#how many pots are they dropping in succession?

[shmowder]

idk what the construction workers outside my window are doing but it definitely sounds like the opposite of construction

[toomanyideasandfandoms]

Death seeking creator with Zhongli idea

Whenever Zhongli remembers that it was their that the creator was hurt to this degree, he felt like he should go through the painfullest of deaths but he can't... Not right now, not while leaving the creator in such a state. So, he retired from the Funeral Palor and spend his days caring for the creator.

Today, too, Zhongli walked into the tranquil adobe of the creator as he carried the tea he personally brewed to offer the creator. The tea contained the calming effects that is very much needed for the creator's tired mind.

Maybe because of his relentless efforts or because of the effects of all the tea and medicine, the creator is becoming a bit more stable these days, meaning they are not asking him to squish them with the meteor he summon.

Relishing in the small change of the creator, Zhongli stood in front of the creator's room and asked, "Your grace, may I come in?"

What came back to him was the answer "Yes, you may," accompanied by the small giggles of the creator.

Zhongli opened the door and looked for the creator's form wondering what could make them so amused. And there they were, wearing white silk gown, sitting in the middle of the silk bed Ninggaung had presented to them. Their face bloomed into a full smile as they locked eyes with him.

The smile was so radiant that Zhongli would have liked to bath in all of its glory

.

.

.

if not for the gold, gold, gold everywhere invading all of his five senses.

The gold was staining the silk bed sheet, the white gown, the marble floor and the creator's arms, and legs and face.

In their hand was a hair pin Zhongli had presented to them a week ago, contented in the fact that they stopped asking him to kill them.

Sitting in the pool of their own blood, the creator said, "Surprise!", like a child whose prank was successful.

"You...r.... Your.... Grace.... What have you done?"

Zhongli asked as he dropped the tea pot tray in his hands to run to your side.

"Hehe, I... surprised you right!" They asked as they coughed up blood.

"I got the idea... from Kaeya. The best way to disappoint someone is by making them hope and breaking that hope."

That was their last words before they disappeared into thin air and left nothing but ash.

Ah-

OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD

YOU

YOUR BRAIN, GIVE ME IT. THIS IS EXQUISITE. SO MARVELOUS. JUST ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY PERFECT.

I BOW WITH MY HEAD SLAMMING INTO THE FLOOR TO YOU, OH GREAT BRILLIANT ANON. OH HOW LOVELY THIS WRITING IS, IT IS LIKE IVE BEEN SHOWN THE WONDERS OF MY OWN MIND

GIVE THIS ANON PRAISE EVERYONE, GIVE THEM SO MANY PROPS AND HONOR. TRULY A WONDERFUL DISPLAY OF WRITING AND PUTTING FULL FORCE INTO THE IDEA OF OUR DEATH SEEKING CREATOR AU

[luveline]

hey jade!! i love kisses before dinner and was wondering (if you like the idea) maybe you could write something about avery realising how scary giving birth can be and starts worry about it before the new baby arrives? <3<3<3

thank you for your request! kisses before dinner —mom!you and dad!steve comfort avery when she has concerns for your health. fem!reader, 3k

cw discussed maternal mortality and death

Steve Harrington looks out over the kitchen table that night with a great sense of success. You're sitting at the other end with Dove on your knee, feeding her bites of macaroni cheese between feigned spoonfuls given to her rainbow teddy bear. Bethie sits to his left eating without complaint (a victory considering her pickiness). Avery sits to his right, trying to pour her own glass from the juice jug. It's awesome. 

Steve quickly swallows the drink he'd been sipping on and offers to help her, hand extended, "Here. I got it."

"I can do it," Avery insists, her long arms shaking under the weight. 

He doesn't mind her being independent, nor her improving capabilities, but the last thing he wants to do tonight is clean up a huge juice spill. Steve takes the juice gently and refills her plastic cup. 

"Dad," she whines. 

"Avery," he whines back. 

She huffs and grabs her fork, ignoring her fresh cup of juice to shovel in bites of broccoli and macaroni instead. 

"I think I'm done," Bethie says. Steve must have jinxed it. 

He attempts to do the impossible —convince Bethie to finish dinner. He takes up station by the side of her chair, having tried everything now, and only this works. 

"Beth," he says, putting his hand behind her back, "Are you sure there's no room left? I don't want you to be hungry again before we go to bed 'cos you won't tell me, will you?" 

"I'm full," she insists, reaching for her drink bottle. 

"Is there something wrong with it?" he asks, rubbing up and down her back.

"No, daddy, it's nice," she says. She isn't quite convincing, but she tries. 

Steve looks at her. She looks like Steve sometimes, like neither of you other times, but mostly he looks at her and he sees you. Your smile, your frown, Bethie's tell is the same as yours when she lies. Steve can read you both like a book. 

"Is it cold?" he asks, sticking his pinky finger in the corner of her macaroni. "A little. If I heat it back up for you, would that make it better?" 

"No, please," she says. 

He sighs. "Make you something else? Sandwiches?" 

"I'm not hungry, daddy." 

Steve plasters a smile over his worries and kisses her cheek. "Okie smokie. Well done, honey, you ate lots and lots. Let's try even more for breakfast, yeah?" 

"Yes!" she agrees, sliding off of her chair.

"Where are you going?" he asks. 

"Need to pee!" she yells, running to the stairs. She opens the baby gate (which she’s known how to do for too many years, way before supposed to know how to —thanks so much, Avery) and Steve listens to her sprint up the stairs with a wince. 

"Call me if you need help!" he yells after her. 

"Okay!" 

"You think that's why she didn't want to eat?" you ask, wiping the corners of Dove's mouth with her bib. 

Steve stands up and stretches his arms behind his head. "I don't know," he says, rolling his neck around in a circle. 

"Is it gross if I eat her leftovers?" you ask. 

"I'll make you another pot, if you want it," Steve offers, arms dropping down to his side. He's been trying to get back into shape lately. It's not working out. "You having cravings?" 

"I'm just hungry all the time," you say, your voice melding into a sing song as you finish wiping Dove's face. "All done! Good girl, Dovey! You're my good girl." You plaster her forehead with a layer of kisses before putting her down on the floor. She wobbles, hands on your thighs. "Okay? You want another drink?"

"Dotty Dolly," she says, taking your hand. "Please. Please, Dolly."

"Yeah, my love. I'm coming." You groan as you stand up, not quite pregnant enough to worry about popping soon but more than enough to feel exhaustion to the marrow. 

"Just me and you then," Steve says to Avery, tucking in chairs and piling plates at the table. 

"Me and you, sir," she agrees in a funny voice. 

"Still mad at me?" 

She remembers to glare at him. "Yes!" She takes another bite of macaroni. "Okay, no." 

"If you're not gonna chew with your mouth closed, put your hand over your mouth. I don't wanna see your chewed up dinner." Avery pokes her tongue out, laughing when Steve says, "Ewww." 

He sets the leftovers aside for you rather than waste Bethie's largely untouched pasta in the trash, stacking the dishes in the sink and wetting a cloth to wipe down the table. He cleans around Avery, squeezing her neck, shoulders and arms to make her squirm as he goes.

"You want seconds?" he asks, returning to the sink. 

"I want dessert." 

"Good idea. You know Mom's so pregnant all she does lately is wake me up for ice cream."

"She wakes you up?" Avery asks. 

"By accident trying to put her socks on at the end of the bed. Baby's getting too big now, she can't see her toes." 

"It's a good thing she has you, dad."

"Yeah, but you'd help mommy, wouldn't you? Help her put her shoes on if she couldn't reach?" 

Avery hops off of her chair and passes him her plate, completely clean of food. She grows like a bamboo shoot and eats like a rabid dog. He loves it. She's evidence that he's a good cook. 

"Thank you. What did you want for dessert?" he asks. 

"I have something to ask you." 

"Oh." Steve hates the sound of that, theorising that she wants a new something or other he'll have to say no to. He grabs her by the waist, wet hands and all, hoisting her up onto the counter by the dish rack. He puts a rag in her hands. "You dry and I'll answer." 

"It's a weird question," Avery warns.   

"Avery, you wouldn't believe how weird some of the questions I've asked are. Don't worry about it." 

He scrunches dirty water out of the dish sponge and squirts soap onto a dirty plate. The hot water burns his fingertips. Avery dries a plastic plate diligently, her question coming out slow as running wax. 

"Mom's gonna be okay, right?" she asks quietly. 

Steve fights to keep his eyebrows down. They bob anyways. "Okay from what?" 

"When she has the baby. She's not going to get hurt?" 

"Well, having a baby really hurts. But there's medicine for her to take, and I'll be there to hold her hand." 

"No," Avery says, frowning, "that's not…" 

"Sorry, Ave. Ask me again, try a different word." 

She puts the dried plate down to her left and picks another to dry. "Will mom die?" 

"No," he says. Doesn't miss a beat, though his pulse capers. He knows that childbirth is hard, that lots of things can go wrong, but if he truly thought you might die he wouldn't have asked for another baby. And even if he did think it were going to happen, it's not a thought Avery needs to have. "She won't die, I promise you. Where'd you get that idea, honey?" 

"Jordan's mom died having a baby." 

Steve nods and tries to recalibrate the conversation. He knew of Jordan's mom passing away, he made a couple of trays of food for Jordan's dad and put money in the collection plate for her memorial, but he didn't know Avery knew precisely how it happened. 

"Right, she did," he says gently. "And that's scary, huh?" 

"Why can't it happen to mommy if it happened to her?" Avery asks. 

Steve shuts off the water. Hand still wet, he rubs his forehead roughly. "Can I have that?" he asks Avery, gesturing for the dish cloth. She gives it to him, putting down her last plate, and Steve wipes his fingers dry to pick her up without getting her wet a second time. 

"Let's have a talk," he says, tilting his head to the side. He sees his eyes looking back at him, smaller and softer, longer lashes but the same honeyed brown. "Me, you, and mommy. Okay?" 

"Dad," she says, startled. 

"It's okay, It'll be better if you talk to mom, too, because it's mom that's already had babies, not me. I think I know everything because my brain is so big and stuff, but I can't tell you what your mom is thinking." 

"I don't want mommy to get upset," she says. 

It's partially his fault for asking her to tell him if there's a problem rather than you a few weeks ago. He didn't want you walking up and down the stairs unnecessarily, and your blood pressure is something they've been keeping an eye on. He didn't mean for Avery to bottle things up. Every time Steve thinks he's doing something right it finds a way to bite him in the ass. 

