#taro leaves > root

[sleepynoons]

Made for You

You're a patisserie, and now, also the proud co-owner of your own restaurant, Zhuming Dessert Bar. You're new to this whole CEO thing, and you're hoping to seek some support from those around you – like the head chef next door!

patisserie!f!reader x chef!jiaoqiu, modern!au, sfw

word count: ~9,100

cw: explicit language, use of poisons, a lil slow burn lol

notes: i haven't played through the full story quest, so sorry if jiaoqiu is slightly ooc lol but he is blind and can only eat spicy foods yeet otherwise, wanted to write smth fluffy for this tragic, tragic man. and i also wanted to geek out about delicious east asian food yep.

thank you so much to @lychniis for beta-reading and for helping immensely with the pacing of this piece! @pawpiefawn i hope this story is at least 1/1000th as sweet as you are, and welcome to the hsr hell hole <3

I. TARO Macarons and Winter Melon Cookies

Crush almonds. Toast and grind sesame seeds. Mix egg whites with brown sugar. Skin, cut, mash taro root. Bring water to a boil. Top cookie dough with candied winter melon.

The sun starts filtering in through the window.

Steam soy milk until it foams. Melt gelatin. Frost thinly. Turn off the oven and stove. Slice coconut jelly into thin, small squares. Put everything into the fridge.

The day of a patisserie begins early – 4:30AM for you. Although you’re the head of your restaurant, the Zhuming Dessert Bar, you’re unable to separate yourself from the habitual duties of prepping, cleaning, getting a head start. To be fair, it would also be improper of you to leave such a task to your teammates. After all, these macarons and cookies are a gift for your neighbors, a first impression to the locals of not only the dessert bar, but primarily, the food it serves. The taste and presentation have to be perfect, and there’s no need to burden everyone else with an otherwise tedious and irrelevant task.

The Zhuming Dessert Bar is located in a busy food district, where there are various other diners, cafés, hole-in-the-wall gems, all waiting to be discovered and savored. After a long process of bidding and negotiating, you managed to snag a larger space, a one-story building sandwiched between a complex that housed several small businesses and a well-established hot pot spot. Unsurprisingly, a large majority of the stores in the district aren’t open in the morning, due to the lack of customers, and you only have to make a few runs.

As the time approaches 7AM, you begin to make your way out.

“Good morning, everyone!”

Those are the first words exchanged between you and your team, aside from the occasional “behind” or question, and you giggle as you’re greeted with a chorus of tired moans and lazy waves.

You ask, “I’m gonna head out – no more than two hours. Can someone meet with the vendors while I’m gone?”

Someone next to you nods, and you beam at them as you leave with a few boxes of the treats you made.

You only have three stops this morning – a trendy café co-owned by two college drop-outs, a Japanese, lunch-only spot run by an elderly couple, and a Western brunch place known for its omelettes.

The college drop-outs, acting much like their age, cheer when you hand over their sweets and quite literally gobble them up in front of you. By the time you leave, you’ve been unofficially adopted as their favorite “next-door aunt.”

When you arrive at the Japanese restaurant, only the wife seems to have arrived, and she pauses from her prep work to bring you inside to chat over cups of steaming green tea. Though the conversation is brief, the two of you quickly go down a rabbit hole, discussing the best brand for knives, how to tell when a daikon is ripe, which fruits are in season at the moment. As your exchange wraps up, you promise her you’ll return, at which she slips a napkin into your palm that has “Free Meal Coupon” scribbled on it with haphazard handwriting.

The American brunch restaurant is already bustling with noise, and a sous chef comes to welcome you at the front door. He’s polite, a little younger than you, and has the excitement of someone just starting off their career. You tell him good luck, and he responds likewise, wishing your dessert bar success.

Everyone seems pleasant and friendly, and you feel a rush of eagerness to hurry back to your restaurant. 

When you return, you can’t help but pause in front of the Zhuming Dessert Bar. You admire the spray-painted logo on the windows, the clean and modern architecture of the building, the little signboards out in front with chalk writings of recommendations and prices. Yesterday was your dessert bar’s opening day, and now, you and your team are about to embark on your first full week. Instead of feeling the daunting weight and pressure, you’re restless, hands and wrists itching to pick up a spatula, mouth salivating at all of the syrups and icings you’ll have to taste-test, feet poised to navigate through a crowded kitchen. After a few more seconds of admiring, you can’t hold back any longer and burst in through the back door, absolutely needing to get back to work.

Time passes quickly for all chefs. Even though you’re surrounded by timers that count down to precise milliseconds, the minutes and hours add up, and by the time service has ended, you truly don’t feel the passage of the day until you loosen the apron wrapped around your waist and sit down for a brief break. But you’re not done with all of your work quite yet, and you leave the cleaning and tidying to the others so you can make your last runs of the day.

You had taken a brief intermission after lunch to make the majority of your visits, so the only remaining restaurant on your list is the hot pot place right next door. If you remember correctly, the restaurant’s actually part of a larger chain, Yaoqing Hot Pot, that’s known for offering the spiciest yet most mouth-watering Szechuan flavors.

You jog over to the entrance, and peeking through the glass, you can see a man with peach pink hair sitting at the bar. He’s not wearing a uniform or eating, so he’s neither a cook nor a customer. That must mean he’s either a welcome guest or the manager.

You knock on the door, hoping to grab the attention of the man. His head does perk up, and he faces the door – but makes no effort to get up. You wait for another minute or so, before knocking again. Finally, the man rises from his seat, still facing you, before grabbing a cane and making his way over to you. As he approaches, you can see that his eyes are closed, and you almost fluster with humiliation.

As the man opens the door, you immediately bow, 90 degrees at the waist. “I am so, so sorry for bothering you!”

With a light laugh, the man replies, “No problem, but unfortunately, we’re not taking any more customers for the night.”

You straighten up and hold the box out in front of you. “I’m not a customer, actually. I’m from next door, we just opened.” You quickly introduced yourself and explained the contents of the box to him.

He pauses before slowly extending his palm, face up, out in front of him, on which you place the packaged macarons and cookies.

“Please enjoy! And have a good night!” 

Fearing that you’ve not only inconvenienced the man but also taken up too much of his time when his restaurant’s still crammed with customers, you bow again, despite knowing he won’t see, and scuffle away, only peering behind your shoulder once to see the man still at the door and “looking” down at the box.

II. Anmitsu

“Chef!”

The kitchen’s always loud, from boiling pots of syrup to whirring mixers kneading dough to blenders grinding up crackers, but never because of the people. It’s rare, in the first place, for someone to look for you unless you’re requested to taste a component or item being served that night, but the urgency of the call tells you it’s something different this time.

You rush over to the back door, where one of your pastry chefs, a fresh graduate from culinary school, is frowning beside an equally distraught vendor.

You pat your chef on the shoulder and wave cheerily at the vendor, “Hey, whatever the problem, there’s a way out. What’s going on?”

“We’ve run out of geomeunpat,” the chef responds.

The vendor chips in as well. “There wasn’t an order for the black adzuki beans, and I don’t have any extra. I’m so sorry!”

You nod in understanding. “Don’t apologize. Gimme a second to think.”

Geomeunpat, or black adzuki beans, is crucial to making white adzuki bean paste, which in Korean cuisine, is used to make rice cakes and other confectionery. Adzuki bean paste is also an irreplaceable ingredient for anmitsu, a Japanese dessert that typically consists of sliced fruit, kanten jelly, and rice flour dango. Given that it’s summer, your tasting menu has a few limited specials, and geomeunpat is needed for almost all of them. 

You ask, “Do we have any canned red bean paste?”

Your pastry chef goes to check the pantry and returns to report a number of cans.

“Alright, let’s do this.” You turn to the vendor. “We’re so sorry. Thanks for all of your help, and we’ll see you on Friday at this time, right?” The vendor confirms before leaving. Then, you turn back to your pastry chef. “Let’s substitute with the canned anko for today, but can you call me when you’re making the mitsu? We might need to adjust the sugar content of the syrup, or else it might be too sweet otherwise.”

“Yes, chef!”

“In the meantime, I’ll run to the market to see if there are any raspberries or cherries that can cut through the taste of the anko. Be right back.”

True to your word, you dash the few blocks to the farmer’s market, located at a nearby park with an open field and seating. It’s already mid-morning, so it’s likely that all of the best batches are gone, but there should be enough left over for you to find sufficient ingredients.

As predicted, the market crowd is waning, with many customers having already finished their shopping and gone home or enjoying their purchases at the picnic benches and tables. You look around, skittering around here and there, as if you’re a little child playing hide-and-seek, constantly changing your hiding spot.

This one’s no good either. Just as you take a step back, though, you bump into someone – wait, no, you step on something.

You look down, and you notice you’ve stepped on the ball of a white cane.

“Oh, shoot, sorry!” You jump away and nervously look at the owner of the cane. Your nervousness, though, is quickly replaced with something else, your eyes widening and brows raising.

You blurt, “You’re from Yaoqing Hot Pot!”

Behind the pink-haired man is a younger girl, brown hair tied into long, streaming pigtails and eyes piqued with childish wonder and unbounded curiosity.

The girl asks, “Chef, do you know this person?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

You speak up. “Yes, we have! Only very briefly, though. I dropped by with some treats, on behalf of the Zhuming Dessert Bar.”

Suddenly, the girl lets out a scream, at which you and the man wince. “Wait, did you bake those? They were delicious!” The girl clamors over to you and grabs you by the shoulders, shaking you back and forth. “How did you know to pair the taro filling with toasted sesame seeds? And the winter melon cookies were a spin on the traditional lao po bing, right? How did you come up with these ideas? Just hearing about them made my mouth water, but the real deal was –“

“Sushang,” the man interrupts sharply, “you’re being rude.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” The girl, Sushang, releases her hold on you with an awkward chuckle before returning to the man’s side.

You shake your head with a bright smile. “No, not at all! I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Sushang gleams at you. “No, but seriously, they were delicious. You said you were from the Zhuming Dessert Bar, right? Are they sold in-store?”

“Yes, I’m the head chef at the dessert bar. Unfortunately, we don’t plan on putting them on the menu for a while because they still need some work.”

“More work?” Sushang’s jaw drops wide open in disbelief, and you shrug.

The man says, “Sushang, you should know that every item on a tasting menu is chosen with utmost patience and care. It can take months to perfect a new item.”

“Yes, chef, but I just can’t imagine how you could do even better.”

You chuckle. “I’m glad, then. If they ever make it on the menu, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

With happy claps, Sushang cheers. As for you, you turn towards the man.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, “I never quite got your name.”

He gives you a small smile in the form of pursed lips. “Jiaoqiu, head chef at Yaoqing Hot Pot, though I don’t do much of the cooking anymore.”

“Well, Jiaoqiu, it’s very nice to meet you. Do you happen to have any thoughts on those treats I gave you?”

Before Jiaoqiu can respond, Sushang answers first on his behalf. “Oh, our chef never eats anything made by other people! He doesn’t even try my cooking, so I don’t even know how to improve!”

The chef nudges an elbow into his employee’s ribs, who winces and whimpers at the pain.

You simply just watch the interaction before saying, “No worries, I get it. Though, I feel like your name is familiar, Jiaoqiu…”

You tilt your head, attempting to recall. His name reminds you of a news headline, something about culinary school and graduation, but nothing else beyond that. Sushang looks like she can barely contain herself, but the set expression on Jiaoqiu’s face prevents her from actually spilling the truth.

Regardless, you move on. “No matter. Anyway, I’m guessing the two of you are grabbing some ingredients, yeah?”

“Yes,” Jiaoqiu affirms. “We always source our fruits locally. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m also looking to buy some fruit!”

“Then come with us!” Sushang suggests. “We know the best vendors in town.”

Before you can even ask if that’s alright with the Yaoqing’s head chef, you’re already pulled along by the arm and tugged towards a tent near the end of the market street.

III. Penghu Salty Biscuits

“Two beers please.”

You sigh, setting down the hardcover menu on the table. Yaoqing Hot Pot is packed with people, even though it’s late at night, 11PM. To be fair, the hot pot chain is a combination of a hot pot buffet and bar, so it makes sense that the store’s open until the unruly hours of the night. But while all of the customers seem to be partying and having the time of their lives, you and your co-owner, Yukong, sit tiredly across from each other.

“How is it only the third week,” you groan as you drop your forehead onto the table.

A waiter comes over to drop your drinks off, and Yukong takes a quick gulp from her chilled mug.

“Tell me about it,” she sighs.

Yukong co-founded the Zhuming Dessert Bar with you. In fact, the two of you grew up together, and have been inseparable ever since elementary school. When she transferred middle schools, you begged your parents to transfer you as well. When you both were preparing for college entrance exams, you chose the same university as your top pick. When you went to baking school, she got into a neighboring MBA program so that the two of you could continue rooming together. And when you both came up with the idea of starting a restaurant together, the logistics and enthusiasm naturally fell into place.

