#but somehow none of it is jasmine green tea

[flashhwing]

the hellhole that is my life (I want tea and I have tea but I don't have the right kind of tea)

[darlinluxx]

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

request from : @erika-mon2-blog “Hi sweetie! I saw that you were accepting requests for Saebyeok, and I would love to ask you for one. I recently came across your profile and I'm in love with it! I'd love something along the lines of a sweet and clingy *reader* and a cold and unaffected Saebyeok; I know it's not a specific request, but I just want to see Saebyeok fighting against his cold attitude to please his favorite person. 😭🩷”

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : none

summary : you and saebyeok are complete opposites. i guess it’s true what they say : opposites attract

a/n : thank u sm <33 i literally just finished this fic as you sent me this lmao perfect timing !!

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he chipped paint of your apartment wall is the same shade as the chipped paint of the subway station Saebyeok seems to gravitate towards. except here, in your little corner of Seoul, there’s a soft blanket draped over the worn couch, the aroma of jasmine tea lingering in the air, and the sunlight spills in, warm and inviting. the subway station? it’s cold, concrete, and constantly echoing with the anxieties of the city.

you hum softly, arranging the hydrangeas in a vase until they’re just so — a perfect, delicate dance of blue and purple. Saebyeok, on the other hand, isn’t about delicate dances. she’s more cold and quiet storms. and yet, somehow, you’ve found yourselves woven together.

you hear her before you see her. the jingle of the keys she pulls from her pocket, a small, almost involuntary noise that always makes your heart flutter. she’s in the doorway, silhouette framed against the hallway light, a stark contrast to the soft glow of your living room.

“hey.” she says, her voice low and a little rough, like gravel being shifted beneath the tide. she doesn’t look at you directly, her gaze fixed on the floor, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her dark green jacket. it’s a gesture you’ve come to know well: the guarded posture of someone who’s used to fending for themselves.

“hi,” you say, your smile immediate and genuine. you leave the hydrangeas, walking over to her and pulling her in for a hug. your hands brush against the cold fabric of her jacket, a reminder of the world she moves through — a world so different from the one you curate within these four walls.

she stiffens for a moment, unused to the physical expression of affection, before relaxing, her breath ghosting against your neck. it’s a small victory, something you treasure.

“anything good happen today?” you ask, your voice light even though you suspect the answer might be in the negative. you know about the struggles; the constant search for her family, the need to survive. but you believe in offering her a soft place to land.

Saebyeok shrugs, a slight lift of her shoulders. “the same.” she says, which could mean anything, or nothing at all. you don’t press her. you know she’ll tell you when she’s ready, in her own time, in her own way.

instead, you lead her to the couch, tucking a soft blanket around her shoulders. you bring her the tea, the steam swirling around your face, a faint wisp of comfort in the stillness of the room.

“how was your day?” she asks, her eyes finally lifting to meet yours. you told her about your day. Saebyeok listens, her gaze intense as if she’s trying to decipher a complex puzzle. you suspect it is that for her; all the vibrant color, the soft petals, the open displays of merriment — it’s a foreign landscape.

she doesn’t comment much, but you can feel her presence, hear the subtle shift in her body as she adjusts on the couch, moving closer to you. in her quiet way, she’s here, present, with you.

later, as you’re both curled up on the couch, a book of poetry open in your lap, you lean against Saebyeok, your head resting on her shoulder. she runs her fingers through your hair, a habit she’s developed, a small gesture of intimacy.

you, with your bright colors and gentle nature, and Saebyeok, with her shadows and guarded heart, are an unlikely pair. but here, in this small apartment surrounded by soft light and the scent of jasmine, you understand why this works. you are her anchor, the bright spot in her storm. and she, well, she is the grounding force that keeps you from floating too far away, reminding you that there’s a strength in silence, in resilience, in surviving even the harshest of storms. and in this quiet intimacy, you know, with absolute certainty, that this love, two different worlds colliding, is exactly what you both need.

[bcbdrums]

Last night's winner was Tohoku, 2011

I'd never had this one before, somehow. It definitely fits the description on the page of "rising out of the mire" or something like that. At first taste none of the flavors are distinct, but then they swirl to the surface slowly. Extremely smooth and subtle green tea flavors, and then the brightness of lemon and raspberry rise subtly above those. Very interesting!

I have 130 varieties of tea from Adagio.com. No, this is not an advertisement. I've just gotta do something about all this tea. Links below (if they exist).

Earth Keeper Anhui Keemun (no link) Pocketful of Posie (scroll down in the link) Jane Seymour Ross Jasmine Chun Hao

Slowly but surely...all tea will eventually be voted a winner. And I shall drink a cup a day. Should only take three to five years to get rid of all the tea...

[daevastanner]

Feyre going to visit Elucien in the Day Court years and years from now and…

They reside in a large, but somehow very homey manor. When Feyre winnows to the entrance, she’s immediately overcome by the warm, buttery sunlight and the large sprawling garden that seems to wrap around the entire house. Various windows are open, ferns and ivy and all manner of potted greenery tumble out of them as though the home they’ve made for themselves can hardly contain Elain’s green thumb.

It’s Elain who answers the door and ushers Feyre in, and it never fails to surprise her just how much the Day Court suits her sister. Her blush pink gown is made of light, elegant fabric and cinched at her waist by a gold belt. None of the fuss of the gowns that hindered her gardening with all of the beauty of the dresses that had made her the belle of every ball.

Elain says she’s set up tea in the back garden. Lucien is at the local market with their children and will join them soon. While they sip tea among the daffodils and the daisies Elain proudly tells her sister which flowers each of her children have planted, and how poor Sorrell kills most everything he touches.

About an hour later Feyre and Elain can hear the front door open and then the excited voices of Elucien’s brood as their father leads them inside.

“My hands are sticky!”

“A tragedy for the ages, my darling. Lily, you can help Poppy wash them, can’t you? That’s my favorite eldest daughter.”

“I’m your only eldest daughter. Come along, Lily.”

“I’m still hungry, papa!”

“Of course you are, Aster, I’d expect nothing less. I bet your mother has some snacks out in the garden. Aunt Feyre should be there.”

“Papa, can you make me some soup?”

“Papa said he’d help me with the bow today!”

“Jasmine, I’ll make you soup — I know, not too hot. Sorrell, we can still do the bow but I need to get Basil into bed before Im soaked in drool.”

Feyre’s brows are high as she listens to Lucien patiently and diplomatically address each need from within the house. He may be Helion’s heir, a charming courtier and a talented emissary, but he is a natural father. Elain just sips her tea with a small smile, like the sound of Lucien interacting with their children is her favorite melody. Little Aster, who looks every bit his father, comes running out into the garden on skinny legs and tackles his Aunt Feyre with a hug before diving into the cucumber sandwiches.

One by one, everyone but baby Basil comes and visits Feyre. Sorrell and Jasmine depart to go “explore” the woods. Poppy and Lily excuse themselves to make flowers crowns. Aster has some carrots he swears are ready to pick.

Finally, Lucien joins them, and Feyre thinks to herself how much domesticity suits Lucien. The Autumn and Spring Court Attire seemed to stifle him and while the Day Court attire his father wears isn’t exactly his style either, he’s somehow found a balance that suits him. A comfortable white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up and sage colored trousers tucked into riding boots, his fiery hair down but tied back at the sides. He looks dashing decked out in finery, but when Elain rises to kiss him and Feyre sees them together, she can’t imagine him in any other fashion but this. After centuries of clawing his way through darkness, he is in full bloom. Casual and stylish but practical and comfortable.

Feyre stands to embrace him, and she finds it’s hard to recall the time that there had been a wedge between them. The time they were both healing and seeing one another had only reminded them of their shared trauma. Now he plants a kiss on the top of her head and when he sits and joins them for tea, he asks all about Nyx and Andromeda.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a similar fashion with the three adults enjoying the never emptying tea pot, but every twenty minutes one of Elucien’s brood will approach the table. Each time, Lucien drops everything and leans forward to meet them at eye level. He answers every question, listens to every story. Before they resume their activities they always go to Elain for a kiss.

“You’ve both been fortunate to have been blessed with so many children,” Feyre smiles over her tea cup. “Any plans for a seventh?”

Elain sets down her tea cup and saucer with a clatter, her lips in a faint but exhausted smile as she gives her mate a knowing look. Feyre turns her attention to Lucien who grins at Elain from across the table.

“She’s cut me off,” Lucien says, russet eye glinting with amusement. “Give me a few centuries. I bet she’ll go for number seven.”

“You and your father wish,” snorts Elain.

Feyre almost balks at her sister’s flat tone, Lucien has brought out such fire in her.

“I can be very persuasive, lady…”

Elain rolls her eyes. “Oh please.”

Lucien opens his mouth to retort again, but then his metal eye whirs and his lips turn up in a wry smile. “He’s up.”

Feyre realizes that he means Basil. His metal eye somehow imparted this to him. Elain moves to stand, but Lucien is on his feet sooner, motioning for her to remain seated.

“No, enjoy your time with Feyre, lady,” he says, leaning over the table kissing the crown of her head. “I’ll see to him.”

“You’ve tended to them all day,” Elain frowns.

But Lucien is already walking backwards towards the house, rolling his sleeves up a little higher. “And I expect a substantial reward for such acts of heroism tonight.”

Feyre blinks and bites back a smile at Elain’s flushed face. Lucien disappears into the manor.

“To think,” Feyre says, unable to keep the smugness out of her tone, “there was a time I had to elbow you to get you to invite him over.”

Elain laughs softly. “I always knew it would be him. I didn’t need you to elbow me. I was just… taking my time.” She gestures to the garden, the manor. “I saw the eternity he would give me, but I wanted to wait. I wasn’t ready for all of this. For them.”

Feyre knows by ‘them’ she means their family. She doesn’t blame Elain for waiting. Her life here in the Day Court was quite an alteration to when she’d first been Made, quite the commitment. One she now loves.

“To have such certainty must’ve been a blessing and a curse,” Feyre murmurs. “But you always knew?”

Elain looks up at the second story window belonging to the nursery. “Of course. I could hear his heart.”

[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good Guest part 1

CW: Whump, mild car crash, creepy intimate whumper, luring unsuspecting whumpees into some dark questionable woods, parental whumper, drugging. 

(They get names as the story progresses.)

Masterlist

Annnnd the most oblivious Whumpee title goes toooooo-

Whumpee drove down the endless road, nothing but dark trees surrounded him. This place gave them the chills... He just had a bad feeling every time he drove through. The sun had long set, so it was even creepier with only the dim headlights lighting up the forest, Whumpee was just waiting for a deer or bear to jump in front of the car at any moment.

The car started rattling and slowed down, as Whumpee let out a groan 

“Oh, no no no! Not now!” He cried out, as he tapped the breaks. To his horror, the car didn’t slow down any further. 

“Eh?” He gasped, slamming down on the breaks hard, as nothing happened. A sharp turn came, as Whumpee did his best to glide through, but the car skid with a shriek as it rammed head first into a large tree. Whumee’s face hit the steering wheel, slicing his lip. Whumpee gasped, immediately touching his fingers to his lip, blood falling down his chin. 

“Ow...” Whumpee muttered, pulling a napkin from the dash to hold to his lip. He climbed from the car, his heart sinking as smoke rose from the engine, letting off a hissing sound. 

“Someone tell me this isn’t happening...” Whumpee gasped to himself, shaking his head with a defeated sigh. 

“Are you okay?” A deep voice asked, as Whumpee squeaked in fear, whirling around. There was a man standing right behind him with a dim lantern in hand, swaying back and forth. He looked older, with curly grey hair.

“I’m f-fine.” Whumpee stuttered, lowering the napkin a inch, as blood immediately dripped down his face, he gasped and held it back up. Whumper took his wrists, lowing his hand as he shone the lantern to his face. Whumpee whimpered, trying to take a step back, but Whumper tsked. "Easy there son, let me see.” He instructed. He took his thumb gently to his chin, wiping away some blood. 

“I live in the woods not far from here. I can get you some ice for that. Does it hurt?” The man asked with a sweet smile.  

“I'm okay... Do-... Do you have a phone?” Whumpee stuttered.

The man paused, his wide eyes glinting from the light as he stared at him.

“Of course I do! Why don’t you come with me, you can spend as much time as you like.” The man tilted his head to the side with a grin.

“N-no thank you! That won’t be necessary... I could just really just use a phone.” Whumpee nervously laughed. 

The man’s smile faded slightly. 

“... Of course! Whatever makes you comfortable, got someone waiting for you?” He asked. 

“Yeah! Lots of people, whole group of roommates!” Whumpee completely lied though his teeth. He lived alone in reality. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He asked, looking him up and down. “ Well, wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.” He nodded, coaxing him towards the dark endless woods.

Whumpee cringed, knowing this was a terrible idea, but what other choice did he have? He was in the middle of nowhere, no phone, no car, no signal, besides, the man seemed nice. Right?

Whumpee yelped when the man wrapped an arm around his, locking it in place. 

“Sorry dear, I didn’t mean to scare you. Come on now! You’ll catch a cold if you wait out here all day. I’ll make you a hot tea.” Whumper pulled him through the woods, the uneasy grip made Whumpee feel both uncomfortable, yet somehow comforted and safe at the same time... 

There was a dim yellow light in the distance, as Whumper lead them to a log cabin in the middle of the woods.

“You live here?” Whumpee asked, looking around. Whumper carefully walked him up the steps, making sure he made it up alright.

“Yes I do! Lovely isn’t it? So peacefully, so quiet. None of that pesky traffic noise at night.” He waved.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?” Whumpee asked. Whumper stopped with the rusted key halfway in the door. He stood frozen for an unusually long time, as Whumpee immediately regraded his question. 

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mea-” “-No no! It’s fine. You’re right, I suppose it can get a little lonely all the way out here. I hope it’ll change soon though.” He smiled.

“Oh! Are you going to get a pet?” Whumpee asked obliviously, with excitement in his voice. Whumper blurted out a laugh as he pulled Whumpee into the house by his arm. 

“Not quite, young man, not quite.” He chuckled to himself. 