"I meant if Bethie's turned the faucet on and flooded the bathroom, or if you want to change your bed or something, not that you can't ask her things that are worrying you," he says, readjusting her weight. Her knees dig into his sides as he carries her to the living room doorway from the kitchen. 

"Hey, mom?" he asks. 

Your head jumps up. You're sitting on the edge of the couch with Dove's face in your knee, a dribble patch dampening your pants. Bethie has her hand in yours sitting next to you. You're still in your work clothes, your bump straining against everything now, but yet to drop. He'll have to wash your pants tonight. 

"Hey?" you say, a guilty smile tugging up your pretty mouth. "I'm coming to do the dishes, I swear. My girls caught me in their net." 

"Can we talk to you? For a minute," Steve says. 

Your eyes widen. You stand up with a funny noise like someone's stepped on your toes, lifting Dove by the armpits to sit next to Bethie. You kiss the girls goodbye and they're too distracted by Dotty Dolly playing on the TV to mind. 

"What's wrong?" you ask, following Steve back into the kitchen. 

"Want me to explain?" Steve asks Avery. She nods. "Avery's a little worried about you." 

"About me?" You put your hands under your face and beam at her. "What's worrying you? I've never been better." 

"She's worried about when you have the baby." 

"'Cos of Jordan's mom," Avery whispers. 

You hear it despite her small voice, your smile sobering. "I see… I see. You know… you're a big girl, Avery. You're my big girl, and I wish I could keep you this young forever sometimes, but I know that you know that people don't get to stay with us forever, so I don't want to scare you, but I'll tell you what I think, yeah?" 

Avery swallows around nothing. 

Steve gives her back a sympathetic pat. "It's okay," he says to her, enthusing his voice with some pep to calm her down. 

"Jordan's mommy was sick when she passed away," you say, your hand resting on your bump now, inching closer to Steve and Avery where they've paused under the kitchen light. "She knew things were going to be hard. When you have a baby, you know things won't be easy, but it's not fair. It's very sad. She," —you look at Steve with a parent familiar fear that says, Am I saying the right things?— "said goodbye before anyone wanted her too, but Avery." Steve knows what you're going to say. It's a promise he made only minutes ago, one that you have no control over keeping, but a necessary one nonetheless to make. You could very well have complications down the line, things could spin out of control, but Avery doesn't need the stress of that hanging over her. "I promise you here and now that I'm not going anywhere. Daddy won't let me." 

He laughs a little breathlessly. "Damn straight." 

"But daddy isn't a doctor," Avery says, holding out her arm. 

You walk into Avery's reach, letting her climb from Steve's arms to yours without complaint. "He didn't have time to be a doctor, he was too busy being the best dad ever." 

"Are you flirting with me?" Steve asks. 

"Duh, Stevie." You turn your attention to Avery, struggling to hold her and stroke a hair from her face. "Don't worry about me. Promise me you won't, Ave." 

"I just don't want you to go away," Avery says with a frown. 

Steve feels an unexpected heat behind his eyes. You smile softly, your thumb on Avery's cheek. "Then I won't. I'll stay. I can't go anywhere without you, gorgeous." 

Steve strokes the back of Avery's head. "And I can't be without either of you, so mom doesn't have a choice." 

He wishes things were that simple. Steve has no idea what the future holds, but he chooses to believe it'll be a good one, where every one of his girls gets to grow old. But the future isn't something he can predict nor change by wishing alone. 

"Did that make much sense to you, sweetheart?" you ask Avery.

"It makes sense. Sorry." 

You and Steve make twin sounds of loving disbelief. 

"Sorry for what?" you ask, as Steve says, "No, God, don't be sorry!" 

"It's okay to ask me stuff," you say.

"That's what we're here for." 

Avery wraps her arms around your neck. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she whispers, near imperceptibly, Steve's ears straining to hear her under the sounds of the water heater and the television. 

"I'm sure. I've done it three times already."

"Are you scared?" 

You shake your head resolutely. "No. You know why?" 

"Why?" 

"'Cos I know, at the end of it I might get another little girl who's just like you. Or like Beth, or Dove. Maybe I'll get one who's nothing like any of you, but I know with such a great big sister she's going to be amazing." 

Avery rests her cheek on your shoulder. "You think so?" 

"I know so." 

"Thank you," she says. 

You laugh again. "For what?" you ask, nails raking up and down the length of her back. "Only telling you what's true. Me and daddy think you're the bestest." 

Steve rubs his face with both hands rather than cry. Crying makes his eyes sore and he has to wake up at six AM tomorrow to take the girls to swimming lessons at seven thirty. (He also doesn't want Avery to see him crying and get the wrong idea, what with the previous conversation.) 

"Mom?" Bethie asks in the doorway. 

"Yes?" you murmur, resting your head atop Avery's gently. 

"Excuse me." 

You laugh a charmed laugh and scoot out of the way, resting your weight on the door jam. Bethie looks incredibly small idling at his feet, even though Dove is much smaller. She smiles nervously. 

"Daddy?" 

"Yes?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He pretends to be nonchalant, while inside he's thinking about lots of things. Avery's huge heart and all her worries. Bethie's emerging cheekiness after years of quiet. Dove's roaring giggle when you squeeze her just right. And you, your bump, your devotion to him and the girls, but more than that —your voice and how you talk with all the good you possess. How you're talking now to Avery in dulcet tones. 

Bethie takes his hand. "Can I have the rest of my mac and cheese, please?" 

"Yeah, babe. Unless you want dessert instead?" 

His hand sways in her grip. "I want mac and cheese if that's okay." 

Steve picks her up with a typical dad groan. He'll check on Dove first, but he has no qualms with warming her mac and cheese. He'd offer to make you another helping if you weren't distracted entirely, nose bridge nuzzling into Avery's neck. 

He doesn't know what the future holds, but he hopes for more of this. 

[kimsohn]

jay (enha) +  giving the other a spoonful of the meal they’re cooking to test it out, holding their hand under their chin so nothing falls. 

sweet . jay x gn!reader about . 646 words, fluff warnings . kissing (?), lots of food mentions

a sharp clatter behind the living room startles you, and you turn around to see jay scratching his head, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

"sorry love, i accidentally dropped the pot... again."

you know very well that he's especially stressed today, but it's not because he's your boyfriend and you know him so well, but rather you've heard one too many of his mishaps prior. the two of you were getting ready for a party to celebrate his successful comeback, and while you had conquered the decoration aspect (see: the colorful arrangement of balloons and banners hanging in the living room), jay was not so triumphant in attacking the cooking portion.

your boyfriend is an amazing chef, and the two of you know that. more than often it's hard to plan outside dates with your hectic schedules, so you usually find yourselves sandwiched together and munching on one of jay's delicacies in substitute of a restaurant dinner. the only reason he's having trouble today is because he decided to stray from the comfort of his specialty and tackle something new: desserts. specifically, tiramisu.

however, jay actually seems to be doing pretty well because the smell coming from the kitchen is delectable. his only issue is his nervousness, hence the racket in the kitchen every five minutes.

"are you sure you don't need help?" you ask, knowing very well he's doing just fine on his own and the only real assistance you could give him is a hug.

"actually, c'mere. you can taste this mascarpone filling and see if it's sweet enough."

with quick strides, you make your way over to jay's side, hoping that he can't see the eagerness in your eyes. you've always loved his food, even when he thought he added a little too much salt or burned it, and you know that his filling will be close to perfection.

he tilts your chin up slightly, scooping a spoon of the filling and bringing it to your lips. your heart warms at the gesture, your jay that is always so caring, and as you mouth the mixture he wipes the slight remnants of it that have lingered to the side of your mouth.

but you don't even have a chance to thank him, because the creamy delight that fills your mouth clouds all your senses. it's ridiculous how he even doubted himself, and you're five seconds away from telling him that professional chefs should be glad he chose the idol life. the concoction is as perfect as it can be, and the cook who made it is even more perfect, so much so that you don't even try to hide the smile that crosses your face.

"it's sweet enough. it's actually perfect, and i'm sure i would eat this alone if you gave me a bowl."

"really? are you sure? you know my members have at least one sweet tooth..."

"here, you want to try?"

you don't even give him a chance to respond before pulling down on his collar and engulfing him in a kiss, making sure he can taste the filling on your lips as if it was chapstick. when you pull away, he's bewildered and flustered, and you both have matching blushes scattering across your faces at your boldness.

"you were right, it was pretty sweet," jay says, "but i can't tell if that's because of the sugar or your lips."

it's safe to say the filling is long forgotten when he leans in for another kiss, but at least the other members are content with jay's finished product when they stroll in an hour later as you both try to hide your swollen lips and mussed-up hair.

"what's your secret ingredient to making your food taste good?" jake asks, trying to sneak another bite of the dessert.

jay smiles at you knowingly, your shared secret drifting through the air.

"love."

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down: the director's cut, or rather, fun facts about this story now that it's over

luca's last name in my fic is davies, and formally davies-bernardi. bernardi in italian means 'strong as a bear' which, was truly a perfect coincidence that i originally thought it sounded good hyphenated with davies. it felt like the perfect little nugget to drop in here.

this one kind of took on a life of its own. I thought maybe a headcanon or a few chapters, then 46.5k words later... before writing a fic, i always like to map out where i'm going, because it helps me zero in on what story i want to tell. as someone (and who hasn't, truly) who has plenty of abandoned fics, i like to get clear on what story it is i want to tell before beginning to write so that i know it's a fic worth writing for me. no, i don't think finishing a fic should be a marker of success, but where i'm at right now, it feels like the best way for me to see if i have a story to tell or not.

speaking of stories to tell, the reason i wanted to have our main character divorced was because i wanted to try something different. i wondered how i could differentiate this mc (while keeping the reader neutral so you could picture yourselves in it if you wanted to) from others that i have written / will write in the future. the divorce and growing apart is actually kind of inspired by my previous upstairs neighbor who i met a year after his divorce. i wanted to imagine what the inner world of someone who had experienced a divorce that wasn't messy, but its relationship had just run its course and i the end, left two people who weren't sure who they were and how to talk to each other anymore would be like.

music and playlisting really helps me envision and feel into the world that I’m building. I ask myself questions like: what does their love sound like? what does this relationship shound like? how do i want the world i'm building feel, and how do i convey that in sound? and then of course, what songs could underscore certain moments of this chapter? listening to the playlist i create as i go really helps me get into character aka enter the world of the story when i'm sitting down the write.