“That customer just wouldn’t back off,” Yukong grumbles. She takes another drink before picking up her chopsticks, skewering a slice of fatty beef, and dropping it into the boiling tomato broth. “He clearly already got a serving of the ice cream – I saw it with my own eyes! But he just wouldn’t stop lying and making a fuss.”

“I know,” you bemoan. “I’m just glad I have you to handle these kinds of customer problems. I would’ve just cried on the spot.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t.” She captures the beef with a flick of her wrist and drops it into her sauce bowl. “I just feel bad for Yunli. You know how she is, hot-tempered and impatient, but even she wouldn’t dare speak up against a customer. But you could tell it was taking every inch of her strength to not, just, yell back.”

“Yeah, Yunli was completely out of it for the rest of her shift.” You shake your head as you ladle a knotted bunch of Konjac noodles onto your plate. 

The tomato soup, despite being completely plant-based, is rich, almost too aggressive in its flavor. But when soaked up, the oil and fragrance of the broth fuse seamlessly into the unseasoned nature of hot pot ingredients, so much so that you can arguably eat everything without dipping it in sauce. Still, you drench half of the noodles into your mixture of sesame oil, peanut sauce, green onions, and garlic. When you take your bite, you hum so happily, the chewiness of the Konjac providing great texture while heat permeates throughout your entire body, melting away the knots and strain in your muscles.

“This is so good,” you garble through a mouthful. Yukong’s also entranced with her bite of fish cake, and can only nod in agreement.

Once you finish the Konjac noodles, you slide in a platter of cabbage slices, balls of shrimp paste, and tofu squares.

“Anyway…,” you start. “Next time, I don’t think we should even bother. Most of our customers are reasonable, anyway, and it’s honestly not worth it.”

Yukong frowns at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Because, on the other hand, I don’t think we should tolerate this behavior at all.”

“I know, but I don’t want the other pastry chefs to worry about stuff like this. Besides, we always make enough of everything. Otherwise, the extras would all go to waste, and I can’t keep giving Granny Toka and the college kids our leftovers.”

Yukong huffs and crosses her arms, a pointer finger tapping impatiently at the juncture of her elbow. Yet, Yukong can’t seem to come up with a response, so she acquiesces.

“Yukong…,” you mumble. You look at her, a little expectantly and a lot more nervously.

She slides her arm across the table, a gesture for you to do the same. As you put your hand on top of hers, she says, “I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated. You and the other chefs are our top priority, and I understand you want to avoid causing them as much stress as possible. I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Yukong’s always been like this – able to read your mind, say the reassuring things you need to hear at the right time, find the best solution without compromising anyone’s feelings. You rub your thumb over the back of her hand lovingly before someone calls out your name.

“Hey, you managed to come!”

You turn to the side to see Sushang. You exclaim, “Yes, we did! Thanks for having us! The food’s amazing!”

“Of course! If you ever want another discount, just let me know.” Sushang wiggles her eyebrows, and you and Yukong laugh at her antics.

“This is Yukong, my co-founder,” you introduce. 

Sushang steps aside, and only then do you realize someone’s behind her. Which is odd, because the man’s absolutely looming over her, but something about his quiet demeanor must’ve concealed his presence. 

Sushang says, “Nice to meet you, Yukong! This here is Moze, one of our sous chefs. Moze, she made the macarons and cookies we had a few weeks ago.”

Moze stiffly nods, but as soon as Sushang mentions your desserts, a hopeful glint in his eyes appears.

“You know,” Sushang continues, “I’ve only seen Moze talk so much about someone’s cooking, like, literally a handful of times. He rarely compliments other people, but he totally ranted when he ate those sweets of yours.”

Moze scoffs and knocks Sushang on the back of her head. “We’ve told you so many times to not run your mouth.”

You and Yukong exchange warm looks. You say, “Sushang’s just incredibly honest. But I’m glad they were to your liking, Moze.”

Yukong speaks up as well. “We’d like to return the favor, too. Feel free to drop by the Zhuming Dessert Bar, free of charge.”

Sushang yells so loudly that some of the adjacent customers glance at your party. “Are you for real?! Moze, we need to go. Immediately.”

“By the way,” Yukong interrupts, tone more formal now, “is your head chef, Jiaoqiu, around? And is it possible for us speak to him?”

Puzzled, you glance towards Yukong. You came for a simple dinner, and Yukong never informed you of other plans.

Moze answers this time. “The head chef’s in the back. Can I ask what you plan on discussing?”

“Actually, I’m a family friend of Feixiao’s. I’d like to personally meet her right-hand man.”

It seems as if the world has stopped spinning. Yukong knows Feixiao? She knows the owner of Yaoqing Hot Pot? Personally? Huh? It seems Moze and Sushang are both stunned as well, and after a few sluggish seconds, Moze excuses himself, presumably to find his boss.

Jiaoqiu appears in no more than five minutes.

“Miss Yukong, it’s good to meet you in person,” Jiaoqiu greets. Yukong reaches her hand out for a handshake, and only when Moze guides Jiaoqiu’s hand forward does the head chef reciprocate.

“Oh, apologies, I didn’t know you –,“ Yukong begins.

Jiaoqiu cuts her off succinctly. “No worries. It’s only been a few years, after all. I also told Feixiao not to inform others of my condition in the first place.”

“I see.”

Jiaoqiu then redirects the conversation skillfully. “Speaking of Feixiao, I’m sure the two of you have come up with something that requires my assistance? I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

You slide deeper into the booth so that Jiaoqiu can sit beside you. From this proximity, you can make out the sweat lining his forehead, the thick rubber band pulling his hair back into a ponytail, and the creases of his sleeves where they were once rolled up.

Yukong clears her throat, a habit of hers right before negotiations begin. 

“The Mid-Autumn Festival’s coming up in a little over a month, and since both of our restaurants are based on East Asian cuisines, Feixiao and I are considering a collaboration. Do you think that’s something your team would be interested in?”

Surprisingly, despite his thoughtful nature, Jiaoqiu doesn’t even take a second to consider. “If Feixiao’s eager about the idea, I don’t see why not.”

“Great. So far, the plan is to add a few of our desserts to your existing menu, while we add some of your appetizers to ours. How does that sound?”

At this suggestion, Jiaoqiu hums with dissatisfaction. “That could ruin the flavor profiles of each of our own stores.”

“Right, of course. We considered that, and that’s why we think it’d be best if both of our restaurants created new items that’d fit both the theme of the Mid-Autumn Festival, as well as our respective offerings.”

“I see.”

From your periphery, you can see Moze looking at Yukong, trying to decipher her intentions, while Sushang’s rocking on her feet, cheeks puffed up with anticipation. You, on the other hand, have no problem with this idea either and simply accept the fact that the next two months are going to be very busy.

Jiaoqiu asks, “I think this idea’s not bad. How do we plan on executing it?”

Yukong gestures at you, so you perk up. “Uh, well, I guess we can just meet to hash out the details? I know you’re very busy, though, so that might not work.”

“No, it’s fine.” Jiaoqiu seems to sigh, almost as if he’s giving into defeat. “If both Feixiao and Miss Yukong think this is a worthwhile business project, then it’s my job to see it through. We should begin promptly.”

You nod and begin exchanging contacts with the Yaoqing folks. As you’re typing in Moze’s contact, though, you suddenly get a call from one of your chefs.

You excuse yourself, walking out of the noisy restaurant to answer the call.

“Yunli, what’s up?” you chirp.

You hear very panicked voices until Yunli directly replies. “Chef, the HVAC’s broken. The refrigeration doesn’t work. At all.”

You feel goosebumps snake down your arms and back. Suddenly, your throat feels entirely parched, and you’re not even able to swallow to alleviate the dryness. For once, when it comes to work, your body’s freezing up, rooting you to your spot on the sidewalk, preventing you from running into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

You rush back into Yaoqing Hot Pot, inform Yukong of the situation, and the two of you scramble back to the Zhuming Dessert Bar.

That night, you make several runs home, but you don’t actually get to unwind until well past 2AM. Not only did you have to make several emergency calls to your property manager and repair services, but you also had to drive back and forth to transfer the ingredients to your own fridge and freezer. Simply put, everyone who stayed past service to clean up the dessert bar was utterly exhausted. It was arguably one of your worst nights since the Zhuming’s opening.

It took the whole weekend for the HVAC-R system to be repaired, which meant the cancellation of two days’ worth of reservations. The cancellations impacted the store’s sales significantly for the week, and you were forced to revise several recipes to accommodate for cheaper ingredients. While your other teammates could take the time off, you had to come in to experiment and adjust the taste of each menu item, which is always a painstakingly arduous and tedious process. At times, you felt a hint of nostalgia, reminiscent of your times in pastry school, but those flashbacks only left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

Your meetings with Jiaoqiu also began the following week. On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you head over and enter Yaoqing Hot Pot through the back door so you can directly walk to Jiaoqiu’s office. Inside his office, there’s a small desk which he sits at, while you situate yourself on a small, plush bean bag that was brought in by Sushang. So far, the two of you have drafted initial ideas, and tonight, Jiaoqiu will be presenting the first iterations of the Yaoqing’s appetizers to you.

Like the first time you met him, you knock on the door twice. As always, when he greets you, he gives you a tight smile. Tonight, though, his expression appears more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I’m afraid the dishes have not come out as expected.”

You see a porcelain white plate on his desk. In the center, there are a few strips of tofu, topped with finely diced pieces of thousand-year-old eggs, scallions, and garlic. There are streaks of red and black as well, no doubt the Yaoqing’s signature spicy sauce. Beside the plate is a small bowl. You take a step closer to see chunks of cabbage, ginger, radish, and carrots, all of the pieces slightly wrinkled, accompanied by a sharp smell of acid. Both are classic Szechuan dishes: spicy cold tofu and pickled vegetables.

Using the chopsticks laid out on a napkin, you take small bites of the dishes. You’re personally not too good with spicy foods, so you can only hope that Jiaoqiu hasn’t gone overboard with the seasonings.

The thousand-year-old eggs are chewy and dense, in delightful contrast to the softness of the tofu, which practically melts on your tongue. However, the garlic, scallions, and spicy sauce penetrate through and remain as the final aftertaste. Then, you pick up a piece of the pickled cabbages. The water and vinegar brine has been completely absorbed, and you notice that there’s a stark lack of peppercorns, which is usually a key component of this dish. With a crunch, your teeth pierce through the leaf, and you’re impressed by how tender the inside of the cabbage is. You pick around to try the other ingredients.

When Jiaoqiu hears you place your chopsticks down, he asks, “I’m sorry if they’re lacking.”

“No worries. Maybe we should call in Moze, so I can share my thoughts?”

Jiaoqiu does as you request, and a few minutes later, the sous chef joins the two of you.

You give a brief rundown of your suggestions.

“The Zhuming Dessert Bar is known for its milder flavors, and the two appetizers taste great as is but simply don’t make sense in the broader context. I was thinking, maybe for the spicy cold tofu, we can mash the eggs into almost something like a paste? I think it’d provide an interesting texture, and we can use fresh scallions to keep that hint of bite if needed. To be honest, I think there should be way less garlic. Maybe even no garlic at all.

“As for the pickled vegetables, I think this one’s pretty close to done, actually! I think the cabbage is perfect, and I like that there are no peppercorns in the presentation. I was thinking that maybe we can make this dish a little more – how do I put this – refreshing? For instance, instead of using radish, we can use cucumbers instead? The water content might pose an issue, but I think cucumbers could add a ‘clean,’ crisp touch, which I like the sound of. Oh, we should also take out the ginger.”

When you finish, Jiaoqiu and Moze look at you as if you’ve just committed a murder in front of them.

Moze can barely conjure a sentence. “Are – are you – can you not handle spicy foods? Are these too spicy for you? Wh – what are you –“

Jiaoqiu has to interrupt him. “Without the ginger or garlic, you’re essentially asking us to abandon core aspects of Szechuan cuisine.”

You try to justify yourself. “I know it’s a cardinal sin, I get it. It’s like asking pastry chefs to not use sugar or flour or whatever. But the appetizers are just too strong, and none of the desserts we have, including our Mid-Autumn Festival specials, will complement them. Maybe a subtractive method isn’t the best approach, but I honestly don’t know enough to propose any other ideas.”

Jiaoqiu tilts his chin, thinking. Finally, he states, “I think I have one.”

At the next meeting, the head chef presents you the same two dishes, but they look vastly different than before.

Jiaoqiu explains that, for the tofu, he listened to your suggestion and mashed the thousand-year-old eggs into a paste. Within the paste, he also incorporated the garlic, which should be diluted by the natural pungency of the aged yolk. The scallions and chili sauce are filled in a separate container, allowing customers to pour as little or as much as they want.

