#and then put the rest of the jar with the other spices and things so it's not taking up so much counter space

[blujayonthewing]

heartbreaking: you found exactly the kind of thing you had a vague notion about wanting but it's a rare antique and costs One Thousand Dollars

[tteokdoroki]

*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— after sickness, after health + sae itoshi.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — your ex husband is a menace. married or not, you'll always belong to him.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, smut, angst, divorce, custody battles, you have kids, cheating (with sae lol), manipulation, possesion, slight yandere if you squint, dub-con, tummy bulges, hold the moan, spit!kink, drunk sex, unprotected sex, toxic relationships, previously established relationships, mentions of arguments, ex husband + pro player!sae, fem!reader - not beta read !

⭑ words — 1.5K.

⭑ notes — hello... i was not meant to write this but,, i fear i cannot escape the bllk brain rot lmao !! sorry if he's ooc or too mean but i hope u like it ily guys mwah <3 - m.list ✩

oooo ex husband!sae is so annoying, jarring, he’s horrible.

the divorce is somewhat amicable. both of you pretend it is. you were young and in love but now you’re growing out of affectionate shoes that are too small for you now. it hurts. but you pretend.

ex husband!sae takes what’s his and you take what’s yours. sae doesn’t want what you have and what he gave you — being the big bread winner he was, you keep the house and the cars, the expensive wedding gifts his parents sent from abroad. pity presents, he calls them. he doesn’t want you to be out on your own.

the only thing you and ex husband!sae fight over are the kids — it’s a long and drawn out battle. very messy with tears on your end begging him to call it even and take the deal your lawyer offers up so that the public stops tearing you down. he likes that you’ve called him against the wishes of your lawyers, you’re coming to him as his ex-wife — pleading with him in that way that makes his lips quirk up in a cruel smile because it’s been so long since ex husband!sae heard you beg for him like that.

maybe the custody battle was only to drag you through the mud, make you hurt a little bit so you remember ex husband!sae for the rest of your life. the time you spend with kids is split down the middle.

ex husband!sae hears it from one of your little girls on the way back from their ballet class that mommy is seeing someone new. your other daughter likes him a lot, says he gets them ice cream on the weekends where you have them. and sure enough, your ex doesn’t like that, a weird and sick sense of possession curling around his heart and lungs because you’re not supposed to have been able to move on from sae. you’re only supposed to be happy with him.

ex husband!sae who invites himself over to dinner with your girls on the night he knows that your new boy toy will be there. a sense of pride washes over him as he takes in your expression when you open the front door to him; your eyes wide, pretty lips parted in a delicate ‘o’ — you look as though you might cry, asking him if he’s here for the girls and blinking quick when he says he wants to join the four of you for dinner. he watches the curve of your ass as you lead him inside, wanting to rip that little apron right off of you and make you his again in front of your boyfriend.

the kitchen is cramped with both men politely arguing over how to make the girls’ favourite dinner while they watch bluey out in the living room — paying no mind to the tension building down the hall. your boyfriend seems uncomfortable with how comfortable ex husband!sae is in your space. he knows where the spices are, how you like to wash the dishes as you go along, the way you set the dinner table. your stress runs high as sae flits through your home, after all he did live here once too.

your boyfriend puts his hand on your shoulder. sae smiles when you shrug him off.

the polite yet snide comments continue when your girls are seated for their meals. ex husband!sae makes it known that your current partner has no place at the table, that he could never have you because you’re too loyal to the routine and life that you know. you turn to the fancy bottle of red wine sae bought with him as stress relief.

you’re slightly tipsy when ex husband!sae puts your children to bed — he stops on the creaky stairs because he can hear you drunkenly argue with your boyfriend about tonight’s events and he can’t help but feel as if he’s won. your boyfriend doesn’t think that sae should be around, that he’s bad for you, for the girls too for picking fights in front of them. and like the loyal little thing you are, you defend your ex-husband because he’s a good father and he takes care of you. he always has.

sae only steps in when he sees you getting upset, crumbling under the weight of the evening, the stress of being a single mother with someone who doesn’t understand it the way your ex does. no one else should have the power to make you cry like the midfielder does. that’s sae’s job. the steps of the stairs groan under the weight of his footsteps as sae trudges down them — intervening when you flinch away from your boyfriend who’s raised his voice at you in an attempt to get you to see that ex husband!sae is bad for you.

you screw your eyes shut and clench your fists, not intoxicated enough to fail to gently remind your current partner. “please don’t yell at me.”

you sound so hurt by the argument and that only serves to piss sae off.

“i can take care of her from here,” ex husband!sae brushes past your boyfriend to pull your swaying frame into his chest — sweeping in like your knight in shining armour and ushering the man out of his house with a sick smirk. “i think you should leave.” your boyfriend says he’ll text you later on, no doubt, with the intention to smooth things over while he still feels threatened by your pro-football player ex. but you don’t find the time to respond when later does eventually come around.

because later that night, you give into your urges and succumb to familiarity where ex husband!sae has your knees pressed into your shoulders and your hot cunt wrapped around his shaft — milking him so good like you always have. like you’re meant to be. the midfielder shudders above you, listening out for the squelching symphony your sex sings for him as he fucks you nice and slow. sae fills you up until you can feel his cock in your lungs, dragging his milky pre along your walls as if it’s his signature on your body.

the older itoshi brother would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you, your body, your kisses. the way you dreamily echo his name like it’s a prayer every time he angles his cock to hit your sweet spots. you find his hands within the messy sheets, the slickness of your heat making it easier for sae to grind himself into you. he feels lightheaded with ecstasy, his grunts turning to deep rooted moans as he swoops down to kiss you with tongue — a poor attempt to silence your squeals since your girls are sleeping just down the hall.

the bed that you used to share betrays you, crying from underneath the languid push and pull of your bodies working together for orgasm. ex husband!sae is torn between capturing your teary face in the now and reminiscing all the times he’d fucked you or made love to you against these very sheets. the thought of your new boyfriend doing the same makes him hotter, makes him move faster — slurring and spitting his praises into your eager mouth as his balls clap against the curve of your ass and the crude mix of precum and your juices tie sae itoshi to you.

licking into his mouth, you lift a hand to curl into sae’s roots and tug hard in the way that he likes. “sae,” you mewl, breathless and bambi eyed. “feel s’fuckin’ good. hah! d-don’t stop, m-missed you!”

“don’t tell me what to do, ‘couldn’t stop even if you begged for it.” sweat beads on ex husband!sae’s forehead and he closes his eyes, hips stuttering even though they piston into yours. he can’t tell if you actually miss him or if it’s the sex that’s making you feel this way — and quite frankly, he’s in the same boat. he hooks your thighs over his shoulders and presses the entirety of his body over yours, putting all of his energy in to deep, long strokes that make you choke on your words and gush sweet and clear streams around the base of his throbbing cock.

“you feel me here, love?” your ex husband!sae, asks, magenta hair flopping over his eyes — his hips flush against your puffy clit as your juices pearl along side it. he gives you a rough thrust, fucking you like it’s your wedding night all over again and he hasn’t made the last few months of your life a living hell. like he loves you. “c’mon baby, pay attention. can’t believe you’re so shameless, letting me have you like this again. do you feel me?” sae presses down on your tummy where his thick dick bulges, the sensation making the whites of your eyes visible as they roll back into your skull.

you nod, delirious with desire, pussy trapping your ex husband inside of you. “y-yes, sae! f-feel you!”

“good, because i belong here, sweetheart,” ex husband!sae coos, an evil spark haunting his aquamarine eyes. “i’m the only one who ever gets to fuck you here. because no matter what happens — you’ll always be mine and i’ll always be yours.”

[puzzled-pegasus]

wof headcanons but theyre oddly food and substance related for some reason

Although I understand why Tui didn't include very much info abt alchohol or drugs in a kids book there is an extreme lack of culinary related world building so here are some ideas I had while on this train of thought :)

SeaWings tend to be foodies and are generally given cooking classes in school. Which if you think about it, is rather important, because like 60 percent of the creatures in the ocean are poisonous and the rest have parasites and nasty germs so they need to know whats up when it comes to food safety.

SeaWings use a lot of citrus in their food and drinks and they also use it for fragrances and stuff they just really like it

SeaWing nobles commonly eat fugu and there have been assassinations where a chef was bribed to not properly take out the poison so the dragon eating it would die

SeaWings drink to taste. SkyWings drink to forget what century it is.

SkyWings typically eat their meat raw but on special occasions they will barbecue it and put some spices n stuff on it. They don't eat much else besides meat but they do like spicy things like peppers and they also like strong onion or garlic flavors. The little masochists. Anyway,

SkyWings don't really like sweet things and many of them can't even taste them so they're like wtf is a dessert

man do they love them some olives tho. Olives everywhere. In their drink. Out of the jar. On their meat. Oil on their scales. Oil in their hygiene products. They started trading them from the Sand and SeaWings millennia ago but theyve selectively bred ones that grow in the mountains

This one's more drugs than food but SkyWings will sometimes take some kind of stimulant before battle like a beserker so they're all fired up heheh

MudWings are excellent meal preparers and sibs like to all cook together so they'll make a big pot of stew or something

They like bread and desserts, they have easy access to sugar cane being along the east coast and they also use a lot of honey. They're re into canning stuff too, they have a lot of raspberries and blackberries and strawberries in their temperate forest areas and they grow them to make jam and wine and they use honey to make mead

basically they are Cottagecore(TM) and I love them

They also eat lots of freshwater fish and crawfish and whatnot

And they also eat a lot of tatoes

Vanilla grows in the swamps, they use that in their cakes

MudWings deserve some appreciation goddamnit their kingdom is biologically diverse and beautiful

SandWings have tequila because. Yknow. Cactus.

They eat a lot of bugs and lizards, they don't really need to eat every day so it's not a huge deal

they do like coconuts tho and they use coconut oil in a lot of their hygiene products as well as in their cooking

They deep fry a lot of shit. Idk where i got this but trust me. They love things with lots of fat in it bc they need all they can get

Really sticky sweet desserts and candy; enjoyers of those one lollipops with the mealworms or whatever tf in them

also canning stuff like bone broth is very important

pickled cactus as well

rhey probably have a festival when cactus fruit goes in season

what even is IceWing cuisine.

Well way up north where there's nothing but ice it's pretty bad and the dragons have to eat just plain ass meat and seafood, but down into the tundras there's some pretty good stuff like cinnamon, pines for tea, honey berries, and other foraging as well as more diversity of meats

They would probably eat sushi

All the other tribes like to make fun of them and rightfully so bc their food is so plain

they make good honey berry wine tho

Maube that's why theyre so damn grumpy

RainWings are expert foragers ofc but they don't really feel the need to prepare their food in any way

They are, however, in constant dire need of sodium because they get absolutely none from their fruit

So anything salty is wow

Maybe rhey have a place near the mud kingdom border where they can grow some asparagus for salt

they are also the only tribe besides Night that can eat chocolate but forgor 💀 how to make it so the NightWings and them have to re figure it out together

Salted dark chocolate bing bang boom instant delicacy

NightWings used to be able to cook really well, especially desserts and pastry, but they forgor while they were trying to not die on the volcano

[danieyells]

Hello! Thank you so much for posting the guys’ voicelines! If it’s not too much trouble, could I ask for Yuri’s and Ritsu’s? I’ve been especially curious about Yuri’s since reading his line at the beginning of the game if you choose him lol Again, thank you so much!!

(i posted ritsu's separately!)

no anon you may not study yuri. yuri studies you. how dare you. bad guinea pig! you get no experiment tonight!

the rest of you, however, may come appreciate the good doctor with me. You can come too studying anon i won't tell yuri

some of his lines really kinda subverted my expectations of his character? /affectionate) like i thought he would be quite different! not to say his profile is dishonest, but. . .idk lol i love him he's. . .he's special.

Hello: (the first time the game is opened after that character is set as home screen NPC. Only happens once per day, unless the character is switched out and back.)

"What are you dawdling for? Change out of those rags and report to my lab immediately!"

You've Got Mail: (whenever there's something in the inbox, usually Arena rewards)

"What madness is this? Why do you have unread messages!? Check them immediately! Research is a race against time!"

Default: (requires no affinity, has no time constraints)

"You should feel honored to be chosen as the test subject of Dr. Yuri Isami, genius and visionary!"

"Jiro! Jiro!! What on earth are you doing!?"

he calls for jiro the way a parent calls for their kid who's minding their business in another room--

"Lowbrow schools of thought with the gall to oppose my research will bear a mark of shame for generations to come. One day, the world will be forced to acknowledge me."

i realized this early on since i chose him in the pre-prologue so i always had access to him on the home screen but. since anomalies have to be kept secret from the world he kind of can't be acknowledged for what he does in the long run, can he? since he specifically works in anomalous medical sciences much of what he does and works with has to be kept only within the institute's understandings. . . .

"I always preserve the lives of my patients. I cannot make guarantees for any other parts of them, however."

sure you're a disembodied head in a jar but you are a living disembodied head in a jar! don't worry they'll get you a new body!!

"I ask their cooperation for the sake of the future of humanity, and this is what I get!? Jiro, how much do we have left in our research budget!?"

Affinity 1: (between 5am and 11am)

"What a bracing morning. Jiro, prepare my wake-up tonic."

is 'wake-up tonic' a fancy way of saying coffee or do you have some mixture of herbs and spices that wakes you up

Affinity 2: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Are you injured or ill? Oh dear, how unfortunate. I shall begin the experi— Ahem, the treatment, immediately."

the way he says this is so incredible but tumblr will not let me upload the video for some reason he is so hype to try putting strange things in you.

