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[multifandomfix]

The Spell You Cast - Severus Snape

Summary: The smell of Amortentia can change over time. And while teaching, Severus notices a difference in his own. Yet the new scent is familiar to him. Where has he smelled it before?

Word Count: 1,028

Warnings: A little light angst

Amortentia was perhaps the potion Severus most disliked. He didn’t even know why it was taught to students. To teach them patience and discipline, he supposed, since it took so long to brew. But he was of the opinion that love should not be manufactured, but freely given. Messing with one's heart was asking for trouble. And he’d not known any use of the vile potion to work out well in the end for any of its brewers, nor its victims. Best to keep away from it, and so he did. At least until he had to teach how it was made.

Amortentia's only positive quality, should you ask him, was its scent. It often induced pleasant smells that brought back beautiful memories to whomever deigned to take a whiff, but that aside, it held no other value to him. His had always smelled the same, and the memories attached to it were bittersweet on his best day.

The students were moderately well behaved when class begun, only a stray snide comment and a few snickers at the announcement of brewing the vexing love potion. He could have easily shut it down quickly with a stern word, but he didn’t altogether care what their opinions were on the potion itself, only on getting the lesson of its making over with.

As he brewed his own as an example, he felt like he could already smell the familiar scent bubbling up from the cauldron. Yet, as his demonstration progressed, he could have sworn the scent he knew so well had changed. It was subtle at first, lilies changing to another indistinct floral note. Fresh morning dew to vanilla. And tea. The scent of tea was brand new to him, at least where his amortentia was concerned.

He hoped his expression had remained neutral, despite the surprise. He’d not brewed the potion since last year, and perhaps he’d mistaken an ingredient. Unlike him, but everyone was prone to a slip up now and then, surely. If his face had registered any surprise, thankfully the students thought it best not to question it nor comment upon it, and he was left to his own devices at the end of the class period to figure out what had gone awry.

He’d checked his method and it was flawless as was expected. So that meant it was the potion itself that had changed its scent. But how, and when. He couldn’t fathom the reason for such a change after all these years. It wasn’t as if his tastes had changed. How perplexing.

Choosing to relegate the oddity to the back of his mind for the time being, Severus went about his day as was normal for him. Several more classes took up his day, and he remained thankful that only one class was working on the dreaded amortentia this semester. He didn’t think he could stand smelling the new fragrance of his own several more times that day.

Somehow, the smell lingered in his nostrils throughout the day, as if it were nagging him. It did smell familiar to him, but he’d been so struck by its difference to what he’d come to expect that he hadn’t realized the smell was indeed one he encountered fairly often. Where remained the only question.

He thought of his favorite shop, and the place on the Hogwarts campus that he most enjoyed, though neither of these locations possessed the smell that plagued him so. The people he spent the most time with, and those that he enjoyed the company of were ruled out as well. Minerva was more of an old books and catnip type.

The stern look of frustration mixed with concentration on Severus' face stopped you short as you were en route to pass him in the hallway. It was so terribly unlike him to linger in the halls when students were still passing through. You knew something must have been wrong. "Severus," you softly pressed. You reached your hand out in order to rest it on his shoulder, but instead you hovered, thinking better of it. You felt you were already likely to startle him.

Though he did not jump, he slowly met your eyes, bringing his own out of the middle distance he’d been apparently staring into prior to your arrival. "Are you alright," you asked of him.

"Quite so," he replied. He was not displeased to see you, but you were an unexpected surprise since he hadn’t seen you coming. "It has been an odd day is all," he confessed.

You nodded and gave him a sympathetic smile. "We all have those," you reassured, now placing your hand on his shoulder, thinking the reassurance would mean more with the gesture. You’d definitely had your fair share of days like that, and though it seemed out of place for Severus to have such a day, it stood to reason that he had them just as frequently as you yourself did, he just had a better way of hiding it when he did. Except for today, apparently.

Confident that he wasn’t in some form of distress that was unmanageable, you gave him one more soft smile and took your leave, heading for your classroom before your own students wondered what had kept you from arriving on time.

As you left, the small gust of wind in your wake left Severus with that same smell of tea, vanilla and flowers, precisely the way his amortentia now smelled. Eyes widening at the realization, he turned his head in your direction. It had indeed been last year when you’d started teaching at Hogwarts, filling in for a professor who had taken some leave and that was shortly after his last time brewing the potion. In that year, he’d fallen in love with you.

It was the only logical explanation. It was a frightening one to him, the prospect of finding someone again after everything that had happened all those years ago with Lily, but maybe his amortentia did have a use to him. It let him realize his feelings for you. And now it was up to him to decide if it was worth pursuing them.

For anon

Forever Tag: @borg-queer, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul

Severus Snape: @brienneseveruscalaway, @osterhagen, @darkthought15, @superninjapervert420, @meeksmusic83, @whither-the-wind-goes, @bluenystic, @sapphicprinc3ss, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @demented-potions-master, @unexpected-character, @yourdailymemedelivery, @impulse-anchor, @ppgrayson, @thegirlwhoistrying, @bloodinthedarksworld, @gothtrash6969, @music-bird, @severusish, @chaotic-mushroomz, @caseydoodles98, @iciclesandsnow, @thenazwife, @phantomofclownery, @animeloverfreak310, @alloutnostalgia, @m-rae23, @asocialrandom, @404-its-alr, @beyondgaby, @scarlettmal

[empty-cryptid]

It's midnight, and there's an elusive mosquito flying around my room preventing me from sleeping, so here are some cooking headcanons for the Madrigals:

Alma: She can cook well but tends to stick to the same meals all the time. She doesn't try many new things in the kitchen and is wary of new food items.

Félix: He is a grilling master. Give him an open fire to cook over, and he can make anything taste great.

Julieta: She had an interest in cooking from a young age, and her gift solidified her place in the kitchen. She can make anything, and everything she makes is perfectly seasoned. She likes to experiment - her siblings or Agustín and Félix are always the taste testers.

Pepa: She never had an interest in cooking, so she tends to burn things when she gets bored and distracted. She makes the best coffee, though.

Agustín: He's a clumsy disaster with everything he does (except being a dad) and that doesn't change in the kitchen. If he cooks, he ends up injured, something is set on fire or broken, and the food ends up ruined somehow. He still likes to be there as moral support while Julieta is cooking though, and serves as a taste tester when required.

Bruno: He's a mediocre cook and everything he makes isn't bad, but he does tend to undercook things because he's anxious about burning it, opens the oven too often to check on stuff, or flips things so much that they end up breaking apart.

Isabela: She likes to study herbs and other edible plants in order to improve them, but would rather have other people cook with them. She would much rather spend her time growing the food and working in a garden than cooking with it. She makes the best tea, though, and loves experimenting with tea mixes.

Dolores: She doesn't have much of an interest in cooking, but does like to make soup. The quiet bubbling sound that the boiling soup stock makes is soothing and drowns out some of the other noises her ears are constantly picking up. It's a long and quiet process that she enjoys.

Luisa: She loves to bake. Bread, cookies, cakes, and other desserts are her favourite things to make. She will often ask Isabela for herbs to experiment with in her loaves of bread.

Camilo: He likes to cook and is good at it. At a young age, he was interested in cooking and often followed Julieta around or watched baking rise in the oven. People usually thought he was after food because of his appetite, but he enjoys the process of transforming ingredients into a delicious dish. Bruno joked about switching his sisters' babies without them knowing once and got a hot arepa thrown at his head.

Mirabel: She's not quite as clumsy as her father in the kitchen, but she tends to avoid cooking. If she can help the cook with anything, she'll jump right in and try her best, though! She does like to make pies. Her favourite part is making designs to decorate the top of the pie. The kitchen usually ends up very messy when she's in there, but she doesn't mind cleaning up after herself.

Antonio: He's especially interested in helping decorate cakes or pies and making fun cookie shapes. He isn't as interested in cooking as Camilo was at his age, though. Guaranteed to have some animal fur get into the food, pet fur is inevitable after all.

[vespaer77]

The Memory of Her Scent

Inspired by this post

A drop of ink fell from the tip of his quill. It landed on the parchment below, leaving a blot separate from the whole. A form without intention.

Solas cursed a sharp, old word under his breath.

How long had his mind gone wandering? Aimless, like the lost foal of a mother halla? What was it that had stilled his hand, leaving it paused, poised with potential?

He studied the symbols he'd been scribing. They now seemed foreign, their meaning nebulous like the images that had skirted his periphery just a moment before. Little figments of his imagination they were, plucked and placed with purpose by the Fade. Little ghosts of memory come to haunt his tired eyes.

He replaced the quill to his inkwell and sat back in his chair, gently massaging his temples and the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he was working too hard. Perhaps he feared the noise in his mind that screamed at him when he didn't. If he was asleep, he could indulge his meandering thoughts, as dreamtime was a time for contemplation and self-reflection. Introspection. Processing and gathering facts, investigation. Understanding and compartmentalization.

But the waking world was for focus. For drawing conclusions, and watching possibilities coalesce into clarity. Yet it was clarity that proved so elusive, like the fickle scent of a hare on a rainy day.

He peered down the length of the corridor before him, his eyes straining in the grey, joyless, dismal dim, lit only by veilfire - the memory of fire. And probably not a very good one. It was a pale imitation, like everything else in the Lighthouse. It performed a utility, and no other characteristic beyond that.

It gave no care for what he wanted. It was simply what it needed to be.

Yet even now, as his gaze poured endlessly through the wan light flickering down the long line of plaster frescos and the shadows that lie between them…

He could smell her.

Read the rest here on AO3 or

And not the smell she carried when she was sweating beneath the pounding sun, stumbling through the shifting sands west of Val Royeaux. Neither was it the smell of her when she was combing the char of dragon fire out of her hair, after a bath with sweet herbs and lye soap. It wasn't even the smell of her as she stalked the Emerald Graves, all moss and loamy earth, when the visage of the Inquisitor peeled away from her like old paint to reveal what lie beneath, the graceful and cunning Dalish hunter who slipped silently between trees and stepped lightly over stones. Though that one was close.