As for the pickled vegetables, Jiaoqiu added a rather unique ingredient. 

“Why lotus root?” you ask.

He explains, “Lotus root is in season right now, and we took inspiration from the classic Yunnan lotus root salad. We soaked the lotus root in a one-to-one ratio of rice vinegar and water to extract the starch, before blanching the slices. We also added ginger and a bit of sugar to the brine, so there wouldn’t be a need to keep the ginger slices in the dish itself. The one thing I want you to check is if we added too much peppercorn and salt.”

One bite of each dish, and you’re grinning ear to ear.

“This is it,” you whisper, in sheer awe. You can’t help but take two more mouthfuls of each appetizer. “In just one night, and you made such vast improvements. Jiaoqiu, you’re a genius.”

What was supposed to be a celebratory moment seemed to be ruined instantaneously by your comment. Moze’s face drops and Jiaoqiu can’t help but wince, to your confusion.

All of a sudden, very shy and embarrassed, you mumble, “Did I say something wrong? The food’s great, Jiaoqiu, is there something that’s not to your liking?”

Moze states, rather gruffly, “No, we’re very happy that you enjoy the dishes so much. After all, it’s been a while since Jiaoqiu has cooked something by himself.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you both look so upset. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.” Jiaoqiu sighs. “Then, these two are a go. One more left.”

From then on, your interactions with Jiaoqiu become stiff and rigid. Not that you had made much progress in the first place, but at the very least, the two of you could speak in the same fluid prose of ingredients and techniques and practically anything related to cooking and baking. Now, the two of you barely speak outside the context of the collaboration, and even the feedback you receive doesn’t come straight from him. Sushang had mentioned this earlier, and she’s absolutely right – Jiaoqiu doesn’t touch your cooking at all. In fact, Moze’s the one who munches away at your samples, while Jiaoqiu only asks for his opinions.

Are you frustrated? Absolutely. But it’s not like you can call off this project for such a small reason. It’s not like Moze doesn’t offer great advice, but it’s not up to the level of expertise that you need. So, not only do you feel frustrated, you also feel directionless, and your creative juices are running out.

You hate to admit it, but this sucks. 

IV. Taiwanese Pineapple Cake

You should’ve prepared for all hell to break loose because “busy” doesn’t even begin to describe your current state.

The Mid-Autumn Festival Is approaching in a week, which means the collaboration’s also set to launch in just a few days. But before that, it seems you have other, more urgent issues to address first.

“Wait, why isn’t Lingsha here?” You look around, hoping for someone to know. You have a full house tonight, and you need all the helping hands you can get.

Yunli, who’s busy shaping some fondant, responds, “I think she’s sick.”

Alarmed, you quickly shoot Lingsha a text, asking her about her condition, in addition to a reminder to please, please, please let you know next time.

“That’s fine, but we’re going to need someone to take over her station…”

There are two halves to your team. Since the dessert bar is split between a morning bakery and an evening tasting restaurant, you’ve placed your less experienced chefs on the morning shifts. This could be a good opportunity for one of them to learn, you think.

“Huo Huo,” you call out, “can you stay for the rest of the day? I’ll make sure Yukong pays you overtime.”

A small, green-haired girl squeaks at the sound of her name. Even from a distance, you can see her body begin to shake and tremble.

“Y-yes,” she stutters as her knuckles pale from gripping onto a hand mixer so tightly.

You shoot her two thumbs up and a gentle smile. “You’ll be great, I just know it, Huo Huo. You’re in charge of presentation, so all you have to worry about is not breaking any dishes, alright?”

You, in fact, did have to worry about broken dishes that night.

Frankly speaking, Huo Huo was all over the place. She confused some of the dishes with each other, so the presentation wasn’t right at times. She also spilled glaze, so those desserts had to be tossed. The most tragic of her mistakes was that she forgot basic kitchen etiquette and almost got burned in the face with a blowtorch. Yunli’s tolerance was clearly waning, and you had to pinch her multiple times to prevent her from unleashing all of her rage.

You can’t help but think this is all your fault.

And as you trudge to Jiaoqiu’s office, your stomach sinks further. You feel the fatigue coursing through your veins, and despite your usual patient and easy going temperament, you can feel your thread of optimism thinning, dangerously close to snapping.

You just never expected it to break so soon.

“Uh, where are your samples?” Moze asks.

You can only close your eyes and cover them with your palms. You feel so weak in the knees. You want to keel over.

The burning sensation at your waterline doesn’t help either, and even though you can’t breathe, you hold back so as to not let anyone hear your sniffles.

You’re an actual patisserie now. No more groveling and self-pitying – you left all of that behind at baking school and your previous stages. You’ve made it so far, and you can’t fumble it. You need to be on top of things and be professional. Why are you even upset? What’s wrong with you? Keep. It. Together.

Jiaoqiu mutters, “Moze, leave us for now.”

With barely audible steps, you feel Moze walk away, and Jiaoqiu slides his office door closed behind you. Though it takes him a bit, he manages to feel his way down the wall so that he’s stooping beside you.

“Guess it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong.”

“Everything,” you say, voice muffled as you hide your head with your forearms, tucking your chin to your chest.

“Yeah, running a restaurant never gets easier.”

You peek up at him. “But you never seem to be sweating over it.”

“Everyone has their worries.”

You take a deep breath. At this point, it doesn’t even matter if you cry or not because Jiaoqiu doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to care.

You ask, “I feel like I don’t know how to lead my team properly. We managed to get everything out in time, but the kitchen was an entire mess. We also had to get repairs done a few weeks ago, even though the property’s new and all. And remember when we ran into each other at the farmer’s market? It’s because someone forgot to properly do inventory. Like – these are all basic procedures. What am I forgetting to teach them?”

“From my experience, it just comes from routine reminders during meetings, and being ruthless when it comes to firing people.”

You roll your eyes. “Jiaoqiu, I’m afraid not everyone has the luxury of an inbox overflowing with hiring and employment requests.”

“Then, you have to do the hard thing and train them. Over and over again, until they finally get it right.”

You take another inhale. He’s right.

The stooping’s becoming uncomfortable, so you let yourself fall back and onto the ground.

“Thanks, Jiaoqiu. I think I’ve got my shit together again.”

“Of course. Then, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

You begin to get up but end up deciding otherwise. You suggest instead, “Let’s just talk for a bit, if you have the time. We’ve been seeing each other so often, and I feel like I know practically nothing about you.”

You see a flash of suspicion cross his face, but Jiaoqiu doesn’t reject the idea either.

You help Jiaoqiu to his desk before finding your usual spot on the bean bag, and ask, “So, tell me. What about Yaoqing Hot Pot is stressing you out?”

“The new hires. I trust Moze, but it’s hard for him to handle everything by himself. I would ask Sushang, but it’s more important that she concentrates on honing her own skills right now.”

Something Moze said rings in your head.

“And…,” you start. “I’m guessing you can’t help either because you haven’t cooked in a while?”

Jiaoqiu remains silent. More hints from previous conversations seem to pop into your head.

You ask again, tone much quieter and more polite, “You told Yukong your blindness is relatively recent. Is… is that why you’ve stopped cooking?”

“I’d get in the way of too many people. Plus, I can really only trust Moze to help me in the kitchen, but that’d hinder his own growth as a chef. I couldn’t ask that of him.”

“So those appetizers –“

“That was a one-time thing. The others know how to replicate them by now.”

“But I want to eat your food.”

The words fly out before you can think about them. You gasp at your audacity, hands flying to seal your mouth, and Jiaoqiu has a surprised look on his face.

It takes a few moments before Jiaoqiu breaks the silence with huffs of chuckles. “You called me a genius the other day, didn’t you?”

You nod at first, but remembering that he can’t see, affirm vocally.

“It’s just a personal peeve of mine, but I detest being called that.”

Furrowing your brows and scrunching your nose, you try to think of why.

Jiaoqiu… Blind… Genius… Hate… Feixiao…

You let out another audible gasp, this time horrified.

“I remember,” you hiss.

No wonder his name’s familiar. 

You’ve never paid much attention because you were so entrenched in your own work, but a few years ago, Jiaoqiu was a superstar in the culinary world. He was winning awards left and right, despite not having even graduated culinary school. But then, he suddenly disappeared, and all of the tabloids were speculating as to why. He didn’t come back into the limelight until he joined Yaoqing and became Feixiao’s right-hand man.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but…”

“I was poisoned.”

You gape at him.

He continues, indifferent to your loud reactions. “Being a ‘genius’ comes with its own share of problems. I had classmates who were envious of my achievements, and one of them slipped methanol into a dish they wanted me to try.”

The story’s horrifying itself, but what leaves you completely stunned is Jiaoqiu’s nonchalance. He’s speaking as if he’s reading the news, as if this terrible thing happened to some stranger and not to him.

“Oh, Jiaoqiu…”

“It’s alright. I owe Feixiao for entrusting much of Yaoqing to me.”

“Thanks for sharing these painful memories with me…”

Jiaoqiu simply nods. “I hope the Zhuming Dessert Bar sees better days.”

V. Fuqi Feipian

Everything does seem to calm down, though there’s never truly a peaceful day when you’re working in the restaurant industry.

Lingsha returns in good shape, and with her and Yunli’s help, the three of you begin to offer additional training sessions after work to better prepare the newcomers. You’re a small team, after all, so it’s only right that you have each other’s backs.

The launch of the Mid-Autumn Festival goes as well as Yukong and Feixiao predict. Revenue streams are the highest they’ve ever been for the Zhuming Dessert Bar, and the food seems to be well-received. There are always a few pesky hate comments on social media platforms, but those can’t be helped.

Most importantly, your relationship with Jiaoqiu has improved dramatically. You first tested the waters by sending him an hour-long ASMR video of cat purrs, and he replied likewise with a five-minute compilation of foxes yipping and laughing. Also, even though there’s no reason to meet anymore, you still drop by and bother the pink-haired chef whenever you have the time. Mostly, it’s just you pestering him to make you food and him refusing, but after ten minutes or so of pointless bantering, he relents and you help him around the kitchen, setting timers, fetching ingredients, and making sure he doesn’t cut himself.

For the most part, he does well even without your assistance. His sense of taste is incredibly acute, and his hands seem to remember how to slice at different angles, widths, and shapes, all from rote memory. Still, it seems that having you there provides an additional layer of safety, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

“What are you going to make for me this time?”

You’re holding Jiaoqiu by the hands, steering him towards the industrial fridges standing tall to one side of the kitchen. Unlike the narrow and rectangular layout of the Zhuming Dessert Bar’s kitchen, the Yaoqing’s is much more spacious and has sufficient walking room.

“The freezer should have a piece of beef shank.” You let go of one of his hands to open the door, and as he said, there’s a plastic-wrapped chunk on the top shelf. You take it out, and then walk the two of you over to the central island, where there’s a large cutting board and knife.

“Knife to your right, beef to your left. Is there anything else I should grab?”

“Can you get some sesame seeds, chili oil, and a stalk of celery?”

As you collect the items, you watch him from the corner of your eye. Jiaoqiu picks up the beef shank by the fingertips, and using his other hand to roughly measure out the length of the cutting board, sets the meat down near the center. Then, with fleeting touches, he feels for the wooden handle of his knife.

“The blade’s facing downwards,” you call out.

“Thanks,” he replies.

With his left hand, he traces the shank until he reaches the edge, where he backtracks by a few millimeters and curls his fingers in so that the first joints are tucked away. With steady movements, he brings the knife over with his right hand until the flat of the blade meets his curled fingers, and now he knows where to cut. Though he’s slow, much slower than a professional chef should be, every slice is done without hesitation. There’s no wavering, no stopping, no interrupting the motion of the knife being plunged down onto the cutting board. He continues, procedurally shifting his left hand back and right hand forward, until he’s divided the chunk of beef into beautifully thin slices.

You only come back when he’s set his knife down.

“You still haven’t told me what you’re making.”

“The name’s a little misleading,” he says, “but it’s a dish I grew up eating quite frequently. Do you think you’re up to trying something spicy?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please, when have you made something not spicy?”

His lips break into a small, genuine smile. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a bowl with a short rim, will you?”

“Yes, chef!”

Into the bowl, he transfers the beef shank and pours spoonfuls of chili oil, salt, and white sugar on top. He mixes everything, ensuring that the tips of the chopsticks don’t puncture through the meat, and sets the dish aside.

He then picks up the knife again, which you follow up by placing the celery stalk onto the cutting board.

“Center middle”

“Leaf intact?”

“Yes.”

He searches for the end of the stalk, and when he finds it, he chops the leafy section off. He makes diligent work of the rest, first splitting the stalk in horizontal half before chopping it vertically into small bits. When he’s finished, he transfers the celery pieces into the bowl, giving the ingredients a good mix again, before returning to mince the celery leaves.

