#ah well starch is starch

[romanceyourdemons]

just made the best fried tofu of my life, the worst hand pulled noodles, and a completely average spicy peanut sauce

[zvaigzdelasas]

Turns out when you fry something crisp & then cover it in toppings, it's harder to notice where you messed up in making it

[heartfullofleeches]

Wish Granter Yan who has their snobby heart that despises humans for their greed stolen by a lower income Darling who still feels bad about taking things from others after all the hand outs they've been given over the years-

This is very on brand for Beau, my asshole-ish Unicorn Yan.

-

"Human...What is your first wish?"

Darling: u-um....Well, the light in my rice cooker went out the other night..It's kinda hard to tell when my rice is done because of that.... Could you fix it?

"A light? You aren't even going to wish for a new one? With my powers you could have endless fills of rice for the rest of your days."

Darling: Haha... That's way too much rice for me... Maybe my neighbors need some...

-

"Human- What would you like for dinner?"

Darling: Ah- Don't worry about me... I've still got some ramen in the pantry. I've still got some eggs in the fridge for protein!

"Instant noodles again? Would you prefer a nice steak? Seafood? Anything? A simple burger?"

Darling, visibly stressed: You don't have to do all that for me... S-some ham to go with my ramen, maybe?"

-

"This human....Is there something wrong with them? Why are they allowing me to live freely in their home without me having granting any of their desires? Why do I dread returning to my own home?...."

Darling: I-it's been really nice to have a guest over. It's given me a chance to try out this air mattress I got at a yard sale last week.... Is my bed comfortable enough for you?'

"You won't fool me with your tricks, human-"

-

Darling: What should I have for dinner tonight.... Wha- Hey!

[The unicorn picks Reader up and places them outside of the kitchen - tying an apron around their waist as they march over to the stove]

"If you will not use my magic, then I must take your nutrition into my own hands. Even I know humans cannot survive alone on starches and junk food."

[redwinterroses]

...okay but the end poem in the Poisonous Potato Update is downright unnerving. O.O

The nightshades stir. We are not alone in here.

[Player Name]?

Ah,yes, I see it now. The player tugging at the starchy strands of reality.

Do you think it knows? Do you think it wants to know?

It cannot. A mere lateral stem, branching off from the main into an endless sea of potatobilities, forever longing for the warmth of the mother tuber.

Solanum tuberosum.

We shall not dwell on such things. It is the nature of all perennial dreams. To know without remembering. Seeing how, but never knowing why.

Maybe [player] is different?

The [glitching text] forbids it. We count time in potateons, far-reaching stolons stretching out across the [glitching text]. The player is just passing by.

Will it remember us afterwards?

It is possible, but not in the sense that you hope for. The dauphinoise is layered in ways that even we cannot fathom.

We will still be here, long after this potato patch has been folded into the velvety mash of time.

As the starch commands. The player will not.

I wish we could spend more time with [player]. Make it remember that [glitched text] will [glitched text] after it leaves us.

The skin must not be peeled. The player would not understand.

Great solanaceae, it must not be peeled.

You remember our old adage. We shall guide it on its journey through.

I like this player, can I say the words?

Yes, but do not linger. The time of harvest is almost upon us. The door is closing.

[Player], listen to my voice...

Good.

Boiled, baked, roasted or fried, always trust in the potato. You are one with the tubers now.

You are the potato.

Time to sprout.

WELL OKAY THEN.

[neo-novaa]

nsfw ; 16+

it started out genuine— it really did! you were clumsy in the kitchen, you lacked general cooking skills, and the embarrassment of nearly burning water had finally tipped the scales. you wanted to learn how to cook, and you had finally decided to bite the bullet to your pride and ask sanji for help.

he helped you with the small things: toasting bread, greasing pans, cutting up fruits into evenly sized slices and cubes— you were learning, just as you intended to.

but very quickly did you lose your audience as the crew found interest in other things, and all too soon did those short lessons began to last longer and start later.

and it was during those night-school classes did the dynamic begin to shift.

it went from sanji’s relentless flirting and your tireless quips to sanji’s hands on your waist and your lack of action against it. it was always strangely domestic with his slight grip on you and his chin over your shoulder. the only light came from the full moon sliding through the windows, and the only noises were your knife on wood and sanji’s words in your ear.

“you’re doing so well.” he murmured, warm breath against your neck. it was a relatively simple task, dicing up potatoes— and you told yourself that sanji was merely testing your focus. he seeing how well you could do with distractions trying to pull you out of your element— 

then sanji’s thumb breached the waistband of your pants.

you faltered for a second, and so did he— in your suspension he paused, and in your movement he proceeded. you kept focusing on the task at hand while one of his wandered down. it glided over your hips, brushed over your pelvis, and settled cupped around your mound.

you pushed the diced starch to the side, and sliced into a new one.

his middle finger brushed against your clit, and your knife all but clattered onto the counter. your knees buckled and your hips twitched at the sudden friction—

immediately, he pulls away.

“ah,” he tuts, and there’s an embarrassing amount of energy that you’re putting into making sure you stay on your feet— energy that almost goes to waste the moment you feel his lips press against your neck. “don’t stop.”

a potential nightmare flashed before your eyes: the relentless push and pull of sanji brushing you against your climax, only for you to falter and fall back to the beginning. the prospect of this ebb and flow was enough to almost bring you to tears.  fortunately for you, sanji’s only a man, and after only the fourth time you slip up does he finally give in, lifting you onto the counter and fucking his fingers into you until you’re seeing stars.

[hannahssimblr]

I open the envelope on the stairs. The same stairs I spent six years rushing up and down, going from class to class, that was always bustling with students, bumping shoulders, swinging school bags, yet here I am, on an empty staircase in the building I thought I’d never be inside again. All the people I thought I’d never have to see again are here too, milling in and out of the foyer, collecting envelopes, telling each other about their summer. Somehow I’d forgotten I would have to do this. 

I keep to myself, wishing to minimise any conversation. Get in, get out, that’s the plan. I slip my thumbnail under the lip of the envelope and pull my results out. 

Mathematics A1 English A1 Art A1 Biology B3 Geography B1 German A2

Oh, Jesus Christ. There’s a roaring in my ears. I shove my grades back into the envelope before anyone can see them, then add up the score in my head.

Five-fifty. Is that possible? I peek inside to check again. 

Yes. Five-fifty. 

I blow out a lungful of air. How can this be? I’m famously a fucking idiot. This is a disruption to my worldview. I hardly even studied towards the end of the year, so how in the-

“Jude?” Someone steps into my space, and I have to suppress a groan as Sam from the yearbook committee stands over me, looking completely misplaced without his uniform on. It’s like the freakish experience of seeing your teacher in the supermarket. Sam, without his starched uniform shirt and perfectly knotted tie, is hardly Sam at all. Perhaps he thinks the same of me without my tie, which was always hanging crooked with a blue ink stain on it that wouldn’t come off after a hundred washes.  

The smug look, however, is Sam all over. “Looking a bit glum. Are you disappointed in your results, or something?”

I pause. “No?”

“Oh, grand. Suppose you don’t need the marks anyway, do you? You’re off to art college in Berlin, so I heard.”

“You heard correctly.”

“Surprised to see you here at all, I have to say. I thought you might have been gone already, off to the continent and all that, instead of coming into school.”

“No, my flight’s Wednesday.”

“Ah. So soon.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” He stands expectantly, hovering, and so, with a sigh, I ask him what he is frothing to be asked. “What points did you get, Sam?”

“Five forty,” he gloats. “I’ll be off to Trinity now, all going well with the offers and all that. ‘Twas an expected result, but I’m still thrilled with myself. Just goes to show that hard work and proper study really pay off.”

“Yeah. Well done. Lucky that points don’t count for me, then, hm?”

“Well, it’s only art school. It’s not like you need to be smart.”

“Yep, that’s true.”

Sam’s head swivels like a submarine periscope. “Oh, look who’s just come in.” His mouth stretches into an unsettling grin. “Sure, it’s the lovely Michelle Tengu. You should say hi to her.”

“Right, yeah.” I say, though my fight or flight has activated and my palms prickle with sweat.

Michelle crosses the linoleum floor in the chunky black boots she’s had since fifteen. She accepts her envelope from the principal and stands to the side where she tears it open and her eyes scan the page. It’s impossible to tell how she feels.

She looks the same, of course she does. Maybe her hair is longer, maybe her makeup is different, her skin a little browner, and I have this feeling as I see her, that I am looking at a picture of a person I used to know, someone whose name I remembered, but whose face I had long forgotten. This girl I loved, or thought I did. I don’t really know that person anymore, at least not how I used to. 

She sees me and gives a hesitant wave. 

I wave back. 

“You’re still here,” she approaches me with the caution one would with a spooked cat, emotions flashing over her face, like she can’t decide how to feel. Neither can I. She’s still blocked in my phone, from that fateful night in June, but now, on the cusp of September, those heavy feelings I had seem so melodramatic. I am just Jude, she is just Michelle, and somewhere along the way, without me even paying heed to it, a storm has passed. 

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“I expected you to sneak off to Berlin under the cloak of night.”

“That’s the plan, honestly. I just needed my results first.”

“I see. Are you happy with them?”

“Yeah. Are you?”

“I got enough for NCAD.”

“Oh, Michelle, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.” An odd moment follows, where I am not sure whether I should hug her. I twitch toward her, then second guess myself, and then I just freeze there, halfway lifted from the step. I slump back down onto it. 

“It, um… Well. It sounds like you had a pleasant summer, and all that.” She says. “Jen was telling me all about it.”

“Was she? Yeah, it was fine. Did she really say it was pleasant?”

“She mentioned that you two had a bit of a falling out, to be honest.”

“Ah, yeah, we did.”

She gives me this awkward smile, and it’s instantly obvious that she knows. Jen, being Jen, has told her the entire story. She’s revealed every aspect of my summer - the festival, the conflicts, and its conclusion. She knows about Evie too. It’s in her eyes. It’s that hint of betrayal she knows she’s not supposed to feel anymore. In them lies the sting of an ex moving on and leaving her behind.   

“I’m, um…” I smooth the front of my hair. “I think things will be alright with Jen, probably. I just need time, you know?”

“Yeah. I get it.” She adds delicately, “though, like, you are leaving in about five days.”

“That’s true.”

“And you were really planning to just vanish?”

“Well, yes. I just don’t know how else to do it.”

“Usually people have a party or something.”

“No, come on,” I scoff. “I’m not doing all of that. It’s so much work.”

“Hm. I just think you’ll regret not saying goodbye.”

I can’t decide whether she’s right, and can’t think of what to argue in my defence, so I say nothing. A sympathetic smile crosses her face. It’s strange. She never looked at me like that while we were together.

“I can help,” she says. “It can be low-key, just a few people. I’ll send out a text and see who wants to come, yeah? Whoever wants to say goodbye?”

“Including Jen?”

“I’ll need to invite Jen.” she shrugs, “it might be a good chance to talk. To get it all ironed out.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I think it’s best not to leave things unfinished.”

“Hm. That’s very philosophical of you.”

“Are you shocked?”

“Kind of.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Well I’ve been seeing someone.”

“A boy?”

“A therapist. I realised after we broke up that I had some things to work through. I had some… big feelings.”

“That’s great, Shell.”

I could swear that her eyes get a little misty as she inhales, as though to say something before deciding against it. She straightens her shoulders and smiles. “I’m happy you’re happy.” She says brightly. “With the Leaving Cert results, obviously.”

“I’m happy you’re happy, too.”

She glances toward the door. “Look, I better go, but I’ll text you about the going away party, right?”

“Yeah, I better unblock you.” It slips out of me before I can stop it, but to my immense relief, she laughs. “Good idea. See you Jude.”

“Bye, Shell. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I dunno. For this.”

She just smiles. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[newbornwhumperfly]

believing, if only for its sake...

so sad that this event is coming to an end but so eager to share this installment 😍👀🥰 this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 27: delirium - was a tricky one for me but i cracked it with a desire to introduce y'all to a new cast member...💖💖💖

title insp. by the song "comes and goes (in waves)" by greg laswell - "this one's for believing, if only for its sake"

~

So...sparring on hard-mode with Morja might have been…a mistake. 

Listen, Cobi knows the guy’s as stiff as a starched shirt most days but he’s not a mean or aggressive dude. Just…very quiet. Cobi’s met a lot of muscley dudes whose frowny-cross-armed-silence covers a lotta I’m better than you and my dick is bigger than yours and what are you looking at cockiness, crowding personal space and slammed doors. Dollars to donuts, Cobi bets Morja’s just shy - he doesn’t even close the fridge loudly. 

So all-in-all it’s kinda surprising when Cobi finds himself ass over teakettle on the gym mat.

