#service salt

[sillysillyprice]

{ Incorret Quote Time }

Light Milk: You just have to talk to him nicely, it's not that hard! Try it!

Service Salt: whatever you say...

— So, Service Salt Cookie approached a little cookie who couldn't find her cat, to help her and try to start a good conversation —

Service Salt: How did this happen little one?

Little Cookie: I left the door to my house open... I didn't think he was going to get out!

Service Salt: ... That's stupid, how can you forget something like that?!

Little Cookie: ...

Service Salt: ...

— . . . —

Light Milk: what was that..?

Service Salt: I got nervous

[babeluda]

I wrote a... fan-recipe? Truly no self control here if we're at the point where a fictional sandwich can take over my brain. Anyway thank you Aabria Iyengar for mashing together my grandmother's favourite summer starter of melon & cured ham and the revelation that was Austrian Tafelspitz marrow on toast.

Check out the winter-summer sandwich rendered by the Messrs. Callum magic cookbots' hivemind here:

Marrow-Melon Marvel

[sidsinning]

jjk

as much as i love the characters i love

gege

rlly dgaf about the female cast

besides maki

😭🤚

[ecoterrorist-katara]

I’m so tired of wlw background ships in mlm fandoms.

mlm shippers almost never develop wlw ships to the degree that the audience feels invested in them. The conflict and character development and love story rely on tropes rather than actual narratives, yet fandoms act like they’re doing wlws a favour by shoehorning in this shitty “representation” when it’s just golden retriever x black cat over and over and over again in different fonts.

To be clear I don’t blame anyone for not having big wlw ships, because most major media out there do not have two fully fledged female characters you can ship together. If you want to write mlm ships, good for you! If you want a lazy wlw ship in the background, that’s fine! But don’t act as if the fandom actually cares about them, or that anyone did the legwork to make them characters that you can care about. Most of these female characters are never properly developed in the canon source material, and they’re almost never properly developed in the fanon material either. You can always tell by how these women are like, one archetype + gay (sporty gay, feisty gay, slutty gay etc, like some kind of gay Spice Girls). Yet fandoms just love to act like these background wlws mean so much & have the best love stories & everyone just should ship them. It’s all so performative.

wlws are not an aesthetic. wlws are not 2D happy couples to round out your queer utopia, a queer utopia that somehow still manages to foreground men. Women are always treated as 2D characters in narratives, except now there’s a subgenre where these 2D women are gay. Groundbreaking.

[whatkindofnameisella]

all the people saying "kalina could be good" no you don't fucking get it. i don't want her to be good i want her to be evil. i want her to be a corruption. i want her to be a disease. i want her to be a lieutenant bent on championing her dead commander's cause. i want her to be stubborn and angry and cruel. i want her to be a cunty villain. thank you.

[dirt-apple-productions]

That moment when a piece of media tries to criticize your beliefs while getting them so laughably wrong they’re just attacking a nice prickly scarecrow

[blue-likethebird]

Something I find irritating about the minor resurgence in discourse about totk's story and its ideological standings is the argument that Zelda games have always had uncompromising black and white morality, so any criticism of Hyrule/Rauru/Sonia is inherently futile.

That's not entirely correct. It's true that Zelda games have fairly obvious good guys and bad guys, but plenty of Zelda games have touched on the flaws of Hyrule's monarchy. For example, there's the Shadow temple and bottom of the well from OoT, the twilight realm from TP, BotW's pre-calamity flashbacks, basically all of windwaker's final act, etc. Even Skyward Sword -and as much as I love that game it does have some unfortunate 'divine right of kings' implications to it- is more critical of Hylia's plan and the effect it has on the people involved than anything totk's cast can muster up about Rauru. Zelda games having simple stories that their intended audience can grasp doesn't mean that they haven't at least attempted to touch on more complicated moral questions in the past.

I can't speak for everyone but I and most other people I see in the totk critical tags don't mean I want this children's game to provide a definitive critique of divinely-ordained monarchy when I discuss Ganondorf's complete lack of motivations or the story's refusal to question Rauru's leadership the way previous games questioned Rhoam, Daphnes, or Hylia. I know Nintendo aren't gonna bother fitting a scholarly review of fantasy imperialism between the archery and bowling minigames, but I'd be more willing to accept that if they would at least give the central narrative a shred of nuance or staying power in return.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down. 

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived. 

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out.  “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?” 

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset? 