When he’s finished, he pushes the bowl away from the cutting board. He says, “You’ll realize that Szechuan food is quite simple to put together. This dish is called fuqi feipian.”

“You said the name was misleading.”

“Well, its literal translation means ‘husband and wife lung slices.’”

You can’t help but chuckle at the name. “I don’t know if that’s supposed to be romantic or gory.”

Jiaoqiu smirks and crosses his arms. “Either way, it’s spicier than all of the other things I’ve cooked for you. Take a bite.”

Mentally, you prepare for the numbing bite of the spices and chilis as you eat a slice of beef. The acidity of the oil and celery leaf garnishing hit you immediately, and you almost choke at the sudden impact of flavor.

You cry out, “Spicy!”

“I told you.”

You quickly swallow before picking out pieces of celery and peanuts to soothe your tongue.

“Seriously, Jiaoqiu, how can you eat this all the time?”

He simply shrugs. “I can’t really taste anything else.”

“Wait, what?”

“I started losing my sense of taste in culinary school. The doctors said it was probably due to stress from the competitions and media appearances. Now, I can only really eat very strong and spicy flavors.”

You almost drop your chopsticks onto the floor.

“Jiaoqiu,” you choke, “you can’t keep dropping these severely depressing facts about yourself out of nowhere.”

“Oh, sorry, should I have mentioned a trigger warning or something?”

You huff unhappily before taking another bite, barely managing the stinging heat at the back of your throat.

Jiaoqiu suddenly asks, “Did you enjoy culinary school?”

You pause to reflect. “I kinda took an unconventional path. I actually have a Bachelor in something completely unrelated to cooking, but I couldn’t find a full-time job after graduating and decided to give baking a shot. Baking school was hellish, though, I can’t lie.”

He makes a noise of surprise when you finish.

“You didn’t enjoy baking school?”

You scratch the back of your head. “I mean, it was tough. I don’t remember much besides crying a lot and feeling very incompetent. It’s hard being surrounded by really young and accomplished people all the time.”

“I thought you were going to say you had the time of your life.”

“Why?”

“Well…,” Jiaoqiu starts, though he turns to face away from you for some reason. “You seem very optimistic and easy to get along with. People like you thrive in social environments, like school.”

You try to muster your usual smile, but you can’t will your mouth to stretch or your cheeks to lift. “I guess, and it’s not like I hated my experience. I was just… I was too concerned about making up for lost time.”

You don’t want to think about this anymore, so you take another bite.

Through a mouthful, you pivot the conversation. “By the way, there’s no way I can finish this all by myself. Have some, too!”

You tap Jiaoqiu on the shoulder so that he turns to face you again, and you tightly grip the chopsticks so that the food doesn’t drop.

Jiaoqiu tries to deny at first. “No, no, I already ate dinner.”

“But Jiaoqiu, please! You made so much, and it’d be such a waste to keep it overnight. C’mon, just one bite, it’s right in front of you.”

He opens his mouth and leans forward, but either because your hands are shaky or because he simply cannot reach, he keeps missing.

You ask with slight amusement, “May I?”

“Just hurry and give it to me.”

You slide your free hand underneath his chin and hold his head in place. Initially, he sputters out of shyness and embarrassment, but finally relents as you tell him to keep his mouth open.

When he’s chewing on it, you say, “Really good, right? You should cook for yourself more often.”

“It’s fine. Could be better,” he replies. “Besides, it’s dangerous cooking by myself.”

You shrug. “I can always come over and help, like I did tonight.”

He sighs. “You’re so demanding. You just want more free food.”

You giggle with glee and clap at his shoulders. “Of course not!” You feign hurt. “I just want to spend more time with a good friend!”

Jiaoqiu huffs and you think he rolls his eyes. “Friends,” he mutters, “don’t eat from the same pair of chopsticks.”

You feel your face burn, having been completely unaware of the implications of your actions.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you retort, though there’s really no bite to your words. “You haven’t even tried my desserts once.”

VI. Sweet Run Bing

On the last day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, you come over with some leftovers to hand to the Yaoqing staff. You’ve gotten to know them quite well, and of course, Sushang and Moze are the first ones to appear.

“What’d you bring this time?” Sushang sing-songs.

You set the boxes on a counter and list everything out. “There’s coconut cake, a Taiwanese rendition of French custard tarts, some of our special mooncakes, and sweet run bing. There’s more than enough for everyone!”

You try to take a step back so that all of the Yaoqing chefs can reach your desserts, but you bump into somebody.

Or more specifically, someone holds you by the shoulders.

You look over to find Jiaoqiu resting his hands on you, face turned towards the commotion in the center of the kitchen.

He muses, “Sweet run bing? Isn’t it usually salty?”

You laugh. “Yes, but it’s pretty popular in Taiwan to add ice cream and nuts to make a sweeter version of it.”

The question always floats in the air but is usually left unaddressed. This time, though, Jiaoqiu surprises you.

“Can I try?”

A sense of pride and satisfaction pumps through your entire body. “Of course!” you exclaim. “Let me get you one!”

The two of you retreat to the calmer corner of his office, and you watch him intently as he holds the run bing close to his nose.

“I smell peanuts, almonds, and vanilla. There’s also something sweet?”

“Yes, we added some of our homemade canned peaches!”

“I see. Let me try it.”

Slowly, methodically, Jiaoqiu rolls up the crepe and takes a bite from it. You gulp and can almost feel beads of sweat forming at your temples from the anticipation and anxiety.

Then, something in his features softens. 

“The texture’s great.”

At his compliment, you bound out of your seat, whooping and cheering.

“I’ll take it! Next time, I’ll make something you can actually taste. I roasted the nuts to create a smokey flavor and to add some crunch, but I didn’t want it to be too overpowering, so I also added some herbs, like ground coriander and –“

“Wait, there’s coriander in this?”

You comically pause in the middle of your celebrating. “Uh, yes?”

It’s your first time seeing the man… so frightened.

You can’t help but glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t like coriander.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t move.

“Isn’t coriander supposed to be important in Szechuan cuisine? You were the one nagging my ears off weeks ago –“

“First of all, I wasn’t nagging you. Second, I personally don’t like to eat it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t use it.”

“Sure, fine, but the run bing doesn’t taste bad, does it?”

Jiaoqiu grimaces. “It tastes fine… even if there’s coriander in it.”

You smugly croon at him. “What other foods do you hate? I’ll convince you otherwise.”

Jiaoqiu takes another big bite of the run bing, before replying, uncharacteristically serious, “I’ll eat whatever you give me.”

You flush at his words, rendered unable to speak. In fact, you have to clear your throat a couple of times in order to respond. “And… you’ll cook for me, too?”

He nods, with firm intent. “For as long as you want me to.”

You feel like the vanilla ice cream in the run bing, melting and dripping, positively overheating.

[ghoulspaw]

FINISHED READING THE EPISODE GGHJFJDJDJD THE AUDITORIUM PART 100/10 GOT ME LAUGHING GASPING SCREAMING AND BANGING THE TABLE OHHH GIVE ME MORE GHOUL ON GHOUL CRIME!!!!!! GIVE ME ALL THE INTERACTIONS IM BEGGING!!!

Mission wise, i enjoyed it!!! Tho it made me feel a little like the hotarubi episode where they kinda summed up the conclusion pretty quickly and then shit hit the fan. Nonetheless, i liked it! Working with yuri and jiro was fun?????? which tbh i was pleasantly surprised (sorry kings i've misjudged u). Yuri might have a praise kink and have his ego the size of a planet but !! there's no denying he's passionate about his work and so far YEAH he is the only who got mc the closest of finding her cure so !!! (and i love seeing him fighting for his life when he isn't right about something)). Jiro...jiro 🫂 i love that autistic man etcetcetc

SO HAPPY WE GOT CANON CONFIRMATIONS!!!!! KIRISAKI BROTHERS!!!!!!! ohhh i was CHEESING!! zenji's (or should i say taro🥹) love for his baby bro is precious❤️‍🩹 a dead man saying he would not survive if something were to happen to his brother...if thats not the purest form of love then idk what is.

From one sus professor to another.. (it seems to be the pattern on every episode so far). Personally i dont think it'll be as bad as the game lead us on (as we've seen with nicolas on this episode), but it definitely raises more questions. Why romeo? What deal do they have? Is money the root of it? Or something else?? And if hyde is lying to both romeo and sho about being the only ones who know about this "mission", could he have asked other ghouls as well??? Anyways, we'll most likely get this answered next month.

((the janitor making a brief appearance and dropping a comment so ????????? was that a "yeah lets bring every character we've introduced as of now" or is it foreshadowing something ??)

Ofc there is a mermaid (alive!! alive?). We have the vampy, the wolfy, now mermaid (elf/fairy 🔜) . Cant wait for us to meet him and what he'll bring to the plot (and his relationship?with haru)(when will they mention his hand and what happened to it??)

Im still puzzled about the whole ordeal with the tree.... i'll leave the theories for the smart ppl in the fandom hgjdjd

Back to the auditorium scene, aside from me being biased loving ed's old man antiques, i absolutely loved his move of putting on blast the academy/chancellor lies and once again making the statement that he Knows Everything and won't hesitate to reveal stuff if necessary. And then taking his leave like a bad bitch!!!

UGH, cinema... 🚬

And speaking of cinema. Jin's "imma let you finish" moment and taiga "open your purse boy!".. 🚬🚬🚬🚬

I have way more commentary and thoughts and i cant mention everything rn, but yeah!!!!! Not the best episode, but definitely had some top tier moments.

Last,but not least AT ALL:

???$?@?#&@#%@//##//#

Haku when he spends 2 seconds without flirting: 😵😵😵😵

BACK TO WAITING FOR A MONTH!!!

[tealmussel]

Suman Study. A Filipino delicacy.

There are many variations of suman, but here's my mom's variation of it:

- Cassava - Taro root - Sweet Potato - Coconut milk - Sugar - Anise Grate everything, mix, wrap in banana leaves then steam.

It's pretty good :D

[hatchetmanofficial]

What sort of foods/items would the main three enjoy if they were in Stardew? Dislikes? Hates?

Alan

Loves: Blackberries, Honey, Pancakes, and Fairy Rose

Likes: Acorns, Hazelnuts, and Pumpkins

Dislikes: Wild horseradish and Cactus fruit

Hates: Sweet Pea and Sea Cucumber

Stu

Loves: Summer spangle, Maki roll, and Opal

Likes: Leek, Spice berry, fried calamari, and beer

Dislikes: winter root and tea leaves

Hates: Algea soup,

Erika

Loves: Coffee, Fairy Stone, Green Tea, and Taro root

Likes: ginger root, apricot, and blue jazz

Dislikes: beer and red mushroom

Hates: Clay

[handweavers]

Do you have a favorite kind of plant? A favorite tree?

chinese hibiscus are my favourite flowers, next to star jasmine and tiger lilies. all grow in my grandparents' yard in malaysia ❤️

in a wider scope, i study dye plants and trees and thus the plants i can identify and feel most connected to are dye precursors, especially those used traditionally across southeast asia. when i think of my favourite trees i think of all these tropical hardwoods and plants. so here is a non-exhaustive list of southeast asian dye plants:

🌻 sappanwood (biancaea sappan) also called brazilwood not to be confused with another, different tree also called brazilwood; it was taken from southeast asia by the portuguese and brought with them to the americas - red, pink, purple

🌻 indigo (called tagom or tagum in various filipino languages, tarum in malay) - blue, blue, blue, there are several species but japanese indigo as well as a few other varieties are commonly grown

🌻 annatto seed (this is the most common of filipino dyes from what i've read) - yellow, orange, red 

narra woodchips (national tree of the philippines) - brown, red, pink, pinkish brown 

asthma plant (tawa-tawa) - yellow

indian almond tree (talisay) - the roots, leaves, bark, all rich with tannins, yellow dye naturally but can give greys and blacks

mahogany (mahoni in malay) - reddish brown

taro plant (called gabi, aba, abalong) - leaves give yellowish green

🌻 turmeric root (kunyit in malay) - yellow. not very lightfast so usually combined with other dyes

🌻 ceriops tagal (mangrove - soga tinggi in indonesian) - reddish rusty warm brown, a vital and very rare dye now due to deforestation. the dyers in bali i know who use it source it from a fair trade org in papua that harvests small, controlled amounts. i have been very lucky to use this and the colour is magnificent

yellow flamboyant bark or yellow flame (soga jambal in indonesian, peltophorum pterocarpum) - warm yellow to red to dark brown, using peeled bark

cudrania javanensis (tegeran in indonesian) wood - yellow

🌻 cockspur thorn (maclura cochinchinensis) - yellow, very strong high quality yellow

mango - leaves, bark, peels give yellow, especially when processed as lake pigment

angsana - wood shavings make honey brown

🌻 jackfruit heartwood - clear strong yellow

🌻 symplocos - natural bio-accumulator of aluminum, used as a mordant in dyeing

🌻 fire flame bush (woodfordia fruticosa) - flowers contain strong tannins, combined with mangrove mud and fermented to raise the iron in the mixture to create a dye that is the primary traditional way of achieving grey through black

pandan leaves, mangosteen leaves and peels, cassava leaves, and lemongrass are all also used as dye plants. i have seen recipes where cassava leaves and mango leaves are pounded together in water and left to ferment in the sun to create yellows and greens

🌻 = i have personally dyed with these

[unbranded-chaos]

are

you going

to eat

that crazy food?

can i please

have some of

it too?

oh i hope

that it

does not

give you indigestion

that

was once

a

true phantasy of mine.