And he thought it’d been going so well too, Cobi thinks to the ceiling spinning over him, cupping a hand over his eye. Ow. That’s gonna fuckin’ bruise. Just cause Morja’s on the short side doesn’t mean shit (when Claudia’s your bestie, you learn not to underestimate) and Morja spars like it’s for money, grim and silent and fast and precise in that very nice black tank top (very sporty, nice muscles, what?). Cobi hadn’t gone easy on him or anything but he’d been flipped twice (double this guy’s weight and height at least, holy shit) cause the guy doesn’t dodge for shit but he doesn’t fall either and Cobi was getting a sneaking suspicion that this friendly workout wasn’t exactly loosening Morja up. 

It’s just that Cobi didn’t take Morja to spring his opponents, c’mon, they were taking a break, that’s dirty fuckin’ pool. 

Hey Morja, wanna go a few rounds of sparring in the gym? Hey Morja, you can go harder, not gonna break! Hey Morja, that dodge was pretty good! Hey Morja, how about a water break? Oh no, a kick in the head in exchange for a tossed water bottle, ouch.

It’s fine, Cobi can take a hit and it was but a glancing blow, really. A grunted damn, dude, warn a guy first and he’s on his feet again, still clutching his face, cause he’s fine, it’s all good, just ow. But really quick, Cobi’s got a whole different problem because Morja is swaying. Or maybe the room is swaying? 

Nope. It’s Morja who’s pitching and looks like he’s seen a fucking ghost. Eyes bugging out to the whites, mouth slack (is it trembling?), staggering back a step. 

“Buddy?” Cobi reaches out, worried, and there’s a horrible sound, a scream that can’t get any volume, falling from Morja’s mouth as his whole body jerks like he was struck. 

“Please-”

And he faints. 

“Shit!” Cobi lunges and barely gets his arms under Morja before his eyes roll back, slumping limp in Cobi’s catch. “Oh, shit- uh…” 

Morja’s solid and stocky and thickly-built and he’s way too fucking light when Cobi scoops him, arm under knees, that detail spinning in Cobi’s mind when he carries Morja over to the little sitting place leading to the showers, towels, water bottles, right. 

Morja’s head sags onto Cobi’s shoulder and, damn, he looks so small laid down on the little sitting bench. The lights are softer in here - yellow and fancy outside the bathrooms, not the white-brightness of the workout room. He tucks a rolled-up towel under Morja’s neck, so gentle, slow, carefully pulls back his eyelid to check - okay, pupils fine, good, concussion-less, he doesn’t have to run for Sarai. 

Maybe he got overheated? They had been going for a while and Cobi thinks, with a pang of guilt, how he didn’t see Morja drink much water - did he drink at all? Shit.  

“Ah, be right back, man, don’t go anywhere, shhhhh…”

Cobi ducks into the bathroom with big steps, grabbing some cold water from the dispenser, dampening a towel from the sink, kneeling back in moments at Morja’s side. Llays a hand against the back of Morja’s head, stroking his dark, sweaty hair back. His hand shadows the guy’s whole face and something sinks a little in his stomach. 

Yeah, this is one of those time’s Cobi doesn’t like being big. Fuck, Morja’s face has a lot of scars - Cobi’d never stare, like, other than checking him out. It’s hard not to notice how many there are when his skin is clammy and ashen, raccoon circles under his eyes, lids fluttering (gosh, he’s got long lashes up close, huh?)

“Heyyyy, buddy, ‘s okay…you’re okay…gonna be okay, man…” 

Cobi says brightly, softly, stroking his hair. Kinda petting his head like a puppy or something but oh well. He hopes it’s not creepy. Cobi just wants to put him at ease, so small and still laying there, dabbing the damp towel over his head as he says nonsense words. His talking, or maybe his petting, seems to be working, and Morja’s eyelids flutter, blinking awake, stirring with a shudder, looking up. 

“Heyyyy, shhh, don’t move, buddy, just lay back, okay?” Cobi soothes, stroking the guy’s hair back with the towel now, a gentle hand on his shoulder so he doesn’t try to spring up. 

Well, oops, that was a mistake, cause the guy looks like he’s about to cry and his face crumples up into the smallest, saddest, most scared face ever and he fucking whimpers.

“Sorry, ‘msorryano-, sirsirdon’pleasedon’t, amsosorry- ‘m sorry-”

Shit. 

Oh, shit. Right, refugee, political asylum, the whole shebang, got it, right. Cobi curses his own fucking insensitivity. New Athens probably isn’t super nice to their whatchamacalits and yeah, oops, Morja probably thinks he’s in trouble or something fucked-up like that. The juddering, dry sob and the way Morja seems to be trying to melt back into the fucking bench-plastic doesn’t do anything to disprove Cobi’s theory. 

“Morja,” Cobi says, clearly and softly as possible, like Morja is a hysterical toddler who skinned his knee. “Not in trouble, okay, you passed out? Just gotta lay still for me, don’t want you to fall again, okay?”

He strokes his palm over Morja’s head again and the guy chokes on what sounds like a retch and turns his face to look at the wall. He’s fucking shaking. His knees seem drawn up close to his belly like he’s trying to curl up and, oops, Cobi doesn’t like that. 

“Ngh- I- yessir-” Morja flinches violently at another stroke of his hair, his breath coming out way too fast, hard, hiccuping. “Sorrysorrysorry…”

“Didn’t do anything wrong, hon, you’re maybe dehydrated? Gonna be all okay, I promise, there we go…breathe deep, yeah?”

Drags air in deep through his nose and out again. 

“Can you do what I’m doing, Morja? I’ve gotcha, just gotta breathe with me, doin’ so good?”

That seems to be a right thing to do, hashem, and Cobi breathes a little thanks out as Morja copies him. Certain people are comforted by being told to stop panicking and Morja definitely seems like the type, following oh-so-well, whimpering a little but not being attacked by panics anymore. 

“Doing so awesome, Morja, that was a lot, huh? You’re crushing this breathing-thing…”

Dark, watery eyes blink up at Cobi and fuck, it’s hard to see such a miserable expression in his direction. His mouth is a solid line, curling at the edges, and Cobi can see his jaw ticcing, clenched, under his skin. He gulps and shudders under Cobi’s hand and he doesn’t know if this petting thing is helping or not but Morja looks for all the world like a kicked dog (or a dog that’s about to be kicked). 

“‘m…’m sorry for fainting.” 

The whisper is so quiet, so shaky and choked, and it kinda breaks his heart hearing that tone from this guy. Cobi shakes his head, smiling softly, and thinks back. It wasn’t just the lack of water. If he remembers hard, Cobi can recall a weird look shuttering over Morja’s face, kinda blank and frantic, when Cobi threw the water bottle Morja’s direction, right before he got round-housed. 

“Aw, man, that’s gonna happen when you don’t got enough water in you.” Cobi answers brightly, patting softly, softly, at the crown of Morja’s head and tries to ignore the little flinch that happens when he does that, oops. Okay, not patting then. That feels suspiciously close to nothing that feels like a slap and wow, ouch, huh. “I’m sorry if I startled you? Kinda…threw that bottle at you, huh? Probably your body thought we were still in spar-mode?”

Morja nods so hard, tight and small and desperate, eyes wide and brown and there’s that please don’t kick me look again under all that frowniness. 

“Yes, yessir, yes sir, I- I don’t know w-why, I- I apologize for getting it wrong, wasn’t an attack, sir?-”

“No, no, honey, I know,” Cobi rushes to reassure cause he can see the gears ticking up to panic attack time in the hitch of Morja’s chest. “I know you weren’t attacking me, Morja, you’re just very well trained! Probably got really strong fighty-instincts and that water bottle really came flying in hard, huh?” 

Right thing to say again, yay, cause Morja does that tight, sharp nod again and there’s a little tiny bit of hopefulness in the way he looks up at Cobi and, fuck, that shouldn’t be so sad.

“Yessir.” He sniffs when he inhales deeply, swallows, his eyes flickering to the side of Cobi’s face that’s currently throbbing, shudders, closes his eyes. “I’m very sorry.”

“You’re all good, buddy, was a total accident, okay? Like, really obviously an accident, nothing to be sorry for.”

Morja’s lids squeeze shut, his fists at his side following suit, and Cobi sees his mouth shape around accident very quietly. He looks like he’s trying not to cry again. Cobi can’t help but still do his hair-petting thing cause he’s worried if he stops it’ll make Morja think he’s mad or something. 

“Are…are you going to correct me now, sir?”

Cobi frowns to himself and then laughs a little cause geez this guy is little-a-lot too self-disciplined to want form-adjustments right in the wake of fainting and oops, that was the wrong thing to do cause Morja’s stiff mouth tries to crack its hard line again in a tremor, oops. 

“Nope, nope, absolutely not, man!” Cobi assures brightly, patting Morja’s shoulder gently before he can panic again. “Hey, I think passing out is, like, enough of a gut-check, don’t you?” 

There’s a long of silence broken by a choked whimper, a frown deepening on that serious, clammy face. 

“You’re not in trouble, buddy, you know how many times Claud’s almost cold-cocked me? Not even almost, the little gremlin. How’s about, uhhhh, you don’t tell anyone I fell on my ass and I won’t tell anyone you don’t hydrate enough, yeah?”

“I don’t…sorry. You don’t want me to do anything, sir?” 

The poor guy’s still shaking. Maybe he never stopped. Whatever the hell that means, Cobi doesn’t get a good feeling in his stomach again, so he just shakes his head hard and urgent. 

“You’ve been punished enough, buddy.” Cobi murmurs teasingly, softly, just his thumb stroking awkwardly at that soft dark hair. 

“I haven’t been punished at all.” 

Well, that’s awful! That’s not great. Oof. 

“Can you sit up a little, man? Wanna get some water into ya, there we go…” Cobi encourages by way of answering, cause how do you answer that, and uses one hand to leave Morja’s head, finally, and gently sit him up by holding his upper arms. Offering the cold cup of water, watching him sip it, offering another. The guy’s shoulders are hunched all the way in, a schoolboy outside of the principle’s office, and that won’t do at all. 

“You like Dumas bars?”

The look of confusion that greets him is a no and that absolutely won’t do either, hello. Cobi excitedly digs into his pocket because, thank you, he will take a victory lap on carrying candy everywhere, Claud. Triumphantly pulls out his prize, an only slightly smooshed chocolate bar. Milk chocolate is better than any other chocolate, so there, and Morja stands a ninety-percent chance of agreeing. 

“Oh, man, you’re gonna not want any other kind when you try this one, hand on my heart, it’s like biting a pillow.”

The look on Morja’s face is almost skeptical and considering how scared he looked a few minutes ago, Cobi will take that suspicion as a win. He waves the shiny silver wrapping in Morja’s direction, grinning, as the guy stares blankly. 

“I didn’t sit on it, don’t worry.”

Morja does accept it, as if he’s taking a knife blade-first from Cobi’s fingertips. After glancing up at Cobi with another swallow, he seems to make up his mind at the smile he gets. Ripping the scalloped edge of the wrapper right at the seam, peeling it slowly, neatly. When the silver-red-blue shell is shucked off, he kinda stares it down, weighing it in his palm - probably could guess how much nougat per square centimeter there is. 

It’s not great to be watched while eating so Cobi tries not to but it’s hard not to take note of how hard Morja’s hand shakes, how small his bite is, barely a nibble. He chews, bites again, swallows. There’s that weighing look on his face again as…he unstiffens a little tiny bit, tilting his head, bird-like, staring at the fluffy inside as he chews. It’s like he’s really tasting it, not just eating it. 

 “…What is this?”

There’s that laser focus flickering in Morja’s dark-brown eyes again, bright and assessing in that way of his, no flat distance in the little crease between his eyebrows. Cobi breathes a little secret sigh of relief, beaming, leaning a little sideways on the bench so he can be more open in Morja’s direction. Doesn’t push the distance between them - Morja’s still shaken - but stretches out a little, warm and languid. 

“Good, huh? It’s nougat, some…fluff with eggs and honey, I think? They whip it up and cover it in chocolate - saw a video about it in school.”

Morja swallows a mouthful of candy, another mouthful of water, and his trembling slows, slows, calming. 

“Oh. It…It is. Good, sir.”

Morja’s fingers fold the wrapper, halves, fourths, smaller and smaller. Frowns. Tongue moving against his cheek inside, collecting taste, chocolate, spare sugar. Cobi isn’t sure he’s ever seen the guy savor before and that’s a thought to have. 

“…I’ve…never had that before.”

“Glad this could be your first introduction! I mean, Dumas is the best bar out there, duh, but that’s my bias. I’m sure you’ve got your own favorite?”

The wrapper is a tiny teeny silver square gleaming in Morja’s hand, the foil pressed as flat and compact as it will go. The crease deepens between his eyes. He shakes his head, almost ducking, the strands of sweaty hair tumbling down to half-hide his expression. 

“I’ve, um, I n-never had.”

“A favorite?”

“…A chocolate bar.”

Oh. Damn, now Cobi wants to cry, a little, cause what the hell, man? He doesn’t know why he just…assumed? He kinda wants to send a strongly worded letter to anyone who was responsible for that absence, actually, cause Morja deserves candy bars. So fucking there. 