It was instead the smell of her when her armor was hung and her staff was stowed, her business concluded and the Anchor forgotten, and all that was left to her was herself. Her truest self. The self that he knew best.

The self that knew him best.

And if he let his eyes unfocus, let the Fade around him win and let his edges blur and soften, he could almost see it.

The red flutter of a leaf as it tumbled in lazy somersaults, falling slowly to the ground.

The soft swirl of steam rising from the teapot he'd brought to share, which wasn't full of tea.

The light rustle of pages, the book in his hands teased by a playful mountain breeze.

And her just there in her garden, in her castle, humming an ancient lullaby that he was too old to know. She'd cast a spell over him with it, a bubble of quiet, banishing the murmurs of other voices off into nothingness somewhere far, far away.

His eyes swam as he relived the memory, and he watched it play all around him, a perfect pantomime of the past. It was the only time in his life that he could recall having ever truly known a moment of peace, though there was likely much of his existence he could no longer remember. It filled him with an ache so big it left no room for breath. Yet even as the air left him, sucking him dry as the vacuous void in his heart, he could smell her.

Because she smelled like him. Like them. When they were together.

A blend of ingredients, harkening from a precious pinpoint in time, each one carrying its individual note of significance. A thread in a tapestry, a tile in a mosaic.

There was the sugary scent of qunari spiced chocolate, still bubbling in its little teapot. It was a recipe he enjoyed, so she'd learned it. And she'd taught him. And then there was the musk of the leather binding the storybook he'd brought to read to her while he kept her company. His words had danced with her melody, carried aloft by the intoxicating aroma of rotting leaves, overturned soil, and blooming flowers.

From her garden. Its fragrant bouquet was as heavy as the late afternoon sun, lush with embrium, crystal grace, and dawn lotus. Amrita vein and arbor blessing, and even simple, useful things like spindleweed, felandaris, and elfroot.

And then there was the buttery smell of warm bread when she took off her gloves and sat down beside him, spreading tart wild berry jam across two slices of toast.

And the dewy puff of breath that kissed his cheek when she'd laughed at something he'd said. He couldn't possibly conjure the words now. He likely didn't even know what he'd said then either, as ceaselessly dumbfounded in her presence as he'd often found himself. She'd bewitched him, mind and body, and a part of him remained her thrall even now.

And it pained him. Nearly to the point of capitulation, once. Even then, as he'd sat on that bench beside her, in her garden, in her castle, filling her cup with chocolate and watching the wind tickle her nose with her hair, he'd considered giving it all up. Placing his principles aside.

For a time.

Time enough for her to rally her troops and march against her enemy. Time enough for her to restore hope and peace to a broken world. Time enough for her to shape the legend that elven clans would tell of her to their children, one thousand years from now. And time enough for them to celebrate their success, and savor the serenity of a life well-earned. Together. In love, in their harmony. In their quiet home nestled within a quiet garden, that smelled of flowers and the wind in the trees, and of leather-bound tomes and freshly baked bread and qunari spiced chocolate.

And then, time enough to watch the first sheen of silver streak through her long, dark hair. To watch the first lines of laughter linger too long at the corners of her mouth.

Until one day she would wonder why she grew old and he…

And he was always old to begin with.

How long could he live the lie?

And it wasn't that he was never truly the man she knew. Quite the opposite. She'd freed from within him a man he'd done his best to lock away. And his love for her was a truth so fierce and so monstrous it threatened to devour the rest of him entirely. The lie was the preposterous notion that he could ever have afforded himself the luxury of love at all. That the man she knew could ever, at all, be given the chance to flourish.

For as long as Fen'Harel ignored his duty and strayed from the lonely path he walked, their People would continue to die.

She would continue to die.

And then one day… she would leave him, anyway. She would sigh her last and close her eyes, drift off and away like a leaf on the sea to make her journey across the Fade, leaving ripples of memory behind her that spirits like him could cling to as if they were somehow more real than veilfire. And then she'd disappear, no longer to wake from dreaming, off into that great mystery that lie on the other side, beyond. Forever. To join the others that had gone before her, all of the others that had left him, long ago.

To go where he could never follow, and leave him behind.

Alone.

No matter what he did, he was always destined to lose her.

So it was best he let her go. He was glad he did it, even. It was cruelty for them both. And he was glad he did it years ago, so that nights like these came fewer to him. Nights when the memory of her scent swelled on the tides of dreams to crash against his shore, in the crossroads between the waking world and the Fade. He was glad for every night he summoned strength from solitude and resisted the urge to prowl the edges of her dreamscape, like a drug that masks a pain. Because what had begun as surrendering to succor had started to shift into something that seemed more like… surveillance. And it stained the context of their shared history. So he was glad he no longer needed this touchstone of her scent, and that he no longer needed to worry over how he'd feel should he watch the warm spice of her dewy breath one day kiss the cheek of someone else.

He watched a teardrop fall onto the parchment, to dilute his little ink blot. It swirled in diaphanous little spirals as grey as the cold and empty hall he called his ho… his living space. His lips twisted into a bitter smile against his will and he laughed a sharp, sad sob. Even after all of these many, long, long years, he was still such a terrible liar. So he crumpled the parchment in his fists, fell back in his chair in defeat, and used a sleeve to dry his eyes.

There was time enough to continue wrenching his plans into fruition tomorrow. There was time enough to let his slow yet inexorable walk of death delay for just one day. He would not risk intruding upon her dreams tonight, though. The time had come and gone for that. Time moved differently for her anyway, he was probably a stranger to her now. At the very least a memory.

He would, however, make a pot of qunari spiced chocolate. Perhaps he'd read a book, to clear his head before turning in for the night. Perhaps he'd try to recall a lullaby, to sing himself to sleep.

And perhaps tonight he would dream about a castle with a garden.

And the kiss of her breath on his cheek.

[cupidgwk]

. . ! oblivious — kim gyuvin

► more friends to lovers !!!!

► synopsis: you and gunwook devised the oh so, full proof plan to get gyuvin to fall for you!!!

► slightly proof read

► p.s gunwook is best wingman

step one — get closer to him (physically)

gunwook laid out the steps for you one by one. first, you’d have to get close to him but in a subtle way!

his bright idea? turning up the a/c. what you didn’t expect was gunwook setting the temperature to a chilling 60 degrees.

“oh it’s pretty cold in here isn’t it.” gunwook ponders.

“yeah, just how cold is it?” you glared at gunwook as your teeth chattered.

“oh don’t worry about it! the air conditioner must be broken.” he shrugged avoiding eye contact.

gyuvin still had his eyes fixated to the tv in full focus in his mario kart race.

“are you cold y/n?” hanbin questioned. “you can wear my sweater if you want!”

“oh thank you hanbin! you shouldn’t have…” your fully slightly pained smile spilling out as you accepted the wrong person’s hoodie.

gunwook physically smacked his hand against his forehead.

spoiler alert: it did leave a mark on his forehead that lasted a good two days.

step one. failed.

step two — make him good ol’ baked home goods

you trusted gunwook with your life after all. well, not after the kitchen fiasco that was.

“uhm, is that supposed to be bubbling?” you questioned in concern watching the “cookies” bake in the oven.

“i don’t think so,” he trailed off in fear. “just how many tea spoons of baking powder did you add?”

“i think, around 3?” you replied.

“that can’t be right, then why is the-“ realization flashed through his eyes.

“oh man..” he started.

“what did i do.”

“well, you may have used table spoons instead of tea spoons.” gunwook stated re-reading the baking instructions.

he pointed his finger to the top of the ingredient list. “also, we used baking powder instead of soda.”

to make the situation even worse, the smell of smoke entered your nostrils.

“there is no way…” you raced to the oven and fished the tray of slightly burned cookies.

of course at the worse timing ever, gyuvin enters the kitchen, clearly looking for whatever he can stuff into his mouth.

“yay cookies!” his eyes lit up. “i love home made ones the best!”

“gyuvin wait!” but you and gunwook were a little too late. as gyuvin munched into the baked good that didn’t even deserve to be called a cookie.

gyuvin’s face went from joy to confusion to pure disgust.

“oh wow guys this is the best thing i’ve ever tasted!” he managed to cough out.

“dude, you can be honest.” gunwook deadpanned.

“i need a moment.” he mumbled making his way toward the bathroom.

in the distance you can hear the faucet running as gyuvin attempted to get any taste of that concoction out of his taste buds.

“great! i gave him food positioning!” you slouched onto the floor in defeat.

step two. failed.

and so the saga continued. gunwook would come up to you every day with a new plan to push gyuvin closer to you. of course, most. well. all of the attempts resulted in failure.

one failed attempt after another felt like a never ending rollercoaster. step 4? yujin beat you to asking gyuvin to share an umbrella on the walk home. step 5? we don’t talk about step 5.

“gunwook, i am one failed attempt away from dropping out and moving across the country. the continent even!” you flailed your arms in annoyance.

gunwook shook his head in disagreement. “no can do!” he shook his finger. “i got this covered y/n, just you wait!”

do not fret. gunwook wasn’t class president for no reason. he devised yet another foolproof plan by adding any steps necessary to ensure by the end of the day you and gyuvin will be a couple.

step ??? — become partners for the upcoming group project

gunwook may or may not have pulled a couple strings to ensure that you and gyuvin would be partners in the newest english assignment.

“hey y/n!” gyuvin greeted pulling up a seat next to you. “what exactly did the teacher say? sorry i think i fell asleep for most of it.”

you laughed at his demeanor before quickly explaining the project requirements and such. surprisingly enough, gyuvin listened intently nodding along to the words spilling from your mouth.

“thanks y/n!” he smiled. “so, when is this due?”

“we have around two weeks or so,” you tapped your pen on your bottom lip as you scanned the instruction sheet once more.

“wanna visit the café across the school so we can sort stuff out?” gyuvin questioned tiling his head.

your face erupted into a smile at his suggestion. “you sure this isn’t just an excuse to try their new season menu?” he pouted at your words lightly shoving your shoulder. “come one! please~”

you rolled your eyes at his antics. “of course gyuvin~” teasing him.