———

SHUCKS ITS FUSSING BONKERS AT THE FARMERS MARKET

WE DROVE THE GOSH DANG JEEP AND THERES NO PLACE TO PARK IT

WHAT THE FUSS

CUSS

CHECK OUT THAT

LAZY

DUDE WITH ALL THAT

CRAZY FOOD

Handing ample samples out to known customers

Fussing find thag punk if shucks ever gets dire gosh dang he’s superman!

who the hecks his supplier?

RAPUNZEL RAPUNZEL LET DOWN YOUR SPAGHETTI

seriously though

he’s packing chow like confetti?

READY?

shucks uhm

Allspice, amaranth, artichoke, acai Banana, barley, basil, bay leaves, bok choi chai Seitan pot pie, marbled rye Bedhi’d black eyed peas, bing cherries Chioggia beets, hold the meats, gooseberries Cayenne chestnut, chia, coconut, custard Dahlia dates, saffron, dijon mustard (YOU’RE FLUSTERED!!!!) Durian, curry, kale, kasava Clove, eggplant, flax, demitasse, kava Garlic, kumquat, lychee, oca root Jalapeños, garbanzos, starfruit, snakefruit Lavender, lime, karela, kohlrabi Juniper, jak, wakame, wasabi Papaya, papalo, marigold, mango Oregano, sake, lemon, luo han guo, Kiwi, catnip, carolina reaper, Egusi, icaco(why cant this be cheaper??), Poppies, asparagus, Queen Anne’s carrots Broccoli, a gac,

and thatsll take care of us

YOU HAVE MORE???

WHERE FOURTH DOES THOUST OBTAIN SUCH CRAZY FOOD THOU CRAZY FUSS????

COLLARD GREENS BUTTER BEANS VANILLA

POMEGRANATE PINEAPPLE SARSAPARILLA

RAMBUTAN DRAGONFRUIT TAPIOCA

ATEMOYA AKEBIA ROSE MOCHA

AMANITA MUSCARIA CHIVE POTATOES

WATERCRESS SPROUTS QUINOA TOMATOES

PARSLEY SAGE ROSEMARY

Almost seems like this should be illegal.

(Will these even FIT in the veichle???)

…

…

WATERMELON MARIJUANA RHUBARB

TAMARIND TARRAGON TURNIP SWISS CHARD

BLUEBERRY CARAWAY FENNEL CACAO

BOYSENBERRY CUMIN CANTALOUPE (😨)

CELERY SESAME YAM ANISE ZENIA

KOLAS GRANOLAS MARCONAS GARDENIAS

LENTIL CABBAGE VITAL WHEAT GLUTEN WIENER

GHOST PEPPER MUENSTER GEWURZTRAMINER

APPLE FIG PEAR PEACH

PINE HAZEL WALNUT BEECH

SPELT MILLET TEFF TARO

SHALLOT GINGER MACA FARRO

YARROW KALENDULA KOMBU CHLORELLA

CILANTRO PECAN CITRON PORTOBELLA

PUMPKIN RADISH ONION RICE

GINKGO OLIVE MAPLE ICE

THYME STRAWBERRY

PAPAYA CATTAIL SHERRY

MULBERRY PLUM MIMOSA

ARGYREIA NERVOSA

CUCUMBERS MAYPOPS SHAMROCKS

What's with the HEMLOCKS?!

BOURBON APRICOTS SOUR

TRUFFLE SAMPHIRE FLOWER

SQUASH ZUCCHINI MACARONI PORCINI VERMICELLI

AVOCADOS PISTACHIOS CINNAMON ROYAL JELLY

PERSIMMONS HEMP HEARTS GREEN GODDESS

CELASTRUS PANICULATUS

KOMBUCHA AND ORANGES.

Cash only?! Uhhhhh nevermind.

(something idk)

Guess who!!!!

hmmmm

i think it’s akaru, apollo, lea, or asher !!

also this looks like this was entirely typed by hand you good? /silly

[helloescapist]

Describe It to Me | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 1761

Setting: Gyomei x gn!reader (reader is a kakushi)

Content Warning(s): mentions of gore/violence, angst

Summary: a tap at your window, an emergency request delivered by a kasugai crow leads you to to devastation and a man you had not seen since the Final Selection.

A/N: full disclosure, I lost where I was going with this, and just cut it short. 🫣

Cries echoed into your ear drums, the stanch scent of iron that threatened the earth beneath your feet. Tarnished soil, dragged and muddled across gore and destruction. Limbs that tangled beneath their own weight, splintered, and shattered in the depths of the dark. The night robbed of light, the moon shied away from the horrors that you bore witnessed too. As though the sight were far too much for the gentle spirit to bear, the devastation littered throughout the landscape.

Trees torn from their roots, evidence of their once productive life, snubbed out with a single thrust.  Trunks threatened to smash to bits, the mass majority of branches fractured. Only the occasional splintered branch worth consideration of mulch in the years to come. Left ruined amongst the forest floors. Foliage robbed of any chance of survival, crunched beneath zori. The embroidered mark of the slayers before you as you pressed forward, bundled together in a close knit as kakushi often traveled. Averted eyes that struggled to process the bloody scene. The ache of your heart upon your sleeves, the stench of death that left you unsettled and uneasy. An unusual nightly excursion to a devastated area, the call having been one of desperation begging for aid, a large quantity at that. A Kasugai crow that rattled against your bed window. Rose you from your slumber, leaving you with little time to process the severity of the situation. His delicately obsidian feathers were immaculately maintained soothed only by the night wind. A shadow amongst the cover of the trees, the distinct caws assisting with guiding you amongst the terrain. Small scowls you had been quick to decipher as attempts to assist your travel in the depths of the night. Shooed away any doubts, and anxieties that may have begun to fester in the pit of your stomach, and urged the others of your group to remain steadfast to the cause. Though they were less than tactful at tucking their emotions away, despite the clothes that clung to their features. A final cowl from the Kasugai. You had arrived.

              Iron that threatened to spirit away your senses, overwhelming taint that threatened the vile in your stomach. Eyes that followed the trace of gore, and the eyes that met your own. Trembled from the faint glow of the lanterns you bore. Momentarily stunned, and confused, regardless of the time that passed you always found your feet. Bared your weight when your body threatened to give out, carried you regardless of how your heart hesitated. Fingers that weaved and picked through torn uniforms, the furrow of your brows as you patched small scratches, grazed over the smallest of blemishes.  Several of the slayers falling in the mizunoto, new recruits that appeared dazed and confused. Dazed to the point that they neither flinched, nor registered the way your hands skated across their craniums. Evaluated their response, their reflexes. All well intact, the flutter of their chests, and raps of their breath as  though the air threatened to abandon them. Their heartbeats rattling into your fingers, throbbed in veins and dashing beat, painfully aware of the clammy state of their skin devoid of color. “What happened,” your pressed, their eyebrows at the met of their tone betraying their frustrations.  Snubbed of the greet of the teeth, it’s surprising how little the uniform shielded slayers from the wrath of the bearer. Taro’s bad temper once again straying him to rash decision making. A fairly recent transfer, he had indicated the desire to try his hand at caring for the wounded, and assisting their travels to the Butterfly Estate though his bedside manner betrayed any such sentiments. Whispers that the boy had merely wanted to avoid shuffling swordsman to the smithing village not without reason. The youth was tall, and barrel chested, so much so that his uniform left little to the imagination, nor did he take into consideration the way his size towers over the newer recruits, “OI! Answer me.”

              “Shock,” you sighed, allowing yourself to draw to your feet. The patches of bandages secured to your patient’s face. The skim of the other kakushi readily at work before cutting your eyes at the kakushi at your side. His annoyance beginning to fester to the point that his fingers had caught at the brows of the patient, threatening to draw them to their feet should they not answer. “A patient that exhibits symptoms of shock should be treated with care—he’s not going to answer you,” the drip of warning poised in your voice. As sharp and lethal as the dagger secured at your hip. All too aware that the cloth shading your features to the night would not protect the inexperienced kakushi from your wrath.

              The pitter of voices, fallen into trembled tones. Shook with e ach word that parted from dry lips, guided by the beckoning way of a subordinate. The frantic touch, drawn to rush to their side. Eyes that met the scratch of blood that had met at the top of the skull, being tended to with delicate fingers as the words threatened to overflower. Rattled mumblings of demons, and surprised attacks. The shatter of bark, and the sickening moan that it had released. A giant that could bear the weight of trees, yielded them as mere weapons no more than a means to combat a beast of the night. The tremble of the victim’s eyes and dilated pupils, telling symptoms of hallucinations. Concussions. The passing thought to review their status before the feathers ruffled near your ear. Perched a small creature that threatened to consume the entirety of your shoulder, its little beak peppered through your hair. It’s frail voice near begging, near mournful of its pursuits. The little crow who had dared the darkness of night to seek assistance. “Is this Kasugai perhaps yours,” you whispered to the ramblings of a madman. Ignored, and threatened to send the individual into a state of panic. The threading of their fingers through their hair,  scratched into the aches of their scalp murmurs that were incomprehensible. The kakushi at their side, rattled by the sudden lurch of their body. Fumbled and anxious cries that bellowed, drew a finger to your side. Caught your eye at something that emerged from the ground. As though it had splintered the earth. A stone—no, the oddity of the shape a blade of some sort. The nudge of the crow in your ear, feathered through the strands of your hair at the insistence. Hefty, an abandoned blade amongst a battle field, far too aware the severity of such a loss should incur. Lifting upon it, caught amongst muck, an unholy mixture of dirt and blood that threatened to confine the remainder of the weapon. Chains that emerged like the dead from its pull. The sickening staunch of a scent you rarely had interactions with. Brain matter that clung to speared ends. Metal that formed tips, and edge upon the end of the chain. A ball marred by the spikes that bore casualties, the opposite of the hefty discovery clenched between your fingers. An axe and flail, and the weight your heart threatened to stop. The bit of your body stumbled to bear its weight. Giant. Fear taking over the better part of your senses, the distant reflection of a man. A mountain of a main carved from stone by the gods, the callous of his hands curiously embracing the touch of wisteria petals unheeded by the blood at his fingertips. Delighting in the presence of such beautiful fragrance though he would never know the sight that marveled before you. His mere presence the only reason you had survived the Final Selection, and the whisper of his voice, deep and soft, “Describe them to me.”

The only payment he had requested in return for your life.

The rush of feathers fluttered against wings as the shrieks of a scaw rang through your ears. Threatened your senses and drew you to muster what little strength you could manage. Strained muscles shook your core. Numb to the weight, leaving little choice but to draw the tug of the chain. The spike far too much for you to heave as it dragged through the blood-soaked dirt. No time to acknowledge the tears that edged their way to your eyelashes.

“T-Take me to him,” you demanded.

[valleyfthdolls]

Oka redesign is finally done! Info/ideas under the cut

Design:

I considered giving her That Visual Kei Haircut, but ultimately liked her hair longer. Her roots are grown out black & the curls are a combo of actual waves/curls and messiness.

Very pale eyes make her look spooky/intense.

Her earrings are omamori charms, her choker has a pentagram, and her necklaces are a magatama bead and a teru teru bozu. All tying to the idea that she's a particularly spiritual person. (I replaced the Ambiguously Satanic Generic Brand Occultism of the canon occult club with religious practices that follow Shinto, Buddhist and Spiritualist beliefs.)

I won't lie, spider webs hurt my hands to draw, so I gave her a more stylized print for her sleeves and tights.

Black arm warmers because I saw those a lot looking for reference images. Instead of just goth, Satoka is meant to be visual kei with gothic and gothic lolita inspirations.

Once again, since students are said to be allowed to customize their uniforms, Satoka has a longer skirt, blue tie, and dark blue uwabaki.

Info page:

Satoka means enlightenment or village (apparently), Miyamoto means one who lives near the shrine. Boom, religious meaning.

As I've said a lot, in my rewrite these high school students are actually teenagers.

Satoka doesn't have a crush on Taro, she's just a friend of his who Ayano perceives as a threat to their relationship.