so many of my fics and interactions are based on my own real life experiences, which is why they often feel so human and so real. i weave in little details like conversations i've had, a person i reminded of. i often write dialogue after i've imagined the scene in my head down to the cadence of how characters speak to one another to make sure it feels grounded.

speaking of, we've got to talk about the food in this fic, something that you all complimented me on at the very beginning! it was important for me to have the food feel deeply personal to reader, and be an expression of her identity through the years. yes, i wrote it with an mc with asian heritage in mind. however, i wanted to make space, again, for you to picture yourself in this fic, which is why mc's ex and family were written with japanese heritage.

a lot of the dishes were inspired by dishes i've had that were similar to what i think her culinary pov would be, and a lot of it is the way that i cook as well. i am not a chef by any means, but i am AM a home cook who occasionally does pop ups who very recently discovered my own culinary pov. food for me is something that not only helps me express myself, but has helped me connect to parts of my own identity. in so many ways, as someone who describes themselves as a cultural melting pot, food helps me feel closer to myself; it helps me find and define, and express who i am.

the culture of food and the role it plays in allowing us to connect was really important for me to weave into this story as well.

for the mikkelson twins, i pictured timothee and pauline chalamet as jesper and mathilde.

for the kimuras: rina sawayama would play astrid, darren barnet would play joe, and gia kim would play lina.

let's talk about luca's character development: so many things were so will poulter-coded/borrowed for will poulter, which felt right to do considering he wove his own life into the luca's tattoos. examples? the nike book, the kendrick lamar on the playlist, how much internal work the man has done on himself.

in the end, I initially had mc have a way bigger freak out than she did -- that it would be her final: holy shit am i ready to be loved moment, but as i wrote it, it ended up being luca who brought up the main conflict. it just ended up going in a different direction and didn't feel right to go with my original plan, because she felt so in their relationship already that i pivoted.

i watched a lot of travel and lifestyle copenhagen vlogs because i'm obsessed with youtube.

after season 2 of the bear, i wanted to explore what positive relationships with mothers could look like in these characters. that's why mothers (and single mothers) are the superheroes of this fic.

i knew i wanted this fic to be about these things: second love, loss, trusting the beginning that comes after the end, inspiration, following your heart, and mothers. these are the guiding principles that i used when writing, knowing that these were the pillars i wanted this story to be about.

looking forward: i am working on two oneshots that will live in this world, one about marcus visiting again -- an eat, pray, love for him of sorts -- that's about mothers and loss and life. the other one is a fun, sexy little smutshot that will hardlaunch their (she and luca's) restaurant so keep an eye out for those. truthfully, i've only just started workshopping the marcus one and am prioritizing finishing my carmy fic first.

opening myself up for q&a! feel free to ask any questions about this fic or my writing process in the comments.

[chrisbangsbf]

Jisung solo (ft. Chan)

Explicit | 900 words

Tags: food play, food fucking, sex toys/fleshlight, masturbation, fantasizing, crack treated seriously, jisung fucks a fleshlight full of mac and cheese and chan is normal about it

twt link | ao3 link

"You're not... actually gonna fuck that, are you?" Chan asks, looking like he has just rolled out of bed even though it's already nearing eight at night.

"With a condom!” Jisung doesn’t hesitate to clarify. “I don't want some weird UTI."

"That's… not what I meant," Chan sighs, exasperated yet fond. He just can't help it with Jisung, that’s his baby. His baby that regularly gives him new grey hairs to worry about, but his baby nonetheless. 

"You can't tell me you aren't curious," Jisung teases, carefully pouring the freshly made sauce in with his noodles. It looks absolutely delicious after mixing everything together, so he takes an experimental bite as he makes eye contact with Chan. Ever the button-pusher.

Chan blinks several times in quick succession, eyeing the pot with what looks like both disgust and curiosity. And he continues to watch as Jisung pointedly hums and sucks the excess cheese from his spoon. 

"Not that curious," the elder chuckles, a little awkward as he gestures toward the clear fleshlight sleeve sitting on the kitchen counter between them. Jisung has no shame, especially at home, and something about that is just… way hotter than it should be.

"Well," Jisung shrugs. "You only live once, hyung," he says wisely, popping the lid off the fleshlight and scooping macaroni into it as if he's doing something as innocuous as folding laundry. Chan wants to pick his brain. And maybe watch this tomfoolery unfold, but that’s another matter entirely. 

"So, that means you should fuck a fleshlight full of pasta just because some ramdom porn star said it felt good?" Chan can't help but laugh. He doesn't really know why he's surprised, to be honest. It's the exact kind of thing he should expect from Jisung after living with him for so many years and having to hear all about his weird sexcapades in explicit detail.

"Why shouldn't I fuck a fleshlight full of pasta to see if it's really as good as people say?" Jisung joins in on the laughter, shaking the toy around to get the noodles distributed as evenly as he can. He seems pretty excited about this. 

Chan shakes his head and takes a bottle of water from the fridge, hovering a few feet away like he isn’t quite sure how to leave. "Well, you go do that.” He makes a step toward the hallway. “I'm gonna be–" he pauses, trying his absolute best to not imagine Jisung's cock squelching as he fucks into this abomination, "uh, somewhere else, doing something totally normal."

“Your loss!” Jisung’s shouts, watching as Chan hurridly slips into his bedroom and closes the door. 

It’s somehow a whole lot goopier than he thought it would be. And he definitely should have let it cool down a little more first before sticking his dick inside, but well. He was too impatient, okay? 

The first few thrusts feel very much like– well, like he’s fucking mac and cheese, honestly. Which he quickly finds to not be such a bad thing. The thick sauce coats his cock immediately and makes the slide pretty pleasant, and the noodles make way for his cockhead easily, opening up and closing back around him with each thrust. 

It’s interesting, really, how good it actually feels. He looks down and watches his length slide in and out of the toy, fascinated by how quickly he thinks he can come from this. Biting his lip, he fucks the toy down his length faster, a little deeper until the noodles are spilling out and making his balls messy. The sound of it is obscene– truly, as they say, like the wettest pussy he can imagine. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back to moan. As much as he enjoys solo play, he can’t help but imagine a certain pair of plush lips wrapped around him instead. Having his hand in a head of curly hair, a tongue there to lick every drop of sauce off his cock, shiny brown eyes looking up at him as he fucks their face and cums thick stripes over their wide nose and dimples. 

Jisung braces himself against the sink, furiously moving the toy up and down until his legs start shaking. Macaroni noodles fall out around him onto the floor, but he couldn’t care less, fucking deep into the mess and coming with the smell of cheese in his nose and his hyung’s name on his lips.

When Jisung walks out of his room later to dump the destroyed mac and cheese out of his fleshlight and into the garbage disposal, he finds Chan back in the kitchen. Sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. His ears are blood red. 

There’s no way he didn’t hear. 

Smirking, and naked except for his underwear, Jisung leans against the sink and makes eye contact with him. 

Chan looks away quickly and clears his throat, probably half because he’s embarrassed and half because he doesn’t want to choke on his raisin bran. “So, um. How was it?” 

Jisung laughs quietly, stepping right up next to him and stretching both arms above his head. Without looking, he knows Chan glances at his stomach, at his little waist. 

Bending down, mouth next to Chan’s ear, he chuckles, much lower than it had been earlier. “You should have came and watched, hyung. If you were that curious.”

[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

I never thought that I would say anything like this, but here it is: I think Twenty One Pilots should take the Dude Perfect route.

Let me explain.

For the first ten years of being Dude Perfect, they just seemed like normal guys. Having an overnight miracle success of a YouTube channel that did sports trick shots, and over time expanded to humor, funny skits making fun of stereotypes, challenges and battles, and became a kid’s entertainment thing. Parents got really excited about them because they were super clean, and one of the only channels that many felt like they could press play on and walk away. A lot of people could tell that there was a glimmer of something special about them, but nobody could quite put their finger on it. But as more time passed, and the more successful they got, the more hints they dropped. They kept referencing Bible verses or Christian values in their videos, but it was a blink-and-its-gone deal. Something that made you go 'huh' over.

Then one day, almost five years ago now, their documentary dropped and BAM! It becomes VERY obvious how Christian they are. Speedrun through it and you'll see. And then, if you go digging into old stuff of theirs, they still have a lot of the same alluding to someone 'greater', but it was just less obvious at the time. They've been proclaiming Christ's name since Day One, just in different ways. But now its more bold then ever. I saw this really funny short comparing them then vs now that went "DP in 2012: *trick shot happens* 'Let's go!' DP now: *trick shot happens* 'Let's go, praise God!'" And its so true! It's beautiful to see. Now, after each one of their live shows, they give a short, 5-10 minute presentation of the gospel message. And every podcast or interview that I've seen them do since has them talking about Jesus in some way, shape, or form, in a very obvious manner, even if the interviewer is trying to steer them away from that topic. They can't shut up about Christ.

They reached the height of fame, and saw that they had to point all of their success to the source- Jesus. And they've done it incredibly well.

They're still the same funny guys who make the same type of vidoes- mainstream on their channel, they don't talk about Christianity all the time. In fact, in the videos themselves, they've kinda had the same quiet references and pointing to glory to someone else that they always have. But now, with everything else, they've staked their claim on God so boldy for the entire world to see, and have no problem with their company going to pot as long as God is glorified and they can show others the why behind what they're doing.

So. How does this go back to Twenty One Pilots?

Tyler and Josh have made it in music. Top of the industry, to some extent. And this entire time, they've had lots of Christian imagery and ever so obviously talking about it without every really solidly talking about it. But they've never commited. Never hung up a banner for Christ and proclaimed Him and the Gospel to the world. And I think they really need too.

And I'm saying the 'Dude Perfect route' specifically, because they don't need to do a total 180 and now only ever have Christian worship as their music. (Although that would be AWESOME and I would not mind it at all- same as I would love it if DP started a full-on Christian ministry or something like that.) They can still do similar stuff in their music, but just be bolder about it, and then in interviews and more 'public' situations point everything back to Christ, and SAY that's exactly what drives them and who they are OBVIOUSLY, not only live off of imagery and double-meaning anymore.

Because what's the point of Paul writing Romans 1:16 if we as believers aren't going to live it out?