Affinity 3: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Jiro's not feeling well, you say? Very well. I shall test my latest formula on him."

Affinity 4: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Oh, it's you. And here I thought I had a patient. I am currently reviewing today's lessons, so please leave unless you're here for treatment."

he's very studious for a genius. not a lot of the ghouls actually go to class.

Affinity 5: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Wha... Wh-Where did you come from!? Th-Th-Th-This!? It is a medical journal! The Ace Doctor Wows Minds In Another World Thesis!"

MY GUY IS READING ISEKAI MANGA ABOUT DOCTORS AND PROJECTING do you think he reads like hentai about doctors and scientists too. probably not right he's too haughty to think about things like that before they happen

Affinity 6: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"The only blood I stain myself with is that atop the operating table. On missions, I have Jiro to fight in my stead."

it's okay to say you're just not much of a fighter lmao

Affinity 7: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Anomalous medical science is uncharted territory. Should I become its pioneer, all will bow before my intellect until the end of time... Ha ha... Ah ha ha ha ha!"

Affinity 8: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hmph. We have no time to spare on your drivel. Hurry up, Jiro!"

Affinity 9: (between 8pm and 5am)

"It's about time for Jiro's check-up... Hm? Wake up, Jiro! I've discovered an abnormality already!"

Affinity 10: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Hmm, this case is somewhat complex... No, there's no need for my expertise here. Jiro, prepare to operate immediately."

'this is too complicated for a human but not too complicated to be jiro's problem!' disregard that jiro may be smarter than him. . . .

Affinity 11: (between 5am and 11am)

"Prepare the new formula, Jiro. A specimen has arrived. What? You're not here for treatment?"

listen sometimes you just wanna pay someone a visit! it's not my fault you live in a goddamn hospital.

Affinity 12: (between 11am and 4pm)

"I will soon be finished with today's lessons— then I shall return to the lab to confirm the status of my latest test subject."

this is between 11 and 4pm, so you're basically just hearing him talk about his plans for after school lmao just normal student things!!!

Affinity 13: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Why yes, I attended every lesson today, as always. All studies are linked, after all. Though it takes a mind such as mine to recognize that."

I DON'T THINK IT'S THAT HARD TO SEE THE LINK BETWEEN MEDICINE AND EVERYTHING. . .UNLESS YOU JUST DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ILLNESSES OR MEDICINE. . . .

Affinity 14: (between 5am and 11am)

"What is that slovenly visage, worm? Tell me, do you have an excuse for looking more emaciated than me when I spent all night researching? I didn't think so!"

would you like my laundry list of reasons i look tired yuri because i can get it

Affinity 15: (between 5am and 11am)

"I must personally administer Jiro's shots three times a day. The treatment is rather unique, you see."

'you see i use my peni--'

Affinity 16: (between 11am and 4pm)

"You have business with Jiro? Not before bringing it to me, you don't. He is merely my assistant—as house captain, it is I who possesses the authority."

no talking to his son assistant without going through him first! sorry anon who asked for an appointment with jiro yuri has to approve it

Affinity 17: (between 10pm and midnight)

"I'm busy with my experiments. Go back to your dorm and ready yourself for your next appointment. Jiro, see her home."

i feel like he doesn't want you to see what he does to his other test subjects. . .not because they die or anything, they always live, it's just a little gruesome to see. He's not as rough with you. And he needs to make sure you keep coming back. And he needs to make sure you get home safe, so he's sending Jiro with you.

Affinity 18: (between 8pm and 5am)

"Even harmful anomalies can have use as medicinal ingredients... This is the sort of immeasurable value my work provides."

isn't that common knowledge in the medical world though. . .i mean obviously getting the right balance is crucial but that's not an entirely new concept, 'let's use the harmful thing for something good'--

Affinity 19: (between 10pm and midnight)

"Don't forget that body of yours is a vital specimen! Is it not common knowledge that lack of sleep is the root of all illness!?"

DON'T YOU AND JIRO REGULARLY PULL ALL NIGHTERS IF NOT FOR DAYS AT A TIME?????? maybe yuri is just immune to illness. . . .

Affinity 20: (between 5am and 11am)

"Good morning, M... M... M... My,  what an adequate morning it is, no!? Hmph... Don't confuse me like that..."

IF YOU DIDN'T CHOOSE YURI IN THE PRE-PROLOGUE IT'S IMPORTANT TO KNOW. . .when Yuri jumps he says "goodbye, mama."

In Japanese it's somewhat more apparent that he's about to call you 'mama' in the voiceline. Maybe it's just my interpretation based on lines 23 and 24, but I think something happened to his mother where he failed to save her with surgery and at higher affinity he begins to project that need to save terminal/cursed patients' lives on you in particular. And he starts to think of you the way he thinks of his mother, but also as his favorite test subject. That or it's a loop/timeline thing and you're actually his mother--do you guys think he'd be able to be convinced into mommy kink shit he clearly has mommy issues it might help

Affinity 21: (between 11am and 4pm)

"Mark my words, I'll have those pompous, preening parasites at Frostheim kneeling before me..."

man they do not like frostheim here in mortkranken. the fact that this is so high up is like. . .i wonder if there's some serious beef here.

Affinity 22: (between 4pm and 8pm)

"Jiro's gone!? ...So be it, then. I grant you the privilege of being my assistant for the day. Be grateful, worm."

jiro will come back when he needs his medication, it's fine! woohoo! do we get a nurse outfit!?

Affinity 23: (between 8pm and 5am)

"There is no life I can't save... There can't be... I am Yuri Isami...the genius visionary doctor..."

it sounds like he's downright scared to fail to save a life.

Affinity 24: (between 10pm and midnight)

"My next surgery must be a success... I... I cannot afford another failure..."

i am once again assuming his mother died on the operating table while he was trying to save or otherwise help her and he's extremely traumatized by it. on the other hand would he say 'goodbye mama' if she weren't still alive? maybe she's alive but she's in a coma or hospice or critical condition or something. and he's studying anomalous medicine to figure out how to save her.

Affinity 25(max): (no time constraints)

"You belong to me. I will never hand you over to another researcher... (gasp) N-N-N-No, you've misunderstood! I-I just...!"

i'm literally the doctor's favorite lab rat because i am so obedient and intelligent and-- he blushes in the second line--he meant it as a test subject/lab rat or assistant thing but he also accidentally said how he really felt at the same time. . . . But you're his, he will be the one to save you, when he stands atop the world as world renowned genius anomalous medical doctor yuri isami you will stand by him as his proudest subject who's helped him confirm many theories and save many others' lives and he will work so hard to keep you well you are his and he doesn't want anyone else to learn what he can learn from you--

Spring: (March-May) (between 5am and 11am)

"Struggling with pollen allergies? I have a new formula here developed in Mortkranken, shall I test it on you?"

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm! Hmm hmm hmm! Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm! Pa rum!"

so i don't know enough classical music to be able to tell what the songs he hums are, but if anyone wants to give it a shot i can try uploading the audios of him lol just lmk

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Which house's ghouls are out in the field at present? Oh my, I do hope they come back with some exciting injuries."

i wonder who his favorites to fix up are. . .on the one hand, he hates frostheim. so he might wanna be rougher with them or subject them to more unique experiments and make them admit his intelligence and skill. on the other hand obscuary must be the most interesting ones to work on since they're so unique?

(between 8pm and 5am)

"When did the cherry blossoms bloom...? The changing of the seasons seems rather superfluous when I am engaged in my research."

Summer: (June-August) (between 5am and 11am)

"Jiro, make a record of today's temperature. We need to take the changing climate into for illnesses particular to summer."

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Darkwick will provide me the materials I need for my research, provided they fall within our budget... But that is simply insufficient."

have you tried selling organs? taiga says it's very lucative. surely you have some lying around?

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Hmm...hmm...hmm...hmm... hmm hmm hmm hmm, Pa pa pa pa pa pa rum!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Why do you look so distressed? If the heat is proving too much for you, I can prescribe you something to lower your body temperature."

Autumn: (September-November) (between 5am and 11am)

"Why must a peerless genius such as myself be saddled with performing piddling health checks for the new students!? It's asinine!"

aren't you the only legitimate doctor in this place by your own admission!?

(between 11am and 4pm)

"A trip to admire the fall foliage? Why yes, I am interested. After all, I'm sure Jabberwock's mountains possess all sorts of undiscovered ingredients. Let's get going."

just make sure you ask towa before taking anything. . .he might not appreciate you messing with his plants. . . .

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Sports...? Hmph, such nonsense is entirely superfluous to my life. Why needlessly expend energy in such a manner?"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"Hmm hmm, hmm hmm, hmm hmm, hmm, hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmmm!"

Winter: (December-February) (between 5am and 11am)

"Freude! Schöner! Götter! Funke! Tochter aus Elyyyyyyysium!"

HE IS SINGING ODE TO JOY IN THE ORIGINAL GERMAN.

(between 11am and 4pm)

"Eureka! A new formula utilizing an anomalous plant that only grows in subzero temperatures has been discovered, by...! Jiro..."

c'mon yuri be proud of your vice captain!

(between 4pm and 8pm)

"Our research budget for the new year is nearly spent... Come, Jiro! We're going to negotiate with the faculty!"

(between 8pm and 5am)

"I despise the snow. It brings nothing but revolting memories... There, we're done with today's checkup. Any other questions?"

. . .what happened between Yuri and Jin. I NEED TO KNOW.

His birthday: (September 14th)

"You...remembered my birthday!? Ahem... If you wish to give me a present, make it either a talented assistant or a useful test subject."

people don't remember his birthday much i assume. . .or they tend to stay away from him so much he just doesn't get much attention or appreciation.

Your birthday:

"I am here to celebrate your birthday. Do you feel honored? I've prepared a new formula for you. Let's continue this in the lab, shall we?"

your birthday present is being part of more experiments! aren't you honored???

New Years: (January 1st)

"Happy New Year. I am on my way to make my first shrine visit. You didn't think me the type? I-It's just a tradition!"

Valentine's Day: (February 14th)

"Hmm, my blood sugar was just starting to drop. I suppose you do have it in you to be considerate every now and then... Pardon? Valentine's Day? ...(gasp)"

oh he has never gotten valentine's day chocolates before has he. or at least not recently.

White Day: (March 14th)

"I suppose I can concede you have proven yourself useful in the lab, worm. ...This is a token of my gratitude."

he didn't blush when he got the gift but he did blush giving you one so. . .i'm taking it this isn't obligation chocolate.

April Fool's Day: (April 1st)

"Hmph, did you honestly think you could fool me? I won't fall for your cheap tricks. I've already been fooled by Jiro seven times today!"

comically jiro's says he doesn't remember pulling any tricks on yuri at all. . .so yuri may be assuming anything he dislikes or is inconvenienced by is a trick lol

Halloween: (October 31st)

"Trick or treat! I have coordinated the ultimate matching costumes for Jiro and I... Yes, perfect."

the fact that he wanted to match costumes with jiro is so cute. . .like he really has this goofy side that doesn't come out much, but it seems like he enjoys celebrations and relaxed things, he's just too busy to engage in them. he likes isekai manga and holiday traditions and costumes. . .then again there's coordination and order involved in a matching halloween costume. so maybe he just likes the order and structure of it all.

Christmas: (December 25th)

"Merry Christmas. You can hand me my present at your earliest convenience. You did prepare one for me, didn't you!?"

he's surprised you remembered his birthday and valentine's day but he expects a christmas gift???

Idle: (about 20 seconds without interacting with the game) (below 13 affinity)

"I am a very busy man, so if you don't require examination, then we're done here."

(13 affinity and above)

"Hmph. You really think yourself important enough to make a genius like myself wait around!?"

Absent: (logging in for the first time in 2 or more days?)

"Where on earth have you been, worm!? Next time you plan on taking an extended leave of absence, I expect you to inform me in advance!"

THERE WE GO. after yesterday where tumblr decided to freak out on me and just fuckin delete it all i'm glad it's out of the way today lol. I REALLY LOVE YURI HE REALLY FEELS SO. . .PATHETIC. he's the self-reinforcing type who really feels the need to hype up his own greatness and reinforce his authority while, as you get closer to him, letting you see how vulnerable he is and how scared he is of failure. and at first you're a specimen and a lab rat but after getting close enough he shoos you away from his experiments and you can even be his assistant(in jiro's absence) instead. . .his profile makes him sound very in control and aggressive but he doesn't really seem that way in his voicelines i guess? and here and there he's goofy and caring. . .he's kind of a loser(affectionate)!

one of my favorite characters lolol i am so looking forward to the mortkranken chapter because that's going to be so dramatic i bet. . . .

[yuechicake]

a wound like yours doesn't know how to close.

summary: li always shows up at mhin's door unwanted and unexpectedly, bringing nothing but problems.

notes: 1k words, oc/canon, depictions of injuries and taking care of said injuries

It’s the smell that alerts Mhin to Li’s unexpected presence in their home as they push open their uncooperating door: rusty copper and old coins, sharp and nauseating on their tongue.

It’s the blood that lets them know their guess is correct, slick and shining like an oil spill in the moonlight, matted into the carpet and splashed across their scant wooden furniture. 

They take a step into the foyer, pinching their nose. “Li,” they say flatly. “I told you to stop coming here.”

She lopes out of the darkness, eyes floating like pale, yellowed lanterns in the darkness. Already, they can see the source of the blood: lacerations on her arms, torn flesh leaking scarlet, soaking into her ragged clothing. More wounds on her legs and possibly under her clothing, but Mhin can’t bring themself to look closer.

“Welcome home,” she says easily. A hot flare of annoyance lances through them at her tone. At her intrusion or her audacity, they can’t be sure.