-

conversations filled the hallway as students rushed to beat rush hour on the train. the two of you continued to converse as you made your way to the train station. of course, gyuvin forgot to reload his train pass resulting in the two of you missing the train.

“i’m so sorry!” gyuvin apologized clasping his hands together. you laughed at his dramatic apology shaking your head playfully. “don’t sweat it, it gives me more time to spend with you.”

“what?” gyuvin questioned. your face immediately burned up as regret filled your mind. before you can even stutter out a response, gyuvin came up with one himself.

“glad to know, my plan worked,” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion. he turns to face you. “why don’t we turn that study session into a real date? you know, to make up for missing the train and everything.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “of course!” a smile erupted on his face as he suddenly engulfed you in his arms.

“i’ve been waiting so long to do this.”

gunwook’s full proof plan to get you and gyuvin together: SUCCEEDED

[akumicchi]

It takes two to love

[Tamaki x fem reader] tw: food.

Just fluff and domesticity

— Do you think we have it all already?— Tamaki had asked, checking the red plastic basket full of groceries — We have the tapioca starch, fruits, milk...

— Yup, but guess what? —she turned to him with a playful twist of her head— You just won a coupon for a free meal cooked by yours truly. And I need some ingredients. The other day you said you were craving some pasta, right?

He swayed his head from side to side, barely containing a smile. Tamaki let himself be pulled further into the supermarket by their intertwined pinkies.

It was late in the afternoon when the weekly errands were finished and they settled back home for the night. It was an odd pretty thing, this routine both had built for their matching days off, whenever it was. It wasn't normally disrupted by a trip to the supermarket, but in Tamaki's book, quality time doesn't need a specific place to occur. The bought goods sat on the counter, while he rearranged them on their rightful places in the cabinet or the fridge. He had taken a pair of tomatoes from the bag, when she shamelessly stole them from his hands.

— Thanks, Tama, you're always such a gentleman —she teased and kissed his cheek before turning to the chopping board, light on her feet.

It wasn't out of the ordinary, but it was peculiar and funny to see her all...bubbly, like clear water from a stream. He laughed at her.

— You really are excited about making that pasta, wonder were that's coming from? —he got close to the sink, rolling up his sleeves.

— Nope, you're not working on this today, Hun —her hand went to his arm, stopping him from filling the pot with water.— This is my way to say thank you for all your hard work, it won't make sense if you're cooking too! This is your coupon, remember?

Tamaki could feel the heat on his face and the pickup of his heart rate.

— I-um... Okay. But at least let me prepare the boba tea. I want to thank you for your hard work too and —he spoke softly in a classic Tamaki fashion, looking at her right in her round eyes. He had become good at holding eye contact with other people. He thought it may have been due to her influence —, for putting up with me all this time.

She sat the knife on the chopping board, and her arms went to hang loosely around his neck— You know I'm not putting up with you, right? I'm here with you because I love you. I wouldn't be who I am now if it weren't for you, and believe me, I like who I am right now. Do you want me to remind you? —her voice was softer, lower like a whispered secret, as her fingertips rubbed his nape.

Tamaki shuddered under her touch and gaze. His nod was short, almost imperceptible under the weight of his shame. She hugged him tight, scratching his scalp and rubbing his nape. He felt himself go warmer after getting a few kisses on his cheek, heart pounding even faster when she whispered:

— You know I've never really had a favorite hero when I was a kid, right? None of them actually made me feel that sense of... admiration, so to speak. But after my time in UA, the internships and all that, I changed my mind. You are my favorite hero, Tamaki. You are my hero.

Tamaki sighed, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt petty, needing to be reassured of something he already knew.

They stood there for a few minutes, holding each other tight, swaying slowly from side to side. Then the urgency to eat came over, and both returned to their tasks: Tamaki prepared the boba tea, she cooked the pasta. The mood picked up fast, with her bumping his hips and vice versa. She hand fed him some sauce and he hummed in satisfaction. Soon enough the food was plated and they sat next to each other at the table.

— Hmm! This is good! —Tamaki said, eyes closed in bliss as he chewed his portion.

— Right? Just the best for my baby.

— What? —he laughed— How come I'm your baby when I'm older than you?

— Shush it, silly, you are my baby.

He just laughed at her goofiness again. Then he waited, relying on his hero instincts, calculating the best time for a swift attack, and stole a spoonful of her own pasta, and stuffed it right into his mouth.

— Hey, that was mine!

He snorted.

•••

The dishes were washed and she sat at a small table on the balcony. She was surrounded by plants and had a clear view of the city lights. It was as peaceful as the busy metropolis could be. In moments like this, she wished the days off were everlasting.

Tamaki arrived shortly, holding two glass cups of the boba tea he had made earlier. He hadn't even fully entered the balcony when a fit of giggles bubbled out of his mouth.

— What is it? —she raised a brow.

Her boyfriend didn't answer. Instead, he put both glasses on the table and left the room, only to return with a napkin, which he used to wipe away some remnants of sauce from her lips.

— There, all better. —he found it very endearing, how her cheeks lit up with color and her eyes averted his gaze, visibly embarrassed. Even the way she tried to play it off was adorable, his silly girl.

— Oh, clumsy me... Haha...

— Even if you're clumsy, I'll always be by your side to clean up your little messes —Tamaki smiled softly, crouched in front of her—. It's the least I can do for you.

She hid her face behind her hands, voice tight in a whine— But I don't want you cleaning my messes though? I'm not a kid!

She had always had an ability to fluster him with sincere compliments and cheesy remarks. One of her favorite things to say was that her job was to show him how loved he was, and if it had to be done by flustering him, then the better. His job, on the other hand, on his own words, was to make her feel safe, so safe that not even her own demons could do her any harm. But it was nice to turn the tables from time to time.

Tamaki pryed her hands out, placing them on her chest— This is where I want your hands to be. It's just me here, so don't hide. Besides —he smiled—, you may not be a kid, but you're still my baby.

— Tamaki! That's my line!

He laughed.

[dw19791967]

That Feeling Part 2

Pairing: Dean x reader (eventual), OFC Tyler

Warnings: language, unrequited love, angst, unwanted kissing, depression, anxiety, and feelings.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains discussions of depression and anxiety and feelings that go along with those. If that could be triggering for you I would skip out on this one. It is based on some experiences I have had in real life.

*All mistakes are my own!

I apologize for this taking forever!! I have had some things come up plus been busy with work. I think there will two more parts after this one. Make sure to read part 1 to understand this part!

-Layla

*I do not own this gif.

I had finally made my way back to my room a little after 11 that night. Dean had held me and tried to calm me down the best he could. I told him I needed some space and he understood. 

I slept like crap. Kept replaying the event in my head over and over again. How could I be so dumb. How could I let this happen? Why did I have to react like that? 

I woke up around 8 the following morning. My eyes were still puffy when I looked in the mirror. I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I decided it was time to get dressed. I changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. I made my way to the kitchen to get something to drink. 

“Hey Y/N. Dean and I went and grabbed your car from that bar earlier this morning.” Sammy greeted me with a slight smile. I figured that meant Dean had told him what had happened. 

“Hi Sammy, thank you. I appreciate it. ” I looked at him. I’m sure he could tell I had been crying. I brushed it off. I went to the fridge to pour myself a glass of tea. I warmed it up in the microwave. Hopefully this would help calm my nerves. 

“Where’s Dean?” I moved to sit down across from him at the table. 

“He went out, should be back soon.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m here to listen, you know, you don’t have to handle this on your own.”

“Not right now Sam. I kinda just want to forget for a bit ya know? I slept like ass.” I placed my hand on his. “I do appreciate it though.”

I grabbed my glass and stood. “I think I’m going to lay back down for a bit, have a migraine.” 

“Y/N….” Sam moved to stand as well.

“I’ll be ok Sammy, promise.” I looked at him with a sad smile.

God I hope I will be. 

________________________________

Dean’s POV:

I ran to get some of Y/N’s favorite things. Tea, chocolate, ingredients to make tacos, bubble bath stuff, and her fruity girl drinks. It always amused me that she hated beer. To quote her “who wants to drink something that tastes like warm piss?”. 

I carried the stuff into the kitchen. 

“Hey she got up to get some tea but headed back to her room. She said she didn't feel like talking.” Sam moved to help me put the stuff away.

“I figured. She told me last night she needed some space but I also know that's code for "I will need you to remind me you care at some point.” I’ll check on her after I put this stuff up.” 

“Go ahead, I got it.” 

I moved down the hallway towards her room. I hated that this happened to her. She’s told me about her past and it wasn’t pretty. It scares the crap out of me that sometimes humans are the worst type of monsters. I wanted to beat the shit out of every son of a bitch that had hurt her but she said it wouldn’t be worth it. It kills me inside that she thinks she isn’t worth it. She is beautiful, a badass, says what she thinks and doesn’t give a damn if it offends you, and has a heart of gold and would do anything for anyone. She has saved me more times than I can count in the short time I’ve known her. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I can’t tell her this especially right now. I know she needs to get her head on straight. 

I reached her door. “Sweetheart?” I knocked gently.

___________________________

Y/N’s POV:

I had laid back down but of course couldn’t sleep. I laid there for an hour tossing and turning. Then I took some meds for my head. I guess crying and lack of sleep equals a huge ass headache. I couldn’t stop my mind from reeling. Maybe I deserve to feel like this? I mean I’m not perfect. I have made mistakes in my life, maybe this is my punishment? I have always struggled with depression and anxiety. Of course it got worse as time went on, especially being a hunter. I had managed to keep it under wraps pretty well until now. Now all the bad times are brought back to the surface. The boys don’t deserve to have to deal with my broken ass. Maybe it would be better if I left and spent some time on my own.

I felt my phone buzz below me. It was a text.

Tyler:  

Hey Y/N just wanted to check on you. I’m really sorry about how last night went down. I just thought that was what you wanted, especially since I had mentioned stuff before and you didn’t say anything. Anyway I am heading out tonight, want to meet up again? Maybe we could have a redo of last night and talk things out ;).

Shock was the polite way of describing how I felt reading his message. I needed to end this.