Yes, as soon as you say 'Jesus' some people will automatically be driven away. DP experienced that. I'm sure Tyler and Josh have to, on a smaller level in their personal lives perhaps. But thinking logistically here, if they crashed and went kaput tommorow, they'd have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. And thinking what God calls for us to do here, they honestly seem to be avoiding it at this point. I don't know. But there will never be any point of them talking about living for something greater than yourself if you never say what that something (someone) is. That's the conclusion Dude Perfect came to, and the one I hope Tyler and Josh come to as well.

[elderberries-and-honey]

After the shock wore off, Winifred invited both men inside for tea. Harold, who insisted she call him Harry instead, was incredibly thankful for the hospitality after their travels, and he and Winifred got on straight away.

They shared stories of their mother & sister happily and seemed genuinely curious about each other’s lives. As they talked, they began to notice little quirks in each other's mannerisms that made both of them realise Alice's spirit was still alive and well within them.

Lawrence listened curiously, watching his wife warm up to her Uncle the more they got to know each other. 

Before they knew it, the sun was beginning to set over the hillside, a beautiful orange glow cascading into the dining room, and as they chatted and drank their way through an  entire pot of tea, they almost forgot any mention of money or business. 

However, not everyone at the table was keen on taking a stroll down memory lane.

Gerald didn’t bother to remove his hat or drink a single drop of tea; he seemed to have no intention to make himself cozy in their home. Instead, he lowered his head and glowered the whole time, arms crossed as some sort of defense mechanism, not uttering a word until he’d finally had enough of their small talk. 

He leaned in towards Harry, bushy eyebrows somehow furrowing even tighter before speaking. “Shall I remind you of the reason we’re here, brother?” He enquired, impatiently.

Harry sighed, bringing his hands together before he explained everything, starting with the night Alice first fled the Bloomsburg home. 

Of course, Winifred had heard this story as a girl, and later on, began asking questions once she was old enough to be curious about her mother's family and where she came from. Hearing it through an unfiltered lens as an adult was very different though, and somehow worse than she’d ever thought. As Harry recounted the tale, she realised just how cruel her maternal grandmother had truly been to her mother.

As he continued, he informed them that unbeknownst to anyone, Herbert, Winifred’s grandfather, never wrote Alice out of the will as he was instructed by his wife and she was the heir to both his vast fortune and successful business, however neither could be turned over to her until Ada passed away, and she outlived her husband for many years. It seemed he had less than traditional beliefs and wanted his daughter to be able to support herself without needing a husband to do it for her.

But, after a series of faulty investments, it seemed the company had become less than profitable over the years and was due to go under at any moment. 

"So you mean to tell us that my wife has inherited the Bloomsburg fortune?" Lawrene asked, more enthusiasm in his tone than Winifred would have liked.

"Well technically speaking, Mr. Baudelaire, since Miss Winifred is married, you have." Harry answered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

For the first time since they'd sat at the table, Gerald chuckled darkly to himself. "Rightfully so, if you ask me. Leaving this company to a woman in the first place was a load of codswallop."

"But neither Mrs. Baudelaire or I know the first thing about running a business, much less one doomed to fail." Lawrence replied, paying no mind to Gerald's terribly sexist comment.

Both Bloomsburg brothers went on to explain a deal of sorts. If the Baudelaire's signed the company over to them, they would take over the legalities of closing a business, and handle all other affairs concerning the estate, if they split the inheritance with them.

While the men discussed the finer details, Winifred sat in her chair silently. She didn't care about the business itself, truthfully she wanted nothing to do with any of it, even the money. But Lawrence hadn't even stopped to ask what she thought, or consider her feelings on the matter. 

Quietly, she excused herself outside for a breath of fresh air and time to process everything she’d learn that afternoon. 

It felt queer to doubt what seemed to be a once in a lifetime chance to escape poverty, for her husband never to work long hours or do back breaking work. To send her children to school and give them a life of opportunities that she could have never imagined even in her wildest dreams. It was surreal to envision such a different life, and as she tried to picture it, she could only think of her mother who had been robbed of it.

After a while, Harry came out to find her. “May I sit?” He asked, gesturing to the seat next to her on the wooden bench. She nudged Thistle out of the way and scooted over to give him some room to join her.

“I know we don’t know each other all that well, Winifred, but I did know your mother’s face; how you resemble her…it’s as if I'm looking at a photograph." He smiled to himself at how true it was before observing her expression again. "And I can recall the look on her face when something puzzled her. Will you tell me your troubles?”

As she looked back at Harry, she wasn't sure what to expect. It wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination for him to be disinterested in her concerns and only inquiring over her dismay out of politeness.

Except, instead of a troubled expression like her own, she only saw a face wanting to comfort. She had not seen that face for such a long time, and she was surprised to recognize it so easily, for she too recognized Alice's face in his own.

“I…I don’t know what to make of this.” She admitted once she decided she could trust his intentions. “But my husband has already made up his mind and since I am just a woman, it seems I have no say in the matter.”

Harry listened while she expressed her concerns until he was sure she'd gotten out all that she needed to say. It felt nice to be vulnerable with someone, her relief over having someone to express these things to was almost tangible.

In return, he shared with her how nearly inseparable he and Alice had once been, how much he missed her, and that he regretted not doing more to keep in contact with her before she passed.

Afterwards, he turned to her with a bittersweet expression, pain and regret glowing in his eyes, yet a subtle softness painted on his lips. "I might not have spoken to your mother for a long time, Winifred, but I do know this... everything she did, she did for you. She would want you to have a good life, no matter what."

"Even if that means taking money from my very estranged family?" She asked with a slight laugh, noticing how ridiculous it sounded to say out loud.

He chuckled, also realising the ludicrousness of the situation. "Even then." He assured her.

“And, Miss Winifred, if I may say one more thing, don't pay any mind to my brother. He's nothing but a chuckle head, you understand?” He added, waving his hand as if to dismiss his older brother. Winifred giggled in response, feeling much less guilty than she had only moments ago. "You are more than just 'some woman'. You are Alice Monet's daughter." 

Before Winifred could ask what he meant by that or how he came to know the last name her mother had chosen for herself, he reached inside the pocket of his coat to retrieve what at first glance appeared to be a crumpled piece of paper. "I thought you might want this." He said, handing it to her quickly.

There in her hands was a photograph of herslef as a girl, dated February 13th, 1876 - her 7th birthday. "I found it while going through my father's things." He mumbled, trying to hide a playful smile before heading back inside.

next / previous /��first

[lunesg-sainte]

Be eco-friendly without realizing it

I'm from Mexico, (I say this just to clarify, in case something sounds strange). I live in a still rural area (although urbanization is catching up with us) and I did my first years of school in schools that were a maximum of ten minutes away on foot. At twelve I started taking public transport and when I turned fifteen my trip Every day it was an hour on public transportation (which is considered normal in the area where I live). The thing is that we were always very conscious of our waste.

Much of what we did since my childhood is wash clothes and clean our house with filtered rainwater in the rainy season. The clothes have always been hung in the patio and dried by the air or the sun (we have never had a dryer). Refuse yogurt, cream and other plastic containers. The jars are reused to store cinnamon, coffee, sugar, powdered milk, spices and other things. When we wash the dishes, in a plastic bowl we add water and a few drops of biodegradable soap and with that we wash all the glasses, plates, utensils and pots that we use for cooking and eating. We currently have chickens that roam freely and thanks to this we have a daily supply of eggs. We are not vegan, but I'm not really that worried about that, because my area is highly rural it is very easy to get meat from local producers, the only thing we can't get so easily is fish but it's not like we eat it commonly. If we have too many plastics, glass, cans and metals that we do not use at home, there are these people who buy these types of products by the kilo to in turn resell them to recycling plants that are far from us. The plastic bags we have are generally used for garbage that is not biodegradable. This year we plan for a part of our patio to become a more abundant garden, last year we did it and it was good, we hope to have more success this year. It was great to see butterflies, bees and hummingbirds out the window while I was washing the dishes. I recently bought an electric oven and started learning how to bake.

When I got into the solarpunk label I saw so many practices that we have done in my house throughout my life, it was so cool.

The hope of a future in which we can all live in the most respectable way possible with our planet. ​

[candy8448]

The one word writing prompt from @unexpectedstormy was "hungry"

Sorry for forgetting this for so long!

This is a fic that ive been meaning to write for ages but just never had the motivation to

Send me a one word writing prompt

Hyrule was by no means a good cook, he was probably the worst cook in the kingdom! The chain learned that when he first cooked some apparently old meat when Wild had hit his head and was out of commision.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't cook! In his era, lighting fires was dangerous and would attract monsters so you had to each food raw or only have a fire long enough to smoke it. Full meals were only a luxury made in towns where people had proper kitchens and there was no risk of attracting enemies, not that Hyrule had any experience in a kitchen at that.

So without a question, Hyrule was a terrible cook.

But maybe he could learn! With this skill he could make meals whenever he wanted instead of looking longingly at the dishes made in towns that cost too many rupees. Maybe he could be better than Wild! He could figure it out! He's a hero! Nothing as simple as this would defeat him! The idea made him excited.

Oh no...

The food!

While he was zoned out, all the water in his stew had bubbled over the pot, uncontrollably going all over the place. His attempts to stop the flow of bubbles was futile and he dropped his head down in shame. At least the grass is watered now? He thought unhappily as he turned back to the remaining food. Taking a bite of the completely charred veg he noted the complete lack of flavor.

Uhhh... maybe he could give it flavour with the spices?

A glance at the pots of labeled spiced Wild had provided him made it obvious that he had no idea what he was doing. All of these names sounded strange, he thought that spices were just picked from whatever plant you knew that wasn't dangerous! How was he meant to know you were supposed to label them and use a specific one?! One he did recognise was the Goron Spice, one he did not want to deal with again. He made a point of straying faaaaar away from it...

After much indecision, Hyrule elected to just use the one he recognised, salt. He lifted the rock salts and held them in his hand, wontering how much he should put in. Perhaps he should suck it up and ask for help...

A questioning quirk of the eyebrow from Legend who was sitting beside Sky, watching him cook made his head dart back down, eyes wide with embarrassment.

ABORT! ABORT!

...Maybe he should just put as much salt as there was food... that sounded right?

Okay, the food should have been ready by now. He hummed innocently as ge distributed the broth into seperate bowls, handing them to each of his unsuspecting travelling companions.

"HYLIA'S TITS RULIE, WHAT did you put in here!?!?" The exclamation came from Wind, not the first one to take a bite. The traveller looked up to see a series of retching, and dumpimg out of bowls, some having the decency to try and hide it. It was like the first time he tried to cook for them, as if he hadn't improved at all.