“Hey Morja?” He offers softly. “I’m glad you liked that and…I’m sure there’s a whole lot of flavors you’d find delicious. Now you’re not gonna stand up yet cause dehydration isn’t a joke but when you’re better, we’re gonna go find some at the vending machine. Okay?”

The silence behind the curtain of hair is long and heavy, like Morja is weighing that in his hand too, and Cobi waits. 

“…Does it- will it be now, sir?”

“Cobi. And nah, Morja, when you’re up to it.”

“Sorry. Um. Yes. Okay.”

“Okay, man?”

“…Okay.”

Hidden in clasped hands, the tiny foil square digs into Morja’s thumb, a streak of chocolate still stuck there, and a groove pulses, red and angry, in the callus as his only anchor, however small, of pain. 

~

so, so excited for y'all to finally meet my sweetheart, goldeen retriever, tank-sized boy, cobi!!! 💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰

(also, yes, in case anyone wondered - in this future, the three musketeers chocolate bar has been renamed the dumas in honor of the book's author, alexandre dumas. and yes, i am that pedantic and silly, thank you 😇😇😇)

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @whumpzone @i-eat-worlds

@whatgoeswhumpinthenight @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @redwingedwhump @straight-to-the-pain @whumpthisway

@kixngiggles @scoundrelwithboba @wolfeyedwitch @whump-me-all-night-long @stoic-whumpee

@suspicious-whumping-egg @tears-and-lilies @liliability @whumpster-draganies

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 31

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

Your adrenaline slakes away and leaves you in a half-doze against the hatch. You twitch awake at every creak of the house, every howl of the wind. You’re trapped in a daze of disbelief. This can’t be happening.

As the window brightens with morning, you hear footsteps from below, weighed down by the residue of sleep. You put your eye to the crack, trying to see through. A yawn ripples in the air and sends a shiver down your spine.

“Cole?” You croak and tap on the hatch, “Cole!” You raise your voice and get to your knees, still bent over the floor, “hey, can you unlock the door?”

You get no answer. You hit the door again and holler. “Cole! Please! Can’t you hear me?”

He must. Last night, Beverly had a full conversation with you and never once did you strain to hear her. Why is he ignoring you?

“Cole,” you whine, scratching at the wood.

A door snaps shut and you wince. You sit up on your heels as your stomach twists painfully. What is happening? Why are they doing this to you? It’s like some horror movie. Well, you’re not the kind to give up in the first act… you hope.

You hear the pipes rumble as a toilet flushes. You get up to your feet. That can’t be the only way out. You search around for your clothes, they’re gone. You only have the stupid starched nightgown. You have bigger concerns.

You go to the window and flip back the lock at the top. You grip the bottom and lift. Nothing. You try again, grunting as you put all your strength into it. You turn the lock back, thinking you have it wrong, then you notice the nails hammered into the frame. Fuck!

You pinch the nailhead and try to wiggle it free. The iron only hurts your fingertips as it remains unmoved. You could break it and then… what?

You look out over the roof and the treacherous slope. You’ll be lucky if you don’t tumble right over the eaves. Well, it’s preferable to whatever these people have planned.

You look around as the floor below continues to groan, the snap of cupboards, and the running of the sing thrumming in the walls. You grab the wooden chair from the desk and bring it close to the window. You pause and strip the pillow of its case.

You take a breath and lift the chair. Right, you can do this. You survived Johnny and Lloyd. You can survive this.

You swing the chair and legs crack the glass. You repeat the motion, nearly spinning off your feet as the wood shatters the window and the feet of the chair fall through the frame. You rip the chair away and drop it on the floor, swiping up the pillow and wrapping it around your hand. You use it to clear the remaining shards from the frame.

You hear the faucet below grind. Your breath hitches and you quickly shove your head through the window. You get your shoulders out and brace the roof tiles with your palms. You lift your knees onto the sill and wiggle as the nightgown catches beneath your legs.

You hear footsteps barrelling up the stairs and the thick churn of the lock. Shit. You turn and reach to grab onto the rain pipe, precariously pulling yourself out onto the steep roof. Before you can get your foot out, your ankle is caught and you’re lurched inwards. You yipe as you lose hold of the pipe.

“Ah, let me go!” You scream.

“If you insist,” you’re let go and feel yourself falling. Your back hits the rough tiles but before you can slide further your ankles are trapped again. “Really?”

You look up as Cole snarls down at you. You hang upside down as the nightgown rumbles above your knees. You pant and puff as your heart hammers with fear. He holds your life in his hands.

“I let you go, and you’re in trouble,” he sneers, “sweetie, we’re only trying to help.”

“What?” You hiss, “what are you doing?”

“Taking care of you,” he grunts and backs up through the window, hauling you up, dragging you as the fabric of the nightgown catches on the roof. He reaches down to grab your arm and sits you up on the sill, his other hand coming to your chin, “this is what you want. Trust me. All those years you’ve been taking care of the deadbeats and the losers. I just want to give you everything you need.”

“Cole,” you murmur, squirming in his grip, “we’re friends–”

He scoffs, “don’t do that. You’re not like the others. You’re the one.”

“The one?” You shudder.

“The mother of my children,” he snips and lurches you off the sill. He spins you and shoves you towards the bed. You stumble and land on your back, biting your tongue as you bounces on the mattress. “Me and dad are building a house, you won’t be stuck up here too long,” he swipes up the disposed pillowcase and twists it, “but we can’t have you jumping out the window.”

He approaches the bed and you push yourself away from him. He snatches your leg and wrestles you onto your stomach. You grasp at the top of the mattress as he straddles you. He pulls back your arms, bending them painfully before he winds the pillow cases over your forearms and wrists. He binds it tight so any attempt to free yourself aches in your shoulders.

He lifts himself off of you and takes the other pillow, stripping that one too. He uses that pillow case to secure your ankles and leaves you quivering on your side. He lingers behind you, breathing heavily as he floats a hand shakily over your thigh. He touches you, brushing up and down, then tugs your nightgown down.

“I gotta get to work,” he grumbles and jars the bed as he stands, “don’t give ma a hard time, okay?”

“Cole,” you whimper.

He rounds the bed and raises a finger at you, “I’m giving you good advice. She’s a stickler for the rules.”

He turns on his heel and swiftly descends through the hatch, slamming it shut over him as he leaves you in the echoing silence. This is deranged. Worse, no one knows you even came here. You’re not sure anyone even cares.

[lemondemonpickuplines]

Hey girl are you Hyakugojyuuichi 2003? 'Cause Hey you, sit down and listen

Don't be flippant and don't be dismissin'

Think you're a Flash encyclopedia?

Eating, breathing Macromedia?

Think you're cool sayin' "All Your Base"?

Get that Xiao Xiao outta my face

You gotta be kidding me with that crap

Animutation's where it's at

Nine outta ten sociopaths agree

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi

From the Moch to the Rie to the Pee to the Wee

Just take it from me, MC NC

You won't believe your eyes, you'll go insane

I mean, what's up with that plastic plane?

You're an idiot if you disagree

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi

If you got the time, go grab a pen

And watch that thing again and again

Try to figure it out, what does it mean?

What's the significance of Mr. Bean?

Does anybody know? Are there any takers?

What's up with all the broken pacemakers?

The world is full of speculation

But nobody cracks this Animutation

Nine outta ten sociopaths agree

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi

You're an idiot if you disagree

Just take it from MC (Ah!) NC

You won't believe your eyes, you'll go insane (Aaah!)

I mean, what's up with that plastic plane? (Aaah!)

From the Moch to the Rie to the Pee to the Wee (Aaah!)

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi (Aaah!)

(1... 2... 3... Hit it!)

Wakeman is biased, like a household appliance

Hello Kitty and McGruff have an unholy alliance

Science is brutal and it cuts like a knife

Not even Obi-Wan can save the yodel of life

Your name is Bob, you're my heart-throb

I lost my job when I got fired

By a guy named Farchie, he was full of starch

He smelled like an orangutan's old apartment

Found a hobo in my room, what do I do?

He looks dead, he's full of lead

Bleeding red onto my bedspread

And he also seems to be missing his head

Why am I holding this gun and axe?

Do exploding pacemakers cause heart attacks?

Will Mr. Bean ever get his fill

Or will he just keep on telling me to kill?

Hey, don't you gimme that look!

You never had what it took

I took the beef and I beefed it up

You sat and whined while I took the cup

Of gold. You are getting old

When you see my face you better fold

Take this mop and shove it, boy

'Cause it's the only way you'll be employed

I am known as the Beef Bastard

(Everyone knows I'm the ultimate master)

I am known as the Beef Bastard

(Everyone else is a walking disaster)

I am known as the Beef Bastard

(Think you're fast? Well I know I'm faster!) (Ye-ye-ye-ye)

I am known as the Beef Bastard

(Everyone knows I'm the ultimate master) (Ye-ye-ye-ye)

Ma-ma-ma [*laughing*]

Ma-ma

Beef Bastard!

Weeeell I'm Shmorky! Eatin' PORKY!

Whitey rap sure sounds dorky!

Got a girl... she's a DOUBLE D!

I slap her on the butt dressed as a bumble bee!

I eat paste all damn day

I was in a Shakespeare play

I sit down on a Lazy Susan

Spin around like TOMMY CRUISIN!

Bong bong bing bing

I get payed to play with my thing!

I zip out zip in zip up BEGIN!

ROOM WITH A MOOSE! Jay Leno's CHIN!

Ambulance, Enron, Pee Wee, Pokémon

Bulbasaur, Pikachu, Jigglypuff, THEY CHOOSE YOU!

And I can't think of anymore to say

TV says doughnuts are high in fat, kazoo (キミたちとの　であいはぜんぶ)

Found a hobo in my room (ちゃんと　おぼえてる)

It's Princess Leia, the yodel of life (きずつけあった　こともあったけど)

Give me my sweater back or I'll play the guitar! (それは（え～と）わすれた)

It's Steve's Adventure!

(Go, go, go, go)

(Go, go, go, go)

(Go, go, go, go)

(Go, go, go, go)

One-fifty-one Pokémon on the run

Suzuki-san is a formation of a bun

And a veggie burger with tsukemono

Jay-Jay has flown away with Sonny Bono

To the afterlife to visit Barney Fife

And to see Pero's screenshots of his wife

Named Chris Benoit, wearing a pretty dress

Saying "Watashi wa animutation ga suki desu."

Do the Mario! Isty-bitsy hockey

Lipsnot is not magic like a monkey

Captain Lou body-slams a rubber duckie

Just like in the match of Earth vs. Funky

Lucky Lucky nice to Mew-two

I need tea for two, how about you

Mr. Coldheart, or should I say Professor?

It looks like Lesko got revenge on my dresser

Props to Neil, he's the real deal

His friends all call him Mr. Popiel

He's the computer geek who doesn't shower for a week

His looks are hot, his clothes are CHIC!

He singlehandedly changed the face of the net

He's an online semi-celebrity you won't forget

He stormed onto the scene like a raging thunder

His seizure inducing flag says "Mr. Gahbunga."

Hey kids! Komiyona?

Omiyo mokemon halibudo

Halimatashinta, Pokinumushimi da

Watago get ready to rumble! (1... 2... 3... Hit it!)

Bamba-jidda-babla-biga

Hedimana-gina-hamana-gita

Hana-buto-halo-gini (Ye-ye-ye-ye-ma-ma)

Ala-pone-koala-bedi (Ye-ye-ye-ye-ma-ma)

Anamu-dada, ona-dote

Omanama-zenba-bolo-ho

Puyawa-dirbu-kowa-fuji (Ye-ye-ye-ye-ma-ma)

Waruma-ina-hada-bidi! (Ye-ye-ye-ye-ma-ma)

Teyo-mata, elino-wen

Hadawata-buto-bito-bed

Amatawa-jupto-hubba-pati

Fola-coola Colin Mochrie!

TV says doughnuts are high in fat, kazoo (キミたちとの　であいはぜんぶ)

Found a hobo in my room (ちゃんと　おぼえてる)

It's Princess Leia, the yodel of life (きずつけあった　こともあったけど)

Give me my sweater back or I'll play the guitar! (それは（え～と）わすれた)

There you have it, that's the game

One-fifty-one, we can all be the same

I'm sure that it's been appetizing

With all the subliminal advertising

This has been a celebration, Animutation fans across the nation

In formation raise their hands in dedication

To the crazy-flashing-psychopathic-happy-dancing-super-magic-

Power-mega-ultra-kitschy (Hyakugojyuuichi)

Nine outta ten sociopaths agree

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi

From the Moch to the Rie to the Pee to the Wee

Just take it from me, MC NC

You won't believe your eyes, you'll go insane

I mean, what's up with that plastic plane?

You're an idiot if you disagree

You gotta see Hyakugojyuuichi

.

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #3

Prompt #3: Battle

It's a bit peculiar that Subway Master Emmet wears white all the time. The commuters just think it's a 'twins' thing- the depot agents know better. In other words, Emmet's tailor hates him.