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

 .

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him. 

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.  

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

 .

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

 .

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say. 

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

 .

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food. 

 .

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

.

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands. 

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

 .

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway. 

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say. 

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now. 

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered. 

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room. 

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters. 

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her. 

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?” 

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”  

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

.

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years. 

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl. 

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint. 

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to. 

.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet. 

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.” 

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try… 

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

[wandering-jana]

Reflections. Assateague Island National Seashore, Maryland.

[andersdotters]

I think most people would agree that gift giving is Zhongli's highest love language (giving). After that, I think would be words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, then physical touch. As for his highest love language (receiving), it'd probably be quality time.

[window-weather]

I hate Hunters future design with such a passion because he’s literally just fuckin Caleb now

-Exact same eye colour (I’ve hated that since TTT)

-Extremely similar hairstyle + it’s the exact same one Belos forced on him

-Same job/passion (wouldn’t care at all about that if it weren’t for the fact that 1. Caleb is shown to be carving something in Belos’s memories and 2. Everything else)

-oh Flapjack died? Let’s give him another bird palisman who looks exactly like Flapjack except make it blue.

Like Waffle is honestly the last thing I care about regarding the design but when put next to everything else, no

He is literally just Caleb now.

If they wanted him to look like someone else, they could’ve gone for literally anyone who isn’t the guy he had a panic attack for looking too much like him over

Darius could’ve worked (a hair bun, coloured hair, a little more abomination/ purple themed or something)

Eda could’ve worked (long hair, bird themed, etc)

They could’ve had him working in a tailor shop or something related to sewing and having the palisman thing as a side job or something

It’s just idk. It felt like they threw his character arc about being his own person out the window for whatever was going on there

[sillysillyprice]

Hello and good morning I've discovered lately your au and I'm quite invest to be fair it's funny and really intriguing if it's not asking too much can you explain why's there two shadow milk cookie ? One who look stupid and the other who's quite pretty and with silent salt cookie what is he in love with our dear shadow milk cookie and that's why he's glad that elder faerie died or what because calling your friend my angel and be glad his past lover? Died is a bit........ anyways sorry if it's too long and for bad grammar English is not my first language so

I LOVE ANSWERING QUESTIONS, ASK ANYTHING YOU WANT!! I AM SO GLAD THAT MY AU IS OF INTEREST TO YOU (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

and don't worry, english isn't my main language either haha

Well, going step by step

1 – the two Shadow Milk

In theory... they are the same person, but at the same time they are not...

It's a matter of perspective!! But in theory it's more or less like this

Light Milk, the original Shadow Milk, In his search for knowledge he ended up discovering things he shouldn't, things that kept him awake and made him descend slowly and tortuously into madness... until everything exploded when he visited the witches' banquet (it was not the first time he attended) I begged the witches to make him forget, he didn't want to be the knowledge cookie, the knowledge he had loved so much had destroyed him, and he just wanted... to rest, But the witches did not listen, after all, he had been created to store knowledge, it was his only function as a living being

So Light Milk just... jumped into the cauldron

yeah, a little strong but- oh well

When the witches took the cookie out of the cauldron it was no longer the same as before, they could no longer even tell that it was a cookie, They only saw an amalgam of suffering, sorrow and agony, Shadow Milk is the accumulation of all the pain of Light Milk

So as I said before, in theory they are the same person, they share the same body, but they will never be the same, and Shadow Milk has no memories of his past life

2 – Silent Salt's... love for Shadow Milk? In short, yes!

can be summed up as, SILENT SALT! YOU'RE A DAMN SIMP!!

But let's do this as it should be done

Silent Salt (at that time Service Salt) always had feelings for Light Milk, but they never had anything because Silent Salt forgot the detail of, I don't know... EVEN SAYING SOMETHING

He was content with seeing him, helping him, always being there for him even if it was as a friend, he did not feel brave enough to confess

but all this changed when Light Milk and Elder Faerie started dating, Service Salt knew it was wrong to feel jealous about that, he had no right to be angry since he had wasted his chance! But even though he was still upset with Elder Faerie for "stealing his angel," Silent/Service Salt's feelings began to become more and more obsessive, more twisted

until that incident occurred that gave life to Shadow Milk

He, and everyone knew he wasn't Light Milk, but they treated him as if he was, including Service Salt who selfishly saw a new opportunity to be with his angel, ignoring that there was only one demon left

