#she says toast instead of roast

[wifihunters]

sooooo temple of bhaal, huh?

[xichilie]

i was the one who requested hurt/comfort Brant fic. THANK YOU FOR GRANTING MY REQUEST&FEEDING MY DELULU(≧ᗜ≦) (sorry for bad english huhu T^T)

And I'm here for requesting again! Wdyt abt Brant take care over his spouse who's got very very very drunk, but his spouse who's usually calm&quiet now becomes all flirty and touchy here&there (giving him ton of kisses on his face)? And Brant's response? He's become a COMPLETELY BLUSHING MESS! Head empty bcs how clingy and affectionate she became!

But if you have another scenario let's go with yours! I just wanna see him nervous with red face honestly (sorry /j). That's all! Thank you again pookie! May your Brant&his weapon come early♡!

TOMORROW, OUR BOY WILL FINALLY HAVE HIS BANNER

I wish you and all Brant wanters, Aventurines luck. All brant wanters will be brant havers 😌🤍

_____

Drunk on Love

The fires in Fool’s Elysium burned bright, casting flickering gold across the cavern walls as the Troupe of Fools celebrated another successful performance. The air was thick with laughter, the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine swirling between the revelers, and Brant was, as usual, at the center of it all.

“And then, as the guards closed in, I told them, ‘Ah, but gentlemen, surely you wouldn’t lay hands on a humble man of the arts!’” Brant spun dramatically, arms flaring out. “And just as they hesitated—boom! Gone in a puff of smoke!”

The crowd around him erupted in laughter and cheers, toasting his theatrics. Brant grinned, preening under the attention—until something, or rather someone, latched onto him from behind.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed into his back, and a voice—soft but undeniably intoxicated—murmured, “Brant.”

He barely had time to react before Y/N, usually so calm and composed, turned him around and clung to him.

Brant blinked. “Oh.”

Y/N was flushed, her expression dreamily affectionate, her grip firm as she buried her face against his chest.

“…Oh,” Brant repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

He tilted her chin up, gazing down at her with playful curiosity. “Darling, you look like you’ve had quite the generous helping of wine. Enjoying yourself, are we?”

She pouted. “Mmhmm. But you—” She poked his chest. “You talk too much.”

Brant gasped theatrically. “Me? Talk too much? Impossible.”

Y/N squinted at him like she was trying to solve a great mystery, then sighed dramatically. “You’re so pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not fair.”

Brant chuckled. “I can’t say I disagree—”

Before he could finish, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

Brant’s brain stuttered.

The surrounding Fools whistled and hooted, but Brant barely heard them. He was too busy trying to process the fact that Y/N—reserved, steady, unshakable Y/N—was pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, moving dangerously close to his mouth.

He stiffened, heat rushing to his face. “Y-Y/N—”

Another kiss, this time right at the corner of his lips.

Brant squeaked.

His usual charm crumbled. He, Brant—smooth talker, silver-tongued rogue, shameless flirt—was suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Alright, alright, I think someone needs a little fresh air,” he managed, voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms, ignoring the smug looks and snickers from the others as he carried her toward his quarters.

Y/N only hummed contentedly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You smell nice.”

Brant stumbled.

The journey through the winding tunnels of Fool’s Elysium had never felt so long. By the time he reached his private space—an alcove filled with scattered notes, fabrics, and an absurd number of pillows—his heart was pounding.

He set her down gently, exhaling. “Alright, darling, let’s get you settled—”

But Y/N didn’t let go.

Instead, she tugged him down with surprising strength, pulling him onto the cushions beside her.

Brant let out a very ungraceful sound as he landed, his back hitting the soft bedding, and before he could react, Y/N straddled his lap.

Brant stopped breathing.

She leaned in, her fingers tracing his collarbone before sliding lower, over the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so handsome,” she murmured.

Brant’s brain was gone. Utterly, completely gone.

“Y-Y/N—darling, you—you’re very drunk right now,” he stammered. “I think you should rest—”

She ignored him, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched as she pushed the fabric aside, exposing the faint, intricate glow of his Tacet mark against his skin.

Y/N’s eyes widened in wonder. Gently, reverently, she traced the mark with her fingertips.

Brant whimpered.

No one ever touched his Tacet mark. It was sacred, sensitive, and yet here she was, mapping every line and swirl with delicate fingers. His entire body tensed, his skin burning under her touch.

“Y/N,” he choked out. “If you—keep doing that—I might actually die.”

She giggled. Giggled.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she mused.

Brant let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Oh, you are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

She beamed at him, and gods, she was beautiful.

Then she kissed his forehead.

His breath caught.

Then his nose.

His heartbeat thundered.

Then both his cheeks, her lips soft and warm, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

Brant shattered.

“Alright, that’s enough, you dangerous woman,” he rasped, his voice uneven. With a dramatic flourish (that was only slightly desperate), he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him.

Y/N gasped, blinking up at him with wide, hazy eyes. “Brant?”

He smirked, though his face was still bright red. “My turn.”

He leaned down—slowly, deliberately—and pressed a single, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Her breath hitched.

Then, with exaggerated care, he kissed her nose.

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

Then, finally, finally, he brushed his lips against her cheek, just barely, before pulling back with a triumphant grin.

“How’s that for theatrics, darling?” he teased.

Y/N’s face was scarlet.

Brant chuckled, pleased with himself—until she pulled him down again, burying her face against his chest with a sleepy sigh.

“Warm…” she mumbled. “Stay.”

Brant softened.

He sighed dramatically but wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. “You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, but there was no heat behind the words.

Y/N hummed in contentment. Within moments, her breathing slowed, her body relaxed against his, and she drifted into sleep.

Brant lay there for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“…I am so in love with you,” he muttered to himself, utterly doomed.

And for once, the ever-charming Brant had no idea what to do about it.

Brant had been in many thrilling, perilous situations in his life—performing daring acts on stage, conning pompous nobles, escaping armed guards, even staring down the Dragon of Dirge. But nothing, nothing, had ever left him as utterly helpless as this.

Y/N was clinging to him in her sleep.

Not just loosely holding onto him—oh no—she had wrapped herself around him, arms tucked beneath his coat, face pressed against his chest, and legs tangled with his own. She was warm, impossibly warm, her breath tickling his skin as she sighed contentedly in her slumber.

Brant was losing his mind.

His face was burning, his heart hammering against his ribs like a drumbeat in a grand performance. He had tried—tried—to gently pry her off when he had first realized the situation, but the second he moved, she had whined softly and only held on tighter.

He was doomed.

With an exaggerated sigh, he flopped back onto the cot, staring at the ceiling of his little cavern home. "This is my life now," he murmured to himself, though the complaint held no real weight.

He glanced down at her, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite his still-racing heart. Her expression was so peaceful, so utterly at ease. It made something deep in his chest ache.

Carefully—so carefully—he let his hand move, brushing along her back in slow, comforting strokes. She sighed again, nuzzling closer. Brant bit his lip, trying to suppress the giddy, ridiculous smile threatening to spread across his face.

"Oh, you’re dangerous," he whispered, shaking his head in amused defeat. "Too dangerous."

But as much as he should be trying to escape, he… didn’t want to.

For all his theatrics, for all his flair and bravado, Brant was a man who had gone years without a true place to belong. He had always been the fool, the outcast, the man who danced on the fringes of society. Yet here she was, clinging to him like he was something precious, like he was safe.

He swallowed hard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against her back.

Maybe, just this once, he’d allow himself to believe it.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

If this was the price of taking care of her, of having her trust him enough to cling to him even in sleep…

Then he would gladly let himself be tangled in her warmth for as long as she would have him.

[southernimpala]

sunny side up

sam winchester x waitress!reader

summary ↬ you serve the winchesters breakfast at some shitty run down diner

notice ↬ fluff ! some cutesy lil flirting, i promised a new fic tn and can't believe i delivered cus i feel like shit but enjoy !, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.4k

the old wooden clock mounted on the wall above the front door ticks teasingly toward the middle of your shift, the break you’ve been craving for the past four hours drawing closer as the seconds jolt in a circle. there’s already coffee staining your apron, leaving a big black blotch right on the pretty lace, there’s crumbs in your hair, and you’re sure the lipstick you put on this morning to look more put together than you really are is already smudged across your face. 

you pay no mind to your appearance as you lazily flip through your order notebook to a blank page while making your way to your new table. 

“hello, welcome to porky’s, what can i get started—” 

two boys catch your eye when you look up, one with short, dark hair almost sputtering dark roast out of his mouth, while the other—shaggier, darker hair with big, piercing hazel eyes—parts his lips at the sight of you. 

“u-um, would you like to see our specials?” you choke out, awkwardly pointing your pen behind you to the big chalkboard above the coffee bar, almost like second nature. you aren’t sure what else to do with your hands. 

the one with the odd necklace wipes the drink from his chin and clears his throat, “ahem—yes, yes we would, right, sammy?” 

the other—sammy—doesn’t seem to hear, his eyes still held solid on your face as it drifts across every feature. it’s not until you hear a shuffle, then a knee hit the underside of their table— “right, sammy?”—when he shakes out of it, nodding aimlessly. 

“sorry,” not sammy says, chuckling stiffly, “my brother here, uh… had a rough night.” 

you can’t help but eye sammy, looking his figure up and down as your brain runs through a million different ways this seemingly innocent, soft, person had a rough night. your heart jumps when he catches you, “o–okay, let me get you some menus.” 

“that would be wonderful,” his brother smiles, hard and plastered.

you twist to fetch the menus and feel the sigh of relief lifting a weight off your crushed body. those are two of the most gorgeous men that have ever walked into your shit diner in some nowhere town off an interstate, and suddenly the clock doesn’t seem so loud. instead, your heart thumps in your ears as your shaky hands grab two menus from the back.

“dean, what the hell was that?” you hear sammy harshly whisper across the table, being met with a response from dean that was too low for your ears to catch.

it takes you a minute to reach composure, remind yourself that their probably asshole drifters looking for some eight am fun, and hand them their menus with a straighter posture and higher head. 

“okay, porky’s recommends the country omelet with extra bacon or the five stack.” you inform, the rehearsed speech ingrained in your memory from training flowing easily as you avoid sammy’s eyes.

dean flashes you a shimmery smile, “well what does—” his eyes glance down to the nametag clipped to the cream colored waitress uniform, your name falling off his tongue like syrup on pancakes, “what does she recommend?” 

sammy’s lips purse. your stomach knots. 

“u-um,” you’d never had anyone ask you before, and quite frankly, you wouldn’t recommend any of the greasy diner food here, but you swallow down a warning and sputter, “i like the french toast with eggs.” 

“eggs how?” he asks, skimming the menu with eyebrows furrowed. 

at the same instant, you and sammy blurt, “sunny side up.” 

your heads shoot up, eyes attracted to the other like moths to flames, bright and burning in your pupils. the rosy blush that paints across his cheeks infectiously spreads to yours, mouth catching flies as it opens and closes, desperate to find something professional to say, when dean slams his menu closed, holding it out for you to take. 

“well, i guess i know what i’m having then,” he says, a tinge of—what was it—defeat in his tone. 

you send him a tight lipped smile, turning to look at sammy as he tries to shield his eyes from your stare, which you just can’t help. the seven thirty sun is shining against his soft, wavy wisps and smooth skin like it only burned for him, his fingers stretching against his forehead, long and slender, as his jaw flexes under the tension of him trying equally as hard not to look at you. your knees almost give out. 