“Sit down,” they snap. “You’re getting blood everywhere.”

She acquiesces, settling on a wooden seat with a soft sigh. Mhin is already striding towards the kitchen, snatching whatever medical supplies they can think of. Medicine: it’s everywhere in their house, bandages slumbering next to books, jars of herbal ointments resting below spices. Alcohol, perched in the cabinets, doubling as disinfectant and intoxicant depending on circumstance.

They fist the handle of a bottle of rice wine, pungent as an infection as they bring their haul to Li. “Drink this,” they instruct. “It’ll dull the pain.”

“I don’t need it.”

They purse their lips. From anyone else, they would take it as a sign of useless bravado. But from Li, they know it’s nothing more than bald, honest truth, her words as clean and white as bones. She has a remarkable pain tolerance. They know this, because they’ve stitched her flesh and set bones together while she was completely sober, hardly making any sound as they put her body back together.

But it’s not that she can’t feel pain. She’s still human, after all, and her pain threshold might be above average, but it’s still well within the range of a human’s. It’s just that she’s good at tolerating the things she feels, even when her body is falling to pieces.

It pisses them off.

“Drink it anyways,” they say curtly, bringing the bottle to her lips.

She parts her lips, and drinks their offering, the wine sloshing as she swallows.

“It’s not going to do much,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. And she’s reasonable, for once. For someone like her, it might not do much more than dull the barest hint of her pain.

“It’s proper procedure,” they say, reaching for a cup of warm water and old, clean rags.

It’s not as if Mhin wants to do this. 

It’s not as if they’re particularly attached to her in any way, not when she gets blood all over their floors and lounges carelessly in their home like she has every right to be there. But she comes, and they admonish, and she smiles, and still they bring out their city of bandages and disinfectants and ointments. 

Li is a law of nature, and so Mhin is helpless: it’s like how the tides are pulled by the moon, and the sun rises in the east each day, and the planet revolves ever so slowly on its axis. It’s simple cause and effect, unchangeable scientific relationships that govern their world. 

If Li is a wound, then they, by all means, have to be a remedy.

So they clean her injuries. They assess the damage. They wrap bandages and sew flesh and dab ointments to prevent infection. They heal, and it’s strange to put their hands towards a task other than ruining others. 

To remember that, a long time ago, this is all they believed their hands to be capable of. Li offers them plenty of opportunities to remember.

They’ve come to know her body so well. The familiar melody of her heartbeat, the rigid lines of her bones, the smooth shift of her muscles. Every wound, every scar, every inch of blood pumping through her skein of veins, every layer of nerve and sinew, every slick, shining organ. 

To know someone’s body like this means Mhin could break it apart as easily as sew it back together. 

They press two fingers against the crescent scar curving around her neck, touch alighting on her pulse point. Strong, steady, alive. She feels so infallible at this moment. 

“Any more wounds?” they say, as if they haven’t meticulously checked every inch of her themself. 

“Nope,” she chirps. 

“Good. If you’re done, then you can leave.” 

Her arms drape loosely around their waist. “I don’t want to, though.” 

“Stop bothering me.” 

Her head falls against their abdomen. Even through their shirt, they can feel the heat of her body, a miniature summer sun. 

They bring one hand up and ghost it over the end of her curls of hair. Not enough for her to feel it, but enough that they can feel the barest silk in their hands. 

“At least clean up your own mess,” they say. 

“Okay!”  

“Not right now,” they grumble as she begins to stand. “You’re going to rip open your wounds again, and ruin all my work. So just… sit there.” 

She nods, settles back into her seat like a dog turning over and over before it can rest. 

Mhin wants to tell her never to come here again. To run to Kuras instead. To stop throwing her brute strength at things without a care.

But she won’t listen to them, the damnable fool. And if she won’t, then they should be forgiven for continuing to do what they want, too. 

[kn-1013]

Exploratory Surgery #2

The Sally Face gang plus Travis all get high together.

Rating: T Word Count: ~1800 Pairing: None/Gen Warnings: Drug use and references to child abuse

A/N: this involves two of my very self-indulgent headcannons; that ashley has tourettes, and that sal has POTS. this doesn't change much about the characters but is some needed context.

========

“How’s it feel so far? Good?” Ashley turned her head to him and elbowed him gently, her eyes half-lidded and red. Her ear was pressed to the couch and there was a deeply inebriated grin on her face.

“I can confidently say I have never experienced this feeling before in my life.” Travis felt like he was going to start phasing through the overly soft couch he was planted on. He stared at the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach, listening to the quiet Spice Girls song playing in the background. Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t typically listen to a lot of contemporary music, or maybe it’s the weed, but right now, Saturday Night Divas was the most beautiful song he’s ever heard.

In this moment, he could feel everything; the fabric of every piece of clothing on his body, the thick and stale air of the Addison Apartments, the softness of the couch and how his weight shifted the stuffing inside, the way Ashley’s body next to him shifted the couch even further, the sensation of his bruised and scraped skin, the weight of his own body, he could even feel the Earth’s axis. But unlike other times this happened, it wasn’t overwhelming. It felt fine. Unifying, even. He could feel the way that everything was connected.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Ashley asked, probing him for symptoms of greening out.

“I have no idea.” Travis looked back to the ceiling. Whether it was good or bad just seemed so insignificant to him right now. Right now, it just was.

Based on the way the others always acted when they were high, he was expecting more of a euphoric feeling when he tried it for the first time, but it didn’t feel quite like that to him. It felt like a relaxed, yet weighted clarity had dawned onto him. He was putting into words concepts he was acutely aware of but never consciously recognized. It was heavy, evocative, thought-provoking, stimulating.

“I think that’s a good sign.” Sal said from his spot on the floor. He’d been laying down on his back on the floor for a while now, since he took a couple of huge hits from the bong and his blood pressure dropped so badly that he nearly passed out just sitting up on the couch. Larry was digging through his kitchen for chicken broth and pickle juice right now.

“Should you even be doing this with your heart thing?” Travis asked, noting the way his heart was pounding in his chest a little bit, but Sal blew raspberries from behind his mask. “It’s fiiiiine, probably. I haven’t had a heart attack yet. I just need a little bit of salt or something, then I’ll be at least half as normal as I usually am.” He snorted.

Travis didn’t really know what that meant, but if Sal knew what he was doing, then he probably shouldn’t argue too much. Travis was acutely aware of how that was a mildly unusual thought process for him to be having, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much. Right now, he just wanted to sit in the moment.

Larry walked back in with a mug of something hot with a straw in it in one hand, and a jar of pickles plus a plastic fork in the other. He kneeled down next to Sal to set them on the ground. Sal raised himself to his elbows to start getting up, but his arms and shoulders were visibly shaking from the effort, and he quickly plopped himself back down on the ground, snorting, and Ash quickly joined in.

“You have to feed me...” Sal said. “You have to feed me pickles like a baby bird.” Larry chortled highly. “Dude, I would do that for you… If you actually needed it.” He opened the jar of pickles and stabbed the fork inside uncoordinatedly a couple of times before pulling one out for Sal.

“Ew?” Ash said.

“But I do need it, Larry, I need it so badly. Feed my- my pickles, Laaaaaaaaaaryyyyyyyyyy-” His voice got progressively louder until Larry grabbed the plastic nose of his prosthetic and shook Sal’s face until he started laughing.

“Shut up, I feed you pickles. I do it every day.” Larry deadpanned, and Sal laughed. Without missing a beat, the blue-haired boy replied, “My beautiful pickle nurse saves me from the brink of death once more.”

Sal unbuckled the bottom straps of his prosthetic face so Larry could attempt to shove a pickle underneath it in what was probably not the most effective way to get this done.

Travis had a feeling that none of what they were saying was true, but he wouldn’t know. Maybe friends did pickle-nurse each other.

“This is proper procedure, right Neil?” Ashley asked, looking over to Neil on her other side. Todd was on the floor in between his knees, letting his boyfriend play with his hair.

“I taught Larry everything he knows about pickle-nursing.” Neil said, not even looking up from the little braids he’d been constructing and deconstructing repeatedly in Todd’s curly, red hair.

Todd seemed to stir for the first time in maybe thirty minutes. He wasn’t asleep, he’d just honked a little too much of that bobo and got himself a bit more blasted than he normally would’ve liked. His voice was quiet and words slurred together in a far-gone kind of fatigue as he asked, “What the fuck are we talking about?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, baby.” Neil said, petting his head softly. “Okay, I believe you.” Todd said, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll believe anything you tell me.”

“Travis, which is gayer: pickle nursing or hair salon?” Ash asked, gesturing from Sal and Larry to Todd and Neil.

Travis continued staring straight ahead, having absorbed himself in the conversation around him. He felt perfectly content right now, listening to this.

“Hellooooo, Travis?” Ash begun waving a hand in front of his face, and Travis started to snap himself back into reality.

“Huh? Whuh?” Travis sputtered and blinked dumbly, before he processed what had just happened. “Oh my gosh.” He covered his face in embarrassment and began laughing drunkenly, all high-pitched and lacking inhibition. He fell over onto the soft armrest of the couch as his knees lifted themselves up until his feet were off the ground.

“What, whaaat?” Ash asked, grabbing his shoulder and shaking.

Travis peered at Ashley through his fingers, and she could see parts of the stupid, inebriated grin on his face, and his squinted, reddened eyes.

“I thought I was listening to the radio. For like, the past ten minutes.” Travis’s voice was strained from trying not to laugh again, and he failed this fight after he stopped trying to communicate.

Ashley burst out laughing at his stoned-up mistake, and Larry began laughing hard enough that he needed to lean over, his forehead resting his weight over onto Sal’s trunk. Sal himself had spat warm chicken broth all over the inside of his mask, and he quickly turned over on his side, laughing and sputtering wetly on the ground, with Larry on top of him.

In the middle of the childish laughter, a deep and stinging melancholy had struck Travis.

It used to be a lot like this. Him, Larry, Ashley. All wound up in laughter at Travis’s old-fashioned home, or Ashley’s contemporary one. In Larry’s musty, turpentine-smelling basement bedroom. He remembered the smell of that wooden tree house Mr. Johnson had built before he disappeared. He wondered if the some of the glitter he’d spilled in the carpet of Ashley’s bedroom that one time was still there in its minuscule, yet untouchable glory.

Does Larry still have that scar on his elbow from that time he fell down the front steps of Travis’s house?

Travis’s ankle never stopped clicking when he turned it a certain way after he fell on it wrong from falling out of the tire swing in Ashley’s back yard.

Sometimes he still heard Ashley involuntarily repeating something rather mundane he’d said so many years ago with the same tone and inflection as when he’d first said it. It was like a snapshot of that moment existed within her permanently whenever her tics made her say ‘I got peanuts!’

It used to be a lot like this. Easy, fun contentment away from their parents. Away from expectations or prying eyes.

But then they got older. Life started getting complicated. They couldn’t dismiss their parents’ expectations anymore. Grades started becoming important. They had to think about their futures.

They just changed.

…No, that’s not what happened.

Travis changed.

And he didn’t just change out of nowhere, he was made to change, molded into what he was now through closed fists and backhands. Through hair brushes and belts, buckle-side first. Empty locked closets and physical restraint.

All at the hands of his father, spitting verses of the holy book like venom.

His father took him like clay and Travis let him, until he became so deformed by that tireless anger that he couldn’t look his reflection in the eye anymore. Because when he looked into those angry brown irises, he found himself consumed wholly by his father’s.

…And now they were here, where Travis was pausing in the middle of a laugh with people who used to have reasons to care about him, letting that old, empty ache spread further within his heart.

As they continued to laugh, and as the laughter died down back into conversation, he found himself falling quiet again. The way they spoke so naturally without him intervening only served to remind him that he didn’t belong here anymore. Maybe he never did.

Travis’s eyes made their way back to the point where the ceiling met the top of the wall as he leaned back into the couch, letting the soft, old cushions absorb his weight and sink his body in.

Nothing he could say in this conversation would be as funny or as useful as something one of their actual friends had to say, and he knew that. He knew that he was incredibly out of place here, what with all of the inside jokes and referenced memories he was missing. The way that they seemed to stop trying to include him as he got quieter and quieter again.

He internally begged someone outside his head to bring him back, to want him, to even notice him, but he wouldn't ask out loud, and so it never happened.

So he sat back on the couch, feeling the weight of everything on his skin, everything in his body, the unifying feeling of his own gravity, and he tried to be content with what he could get as he quietly listened to the radio.

[miscfandomwrites]

A/N: Based off a prompt of two people who don't work well together being forced to make breakfast together, expect one of them fucks something up. Also, I made some characters have food allergies. Because I can and it helps make them more relatable in my opinion. Anywho, I can make more of this if y'all like.

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader (tried to keep it non-discript as possible)

Warnings: langauge

Words: 700ish

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

~

“You’ve never learned how to cook?” 

“Well, I have, I just don’t mess with hot things or knives or anything that might damage my hands.” 

“Well, that’s a bit vain, but considering your job is messing with someone's very delicate brain, I think you can get a pass. This time.” 

“Oh, this time, huh? Thanks, I guess.” 

I grinned at him. “C’mon, it’s our turn to make breakfast today, we’re gonna go all out so I can show you how to cook.” 

I grabbed a pair of aprons from the side of the fridge, tossing one to him. “I’ll do prep and you can make everything, should be simple.”

I asked FRIDAY to open up a digital whiteboard, and jotted down the ideas I had for breakfast: 

Banana Bread (2 loaves)

Pancakes with and without blueberries

Quiche (3)

Breakfast potatoes (two sheets)

Scrambled eggs

Bacon

Breakfast sausage

Sourdough bread

“That doesn’t look ‘Simple to me’ “ Strange remarked, eyes widening at the list as he finished tying his apron. 