The cabin was dim, long dark curtains covered the windows, small candles and lanterns around giving the room a soft glow. It was an old house, but well kept aside from some clutter. But there were unusual metal hooks all over the walls and floors.

“Phone?” Whumpee asked, tugging at Whumper sleeve.

“Phone?” Whumper repeated back with puzzle in their voice.

“Yes, the phone you said I could use?” Whumpee tilted their hair, raising an eyebrow.

“OH! Yes! That phone, of course, right over here.” Whumper kicked the door, as it slammed shut behind them, leading him into a kitchen. “Right there! I’ll get a kettle on.” He smiled. He grabbed an old wooden chair from the table, setting it next to an ancient looking wall phone. 

“Woah, I haven’t seen one of these in forever.” Whumpee puzzled, tapping a nail on the old phone. Whumpee jolted at the stove letting out a loud squeak as Whumper turned it on, giving him a creepy smile. Whumpee took a deep breath, as he sat down, lifting the phone to his ear.

Silence. 

“Does it... Work?” Whumpee glanced back.

“Of course it works!” Whumper hollered, as they both froze, staring at each other.

“Ahh, I mean, just give it a minute, there’s a delay sometimes.” He waved his hand. 

“Mm.. Mmkay.” Whumpee muttered, he had no idea how that worked, but he  dialing in numbers anyway.

Silence. 

“Just give it a few more minutes!” Whumper called. “Are you sure? It’s still silent.” Whumpee muttered, his voice getting shaky, his body visibly beginning to tremble. Whumpers eyes shot off the kettle when he noticed his nervousness, grabbing another chair and sitting it next to him. 

“Dearie! Don’t be frightened. I know you had a rough night, just relax, everything will be okay.” He coaxed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, handing him a icepack. Whumpee just let out a small nervous mumble in response, whispering a thank you as he held the ice to his busted lip.  

“Tea is done! It’ll help calm your nerves. I know you must be frightened, you were in a car crash for goodness sake!” He grabbed Whumpee’s chair, twisting it around and pushing him up to the table. Whumpee gasped and froze as he was pushed in. 

He blinked at the delightful cup steaming in front of him. He knew better then to drink that, but it smelled so good, and he was pretty thirsty. He glanced up at the man sitting across from him, looking at him kindly while he sipped his own cup. 

Whumpee sat down the ice on the table, hovering the cup an inch from his lips. It smelled divine. “Is this peppermint?” Whumpee muttered. “Mmhm! Good smell. Do you like it? I can make you something else. I have green, black, Jasmin, white...” He rattled off.

“No! No this is good. My favorite, actually.” He smirked. Whumper gave him a loving smile in response. Whumpee felt rude to not drink it by now, the man had even offered to make him another flavor, and wasn’t even pressuring him to drink it at all. He took a sip, it was just as good as it smelled, as he practically melted at the warm flavor. 

“I’m going to try the phone again...” Whumpee muttered, as he nodded. He held the phone to his ear, as he heard soft ringing. His heart fluttered with excitement as he felt a glimmer of hope. He reached up to dial the number again, but he could hardly see, they were fuzzy and swaying back and forth. 

“Mmm..” Whumpee whimpered, slowly lowering the phone, as he realized the ringing wasn’t coming from the phone. He slowly turned around to face Whumper, the ringing in his ears getting louder and louder, his head jolting as lightheadedness hit him. 

“You... Did you...?” He breathed, the blurry image of the mans smiling face burning into his mind as his knees buckled. He felt arms wrap around his chest as his knees hit the ground, the embrace around him keeping his chest up as a hand stroked across his face. He blinked his eyes open, as the next thing he knew he was laying on a couch with his head resting on the mans lap, who was slowly stroking his hand through his scalp. He desperately tried to cry out, but nothing came out.

He couldn't move. 

“What a sweet precious little thing...” Whumper smiled, playing with his hair. Whumpee felt like he was listening to the words underwater, as his voice haunting and distorted to his ears.

“Don’t worry son, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“So long as you behave.”

Next

Tag: @alien-octopus

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ *:･ﾟ✧ Thank you for reading!

[purple-dahlias]

day one- first meeting

wc: 1203 requested: no warnings: none

“Ready for your first lesson?” Ava asks, zipping up Isobel’s backpack and helping her with her coat on.

“Uh-huh,” her daughter nods, taking hold of Ava’s hand as the two head towards the car.

“So how was your day?”

“It was good,” Isobel nods. “We did poems today and Mrs Morgan said I could be the next Shakes-peer,” she tells her mother proudly.

“Did she now?” Ava smiles down at the six-year-old, pretty sure she had no earthly idea who Shakespeare was. “You think I could read your poem?”

“No,” Isobel returns simply.

“No?” Ava raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a surprise. You have to wait,” explains her daughter.

“I see,” Ava smiles to herself. “Well,” she says, helping Isobel into her car seat, “you excited for your first lesson?”

“Owen says Miss Reese is really nice, and she gives you chocolate chip cookies if you’re good,” Isobel relays to her mother, fixing her with a wide grin.

“Well we’d better get going then. Music?” Ava laughs, knowing what the answer would be. Lately Isobel had been playing Call Me Maybe on repeat, courtesy of Crockett who had introduced it to her, and truth be told it was beginning to drive Ava crazy. She’d be having words with him later.

The drive (luckily for Ava) doesn’t take too long, and soon Ava and Isobel are parked outside a neat looking house on a quiet road, the front drive planted up with all manner of … unlike most of the other driveways on the street, which simply functioned as places to park a car.

“Come on then, you ready to go?” Isobel nods vigorously, grinning as they get out of the car. Of course she was. She’d been after this for months, but it was only when Natalie had recommended Miss Reese that it had become a reality.  

The two walk up the drive and Ava rings the doorbell, while Isobel has a vice like grip on her hand, dancing up and down on the balls of her feet in anticipation, until the door is pulled open by a young woman, most probably no more than thirty, Ava observes, dark hair pulled back into a bun, a few loose curls escaping and dressed in slacks and a crisp white shirt, with a comfortable looking sweater pulled over the top, completing the look.  

“You must be Mrs Bekker,” Sarah greets them, shaking Ava’s hand.

“Actually, it’s Ms. Or Dr,” Ava interjects, then winces at how that must sound. Way to go, Ava, she thinks, berating herself for being so uptight and awkward.

“Mummy’s a heart doctor!” Isobel beams proudly, filling in the silence and looking up at her mother.

“I see, and you must be Isobel,” Sarah smiles down at the girl.

“Mhmm,” Isobel nods, happy to be known.

“Come on in. Usually parents like to stay for the first couple of lessons,” Sarah says aside to Ava, offering to take both her and Isobel’s coats.

“Oh I… wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not an imposition at all,” Sarah assures. I’ve set some tea and things up in the other room. Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Sarah gestures in the direction of the room she meant.

“Thank you, Miss Reese,” Ava manages a little stiffly.

“Please, call me Sarah,” the younger woman smiles.

“Well in that case, call me Ava.”

“Alright then, Ava.” Ava likes the way her name sounds coming from Sarah. Full and whole. And especially the way her mouth upturns when she says it. She allows herself to be shown into the room Miss Reese—Sarah—had indicated, and watches her turn to leave, before the distant sounds of Isobel and Sarah talking can be heard down the hall.

Alone, Ava takes in her surroundings. Just like the snippets she had seen of the hall, this room is warm and homely. Bookcases line the walls, and Ava makes out some of the titles, noticing the shelves of music neatly organised. A comfortable looking sofa and a pair of rather over-stuffed looking armchairs enclose a rounded coffee table on which a tea pot and a couple of mugs are found, along with an array of baked goods. The afternoon sunlight streams in through the thin nets against the windows, giving the room an airy feel. It feels very Sarah Reese, somehow. Even if Ava had only just met her, it all just seems to fit.

Still a little stiffly, Ava takes a seat. She’s not quite sure what it is, she just can’t help but feel self-conscious here in her daughter’s piano teacher’s house. It’s absurd, really, and she shouldn’t feel that way, there’s no earthly reason to, but all the same, she does. For the life of her, she can’t place why, why this would affect herself so. It just does. Nevertheless, she upholds Sarah’s offer, and pours herself a cup of tea, taking a careful sip and noticing its delicate yet fragrant flavour and subtle floral notes. Ava was by no means a tea connoisseur, but what she could tell was that she liked it, which was a pleasant surprise. Setting the mug down, Ava turns, rummaging around in her bag for her tablet and case book, deciding to take the spare time to work on her charting, figuring she might as well try and get ahead so she could spend the rest of the evening with Isobel.

“Oh, hey,” Ava looks up, noticing Sarah in the doorway. “I just came in to grab some snacks for Isobel. You know, she’s only had one lesson but she’s a real natural,” she smiles, picking up a plate.

“I bet you say that about all the kids you teach.” Ava lets out a little laugh, her eyes tracking Sarah’s movement across the room.  

“Nope. I mean it. What’ve you got there?” Sarah nods in the direction of Ava’s tablet, glancing at the angiography images Ava is looking over, squinting slightly to try and make sense of what the image is displaying.

“Just work. I’ve got a surgery scheduled for tomorrow and it’s looking like it’s going to be a complicated one at that.”

“Oh, you’re a surgeon.”

Ava nods.

“You know, they say piano players make great surgeons. You play?” Sarah looks at Ava’s hands where they rest in her lap, taking in the appearance of her long, slender fingers.

“I used to,” Ava smiles a little wistfully, more to herself than Sarah. “But that was forever ago.”

“Ah I see,” Sarah nods. “Can I get you some more tea?”

Normally Ava isn’t really a tea person, not ever, actually, but there’s something specific about the herbal concoction and being there in Sarah’s house that makes her agree.

“Sure,” she smiles. “Actually, I must confess, I hardly know what tea I’ve been drinking. Usually stick to coffee, myself.”

“Oh, it’s jasmine with green tea,” Sarah informs her helpfully.

“Well, it’s lovely,” Ava tells her, locking eyes with Sarah and privately revelling in the way it brings a blush to Sarah’s cheeks, though she’s not sure why. Ava’s just there for her daughter’s piano lessons. Nothing more. Nothing at all, she tells herself. And it’s just tea, anyway. It didn’t have to mean anything.

[gwen-pleakley]

ABOUT GWEN 🦟

Basic Information

Full Name: Dr. Gwendolyn Pleakley

Nickname(s): Gwen, Wendy, Professor Pleakley, Dr. Pleakley

Previous Aliases: Wendell Plummer

Age: 30

Date of Birth: August 28th

Hometown: Princeton, New Jersey, USA

Current Location: Redwood Hollow

Ethnicity: Vietnamese-Caucasian

Nationality: American

Gender: Trans woman

Pronouns: She/her

Orientation: Heterosexual

Relationship Status: "Married” to Javi Jookiba

Religion: Atheist but believes in astrology

Political Affiliation: Blue Check Liberal

Occupation: Professor of Ecology at Redwood College

Living Arrangements: Renting a room inside the home of Nani Pelekai

Language(s) Spoken: English, French (not good), Spanish (even worse)

Accent: N/A

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: Patti Harrison

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Brown

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 152lb

Build: Thin and not muscular

Tattoos: None

Piercings: One of the first things she did after running away was get her ears pierced

Clothing Style: Gwen has been experimenting with her style ever since she started transitioning. She leans towards bright, obnoxious colors and flowy fabric and generally looks ridiculous at any given moment

Usual Expression: Always tries to keep a smile on her face, but can easily have her mood switched

Distinguishing Characteristics: Her voice is high pitched, shrill, and easily distinguishable

Health

Physical Ailments: Gwen suffers from IBS but she does NOT want you to know that. Additionally, has astigmatism in her left eye

Neurological Conditions: She has undiagnosed OCD and generalized anxiety

Allergies: Ironically enough, bug bites. They aren’t lethal, but they do swell up and itch more than average. She sees this as a necessary sacrifice

Sleeping Habits: Generally tries to get her 8 hours in but is known to lose a lot of sleep when she’s working on a project. Prone to falling asleep in chairs/at her desk. Can be quite the fidgeter, especially when she dreams

Eating Habits: Due to her IBS, she’s very careful about what she eats and how much she does. Leans heavily towards healthy, organic, cruelty-free food. Is a vegan

Exercise Habits: Doesn’t do any regular, structured exercise, but does walk and bike everywhere. She wants to become more physically fit and wants to take martial arts classes

Emotional Stability: Gwen is doing her goddamn best not to fall apart at any given moment. Being on the run has pushed her to the limits of stress and who knows what it will take to cause her to snap

Sociability: Gwen generally enjoys the presence of other people, but doesn’t always understand social cues and tends to bluster through situations. She’s not the best at keeping friends due to her own personality flaws

Addictions: The DARE program scared her enough as a kid that she was always wary of addictive tendencies and is vigilant not to fall into them

Drug Use: Never.

Alcohol Use: Doesn’t drink regularly but enjoys a glass of wine every now and then

Personality

Positive Traits: Intelligent, Driven, Helpful

Negative Traits: Paranoid, Obsessive, Self-Righteous

Goals/Desires: To somehow live a decent life and not get sent to jail. To do as much as she can to help out the environment and all its living creatures

Fears: Getting caught, getting clocked, other people’s judgement, accidents, dying, climate change

Hobbies: Research, reading, writing, fashion, watching reality TV, bowling

Habits: Huffing, uses her hands a lot when she talks, playing with her hair, smoothing out her clothes

Favorites

Weather: Partly cloudy, not too hot or cold

Color: Green

Music: Bubblegum Pop

Movies: Dramas, romcoms

Sport: Martial arts

Beverage: Jasmine boba tea

Food: Thanksgiving Dinner (yes, all of it)

Animal: Mosquito

Family

Father: Mark Tran is a focused and dedicated executive at a fortune 500 company. He settled down and started a family, but was kicked to the curb when it was discovered he was cheating. He lost custody of his children, as well as half his assets in the divorce. He’s started to try to reconnect with his children in adulthood but it has been rather awkward

Mother: Nancy Plummer is a high-strung, overbearing and demanding woman who has acted as a helicopter parent throughout her life. A combination of inheritance and divorce gave her enough money that she never needed to work, giving her more time to focus on her children, as well as charity work. She has high standards, but that’s only because she wants her kids to be successful and happy

Sibling(s): Bertrand Plummer is the oldest of the siblings and the least successful. He imploded under the pressure of his mother and still lives at home, cycling through different minimum wage jobs. He tries to act above it all, but is rather mean and bitter underneath. Maxine Plummer is the middle child and feels like she is never given enough attention. In between Bertrand’s failures and Gwen’s successes, she always feels overshadowed and thus overcompensates. She’s the CEO of a travel agency that she started herself and acts more important than she really is

Children: N/A

Extended: Gwen doesn’t know anyone on her father’s side, and on her mother’s side is an extensive list of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She is currently in contact with none of them.