He felt disappoinment root itself in his belly as he quietly took a sip from his own bowl, coughing it out.

Yeah, they were right, it was way too salty and way too burned.

Still, the reaction, although deserved he though, still hurt, and he was struggling to hide it.

From behind the others, a certain blue tunic appeared in front of him, Wild. The champion proceded to tip his head back and chug the entirety of his portion in quick succession much to the horror of everyone else. They looked at him with disturbed and shocked expressions and exclamations as said champion wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gave Hyrule a beaming thumbs up.

"Rulie put in effort for us to make some food, you guys should try to not be so obvious about hating it, even if it does taste a bit bad. Look, you've upset our traveller but half of you haven't even cooked for us yet, he at least tried. That's great! Hylia knows that i was making the worst dubious food when i first started."

He then turned to Hyrule and put a hand on his shoulder, "we'll make a cook out of you yet! Just you wait!" And then he got up and walked away.

And to say that the traveller's heart didn't feel so much happier would be a complete lie,

Even if he was still, currently, a bad cook

Ahh wild, a man of not many words but the purest of hearts

Ao3

[l-starlight-l]

The love of a Hero

Smoke Signals

A/N: listen listen I know it’s been a longggg time since I post but I’ve been busy man. This is the first story in my new mini series!! I’m so excited even tho I’m not so sure how good it’s going to be. I promise I’ll post more! Love ya<3

Description: You’re a new physiologist in the city and you share a smoke break with a mysterious masked man

Warning: smoking, cursing, mental hospital

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

——————————————————————————

:reference:

——————————————————————————

You are one of the most successful psychologists in the United States. You have helped heal people all over the world. You mainly focus on the people who are more disturbed in the mind. You have been itching to settle down so when you got an invite to work at the renounced Gotham asylum you were over joyed. It was quite obvious they needed more hands since they have been having issues keeping inmates actually in their cells. You knew that this might be a stressful job but you’ve been through worse. Plus you had friends in the city who you could rely on.

On your first day you were immediately thrown into action, seeing the very ill people that filled the hospital. You obviously were not gonna make it through all the new patients on your list but you tried your best. You made introductions with many well know names such as; Pamela Isley, Harvey Dent, Oswald cobble-pot and a few others. One name caught you by surprise, Harleen Quinzel, you had met of her before. You shadowed her when you first got into the business. She was kind to you when others weren’t and seeing her like this now was going to be hard. You put her visit to the end of the day to take some time to prepare.

You had just got out of a session with “the scarecrow” and it had shaken you up. You decide that it was time for a break and some fresh air. You made your way to find a quiet spot to rest. When you pushed open the doors to the back of the building there was no one to be seen. This made you feel alittle better. Smoking was a bad habit that you couldn’t shake but had cut down on. You only feel the urge when you get stress which seems to be happening more and more often. You pat your pockets but they’re empty. A soft panic set in, not that forgetting your pack is life or death but is still a disappointment.

“Are you fucking kidding me” you mutter under your breath. You lean against a wall and close your eyes trying to relax a little before getting back to work. You hear heavy footsteps land right infront of you. The suddenness of the sound surprises you and you jump. When you look up to see who had dropped down you see a very tall and big man. He has dark hair with an unusual white streak in the front and gray-blue eyes that are covered by a thin black mask. You just kinda look at him confused on why he’s there and he just looks at you as if you’re the one who came out of nowhere.

“Um hi, can I help you” you say with a confused attitude.

He looks a bit taken back but opens his mouth to reply “what are you doing here”

“I should be asking you the same question, you’re the big masked man who just came up out of no where” you say now annoyed

“Oh uh sorry, I guess. Usually there’s no one over here” he replies a little embarrassed scratching the back of his head.

“Well I wouldn’t know, it’s my first day” you feel weirdly okay with just giving this stranger unneeded information.

“Oh well, wanna smoke” he says offering me a cigarette, I happily take it. Which in reality is a dumb idea.

“Thank you” you mutter unsure of what to do.

“I haven’t got a light” he pats his pockets. You reach into your lab coat and pull out a lighter. You put your cigarette into your mouth and he does the same. You lean up on your toes to meet the tips together and light them. When you step away and look at the tall man he looks very flustered and you realize that may have been a weird thing to do, getting so close to him without even knowing his name. “So you’re a doctor here” he says breaking the awkwardness.

“Yeah I am, and you’re one of Batman’s boys?” you question unsure since you’re use to super hero’s with a bit more red and blue.

He looks a little surprised and you start to worry you said something wrong. “I guess you could call me that” he says with a kind laugh. You smile at his laugh it makes you feel warm. “You don’t seem like you’re from Gotham” he states like a question.

“Oh um no I’m not, I just moved here last week” you say not wanting to give your whole life story. His phone rings and he reluctantly steps away wanting to finish your conversation. He looks annoyed at whoever’s on the other end and rolls his eyes before hanging up. He puts out his smoke and looks at you.

“see you around, doc” he smiles and then disappears. His smile stays with you, it was warm and genuine. You had no idea who he is but you want to see him again, he made you feel so relaxed. You sigh and put out your cigarette. You have to go finish your shift, you emotionally prepare yourself for your next consult, which you’ve been dreading all day, and walk back into the building.

——————————————————————————

[dracocheesecake]

Can you write a drunk Kai fic?

Can I?! 👀

Warning: Some foul language, drunkenness, slightly suggestive innuendo

It was a nice night out: clear skies, the moonlight nothing short of inviting. The lanterns of the nearby town glowed warmly, red and yellow, beckoning the weary soldier forth to partake in what it had to offer. You just had to go out.

That was how Oogway had justified it to Kai, though really, he didn't need an excuse; for one who usually fussed so much over his rank, he never did miss an opportunity for drinks and women. Oogway barely had to say anything before Kai tossed aside the weapons he had been polishing and strolled out of the tent they shared with a small bag of money, bouncing it lightly in one hoof.

"Drinks on me," was all he said- and who was Oogway to refuse such an offer?

A few drinks in, though, he was starting to have his regrets. He counted from recent memory how many shots they had each taken from the clay jug set on their table. For himself: two. For Kai: four.

It was cheap huangjiu, and possibly even watered down. Oogway wasn't even feeling tipsy yet. Kai had had only four shots, and none too quick in succession of each other; He couldn't have gotten that drunk so quickly, not with his size, especially with their meal.

Oogway gently picked up the jug. It was still warm, and barely empty. He swished the wine around, then glanced up at Kai again. He was giggling to himself, a wide smile plastered on his face, the likes of which Oogway had never before seen from him. He chattered more than ever, too, apparently about nothing in particular- probably the heifers sitting not far from them- Oogway was too worried to notice.

He now had a problem on his hands. The longer he spent with Kai, the more apparent it became. They had leave, yes, but only for a certain time; they needed to be back to relieve their compatriots of the morning patrol before too long, and if they didn't show up at time- or showed up drunk, unable to serve- the punishment would be severe.

Oogway took the jug and subtly poured the rest of its contents into a potted plant nearby. Kai hadn't noticed- when he finally tore his eyes off the women in the bar, he just picked up the empty jug and tried to pour it into his cup. His brow furrowed in consternation. He tried a few more times, then peeked into the jug. He looked up at Oogway, with such an inappropriately woebegone expression that Oogway nearly burst into laughter.

"Where did the wine go?" He asked.

Oogway choked back his chortles. "...You drank it all, Kai," he said.

The bull blinked. "I did?"

"Yep. Every drop. Now let's head back. We've done what we came here to do, and we still have patrol. Maybe the walk will sober you up."

Kai snorted, that dopey smile returning. "I'm not drunk. Night's young. Lighten up. Besides, we haven't done everything there's to do yet."

That grin became a little more salacious, and he tossed his head towards a small group of heifers seated at a table nearby.

"What do you think?"

"I think we need to get going before the sergeant finds out we're not at our posts."

Kai glanced at Oogway, and his eyes widened. For one hopeful moment, he thought that maybe he had finally gotten through to him- a hope that was quickly dashed.

"Of course! You probably don't like heifers, huh? I don't know what you prefer."

He grinned again, then leaned over the table until Oogway could smell the faint hint of alcohol on his breath. His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper (or what Kai probably thought was a whisper).

"What do you like, Oogway? Anyone here catch your eye? Maybe that croc over there with the long tail, or that turtle with the nice curve to her shell, hmmm?"

He winked, and Oogway felt both abashed and annoyed at the same time. He rolled his eyes and pushed Kai so that he slumped back into his seat. The bull giggled, stomping his hooves. Oogway sighed and pinched the space between his brows. Already a headache was forming.

"We're getting you out of here," he grumbled under his breath, "with luck, by the time I drag your ass back to camp the sun will only be just beginning to rise."

He got up and grabbed Kai's arm, then somehow managed to get him out of the bar. They were standing in the street, and Oogway turned to him, about to grab him and resume the attempt to get back, but then Kai suddenly grabbed his face.

Oogway at first froze, confused. Then Kai started squeezing his face between the clefts on his hooves that acted as his forefinger and thumb.

"...I've never noticed before," he said, "but you're really squishy. What's up with that?"

He pulled on Oogway's cheeks, pinched them, squeezed them again, and continued to pull them. "Soooooooo squishy. OH!"

His eyes widened. "That's what the shell's for!" He released Oogway's face and then knocked on the shell, sending reverberations down his spine.

"PROTECT THE SQUISHY PARTS!" Kai laughed boisterously, then nearly lost his footing and stumbled back. Oogway reached for him, but Kai caught himself, leaning forward and putting his weight on Oogway. He chuckled.

"What d'ya need armor for, dumbass? You already have some!" Then he cackled again.

At this point, bending a little under Kai's weight, Oogway contemplated just whopping his ass and leaving him here, damn the consequences; but then he remembered that he was his friend, and he actually liked him too much (when he was sober) to see him face corporal punishment.

Or embarrassment. There was another band of soldiers, people they knew from their regimen, just coming down the street. If they saw Kai like this, as a drunken fool, he would never live it down. Without thinking, he shoved the yak into a runoff ditch in the side of the road and jumped in after him. It was dark out, and the lamps weren't that bright; if they laid low, they could get away without notice...

And then Kai burst into song.

Oogway would have been more shocked and impressed, if the timing weren't so terrible; Again, he wondered to himself why he bothered with him, and again had to appraise their budding friendship. Yet again (though with a little more effort of will this time), he recalled that he actually liked Kai. He wasn't a bad singer, either.