“This is nothing, I used to work in a summer camp kitchen. Besides, we’re feeding several super soldiers, a couple gods, and several others.” I told him as FRIDAY helped make the lists of everything I’d need, and thankfully I had woken up early to feed and start the sourdough bread so it’d be ready to put into the oven in about half an hour. 

Putting on some 2010 hits from when I was a bit younger, I started pulling out ingredients while Stephen got the bowls, pots, and pans ready for it. 

I quickly diced and chopped a variety of vegetables and prepped some quiche in some pre-crusted pans that I pulled from the freezer, popping them into the first oven while I monitored Stephen making the banana bread. 

“Is this literally it? No seasonings or add-ins?” He questioned as he poured the first bread mix into the greased pan. 

“I mean, you can add like cinnamon and nutmeg and stuff but Clint has a nut allergy so I don’t, and last week we found out Loki is allergic to cinnamon, so.” I told him as I parboiled some potatoes. 

He paused at that and turned to me, confused. “A god from another planet has an allergy?” 

“Yeah, not surprising if you think about it for a bit. Took me a little bit to think about it as well.” I replied, taking a sip of my coffee as I used a fork to poke a potato. 

He narrowed his eyes and stared off into space for a bit, something I usually did when I was trying to figure out something in my head. 

“I mean, he is from another planet after all, and I don’t suppose they have the same spices as we do, so that leaves a whole world of possibilities open for them.” He said slowly after a moment. 

I nodded, taking the potatoes off the heat and straining them into the colander in the sink. 

“Peter is allergic to food dyes. Which is why he’s in the kitchen so often making his own candy with his friends.” 

“So that explains the large jar of sugar on the counter then.” he motioned to it as he put the bowl and measuring spoons into the sink. 

“Oh that? I think it’s citric acid, but I’d ask him at breakfast before you go putting it into anything.” 

He stopped for a moment and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, making me pause. 

“You put that into the banana bread, didn’t you?” 

“It looked like sugar! What else was I supposed to use?” He yelled at me. 

“I don’t know! Maybe the jar on the left of the sink with the label Plain Sugar on it!” I yelled back, heading over to the fruit bowl and yanking the rest of the bananas from it. 

“It’s fine, we’ll just keep them in the kitchen and hopefully no one will notice.” 

~ One hour later ~

Everyone had started coming from their various morning routines and piled into the kitchen, grabbing bowls of food and taking it into the dining room as I got the hot pitchers ready with both regular and decaf coffee, and pulling out the pitches of various juices and iced coffee, carrying them into the room as well. 

As we finally all sat down, I explained how Stephen helped make breakfast and pointed towards the banana bread, and soon enough everyone had a slice. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” came from Bucky, spitting out the slice on his plate. “WHY IS IT SOUR?” 

Welp, looks like people noticed.

[sharkbeneaththelotus]

Today's postypost is "I have not made anything in three days of light just implode"

No time like the right now, ah?

Zhang Qiling was fine.

He was in a big box food store, and he was, objectively, factually, uninjured.

However.

The shelf, aisle, department and street names were all correct, and there was a distinct lack of salted dried peaches and he was, by this point in what was feeling like an exceedingly long day, deeply wounded by this.

To the sides, hawthorn cakes and dried jujubes, above; little yellow and blue pill shaped things on packets of individual grilled squid, below; a superfluity of dried mango in a box that he could fit in. If he ducked his head.

But no dried peaches, let alone salt and spiced ones. The paper crumpling between his fingers had promised they would be here, with a little xx <3 at the bottom.

In the next aisle over, a child dutifully tried to pick up a bag of rice larger than it was, to audible amusement and much encouragement. Zhang Qiling could see the parental unit's hand on the handle, taking most of the weight until the rice was placed on the cart with great fanfare. The child received: one pat on the head.

Zhang Qiling reached up to tug his hood closer to his forehead. The lights were loud. Grating.

"Um, excuse me, thank you..." A cart of boxes said, to his left. The boxes were wheeling slowly down the aisle, accompanied by a human head. Possibly also the rest of the human. Zhang Qiling slipped between the boxes and the shelves, head ducked, so he didn't have to see.

"Um! Is there!" The human was not only a head. Oh good. "Is there something I can help you with?" It squeaked, in tones that were approaching 'sounds only a dog can hear'.

In a moment of ridiculous, fragile bravery, he held out The Paper, his thumb carefully over the xx<3, which was his and not for outsiders.

"Oh gosh, right, glad I was already restocking! Here, do you want two jars or two crates? It's cheaper per unit to get the whole crates--"

The tower of human-piloted boxes stopped, put it's breaks on with a deft gesture of a tiny foot, and began to dismantle itself. The tiny human appeared from behind the stack, beaming.

"Two. Crates?" He requested, a hand on a precariously balanced box.

The tiny human bobbed it's head and passed over a crate, labeled "24x400g". A second was unearthed from beneath a box of seaweed sheets.

"I'll take this to the counter for you--"

"No need." He lifted the first box to his shoulder, and boosted the other up on top of that.

"Oh! Okay! Great, good luck with your-- enjoy your purchase!"

He bobbed his head, sidled past the cart of boxes, and escaped.

[levil0vesyou]

Oh hey, I realised I can just ask for advice!

(Note: This is (mostly) not ebegging (nothing wrong with ebegging, just wanna be clear) even if it may sound that way in the first section. Please keep reading. It's pretty long tho, sorry. I'll put it under a cut as I am planning to pin it but please, please read it, especially if we're mutuals. Reblogs are welcome, especially within the german blogosphere, but don't feel obligated.)

So as some of you know, my flatmate has locked me out of the kitchen because I didn't have money for groceries and thus kept eating his food. This includes the electric kettle, microwave and most cutlery but I did accidentally keep a spoon that I still have now. (I have a small bottle of dish soap so yes, I can reuse it as I do still have bathroom access.)

I have since received my first unemployment payment which, due to my previous (necessary) overconsumption is mostly gone again now. I have 20€ and change (cash so paypal and my other debtors can't seize it) left for the rest of the month (new unemployment payment should arrive on the 1st) but I'm struggling to make it stretch.

I've been trying to search up advice on this but couldn't find anything useful. If you have links or anything, that'd be awesome. Here's the key points:

I live in Germany so subject to the German costs of living. Because I also can't afford public transport fare, my store choice is pretty much limited to a small-ish Rewe nearby. There's also a Mäc Geiz and a pharmacy but ofc those aren't grocery stores.

I do not have food allergies but I am a vegetarian and unless I'm literally dying, this situation will not change that.

As mentioned I have no access to a kettle, a microwave, a stove, a fridge or any of that. I do have access to my popcorn machine (many years of trusty service, real mvp) but that's it. I have access to a spoon and a sharp knife. Not a chef's knife tho. I do not have access to spices.

My mental health is still very bad, I cannot leave the house some days and I don't think I'd be able to do anything elaborate. Thus, whatever I eat has to be easily (or not at all) prepared but not easily perishable.

At this point, my standards are very low. My current main thing is eating unheated canned food but I'm prepared to eat basically anything I can stomach (excluding meat, as mentioned) in any way that is possible for me. I'm eating unseasoned chickpeas out of a jar right now. They're actually pretty good. I also (under normal circumstances) sometimes eat dry pasta for funsies so that might give you an idea.

I eat a lot. Less at the moment but still above average. I need plenty of carbs or I will still be hungry after. Essentially, pretend I'm feeding two people here.

I keep craving salt. I'm usually decent at telling what foods my body needs by cravings so I've been eating many crisps since I no longer have a spice cabinet. But they're 'spensive. I've also been craving eggs but I have no way to indulge since afaik boiled eggs are only sold around Easter. Also fruit juice but I can eat some vitamin gummies I still have instead, that'll probably be fine.

As stated, the budget is 20€ for 1½ weeks. I do have a bit of food already, some Zwieback, a pack of Leibniz cookies, a small jar of applesauce, a (hopefully not too spicy) can of chili sin carne, stuff like that. Also some hardtack I made months ago and just now remembered, but not a lot of it and I have no way to soak it, tho I might be able to clean an empty can.

While I'm not hoping to inflict permanent damage on my body, I am willing to take a few more risks than I usually would. That said, I can barely handle one or two short grocery trips a week so foraging isn't a good option at the moment. Also, laundry situation is difficult rn so avoiding diarrhea would be awesome 👍

While I am unemployed and legally homeless (I just haven't left yet) I have no documentation for this at the moment. I mention this because some food banks and similar require such documentation. Also, again, I have a very low travel range rn (like... 200m. 500 on a good day) but if you know like some kind of... delivery food bank?? that exists in Bavaria (dm me for the city) that would be incredible.

No, I can't get a job. I literally just tried that (again) and have reached a personal new low as a result. There were some in-between steps (like that fucking clinic) but yea, that's not an option. No, not even home office. No, not even freelance.

This one might seem entitled but. I cannot keep eating the same thing. I do have my samefoods (tho I cannot cook pasta rn for obvious reasons) but especially lately, eating the same thing for more than two or three days in a row has been low key driving me insane. Might be because I've been mostly cut off from society for months, might be because my body is sick of it, who knows. But I need variety. Same thing twice a week is fine, but more than that is pushing it. I'm very sorry.

As stated, this is not an ebegging post and I want nobody to feel any kind of obligation but if we're mutuals and you have a German bank account (or Schengen and are willing to pay the fee) and you desperately want to, you may dm me about it. But you do not have to!!! And I literally only say this because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of this. No, paypal is not an option, I'm triple digits in the red there. Water droplet on a hot stone etc.

What I am looking for is advice, especially from people who have dealt with severe financial issues and/or homelessness/kitchenlessness before. I've been kitchenless before but I had a fridge, microwave and somewhat reasonable money then so it didn't really prepare me. You can either comment or reblog directly or you can dm me or send me an ask. Anon is enabled.

Either way, thank you so much for taking the time to read all this! I love you, may you have a good day <3

[charcuteriecrab]

what are you willing to sacrifice for peace? (Part 5)

a Resident Evil fanfiction

For @aussiepineapple1st

Rating: M (18+)

Contains: blood, strong language, description of injuries, gore (?), sex

Tags: pre-relationship chreon, post-vendetta, major character injury

Word Count: 3304

Part 5/7 Part 1 <- Previous | Next ->

NOTE: this chapter is NSFW and is only for those 18+

[An excerpt because of the 18+ content]

Chris watched as Leon went into the bathroom, clothes and products in hand. He was grateful that Claire had bought some things for them earlier—his apartment usually didn’t have food or basic hygiene products. Luckily, she had the chance to go to the grocery store before Leon was released and make sure they could survive for the next couple of weeks without going out. 

The bathroom door clicked shut, and Chris blinked, turning to the kitchen. Leon would be fine. If he needed anything, he would call. Chris was still concerned about his injuries, his stomach twinging uncomfortably as Leon left his line of sight, but all the man could do now was rest. Hopefully he would be okay enough by the time the DSO called on him. Fortunately, after pulling some strings at the BSAA, Chris was able to convince them to let him have this impromptu vacation so he could take care of Leon. He was fairly certain Rebecca had been the one to convince them.

Peeking into the pantry, he spotted a box of spaghetti noodles and some meat sauce sitting at the front. Spaghetti. That was easy. Chris was pretty sure Leon liked spaghetti—he seemed to have expressed interest in the different pasta dishes at one of Claire’s barbecues back in the day. The meal seemed like the best option for now. Grabbing a pot, he began to boil the water, putting some salt in before looking in the spice drawer. Luckily, he had some dried basil left from the last time he went shopping and he grabbed the small jar. He liked to add extra flavor to the food he made.

He heard the shower turn on, the water moving through the piping audible. Chris leaned against the counter, waiting for the noodles to finish cooking. He hoped Leon would like it. He was a little nervous about having the man live with him for the next month, not because he didn’t want him there—he definitely wanted him there—but because he wanted to make sure Leon felt comfortable. He wasn’t sure where exactly they stood with each other and he wasn't about to mess this up. Leon meant too much to him; he didn’t want to be too forward. Plus, Chris could tell that something was bothering the man, and he just wished Leon would talk to him. They had cleared up their feelings for each over the past month, sharing kisses and freely touching each other, but there was something in Leon’s eyes that made Chris think that the younger man didn’t believe Chris’ feelings were real, and that made his chest ache. He would have to prove it to him somehow. He wasn’t leaving—no matter what happened. He promised himself he would help Leon recover, physically and mentally.

The pot began to boil and Chris threw the noodles in, frowning as he imagined Leon in that bar again. If he hadn’t shown up when he did…he didn’t want to think about how much more the man would have drank—

How far he would have gone.

| Next-> |

[spooniechef]

Lasagne (1-2 spoons)

Another one that serves well for both your “batch cooking” needs and your “stick it in the oven for awhile without doing much else to it” needs is lasagne. I like lasagne but had never made it myself; gluten-free ready-meal lasagne exists but is too expensive, so I gave it up for awhile after discovering the gluten intolerance issue. Still, I was interested enough in trying to make my own that I asked for a baking dish for Christmas a couple of years ago, and is part of why I started getting into the concept of batch cooking to help save spoons in the first place. Lasagne’s hearty, has all the food groups you need, and keeps well in the freezer, so it seemed like a good way to start.

I’m going to start with some notes, because there’s a couple of different ways to approach lasagne sauces. You can just buy the stuff in jars, but while I recommend that for the white sauce (bechamel sauce is a pain in the ass), the red sauce in jars is never quite as good. So here’s a rough approximation of my recipe for bolognaise sauce, since it’s going to be a key component here.