Family’s Financial Status: Upper-middle class

Pet(s): N/A

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Virgo

MBTI: ENTP

Enneagram: The Achiever

Temperament: Choleric

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Primary Vice: Pride

Primary Virtue: Temperance

Element: Earth

[tev-the-random]

What it Ursa took her children with her? - Pt.2

As we were saying:

Little over year has passed since the family arrived in Hira’a, and fateful news gets to them: Ozai remarried. His new wife is someone who is honoured to marry the Firelord and doesn’t mind the fact that his head is so deep up his own arse- anyway, and they are expecting a child, who is to be the Firelord’s legitimate heir.

Azula’s hopes and dreams are shattered. At age ten, she is quite literally being replaced in her beloved father’s life. It’s like she’s never even existed, and she can’t help but wonder what she did wrong.

Zuko is also upset, of course. All those years when Ozai told him he was unfit and worthless come flooding back. But somehow, he already expected things to turn out like this. Unlike Azula, he wasn’t so deeply feeding on hopes that things would go back to normal. He sees it more as a situation that was out of everyone’s control.

He convinces Azula it’s not her fault, and these kids will still be trying to understand and defend their father later down the road. There must be a reason for all of this, right? They start thinking of a reasonable scenario…

Ursa just feels sorry for the poor woman who has to deal with Ozai now.

So we get a timeskip: about three years came and went. Zuko and Azula – treated as kids and not as weapons – lead a peaceful and happy life whenever they’re not thinking of their father and everything they could be doing out there.

They have become known local troublemakers in their spare time. Kids know better than to challenge them, people know not to leave flammable goods out in the open – a strict policy regarding fireworks has been established after a chaotic incident – and failure to keep an eye on them this one time led to… well, let’s just say that the town is still unsure of whether or not they’re is being haunted by evil spirits.

They aren’t allowed anywhere near Forgetful Valley, but bold of you to assume they never tried. In-jokes arise.

‘No, I’m serious: that tree’s face looked exactly like yours, Zuzu. You really should befriend it,’ Azula mocks, remembering a particularly ugly tree they encountered in their adventure.

‘Sorry, I wasn’t looking at it. I was busy looking for whoever it was that asked you,’ Zuko retorts. ‘Since Forgetful Valley has all the kinds of crazy stuff.’

‘Maybe we should go back and look for your impulse control, then.’

‘None of you are going back in there,’ Ursa reprehends. ‘It was very irresponsible of you. Forgetful Valley is a dangerous place, you could have gotten hurt!’

‘Your mother is right, you know?’ Noren comments. ‘I’ve been to that jungle before, and it’s definitely not a playground. But I swear…’ He makes a dramatic pause. ‘I once saw Ursa’s sense of humour in there.’

The kids burst out laughing while Ursa sighs. ‘Since you can find such amazing things in the valley, dear, why don’t you go back there and find yourself actual funny jokes? I’m sure my sense of humour will be around the same corner.’

*More laughter*

(IDK, I write crappy comedy, ok?)

They still have a bit of a hard time making friends. I wouldn’t say they are shy, but they definitely have a talent to say the wrong things at the wrong times, and it’s hard to make deep connections. Sure, they would play with other kids from time to time, but in the end, Zuko and Azula are each other’s best friend.

They’ve cleared an area by the beach that any Hira’a resident knows to stay away from when they’re training.

Azula discovered a great passion for theatre. Not only are her acting skills fantastic, she also seems to be naturally aware of what makes a good scene. People say she’s Noren’s Little Assistant.

She hates being called Noren’s Little Assistant. She would much rather be called Ursa’s Little Star, because goddamn is she a good actress and she needs everyone to know that.

Zuko is more of a plant-lover guy. Unfortunately, he hasn’t inherited his grandmother’s green thumb, and despite Ursa’s best efforts to teach him, it seems like everything he touches dies.

He has grown to show a way with animals, however. Any variety of frogs and toads love him; lizards of all kinds are attracted to him like he’s a magnet; furry animals big and small adore him and any type of bird-like creature seems to think he is the best human being in existence. But his favourite animals are still the turtleducks.

Back in the palace, Iroh eventually learns of Ozai’s bullshit and how he got the throne in the first place. And you know what? The time has come for Iroh to draw a line in the sand. He confronts his little brother, who confronts him back by telling him that, should he try to tell anyone in the Fire Nation the truth – that Ozai was a top-grade traitor who actually had no right to the throne –, no one would believe him. Since his brother won’t be sensible, Iroh decides that’s it: he’s fucking out.

Now a fugitive from the Fire Nation, he somehow winds up owning a lovely traveling tea shop called the Jasmin Dragon. Most people don’t even suspect he is the fearful Dragon of the West, because he’s just so nice?

You can bet he serves blends of tea from all across the nations.

The tea shop is also a good cover up for his exchanges with the Order of the White Lotus. He gives and receives information, and does his best to help villages to either defend themselves or evacuate during Fire Nation attacks.

One day a member of the White Lotus travels to Hira’a for one reason or another and finds Zuko and Azula. This person then sends a letter to Iroh.

Iroh comes to Hira’a to visit the family. He’s glad to see they’re ok, even if he can’t stay for too long. But long enough for some Quality Time – these kids have grown so much!

Iroh doesn’t know of Ursa’s part in Azulon’s assassination, and only assumes she knew of Ozai’s plan. But now, it’s time that her children learned a couple of things, and he is willing to teach them, so that when the time arrives for them to meet their destiny, they should be able to choose wisely and face whatever comes their way. So he asks the children to accompany him in his travels.

Ursa doesn’t want to let them go. They’re children, they should be here living a peaceful life, not meeting some grand, dangerous destiny! What if something horrible happened to them?

Iroh understands the pain of losing a child. He doesn’t want to make Ursa spend her time worrying about losing two, so he respects her decision and soon leaves the town.

But the siblings are not about to just sit here when they know they’re destined for something greater. What incredible knowledge did their uncle hold? Did their father have something to do with this? They always knew there was more to their fate than just living in Hira’a for the rest of their lives, and this is their chance; it’s now or never.

Zuko and Azula are about to sneak out and follow Iroh when Noren spots them. But instead of trying to stop them – he is well aware that he can’t – he gives them two masks and some advice about never forgetting who they were.

Why yes, I am saying that they eventually take the masks and become partners in crime, Zuko as the Blue Spirit and Azula as the Red Spirit, because parallels.

They catch up with their uncle and adventures and shenanigans issue as Zuko, Azula and Iroh cross the Earth Kingdom.

Now imagine this trio: two of the most awkward firebending teenagers travelling with their old tea-loving uncle, who spits proverbs like he’s made of them. The possibilities for both hilarious and heart-warming moments are endless.

Iroh thinks himself a matchmaker. Whenever he thinks he sees some romance going on, he encourages his nephew or niece to make a move. His flaming cupid arrows do more damage than good, yet he only has good intentions at heart. Teens all around the kingdom encourage you to stop, sir.

Their new life is even more humbling than in Hira’a, since they are constantly travelling. But they manage, and they know their uncle is nothing but wise… even if Azula is still quite arrogant and manipulative, and Zuko is impatient and hot-headed, which can lead to a lot of conflict.

Iroh teaches them both how to create and redirect lightning. Zuko is better at redirecting than Azula. Creating it, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated, and both of them get their fair share of explosions while learning. Neither of them really gets a hang of it – although Azula is better at it than Zuko, that’s not saying much – for they still have a lot of identity-related turmoil inside them that won’t let them grasp the energy.

Guess who else teaches them? Other members of the White Lotus. Both Zuko and Azula get some swordsmanship Skills™ from Piandao, some different (and somewhat unwillingly taught) firebending technics from Jeong-Jeong and a lot of things from Bumi, including but not limited to: creative thinking, the art of patience, strategic planning, dealing with pirates and a surprising amount of rocks-related knowledge.

Bumi adopted Zuko and Azula and gave himself the role of Second Uncle. You cannot convince me otherwise.

So one day, little over a year after the siblings joined Iroh, they wind up in a city where this big circus is performing. Uncle Iroh decides to take his niece and nephew to see it. And oh, aren’t they surprised by who they see performing?

Even though Ty Lee was essentially the only one between her sisters to befriend Azula – and consequentially, the only one to periodically spend time in the palace with her –, Zuko and Iroh still have a hard time distinguishing her from the six other girls who look exactly like her, uncertainly calling her all different names before Azula snaps ‘you idiots, that’s Ty Lee!’.

The acrobat is so glad to see her friend again, because damn: it’s been nearly four years since they last saw or even heard from each other! And Zuko, I thought you were dead? This is such a neat reunion, there’s so much for them to talk about! And sure, the circus has to leave soon and so do the siblings, but Ty Lee reassures them that, if they ever needed her, she wasn’t hard to find. This isn’t the last we’ll see of Ty Lee.

Azula doesn’t let it show, but she resents Ty Lee a little bit for choosing to abandon her noble life. She really wishes she could have had a choice.

Uncle Iroh tells the siblings stories about the war that would have some day mesmerized them. But now, his opinions about those events and what he did as a prince general have changed; that, along with what the family sees in their journey – all the horrors brought to innocent people – gives Zuko and Azula a new perspective on what they used to think was a greater good. It will still take a while for Azula to understand that no, these people are no lesser than her and for Zuko to understand why any of that matters.

Iroh eventually tells them the truth about Azulon’s death. Or at least, what he knows of it: their father killed Azulon, banished them, took the throne by force and planned to gain more power at the expense of everyone. This is a lot to take in, and the siblings don’t quite believe it.

After four years thinking about it, Zuko and Azula decided to take their mother’s early words – they went to Hira’a to be safe – and formulate what for them was a reasonable scenario. They believe that Ozai never actually wanted any of this to happen. The whole family had to have been in danger, be it due to some political, social or personal threat, and Ozai wanted to take it all by himself to protect them. So he sent his wife and children away, concocted a plan with Azulon to cover for them and, once Azulon died and left him the throne, remarried to keep appearances. To Zuko and Azula, this makes perfect sense. And they thoroughly convince themselves of that.

They initiate an argument, thinking that Iroh is jealous of Ozai.

Their uncle sees these children are starting to stray from their path, but he knows this is a necessary journey for them. They will never be able to deal with reality unless they face it.

The siblings leave Iroh, planning to head straight to the Fire Nation capital and find out what really happened. Maybe now that they are older, it would be a perfect time to come back home; they surely could defend themselves from any threats.

Of course, they’ll be very disappointed to know that Ozai was just a bitch and never actually cared for any of them.

I don’t have a full formed idea about how their reencounter with their father would go down, but I say Ozai would officially banish both his children from the Fire Nation for trying to cause a commotion – which could easily be perceived as a threat. Not only that, but Zuko and Azula are the children of a traitor; cue for Ozai revealing what happened that night four years ago, confirming that he was the one to kill Azulon with Ursa’s help.

I also think that, after that day, the Firelord would have discreetly helped spread rumours about Ursa that would drag her name through the mud in the Capital – was she cheating on Ozai? Was she selling Fire Nation information to the Earth Kingdom? Was she planning a coup against the Firelord? Her crimes change from mouth to mouth. In the end, no one would take Zuko or Azula back unless Ozai wanted it. But he doesn’t. Not now, at least…

But Ozai also decides to play with his options: he plants a seed of doubt in his children’s minds; should they prove themselves useful later on, it would only take pulling a few strings for them to come crawling back to him. So he tells them that they needed to prove themselves for everyone to see that they weren’t traitors like their mother. They needed to prove their worth so that he could accept them.

Ozai goes a step further with Azula and tells her that, before his demise, Firelord Azulon had a plan. A plan to bring her back and put her in the leading, prestigious role she was always meant to get. But they needed to wait for the right time. There is a right time, Princess Azula. Your hopes were right all along, they will come for you eventually if you prove yourself.

The siblings have a lot to think about while they’re leaving the Fire Nation. They idolized Ozai so much all these years. But the undeniable truth came crashing down on their heads, spoken by the man himself. What would they do now? They didn’t think it possible, but their harsh actions made things so much worse: they couldn’t come back to their mother, they didn’t have many hopes of running into Iroh again, they can’t even set foot in their homeland anymore; Zuko and Azula are all on their own.

Maybe it’s time to turn a new leaf. It starts with them being fairly neutral, not completely loyal to either the Fire Nation or to the rest of the world. During this period, they would argue a lot about what to do or where to go next, getting separated and going their own ways before destiny makes them stick together again, over and over.

They manage to get a few deals and own a few favours here and there, become known thieves as the Spirits, and maybe meet up with Ty Lee’s circus every now and again. Life is hard.

But there is one thing that is about to be a beacon in their darkness…

Time to catch up to the show. Oh, you thought I wouldn’t go there?

Part 3 coming right up!

(I know I said this would be a two-parter, but it got ridiculously long, so I split it again. Three-parter now.)

[snippychicke]

The Jasmine Dragon

What’s this? More Avatar the Last Airbender fic? 

Yeah, I like Iroh too much. Shout to my fude @phrogballz for inspiring this mess. Here is part one!! 

Rating: This one is maybe teenish? 

Triggers: Awkward flirting? Otherwise none. 