With that in mind, Oogway managed to drag Kai up the other side of the ditch before they were seen, and then they were in an alleyway, and from there out into a field. Conveniently, the moment they were alone was the time Kai stopped singing. He stumbled into a rice paddy, gasped, and started stomping, sending muddy water splashing everywhere.

"GAAAH! FUCK! WET!" He jumped up and immediately began clambering onto Oogway's shell- as best someone of his size could attempt on someone so much smaller than him. In other circumstances- if it had been someone else- Oogway would have laughed; now, though, being the one bearing the full, crushing brunt of Kai's weight, he failed to see the humor in it.

"It is WET, Oogway! SO WET!" Kai was saying.

Oogway tried to shrug the yak off, but he clambered up further and nearly sent them both tumbling. Oogway barely managed to set them back to rights. His legs were about to buckle, but he held on, groaning as Kai settled awkwardly on his shell.

"Yeah," he said, voice strained. "It's a rice field. It's supposed to be. Now get down from there! I'm not going to carry you."

Kai clung to him tighter and adjusted his balance. "I carry you all the time, do this one thing for me!"

"I'm not 700 pounds, Kai!"

"I'M 760!"

"Yeah- heavy!"

Kai snorted disdainfully, and a note of faint sobriety came through. "You're just weak! See, this is what I get, for wasting my time on a scrap of-"

Oogway chuckled and slapped the back of Kai's thigh. "There, see? You're sobering up some. Good. Maybe that means you can walk yourself." His legs were shaking under him, but he was holding out.

Kai grunted and started squirming. "DID YOU JUST SLAP MY ASS, MOTHERFUCKER? DO I LOOK LIKE A HOR-"

Kai overbalanced himself, and Oogway helped, gladly ridding himself of the burden. Kai flipped, landing on his back in the rice patty with a loud, harsh, wet slap. Now Oogway did laugh, finally- but not for long. It fell to him once more to get Kai up and onto his hooves, and the trek began again. This time Kai, perhaps humbled by the mudbath, remained blissfully silent.

By some miracle they had arrived to the outer perimeters, and by another only just managed to get in right on time to relieve their compatriot. But the night was not yet over- their superior would be over at some point, to check to see that they were both awake and at their posts; if they could just manage that, then would the ordeal finally be over.

Oh, but nothing could be that simple, could it? Snoring sounded off to his right, snoring he had begun to recognize, since he and Kai had been forced to share a tent. He turned, but Kai was standing on his feet. He couldn't have been the source of the sound; and yet, there could be no mistake.

Oogway furrowed his brow. The lamps were dim here, and spaced out far, allowing them a good swath of darkness where they were. Kai was standing, yes, but he was leaning on his heels, and his head was lolling back on his shoulders. He reached up to shake him, just to see...

"Attention!"

Oogway jumped and immediately turned to salute to their superior officer. The rhino seemed to be glaring down at them suspiciously- but then Oogway remembered that it was quite dark out, and that was just his usual expression, besides. Even still, he prayed to the gods to have mercy, and not let him pay close attention. Oogway saw him turn his head sharply towards Kai, and then he realized in a panic that Kai, being asleep still, hadn't saluted.

Oogway surreptitiously reached over and puppeted Kai's elbow, jerking his arm in a way that would hopefully pass as a salute in the dark. It worked; their superior officer let out a pleased snort and nodded towards them.

"Very good," he said, "keep this vigilance up, and the two of you will go far. At ease, soldiers."

Then he turned on his heel and left. Only then did Oogway breathe out a sigh of relief. For the rest of the watch, he let Kai doze off, and took full advantage of the luxury of silence. He watched as the world lightened into gray around them, and a thin sliver of sun began to peek over the horizon. The shadow of a fellow soldier was coming over to relieve them, and only then did Oogway venture to wake Kai.

He nudged him so he almost tipped over. "Kai, wake up."

Kai stumbled, snorting, then looked at Oogway, blinking slowly. "Hrm?"

"Come on. Let's go to bed."

Kai yawned and nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Bed...? Hrm?...Sure, sounds good." He yawned again, stumbled, and then caught himself. Oogway then realized that Kai still wasn't entirely sober.

He sighed and took his arm, the dried mud from the rice patties crumbling into his palm where it wasn't completely matted in Kai's fur- but he could worry about getting him clean later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep. He guided them both through the maze of tents until finally finding their own, and he pushed Kai inside before going in himself. After that, he didn't bother with him anymore; he flopped onto his cot and retreated into his shell, ready to forget the world in hard-earned slumber.

But then he felt Kai's weight land heavily next to him, and then one of his arms laid over his shell and pulled him in close. At first Oogway could only lay there, paralyzed by confusion- and even further when Kai started making some sort of noise. It was soft, seeming to originate from deep in either Kai's belly or chest. It would start up one moment, continue in a low growl, then fade away before starting up again; but it wasn't snoring this time.

And that night, Oogway learned four things:

Kai was a light weight.

He was a cuddler.

He could sing.

And yaks purr.

[vinegar-rights]

thoughts on my version of little shop of horrors: seymours mother :p (read tags plz)

I like to combine aspects of the 1986 and the 1960 films :3.

He was put up for adoption as a baby, too expensive to care for a child. Seymour grew up assuming he was an orphan and was put into the custody of Mr. Mushnik. As he became older, he figured that he DID have a biological mother and she was still alive. He tried to reach out to meet her, but she refused to keep contact. He never met her until he became more well known, with newspapers covering the story of him and his new special plant. His success reached her and Seymour was delighted to know that he was finally going to meet his mother after so many years. Who knew fame was this powerful?

She requested that he visit her apartment for dinner. The woman was older, with messy gray-white hair and eyes that matched seymours, mousey and nervous. She welcomed her son but not without a quick check-up, only to make sure he won't drop dead right at that moment.

The apartment was messy, but no smell of mildew or sight of mold. A clean-ish hoarding situation, there were boxes everywhere full of who knows what and half-used first aid kits. The lack of bugs is what made Seymour confused, cockroaches were a common bug, especially in more drafty, more run down apartments like in Skid Row. He developed a bit of a phobia, growing up around the critters in skid rows home for boys. Dirty. Gross. Even as an adult he sometimes would sit up in bed in the middle of the night, scanning his room for any nocturnal bugs that would skitter in for shelter from the elements.

Seymour was immediately put off by the kitchen, where dinner was cooking. His mother had been talking the entire time, rambling something about the shop and what was in the paper that day, he tuned her out as he became more aware of his surroundings. The kitchen had bottles full of medicine, pill bottles aligned in rows on the counter, and already there's a napkin out with a glass of water with an assortment of pills that are ready to be consumed.

he noticed Seymour's quietness and slight discomfort, who was gazing at the view of her kitchen. She turned to explain her many issues, bad back, sinus infection, constant cold, her appendix got removed recently, ect. Her explanation managed to visibly calm her son's nerves, but he was still eyeing what was on the stove. Seymour tried not to pay mind to his mother's cooking, she was gracious enough to try to form a connection with him, and even asked him to come over! He turned to her to change the subject, he didn't want it to seem like he was judging her. They talked throughout the afternoon about what happened in the past years, and how they found each other. Most of the conversation was directed at Seymour: How did you find the plant? What kind is it? Oh, its a cross between a flytrap and what exactly? You don't know? You must be getting a lot of press, any opportunities? You were asked to host a TV show?ect. There were so many questions that Seymour wasn't to ask his own, he wanted to know why it took so long to talk to her, where was she this entire time, why didn't she reach out first?

Eventually, she passed him a bowl of whatever was in the pot in the kitchen. He didn't notice any food on the counter. The soup smelled sweet, like cough syrup. He opted to drink more of the water she offered, but he didn't want to be rude, he consumed some of the dinner. She grinned as she ate her food with her son, explaining that this is a staple of her household. The aftertaste after one spoonful made his whole body shiver as if he drank bitter wine. Out of fear of potentially offending her and risking her cutting him off forever, he ate a little bit more, cringing at the taste. Quickly he started becoming nauseous. He paused, looking more closely at the bowl, there was little to no actual food, there was a broth of course, but little to no items that would be the cause of this spike in anxiety and confusion. Something dawned on him. While his mother was watching him in between spoonfuls, she asked if he was okay. He nodded but politely declined any more. His newly reunited mother was either horribly ill all the time or a hypochondriac. He didn't need a high school education to know that. The pills and bottles on the counter were another explanation. This wasn't regular soup. She was drugging him. He sat up from the realization, and his mother became more worried at his sudden change of personality. She asked him if he was alright again, if he didn't like her food. He replied hastily that it was amazing, it's just that he remembered he left the stove on-- no, he needed to check on twoey, around this time her leaves should get washed. She accepted that explanation, and began pushing him out the door to help him on his way to Mushnik and Sons. As soon as Seymour was on the sidewalk outside of her apartment, he turned to an alleyway nearby. Fearful of whatever was in his system, he tried to throw up.

He became experienced when he accidentally ingested pesticide as a child and had to induce vomiting to avoid a hospital visit. He ran home, still feeling some residual effects of the drugs, despite only ingesting a little. The shop was empty and dark, Mr. Mushnik and Audrey went home early that day. He drank water and tried to calm himself. He found himself leaning next to audrey ii's pot, mind racing from the events that transpired. His strange mother, the apartment, the "food".

Tears sprang from his eyes as he thought everything over. She only cared to reach out as soon as he became famous. She didn't care to reach out to what was presumably her only child and never gave an explanation as to why she gave him away. He felt used. Defeated, he cried into his clammy hands. Why is everyone so cruel? Was twoey right? That some people were evil by fault and needed to die? His thoughts were deafening his senses, and didn't notice a vine curl around his body and pulled toward the sentient plant. Twoey could read his mind, which was why she knew what his innermost desires were. Turns out trying to get Seymour to reunite with his mother was a bad idea. He tired himself out after 2 hours, one of her vines snaked around his wrist and fingers, sensing Seymour's ratial artery to monitor his heart rate. He was asleep eventually, blanketed by twoeys vines and leaves. Thanks to Seymour, Orin left twoey satisfied for the past week, though maybe she could convince him again for another meal sometime soon.