There happens the transition of changing the name of Service Salt – Silent Salt, and starting the disaster in order to please Shadow Milk and win him (spoiler: EVEN TRYING HE CAN'T ACHIEVE IT HAHA, and I don't know if that ends up being better or worse)

And well, everything ends badly, very badly

[hedonists]

how do you feel about a "gang boss snatches good boy jesus lover from his church prison tower to turn him into his trophy wife" au or is that crossing too many lines

[starflesh-moth]

hi! here are some little things that go a long way in showing fast food service workers respect! :D

- please make eye contact when you’re ordering, and don’t be looking at your phone

- saying please and thank you may seem small but it’s a significant gesture

- clean up your table after you eat and throw away your trash

- don’t toss your money on the counter, hand it to us

- if we make a mistake, please correct us kindly. mistakes happen! nobody likes being yelled at when they are made

- try to tip, even if it’s just a little. at restaurants you tip your waiter for their serve, but with fast food you’re tipping your worker for service, making your food, preparing everything, setup/cleanup, etc.

all in all, we’d like to be treated like any other human. little polite gestures go a long way. and of course, the golden rule: treat others how you’d like to be treated. cause if you’re dicks to us we can fuck with your food :)

[grimoirefate]

TAG DROP 001

[ ooc. ] i'm a nice person so long as you are nice to me. my muses are not the only ones with teeth.

[ ic. ] i once feared mythal would consume me were i to carry her. but twas not so. i remain free willed and mortal.

[ mythal & solas ] ...are not for you alone to bear my friend. the many wrongs we did. we did together. I release you from my service.

[ mythal introspection ] I pulled you from the fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon and it broke you.

[ introspection ] when she intended me to become the next host of an ancient gods soul I feared naught would be left of my own.

[ veilguard ] I have been advisor to orlais. witch of the wilds. daughter of flemeth. and once long ago an old friend.

[ inquisition. ] I knew the empress was intrigued by the arcane and I could answer questions no chantry mage could.

[ origins. ] well. well. what have we here? are you a vulture I wonder? a scavenger? poking amidst a corpse? or intruder?

[ answered: ooc. ] its me. the equivalent of a spicy kitten in a corner.

[ answered: ic. ] yet she survived and returned ages later to aide the inquisition in its hour of need. how?

[ psa. ] hear ye! hear ye! use those things on the side of your head or be doomed.

[ saved. ] im like a dragon when it comes to things i like.

[ prompts / memes. ] twas both a pleasure and necessity to help them as it is now.

[ crack. ] ooooo! you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!

[ salt. ] i'm bitter and now i'm making it everyone's problem.

[ birthday. ] its my hatch day!!!!

[ self promotion. ] would that I could become them I would for now this will do.

[ promotion ] look! its the people I like! I think you will like them too!

[mochinek0]

Daminette December 2022: 25-Demon/Angel

Damian sighed as he walked into the community center. He had been assigned community service for punching someone at school. The school had thought it was best for the youngest Wayne to see the consequences of his actions and what his actions could lead to. They volunteered him to work in a reformitory.

Damian looked around the room of people. It reminded him of Arkham, just less yelling and screaming. One person caught his eye; a girl staring out the window. She sat perfectly still on the windowsill.

'Who is she? Why is she alone?'

Damian quickly grabbed the clipboard out of the attendant's hand.

"Hey!" they cried.

He flipped through the pages quickly and found her: Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He shoved the clipboard back and started walking towards her. They grabbed his arm.

"I wouldn't go near her." they whispered, "We go told very bad things about her. She's very violent."

'These people are idiots.'

Damian walked up to the sill.

"Hello." he spoke.

Marinette didn't speak or turn at the sound of his voice.

"Not one for words?" Damian questioned.

"Words are filled with lies." she stated.

'Progress.'

"I am told you are violent." he continued.

She sighed and continued looking out the window.

"I do not believe them." he concluded.

Marinette turned and looked at him, shocked. Damian noticed tears build up befre she quickly shut down her emotions.

"So what?" Mari questioned.

"I am sentenced for one month to work here for two hours, three times a week." Damian informed her.

"Lucky you." she declared.

"I would rather spend time with you than with idiots." he stated, "I can tell you are not like the others."

As he turned to leave, he said his name was Damian and left.

It took until the very last day for him to get her to open up once more.

"I was never violent." Marinette whispered, still looking out the window, "Not until the end."