“what are you thinkin?” you ask him, trying to fix your definitely frizzy hair behind your ear. 

his teeth catch his bottom lip, “the same,” he answers, voice cracking, making dean run his palm across his mouth to hide a smirk, “with another coffee, if you don’t mind.” 

“not at all,” you say sweetly, gently taking his menu, “eggs sunny side up?” 

his eyes twinkle in the sun’s warmth soaking through the large window, “you read my mind.” 

you give him a wink, hugging the menus to your chest before spinning on your heel. you can almost feel their attention drawn to you as you walk away to put the orders in, a weird, butterfly feeling settling deep in your stomach. 

it’s a game of cat and mouse as you and sammy play a staring contest across the diner while their breakfasts cook—whether it be with your pen between your teeth as you lean against the counter, or with a bunch of plates balancing on your hip belonging to another table, catching him watching out of the corner of your eye. 

the snicker you see him try to hide when you find his eyes on your figure has you crumbling, like your skin melts and blood goes cold. 

by the time their foods done, you’ve passed by their table close to four times asking if they need another refill, or maybe more napkins, or if there’s a spot on your utensils i can get you another—

the timer dings. order #44 gets called. their plates are hot under your palms as you carry one in each hand, the sunny side up eggs having you biting your lip hard to keep a smile down. 

“okay, two french toasts with eggs, sunny side up,” you announce, delicately placing down their breakfast, the smell of butter and rich maple filling your nose as it wafts in steam, “anything else i can get for you boys?” 

you catch dean nudge sammy’s knee again under the table, coughing loudly like he’s signalling something. 

sammy’s face flushes, which inadvertently causes you to do the same as you switch between the brothers. 

“u-um,” he clears his throat, pokes his fork into his sunny side eggs, “what time do you get off?” 

your body burns with satisfaction, but you won’t let him think that you're that easy, “what time do you skip out on this small town?” 

dean laughs obnoxiously with a mouthful of french toast. sam chuckles like he’s fallen in love. 

“not for a few days at most,” he answers, confidence finally laced in his tone, slick yet still soft, with a smile that kills any hard to get attitude left in you. 

you nod, accepting cruelly that he’s won you over, “i get off at one.” 

“listen,” he starts teasingly, raising his hands against his chest defensively, “don’t feel obligated.” 

a sickly sweet laugh that wipes the smirk right off his pretty face leaves you like the butter dripping down the crust of his french toast, “i think it’s out of my control now.” 

dean leans back in the ripped leather booth, rolling his eyes and sighing in a that should be me way. sammy doesn’t even bother giving him a second look, and you’ve noticed he hasn’t touched his food once since you’ve started to lean closer over the table, hovering over the half-drunk cups of coffee and unused napkins.

“sorry about that,” he responds smoothly. your elbows wobble as you hold yourself up, leaning closer and closer— 

another timer dings. you suddenly remember you’re on the clock, and it hasn’t stopped ticking well after your break that you’ve certainly missed with all the flirting. 

you clear your throat, removing yourself from over their breakfast and fixing the collar of your uniform that’s now crooked against your collarbones, “y’all let me know if i can get you anything else.”

“will do,” dean drags, halfway into the sunny side up eggs smudged in orange across his plate. 

you get out a last wink, fingers softly smudging the red lipstick painting your mouth, “see you at one, sammy.” 

dean’s fork drops in his eggs. 

sam, well, sam’s in love. 

“we aren’t leaving after this case, are we?” dean mumbles. 

sam watches as you walk behind the counter with his heart slamming against his ribcage, begging him to maybe never leave your side. 

“nope.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tags ↬ @h8aaz , @sacr1ficialang3l <33

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !

[corvessa]

A Pesto Masterclass, A Little Bit Of Roasting, And A Whole Lot Of Love

a/n: okay i know i've said in the first post that its model/actor theo, but i just know this man would be a mad cook, also i will try and make something more related to his career i promise you, for now you'll have to live with a cute cooking stream <3

Summary: During a surprise kitchen stream, the reader hands over control to their charming, perfectionist boyfriend Theo, who confidently cooks authentic Pesto alla Genovese while playfully roasting the reader’s past cooking fails. Between Theo’s precise culinary skills and their easy, affectionate banter, the stream turns into a cozy, heartwarming moment full of teasing, casual kisses, and chat’s emotional meltdown over their genuine, effortless love.

The camera flickered on.

Instead of your usual studio backdrop, chat was greeted with the warm lighting of your shared kitchen — a sleek, marble island centered in frame, black cabinets bathed in golden morning light, and a suspicious absence of LED lights or chaotic desktop clutter.

- HELLO?? - kitchen stream??? - she’s never willingly entered that zone before

You appeared from off-screen, already grinning. “Alrighty, chat! We’re mixing it up today. No studio, no monitors, no code—don’t panic. It’s a cooking stream. Well—technically not my cooking stream.”

You stepped fully into frame and gestured dramatically. “It is, in fact, a stream starring my beautiful, talented, extremely Italian boyfriend, Theo.”

- freaks out in all caps - KING THEO IS IN THE BUILDING - finally the content we DESERVE

You clasped your hands together, smug. “Now, why not me, you ask? Great question. I’ve been banned from the kitchen ever since I managed to cut my finger while slicing a mango. A mango, chat. It wasn’t even moving.”

From behind the camera, a low voice chimed in. “She cut herself before the knife touched the fruit.”

You ignored him. “So today, I’m moral support. And also tech support. Because Theo, despite his many talents, doesn’t know how to operate a stream.”

- imagine being banned from your own kitchen - we’re all here for theo anyway let’s be honest - i love her but she’s a menace

And then he appeared: Theodore, hair messy, sleeves rolled, eyes already scanning the countertop like a Michelin-star chef about to reclaim his rightful throne.

“Ciao,” he said smoothly, nodding once at the camera with an infuriatingly perfect smirk. “Today we’re making Pesto alla Genovese. Properly. No weird substitutions. No food processors. No... pink glitter salt.”

Your eyes narrowed. “I knew you were gonna bring that up.”

“We share a kitchen, darling,” Theo replied, starting to unpack his ingredients. “I’m haunted daily.”

- HAUNTED 💀💀💀 - i want to be bullied by him so bad - he said glitter salt like it personally offended him

Theo held up a small container and gave the camera a deadpan look. “She also owns heart-shaped measuring spoons. And a whisk that sparkles.”

You gasped. “And you love it here.”

He didn’t argue. Just turned back to toast the pine nuts like a man trying to preserve his dignity.

Soon, he had everything set up in a neat row: fresh basil, garlic cloves, pine nuts, grated parmesan, olive oil. You peeked over his shoulder, arms crossed.

“You know you’re intimidating chat right now, right?”

“Good,” he murmured. “Someone needs to hold them accountable for using garlic powder in pasta.”

- he’s coming for everyone - that wasn’t even directed at me and i feel attacked - i’ve never peeled garlic in my life

Theo worked like he’d done this in another life — measured, precise, talking through each step in that warm, quiet voice that somehow made basil emulsification sound romantic. But you weren’t really listening.

You were too busy sneaking pine nuts.

“Stop eating the ingredients,” he said without turning.

“You didn’t measure them.”

“I eyeballed them.”

“You say that, but then judge me when I do it.”

“Because you eyeball salt like you’re trying to kill someone.”

Eventually, the pasta was cooked and plated: a perfect swirl, topped with vibrant pesto, a bit of parmesan, and a basil leaf, as if he were serving royalty.

He slid one bowl in front of you with a little flourish. “Your Highness.”

You took one bite — and immediately groaned. “Oh my god. I hate you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That good?”

“It’s criminal. I can never eat jarred pesto again.”

“I told you. You’ve been committing basil-related war crimes for years.”

- BASIL WAR CRIMES - i can’t believe this is a real couple - this is marriage coded i don’t care

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t fall for me while I was still microwaving pasta in a mug.”

“That wasn’t a courtship,” he said. “That was an intervention.”

As you both ate, the chat slowed — heart emotes taking over, chaos turning into cozy. Theo sat beside you now, elbow resting on the counter, watching you chew with a small smile. Like he didn’t need to say anything.

And then, mid-bite, he reached over to swipe his thumb across your cheek.

You blinked. “Did you just—on stream?”

“There was pesto on your face,” he said simply.

- screams in lowercase - they’re so casual about it i’m LOSING MY MIND - someone hold me

And just when things couldn’t get any worse for chat’s emotional stability, Theo leaned over and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Casual. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. And he did, just not on stram.

You didn’t move. Chat absolutely exploded.

He just picked up his fork again. “Do they always scream this much?”

You shrugged. “You kissed me on camera. You did this to yourself.”

“I’m beginning to understand.”

By the time both bowls were empty and the contented silence set in, you leaned back in your seat with a sigh. “Okay, fine. You win. This was perfect.”

“I always win,” Theo replied, and the worst part was — he didn’t even sound smug. Just matter-of-fact. Like gravity.

You smirked toward the camera. “Alright, chat. I’m gonna end stream before Theo gets recruited by some Food Network exec in the comments.”

Theo reached over and flicked one of your sparkly measuring spoons. “Let it be known, I disapprove of glitter in food.”

- you don’t get a say you kissed her - he’s literally glitter-proof. i love him.

You clicked a few things on your stream deck and waved at the camera. “Thanks for hanging out with us today, nerds. Back to your regularly scheduled tech gremlin chaos next stream.”

“And no more glitter salt,” Theo added, just as the screen faded to black.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 11: Fine China, Finer Rivalries

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: Some dinners are remembered for the food. Others are remembered for the moment someone nearly hurled a fork across the table. Tonight, the china gleams, the wine flows, and civility hangs on by the thinnest of threads. Because a man in love can bluff. A man in denial can perform. But a man who’s losing? He fights dirty. And this is not a dinner. This is a declaration of war.

If courting is a battlefield, then this dinner table is the bloodiest war London has ever seen.

Here, silverware glints like daggers, smiles hide unsaid barbs, and glasses of wine are not drunk, but wielded.

The dining room is bathed in the amber glow of candlelight, the chandelier above casting soft shadows across the long table adorned with silver and china. The warmth of roasted meats and spiced sauces fills the air, a stark contrast to the subtle chill threading through the interactions at the table.

You’re seated beside Lucien. Naturally.

And across from you—directly, purposefully—sits Anthony Bridgerton. At his right, Edwina, glowing in silk and her own practiced perfection.

Anthony pulls out Edwina’s chair himself. Meticulous. Polished. Predictable.

Lucien pulls out yours with a smirk and a slow brush of fingers against the small of your back. You barely suppress the shiver. There is nothing predictable about him.

The first course begins with a toast.

Lady Bridgerton, ever the composed matriarch, lifts her glass, setting the evening in motion.

“To old friends and new acquaintances,” she says smoothly.

Edwina, radiant in her obliviousness, smiles brightly. “To lovely company.”

Colin, knowing full well what’s about to unfold, mutters under his breath, “To chaos.”

Benedict clinks his glass to Colin’s. “To entertainment.”

Anthony’s jaw twitches.