The Jasmine Dragon had quickly become your new favorite place to relax after work. Within a few weeks, you had become a regular, stopping by every afternoon to indulge in a cup or two of the various teas and just to enjoy the atmosphere. 

Tea shops in the middle ring usually had a very… haughty atmosphere. Stern and stiff with dress codes and who they allowed in. Yet not the Jasmine Dragon. Its atmosphere was far more relaxed as people happily chatting over tea, kids allowed to laugh and giggle while their parents caught up with the day's gossip. 

Never mind the tea was far better than any other tea shop. You weren't exactly a tea connoisseur but you could still deduce Mushi certainly was. 

Which was the other reason you frequented: Mushi. He was not a typical man that the other ladies enjoyed fawning over, but to you…

Well. You were in deep. Heads over heels deep, which made you feel rather guilty because he was certainly older than you, and he also had to be married. You may have never seen his wife or heard either of them mention her, but there was little doubt in your mind that there was a missus in the back. Perhaps a high-class lady that was shy and demure. After all, something about the way Lee carried himself told you he was definitely high-class, even if Mushi didn't quite act it. 

And here you were, unmarried, overworked, and in love with a man that was completely out of reach. 

---

"There she is," Mushi greeted as you entered the tea shop, your name rolling off his tongue as you blushed at the wide smile on his face. "I was beginning to worry you wouldn't be joining us today!"

"And miss your handsome face?" You replied without thinking because it had been the first thing to pop into your head. It was his turn to look surprised; a faint blush crossing his cheeks before he laughed your slip of the tongue away as if it had been a joke. 

Which, it hadn't. It had actually been your main thought as you were forced to stay late at work because another employee had walked out and you had too much integrity to leave your co-workers to work short. 

Thankfully someone else had shown up, allowing you to leave and rush to the tea shop before they closed. 

"Take a seat, my dear!" Mushi waved toward your usual table, breaking your train of thought. "Lee will be with you shortly."

He turned back to the group he had been talking to and you slinked to the table and slid into your seat while wishing you would just melt into the floor. 

"Nice," Lee commented dryly as he appeared a moment later. "Very subtle."

"I feel so embarrassed," you whined pitifully as he poured your usual order. 

"As you should." Lee was often dry with you once he started to feel comfortable in your presence. Yet a’;t the same time, he seemed to actually care, going as far as patting your shoulders awkwardly as you tried to hide your face.

"It just…" you gestured the word popping from your mouth. "Every time. Whatever thought is at the front of my mind just pops out."

He was quiet for a moment, "...He likes it," he muttered quietly, almost sounding embarrassed as well. When you glanced towards him, he was looking away with a very put-upon expression. "When you...flirt with him." 

When Lee looked back, you were fairly sure your face expressed your delight and hope, judging by his own soured expression. Yet after a second, your mood started downwards again as you caught sight of Mushi. "I bet your aunt isn't as happy." 

"Aunt?" His expression morphed into confusion as he quirked his eyebrow. "What aunt?”

You paused as you looked to him, hope once more blooming in your chest despite yourself. "Isn't Mushi married?"

"No, well…. A long time ago, but she died before I was born."

It was bittersweet hurting in sympathy for Mushi, yet also having butterflies as you realized you might actually have a slight chance. You weren't crushing on a married man. 

Just one that was more than just a few years older and thought you were just being playful when you shyly flirted with him. 

"He hasn't said anything about being interested in anyone in particular, has he?" You asked as you played with your hair, your eyes drifting to the man in question as he bid the other customers farewell and disappeared into the back. 

The odd noise from Lee made your attention snap back to the young man. His face was somehow both green and red at the same time, his expression truly horrified. "Don't give me that look!" You balked, feeling embarrassed yourself. "And don't tell him I asked! Omashu," you buried your face in your hands. Why was it things just popped out of your mouth when it came to Mushi? This time around Lee nevertheless. 

"I just...I can't. I just can't." Lee shook his head and marched back towards the kitchens. 

And okay, you could kind of sympathize with the poor boy. You could imagine what it would be like to have someone fawn over your older uncle in front of you.

You sighed and sipped at your tea, watching the sunset out the window as lights started to flicker to life. You weren't sure if today was a good day or a bad day. Or maybe just a day. 

He wasn't married. 

He was still twice your age.

He noticed you weren't there. You smiled to yourself as you remembered his bright smile when you entered. His deep laugh turning your stomach into butterflies. 

But he thought you were teasing. 

You sighed as you took another sip. How could you convince him you weren't just bantering. That you did look forward to seeing him every day. He may not be a strapping young  Dai Li agent that looked as if Oma and Shu had granted life to a statue, but there was something to be found attractive in his shorter and rounder appearance. 

He'd be a lot more comfortable to hug, for one. To he wrapped in his arms, resting against his full-frame and drifting off to sleep….

--

"What with that look, nephew?" Iroh asked as Zuko entered the kitchen sans teapot. Instead of answering right, the teenager groaned and rested his head against the wall. "Did someone leave you another love note?" He chuckled at the thought. A lot of the young women would leave notes ranging from simple /you're cute!/ To poems using flowery prose to describe his unique gold eyes and black hair. 

"I wished," Zuko muttered, opening his bad eye to look at his uncle. 

"Well, did our favorite customer say why she looked so frazzled this evening?' Iroh gently pried as he busied himself with dirty dishes. "It's not like her to be so late." 

"I guess I didn't ask…"

"Oh? Then what were you two talking about? She seemed rather flustered."

Of course, he would notice that. Because just as he had to listen to you try to deny and admit your crush in the same sentence, Zuko knew his uncle enough to know his flirting with you was different that the attention he gave other women. 

He never talked about them. But he would talk about you. Small comments here and there that had caught the prince's attention. 

"She thought you were married," he blurted out with the finesse of a komodo rhino. To his credit, Iroh didn't drop the cup he had been washing, though it was a close call. It was actually comical the way his eyes widened.

"She what?"

"I told her that my aunt died a long time ago," Zuko shrugged, trying to act indifferent when he really enjoyed seeing his uncle flustered for once, though the older man was trying to hide it as he continued. "She then made me promise not to tell you that she asked if you were interested in anyone." 

The clay teacup shattered in Iroh's hands, though he barely seemed to care, judging by the smile forming on his face. 

Zuko expected his uncle to burst into the cafe and do something over the top and embarrassing. Instead, he turned his attention back to the broken cup, though still smiling widely as he hummed to himself, picking up the fragments. 

"Wait...aren't you going to do anything?" Zuko asked after a moment.

"When it comes to matters of the heart, dear nephew, you cannot rush. Patience is key. One must allow a fruit to ripen before harvesting."

"What is there to ripen?!" Zuko groaned after a long moment of trying to understand his uncle's words. "She likes you, and you like her, right? Right?" He stressed as Iroh just continued to hum to himself, which sounded a lot like the girls of Ba Sing Se. 

---

The next day you had a feeling something had changed when you entered the tea shop. 

"Welcome, my beautiful firelily," Mushi greeted as soon as he saw you, smiling widely as ever though you swear there was more of a glint in his exotic golden eyes. 

"Thank you, my handsome tea master," you blurted back without thinking. You enjoyed the shocked but pleased expression as he chuckled but returned to his customer he was pouring tea for. 

You once more slinked to your usual free table. You expect Lee to appear and give you grief once more. Or express his usual dismay at your flirting. 

Instead Mushi slid up next to you, setting a cup before you and pouring the tea gracefully despite your jump of surprise. "I know you prefer my Jasmine Chamomile with honey after a long day of work," he started lowly, making a shiver trace down your spine at the huskiness of his voice. "But I think you will enjoy this blend as well. It's a sultry full-bodied tea, aged so it's slightly smoky yet sweet. Something I believe you're fond of." 

You were fairly sure your face was as warm as the steaming tea in the innocent cup. You shifted slightly in your seat, rather ashamed of the shivers and warmth pooling in your abdomen from his voice and words alone. 

Then his free hand rested lightly on your lower back, and you swore his hand was hot as the teapot, which felt like heaven on your sore muscles. You looked from the dark tea up to him, able to notice the flecks of dark amber and gold in his eyes as he smiled down at you. "Enjoy my dear," he continued as he pulled away slowly. "I hope you find this brew as pleasing and fulfilling as I expect." 

You were going to die and melt in a puddle right there. You couldn't even think of a single word, let alone say anything as he went to tend to the other customers, once more his usual bright and cheerful self, no hint of…

Of…

What exactly was that? You wheezed as you turned back to your tea, cupping the warm porcelain with your slightly trembling hands. That was not Mushi's typical banter and light flirting that left you with butterflies but smiling ear to ear. 

That was... sensuous. Sultry. Seductive. 

You brought the cup to your lips to hide your smile, closing your eyes to enjoy the subtle scent of the tea. As he said, you caught a whiff of slight smokiness mixed in with deeper earthy tones. 

Full-bodied indeed, you thought pleasantly as you took a sip, letting the tea ease the feeling of cotton mouth Mushi had left. Intense warming flavor that you couldn't describe, but certainly addictive. 

With speed you were rather ashamed of, given how you liked to savor your tea, the cup was emptied of its last drop. You traced the delicately painted flower around the porcelain of the cup, chest warmed both by the tea and the emotions stirring in your chest. His words, his tone, repeated itself over in your head, your back still tingling where he touched you. 

You needed more. 

Tea. You needed more tea, you thought rather embarrassed at the feeling settling in your lower regions. Being attracted to Mushi was one thing, but it was something quite different to imagine him….

"You look flustered, my little flower," Mushi reappeared as if summoned by your thoughts, making you squeak. He had a secretive smile on his face as his hand reached around your back and settled on your opposite shoulder, subtly bringing you closer to his frame. "Was the tea too strong for you?"

"No, I-I loved it," you answered honestly, dangerously being bold enough to look up at him. "And your right, I do enjoy aged full-bodied...teas." 

The pause was barely noticeable, and you hadn't fully intended it, but you were proud to see surprise flash across his face, followed by a faint flush on his cheeks as he smiled, rubbing your shoulder slightly.

"Good, good," he chuckled lowly. "I am glad I know my favorite customer so well. It would be a great shame if I misjudged what you were interested in." 

You were fairly sure he was meaning more than what he was saying. Your stomach twisted and your heart fluttered as you were caught up in his amber eyes. "No, I think you've figured out exactly what I like. But, um, maybe we could still take some time to, uh, get to know each other better," you finished in a rush, realizing what exactly you were saying. Asking. 

A date. You were asking him out on a date. Out loud. 

The blush on his face deepened but it was a look of happy surprise on his face. "I quite agree. Perhaps at the festival next week?"

"Yes!" You agreed instantly, breaking into a smile. "I...! Yes,I would love to, Master Mushi."

[queenofeden]

my contributions to @lovelikeyoursfest for the first prompt, “the start of something new”. these are technically both excerpts from longer in-progress fics featuring my apprentice, laurel, but they happened to fit the theme so well i thought at least part of them deserved to see the light of day. consider this a teaser for my future works if u find urself interested~

chronologically, nadia comes first, julian can be found under the cut

Nadia & Laurel

January, 5 years ago

The whole of Vesuvia thrums with the energy of the masquerade, like one large body set to motion at last after a long winter. The lights, the reeling crowds, they pulse and pump as they make their way along the arterial canals, upwards, always upwards, to the highest reach of the city -- to the beating heart of it all -- the palace. Laurel catches Asra’s hand in her own, dragging him along, or he her, or perhaps they simply get swept away together by the throng, laughter bubbling on her lips for what feels like the first time in months.

Try as one might, it is easy to get separated once the party truly takes hold of the palace. The hoi polloi of Vesuvia clamor towards the offered food and drink, while the elite swan about and entertain themselves with chatter and gossip. It is not with intent that she loses track of Asra somewhere past the room full of enchanted, talking statuary. One moment he is there, and the next he is not, the space he once occupied at her side now taken up by three bustling women in matching silver gowns and masks done up like swans, all vying for entry into the room. It matters little to Laurel. Asra will find her eventually, when he cares to be found himself. He always does, somehow, whether she cares for him to or not.

There is little intent to where she wanders, keen to let herself be drawn wherever the whims of the party may take her. She knows there is something surrounding her -- a pall of grief, though it seems too melodramatic a sentiment. It is a palpable, invisible thing about her nonetheless. People walk around her, unsure of why, rowdy drunkards don't dare to jostle or bump her. Her own personal never-mind-me spell, cast without intent simply by virtue of existing. Their disinterest rankles, but she shoves the ill-feeling down deep. It's not them she's here for, anyway. A tall glass of fizzing wine makes its way into her hand, plucked deftly from a passing servant’s platter, and she carries it along in her gloved hand, sipping occasionally, leaving a smear of bright red along the rim of the glass from her painted lips.

The heavy press of the party lessens as she finds herself on the veranda, the roar in her ears fading, carried away on the cool evening breeze. It chills her overheated skin, bare beneath only a few thin layers of chiffon and satin, and she relishes the prickle of gooseflesh it leaves in its wake like a kiss. She takes her glass and drains the last of the golden wine too quickly, and trades it for another -- something pink and dangerously sugared this time. This too she finishes in a few deep gulps, setting the empty glass back onto the bemused servant's tray and taking another before they have time to even move away. Alone, save for the alcohol that burns in her too empty stomach, she wanders the less crowded gardens, full of others who have little interest in being found. She hums along to a familiar tune as she passes through a faint cloud of sound, drifting over the tops of the immaculately trimmed hedge walls.

She feels sweet with wine and song, the lightest she has felt all year. Here, the sounds and smells, the anonymous, whirling multitude of bodies-- they keep out what Laurel would rather forget. Here there is no responsibility, no pitying glances from familiar patrons, none of Asra's well-intentioned saccharine condolences. No one knows her here, not behind the gilt painted mask. She is hardly herself, if she wants not to be, and oh how desperately she craves the chance to not be herself, if only for just a little while. That is the true magic of the Count’s masquerade, something far more powerful than what she could throw together in a mortar at home and call such. She is only the swell of the music. It lifts her slippered feet, carrying her in some semblance of dance as she walks the cobbled path, eyes closed in what would feel almost like joy, if she could remember the feeling.