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 6: Hot chocolate - alternate prompt ~ James Norrington/OC [1,365 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my behemoth of a main fic about these two is here 💜✨

Notes: Drinking chocolate was actually the most common form of chocolate in this time period, but I have decided that I am flouting historical accuracy here. Alternatively, given that this is a world where Beckett existed and he was a horrible little fuck who hated joy, I like to think he and his ancestors were on a lifelong campaign to stamp out drinking chocolate from the lives of those in their sphere of influence, and James has therefore never heard of or tried it. Not only is this a reasonable headcanon to have, it’s also so valid and so wise. Okay? Okay.

James had lost count of how many voyages he had undertaken under the banner of Norne Maritime Protection at this point. Enough for the crew of their flagship to stop grumbling over Theodora’s presence – both in matters of business, and on a literal level – which could only mean that there had been many. A combination of James’ firmly making it clear that disrespect would not be tolerated, combined with Theodora’s nature, the one that had her rubbing shoulders with pirates like it was nothing, soon disabused their men of any notions that she should be sneered at or talked down to. Those who did not come to this realisation in a timely manner soon found themselves without employment.

Unsurprisingly – at least to James himself – those who lasted any sort of time before ultimately being let go only did so at her insistence. He would have them off the ship from the first moment of disrespect, to make the no-tolerance policy very clear. It was Theodora who insisted on having a chance or two at cracking them. Usually through stomach-dropping feats like scaling to the top of the rigging to do some repairs herself or, on one memorable occasion, almost costing a man his finger in a game that involved taking turns with a knife and unfailing hand-eye coordination. Unfailing in his wife’s case, at least.

James struggled to decide which of the tactics he liked least. More often than not, however, they worked – especially now that the bulk of their growing pains were behind them, and this…this thing of theirs was running smoothly. Consistently. This voyage had been a particular success. There had been but one glimpse of a pirate ship, and it had turned around the moment its captain realised that the merchant vessel they’d sailed with was accompanied by a force to be reckoned with. Their fiercest foe had proven to be the cold, with winter swiftly nearing, but Theodora adored the cold so that he could hardly grudge her the happiness it brought.

Conditions above deck were frosty as he moved about, looking this way and that for the telltale red hair of his wife. She hadn’t been in the cabin, and with the day drawing to a close he was hoping they might eat together and then retire, but he would have to find her first.

It was one of the men aboard who directed him to her in the end, answering his enquiry of ‘Mrs Norrington?’ with ‘the galley, sir’ which boded…suspiciously. James wondered what combination of bread and cheese he was about to be confronted with this time. The crew having long since eaten, he found his wife alone in the galley, an enormous simmering pot of milk to her left and a slab of chocolate to her right, which she was massacring with a vigour that was both fearsome and oddly enticing.

“What are you concocting?” he asked in the way of greeting.

Theodora looked up, then she smiled at him – something he always had no choice but to return – before she returned to her efforts.

“Concocting?” she echoed. “Are we resurrecting the witch rumours, then?”

“Didn’t you know? I was the one to start them the first time around. It was my way of warding off any competition I may have had.”

Approaching, he moved to stand behind her, his chest at her back as he watched her work from over her shoulder. Theodora chuckled.

“Oh? You like your women on fire, then?”

“Evidently,” he teased, lifting a hand to tug gently at an errant strand of her hair.

Laughing softly, she set the knife down and leaned into him, taking up a chunk of chocolate she had not yet cut to shreds and holding it up towards him in offering. After a quick glance ensured none were about to bother them, James leaned forward and ate it directly from her grasp, his lips enveloping her fingertips and sucking the swiftly melting chocolate off of them as he did so.

“Your hands are cold,” he murmured, feigning ignorance to how her eyes had become hooded as he teased her.

“You needed your mouth to assess that, did you?”

“An old naval trick,” he said with a great deal of mock-solemnity.

“I’ll verify that with Groves, you know. We write.”

James doubted it was an empty threat, knowing Theodora.

“I’ll confiscate your quill,” he countered casually.

“This is how it’s going to be, is it? Not allowed to read or write…what’s next? Chaining me to the stove?”

“My love, if I was going to chain you to something, it would not be the stove.”

A beat passed – not because it took that long for her to understand him, he knew, but because she was second-guessing whether she’d understood him correctly. Turning her head, but remaining in his arms as she did so, she caught sight of his smirk and her eyes widened in dismay that he knew her far too well to believe.

“James Norrington!” she gasped, before smirking up at him. “I’m sure we’ve spoken about your threatening me with a good time.”

He chuckled lowly, keeping the close proximity and watching as she worked. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

His intrigue grew as she loaded the pot of simmering milk up with the chocolate she’d just demolished, stirring it until the milk turned to a pale brown colour and a sweet smell permeated the galley. Then, she added a pinch of cinnamon and, after tasting, a touch of sugar.

“I do hope this isn’t some strange manner of soup,” he commented.

“It’s hot chocolate.”

“You’re…warming chocolate? Wouldn’t that just be melted chocolate, then?”

“Not literally hot chocolate. Drinking chocolate. I’m surprised you’ve never had it – then again, it’s not really suited to Caribbean climates. I knew it’d get cold while we were out here, so I brought what we’d need with us. Then I started making it and realised I’d feel guilty if I didn’t make enough for everybody…hence the vat. But we get first crack at it.”

James watched, intrigued, as she ladled some of the hot chocolate into two tankards she’d set aside, evidently expecting him to root her out sooner or later. He smirked at that, and only stepped away from her when she handed one of the tankards towards him, knowing if he tried to drink that from her hand things would take the gesture from flirtatious to ridiculous. Then again, given his wife’s penchant for the ridiculous, perhaps she’d enjoy it.

She turned to watch him, sipping from her own cup as he tried this hot chocolate – and then beamed when he, after scarcely a mouthful, stopped to stare at her in amazement.

“See?” she grinned.

“I can’t believe you’ve kept this from me in all the time we’ve been married,” he hummed, taking another sip, relishing in how it warmed him after all those hours above deck.

“Have to keep a few things up my sleeve to keep the spark alive,” she said drily, topping up their mugs despite the fact that neither were yet half-empty.

“Oh?” he played along. “What else do you have stashed up there?”

“Well I know you’ve got chains up yours, so I’ll have to set about outdoing that.”

He chuckled – not least because of the pink tinge her cheeks adopted as she said it, however much she tried to act unbothered as she teased him. There would never come a time, he knew, when he’d tire of making her blush. Not least because it seemed a privilege granted only to him.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[cloudycaffeinatedcryptid]

Who do you think is most and least like their website and in-game descriptions? I feel like we don’t always see everything they describe on screen (which might be due to those script edits we all love thinking about).

Laura's excited to spend a quiet summer in the woods as a camp counselor alongside her boyfriend Max. It's the perfect way to apply her resourceful, curious nature before she returns to her veterinarian studies in the fall. For Laura, everything's falling into place.

Laura is described in-game as Studious. Independent. Determined.

Ever the class clown, Max has trouble applying himself and seeing things through, unlike his girlfriend Laura. Fortunately, his friendly attitude and unfaltering loyalty make them a great match, provided she doesn't get sick of his lack of ambition—which won't cut it if their plan to go to college together has any hope of success.

Max is described in-game as Mr. Witty. Sarcastic. Helpless. Dependent. Friendly.

Abigail is so deeply buried in her sketchbook that she can't see how well her artistic skills and kind disposition are appreciated by her peers. Socially awkward but sweet and sincere, she's dying to find some romance before the summer is out.

Abigail is described in-game as Shy. Artistic. Indecisive.

Kaitlyn embraces the idea of living out loud; always going toward the fun and never afraid to stir the pot a little. Her amiable nature and ingenuity means she can adapt to any social environment, often allowing her to slip into the de facto role of 'leader,' though she sometimes struggles to express her own needs in stressful situations.

Kaitlyn is described in-game as Quick-Witted. Headstrong. Cunning.

Like many teen heartthrobs, soft-spoken Nick strikes that perfect balance between handsome athleticism and nerdy vulnerability. His fatal flaw is an unwillingness to drop his stoic guard and let people in.

Nick is described in-game as Polite. Awkward. Impressionable.

Emma is something of a documentarian, capturing and commenting on nearly everything through her phone's front-facing camera for her loyal followers. As a talented actress and enterprising influencer, she runs the camp's drama activities, teasing out the best (and worst) in everyone she meets.

Emma is described in-game as Confident, Performative, and Self-assured.

Most won't 'get' whatever's coming through his headphones, but Ryan lives for connection, even if he does lean into the whole brooding, handsome loner thing. Beneath the reclusive persona is the heart of a hero, determined to prove himself to those he cares about.

Ryan is described in-game as inquisitive, stoic and charming.

Campers and counselors alike love Dylan's oddball humor and deep musical knowledge, broadcast daily over the camp's PA system… but beneath the affable, edgy persona of his radio voice, a much different person lies in wait, terrified of rejection.

Dylan is described in-game as Sarcastic. Laid-Back. Sociable.

Jacob is accustomed to being the most popular guy around. Despite some self-centeredness and obnoxious bravado befitting your typical jock, Jacob's got a charming streak and genuinely wants his fellow counselors to have a good time, especially Emma.

Jacob is described in-game as Athletic. Arrogant. Funny.

thank you for bringing this to my attention, i'm eating a dictionary in frustration. i have been yelling about this for twenty minutes & i have a lot of Thoughts

okay i'm going to break this down in stages. for starters, Laura's website description is fine, sounds pretty accurate, but i'm not sure about her in-game description. we don't get a chance to see her be "studious" during the game & it doesn't sit right to me that despite her motivation very clearly being driven by Max's situation, her traits don't reflect that. i would propose something like "Loyal. Determined. Clever."

poor Max, he's reduced to helpless and unable to follow through. that feels unfair - he's too busy being a depressed dog in jail. we don't see enough of my beloved for me to make a judgment call on his ambition (also why does he get so many descriptor tags??) but he has so many good traits so i don't think we should capitalize on his bad ones. he should be "Good-Humored. Dependable. Friendly." none of this helpless shit for my precious boy

Abi's all seem pretty accurate but the "indecisive" trait makes me sad :( we don't get to she her MAKE a lot of decisions barring the one to shoot Nick or not. the scene at the bonfire where she can't pick someone to ask truth or dare feels unfair. i wish we'd gotten to see more of her bc i don't even know what to put in place of it

no real complaints with Kaitlyn's, they got her pretty well. altho i would LOVE for insight on what the fuck the last sentence means. we barely get any backstory on Kaitlyn & i want some

Nick is not fucking stoic, i'm sorry. his fatal flaw is being fucking weird & having no social skills. i don't think his trait tags need changed but if they did i recommend throwing "odd" in there somewhere

i don't have a lot of complaints about Emma's, but if they were going to make her website description so heavily focused on her "documentor" status, i think they should have leaned into it more. have her playtime feature more optional photos, using her camera or something - just more on that concept. also i feel like "confident" & "self-assured" are too similar, so i would replace one of them with maybe "probing" or "argumentative". with love, of course

my man Ryan has a pretty good description but i vote to change "stoic" to "antisocial" or something of the sort bc stoic sounds too mean :(

Dylan, my love :(( why are you so sad :(( they all love you. he's so sad & scared. i don't mind his tags but i would adjust it a little. "Witty. Intuitive. Sociable." maybe. i don't know

and Jacob. first of all, athletic isn't a personality trait i don't think. & funny seems kind of lazy. this idiot deserves a little better maybe. we get to see a lot of different parts of him but they don't seem to go anywhere. i'm thinking "Overactive. Eager. Sarcastic." or something along those lines

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

So, I decided to write this, uuh...