Y/N:

Tyler, I have thought things over and now realize I should have stopped talking to you sooner. Making lewd comments about my body, discussing being naked, telling me we were strictly friends, ignoring me when I needed a friend. There were a lot of mixed signals on your part. I guess me telling you that we could see where our friendship takes implied I wanted more and for that I apologize. This whole situation has made me realize that  I need to work on myself and put myself first. So this will be the last message you receive from me. Do not contact me again and please lose my number. 

I deleted the messages and blocked his number. I wanted a clean slate. 

“Sweetheart?” Dean was knocking on my door softly. 

“You can come in.” I moved to sit up slightly.

He made his way into the room. Seeing his face made me feel a little better. 

He sat down at the end of the bed by my feet. 

“I’m not going to ask how you are doing because I already know the answer. I went to the store and got some of your favorites. Is there anything you would like to do today?”

“I appreciate that De, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know” he said with a smile.

“I would really like to sleep, I’m still exhausted but can’t get my mind to turn off. He messaged me, tried to apologize and get me to meet up with him again. I told him no and that I needed to put myself first. I told him I didn’t want to hear from him again.” I played with a string on my quilt to distract me from his inevitable reaction. I knew he would be pissed. Pissed that the idiot had the balls to message me, pissed that I didn’t tell him to take a flying leap.

“I’m proud of you for setting the boundary Y/N, that is a huge step.” He reached for my hand. 

Wait, he wasn’t pissed? Who is he and what has he done with my Dean?

“I figured you would be pissed at me for messaging him back.” 

“I mean does it piss me off that he thought it would be a good idea to message you? Of course. But I also know you needed to tell him the effect this had on you. You need to be able to move on, I would never be mad at you for doing that.” He moved his thumb back and forth across my hand. He always knew how to comfort me. 

“I appreciate that you have done more for me in the last 24 hours than I could have ever expected or asked of you. You don’t have to keep doing things for me ya know?” I looked up at him now. God, those eyes. He could ask me to rob a bank for him and I probably would. 

“I’m doing these things because I want to. You are my best friend, my girl. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. I’m here because I want to be.” He looked into my eyes and smiled. 

“So you didn’t answer my question, what do you want to do?”

“I’m not really sure, I know I’m not up for being around a lot of people. I kinda just want to go for a drive and listen to music, try to get my mind to think of something else ya know?” I said. 

“If that’s what you want to do then that is what we will do. Get your shoes on Sweetheart, let’s go.” Dean smiled.

[viperwhispered]

You what should be a crime? The fact that there's barely any au fics involving werewolf Jamil and a little-red-riding-hood-esque reader. Also I have just finished listening to Me & Mr Wolf by The Real Tuesday Weld and my imagination is bubbling.

Setting: classic medieval era for fairytales. We have an enormous forest rumored to house different spirits and supernatural creatures, so nobody really goes in there other than for wood and hunting and are quick to get out. In the outskirts of the dark dense forest, there is a small village. In the middle of said forest lives a cookey but friendly old lady who most people suspect is a witch.

Enter Jamil: he is a werewolf living in the forest with his family and pack. They reside in a secret village only accessable to those who know where to look. Human/Werewolf marriages aren't common but not entirely unheard of nor illegal. The only coniditon is that the human marrying into the pack is someone they can trust.

Enter the reader: the grandchild of the cookey witch of the woods who frequently travels there for tea, cakes, and witchcraft training. The reader is very familiar with all the magical stuff going on in the forest and knows how to move around curtesy of their grandmother. Most of the forest tend to leave them alone cause their grandmother is the only reliable witch in the region.

Onto the story: The reader and Jamil have known of each other for a long time but never really interacted. Their paths have never really intersected cause they got different schedules. This changes when the reader has to go into werewolf turf for some potion ingredients and Jamil is assigned to keep an eye on them.

They get to chatting and become friends. Since then, the two make a habit of walking to and from the reader's village. Overtime, they start falling for each other and their witty banter switches to flirty banter with a few kisses here and there.

Cue conflict: at this point the reader's mother has passed away from illness and the reader had been living alone for quite some time. This combined with their daily trips into the woods made them a bit of an outcast in the village.

Enter the son of the local lord who wants to turn the forest into his hunting ground. His men have already been causing trouble for the forest's inhabitants for a while but now he's decided to build a hunting lodge in the village.

After some shenanigans happen where the reader is the only one not interested, the lordling decides to make them his bride. As they have no living relative still in the village, the lordling offers the village an enormous amount of gold. As such, the villagers imprison the reader so that they can't say no.

Jamil becomes immediately suspicious that his crush/sort-of-lover didn't show up that day and sneaks into the village to investigate. He overhears the villagers and the lordling discussing the wedding and figures out what happened. Let me tell you, Jamil is PISSED!

Fun fact: wolves are a monogamous species and wolf packs are really just wolf families.

Back to the story, Jamil is oozing to maul this lordling and burn the entire village to the ground but he can't cause he doesn't know where the reader is being imprisoned. But he does overhear that the wedding procession will be taking a path through the forest.

Jamil goes back into the woods and informs the grandmother of the situation. The old witch is none too pleased of what the villagers have done to her grandchild and, through a divination ritual, tells Jamil the path their going to take and the best time to strike. The witch also gives him her blessing to steal the reader for himself. Cue very blushy Jamil.

Don't worry, the reader is just as unhingedly in love and would be fine with it. The reason the grandmother suggested it is because she's kinda tired of listening to their grandchild going on about how great Jamil is and how they want him to just "take them away from it all". Jamil's village/pack is very familiar with the witch and the reader and also approve of the relationship.

Anyways, the day of wedding arrives and Jamil stalks the procession through the woods. He is heartbroken by how miserable his darling looks, disgusted by how touchy the lordling is, and absolutely enraged at this whole situation.

When the procession starts going through the darkest parts of the forest, Jamil sneakily picks off the guards and servants one by one, hiding their corpses in the shrubbery. By the time the rest realize something is wrong, their numbers are down by more than half.

They fall into defensive positions but are helpless as Jamil swiftly pulls more and more people into the darkness without revealing himelf.

The reader recognizes the spicy scent and is overjoyed. The lordling notices and starts using his sceptor to beat them as he berates them for being happy. This makes Jamil go absolutely berserk, flying out the darkness to quickly murder the remaining guards before mauling the lordling and leaving him to a slow painful death.

Jamil quickly turns to his beloved, taking out a special healing salve he got from the witch and applying it to the bruises and rope burns. Afterwards, the pair share a searing kiss and reader cheekily states that it would be dissapointing to allow such a beautiful wedding outfit to go to waste.

Jamil smirks back and readily agrees, before picking them and running off with them.

The last thing the lordling sees is the reader in their bloodstained dress embracing the monstrous wolf at the end of their makeshift vows.

Sounds like you’re more than halfway through turning this into a thing, to be honest. So, you know, go for it.

And sheesh what a lovely bunch the rest of the village is 🙃

Makes me wonder what the reader’s thought process is through all this. Do they see no chance to resist, are they hoping for Jamil to turn up, or are they just hopelessly resigned to their fate (or making plans to get away later / at the earliest convenient opportunity)?

Though ngl, I can’t help but be just a smidge concerned just how fine the reader is with all this death and carnage. Makes me wonder just what’s going on in their head, too, and just what kind of a person they are. (I say as if at the same time I’m not kinda loving the ruthless determination on display here.)

I do kinda love this take on the whole little red riding hood, tho, keeping some of the elements while turning a lot of them around.

[isawthisangel]

domestic/relationship situations with steven/marc headcanons part two

find part one here

masterlist

word count: 900w

a/n: i will happily write a full length fic for any of these if you guys send me one of the prompts, or any different ones<3

Steven loves to cook and is usually home by the late afternoon, but sometimes when he has more work to do when he gets home and you have to work late, you end up ordering takeout. You guys have a hat with all the different takeouts written on pieces of paper inside for when you can’t decide, which is often.

On weekends you love nothing more than holing up in the flat to binge whole seasons of tv shows. Steven is all over this, making the sofa as cosy as possibly, collecting blankets and snacks and content to sit for hours with your feet in his lap or your head on his shoulder, his arm around you. Marc usually lasts about two episodes before complaining that he’s bored.

You suggest reorganising the bookshelves. This takes weeks. Steven is so meticulous about where his books go, even though it looks like a mess to anyone else, he can find the book he’s looking for in seconds when he needs to. You have your bookshelf, but your books have started spilling over, which is fine as long as they’re in the right section.

Honestly I could write an essay about this. Steven sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by books, stacking them into piles and trying to work out how best to organise them, brow furrowed. You giving up trying to help after a while, realising he has his own, very complicated system. Rearranging the plants and fairy lights around everything when it’s finally done. Smiling whenever he looks at it for the next few days.

Both of the boys like to rant when they’re worked up about something, but the topics on which they tend to get so upset about vary drastically. If Steven is upset about a new display at the museum, or Donna getting his name wrong yet again, Marc will be angry about something going wrong on a mission, stomping and swearing around the flat injured and covered in blood.

Similarly, you have to learn that they can’t be calmed down in the same way. Steven can usually be placated pretty easily by a cup of tea or a shoulder massage, whereas with Marc you have to let him burn out by himself. When he finally collapses into a chair and goes silent, then you can move in and start patching him up best you can, dropping kisses onto his skin at regular intervals until he’s fully relaxed.

Baths. Steven doesn’t usually have a bath, and if he does you’re in there with him. Marc, on the other hand, would live in the bath if you let him. He’ll soak until the water’s cold and all the bubbles are gone, half asleep with a contented half smile on his face. He’d never admit it, but he loves coming home to a bubble bath.

Sometimes when you wake up you find Marc asleep on the sofa, not wanting to have woken you up when he got in from a mission the night before. Despite your protests he continues to do this if he knows you have to be up early the next morning, even though you’d rather be tired and know that he’s come home safe that night.