There is no one on the path with her, no one to see her dizzy, stumbling attempt at a coranto, so when her body meets something else -- someone else, the slide of a silk gown against her bare arms -- her eyes snap open, and she stumbles backward with an embarrassed curse.

"Shit! Sorry, so sorry."

Laurel lifts her gaze, expecting to see the heated glare of whomever she'd been unlucky enough to plow into. What she does not expect is the countess -- The Countess -- blinking back at her with equal amounts of surprise. 

With a choked sort of squeak, Laurel drops immediately into her best, lowest curtsy, knees creaking and head bowed so low her mask threatens to slip straight off her nose.

"O-oh, My Lady Countess, forgive me! Please forgive me!"

Her heart hammers in her chest. The Countess! Of all people to drunkenly stumble into! The count would likely have her head for daring lay a hand, however accidental, on his beloved wife. Or perhaps the countess herself would ask him to cut off her wicked, clumsy feet instead as a mercy. 

Less likely was the countess's voice -- rich and deep and rolling over her like sweet molasses -- saying softly, "It’s quite alright. Please stand."

Laurel blinks, straightening her spine in fractions, giving ample time should the countess deign to change her mind and command her to sprawl, prostrate in the dirt, at her feet instead. She doesn't. Eventually, Laurel is able to lift her chin and look the -- only slightly -- taller woman in the eye for the first time.

She had known the countess was beautiful, much in the way that people knew the sky was blue, the grass grew green, and the south was a frigid waste, an immutable fact. People spoke often of her features in the market, lauding the beauty of her violet hair, her striking, crimson eyes, her high, royal brow. More so, she knew it to be true by the simple truth that vain Count Lucio would never settle for less. What few memories she has -- a parade, swirling streamers in the air; the profile of a distant woman, nestled like an idol on a float of white roses and purple hyacinth -- are clouded by time and distance. She had pieced her together that first year, vague impressions and gossip and distant glances in the town square where she deigned to appear. Vesuvia's very own princess had crossed her mind very little after that.

This close, close enough to smell her sweet jasmine of her perfume, to count the faint few freckles on her bare shoulders, Countess Nadia is more lovely than Laurel could have ever imagined.

Laurel's gaping leaves her uncharacteristically silent, but the countess seems to recover first. Likely she's used to filling stunned silence.

"How is that you found me here?" she asks, a faint tinge of pink across her nose, though whether it is from embarrassment or anger Laurel cannot gauge.

Laurel glances around, taking in the tall topiaries that surround them. “I-- where is here, exactly?”

Julian & Laurel

Late September, 5 years ago

1.

The first time she arrives at his clinic, Julian doesn’t yet know that he should turn the woman he would come to know as Laurel Lobban away. She comes to his clinic like most regular patients, in a hurried flurry of skirts, eyes bright — not red, thankfully, the sclera a clear, healthy white with irises of sky blue — sharp with an edge of desperation. Perhaps a family member was sick, a spouse, or sister. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had dragged him from his clinic in the misty, early hours of pre-dawn with their pleas.

He lets the woman in — his first mistake — and leads her to the small table in the corner where he offers her a perfunctory cup of poorly brewed coffee or tea, though she doesn’t look to be in any particular need of it. There is a tension to her body, ratcheted tight as a halyard line. If plucked she might sing, high and sweet like the E string of his vielle, but that could also be his third cup of coffee before sunrise talking. From over her nose and mouth, she pulls down her paisley patterned scarf to reveal full but drawn lips, chewed raw and near bleeding. She stretches and bunches the fabric in her hands, twisting it into knots.

“You’re the doctor, then, yes?” she asks, squinting up at him. “Doctor Devorak? The one everyone talks about?”

A grin, black and bitter as the lingering taste of coffee in his throat, spreads his lips thin at that. “Well, now, that depends. What do the people say?”

The woman watches him, eyes canny as a hawk, flitting between his features, sizing him up. “They say you help people, that you don’t overcharge like the hacks in the heart district do.” She sniffs with derision then, nose crinkling up, though whether at the thought of his colleagues uptown or the smell of something in the room, he cannot tell. Astringent probably, he had just cleaned his tools for the day. Often he forgets how strong the smell can be to those far less nose blind than he. She coughs delicately, like she’s trying to suppress a gag. “They say you’re a good man.”

Ah, well, hm. Julian can’t say he’s heard that one before. ‘Foul, beaked harbinger of misery’ yes, ‘heartless bastard’ sure, ‘utter fool’ sometimes, but good man? Compliments were not something many of his patients or their families had on their minds once he was around. Her words settle like a heavy stone in his near empty stomach. This close, with her looking at him just so, her eyes are less so the color of summer. Darker, near navy, paling into a grey to match his own with a flash of almost-barely-there yellow at the center, like a brewing sky at sea -- one set to storm and tear him to pieces any moment, the look of them setting his sailor’s intuition on edge. He ignores them, words and eyes both. 

“And are you in need of my help then?” he asks, stepping away to rifle through his curio cabinet, stuffed to bursting with jars of tinctures and salves. “You don’t look beplagued, perhaps some other malady? Allergies? A fungus?”

A loud, nearly surprised, scoff. “I don’t have a fungus,” she asserts with umbrage.

He feels his cheeks heat, grateful that his head is buried in the cabinet and not on view of her no doubt scrutinizing gaze. “Of course not, of course not, so sorry. I didn’t intend any offense miss-- ah, I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Laurel, Laurel Lobban.”

She’s right behind him again. He jumps, knocking the shelves with a wayward elbow as he turns. Her hand is held out to shake, and he takes it with mild surprise. Her grip is firm, no nonsense, but she squeezes a little too hard just before she lets go in a way that lets him know how intentional, how controlled those reads he took of her were. He would see nothing of her that she didn’t want him to, that much he could tell. 

“Laurel Lobban,” he repeats, rolling the matching consonants on his tongue. “Laurel, laurus nobilis, lauraceae, like the plant,” he rambles, finishing rather dumbly. She snorts.

“Yes... like the plant. Are you all right, doctor?”

Was he all right? Maybe that third coffee had been a bad idea. “Fine, fine. Though I would be more fine if I knew what I could help you with, Miss Lobban. Hard to diagnose if I don’t know what ails you.”

“I don’t — ” she sighs, frustration warring across her features. “I’m not sick. I’m not here for some tincture. I — I want to work with you.”

He laughs. It was the wrong thing to do, by the telling darkening of her expression, the subtle shift in her jaw as she clearly clenches her teeth. He can’t help it though. It trails off, nervously, his stance shifting from one leg to the other. Whatever you do next, proceed with caution, Ilya.

“Work? Work here?” Nailed it.

“Do you work elsewhere?”

“I — no. This is it,” he replies, gesturing weakly at the single, cramped room, with it’s tiny storage closet and its rickety loft where he keeps his private office which is little more than a second closet. Why would anyone want to work here? With him?

“Then yes, here. With you.”

That he didn’t like.

“And do you ah — do you have any medical expertise then?”

She frowns. There’s a knot of lines between her brows that would be cute, almost endearing, in any other situation than this. Her cheeks flush pink. “Well, no. I mean I’ve read a few books, but… I had hoped you would take me on as an apprentice.”

His mouth falls open, spluttering. He weaves around her so that he’s no longer pinned, like a bug to a board, between her expectant gaze and the cabinet. “Unfortunately Miss Lobban, I’m not equipped to take on apprentices at this time. You see, I’m — well, the fact of the matter is — ”

Stop it. Stop talking.

“There are plenty of other doctors who would take you on, I’m certain.” Who? It doesn’t matter. Doctors who aren’t me. Why would anyone want to learn from a failure who couldn’t even cure his patients, anyway? What could he possibly have to offer an apprentice?

“I don’t want those doctors. They say you’re the best in the city, I want to work with the best.”

The best. Julian bites back another fit of laughter. Grinning — baring his teeth really — instead. “Now now, flattery won’t change my mind.”

She’s followed him again, standing as close behind him as she dares while he flits about the room, restless with nervous energy.

“If I was flattering you, doctor, you would know.”

Had he been this insistent when he’d come to Nazali the first time? Almost certainly, if the stories he’d heard oft repeated are true. How had they put up with him, and not thrown him out on his ear? The simple answer is that they are a much better doctor, a better person, than he. Nazali had discovered the plague, had made the greatest strides in its classification, its treatment, yet. And what had he done with their teachings? Squandered it all. Sat by and watched as patient after patient came to him for help, had plied them with false comforts, and in the end had done nothing, save for ease them into their inevitable deaths. He should tell her that. Should count out his many failures for her like he does for himself every night in place of sheep. Certainly that would frighten her away.

What he says instead is this: “Have you ever watched someone die?”

Her mouth goes slack, obviously taken aback by his question. For a moment he sees the fear flash across her eyes, but quick as it came it's replaced by something else. Something harder. She licks her lips and smiles, lips wobbling at the edges. "Do you ask all the girls that, or am I just special?"

He keeps his gaze hard, until the slight upturn of her lips collapses into a frown.

“Surely that can’t be a prerequisite for the job.”

“On the contrary,” Julian replies, nerves solidifying. “Humor me.”

Laurel’s eyes slide sideways. “No,” she says carefully, chewing over her words. “Though death and I are no strangers.”

Julian takes a deep breath, a brief flare of pain in his chest for having been the cause of the dark shadows that crossed over her features at that admission. He rakes a hand through his curls, shoving them away from his face, where they stay for a moment, before flopping back into his eyes. 

“So you have lost someone?” he asks, though it is less question and more statement of fact.

Her gaze flicks back to him, sharp and pointed as the tip of a blade. “Hasn’t everyone in Vesuvia by now?” she asks him cooly. 

Julian at least has the grace to look chagrined, feeling the heat of one of his telltale flushes burning under his collar. “I suppose you have a point there.”

“I don’t relish the thought of death, Doctor Devorak, if that’s your concern.” Laurel grips the strap of her bag tightly, staring up at him, imploring. “And I’ve no agenda, I assure you. I simply want to find some way to help.”

It is that moment that the door of the clinic swings open, the sharp RANG-CLANG-CLANG of the bell startling the both of them. A barrel-chested man heaves in the doorway, face shining, slick with sweat as he gasps, hands on his knees.

“Doctor! Doctor please, my husband he — “

Immediately, something shifts in Julian. One moment he is himself, good old Ilya Devorak. The next he is simply Doctor, parts within himself shuttering closed as others open, the whole of him changing as instinct takes over, just as it had every instant before a battle when the quiet set in and he and Nazali knew the first wave of bodies would soon hit; the calm before the storm, captured entirely within himself like a model ship trapped in a bottle.

“On it!” he barks, grabbing his overcoat and mask from their hooks with practiced ease, already making long strides towards the door before Laurel’s voice cuts through the quiet roar of his thoughts.

“Doctor please!” she all but hisses, chasing after him with stubborn steps. “I need — let me do something, anything!”

With a sigh, Julian reaches out and fixes the scarf about her neck back over her nose and mouth before placing his own mask over his face. Safe behind red glass, he cannot see the piercing blue of her eyes anymore, no longer at risk of being swept away by the violent current of her.

He takes her by the arm, and gently but firmly leads her to the door, past the panicked man who dumbly, silently, follows them out onto the street at Julian’s other hand. The rosy tendrils of pre-dawn light are barely making their way across the sky, the cobbles beneath their feet still heavy with morning fog yet to be burned away by the heat of the day. With a deft flick of his wrist, Julian switches the crude sign on the door front from ‘IN’ to ‘OUT’. When he turns back, Laurel still lingers under the halo of lantern light, hem of her skirts dancing around her ankles as she shifts anxiously from foot to foot. 

“I — ” 

“Go home, Miss Lobban,” he says, voice half muffled, mouth filling with the cloying scents of camphor and dried roses. “Truly, the best you can do for anyone is to not find yourself here again.”

With that Julian turns and follows the snuffling man where he leads, leaving Laurel behind him, disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom.

[momshiediaries]

My Covid Journey

Dear Momshie,

How are you? I hope you are well. Let me tell you what I went through last year...

 A few months ago I tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 RNA. Yes, I got Covid-19. How I got it is no longer important. I used to be so angry but then I'm done being angry anymore. It won't do me any good. It drains energy and when you have Covid, you want all the energy left in you. Since the pandemic started, I became so obsessed with cleanliness, very careful all the time. Only buying groceries every 2-3 weeks. Shower the minute I get home, disinfect everything I touched- phone, keys, purse, doorknobs. Only went to one party, outdoor, with mask and social distancing. But no matter how careful you are, if people around you are not, then it just wouldn't work.

When I got my test result, I only told my immediate family and people who will be affected by my 14 days quarantine. I didn't tell anybody else for some reasons. First, I want to keep it private, this is very personal to me. Second, if it won't affect you then its none of your business. Third, I don't want people to gossip about me, it makes me more angry. So why am I telling it now? Well, I have always thought on writing about my experience  months after my recovery. When I'm no loner sick. I want to document it. This is a pandemic of my lifetime. And somehow, hopefully my journey will help in understanding more of the disease. And most importantly, I want to be a proof that the virus is real. It is not a hoax that a lot of people are claiming. Some people I know dared to tell me its not real even though I said I was sick. I thought it was rude and disrespectful to those who got it, suffered from it, and millions that died from it.

So the day I was exposed I wasn't aware of it. Two days later people I was exposed to started getting sick. On the fourth day, I was feeling tired but thought it was just a long day. I was still in denial that I somehow got it. The next day, day5, my body started hurting, including my joints. and that night I had temperature of 100.1 F. That's when I accepted it, there is no more denying I got it. I made an appointment the following morning, scheduled on day7. It was perfect because they said the best time to get tested is between day5-7 from first day of exposure. Day 6, I no longer have fever (I took one tablet of aspirin the night before). I still have body aches, coughed a few times, had stuffy nose. Day 7 was when I lost my sense of taste and smell, I still have body aches, a few coughs and lost my appetite.