Here’s what you’ll need:

1 packet ground beef (not too fatty, but not too lean either)

1 large onion, chopped

Spices to taste (I generally use paprika, chilli powder, celery salt, garlic pepper, and seasoned salt)

1/2 zucchini (or courgette if you live on my side of the Atlantic), quartered

1 packet button mushrooms, sliced

1 can / packet passatta (if you can’t find passatta, just get a can of chopped tomatoes and use a blender / hand mixer to get the right consistency)

2 tablespoons tomato puree

3-6 cloves garlic, minced

1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon steak sauce (A1 works best, but any barbecue sauce will do)

1 tablespoon soy sauce

1/2 teaspoon tabasco sauce

1 beef stock cube

Pepper, basil, oregano, sage, thyme to taste

Quick note on the herbs - I'm generally talking about fresh herbs in those situations. Another thing I did when I got my diagnosis was start an herb garden on my balcony and windowsills. I highly recommend it for the dedicated foodie - even those of us with limited spoons. I’ll go into why in another entry, and show just what can be accomplished with limited spoons and a north-facing apartment in a country famous for being overcast a lot. But for those who don’t have an herb garden, use about a half-teaspoon each of dried or a tablespoon or so of the mixed Italian herb blends you can buy and that should be fine.

Here’s what you do:

Spice the meat to taste; in a large, deep frying pan, cook the meat and onion until the beef is mostly browned and the onions are transparent

Add garlic, mushrooms and zucchini; heat for 1-2 minutes

Add everything else; stir thoroughly so everything is fully mixed

If you have one, put a lid on the pan; let simmer on medium-low heat for at least 20 minutes

The stock cube gives the sauce a nice bit of earthy richness, and the various sauces give it a bit of depth and kick - all of it acting as a complement to the beef. If you’re a vegetarian, just leave out the beef and the beef stock cube and use the entire courgette and another packet of button mushrooms.

This is good as a batch-cooking staple because it keeps well, freezes well, and can be used either just as a standalone pasta sauce, as the sauce for a pasta bake, or as the red sauce for a lasagne. Because it keeps so well, you don’t even have to decide on which right away. But for the sake of the rest of this post, lasagne.

Here’s what you’ll need:

1 can white sauce (otherwise known as bechamel; if you want to make it yourself, you’re a braver person than I am)

Red sauce (see above, or use your own variation, or just a jar of the store-bought stuff in a pinch)

Little bit of oil or butter

1 packet lasagne sheets

1 packet cheese (cheddar or mozarella) to top

This becomes a one-spoon recipe if your red and white sauces are pre-made, one way or the other. It’s a two-spoon recipe if you’re making bolognaise for it fresh on the day. I figure trying to make your own white sauce would bring it up to three spoons, which is why I don’t advise it.

Here’s what you do:

Preheat oven to about 355F (180C, 160C fan assist, gas mark 4)

Grease your baking dish on all sides and along the bottom (this will stop things sticking to the baking dish and make serving and cleaning easier)

Coat the bottom of the baking dish with a layer of the red sauce; cover with a layer of lasagne sheets; spread a layer of white sauce over that

Keep alternating red / noodle / white for about three layers (that should see you to the end of the jar of white sauce); make sure that the top layer is completely covered by the white sauce

Top the entire thing with a layer of cheese

Bake for 45 minutes or until the top is bubbling and lightly browned

Just one note this time, and it’s about the same as the one I gave about the chicken broccoli pasta bake - if you’re using dairy-free cheese, you probably won’t get the same bubbling and browning as you would with regular cheese. You should still take it out of the oven at about the 45 minute mark.

So there you go - two recipes for the (nonexistent) price of one - pasta sauce and lasagne. Depending on your preferred portion size, the lasagne should make 4-6 servings, and again, it keeps well and freezes well, so it’s good even if you only have yourself to cook for.

[dracwife]

decorating.

ship: junto word count: 1179 summary: art trade w/ @iantistic ! i told u i would make them happy and god dammit i did. kind of.

"What'dya think about this one?" Ianto glances back. 

When he turns, however, he realizes quickly he is standing alone there in the aisle.

"Ju?" He spins, confused. Not but a moment ago was the other behind him, talking softly about the scent of the cinnamon spice candle he'd just offered, retorting that perhaps the silly name of "Fall Leaf Crunch" wasn't quite so appropriate for such a scent. 

Had he known purchasing decorations for the Headquarters was going to be such a difficult task, perhaps he would have put together a list beforehand, like normal.

"No need, you'll be in and out I'm sure," that's what Jack had assured him as both he and Juette were brushed out towards the street, bus pass in hand and nothing but a wallet full of cash and to be quite frank -- a nigh impossible dream of getting a Halloween party together on such short notice.

Most things in the store were picked over already, leaving cheap decorations behinds, the plastic kind with defects from the molds, and that smelled of low-budget, chipping paint, that kind of must you can only get from a mass-produced, capitalist warehouse somewhere in some cheap costing labor factory far, far away. And beside those, the crumpled paper decorations, cardboard ripped already and bent and folded in ways that make them almost impossible to parse without close inspection. A few acceptable packages, or at least to Ianto's standards, were strewn about as shoppers decided against their purchasing last minute, though they were sparse as it was and as a result nearly impossible to find amongst the disarray of shelves. 

See, the thing is, Ianto is a planner. He likes things neat and organized, simple and clean. When one faces such inexplicable chaos daily, it’s no wonder that when given the opportunity, he would much prefer the comfort of familiarity and predictability to counterbalance the rest.

His brows furrow, and he turns back towards the shelf, though as he turns the other way he finds just that very person he had been searching for, and startled, nearly drops the candle. 

“Ah, there you are,” his voice is low, and he consciously and carefully replaces the jar back on the shelf. 

“Yeah?” Juette asks, leaning the brunt of  their weight against him now. Their head falls to the side as they too begin reading the labels of the leftover candles, a few less-crumpled decorations in their arms, that they quickly dump into the basket Ianto carries. 

“Was just looking for you, is all,” he reasons, hesitant to snake an arm around their waist, and instead allowing his fingers to brush against their side before he retreats them to his own, “What’d you find?”

They glance down, with a soft “Uhm,” before mentally ticking off the items they had just carried over, “Couple of silly things. Those paper skeletons. And the foldable pumpkins. I figure we can hang some streamers, too.”

Ianto nods, and begins leading them down the aisles again.

“I miss wax warmers.”

He looks over at them curiously, “You miss them?”

Juette shakes their head, a silent ‘It’s a future thing’ ringing through the action. 

“We can get some Cider. I have a great latte recipe for it as well.”

They snake through the supermarket, grabbing the last of what they can, filling their autumn basket with all the orange and purples and greens they can hold, the treats and decorations and everything else they can possibly muster until at last they find themselves on the bus back home, quiet now in the small period between lunch and dinner, when everyone was still at work.

For a moment, Ianto almost craved that sort of normalcy, a simple nine-to-five, where you can be twenty minutes late and miss nothing, sit in your little cubicle of safety all day until the sun half set, when you would finally pack it up and get on the likely delayed bus home, TV dinner waiting in the freezer and the flat, dirty and disheveled just as you’d left it in a rush this morning, feeling only half homey, the other some detached, capitalistic nightmare. Ironically, what a dream it would be.

But that decidedly was not the life he chose to live. And he’s reminded as such as his phone goes off again, a text from Tosh now about calibrating something-or-other when he got back. A smile blooms over his face as the body next to him shifts, leaning against him, to remind him of where he is now, and the friends he’s made, the love he’s found not just in the team that waits for him -- as difficult as it may be for him to see at times -- but also in the only person he could now see himself ever spending the rest of his life with. He looks down at them again, with the grocery bags piled at their feet and in their lap, and he hugs his own bag closer, wanting desperately to just fall asleep here, let the bus take them on its route perhaps the rest of the night, give them a chance to relax in the serene eve like this. 

“It’s chilly out, you know?” he mumbles. Juette scoots closer, their bare arms bundling into the sheer sweater they wear. It’s endearing to him -- their commitment to their fashion. He would have expected the future to be different perhaps, though it was not so distant. It was a strange sort of comfort to know that maybe it would not be, that things wouldn’t change all that much, hopefully in the right ways. Or maybe they too were just a peculiarity, a victim of circumstances and sought also the comfort of nostalgia, which of course to him would have been the present. 

It was funny, the way they seemed to come together like this, bound so tightly by the minutest details despite being worlds apart. 

“It’s not so bad.”

Ianto smiles, just slightly. He does not admit he finds it amusing, not as his arm slips around their shoulders for him to hold them just a little closer. And as they arrive back at the familiar door, and as Ianto holds it open to help carry in the bags, he does not say just how much he enjoyed their trip together, even if it was as something as simple as shopping, a grueling task for many, but to him the highlight of the day. He does not mention he thinks they look particularly cute in the fishnets they’ve chosen today, or those black studded shorts, either. 

And he doesn’t mention how much he loves them, as they begin to decorate the HQ, arms brushing as he reaches above where Juette cannot to hang decorations, soft smiles and lips grazing perhaps once or twice, or not at all if anyone were to ask. 

But he doesn’t at all say any of these things, not aloud.

Likely because when their eyes meet, and they both smile, he doesn’t say, because he knows that all of them are better left unsaid.

[dinosaurchurch]

One thing I will shamelessly admit I absolutely love is pumpkin spice scented or flavoured stuff. Fall is absolutely my favourite time of year for the scents and colours - heck even the candles that a lot of companies put out this time of year scratch that itch for me.

I wanted to try and make a dupe of some of the drinks I typically order from Starbucks although tone down on the sweetness (I don't really like sweet flavours save for cookies or other baked goods). I'm happy to say it's a success, really simple to make now that I have all the ingredients and needless to say much cheaper too.

I've perfected making cold brew and now I've perfected the pumpkin spice iced latte. I find that through a little bit of trial and error you can get good at anything culinary wise. Everyone has different tastes so you can tweak things as you go.

It's great to have made my own pumpkin spice blend too! I guess I'll be making these guys year round - that's a win-win in my land!

I used a 16oz mug here. All you need is 8oz of coffee, ice to taste, 1tbsp of maple syrup, 1/2 tsp of pumpkin spice, 1 tbsp of pumpkin puree, and 4tbsp of 18% coffee cream. Pour your coffee over ice in your mug, shake the rest of the ingredients in a mason jar with the lid on - pop the lid off and pour the mixture on top of the coffee then sprinkle a little bit more pumpkin spice over it. Voila! You're done!

Cold brew is really easy to make too btw. It's just a ratio of 1tbsp of coffee grounds per 3oz of water. I put my coffee grounds in some tea filters that I had (I typically buy the one's from David's Tea - they're sturdy and fairly cheap if you get them on sale). Pour cold water in with your coffee, let it sit for 18-20hours and then remove the coffee and keep your cold brew in the fridge. Enjoy.

Cheers and happy coffee drinking!

[thedreamydemon]

I don’t know what I wanna do with my self-indulgent knox hillbilly fic anymore. Here’s some wip writing (some spice, 18+)

In the shower, you were washing dirt off your knees with delightfully hot water. Your skin still felt the memory of Johnny’s reckless touch. You knew things were going to be different now, but you didn’t regret it. You wanted to do it again. And again. And again. You smiled giddily into the spray from the shower head.

Johnny was waiting for you in your living room. You toweled your hair dry and put on a clean t-shirt and soft black panties. Something comfortable, but sexy. Normally, you would’ve at least worn some shorts around him.

Johnny definitely noticed your skimpy choice of outfit when you made your way to the couch to sit with him. His eyebrow cocked up then he quickly averted his eyes back to the book he was looking at, moonshine jar poised in the other hand… and the second you realized that book he was looking at was your sketchbook you jumped up and tried to snatch it from him. Johnny reacted quickly, he grabbed the book with both hands and tugged it out of your grasp. Moonshine splashed on himself, the book, and the couch in the process.

“Don’t look at it!” You didn’t mean to scream like that. Johnny knew you liked to draw. He knew you liked the comics. But he had never looked in your sketchbook before. It was almost like your diary.

You were standing over the privacy invader, between the couch and the coffee table that he rested his socked feet on. You made an attempt to snatch your sketchbook again, but Johnny was faster and stronger than you with longer arms.

“You know,” Johnny’s glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and he flipped through some more pages. “There’s a lot of pictures of me in here.”

Your face was bright red, but you plopped your ass on the couch next to Johnny anyway. You snatched the jar of moonshine from his hand, which he allowed, and took a healthy swallow. “Those aren’t you! You’re so conceited.”

Johnny turned the sketchbook towards you. His finger rested on a drawing that was undeniably him, with his pointy nose, dark eyes, and dark, gelled hair. “That’s not me?” He questioned.

“It’s not you.” You couldn’t contain your smile as you spoke the untruthful words and pressed the moonshine jar to your lips.

Johnny flipped to the next page and found another portrait of himself, which he flashed in your direction. “That’s me. Clear as day.”

You puffed like a pouty toddler. “It’s not.” You lied again and took another sip of moonshine to wash away your embarrassment.

Johnny was relentless with his teasing sometimes. He set your sketchbook down on the couch, on the side opposite you, so he could keep guard of it. “If I was a little more conceited,” Johnny started. He took the moonshine jar from you and had swig. “I’d think you had a crush on me.”

You let out an offended gasp and shifted your seat, causing the couch to creak. “No! That’s stupid. You’re my friend. We’ve been friends forever.”

“So?” Johnny purred teasingly. “That didn’t stop me.”