Friends: The rest of the occult club + Miyuji (them being friends is relevant to my rewrite)

Job: A miko (shrine maiden) in training. This mostly means she sells souvenirs and helps out with important things like cleansing, but also that she helps perform divination and spirit mediumship, which is perfect for her.

Story relevance:

Satoka's mother kept her out of school for 2-3 weeks while the other students settled in to try to prevent Satoka from being bullied during the beginning of the year. As such, she doesn't know her way around the school, and needs someone to help her. This is where Taro comes in: he helps Satoka gather her bearings and adjust to the school, showing her around for her first week. This causes her not to develop feelings for him, but to want to become his friend.

Ayano either perceives her desire to befriend Taro as a repressed crush poking its way through or as a different kind of threat- someone who would take Taro's attention away from Ayano with her need for protection and care.

Satoka being kept alive and in school would have the benefit of resolving Sumire's storyline. As it is, her spirit is infesting the school with a sort of malice that fosters the violence and bullying of the school's environment. If Satoka is kept alive, the occult club would begin trying to appease Sumire's spirit, which gets her to calm down.

Befriending or matchmaking her would both cause her to quickly stop trying to push a friendship with Taro as she's now either made another friend or gotten a partner and thus has the company she wants from Taro.

Rejection would be more about making Satoka lose interest in being Taro's friend, tarnishing her view of him so she leaves him alone.

Satoka is one of the rivals I imagine Ayano stalking and sabotaging outside of school. This could raise an interesting mechanic of navigating Osaka (where my rewrite takes place) and using a train system to stalk Satoka to her job.

I imagine her "canon elimination" being befriending, since I have so many ideas for that and how that would play into characters around her like her clubmembers (especially Kokomi and Suzuko)

[spac3-s0da]

Man I’m really craving some Allspice, amaranth, artichoke, acai Banana, barley, basil, bay leaves, bok choi chai Seitan pot pie, marbled rye, Bedhi'd black eyed peas, bing cherries Chioggia beets, hold the meats, gooseberries Cayenne chestnut, chia, coconut, custard Dahlia dates, saffron, dijon mustard, Durian, curry, kale, kasava Clove, eggplant, flax, demitasse, kava Garlic, kumquat, lychee, oca root Jalapeños, garbanzos, starfruit, snakefruit Lavender, lime, karela, kohlrabi Juniper, jak, wakame, wasabi Papaya, papalo, marigold, mango Oregano, sake, lemon, luo han guo, Kiwi, catnip, carolina reaper Egusi, icaco, Poppies, asparagus, queen anne's carrots Broccoli, a gac, Collard greens, butter beans, vanilla Pomegranate, pineapple, sarsaparilla Rambutan, dragonfruit, tapioca Atemoya, akebia, rose mocha, Amanita muscaria, chive, potatoes Watercress, sprouts, quinoa, tomatoes Parsley, sage, rosemary, Watermelon, marijuana, rhubarb Tamarind, tarragon, turnip, swiss chard Blueberry, caraway, fennel, cacao Boysenberry, cumin, cantaloupe (wow.) Celery, sesame, yam, anise, zinnia Kolas, granolas, marconas, gardenias Lentil, cabbage, vital wheat gluten wiener Ghost pepper, muenster, gewurztraminer, Apple, fig, pear, peach Pine, hazel, walnut, beech Spelt, millet, teff, taro Shallot, ginger, maca, farro, Yarrow, kalendula, kombu, chlorella Cilantro, pecan, citron, portobella Pumpkin, radish, onion, rice Ginkgo, olive, maple, ice, Thyme, strawberry Papaya, cattail, sherry Mulberry, plum, mimosa Argyreia nervosa, Cucumbers, maypops, shamrocks, Bourbon apricot sour Truffle, samphire flower, Squash, zucchini, macaroni, porcini, vermicelli Avocados, pistachios, cinnamon, royal jelly Persimmons, hemp hearts, green goddess Celastrus paniculatus Kombucha and oranges!

[comedydoctor18]

COOKING EVENT

Based on Ratatouille~ this is a CONTINUE THE COMIC type of deal

Ideas thanks to @mellosdrawings and @crystallizsch

The dishes that are picked are:

Hangi (Maori feast with meat, roots, seafood and vegetables)

Rewena bread (Maori potato bread)

Kanga kopiro (Maori fermented corn porridge)

Poke (hawaiian cubed seafood in sauces)

Poi (taro porridge)

Lau Lau (hawaiian pork belly (cubed) in taro leaves with butterfish)

Huli Huli (chicken slow roasted on coals with pineapple and spices)

Rasmalai cake (eggless cake)

[boyakishantriage]

The storm thundered, raging outside the shuttle.

"How the hell-"

"I'm Malay."

"... What?"

She took a breath. Looking at the alien.

"Felt the air. Felt it coming."

"... How?"

Taking a sigh, she stopped prodding the fire.

"1. We're in a jungle 2. There's plants here 3. It clearly rains a lot, y'know. Unmoving drainage channels. 4. Planet's breath in. Ie spread out their leaves, take more water because they're spread out making the temperature, air, everything feels slower cooler and like the jungle is breathing in."

"... But how-"

"I'm a Malay."

"... What's a Malay?"

She looked at the jungle, then her tanned skin, then her indian friend.

A good, five minutes later.

"You used to live in a jungle. Huh?"

"I mean, living in a tropical country for 2-3 years tends to make you pick up skills you literally can't forget for humans."

Poking the darker skinned woman, the swearing noises of the rest of the crew as they ran through the rain as the captain asked.

"So why did you set-"

"... I don't get it, why are you drying them?"

"1. This is a jungle, surprisingly a lot of diseases and pathogens THRIVE in wet conditions 2. They're probably gonna get hit the hardest because they're covered in water and we don't have that many resources 3. Angland here hails from sauna country, her body's gonna get hyperthermia because she's used to dipping and resting in saunas every few days 4. I killed a few things and red dot found what are probably spices. And ya can't eat food raw in the jungle."

"... Did you just say probably?"

"This is an alien planet dear."

Tending to the fire, the woman states something, she nods, pushing a charcoal over increasing heat.

Biting into the meat, the two talk between each other.

The anglish remains deeper into the shuttle, thankfully waterproof as half of it was delved into the river. The water murky as the Terran pulled leaves over the fire, pouring the water into containers for the rest of the crew to drink. Alongside the fruit, "taro" "sago" and a few other things strangest being what she described as similar to "dragon fruit". Most of the food scanned and marked as safe, excusing the dragon fruit for myself.

"It's too hot."

"... Don't you live in the cold?"

"Hey. I'm not a Russian. I've lived in Finland for a long time, but I'm still English."

"Ok, fair. But I thought you were more English."

"... Y'know that for us english folk, 24°C is a hot summer day."

"... But it's ~30°..."

"Yeah. It's boil-"

There came a bonking sound, something had struck the end of the shuttle. And then some kind of-

The Terran had jumped down, pulling both of them out as the back of the shuttle gnawed through, the river flooding into the back as the mangrove beside us' roots grew through the shuttle's back. Small fish had left a body clean, a rifle in hand the human had it aimed up stream.

"Ellie. What. How-"

"Heard gnawing."

"...."

BANG.

"And I've found the pirates. This shuttle was the broken one or something, nearest being 20k away, that's a day and a half ish of time. OI. MATE-"

The captain grabbed her shoulder.

"What?"

"Human Ellie. Explain to me, how you're doing this."

"the gnawing thing, food or-"

"How did you see those-"

He paused heavy rain striking the forest and river as blood trailed from the eaten pirate body. Clothes ripped to shreds, hard cartilage and a bullet hole in the man's head before it gets eaten.

[indignantlemur]

Let's talk about Andorian foods!

Without at doubt, one of the most enjoyable things about creating Émigré has been creating Andorian foods. We know so much about Vulcan and Klingon food, but Andorians are horribly overlooked beyond a few basic descriptions of beetles, blue meat, and a kind of flatbread. That's like, a meal. Tops. Even if you include drinks, which are ice-tea, hot coffee, and booze, you're not really moving beyond a single meal's worth of food types. And here's the thing - food is a central point in almost every culture there is. How we prepare food, what we consider food, how we present and share it, when and where and with what utensils - all of that is a huge part of most cultures. We have foods that are only eaten on special days, or only for certain meals. We have foods that have special meanings when given as gifts, and things that are traditional to give as part of social customs around weddings and funerals. We have comfort food, junk food, traditional food, fusion food, I'm-too-tired-to-cook food, and so many more kinds. We have entire branches of culinary expertise dedicated to JUST sweet foods. We have specialists who brew, pickle, and blend. We have random folks who make their own mead, or brew their own beer or wine. We have dozens of different kinds of salt for different kinds of finishing touches, for goodness' sake!

So yeah. I have a problem with the whole Andorians-only-eat-like-four-things-maybe approach. It's lazy. I hate lazy writing. So let's talk about some of my ideas, maybe? If anyone's still reading? (hello?)

Andorians are group-oriented people who put their society and their clans before themselves. Group meals therefore feels like a natural continuation of this trend, things like hotpots and fondues, and those fun little sushi bars where the tasty things go 'round and round on a little belt and you just pick up what you like and try not to fuck it up and fumble some painstakingly assembled sushi in front of the guy who made it.

One of the first ideas I came up with following this logic was the idea of a multi-layer lazy-Susan kind of dining table, with concentric rings that allowed for people to rotate each ring independently to pass around different bowls and plates of food, which a central spot for a pot of hot oil to cook your selections with. The utensils by necessity would have to be long-necked and pronged to spear food effectively and not lose their tasty bounty to the boiling oil. The seating around this table would be low, with cushions on the ground in an inset kind of pit in the floor because my Andorians are big on cuddles and sharing warmth. They're a social species, after all, and their home planet is far from a picnic - sharing is surviving.

Let's move onto other kinds of meals! Some of the canon lore indicates that Andorians eat a kind of flatbread and shredded meat, but very little in the way of dairy. So, from that we can conclude that they have at least some kind of flour. From there we can suppose that if they have a basic type of flour they might also have baking beyond flatbreads, even if they don't go in for fluffy yeast-based breads. That leaves quite a few options, really, but I liked the idea of their flour stemming from a starchy tuber like taro-root, or even potato-like spuds. Fried potato flat-bread sounds pretty great, right?

Now for the meats! Andorians are omnivores with a heavy carnivorous leaning, to my mind, because protein gives us the most bang per buck out of the basic food groups. Meat by itself is a solid food choice, but it gets boring after a while so we, and presumably Andorians as well, come of with different ways to dress it up and make it taste different. Salt would be abundant given the expansive oceans on Andoria and in the lore salty things register as spicy to Andorians, so that's practically a new lease on life food-wise! From there, sauces and marinades are a natural evolution, and I really like the idea that each keth has their own unique recipes that they hoard like gourmet dragons. No one knows what all goes into Clan Tha'an's mustard sauce, but by the Spirits is it good! Still, they can't afford to be too reliant on meat as a food source. Andoria is, as we've discussed, a harsh planet. Hunting for meat is a viable survival strategy, especially in large groups, but hunts fall through or go badly. When that happens, it's imperative that a population has something else to live off of: in this case, tubers! Savoury tubers, sweet tubers, starchy tubers, stringy tubers, every kind of tuber! Tubers are quite a resilient kind of plant and they can grow most places as long as the conditions are mostly right. Deep underground, away from the freezing surface temperatures, tubers would grow quite well - especially near a hotspring!

So, we've got tubers, we've got flour, we've got meat - and you know what, if we've got tubers that means we've got space sweet potatoes. Space sweet potatoes could be refined into a kind of sugar substitute! And that means we have BAKING.

After realizing that, I remembered finding a word in an Andorian-English dictionary which references an endearment and also a sweet treat: shev'tak. Quite a troublesome word, if you've read Émigré!

Humans call each other food-related endearments all the time; honey-bun, sweetie-pie, sugar-boo, dumpling, etc. Why not Andorians too, right? But Andoria is a very harsh planet, and things like sugary treats would be quite unusual, and probably very expensive to grow the base materials for and then refine. Given that their diet is probably heavily meat- and tuber-based, given their biology and the conditions of their homeworld, sugary treats would be a very rare, special-occasion-only thing for the majority of their history. They'd probably end up being made in very small portions, too. When I initially thought about shev'tak, I was tempted to make it some kind of sweet bun, but that seemed a little too boring when I sat down to actually describe them. Eventually, I hit upon the idea of these impossibly delicate little pastries, folded in on themselves and shaped like sixteen-pointed stars (or other multiples of four, which is deeply symbolic in Andorian culture) and filled with a creamy custard. Something plausible and demonstrating the artistry for which Andorians are known, but nothing excessively complicated in terms of ingredients. All the work goes into the presentation, and as a gift shev'tak would be a sign of regard at the least and certainly of affection. It would be the equivalent of a fancy box of chocolates, if each chocolate was hand-made specially for you. In the modern era, much of the craftmanship would be subsidized by advanced machinery and more efficient techniques, much like today on our world, but there would still be a strong association of luxury, of hand-made sweets on a frozen ice planet where very little grows and none of it above ground.

And being called shev'tak, in light of that, may be a little more than just an endearment, I think. It's being called something special, something worth burning time and resources for. Precious, even.

But, of course, Andorians are very stoic. They leave a lot of their social norms unsaid, and trust that these things are simply understood. Even when they aren't.

... Are we having Dagmar/Shral feels yet?

[dollypartonswig]

update on my stardew valley challenge!🥔🍓

I have to reach perfection but I can only sell items in a stack of 999 and my profit margin is set to 25%

I’m currently in summer year 7

horseradish / daffodil / leek / dandelion / parsnip / cave carrot / coconut / cactus / banana / sap / large egg W / egg W / egg B / large egg B / milk / milk L / green bean / cauliflower / potato / garlic / kale / rhubarb / melon / tomato / morel / blueberry / fiddlehead fern / hot pepper / wheat / radish / red cabbage / starfruit / corn / unmilled rice / eggplant / artichoke / pumpkin / bok choy / yam / chanterelle / cranberry / holly / beet / ostrich egg / salmon berry / amaranth / pale ale / hops / void egg / mayonnaise / duck mayonnaise / void mayonnaise / clay / copper bar / iron bar / gold bar / iridium bar / refined quartz / honey / pickles / jam / beer / wine / juice / poppy / copper ore / iron ore / coal / gold / iridium ore

wood / stone / nautilus shell / coral / rainbow shell / spice berry / sea urchin / grape / spring onion / strawberry / sweet pea / common mushroom / wild plum / hazelnut / blackberry / winter root / crystal fruit / snow yam / sweet gem berry / crocus / red mushroom / sunflower / purple mushroom / cheese / goats cheese / cloth / truffle / truffle oil / coffee bean / goat milk S / goat milk L / wool / duck egg / duck feather / caviar / rabbit foot / aged roe / ancient fruit / mead / tulip (all colours)/ summer spangle / fairy rose / blue jazz / apple / tea / apricot / orange / peach / pomegranate / cherry / bug meat / hardwood / maple syrup / oak resin / pine tar / slime / bat wing / solar essence / void essence / fibre / battery pack / dinosaur mayonnaise / roe / squid ink / tea leaves / ginger / taro root / pineapple / mango / cinder shard

magma cap / bone shard / radioactive ore / radioactive bar / smoked fish / moss / mystic syrup / raisins / dried fruit / dried mushrooms / carrots / summer squash / broccoli / powder melon

Green is complete

Purple I have 999 but haven’t shipped yet

Red I haven’t even started / I have less than 400

Blue is nearly complete

White I don’t have acces to yet (i’m still in 1.5) although I have been trying to prep for the update, so far I have about 600 fish ready to be smoked and I’ve been collecting common mushrooms, grapes and pineapples for drying

[thefamilybruno]

A Slice of Humble Pie

Pairing: Gaston/Adam

Summary: When Adam feels the urge to unwind with a cocktail, he finds himself at The Christmas Corner Bar and immediately starts crushing on the insufferably arrogant, impossibly handsome brute who runs it.

Tags: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Funny, Silly, Banter

Adorable artwork by @thatdoodlebug :)

click below for excerpt

As Adam made his way to the bar, still in a bit of a daze, a tall, ridiculously handsome man wearing a Christmas sweater adorned with way too many aggressively flashing Christmas lights pushed past him and hooked around to the other side of the counter. Just when Adam thought that the man couldn’t look any more absurd, he snatched a Santa hat out of a drawer and threw it on. Across its white trim, in green capital letters, it said: NAUGHTY.

Oh, Adam liked him already.

Adam walked the rest of the way to the bar, unfastening the buttons on his coat as he did, and found a free stool right in front of the most delicious candy cane he had seen in years. As the scrumptious-looking man took a moment to admire his own reflection in the horizontal bar mirror, Adam unraveled his scarf and set it on the counter. What were people supposed to do with scarves when they went to bars or restaurants anyway? Even if his bar stool had been a regular chair, he couldn’t have hung it on the back of it. It would have become a trip hazard in minutes.

After a few seconds of deliberation, Adam reached for the scarf, thinking maybe he’d better leave it on his lap instead, but then the beautiful man behind the bar snatched it and draped it around his own neck.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling brilliantly.

Second star to the right, and straight on till morning. 

Or so Adam hoped.

“First time,” Adam said. “I’ll have an Old Fashioned.”

The man laughed like Adam had asked for pizza at a Chinese food restaurant.

“If you’re gonna order a mixed drink, you have to order one of our seasonal cocktails.”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Have to? Like, it’s required?”

“It’s not required,” the man said with a slight roll of his eyes. “But you can’t come in here looking like Scrooge McDuck and then order something as dull as an Old Fashioned.”

It was curious that the man had referenced a Disney bird instead of the actual character created by Charles Dickens.

Adam attempted a Scrooge impression, “I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry.”

The gorgeous man shook his head in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind,” Adam said. “Isn’t that what Scrooge would order, though? Something boring?”

“Come on, you’re the only one in here not wearing Christmas colors. At least order a festive cocktail.”

When Adam looked around, he was surprised to see that it was true. Most people were wearing Christmas sweaters. Or even Christmas pajamas! Not only ‘Christmas colors’ as the man had said. 

“Alright,” Adam relented. “What’s the closest drink you have to an Old Fashioned, then?”

When the man rubbed his chin to think, Adam noticed his adorable chin dimple. He had the sudden urge to press his thumb into it. 

“Hmmm….closest is probably the Humble Pie.”

“What’s in it?”

“Five spice infused brandy, rye whiskey, taro root, pear, coconut, and vanilla bitters.”

“That is the holiday cocktail that’s closest to an Old Fashioned?”

“Yup.”

“Kris Kringle,” Adam cursed in a playful manner. “Fine. I’ll try it.”

“You’ll love it,” the man crowed. “I invented it myself. I invented all of our seasonal cocktails.”

“Wow, you’re a talented bartender, aren’t you?”

“I’m a talented bar owner,” he corrected with a smug smile, one that made Adam want to punch him and kiss him all at once.

[imsociallyanxiousgetoverit]

List of all SDV and SDV:E (Stardew Valley: Expanded) Giftable Items

Horseradish

Daffodil

Leek

Dandelion

Parsnip

Cave Carrot

Coconut

Cactus

Banana

Sap

Large Egg

Egg

Milk

Large Milk

Green Bean

Cauliflower

Potato

Garlic

Kale

Rhubarb

Melon

Tomato

Morsel

Blueberry

Fiddlehead Fern

Hot Pepper

Wheat

Radish

Red Cabbage

Starfruit

Corn

Rice

Eggplant

Artichoke

Pumpkin

Bokchoy

Yam

Chanterelle

Cranberry

Holly

Beets

Ostrich Egg

Salmonberry

Amouranth

Pale Ale

Hops

Void Egg

Mayonnaise

Duck Mayonnaise

Void Mayonnaise

Clay

Copper Bar

Silver Bar

Gold Bar

Iridium Bar

Refined Quartz

Honey

Pickles

Jam

Beer

Wine

Juice

Clam

Poppy

Copper Ore

Silver Ore

Coal

Gold Ore

Iridium Ore

Wood

Stone

Nautilus Shell

Coral

Summer Shell

Spice Berry

Sea Urchin

Grape

Spring Onion

Strawberry

Sweet Pea

Common Mushroom

Wild Plum

Hazelnut

Blackberry

Winter Root

Crystal Fruit

Snow Yam

Sweet Gem Berry

Crocus

Red Mushroom

Sunflower

Purple Mushroom

Cheese

Goat Cheese

Cloth

Truffle

Truffle Oil

Coffee Bean

Goat Milk

Large Goat Milk

Wool

Duck Egg

Duck Feather

Caviar

Lucky Rabbit’s Foot

Aged Roe

Ancient Fruit

Mead

Tulip

Summer Spangle

Fairy Rose

Blue Jazz

Apple

Green Tea

Apricot

Orange

Peach

Pomegranate

Cherry

Bug Meat

Hardwood

Maple Syrup

Oak Resin

Pine Tar

Slime

Bat Wing

Rusty Blade

Swirl Stone

Solar Essence

Void Essence

Void Pebble

Void Shard

Void Soul

Fiber

Battery

Dinosaur Mayonnaise

Roe

Squid Ink

Tea Leaves

Ginger

Taro Root

Pineapple

Mango

Cinder Shard

Magma Cap

Bone Fragment

Radioactive Ore

Radioactive Bar

Ancient Fiber

Bearberry

Conch

Dried Sand Dollar

Ferngill Primrose

Golden Ocean Flower

Goldenrod

Green Mushroom

Four-Leaf Clover

Monster Fruit

Monster Mushroom

Mushroom Colony

Poison Mushroom

Red Baneberry

Salal Berry

Slime Berry

Rafflesia

Sports Drink

Stamina Capsule

Thistle

Void Root

Winter Star Ross

Dewdrop Berry

Aged Blue Moon Wine

Blue Moon Wine

Aegis Elixir

Armor Elixir

Barbarian Elixir

Gravity Elixir

Haste Exilir

Hero Elixir

Lightning Elixir

Pufferfish

Anchovy

Tuna

Sardine

Bream

Largemouth Bass

Smallmouth Bass

Rainbow Trout

Salmon

Walleye

Perch

Carp

Catfish

Pike

Sunfish

Red Snapper

Herring

Eel

Octopus

Red Mullet

Squid

Seaweed

Green Algae

Seacucumber

Super Seacucumber

Ghost Carp

White Algae

Stone Fish

Crimsonfish

Angler

Icepip

Lava Eel

Legend

Sandfish

Scorpion Carp

Flounder

Midnight Carp

Mutant Carp

Sturgeon

Tiger Trout

Bullhead

Tilapia

Chub

Dorado

Albacore

Shad

Lingcod

Halibut

Lobster

Crayfish

Crab

Cockle

Mussel

Shrimp

Snail

Periwinkle

Oyster

Woodskip

Glacierfish

Void Salmon

Slimejack

Midnight Squid

Spookfish

Blobfish

Stingray

Lionfish

Blue Discus

Baby Lunaloo

Bonefish

Bull Trout

Butterfish

Clownfish

Daggerfish

Dulse Seaweed

Frog

Gemfish

Goldenfish

Grass Carp

King Salmon

Kittyfish

Lunaloo

Meteor Carp

Minnow

Puppyfish

Radioactive Bass

Razor Trout

Seahorse

Sea Sponge

Shiny Lunaloo

Snatcher Worm

Starfish

Torpedo Trout

Undeadfish

Void Eel

Water Grub

Dwarf Scroll 1

Dwarf Scroll 2

Dwarf Scroll 3

Dwarf Scroll 4

Chipped Amphora

Arrowhead

Ancient Doll

Elvish Jewelry

Chewing Stick

Ornamental Fan

Dinosaur Egg

Rare Disc

Ancient Sword

Rusty Spoon

Rusty Spur

Rusty Cog

Chicken Statue

Ancient Seed

Prehistoric Tool

Dried Starfish

Anchor

Glass Shards

Bone Flute

Prehistoric Handaxe

Dwarvish Helm

Dwarf Gadget

Ancient Drum

Golden Mask

Golden Relic

Strange Doll

Strange Doll

Prehistoric Scapula

Prehistoric Tibia

Prehistoric Skull

Skeletal Hand

Prehistoric Rib

Prehistoric Vertebrae

Skeletal Tail

Nautilus Shell

Amphibian Fossil

Palm Fossil

Trilobite

Emerald

Aquamarine

Ruby

Amethyst

Topaz

Jade

Diamond

Prismatic Shard

Quartz

Fire Quartz

Frozen Tear

Earth Crystal

Alamite

Bixite

Baryite

Aerinite

Calcite

Dolomite

Esperite

Fluorapatite

Geminite

Helvite

Jamborite

Jagoite

Kyanite

Lunarite

Malachite

Nepunite

Lemon Stone

Nekoite

Orpiment

Petrified Slime

Thunder Egg

Pyrite

Ocean Stone

Ghost Crystal

Tiger’s Eye

Jasper

Opal

Fire Opal

Celestine

Marble

Sandstone

Granite

Basalt

Limestone

Soapstone

Hematite

Mudstone

Obsidian

Slate

Fairy Stone

Star Shards

Fried Egg

Omelet

Salad

Cheese Cauliflower

Baked Fish

Parsnip Soup

Vegetable Medley

Complete Breakfast

Fried Calimari

Strange Bun

Lucky Lunch

Fried Mushrooms

Pizza

Bean Hotpot

Glazed Yams

Carp Surprise

Hashbrowns

Pancakes

Salmon Dinner

Fish Taco

Crispy Bass

Pepper Poppers

Bread

Tom Kha Soup

Trout Soup

Chocolate Cake

Pink Cake

Rhubarb Pie

Cookies

Spaghetti

Spicy Eel

Sashimi

Maki Roll

Tortilla

Red Plate

Eggplant Parmesan

Rice Pudding

Ice Cream

Bluberry Tart

Autumn’s Bounty

Pumpkin Soup

Super Meal

Cranberry Sauce

Stuffing

Farmer’s Lunch

Survival Burger

Dish’O’The Sea

Miner’s Treat

Roots Platter

Triple Shot Espresso

Seafoam Pudding

Algae Soup

Pale Broth

Plum Pudding

Artichoke Dip

Stir Fry

Roasted Hazelnuts

Pumpkin Pie

Radish Salad

Fruit Salad

Blackberry Cobbler

Cranberry Candy

Bruschetta

Coleslaw

Fiddlehead Risotto

Poppyseed Muffin

Chowder

Fish Stew

Escargot

Lobster Bisque

Maple Bar

Crab Cakes

Shrimp Cocktail

Ginger Ale

Banana Pudding

Mango Sticky Rice

Poi

Tropical Curry

Squid Ink Ravioli

Mushroom Berry Rice

Big Bark Burger

Flower Cookie

Frog Legs

Glazed Butterfish

Grampleton Orange Chicken

Mixed Berry Pie

Baked Berry Oatmeal

Void Delight

Void Salmon Sushi

[feverinfeveroutfic]