"The end?" Damian asked.

"I snapped." she sniffled, "My parents sent me here because the couldn't 'control' me anymore. That's a lie."

"Why don't you tell me when everything went wrong." He spoke.

She shrugged, "Why not? I get out of here in a week. I'll be eighteen by then and I'm suppose to get my stuff from them. I'm never going home. I grew up in Paris, France and my parents were bakers. Everything started with a new transfer student; she was a liar. I could see through her façade, but no one else could. She lied to people like we breathed oxygen."

"I confronted her. She said she was only 'telling people what they wanted to hear'." Mari sighed, "Nice to know people wanted to think so badly of you, huh. Anyways, she faked disabilities, told lies about going places, made up connections to celebrities. I tried to tell my friends, my classmates, but they wouldn't listen. One of them knew she was a liar and said it was better to let her lie; that everyone would find out eventually. Later, she started to spread rumors about me, saying that I was bullying her, sending her threatening texts, calling her at all hours so she couldn't sleep. It was all over a boy she wanted me to stay away from who was my friend. There even came a point where I got expelled because of her."

"And you proved your innocence." he smirked.

"If only." Marinette answered, "I never got a chance to defend myself. There had been a tip to the teacher that the answer sheet for a test was in my bag. My idiot teacher had already graded the tests with it, but I somehow needed it. When I accused her, we were sent to the office, together. She walked down a whole flight of stairs and then started screaming that I pushed her."

"Did they not check the footage?" Damian growled.

"Nope. The principal listened to people with money and powerful parents more. I was just a baker's daughter. Why would the daughter of an Italian diplomat lie?" Mari waved off, "She wasn't sent to the nurse or a hospital. She then accused me of stealing a necklace that was an heirloom. It was really a Gabriel necklace that had come out five months prior, but the 'evidence' was there. So, I was expelled."

"How were you reinstated?" he questioned.

Marinette laughed, "The bitch claimed to have a lying disease that made her fabricate evidence under stress."

Damian gripped his jeans as tight as he could to stop himself from running off.

"Not sure when it started, but eveyone started telling my parents how 'awful' I was to her." Marinette stated, turning back to the window.

"And they believed them?" he asked.

Marinette nodded, "Soon, it wasn't just her bullying me, threatening me. She got the whole class to do it. They started tripping me, destroying my homework, my designs, spilled coffee on me and played it off on my own clumsiness. One day, she said I chased her until she twisted her ankle."

"What happened?" Damian pushed.

"That was the day I snapped." Mari replied, "I don't remember what happened. I was sitting in the back of the class and the next thing I know, I was being pulled off of her. She had a broken , fractured jaw, and was bleeding a lot. I'm told I just kept callign her a liar over and over, but I don't know. Then, I was sent here. I've been here for....two years, I think?"

'I was right. This isn't a violent girl. This girl is an angel and she plummeted.'

"May I hug you?" Damian asked, suddenly.

Marinette turned quickly. He could see her face had turned bright red and she was shocked by his gesture. Damian leaned in and held her close.

"I do not believe you are bad." he whispered, "I think you are a better person than most."

Marinette shakily brought her hands around him and began to sob.

"What was that girl's name?" Damian probed.

Mari sniffled and pulled away. She wiped her tears, like nothing had ever happened, and turned bac to look out the window.

"Layla Rossi. She went by Lila." she answered, "I don't know if it's still with my things, but I kept a journal about everything. You can read it if you want. I decided to keep it as a reminder to never let it happen again; that I never needed friends, again."

Damian stood up and placed a hand on her head. He smirked as he walked away and explained he had permission to look though her belongings. He found the journal and smiled. Marinette had no idea she had just made a deal with a demon.

Damian sat in front of the batcomputer. It had been easy to find article in Paris about the incident. Marinette's name hadn't been mentioned, but Lila's was everywhere. It had made headlines that Gabriel Agreste's muse had been beaten up and bullied by another girl and had to take time off from modeling. Lila had painted herself as the ultimate victim saying she was being bullied for trying to protect Adrien Agreste from the girl. Other people backed up her statement by saying she had been obsessed with the male model.

Damian looked at Adrien Agreste's picture on file and glared.

'Blonde hair. Green eyes. Clone of his mother. Recently started school at age thirteen. What a joke. He's not even that good looking.'