You eyed Johnny suspiciously, and damn if you didn’t feel a little butterfly in your belly. Though you weren’t sure if Johnny was serious, or if he was just being a flirt. “what are you getting at?”

“Remember that time we went skinny dippin’ together?” As if you could forget. Johnny leaned forward to place the now empty moonshine jar on the table. “I thought my heart was about to beat out my chest. I liked you way before that though. I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” The redness had faded from your face and you pulled a blanket from the armrest over yourself.

“Cuz of Bam.” Johnny waved his hand dismissively. “And how you’re gonna marry him and all that.”

“I don’t wanna talk about Bam tonight.” Hearing your boyfriend’s name left a pit in your stomach. You shook him from your thoughts and scooted closer to Johnny. Johnny removed his glasses and draped his arm over your shoulder. Maybe you were a bad person. “Can I sleep on the couch with you?” You asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

……….

You woke up to the sound and smell of butter sizzling in a frying pan. Your sore body sat up to see Johnny making eggs and toast on your stove. Candy was at his feet, begging for scraps.

“What is this?” You questioned as you lazily walked into your kitchen.

“Making breakfast,” Johnny answered simply. He used a spatula to scoop a fried egg from the frying pan and place it on a slice of toast. “I know you always got a ton of eggs, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Johnny smelled and looked fresh, even though he was wearing the same clothes from last night. He must have showered while you were sleeping. He even shaved his face, presumably with one of your razors.

“I just hope you’re not getting any ideas,” you said as you took a plate from Johnny and sat at the dining table. Johnny poured you a cup of coffee, and you plucked a half-smoked cigarette from the glass ashtray on the table. You smoked it as you watched Johnny finish cooking. “I don’t want you running around thinking you’re my boyfriend or something.”

“Nah. Not at all.” Johnny sat across from you with his own plate and cup off coffee. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. He stared at you while he ate and you stared right back.

You blew a puff of smoke at him. Johnny gave you an annoyed look, but he kept eating. “Man, I almost forgot how grumpy you are in the morning.” Johnny finished up his plate. “We can forget all about last night, sweetheart. Like it never happened.”

You stamped your cigarette out in the ashtray. “No. I don’t want that.”

“What?” Johnny chugged his cup of coffee. He noticed the way your eyes shyly fluttered to the side, the way your neck was slightly craned, and that tiny, temptress curl in your lip. “You wanna screw?” He asked.

Your lips curled further upward. “If you want to.”

Johnny’s chair made a grating squeal against the floor as he stood up. He pulled your seat out and it made the same grating sound. He used his arm to sweep your plate and coffee cup off the table. They landed on the floor with an awful crash, and Candy rushed over to clean the food off the floor. Then Johnny hoisted you up by your waist and plopped your ass on the dining table. He gave you that devilish smile of his, the one he gave when he was feeling full of himself. With his hands on your thighs, he said, “of course I’ll screw you, princess.”

Johnny lifted your shirt over your head and you giggled, “On the table, Johnny? Where I eat?!“ You feigned offense.

Johnny ogled your tits as he undid his pants to free his already hard cock. “As good a place as any.”

Johnny grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table. His bare erection rubbed against your inner thigh as he leaned in to suck on your neck and grope your tits. You’ll admit it felt scandalous to fool around with Johnny after all these platonic years. Though, it didn’t feel wrong. You knew each other well, and you loved each other.

One of Johnny’s hands deftly trailed down your body, causing you to flinch when it reached your lower belly. Johnny responded with a love nip to your throat, like a rogue tomcat would do to the neighbor’s cat in heat. His hand pressed onward. First, he gently circled your clit over your panties. Then, his fingers hooked under the thin fabric to feel your wet folds.

Your hand was in Johnny’s hair, massaging his scalp, and you let out wanton, little sighs as his fingers worked on you. A groan came from Johnny’s throat, “I’m gonna make this whole fucking house shake.” Then he forced your legs open wider. He guided his cock to your entrance and pushed himself in, then out, then in a little further. His body was already shaking with pleasure and his breathing was becoming heavier. “Ah, fuck,” finally, his whole length was inside. “Lay back, sweetheart.” And you did as Johnny said.

Johnny positioned your legs so that they were resting on his chest and your ankles met his shoulders. Johnny grabbed an ankle and kissed the side of your foot, the arch, your heel, and he started humping into you faster. He gets faster and faster, until he’s panting like a dog and the tabletop is rattling. Your loud moans sang praises to Johnny.

Johnny looked down at you. You could see sweat already forming on his forehead and upper lip, which he licked off. “Tell me I’m better than Bam,” Johnny huffed out while bucking his hips into you harder. “Tell me I fuck you better.”

[le-amewzing]

Back to Normal

My first ever Grimm fic, let alone Monrosalee… :') Originally done for a forum exchange. *Note: This is set during s3, after they move in together but pre-engagement and marriage.

Fic: "Back to Normal" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: established!Rosalee Calvert/Monroe, Juliette Silverton, with cameos from Nick Burkhardt & Hank Griffin

Rating: light T

Words: ~5,970

Additional info: romance, friendship, light angst, fluff, humor, 3rd person POV

Summary: Rosalee and Monroe, adjusting to this new life together, have a handle on things. And then, of course, there's a mishap in the spice shop.

      "What are you mixing up today?"

      Rosalee smiled as Monroe walked up behind her. She felt him rest his hand on the small of her back but lightly so, since he knew to be careful while she worked. "It's got a long and complicated name the pronunciation of which I'm not even sure." She paused in her sifting and half turned in Monroe's arms. Rosalee patted his scruffy cheek. "I have to say, though, it's really great having help around the shop."

      Monroe chuckled a bit. "You mean free help."

      "Well, that's a plus. I can always put you on my payroll—"

      "Nah, what's the point?" Monroe took her hand from his cheek and held it while he touched a few of the small jars of ingredients at her workstation. "It all goes to the same household anyway." He paused and simultaneously she winced. "Uh… I mean—"

      "Nope." Rosalee held up her hands to quiet him. "Stop. If we talk about it too much, we'll just weird ourselves out."

      "Right." He stood like an awkward Eisbiber for a moment. "Um, can I grab anything else for you?"

      Rosalee smiled again and pecked his lips. "Yes. In the back is a jar—a vial, really—of cucurbita extract. It's light brown and should be labeled…"

      "Got it. Pumpkin seed juice, coming right up." Monroe dashed off.

      The apothecary returned to her work to distract herself. She had to be careful with Monroe. They hadn't been living together for long and they were enjoying themselves…but when he said things like that, about the same household… It got her thinking of shared accounts and other commitments much bigger than having the same roof over their heads. Monroe was an amazing guy, a gentleman—but he was also very much the Wesen-next-door type, the boy who grew up thinking of nothing but family. He was the type of guy not only to propose but to be proposed to, and—

      Rosalee caught herself, luckily, as pain took her out of her much-too-serious thoughts. She looked down and saw that she'd caught her thumb between the side of the mortar and the pestle. "At least I'm not bleeding," the Fuchsbau muttered under her breath, self-chastising.

      She spoke too soon, though, for the next thing she heard was a crash and the sound of the ladder falling in the backroom. "Monroe?" she called.

      "I'm okay!" he hollered, but she went to him anyway. Based on the tangle of limbs he was in a heap on the floor, it was easy to see that he'd fallen from the top of the ladder and had taken half a shelf with him. Broken glass littered the floor, and there were various pools of…well, whatever had been in some of the containers had mixed.

      "Up you go," Rosalee said, tugging on his arm so he was up and away from his impromptu creations. "Your head okay?"

      "Yeah, yeah, I didn't hit it," Monroe answered. He dusted off his pants and looked at his shoes. "My shoes are fine, too… One of the upper rungs broke," the Blutbad explained. He gave her one of his it-could've-been-worse-but-it-wasn't shrugs. "Sorry about your stock, though."

      Rosalee shook her head. "No, never mind that. I'm sure most of that I can find again…somehow."

      Monroe grinned and held up a vial. "At least I got what you wanted."

      She laughed at his talent for breaking tension and putting her at ease. "My hero," she exaggerated, and she gave him a kiss…

      …or would've if he hadn't turned his head and sneezed. "Ugh, sorry."

      "No, it's fine."

      "It's just—my nose is a little itchy. I might've breathed in some dust, not just gotten it on me." He sneezed four more times.

      Rosalee gave him a look. "Or maybe you got hay fever early. Go home, Monroe. Take a shower and work on your clocks."

      "But—"

      She gave him a stern look. "I can make it through one work day on my own."

      Monroe's shoulders sagged. "All right… See you at home."

      "Yep, see you at home."

      All in all, Rosalee's day went rather smoothly, aside from the morning's mishap. She completed the order she'd been working on first. Only after did she venture to the backroom to clean up Monroe's mess. It wasn't too bad, but she wore a surgical mask and three pairs of gloves while she cleaned.

      "And this…not good," she said, eyeing the broken ladder. It was one thing to hold on to her family's wares—some of the Wesen stuff never expired—but the tools? "The next ladder will be metal and come from the hardware store," Rosalee thought aloud. She made a mental note also to check other tools and supplies sitting around the shop that ought to be replaced with their modern counterparts.

      By the time she closed the shop for the day, she noted that the night was still young. It made the Fuchsbau want to get home quicker, because this was the kind of night that stood a chance of turning romantic. If Monroe held true to his character, then he would've showered, rested, and gotten up once he felt better, and probably cooked dinner on top of everything else.

      Sure, Rosalee was spoiled by him, but she was getting used to it.

      However, something felt off when she got home and found most of the lights turned off. And Monroe wasn't in the kitchen…or absorbed in tinkering with any clock or watch.

      "Monroe?" she called out.

      The house—or anyone inside—didn't respond.

      Truly, it was strange to hear the house be so quiet, so…empty. Well, aside from Monroe's clocks ticking. And, speaking of Monroe…

      Rosalee headed upstairs. "Monroe?" she called out again when she paused on the second-floor landing.

      "Don't come in…," he groaned from their bedroom. The door was shut and—surprisingly—locked.

      Rosalee frowned. "Monroe, what is going on? Are you okay?"

      There was the sound of rustling blankets from inside. "I'm just feeling a little under the weather," he replied. His voice sounded funny—maybe a little squeaky? "Sorry, but you'll have to eat alone tonight. I'm not really up for anything."

      "Monroe, if you're experiencing the side-effect of anything that crashed back in the shop—"

      "It's fine. I'm fine! Don't worry!" He sneezed. "I'll sleep it off."

      She sighed. "…all right. I'll take the couch, just to be safe."

      There was a long pause. "Thanks, Rosalee."

      She smiled. He knew her well enough by now to know when to stop apologizing. "Goodnight, Monroe."

      "Goodnight, Rosalee." He coughed, and then the house was quiet once more.

      Though she had half a mind to kick the door in and cure him, she didn't. She took a breath to calm herself and went back downstairs. She nibbled on some leftovers from two nights ago, and it wasn't long before she resigned herself to the couch….

      There was a giggle.

      Rosalee smiled, thinking it was her giggle, in her dream. And yet the more aware, the more awake she grew, she realized she wasn't making that sound. At all.

      Her eyes shot open, and she tensed. There was someone standing in front of her…a very short someone.

      Rosalee's eyes widened. How had a kid gotten inside the house?!

      Whoever he was, he giggled again and flashed her a toothy grin. He was plenty cheerful and seemed harmless, though it was a mystery as to why he was dressed in a wrinkled button-up shirt much too big for him.

      "…hi," the Fuchsbau mumbled cautiously.

      "HI!" the kid echoed. Yep, he had a set of lungs on him.

      Rosalee sat up, pushing her blanket aside and smoothing her clothes. She had to be in charge here and look it. "What's your name? Mine's 'Rosalee.'"

      The boy cocked his head to one side. "Silly?"

      "No, 'Rosalee.'"

      "Silly!"

      She sighed. She should let it slide if she wanted this taken care of sooner rather than later. "Okay…but what's your name?"

      "Monroe!"

      Rosalee smiled. "That's cute." Wow! A kid with Monroe's name—how rare. She had to tell him that once he got up. In the meantime, Rosalee stood and took Little Monroe's hand. They went over to the front door, which was…not open. Odd. "Hey, Monroe, where did you come from? It's dangerous to wander into a stranger's house. I'm sure your parents must be looking for you."

      He stared at her for so long, she wasn't sure if he'd understood her. Well, she supposed it made sense. He was a toddler—maybe three or four years old or so? But, honestly, how'd he get in? The front door wasn't just closed but locked as well. No way could he have gotten in by himself without help.

      At that thought, Rosalee armed herself with a nearby glass desk clock that was heavy and could probably do some damage to an intruder.

      But, as soon as she grabbed the clock, Little Monroe teared up. There was a sob lodged in his throat, too. "Not Clocky…!"

      Rosalee glanced between the teary-eyed boy and the clock before she put it back down and quieted him. "Okay! Okay, I won't move Clocky again. But you have to tell me where you came from."

      Little Monroe simply pointed up.

      The Fuchsbau cursed under her breath and picked up Little Monroe. She balanced him on her hip and tried to move quickly, but her speed changed nothing. When she hit the bedroom, it was silent and empty regardless. Her heart sank, but she tried not to panic. Her eyes darted to the windows, but, like the door, they were closed. "Monroe…how'd you get in here?"

      Little Monroe pointed to the bed. Rosalee checked the covers (judging by the vacant spot, her Monroe had been there), but it was useless. How the hell was it possible to hide a decent-sized Blutbad?!

      She checked the covers again and found a wet spot. Yet it wasn't blood. It was… "Oh, my God, did you wet the bed?"

      Little Monroe squirmed and escaped her arms to land on the bed. He frowned. "Sorry," he mumbled.