Lucien raises his glass to yours, his gaze lingering, his voice low, rich, indulgent. “To the most captivating presence in the room,” he says — but he doesn’t look at the room. He looks at you. Only you.

Your breath hitches, just slightly.

Anthony’s grip on his glass tightens.

Eloise nearly falls out of her chair laughing. 

Hyacinth fans herself with her napkin. 

Gregory looks ready to pass out from secondhand scandal.

The dinner continues, and so does the war.

Anthony hands Edwina a dish. Lucien takes the liberty of serving yours, murmuring far too intimately, “I do hope it pleases you.”

Anthony fills Edwina’s wine glass. Lucien takes yours—but instead of simply filling it, he holds it for you, watching as your lips touch the rim, as if he is hand-feeding you sin itself.

Hyacinth, whispers, scandalized, “If anyone held my glass like that, I’d have to marry them on the spot.”

Eloise, deadpans, “Hyacinth, you’re twelve.”

Hyacinth, cheekily “And yet I have better taste than Edwina.”

You are flustered, amused, utterly entranced—caught between fire and silk, between rivalry and ruin.

Daphne, ever poised, delicately cuts into her meat before glancing up. “Lord Blackbourne, I must say, your manners are as… distinctive as your reputation.”

Lucien tilts his head, unbothered. “Distinctive is such a flattering word for entertaining, Duchess.”

She smiles sweetly, eyes dancing. “I find entertainment is often short-lived. It’s endurance that proves a man’s merit.”

Benedict, grinning, “Is this about Lord Dorset again?”

Daphne, without missing a beat, “Of course. He entertained the entire room. For exactly twelve minutes.”

Lucien, cool as ever, sips his wine. “Then I shall endeavour to keep my performance going at least fifteen.”

Anthony is gripping his fork like it’s a dueling sword.

Daphne, looking between Anthony and Lucien, then to you, hums softly. “Though I daresay, this evening’s performance seems rather… personal.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “Does it?”

Daphne, still smiling. “Mm. I do so love a well-dressed battlefield.”

Violet, attempts to redirect the conversation, “The roast is particularly fine this evening, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Blackbourne?”

Lucien doesn’t miss a beat. “Indeed, Lady Bridgerton. But I find the company far more tempting than the cuisine.” He’s not looking at the roast when he says it.

Eloise, nearly chokes on her wine, stage-whispers to Hyacinth, “He’s unbearable. I love him.”

Anthony clears his throat. “I find a more moderate tone best serves company at the dinner table.”

Lucien’s smile is slow. “Ah. And here I thought passion was encouraged in matters of taste.”

Gregory, gleeful, whispers, “Did he just call dinner foreplay?”

Benedict, casually buttering his bread, says under his breath, “This is the most fun I’ve had at dinner since Colin brought a date who fainted at the mention of pheasant.”

Edwina, polite and composed, laughs lightly. “You two seem to know each other well.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Anthony replies, his tone cool. “But Lord Blackbourne has made himself…present.”

Lucien smiles with teeth. “I find presence is often the difference between being remembered and being forgotten.”

Anthony’s gaze snaps to him.

Colin, grinning, leans toward Benedict. “If he throws a punch, I’m claiming that bottle of claret.”

You, looking to make Anthony even more uncomfortable, “Anthony…didn’t I hear you recite poetry to Miss Edwina in the garden earlier? So romantic of you.”

“You know,” Colin drawls, propping his chin on his hand, already stirring the pot, “I must say, I never took you for a poetic man, Anthony.”

Anthony’s fork stops mid-air.

Edwina smiles sweetly. “Oh, but he was simply wonderful! Lord Bridgerton quoted Byron so beautifully earlier today.”

Eloise snorts. “Anthony? Quoting Byron? That sounds illegal.”

“It was a casual quote.” Anthony says, trying to get the heat off him.

Benedict, without missing a beat, “Casual? You were practically serenading her. You had a stance.”

You, having way too much fun with this, “He did have a stance! I saw it. One hand in the air, the other on his chest.”

“I must admit, I’d love to hear it,” Hyacinth beams. “Go on, brother. Indulge us.”

Anthony looks like he’d rather walk into a burning building.

Edwina claps her hands. “Oh, please do!”

Silence.

A glorious silence. You smirk. If two can play this game, the three can flip it on its axis.

Then—

Lucien hums, tilting his head at Anthony, his voice silk and steel.

“There is pleasure in the pathless woods,” he began, watching Anthony go rigid, watching your eyes widen, watching Edwina swoon.

Well played Lord Blackbourne.

Anthony clenches his jaw.

Daphne whispers, delighted, “Oh, this is delicious. This is why I missed home so much”

Eloise leans in. “Keep going.”

He does.

“There is a rapture on the lonely shore,” he murmurs, gaze locked onto yours, voice low, indulgent, unrushed, savouring the way your breath catches, the way your cheeks glow with all the attention. Being courted looks good on you.

Benedict places a hand on his heart. “Oh, that was sinful.”

Gregory howls with laughter.

Anthony is gripping his fork like he is ready to hurl it at Lucien’s head.

Edwina sighs dreamily, utterly unaware of the war happening right in front of her. “Oh, Lord Blackbourne, how romantic,” she says, completely missing the way Anthony looks ready to commit murder. He reaches for the wine, and pours himself an obscene amount.

Edwina, beaming, “Isn’t it thrilling when gentlemen show such...feeling?”

Anthony, visibly tightens his jaw, mutters into his wine glass “Thrilling, indeed.”

Violet, ever the poised matriarch, sets down her fork with a graceful clink. Her smile is serene. Her eyes? Slightly panicked.

“Shall we move on to dessert?” she says, far too brightly. Trying so hard to keep the room from combusting. “Cook has prepared something truly divine, and I do believe we could all use a touch of sweetness, don’t you?”

A collective pause.

Anthony does not speak.

Lucien takes a sip of wine, clearly pleased.

Colin mutters, “I think dessert arrived twenty minutes ago and is currently wearing green.”

Eloise, deadpans, “Too late. The table’s already on fire.”

Hyacinth, living for the drama, “I don’t know who’s going to win but I hope someone proposes before dessert is over.”

You hide your smile behind your napkin.

Because Violet’s voice may be calm, but that was not a suggestion.

That was a ceasefire. For now.

Dessert is served

Lemon tarts, custards, chocolate drizzled over fruit—all wasted in the face of sheer tension.

Because now? Anthony is desperate. And desperate men? They act rashly.

“I do believe,” Anthony says, voice too smooth, “that Edwina and I should take a turn about the garden again after dinner.”

Edwina beams. “Oh, how wonderful!”

The table stills.

Colin raises a brow.

Eloise side-eyes Benedict.

Benedict looks between Anthony and Lucien and grins. Because he knows that the next move is coming up.

And he is not disappointed.

Lucien sets down his glass, letting the silence linger, letting the moment stretch.

Then with a languid smirk, he turns to you. His voice drops low, something soft and wicked, something only for you.

“Shall we take a turn after dessert, my lady?”

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

Then—

Eloise and Benedict choke on their drinks.

Daphne buries her face in her hands.

Colin laughs so hard he nearly falls out of his chair.

Hyacinth, entirely too invested, gasps.

Gregory, not entirely sure of the hidden meaning, “Do turns in the garden count as dates?”

And Anthony?

Anthony snaps his head towards Lucien so fast that it causes concern for his spinal health.

He looks ready to flip the entire table.

But Lucien…his eyes are only on you. Watching your reaction.

Your lips have parted. Your breath has hitched. And your fingers, trembling just slightly, are gripping your napkin far too tightly.

Then just as you open your mouth to reply—

Violet, unfazed, clears her throat.

“Well,” she says, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “That was delightful. I’m going to turn in for the evening. I have grown rather tired. It was lovely to have your company today Lord Blackbourne and Miss Sharma. My apologies for not being able to stay longer. Good night.” She knows where this is headed. Any attempt to douse the fire will be futile. She doesn’t want to be there when things escalate. 

“Mother…” Anthony pleads.

She completely ignores him, gets up from her seat, giving up on trying to maintain the peace and heads for her room. 

Anthony nearly implodes.

Lucien sits back, satisfied, as the table erupts in laughter, as Colin wipes tears from his eyes, Hyacinth squeals in delight, and Eloise declares that the best dinner in Bridgerton history.

The table is still reeling from Lucien’s question. Anthony is seconds away from throwing his drink in Lucien’s face. Edwina is blissfully unaware.

And you?

You are smiling. Unsettling and dangerous. Then—

You tilt your head, feigning consideration, voice dripping with saccharine amusement.

“Oh, Lord Blackbourne, what a gracious offer.” You rest your chin in your hand, watching him, deliberately drawing out the moment, letting him wait. “But I must ask—”

You lean in, conspiratorial, teasing.

“—Are you sure you can keep up?”

Another beat of silence.

Oh, hell.

Daphne gasps theatrically.

Benedict actually chokes on his wine.

Eloise, delighted, kicks Colin under the table.

Even Anthony, despite his growing frustration, is watching closely, as if he is waiting for something to tip the scale.

Lucien leans back in his chair, studying you, gaze lazy, indulgent. “I assure you, my lady, keeping up is never an issue for me.”

A pause.

A pause in which Eloise mouths ‘Oh my God’ to Daphne.

A pause in which Anthony grips his fork like he wants to impale something.

A pause in which you…do something utterly sinful.

You trace your fingertips along the rim of your wine glass, eyes never leaving Lucien’s, your expression sweetly innocent, but your meaning absolutely lethal. You hum, thoughtful. “Ah. I see. Then perhaps I should be the one concerned.”

“Oh?” Lucien tilts his head. “Concerned about what?”

You take a slow sip of wine, drawing out the moment, before setting your glass down with deliberate elegance.

“That you might trip over yourself trying to impress me.”

Dead.

Lucien is dead.

Colin actually falls out of his chair.

Benedict is crying with laughter.

Eloise applauds you.

Even Edwina looks positively scandalized by your words.

And Anthony? He looks like he just witnessed the greatest crime against his peace of mind.

Sensing his impending defeat, Anthony plays his final card.

With calculated ease, he turns his attention fully on Edwina, shifting his expression into one of gentle admiration.

“Miss Sharma,” he says, voice measured, polished, “it is always a delight to spend an evening in your company.”

Edwina beams. “Oh, Lord Bridgerton, you flatter me.”

Anthony smirks at Lucien over his glass.

He thinks he has leveled the playing field. He thinks he’s won this round.

But you are not ready for this night to be over yet.

You sigh, dramatically, setting down your napkin. “How very romantic,” you say, glancing at Edwina. “A shame you’ve secured his attentions, Miss Edwina. I was just beginning to think he might make fine company to keep.”

Edwina giggles. “Oh, but you mustn’t say such things! You’ll make the poor gentleman jealous.”

You tilt your head at Lucien, all feigned innocence. “Oh, Lord Blackbourne wouldn’t be so gauche as to be jealous… would you, my lord?”

He narrows his eyes at you. You are having far too much fun with this.

Colin, barely containing his laughter, mutters, “I don’t know, he looks a little jealous.”

“Maybe a lot jealous," Benedict adds.

“Definitely seething,” Eloise confirms.