Similarly to the laundry, you can tell who’s been shopping while you’ve been at work by the contents of the cupboards and fridge and how they’ve been organised. Steven will have a meal plan on the wall and all of the (mostly fresh) ingredients neatly stowed away. Marc will have filled the freezer up, and maybe bought some fruit and veg, if you’re lucky.

Steven one hundred percent gets distracted and dances with you in the kitchen when you cook together. Enough said.

Sometimes you’ll catch Steven before he rushes out the door, ever late, for work to fix his tie or his hair. This isn’t necessarily because it looks bad, you’re just after one more kiss before he leaves. If he’s caught on, he doesn’t say. If you’re fixing Marc’s hair or clothes before he rushes out the door it’s most likely because he’d lost track of time with you in bed that morning. You’ve been late countless times for similar reasons.

‘Laughter is infectious,’ sure, but Steven’s laugh is actually infectious. If he’s laughing, you’re laughing, it doesn’t matter what he’s laughing at or where you are. Similarly, Marc laughs so little that when he does you find yourself smiling regardless, relishing in the sound, trying to memorise it.

Steven is annoyingly good at presents, and you struggle to match the thoughtfulness of his gifts. Marc has a strict no present policy, which you happily disregard during every holiday, knowing that he’ll complain and then smile secretly afterwards, when he thinks you can’t see.

You try to eat breakfast and brush your teeth with whoever it is you wake up to every morning, schedules allowing. It puts you in a good mood in the mornings, and prepares you for the rest of the day. If you get frustrated at work you think about breakfast, or how you get to go home to such a loving environment that night. It usually makes you feel better.

tag list💌 @propertyofkingvalkyriealkyrie @later-gators12

comment to be added ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[killercooksblog]

KillerCook Baking Challenge

Howdy - In celebration of starting this blog, I present a challenge! If you've read the book, you'll know the first chapter was about BROWNIES! AKA the best dessert ever, probably. I'll post it below so if you have no idea what I'm talking about you can catch up and participate!

I love a good brownie, and I think everyone has their own unique way of baking goods that makes the recipe special in its own way! Yes, even box mix, cause I know not everyone is following those instructions all the time. If you're a raw batter eater, you're amongst safe company!

The challenge: I want you to make a pan of brownies with you're own secret ingredient that makes it *chef's kiss.* To participate, you gotta submit a pic of your brownie platter to my submissions or ask box by 3:00 PM EST Saturday, June 8th. Additionally, you need to submit a summary of the flavor and texture of your recipe, without saying the name of your secret ingredient.

For example: in my double mint chocolate brownies chapter, I would summarize it as - a dulcet double layer of cacao richness that's not too cakey and not too moist, that will leave you with a fresh and happy ending.

Or something like that. Get creative! I wanna rate your brownies! I'll be playing along too and for the sake of it, I won't be doing mint chips so I can leave y'all guessing too ;)

With the camera set in place, Killer dusted his apron and straightened his helmet one last time before pressing the ‘Go Live’ button, muttering a quick, "It's show time," under his breath.

“Hello, Killer here,” raising a hand in the air, the quarter sleeve of his dress shirt rolled neatly on his forearm. “Time for another day of relaxing vibes and delicious desserts. Today, I’m making Double Chocolate Mint Brownies. I love a goody, gooey brownie, especially when there’s mini chocolate chips and ganache involved.”

As he spoke the well-rehearsed introduction, Killer wandered around the kitchen pulling out mixing tools and fixing himself a glass of bubble milk tea, congregating on the island countertop. Oven already preheated, eggs and butter on standby and at room temperature. Slurping up a tapioca ball, he paused for a minute while he chewed.

“Mm, ‘scuse me, didn’t expect that one to come up all the way. Tasty. Moving on, you know my number one motto: A clean and sterile working environment is best when dealing with things you intend to eat. And please, enough with the Jason Vorhees jokes, my mask looks nothing like his. I’m trying to make a name for myself as an independent serial killer……of hunger and all your hearts,” he brought his hands together to make a heart shape for the audience.

The ping of a microtransaction being made caught Killer’s attention, leaning close to his phone. Someone had bought and redeemed a highlighted message, and it was one of those moments he wished he hadn’t added that incentive, now being forced to read and answer it live.

“MurderinoSquadAssemble has this to say – ‘a serial killer of hunger and OUR hearts? Seems sus but ok. #redflagbehavior.’ Calm down armchair detective. For the record, I haven’t been caught yet and it won’t be to the likes of you.”

Biting down a chuckle, Killer stepped back to put on plastic gloves, a baking hat, and his favorite apron. It was a faded blue color but what really made it endearing for him, was the print.

That’s Hot

It had a small whisk and measuring spoons sprawled on the bottom, and the capital T had a baker’s hat falling off it. Underneath the text, a stovetop on fire. A gift from Kid on his 25th birthday.

Smiling privately, Killer turned to give the audience his side profile as he tied the apron strings. His dress shirt clung to his muscled arms, threatening to burst if he flexed too hard. His ass looked firm and thick in the dark chino relaxed pants he wore.

Prepping the baking tray, Killer explained the ingredients he was using and his choices for alternatives. He preferred to use ethically sourced chocolate and tapioca flour instead of all-purpose flour. He used vegan butter but liked to brown it first to caramelize a bit before combining it to the batter.

“This flour is what I used to make the tapioca pearls for my milk tea in my 14th video. It’s still up if you want to check it out and give it some love,” he poured the batter into the pans.

Turning around completely, he walked to the oven to place the pan on the middle rack. Killer didn’t need to bend down as much as he did to place the pan inside. He also didn’t need to jut his hips backwards a little to make his butt look bigger on camera, but it was nice hearing the pings echoing in the kitchen as he was gifted with tips and praise. Not that he’d admit that to anyone of course.

Killer turned the volume of his Bluetooth speaker louder, enjoying the lofi channel playlist he chose for the day’s stream. It was hard to find good music these days, not with a DMCA lawsuit one flagged video away.

“You can find where I use the same ingredients for the pre-made mint filling layer in my 20th video, when I made my homemade No-reos.”

Underneath the kitchen island countertop was a small red button that Killer pushed. That was the alarm indicator Kid had installed to notify the redhead that it was time for him stop what he was doing, get dressed, and join the video for the taste test.

Hoping beyond hope that Kid would be wearing the clothes Killer laid out for him, the masked man entertained the audience. Acknowledging the redeemed gifts, answering comments and questions and taking a much needed bathroom break. Letting the ads run a bit longer to milk the revenue, Killer stood at the doorway waiting for Kid to make an appearance. Asshole was running late, unbelievable. HE WANTED to be in the live streams, Killer didn’t ask him to be a part of it.

Shaking his head, he sat down in front of the camera, preparing to be KillerCook once more. The oven had three minutes left on the timer and the smell of chocolate wafted. The stream continuing, he began whisking the ganache to pour over the brownies.

Killer heard Kid walking through the hallway as he whisked. Bursting through the door, shirtless, his golden piercings that littered his nipples, nose bridge and ears shined from the open kitchen windows that showed a beautiful sunny day outside.

Timer going off, Killer fumbled to the back while hissing out, “Put a fucking shirt on! Why do you do this every time?!”

“C’mon Kill, they’re not gonna ban you for male nipples, be real.”

“Not risking it, we’re already on thin ice for using copyright music after 2 warnings. Remember? That’s how you lost Your Job as the video editor. Put on a shirt or I pull the plug.”

Angrily swearing, Kid walked back through the door to find a shirt.

“The last step is pouring the ganache over the mint layer and spreading it evenly for a smooth coating. Then you’ll want to store it in the fridge to let the top layer set. This will take up to an hour or you can keep it in longer until you’re ready to eat.”

Cutting into the pan to prepare a square for Kid, the masked baker placed both the pan and the taste test piece in the fridge. Killer once again entertained the audience for the 5 minutes it took for Kid to come back, in a ruffled black vest that was unbuttoned. Killer pulled out a chair for him and went to retrieve the taste test square, placing it on the table in front of Kid.

Coming into view of the camera with an annoyed pout on his face, Kid shot a sneer at Killer before tightening his jaw and looking directly into the lens.

“Alright, now the reason you’re all really here. To watch me eat shit you can’t have and look hot doing it.”

Standing straight, he stuck out his right arm and flexed, slowly moving it down with deliberate motions that further focused on his bulging muscles instead of the baked good. Bringing it to his face, Kid licked his maroon painted lips before taking a bite with a grin. Letting out an approving grunt.

“How’s it taste?”

“Tastes damn good, brother,” Kid responded, biting into the brownie again.

“Can you uh elaborate some more for the audience?”

“It’s chocolate, tastes like chocolate,” he grunted out in between bites.

Sighing deeply, “Does the texture feel balanced? Is it too dry? Can you even taste the mint I added with the chocolate chips?”

Licking his fingers clean and wiping his mouth with the back of hand, Kid shrugged. “Tastes perfect. Like any good brownie should be, it’s moist,” devilish smirk on his face and he faced the camera.

Feeling Killer’s serious as fuck glare through the mask, “Yeah yeah you can taste the mint. It doesn’t overwhelm the chocolate but it wasn’t overstated either. Like a little nudge wanting acknowledgment.”

“And there you have it, moist and acknowledged. Tune in next time when I make one of my favorite dishes, Spaghetti aglio e olio. It’s simple to prepare and like everything else I make, slays. This has been Faffaffaffa-Food with Killer.”

End Livestream.

Killer lifted his baker’s hat, helmet and took his hairnet off, pulling his hair from the tight wound rubber elastic he’d put it in.

“One of these days you’re going to get me banned, dickwad. Think about that the next time you want to fuck around. All those comments of praise and validation gone just like that,” he snapped his fingers, “Because you can’t stop being a dumb whore for 5 minutes.”

“I’m a whore?! Oh stuff a brownie in yer mouth and calm down. You’re not you when you’re hangry,” Kid snickered, ducking out of the kitchen to avoid the stainless-steel bowls flung at him.

Bonus: The comment section

ICantEven101: Killer-san, why won’t my sauce stick to my noodles? KillerCook: You may be using too much oil or butter. A good trick is to add in pasta water to thicken the sauce. Corn starch is a good binder as well.