It wasn't even a challenge to find where everything took place. Neither of their social medias were private. There were pictures of the school on both accounts and they had the same circle of friends. Damian hacked into the school and began to go through the dates in Marinette's journal. It was all there: the bullying, the tripping, being shoved and threatened. She had been right; no one had even looked. He quickly started downloading all the evidence.

"What are you doing, Damian?" Bruce spoke, suddenly.

Damian handed over Marinette's journal. Bruce looked from the pink book to the screens. It was easy to see he wasn't pleased.

"This girl is in the program I was sent to." Damian declared, "I want her here. I want her to work for us. We would have to help her get her GED, but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"You want her in the manor?" Bruce inquired.

"And at Wayne Enterprise." his son answered, flipping to the back of the book, "She's a designer. Her name was mentioned by several celebrities and had backing before all of this. I assume the person let their emotions get the better of them and was jealous. Everything about the bully revolved around her and making her appear better then Marinette. She claimed to know celebrities that the designer knows. The designer was friends prior with the Agreste child and had won a contest. What better way then to take the designer the Agreste turned away than to take her for ourselves?"

"We can have her make suits to the next gala and see how the do as a trial." Bruce declared.

"She gets out next week." Damian replied, "We can get her, then.

"Why wait?" his father asked.

"She'll be eighteen by then." Damian smirked, "Her parents won't be able to do a thing."

Bruce smiled at his son's remark.

Damian arrived with Bruce, next to him. Marinete looked at them confused.

"We are taking you home with us." Damian declared.

Marinette looked between the both of them in shock, "What?"

"We have already made a room for you in our home." Bruce spoke.

"Why?" Mari asked.

"We are going to help you graduate so you can work on your own." Damian answered, "You wanted to be an individual who did not need to rely on anyone, if I remember correctly. Get your things."

Marinette stared in shock at the size of Wayne Manor. Damian helped her place everything in her new room, while Bruce gathered up the rest of the boys for dinner. Mari set her clothes on the bed and turned to Damian.

"Why?" she questioned, "I still don't understand."

"Someone clipped your wings, Angel." Damian answered, "No one should have made you fall to my level."

"What level is that?" Marinette asked.

"Hell." He smirked.

"You, Demon Spawn!" Jason interrupted, "Quit flirting. Alfred says dinner is in five minutes. "

Marinette blushed at the implications. Sure, Damian had brought her into his home, but she doubt that was the reason why. At dinner, Mari found out that Damian was Bruce's only son; everyone else had been adopted. They all had hard lives growing up and Bruce had taken them in without a second thought. The older boys had teased Damian for following in his Father's footsteps in taking in blue eyed people in need. All of them made her feel welcome. They told her they would take her around the city to elp her get use to the area. Alfred was happy to have another person to cook with. That itself had earned some of the boys to look away and find the idea of paint appealing.

"Am I adopted now?" Marinette questioned.

"No." Dick answered, "You're eighteen so you just live here."

Marinette smiled, "Thank you."

Damian walked Marinette back to her room.

"Don't worry, you will get use to the manor, eventually." Damian stated, "We just don't want you getting lost. I have a surprise for you tomorrow morning."

Marinette looked at him confused, but nodded. She wasn't sure what else Damian could give her. He had given her a roof over her head, a place to eat, and a way to get her life back together. She laid down on the softest bad she had felt and passed out.

Damian glared at the screen as he sent the emails and videos to the correct people in mind. He sent everything to the school board anonymously and also to the news outlet in Paris.

"You good?" Jason questioned, "You sort of have an Al Ghul face going on."

"Just.....getting some revenge." he answered.

"You know Bruce-" Tim began.

"Approved." Damian declared.

The three boys looked at each other and then back at their youngest sibling.

"How?" Dick asked.

Damian sighed and brought up the footage of Marinette being beaten and then someone claiming she had started the fight. They weren't happy with what they were seeing. Marinette was docile and now they could see why. It was going to be challenge to get her to speak up.

"How can we help?" Jason demanded.

Lila woke up to the sound of her phone vibrating uncontrollably on her night stand. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. She picked up her phone to see what was going on.

'Did Gabriel come out with the new catalog?'

Lila clicked on social media and was shocked to see that she was being called a liar.

'What is going on?'

She clicked on a link and saw footage of her shoving Marinette down on the floor and then kicking her, while she laughed. At the sound of footsteps, she saw herself rip her own shirt and slap her face. When the adult came into view, Lila ran and hugged her, thanking her for coming to her rescue. She lied and wailed how Marinette started to beat her and she had to defend herself against the bully. She was so scared.