      For the first time in the past five minutes, Rosalee actually got a good look at him. He had curly dark hair just like her Monroe, and his eyes were like warm black coffee…just like her Monroe. With a sinking feeling, Rosalee internally cursed. "Monroe…as in, this is your home, Monroe?"

      He grinned. "Yes, Silly!"

      It felt like ages before Juliette answered the phone. When she did, she reacted to Rosalee's tension. "Rosalee, what's wrong?"

      Ha! Where to start?! The Fuchsbau didn't know. Her mouth went dry. Of all the crazy things she'd told her and Nick, "Monroe's a kid" might finally top the list. "Come to the spice shop," she managed. "It's Monroe. I need your help."

      "I'm on my way."

      Rosalee hung up, feeling a bit relieved. Count on Juliette to be like Nick and drop everything to help a friend. Huh. That was a funny thought: Juliette was the Nick to her Monroe. Perhaps when Rosalee stopped freaking out and set things right, she could share it with Juliette and they'd have a laugh.

      In the backseat, Monroe watched the scenery pass by with his mouth hanging open. So apparently young Blutbaden were like puppies (though she knew Monroe in his right mind wouldn't appreciate that comparison).

      When they arrived at the spice shop, Rosalee helped Monroe get out, and she bit her lip. If she couldn't fix this…would she need to buy a car seat? Hell, if she had to raise him, would she turn into a cougar twenty years down the line?!

      Monroe tugged on her hand and looked up at her expectantly. His eyes bored into her.

      Yeah, those thoughts and worries could come a lot later.

      Inside the shop, Rosalee set Monroe up with the cot in the back and gave him some paper and a ballpoint pen. Not the best idea, but the best she could do on short notice. Plus, once she told him to draw her a picture of "Clocky," he became engrossed in his task.

      The Fuchsbau went into the backroom, looking for signs of change. But all the materials and the floor were completely normal. Rosalee bit her bottom lip again, gnawing on it. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't cleaned up yesterday's mess.

      As Rosalee racked her brain in the back, the shop's bell rang, and then the door was closed and locked. A moment later, Juliette found her and pulled her into a big hug. "Ugh, I got here as fast as I could," the vet murmured. She held Rosalee at arm's length. "I caught a peek of a kid—what's going on? And where's Monroe? Is the kid his relative? They look…" Juliette trailed off with widening eyes. "No."

      Rosalee nodded, relieved her brainy friend could jump to the correct conclusion without needing Rosalee to explain in painful detail. "Oh, yeah."

      Juliette squinted. "Really?"

      The Fuchsbau gave her friend a summary of what had transpired. By the end of the story, Juliette's brow was thoroughly furrowed. "What is it?"

      "Nothing, just… No offense, but I'm glad I don't spend more time here. The things that can happen…" Juliette shivered involuntarily. "I am so done with magic potions."

      "Yeah, well, accidents happen," Rosalee remarked as she set a fresh mortar and pestle on her work table. But she had to pause—she had no idea how to fix this. What was the point then of bothering to try?

      Juliette read her expression. "Hey. Don't frown like that. I'm sure we'll figure…something out. Do you have any idea what was in the mess Monroe made?"

      "I know what was lost, because luckily both shelf and bottle are labeled for everything. But only the bottles said how much of the item was packaged. Plus, I don't know what interacted first. This kind of thing is exactly like cooking, Juliette—you can end up with two completely different results if you switch steps in the recipe."

      The two women walked idly around the shop, scanning the shelves and products for anything useful. "So what would you say happened to him?" Juliette asked, mostly to break the silence.

      "He's been de-aged."

      "What, like…he used a whole jar of anti-aging cream?"

      Rosalee snorted. "Exactly like that, but on a larger scale. A lot of those formulas are old Wesen recipes, you know. Why do you think they're so effective? A little goes a long way!"

      The shop fell silent again, until Monroe emerged from the back, squirming and raising his hand, patiently waiting for either of them to take notice.

      The Fuchsbau glanced at him. "What is it, sweetie?"

      "Snack time?" Monroe looked at them hopefully.

      "Ah, right…"

      "I can pop out for you," Juliette offered. "He's not really dressed to go anywhere in just that big shirt, but we need to keep at least one pair of eyes on him."

      "Well, I don't have any clothes for him…" The women locked eyes.

      "Bud!" came out in unison.

      "I'll grab some snacks and ask Bud or his wife for advice," the vet concluded. "I shouldn't be long." She went over to Monroe and ruffled his hair. "I'll be back, hon. Be good for Rosalee, okay?"

      "For Silly!" he chirped.

      Juliette gave Rosalee a questioning look, but Rosalee dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Go. We'll be fine."

      The vet nodded and headed out. After, Rosalee made sure the shop's sign was still set to "CLOSED."

      Back with Monroe, Rosalee locked eyes with him. He stared back at her for a while. Finally, he returned to the back of the store and patted beside him on the cot, begging her to join him. Rosalee sat down and looked at his drawings. "What've you got there?"

      Monroe's cheeks pinked, and he held a picture in front of his face. It was definitely "Clocky," but Rosalee was surprised. The picture was fairly detailed; she easily could tell it was the glass desk clock from home.

      "That's amazing, Monroe. I didn't know you were such a good artist."

      He beamed at her and leaned against her arm, showing her the rest—most of which were clocks, but one was an obvious attempt of her. He gave it to her. "I'm good, Silly," he mumbled.

      Rosalee's heart tightened. She put an arm around him and pecked the top of his head. "Yes, you are, Monroe. You are very good…."

      "Awww…"

      Rosalee's eyes shot open. She was in the shop. …she was in the shop? But… And then it came back to her. The evidence was curled up in the crook of her arm on the cot in the back. Juliette stood over them.

      "Sorry," the vet whispered. She gently placed a plastic bag on a nearby table and shed her jacket. "I just got back. You two were napping and looked so cute…"

      "What time is it?" Rosalee asked. She gently woke Monroe, who became alert at the smell of something warm.

      "Oh, not that late. It's still before noon, but I didn't mean to be gone for an hour. Did you know? Talking to Bud's wife is like talking to him—once you get her going, it's hard to stop her." Juliette pulled out a triangle wrapped in foil and passed it to Rosalee. "Open that for him—it's a slice of apple pie, fresh." At that, Rosalee's stomach grumbled. "I've got one for you, too."

      "What did you say to Bud's wife?"

      "Just that a friend was looking after a kid and needed some meat-free food and a change of clothes for him. I described him to her, and she gave me a bunch of hand-me-downs for all ages." Juliette gave Rosalee a sympathetic look. "So, if he grows…"

      Rosalee, wide-eyed, shook her head. "Uh-uh. We're not going to think about that. I'm going to fix this."

      "All right…"

      After eating, the two women got back to scouring the shop for clues. They switched off scanning books and stock every once in a while so no one's eyes became too tired to search for the German words for "kid" and "children." A few times Juliette thought she found something in a book, but then Rosalee would read the passage and dismiss it. From looking ten years younger to growing ten inches taller to retaining one's childhood laugh—a variety of topics were covered, but reverting, de-aging wasn't.

      At least Monroe wasn't a handful. He went back to drawing after they fed him, and he napped on and off.

      "What about work?" Rosalee asked Juliette eventually. Monroe had nodded off again, and Juliette covered him with her jacket.

      "I called in sick. It's not a problem. What about opening the shop?"

      "No orders are due this week, so it won't hurt. Besides, I think this is definitely a more pressing matter."

      "You've got that right."

      They returned to their tasks in silence until suppertime arrived. Then Rosalee packed Monroe up and Juliette locked the shop and drove them all back to Monroe's house in Rosalee's car.

      "I only have more snack stuff," the Kehrseite said as Rosalee and Monroe headed into the kitchen.

      Rosalee pursed her lips. "I should be fine now since we're back home. I've got leftovers of some of Monroe's favorite things." Case in point, all she had to do was open the fridge, and Monroe pointed to all the things he wanted to eat.

      Juliette groaned as they fed Monroe again.

      "What is it?"

      "Nick texted me. He had an early day and is wondering where I am." Her dark eyes met Rosalee's.

      The Fuchsbau shrugged. "Just call him and get him over here."

      So Juliette dialed.

      At the door, Nick wasn't alone. Hank was with him.

      "You sounded off when we spoke," Nick said as they stepped in.

      "Something up with Monroe?" Hank asked. "He's Mr. Manners, always the first to get the door," he added with a chuckle.

      Rosalee thought to give them a summary, but she shut her mouth and just beckoned to them to follow her into the kitchen. She gestured at Monroe with her hands, like "Ta-da!"

      The cops blinked. "Uh…" came oh-so intelligently from Nick's mouth.

      Hank narrowed his eyes. "Nick, is it just me or…does he look like…?"

      "Yes, it's Monroe, and it was a potion accident at the shop which we haven't been able to solve," Juliette hastily summarized.

      Hank walked over and knelt in front of their transformed friend. He reached out hesitantly and rested a hand on the kid's head. When he deemed it safe, he rustled Monroe's hair. "…wow." He looked at the rest of them. "He's so…tiny."

      "Yeah, yeah, so you're the tallest one in the room once more," Nick groused. He looked at Juliette and Rosalee. "Why didn't you call sooner?"

      "I honestly thought I'd come across something in the shop to help," Rosalee explained.

      "Do you think Aunt Marie's books might have something on…whatever this is?" the Grimm inquired, gesturing to the odd scene before him.

      "Doubtful."

      "But it's worth a shot," Juliette stated.

      Nick nodded. "Good thing we got off early. Come on, Hank, I could use some help with the reading."

      The other detective appeared reluctant to leave. "But he's so small. And quiet. He doesn't chatter like our Monroe usually does…"

      As they made their way out, Juliette grabbed her things. "I think I'll go with them—if you're good here?"

      The Fuchsbau nodded. "No, yeah, go. It's fine. I'll call you if anything else happens."

      "All right. Goodnight, Rosalee."

      "'Night, Juliette."

      The vet gave her an encouraging smile and caught up with Nick at the door. Before the door closed, Rosalee overheard Nick comment to Juliette about them being good mothers on such short notice, considering how healthy and happy Monroe looked. Rosalee smiled at that.

      And she turned that smile on Monroe, who'd finished his dinner and sat good-manneredly with his hands folded in front of his empty plate.

      Rosalee couldn't deny Hank's impulse. Looking at him, she had to ruffle his hair, too.

      "Bedtime, buddy," she said. She changed him into one of the larger shirts Bud's wife had sent, deeming it a nightshirt. Only once he had promised her that he wouldn't wet the bed (well, one could hope), she let him crawl in beside her, and, like at the shop, he curled up in the crook of her arm. "Goodnight, Monroe," she murmured as she turned off the light.

      "…nigh-nigh, Silly. Love you…," he mumbled sleepily.

      Rosalee hesitated and kissed the top of his head. Maybe…maybe she could deal with this worst-case scenario.

      Hell, no. She couldn't handle this.

      Monroe had woken up before her. But he was no longer an adorable, well-behaved four-year-old.

      Unfortunately, he wasn't back to normal, either.

      No, he was still a kid, and an annoying brat at that. He ran around the bed, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And, once Rosalee managed to sit up in bed with a vein desperate to pop by her temple, he switched to running up and down the stairs, trying to get her up.

      "I'm awake, you little—"

      Monroe stuck his head in the room and smirked. "Yes?"

      The Fuchsbau inhaled deeply and reined in her temper. "Good morning, Monroe."

      "Yeah, yeah, Rosie."

      She narrowed her eyes at him. "My name's not 'Rosie,' and I hate that nickname. You—" She blinked, realizing what he'd said. "Wait. Monroe, you remember me? You know who I am?"

      He scoffed and shook his head. "No."

      "You're lying."

      The Blutbad blushed. "No, I'm not!"

      "Are, too!"

      "Ugh, you crazy girl! Keep your cooties to yourself!"

      Rosalee raised one eyebrow. "Cooties? Right… How old are you?"

      "Nine! Not old like you!"

      Okay, that one required a lot of willpower to leave alone. "Get dressed. Breakfast will be on the table in five minutes, and then we're off to the spice shop."

      He stuck his tongue out at her. "Nuh-uh! No way!" And with that, he resumed his laps up and down the staircase.

      Trying to get the runner into the car was a hassle. Monroe had gotten dressed only because he'd dug out a shirt he liked from the pile Bud's wife had put together (a plaid shirt, which gave Rosalee some hope that, somewhere deep down, the man she loved was still there…with any luck).

      But in the car? He kept playing with the locks and handles. Rosalee tried putting on the child locks, but he fought her. Every time she locked one door, he unlocked another.

      Going out anywhere today was not an option.

      Back at home, Monroe was a menace.

      At first, Rosalee thought he might break something. But Monroe quickly upped his game—it was easier lighting her fuse if he only made her believe he might break things around the house than actually do so.

      Rosalee simply gave up and sat in the living room, gripping a mug of coffee, which she slowly sipped.

      By ignoring him that way, Rosalee managed to get him to stop pestering her. In fact, he tired shortly after with a big, prolonged sigh. He plopped himself down in the armchair across from her and locked eyes with her.

      "Don't you want to draw or do something else productive?" the apothecary suggested.

      The boy grunted in response. "I don't draw."

      Huh. "You don't like clocks?"

      "I like clocks. But I'm not supposed to. Like drawing. Dad wants me to do something better with my life."

      "Making and repairing clocks is a respectable living."

      "… …can I play outside?"

      "No."

      Monroe grunted again. "This is why girls are no fun."

      "Why, 'cause I'm a stick-in-the-mud?" Rosalee retorted, texting Nick to ask if he'd found anything useful.

