneire above.  He’s a king, he employs only the best, and he’s got all those daughters who like doing potions and herbs and questionable magic.  Who says that stuff’s not handy in the kitchen?

8.  Jack Montague.  Why?  Because she’s got two moms, one of whom isn’t very far removed from human - they’re gonna be calling every takeout restaurant in Michigan to Uber their best across town and it’s also likely Eve has contacted her favorite cafe owners in Tangiers to FedEx something special.  It’ll be a spread like nothing you’ve ever seen.  And you and Loki will be the only ones eating, so chow down baby, it’s all for you.

9.  Cara and Aleks.  They’ve been settled into domestic bliss for a few years now, and Aleks still has a little bit of his summoning magic - should be easy enough to snatch a couple bottles of wine from France without having to leave the house.  Bonus: Cara is Chem!Tom’s daughter so it’ll be a combined feast.  Can’t lose.

10.  Anna from Body Double.  Something just tells me this girl can cook, and every year she and Tom raise a toast to Ian, who is still exiled to Ireland, and another to DelToro, who sends ‘round a giant cake every year in the shape of a gothic four-poster bed.

11.  Carly Lane.  Not a bad cook, but you gotta listen to Duncan’s stoned stream of consciousness monologue through the entirety of dinner.

12.  Tommy and Chloe.  They try, bless them.  Amy is still on tentative terms with them during the holidays, but she brings the stuffing and a pecan pie anyway.  It was a tough sell getting her to relinquish turkey duties to Tommy, but *redacted for spoilers* so now she bites her tongue and behaves herself.

13.  The Strada.  But not Baltho.  Keene can be trusted to somehow acquire the necessary components of a good meal, but don’t send Baltho to get anything.  I mean it.  Leave him out of it.  This is your only warning.

14.  Candy.  She may be the seasonal cook at the Rancho de La Luna, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t lie her ass off to get the job.  It also doesn’t mean she won’t cut open a sleeve of hot dogs and slap a loaf of Mrs Bairds on the table and call it dinner.

15.  Greta.  Her place is behind the wheel, not at the stove.

16.  The Concierge.  I mean, really?  The Rockstar’s ditty about the biscuits wasn’t just an accurate dinnertime dirge, it was probably God’s Literal Truth leaking in through the cracks in the universe.  And FYI, the Traveler nearly died of starvation before the world ended.

17.  Sevensix.  Loki’s buddy can barely even fit in a standard kitchen, don’t ask him to operate kitchen appliances - though I’m sure he could program one of his ButlerBots to do the work.

18.  Clarissa Carmichael.  Do you want Thanksgiving dinner or the apocalypse?