In general, I planned a small headcanon based of this post (⚠️spoilers for SVE events⚠️Is this already a spoiler for someone?), but it turned out to be a damn fanfic, so we have what we have. I hope I didn't make too many spelling mistakes, because checking everything with a translator is such a pain in the ass how the fuck to write fics plz help

Warning ⚠️: suggestive (Well, not really? There's only a mention of underwear and a couple of obscene thoughts from indecent, so there's nothing like that. But I'll put a warning, just in case.)

⚠️⚠️⚠️Spoilers for Stardew valley expanded events⚠️⚠️⚠️

But if you don't mind spoilers, enjoy!

..................................................................................

Winter... Merciless, cold, but still so picturesque winter.

What a beautiful time of year it's been in Stardew Valley! The whole earth is covered with a white blanket of snow, trees and plants, as well as some animals, fell into a long winter sleep, and the residents of the Pelican town, wrapped in warm coats and jackets, plunged into preparations for the upcoming holidays. Because for someone winter is a snowball fights and hot chocolate, and for others - the hassle of buying everything you need for the Feast of the Winter Star, general cleaning and more work, much more work.

At least, farmers of the Valley will be able to take a resr from their hard work and devote themselves to other activities, or just relax with a book near the fireplace, because what can be grown in a snow-covered dugout, right?

Finally, they can all take a well-deserved break. All but one hero.

The winter days made it possible for the Farmer to devote themself to other things besides taking care of the crops and animals, so the hardworking bee of the Valley decided to extract useful ore for their needs and fulfill their obligations to protect people from the monsters that lurked in the depths of the mines.

And endeed, it was a very good hunt.

Spirits today favor the young adventurer, because to get so much gold ore, rare gems, monster loot and good quality purple mushrooms in one day is truly a great success. Smelted ore into bars will serve the Farmer well as a source of income and material for the manufacture of various farming machines, gems will be the perfect gift for most of their friends, and the monster loot... Oh wait. Magnus has mentioned that the void essence and this specific shroom is an important material for him in continuing to study magic. So why not please the wizard with some gifts, especially on the eve of the holiday?

With that thought in mind, the encouraged Farmer set out through the woods straight to the Rasmodius' tower. The time was already late, but they knew that their wizard friend was still awake, this was at least evidenced by the light from the windows of the tower, probably the only source of light in the thicket of a dark winter forest. Also, the light radiated from a gap from the slightly open front door, which surprised the Farmer, who had already approached here to knock.

"Huh, weird. I don't remember Magnus being so forgetful. And who wants a draft with such a frost outside" With these thoughts, the Farmer quietly entered the small lobby filled with various exotic plants.

"Almost all of its plants don't like the cold." They carefully looked at the callesia in a plant pot, shaking their heads disapprovingly, such a bush is thermophilic and can die when the temperature drops. So they carefully closed the front door and climbed the stairs to the top in search of the occupant of the tower.

There was no one in the main hall, although some liquid was still seething in the cauldron. The Farmer noted to themself that the aroma of lavender and chamomile coming from the cauldron is much more pleasant than the everyday stench of moss, toadstools and Yoba know what else.

And yet, Magnus is not here. As the Farmer was about to go down to the basement, they heard footsteps upstairs in Magnus' bedroom. The young Farmer hesitated for half a minute, thinking about whether to go up there, Magnus was probably already getting ready for bed and it would be indecent to disturb him. And yet they headed towards the stairs. Standing in front of the door to the bedroom, the Farmer had already raised their hand to knock, but before they had time to do so, the door itself opened.

"Darling, have you already found what you wanted? We can continue our-" Olivia's purr turned into a grave silence, and her flirtatious pretty face turned pale and froze in shock. The Farmer was also in complete shock when before their eyes was not an adult wizard in purple hair and a beard, but Victor's mother... in lace underwear. The underwear, by the way, really suited Olivia, and the Farmer considered that this was not the thought that should have come to mind in such a situation.

The dead silence and not too decent thoughts of the Farmer were broken by Olivia's piercing screech, which so frightened the poor Farmer that, having taken a step back because of such a powerful sound, they stepped back and fell down the stairs back into the main hall.

Well, at least they didn't hurt too much, thanks to the constant hardening in the mines.

"What in the name of the spirits is going on here?!" And here is Magnus himself, in a nightgown and with some kind of bottle with a liquid, looks like oil, in his hand, appeared in front of the Farmer lying on the floor in the blink of an eye. If the Farmer decided to go down to the basement first, they would hardly be in this strange position.

"Farmer?" Rasmodius looked with surprise at the uninvited guest, who managed to get to their feet. Apparently, he forgot to lock the front door after all.

"What-what are you doing here?!" Olivia came down the stairs, already in a dressing gown (a Magnus' dressing gown, by the way), all annoyed, ready to destroy everything in her path with one glance. "Leave this place immediately!"

The voice of reason told the Farmer to leave the tower right away and run home to the farm, but they still stood still, casting a shocked look from Magnus to Olivia.

"I, uh.. I brought..."

"Ah, Farmer" Magnus addressed the young intruder as he placed the bottle of oil on the table, tired and annoyed in his voice. "Would you be so kind to leave my abode?"

"Y-yeah, b-b-but..."

"But what?" Magnus was already losing patience, as was Olivia.

"Leave"

"I was-"

"Now!" Magnus barked loudly at the Farmer in uncharacteristic intolerance, casting a spell that teleported the Farmer outside, straight into a large snowdrift, back into the dark forest with a flick of his hand. Having floundered in a snowdrift, they were able to find their balance again, shook off all the snow from themselves and walked at a quick pace to their home.

..................................................................................

Winter... So beautiful, but oh-so cold...

The white snow crunched under the Farmer's boots, who went out on the porch to check the morning mail. Although the evening was, to put it mildly, full of events for them, the Farmer was able to sleep peacefully that night. Well, Magnus and Olivia are dating, (kinda?), they are adults and have every right for that. Although the thought of why Magnus was holding a oil jar in his hands didn't bring up very decent thoughts. They had the same feeling after the mayor's request for truffle oil...

Ugh. Enough of that.

There were not many letters in the mailbox, but one of them stood out with dark blue paper and a wax seal. Only Magnus can send something like this.

"Please come to the tower today at 9 pm, we need to talk. It's urgent." That's all that was written in the letter. The Farmer's throat was dry from the upcoming conversation, and although they did not know what to talk about, they already knew that the upcoming conversation would not be pleasant.

With the onset of darkness, the Farmer did not keep themself waiting and arrived at the appointed place at exactly 9 p.m. Inside the tower, Magnus and Olivia were already waiting for them. Victor's mother stood in silence and was much calmer than yesterday, but still looked at the young Farmer rather sternly. Magnus was trying to sound less annoyed and not add to the already heavy atmosphere. The key word is "trying".

"I think you can already guess why we asked you to come here." So far, the Wizard began in a calm tone.

"Yes and no," the Farmer tried to answer honestly and find the right words. Seriously, it was as if they were standing in front of disgruntled parents who had just returned from a school meeting and found out that their child received poor grades in algebra.

"But I understand you are dating, right?"

"Right," Magnus replied.

"In secret?"

Magnus nodded.

"And I disturbed you yesterday, right?"

"How smart," Olivia quipped a little.

"Olivia, please," Magnus tried to calm her down, but she was already turned on.

"And you've been spying on us for a long time, right?" Olivia snapped.

"...Pardon me?" Now the Farmer didn't understand anything. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't make fools of us," Olivia continued. "Are you saying that it was by chance that you came to the tower on this particular day?"

What?

"Why do I need it?" Now it was Farmer's turn to express irritation and intolerance. They can't quite figure out what Olivia is getting at.

"Gossip, blackmail, just for fun, no?" After this phrase, the Farmer felt like they had just been slapped. And Magnus' look seemed to show that he was of the same opinion as Olivia.

"Do you-do you really think that I was spying on you so that I could use it as blackmail? Do you think that badly of me?!" The young Farmer could no longer hold back their emotions when they barked the last word to the whole room. Maybe they didn't know Olivia that well, after all they'd only been in the Valley for one year, but Magnus?...

"I came to the tower to give materials to Magnus and I never knew you were dating. But even if I found out, do you think that I would tell everyone in a row about it?"

Now, there was not a drop of irritation left on the faces of Olivia and Rasmodius. Only regret and shame. They were so sure that the Farmer... Yoba, how wrong they were.

Little drops appeared at the corners of the Farmer's eyes, they had to make a great effort to keep the tears from rolling down their cheeks.

"I don't need it"

They turned towards the door and walked out the door.

"Farmer, wait, we..." The Farmer didn't hear what the wizard and former accountants said next, but simply slammed the front door from the other side. From the huge cotton, some snow from the wall of the tower fell on the youth's head. They quickly brushed it off and walked towards the farm, away from the tower.

It was... painful, to say at least. They expected awkwardness, explanations, but not like this...

In the future, Olivia will apologize to the Farmer for everything that happened, explaining that after the death of her husband, other attempts to have an affair were an excuse for blackmailing her from unkind colleagues at her old job, so she reacted so strongly. Magnus will apologize for such judgments without hard evidence and his rudeness, realizing that this is not an excuse to yell at the Farmer. All three will measure themselves and become best friends in the future, still keeping this secret.

But for now... The young Farmer, with tears in their eyes, are walking through a dark forest, where street lamps and Pelican City decorations are lit in the distance, walking on crisp snow, walking down the street in such a beautiful, but so cold winter...