Day 8 was my appointment. The test wasn't too bad, just a slight discomfort. My nose was clogged, slight cough and temperature of 97.0 F. Day 9, I'm feeling much better. I can taste salty food and temperature is 97.4 F. I checked my temperature regularly because I searched that if you have covid, you will sometimes have recurring fever. Day 10, I had slight headache, slight coughing and can already taste spicy food. Still no sense of smell. At this point I want to say, we take things for granted, like our senses. When it is gone that's when we realize how important it is to us. By this time also, my period was a week late. So the virus also affects hormones?. Or is it the stress? I don't really know, but yes, I skipped period this month and the only time it happened before was when I was pregnant.

Day 11 I still have headache. Let me point here on that headaches comes and goes for a few weeks. This is also when my cough got worse. Just when I thought I was getting better, my cough got worse. This was also the day I got my positive result. I wasn't shocked anymore because I already know I have it. Day 12, cough continues and I started taking cough suppressant. Let me say also that since I got sick I started taking vitamin C, D and Zinc. And I drink green tea everyday. And steam my face with hot water with blanket covering me. This is also the day that I started tasting some food, like ginger and fish. And yes, my appetite is back. Day 13,  cough is getting worse, suppressant was not working. My upper back hurts from every cough I made. I just wanted to lay down but I know I can't. I was afraid I might get pneumonia. Day 14 , my smell and taste is improving more, cough wasn't getting better but good news was I'm done with my 14 day quarantine. I still didn't go out though. I had plenty of food, thanks to my cousin who sent some to me.

Week 3 (day15-21) My sense of taste and smell was back to normal. Oh how I love to smell jasmine rice when I cook it! Cough is not getting better and I would have occasional headaches.

Week 4 (day 22-28) Finally my cough is getting better. There will be days when I no longer cough, and days when I only cough when I laugh, talk nonstop or sing (the radio was already playing Christmas song). So my lungs are not 100 percent recovered. And I read some research that those who suffered from Covid has extensive lung damage. A lot of people with mild symptoms has cough that lasted for weeks. Some are out of breath after doing chores or exercises. Unexplained fatigue. They made a term for  people who has symptoms that lasted for weeks to months . They call them or us, if you think I'm also one, "long haulers".

Week 5 (Days 29-35)And I finally have my period on time for this month. But it came back with a vengeance. My dysmenorrhea which usually lasts for a day, was twice as painful. PMS started two days before my period and the cramps continued for another 3 days. Five days of menstrual pain. But it wasn't enough, my body said. Or maybe the virus? It was also accompanied by body aches similar to my symptoms on my first week of exposure. And of course the headache that won't go away. Yes, different pains was having a party on week5.

Week 6 onwards. I think I’m over it. Or am I? But I feel so much better. No longer as tired as I was. My period was back to normal pains. No coughing anymore. I hope this is the end of it. It will be almost a year since the pandemic started and I know we all just wanna move on and have normal lives.

So anyway, I hope all is well with you. Until next time. Take care!

Yours truly,

Macey

[stiltonbasket]

Summary: In which Lan Xichen seems to be breaking curfew, and Wen Ning introduces A-Qing and the juniors to their soon-to-be-favorite love story.

Author’s notes: To everyone who was expecting to get to Lan Xichen and the night-hunt this chapter, I’m really sorry ;-; but this chapter ran over and had to be cut off yet again...help me

Excerpt:

A-Qing, to her new friends’ eternal disappointment, has never read a romance novel.

However, it isn’t because she  dislikes the genre, or the thought of romance in general. Rather, A-Qing’s mother (who really had been blind, from what little A-Qing remembers of her) could never teach her to read, and since her poor Daozhang was blind himself he never tried to teach her, either. But Xiao Xingchen—peerlessly gentle and tender-hearted as he was—had always loved the  idea of love, especially between sweethearts who fought the world single-handed to stand by each other forever.

Thus, he told A-Qing and Xue Yang love stories from dawn until sunset on rainy days, beginning with the tale of the cowherd and the weaver girl and ending with the happier West-Chamber romance; once, he even told them the story of his martial sister from Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, who was loved by the heir to Yunmeng Jiang but ran away with his servant to make a life in the wild instead. But none of Daozhang’s love stories were the kind that Lan Jingyi and the others like to read, full of thrilling elopements and duels to banish unwelcome suitors and maidens who defied their cold-hearted fathers to marry the men of their choice. A-Qing, therefore, knows nothing at all about candle-signaling from one’s balcony after dark, or hiding forbidden letters in the wrappings of parcels and packages, and even less about throwing pebbles to summon one’s beloved to their window—which is why A-Qing only lets out a scream of curses into the night when a shower of bone-white gravel strikes her own window a few hours after hai shi, startling her awake so suddenly that she falls out of bed.

“What are you  doing? ” she shrieks at last, looking down to see just who could have stolen into the girls’ leisure courtyard at almost a quarter to midnight. “Who let you in this late—and why are you throwing  rocks?”

But surprisingly (or not surprisingly at all, depending on how she looks at it) the gravel-thrower is only Ouyang Zizhen, hovering a few feet above the ground with one hand on the jasmine vine trailing up the wall.

“A-Qing!” he whispers, cupping his palms around his mouth so the sound carries up to her bedroom. “Are you awake enough to go out? Old Master Lan has a headache, and he warded his rooms against noise tonight, so Sizhui and the others are getting a party ready since he won’t hear us. Come down!”

A-Qing has  several questions after hearing that, but the foremost among them is how on earth Zizhen broke into the ladies’ compound in the first place.“What are you even  doing here, you menace? How did you get past the wards?”

“Hanguang-jun left the sect heir’s jade token with Sizhui before he went to see Wei-qianbei, and it’s keyed into all the wards in Gusu,” Zizhen explains, pointing to the cloud-shaped piece of white jade dangling from the belt at his waist. “Sizhui let me borrow it so that I could sneak in and bring you to the boys’ compound. Will you come? Jingyi and Jin Ling smuggled in food from the Hunan place in Caiyi this afternoon, and Sizhui made cold peach tea with ice in it.”

“Of course I  want to come,” A-Qing tells him. “But there’s always a patrol on this side of the Cloud Recesses, remember? I’ll have to pass them to get out the main doors, and I can’t climb down the wall.”

“Oh, right.” Zizhen frowns for a minute before brightening up like a lantern, leaping up and down on his sword until he nearly stumbles right off it. “I can take you on my jian, then! Have you ever been on one before?”

She has, briefly. Her Daozhang sometimes let her ride on Shuanghua when they went on picnics in the hills, and Xue Yang used to frighten her by snatching her up onto Jiangzai if she didn’t get out of his way fast enough, but somehow the sight of Ouyang Zizhen’s Xiufeng doesn’t remind her those two fraught weapons at all. It’s a simple, straight blade with a plain brown hilt, etched with only the sword’s name (whose characters spell out fair wind, Zizhen told her once) and a simple little inscription that says “To A-Zhen with love, from Mother.”  

Jin Chan and the Yao disciples teased him mercilessly for that, but A-Qing herself thought it was rather sweet.

“I have,” she answers. “But won’t someone see us?”

Zizhen bounces in place again and chews on his bottom lip.

“They might not see us if we’re fast enough, but they’ll definitely see  you since you’re all dressed in white,” he ponders. “Do you have anything in green, maybe? Then you’d blend in with the trees on the way back.”

“Of course I don’t have anything green,” sighs A-Qing, rolling her eyes. “No one wears anything but white here, remember? All I have are the clothes the Lan ladies made for me.”

“Then you can wear my outer robe and take it off when we get there,” Zizhen decides. “Is that all right?”

A-Qing nods and holds out her arms, and a moment later a dark blue gown comes flying  through the window with its belt tied around one sleeve. It takes a minute or two for her to struggle into it, mostly because it’s so much heavier than the clothes she usually wears; her own robes consist of a plain double layer of light embroidered cotton, while Zizhen’s gown is made of thick satin with fine silver stitching around the hems and collar—but she manages to pull it on, just before Xiufeng and its pink-cheeked master draw level with her windowsill.

“Come on,” he smiles, offering her his hand—and A-Qing takes it, stepping lightly onto the blade and laughing out loud as Zizhen nearly falls over again. “Qing-guniang, don’t laugh! I didn’t mean to!”

“If you do it again you’ll kill us both,” she snorts, poking him in the stomach. “Now hurry, let’s go find the others before the patrol comes round this side of the building.”

[the-golden-ghost]

You know I'm a tea fan, so all the teas! ^^

(Jsyk I actually had to look up a few of these to know if they were tea or not, that’s how out of the loop I am)

Jasmine Tea : If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be and why?

Right NOW, the library. Dammit. But in general, presuming we’ll ever be able to go places ever again, I’d kind of like to go back to Salem or Gloucester. Maybe even Germany or Belgium, someday!

Or the bottom of the ocean

Old English : You’re stranded on an island, who do you bring with you?

You, for company. And someone who knows how to build a boat and also how to navigate. I can navigate but only by stars and I feel like modern radio technology would be better, for the record.

Iced Lemon Tea : Favorite song/band?

TALLY HALL per usual, I’ve been stanning them since 1994. But song? Actually right now it’s a Miracle Musical song, The Mind Electric. 

Green Tea : How tall are you?

5′7. A bit short but a respectable short. 

Earl Grey Tea : The inevitable Zombie Apocalypse is upon us! What’s your plan of action?

Obvs move into a mall and just chill out there for months and months and months in relative luxury while the lights and everything stay on and none of the food goes bad, somehow. Avoid random biker gangs. Go to one in Maine so they have a fully-stocked gun hunting supply store for ammo. Works every time.

Mint Tea : How do you relax?

I Don’t.

(I mean, I have been playing a lot of False Chess against a computer lately though)

Rose Hip Tea : Describe your first kiss 

Bold of you to assume I’ve ever kissed anyone

Herbal Tea : You’re at a candle shop, what scented candle do you buy?

LILAC

Everyone mixes this up with lavender. No. Lavender is simply not The Good Scent. Lilac is the real one. If I had to pick a different one though, it would be lemon, and then orange. 

[hvndcvffed]

“ let me just –– can you –– uh. ”  grizz clears his throat and raises a finger. because this? oh, boy. stomaching this shit without laughing mandates a breather.  “ hold that thought for a moment while i collect myself. s’been quite the day and i want to give you my undivided attention. ”

or, alternatively :  yo yo yo, party people ! guess who finally made it ?  i’m lev / linc ( she/her/hers ) , comin’ atchu from the ever so lovely est timezone with ya boy, the tru ledge, grizz visser! click on that read more to read some headcanons i’ve got goin’ for west ham’s resident handcuff-owning, intellectual beb !

[   g    r   i   z    z        v    i     s     s     e    r    ––    B O Y   O N   F I R E .

✔ ┊❝ ( nick robinson. 18. he/him &. cismale ) rumor around town is that gareth “grizz” visser was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that he purposely botched his chances to win a football scholarship to a local uni because he applied to several ivies behind his parents’ backs, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as well-read & piquant, but who knows when they’re known to be elusive & misanthropé from time to time. 

( &&. general information )

full name: gareth visser

nickname(s) or alias: grizz

preferred name: grizz –– call him gareth and he will... not be happy.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: leo

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: homosexual ( but closeted )

romantic preference: demiromantic

home environment: a quaint three-bed / two-bath house with his parents. a positive, almost sickeningly sweet home: family portraits all over the place, cheesy “ home is where the heart is ” décor all around from his mother’s many trips to pier 1 imports.

current occupation: student, student athlete.

language(s) spoken: english, french, a tad of latin. wants to learn more hebrew, but that shit is complicated as heck.

native language: english.

current relationship status: single.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: y’know, he’s asked his parents this countless times. why gareth? why. gareth. and each time he’s just gotten the same vague response: they liked it. it sounded respectable. ack.

birth order: only child.

ethnicity: american. west ham born & raised, baby!

nationality: american.

religion: agnostic. goes to church with his mother as a way to keep the peace, but... the idea of a god out there saying homosexuality’s a sin gives him a bad taste in his mouth. he’d rather discount his whole existence and uphold morality than accept that there’s a bigoted big guy in the sky. sees the bible more as a literary exercise to instill human value. did jesus really walk on water? heck no. but it makes a good fable.

political views: very, very liberal. doesn’t subscribe to labels, but as close to democratic socialist as you can get in this country without causing riots. anti-brexit. anti-trump. anti-bullshit, basically. maybe socialism or communism done right wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

financial status: very, very comfortable. his parents earn well and know how to save / spend frugally. the vissers are modest in living so they can pour more into experience. for grizz’s twelfth birthday, his parents took him hiking through the adirondacks. they’ve gone on some awesome trips together, and most of their vacations include some aspect of super cool nature. unbeknownst to grizz, his parents’ planned grad gift for him was a month-long backpacking tour through new zealand.

hometown: west ham, connecticut. cool beans.

level of education: high school senior. but he’s one of the learned folk: ap literature on lock. he took some college courses at the local community college last summer, because his job as a summer camp counselor wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating. leading kids on hikes is fun ‘n all, but... not as engaging as college-level philosophy.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): nick robinson. with longer hair. reference [ here ] . 

height: 6′0 ( jack’s shorter, but nick’s my main fc i’m workin’ with so i decide to bump it up. plus, height? football? makes sense. )

weight: 158 lbs

shoe size: 10.5

figure/build: athletic build. muscular. broad shoulders, lean waist.

hair colour: deep, deep brown. almost black. natural.

hair length: about jaw-length. curly. ( REFERENCE. )

eye colour: brown with an overlay of hazel-y jade-green. his campers over the summer compared his eyes to moss a lot. it kinda felt badass. “moss boss” had a ring to it.

glasses?: nope. 20/20 vision. but he’s been known to steal friends’ glasses sometimes, just for funsies.

skin tone: light, but not necessarily pale – spends a lot of time outdoors. no freckles.

tattoos: none, yet. would love to get a quote from walden. or a pine tree, if it wasn’t so cliche.

piercings: none. but getting an ear pierced has always intrigued him.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some miscellaneous scars on his hands from whittling incidents growing up. a faint line across his arm from stitches, when he broke it in the peewee football league in fifth grade. 