Lucien exhales slowly, a smirk curling at his lips. He leans in, his voice just low enough for you to feel it, letting the others hear only the cadence, but not the meaning.

“I suppose I have no choice then,” he murmurs. “I shall simply have to remind you exactly why you prefer me.”

It’s a wicked promise — featherlight and thunderous all at once. And damn him, your heart answers before your mind does.

Your breath hitches. Your hand tightens against the tablecloth.

Point—Lucien.

Eloise is thrilled. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had all season,” she declared, throwing her head back dramatically against the chair.

Benedict raises his glass in a lazy salute. “I admit, I did not think I’d see the day where someone gave Anthony a proper challenge.” His gaze flickering to Lucien, assessing. “And yet, here we are.”

Lucien smirked, swirling the wine in his hand. “I’m always happy to exceed expectations.”

Colin snorted, “Happy? Oh, Blackbourne, you did not look merely happy—you looked ravenous.”

Anthony stiffened.

“You were the one who wagered against him, Colin,” Gregory reminded him.

“And I lost spectacularly,” Colin sighed, but there was no regret in his voice, only admiration for the show.

“Enough,” Anthony stands, determined to put this to an end. “It’s getting late. I shall escort Miss Sharma to her carriage. I think it’s time we bid her and Lord Blackbourne good night.”

Edwina rises to her feet, “Thank you for having me here this evening. It was exceptionally delightful. Good night everyone.”

Colin, sensing that Anthony might need a moment to breathe, "Blackbourne, before you go—I've just remembered something. You must see the ridiculous caricature our dear Hyacinth sketched of you after the last ball. We were saving it for just the right moment."

Benedict, leans in, "And I think now qualifies. Come, it’s scandalous."

Lucien raises an amused brow, then turns to you with a soft, pointed murmur, "Don’t go too far, angel. I’d hate to miss my chance for a proper goodnight."

At the Entrance of the House

You follow Anthony and Edwina outside, just as her carriage was leaving. Anthony turns to walk back inside, and notices you there. His expression is caught somewhere between frustration and something else entirely.

“You and Blackbourne make quite the pair,” he says, as he walks toward you.

You tilt your head, voice teasing, “Jealous?”

He scoffs, “Hardly.”

“Are you certain?” you prod, a knowing glint in your eyes. “You did look rather murderous earlier.”

Anthony doesn’t reply for a moment. Then—

“You let him get very close to you.” There’s no accusation in his voice. Just a weight. A truth he hadn’t meant to speak aloud. And it hangs there, between you — suspended like a breath neither of you knows how to take.

“Is that what’s bothering you?” you ask, tilting your head, all teasing gone from your voice.

Anthony exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not—” He stops, looking at you, something undecipherable in his gaze.

You smile. “Then what is it?”

Anthony hesitates.

And for the first time tonight, there is no game, no performance. Just the two of you, as you always have been, and yet, not quite the same at all.

The air hangs heavy.

And then—

“Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Lucien stands at the steps of the house, leaning casually against the pillar with his arms folded, watching with an expression of unmistakable amusement.

Anthony tenses immediately.

You turn, an eyebrow arched. “Were you eavesdropping, my lord?”

“Eavesdropping?” Lucien steps closer, his eyes glinting wickedly. “No, no. I was merely giving Anthony a chance to admit what’s truly bothering him.”

Anthony turns to him, jaw tight, shoulders squared, as though preparing for another round of battle. But beneath the cold mask of civility, there is a flicker of irritation, the bite of something deeper.

Lucien tilts his head, studying him. “Forgive me, my lord. You look rather—what’s the word?” he taps a finger against his chin. “Ah. Ruffled.”

Anthony’s glare is lethal. “And you look rather pleased with yourself, Lord Blackbourne.”

“I do, don’t I?” Lucien muses. “Strange. I wonder why.”

Your lips twitch, amusement dancing in your eyes as you watch them circle one another like two predators in a standoff.

Anthony exhales sharply, turning his attention back to you. But his resolve is cracking. There is a stiffness in his movements, a flicker of something unresolved in his gaze. He was not ready to leave the field—not yet.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” he says at last, voice carefully measured. But before he could turn away, Lucien leans in, close enough that only Anthony—and you—can hear the quiet words that follow.

“You can retreat for now, Bridgerton. But you and I both know…” Lucien lets the words linger. “This game is far from over.”

Anthony’s jaw ticked.

And then he was gone.

You exhale, a sound that is both amused and exasperated, turning to Lucien with an arched brow. “Must you always be so infuriating?”

He grins. Unrepentant. Smug. “Would you have me any other way?”

Your lips part—whether to argue, to tease, to scold him, yet not truly mean it—but before you can speak, Lucien reaches for your hand.

Not rushed. Not careless. Slow. Deliberate. Measured in its intimacy.

He takes it gently, brushing his lips against your knuckles—not the fleeting touch of a courtly farewell, but something richer, something meant to be felt.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he murmurs, his lips grazing just long enough to make your breath hitch. To make your pulse quicken.

And then he straightens, the ghost of a wicked smirk curling at his lips.

“Sweet dreams, angel.”

And with that, he turns and leaves, leaving you there—flushed, flustered, and all too aware that Lucien had just won this round.

You remain still for a moment longer, hand still tingling, heart hammering with something far more dangerous than flirtation.

And upstairs, behind closed doors, Anthony Bridgerton pours himself another drink. Not for the taste. Not for the company. But because losing never used to feel like this.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XV)

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Hi! Here is new chapter! New Year’s Eve is upon us… let’s see what happens!! ;)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3646

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Edge

Time and again, time and again I tie My heart to that headboard While my quilted cries Harden against his hand. He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets In water? Over Mother’s lace I watch his drive into the gored Roasts, deal slivers in his mercy… I can feel his thighs Against me for the children’s sakes. Reward? Mornings, crippled with this house, I see him toast his toast and test His coffee, hedgingly. The waste’s my breakfast.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

The plan was simple.

Or rather… it wasn’t simple, per say, but it was feasible. Which, considering that you were attempting to make your ex fall in love with you again after he dumped you to get engaged to another woman… was already quite an achievement.

You looked at Andrew as he stood next to you. He had arrived late, had apologised profusely. You were annoyed, but you reckoned that you would have to grow used to this detail about him. He simply was always late to everything, it seemed.

He was wearing contacts today, instead of his glasses. You had noticed that he did whenever he would see Sam, probably because she preferred him without his dark brown spectacles. And he did look handsome tonight, dressed in all black, from suit to shirt and leathered shoes, with his hair tied in a bun, but still… you missed the softness that came with seeing him in glasses. You didn’t know why you felt like that. Perhaps it was because you were so used by now to see him almost every day wearing them, may it be at work or when you planned actions related to your exes, or when you simply spent time together. Maybe it was the familiarity that had grown with this sight that you missed now. Perhaps you just found him even more handsome with glasses…

You pushed the thought away, looked for Frank through the crowd. Frank and Sam were hosting, in the flat they had moved into about a month before. And it ached to see pictures of the two of them sprayed on the fridge in the kitchen. Your collection of books was gone, leaving shelves empty in the living room but for pieces of decoration and more pictures of the happy couple that tore your heart apart. There was music playing, some playlist found on Spotify, without a doubt, music you would find in a club, a music meant to party. You saw Andrew staring at the empty shelves as well, at the absence of records too; you saw his small frown as he spotted the laptop that was the source of the music. You guessed he thought the quality was terrible, but then again, you guessed he didn’t like the music in itself very much either. You imagined Frank sitting in a room to listen to old jazz records, the way you knew Andrew did sometimes, he had told you so much himself. You couldn’t picture it…

But then you looked at the pictures more carefully, and couldn’t imagine yourself in them either. They seemed to have been everywhere together. Rafting, climbing, swimming, jumping, sky-diving even… there was no museum, no cityscape, no quiet woods, no sunset over a beach. There was adventure, and thrill, more so than you could ever handle.

Was that what Frank wanted? What you couldn’t offer? Did you need to become adventurous to keep him?

Would you ever be happy if you became an explorer instead of an academic?

Were you not an explorer already anyway? You had travelled to other cities, to other countries, had moved to places where you knew no one to settle and work. You learned every day, you grew, you tried to keep your head above the water. And you went on walks in nature, you swam into the sea, you made friends and lost some along the way. Was it not enough? Did it not take enough courage already to simply live your life?

“Are you ready?”

You turned to Andrew, your partner in crime for the night. You had to move the bottles of champagne around so Andrew could find them and save the day. And then he would shine by remembering Sam didn’t like champagne…

You nodded, moving towards the kitchen.

“How do we get everybody out?”

“I can handle that,” you assured him with a mischievous wink and smile.

Indeed, there were only men in the kitchen at that moment, gathering ammunition in the form of drinks and shots for the night.

Easy peasy…

“I mean… I do believe the dress is a little much,” you told Andrew loudly enough for all four men present in the kitchen to discreetly eavesdrop on the conversation.

Andrew blinked, but played along the best he could, although you noticed the way he was shying away as a couple of men turned to the two of you without trying to be discreet. He blushed, bent his shoulders to seem smaller than he truly was.

“Really?”

“I mean… Andy… you can see her full tits at this point…”

You saw the four men exchanging glances, and hurrying outside the kitchen.

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Was that really that easy?” he asked out loud.

“Men…” was your only response, along with a roll of your eyes.

Andrew chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Are we truly that shallow?”

“Most of the time!”

You hurried to close the door, and you and Andrew hid the bottles in a cupboard, getting them out of the fridge. You were so scared of being caught that you were going too fast, almost dropping a bottle, but catching it right before it would hit the ground.

“Calm down, we’re good,” Andrew spoke in a whisper, although he kept on glancing towards the door.

“There’s no lock on that door! Anyone can come in at any moment!”

“We won’t get caught.”

“And if we are?”

“Then we’ll say it was a joke.”

“It will be so bad…”

“We won’t get caught.”

But then there were footsteps in the hallway. Two bottles left in the fridge. Andrew and you exchanged a terrified glance.

“Shit!” you both cursed at the same time, grabbing the bottles in a hurry, pushing them in the cupboard and slamming the door.

The handle moved…

Your reflex was to get closer to Andrew, to grab his hand and hold tight. He didn’t push you away, merely gasped, although you weren’t sure whether it was because of the door now beginning to open or because you were now so close to him you were basically pressed to his chest…

“Why the fuck is this door clos…”

Some people you didn’t know opened the door then, stared at you and Andrew first in surprise, and then they refrained a laugh…

You looked up at Andrew, who was staring with wide eyes at the door. You seemed only then to notice your proximity, the way you literally held onto him.

You gasped, took a couple of steps back, until your back bumped into the fridge. A hand appeared out of nowhere to slip between your head and the piece of furniture.

“You’re alright?” Andrew asked in a weak voice, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing and still high on adrenaline from your stupid plan. You nodded, moved away from him, from his palm that still cradled the back of your head…

“Fine, fine… we should…”

You hurried out of the room, away from Andrew and the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch against your hair and…

You were interrupted in your busy thoughts by Frank’s voice coming from behind you.

“Y/N! Andrew! I’m so glad you could both come!”

You spun around, noticing only then that you were back in the living room, Andrew following suit.

“Thanks for inviting us! Great party!” you complimented.

It was hard at first to regulate your breathing, to hide that your heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute. After all, you had almost been caught, and then… these people would think that you and Andrew had locked yourselves in the kitchen to… Oh, God… if Sam and Frank learned about this, all your efforts would go to waste…

“Argh! Thanks! Trying my best as a host!”

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far. I think it’s better to have this party here, rather than in a club.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, knew you had made a mistake.

“We couldn’t book the place we wanted, had to settle on doing this at home instead,” Frank answered with disappointment apparent in his eyes and tone.

“It’s still very nice,” Andrew politely smiled.

“Well, I should get the champagne ready, it’ll soon be midnight!”

You and Andrew exchanged a look as your ex moved away from the crowd again, aiming his steps towards the kitchen.

“Phase one…” Andrew gave you a wink; you chose to ignore your heart’s response to his gesture.

“Time to save this party, Andy,” you teased, and he gave you a thumbs up that was so adorable, you had to blink.

Perfect plan.

Indeed, the look on Frank’s face when he discovered that the bottles had been misplaced was priceless. He called Sam for help, they looked for the bottles, didn’t find even a trace of them.

Andrew opened the right cupboard, the one where you had placed the bottles earlier, and called for Sam to show that the champagne was there.

“Oh! God! Thank you, Andy!”

He was granted a warm hug, one that made him close his eyes for a second, you noticed the relief that was written all over his features at the physical contact. He blushed as she kissed his cheek, and he was beaming when she pulled away. He gave her his bottle of prosecco, instead of waiting for midnight as it was planned, he simply couldn’t wait. She blinked up at him, gave him a warm, grateful smile.

“You always remember that,” she whispered under her breath, but you heard her words still. Frank heard them too, and you saw him glaring at Andrew.

It was working. Your crazy plan was working. Sam was still gravitating around Andrew, they were smiling. There was a pinching feeling tugging at your heart, and you ignored it. Jealousy was such an ugly feeling. And anyway, you couldn’t be jealous over Andrew effectively getting closer to Sam again, his success would be shared soon, as you hoped your plan would work for Frank and you as well. It would. You would have success, just like Andrew… that was why you were a little jealous, surely, after all…

Only, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, because instead of you pouring your glass over Sam, Sam accidentally poured her glass onto you.

You weren’t sure how it all happened. You were looking away from Andrew and Sam, staring at Frank who was laughing and joking with a friend nearby, being a perfect host. And all of a sudden, you felt something cool sipping under the fabric of your dress, turned to see Sam apologising.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy, I… I didn’t you see you there…”

You looked down at the damage, she offered to lend you some clothes immediately. You noticed how Frank’s gaze softened at her words. And you hated it. You hated her. You hated him. You hated this party and the coming of a new year and the beginnings it announced. You didn’t need a new beginning, you needed the continuation of what you used to have. And this party, this awful party where you barely knew anyone, and you weren’t having fun at all, and…

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine. I… Actually, I don’t feel very well, I think I’m gonna go home.”

You saw Andrew’s frown, the one that formed at your words.

“Already? I’m sure we can fix this!” Frank argued, and you almost yielded.

“I’m not sure we’re the same size…” Sam mumbled.

When you looked into her eyes, you knew she had done it on purpose. You knew she had poured her drink over you deliberately, perhaps because of the way you looked at Frank, or perhaps because you had come with Andrew. You didn’t know why. What was for certain was that she had ruined your dress to make you go home, and you weren’t stupid, you knew what it meant, and you weren’t up for a fight, not when Frank looked at her like that, with love…

“You could still try some of Sam’s clothes on! I’m sure we can find something,” Frank argued, trying to hold you back.

You slowly shook your head.

“I have some clothes in my car, you could change,” Andrew offered, his gaze pleading now.

You noticed how he flinched when your eyes met his.

“It’s okay. I feel a little sick anyway. I think I’ll go home.”

Frank grabbed your arm as you took a step towards the door.

“Stay at least till midnight! There’s less than an hour left! You can leave after we’ve opened the champagne, yeah?”

You wished you could have said no. But Frank’s eyes in that moment…

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you yielded, making him grin.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

There was such gratefulness in his gaze, something tender, almost pleading, and you fell for it, you couldn’t help it. You had fallen a thousand times over for it.

You heard Andrew heaving a sigh behind you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but Frank was swiped away by a guest, one of your former ‘friends’, and you were left staring at the blank space he had left behind.

He was moving away, leaving you behind…

Andrew and Sam were talking, you stared as she clung onto him for a rather long time. Andrew kept on nodding, let her do most of the talking. You didn’t notice the glances he threw your way, you were too busy looking for Frank again.

You checked the time after a long while spent doing meaningless chit-chat with strangers and people you had met a couple of times before. Ten minutes to midnight.

You looked around at the loud room. Conversations, exclamations, laughter, loud music that banged in your head, hitting your skull with the heavy kick of drums. Light, glitter, colours, beautiful dresses. Frank talking with some of his colleagues he had invited, paying no attention to you. Andrew talking with Sam and smiling sweetly at her.

You looked down at your glass, a drink half-empty already, studied the stain that spread across the fabric of your dress. You had felt beautiful while getting ready. You didn’t anymore…

You could have been with your real friends, with your family… what were you doing here, during those last minutes of a dying year?

You didn’t say a word to anyone as you put your glass down on the nearest table, made your way through the crowd, grabbed your coat in the closet by the door. No one noticed you leaving anyway. Frank didn’t spare you a glance. You were leaving, and no one noticed, because no one fucking cared…

“Y/N?”

You froze, a few steps away from the elevator, your hand already rising towards the button to call for an escape.

Slowly, you turned around.

Andrew was standing in front of the door to Frank’s and Sam’s apartment. On the threshold, standing still, he was staring at you with a questioning stare.

“Where are you going? You’re alright?”

You were too stunned to answer, remained frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your finger still erect towards the elevator…

No one had noticed you leaving, no one…

Someone did…

“Y/N? You’re okay? Are you really sick?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m just… I just want to go home. I just… I need some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, did a terrible job at hiding your tears.

He held a finger up.

“Give me a minute. Just one minute. Don’t leave without me!”

“Andy…”

“One minute!”

He looked at you with something expectant in his eyes, almost begging…

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

He grinned, the brightest smile you had seen on his features throughout the entire night.

He disappeared into the flat again, you waited for him for a minute, and then another, hoping he would come back, hoping he wouldn’t leave you behind, hoping Andy wouldn’t leave…

But then the door was opening again, he was stepping outside while putting on his coat. He had a couple of plastic cups in his hand along with a half-full bottle of champagne.

“You should stay,” you told him, speaking in a jolt, making Andrew freeze before he would reach you.

He blinked, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You… you don’t want to talk to me?” he asked, looking down at his feet before you could answer. “I can just listen… I can be quiet if I’m boring…”

You frowned at him, taken aback by his answer.

“What are you talking about? You’re never boring, what…?”

He looked up at you again, blinking, trying to gauge your reaction.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“I just meant… that Sam was spending quality time with you, you… it was working for you tonight. You should stay, use that chance to talk to her and make her see the truth. Besides, it’s…” you looked down at your watch. “Two minutes to midnight. Don’t you want to be with the people you love most for the final countdown? Don’t you want to enter the new year with Sam?”

You saw Andrew blinking, but couldn’t read through his expression. It wasn’t blank, nor emotionless, but it remained unreadable.

Slowly, he walked over to you. He raised his hand, called for the lift without saying a word.

You stared at him with tears in your eyes.

The doors opened with a ding, you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at the sound. Andrew stepped inside, caught your soul as he looked into your eyes when he turned to you.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You followed him.

Not a word was spoken as the doors closed, as the cabin went down the shaft, as it stopped with a gentle shaking of its cables. You stepped onto the freezing street in silence, looked at Dublin empty in this quiet neighbourhood. There were lights at every window though, some of them were open on laughter and joy and loud shouts and music that flooded into the quiet night. Far away, you could hear the whisper of traffic and honking cars, making noise while awaiting a beginning.

Andrew poured you a drink while the seconds ticked away, fluttering and fainting into the past. A past that lingered in your present still. Would it always be there, haunting the seconds to come, and the minutes they would build, and the hours, and the days, and the years?

Andrew handed you a glass, put down the bottle by his feet. You were standing under a tall oak tree, planted there in the middle of the city, a square of fertile soil in the void of manmade roads. Andrew stared at a flower that grew there, at the foot of a lamppost, just a weed growing despite the concrete.

He looked up with a tender smile on his face, raised his glass.

“Sláinte,” his voice rose above the first number of the countdown.

“Sláinte,” you answered with a smile of your own, a gesture that started shy but that grew stronger the longer you looked up at him, at the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch as his palm rose to cradle your face.

Five!

The shouts echoed from everywhere around you, deafening even if they were quietened by windowpanes. You heard the quiet gasp Andrew took before downing his whole glass, and you did the same. Your gaze met the stars that hung up there, on the firmament, for a moment, while your head was tilted back to drink the last bit of the cold buzz in your cup, to gather the tingling of bubbles on your tongue. They looked distant and cold, reassuring somehow. They were always there, always shining, even after they had died. The image you saw was millions, maybe billions of years old. The past was even up there, in the sky. And yet the moon shone for a new night.

Four!

You giggled as you swallowed, looking at Andrew again. And he did too, his cheeks flushed by alcohol, by the cold too. The tip of his nose had reddened as well. The lamplight was golden on his eyelashes.

Three!

“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” you asked out of the blue, blaming the liquor you had been steadily drinking throughout the evening for the incoherence of your words. “I thought you liked them better than contacts.”

Two!

“Sam prefers when I wear contacts.”

You reached up to touch his cheekbones, to let your fingertips graze over the soft skin, along the sharpness left by the bone under it. He closed his eyes, gasped when you brushed his eyelids and lashes.

One!

“I think you should wear whatever you like. Although… I love your eyes. And you look soft with your glasses on. It makes me feel safe.”

He opened his eyes again, stared at you as your hands moved down to rest on the edge of his jaw, pinkie fingers barely skimming over his neck.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Andrew leaned down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes under the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his beard…

You felt dizzy as he kissed you, staying against your skin for too long, pulling away too slowly. You wished he hadn’t stopped…

He gave you a tender smile as he looked into your eyes again.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

You smiled, grinned even. You reached up, going on your tiptoes to drop a long, tender kiss on his cheek. It landed by the corner of his mouth.

“Happy New Year, Andy.”

[docholligay]

Fluff prompt: Bonfire - Haruka, M.A., and Kimi

The fire cracked and splintered as Kimi sat by Haruka, shadows dancing in the firelight. This was how she always thought of summer: Potatoes roasting in the embers of a hot fire, her Papa laughing with her Aunt Mina over some spiked cider, her sister poking and prodding and setting sticks aflame. She supposed it would be more glamorous to be in Paris, but glamour had never really appealed to Kimi. Mom’s family there was elegant and beautiful, just like her, and Kimi never felt she quite fit. All they could say of Kimi was that her French was excellent. She was not graceful and beautiful like her sister. 

But here with her Papa in the firelight, it didn’t matter. Papa was happy sitting here in an old canvas jacket and a flannel, and didn’t care that Kimi would rather be in a pair of corduroys and an old sweater instead of in silk and lace. She didn’t care that Kimi would rather read a book than go to a party. Whoever she was, was good enough. 

“Kimi?” Haruka called to her, “Do you want a marshmallow? We’ve got some good coals going.” 

M.A. was already toasting one, sat next to Aunt Mina and getting her hand swatted away from the cider.

[macaulaytwins]

TSH Thanksgiving

Francis hosts at his country house, provides all the wine, is running around his house all day readjusting candleholders and throw pillows and the silverware so they are aesthetically placed to his liking, refuses to eat any bread, steps outside with Henry after the main meal for a smoke (would have done it at the table if Julian wasn’t there), is dressed absolutely to the nines

Henry wanted to host at his apartment—as Julian is invited—but ultimately acquiesces to the country house for the space, isn’t much of a cook but says he’ll bring rolls from a bakery he enjoys, drives in on the day in question with Bunny, gives Francis his opinion on the decor if asked, reads in the sitting room until Julien arrives and the meal begins, carves the turkey

Richard rides with Francis, Camilla, and Charles to the country house the day before, brought canned cranberry sauce, stays out of the dining and living room because Francis is stressing him out, is the taste tester for the twins who are cooking the bulk of the meal, nurses a generous glass of bourbon all day, is the designated potato masher, made sure to meticulously iron his shirt

Bunny rides over the day of with Henry, insisted upon bringing stuffing because he doesn’t trust anyone else to make it the way he likes it, sneaks one of Henry’s rolls much to Henry’s annoyance, day drinks with Charles and Richard, was going to finish up on some homework before the meal but falls asleep in his chair, reaches across to grab sides instead of asking for them and almost catches his sleeve on fire

Camilla is in charge of making the sides so she makes green beans, stuffing (she likes her grandparents’ recipe more than Bunny’s), sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, and roast carrots, sneaks glasses of wine from Francis before the meal, excuses herself before Julian arrives so she can change into a nice blouse for the occasion, keeps up easiest with Julian’s topic changes, picked the music for the evening

Charles prepares the turkey, starts out cooking very meticulously but he gets more lax throughout the process with every drink refill, hovers over Camilla’s shoulder to make sure she got ingredient proportions right, keeps telling Francis that everything he adjusted looks the exact same as it did before, was going to go smoke with Francis but decided against it when Henry went out too (dramatic)

Julian arrives right at 4pm with a nice pumpkin pie that he did not make, compliments the table setup and pretends not to notice Francis’s shoulders slump in relief, gives the toast at the beginning of dinner, will change the conversation topic if it veers into something he finds disinteresting, leaves so he can be home at a crisp 7:00pm

[thorns-and-starlight]

Day 88 - Burnt

Thranduil x OC

・❥・“I don’t write poetry,” he murmured, setting his hands neatly in his lap. “But if I did, it wouldn’t be about burnt bread.”

The bread didn’t rise much.

It was a little uneven, slightly burnt on the edges, and filled the cottage with the warm, imperfect scent of toasted flour and over-roasted fruit.

They ate it anyway.

She tore it into rough halves, handed him a piece without ceremony, and he accepted it as though it were a gift from the Valar themselves.

He didn’t speak as he chewed. Neither did she.

But she caught the slight lift of his brow when the sweetness of the fruit hit his tongue. The way his gaze lingered on the steam curling from the loaf. The way he finished his portion down to the last crumb.

And still he said nothing.

“Not bad,” she said, reclining against the edge of the hearth.

“It was passable.”

She gave a soft laugh. “From you, that might as well be poetry.”

“I don’t write poetry,” he murmured, setting his hands neatly in his lap. “But if I did, it wouldn’t be about burnt bread.”

“Then you’ve clearly never been hungry enough.”

That silenced him.

The fire crackled between them, throwing gold against the worn cottage walls, painting Elenariel in the glow of warmth and shadow. She looked content. Not regal. Not composed. Just… real.

Thranduil watched her, unblinking.

“You could have stayed in Lindon,” he said quietly.

She tilted her head. “I didn’t want to.”

“You could have had a chamber in the palace. Comfort. Position. Safety.”

“And rules,” she added. “And expectations. And too many people watching everything I did.”

A pause.

“And you,” she added with a grin, “would have driven me mad.”

He scoffed faintly. “I believe that’s mutual.”

She looked at him then, really looked, her voice softening.

“But you came with me today. You could’ve stayed behind, but you didn’t.”

His eyes held hers. “You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t need to.”

He looked away — just for a moment. As if the fire gave away too much.

The rain had stopped outside. The world was still. But neither of them moved.

Finally, his voice broke the quiet again — low, almost reluctant.

“I don’t quite want this night to end.”

Elenariel’s breath caught.

Not for the words but for the weight of them. For the truth hiding in their quiet simplicity.

Neither did she.

But instead of saying it, she leaned her head against the stones of the hearth and whispered, “Then let it stay a little longer.”

And for once, he didn’t argue.

He just stayed.

With her.

[82sim]

CRIMSON DREAM ୨୧ ot7 nct dream written series

chapter 3

bonfire . . . 0.9k

the evening was crisp, the air cool against y/n’s skin as she made her way to the lake with the group. after a day of work, haechan had practically insisted that she join them for a bonfire by the water, even going as far as to call her “boring” if she didn’t come. y/n wasn’t one to argue much, especially when the group had made her feel so welcome so far, so she agreed to go.

the lake was quiet in the evening, the sound of crackling wood and occasional laughter the only noises breaking the stillness of the night. when y/n arrived, the fire was already burning brightly in the center of a ring of logs, and the boys were gathered around, talking and laughing.

“y/n!” haechan waved enthusiastically, his mischievous grin spreading across his face. “you made it! now we can get the real party started!”

jaemin, who was sitting by the fire, smiled at her warmly. “hey, you’re here. glad you could make it.”

y/n smiled back and settled down on the log beside him. the warmth of the fire felt inviting after the cool evening air.

“you’re in for a treat,” jaemin said as he passed her a skewer with marshmallows. “haechan’s marshmallow roasting skills are amazing.”

“amazing, huh?” y/n teased, raising an eyebrow as she took the skewer from him.

jaemin grinned. “not exactly amazing, but he’s enthusiastic about it.”

haechan, hearing his name, turned around and raised a marshmallow on his own skewer. “i’ll have you know, i’m a master at roasting marshmallows! just wait.”

as haechan spun his marshmallow over the fire, chenle jumped in with his usual energy. “did i ever tell you guys about the time i almost got kicked out of the amusement park? it was because of a prank i pulled on one of the workers—”

he continued his animated story, and y/n found herself laughing at his exaggerated recounting. chenle had an almost effortless ability to entertain, making everyone around him smile.

meanwhile, renjun, who had been sketching something by the edge of the lake, stood up and stretched. he wandered over to the fire, his sketchbook in hand. “i thought i’d try capturing the firelight on the water,” he explained, showing them his rough sketches. “there’s something peaceful about the way the light dances on the surface.”

y/n glanced at the page, admiring his talent. “you’re really good,” she commented, smiling.

renjun nodded but didn’t say much, as usual. he wasn’t one for excessive praise, but his quiet presence was always comforting.

jeno, who had been sitting quietly to the side, glanced at y/n and then back at the fire. his expression was calm, his eyes thoughtful, but he didn’t seem inclined to join in on the conversation just yet. y/n wasn’t sure if he was just shy or if there was something else on his mind.

“want some help?” jaemin offered as he poked at his marshmallow, which had caught fire. “i’ve gotten pretty good at the whole marshmallow-toasting thing.”

y/n smiled, nodding. “sure.”

as jaemin helped her toast the marshmallow, the warm glow of the fire illuminated their faces. the group around them continued to chatter, and for a brief moment, y/n felt at ease. maybe this town wasn’t so bad after all. she was beginning to enjoy her new life, and the boys—though unpredictable and chaotic at times—had a way of making her feel like she belonged.

chenle’s voice broke through her thoughts as he finished his story. “...and that’s how i almost got kicked out. never a dull moment, huh?”

everyone laughed, and even renjun, who usually stayed reserved, cracked a smile.

but as y/n laughed at one of haechan’s jokes a little too loudly, she noticed a slight shift in the atmosphere. chenle’s smile faltered for a split second, and his eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. he quickly looked away, focusing on the fire instead.

y/n, still caught up in the lighthearted moment, didn’t notice the subtle tension, but renjun did. he glanced briefly at chenle, then back at y/n, but he said nothing. it was a fleeting moment—easily missed—but for some reason, it lingered in the air.

y/n continued to enjoy the evening, not realizing that a quiet rivalry was beginning to stir. as the night wore on, they played games, told stories, and laughed under the stars, with jeno staying mostly silent but offering y/n a reassuring smile every now and then.

eventually, the fire began to die down, and one by one, the group started to drift off, leaving the warmth of the flames for the chill of the night.

jeno, who had been watching the fire thoughtfully, stood up and glanced over at y/n. “i should probably get going soon,” he said softly, his voice quieter than usual.

the group said their goodbyes, and y/n found herself walking back with haechan and jisung, chatting about random things. as they walked, her mind kept drifting back to the brief tension between chenle and herself. she couldn’t help but wonder if something more was going on, but then again, it could’ve just been her imagination.

as the night came to a close, y/n couldn’t help but smile. despite the odd feeling lingering in the air, she felt like she was starting to find her place in this new town.

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[soppingwethog]

Candied Citron by Love & Toast

I want to be up front and apologize for the length of this review. I did my best to trim it down, but I understand that it’s still a bit lengthy. However, I do believe that each of the words spelled out in the sentences below are essential to provide a full, accurate picture of this specific fragrance.

This is the second paragraph, and again, I am prefacing it with an apology. I’m sorry. I really don’t mean to be a braggart, but it is my duty to be forthright about the fact that I have a truly wonderful girlfriend. She is kind and smart and gentle and sweet and beautiful and funny. She is a delight to behold and the world is a better place because she is in it. Again, I do not mean to boast of my incredible luck. I only bring up my amazing girlfriend because she plays a key role in my first exposure to Candied Citron by Love & Toast, and I love her dearly.

A few months ago, I came down with a nasty stomach virus. I will spare you the wet, pungent details about my illness. A photographic description of the liquids that sprayed forth from my many orifices would not be fit for this or any audience. I will simply say that I felt extraordinarily unwell and my infinitely kind and generous girlfriend took incredible care of me during my lowest lows.

Being the bullheaded fool that I am, I refused to call a doctor or take any sort of pain relieving tablets or capsules. Instead, I writhed and moaned in agony in my sweat-soaked mess of a bed for several days and nights. The discomfort was total and enveloping. My memory from the time is spotty, likely in part to my fever-induced delirium, but I do remember that the benevolent angel with whom I share my heart was kind enough to do what she could to soothe my frayed nerves and bowels.

During this time, my appetite was nonexistent. The smell of any food made me immediately empty my guts upward like a truly horrible gargoyle-shaped fountain. Of course, I needed to eat or I would have perished. This is a fact of life. One must eat lest they wither and go the way of all flesh.

My singularly magnificent girlfriend tried a host of methods to make me eat, but as soon as she would enter my chamber with a bowl of broth or a piece of toast, my innards would start thrashing about like a bag full of concupiscent rats and I would soon find myself blasting my watery, acrid waste into the thunderbucket. I was at my wit’s end and I dare say that my beloved was as well. I was ready to give up. I was so weak and in such great pain. I hadn’t eaten in days and my body was little more than twigs and fruit leather. At one point, I sincerely felt myself floating toward a bright, distant light.