"i think i lost my headache"

Paris was always so expensive, and more so given the fact that he hardly had any money on his person, and more so given the fact that those two girls were the ones with the purse. But he stood at the side of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets, the collar of his shirt wide open so as to expose his chest to the warm sunshine, and his long inky black curls dangled down over his shoulders, and he stood there in anticipation of what he assumed to be the best coffee in the whole world. He was more than eager to have some on that particular morning, especially since they had to leave London at a rather early hour to have the best flight; it also didn't help matters that the man after his two girls had resurfaced on the streets of London again and they had to leave anyway. His head pounded a bit while on the flight, but it stopped for the most part once they had landed in France. He still had a bit of a dull pain, right dead center of his forehead, which meant he needed a rush once again.

He glanced up at the stone building behind him and he wondered as to how far they could go up there, and most of all, what was even up there. Maybe he was just addicted to the thrill, the thrill of being chased while having these two girls hanging off of his arms.

During their flight to France from the British Isles, he thought about finding them a little loft of sorts: from what he was told, there was a myriad of them all over town, and there was a few of them along the Champs-Élysées. Most of it came from his own desire to hide these two girls from the man who came after them, but it also came from the fact that he wanted to relish France for a bit longer than a few days. Every boy dreamed of running away some place exotic with two slinky women who knew their way around his body all for each other's pleasure.

He lowered his sunglasses a bit for a better look on at the windows descended up to the clear blue sky overhead. Surely, one of them had to be empty.

“Hey, baby,” Q's voice broke his concentration, and he lowered his gaze to her there before him with two small cups of coffee, one in either hand.

“Oh, merci beaucoup, ma chérie,” he told her as he held the cup lightly in his fingers.

“Beautiful French,” she remarked. “Although it almost sounds like you're about ready to talk dirty to me.”

“I think that can be arranged in the future,” he promised her with a sly little smile. “Where's our volcano whisperer?”

“Big Mama Jay's getting us some croissants,” she informed him, and they took their spot there at the table under the awning outside of the cafe itself. “Volcano whisperer, is that what you called her?” She chuckled at that.

“Yeah. I mean, she's really intimate with Hawai'i. Think: volcanoes in Hawai'i. The volcano whisperer.”

She chuckled some more as she sipped on her coffee, to which she shook her head about.

“Oh, my god, that's delicious,” she remarked.

“Let me try,” he offered her, and he sipped on his cup. Rich and full, it felt like he had laid down on the earth under the warm Parisian sun. “Oh, yeah. I'm glad we're sitting down.”

She smiled at him, and then she leaned forward over the narrow bistro table. She was wearing a low-cut black top with puffed sleeves and a black miniskirt with black leather slip-ons so he could see everything, even with the table in his way.

“So, what shall we do while we're here in the heart and soul of France?” she asked him.

“Heart and soul of France is the Bordeaux region, if you ask me,” he clarified. “But... that being said, let's just hang loose and be three romantics.”

As he said that, Jay emerged from the cafe with a trio of plates in her arms. She still had on her cap with the taro root and black coral broach on one side, but this time, she had on a black crop top with the twisted knot under her breasts and low slung dark jeans with the chain on her pocket. He offered to help her, especially since the plate in the middle teetered on the back of her hand.

“Sweet Tevye's got a couple of hot girlfriends,” she declared as she sat down between the two of them.

“Absolutely,” Q remarked as she took the plate in Jay's right hand. “When in Paris, may as well bring out the chivalry in its fullest form.”

“The people in there were looking at the two of us like we were statues,” Jay explained with a little twinkle to her eye. He lowered his gaze to the plate before him, to the flaky croissant halves smothered in melted Gruyère cheese and sliced chives with the sliced ham inside.

“So we have croissants?” he asked them.

“It's croque monsieur, actually,” Jay clarified. “I thought a straight croissant wouldn't be able to satisfy either of us, if you catch my drift.”

“I always catch your drift,” he assured her with a little smirk.

“You brought your camera with you, didn't you?” she asked him.

“Always,” he replied, and he took the little disposable camera out from his front jeans pocket and lay it on the table before him.

“Here, lemme hold that,” she offered him, and she tucked it into her purse. “I worry about it falling out of your pocket.”

He showed her a little smile as he handed it over to her, and yet something told him that something was afoot between these two girls. They were in Paris and they were alone at the cafe together. They had also left him alone with his thoughts for a bit.

“When we finish our food,” he began again, and that time as he picked up one half of the croissant, “let's find ourselves a hideaway of sorts. We're in the heart of downtown Paris, and we're still on the run from that man trying to slice and dice the two of you.”

“The people in there told me about the lofts here,” Jay told him, which thus confirmed his feelings, and much to his satisfaction no less. “There's one in particular right near the top that's empty except for a love seat and a few chairs, which is surprising because it supposedly gives a spectacular view of the Champs-Élysées and of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Wow,” Q breathed out at that.

“Let's find that place up there to hide out in for a bit,” he offered them as he leaned back in his chair. The buttons on his silk shirt were undone to the point they could see the top of his belly and the bottom of his chest as well as the fine dark hair that covered his chest. He had all the skin exposed to the warmth of the world.

He had all the skin exposed to the warmth of the world, and more so as he indulged in that hot sandwich. He traded between locking eyes with Q and then Jay, both of whom noshed on their croissants, specifically the crest of the croissants, and he knew exactly what they were thinking. Jay had his camera and they were looking at empty lofts upstairs. He had finished his first, which gave him time to relish in his coffee and peek over the rim of the mug at them.

“Let's have some fun, shall we?” he offered Jay once she had finished her sandwich, and he let his eyes drop down to the belt of her jeans. “God, you have such luscious curves, my darling blue Jay. Even more so after you eat.” His voice seemed to drift in on the warm breeze around them, especially since he managed to have a word in before the traffic picked up once again next to them.

“And I still wanna run my fingers through your chest hair, Tevye,” she retorted. Q licked her fingers, albeit rather slowly, and then she took a napkin for herself.

“Where's this loft you were talking about?” she asked Jay as she never took her eyes off of him.

“Allons-y,” she decreed, and she hoisted her purse over her shoulder again; all the while, she stooped forward so he could have a view down her top as well as the shape of her waist and the way that her belt hugged her. He never let go of the smirk on his face as he followed the two women into the warm, cozily lit cafe, past the counter full of pastries on display for all of northern France to bear witness to, and up a narrow wooden stairwell on the other side of the room. He had no idea if it was the croque monsieur resting in his belly or if it came from the fact that he was about to have a moment in Paris with them, but a wave of warmth washed over him. Warmth followed by that familiar feeling below his belt.

“Here we are,” Jay told them at they reached the top of the stairs to find that the corridor up above curved a bit to the left; but she gestured to the second door on the right and she pushed it open with one hand.

It was a small studio with two big windows, both of which beheld a panoramic view of the skyline: the one behind the door was complete with the Eiffel Tower standing strong and high off in the distance, while the one before them beheld a view of down the block, where the Arc de Triomphe stood like the mighty monolith it was at the dead center of the roundabout itself. The love seat stood dead center of the room, of plush looking crushed dark red velvet, the same color as fresh Bordeaux wine straight out of the wine distillery, and there before it was a pair of spindly dark wooden chairs.

“So, mes chéries,” he began, “que ferons-nous?” He had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was going to go, but he wanted them to lead the way first. Indeed, Jay strode on over to the love seat and patted the cushion closest to the window.

“Have a seat,” she beckoned him. “How do you say 'gorgeous Jewish boy' in the most romantic language in the world?”

“Let's see, 'gorgeous' is 'magnifique',” he started, albeit pensively, and he strode on over to the love seat. “'Garçon' is 'boy'. And I believe 'Jewish' is 'juif'. So, piece that all together, ma belle fille.” He showed her a smile as he took his spot there on the springy, plush cushion, and he put one leg up on the seat next to him so she could have a view of his crotch. She froze in place with her gaze fixed on his legs.

“Qu'est-ce que tu penses en ce moment?” he asked her.

“I have your camera,” she whispered to him, and he raised his eyebrows at her. His hair cascaded over his shoulders and his chest out in the open. His shirt was tucked into his jeans, and they had just eaten so he had an extra curve over his belly. His suspicions weren't too far from the truth, but he also had been left rather surprised, especially when it was just him and Jay there in that room.

“Keep your clothes on,” she advised him, and all the while, her voice grew softer and softer. He showed her the tip of his tongue. She stood up again, that time to take the camera out from her pocket and she leaned into his face as if to kiss him.

“When I give the word, show me how magnifique your body is to me right now,” she said to him, and he couldn't resist the smile on his face. She lingered back again, that time with the camera before her face.

“Let's do it,” Jay whispered into his ear, and he licked his lips and very carefully, opened his legs for them. He put one hand behind his head, and his other hand down upon his bare chest. She pressed the shutter button once, twice, three times. She then stood up and stepped down to his feet to find him bathed in shadow. A few shots there.

He sat up and let his hair tousle itself down over his shoulder and onto his chest. She lingered closer to his face as he gazed up at her, complete with those sharp eyebrows.

“You're like a Toulouse-Letrec painting, babe,” she remarked as she knelt down before him.

“Toulouse-Letrec, or Seurat.” He tossed his hair back and turned his head towards the light flooding in from the panoramic window next to them. He hooded his eyes and pouted his lips. She backed up to have more of a view of his body, and especially when he leaned back again to show off more of his chest to her.

Q then strode into the room behind them, completely stripped of her clothes, and she took her spot next to him there on the loveseat. Her bare breasts brushed against his arm as she leaned in for the kiss on his neck.

She held onto his wrist and guided his hand to her breasts, followed by the curves of her body and the scars under her waist. A feel of the scars to find a way into her heart.

She then guided him down to the floor and took a seat on his chest with her legs wide open.

All the while, Jay continued to take photographs of them.

“I have an idea,” she quipped even as he helped himself to some dessert. “Let's switch.” Once his tongue had tightened her nipples to a needle point, Q then stood up and Jay handed over the camera to her. She knelt down by his legs and undid his belt and his jeans for him, only to find that he was nearly completely erect.

Jay remained close to him there on the hardwood floor as Q held the camera before her face. She took the picture right as Jay brought her lips down to his shaft to start it. The light was bright and stark so he knew that Q could see everything going on there. Everything from Jay's tongue on his skin to the way that she brought her mouth around him and moved her head down closer to his body to the way they locked eyes to the way that he rolled his head over to lock eyes with Q as well.

He opened his mouth but no sound emerged at first. When Jay reached over and lightly stroked his chest and his belly, that was when he let out a soft euphoric moan, soft enough for only them to hear but obvious enough to satisfy Paris herself. Q then lunged forward to have a swallow herself as Jay couldn't have all of it.

Out of breath, he lay there on the hardwood with his hands suspended over his chest, and the two girls lay on either side of them. Jay gently kissed his neck and the side of his face while Q lightly stroked his chest with her fingertips. It was right then he realized that he hadn't had a pain in his head since they were down on the street.

“No one knows about these,” she whispered into his ear, and then she followed it up with a kiss on the rim.

“Nous ne parlons pas de ces photos à personne,” he breathed out.