dominant hand: left-handed, but very recently learned he’s marginally ambidextrous for important tasks.

if painted, what color are their nails?: never painted. he keeps them short.

usual style of clothing: letterman jacket. jeans. tall socks, boots. pants tucked into socks, because why the hell not? flannels, hoodies, utility jackets layered over plain white tees. pendant necklaces, leather bracelets. occasionally he’ll wear a statement button-downs that looks like your grandmother’s upholstery, but somehow it’ll work really well. varsity t-shirts. hats of all varieties. if he could, he’d showcase some edgier styles. but he’s paranoid. he’s got a stanford hoodie buried in his closet. and a yale one, too.

frequently worn jewelry:  leather bracelets. a silver ring strung on a chain, engraved with “ for sylvie, with love ”. he found it on a hike, and... figured he’d be sylvie for a day, or something.

describe their voice, what accent?:  he has a light, gentle voice. a soft autumn breeze. laced with some gravel. strong, resolute. kind.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: often speaks slowly, surely. not always keen to fill silences. but words are some of his favorite devices of deflection. if he’s unsure, he’ll cut himself off, leading to some choppy and hard to follow sentences. he very rarely mumbles. not afraid to speak eloquently, but will certainly match his speaking style to those he’s around, to an extent. rarely seems bothered. he masks it well.

describe their scent: amber, sandalwood, musk. vague hints of cinnamon. 

describe their posture: grizz holds himself proudly. shoulders broad, chin up, chest open. it makes his vulnerable moments very easy to spot.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: nope. this kid drives by the book. probably because he very much prefers to walk or bike around town, when he can help it.

have they ever been arrested?: never. he’s only been to the police station once, to drop off some promotional donuts for the homecoming football game.

do they have a criminal record?: nah.

have they committed any violent crimes?: no sir.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: nope! unless you count accidentally cutting cars off with his bike, because that’s happened a handful of times, when he’s been deep in thought.

other crimes?: just breaking hearts.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: july 26, 1997. 3:23am. during a rainstorm.

place of birth: west ham hospital.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / marijuana.

addictions: does good lit count?

allergies: sulfur-based antibiotics. bullshit.

ever broken a bone?: his left arm in fifth grade. right foot at the seventh grade dance –– the girl he asked to slow dance tripped and grizz, wanting to show off his cool socks, wound up with a stiletto heel to the talus. ouch. collar bone, freshman year of high school: he climbed a tree to save his neighbor’s cat and slipped.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nope.

any medication regularly taken: allergy meds. sometimes he gets the sniffles.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  UNO.  DOS.  TRES.  QUATRO.

positive traits: charismatic, cunning, introspective, virtuosic.

negative traits: cataclysmic, self-destructive, reckless, careless.

likes: classic literature, trail mix, synth vibes, 60s/70s/80s rock, the beatles, radiohead, faith by george michael. old vinyls. bob ross. vanilla-cinnamon candles and jasmine tea. wind-rustled leaves. fresh fallen rain.

dislikes: bitter coffee. the disappointment just after sunrise. katy perry. cleaning, laundry. the warmer side of the pillow. waking up without a hand to hold. gareth. secrets, but he harbors a few big ones. pretending. hiding. transitively, himself.

strengths: can be quite resolute but sometimes about the wrong things. his ability to analyze and respond to complex literature is… uncanny. intelligence. deduction. survival facts. he’s a postmodern bear grylls trapped in suburbia.

weaknesses: impatience. do-it-yourself attitude.  fear of rejection. fear of acceptance. fear of others. fear of himself. 

insecurities: what if people in west ham discover who he really is? how’s he supposed to postpone that?

fears/phobias:  irrelevancy. book-burning. ignorance. time.

habits:  playing with his fingers. biting his bottom lip and twisting it between his teeth. humming when he thinks no one is listening. going for late-night walks through the emptiest parts of town. staying up ‘til 4am to read and re-read and read again.

quirks: rarely settles his gaze on anything for more than a few seconds, except for other peoples’ eyes. eye contact is probably one of grizz’s biggest conversational strengths. probably why he makes such a good liar, when he needs to. he’ll finish a pint of ice cream and just sit there for over an hour sucking on the spoon, lost in thought. licks his lips when he’s nervous. plays with his hair a lot. you know he’s nervous when he keeps tucking his hair behind his right ear. chuckles to himself, even when things are the pure opposite of funny.

hobbies: jotting notes in book margins. he dabbles in poetry but feels like his shit is too beat-generation to be that cool. wandering through the woods and attempting to generate his own maps, then checking them for accuracy. lighting matches in the cold, mid-evening air just to watch them burn.

guilty pleasure: peanut m&ms. twizzlers. burned marshmallows. apartment tour videos on youtube.

desires: to prove he’s… sometime more than this. something more than a footballer destined to pretend.

wishes: he could come clean about college. wishes he could come clean about himself. wishes he could work up the courage to ask a guy to prom.

secrets: he purposefully botched an interview he had with central connecticut state university’s football recruiter because he doesn’t want to play in college. he wants to go to yale, or stanford, or brown. to study literature. classics. philosophy. his sexuality. but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that locked down.

turn ons: intelligence. genuine, pure intelligence. sharp-witted humor. dimples. dorky laughs. gentle touch. someone who doesn’t bother with worries ‘bout tomorrow.

turn offs:  idiocy. khakis. people with too much pride. line cutters. naggers. people who don’t think the proper way to eat bugles is by fashioning crisp-claws first and pretending to be edward scissorhands. people who overlook adrienne rich’s poetry, or claim dante shouldn’t be taught in school.

lucky number: 0.

pet peeves: hearing people scratch their scalps. sniffly public transit users. people who don’t use earbuds. cold fries. nail-clickers. knuckle-crackers. people who slurp from straws like they’ve never had a drink before in their lives. 

their motto:  “ i’m surrounded by idiots. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: curly fries with cajun seasoning.

drink: half-oreo half-chocolate milkshake. extra whipped cream. two cherries. please.

fast food restaurant: he’s not huge on fast food, but he can fuck with five guys.

flavour: anything chocolate and peanut.

word: fuck !!!  or zephyr: a soft, gentle breeze.

colour:  a nice, deep forest green.

clothing: his letterman jacket. his deep green flannel’s a close second.

accessory: “ for sylvie, with love” . silver ring. he likes pretending he’s sylvie and that someone cared enough to get his name etched into a precious metal forever.

candle scent: the connecticut homesick candle. it smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla and fireside bliss. and pine trees. yum.

game: monopoly. but only if he wins.

animal: fish. they’re so graceful.

holiday: halloween. boo.

weather: sunset, just after rain. golden rays peering through deep gray clouds. it makes the greens of trees practically scream against the sky. it’s glorious. it’s heartbreaking. grizz loves it.

season: late fall.

book: le petit prince by antoine de saint-exupéry. it was the last book his grandmother ever read to him, on his fifth christmas eve.

artist: edvard munch. or van gogh, simply because he chopped his ear off and mailed it to his lover. now that’s modern romance.

band/group: the divine comedy, radiohead, pink floyd, the beatles, the rolling stones, the kooks. the avett brothers. belle & sebastian.

song: high and dry, radiohead. elephant, tame impala. anything by the beatles.

movie/film:  mr. nobody. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. the first time little grizz saw alice in wonderland, he wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks.

tv show: he grew up watching wallace and gromit. he’s still got a soft spot for it.

sport: football.

possession: his dad’s collection of beatles original release vinyls.

number: 0.

person: henry david thoreau.

( &&. skills )

talents: writing, but he won’t admit it. football. wood-whittling. gardening. navigation.

ability to drive a car?: yes.

can they ride a bike?: yes, and will frequently do so with no hands.

do they play any sports?: football.

anything they’re bad at?: juggling. sleeping. pretending to like gross food.

do they have any combat training? why?: grizz once yahoo answered how to punch somebody to the moon, after one of his best friends got made fun of in grade school for accidentally wearing a costume the day before halloween. he’s still waiting for an answer to that post.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: waging what was left of his fruit gummies during a game of fireside poker on the first visser camping trip.

crush: matty kerrington, pre-k. his hair smelled like strawberries and his smile reminded grizz of the hot honey that clung to his mum’s spoon after stirring tea. but to this day, he’ll say his first crush was amanda vander-voss, because her hair was pretty in braids and she reminded him of the pretty deer from bambi.

email address: grizzlybear@aol.com

job: camp counselor at a hiking / adventure camp based in west ham.

phone: a nifty samsung with a slide-out keyboard. made him feel like a god.

kiss: jessica winthrop, in a game of third grade truth or dare.

love: tess de luca ( @tessdl )

sexual experience: with jessica winthrop in the woods behind the middle school, three years later. jess got poison ivy in all the wrong places. grizz thought it was hysterical.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  honestly? wearing that boa in dance class. his mom was quick to stop that.

worst childhood memory?:  nearly breaking his nose on the neighbor’s front porch, while attempting to ding-dong ditch with his friends. he’s not sure what gave them away more –– his blood staining their pavement, or the fact that he blubbered the whole run home.

what were they like as a child?:  grizz tended to poke his nose into all the wrong matters, landing him in oodles of trouble. he’d steal from the snack cabinet, sketch constellations across the walls… even stole his dad’s old walkman so he could listen to music under his covers past his bedtime. tried to sneak into the library after hours to get his hands on another thoreau novel. but it was all harmless. the vissers weren’t very firm disciplinarians: they just loved that their son was engaged and passionate about knowledge.

any crushes growing up?: oh, loads. more than he’d like to admit.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: inexpensive, but lasting.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open.

introvert or extrovert?: ambivert. thrives in social settings but the mood has to be right.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic with a weak optimistic veil. pragmatism, is how he’d put it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious daredevil.

logical or emotional?: a blend of both, but emotions often influence his actions more than he’d like to say.

generous or stingy?: generous.

polite or rude?: polite when it’s socially mandated. but if there’s no threat of repercussions? a bit rude, if he has to be.

book smart or street smart?:  both.

popular or loner?:  popular, by proxy. but grizz vibes with some solid solitude, especially to recharge.

leader or follower?: leader. follower, though, in the high school structure of things. it’s a way to ensure his place and avoid potential fallout. he’ll call his friends out if they’re up to no good, though.

day or night person?: night. definitely night.

cat or dog person?: both! prefers cats just a smidge more.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?: open. maybe his demons wanna cuddle or some shit.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to instagram and (begrudgingly) snapchat.

if so; name on facebook: none.

instagram user: grizzvisser

snapchat user: grizzybear

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: kimochi warui ( when? when? when? ), car seat headrest. god... get him OUT of this town.

makes them sad: blackbird, the beatles. his grandparents used to sing this when he’d sleep over/ they’d be in the kitchen early in the morning trying to convince him to eat his cereal. they’d change the lyrics and snap slightly off-tempo, all smiles and coaxing gestures. ave maria. he’s not sure why. it inspires melancholia.

makes them dance: hazy miss daisy, kid bloom. anything with a sick beat and erratic synth. take on me, a-ha. good times bad times, led zeppelin. 

loves the most: fool of myself, the band camino. it’s a song he can throw his head back to, close his eyes, and sway in the breeze.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yep, used to, but now that’s not necessary!

are they a virgin?: nope siree!

describe their signature: it’s unapologetic on the page. takes up more room than it should with lateral squiggles and grandiose swirls. G and V are decipherable, but everything else is convoluted by its own physics. a muddled mess. beautiful in its self-collapsing structure.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  he’d outlive everyone. survivalist visser, right here.

do they travel?: yes, but he wants to do more, see more. the grand canyon would be cool. or maybe the alps. he’s always had a dream of hiking yosemite. 

one place they would like to live: anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit: new zealand. australia. hawaii.

celebrity crush: young johnny depp. emma watson.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: tic tacs, but never the mint ones. only the odd flavors.

place(s) your character can always be found:  anywhere with trees. rooftops. alleyways. the football field. coffee shops. the local diner. roadside sunflower fields. his parents’ garden.

when does your character like to wake up?:  with the sun.

what’s your character’s morning routine?: blink at the ceiling for about 20 minutes. wash his face, brush his teeth. annotate a few lines of whatever book he’s reading. push-ups, pull-ups, crunches. run a mile or two. rush into the shower. grab his lunch from the fridge and bike to school (and barely make it).

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?:  grizz’s mom loves to cook, so they’re always trying some new paleo trend. some of it’s awful. but he’ll try to eat it and if he can’t, he’ll sneak a granola bar later. if the school’s serving smiley face fries, he’ll have those. he really likes green apples and those little clementines.

how does your character spend their free days?:  hiking. reading. writing. lying in the sun and just... thinking. lately, he’s been daydreaming a lot about an ivy league education. something more engaging than west ham’s high school snoozefest.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  some kind of pre-bed stretching routine. wash his face, brush his teeth, curl up in bed with a book. fall asleep with it still open on his chest.

what does your character wear to bed?: boxers and a t-shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: the past. mistakes. time ticking away.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?: he’s still workin’ on that bit.

on what occasions do they lie?:  very rarely, if he can help it.

most marked characteristic: his hair. it’s all russet waves. untamed. some days, his hair truly has a mind of its own. it screams free spirit. it doesn’t let on that, inside, his soul is burning.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  honestly? it’s not so much what he’d want to change about himself as it is about this town. 

how would they like to die?:  well-read.

do they snore? not unless he’s got a head cold. then there may be a few soft snores here and there.

can they curl their tongue?: yes!

can they whistle?: yes indeed!

do they believe in the supernatural?: not really. but it’s fun to indulge on halloween.  did he move your cup, or did the ghouls?!  s p o o k y .

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  no. haven’t had the opportunity to.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. little marsha lapone’s, at summer camp. she was 8, he’s 18. he told her there was no chance, and she cried into her pb&j. tough.

are they squeamish?: no. 

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?: just in films.

are they a lightweight?: heck no.

that was a very lengthy thing but... yeah! hit me up for plots! i’m gonna get to crafting and replying to starters v shortly!