'No! Who posted this? This is going to ruin my reputation.'

There was many videos going around of teacher's ignoring Marinette asking for help. They were telling her to be the bigger person. They were telling her to open her heart and be more forgiving. They told her how it was better to ignore the hurtful words the others were saying about her. There were also videos of Lila walking down the stairs and claiming Marinette pushed her. There was her framing Marinette for stealing test answers and placing them in her backpack. There was evidence of her buying the Gabriel necklace and putting it in Marinette's locker, crying how she stole her family heirloom. Almost every lie she had ever told was being exposed by the news station: traveling out of Paris, her connections with celebrities, and her disabilities. The celebrities themselves were callign the news station and outraged how they didn't know such a horrible girl. Jagged Stone, himself, claimed how Marinette Dupain-Cheng was his personal designer.

"Marinette is one of the sweetest people I know." Jagged Stone declared, "She has always been ready to help me. Whether it's for a CD cover or a rockin' outfit for my shows! Hey, whoever sent this out. Reach out to me so I can talk to my designer and hire her again."

The news caster then informed Jagged Stone and Paris that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was sent to a reformitory out of Europe. As we saw, many people took to bullying her and those bullies turned her own parents against her. They thought they were doing the right thing. Why you ask? We might remember her better as the girl who beat up Gabriel Agreste's muse. They brought up their past headlines of Lila Rossi with a broken nose and being taken into an ambulance. His so-called muse told reporters that she feared for her life, in that moment. The model declared how she was only protecting her classmate and co-worker, Adrien Agreste, from a stalker. Many people agreed with her statement, but we can now see those people were assisting her in bullying this young girl. They lied to hide the fact on who was the true victim.

Her social media was flooded with comments:

"What a fake story."

"I wonder how popular she got from playing the victim."

"I hope she enjoys her new fame."

"LOL"

"Liar"

"Bully"

"Faker"

The news caster smiled, "The only thing the anonymous tipster stated was that they were doing this for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. They learned about everything and it wasn't hard to find. Marinette had a whole book full of detailed notes, every time she got bullied and by whom. They claimed it wasn't hard to find the evidence, only that no one ever looked. People are dumb. No one looked up the obvious lies and the pricipal obviously lined his pockets with richer families in mind. Also, Happy belated birthday, Marinette!"

The backlash from the reveal was gigantic. The school board was pissed about what had happened under supervision and had been brushed off. The principals and teachers were terminated immediately. Their licenses were suspended indefinitely; they would never work with children again.

Layla Rossi was quickly fired from Gabriel. All of her social medias were blocked and so was her phone number. Her mother had been completely blindsided by the news. She had stomped into her room and taken away her phone, until the truth was revealed. It was decided by the school board to expell Lila two months before graduation. When the verdict was given to her mother, she decided it was best to also take her to a reformitory until her daughter turned eighteen, the following year.

Everyone that had initially been apart of Bustier's class was crying. They had been shocked and horrified to learn they had chosen the wrong side. Marinette had told them Lila was lying to them; she had only tried to get them to see the truth. Adrien was hugging a pillow as he watched the news from his couch. He watched over and over as Mari was bullied by their friends and Lila. She was pushed and kicked while she was down. She sat there and did nothing, just like he told her to.

'She never told me this was going on!'

'Why would she ever come to you? This is all your fault! You helped turn everyone against her.'

Adrien broke and sobbed into the pillow.

The big question on everyone's mind was : Where is Marinette now? Her parents had reached out to the reformitory, to get her back, but she was no longer there. Once she was eighteen, she was gone.

It was years until people in Paris learned what happened to Marinette. Her name was trending again, everywhere. Marinette Dupain-Cheng had married Damian Wayne. They could all see she was happy. Several people had reached out to talk with her, but they all failed. No one knew how to contact her other than to call Wayne Enterprise. When they reached the receptionist, they always asked who was calling. . When they gave their own name, they were told their name had been blacklisted by the family and not to pass the call to Marinette. They tried using fake names after some time, but Marinette didn't know who they were so their calls were rejected.

"We know her!" they complained.

"And if she cared, she would call you!" the receptionist retorted and hung up.

TAG LIST: @maribat-calendar-events @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @meme991001 @vixen-uchiha @abrx2002 @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @animegirlweeb @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus