#sticky rice tea

[cultivatetastetea]

Cultivate Taste Tea - Rice Oolong tea - "Sticky Rice Oolong"

[foragedmoonlight]

Farmers Market Sundays

[mildmayfoxe]

stopped in at a thai chicken place on my way home that i walk past all the time but have never gone in & it’s utterly silent in here, just me and people picking up delivery orders

[supercantaloupe]

treated myself tonight

[everymanpdf]

I hate when I try a new tea and it’s good as hell. I do not need more tea in my house

[basilfriedrice]

BASIL FRIED RICE IS LITERALLY THE BEST FRIED RICE ILY

OMG YESS it doesn’t get enough love… my go to at Thai restaraunts

[biggianteggplant]

“Things They Didn’t Mean”

They didn’t mean to hurt you — but they did. And you started changing because of it. Now they notice… and it’s already different.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

“Watch what you eat,” Ushijima says, voice low, neutral. He’s looking at your tray like it’s offended him.

You smile—a practiced, automatic thing—and laugh it off. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

He nods. Just once. And that’s the end of it. To him, anyway.

The next day, you bring a salad. You poke at the lettuce with your plastic fork, chew each bite like penance. He glances at your lunch, says nothing.

The day after, it’s just fruit. You peel a clementine slowly, fingers sticky with juice, and avoid his eyes.

Then you stop bringing your usual snack. The one he used to reach over and steal a bite of without asking. The one that always made him smile—subtly, but still. Now your bag is empty. So are you.

By the fourth day, Tendou corners him by the gym doors. “Hey, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice too light. “You realize she’s barely eating, right?”

Ushijima blinks. Still, silent. His gaze drifts toward you—sitting against the wall, water bottle untouched, your eyes vacant in a way he can’t quite name.

That evening, practice ends. The sun is low, gym almost empty. You sit alone on the bleachers, staring at nothing, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve.

He approaches without a word, sits beside you like it's instinct. In his hands: two onigiri, wrapped carefully.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, eyes on the rice, not you. “I just… I care if you're healthy. Not thinner.”

You don’t respond. Your fingers twitch toward your bag, but fall short. He places one onigiri in your lap, the other in his own hands.

You pick at the rice. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you’ve forgotten how to be hungry.

He doesn’t speak. Just sits with you, quiet, steady. Watching. There’s guilt in the way his shoulders slope. In the way his chopsticks pause every few bites, waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

You finish half. It’s the most you’ve eaten all week.

He nudges the second one a little closer. Not pushing—just offering.

“Please eat,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “With me.”

And you do.

For a long time, he says nothing else. But his silence is kind now. Careful. And when he finally looks at you, it’s with eyes that say he’s sorry in all the ways words can’t.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The words slipped out of Shirabu’s mouth like a diagnosis—clinical, cold, final.

And the worst part? You weren’t even fighting.

You had just spilled tea on your notes—weeks of lectures and scribbled diagrams now soaked through and curling at the edges. You laughed, a little sheepishly, brushing at the mess with your sleeve. “Well. That’s my sign to take a break, I guess—”

He didn’t laugh.

He stared at the papers like they’d personally offended him. “You’re not cut out for the kind of future I want.”

You blinked. “…Future?”

He nodded once, distracted, eyes already flicking back to his laptop. “Medicine’s not for people who lose focus. Who make little mistakes.”

You smiled, like it didn’t sting. Laughed, like you hadn’t heard that same voice in your own head on bad days. “Right. Of course.”

That night, you stayed up redoing your notes from scratch. And the night after that. And the one after that.

You started waking up before him. Stopped doodling in the margins of your med books. Stopped humming when you cooked, because every second needed to be productive. Coffee became a meal. Sleep became a luxury.

You didn’t complain. Didn’t cry. Just… shifted. Quietly. Carefully. Willfully.

The version of you Shirabu fell for—the one who teased him while quizzing him on anatomy terms, who wore fuzzy socks to study groups, who once made him a human heart out of Jello just to prove a joke—she was slowly fading.

At first, he liked the change.

The silence. The discipline. The way your pens were always aligned now. The way you never interrupted him mid-sentence anymore.

But then… He noticed.

You never touched him just because anymore. Never made dumb puns over dinner. Your shoulders stayed tense even in your sleep. The music in your world had gone quiet—and he hadn’t realized how much he loved its sound until it disappeared.

One night, he came home late from the library and found you at your desk, fast asleep. Your glasses were still on. Your hand was stained with blue ink, fingertips trembling slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. There was a cut on your thumb from a broken pen. Your lips were dry. You looked pale—drained, like all your color had been slowly siphoned away.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart sinking.

And when he touched your hand, you didn’t even stir.

He sat down beside you, swallowing guilt like poison. “I didn’t mean for you to become someone else,” he whispered, the words raw and foreign in his mouth. “I just wanted you with me. I didn’t realize I was asking you to lose yourself.”

His voice cracked. For the first time in years, he cried.

Quietly. Beside you.

Because you were still there. Breathing. Trying. But something in you had cracked.

And he had been the one to make the first fracture.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

That was the last thing he said to you that day. You had just finished gushing about your favorite show—something about parallel universes and time loops and a sad, smiley villain who reminded you of him (your words, not his). You were laughing, hands moving, eyes bright.

And he had sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered: “Are you done yet?”

You blinked. Laughed it off. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond. Just went back to scrolling.

After that, you didn’t talk about your favorite shows anymore. Stopped sending him memes. Stopped rambling in long voice notes that always ended with you laughing at your own jokes.

He noticed, of course. But didn’t say anything.

Yamaguchi did.

“She doesn’t text you stuff anymore, huh?”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were tracking my notifications.”

But later that night, alone in his room, he opened your chat. Scrolled through the silence. Past the last thing you sent—a meme, three weeks ago. A stupid one, about dinosaurs and headphones. He hadn’t even reacted to it.

The empty space beneath it felt louder than any rant you used to send.

The next day, he walked past a store on the way home and froze. In the window: a little keychain of your favorite character. The one you wouldn’t shut up about for two whole weeks. The one he pretended not to care about but secretly knew the name of.

He bought it.

He didn’t even think. Just… did.

The next morning, he dropped it on your desk before class. No warning. No note.

You blinked, staring at the tiny figure in your hand. “What’s this for?”

He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “So you’ll annoy me again.”

You stared at him for a beat, stunned. Then your lips twitched.

You didn’t say anything. But that night, he got a message.

[you]: i just rewatched episode 8 again and i need you to understand how emotionally devastating that scene was. also this keychain is SO cute i might cry.

He read it three times. Smiled. Just a little.

(Translation: I forgive you. I missed you too.)

SUNA RINTARO

He had said it offhandedly. Barely looking up from his phone.

You had just sent him a selfie—your hair a little messy, eyes a little dull, but your smile was there. Honest. Tired, maybe. But still you.

And he said: “You look tired.”

You blinked at the screen, lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then replied, “Yeah. Been a long day.”

After that, you stopped sending selfies. Started fixing your hair more before calls. Wore cooler tones. More neutrals. Nothing bright. Nothing bold. Started double-checking the lighting. Your angles. Yourself.

One day you joked, “Better not look tired again, right?” But your voice was too quiet. The kind that curls at the edge of something fragile.

Atsumu noticed it first.

“She doesn’t send you stuff anymore, huh?” Suna didn’t answer. “You told her she looked tired, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. But his thumb froze over your chat. Unread messages: none. The last picture you sent had disappeared after twenty-four hours. You didn’t save it. And you hadn’t sent another since.

The silence in the thread felt heavier than words.

So he stared at his camera for a long second, then sighed and snapped a picture. No filters. No angles. Just him—messy hair, hoodie hood half-on, eyes barely open.

He sent it with a message: “This is how I look when I actually look tired.” “You always look like someone I wanna keep looking at.”

You stared at the screen. Chest aching. Then, finally:

[you]: you're still bad at words. [suna]: yeah. but i’m trying.

And he was. In his own way—awkward, quiet, a little late.

But trying.

(And somehow, that was what mattered most.)

OIKAWA TOORU

You didn’t mean to bother him.

You had only sent three messages. Short ones. Thoughtful, even.

[you]: hey, u free later? [you]: you okay? you’ve been quiet today. [you]: let me know if you need anything. i’ll leave you be. promise.

And then it came. His reply.

Flat. Dismissive. Laced with exhaustion and that familiar edge he gets when he’s overwhelmed.

[oikawa]: you’re really needy sometimes.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Then you smiled. The kind of smile you force when people are watching. “lol sorry. my bad.” One last message. That was all.

And then you stopped.

You stopped texting first. Stopped sending him memes you knew would make him laugh. Stopped double-texting, triple-texting. Stopped reaching out at all.

You gave him what he seemed to want.

Space.

He noticed by dinner.

By the time the team wrapped up practice, Oikawa was already scrolling through your messages, rereading old ones like a lifeline. There were no new ones. No “I miss you.” No “Goodnight.” Just… nothing.

He opened your chat three times that night. Typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted again.

What was he even supposed to say?

Iwaizumi noticed the silence too.

“She’s not needy,” he said while they packed up. “You’re just used to being worshipped.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

Oikawa Tooru had always been admired—on the court, online, in every room he walked into. He thought love looked like attention. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d treated your warmth like a reflex, not a choice. Until you took it away.

Until your silence said everything.

So three nights later, he was standing in front of your door.

A hoodie pulled over his head. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked small. Not in height—but in guilt.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

You opened it.

Your eyes were tired. Guarded. The space between you filled with things unsaid.

Oikawa’s voice was low. He didn’t even try to smile.

“…I miss your ‘needy,’” he said.

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“I miss you.”

Still, you said nothing. Just looked at him like you weren’t sure if this was another performance or the real thing.

“I don’t want space,” he continued. “I want your clingy texts. I want the memes. The constant check-ins. The way you send me random thoughts at midnight.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I want everything. Even the parts I didn’t appreciate.”

Silence.

Then he looked up, eyes raw.

“I only push away the people I care too much about,” he whispered. “And that’s you.”

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

For a long moment, you stood there. Then, slowly—quietly—you stepped aside.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He just walked in, shoulders trembling slightly.

You closed the door behind him.

And neither of you said another word. Because this time, he would show you through presence what he failed to express in words.

He came back.

And he didn’t let go.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It was just a bad game.

He was frustrated. Quiet. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

You knew how he got. You didn’t say anything.

You just reached out—softly, gently—for his hand. Not to fix him. Just to say I’m here.

But he pulled back like your touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-air. Then you let it drop, your voice a quiet crumble. “…Sorry.”

That was it.

You stepped back. Gave him space. And from that day on, you stayed there.

You stopped reaching for him. Stopped brushing your fingers against his sleeve when you passed by. Stopped fixing his hair when it curled over his forehead. Stopped lacing your fingers through his on long walks.

You hesitated now—every time. Your hands hovered near him, never landing.

And Kiyoomi… didn’t notice.

Not at first.

But Komori did.

He waited until the locker room was empty, then slammed his locker shut louder than necessary.

“You told her not to touch you,” he said, arms crossed. “And now she doesn’t. Happy?”

Kiyoomi blinked, confused.

“She flinched when you brushed her arm, Omi. She flinched. That girl used to hold your hand like it was second nature.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Komori left. Kiyoomi sat down, heart unsettled, brain replaying every tiny moment—your hands curled into your lap, your stiff shoulders, the way your gaze flicked to his fingers then away.

It was true.

You were gone, somehow, even while still beside him.

That night—no, early morning—he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at his phone screen in the dark, thumbs hovering. Then:

[sakusa]: i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.

No typing bubbles appeared.

He didn’t expect them to.

But the next day, he found you outside the gym, hugging your arms to yourself, pretending not to see him.

He walked straight to you.

You looked up, cautious.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just reached forward—and for once, it was him who was shaking—and took your hand. Both of his around yours, like anchoring something fragile.

You looked down at the connection. Then back at him.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I want you close,” he said. “Even when I’m upset. Especially then.”

Your lip trembled.

He held your hand tighter.

And in that quiet moment, on the edge of hurt and healing, you let yourself believe him.

Because sometimes, people push away what they need most. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get the chance to hold it again.

KENMA KOZUME

You used to sit beside him.

No words. No noise. Just quiet company while his fingers danced across the keyboard, headset snug over his ears.

You liked being close. He never complained—until one night, between matches, he muttered without looking at you:

“You’re kind of distracting when I’m streaming.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp.

But it stuck.

You blinked. “Oh.”

And after that… you stopped.

You stopped bringing snacks and dropping soft kisses to his temple when he won. Stopped curling up next to him. Stopped humming under your breath or watching from the corner of his screen.

You stayed in your room more.

Quiet. Out of sight.

Invisible.

Kenma didn’t notice at first—too busy adjusting his settings, managing collabs, climbing ranks.

But Kuroo noticed. Over Discord, mid-game, as Kenma sat in silence between rounds, Kuroo muttered:

“She doesn’t bug you anymore, huh?”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“You look kinda lonely now.”

The words landed like a delayed hit.

Kenma glanced to the side—out of instinct—at the space where you used to sit. Empty. Still.

He stared longer than he meant to.

His fingers paused over the keys. The stream kept running. The chat wondered what happened. But Kenma didn’t move.

Later that night, he found himself in front of your door. A bag of your favorite snacks in hand. Slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

He knocked once. Soft.

You opened the door, eyes tired. Surprised.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held out the bag.

“…What’s this?” you asked quietly.

“Peace offering.”

Your brow arched. “You said I was distracting.”

He looked down, fingers flexing.

“I know,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

You stayed quiet.

So he stepped forward, placed the snack gently beside his controller on his desk, then turned back to you.

“Come sit with me?” he asked. Then, even softer: “I miss your noise.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in days, your lips curved—just slightly.

He held his hand out toward you.

And this time, when you took it, he didn’t let go. Not even when the game started. Not even when chat noticed.

Because he wasn’t playing to win anymore. He just wanted you back beside him.

Even if you distracted him. Especially if you did.

MIYA ATSUMU

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You didn’t even realize it was happening—until your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you saw the way Atsumu’s expression tightened, not with concern, but irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for your drama right now.”

It hit like a slammed door.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then you nodded.

"Sorry," you said, voice barely there.

And after that—you stopped.

You stopped venting. Stopped opening up. Started smiling too wide, laughing a little too quickly.

"I’m fine." "Just tired." "Nothing big."

You said it so much, you almost believed it.

But Atsumu didn’t.

Not at first—he was too wrapped up in training, in pressure, in exhaustion and ego. But Osamu noticed.

“You broke something, y’know,” he said one night, tossing a towel over Atsumu’s head. “You might wanna fix it before it stays broken.”

That’s what finally made him pause.

And that’s what led him here— To the empty gym hallway, where he found you sitting against the wall, knees to your chest, eyes blank.

You didn’t notice him at first. Didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch.

He walked over, crouched down, and gently rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“…I’m the drama,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not you.”

You stayed quiet.

He clenched his fists. Loosened them. Then tried again.

“Please don’t hide your feelings from me. Ever.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked away, eyes burning, lip trembling—but still, you said nothing.

So Atsumu pulled you into his arms.

Held you there. Not asking for forgiveness, not rushing it—just there.

“I was stupid,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was tired and selfish and I made you feel like too much.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re not too much. I was just too stupid to handle someone real.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

But your hands slowly—finally—gripped the back of his jersey.

And that was enough.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let go first.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settles in your chest and makes everything feel heavier. You forgot to do something small — misplanted a row of seedlings in your shared garden, or maybe you overslept and missed breakfast with him.

He didn’t yell. He never did. Just that calm, steady voice:

“That’s not very disciplined of you.”

No anger. Just disappointment. And somehow, that was worse. It clung to you for days.

You started fixing your posture more, triple-checking tasks, waking up earlier than needed. No more lazy mornings. No more spontaneous dancing in the rain or lying in the grass just to feel the sun. You stopped being soft. You started being… correct.

And he noticed. How your laugh faded. How your hands trembled when you thought he was watching.

It was Aran who quietly pulled him aside one afternoon. They were harvesting. The sun was warm. But Kita felt cold at the words:

“She’s not blooming anymore. She’s surviving.” “You’re so focused on raising standards… you didn’t see her lower herself.”

That night, he found you tending the garden. The same bed you both built together. The soil was dry. The petals curled inward. And so were you.

He knelt beside you silently, heart heavy.

“Discipline matters,” he started. “But so does grace. I should’ve given you more of it.”

You didn’t look at him. Your fingers kept digging gently through the soil.

So he did something rare. He placed his hand over yours. Soft. Still. Sure.

“You don’t need to be perfect… to be precious to me.”

Your breath hitched. And when you finally looked up — eyes glassy, dirt smudged on your cheek — he smiled, just barely.

“Let’s grow softer things. Together.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You’d tried something new. Maybe you curled your hair, tried eyeliner, wore that outfit you weren’t sure about but finally had the courage to put on. You didn’t expect a grand reaction. But you didn’t expect that either.

“You look weird.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like a volleyball stat: flat. Unthinking. Unfiltered.

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Went to the bathroom that night and wiped it all off. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

But the next day, you played it safe. No more makeup. Neutral clothes. You toned it down, layer by layer, until it felt like you’d erased something. And he didn’t even seem to notice.

But others did. Sugawara asked Kageyama during practice, teasing but genuine:

“What happened to all those selfies she used to send you? I kinda miss the glitter.”

Kageyama blinked. Paused. Scrolled through his phone that night. Through bright lipstick, messy buns, silly filters, captioned doodles. Gone, now.

And then it hit him.

You’d stopped sending anything. Stopped showing anything.

He found you that night, seated quietly on the porch or your shared bench near the gym.

“Hey…”

You looked up. Tired. Dull.

He sat beside you, awkward fingers twitching on his knee.

“You’re… not weird. I mean, you are, but like. Not—bad weird. Like… your kind of weird. And I liked that.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared ahead.

So he added, softer this time:

“I’m stupid with words. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to disappear.”

You swallowed. He turned slightly, desperate and clumsy:

“Please don’t change for something dumb I said. I didn’t realize how much I loved… all of that. All of you.”

You turned to him. Eyes glossy, voice small:

“Then why didn’t you say that sooner?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he reached into his pocket and held out the phone screen — a selfie of you from a month ago.

“I saved this one. I liked your smile here the most.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

It was something small. You tripped on a stair and instinctively, he caught your wrist, pulling you close before you fell.

Someone whistled. A teammate teased: “Ooh, Daichi, playing knight in shining armor?”

He panicked. Embarrassed. Tried to play it cool. So he shrugged and muttered,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

Laughed it off.

But your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You’d never expected him to take responsibility for you. You weren’t asking to be saved. But you’d thought — maybe — it was okay to lean. To trust. To fall near him.

After that day, you stopped doing that.

You handled everything alone — even when your hands shook carrying too much, even when your emotions threatened to spill.

No more late-night texts. No more spontaneous hangouts. No more quiet moments walking beside him.

You avoided everyone for a while.

Until Suga found you missing again from another group outing and went straight to Daichi.

“She knows she’s not your responsibility, Daichi. She just thought… you gave a damn.”

That silenced him.

That night, he went up to the school rooftop — the place you always went when you needed to breathe. You were already there, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the sky.

He didn’t speak. Just sat beside you. Let the silence ache between you both.

Then finally, barely audible:

“I wanted to protect you. Not push you away.”

You didn’t look at him. You just said, hollowly:

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But he shook his head gently.

“No, you don’t. I didn’t say that because I didn’t care. I said it because I was scared of how much I did.”

You blinked, eyes burning.

“You’re not my responsibility,” he whispered again — but this time softer, reverent. “You’re my person. That’s… different.”

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND..

SUMMARY: little things he does that remind you you’re going to marry him someday.

CHARACTERS: all dorms (-ortho)

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

reader gender is not mentioned, reader is not mentioned to be yuu

MAKING YOU MEALS

he makes sure you eat RIGHT. no more skipping meals throughout the day on his watch. every lunch he’ll make you a cute little bento box so you don’t have to wait in line. and when i say cute, i mean cute. it doesn’t matter what gender you are your rice balls will have cat ears. dinner? come over to his dorm and he’ll make something for you. don’t feel like it? he’s going to your place and cooking there. breakfast? he makes something quick yet delicious for you. he’s like your own private chef, and you can only imagine what it’d be like to see a ring on his finger someday.

trey, ruggie, azul, jamil, lilia (good luck), silver

CLEANING YOUR ROOM (and everything else)

it doesn’t matter if your room is messy, tidy, or anything in between, every month he’ll make sure it is SPOTLESS. is there dust on your shelves? nuh uh. are there random stains on your floor that you thought were impossible to get out? he’s rushing to your rescue and somehow got the stain out. did you not want to go through your homework? everything is suddenly organized in its respective subject, going from A-Z. you’ve never seen your room so tidy before, it was like an epiphany. please just marry him on the spot, he’s begging.

riddle, deuce, jade, jamil, vil, sebek

LEAVING LITTLE POST-IT NOTES ON YOUR BELONGINGS

without fail, you’ll find a cute little sticky-note on your almost all of your belongings. sure, it gets annoying once in awhile, but reading the sweet message on it changes your mind almost instantly. “you’re going to do great today! stay strong. :)” “don’t forget to drink water! love you 🫶” “can we go out soon? my treat. text me when u see this!” it’s almost frightening to see how much yellow papers you keep inside your desk every time you opening it, but can anyone really blame you? you’re going to keep these til the day you die, and that grand total might be at the very least over 100,000.

ace, deuce, cater, jack, floyd, kalim, epel, rook

RANDOM GIFTS

expect to see a neatly wrapped gift on your doorstep almost every week. seriously. it’s like a delivery service except the company is literally your boyfriend. “dear, did you get me this?” you ask as you enter the room. he looks up from his phone as he looks at the expensive name brand sweatshirt in your hands. “yeah.” he answered so nonchalantly!! like sir!!! this sweater was 1000000 thaumarks!! what!! while you do appreciate the gesture, you feel bad he’s spending so much money on you. he doesn’t care though!! he’ll spoil you rotten til your very last breath.

leona, azul, floyd, kalim, vil, idia, malleus

PREPPING YOU SNACKS

depending on who this is, he may not be some gordon ramsay level chef, but he’s definitely more than happy to cut you a some apple slices while you study. sometimes he’ll come into your room with a backpack full of your favorite snacks just left at the side of your desk so you can reach down and grab the one you want to eat that day. sometimes all you need is an energy boost and he’s more than happy to make some coffee or tea for you if you’re busy. he’ll press a kiss or two on your forehead before placing the plate of beautifully cut fruit down and continuing on with his day and going back to his thoughts. now, what will the theme of your wedding be?

ace, deuce, trey, jade, jack, jamil, epel, malleus

A/N: notice how jamil and deuce are in almost every category. (sorry this one was kinda rushed 😭😭)

date published: 7/30/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[chibinasuu]

Sanji x Reader ― snowstorm; cuddling

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, fluff, GN!Reader, no use of y/n, the straw hats are cock blocks

Lazy arms wrapped around Sanji’s waist from behind, and the corner of his mouth turned up when a tiny kiss landed on his suit-covered shoulder.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” said Sanji, turning his face to place his lips gently on the top of your head, “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded, “Would’ve been better if you were sleeping next to me, though.”

“Sorry, darling.” He chuckled and added half-jokingly, “Should I beg Franky to build us a private suite?”

You scoffed amusedly, continuing to watch him as he placed an onigiri on a platter, lining it up with the others that were already neatly arranged there. 

The reddish rays of the rising sun had seeped in through the kitchen windows, coating the space in a warm glow and bringing a subtle comfort to your skin amid the low temperature. 

The Thousand Sunny had entered a winter island’s climate, according to Nami, which had the Straw Hats scrambling to bust out their thick coats and sweaters from the depths of their drawers. Chopper was especially stoked by the news, thrilled to be feeling some cold air upon his thick fur.

Sanji dipped his hand into a bowl of water, then grabbed some salt and rubbed it all over his palms. He took some rice, put a generous pinch of salmon flakes in the middle, then started expertly molding it into a triangle, rotating it a few times and squeezing it gently to give it that perfect, firm shape. 

Watching Sanji in the kitchen was like viewing a performance art. You could never get tired of the way his fingers moved – so precise and delicate – and the way his lips were always fixed in a faint smile. 

It never failed to warm your heart – watching someone you loved doing something he loved. 

“Those look delicious, Sanji.” 

“Why, thank you, dear. Care to taste-test for me?”

You shook your head, “I already know they’d taste perfect. I’ll wait to eat them with everyone at breakfast.”

You unwound your arms from his waist, your fingers lingering for a moment before reluctantly letting go to start setting up the dining table. 

Sanji stopped you with a hum, puckering up his lips in a blatant request for a kiss before you left his side.  

A small laugh escaped you as you reached up to cup his cheek, leaning in to grant his wish. You gave him a small peck, but Sanji let out a whine of protest and chased your lips, stealing a proper, longer kiss.

His hands itched to go around you, but alas, they were still coated with the sticky residue of rice and salt.

You tilted your head, seeking to deepen the kiss, when suddenly,

“Sanji!” Your Captain’s voice reached the kitchen before he did, “Is breakfast ready yet?”

Sanji sighed, giving you one last peck right as Luffy came barging in, “Let’s continue this later, shall we?”

“Later” ended up being all the way until the sunset.

The cook has always been the busiest among the Straw Hats, with barely any downtime in his schedule. After breakfast was lunch prep, then came the afternoon snack, then on to dinner.

You loved to accompany Sanji while he cooked, just chatting, doing your own things quietly, or occasionally lending a helping hand, but the kitchen was not exactly the best place to get some alone time.

It seemed that every few minutes, a different crewmate would come sauntering in, looking for a drink or a snack, seeking refuge from the cold, or simply wanting to spend some time with you and Sanji.

You loved your crewmates to pieces, but sometimes, you wished you could get more than just a few stolen moments with your lover.

One of the rare breaks the cook had was the narrow window between afternoon tea and dinner. 

The meat was marinating in the fridge, the pizza dough was on its final proof, and Sanji was leisurely trailing kisses down your neck. 

You and Sanji loved spending this quiet time at the aquarium bar, sipping on one of his delicious mocktails – or cocktails, depending on your moods – while enjoying some much-needed privacy. 

His slender fingers deftly undid the top two buttons of your shirt, giving him access to mouth your collarbone languidly. 

Your back was flush with the velvet couch, and you sighed as you played with the golden strands of his hair. 

Soft jazz music flowed from the Tone Dial sat at the bar top. The dim room, lit only by the blue glow of the aquarium lights, emboldened Sanji to dip his hand underneath your shirt, the fabric trailing up and exposing your skin as his fingers crept higher and higher…

Bang!

The door being slammed open made you both jump, drawing your sights to the intruder.  

“Oi, Mosshead!” Sanji shouted as he shielded your figure, his hands frantically fixing your shirt, “Don’t you know how to knock?!”

“It's common space, Stupid Love Cook!” Zoro yelled back, “I don’t need to knock to enter a public area in my own ship, do I?” 

Sanji scowled, not wanting to admit that the moss-for-brains was right, “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for some sake.” 

The blond man sighed, disentangled himself from you, and walked to the liquor cabinet. He took out a bottle of cheap sake – not that Zoro would complain – and threw it to the swordsman. 

“Now, piss off.”

“Gladly,” Zoro smirked, popping the bottle open and taking a swig before sauntering out the door, “Try a room with a lock next time!”

You still couldn’t quite meet Zoro’s eyes without your cheeks heating up, but otherwise, dinner was your typical, everyday affair – full of chatter and laughter, and occasionally some indignant shouts as rubber hands shot out to steal from unattended plates.

“Ah, right,” Nami began, swallowing her bite of grilled prawn before continuing, “A snowstorm’s coming tonight. It’s gonna be a big one.”

“Uh-oh, who’s on night watch?” Usopp asked.

You raised your finger, “I’m on the first shift.”

Sanji similarly raised a hand, “I’m on second.” 

The navigator frowned, “It might be hard to change shifts tonight – too dangerous to climb up and down the crow’s nest during the storm.”

“I’ll take the whole night, no problem.” Sanji volunteered. 

He always ended up staying awake the whole night anyway whenever the two of you had back-to-back shifts, choosing to sacrifice his rest for a few more hours alone with you. 

“You just rest tonight, dear,” he said, smiling sweetly at you.

He rose from the table and stretched his arms, “I’ll prepare something for breakfast in case I get stuck up there till morning.”

Before long, the fridge was stocked with cold tuna sandwiches, overnight oats with a side of crunchy granola, slices of fruit, cheese, and cured meats. The cook also made sure to leave the boxes of each member's favorite cereal on the counter.

After he freshened up and took his nightly shower, Sanji changed into some comfortable pajamas and went up to the crow’s nest to begin his watch.

He had barely settled down when he heard a knock on the metal hatch on the floor. 

He opened it to reveal your smiling face, your hair sprinkled with powder of snow.

“Sweetheart? What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here for my night shift, of course.” 

“Didn’t you hear what Nami said? A snowstorm’s coming!” His brows furrowed, “You won’t be able to go back to your room once it picks up.”

“Whoops, too bad.” You shrugged, grinning playfully as you climbed fully into the crow’s nest and closed the hatch, “Guess I’m stuck here with you until morning.” 

“And if we can’t leave…” You waggled your eyebrows suggestively at him, “Then nobody could get up here either.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, a blush rising to his cheeks once he caught on to your cunning ploy. 

His laughter that followed – a mixture of joy, shyness, and excitement – was as sweet as honey. 

“Well, come here, then.” He opened his arms wide, “Better make good use of this time.”

You pushed him gently to the floor and straddled his lap, then crossed your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, clinging to him like a koala.

Sanji sighed blissfully at the feeling of your body against his, his arms circling you to pull you in even closer.

The raging wind and snow grew increasingly stronger, making the windows rattle furiously amid the otherwise quiet room. 

You buried your hand in Sanji’s hair, relishing the way the soft threads enveloped your fingers.

Sanji’s digits ghosted back and forth on the straight line of your spine, causing goosebumps to appear all over your skin.

You both stayed like that for a while – eyes closed, hands roaming lazily, bodies pressed together.

“I love you.” Sanji suddenly said, the three little words always succeeding in making your heart skip a beat, no matter how often he said it.

“I know.” You kissed his cheek, “And I love you, Sanji. Always.”

Tears pricked Sanji’s eyes as he hugged you tighter, burying his face into your neck.

How undeserving he was of your love. 

When he first confessed to you, he could hardly believe that you could possibly return his feelings, but thankfully, you reminded him that you did every single day.

You two ended up sprawled on the floor, limbs entangled, with your head upon his steadily – but rather rapidly – beating chest.

Not for the first time, you found yourself looking forward to the day when you could fall asleep against him every night and wake up in his arms every morning.

The muted howls of the winds and the warmth of Sanji’s embrace made your eyes grow heavier and heavier. 

Sanji stayed awake – he was technically still on night watch, after all. He flared his observation haki outward every now and then, though he doubted anyone or anything could attack them in the middle of this snowstorm.

He smiled to himself when you snuggled closer to him, unconsciously seeking his warmth. 

As he stroked your hair and admired your peacefully dreaming face, selfishly, he thought,

He didn’t want this storm to be over just yet.

a/n: soft sanji is my kryptonite

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ main event page || event masterlist ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

↳ main masterlist

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐 food prompts 𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

¹⁾ tart, fresh cherries

²⁾ milky tea

³⁾ a can of redbull

⁴⁾ cold pepperoni pizza

⁵⁾ orange segments

⁶⁾ chamomile tea

⁷⁾ burnt toast

⁸⁾ steaming masala chai

⁹⁾ bitter dark chocolate

¹⁰⁾ water-heavy pears

¹¹⁾ salty cinema popcorn

¹²⁾ smooth whiskey

¹³⁾ fluffy cinnamon rolls

¹⁴⁾ rich cuban coffee

¹⁵⁾ streetside pani puri

¹⁶⁾ fresh-baked cookies

¹⁷⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁸⁾ sour jellies

¹⁹⁾ homemade soup dumplings

²⁰⁾ hotel room service french fries

²¹⁾ sugared donuts

²²⁾ mexican coca-cola

²³⁾ strawberry milkshake

²⁴⁾ fudgey brownies

²⁵⁾ spearmint gum

²⁶⁾ happy hour cocktails

²⁷⁾ fairground candyfloss

²⁸⁾ salmon sashimi

²⁹⁾ airplane peanuts

³⁰⁾ takeout fried rice

³¹⁾ pistachio gelato

³²⁾ a packed lunch

³³⁾ bruised bananas

³⁴⁾ cheap instant ramen

³⁶⁾ agua de jamaica

³⁷⁾ petrol station chocolate bars

³⁸⁾ soft mangos

³⁹⁾ chicken noodle soup

⁴⁰⁾ convenience store onigiri

⁴¹⁾ lemonade from a neighbourhood kids’ stand

⁴²⁾ chilaquiles

⁴³⁾ a steaming bowl of breakfast congee

⁴⁴⁾ too-sweet instant coffee

⁴⁵⁾ a sunday roast with all the trimmings

⁴⁶⁾ high-end restaurant steak frites

⁴⁷⁾ mango sticky rice

⁴⁸⁾ salsa verde and tortilla chips

⁴⁹⁾ stale bottled water

⁵⁰⁾ rotten strawberries

⁵¹⁾ old-fashioned caramels

⁵²⁾ honey and lemon lozenges

⁵³⁾ garlic bread

⁵⁴⁾ mango loco monster

⁵⁵⁾ clumsily-made spaghetti

⁵⁶⁾ rotisserie chicken

⁵⁷⁾ madras curry

⁵⁸⁾ abuela’s caldo de res

⁵⁹⁾ dirty martini

⁶⁰⁾ tinned sardines

⁶¹⁾ arayes

⁶²⁾ the last slice of birthday cake

⁶³⁾ ripe nectarines

⁶⁴⁾ caviar bump

⁶⁵⁾ iced latte

⁶⁶⁾ sugar cookies

⁶⁷⁾ mulled wine

⁶⁸⁾ baklava

⁶⁹⁾ chocolate poptarts

⁷⁰⁾ warm champangne

⁷¹⁾ sticky toffee pudding

⁷²⁾ blueberry pancakes

⁷³⁾ birria tacos

⁷⁴⁾ hospital pudding cups

⁷⁵⁾ lobster rolls

⁷⁶⁾ fresh honeycomb

⁷⁷⁾ campfire coffee

⁷⁸⁾ sweet tea

⁷⁹⁾ hot honey

⁸⁰⁾ vanilla protein powder

⁸¹⁾ bulgogi beef

⁸²⁾ warm focaccia

⁸³⁾ chilli con carne

⁸⁴⁾ peach cobbler

⁸⁵⁾ cold watermelon slices

⁸⁶⁾ sweet stewed apple

⁸⁷⁾ coloured marshmallows

⁸⁸⁾ vendor stand hotdogs

⁸⁹⁾ dragonfruit redbull

⁹⁰⁾ blood oranges

⁹¹⁾ vanilla coke

⁹²⁾ blue raspberry slushie

⁹³⁾ nicotine gum

⁹⁴⁾ raspberry jam

⁹⁵⁾ pear cider

⁹⁶⁾ pineapple rings

⁹⁷⁾ chicken wings

⁹⁸⁾ salted butter

⁹⁹⁾ coconut meat

¹⁰⁰⁾ wild blackberries

[cheeseatlantic]

Cheese, the Johnny and Reader cheese where she accidentally finds his sketchbook, and he was embarrassed but still so gentle and loving was so beautiful. It’s so lovely. Thank you. 🙏🏻 Please more Johnny coziness and loveliness.

AHHHH RHANK YOU I LOVE YOU ANON MWAwaMWAH

FEEDING STUPID(S)

It started with a lovingly packed lunch.

Homemade bánh mì with slow-roasted pork belly, crisp pickled vegetables, soft baguette. A little container of lemongrass broth on the side. Some spiced mango slices and a tiny handwritten note taped to the lid: “Don’t share. You deserve nice things. Love you.”

Johnny pulled it out during break, beaming with the pride of a man deeply loved—and deeply fed.

Kyle and Price immediately leaned over.

“The hell is that?” Kyle blinked at the sandwich like it might sing. “Did your partner cook for you again?”

Johnny, smug as anything, nodded. “Aye. Said I need proper fuel for blowin’ shite up.”

Price whistled low. “That’s better than what we get in the mess three times over.”

But before Johnny could even get the lid fully open—

A gloved hand came from behind.

Quick. Silent. Precise.

And yoinked the entire container.

Johnny squawked. “OI—, you absolute gobshite, give that back!”

Simon didn’t even look guilty. He just cracked the container open and took a bite, still walking.

“Mmm,” Ghost said around a mouthful of Johnny’s lunch. “Weird. Thought this was mine.”

Johnny stared, slack-jawed. “You don’t even bring lunch!”

“Exactly. Must’ve got mixed up.”

“You walked in with empty hands!”

Simon glanced over his shoulder. “You imagining things again, MacTavish? Worryin’ me.”

Johnny turned to Price and Kyle. “You saw that, right?! That’s my sandwich!”

Price took a sip of his tea. “Bit hard to say, Sergeant. It was pretty fast.”

Kyle nodded solemnly. “Could’ve been anyone.”

Johnny threw his arms up. “Unbelievable. Gaslit by my own bloody mates.”

⸻

That night, Johnny came home, dramatically flopping onto the kitchen counter as you plated dinner.

“Love of me life,” he groaned, “I need a tactical solution.”

You blinked. “…To what?”

He pouted. “LT keeps nickin’ my lunch. Full-on stealth op. He even stole the mango slices. And lied about it.”

You tried not to laugh. “Do you want me to pack you extra?”

“Nah, I want retribution—”

But the next morning, when Simon opened his gear bag, he found a perfectly packed lunch inside. Carefully labeled in blocky handwriting:

“Simon! Yes, this one’s actually for you. Eat it and stop stealing Johnny’s. Also I know you took the mango. – [Your Name]”

He stared at it in silence for a moment.

Then cracked the lid.

Inside: slow-roasted beef rendang, coconut rice, crispy shallots on top. A side of Thai cucumber salad. Mango sticky rice wrapped in wax paper.

“…Oh,” he muttered. “…Shit.”

Johnny caught him halfway through his first bite. “That’s right, ya thief. My spouse made you your own. No more grand larceny!”

Simon just hummed. “Yours was still better last week.”

“YOU—!”

⸻

By the end of the month, you were meal-prepping for three.

Price quietly asked if he could “get in on that action too, if it’s not too much trouble.” Kyle offered to wash every dish in your house in exchange for one of your burritos.

And Johnny?

Johnny never shut up about you. Not once.

Not about your cooking. Not about the notes.

Not about how lucky he was.

Because he was—and he knew it.

[holyblonded]

more of an idea I think would be cute than a straight out request, what if during Olga’s last weeks of pregnancy, Alexia gets sick and stays in bed for a few days. Azulita and Estrella are good chaos keeping everyone alive but being their usual annoying, over protective and proving some faults in their cleaning and cooking abilities

okay yes i love this! your brain is beautiful

it starts with alexia coughing during breakfast, trying to play it off like it’s nothing. olga squints at her over her orange juice like do not. estrella and azulita look up from their food in tandem, already suspicious. by the afternoon, alexia’s got a fever and is grumbling in bed, insisting she’s fine while olga glares at her and tells her she’s officially benched.

with olga about to give birth any minute and alexia in bed, the household enters a new era of chaos. the estrella-azulita temporary co-parenting arc. and god, they try. they really do.

they post a schedule on the fridge like it’s a war map. azulita’s got cooking duty, estrella’s in charge of cleaning, they share laundry and making sure olga eats enough. sounds simple. in theory.

except estrella has a very loose understanding of what “cleaning” actually means. she vacuums aggressively but somehow misses entire corners. at one point she tries to mop with floor cleaner and accidentally mixes it with something she wasn’t supposed to, and the kitchen smells like citrus and regret for two days. she swears she saw a tiktok say it was fine.

azulita’s cooking isn’t bad, per se. but she’s intense. she’s got measuring cups and timers and is yelling “estrella, you can’t just eyeball garlic!” from the kitchen while estrella’s trying to do laundry and keeps forgetting which settings are for towels. one of alexia’s favorite hoodies ends up shrunk to baby size. they have a moment of silence for it.

meanwhile, olga is stuck between wanting to help and wanting to rest, waddling around and trying not to laugh at how seriously her girls are taking their roles. she finds them in the living room at one point having a full-on argument about which pasta shape cooks faster. “you two are both wrong,” she says, sitting down heavily and putting her feet up. they bring her juice immediately.

alexia, for her part, is grumpy as hell in bed. she hates being still. hates being sick. she keeps trying to sneak out until estrella catches her mid-escape and physically drags her back to bed. “you’re not gonna die,” azulita mutters, fluffing her pillows. “but you will if olga catches you walking around.”

they rotate shifts sitting with her. estrella brings her a sketchbook and makes dumb faces until she laughs. azulita reads next to her in silence, occasionally handing her a tissue. they both bring her food with way too much effort on the plating, it looks like a michelin-star meal and tastes like a weird combo of overcooked rice and underseasoned eggs. alexia eats it anyway, she doesn’t have the heart to tell them.

by the third day, the house is… surviving. messy, loud, weirdly sticky in some places, but still filled with laughter. olga walks into the kitchen to find estrella scrubbing something on the counter with intense focus while azulita dances with a spatula to bad bunny playing off someone’s phone. they both look up like guilty gremlins.

“we’re doing great,” estrella says confidently.

olga looks at the smoke coming out of the toaster and nods slowly. “sure.”

but they are doing great, in their own way. they’re keeping things afloat, loving loudly, showing up. they bring alexia her tea, rub olga’s feet when she’s tired, and argue constantly over the best way to fold baby clothes.

when alexia is finally better, she finds a note taped to her door in estrella’s handwriting: “we kept everything alive. mostly.”

she walks into the kitchen to find olga asleep on the couch, azulita covered in flour, and estrella wearing sunglasses and stirring a pot of soup like gordon ramsay. she smiles. she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

[keiiaq]

places in my mha dr - cinnabon café 🎂 ༘ ⋆˚

─────── ⊹ ࣪ ₊˚⊹♡

───────────────

hihihi pookies! here’s a part 2 of my MHA DR! hope you guys enjoy, I will post a DR intro for this DR at some point but before I do, I just want to make sure I don’t want to change things frequently before I post it. 🥲

on a short note, i've figured out how to make my own banners and im having a blast making them hehe.

anyways lets start !!

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overview .ᐟ.ᐟ

firstly, I changed the brand cinnabon to cinnabun cause I thought the name was cute. also cause I didn’t have any ideas on the café name hehe.

the cinnabon café is located in shizuoka prefecture. and I normally come here for studying, to eat something nice, or to come hang out with my friends ! one of the girls from my middle school class happen to work here too on weekends.

the cafe specializes mainly in dessert / cute themed foods. they dont sell many hot foods, but i'll touch on that in a moment :)

───────────────

exterior/interior .ᐟ.ᐟ

the cafe doesnt use many light tones, but their main colour scheme is; brown, pastel pink, pastel yellow, beige, and a few hints of white. the cafe does use windows to attract customers, but also so a lot of natural light comes through!

im still a little unsure whether to make it a cat cafe, or keep it how it is hehe

┃visuals

───────────────

general food .ᐟ.ᐟ

the cafe doesn't specialize in savory food as much as they do with dessert themed foods ! (mochi, cupcakes, waffles, pudding, etc.) they do sell smiley fries and sticky mango rice too, incase you wouldn't want anything overly sweet. also, they enjoy selling ice-cream and frozen yoghurt too ! they come in a lot of flavors, surprisingly for a pretty small cafe; mango sorbet, watermelon, peach, lemon sorbet, vanilla, kinder bueno, cookie, etc.

with drinks, the cafe is versatile in drinks too; slushies, smoothies, water, soda floats, and lemonade, bubble tea and general tea as well !

┃visuals

───────────────

birthday specials .ᐟ.ᐟ

I thought this would be so cuuuuute to add birthday specials ! to put it simply, most the food portions are bigger for sharing and have food typically used for sharing like hwachae, sago, cakes, etc.

there is some foods added to the separate menu like clown sundaes, I saw these on pinterest and it looks so adorable 😭

also, as a small perk, the cafe does do birthday services too on top of that like a small gift and some birthday hats ! the birthday gifts would be kind of similar to that krusty krab burger figure in that one spongebob episode since it looked really cute when I watched it !!

┃visuals

───────────────

thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this post as much as I have while writing about it :) thank you sososo much for reading and happy shifting !

[buffetlicious]

Feng Food (台湾味 “丰”) is mum go-to haunt when she wants home style cooked food. I enjoy watching travel shows that also included local cuisine like Taiwan with their night markets and street food. I aways see people eating braised pork rice so here it is, Hakka-Style Braised Meat Rice (客家卤肉饭). This S$9.50 bowl is topped with diced fatty and lean braised pork, a whole braised egg, pickled cucumber slices and sauerkraut. The rice is flavoured with the braising sauce and each scoop leave your lips with sticky collagen. Paired my dinner with a glass of cold Brown Sugar Caramel Milk Tea (焦糖奶茶) that is much cheaper (S$3.40) than those selling at bubble tea stalls.

The problem with mum is that she is not keen to try out new dishes. Here, she is sticking to the usual S$12.80 bowl of Guan Miao Mian with Specially Marinated Pork Chop (猪排关庙面). A juicy and succulent piece of pork chop sits atop handmade wavy noodles with a firm and slightly chewy texture. She also loves the pickled crisp cucumber slices at the corner of the bowl.

[housecow]

Are you ever revealing how we can help support the binge or was that a tease to see how many thirsty people are following you?

SORRY I TOTALLY FORGOT TO POST SMTHN!!!

if y’all want to contribute to the binge (starting today!!! am eating mango sticky rice rn w thai tea and also 2 sodas bc i couldn’t choose) you can donate to my cashapp or paypal!! i’d like to know who’s sending me what, so please dm me for these!! <333

and those who’ve reached out already, thank you!!!! it has been a fantastic start to the next two weeks already >:))

those who’ve reached out and i haven’t gotten back to—PLEASE send another message!!! it’s insanely difficult to keep track of dms here lmfao

[croquis-el]

Authentic Japan in Gyakuten Saiban pt. 3

And we continue our acquaintance with authentic Japan accompanied by Naruhodo and case 3-5. And our guest today is Mei Karuma (Franziska von Karma).

成歩堂龍一。この黄色いポスターは何かしら?

naruhodō ryūichi. Kono kiiroi posutā wa nani kashira?

Naruhodo Ryuichi. What is this yellow poster?

ああ。それは《掛け軸》だよ。描かれている女のヒトは･･･.....

ā. Sore wa “kakejiku” da yo. Egaka rete iru on'na no hito wa.....

Ah, that's a hanging scroll. The woman depicted is...

せんべいブトンが たたまれている。

Senbei Buton ga tata mare te iru.

The rice cracker butons are folded.

何かしら?《せんべいブトン》って。

nanikashira? “Senbei buton” tte.

What is it? "Senbei Buton"

ウスくてペッタリした、おせんべいみたいなフトンだよ。

usu kute pettari shita, o senbei mitaina futon da yo.

It's a thin, sticky futon, like a rice cracker.

この国じゃ、そう言うの。

kono kuni ja, sō iu no.

That's what we say in this country.

アメリカで言えば････

《ビスケットタオルケット》かな。

Amerika de ieba “bisuketto taoruketto” ka na.

In America, it would be... "Biscuit towel blanket."

そ、そうなの。

････勉強になったわ。

-so,-sōna no. Benkyō ni natta wa.

Oh, that's right... I learned something.

If everything is clear with the scroll or, as Karuma called it, the "yellow poster", then the following dialogue simply blew my mind. Let's figure it out.

The first thing that causes misunderstanding is the "senbei buton" that Naruhodo talks about.

Senbei (煎餅), also spelled sembei, is a type of Japanese rice cracker. 

It is served as a snack during tea ceremonies, festivals, and other celebrations.

Which, by the way, Naruhodo himself explains a little later.

Now about "buton".

This is a slang word meaning "futon".

The kanji for "futon" is written as 布団 [futon] and read as [buton]. There is also the spelling ぶとん, where ぶ is read as [bu].

The difference in pronunciation:

ブトン [buton] from the first sentence.

フトン [futon] where Naruhodo already explains the meaning of the word to Karma.

And now together:

Shiki-buton which became hard and flat like a senbei (a Japanese rice cracker). That’s why it is called senbei-buton. A futon made of cotton tends to become a senbei-buton, because the cotton fibers get entangled after absorbing moisture.

Well, you know what a futon is without me.

Next is "bisuketto taoruketto" or Biscuit towel blanket.

ビスケット [bisuketto] - biscuit

タオルケット [taoruketto] - towel-blanket

To be honest, it seemed like a bunch of words to me. Because this is the first time I've encountered a "biscuit blanket". However, a little searching yielded the result - it's a synonym for Puff quilts.

Well, now everything has become clearer. For a bit. (And how on earth does Naruhodo know such things).

It turned out to be even worse with the towel blanket. However, the word タオルケット [taoruketto] has meanings:

● towel blanket (towel (blan)ket)

● terry-cloth blanket

Well, how could I not have guessed that this was a terry blanket! And if you put everything together, then a terry-cloth quilted blanket. (Although, honestly, I couldn't even think of it, because I've only seen terry bedspreads and towels, but not blankets.)

Well, Karuma agreed, and okay, then she understood. Yes, and I agree with her last phrase, today I also learned something new.