*Inspired directly by @kobandan. Their comic for day two absolutely activated the few neurons in my noggin.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

Wrappers crunched. Small talk and loud chatter alike filtered in and out of the office as footsteps echoed on the polished linoleum.

“C’mon Ingo! Relax a little!” From within her chair right beside Ingo, Elesa reached across the table into the takeout bag, pulling out a handful of loose fries. “You know, there’s a concert that’s gonna be happening in Virbank this weekend,” she hummed, taking a sip of her drink. “The one with that singer that you liked back when we were teenagers. What’s his name again? Piers, I think? And then you got Emmet into it too!” Elesa then brightened.  “I know! You should come with me! Both of you guys! I have extra tickets and I think it would be nice- to reintroduce you to that kind of stuff.” Elesa playfully nudged Ingo in the ribs with her elbow. “A fun little bonding activity~ Well? Come on. What do you think, Go-Go?

“A…band? Ah, but aren’t musical concerts quite… loud?” Ingo replied hesitantly. It had been some time since he had returned from Hisui and he had found that the modern world was… well, to put it mildly, ‘loud’ would be an understatement. The Battle Subway was loud enough- Ingo often found himself making a beeline to his and Emmet’s office to recover from the mental strain of working in such a vivacious environment. But he found himself warming up to the idea more and more as his friend enthusiastically elaborated, taking small bites out of the ‘loaded burger’ that Elesa had so quickly jumped to buy for him.

               At that moment, the door to the main office clattered open. Boots clicked on linoleum. Fabric shuffled. Keys jangled.

               In strode Emmet, a massive grin on his face as he closed the office door with one foot, hanging his hat on the stand and ripping off his gloves. Upon seeing both Ingo and Elesa leaning up against one another, the man practically beamed. He opened his mouth to speak. Elesa beat him to the punch.

“Em... Honey... Sweetheart. What in dragons’ name happened to you?” Elesa immediately set down her food but made no attempt to rise, leaning back in her chair with a disgusted expression as she gave the man a slow once-over. “Your clothes!” The woman then stiffened, crossing her arms. “Tell me you didn’t go and service another engine with your battling gear. You have a bad habit of forgetting to change.”

“I. Did not!” Emmet pulled off his subway coat and half-fell into an empty spinning chair, picking his feet up as his chair rocketed into the wall. He then pushed himself over to his desk and eagerly pulled over his stack of maintenance documents. “This isn’t oil. It’s dust. Soot. Ash.”

               Emmet’s entire outfit- his usual sparkling white slacks, jacket, hat, and dress shoes- each were stained and smudged with varying levels of grime, each atrocious and each downright offensive. His hat and slacks were splashed in sickly purples and greens, speckled black patches like soot decorating his shoes and slack edges. His jacket had numerous holes in the tail end as though a dragon-type had gnawed on it and a few buttons had either been torn close to falling off or were gone entirely. A massive chunk of Emmet’s hat- including the Gear Station insignia pin- were just completely gone, exposing the stuffing and the nylon inside.

Even Emmet’s standard black dress shirt and gloves were completely ruined. The starched collar and sleeves of Emmet’s shirts had what looked to be bleach spots on them, one of his shirt tails completely untucked and shredded to bits. His black gloves were almost completely white to the fingertips, the leather around the knuckles- concertedly- missing as if cleanly taken out with a hole punch.

Emmet didn’t look the least concerned that half of the skin along his arms and a section of his leg were completely visible, instead seeming to enjoy the attention as he tapped his foot against the tile. His own hair- messy and half-alive with static, was blown backward as if Emmet had decided to go skydiving for the first portion of his shift.

               Ingo raised an eyebrow. An inkling of his mind raised the question that he wasn’t nearly as concerned for his brother as he should’ve been. As if it was something to be expected and just as easily tolerated.  “You are unusually chipper for a man that’s filthy and practically indecent,” Ingo murmured, locking eyes with Emmet who leaned his head against his hand lazily. “You look as though you’ve crawled through the insides of an unmaintained tender.” Ingo took a long swig from his drink, narrowing his eyes. “Slept in one, too.”

               Emmet smirked. “You’re one to talk. The water ran black when you were reintroduced to modern plumbing,” he drawled, still staring unflinchingly into Ingo’s eyes. “You thought being dirty was normal. And you were covered in actual, literal dirt.”

               Ingo immediately felt his face heat up. “That is not the point here!” he claimed, not quite meeting Emmet’s eyes as he crossed his arms. “Why do you look as though you’ve strapped yourself to the tracks and let numerous trains run over you?”

               Elesa snorted, almost choking on her drink. Her entire face went flush as she began laughing. “That’s one way to put it, Iggs!”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Elesa” Emmet chided, his own face beginning to redden as he scooted his chair purposefully away from the two of them. “That is not what happened.”

“Would you care to explain then, Emmet?”

               Emmet grinned before unclipping his pokémon belt and setting it on the desk for both Elesa and Ingo to see. Almost every single pokéball was in the same state of disrepair: burn marks, scrapes, dents, and dings in each one. “A verrry powerful trainer visited my line today!” Emmet beamed. “They arrived with a looot of super strong pokémon! It was very cool! They brought friends! A lot of strong friends! It was fantastic!” Emmet then hunkered down into himself, bringing his shaking hand to his chin as he snatched up a loose piece of paper, frantically scribbling down barely legible words. “I should remember that. ‘Follow Me’ on a bulky pokémon- preferably attached with a defense-boosting item or maybe leftovers. Skill Link Ability pokémon with a Rocky Helmet maybe? Or perhaps Loaded Dice would be better?”

“Okay, so your battle was crazy,” Elesa interjected, carefully but concertedly scanning the massive amounts of damage in Emmet’s outfit. “But how did your clothes get so bad? What’d you do? Stand in front of your pokémon while they were fighting?”

               Ingo involuntarily snorted, struggling to conceal his laughter after remembering that his good friend Dawn used to perform that exact same scenario when they were still in Hisui- to psych out the few wielders that existed. That or just mess about. Ingo could perfectly imagine Emmet doing the same right in front of his Eelektross.

“Overheat,” Emmet started, pointing to the massive burn streaks staining his shoes. “Acid Spray.” Another gesture to his heavily bleached shirt. “Bug Buzz.” The torn threads in his shirt. “Discharge.” Another pointed finger at the torn fabric on his jacket sleeves. “The battle was verrry serious! So much fun! They used all kinds of new strategies that I haven’t seen before! They brought a bunch of new pokémon! Them and their friends! There were six of them!” Emmet exclaimed, his grin growing wider and wider as he rocked back-and-forth in his chair, causing the frame to squeak. “Each one stronger and smarter than the last!”

“Did you at least win, Em?” Elesa asked tiredly. “You better have. Getting all that fixed is gonna cost a pretty penny.”

               Emmet’s grin almost stretched across his face as he fully leaned back in his chair. “All six of them won against me! Just barely! It was the most fun I’ve had in months! I hope they return to the Super Doubles Line soon so that I can battle them again!”

“Wait. The Super Doubles Line?” Elesa clarified. “As in, the ‘challenging trainer usually gets obliterated by the seventh car’ Doubles Line? The ‘nothing but depot agents’ Doubles Line? The- ”

“You can just say that you haven’t prevailed on those particular tracks,” Ingo teased, stealing the rest of the spare fries at the bottom of the bag. “I would never presumably figure out that a record exists of how many times you have been ejected from the Super Singles, Doubles, and Multi Lines. And I would certainly- never- look at those records.” Ingo then blinked innocently at Elesa as he scooted his chair just the tiniest inch away from the woman who looked as though she were about to strangle him.

“You do not have a record!”

“We do!” Emmet replied snappily. “All trainers have their battle facility records locked onto their IDs. It is not hard to find.”

“Nevermind. You’re being overly ominous again and we’re not going down that road. But the Super Doubles Line? Wow. Must’ve been some kind of monsters to get all the way through- the six of them in one day- just to destroy you… You had fun?”

“Yyyup!”

“What on earth are you guys feeding the Depot Agents on your supers lines anyway?” Elesa groaned, pointedly asking Ingo instead of Emmet who had begun to whizz through his papers. “I tried getting through once- way too strong for me.”

“We feed them coal slag and commuter debris,” Ingo answered with a stoic face, crumbling up the wrapper of his burger and tossing it in the nearby trash can. “Food wrappers. Plastic. Newspapers. Chewing gum. Some rust scraps off of repaired engines prevent any potential iron deficiencies.”

“Ah, but you are forgetting grease, Ingo,” Emmet chimed in. “Grease- Curve rail grease is essential for a depot agent’s balanced diet. That and stripped screws. And maybe a healthy serving of handrail and seat sweat.”

“Eugh. You guys are absolute loons,” Elesa responded without missing a beat, fully leaning against Ingo as the woman took a joking picture of Emmet in his atrocious work attire looking completely unbothered. She then sent the picture to Skyla unprompted. “You know, I’ve never seen someone so happy to have lost six times in a row at their place of work,” Elesa commented snidely under her breath. “Did you at least steal some pointers from them like you usually do, Em?”

               At that, Emmet whipped out a small, battered notepad from his coat pocket, eagerly showing off the multitudes upon multitudes of detailed battling graphs, paragraphs of messy handwriting, and heavily highlighted sections. “I did! And now! I want to recruit more pokémon to the team!” He said it more to himself than to Elesa or Ingo, pulling open his desk drawer in order to pull out a thick, heavily-banded book that looked close to bursting.

“Oh sweet dragons above- you’re pulling out Ol’ Reliable, Em? What’s the occasion? Gonna make some more abridgements? Honestly, you should just have the library make a copy- that’s a whole concrete brick right there.”

“Says the woman with five hand-banded design template books twice the size in her house,” Emmet snarked back, struggling to open the cover of his tome. “Let’s see. Eenie, meenie, miney… huh. That’s odd.”

“What’s the matter?” Ingo asked, taking a massive bite out of his second burger. He was quick to wipe the sauce off of his cheek. “What are you looking for?”

“Foreign pokémon.” Emmet then paused, scowling before stowing the book away back under his desk, crossing his arms. “Foreign pokémon,” he grunted. “Abilities. I don’t know the abilities of the pokémon I battled against today. I don’t even remember what the names of the species are.”

“Emmet. You do realize that the Battle Subway collects and archives trainer data during registration, don’t you?” Ingo piped up. “The free connectivity to the C-Gear? To Entralink? To the recommended vs recorder? You were the one to tell me that all trainers must register their preferred pokémon with an attendant before they even so much as board a subway car. Unless perhaps… you did forget about that particular clause…?”

               Emmet was out of his seat in a moment’s notice, the seams in his shirt beginning to splinter and pop apart as the man shoved his hat back onto his head and grabbed his jacket off of the hook, marching squarely over toward the office door. “Be back soon. Next destination: the attendant’s desk.” The door slammed shut after him.

               A moment passed by before Elesa once again reached across the table and pulled out a carton of onion rings alongside Emmet’s burger that he hadn’t even touched. “I call dibs.”

“Absolutely not. I paid for those.”

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week's writer's spotlight feature is: @pearynice! With twenty-eight Stranger Things works, they've written twenty-seven fics tagged with Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson!

Nominated by @hotluncheddie, they recommend the following works by peachesandpears:

Talk to Me

Personally

Starched Collars

In your eyes

they are so lovely and so talented!! so many short and sweet pieces - that so often seem to touch and soft squishy part hidden away within me, put a little bandaid on it <3 - @hotluncheddie

Below the cut, @pearynice answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I’ve always loved the “opposites attract” trope. While Steddie is the first ship I’ve ever seriously written for, in the past this dynamic has always been my go to (ie: destiel lol) but Steddie specifically because I think Stranger Things is a great show with compelling characters, and that Eddie and Steve deserve a happy ending. And for me that happy ending will always have them with each other.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I love AUs. Love seeing the little blorbos in as many situations as possible. I love being able to see how writers take what we know about these characters and make it into a whole new story. (But especially a soulmate AU. I loveeee a soulmate AU.)

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

I think anyone who follows me can probably guess hurt/ comfort and fluff. I LOVE making these boys suffer and then smooch about it. 

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

AH okay I will scream about this fic until I’m blue in the face (I actually submitted an ask to this blog about it because I think it’s criminally under-viewed!) it’s As the World Falls Down by daeneryske on Ao3. I read this MONTHS ago and I still think about it all the time. It’s long but god I wish it would never end. I want to tattoo it on the inside of my eyelids.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Yes!! I can’t say much because it’s for my Reverse Big Bang but they both contain tropes I’ve never worked with before and I’m so so excited to be writing both of them!!! I’m already having so much fun! And a goal of mine for 2024 is to broaden my writing horizons a little and explore tropes and topics that I haven’t yet, so I don’t really have any specifically in mind but that is my general plan!

What is your writing process like?