[amaris-noir]

All the asks!

It took me a few days but I finally did it! Thanks for asking~

🐰- do you believe in soul mates?

- yea.. I guess

💌- diary or journal?

- In my imagnation diary is nicer (describing experiences, feels and all) but in real life and currently - definitely a journal. I’m trying to keep all important stuff noted, especially little plans for each day so that I can mark them as done (it’s kinda useful and motivational)

✨- which fictional character (book, show, or movie) do you relate to most?

- Bridget Jones lmaooo not but seriously I don’t know

💕- are you crushing on someone?

- nah

💋- kissing in the dark or kissing in the rain?

- I think..kissing in the dark

🐝- describe your aesthetic in emojis

- 😏😈👌🌱🌿🥀🌙🌃🖤💮

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

- discovering Paris.. some days there were really memorable

🌸- what is your favorite flower?

- carnations/cloves? rose

💖- have you ever been in love?

- yes

🍰- strawberry or vanilla?

- vanilla?

🍯- describe your favorite smell

- flowery, jasmine, wood smell for perfume I guess? but I like a lot and can never decive, fresh book smell and Japanese green tea smell?

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

have a well-paid job that I like (and that would allow me to travel because that’s one of my dreams~)

stay healthy

find someone I’d have mutual feelings with, could share stuffs and travel. I’ve had someone I really wanted to do this with but it wasn’t mutual and it’s impossible now anyway.

🍪- cookie dough or cookies?

- ahh coookies or ice-cream with cookie dough flavor

☕- coffee or tea?

- definitely tea, green tea like sencha or black tea. I rarely drink coffee.. if I do then it’s cappuccino lol

🍃- would you rather live in a sea with mermaids or a forest with fairies?

- forest

🍂- what’s your middle name?

-  I have none

💫- what is your sun, moon, and rising sign?

Apparently: Sun - Gemini, Moon and rising: Scorpio. Also midheaven in Leo. (I hadn’t really read what it all means… but I just did some reading on Sun and midheaven and well, it’s accurate lol)

🌧️- favorite thing to do on rainy days?

- watching some TV series/movie, going somewhere like a restaurant to eat and spend time with someone

🍭- how tall are you?

- 173 cm

🎄- what is your favorite holiday?

The ones when we have days off but don’t have to do much

🍦- what scented candle is your favorite?

- flower scents, vanilla, lavender? idk

💘- 3 ways to win your heart?

- be kind, passionate, have some things in common with me? and we could probably be friends~

🍩- current mood?

- I was tired but feeling kinda okay now, sentimental about the past

❄️- what is your favorite season?

- spring/autumn when it doesn’t rain / blow too strongly

💍- your current relationship status?

- single but emotionally complicated

📷- a photo of yourself

- will post it later

💅🏻- do you like being spoiled?

- I doubt I have ever been so I’m not sure. It’d be hard for me to let anyone spoil me without thinking I own them.. I’d have to be really close with someone and also want to spoil them in return hah

🕊️- 3 habits you have?

drinking green tea every morning & early evening

listening to popular music while working out lol

not leaving home without earphones? I guess it’s normal

🦄- how do you perceive yourself?

Most of all I find myself lazy but still I’m not punishing myself or being too hard on myself. I see myself as a lonely a bit alienated person with not many friends but dreams and ambitious goals even tho I’m a bit lost and don’t know what I wanna do in life.

🦋- how do you think others perceive you?

I think people don’t notice me and if they do.. they might think I’m talkative, indecisive, can’t decide on a consistent style hah

🌈- things I find attractive in girls/guys

kindness, loyalty, sincerity, ambition/determination

🍓- one secret about yourself

- I don’t think I keep any secrets concerning me.. I’m rather honest and if my friends asked me something about me, I’d tell them so idk if there’s anything I could state here that would be somehow exceptionally revealing lol

🍒- how do you act when you have a crush?

- in real life I’d avoid them and probably admire them from a distance.

💔- the reason behind your last breakup?

💬- what your last text message says?

Danke, gleichfalls! 

🎥- what show are you currently binging on?

- mhm.. I have a few going on but the most recent one has been a Chinese drama by Netflix.. the garden of meteors? Kinda silly but I need something light

⛅- what is your morning routine?

- drinking green tea as I mentioned earlier.. obviously skin clean up & treatment before doing makeup. Not so long ago I started to listen to foreign language podcasts in the morning while getting ready~ I don’t have much time to study languages besides refreshing stuffs on language apps so I listen to natives talking so that my brain doesn’t forget or so that it refreshes the vocab a bit.

💗- who do you miss?

- someone I shouldn’t

🥀- last time you cried?

- a few nights ago

🎁- when is your birthday?

- it’s in June. 20th.

🔪- scariest/creepiest experience?

- the last scariest and most intense experience was Hollywood tower in Disneyland haha; also fainting or almost fainting scares me

💤- date someone younger, older, or same age as you?

- I guess rather someone around my age +5/-3 would be best for relational / life experience reasons but tbh it all depends on a person so I wouldn’t look at someone’s age

[kv-central]

Mischief - Prompt

The prompt is from and for @shintododeku-week 

It can also be found on ao3

“Shh!”

Todoroki turned to tell one of his boyfriends, Shinsou, who was snickering. They were currently trying to spy on their other boyfriend, Midoriya, who had left the dorms that morning in a rush. They were currently sitting at cosplay café, in a booth where they were hidden in their poorly made disguises. Todoroki could see Midoriya, who was sitting alone and studying the menu.

They wouldn’t follow him on their day off for no reason, at least that’s what Todoroki was using as a justification.

He had heard Kirishima telling Tetsutetsu and Kaminari about how Bakugou was annoyed because he had to do ‘something’ that involved Midoriya. Todoroki couldn’t get anymore information, since he was technically eavesdropping on them while meeting up with Shinsou. Shinsou had somehow convinced him that they needed to follow him, to make sure they wouldn’t fight again.

Looking at Shinsou now, who was in a fit of giggles, Todoroki realizes he’s been had. It made sense, now thinking back on it. Shinsou kept covering his mouth while he told him they had to keep an eye on their boyfriend. And the way he had talked, it made Todoroki think that he knew where Midoriya was going.

“B-But I n-never thought that the-they’d be..!!” Shinsou managed between giggles and pointing back to Midoriya’s table.

Shinsou did try his best to stay quiet, but even Todoroki struggled to hold back his laughter as he followed Shinsou’s finger. Bakugou came walking out in Hatsume Miku cosplay, his hair in ponytails. Even over the loud music and customers, they could hear Bakugou start yelling.

“ARE YOU HAPPY NOW??!!”

“Miku-chan, why are you yelling?” Midoriya replied in a flat voice and both Shinsou and Todoroki collapsed onto their table giggling.

“FUCK YOU!!!”

Todoroki sat up as a waitress, Sailor Moon, walked toward them. She had an apologetic look on her face, and Todoroki felt bad for her. Shinsou wiped the tears at the corners of his eyes as she made it to the table.

“Sorry about the commotion. What can I get for you today?”

“Green tea, please.” Todoroki replied, trying his best to not laugh from the scene behind the waitress. Bakugou was now ripping off the ponytails, screaming while Midoriya was keeled over laughing.

“Okay, and for you?” Sailor Moon’s voice got louder as the screaming got louder, the entire restaurant was turned to see what the commotion was about.

“I’ll g-get a Jasmine green m-milk tea, please.” Shinsou was barely able to get his order out in between giggles as the waitress nodded and walked away.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Todoroki covered his mouth as he broke out into laughter. Shinsou followed as well as he turned in his seat to watch the unfolding scene. They missed some of it while they gave their orders, as Bakugou was now ripping off the arm things and looked like he was ready to murder Midoriya, who was back to being somewhat calm.

“I thought waitresses were supposed to serve the customer?” Midoriya probably couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. Todoroki didn’t blame him, since he was barely holding it together himself.

Bakugou looked at Midoriya, his expression hidden from the two sitting in their booth. But they both imagined it was probably something that could rival their homeroom teacher’s glare, considering Midoriya bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, SIR?!”

At this point, Shinsou had to stop watching as he turned back in his seat. Tears streaming down his eyes as he covered his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his laughter quiet. Todoroki wasn’t doing any better, as he got a full view of the scene from his seat. He looked down to try and stop laughing but the back and forth banter was enough to keep him composure.

After a minute or so, Bakugou stormed off somewhere and the restaurant quieted down. Todoroki and Shinsou had finally stopped laughing and locked eyes before the started laughing again. Their waitress came and dropped off their drinks, seeming to be in a rush. They didn’t mind, since they were trying to catch their breaths.

After what felt like two hours, they calmed down enough to start talking.

“So… Why is he dressed up..?” Todoroki started, knowing that Shinsou knew.

Shinsou smirked. “He lost a bet against Midoriya.”

Todoroki tilted his head, still a bit confused. “What was the bet?” He knew that Bakugou didn’t bet on stuff like most of the kids in their class, Midoriya could sometimes be dragged in but that was rare.

Shinsou grinned and leaned closer towards Todoroki.

‘God, I’m so lucky I’m dating him.’ Todoroki thought to himself as he leaned closer to one of his boyfriends.

“Against me.”

Todoroki couldn’t help but stare at Shinsou’s mouth, he loved his smug grins. Shinsou noticed as he leaned in and quickly kissed Todoroki before leaning back into his seat.

Todoroki could feel his face heat up as he looked around the restaurant, which thankfully no one was paying them any attention. “N-not in public..” He mumbled.

“Ding!”

Shinsou raised his eyebrow as and Todoroki grabbed their phones. It was Midoriya.

All Might Stan: I can see you guys

All Might Stan: You’re not slick at all

Todoroki glanced up and sure enough, Midoriya was starting at him.

Purrple: Want us to leave?

Purrple: Because I can barely hold myself together

Vanilla Ice: He’s right

All Might Stan: If you don’t want Kacchan to blow up the place….

Purrple: Ok *finger guns*

Todoroki looks up and Shinsou as they finish their drinks and slide out of their booth. Todoroki is paying when Bakugou comes stomping out.

“Here you go, fucking Deku.”

Todoroki made the mistake of looking up with Shinsou because Bakugou is now wearing a wig to complete his cosplay. And if Todoroki is seeing right, he also has on make-up.

Midoriya is laughing, when he says it. “W-wow. Didn’t think I’d b-be meeting such a b-beautiful M-Miku-“ He can’t finish his sentence as he keeps laughing despite Bakugou’s yelling.

They barely manage to make it out of the café without laughing. As soon as they catch their breath they start walking with no destination in mind. It was now late morning, the streets slowly starting to get busier.

“So…” Shinsou started, “that was something.”

Todoroki snickered. “I guess that’s one way of explaining.. that.”

Shinsou chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed Todoroki’s hand. “Let’s go rent a movie or two and laze around today.”

Todoroki couldn’t help his blush as he nodded, not caring about the stares they received walking. Todoroki didn’t want to let go of that hand.

oOo

“So why cosplay?”

Midoriya choked on his water at the question. He had come back to the dorms a little before lunch and went and joined his boyfriends in lazing around.

“B-Because he unironically loved Vocaloids as a kid and I’m never going to let him live it down.”

Sometimes Todoroki forgot that Midoriya was mischievous, but moments like this reminded him. Shinsou was laughing, hiding his face in Todoroki’s lap from his position on laying across him and Midoriya.

“H-How were you able to keep a straight face?” Shinsou asks.

Midoriya grinned brightly. “Because I’m an angel.”

At this, all three of them burst out laughing.

When they calmed down, Midoriya explained to them that Bakugou almost blew up a table after they left. Bakugou noticed Shinsou, who’s disguise was more poorly done than Todoroki’s. His face had been exposed, with little to no attempt to cover it up.

“That’s how I noticed too.” Midoriya shrugged. “Also because I’m used to you guys, I know your laughs as well.” At this Midoriya blushed a bit.

Shinsou smiled as he sat up and moved over so he was in front of Todoroki and Midoriya. “We should blast Vocaloids, can I go ask Jirou?”

“No.” Midoriya’s reply was so quick, Shinsou had barely finished.

Todoroki smiled, laying down on the floor. At least Midoriya could still be mature-

“Not without me.”

Todoroki was wrong as he sighed. “I’m coming with you guys.” He sat up and was met with his boyfriends, both looking eager and excited. “I’m only coming along so he doesn’t murder you.” Todoroki said as he stood up and walked to the door.

Shinsou took off down the elevator, not waiting for his boyfriends on his mission to look for Jirou. Midoriya and Todoroki trailed behind him while they talked, sighing as they had to wait for the elavator.

“I know you don’t like it when I pick on-“

Midoriya was quickly cut off by Todoroki. “Oh no, I love it when we pick on Bakugou.”

Midoriya laughed before he quickly pecked Todoroki on the cheek. “You don’t think I’m going too far?”

Todoroki shook his head and turned to Midoriya and smiled. “If you were going too far, I’d tell you.”

Midoriya smiled as their elevator showed up and they walked in.

“I know I still have trouble with socializing and catching onto jokes, but I can tell when someone is hurt. And Bakugou wouldn’t get hurt over this, I think.” Todoroki still had a hard time trying to not dislike Bakugou too much, but he wouldn’t voluntary hurt his feelings.

“She said she’d do it!!” Shinsou announced as the elevator doors opened.

Jirou had her head tilted. “He won’t tell me why we’re blasting vocaloids, but we need to go grab my amps from my room.”

Midoriya grinned as they all made their way to Jirou’s room to help with grabbing the equipment and setting up in the common area. Luckily for them Bakugou was holed up in his room, information provided by Kirishima. Everyone passing them while they got ready was confused and with none of the trio willing to spill, they let Jirou blast Magnet.

At first there was mass confusion by everyone who came to the common area to see where the music was coming from, promptly followed by an explosion. Then a screech.

“DEKU YOU LITTLE TWERP!!”

The trio couldn’t stop laughing as they ran away from Bakugou. Later they were scolded for the loud music, which the teachers heard in their offices. Jirou was praised by Present Mic for music taste which no one knew if it was sarcastic or not.