It was just then that I smelled something I hadn’t smelled since I was a child. It was something familiar yet exciting. It was something sacred, yet foreign. This intense aroma brought me back from the edge of collapse. It pulled me from the hungry jaws of the angel of death. This smell, of course, was Candied Citron by Love & Toast. My impossibly lovely partner had just applied a bit of it to her perfect wrists and as she entered my wrecked hovel of a bedroom, the gentle aroma washed over me and flashes of distant memories came racing back from moth-eaten corners of my fever-roasted brain.

I shan’t detail these memories of mine as they are too personal to be revealed even in such a respectful, supportive place as this. I will instead keep them to myself, but I will say that they were all uniquely lovely and invigorating. I felt as though I had been somewhat revived, and it wasn’t long before I was gingerly sipping small mouthfuls of warm broth from a teaspoon held in the delicate, refined hand of my one true love.

I will never forget those incredibly dark days. I will never forget this brush with death. I will never forget the smell of Candied Citron by Love & Toast.

[feathersandfarmers]

Hello! I really like your page and think it's awesome! :) Also I was wondering if you have any headcanons for Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy? :)

Thank you so much, you're very kind! You're awesome too u3u

ah, the good ol' Mr. and Mrs. Tweedy! I could think of a few, hopefully they aren't too sappy! hehe

-The two guard dogs from the first CR movie were bought by Mr.Tweedy. He gifted the two puppies to Mrs.Tweedy as a Valentine's Day gift when they were first married. Mrs.Tweedy turned the puppies into the guard dogs we know! (I wanted to draw this..imagine a young Mrs Tweedy gushing at her two new puppies that a young Mr.Tweedy gifted her)

-For their honeymoon, they went on a seaside trip to Blackpool. (that might be more or less official since i have the "Making of Chicken Run" book and it says something vaguely about this)

-Mrs. Tweedy does think that Mr.Tweedy is cute, so there is/was some attraction to him. She mainly loves his chubby cheeks and his kind brown eyes u3u

-We never get to see either of the Tweedies enjoying any hobbies...i know they're farmers, and would rarely have time for such activities what with running an entire farm together. But do wonder what kind of things would they enjoy doing for leisure... For Mrs.Tweedy, I like to think she enjoys sitting outdoors, with a cool iced tea or lemonade, and having a magazine or a nice book on her lap to read. She'd like to tend to the small garden she has out back, where you'd find some flowers, and a few veggies growing! For Mr.Tweedy, i imagine he enjoys his handy work very much. Maybe he'd even get into whittling (which is carving little statues out of wood with a special kind of knife!) unrelated but i do imagine he'd make toys for Kipper Tweedy (which is a character i invented) since the couple would be way too poor to afford many toys for their niece.

-Mrs. Tweedy is unable to have her own children, being infertile. It touches a nerve for her, she's quite sad about it. When you think about it, the Tweedies are in rural England and are farmers but don't have any children..which would be very uncommon. I think this is a common theory among some Chicken Run fans on here though. Mr.Tweedy would have loved to have been a dad too :c

-Mrs.Tweedy is nervous about thunderstorms. And on a farm out in the countryside, storms could get particularly loud and scary. She wouldn't outright admit it, but strangely enough Mrs Tweedy would want Mr.Tweedy in the room with her each time there was a loud, thunderstorm outside. What a coincidence, Mrs Tweedy...

-Mrs.Tweedy doesn't like her first name, Melisha. Deep, down she thinks it's a goofy name.

-Mr.Tweedy's favorite meal would be: Some meatloaf and creamy mashed potatoes( don't forget the gravy!) with buttered peas (maybe some fresh rolls on the side), as a main course!And for dessert: Apple pie (duh!) with some vanilla ice cream! For breakfast, he loves beans on toast with some coffee (very creamy and sugary)

-Mrs.Tweedy: She loves a good roasted chicken dinner (yikess!!) with some brussel sprouts and sweet carrots as the sides. She does like an occasional cooked salmon dish with asparagus for dinner too. She secretly has a sweet tooth but limits herself. (if she starts eating candies, for example, she'll have a hard time stopping) Instead, she'll get a fruit for dessert if she needs something sweet after dinner. For breakfast, she likes her coffee black, and simply enjoys eggs on buttered toast, often with a side of fruit.

Hope they aren't too weak, but i thought of these headcanons on a whim! thanks for the ask!

[pilot-boi]

What’s their (your OCs) favorite food/drink?

Ooooo yes!! Thank you!!

Anita drinks a lot of tea and eats a lot of roasted vegetables. She actually has a vegetable garden that she maintains to help keep her family’s food costs down. But her favourite food is probably apples

Nick is an absolute cliche farm boy. He likes mashed potatoes and gravy and grits. He’s also got a soft spot for mint chocolate chip ice cream

Demetri doesn’t really have a favourite food, but her favourite drink is hot chocolate because her sister used to make it for her a lot when they were kids

Nero LOVES really crappy Mexican food, if he could he’d have microwave burritos and enchiladas for every meal. He’s got that teenage boy diet where he eats anything and everything

Emerald drinks coffee like her life depends on it, especially during tech week and band season. As for food, she really likes baking and baked goods, especially chocolate cake

Anthony has the sweet tooth to end all sweet tooth’s, boy would survive on candy if he could, but he has to make do with fruit (mostly bananas) instead. Same as Nero he’s got that teenage boy appetite

Cecilia likes to say that she only likes things that are as dark and bitter as her soul, but in reality she’s a giant weeb. Girl is out here eating mochi and pocki unironically. She also really likes toast, cause it was the first thing she cooked after moving out

Lena is CONSTANTLY eating, no lie, and her palette isn’t that picky. The day you see her without a bag of Cheetos in her hand is the day she dies

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Apheleia (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Simple Miss by the people of Olympius

Leia by her friends

Mom by her son

Age- 34 (immortal)

Location- Hearthwood neighborhood, New Olympus

Personality- She's a beautiful wallflower through and through- mostly introverted, shy, soft spoken, & observing things while being in the background. She can be loving and overprotective to a fault. She doesn't like confrontation. She's secretly seeing someone.

She has the standard abilities of a goddess except shapeshifting. As the goddess of simplicity, she's able to neutralize the powers of the other deities through touch. Her other powers/abilities include having an eidetic memory, being exceptionally skilled in using ancient tools, wood manipulation (dendrokinesis), being exceptionally skilled in fighting in traditional armor & swords, being able to temporarily induce someone to feel unintelligent (though it lasts for an hour), and absolute restoration.

She generally likes speaking in Old Greek.

Apheleia primarily resides in a simple cabin house (which she built by herself) near the Vestian Woods in the Hearthwood neighborhood of New Olympus. She lives with her only child- a son Koalemos (god of foolishness). The interior design is very minimalistic with hand woven carpets, ceramic and pottery pieces, & lots of handcrafted wood and leather furniture. Instead of modern lighting things are kept alight in the house through use of oil lamps. There's also a small TV with basic cable while her bedroom has a simple mattress topped with lots of pillows, white linen sheets, and a large knitted quilt (a gift from Hestia).

She gets around with the use of her bike, walking, & public transportation.

When she does laundry, she prefers to wash the clothes by hand and to hang them on clotheslines outside to dry.

A go-to drink for her is dark roast coffee which she prefers to make the "ancient way." She also likes green tea, coconut milk, ginger ale, mineral water, orange juice, as well as the occassional glass of white wine.

A typical breakfast for her is a small bowl of porridge along with sliced figs, slices of toasted barley bread topped with feta cheese & olive oil butter (which she churns herself), and homemade plain yogurt sweetened with honey.

Apheleia considers her greatest weakness is being an awful liar.

She always starts off her mornings with a jog through the woods and a session of jivamukti yoga.

She dresses in a simple minimalist style. She doesn't care about labels, only comfortability. Apheleia almost always prefers sandals, flats, and sneakers than high heels.

Apheleia often says that her & her son "share the same heartbeat." They have a deep close bond. She loves her son more than anything in all the realms and is constantly worrying about him. She's on top of things regarding Koalemos- his neccessary appointments, his school work, & extracurriculars.

She even has a good relationship with her son's behavioral aide- a centuaress named Demi.

Apheleia has been having a difficult time in allowing her son to be more independent, but is slowly allowing herself to become more comfortable with the idea. She even allowed him to get his first tattoo!

She always carries a stress ball with her, using it whenever she's feeling overwhelmed.

A favorite thing from The Bread Box is a spinach & olive salad along with a small revithia soup.

She loves snacking on gourmet sea salt and cracked pepper popcorn.

Apheleia loves dancing in the traditonal styles! Some of her favorites include the sirtaki, the kalamatianos, the pentozali, & the sousta.

Even though she's a minor deity, Apheleia has a small group of devoted followers- members of the Old Order community. This growing community some almost 400,000 strong with locations in a few western states, but primarily in the Athenian countryside live in the ways of the "old golden days"- little to no use of modern technology, simple living, pacifism, and following the ancient ways of life. The Old Order exclusively speaks the Old Greek language. Certain esteemed members are even petitioning to the crown to start building a temple in her honor! Apheleia has visitied the community many times and was touched to see a carved wooden statue of herself. A large family even presented her with a few trinkets- including a hand stitched chiton & himation. Several times, the thought of joining the community after her son's induction has crossed Apheleia's mind, but so far, she hasn't made a decision yet.

She is a licensed massage therapist. Her primary source of income comes from her business Armoniká Chéria located in downtown New Olympus. Apheleia also provides at-home services as well. Other products can be bought at the place like all-natural soap bars (her personal favorite being the anise java mint), tea baskets, & handmade hemp bags.

In the pantheon her best friend is Thilasmós (goddess of nursing). Her daughter Lucina (goddess of babies & children) is good friends with Koalemos.

Apheleia's also friends with Aeschyne (goddess of modesty & honor), Ichnaea (goddess of tracking), Leto (Titaness of demurity & motherhood), Hestia (goddess of the hearth), Elais (goddess of oil), Damia (goddess of naturalness), Nymphe (goddess of self-care), Eusebeia (goddess of piety, loyalty, duty, & filial respect), The Litae, Pherusa (goddess of substance & farm estates), Nárkosi (goddess of sedation), Penia (goddess of poverty), Ptocheia (goddess of beggary), Argía (goddess of holidays), Soteria (goddess of safety), and Hesychia (goddess of quiet, stillness, rest, & silence).

She was mentored by Anchiale (Titaness of fire).

Two of her favorite guilty pleasures is a slice of plain cheese pizza as well as a plain hamburger with small fries from Olympic Chef. Apheleia will put the fries in between the burger and bun before eating it.

A favorite frozen treat is fig sorbet. She gets a medium sized cup at The Frozen Spoon. She also likes a triple scoop of triple vanilla ice cream on a cone (vanilla bean, brown sugar vanilla bourbon with vanilla cookie swirls, & plain vanilla).

Apheleia loves the Glory's Crown hydrating rice water shampoo, conditioner, and hair mist.

Ptocheia gifted her with a crop top sweater that was made out of recycled cashmere.