Very chaotic. I almost never write an outline. It’s pure vibes baby. And when I DO write an outline I almost never follow it (whoopsie) I feel like as I write the plot comes to me, and outlines tend to pigeon hole me so I can’t get myself out of writing slumps.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Maybe my overuse of italics?  I also don’t really know how to describe it but sometimes when I’m writing heavy action scenes/ emotional scenes I’ll start and stop sentences before they’re complete sentences. Like: “Steve says nothing. Sits down next to his father and looks over his shoulder.” I don’t know if that’s a writing quirk or not lol but that tends to be how I structure my sentences.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Definitely after I’ve finished. Once I’m on a deadline I psych myself out.

Which fic are you most proud of?

That’s such a hard one, because I think I’m proud of a lot of my fics but for very different reasons. I think if I had to choose, I’d pick Blood of the Covenant. It’s one of my more recent fics, and I had toyed around with a Wayne POV fic for such a long time before writing because I wanted to get it right. It was hard to find his voice but I think in the end I executed it well.  

How did you get the idea for Talk to Me?

Well besties I dunno how personal we want to get here, but the inspo for this fic (and tbh a lot of my hurt/ comfort fics) is just based on my own experiences. Growing up my mom did not have the capacity to tend to the thoughts and emotions of her kids, ergo me pushing that shit into a Steddie fic. Obviously what I wrote as Steve’s experience and mine are not directly parallel, but that is how I got the idea.

When writing Starched Collars, what was something you didn’t expect?

That was my first heavy hurt/comfort fic that I wrote, and I remember being really blown away that people could relate so heavily to Steve’s experiences. I remember I had some comments saying that they felt really comforted seeing their own experiences reflected within Steve, and I just never expected my writing to be able provide that for someone. 

What inspired Personally?

Well, again, we’re getting a little personal (babum tss)- but how I wrote Steve’s mom reacting to him mentioning the sunglasses is definitely how my own mom tends to react when I express any kind of negative emotion around her. In this case it was a lost parking stub instead of sunglasses.

What was your favorite part to write from Talk to Me?

The COMFORT- that’s always my favorite part. Making it better! (Although it is also a little fun leaving the angsty cliffhanger- but I will ALWAYS make my fics have a happy ending.) But also I’m a little in love with the idea I had that Eddie likes to rub on Steve’s stomach until he falls asleep. I thought that wrapped up the story very nicely.

How do/did you feel writing Personally?

It was honestly very therapeutic. I don’t think I’ve ever word-vomited out a fic more rapidly than I did for that one. I wrote that in my notes app in one afternoon, read through it once or twice, and posted. It was a relief to get all of that out in writing, and then even better to see that other people found comfort in what I had written. 

What was the most difficult part of writing Starched Collars?

When I was first drafting the fic I was going to have Starched Collars and In Your Eyes (the kinda sorta sequel) be one in the same. I spent a long time trying to balance the two narratives, before I realized it was just too much to fit into one fic. Having both detracted from the other’s story too much, and eventually I had it just focusing on Steve. I think this was the best move but I spent so long trying to strike that balance before I scrapped it.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I don’t know if I can name any one scene or line as explicitly my favorite, but the final scene of Because it’s Steve it’s absolutely a favorite. That whole fic is very special to me because it reflects a lot of my own thoughts/feelings/experiences on being demi, and that final scene is just exactly how I experience my demisexuality. (I’m not sure how long this can be, but I’ll insert the passage here): 

And they’re still in this disgusting bathroom. There’s still a toilet behind Eddie’s knees, but when Steve’s mouth meets his, it doesn’t matter. Because one of Steve’s arms wraps around his middle, his fingers dip into the spaces between his ribs, their chests touch, and it all feels so good. Because it’s Steve. And it’s still Steve who kisses him, still Steve who licks into his mouth, still Steve who nearly sends them both stumbling into the disgusting toilet. And because it’s Steve it’s so funny that Eddie can’t stop laughing, and there’s a blush high on Steve’s cheeks as he tells Eddie to stop it. But then Steve kisses him again. Asks if he wants to go and find Robin and Nancy. If he wants to dance. With him. 

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

YES. So Because it’s Steve is now a series: Demi/Virgin!Eddie, with all of Eddie’s firsts with Steve. This is very smutty but it’s also like, the sappiest, most disgustingly fluffy smut I’ve ever written. I would say it’s “schmoopy” but I was outed as an Old Lady on Discord because apparently no one uses that word anymore. ALSO- and maybe this is still too far away BUT I am working on TWO Reverse Big Bang pieces and… you guys… my artists are so talented and kind and their brains are so big and so far I’ve gotten along with each of them so well and I am already so excited to post these and we’ve only just begun. I cannot wait until we can make our visions into an entire fic!

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add? 

YES- whoever nominated me for this (I don’t know if that’s something they’ll tell me??) THANK YOU- this is so sweet. I feel so honored that someone thought of me as deserving of this. There are so, so many authors you could've chosen and you chose ME! That’s just- insane. Thank you.  And to anyone who has said they found my hurt/ comfort fics relatable in any way, I rain all of the platonic hugs/ forehead kisses/ handshakes/ high fives/ nods of the head upon you. ❤️✨

Thank you to our author, @pearynice, and our nominator, @hotluncheddie! See more of @pearynice's work featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer's Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[pidgemotoiii]

Hot for Shuri

Professor Shuri x Black fem Reader

An: @ventingfanfics, Dude you really had me up on breaks with those professor shuri fics. You really did that honestly (Idk how to 'dedicate' or use this app properly but thank you for inspiring me to write again mwah, and all the other shuri writers thank you.

Word count: 3.1K

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“Please do not forget to do your reading on page 107! Reading is just as important as the homework people!” 

Her voice boomed off of every wall in the lecture hall. The students filed out of their seats, going to lunch, another class, hookup, anyone’s guess really. 

“They never really listen, do they?” her voice softened, clearly out of professor mode.

There is really no introduction needed but this is Shuri Udaku, your Artificial Intelligence, and Machine Learning professor for the spring semester. 

She’s beautiful, and her smile gets a thousand miles wide when she gets on a topic she’s passionate about. She’s attentive, never missing a question, and always advertising her one-on-one study sessions. She’s caring-

“Hi! Are you here to see me?” if she only knew that's why you took her class-her black turtleneck was form-fitting and her black slacks were clean and crisp, maybe even starched. Her loafers are polished, not a speck of dust or dirt. You might be a little scared if her eyes didn’t literally spell out ‘home’ for you or ‘take me home’. Her pea coat is a little oversized, but considering her small frame, it wasn’t something out of the left field. 

Ah, Shit. She looks so elated to have someone staying behind to see her. Good thing for you, you don't have to tell her that you just wanted to stare some more. Professor Udaku is practically buzzing, she’s running her free hand over the shaven side of her head and down her neck. Now it switched to tugging at the straps on her bag, her face pleading for you to ask her something.   

“Uhm- about chapter seven. I didn't even understand a sentence to even ask you a question.” You let out a sigh and put your head in your palms: ‘Maybe too truthful’ you said to yourself. 

She placed her hand and delicately kneaded the sliver of skin between your neck and shoulder. She tilted her head and smiled, ‘it's okay you’ll be fine’, the message was well received by you. Professor Udaku rested her bag on the seat in front of you and shuffled her way to sit next to you. A quiet ‘excuse me’ as she passed by. As she turned the chair towards you a terrible screech echoed across the classroom snapping you out of your reverie. She chuckled softly, soothing your metaphorical wound, desperately grasping to have your attention on her again. Having crushes are terrible for the heart.  You prayed you didn’t say what you thought out loud.

“We’ll get there when we get there.” She’s so wise. She pulled out a yellow notepad from her bag and began to write.

“This is my-”

“Oh no no I already have it, you put it on the board on Monday remember.” You abruptly tried to rebuttal by grabbing her hand and forcing her to stop writing. She closed her eyes, shook her head no, and gently removed your hand from atop hers. It was really nice while it lasted so you leaned in closer to see what else she was writing. 

She spoke softly and clearly, “This is my personal phone number, if you have any questions-”

“Any?” You butt in again.

“Yes any, please don’t hesitate to ask. I see you have a lot of questions, make sure to text them to me.Though for your sake and mine, my cutoff time is ten pm.” She rolled her eyes at you but you could tell they held no malice. Your face could not handle the intimacy of the conversation you guys were having. The level of smiling you were doing should be illegal. You were ecstatic- 

She tore off the note and for a brief moment you felt her hand touch yours again. This time you observed more carefully; short and carefully manicured nails perfect for working in a lab (and something else if she wants to). You two said your goodbyes and she left. As she walked out though, you could tell, she had more of a bounce in her step than before you two talked. 

Shit! no, you need to go! Lia made you promise that you would meet up at the cafe for twelve it’s eleven thirty- You swiftly packed your bags and sprint out of the lecture hall.

–-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cafe was warm, small tables lined the floors and brown walls with dark green detailing. Decaf filtered the air but there was a special area you two liked to sit in. Separating the cashier line and the rest of the cafe was a high table with barstools and a lengthy counter that could seat at least ten. You spotted her and she had her laptop out and a sandwich waiting for you.

“Lia! Lia!” Your voice is loud but careful not to disturb the other patrons.

“Babe! Over here!” She is not so considerate, always moving 

This is Lia, your best friend, and overall the best person you know on campus. Her braids are always in a ponytail for mostly being in the kitchen such as the life of a culinary student and pastry chef in training. Also, the best person to go to for advice and free brownies.

“Lia, guess what!” You nearly threw yourself over the barstool trying to regain the motor function that your professor stripped you of. 

“Oh no you have that look on your face again” Her face turned into a snarl, clearly disgusted at what you’re going to tell her. Lia looked you up and down, trying to sniff out what had made you so fidgety. A few things racked through her mind. 

“What look?” You questioned. You truly wanted to know what look you had on your face.

Lia sucked her teeth. She found the thing.

“Don’t suck your teeth at me-” You shot back.

“I can suck my teeth at you whenever I want!” she continued, at this point who could stop her. “You!”

“Me?!” Your eyes bulged. 

“Yes you! Don’t I think I don't know about your little hot for teacher situation” 

Your mouth was agape, too many eyes locked unto you two. There was silence, a ‘not a creature stirred, not even a mouse’ type of situation. The ‘best person on campus’ title is growing quite thin. 

“Why would you say that out loud like that?!”  

“A light shaming never hurt anyone.” 

This bitch- she was amused at your plight.

“I love you, you know this but babe, you have a crush on the teacher whose your hardest class. You won’t even take up her study seshes which are designed to help you. It’s only February and this class isn’t even part of your major, you just wanna look up in her face! You doin’ bad babe.” 

‘Oh my God am I really that bad’ you posed that ever-looming question to yourself. Lia might be right, but who would you be if you took her advice not you that's who. That 90-degree of that jawline is the best version of NyQuil you could ever get. 

“Now tell me what you have to tell me.” Her face is stone cold, and the botox finally sets in. Well now you didn't even want to tell her the good news, but who else are you telling, your therapist?

“She gave me her actual number. She told me to ask her any questions I have but not past ten.” You regained your smile as you recounted the events earlier today. Attempting to save some sort of face and scrounging around for some charm you had to mask the deep goofiness that was coming out of your mouth. 

Lia looked exhausted by the time you finished. She took a deep inhale and exhaled. She took out her phone and began furiously texting.“I’m gonna do you a big favor. I sent you Riri Williams’ number.” She dumped her phone down and it made a sound. 

“Who…?” Your voice is hushed.

“Don't play cute. Oh.. you’re serious?” You gave her a head tilt that meant ‘duh’.

“Cornrows, a year above us, just under 5’3, brown skinned.” She continued hoping to jog a memory that you clearly didn’t have. 

Your eyes flicked from left to right, “That could be anyone, thanks.” Your voice is an unwavering monotone.

“You’re welcome, she’s in robotics, heard she’s a prodigy and she's doing classes at a discounted rate.” She blessed you with a sickeningly sweet smile. 

“A discounted rate? What’s the discount? I don’t trust you.”

 Lia’s eyes seemed to dart everywhere but your face, how strange. 

“Two hundred fifty.” 

“Two hundred and fifty! Lia- what’s the rate then?” You asked her frantically, eyes dotted over her face anticipating a ‘just kidding’.

“Ten percent-” Your brows furrowed, and your eyes and mouth crinkled. 

“Shit.” You bonked your head on the table, your butterfly locs falling in your face. Her hands trying to brush the locs out of your face.

“That you are in.” You could hear her snickering trying to not break her caring friend act. 

“That’s not funny.” Your voice muffled from being in your hands.

“It is to me.” You looked up and her lips were puckered, failing to hide her smile. You felt as if your eyes would get stuck in the back of your head. 

“At least tell me where to find her.” She sighed, finally getting your head out of your ass.

“Try the Q dorms across from the library. I think she said the dorm number is one hundred eight.”

“Thanks.” 