VanillyExtract: PunkNeverDied69 can I take you on a date? 🥺 PunkNeverDied69: You can’t afford my tastes.

GimmeDa’Za: Day 15 of asking for a Heat cameo and dutch oven pizzas. FlamingHot420: Why are you people obsessed with me? I walked into the kitchen ONE TIME.

[coffeehighallthetime-blog]

I'm Kind, Not Complacent chpt 7

chpt 7

word count: 2.6k

pairing: gow heimdall x reader, kids!

A/N: hello. I'm sorry this is late, I have been going through it 👉👈 and I'm just trying my best lol. thank you as usual to everyone who likes and comments and thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy it! there is not much Heimdall content in this chapter but I hope you enjoy hanging out with Freya!

@engardeitsme thank you, lovey for your support I appreciate you endlessly!

@nokolla @lunaryasha, thank you for reading and appreciating my writing! if anyone else would like to be tagged just let me know!. hope you all enjoy!

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Freya’s room was full of natural sunlight. Her windows reached from floor to ceiling, creating triangular shapes through the plant-filled space. Bare wooden beams braided with ivy vines and sweet moss towered high above into the scaffolding, and Yn’s eyes trailed from one to the other, how different breeds of plants dangled from hooks, and spiralled down towards her as if they wanted to greet her.

Yn turned her eyes to Freya's back as she walked around her table, watering her different plants. 

“Go on then, pick up a watering can,” Freya spoke over her shoulder and Yn stiffened at being caught staring around once again before setting her things down and grabbing a pail, dipping it into a deep basin before joining Freya in water the plants around the room.

Yn had been going to lessons with Freya for nearly two months now, and the days always started the same. Freya never came to get her, it was Yn’s responsibility to come to the chamber on time, and if she was late, Freya stated the door would be locked. The goddess had taught her on her first day the importance of caring for the plants, especially since they were going to be taking from them. It must be an equal exchange. As a result, they had spent the first two weeks focusing on the care of Freya’s plants, how to water, how much, what the soil needs to be like for each specimen, feeding carnivorous varieties, pruning dead leaves and shriveled growth, and finally spells to whisper whilst the care is given to promote healthy growth. It had all made the girl's head spin at first, and the goddess didn’t seem to care if she caught up to the information or fell behind. Despite this, Yn quickly picked up the pieces, taking every challenge in stride with a smile on her face.

Freya finished first, sitting to prepare a pot of tea for the two as she watched the girl finish her pruning and watering. In their first few sessions, Yn would rush to finish after seeing Freya had stopped. However, after being scolded about skipping steps, clipping fresh leaves, and underwatering, the girl had learned to ignore what was going on around her and focus on doing a diligent job on her own time.

Freya would wait patiently, brewing tea and setting up the rest of their lesson. She had note cards next to specimens, explaining their names and what they were used for. There were step-by-step instructions on potions, with the ingredients put to the side, and pronunciations of incantations.

“It’s important we look at individual pieces. This way we can distinguish what needs to be added together to get the results we want.” Freya explained as Yn approached, sitting to sip her tea as Freya finished setting up. 

“These are the specimens I had you research last week. I want you to look at each one, and from memory, tell me what each one is used for and how to apply it best.” Yn nodded as she immediately started to examine leaf shapes and textures to sort the different plants, writing her deductions on fresh parchment. Freya gave her this test once a week, and as Yn’s pen moved swiftly against the paper, the goddess could not help the pride that bubbled, nor could she ignore the raven watching them from the rafters, its bright red eye trained on the girl as she flawlessly recited newfound knowledge. Freyr glared up at it from the corner of her eye, a vine whipping to shoo it off its perch,  “After this, we will work on spell pronunciation and if there is time, we will spare until the sun sets.”

“Yes, ma’am.” the girl spoke, focused on her task. Freya raised a brow as the girl started to configure the plants in a pattern of the different characteristics they possessed, and then into the different medicines they could be used for, Including tonics the goddess had not yet taught her. In particular, a medicine using a combination of yarrow and mallow.  Yn looked up to meet Freya’s gaze and smiled sheepishly. “I noticed these are both strong plants for healing and thought they may be good for a wider variety of healing if they were to be combined. Mimir taught me a bit about mallow, which is from here in Asgard, but this is from Vanir, right?” She held up the yarrow and Freya nodded.

“You’re combining ingredients from different realms?”

“O-oh, is that not allowed?” Yn frowned, lowering the plants, grabbing her notes, and flipping to a page for Freya to see her writings. The girl had been doing some of her own research on the combinations of specimens. Freya’s brow furrowed as she read the scribbles. They were conclusions she had come to but never thought to teach the girl for fear it may bring too much attention to her from Odin. 

“ It’s complicated. We are meant to be focusing on Vanir magic for the time being.”

“Ah ok… I just thought… u-m it’s stupid, I’m sorry-” Freya shook her head and smiled, tapping at the girl’s notes.

“Explain it to me.” Yn smiled and explained her process as Freya pushed over the mortar and pestle so they could test the hypothesis. The magic was sound and Freya couldn’t help the smile that kept pulling at her cheeks. The girl was exceptionally bright and used her affinity for logic to aid her in her studies. Odin was right to show an interest in the girl, and that was the true cause for Freya’s want to keep the girl at the basics for as long as possible. Yet despite this, the girl’s intelligence was inspiring and her passion, infectious. For a moment, on these odd mornings during lessons, Freya lost herself in the innocence of the young goddess’s exploration and tried her best to ignore her true reason for being tasked to teach the girl.  

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I can’t do this,” Freya whispered to Mimir as they traded the girl for her lessons. The man stiffened slightly, resting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. He smiled down at her and pushed her toward the door. 

“Go set your things down, lass, I’ll be right with ya.” Yn frowned but complied, worried she was in trouble. As the door shut, Mimir whipped to stare down at the goddess.

“That is not for you to decide.”

“She’s just a child.” Freya stood ridged, her fists clenched at her sides as she glared at the satir. Mimir stood his ground, his visage unreadable to her. Freya had always hated his ability to not show his emotions on his face. 

“She’s been given a purpose here, my queen. A purpose bestowed onto her by the All-Father himself. Or have you forgotten?”

“I have forgotten nothing,” she spat, her eyes like hot coals. “I know very well why she’s here and refuse to continue raising another warhorse for him to-

“The girl is bright and strong, and we are only helping her on-”

“So she can be used to kill millions-”

“This is not our choice-”

“There is no choice!” The goddess’s wings flexed out, the feathers rattling as her shoulders shook with rage. Mimir stood like a statue, his bifrost eyes shimmering finally with an emotion Freya could see; sorrow.

“You know as well as I do,” Mimir spoke softly, a melancholic smile on the corner of his lips, “that this is beyond the both of us…” He turned, placing his hand on the door of his study, “every day I am with her, I feel like I am raising my own child… and then leading her to her death…” His eyes pointed into a deep glare as he looked at the goddess over his shoulder, “But I’ll be damned if I don’t equip her with the tools to give her a fighting chance.” 

Mimir opened the door and walked in wordlessly, leaving it open by a hair. Freya could hear the girl on the other side, asking if the goddess was upset with her. 

“Now who could ever be upset with you, little thing.” Mimir’s voice rumbled through the door. Freya peaked through the crack, watching as Mimir ruffled the girl’s hair and her laugh filled her chest and sank to her stomach. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“That’s enough, child,” Freya spoke softly to the girl, setting down her water and sitting on a stool, ushering Yn to do the same. “You are doing well. I don’t even need to keep an eye on you, anymore.”

“Thank you, Ms. Freya,” Yn spoke softly as she pulled herself onto her stool. She picked up the teapot sitting at the wooden table and slowly poured some into the goddess’s cup before filling her own. “Do you think I’ll be ready to learn spells soon?” Freya hummed and sipped her tea, the steam whsiping up into the rafters. 

“Possibly. How do you feel about pronunciation?” the girl shuffled slightly in her seat, pouring honey into her cup.

“I’ve been practicing every morning and night, miss. I really do think I’m ready. I-I’ve been excited to start spells as I have been working hard on potions and medicine a-and want to start on new lessons so that I can be of use to the All-Father sooner-”

“Why do you want to learn magic, Yn.” the girl paused, her cup hovering just below her lips. 

“Well… I thought that’s why I was here.” she lowered her cup, letting the warmth of the cup heat her hands. “Mimir a-and the All-Father-”

“I did not ask what the two old men want, or why we need to be in this room together for two hours every other day,” Freya spoke, her face like a stone as she looked down at the girl. Yn swallowed dryly, setting her cup down and staring down at her knees. Freya frowned, and tucked a finger under the girl’s chin, tilting her head up for their eyes to meet. “I’m asking why you want to be here…why do you stay…” 

Yn stared up into Freya’s eyes, feeling a sense of calm rush over her. Her shoulders relaxed and she stared back at the goddess, her vision steady.

“I want to know….” Freya smiled, releasing her chin 

“Know what?” she asked, crossing her arms. 

“I want to know… about the world. About my place in it. I want to know how to be an actual deity. Someone who can be strong enough to protect people, to protect Vanaheim, as you did…I can’t do that if I don’t even know the extent of what I am. Goddess of peace who only knows how to manipulate…goddess of logic who thinks too much with her heart…” Freya listened in silence, letting the girl speak before resting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

“There are always more sides to a god than originally known. I am the goddess of love and family, but I am also the goddess of war.” the girl nodded slowly, wrapping her head around the idea there may be more to her than even she knew.

“S-so you are saying those opposites… may be a part of me for a reason? That could be…full of chaos and madness?” the girl trembled at the thought, her skin going pale. Freya frowned, setting down her own cup and resting a hand on her lap. 