      "No, that's 'cause you're a Fuchsbau." He stuck his nose up at her.

      She clenched her phone in hand. Then she counted to three, took a deep breath, counted to four, and slapped on a smile. "Let me clarify something for you, kid. Girls don't have cooties, and there's nothing wrong with Fuchsbau, just as there's nothing wrong with being friends with or loving a different kind of Wesen from yourself."

      His eyes grew big, and he gaped at her. "What? Friends with…? Love?! That's gross!"

      Somehow, his saying that didn't deter her. No, it only bolstered her confidence. "Just trust me, Monroe. You never know until you try it." Rosalee stood and disappeared to refill her coffee cup. Perhaps nine-year-old Monroe would be the easiest to handle….

      He was.

      After getting a call from Nick that they'd come up with nothing, Rosalee caught them up on the latest…"growth spurt." Nick offered to give her a break before the night was over, and, by the time Nick and Juliette returned after a meal of fries and vegan burgers, Monroe was utterly tuckered, and therefore a piece of cake to put to bed.

      Rosalee rewarded herself with a hot chocolate before she conked out on the couch. Yeah, nine-year-old Monroe was the easiest.

      Late the next morning, Rosalee was the first up. For the first time in days, she felt well-rested, and it was such a relief to wake up in a rather quiet house.

      "Rather" quiet, of course, because she could hear soft snores coming from upstairs. At least Monroe was still here, whatever age he was.

      The Fuchsbau hummed to herself as she made eggs and toast and brewed a light roast. As she poured her coffee, she wondered what today's surprise would be…and then she turned around.

      No matter how adult she was, Rosalee still did not want to see a penis in her kitchen first thing in the morning.

      She shrieked and looked the other way. "Oh, my God, Monroe! Put some clothes on!"

      He chuckled. "Why? This is my house, isn't it? And hello, beautiful," the Blutbad added, walking over to her. He wrapped his arms around her and craned his neck so he could kiss her deeply. When he pulled away, she got a good look at him.

      This Monroe looked very much like her Monroe, minus his charming scruff as well as some lines on his face. She sighed. "So what age are you today?"

      Monroe grinned wolfishly. "More than legal, Rosalee."

      "Monroe…"

      "Nineteen." He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "I'm not going to lie. I feel as though someone fried my brain, and I know about half of what I probably should. But I can recall bits and pieces. Such as you," he continued, snaking his arms around her waist and fingering the waistline of her sleep pants until she pinched him, "I see in flashes."

      "Anything else?" she asked. She tried to turn so he wouldn't…poke into her back. She didn't have much luck.

      He stroked his clean-shaven chin. "It feels as though I was a brat just yesterday…"

      In a way, this was good news. From four to nine to nineteen—she might have the original Monroe back by tomorrow. And since nothing at the shop or trailer had turned up, playing the waiting game did indeed seem to be the best option.

      However…

      "Do you really have to walk around naked?" the Fuchsbau complained as she attempted to complete household chores with Monroe following her around.

      "No, but I like the breeze."

      Her shoulders sagged.

      "Plus," he added with a smirk, "I don't just walk around naked." When she gave him a curious look, he pointed upstairs.

      Great. Laundry was just added to the list of things to do.

      Worst of all, no matter what she fed him, his hunger persisted. He was more complacent when hungry, so at least he slipped on a pair of jeans by the time one o'clock rolled around.

      Rosalee kept feeding him snacks just so she could get through something simple like putting away the dishes. "Are you feeling okay?" she queried anxiously.

      The Blutbad sat at the kitchen table with his legs pulled up to his chest, his bare feet on the seat. He groaned. "I'm fine. Just huuunngryyy…!"

      As the hours dragged on and day became night, Rosalee began to panic. In the course of one day and one transformation, she had managed to feed him the entire contents of the fridge. Now he was halfway through the pantry.

      "We should go out and hunt," he remarked as the sun set.

      Panic seized her. "No!" she snapped.

      He flinched and stared at her. "Okay… No hunting tonight."

      "No, not ever," she corrected, sitting him down on the couch in the living room. "You don't hunt."

      "I don't hunt?!"

      "No." She held his face in her hands. "Monroe, you chose a better path. You're more than just a wolf. You're a clock-maker, best friends with a…cop," she continued, unsure what would happen if she used the dreaded G-word, "and the most wonderful man I have ever known."

      The house creaked in the ensuing silence. Monroe looked at her tenderly. "So…," he mumbled, "giving up meat gets me you?"

      She grinned, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. "Yes. I guess you could say that."

      He stroked her forearms faintly with the pads of his fingers and locked eyes with her. He rested his hands on top of hers, on either side of his face. "Then I guess it's no contest." Temptation, thy name is Monroe.

      Rosalee pecked his forehead in response and after tried making something for supper out of what little was left in the kitchen. Monroe still followed her around, but he wasn't in the way as he had been during the day. Actually, he did something so familiar: he rested his hand lightly at the small of her back.

      They stayed up late, not really talking but just staying in each other's company. At one point, Rosalee answered a text from Juliette, assuring the others she was okay, but not sure if she'd give them the details from today.

      Some part of her, truthfully, wanted to keep today for herself.

      Her eyes did become heavy, however, which made Monroe chuckle. "Well, that's that day over."

      "No, I'm still awake…"

      Monroe shook his head and bundled her up in her roomy sweater. He took her hand. "Come on, up. You need your sleep." He sighed.

      "What?" she prompted drowsily.

      "I don't know… While my mind isn't intact, I've gotta say… I feel a little sad knowing it won't be me you'll greet tomorrow."

      "Of course it'll be you, Monroe…"

      "Not this version of me." He gave her a sad smile, and then something caught his eye. "Oh. Hold on."

      Rosalee watched him reach for a glass desk clock—the same one four-year-old Monroe had loved so much—and straighten it where it sat. Clearly, the old Monroe was coming back.

      Monroe returned to her and picked her up in his arms, carrying her upstairs. "All righty. Time for good Fuchsbau to go to bed." He tucked her in and kissed her cheek. "… Goodnight, Rosalee."

      He was right. She was more tired than she'd felt. She nodded off with his hand clasped in hers. "…nigh-nigh, Monroe. Love you…"

      Then nineteen-year-old Monroe became just another part of her dreams.

      He hung his head. "Oh, God…!"

      Rosalee crouched in front of her boyfriend, trying to get him to drink some coffee. "Really, it's not that bad."

      "I was a kid for three days, and I remember most of it, Rosalee!"

      Obviously, the morning had arrived, and Monroe was back to being himself…sort of. Rosalee had awoken to the crumpled form of her lover sitting in front of their bedroom door, making a storm cloud look cheerier. "Monroe, it was an accident. Accidents happen. How do you think I felt, unable to fix it?"

      "Yeah, but…" He furrowed his brow. "I was a good kid when I was little. I was annoying when I got older—just ask my parents. But my late teens and early adulthood…" He shuddered. "Rosalee, I was an obnoxious Wesen. I hunted without a care in the world. I had friends who made me think we were indestructible. That's as bad as it gets for Blutbaden."

      "Okay, so if things had gotten hairy, I would've called Nick."

      He cocked his head to one side and gave her a look. "Yes, thank you very much," he grumbled.

      "If you're going to mope, then at least lighten up knowing that I still love you and want to live with you despite having raised you." She beamed at him.

      "Not helping…"

      Rosalee sat cross-legged in front of him. "What do you want me to say? That kids are far off in our future because of this? Actually, if anything, I look forward to meeting your parents someday." She paused, remembering how unhappy nine-year-old Monroe had looked and sounded spouting things his dad had told him. "…I have a new appreciation for your mother's patience," she finished, deciding not to venture into his father's Blutbaden-only territory.

      Monroe pulled a face at the mention of his parents, but at least the tension left his shoulders. He gazed at her and half smiled. "You know, sometimes I think I have bad luck, but I don't really believe that." He pulled her into one of his signature bear hugs.

      "So does that mean we can go back to work today?"

      "Uh… If it's all right with you, I'd like a little time away from the spice shop," Monroe replied with a shudder. "Besides, it's been a while since I last designed a clock, and I'd like to try my hand at drawing again…"

      Rosalee sighed happily. "Sure thing. But, if it's all right with you, stay the same Monroe tomorrow, too, okay?"

      He did.

WELL! My first Grimm fic! :D I quite liked it, though how the 19yo!Monroe bit ended was kind of sad… :') This fic took forever, but it was worth it—hope you enjoyed it, Danie! Also, I liked the inclusion of Hank for a moment—wouldn't it be funny if he liked cute things? (Plus the height comment—*LOL*) Other than all that, the only challenging thing about this fic, surprisingly, was typing Monroe's name. I'm not used to it, so I kept typing "Moron" instead… I'm so sorry, my poor wolf! Dx And let's just skip over the teeny plothole regarding 9yo!Monroe eating with Nick and Juliette and not freaking out about Nick's being a Grimm…heh. *oops* ;P

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2023 note: Wow. So, if you're someone who's read some of my other fics, you would know I've edited most of my older works (I have a v small list now of what's left! XD), and this 9yo story now had its turn! *lol 9yo like one of the Monroes in the fic* Anywho! I…miss Grimm, even tho it did take some unexpected turns I didn't quite like towards the end, but I feel like having a rewatch (it's also been a while since I read any of the comics or bks). The mythology of the Wesen and the Grimms still enchants me to this day, much as the charries and romance of Rosalee and Monroe do, which is why I was happy that there was little to fix here. Mostly I caught a few typos and just added a few finishing touches or some spots of clarification. This is the only time I've ever written a de-aging fic and I'm not sure I'd do another, even in another of my fandoms, mainly bc I think the spice shop hits all the right marks for me for this trope. Now as to the glaring plothole of how can they be sure Monroe is done aging now that he's back to his original age…? Eh, I just wanted to leave the ending where it was, since the mood/vibe/flow was good right there, *LOL*, so let's just go with it. X'D I prolly might write for Grimm again (might even have a few old ideas jotted down somewhere), but it wouldn't be soon, since I'd deffo want a rewatch first. But…ahhh! I still love everyone so much! TTwTT Who's with me?!! :'D More importantly, at which age Monroe is your fav??? (I'm biased; I choose all, *LOL*.)

[pithyorangecurd]

Banh Mi

Banh mi is a nice easy on the go meal with very little work to it. It's main components are flavored meats, pate, mayo, pickled veg, chilis, fresh herb, and crispy veg.

Im not a fan of pate, just because im sensitive to nose feel, so when I make banh mi I don't add it. For the bread its things like baguette, focaccia, or any other crispy outside soft inside breads like it. Using thinner breads like regular white bread will offset the flavors, and tend to rip apart when eating because of the amount of veg. Foccacia is most available to me because we use it at work, so its what I usually go for. For the bread you toast it lightly with a mixture of mayo sriracha and worchestershire sauce.

The pickled veg can either be had on hand or made on the fly, whatever veg you have around just put in a jar with a cup of water, a fourth cup of rice wine, tbs of sugar and salt, add any other spices you prefer with pickling. I have a pickling blend that comes premixed but if I were pressed to say what I actually like it would be bay leaf, peppercorn, mustard seed, and coriander. Leave that for an hour and bobs your uncle, on the fly pickled veg, just be sure to chop it thinly.

Fresh veg is things like lettuce, cucumber, bean sprout, predominantly watery textured veg. <- not how people describe these things but its how i see it in my heart. Just slice to preference and add it, i like to lay out my lettuce in sheets and take all my fresh and pickled veg and make wraps like that, to layer the sanwich with. Just for cleanliness.

Herbs and chilis are any chili to preference, i know birds eye is good and etc etc but im texas boy girl so im always partial to jalapeno. I roast mine (just turn on the stove and put it straight on the burner. Turn it when you hear it crackling until theres some char all the way around it) bc it brings out the sweetness of it, and i like to snack on them while i work. Yum. Uhmmm basic herbs tho. Cilantro, green onion, you can add mint or basil but I have a preference towards basil.

The meat can be any kind of meat you want, but I like to do a sweet heat pork with mine.

Sweet Pork:

Boil water on the stove, while I goes to temp thinly slice pork, put it in the water and let it boil for a minute. Drain in strainer and rinse, let sit to dry, while that dries put a pan on the stove, let heat on mid high for a few minutes, add sugar and fully caramelize. Add pork, soy sauce, dark soy sauce, and shaoxing wine. It should be 2:1:6 in your ratio, so. Idk? On that? I just eyeball it. Toss it to coat, add a pinch of five spice if you have it, toss to coat, add half a cup of water cover and leave it alone for five minutes, uncover and let reduce to desired consistency. Stoves and heats can differ so be sure to check it, if you think it should go covered longer then go for it, and thickening may very.

^ that is basically a stolen and reutilized hong shau rou recipe, but i think its rly nice. Typically used with pork belly it really works well with a lot of pork in general, and give a sort of sweet sticky coating that I really appreciate.

That said, its any flavorful meat, whatever you have on hand so long as its prepared in a flavorful manner, ive done a couple different things but find that I just rly do like sweet pork. If you want quick easy recipes for meats to check the market of things id recommend my mommy [not fr] souped up recipes. She does a great job explaining how to use things, why you do them, and the importance of certain foods and dishes.

I wouldnt worry about using chinese recipes to a viet dish, im like. Working on some quesaburria rn and when I finish eating these, ill save some meat and freese the rest and make the quesaburria meat into banh mi in a couple days when I want it again. So like :shrug:. All that to say, banh mi is just smth you throw together when youre hungry, there are staples, and things to replace, and change for taste, but like just do your thang, she's just a sandwich.