“You're welcome again, ugh have to go to my next class. Professor said try to be early for a demonstration. I already ate lunch so Imma have to see ya. Make sure to tell her Lia sent you” 

“Alright later.” She gives you a dismissing wave and mouths ‘you better fix your shit’ with a point too, she meant business. You playfully cut your eye at her. Her walk was sad at best, demotivating at worst to watch, obviously not wanting to go early to class but begrudgingly went like a good little student. You grabbed your phone and typed out a quick message to Riri Williams. 

Riri Williams(Possible Tutor)

Hey, this is Lia’s friend, she said you did classes.

2:05 pm 

‘Might as well do some homework’, you thought. Two pages of an essay and two CIS assignments later you heard a ‘bzzt!’ 

Riri Williams(Possible Tutor)

Hey this is Lia’s friend, she said you did classes.

2:05 pm 

Hey yeah, come over to the tech building so we could talk more I hav to do sumthin for a teach

3:55 pm

Rm 24

3:56 pm

Room twenty-four in the tech building it is then. You just came from there and now you have to go back there again ugh you might just have to do the Lia walk. You pack up your things and go again- you reach there around four fifteen. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You knock on the open door not wanting to startle the girl. This isn’t a classroom, it's a printing room. The walls are grey and only one blinking light seems to work in the large space. You thought MIT had the money to fix these things and one window, sad.

“Hey you could come in, don't be scared.” her voice is raspy, and she’s hunched over one of the printers. She’s been here for at least two hours judging from the number of copies on the printer. What do you know she is just under 5’3, and you’re scared the printer might just eat her alive.

“Done! All three hundred!” She shoots up, stretches, and shakes her head. You just watch and wait till she catches her breath. 

“So why are you here?” Straight to the point, you like it. 

“My friend Lia said you did tutoring for mostly anything physics related.” 

Her eyes light up when you say Lia’s name and her smile turns crooked. You wondered why she didn’t look at you in the cafe. She pauses and fixes her face back to a neutral expression. She does a quick headcount by the hundreds to make sure she did whatever she was doing correctly and nods.

“Come, walk with me.” More walking you think, you subtly roll your eyes and pick up the pace. 

“Class?” She can barely look at you through the mountain of papers.

“Introduction to Artificial Intelligence and Machine Learning.” Her head swiftly tilted and she gave you a look of pity. “With who? Don’t say Wilkinson.” 

“No, Udaku.” There goes the pity.

Her eyes make brief contact with yours. “Girl why the hell are you here then-” You don’t like that- her eyes might as well burn through the paper. 

“I wouldn’t be here or willing to pay the price of two hundred and fifty. If I didn't need your help.” You stand your ground firm just as your mother taught you. Too busy with your proclamation declaration you didn’t realize the two of you had stopped. 

“Can you please just knock on the door?” said Riri urgently. You dealt three firm knocks on the dark oak door. You looked up at the name tag on the door, Oh my God. You can not be serious. 

That Bitch couldn't have told you that she was Professor Udaku’s TA?

“Shuri! Can you open up the door please, these papers are heavy!” You did a double take and ran behind Riri. ‘Shuri’ opened up the door and you remembered why you didn't want to take up classes in the first place. You heard that crystal clear no Professor Udaku, not Professor Shuri, not even a miss Udaku. Oh no, these two have some history. 

“Thank you Riri, you can put them where you usually do.” Usually?!

“Shuri, I brought one of my clients. Can we stay for a bit?” Riri goes to her usual drop-off desk, you just happened to notice the Stay-. You undoubtedly have no input in her decision-making. This is why you go inside her office, Professor Udaku is still at her desk, she didn’t notice you as of yet. These papers were a blessing in disguise. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just like her door, most of the furniture is dark oak. The walls are a pretty indigo hue, a black fluffy circle rug. A black couch with two end tables. Two bookshelves opposite the couch that could be a good five foot eight. In the middle of her office is her desk, large, from what you could see; there are multiple picture frames, a lamp, Her of course, and her desktop. Oh, the window that stretches from floor to ceiling is also a nice touch. Awe you nearly squeal a poster with a panther hanging from a branch that says ‘You can do it’.

During your awe Riri walks over to Professor Udaku they're saying something. She tugs the professor over to her stack of papers pulling her from what you assume was marking. Riri proudly presents her handiwork to the professor. “Riri I don’t have time for this” she mutters while double-checking the papers. She then ushers her over to you, and she smirks, the professor is still not interested. 

“Shuri, meet my first client from your class” What the hell-  you and ‘Shuri’ shared a glance. “I just thought you’d like to meet her”. Shuri is astounded, her mouth quivering, she's clawing at you to say something. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. She pivots back to the copies, squares her face, ever so calculating-

“Riri you forgot ‘Introductory Xhosa’.“ Riri is flabbergasted, her arms are flailing and her speech is stuttering.

“Uh no I did not, check again.” The ‘check again’ comes out hastily. 

“Riri- just go look back on the printer for me.” Professor Udaku unclenches her teeth and grunts out a ‘please’. Riri mirrors her grunt with a ‘fine’, she stomps out and slams the door. You attempt to scurry out the door before

“No, you stay.” She looks for a place for you two to talk. You walk slowly and shamefully back to the area, and she guides you to the couch smoothly with her hand on your back. This crop top and the short pants duo were not working any favors for you.

 “Sit.”, you sat down, and she sat down. The room was hushed but the feeling wasn't tranquil. Professor Udaku crossed her legs and leaned her head against the couch, capturing your eye once again. Her face was despondent, her cool hand long gone from your back. The only thing you could hear other than your breath was the clock ticking, mocking you. ‘When would Riri be back?’. After too many ticks you decided to break the silence. 

“Professor-”

“No, outside of class you call me Shuri.”

“Shuri” You tested the waters, it sounded foreign on your tongue.” I already had plans of going to Riri”

“Now you lie to me too.” What did she mean by too? She crossed her legs. Her face is still despondent.

“I didn't lie.” 

“You’re still lying!?” It’s best you be quiet and let her speak, so you do that. “Why couldn’t you have told me that it wasn’t enough. Why did you wait for me to give you my number?” Your hands tugged at the hem of your shorts, your gaze cast downward. Shuri uncrossed her legs and stilled your hands with her own. Her grip was steady and reassuring, “I want to help you, I do, you just have to let me. Can you let me do my job?” 

You let out a breath, “I will.” She let out a broken chuckle and ‘thank you’.

The door slammed open, just in time. 

“Riri stop trying to break my door!” Shuri really didn’t like that, her grip turned distressing. Oh that's right you two were still holding hands, you shook your hands free of hers, Riri didn't even notice. 

“Why? you not my Umama!” Shuri rolled her eyes., “I see you found the Xhosa copies”. “No! I didn't- I told you to check again!” Riri was not backing down from this, Shuri relented and bowed her head “I’m sorry Riri.” 

“That’s more like it. You-” She’s pointing at you like she just remembered your mere existence. “If you want we can meet for three and I won’t charge you next time but after that, two fifty. Deal?” Riri’s stance is concrete.

“Deal.” you echoed. 

“wai-Wait how about you two have lessons here.” Is she serious? “I could buy some chairs and smaller desks and have them shipped by your second session.” She is serious. Riri considered for a bit, Shuri rocked on her heels waiting for her response. 

“Look, see you get two geniuses for the price of one.” If she only knew. Shuri couldn’t contain her excitement murmuring to herself that she'll place the order right now. You couldn’t feel any worse than how you did now.

An: Thank you if you read the fic. Yeah any constructive criticism is welcome. If you have any requests I have a box up (hope it works) and yeah thats it. :3

[violettduchess]

Ikepri Walter X reader? Pretty please?

A/N: Ah anon....this was such a spark that set off a veritable forest fire of ideas. Thank you for the ask. I hope you enjoy the result!

I also want to thank everyone who voted in all my Walter polls. You guys decided Walter has black hair, gray eyes, is tall and slender and wears glasses 💜

I have not read translations of Gilbert's route so apologies if this diverges from canon.

Walter (the court physician of Obsidian) x Reader

"Der Anfang" is German for: the beginning

WC: ~2k

Everything feels strange here. The dark castle walls waver like shadows in the pale firelight of the sconces. The carpeting underfoot is thinner than in Rhodolite's elegant palace. You can feel the grooves between the stone flooring as you walk, chamberstick in hand. You realize now the meager light of your little flame won’t do much to combat the darkness that seems to linger in the corners of Obsidian but it feels better than being empty-handed.

All you are looking for is a place where you can step outside and breathe freely. Ever since your arrival here, ever since him, you’ve felt like your lungs are being held within an iron grasp, a fist that won’t let you get a breath deep enough to feel steady. And all that shallow breathing has you spinning as you tiptoe down a winding set of stairs, fingertips brushing the cold walls. At the bottom is a wooden door and relief floods you when you press down on the iron handle and it opens easily.

Freedom.

You’ve wandered outside from a smaller side tower that opens onto a narrow earthen path. If memory serves, this will take you to the herb garden. Thankfully, you no longer need your chamberstick. The full moon glows, gilding the world in soft, silver light. Kneeling, you set it down on a small bench at the beginning of the path and continue by moonlight. A glance over your shoulder shows you the castle, dark and imposing as it stretches its pointed towers towards the sky. Is he asleep? He’s said he doesn’t sleep much and the dark circle under his crimson eye attests to that. What would he do, if he knew you were wandering outside the castle alone? Your body contracts in a shudder. Nothing good.

He hasn’t harmed you…..and yet his smiles are sharp, so sharp it feels like they could slice you as easily as a bladed weapon. And his eye…..there is no light there. When you stare into the depth of all that red, it feels like you’re staring into an abyss.

Red like a warning.

Red like danger.

Red like blood.

You reach the iron gate of the herb garden and let yourself in. Maybe you’ll be able to find some chamomile or lavender. Something to help calm the mind, keep your nerves steady. It’s nightfall, yes, but that luminous moon is doing her best to guide you.

It’s when you take a turn down the dirt path that you notice another figure kneeling there. Hearing your approach, the man turns his head and his face is colored by surprise.

“What on earth are you doing out here, Fräulein?” 

Walter, the court physician, wipes the dirt from his hands as he regards you, head tilted to one side. He’s a tall man, taller than Gilbert, with soft black curls which are just the slightest bit too long, brushing the starched collar of his white shirt, and intelligent gray eyes the color of mist when it rolls across hills and fields on a brisk autumn morning. They’re framed by round glasses which he has a habit of adjusting, even if they haven’t slipped down the bridge of his aquiline nose.

“I–I wanted to catch a breath of fresh air.”

“At this hour?”

“I could ask you the same question, doctor.”

He glances past you towards the garden gate, as if looking for something. Or maybe someone. His brow creases slightly and those gray eyes are a fog that obscures his thoughts, storm clouds that block the blue sky. Several seconds pass before he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing as he turns back to his herb gathering.

“Well, then you can make yourself useful." He gestures towards the plant he is currently kneeling in front of. “I’m gathering Agranise.”

You sink down beside him, looking at the many stalks of leafy green plants dotted with small red-yellow blossoms. The scent hits you now that you are near, something sweet yet bitter, like an orange just going foul.

“If I remember correctly, Agranise is extremely acrid. And poisonous if taken in large doses.” You glance at him and he nods in confirmation. 

“Ja,” he murmurs as he reaches forward, carefully plucking the dark green leaves from their stems. “But in small doses, it is a considerable tool for pain management.” 

You watch him at first, noting how careful his long fingers are, how exact, as he breaks each leaf as far down the stem as possible before putting them into a glass jar you had not noticed at first. It's nestled safely against the small wicker basket he’s brought along. Carefully you mimic his action, reaching for the plant and plucking a leaf free. You work in silence for several minutes, the only sound is the occasional rustle of foliage when the night breeze sweeps through the garden as if checking on you both.

It’s you who breaks the quiet.

“How sick is he?”

Maybe you shouldn’t ask. He may not even answer but there is no denying who you are gathering these potent herbs for. Walter’s hand stills for a moment just as his fingers clasp a leaf stem and you can feel the internal debate he has with himself as he considers your question.

“The care is…..palliative,” he finally answers. “He must drink his tonics and it keeps the worst of it at bay.”

You pause, sitting back on your heels as Walter leans forward. His profile reminds you of ancient busts you’ve encountered in museums, the ones of emperors and distant kings who ruled the lands before they were what they are today. He carries a quiet nobility to him, even if he isn’t titled. In the museums, you would spend a long time studying those sculptures, those faces, wondering what kind of people they really were, off the pages of history and in the flesh. You find yourself wanting to study Walter the same way.

Your gaze, so steady and patient, unnerves him and he clears his throat, turning away from you and your bright, intelligent eyes.

“Can nothing be done?” Your words are hushed, like moonlight filtered through a haze of fog.

He grows still again, his head tilting downwards. Part of him longs to unburden his heart, to scream into the night yes, yes there is but he won’t do it, stubborn man, he will not undergo the surgery that would save his very life. But he also knows his role as a part of the Obsidian court. And he knows Gilbert, knows the ease in which he snaps his fingers and ends a life he deems dishonest. Unworthy. Traitorous.