She loves the LipCalm vanilla bean moisturizing lip balm. She also likes the Olmorfia lip oil in "loco for coco," a clear transparent base with the added ingredient of coconut extract.

Apheleia's looking forward to a breadmaking class at The Olympian Kitchen she's taking along with Thilasmós and Nymphe.

Her favorite flowers are wallflowers.

She doesn't divulge with anyone about details regarding her romantic life. To her friends that matter (Aeschyne, The Litae, & Eusebeia), she's chaste and pure, saving herself for a matrimonial union. No one's aware that Apheleia shared a kiss with Neicus (god of debate & appeal) or that she's currently seeing and partaking in "carnal physical actions" with Horkos (god of oaths). Apheleia was more than surprised at their instant connection, hours long conversations, & the feeling of security and understanding she has whenever she's in his presence. They have even talked about the possibilities of Horkos meeting her son! The one occassion where he successfully convinced her to dine out at a outdoor restaurant, they almost ran into Eudaimonia (goddess of happiness) and her husband Apólafsi (god of enjoyment). Apheleia has not been taking any chances since then.

Some of her favorite desserts from Hollyhock's Bakey include the white velvet cake and the vanilla white chocolate chip cookies. Apheleia's known in the pantheon for her delicious baklava!

She's been getting into photography, especially black & white photography. Apheleia's been building up her portfolio and even hopes to submit some of her photographs to The Oracle newspaper.

Her all time favorite meal is roasted cabbage in honey vinegar along with spanakopita and moussaka.

In her free time Apheleia also enjoys figure drawing, knitting, sewing, pottery, reading, cooking, swimming, baking, gardening, bike riding, hanging out with friends, and spending time with her son.

"Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication."

[elaine-abroad]

Volume 5 Part 1

Week 4

I definitely tried to fit as much as I could into this last week to ensure I didn’t leave Korea feeling like I missed something. It was a little tiring doing that and wrapping up classes with final projects, but I’m ready to come home. 

To start off, Grace, Bianca, and I headed over to Itaewon on Sunday. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure what there was to do besides the club nightlife, but I thought that I can’t leave without paying at least one visit. The other two didn’t want to go to the famous street where the tragic crowd crushing incident occurred last Halloween so we ventured to the main streets and some smaller ones. We were feeling peckish after arrival so we went to a cafe that sold Western styled breakfast.

I got berry compote french toast, Bianca got egg's Benedict, and Grace got banana walnut pancakes

They weren’t really good at serving us at the same time so I got my dish a good while after the others. Grace also eats faster than my boyfriend so it felt a little weird eating when she was almost done but that’s pretty much how it’s been when hanging out with her. 

Grace is apparently a big Barbie fan, so much so that it’s been on her list of possible Halloween costumes for a couple of years now. It just so happens that there was a Barbie cafe in Itaewon so we tried going there. Unfortunately all the tables were full and we had to put down a number, but only Grace had a working number. We never got a call and it was probably because it was an American number or something.

We went to a bingsu place instead to combat the heat though. Bianca and I shared this injeolmi flavored one. Injeolmi is basically a sweet rice cake covered in roasted soybean powder. I’m not sure how to really describe it, but the powder is dry and tastes nutty. I’m pretty sure it’s the same powder used on Japanese raindrop cakes.

It was also raining that day so we kind of decided to head back. There wasn’t much that caught our attention in Itaewon, but it was nice to visit.

On Monday, our painting teacher made us paint outside. It was not the most ideal, but I ended up painting a view of campus.

After class, the three of us headed back to Myeongdong to see the nightlife and street food market. I was pretty dead set on coming back with cash. Before we got into the vendors, we did some shopping and got dinner.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to get photos of the fruit mochi I bought, but it was seriously worth my money. It looked like this though.

I also got this honeycomb and ice cream taiyaki. You’ve probably seen taiyaki before – it’s that fish-shaped cake. They served it with a small chunk of honeycomb and that was the first time I tried actual honeycomb which was cool. It was fun chewing on the wax.

On Tuesday, Grace and I got to go to the Starfield COEX Mall for our visual journal field trip. It’s pretty awesome that we were able to go on so many field trips for that class and that we got to go to a mall of all places. The mall was absolutely enormous. There was only one floor for shops, but we literally kept getting lost because of its size. Other cool things were attached like this massive library, aquarium, and movie theater.

We sat down inside the mall for some food and got what was probably the most incorrect Indian food I’ve ever had. I say incorrect because the flavor was okay, but the execution and everything was wrong. I’m no Indian food expert, but I questioned a lot of the things. The drinks were wrong and had the wrong consistency, they used the wrong rice (we had to pay and it was such a small portion too) – things like that. I guess that’s what we get for trying to get Indian food inside of a mall in the middle of Korea.

That night’s food made up for it though. One of the girls I hung out with after the Everland trip was turning 21. That same group went out for dinner to celebrate. We got kbbq in Hongdae because we all wanted to experience getting kbbq in Korea at least once. To be completely honest, it was a little pricey for the amount of food, but that was probably because of the fact that we had to share. I guess I’ve been spoiled by the kbbq buffets back home.

In case you couldn’t tell, bingsu is a big deal here. And of course we ended the night with some. We shared some new flavors: tiramisu and mango apple cheese. 

Wednesday was pretty uneventful. I had my painting final and we were given 2 hours to paint anything we wanted to, using the techniques we learned. It could be the plants we learned, something from Korea, or just anything we wanted. I painted the key parts of Korea for me which was basically Ewha’s ECC and all the field trips. I also included some flowers we learned.

For dinner Grace and I went to this place called Witch’s Kitchen. It’s a witch themed restaurant with a vibe crossed between Halloween and Harry Potter. Some of the food options were decorated in a way that made it all more fun.

We were most excited for the drinks. I heard that they served them in blood bags and that they did. Each table had one of those liquid IV stands they give people at the hospital and filled them with our drinks. We got to control how much we wanted in our cups and it was really fun.

I spent the rest of the night working hard on my visual journal project. I made a pop up book of where I’ve gone to in Seoul, basically the same thing as my painting final. It was a little bit of a risk since I’d never made a pop up book before. Albeit a little simple, it was a lot of fun. There was this lady that came into one of my classes in the second semester of freshman year who taught us the most basic techniques of pop up book making and I’ve wanted to give it a try ever since.

We had a mini exhibition within our class the next day and it was cool seeing what everyone else came up with.

Later that day, Bianca and I went out to check out the Gwangjang market, a traditional street market with lots of street vendors and mini restaurants. It was still light out when we got there so we got this white peach bingsu while we waited for the sun to set.

My friend Iris told me to go to Cheonggyecheon Stream which I’m pretty sure is the man-made stream my dad told me to check out as well. It stretched out for quite long. Here it is before the sunset.

Once we got back to the market, it was definitely a lot more lively. There were four main paths that we looked at.

We were looking for one thing to eat and luckily many of the restaurants there sold it. I’m serious when I say don’t knock it till you try it because multiple of my friends expressed their disgust, but it was actually pretty good. I’ve wanted to try this for the longest time ever and have always seen mukbangers and foodies eat this. 

For those who haven’t been to guess it, it’s raw squid. This is often confused with live squid. To be fair, people here do actually eat live squid, but the raw squid we had was just raw, NOT alive. It’s only called live squid because the tentacle nerves continue to move after being chopped up. 

Anyways, it was doused in sesame oil which made it good for me. I’m not a seafood girlie and don’t even know why I liked it, but it was fun to eat. We also got bibimbap with beef tartare (also raw) which was also good. This day was all about trying traditional things so instead of getting a basic drink, I opted for Sikhye, a traditional Korean fermented rice drink. I kept seeing it on the street there so I decided to try it out. I noted how it looked like something my mom had always made and Bianca said that was because Korea always steals stuff from China.

We also ordered bindaetteok, a mung bean pancake with bean sprouts in it. It was very very good.

We were quite full at the end of this so decided to get a snack that was truly authentic and worth it. I wanted Hotteok, a sweet filled pancake. My mom sometimes makes this for breakfast so it was cool to have it from the actual streets.

The stream was really nice to look at and walk along once dark. We spent a little more time there before going back.

[pkkstrikesback]

May 29th - Farewell

The record for sleeping in was officially set today, I think it took until noon, maybe even half past, to finally drag myself out of bed. Nau had invited us all to breakfast, but when I got there, I didn’t see anything I wanted, so I set off on a solo mission to find the café where I’d had that amazing breakfast earlier in the week. After wandering around, I finally found Inoya Café… only to realize I’d arrived at 12:50, and they closed at 1. To make matters worse, I discovered I’d left my Suica card back at the hotel, so I hiked all the way back, where I ran into Alex and Gui and rallied them to join me for breakfast at a bagel shop. I ended up getting a chicken avocado bagel sandwich, and the bagel was green, which was such a fun surprise! I also picked up a cinnamon roll bagel-thing as a snack for later. The place wasn’t exactly what I expected, I thought we’d be able to customize breakfast sandwiches, but it was still a fun experience.

On our walk to Don Quijote, we stopped at a few little shops. I bought a pair of chopsticks for one of my best friends, then at Don Don I just barely hit the tax-free minimum, 5,516 yen. It was definitely a lazy day overall, which none of us minded. We eventually had to cut our wandering short to get ready for our group dinner at 5 p.m. My stomach has been kind of upset (and also oddly ravenous) ever since that Indian-Mexican fusion place, so I grabbed an egg sandwich on the way back while Alex and Gui headed to the hotel. I accidentally ordered something different than I expected, it was really mushy,so I ended up picking most of the egg off and just eating the toast. After a quick shower, I headed downstairs for dinner with the group and got to give Akane the thank-you bouquet I’d picked out earlier at Uniqlo. She was so sweet and explained that flower-giving isn’t that common in Japan, so I’m really glad I chose that as a thank-you for all her help, and her endless patience with our somewhat consistent lateness.

Once everyone was downstairs, we started walking to dinner. No one really knew what we were about to be served, and it definitely ended up being a bit of a surprise. The conversation turned into a lot of last-day reminiscing, and Professor Smith even went around asking us what we liked and didn’t like about the trip, which was such a nice trip down memory lane. The dinner was mostly red meat, but Akane helped me adjust my meal so I could still enjoy something with each course. I swapped the potato soup with bacon (heartbreaking to watch everyone slurp it down, I love potato soup) for a vegetable one, and she helped me exchange the ham dish for a big plate of veggies (which I had been seriously craving since the trip started). For the main course, she got me chicken katsu instead of roast beef. Unfortunately, I was still feeling pretty nauseous and fried food just wasn’t cutting it, so I ended up sharing it with the group. It was really sweet watching everyone’s faces light up when they realized they’d get a bonus piece. My favorite course, honestly, was the first salad, whatever cheese they used still makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

After dinner, I went to buy luggage with Gui and found the cutest green and brown suitcase at Loft for a great price. I also managed to grab the Snoopy shirt my friend had asked for from the Uniqlo downstairs. That was the one souvenir I’d been stressing about, so it felt like a little victory. I headed back to the hotel to get some work done but ran into Emily, Aiden, Alex, and Aruba having a blast at the izakaya nearby. I stopped by to say hi, then unfortunately had to be responsible and head back to pack.