“Possibly, but possibly not.” Freya’s voice was strong and caring, her eyes focused on the girl’s, “But just because they are, does not make you a goddess to be feared. Two sides of a coin just help to have a deeper understanding of oneself.” the girl still couldn’t stop the tremble in her hands but looked up to meet the goddess’s gaze, her breath steadying. Freya closed her hands around the girl’s. “We will figure everything out together. I promise.” Yn swallowed and slipped out of her stool, hugging Freya around the waist and burying her face in the woman’s stomach. Freya wrapped her arms around the girl, squeezing her tightly. She  couldn’t help the hot coal sinking down her throat and settling in the pit of her stomach, knowing she was bound to both teach the girl and tell Odin about every instance of growth until she was what he envisioned her to be. They were all nothing but puppets in the end. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“Mimir?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m dangerous?”

The man froze mid-stride, looking down at the girl beside him, her hand clasped in his as they walked to supper. She frowned at his stiffness and looked away, tugging him down the hall.

“It’s ok… I guess I already knew the answer…” Mimir didn’t budge, pulling the girl gently back next to him and crouching down to her level. Yn looked at her feet, and when the satir tried to meet her gaze, she turned to avoid it. 

“Lass, look at me.” When her head didn’t budge he tilted her head up and had to hold in a chuckle at the weak glare pointed at him. “Now what’s all this about?” she shuffled her feet, kicking up dust. 

“ I don’t want to be a bad god…” She whispered, her hands wringing at the hem of her tunic. “Freya said I may be a goddess with more sides… meant to be able to manipulate and cause chaos… but I don’t want to be those things, I don’t want people to be scared of me.” She pushed, looking up at the man. “She said that it’ll be ok… but I still wanted to tell you because I don’t want you to think you should be scared…” Mimir sighed and shook his head with a smile. 

“How could I ever be scared of you, sweet girl?” She huffed softly, rubbing her eyes. 

“I don’t know…” he stood back up, ushering her with a hand to her back. 

“Come on then. What say you we start with dessert tonight?”

“Really?”

“Sure! Just uh, don’t tell the queen.”

The girl hummed in agreement, but despite Mimir’s words and promise of sweets, she couldn’t stop the new knowledge of what she may be fester inside her, letting it fill her with dread. Freya had wanted to teach her, a Mimir had wanted to reassure, but really all they did was leave the girl with more fear and unanswered questions.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

For the first night in a while, Heimdall had been able to sleep peacefully without the overbearing ring of noises from the lodge keeping him awake. He lay curled in his furs, soft puffs of air passing past his lips as his chest raised and fell in a slow gentle rhythm. A knock and rattle of his door stirred him awake. He groaned, throwing the covers over his head, hoping they were lingering sounds that would soon dissipate as he fell deeper into the sleep. Maybe it was a drunk trying to get into his room downstairs or across the hall. There was silence and then another set of knocks, followed by a quiet voice whispering his name through the door. Heimdall frowned, his brows furrowing as he rubbed the sleep from his face. He slowly willed himself to sit up and looked over at his door, listening closer.

“Heimdall…” the voice trembled, “C-can I please come in?” the boy’s feet carried him to the door before he fully knew what he was doing, and he opened to meet glassy eyes staring back at him. Yn’s face brightened despite the tear stains, and she rubbed her eyes.

“I'm sorry, I know you were sleeping well and I didn’t want to-“

“Just,” he sighed, grabbing her wrist. “Come in so I can get back to sleep.” He didn’t let her respond, dragging her into his bed and laying his head back on his pillow, holding the covers open for her. Yn sniffled softly, and laid down next to him, letting his warmth slowly calm her. “What’s wrong.” He mumbled, his eyes already closed. Yn looked up at his face, how he was already starting to doze off. He had truly come a long way, and under other circumstances, she would have smiled. 

“I’m worried I may be a bad god.”

“There is no such thing as a bad god, only weak underlings” he grunted, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. She hummed, expecting an answer akin to this from the Aesir, still, it didn’t ease her.

“Still… I think people here are afraid of me… most of the maids won’t even look at me and the einherjar avoid me on the sparing grounds a-and even in the great hall…even at breakfast!…” she swallowed. “W-what if Mimir or Freya-”

“Anyone afraid of you is either brainless, “he spoke through a yawn, “or a coward. Now go to sleep.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Am I brainless or a coward?”

“No-” 

“There you go.”

“Hm…” the girl smiled slightly, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she settled in the bed. “But do you dislike me?”

“If I disliked you would I wake up in the middle of the night and waste my precious sleep hours consoling your idiotic claims.” She didn’t respond and this was answer enough. He huffed through his nose, pulling the covers closer. “Go to bed, songbird.” She buried her head in his chest, sighing with a tired smile.

“Thank you, weasel…”

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

[diddlesanddoodles]

Silvaaran Poppy Seed Sweet Bun Recipe

A bun made of fluffy enriched dough, filled with a poppy seed and dried fruit mixture. For a savory version: switch out the poppyseed filling for roasted carrots and fennel. Add bacon if you’re feeling bougie.

Sweet Bun Filling

(Recipe by Karolina from Polishfoodies.com)

Ingredients

2 cups of poppy seeds

2 cups of milk

2.5oz (70g) of dried apricots

2.5oz (70g) of dried cranberries

2.5oz (70g) of raisins

2.5oz (70g) of candied orange peel dices

2.5oz (70g) of ground walnuts

4 tbsps of honey

4 tbsps of butter

  INSTRUCTIONS

Rinse and drain the poppy seeds.

Cover the poppy seeds with milk and cook for 30 minutes.

In the meantime, dice the dried apricots.

Drain the poppy seeds and grind them once or twice.

Add honey, butter, ground walnuts, and dried fruits. Mix.

Set aside to cool completely and set aside for future use.

Milk Bread Dough

(Recipe by the Woks of Life)

Ingredients

2/3 cup heavy cream (room temp)

1 large egg (room temp)

1/3 cup sugar

4 cups all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon yeast (dry active or instant)

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

Egg wash (1 egg beaten with 1 teaspoon water)

Simple syrup (1 tablespoon sugar, dissolved in 1 tablespoon hot water)

  INSTRUCTIONS

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook attachment, add the ingredients in the following order: heavy cream, milk, egg, sugar, all-purpose flour (or mixture of cake flour & bread flour, if using), yeast, and salt. Turn on the mixer to “stir,” and knead for 15 minutes, occasionally stopping the mixer to push the dough together. If the dough is sticking to the sides of the bowl, add a little more flour 1 tablespoon at a time until it pulls away from the sides (it should be sticking to the bottom of the mixing bowl, but not the sides). If kneading by hand, extend the kneading time by 5-10 minutes.

Next, cover the dough with a damp towel, and place in a warm spot until the dough has doubled in size (1-2 hours). In the meantime, grease a baking vessel on all sides with butter.

After the dough has doubled in size, put it back in the mixer, and stir for another 5 minutes to get rid of air bubbles. Dump the dough on a lightly floured surface and divide into 16 even balls. Flatten each ball into a disk and spoon a heaping tablespoon of poppyseed filing into the center. Pinch closed and roll back into shape. Repeat with the remaining buns and once all are shaped, let them proof, covered, for another hour.

Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat it to 350° F/175°C. Brush the now risen buns with egg wash. Bake for 23-25 minutes, or until golden brown. Remove from the oven and brush the warm bread with sugar water to give it shine and sweetness. Drizzle honey onto each bun whiles they’re still warm and sprinkle more poppy seeds on top.

Best eaten fresh and with tea.

[calmingpi]

Happy anniversary to calmingpi, i made a calming pie again (this time with more lavender)

Good news is that it tastes pretty good. Bad news is that i believe i messed up my starch amount, so it's a lot more runny than it was the last time i made this. Its all a process, i suppose. It SHOULD come out not exactly firm, but not liquid either. Kind of pull-apart jammy, i guess

Anyway

Im afraid im not very good at precise cooking, but its about time i recorded my findings better. So heres my best attempt to write down the calming pie recipe. You know, for science (note: calming properties of said pie are still largely untested)

Ingredients:*

Bag of frozen blueberries (size big)

Lemon or lime juice (at least 2 shot glasses)

Honey (1/4 of a cup) (for any extra sweetener, use more honey, or white sugar)

Tapioca starch (I used the incorrect amount this time. Learn from my mistake and use about 4 or 5 tablespoons) (you can also use corn or potato starch. Maybe even rice starch. I used potato last time and it worked quite well)

Chamomile tea (2 bags) (get one thats only chamomile. Maybe sleepy time would work? Never tried that one. But i try to keep it just chamomile)

Dried or fresh lavender (I dont know. Eyeball it)

Ground cinnamon (????) (Eyeball it i guess. I put in a puff)

*blueberries, honey, chamomile, and lavender supposedly have calming properties. Starch is to thicken it, juice is for taste, and cinnamon is because blueberry pie apparently has cinnamon usually. And im sure the blueberry pie sparks have a good idea of what theyre doing

Instructions:

Make a pie crust (I used Bob's Red Mill gluten free pie crust mix. It comes with instructions)

Dump all of this into a pot and cook it on the stove at high heat. The blueberries will turn liquid and everything will just come together. Stir frequently. The most important thing is to constantly taste test the mixture to make sure its the right amount of sweet and tangy

I usually only use 1/4th of a cup of honey, which takes a little while to melt, because im of the opinion that blueberries are actually very sweet. The lemon or lime juice should also balance that out, so use less juice and more honey/sugar if you want it sweeter, or the other way around if you want it more tangy

Eventually itll start bubbling like some sort of witch's brew. Leave it like that for a few minutes and stir sometimes. When its been a few minutes, transfer it to a big mixing bowl, and let it cool. Make sure you take the chamomile bags out! They are funny to poke at but not so great to eat

Transfer pie to pie tin (which should already have crust in it), and add more crust to the top. Add an eggwash on it if you want (its just half egg/half water, and honestly it kind of wastes an egg but it does come out a little nicer looking)

Cook at 425°F for roughly an hour. I highly recommend putting a baking pan underneath the pie as its in the oven, because it tends to spill over the top as its cooking

Let it cool, and then eat the thang ding

[crowfootwrites]

Eaha’le

I got the idea for the first part of this fic, the interaction between reader and Senator Cretak, and it rooted itself so deeply in my brain that I could literally hear it in her voice (specifically Megan Cole's Cretak, who I am deeply in love with 😅). Anyway, here's another entry for the December Prompt List by @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging the folks I knew usually love that good Romulan shit! @deepspacedukat @bigblissandlove1 @sleepycat82 @starrynightgardens @horta-in-charge

Eaha'le translates to "sweetness" in Rihan.

December 8: Sweets (Senator Kimara Cretak x GN!Reader)

Warnings: none; pure fucking fluff; not beta'd we die like men. | Words: ~620

“And, what did you say this was called again?” Kimara asked as she sat, slightly wide-eyed, at your mother’s kitchen table, the few brown crumbs dusting her lips begging you to kiss them off.

You laughed and wiped your floured hands on the towel slung over your shoulder before taking a seat across from her, the Christmas platter of shaped cookies resting between you.

“Gingerbread,” you reminded her.

“It is… spicy,” she murmured, reaching for another Human man-shaped cookie. “But also sweet.” She studied it intently before gingerly taking a bite.

She nodded thoughtfully. “This is excellent,” she mumbled around the cookie in her mouth.

More of your laughter bubbled over – while you never imagined you’d refer to a Romulan partner as “adorable”, Kimara’s curiosity was endearing and it made her all the more lovely to you.

You knew, of course, about the Senator’s penchant for sweets. In the time you’d known her, she’d never passed up an opportunity to try a new confection. She’d actually introduced you to jumja sticks after you’d arrived on Deep Space 9.

But being back in your family home on Earth for Christmas meant introducing Kimara to scads of novel, handmade Terran desserts – so far, there’d been some hits and some misses. She wasn’t a fan of sweet potato pie, which you’d lamented dramatically, or peanut butter fudge. But she’d eaten enough lemon bars to make herself sick and was “delighted” by the lightness of your profiteroles. Gingerbread, it would seem, was another hit.

“I’m glad you like it,” you offered. “It’s a pretty traditional Christmas dessert, around here anyway.”

A loud clinking carried across the kitchen as your mother entered, carrying a tilting stack of ceramic casserole dishes. She swore loudly as she caught her hip on the corner of the counter and dumped the pile of pans on the countertop in annoyance.

“I’m fixin’ to make my famous banana puddin’, Kimmy,” she divulged, leaning against the counter with one hand on her hip. You snorted lightly at your mother’s diminutive nickname for your dignified, Senate office-holding partner. Kimara glanced between you and your mother, her eyes still wide.

“Bananas are a sweet, custardy kind of fruit – and in banana pudding, you slice up bananas and layer them with cream and crispy vanilla cookies,” you filled in.

“And mine’s the best,” your mother added, fluffing her hair a bit. “Won the blue ribbon at the holiday bake-off for the last three years.”

“That sounds like an exceptional accomplishment,” Kimara replied earnestly, and you reached for her hand over the table to give it a squeeze. Her kindness never ceased to amaze you – it was unexpected from someone who’d previously described the Romulans’ “well-earned” arrogance to you.

“I look forward to trying it,” she added with a respectful incline of her head.

“Oh, you’re too sweet, Kimmy.” Your mother flushed and began making a racket as she shuffled her dishes around and started setting out ingredients.

A timer sounded from beside the oven and you ruefully pulled yourself from your Senator’s grasp to pull your thumbprint cookies out of the oven. Navigating around your mother’s chaos in the kitchen, you set your cookies to cool and poured a cup of tea each for you and Kimara. As you turned toward the table, you spotted her finishing her third gingerbread cookie and chided her softly.

“You’ll make yourself sick again,” you warned around a grin, setting the cups on the table and seating yourself beside your partner. 

This time you couldn’t help it, leaning in to kiss away the specks of gingerbread clinging to her soft lips, your eyes fluttering closed as she kissed you back, spice and sparks crackling to life between you. 

[adickaboutspoons]

Happy Olu-Wednesday my v. dears! Who's ready to celebrate our favorite bartender with a little OFMD-themed adult beverages (options for mocktails provided. I know some of you have a whole day ahead of you still)? Episode 1: Impossible Birds Lime Ricky 1 ½ ounces (3 tablespoons) fresh lime juice

For a cocktail: 3 ounces gin or bourbon For a mocktail: ¼ teaspoon caper juice or pickle juice, ½ ounce simple syrup, or omit entirely

4 ounces (½ cup) soda water Ice, for serving Garnish: lime wedges

Combine lime juice, cocktail or mocktail ingredients, and bitters in an ice-filled highball glass and stir. Top with soda water and garnish with lime wedges.

Ricky was really overselling it in my opinion, but I'm an inveterate girly drink drinker, and the alcoholic version isn't even sweetened at all. It's refreshing, sure, but not something I would go out of my way for. So if you're a pantywaist like me, do yourself a favor and get some sweetened lime juice or throw some simple syrup at this bitch. I like the gin version better than the bourbon version, but it's a close call; I just think the lime goes better with the mother's ruin, but maybe drinking Christmas trees isn't your thing (I am referring to gin, in case anyone is wondering what the hell I'm talking about). I will say the bourbon version is more complex (but that I would also go easy on the simple syrup if you're adding it to that one) Episode 2: Red Flags Dark and Stormy 2 ounces rum (Iced tea for a mocktail) 1/2 ounce lime juice, freshly squeezed Ginger beer, to top (about 5 ounces) (can't find ginger beer? ginger ale is fine, darling)

Ice, for serving Garnish: lime wheel Stir rum and lime juice in a tall glass filled with ice. Top with the ginger beer. Garnish with a lime wheel. Easy peasy lime-y squeezy.

The recipe doesn't call for spiced rum, but the Kraken is my favorite, quite aside from thematic relevance, so that's what I used, and my v. dears, it is BEAUTIFUL.

Episode 3: The Innkeeper

I was tempted to go with the Corpse Reviver, but I have to admit I don't actually care for absinthe that much. So instead, champers is the drink of the hour, but why just have champagne when you can have a champagne cocktail? So I will share with all you, my v. dears, my v. favorite champagne cocktail; a little beauty we made up for our Addams Family themed Halloween party:

The Morticia 1/2 oz Créme de pêche 1/2 oz Passionfruit juice 1/2 oz Rose water 1 oz Pomegranate juice Champers of your choice (I prefer an Asti, but live your best life if you're more of a Brut girlie. For mocktails, add some Tonic Water instead for the bubbles)

Really just add all ingredients to a champagne flute. I am not a fancy bitch.

[sundove88]

World’s End Club Headcanon Masterpost (The Go-Getters)

Cheers to the first post of 2024!!!

In General

They all have an aptly named “Ice cream day”, in which they ride off to the nearest ice cream shop to get their favorite flavors. And if you’re curious, here are each of their fave flavors:

Reycho- Caramel Banana

Vanilla- Vanilla Bean Marshmallow (Obviously)

Kansai- Tiger Milk Tea

Chuko- Cheesecake

Mowchan- Everything But The Kitchen Sink

Nyoro- Strawberries and Cream

Aniki- Toasted Oatmeal

Pai- Maple Bacon

Tattsun- Dragonfruit

Pochi- Neopolitan

Jennu- Ube

Yuki- Frosted Sugar Cookie

Each of them has a friendship bracelet- each having charms of their favorite things. Ex- Reycho has a Fist, Vanilla has a Marshmallow, Pochi has an MP3 Player, Nyoro has a robot, Mowchan has a burger, Chuko has a chili pepper, Tattsun has an Electro Rangers mask, Kansai has a ball and bat, Pai has a flower, Aniki has a guitar, Jennu has Comedy and Tragedy masks, and Yuki has a snowflake.

When it comes to crafting, they have an entire shack when it comes to it. They even invite other kids from around to join in!

Reycho

He’s currently getting baseball lessons from Kansai.

He loves drawing- a lot. Especially when it comes to sports!

He uses sign language to communicate with his friends.

Vanilla

She is quite good at sewing little dolls of yarn!

She enjoys a good storybook or two- especially picture ones.

Dressing up is one of her biggest interests- she also loves taking bubble baths after long days.

Pochi

He’s got a connection to animals- especially dogs. He loves puppies most of all.

He and Reycho moved in with Vanilla and Aniki after the main story, so they’re part of the family.

Not just that, he often invites the others to play video games together and share snacks.

Nyoro

She is arguably the BEST at drawing in the group- all the drawings of blueprints had to start somewhere!

She designs bead jewelry and keychains for her friends to give on their birthdays.

It took a long time for her to forgive her dad, but she did it in giving him a bag keychain she made herself.

Mowchan

He works at food drives so he can spread happiness to those who need it the most.

He makes his own “Secret Sauce”, which is Mayo, ketchup, a bit of soy sauce, a handful of spices, salt, pepper, and a dash of hot sauce.

His parents definitely own a local restaurant.

Chuko

She absolutely HATES bullies. And whenever she sees an innocent person being bullied, she decides to stand up for them.

Her comfort food is definitely anything with cheese. Especially pasta with said ingredient.

She won’t hesitate to jump into action when someone is in danger.

Tattsun

He has an entire collection of comic and manga books at home, mostly ones of Shonen anime.

He has Electro Ranger suits for all of his friends in his closet in case they need to wear them to a convention.

One of his most prized collectibles is a limited edition comic con exclusive Power Rangers Megazord toy.

Kansai

He collects baseball cards. Enough said.

He keeps an entire pack of bubblegum on him for emergencies.

He often invites the others to baseball games at their local park to play together.

Pai

She is an expert in babysitting and always packs extra clothing for everyone when they go on trips.

She loves taking long walks and photographing beautiful animals!

She can write little notes for the ghosts she sees to read.

Aniki

He really wants to take horseback riding lessons with his sister.

He lets his sister stick bows and clips into his hair- and one time even a whole bonnet!

He’s a massive fan of rock music and knows how to play the guitar.

Jennu

She makes her own costumes in her big sis’ honor.

She trades little trinkets with Nyoro as well as designs!

Her favorite musical is Hairspray.

Yuki

Soft pillows and fluffy pajamas are two of her favorite things in the world.

A good book is one of her favorite interests.

She loves tobogganing in the snow, as well as snowball fights! She loves it especially when the gang has them in the park.