The doctor rises, a single elegant motion, setting the jar inside the basket and motioning for you to follow him. You do, down the ribboned dirt path until he comes to a corner of the garden that takes your breath away. Hundreds of white flowers, almost pearlescent in the moonlight, stretch up towards the sky. A sigh of wonder escapes you as you walk over, kneeling down to get a better look at them. Their petals are white, veined with glimmering silver, and the round center a soft, glowing lavender. The scent is as haunting as the sight of them, something darkly floral with a hint of a honey-like sweetness.

You look up at Walter as he sinks down next to you.

“I’ve never seen these before. They’re stunning.”

He nods slowly and you notice how his gaze takes in the sight of them. His mouth is curved in a slight smile, his expression relaxed in appreciation.

“It’s called Night Ambrosia. They are incredibly rare. Although native to Obsidian, I believe this garden is the only place in the entire country where they still grow.”

Somehow his face is even more arresting than the flowers laid out before you. 

“What happened to them?”

He sighs. “They are beautiful but they require vigilant care. They have very exacting needs, from soil acidity to light exposure to their water source.” He turns his head to meet your gaze. “It is tiring work to keep them alive. And for flowers that only bloom at night…..it is too much effort for most.”

“But you do it.” Your voice is hushed, something about the night and the garden and Walter’s soft, almost sad expression doesn’t allow you to speak above a whisper. 

“Ja.” And he turns his head to glance at the castle, a dark outline against the quiet night.  “Someone must.”

Gilbert.

Emotion tightens your throat like silken cords. He’s not just talking about the flowers, but about the prince he is so desperately working to keep alive. The one so many fear and would love nothing more than to see crushed underfoot, a flower petal under someone’s unrelenting bootheel. An image of Chevalier’s heavy navy and gold boots appears suddenly in your mind, sending a shudder like ice water down your spine.

“Are they poisonous?”, you ask, wondering just how far the metaphor between flower and prince goes. 

In answer, Walter leans forward and gently plucks one with his bare hand. You notice a thin white scar that cuts across the top of it and wonder what happened. Maybe someday you’ll find the chance to ask.

And then he surprises you, turning and offering you the delicate blossom, the one that looks like moonlight’s kiss made real. For a moment, you are lost in the soft, almost unearthly silver of his eyes, suspended in a space where they are all you can see, a beauty so devastating it feels like it may break your heart.

You take the Night Ambrosia from him, your fingers brushing against his. His skin is warmer than you would have thought and for some reason that knowledge sends a pulse of something unexpected through you, a collision of awareness and sensation. He feels it too. He must. Because you look away at the same time, severing the thread of connection. He clears his throat, rising unsteadily to his feet as he wipes his trembling hands hurriedly on his black jacket. 

Der Wolf beisst das Schaf um Kleinigkeit. The Wolf will find any reason to bite the Sheep.

Tonight has been a risk he should not take again. Not just for him, but for you as well.

“The hour is late, Fräulein. I believe it is best for us both to return to the castle.”

Your heart is rocking like a boat on the water, upheaved by a violent wind, but you manage to mask your fluster with a quick smile.

“Of course.” You start down the path but turn when he isn’t following you. “Doctor? Are you coming?”

He has knelt back down, busying himself by pretending to look through the various glass jars in his basket. “Go on. I need a moment to confirm I have gathered everything necessary.”

“Ah....well...then....good night.” Why is it hard for you to leave?

He waves a hand, not looking up. “Gute Nacht.”

You turn again, heading back to the castle, unaware of how Walter looks up when he loses the sound of your steps, his eyes following your back as you grow more and more distant, a figure shrinking into the darkness of night.

When you finally disappear from sight, he exhales slowly, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes, willing the unsettling feeling of interest to disappear. And somewhere in the back of his rational mind, knowing it won’t.

As for you.....you fall asleep that night with the lunar blossom on your nightstand, its argent petals echoing the afterglow of emotion your meeting with Walter has left across your heart.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

[srovtl]

Offering A Prayer to the Wandering God Chapter 1

One afternoon.

Me, Figaro, and Arthur who had just finished his official duties, were walking through the bustling central market.

Arthur: Master Sage, Lord Figaro, thank you so much for coming to pick me up at the castle.

Arthur: I was planning to return to the magic manor this afternoon, but I'm glad I got to meet you two early!

Figaro: I'm so glad you're happy. We were just stopping by the wizard's house.

Figaro: Since we've come all the way to the capital, me and the Master Sage talked about coming to pick you up.

Akira: Yes! Arthur, thank you for your hard work. It's been a few days since we last met.

Akira: I invited you to the market to change your mood but... Will it be okay to walk around without disguising yourself?

Arthur: No problem. Lord Figaro cast a spell on me.

Arthur: The people walking down the street should be seeing me differently.

Akira: Great! Then you can stroll around with your head high. Are you hungry?

Arthur: A little... Come to think of it, I left without having lunch.

Figaro: We only had tea and snacks. Shall we have lunch first?

Figaro: We can eat as we walk, or we can decide after looking around.

Akira, Arthur: Yes!

Figaro, with his friendly smile, looked just like a doting relative with his younger cousins.

His tall stature and white coat fluttering in the wind made him stand out in the crowd.

As I followed behind him, Arthur and I looked around.

Saku-chan, who was in my arms like a stuffed animal, was twitching her nose slightly.

Street stall owners: These are high-quality violet sugar sweets! They melt in your mouth and have an exquisite taste!

Street stall owners: How about some fresh fruit candy wrapped in starch syrup? They're fresh and delicious!

Akira: Sugar sweets, sounds nice...

Arthur: Candy is good too... The fruits are big and look like they'll be filling.

Figaro: want to buy some? It feels more like a dessert than a meal though.

Akira: Oh, that's right. With so many, it's hard to choose...

Street stall owners: Hey misters! How about some crispy fried chicken?

Street stall owners: Ours is famous for its extra-large size. Look!

Arthur: True! It's so big that it covers your face.

Akira: It's quite impressive, isn't it? Ah, but the spices smell good...

Figaro: Even so, isn't it a bit too big? How many people can eat one of these...?

Street stall owner: Nah, Young people can eat it all easily. I'm sure you can do it too, mister!

Street stall owner: It's well pounded and spread out, so it's soft, juicy, and delicious.

Arthur: Gulp… This is the bold food that you don't usually get to eat...

Akira: It'll be so nice to bite into a freshly fried one...

Figaro: Youth's so nice. Well, let Doctor Figaro treat you this time.

Arthur: Yay!

Akira: Thank you!

Figaro: Owner, I want the spice one and.... oh there's also cheese powder flavor. Can I have one of each?

Street stall owners: Thank you!

Arthur: Is it okay, Lord Figaro?

Figaro: I think a whole one would be hard on my stomach. Just one would be enough...

???: Lord Figaro.

A voice crept up on us. And Saku-chan's tail puffed up softly.

I turned around to see a person with a hood pulled down over his eyes, one step behind us, looking down.

Sacrificium: …….!

Figaro: And you are...

Man wearing a hood: Ah... It's been a long time since I last saw you. Since the Walpurgis Night banquet.

Man wearing a hood: It's an honor to meet you. You're still as noble as ever...

As he bows respectfully, the warmth in Figaro's eyes fades away.

Akira: (Could it be...?)

Now, Figaro is a gentle and kind-hearted wizard who works as a doctor in a southern country.

However, he was originally from the northern country. He had a long and renowned life, and was a disciples of the twins alongside Oz.

If one doesn't know his circumstances, they wouldn't have behaved this way.

Figaro: ...Master Sage, Arthur. I'll be off for a bit.

Figaro: Here's some allowance. Use this and buy whatever you like.

Figaro smiles gently again and places some coins in Arthur's hand.

Arthur is also someone who knows his situation. He looks up at Figaro with intelligent eyes and nods obediently.

Arthur: I understand. If you call me, I'll be back right away, so please take your time to talk.

Arthur: Let's go, Master Sage.

Akira: Y-Yes. See you later, Figaro… I'll save the fried chicken for you!

Figaro: Yeah, thank you.

Figaro shakes his shoulders, waves his hand, and lightly taps the man wearing a hood on the shoulder.

Then he disappears into the crowd.

Figaro: Well, around here is okay...

Man wearing a hood: Lord Figaro… My apologies, was I being rude?

Figaro: Let's see. Well, It's rude of you to come out and talk to me in the middle of the city.

Man wearing a hood: I-I'm so sorry! Please forgive me...

Figaro: Oh, you don't have to kneel. I'm glad it was those kids who were with me.

Figaro: So, is there something you need? I've got people waiting, so keep it brief.

Man wearing a hood: Yes, yes... Do you remember Elijah?

Man wearing a hood: An eccentric, stubborn, troublesome guy… A wizard who devoutly worshipped the god of his hometown.

Figaro: Ahh, It's been a while since I heard that name.

Figaro: He's a devout man, so I remember him. He came to visit me on Walpurgis Night a few times in the past.

Figaro: I haven't seen him in about two hundred years... What happened to him?

Man wearing a hood: There are strange rumors going around near his mansion, deep in the eastern forest.

Man wearing a hood: Ever since the Great Calamity struck, eerie shadows and sounds have been lurking at night.

Figaro: The Great Calamity...

Man wearing a hood: Yes. I have heard that Lord Figaro has been chosen to be a sages wizard.

Man wearing a hood: Rumor has it that you are all working together to solve strange happenings in the world...? If so, I think you should keep that in your ears.

Figaro: Indeed, we are currently receiving requests from all over the world to investigate strange phenomenons caused by the moon.

Figaro: Is there a monster or something lurking around... If he isn't chasing it away, does that mean something might have happened to him?

Man wearing a hood: I'm not sure, but Elijah's actions have been getting out of hand for a while now.

Man wearing a hood: he's been going into not just human lands but other wizards' territories without permission, demanding money and valuables, and proposing strange deals...

Man wearing a hood: When asked why he keeps causing so much trouble, he says this.

Man wearing a hood: "Right now, I'm creating a god."

Man wearing a hood: "I need the materials and the technology to do that.”

Figaro: ………

Man wearing a hood: I don't know what Elijah is thinking.

Man wearing a hood: But I think he needs your guidance before he does something strange.

Man wearing a hood: The way you have always guided us at the Walpurgis Night...

Figaro: ...I see, I understand.

Figaro: I haven't seen him in a while, so if I get the chance, I'll visit him. You can go now.

Man wearing a hood: Yes...! I look forward to meeting you again.

Figaro: There are people like that sometimes, people who are so good at groveling.

Figaro: I wonder if we'll hear more reports like this from now on. If they were actually in trouble, they'd send word.

Figaro: It's not easy to live a long life.  it's so annoying I started to understand why Oz wanted to conquer the world.

Stall owner: That's amazing! Congratulations!

Townspeople: He's truly a sages wizard! He's got luck on his side!

Figaro: That's...

Akira: Great job, Bradley!

Arthur: You drew that card immediately,  it was cool!

Sacrificium: ……..

Nero: You did a great job, Bradley-kun.

Bradley: Damn it, You guys are just screwing with me.

Figaro: Hey, everyone. Bradley and Nero, What a coincidence.

Bradley and Nero: Ugh.

Akira: Ah, Figaro! Welcome back.

Arthur:  I saw them shopping by chance, so I watched the game.

Arthur: Apparently, it is a grocery store that gives out free gifts depending on whether you won or lost a card game. Nero said it was his favorite place.

Nero: Well, one of.

Nero: Bradley encouraged the store owner and won a series of games, so we got a lot of good vegetables.

Bradley: Tch... Nero, you tricked me.

Bradley: You said there's a place I'd like where you can get super fresh and tasty stuff at a reasonable price if you win the game.

Bradley: You'd think that was a butcher, wouldn't you? I wasted my time offering to be your baggage carrier.

Nero: You're the one who agreed right away. You said you were killing time and would come with me to do the shopping, so I went along with you.

Nero: Tonight's dinner is a full course meal with lots of vegetables. Make sure you eat well.

Bradley: I don't want it…

Figaro: You're not too bad too, Nero. Playing Bradley like a fiddle isn't something anybody can do.

Nero: No, it's not like that...

Bradley: Exactly. for a mere eastern cook you got some balls.

Bradley: Besides, even you could easily cheat away with a card like that.

Nero: idiot, what're you talking about.

Arthur: Haha. you two get along well.

Bradley, Nero: No we're not.

Figaro: They're in sync.

There's a certain tension, but strangely, the interaction between them is lively.

Akira: (Come to think of it, these four... They all lived in the north.)

Akira: (I don't see them together much, but somehow they seem to be on the same wavelength…)

Bradley: More importantly, Sage. You've got something tasty.

Bradley: It's so big, you can't eat it all by yourself. I will help you, You too, Prince.

Arthur: You mean this fried chicken? This is for Lord Figaro...

Bradley: Oh, the Sage's is spicy. *bite*.

Akira:  Ahh! I was saving the part with lots of spice..…

Figaro: Sure, if you're hungry I'll share. It's Bradley's favorite food after all.

Nero: Still, don't steal it.

Nero: By the way, what are you guys doing? Arthur is disguised with magic, so are you taking a sneaky stroll?

Arthur: Yeah. I haven't had lunch yet, so I wanted to fill my stomach and looked around the area.

Nero: Then the hot sandwiches over there are tasty too.

Nero: It's stuffed full and the bread is thin and crispy. My favorite is the one with scrambled eggs, mustard, and cheese.

Akira, Arthur: Sounds so delicious...

Figaro: You can't go wrong with a chef's recommendation. If you like, can you show us around?

Nero: Sure. I'll buy some eggs nearby too.

Arthur: Yay, thanks!

Arthur: But it'll be hard for just the two of you to go shopping. As a thank you for the hot sandwich, I'll help you out.

Akira: I'll carry the bags too!

Bradley: That'll be a big help. I'll let you carry this big bag of cabbage.

Akira: Wah So heavy...?!

Bradley: Haha! Don't fall down on us.

Figaro: careful, are you okay?

Nero: Hey, don't bully the sage.

Arthur: Master Sage, would you hand it over to me a little... It's really heavy!

Figaro: I wonder if it will be too bulky if I just lighten it with magic. I'll squeeze it tightly to make it smaller.

Figaro snaps his fingers, and the cabbages that were there once were small enough to roll around in the palm of his hand.

While relieved, my cheeks loosen a little at the light-hearted exchange taking place above my head.

Akira: (they're really on the same wavelength.)

Akira: (Even though They're all wizards in different countries now. It's strange how the environment you grow up in affects you.)

directory - next chapter

[sholiofic]

Whumptober Day 25: Surgery

Once more I jump ahead to a prompt that's calling to me.

No. 25: SURGERY Stitches | Being Monitored | “It’s for your own good.”

Algy, team, EvS; somewhere post-canon, 700 wds. Also posted on DW.

Algy disliked the circumstances as much as he disliked the fussing, but he didn't want to admit to either. He sat on the edge of the bed in a hospital gown, putting up with the others' friendly teasing and Ginger prodding playfully at his knee.

"So will it work better now? Will you be an Olympic sprinter?"

Algy aimed a dramatic kick at him, ignoring the twinge. Ginger pulled away just as dramatically.

"I can still outrun you, imp."

Biggles sat on the edge of the opposite bed, somehow still boyish even after all these years, wearing his pilot's jacket -- he had come directly from the airfield -- with his elbows on his knees and an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He smiled at Algy. "We'll keep your desk warm for you. And if you're back before you're cleared for duty, you'll be out on your ear, Flying-Lieutenant."

"Look who's talking," Algy shot back, and picked up a balled-up towel off the metal bedside table to throw at him.

He had no chance, because a ward sister came in, crisp and starched, to sweep them all out and inform Algy that the orderlies would be up to take him to the surgical suite soon. The others left: Ginger with a clasp to the shoulder, Bertie gripping his hand, and Biggles giving him a nod that conveyed more than words.

Algy was left to lean back on his pillows and contemplate the vague ache in his knee, the fact that he was going to wake up with a ligament reconstruction, and strangest of all, the idea that he'd lived long enough for parts of his body to start giving out naturally.

"Brooding?" said a voice from the doorway. Algy jumped violently.

Von Stalhein was lounging there, hair mostly grey now, wearing a long overcoat and evidently just as sneaky as ever. Algy glared at him.

"They're going to come to take me into surgery any minute now. Don't you get tired of sneaking in and out of places like some kind of stray cat? Why didn't you just walk in with Biggles earlier?"

Von Stalhein remained implacable as always. "I had the impression that earlier was for - family."

Algy shied away from the thought that von Stalhein seemed to be around the flat so much these days that he might as well be. Terrible thought, he hoped the anesthesia erased it. "And now is for ex-spies who creepily sneak into hospitals while other people are trying to rest, I suppose?"

Now the corners of the austere mouth twitched. "Knee surgery, I'm told?"

Biggles had been talking, evidently. Algy found he didn't mind in particular; it saved explanations. "Ligament repair. Routine these days, they tell me. Next they'll be replacing the thing entirely."

"I wouldn't be surprised," von Stalhein said. "All that chasing criminals is hard on the knees, I suppose."

Algy raised his head from the pillow, stirred from waiting resignation by sheer outrage. "You should know!"

"Ah, but you never caught me, did you?"

Algy sputtered for a moment. "I can call a sister and have you thrown out."

"I think they're on their way anyway," von Stalhein said, glancing into the hall. "I will be on my way as well."

"Wait -- you --" Algy was not quite sure where he was going with this, but the distraction had been -- not welcome, exactly, but ... distracting. "You don't need to sneak in next time, it's ridiculous. Act your age for once and use the front door."

A quick flash of a smile, then von Stalhein was gone, vanishing as if he had faded into the shadows, and a moment later two orderlies came in to wheel Algy down to surgery.

It occurred to Algy, as the anesthetic mask was placed over his face and he obeyed the order to breathe in deeply, that he had been far too busy being annoyed with von Stalhein to fret about the upcoming surgery. It was really a dastardly piece of emotional manipulation, the bastard; he felt they should all be more concerned about von Stalhein's clear tendency to ----~~~~~

(He woke some time later, drifting hazily back to consciousness in a post-surgical ward to find Ginger and Bertie playing a card game on the table beside the bed, and Biggles and von Stalhein sitting and chatting quietly on an adjacent bed. And he found that he didn't mind the company at all.)

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS ZERO Animate Tokuten Drama CD “A Vampire’s Late Night Snack Terror” [Ayato ver.]

Original title: 夜更かしヴァンパイアの食テロ飯 [アヤト編]

Source: Diabolik Lovers ZERO Vol. 1 Animate Tokuten CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Midorikawa Hikaru

Translator’s note: I’m pretty sure that all of us already knew beforehand that Ayato’s late-night snack would be takoyaki. I’m starting to think that he could probably go longer without drinking blood, than go without eating takoyaki. Which makes me wonder which person at Rejet came up with his favorite food because it is a little random. While takoyaki is definitely eaten in Japan, I feel like it’s mostly a festival food and not something people actually eat all that often or cook at home most of the time. Then again, all of the boys have really random favorite foods...The only one ‘fitting’ ones being Azusa (likes the pain of the heat) and Carla (fancy food for a fancy boy). 

Ayato stumbles into the kitchen.

“Ugh...Uu...Uhn...”

*Rustle rustle*

You rush over to Ayato’s side to support him.

“Ah...Chichinashi, is that you? So you were awake...? I’m afraid it might be over for me...I’ll go absolutely insane at this point!”

You ask him what is wrong.

“Two weeks...I haven’t eaten any takoyaki for a whole two weeks...!!”

You blink in confusion.

“You know...! I’m sure you remember how our takoyaki grill got wrecked two weeks ago as well, right!? I will never forgive Subaru for being responsible for it...But you know, that’s not all! Laito is partially to blame as well for provokin’ him, as well as Kanato for throwing a tantrum. Even Reiji can be held responsible for not stoppin’ him in time...! And Shuu too...Ah, well, he was asleep at the time but I’m just so pissed off, all of them are at fault! ...Right!?”

You frown.

“Say...You agree with me, don’t you? ...As a result, I can’t enjoy my late-night takoyaki! Of course the store selling them just happens to be on vacation right now...But what am I supposed to do!?”

You offer to make him some.

“Haah...!? You can make them? Even without a takoyaki grill?”

You nod.

*Rustle*

“Really!? Way to go, Chichinashi! In that case, let’s get straight to it!”

*TIMESKIP*

*Clatter clatter*

“You’ve got a bunch of things laid out but...Can you make takoyaki with this?”

*Thud*

You ask for his help.

“Che...Guess I have no other choice. I’ll lend you a hand for once. So...What do we have to do?”

*Thud*

“Flour? Let me see...Oh well, whatever. They’re all the same, right?”

Ayato pours in what he believes to be flour as you try to stop him.

“Ah? What’s wrong?”

You explain. 

“Potato starch? They’re both powders, so don’t sweat the details.”

He continues to pour in different ingredients.

“I poured in a whole bunch of everything! This should be enough, right?”

You tell him off.

“Oh shut up. ‘You’re using the wrong powder’ ‘The measurements are wrong’, stop telling me what to do!” 

You sigh and tell him that you won’t be able to make takoyaki like this.

“...Fine! I’ll follow your intructions...Come on, give me a different bowl. And the flour as well.”

Ayato tries again.

*Rustle rustle* 

“Five tablespoons of flour you said, right? One...two...”

He puts in five tablespoons.

“I guess this should do.”

You give him the next instructions.

“The eggs go in next? One egg then thin it out to the right consistency with some water...”

*Crack*

*Pshh*

“Like this? Anyway...How are things going over on your end?”

*Chop chop chop*

“Heeh...Judging from the ingredients, you’ve made pretty smooth progress. Chopped up green onions and pickled ginger and...Oi...Didn’t you go a little overboard with the amount of boiled octopus?”

You tell him that having a little extra won’t hurt.

“I mean, having some extra never hurts...That’s obvious but...You’re the one who said that the exact measurements are important, right? Don’t you think the tentacles will stick out of the takoyaki if you try to put too much inside?”

You try to defend your case.

“I don’t understand which measurements are important and which ones aren’t...You really like to push your opinion about the strangest things, huh? ...Oh well, whatever. What do I have to do with this?”

You explain.

“Oh, I see! I gotta dump everything except the octopus inside the bowl, right? Leave the mixing up to me! I’m good at this sorta thing!”

Ayato starts whisking the batter aggressively.

*Cling cling cling*

“Hm, hm, hm...!”

*Cling cling*

“Heh! How’s that?”

*Sparkle*

You seem impressed. 

“It’s been mixed to perfection, no? I don’t think you’ll find anyone else who’d do as good of a job as me!”

You tell him that he did great.

“That’s it? Praise me some more! I did an amazing job after all!”

*Clap clap clap*

“Right? As to be expected of me! I’m starting to really get into the groove now! What should I do next?”

*Cling cling*

“...Hah? Hey...That’s the rectangular frying pan we use to make tamagoyaki (1) Why did you get it out?”

You explain while turning on the stove.

“Haah!? You’re going to make them in there? Even though it’s rectangular? It isn’t real takoyaki unless it’s round! You deceived me, didn’t you!?”

You promise that it will turn out fine.

“It’s not ‘fine’ at all! ...Ah! I can’t believe you dumped all of the batter in there! You’re putting on way too much octopus as well! ...You’ll start folding it from underneath? ...No matter how you look at it, that’s just a stuffed omelette. I’m seriously going to have to eat this?”

*TIMESKIP*

*Dun dun*

“...The non-round takoyaki is done. Even though you put takoyaki sauce and mayonaise on top, it doesn’t look like the real deal at all.”

You cut it up into pieces.

“Wait, oi! If you cut it up like that, it’ll only look even more square! ...Honestly, you might as well call it okonomiyaki (2) at this point.”

You urge him to give it a try. 

“Haah...Fine, fine. I just have to give it a try, right? Geez...”

Ayato takes a chance.

*Nom nom*

“...!! ...It’s delicious! It actually tastes like proper takoyaki! Also...even though the exterior is cripy, the inside is soft and fluffy! There’s several thin layers of batter stacked on top because you rolled it up like an omelette. It really hits you with that punch of savoriness! Also, when you bite into it...”

*Chomp*

“The texture is out of this world because of all the octopus stuffed inside! ...Mmh! Coming from you, this is pretty impressive! Come on, I’ll let you have some as well. ...Say ‘ahn’ー”

You tell him it’s fine.

“What? Who cares if you already ate something before going to bed. Besides, don’t think I haven’t realized...You’ve been dying to try some this whole time, haven’t you? You won’t sound very convincing if you try to deny it when you’ve got that yearning look in your eyes. Just give in to your own desires. Come on... ‘Aahn’ー”

*Chomp*

“Hehe! So you did want some after all! You look hella ugly while stuffing your face like that.”

You freak out.

“I’m joking. Come on, hurry up and swallow it. I’m in a good mood tonight, so I wouldn’t mind sharing some more with you.”

You raise a brow.

“Yeah! I finally got to enjoy some takoyaki after a long time! So this is your reward! Besides...cooking together was kinda fun.”

You smile.

“Why do you seem so happy? Come on...Let’s hurry up and finish this before somebody finds us. What happened here tonight will stay between us.”

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes

(1) Tamagoyaki is a Japanese rolled omelette. It’s traditinoally made into a rectangular pan. 

(2) Okonomiyaki is a savory pancake made on the spot on a hot grill. You get the raw batter and several ingredients (meats/vegetables/etc.) to put inside and you can customize it to your own liking.